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moondirti · 23 days

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ghoap x nanny! reader / 18+ / previous ft. surveillance. handjobs. voyeurism. mild s/m. dirty talk.

They check up on you when they can.

Price wasn't exaggerating when he doled out the mission details. It's a tough one. Grueling. The type that necessitates four flights a week and days of little to no sleep, the men fuelled on nothing but a snow-balling urgency to get it done. The target is a slippery fuck, with connections that transport him across the globe at the first sign of conflict. They come close to apprehending him only once, and nothing comes of it but the exacerbated threat of nuclear war as the bastard starts to squeak like a cornered mouse. Gaz has a near constant migraine. Soap stops being fun around the two week mark, exhaustion slowing his tongue. Ghost grows more unhinged with his kills, punching blades through the throats of anyone who dares get in their way.

But still, they check on you.

Isla occupies a quarter of their headspace at all times; half when they don't have to dedicate their focus to the operation. It's the longest they've ever spent away from their girl, the withdrawals hitting them like a bag of bricks. They do whatever's necessary, then, to tune into the nanny cams they have set up around the house, lest Johnny cries about the way her hands dimple when she uncurls a fist again. Or worse – before Simon forgets what tethers him to humanity.

They find the two of you are always doing something.

Which isn't a surprise. You had mentioned your background in early childhood education; they just thought that it'd been a device to impress them. But it's clear that you're eager to put your degree to use when they see you setting up yet another enrichment activity for their daughter and encouraging her to engage.

The first time, they had just arrived on base. It'd been five hours since they've seen you last and already, Johnny had pulled his phone to log onto the monitoring app he had installed.

Sure enough, you were in the same overalls they saw you in last, Isla changed into a fresh pair of pyjamas after her bath. You had her set on her play mat, but replaced the dangling toys for newer, more colourful ones. As she reached for them, you would sound out the shade in a high-pitched voice and grin excitedly when she'd babble back, as if aaaah! meant green.

He felt his heart tug something fierce, caught between endearment and unease at missing out, before getting dressed for debrief.

The third time, you let them know you could tell when the nanny cam is in active use. Not accusatorially, of course – it unfolded in a way too innocent to be anything but a whammy on their part.

They were in a humvee on exfil after being ambushed by the local army – soldiers with blood money lining their pockets, tasked with dispatching the bloodhounds that keep sniffing their patron's trail. Simon had watched a little boy get caught in the crossfire and decided it was imperative to check if Isla was okay, despite her being hundreds of miles away and off anyone's radar.

You're the first thing he saw, carrying the weight of a huge plastic storage container filled with water. In it, there were several rubber animals that inspired a fit of squeals somewhere off screen. You had laughed, a little out of breath, and he remembers the relief that flooded his chest at the dual sounds. Like the cold lick of waves across scorching sand.

As you'd passed by the camera, you stopped and crouched so your face would be in view.

"Isla likes splashing around in the water. I'm thinking of getting her a paddling pool." And you lifted the container as if you would ever need to justify the way you take of their daughter. "Hope you guys are well."

Johnny murmured from beside him. "Forgot aboot th' status light."

The seventh– ninth– maybe twelfth time (having lost count), it was just in time to catch you on your way out with Isla in tow.

They'd tuckered down in a shitty motel, awaiting the next word from Laswell, all four of them in one room. Gaz had been given the bed as consolation for the torn tendon in his knee, and Price had claimed the couch with nothing more than a growl about his back needing it. Thus, Ghost and Soap found themselves on the floor, the latter man tucked under his partner's arm, the other occupied with checking in on the porch feed. The time difference made it so that it was midday where you were.

You were dressed – and Simon recalls it as clearly as the day you met – in a green wrap skirt and tulip hat, their darling girl in a shade of pink that complimented its petals, sat on your hip as you struggled with her buggy. They forgot to give you the run down on unfolding it before they left, too overwhelmed with everything else to pay mind to the little things.

Johnny had jumped for the two-way talk function immediately, tapping on the little mic before clearing his throat.

"There's a latch under th' left arm. Flip it 'n' it shuid unfold automatically."

You jumped, pausing to face the porch cam with wide eyes. "Oh– Oh my god. Haha," Following his directions, you were able to get it open with little fuss. "that is so embarrassing. Pretend you never saw that."

Simon had his balaclava on, uncomfortable with going bare-faced in an unfamiliar room, but Johnny still felt the soft smile splitting his cheeks. Its warmth was unmistakable.

"Nonsense, lass. 'twas cute."

You bloomed at that, wiggling a little in place. Though the flustered moment hadn't lasted long, for Isla's mouth fell open at the recognition of her father's voice, chubby hand reaching out in its direction.

"Bldha! Pffffpp."

"That's right, baby! That's Da." You waddled closer to have her inspect the strange contraption hooked above their mailbox, turning your attention back to them. "We're going on a narration walk! Isla's gotten so good at recognising animals because of them. But it was so nice to hear from you. Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

"Gah!"

Simon locked the phone when neither of them could muster a response, emotion rushing their throats like white-river rapids. Hot tears seep into his side, a pair of misty eyes buried in his ribs.

"I know. I know, Johnny. S'alright. We'll see 'er again soon."

Now, he's made good on his promise.

All three rogue missiles located and dismantled in record time, meaning their slimy target could no longer use them as a shield. He'd been in shackles within the next day, wrangled somewhere in Istanbul and shipped off to a maximum security prison in The Hague. The task force left no loose thread untugged, which took an extra day but will be worth it in the long run. Price promises to reward them with a round, on him.

They're on their way back to base when Johnny tunes in a final time.

He's sure that Isla is asleep by now, confirmed by the baby monitor that focuses on the sprawled form in her cot. It would be best to exit the app and doze off like the other men – lord knows he needs it – but he can't help the itch to look for you too. To click through every channel, his curiosity unquenched, until–

Ah. There.

On the couch, bare legs stretched out along its length. A throw blanket tangled between them, one bent at the knee to support the book you're currently fingering through. The sight alone is enough to make him salivate.

But then he notices the thin material of your top.

Practically translucent. No doubt made for bed. You aren't wearing a bra, either, and the darker shade of your nipples practically flaunts itself through the fabric. They're too soft to protrude and cast a shadow on your breasts, but he's still able to get a good impression of what you would look like nude. Some part of him wilts with guilt at the shameless voyeurism he's subjecting you to.

Another part sends blood to the weight between his legs.

"Bleedin' Christ."

"Hm?" Simon grunts, disturbed by the restless pace of Johnny's heart. His head lifts off his shoulder, blinking warily to clear the silky gossamer of sleep threading his eyelids, before focusing on the grainy footage on his partner's screen.

"Ghost." He whines, hips bucking in desperation when the larger man does nothing. They haven't had the chance to relieve themselves since that night at the motel, and even then it had been a messy frotting as they tried not to disturb their sleeping comrades.

"A'right. Off to the bathroom with you, then."

He doesn't turn off of the live feed even as they cram into the compact space. Though he should. He needs to. Not because you're aware of their surveillance – you're far too engrossed in your book to pay mind to the blinking red light on the nanny cam. But because only depraved men gets off to unsuspecting hens, especially the ones they hired in good faith to take care of their child while they're away.

It's a dirty, dirty thrill that roars through him as Simon wraps an arm around his waist, palming his hard-on through his trousers. And it's a dirty thrill he wants no part of.

"Practically leakin' in your pants, boy. First time you see a pair of tits?" In the small mirror before him, he watches his pants get pulled down past his ass, underwear stained a deeper swatch of blue where his tip spits prespend.

It might as well be the first time, way he's humping Simon's hand like an over-eager mutt. Though he can't manage to choke it out through the rough groans pressing his vocal chords. Instead, what escapes him is a pathetic mess of trembling letters. "S'not... fookin, not– not–"

"Shhh, it's okay. She's jus' so pretty, yeah? Can't help but chub up and beg me to rub your aching cock, wishing it was her darlin' hand wrapped 'round you instead. I know."

"Nn, nae, Sim- Si– I wouid never... Ah!"

It's dry. A little raw. He makes no effort to lube his calloused palm to help it glide easier along Johnny's length, but he knows his boy better than he knows himself sometimes. That he needs pain when he's doing something bad like this, or else he'll lose himself to the guilt. A little bit of penance for the Catholic.

"Don' lie to me. Y'can't. But tha's alright," He pulls the foreskin off the head of his uncut mass, kneading a bit into his frenulum to watch the way white oozes against red. "I think about it too."

"A-Aye?"

"Hm. Think 'bout ya swallowing my cock while I sit 'er on my face. Bet she tastes sweet, like nectar. Jus' look at the thing." Which he does. You're seated a bit differently than you had been before. Less liberal. Wound up tight, with your nose buried in your book and your toes curled beneath your feet. Surely captured by some tense plot line or the other. "Would make you clean her cunt after I pump 'er full. Or vice versa, if she's into tha'."

"Yer a-aff yer heid... Fuck, I cannae–"

"That's it, Johnny. Let go, boy." Simon's strokes keep at the top, tugging in short, rough movements over the phone. The blanket now covers you fully, but it's no matter. The image of your breasts are now seared into both their minds, an array of fantasies unfurling before them, each nastier than the last. "Jus' like that."

Thick ropes of cum streak over the screen and sink countertop. It's weeks worth of pent up frustration, a culmination of despair and desire as a stuttered moan claws up Johnny's throat. The hand leaves his cock only when he starts shooting blanks, clenching tight at the overstimulation.

Simon makes him lick the mess off his palm.

(And unbeknownst to them, they'd hit the mic on their way to the bathroom.

You'd heard the whole thing.)

#oops!#my finger slipped #ghoap x reader #ghoap #simon ghost riley x reader x johnny soap mactavish #fic ༄ miss magic #call of duty #ghost x soap #simon riley x reader x john mactavish #ghost x reader x soap #simon riley x john mactavish #simon ghost riley x johnny soap mactavish #simon 'ghost' riley x reader x johnny 'soap' mactavish #simon 'ghost' riley x johnny 'soap' mactavish #x female reader

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vivwritesfics · 6 months

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For You Page - LN4

Lando finds his girlfriend TikTok, it isn't what he expects (based on my tiktok account which is ridiculous)

Lando loved a bit of TikTok. He tried to stay off of F1 tiktok, though. It wasn't for any other reason than he wanted to see things that weren't to with his job.

But he was tagged in so many F1 tiktoks, he was bound to have them come up on his for you page at some point.

Sometimes he watched them, sometimes they were funny. It depended on what caught his eye.

So, when the name herbieinmclaren popped up, Lando had to watch it. It was an interesting name, the tiktoker sharing a name with his dog.

But then Lando's dog appeared on his screen. With the jarring trickster voice so commonly used on tiktok. "Hello everybody," the voice said. "My name is Herbie and today I wanna talk about the Abu Dhabi grand prix."

Lando was still in Abu Dhabi; the Grand Prix was only a day ago and he was flying home soon.

Lando kept watching the video. A video of a dog that was 100% his dog in his orange bandana in his apartment. His dog who gave his opinions on Formula One. When Lando ended up going through the tiktok account, he realised it had been running since Herbie was a puppy.

Herbie had some videos dedicated to Lando and Lando alone. He made it clear that Lando was his favourite driver and McLaren was his favourite team.

Herbie even had a vlog watching the Monaco Grand Prix from the balcony of Lando's apartment (which really confused him. Y/N had been at the grand prix with him, so who had taken the video? Unless Y/N had the dog sitter in on it).

When Lando got to the bottom of the account (where the videos of puppy Herbie were), he called his girlfriend.

Y/N picked up in two rings. "Hey Lan," she said, her phone pressed between her ear and her shoulder as she gave Herbie a bath.

"Y/N, baby," he began, almost not sure where to go from there. "I was on tiktok a moment ago."

"Oh?"

Oh was right. "Did you know somebody made a tiktok account for Herbie?"

"Really?" Y/N asked in feign surprise.

"Yeah. And they have Herbie talk about Formula One. That's pretty weird, right?"

Y/N swallowed. "Yeah, pretty weird," she answered. "Who's his favourite driver?"

"Y/N."

"Lando."

"I know it's you."

He knew it was her.

Y/N let go of Herbie's collar and he jumped out of the bath. "Do you hate it?" She asked somewhat hesitantly. "Do you think it's weird?"

Yes, Lando did think it was weird, but it wasn't bad. Actually, he loved it. Especially now he knew it was Y/N who owned the account, not just some random stranger who was stalking their dog.

"I love you," he said.

"Is that a yes?"

"No, Y/N. I love you."

Herbie reference pictures:

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dr-felitas · 9 days

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ANG BEER NA 'TO O ANG PAG-IBIG MO?

synopsis: taking care hsr men when they’re drunk ft. hsr men

pairing: aventurine, sunday, veritas ratio x reader (separate) | wc: 1.2k | content & warnings: fluff, mentions of alcohol and drinking/being under the influence , mentions of bathing together (veritas part) ; headcanon + drabble

tags: this is dedicated to my beloved filipino alcohol addict, who else if not @azullumi?? (istg one day you're gonna get an alcohol poisoning if you continue to drink) note to azul will follow at the very bottom as always <3

a/n: ang beer na 'to o ang pag-ibig mo? -> is it beer or your love? (im not even filipino but vietnamese..oh well..)

SUNDAY

talks a lot.

much different from his usual demeanor

really talkative

he babbles, rambles and chatters your ears off

“did you know that me and robin used to take care of a charmony dove?” he asks.

“yes, yes i do. you’ve told me thrice in the past 30 minutes.” you sigh.

“oh.” his mouth forms a small “o” before speaking up again. “well did you know that-”

“that you still have to make some preparations for the upcoming charmony festival?” you interrupt him and finish his sentence.

“how’d you know?” you can’t make out if it’s amazement or curiosity in his words. “well, a little birdie told me that not too long ago.”

“my bird?” he asks.

“..yeah, totally..” you hum.

AND really touchy which is unusual

sunday reaches forward to push the loose strands of your hair away from your forehead. “sunday what are you-” before you’re able to finish your question he presses his chapped lips against your forehead, placing a tender kiss on it.

before going down and peppering kisses along your jawline until his lips reach your collarbone. “stop that tickles!” you giggle and try to push him away to no use - it was pointless. it was like he was glued to your side.

his bony fingers find your hand and laces them together before softly squeezing them, eyes never leaving your face as he studies your expression.

he keeps eulogizing and complimenting you

“have i ever told you how pretty you are?” he takes a small bundle of your hair into his hand, before slowly caressing it with his thumb and index finger as he awaits your response.

upon that you can’t help but smile. the corners of your lips quirk up and you grin like a teenager who spots their crush exiting the classroom after intentionally switching routes just to see them.

“you do, but not as openly and often.” you say in response he can only gasp in surprise. “really?” “really!” you laugh.

(he then proceeds to write a sticky note for his future sober self to compliment you more.)

only shuts up when you kiss him.

you lean forward to press a chaste kiss on his lips, it’s a fleeting moment and the kiss doesn’t last as long as sunday wishes it would. it’s too short for his liking, granting him no chance to reciprocate the action.

“shut up, loverboy. let’s get you back home.” you beam at him with a smile brighter than both the moon and stars. your eyes are pools of love, an intoxicating essence sunday would gladly drown in. (not like he already hasn’t.)

in return he shoots you a lovesick smile which makes you melt.

AVENTURINE

unusually quiet until you talk to him and he pours out his heart

this is weird.

normally aventurine is the talkative one among the two of you but it seems like the tables have turned. there’s nothing but the sound of the wind blowing through the night and you cringe at the silence.

“‘rine are you okay?” you attempt to ask, hoping that he’d at least respond with a hum.

““you still like me, right?” he whispers. his answer was so quiet that you almost didn’t hear it but it did catch you off guard.

“what?” you ask confusedly, almost in disbelief.

“what.”

when you drape his arm over your shoulder to help him walk he’s slightly tripping and keeps apologizing

unlike sunday who’s the one reassuring you, aventurine is the one who constantly seeks reassurance from you

and not even indirectly, yeah no, directly

“m’sorry that you have to take care of me. you can tell me if it’s bothersome.” he says in an apologetic tone and you try your best to reassure him. “no, really it’s alright!” you stop your movements to take a quick breather.

aventurines quick to react and extracts his arm from your shoulder and tries to stand steady on his two feet. (miserably failing) “am i too heavy? sorry.” he apologizes, not being able to stand still.

“not at all!” you smile. “i just had to take a quick break but let’s continue.” you reach out your hand for him to grab on and as soon as he places his palm on yours you hold on tightly.

“also, aventurine, you don’t have to keep apologizing.” you say empathetically.

“sorry.”

aventurine is someone who has only had himself for a very long time and he himself was the one who helped him overcome many obstacles in his life with no one else at his side so try to reassure him as much as possible to let him know that he’s not alone

VERITAS RATIO

the type who only gets drunk when it’s a party hosted by the company or anything regarding his researches to indulge in the fun and celebrate the process

later on only babbles about some of his discoveries

the others eventually get tired but try to look interested, veritas, like the attentive person he is, notices and complains about how you’d listen

you’re leaving the bathroom and come back with 9 new messages from topaz and 7 ones from aventurine begging you to pick up veritas.

as you enter the party you immediately spot him near the bar, crowded by some employees and topaz and aventurine who look like they’re done.

you step over to the bar and greet the both of them. “hi, i’m here to pick up veritas.” you smile. “that sounds like you’re picking him from kindergarten.” topaz laughs. “but yeah he’s all yours now.” she says as she clinks her glass against aventurines, as if she were to celebrate a victory.

you move towards veritas and tap him on the shoulder, the action makes him turn around and raise an eyebrow in confusion. “sorry, what business do i have with you?” he asks at which you can only laugh at. “veri, i’m here to pick you up.” you smile.

“my partner wouldn’t like you addressing me with a nickname that they exclusively chose for me.” he says politely. “ah and could you please not hold onto my hand, i doubt that they’d like that either.”

“veritas, i am your partner.”

he's not the one who’s touchy he wants you to be touchy

trace shapes against his back, bury your head into the crook of his neck and leave kisses, ruffle his hair and so on (especially when taking a bath!!)

“so what shape was that?” you ask in excitement after you drew a tree onto his back with your wet fingers.

“π” he responds. (it sounds more like a question than an answer from the way he responded.)

at that you can only laugh. “close, it was a tree!” you lean down and bury your head against his neck, his back now facing your chest as you smile down at his skin and smear kisses along the crook of his neck thus making your lips covered in shower gel now.

you remove your mouth from his skin and start to massage his back slowly and tenderly, making his tense muscles relax before moving your hands to his head, ruffling through his hair and softly massaging his scalp before coming to a halt.

“why’d you stop?” his eyelashes flutter as he opens his eyes and turns around to face you.

“ah, well you didn’t say anything so i thought you didn’t like it. so i stopped.” you answer apologetically.

“did i tell you to stop?” he raises his eyebrow. “i suppose no..” you reply.

“well then continue, please.”

he trusts you enough to bathe with him and especially when being drunk

knows that you won’t just leave him be and actually care for him and tend to his needs

shower him with much affection and great care!!

okay tending to the most special guest now!! @azullumi ladies and gents, non binaries and the others whatever you identify yourself with, make way for user azullumi!! if you think your 4 month situationship who had a gf all along responds slowly TALK TO AZUL. HE NEVER RESPONDS TO MY TIKTOKS AND OMG EVEN WORSE I REPLY TO THE ONES HE SENDS ME AND THEY DON'T EVEN RESPOND TO MY MESSAGES BUT PROCEED TO SEND ME ANOTHER TIKTOK??? THE AUDACITY HELLO??? anyway i hope this reaches you in good spirits?? is that how you say that?!?!?! i like this song a lot i think the first time i've heard it was in a kaeya (genshin) edit LMFAO and it's been one of my fav songs ever since. beer, love and filipino put that in a pot and your receive azul. but azul azul i love love love you a lot. it's always fun talking to you and sharing my ideas. knowing that i have you by my side is always so reassuring for me to know. someone who's proud of me and my achievements, someone who's willing to listen me out, someone who actually has great advice which is helpful. thank you, thank you. i'm so blessed to have you. you're probably the best thing that has happened to me in the past few months. (and that one A- i got from my strict history teacher 😍😍)

e/n: not toooooo sure how to feel about this cause i wrote this for funsies but yeah! also rbs (with comments) are as always greatly appreciated. (i read through each of them). kisses to yall!!

#—stellaronhvnters.#felis-files #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr headcanons #hsr fluff #honkai star rail fluff #aventurine x reader #aventurine fluff #aventurine headcanons #sunday x reader #sunday fluff #sunday headcanons #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio fluff #dr ratio headcanons #veritas ratio x reader #veritas x reader

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icarryitin · 20 days

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Effortless

spencer reid/gn!reader

coming into this from a fandom where my last fic got literally 11 notes (half of which were my own self-rbs) the reception for workplace hot was heartwarming, pls accept more pre-relationship work crush goodness as thanks🧡🧡

masterlist

word count: 1.6k// warnings: absolutely hopeless pining, this man is so so clever but so so oblivious

“Chicken.”

“Did you know, the origin of ‘chicken’ in reference to someone who’s afraid can be traced back to the use of ‘hen-heart’ as a synonym for ‘fainthearted’? Its first documented use was in the York Mystery Plays - which are considered to have been written prior to 1450.”

“Chicken.” Morgan repeats.

“Shut up.”

While his second response is decidedly less eloquent, Spencer’s pretty sure he can’t fact-dump his way out of this particular conversation.

It’s not exactly a secret - his giant, all consuming, world ending crush on you - at least, it’s not a secret from anyone except you. He’s past being embarrassed about it when one of the others brings it up, as long as it’s not around you. That’s happened exactly once, and Spencer’s automatic response was to chatter about the migration patterns of a specific type of bird he’d read an article about the day before. Ceaselessly. No matter how much everyone else had begged him to stop, until the previous subject was well and truly forgotten. So when you’d asked a leading question about another kind of bird? He was more than happy to oblige. You’ve always done that, listened to him. It’s nice.

It’s probably what got him in this mess in the first place.

Somewhere along the way, a routine developed itself. He remembers the first day you asked him to elaborate on something he’d started on earlier in the day, trivia about the fluctuations in the popularity of a specific make of car. It had ended up being useful in the context of the case anyway but, more importantly to Spencer, the tidbit had you cornering him in the kitchen to ask him about it. And now it’s just what happens. You potter around to make your lunch, he chatters about the most recent paper he’s read like your own personal podcast.

It’s a comfortable friendship, solidified by little things like that. Though they’re not all that little to him, if anything they’ve only deepened his feelings for you - he doesn’t let on, for your sake, he tries not to.

But his affection sneaks out in other ways.

He gravitates towards you without realising it, just to exist in your space. At the round table, on the jet, at crime scenes, in whichever office the local PD have cleared out for the team. He’s never hovering, but he’s not not hovering. Just working parallel to you. It’s why he likes the bullpen, for all its hustle and bustle, because he can look at you out of the corner of his eye whenever he wants to. He can spin his chair to face you, stretch his legs out across the aisle, and let a wave of sheer steadiness wash over him. Sometimes it’s you, reaching over to hand him something or abandoning your post completely to perch on the corner of his desk. Spencer thinks that’s what it might be, the peace you seem to exude that quiets his busy mind - the kindness you extend to victims and their families that flows through your very veins. It follows you like an aura, there’s very little he won’t do to be bathed in it whenever he can. It’s all led to a unique dynamic that means you’re paired up together more often than not.

You move around each other unconsciously now, leaning over maps and files and evidence. Swapping pens and ducking under one another’s arms as you both scribble away at the board. It’s almost choreographed, natural. Everything is with you, and that’s what gets him. There’s a part of Spencer Reid’s brain that is dedicated to considering his actions in relation to the people around him, running in the background like a computer programme, but he doesn’t have to run it around you. He doesn’t think, for once. He just does.

It’s effortless, second nature, to make space for you. The same as it is to leave a seat open for you, even if it’s the only one. To nudge you gently when you’re too far in your own head to realise you’re picking at your skin. You’ve started nudging him back in recent weeks when he does the same, chewing on the inside of his lips and paying absolutely no mind to the damage he’s doing. You notice, you care enough to stop him. Just like you’ll leave an empty space on the nearest desk for him to hop up on. He’s not sure if you realise you’re even doing it. Clearing perfect Spencer-sized spots at every precinct and office you’re set up in, because you know he prefers it to the chairs. Which makes his own actions feel a little less overt and, in turn, lets him breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe this is just what good friends do for each other. He can call you that, at least, if his own fears won’t afford him the chance to call you anything else.

Though, he’s not sure he could stop himself from taking care of you in his own way if he tried. Mostly because he’s not trying in the first place.

He didn’t even realise what he was doing, the first time he turned to you to double check your protective vest was secure. Narrow fingers tugging on straps, barely even processing the inviting warmth of you underneath them, he’d been too focused on making sure you were as protected as you could be. And then he’d walked into the Unsub’s home ahead of you anyway.

Spencer never walks ahead of you, anywhere. He’s always ushering you in first, something drilled into him by some unknown force, his basest of instincts - you’re ahead of him into the office, into precincts, into crime scenes, even into the elevator. But in a hostile situation? He’s first through the door every time.

So much so that it’s routine now, wherever the case, whoever is around. He grasps the shoulders of the thick vest and wiggles it, he rips the velcro straps off at your waist only to secure them again. A little tighter, and he’s quietly grateful that you let him. The heat of you at his back is reassuring when scenes aren’t secure. To know that, based on his experience anyway, the Unsub will more than likely jump out ahead of him - and he’ll be the one between you and the bullet. Which is maybe a little dramatic, but it’s the truth.

“Ready, boys?”

Doctor Spencer Reid has never claimed to believe in any god, but he makes sure to thank something for the interruption. Anything to get himself and his giant crush out from under Derek Morgan’s microscope.

It’s Emily who speaks, Emily who tosses protective vests at him and Derek, but Spencer’s eyes are focused on you entering the office behind her. You’re concentrating on your own vest, securing straps that’ll only be repositioned in a minute or two. But you still do it yourself each time, as if you’re not expecting him to come over and double check your work. There’s no way you haven’t noticed by now. That he’ll do it every time, that he doesn’t do it for anybody else, that he spends twice as long checking on your vest than he does securing his own. FBI emblem emblazoned on his chest, Spencer crosses the room dutifully to conduct his little ritual.

Velcro isn’t quiet. It pierces through the background noise when he undoes the buckle at your side and tears it free, but his eyes don’t move from the task at hand. Yours are heavy on his face, the way they always are when he gets this close. He pretends not to notice.

“Thank you.” You whisper softly. So softly that between the chatter and gun checking behind him, only the two of you can hear.

It’s only now, now he’s certain your vest is snug as possible, that he allows his careful gaze flicker to meet yours. He struggles not to take a step back with the force of it.

“Of course.” He replies, reluctantly pulling his cold fingers out from the warmth beneath the shoulders of your vest. His smile, small, self-conscious, is returned tenfold and beaming. The same way it always is. He doesn’t know how you do it - see the things you see every day and still manage a grin wider than the Río de la Plata. Maybe he can’t explain everything.

He catches a movement over your shoulder, it’s Morgan. Arms folded at the elbow, fists tucked close to his chest, as he makes the exaggerated movements of a chicken. Head bobbing and all. The teasing support, because that’s all it is, is nice to have - but there’s not one member of the team who understands exactly why he’s so afraid to say anything to you. In an ideal world, he wouldn’t be. He’d be able to pull you aside and tell you exactly how many days it’s been since he’d met you, started crushing on you, fallen absolutely hopelessly in love. It kind of all started at once, if he’s being completely honest. And in that ideal world, you would smile that billion kilowatt smile and tell him you love him too, and even the paperwork from the bureau wouldn’t matter. This isn’t an ideal world, however. He knows that better than most.

Spencer’s been rejected before, more than even he would care to admit, by friends and lovers and parents and colleagues and strangers. But he’s not sure he could take it from you, not while you hold his heart so tenderly in your hands. Even unaware of the responsibility, you’re gentle with him.

He’ll keep you close, regardless, as much as he can without arousing your suspicion. He’ll keep making space for you and double checking your vest until every ugly confession claws its way out of him.

That’s enough, for now.

if you’ve made it this far, pls know i am kissing u gently on the forehead🧡🧡

i’m also thinking about opening requests for all things pre-relationship spencer bc mutual pining and obliviousness is my fav fav fav thing, in case anyone was interested👀

#i’m also choosing at this stage to make him only experience good things #bc i’ve just got to the maeve arc in my first full watch of cm and i know what happens and i’m sad already i love her #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #lou writes #the canyouniverse

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actuallysaiyan · 3 months

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Isn't This Your Naked Body In My Bed?(Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader)

warnings: smut, somnophilia, unprotected sex, breeding kink, nipple play, impregnation kink, vaginal fingering, domesticity, slight lactation kink

word count: 1.5k

pairings: Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader

summary: Kento comes home late one night after work, and he's just dying to be so deep inside of you. The only slight little issue? You're asleep when he gets home. So he's got to warm you up a little bit first.

a/n: Dedicated to the wonderful and talented @seireiteihellbutterfly!!

For this request:

It’s been such a long day, and all Kento can think about is returning home to you. Thoughts of your pretty smile, loving touch and sweet scent are what keep him going. He’s in the car driving home and he turns on the radio. He smiles to himself when he hears the radio station playing your song. It’s the song that had been playing when he first confessed his love to you. It’s also your wedding song.

The car pulls into the driveway and that’s when he realizes just how late it is. He sighs as he opens the car door, shutting it as quietly as he can. Then he makes his way into the house, trying his best not to make a sound. It’s dark inside your shared home, and he knows that you’re more than likely asleep.

Kento slips on his house slippers, hangs up his jacket and places his briefcase at the entryway. He begins to tiptoe into the house, making sure he doesn’t make any disruptive noises to potentially wake you. His eyes scan the kitchen, noticing just how spotless it is. His heart swells with pride and love for you. You really do all you can to make sure he comes home to something so comforting and clean.

Eventually, he heads into the bathroom. With a sigh, he tugs on the knot of his tie and loosens it. Then he begins to undress as the water warms up in the shower. He’s been looking forward to this all day, and he’s practically salivating at the thought of being soothed and massaged by the high-powered shower head and hot water.

Once he steps inside, he can smell soft traces of your own soap and shampoo. He knows you must have had a shower just before bed, or maybe you had a bath. He wonders if you missed him just as badly as he missed you. His mind races, filling with thoughts of finding you in your shared bed all fresh and showered. A soft grunt rumbles through his chest as his cock twitches to life,

He wants to stroke himself, but part of him thinks about maybe saving this arousal for when he’s in bed with you. Maybe you’re still up, which was a possibility. You had a bad habit of lying in bed, scrolling on your phone til the wee hours of the morning. Kento begins to imagine how he could just go into the bedroom after his shower, his towel low on his hips and then he could just so easily press you into his favorite position.

With renewed gusto, Kento finishes up his shower in record time. His cock aches at the thought of being able to be deep inside of you soon. He finishes up his evening routine before padding his way into your shared bedroom. His eyes widen when he notices it’s dark inside the room, and you’re curled up under the covers. But he can’t help himself, he needs to feel you so close. He wants to be able to smell you and taste you.

His hands rip the towel off and he crawls onto the bed carefully. You slowly stir, but you don’t wake up. His eyes are calculating as he watches you slumber; your chest going up and down with soft breathing patterns. Your eyes are closed and a small smile plays on your lips. You look like an angel like this.

Kento gently rolls you onto your back, causing you to moan. But still, you don’t wake up. His hands are so tender as he caresses your pretty face. He kisses your lips, only to be captivated completely by the smell of your sweet-scented shampoo and body wash. His cock twitches a few more times; the tip is red and leaking precum.

“Look at my pretty angel,” he whispers softly before kissing you again. Your eyes just barely open, but soon you’re back in dreamland.

His long fingers ghost over the soft little negligee you’ve got on. It’s silky and lacy, but it’s comfortable. He remembers when he bought you this little number. It was when he was on a long trip far from home, and he thought of you immediately when he saw it. The way it fits you like a glove turns him on so much, he’s not going to be able to hold back for much longer.

Then he pushes the skirt of the negligee up, exposing your cute little pussy to him. His mouth waters as he sees that you’re a little wet already. He wonders what you’re dreaming about, but he knows that you often dream about him. You let out a soft, sleepy mewl when his fingers part your folds. Your eyes glaze over, opening for a few moments before shutting again as sleep takes over you once more.

“Pretty little pussy,” Kento huffs in your ear as he lays down next to you. “All wet for me, hm?”

You groan as one of his fingers slips into you, “Mmm…Ken…”

You’re on the edge of sleep and wakefulness. There’s that fine line of consciousness. It’s so sexy to watch you react to this while you’re just barely awake. Your silky walls suck in his finger, coating the digit in your juices. Kento begins to pump it in and out of you, his eyes dark and pupils blown wide with lust.

His voice is gravely as he leans in again, “You still sleepin’, angel?”

You let out a mewl as his thumb comes up to rub your swollen clit, “Kento…”

He smirks as he keeps you stimulated just enough to keep waking you up, but you’re so tired and sleepy that you continue to drift off. He gently slides another finger into you, grunting as he feels your cunt gripping his fingers. Slowly and gently, he pumps them in and out of your dripping hole. He can basically smell you from here.

Kento nips at your neck softly, groaning as he gets a whiff of your body wash again. You smell divine. It makes his cock twitch once more, and he presses himself against you even more. As he pulls his fingers from you, he parts your thighs a bit more. Your eyes barely open as you feel the heft of his girth resting on your mound.

“You ready for me, darling?” he asks in a raspy tone. He taps the leaking head of his cock against your clit.

This makes you wake up a little more, a sleepy smile playing on your lips. Your eyes are just barely open as you watch him slipping the head of his cock into your cunt. A gasp is ripped from you as he slides all the way in, his balls plush against your ass. Your hands cling to him, grounding yourself from the intense pleasure.

“Did you forget about what we’re trying to do?” he asks you between soft kisses that turn even more heated.

You shake your head, “N-no, didn’t forget.”

He begins to roll his hips, the head of his cock rubbing up against that sweet spot deep inside of you that causes you to see stars. You can’t help the pathetic little noises that fall from your lips. Kento catches them all with his lips,

Your legs slowly begin to wrap around him, and his hands come up to your breasts. He cups them, pushing them together before he dips his head down to take one of your nipples into his mouth. You moan as he begins to suckle on your nipples, making you clench around him even more. Kento can see the sleepiness in your eyes slowly begin to dissipate.

“Is it safe to say that my pretty angel is waking up?”

You moan as he slides his hands under your hips, pulling you up against his muscular body. He loves the way you’re so close to your own climax already as he’s been stimulating you this entire time. Kento kisses a trail from your tits to your neck, biting down so gently. His breath is warm as it fans on your face.

“Gonna put a baby in you,” he grunts. “Going to make you a mommy,”

You can’t help but begin begging him for his cum. You’re becoming more and more desperate as your own climax begins building. Flames lick at the fire that’s so deep in the pit of your belly. The coil inside of you is so tight, you swear you’re about to cry from the heavenly pleasure your husband is providing you.

“Please Ken…please, I want it.”

“You’d like that, yeah? You want your big, strong husband to breed you?” Kento asks, feeling you clenching and pulsing around his cock.

He chuckles at just how fucked stupid you are already. Or maybe it’s partly the sleep that still hangs in your mind and body. He kisses you lovingly, and the minute his tongue touches yours, it’s all over. You cum hard, your nails desperately digging into the muscles of his back. Your cunt pulses and contracts around him; your gummy walls are beginning to milk him.

“That’s it, angel. That’s it,”

You whine softly as you feel his cock throbbing within you. Shot after shot of his thick cum begins to fill you up, painting your insides white. Slowly, he stops his pace and nuzzles his face against your chest. His hands come back up to cup your breasts, suckling on your softening nipples.

“I can’t wait for these to be full of milk…”

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aemondtargaryenonlyfans · 5 months

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PRAY FOR ME.

Dark!Prince Regent!Aemond x niece!Reader

Trying to persuade you to declare yourself for their side in the war of succession, Aemond relies on different methods to make your façade crumble.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; DUB-CON, p in v, dry humping, petting, breeding, power imbalance, praise kink, humiliating, degrading, canon typical incest/targcest, no mention of reader’s appearance, Dark!Prince Regent Aemond is a warning himself

WORDS: 5.3 K

NOTES: The title is inspired by Kendrik Lamar‘s song, as it’s about loss, loyalty, sacrifice and redemption. Something reader struggles with in this. This is also dedicated to and written for @black-dread. I‘ll spoil you rotten for as long as I’m on this app. ILU.

You had lost track of how long you had been forced to stay isolated in your chambers. It could have been days, but it also could have been many moons by now.

The only company you got were the serving girls coming three times a day to serve you food and something to drink, and bring you water for a bath – everything else was left for you to do on your own.

It was a cold comfort that you got to spend your days in the chambers you had occupied during your childhood, but still better than to be stuck in one of the cells or the dark dungeons.

Apart from the Dowager Queen visiting you a few times in the early days, trying to persuade you to side with them in the upcoming war of succession, you hadn’t heard from anybody else. You did not even know what progress your mother’s side had made over the time you had been locked away, and what precipitations they had to suffer.

Deep down you knew Alicent was only after your dragon to gain support, because, with not more than three adult dragons, they clearly were outnumbered. But that knowledge, however, didn’t stop the doubts about your mother from rising.

You had not expected to be saved by them, but you had firmly believed to receive at least one letter by raven in secret – yet not one had come.

There were enough people loyal to your father, mother or both of them in the Red Keep, and the chances of one raven reaching you were not too far-fetched.

It was your deceased grandsire that had stated back then that the crown could not stand strong if the House of the Dragon remained divided, and now it was tearing itself down.

The tension truly had simmered at the last supper you shared with all of them — if it hadn’t been for your uncle to raise a toast to your strong half-brothers, forcing them and your parents to depart for Dragonstone in the midst of the night.

You had stayed behind, wanting to make up for the time you had lost with your grandsire ever since your family had relocated.

What proved to be a terrible mistake.

In the following morning, you had awoken to a commotion outside of your chamber’s doors, only to find it locked and with no way for you to escape.

You hardly learned what had been going on when three maids scurried into your chambers no less than six hours later, bathing you and dressing you for an important occasion, yet not telling you what it was.

A queasy feeling had weighed you down back then, which was confirmed by Alicent coming into your chambers right after to briefly inform you of Viserys’ passing and their plans to put Aegon on the throne, forcing you to attend the coronation.

She had assured your safety — for as long as you would declare yourself for Aegon.

For a fortnight she had blessed you with her presence, after you had witnessed the coronation and the frightening exit of Rhaenys and Meleys. She had inquired about your well-being after, but not without asking if and how you had chosen.

You had stated that you would never dare declare yourself for your mother’s usurper, and the will to keep your word was strong at the very beginning, until it wasn‘t anymore, the choice fickle and marked by your doubts. By your loneliness.

Suddenly, Alicent had stopped visiting you. You assumed she was done hearing you reject her offer, and even though you loathed her, it had been nice to have someone to talk to – even if it was forced and merely for her own benefit.

Most of your days you sat in silence, waiting for the moment someone would open the door to bring you to the place where they would take your head and end your life.

But at the same time you knew that it made more sense for them to keep you alive and locked up, minimizing the chances of having you fight against their forces or even risking another enemy to claim Vermithor.

Darkness had overtaken King’s Landing some time ago when the rustling of metal caught your attention, a deep voice booming behind the locked doors. Never before in your life had you shut a book so quickly, almost throwing it aside in plain fear.

The dark mop of Criston Cole’s hair was the first thing you saw, and your instincts forced you to bring as much space as possible between you and him.

Despite your father being none other than the Rogue Prince himself, having learned it by accident after eavesdropping on a conversation you should not have heard, you lacked his fighting experience and hadn’t been trained with the sword. All efforts to get away from the man they dubbed the Kingmaker therefore were fruitless.

It might have been the mistrust caused by Rhaenys‘ escape, highly doubting your refusal to come with him was intimidating enough, but a thick ribbon was tied around your wrists to keep you bound and secured as he guided you out of your chambers.

It was clear it was a volatile decision, assuming he had taken the ribbon from one of the maids' clothing, but you were glad he had not put you in shackles.

“His Grace wishes to speak to you,“ another guard accompanying you two barked after an endless amount of pestering, annoyed that you only wanted to learn if it was the fateful night the Stranger would take you.

The path they led you along was not unfamiliar, and when the heavy doors to the Throne Room opened, you were roughly shoved into the darkness, barely illuminated by the light a few torches and candles granted.

At the far end of the room on the massive throne sat who you assumed was your uncle Aegon, the Conqueror's crown atop his silver mane and shimmering in the light.

His presence felt heavy, overwhelming even, and forced your eyes to dart to the ground, watching every step as Criston all but pushed you towards the seat that was destined for your mother.

Preparing to meet your fate, the color drained from your face as you spotted the wrong uncle sitting on the throne, looking exactly like he had the last time you two were in the same room.

It was the evening before the Stranger had taken your grandsire, the only difference was the crown forged for none other than Aegon the First sitting on his head.

The Iron Throne loomed large behind his lithe frame, looking every bit as intimidating as Aemond in his all black attire, clad in leather from his boots up to the eyepatch, and a dagger strapped to his waist.

His one good eye studied you carefully, almost curiously, remaining on you even as Aemond rose from the throne, stepping down to approach you. With the intensity of his gaze, you felt almost bare in the black nightgown you wore, though the high neckline and long skirt didn’t give anything of your modesty away.

“Leave us,” Aemond’s voice eventually pierced through, the words said in a tone void of any emotion.

You heard Criston‘s armor clink behind you. “But, Your Grace, I–”

“Rest assured I can handle her,” Aemond interrupted.

And then the man behind you left the room at once, leaving only you and your uncle. It was eerily quiet, quite different from the Throne Room you knew back as your grandsire occupied the large seat.

You gazed down at the ribbon still tied around your wrists, tugging at it once to distract yourself from the steely gaze of Aemond burning through your skin, unsettling you.

“Do you know why I brought you here?” he asked in the same cold tone, sizing you up.

When your head tilted up again, meeting his eye, you spotted it darting towards your neck, causing your skin to heat up. Briefly looking to the side, you shrugged your shoulders. “To get rid of me, I assume,” you replied, trying hard to suppress the shaking in your voice.

A low ‘hm’ rumbled in his chest, and you spotted his lilac eye moving from yours downwards to your neck again. Something must have caught his attention, causing him to smirk as if he had seen a particularly fine artwork.

When he reached to slightly tug the neckline of your nightgown down, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, and your eyes widened – intrigued or afraid, you weren’t quite certain.

The pendant of your necklace was pinched between his fingers, and you glanced down to spot his thumb dragging over the small sapphire in the center of it.

It was the Valyrian steel necklace he had gifted you to your name day, acquired on one of his rare journeys onto the streets of King‘s Landing long before he had lost his eye.

“You were meant to be mine, you know?” His voice remained mostly unemotional, yet a lilt of affection became evident in his tone for a second, the corners of his lips quirking up. It appeared as if he had thought back to the times you two had spent together at court, without a care and without the burdens of the crown on your shoulders.

The frown on your face encouraged him to carry on, a smirk still adorning his lips. “Do you remember when we practiced dancing when we were ten-and-one?” Oh, how you remembered. Aegon had always been a drunken fool, stepping on your feet and pushing you around out of the rhythm of the music, while Aemond had been nothing less than gentle and careful with you, laughing whenever you or he stepped onto each other's toes.

“I never thought someone could have such delicate feet, such–”

“Why am I here, Aemond?” you pressed, not wanting to dwell on the fond memories you had shared even longer with your heart rate rising with every word.

His smirk faltered for a split second, the eye that wasn’t concealed by black leather widening. One of his hands found the small of your back, and he used the grip to pull you towards him. “I could treat you right,” he said, his voice growing softer.

It was evident he knew how he made you feel. He knew you had admired him back then, you had confessed it before your family left for Dragonstone, and he just assumed you still did. You had admired his boldness and courage, his wit — and nothing had changed.

But it also felt as if he merely intended to persuade you for the same reasons his mother had tried to do, the fluttering emotions flattening out as quickly as they had soared through your body.

You took a step back in an attempt to create some space between you. Aemond didn’t hold onto you, he didn’t stop you, but his hand stayed in the air as if he meant to reach for you again. But he didn’t.

“I know, and I can‘t…,“ you said. I want to, but I can‘t betray my own mother, my own blood, was what you thought. “No.“

The lingering feelings of loneliness and abandonment had you wanting to give in. You wanted to give in to him more than anything. It was what you had desired for so, so long. But you had to remain strong, even though you were left to fend all by yourself, for none of your family had come to save you.

“No, I won’t declare myself for Aegon,“ you said, looking him straight in the eye. You tried to keep your voice cold, though it was clear that something inside of you tried to crawl to the surface.

An arrogant smile etched onto his features at your words. He could see your resistance weaken, spot your eyes flickering between his good one and his lips. Your attraction was not as hidden to him as you would have liked it to be.

“Your fears are unfounded, little niece.“ He caressed your cheek with a gentle touch, while mischief flickered in the lilac of his eye, juxtaposing his actions. “Let me show you just how well I could treat you. Let me show you that you matter… to me.“

Your fears were not unfounded. Not in the prospect of committing treason should your mother ever ascend the throne. But it was his gentle touch that made you weak, though you tried to hold onto the last threads of your resolve, trying your best to remain loyal to the side of the family that had obviously long abandoned you to rot in the viper’s nest.

“No,” you muttered softly in response, looking away once more. I must not, for I shall regret this, you thought. The fear to betray your mother by giving in to him was too big, but in the end it was far outweighed by your lust for him.

It was as if Aemond could spot the exact moment in which your resistance started to crumble, because in a swift movement, he had his hand right where it had rested on your waist before, and used the grip to turn you around, forcing your back flush against his chest.

The gasp you released was loud, but nothing compared to the way your heartbeat pounded in your ears as his other hand clasped around your throat, your tied hands immediately coming up to seize his wrist.

He had heard one no too much, his patience running thin. “I’ll show you that you belong to me,” he rasped into your ear, a shiver running down your spine that settled at the apex of your legs.

Squeezing your throat once, Aemond urged you forwards, shoving you towards one of the big column statues of the Throne Room.

Without tilting your head up, it wasn’t as if you had the chance to do so with your cheek pressed against the cold stone, you knew it was Aenys the First looking down at you two. And if he would've known what was going to take place right under the keepsake dedicated to his memory, he would’ve ordered his dragon to burn the keep to ashes at once.

Aemond’s weight pressed you against the column, your hands pinned over your head by one of his large ones. With his lips close to your ear, hot and heavy breath fanning over your flushed skin, you couldn’t even bring yourself to care about the trap you found yourself in.

“I’ll show you what you are,” he said. You firmly believed for him to make a jab at you, similar to what he had said at supper, but it didn’t come. Instead, his lips landed on your neck, not lingering long enough to press more than one chaste kiss to your skin before he pulled back to speak again, “mine.”

You weren’t quite sure whether you wanted to leave or not – for your mind had gone blank. The possessiveness laced within his cold voice, the burning where his lips had pressed a kiss to your neck, and his hands on your body were the only things on your mind.

The nightgown you wore was thin enough for you to feel even the faintest of his touches, fingertips roaming over the curve of your waist down to your arse, driving you to insanity.

Mewling and squirming in his grasp like a trapped kitten, the husky chuckle behind you gave away that he was more than enjoying this. You were giving in, your resolve crumbling, and he knew you were enjoying it just as much as him.

“There, is that my sweet, little niece I missed from court?” he whispered softly, while his hand fisted the skirts of your nightgown, lifting it enough to allow his hand to snake underneath. Goosebumps prickled on your skin, much more at the sudden realization of just how close he was.

His fingers mindlessly ghosted over the linen of your smallclothes, the outside of your thigh, but never coming close enough to where you wanted him most.

“Did you miss me, princess?” There was a sense of affection weaving itself through his cold tone, only for him to emphasize your title in such a condescending manner, it had your heart beating wildly in your chest.

When there didn’t come an answer, he connected his palm with your arse in a way that had your whole body jerking, your thighs trying to squeeze together to diminish the aching. But Aemond had his foot firmly planted between yours, his knee positioned high enough to make any movements impossible.

“I asked you a question,” the prince behind you snarled, the grip of his hand on your wrists bruising, feeling as if he meant to crush your bones. “Did you miss me?”

“Y-yes,” your voice was low, almost shy, “yes, Aemond, I missed you.”

A satisfied hum rumbled in his chest, and, trying to catch a glimpse of him from over your shoulder, you spotted his characteristic smirk on his lips, seeming even more devilish with the red rubies of the Conqueror's Crown shimmering in the dim light.

His fingers traced over the contours of your thigh before they dragged over your clothed cunt more firmly, and you choked on a moan, trying your best to stifle the sound in case anyone were to barge into the Throne Room.

But seeing how much your body ached for him, how badly you wanted him, Aemond didn’t care whether you were too loud or not.

He just enjoyed having you at his mercy, unable to really see him or get away from him. You were completely depending on him and whatever he wanted to do to and with you.

Aemond pressed his clothed member against your lower back, letting you feel its hardness and making his desire for you clear.

You were unable to escape him, but you didn’t even want to for the heat emanating from him drove you insane, not able to contain your desire and passion any longer. Your smallclothes were clinging to your soaked womanhood, and the aching you felt between your legs started to become uncomfortable.

When his head tipped towards yours, your eyes searched for his, wanting to lock gazes and beg for him to finally free you from his torments. But his good eye didn’t meet yours.

The pressure on your wrists released with his arm snaking around your waist, holding you tightly in place while he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“Four moons did I have to walk these halls with the knowledge of you waiting for me behind one of these doors,” he gruffed into your ear. “Do you know how badly I have longed for this moment to happen? How long I had to wait to finally be able to claim you as mine? There will be no one else desiring to have you once I am done with you.”

You didn’t answer him for your voice was gone as you panted for air. Your body was shaking, wanting him oh so desperately.

“All you have to do is to swear to me, niece,” he said, his lips moving along your neck, nibbling and licking over your skin. It should have concerned you. It should have felt like a knife to your heart. And your body felt as if it was on fire, but it was ignited by his lips and fingers working the most sensitive spots on your body, not by his words. “Just give me your word, and you will be mine.”

That was the moment his true intentions showed, juxtaposed by his lingering touches and the desire in his voice.

His caresses had pushed you to your limits. You were drunk on him, drunk on his warmth, his scent and the dominance he displayed over you. “I swear, I-I swear,” you stammered, “All of it, I pledge myself to you, Aemond.”

Aemond had you, and there was no way to refuse him now, no way to stop him. You were giving into his touches, his words, his presence. You were his.

As you arched your back against his frame, he was caught off guard and took a step back, inhaling a sharp breath at the friction your arse created against his stiff member. You seized the opportunity and spun on your heels, staring at Aemond with wide, lust blown eyes.

He was on you in a matter of seconds, backing you firmly up against the column again. But this time, his mouth was on yours, kissing you with a burning need. Slipping past your lips, his tongue moved to explore your mouth, sliding back and forth along yours.

You whimpered into the kiss, the heat of desire weakening your knees. Aemond pressed himself against you, his body molding around yours as his hands traveled over your sides, consuming you entirely.

With his hands trailing down to your thighs, he hoisted you up and wrapped them around his waist, supporting your weight as he slowly walked towards the Iron Throne. It seemed as if he knew the path by heart, your lips not parting once for him to watch his step.

Sitting down on the throne, you sat astride him, hunched over and gazing down at him, while his half-lidded eye studied you carefully. It darted down to your bound wrists, and his nimble fingers were quick to reach for his dagger and slice through the fabric.

You massaged the reddened flesh with a soft hiss, though you were not sure it was prompted by the ministrations of your own hands or Aemond’s harshly digging into your hips. You closed your eyes, frighteningly aware of the dagger pinched between his digits, and tried to squirm away from his grasp with a jerk, dragging your clothed cunt over the protruding bulge in the front of his breeches.

A blush covered your cheeks as it dawned on you what you had done, more so as you heard him draw in a sharp breath, and you sheepishly folded your hands in front of you, looking down at them.

Raising an eyebrow, Aemond leaned back against the throne, his lips quirking into a smirk. “Your lack of self-control humors me,” he said, his voice mocking and full of judgment. You swallowed thickly, heat blossoming in your belly. “I only let you have a little bit of me, but you seem so desperate to have me fully.”

With his hands still on your hips, he started to guide them back and forth, dragging your cunt over his hard cock. His head tipped back slightly, and the bump in his throat bobbed as he swallowed each time you rutted against his member.

The coil in your belly tightened slowly, and encouraged you enough to grind your hips against him all by yourself, your breathy whimpers growing in volume.

“All it took for you to give in was my cock, mh?” he groaned, one hand entangling in your hair to bring your face level with his, “and I have yet to stuff it inside.”

A breathy whimper was all you managed to release at his words, your lips agape with shaky breaths escaping them. The movements of your hips didn’t stop once, chasing the pleasure that built inside of you.

Half-lidded eyes fixed with his good one, and, even in the dim light, you could see that the lilac hue of it was almost eclipsed by black.

“Pray tell, how badly do you want my cock, niece?” he asked, a lilt of mockery in the baritone of his voice. But you could not form a coherent thought. The profanity of his words, and the way his hardness pressed so firmly against your aching cunt robbed you of your ability to think.

“Do not make me repeat myself,” he warned, fingers digging into your flesh to halt your movements, and causing the pleasure to dissolve just as quickly as it came.

Pouting at the loss of friction, you were forced to find your voice again. “So, so badly,” you whined, sounding more desperate than intended. “Give-Give it to me… please.”

You stared at him with wide eyes, eagerly anticipating his next move, though there was disappointment igniting inside of you as Aemond merely tsked at your words. “My my, look at you. You came here convinced the Stranger would take you in your mother’s name, and now you are begging for my cock, begging me to finally put an end to your suffering. Who would have thought that my cock would turn you into a traitor?”

You would have felt ashamed and guilty you gave in to him, to the enemy, but the only thing on your mind right now was the longing to be filled and consumed by him. If there was a traitor, it was your mother for not once inquiring about you or saving you from your misery.

Caressing your cheek in an unusually tender manner, you all but melted into his touch. “But how could I ever say no to my sweet, little niece? You have been such a good girl, let me give you what you desire.”

Aemond bundled the skirt of your nightgown in one hand, revealing your undergarments to him. In a careful movement, he dragged the sharp tip of the dagger from the curve of your waist down your side, hooking it beneath the waistband to easily slice through the linen.

As he pushed it to the side, his eye fixed your exposed womanhood like a man starved, ready to feast on you at any given moment. It was amusing to watch him recklessly throw the dagger aside and fumble with the laces of his breeches, a stark contrast to the stern and cold demeanor he had kept before.

Grasping hold of your hips firmly, he lifted them slightly before he aligned the tip of his cock with your cunt. “Let us see how well you can take me.“

He pressed his cock against your tight entrance, feeling the resistance as he prepared to ease into you. One hand moved to cup your arse, supporting you, and allowing you to lower yourself on him. And, with a swift buck of his hips, a seemingly impatient Aemond met yours halfway, filling you completely at once.

Your face contorted in pleasure at the sensation, the burning of the stretch quickly melting into a feeling of plain bliss. “Gods,” you whimpered, clenching tightly around him.

With slow grinds, you started to adjust to his size, growing bolder and bolder with each swivel of your hips over his.

“Feels so–”

“Good, I know,” he finished your sentence, the words accompanied by a raspy groan. His head tipped back against the throne, his hands mindlessly tracing over your sides as he groaned a ‘you feel so fucking good’ that had you biting your bottom lip, keening at the praise.

Every now and then, Aemond bucked his hips up into yours, the intensity forcing you to topple forwards, causing you to plant your hands firmly on his shoulders. His cock was bullying the sweet spot inside of you that made you see stars, causing your fingers to dig into his shoulders.

One of his hands settled at your breast, groping it through the thin fabric of your shift. His fingers pinched and teased your hardened bud, and with the added pleasure, your moans grew more wanton.

“Shit, you’re taking me so well,” he rambled, seemingly cunt struck by the way your walls clenched and released around him every time you sank down his hard member. “You may be a princess, but I shall make you my Queen. You belong to me.” Though his voice was still gruff, it had gained an added layer of intimacy, reflecting in the way he looked up at you.

Your heart hammered in your chest at the sight and his words, and the pace of your hips faltered as he brought his hand up to grab a hold of the Conqueror's Crown, taking it off his head to place it on top of yours.

“It looks better on you than it ever did on him,“ he panted, his voice genuine as he stared up at you in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

You moved a hand upwards to hold the crown steady, afraid it would fall to the ground with the impact of your hips colliding with his. Your body moved on its own accord, hips grinding down on him, riding him as you chased your pleasure.

You moaned softly, “By the Seven, Aemond, so good.“

Spurred on by the sight of you wearing the crown and fucking yourself stupid on his cock, he firmly planted his feet on the ground to piston his hips up into yours, meeting you halfway.

The sound of skin slapping on skin was not really audible with him barely pushing his breeches down enough to free his hard cock, the hem of his tunic sitting low enough to cover most of his lower stomach. But there was no need for it, for your heavy pants, grunts and moans were loud enough to echo off the walls of the empty Throne Room.

Aemond’s thumb started to drag over the little bud at the apex of your legs, sending a bolt of pleasure up your spine, causing the knot in your belly to tighten rapidly. Your breath quickened, and your walls clenched around him so tightly, you were not sure if they even unclenched once.

“I shall fill you up, put a child in you,” he grunted, gaze fixed on where you both were connected, watching himself repeatedly disappear inside of your tight cunt. “Do you want that?” His tone made it clear that it was not a question, but you still whimpered several yesses in return, merging into a loud cry of his name as your peak washed over you.

He drove his hips up into yours, fucking you through your high despite your body crouching forwards and your hips stilling, merely clinging to him for dear life as the pleasure soared through your body, coursing through your veins like liquid fire.

“And when you’re with my child, you will not be able to get away from me,” he rambled, inhaling sharply as he felt his stones tighten, nearing his own peak. “You are-,“ he hissed in between, “You are all mine.”

You were trembling astride him, barely registering his words and whining when you felt how your peak’s contractions were practically forcing the spend out of your uncle‘s cock, milking him for every drop of his seed.

There was silence between you, safe for your heavy breathing, as if you both waited for the other’s voice to cut through it.

The realization of the repercussions your actions and words would bring settled a few moments later, when the haze of your peak cleared, and you spotted Aemond looking up at you with a smug smirk on his lips.

“The crown on your head is a promise of the fact that I will make you my Queen,” he purred, a cold edge to his voice. Aemond licked his lips, and grazed his hands over your hips, squeezing your flesh. “I have claimed you, and I will make use of you however and whenever I see fit.”

As he spoke, you slowly realized what he meant and felt yourself growing warm inside all over again, clenching around his flaccid member. It felt exhilarating to know that he would not hesitate to take full advantage of you, and there was excitement filling your body. But most importantly, it felt as if you finally found a place where you belonged, where you were wanted and seen.

“That is how it is going to be,” you whispered, nodding once to emphasize your words. “I-I am all yours.”

Aemond leaned forwards and rested his forehead against yours, releasing a deep sigh before his smooth voice interrupted the short moment of intimacy and proximity.

“With you now sworn to me, I believe ‘tis time to bring you back in the fold. There is much that has happened since you last were at court.”

Taglist: @heimtathurs @croatianprincess @nina2697 @sirenangelroyal @malfoytargaryen @thetaygaryen @wintrr13 @winter-soldier-101 @kyuupidwrites @boofy1998 @thekinslayersswordhand @sagelovesreading @jiminie-08 @doublesparrows @at-a-rax-ia @fan-goddess @recorddust @tsujifreya @melsunshine @docmartinis @drwstarkeyy @kazuyatokue @nockerin @moonlightfoxx @bbgmonsay @thatmysteriousblog @ashovertheriver @black-dread @watercolorskyy @nothingqueens @urmomsgirlfriend1 @lovelykhaleesiii @hypocritic-trash-baby @darylandbethfanforever9 @snowystark @goldyfishsstuff @connorsui @melinskis

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sweets3rial · 3 months

Text

bubbles and cuddles

inspired by this request

id!leon x fem!reader

summary: you haven't seen your boyfriend in a while though luckily, after a long mission and an even longer day, you arrive home just in time. you spend the rest of the night loving on each other gently before falling asleep in each others arms.

tags: tooth-rotting fluff, domestic fluff, so smut, smutty innuendos, canon universe, lots of kissing, bubble bath, bathing each other, little to no dialogue, reader works at bsaa and leon works at dso, undressing each other, mentions of violence and injuries, infinite darkness or death island leon in mind

word count: 3.8k

your radio was blasting the loudest music to keep you in high spirits and also to keep your eyes from shutting. you exited the freeway and tears were pricking at your eyes from holding them open for so long. you just needed to get home. you needed to.

your whole body was sore. you could barely lift your arm without wincing in pain. the bruise on your shoulder was only getting worse.

it’s funny how the body works. on the field, you couldn’t feel any pain. a sting here and there but most of the time you were able to fight through it. but the minute you stepped off the field, it was like every bone in your body had been reduced to dust.

the adrenaline was no longer running and your brain could finally rest, leaving your body in shambles.

the nurses said there was nothing wrong. A dislocated shoulder that they popped right back in was all they needed to do, now your shoulder is swollen, your blood busy on healing that certain area which left you light-headed and extremely exhausted.

it was rare that you and your boyfriend were put on the field at the same time. though, he works in a different division under the government. his job was similar to yours, keep the bioterrorists from spreading, investigate the area, eliminate anything infected, and report back to the higher-ups what you found in extreme detail.

you haven’t had time to sit down and spend a full night with your boyfriend in over a month. it was like the minute one of you got home the other had to leave, whether it was for a meeting, a mission, or just to be in the office as backup.

it was a constant cycle. you went home to sleep and awoke to go to work. it was on the clockwork. the minute you got a call, there was no ‘five more minutes’ or ‘i’ll just call out’. you had to get up and go or else lives would be lost.

it’s a cruel world you lived in, one that many many people weren’t aware of.

you smelt of blood, shit, and piss. your hair was oily and frizzy, it hurt to breathe, you could still taste the ash in your mouth, and gunpowder had made its way underneath your nails.

you couldn’t wait to get home; to your bed, to food, to safety, to peace. you couldn’t wait to get home to your boyfriend, the love of your life.

you couldn’t wait to cuddle into his warm arms and press your skin against his. he was your home, your escape from all the piss and shit in the world. he was your comfort, his embrace was like a barrier to you and the only person who protected you when you weren’t protecting yourself.

you could let your guard down around him. you could sink into him and cry, you could cry and sob in his arms and all he did was comfort you.

Leon was everything you wanted in a man, not only is he the most handsome man you’ve ever laid eyes on, but he was also such a great partner. he is caring and sweet, he’s structured, intuitive, and organized, he’s dedicated to his work and getting the job done and well he has humor.

he’s a bit sarcastic and cocky at times but all it does is make you laugh.

he’s intelligent, coordinated, and a great observer.

you truly believe you fell in love with him because of how he is on the field. the one time you two coincidentally ended up on the same terrain at the same time and when you truly got to see him at his full potential is when you knew you were falling for your coworker, basically.

he was quick. his eyes constantly moving, taking hints and notes of every movement around him. he was able to observe and analyze, which is why you couldn’t hide anything from him.

he knew what was wrong with you from one glance. he could read you like a book. he could see the pain, the sadness, the hurt. it got even worse as your relationship grew.

he took note of your behaviors and your words, what you did and said when you were upset. even the tone of your voice. you couldn’t lie to him, you were forced to communicate with him because he wouldn’t leave you alone until you told him what was wrong.

that’s why you love him. there were so many other reasons. you could go on a tangent as to how and why you fell in love with the D.S.O’s golden boy.

you turned the radio down as you pulled into your neighborhood, your fingertips itching to reach home.

it was late and quiet. the sky was clear and deep indigo color, letting the stars gleam to their full potential. the moon was full and you could see every crater from where you sat in the driver's seat.

the streets were lit up with the moonlight, a blue hue casting down onto the sidewalk and the roofs of the houses.

no one was awake, not even the stray cats, it was still and silent.

as soon as you pulled into your driveway, you could care less about how you parked and whether the car alarm was on or not. you stumbled out of your car heels in hand and made your way towards your door.

to your luck, just a few steps, the sound of a puttering motor was heard down the street. you knew that sound anywhere. who else would be zooming down the street loudly this late at night?

you couldn’t help the smile that arose on your cheeks as you turned to see your boyfriend just turning onto your block.

of course, he had no helmet on. even after telling him multiple times to wear one. he always shrugged it off and said he was fine. though you were always worried, there’s been many many times that he’s crashed and destroyed his previous bikes.

you were scared that one day it’ll be his head next.

his deep brown hair was whipping in the wind, his eyebrows furrowed to keep himself from falling asleep and he was gripping the handlebars with pure impatience. he needed to get home.

once he caught eye of your car and then your figure standing in the dark cold night, he couldn’t help but go faster. the sight of you eased every muscle in his body.

he needed to get to you and make sure you were okay. he was glad to see you standing on your two feet, home, and safe.

though you were wearing a thin white button-up, the sleeves rolled up and some buttons undone. in this shirt, you could move easily in and even though he loved the way it clung to your figure, he also wished you wore something warmer.

he’s told you many times to wear something thicker that way you didn’t come home sick. but you insisted on wearing something that gave you easy mobility.

guess you’re both stubborn.

there you were, standing with a hazy smile on your lips, holding your shoulder and slowly dragging yourself towards the end of the driveway to meet him.

he carefully pulled into the driveway and next to you. his heart filled with warmth as he got a faint whiff of your perfume. he put his kickstand down as he put a stop to the engine.

he couldn’t wait to hold you and kiss you. he could tell from the look on your face and the way you were carrying yourself, you were exhausted.

your body practically slumped into his and a heavy sigh left your lips. he ran his hand up and down your back and lifted you onto his lap, being weary of your legs making sure they wouldn’t burn on the pipes.

you wrapped your arms around him and went weak in his embrace. god, you needed this. you missed being held by him.

he guided your legs around his waist, rubbing his gloved palm up and down the skin of your thigh soothingly. no words needed to be exchanged as he lifted both of you up and off the motorcycle and over towards the front door.

you were glued to him, holding him tightly as he carried you up the porch steps. you nuzzled yourself further into the crook of his neck and took a deep breath of his cologne. it was such a comforting smell.

warm cedarwood, fresh pine, and hints of sweet vanilla. his shampoo smelt fresh like mint along with the scent of his gel and sweat.

one arm held you close to him while the other worked on getting the door open once he stepped inside, you hauled yourself onto him and the tip of your toes. you kept your hands on his shoulders, roughly massaging his tense muscles, ignoring your pain, and looking into his eyes.

bloodshot and glossy with heavy bags. he melted into your touch, eyes fluttering shut and a sigh leaving his lips. both of you had a long long day.

there were no words that needed to be exchanged, you walked backward as he walked towards you. your hands went from his shoulders to his zipper. slowly undoing his leather jacket until you could see his plain navy blue t-shirt underneath.

he shrugged his jacket off letting it fall at his feet. as you took a step backward onto the stairs, he wrapped his arms around your waist and brought you close to him.

he nuzzled his face into your chest, placing soft kisses on your skin. his hands traveled up and down your back, feeling at your figure. your shoulder blades, your spinal groove, the curve of your ass. he just wanted to feel you.

he caught the way you winced as he squeezed you closer to him and he loosened his hold on you.

no one knows how much he missed you, how much he missed holding you, and the feel of your skin against his. he was glad he got home when did, if not, you would probably already be asleep.

he looked up at you, his chin buried in your cleavage. you brought your nose to his, nuzzling them together and sucking in a deep breath from your nose. god, you missed him.

you brought your lips to his in a deep and passionate kiss, spilling all the words in your heart to him, all the lonely late night and all the bad days, all the words you never got to say while he was gone, and all the words you wished to say.

his hands traveled from your back, around to your stomach, and up toward the buttons of your shirt. he slowly began unbuttoning each one, he wasn’t in any rush and he wasn’t undressing you out of lust, he just wanted to feel you.

he swiped his tongue across your bottom lip, begging you to pry your mouth open so he could taste you. your legs went weak at the feeling of his warm tongue against yours and his hands slowly peeling your shirt off of your skin.

he threw it somewhere onto the steps, keeping his mouth on yours as he took a step forwards which further urged you to continue up the stairs.

you two slowly undressed each other as you made your way to the bathroom, neither of you daring to pull away from your kiss.

by the time you two got to the bathroom, he was left in his boxers and you were left in your underwear. your arms were wrapped around him, your body pressing closer and closer to his. he was all yours tonight, there were no missions or meetings or phone calls.

it was just you and him.

you turned around briefly, leaving his lips with a wet smack, bending over into the bathtub, and then turning the faucet on. the sound of water pouring into the bath drowned out the sound of heavy pants.

you shut the drain and reached for the jasmine bubble mixture sitting on the side of the tub. meanwhile, he was busy walking up behind you and rubbing up and down your sides. you stood up straight, leaning into his touch as you poured bubbles into the warm water.

he brought his head down onto your shoulder, kissing your bruised skin before slowly making his way up your neck and to your ear. his arms wrapped around you once again, pulling your back closer to his chest.

“missed you,” he whispered into your ear, playing with the hem of your panties.

“i missed you more,” you sighed out blissfully as you turned around to face him.

in a split second, your lips were on his again, teeth clashing and tongues morphing together. he worked you out of your panties as you worked him out of his boxers. his hands found their way under the purchase of your ass, giving your cheek a nice slap — prompting you to jump.

so you did, wrapping your legs around his torso and locking your ankles together. he stepped into the tub, the bubbles tickling his skin and the warm water soothing his sore muscles.

he slowly sat down in the water, more focused on keeping up with your pace. he could tell how much you missed him, you were kissing him without pulling away for a breath and you were clinging onto him like a koala would do with its mother.

your bodies were slowly succumbed by the soapy water, the smell of jasmine in the air, and the sound of smacking lips echoing off the walls. his hands traveled up your back, one hand working on splashing your back with water, rubbing the soap into your skin, and massaging your spine. the other hand worked on holding the back of your neck, keeping your lips pressed to his.

your fingers tangled themselves into his hair, scratching and rubbing at his scalp which earned you a satisfied moan. he pulled away briefly, throwing his head back and against the back of the tub.

you lifted yourself off of his lap and turned around to shut off the water. the water shut off with a squeak, a few stray drops escaping into the heap of bubbles and then there was silence. you leaned back against his chest, the water and bubbles covering your chest and ticking your chin.

he let his heavy arms come over your unwounded shoulder, his hands searching for yours in the water and eventually he found them. slowly gathering each of your fingers and intertwining them with yours.

you leaned your head back against his chest, shutting your eyes and letting out a sigh. you could hear the water sploosh and splash as he reached over for the washcloth at his side. he dipped it into the water, soaking it with the soapy water before lifting your arm.

he brought the warm cloth to your arm, continuing to place kisses on your shoulder and he washed your skin. he gently lathered the soap into your skin, even if he was exhausted he was never tired to help you.

he continued to lather your body, wiping away at the sweat and grime, kissing at the cuts, and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. his breath was hot and heavy, his words were like lullabies and his voice was like a drug.

you sank further into him, close to passing out until you remembered you needed to wash him too. you reached for a spare cloth, copying his actions and dipping it into the water. you turned to face him, straddling his lap and sitting on his thighs.

you placed a lazy kiss onto his lips bringing the cloth to his neck. you lathered at his shoulders while he lathered your back. your bodies stayed pressed together, not a single inch of space between you two.

he pressed kisses to your collarbone, not wanting to leave your embrace for a second, his body chased yours when you leaned away, his lips stayed on your skin and his eyes glued to yours.

it was moments like this you treasured the most. skin to skin and nothing but love. slow tender touches and silence. you two could be comfortable with each other without saying a word, every touch and every kiss spoke for itself.

the water had slowly become less warm, now murky from the dirt and grime that had stuck to your skin. he reached for the drain, unplugging it and letting the murky water drain.

both of you stood up at the same time, supporting each other as you stood to your feet. Leon turned on the faucet and switched the water to the shower head. you loved baths but everyone knew marinating in your bath water wasn’t ideally hygienic.

so, for the next twenty minutes you and Leon sat under the running water and at this point, the weariness was getting to you both. your eyelids felt heavy and your body was ready to shut down. a yawn left your lips and you leaned your head against Leon's chest.

“sleepy?”

you replied with a nod and he hummed, nuzzling his nose into your wet scalp and placing a kiss at your hairline. he wrapped one arm around your waist while the other reached to the faucet. he turned it off with a loud squeak.

silence filled the room, and only the stray droplets of water were heard. steam gathered at the roof, heavy with the scent of jasmine and citrus. you stepped out of the shower, your boyfriend not too far behind. he reached for your towel, fluffing it out in his hands before turning to you.

your arms were crossed over your chest, your teeth clattering and your shoulders bouncing up and down. he chuckled a bit, he found it cute.

he pressed the towel to your cheeks, squishing them together and intently puckering your lips for him to bend down and place a warm kiss on your lips. he continued drying you off, pressing the warm towel into your body until your skin was completely dry.

he scrunched at the ends of your hair, catching any stray droplets that fell onto your skin. meanwhile, he was pressing kisses to your face.

on your eyelids and brows, to the cold tip of your nose, to your soft cheeks, your chin, and the tips of your ears. he treasured every inch of you and his lips on your skin only lulled you deeper into a daze. you wanted to sleep so bad.

but you couldn’t leave him wet and cold. you reached for another spare towel, doing the same, squishing his cheeks and bringing your lips to his. he couldn’t help but smile against your lips, wrapping the towel around your neck and tugging you closer.

his lips moved against yours in perfect sync, he knew what you liked - a slow and passionate pace. he sucked at your tongue, moaning at your minty taste. he had you backed up into the wall, hands at your hips pressing you closer against his half-hard cock.

his lips left your tongue and then his teeth went to pull at your bottom lip. he knew exactly how to get you riled up. if you weren’t so tired, you would’ve fucked him so so long ago.

“let’s get you to bed, hun.” he hummed, you nodded in agreement, wrapping the towel over his wet hair like a hoodie and tugging at each side to pull him back towards your lips. you left a quick kiss on his lips before turning to leave the bathroom.

your bed was the same way as you left it. undone with blankets and pillows thrown everywhere. you didn’t care to get dressed, you needed to sleep naked, damp and all.

you slid into bed, your limbs completely giving out on trying to carry your weight. Leon watched you slump into bed, he wasn’t so far behind. he crawled in after you, chasing the warmth of your body.

you both got situated under the covers, rubbing each other's legs against one another - his hairy ones and your smooth ones. you couldn’t help but chuckle at the feeling. your bed was warm and soft and his arm draped over your side was heavy and secure.

you were at home. this is what you missed the most. him. even if you were sleeping on the cold streets as long as you had Leon, it was home.

home for you was wherever he was.

you nuzzled yourself into his chest, moaning comfortably as you entangled your legs further with his. your left thigh onto top of his and then your right on top of his other. he held the back of your head securely against his chest, massaging your scalp with the pads of his fingers.

you shivered, it was that feeling when you were so comfortable and so soothed to the point you just quivered. a small laugh erupted from his chest and then his lips found your forehead.

“get some rest, hun,” he whispered to you deeply. his command for you to fall asleep was like a switch. your body felt heavier as if it was sinking into the mattress, you couldn’t move even if you wanted to. your body was slowly succumbing into a deep sleep.

Leon waited for your heavy breaths to begin, he continued massaging your scalp and peppering kisses onto your skin. he wanted to wait to fall asleep, he finally has you in his arms after a very very long week. he isn’t going to waste a second.

he took a moment to admire your sleeping state, cheek squished against his bicep, damp hair splayed out onto the pillow above you, and lips agape. you sucked in deep heavy breaths, your chest pressing against his with every inhale, then falling with a light snore.

he tucked some of your hair behind your ear, away from sticking to your cheek. he ran his thumb over your eyebrow then over your lashes, careful not to bother your sleep. though, he was sure if the house collapsed you wouldn’t even budge.

your eyelids fluttered at his touch, your lashes tickling your cheek as you did so. he placed one last final kiss on your nose before turning away to yawn.

he rested his head back down against the pillow, further nuzzling himself against your naked body.

his limbs were becoming heavy. his eyes fluttering shut and the last thing he saw before he fell asleep was you.

the beautiful face that he would later wake up to. though for now, he’ll dream of you and what the future holds for you two. he’ll dream of a happy life with you away from the city, a dog or cat, children, and the weight of a ring on both of your fingers.

he’ll dream of your warm smile and your voice, your touch and your love. he’ll dream and dream until he has to wake up to reality. but at least that reality was with you by his side.

(divder cred to @saradika,, pics from pinterest)

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy fic #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fanfic #leon s kennedy #resident evil #leon scott kennedy #death island leon

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aphroditelovesu · 4 months

Note

Hello. Yandere husband Aegon the Conqueror ?

❝ 🔥 — lady l: I love Aegon and I feel that lacks content for him, so I'm doing my part. I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! ❤️

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, mention of death and toxic relationships.

❝🔥pairing: yandere!aegon the conqueror x female!reader.

Even though Aegon already had two wives, he still chose to marry you. People often say he married Visenya out of duty, Rhaenys out of desire, and you out of love. But what few knew was how much in love he was with you.

Aegon the Conqueror dedicated his love to you intensely and silently. Amid the challenges of the newly unified kingdom, your presence was his strength. There was no doubt who his favorite wife was.

Some said you were chosen as his third wife as a way to stake a greater claim on Westeros, still fragile after the Conquest. You were a good choice, you came from a good family and you had honor, which was enough for others, but Aegon was in love, he was obsessed.

He fell in love with you quickly, being enchanted by your manner, your personality and your beauty. There was something about you that attracted him and he knew he couldn't let you go. He wanted you to become his wife and so it was done.

Some expected reservations from his sister-wives, but there were none. Visenya and Rhaenys liked you and supported Aegon's choice. The preparations were made and you quickly married him, becoming his third wife, Queen and the one he loved most.

Life with Aegon brought joys and challenges. His obsession flourished even in difficult times, consolidating a unique partnership between you. The court commented on the happiness that emanated from the king when he was at your side, and the union between you strengthened the bonds of the kingdom.

He was a loving and dutiful husband, Aegon would always make sure that you were happy and satisfied and if there was something that bothered you, you should talk to him without hesitation. Your happiness was the priority for him.

Aegon pampers you without limits, bathing you in gold, jewels and silks, everything worthy of a Queen. Your whims and desires were met immediately. If you just wanted to eat cake for breakfast, for example, you would have cake every day.

Your husband always sought your advice, confident in the wisdom and vision you brought, your opinion was always considered the most important. The complicity between you was evident, and although it aroused envy in some, Aegon would not let them harm you.

You played a vital role as the king's advisor and confidant, contributing to the stability of the kingdom. Aegon, in turn, never failed to express his gratitude and admiration for the woman he chose as his Queen. He adored you completely, from head to toe and would make sure you knew that every night.

Most nights, Aegon spent by your side. He shared a room with you, unusual for Kings, but he wasn't just any King. He loved you more than anything and wanted you to know that. He loved sleeping cuddled with you, your legs tangled together and arms wrapped around you. Aegon feels at peace by your side.

The harmony between you, Visenya, and Rhaenys solidifies the strength of the Triple Crown. The three of you, the Three Queens, work together to overcome political and social challenges, uniting the kingdom under the symbol of the dragon. Your presence, as the beloved Queen, triggers a period of stability and prosperity.

Aegon is extremely overprotective and possessive over you and this only got worse after Rhaenys' death. He knows he would go crazy if something happened to you and he can't allow anything to happen. He's suffocating and will be breathing down your neck for as long as he can and will kill anyone if they cross you, if they cross him.

You are the only person who can truly control him and Aegon will be happy to let you do so. There is no doubt about who holds all the power over him. Aegon would do anything for you, he would kill everyone for you, slaughter anyone for you. Yours and yours alone.

Once Rhaenys died, Aegon's obsession only grew stronger, Visenya's as well. They lost someone important and not all the destruction caused is enough to make up for it, they couldn't lose you too. Aegon cannot lose you. May the gods forbid, but if something were to happen to you... The world will know the true fury of the dragon.

Your love with Aegon not only stood the tests of time but blossomed into a deep connection that inspired songs and legends. In the halls of the Red Keep, where the flames danced, it was clear that your union was more than political; it was a bond intertwined by the most darkest feelings. It was a shame the bards didn't know about his obsession.

Aegon loves you, he truly does, and although he may be consumed by jealousy and anger, he would never lay a finger on you. He respects you too much to humiliate you in such a way. After all, you are his wife and his Queen and his favorite.

#asoiaf x reader #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #yandere a song of ice and fire #aegon the conqueror x reader #yandere aegon targaryen #yandere Aegon the Conqueror #yandere aegon the conqueror x reader #headcanons #yandere headcanons #yan!husband #yandere husband #x reader #yandere asoiaf #hotd #yandere hotd #yandere house of the dragon #house of the dragon

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another-goblin · 22 days

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A little analysis of Ratio's owl symbolism. He's absolutely covered (and surrounded) with stylized images of owls. Here are just some examples (feel free to study him to find more). He was even (apparently) supposed to wear an owl mask in an older version of his design. But why.

1. In western culture, owls are traditionally associated with knowledge and wisdom, which indicates his connection with Erudition, as a scientist. That's the most obvious explanation for his owl imagery, and probably the only one intended by the designers. But why stop here. Why not overanalyze it.

2. Owls are known as highly specialized and effective predators. So basically, an embodiment of the Hunt.

Dr. Ratio (about the phase flame): Do you know what to do with cornered prey? Hunt it to the death.

Btw, considering that paths are not just a gameplay convention but the actual in-universe things characters recognize in themselves and others, it's even more ironic that the character who dedicated his whole life to science and education belongs to the Hunt. Because gameplay-wise, the Hunt is the opposite of Erudition. The poor guy couldn't have been further away from Nous even if he tried.

3. Owls are good at being unnoticed. They hunt by hiding, observing, and waiting for the right time to strike. It reminds me of that mission at Herta Station, where we first met him. Most people on the station didn't even know that he was there, even though he personally saved these researchers.

Screwllum (about Ratio's involvement in that mission): …and pulling the strings from behind the curtain is akin to laying down the gauntlet to a genius.

There is a theory that more or less the same thing is happening on Penacony, with most characters probably not knowing that he's even there.

4. The special structure of an owl's wings and feathers makes their flight practically noiseless, so they can approach their prey unnoticed. In addition to point 3, with him moving through Herta station unnoticed, it also reminds me of how he silently disappeared a couple of times in the middle of his conversation with Aventurine.

5. They gave him vertical pupils, probably in an attempt to make his eyes more owl-like. The problem is, I wasn't able to find a single photo of an owl with vertical pupils. They are round. So, if anything, it makes him look more like a cat.

6. And the last point, it's most likely not true, it's my little conspiracy/crack-theory.

But he's sometimes referred to as a Professor; he's as much of an Owl as Aventurine is a peacock. Game, please don't tell me he has nothing to do with Penacony's Professor Owl the origami birds often mention, whoever it is.

In fact, if he wasn't too young for that, I wouldn't be surprised if he had something to do with the creation of Dreaworld. Because he mentioned before that taking a bath helps him with going to sleep, and on Penacony you take a bath to go to sleep (what are the chances), and then you enter a world filled with images of owls. It's probably actually nothing, but what a coincidence.

#honkai star rail #my stuff #dr ratio

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tightjeansjavi · 1 month

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The Rite of Movement | drabble

“Daddy’s not bluffing, baby love”

A/N: you know you’re super dedicated when you find yourself at home ✨practicing✨ just so that the smut makes sense and is easy to visualize 👹 and just when I thought that Joel and baby love couldn’t get any nastier…😮‍💨 oh, and just in case anyone gets confused with the addition of Ellie, this is after she’s adopted (spoilers, but not really bc she’s Joel’s kid in every universe let’s be real)

~word count: 2.0k~

Summary: Ellie is away at Dina’s for the weekend leaving you and Joel with the house completely to yourselves

Pairing | pornstar!joel x pornstar!female reader

Warnings: smut, established relationship. reader and Joel are pornstars, Joel is in his 40’s reader is in her 30’s, big ole fat daddy kink, fingering, unprotected piv, big dom energy from Joel, baby love is acting like brat, sexual punishment, spanking, degrading language but it’s hot, okay?, use of slut, brat, etc, semi-public sex, voyerism (Tommy), language, mentions of alcohol, Ellie exists in this universe!!, reader has no physical descriptions, readers nickname is baby love, +18 minors dni!

series masterlist

Ellie was away for the weekend with Dina and her family leaving you and Joel with the house completely to yourselves…which was a rare occurrence these days.

You and Joel have since then moved the home studio back to the Miller-Co office. You aren’t doing much filming these days, anyway. This was a mutual decision, and this also gave Tommy the opportunity to show Joel that he could handle the business on his own come the day that you and Joel would eventually retire. But with Ellie gone for the weekend, you and Joel had the time to relax and that’s how you found yourselves spending the morning by the pool.

Joel was comfortably laying poolside, cheaters perched on his nose that was buried in the book he was reading that Ellie had recommended to him. Artemis was laying by his feet, bathing in the sun while you were lounging in the pool. You had discarded your bikini top to the pool's edge to avoid any tan lines while you were lounging on your stomach along one of the extremely comfortable, and extra durable inflatables.

Artemis had grown curious of the water as she watched you float by, and before Joel could stop her, she hopped down from the chair and trotted over to the pool's edge. She was an agile little thing, having no problem jumping right onto your bare back and curling up against your warm, sunbathed skin.

Joel shook his head, muttering under his breath as he reached for his phone so he could take a picture while you reached one hand behind your back to give her a few gentle pets.

He posted the photo to his instagram with the caption: my two sun babies 🌞💓

Ellie had texted the family group chat immediately when she saw the photo:

I hope you’re disinfecting the pool before I get home 🙄

Joel: shouldn’t you be off your phone and paying attention to Dina, kiddo? 🤔

Ellie: u text like an old man lol

Baby Love: lol. He does

Tommy: where was my invite?

Joel: I do not text like an old man 😡

-to Tommy: inappropriate

Ellie: do too 🤭

Tommy: inappropriate that I wanna come over and swim?? Get ur head out of the gutter lol

Joel: do not

Baby Love: you’re not gonna win this one, baby.

Ellie: see, even mom agrees!

Joel: there’s too many gals in this household 🙄

Ellie: yea, man! Ur outnumbered lol

Joel: don’t I know it

Tommy: I’m coming over

Joel: no you’re not

Baby Love: can you bring a case of Modelo’s?

Ellie: I don’t think Tommy knows what those are lol

Joel: how would you know what those are? 👀

Ellie: did I say something?

Tommy: why can’t u just be normal and drink Coors Lite lol

Joel: don’t start gaslighting me young lady

Baby Love: because unlike u, I have taste

Ellie: ooooh burn

Tommy: ouch 😓 I thought we were friends!

Joel: 😒

Ellie: I’m more of a Modelo gal myself

Joel: ELLIE

Baby Love: that’s my girl!

-to Tommy: we are friends 🩷 you just have shit taste in beer

Joel: where are u getting beer from

Ellie: that’s none of your beeswax

Joel: Ellie Miller, I will ground your ass so fast the second you get home

Baby Love: it was me. I’m the culprit

Tommy: I don’t forgive u

Ellie: don’t punish mom! She said I can drink as long as I’m safe 😇

Tommy: lol I’m not coming over, I changed my mind!

Baby Love: but my Modelos :(

Joel to Baby Love in a private chat:

“Who the fuck do you think you’re callin’ a pussy?!” He growled from the chair, completely sitting up now with his legs swung over the side just as you quickly tucked your phone underneath your left boob and looked over your shoulder at him with a faux innocent expression on your face.

“I am, pussy.”

“Wanna say that a third time?” He challenged you, standing up with his hands planted on his hips as he approached the edge of the pool. Even Artemis sensed the tension rise so she quickly hopped off your back as soon as the raft was close to the pool's ledge.

“Artie.” You frowned, “come back. Daddy’s only messing! He’s not actually gonna do anything!” You grabbed your phone from under your boob and carefully placed it on the pools ledge so it wouldn’t get wet, and just as you were about to push the raft back to the middle of the pool to float away, Joel hand crouched down and grabbed ahold of the corner of the raft, yanking you towards him.

“I said, wanna say that a third time?” He snipped.

Oh he’s mad now, alright.

You let out a huff, rolling over onto your back so your bare tits were on full display with your arms languidly crossed behind your head as you peered up at him through your sunglasses, smirk plastered on your pretty lips, “daddy’s a pussy and he’s not gonna do anything about it.” You chimed.

“Fuckin’ little brat.” He muttered as he pushed your raft away from the ledge before he dove in underneath it.

You quickly flipped over onto your stomach, pathetically attempting to paddle away just as he resurfaced with his face inches away from your dangling ankles. You let out a playful squeal when he nibbles on your calf as his big hands and broad arms easily slide up your thighs, thumbs looping through the flimsy strings that are barely holding your bikini bottoms together. Even in the deep end of the pool, Joel is standing, more like…looming over the raft and casting a dark shadow over your bare back.

“Don’t think ya heard me the first time, baby love.” He rasps, yanking your bikini bottoms down swiftly over your ass and thighs, “said that you had ‘bout five seconds to take these flimsy ass bikini bottoms off before I did it for you.” He tuts, grasping the outside of your thighs as he pulls you further down the length of the raft as if you’re just a measly rag doll. “And then what do ya do?” He asks, not needing a response.

“You call me a fuckin’ pussy.” He bends over, harshly biting at your left cheek, leaving visible indentations in your skin from his canines, “slutty little brat my girl is, hmm?” He teases, biting down on the right cheek as you let out a squeal.

He pulls back, marveling at his work before he brings the palm of his hand down against the meatiest part of your left cheek hard enough to send your back arching in surprise. He watches your plush skin recoil before he does it again, and then the same to the right cheek.

“I’m—I’m sorry, daddy! You aren’t a pussy! Not even close to being one!”

“You ain't sorry, baby love. Cus’ this is what you wanted all along, right? Wanted your daddy to come in here and teach his bratty little slut a lesson? Well, your wish is comin’ true!” He chuckles, using his thumbs to spread your cheeks apart before he spits a glob of saliva between them, watching it drool and drip between your ass and thighs. “Show me your fuckin’ pussy, baby love. Be a good girl now for daddy.”

“Yes, daddy.” You mewled, “you got me. It was my plan all along.” you suppress a giggle, lifting yourself up on your elbows as you spread your thighs apart, arching your back further so he had a clear and direct view of your pussy. “You gonna give my pussy a kiss daddy? I’m really sorry.” He doesn’t need to see your face to know that you’re pouting.

He scoffs, dropping his hands down from your ass to spread you open further. He intently watches the way your little hole pulses under his harsh stare, begging for any form of stimulation. “You think I’m gonna give your pussy a kiss, baby love? Think you deserve that?” He snickers, leaning in to drag his nose right through your slick folds, inhaling deeply before he pulls back, “think you oughta just take whatever daddy fuckin’ gives ya, sweet girl.”

“Oh, fuck.” You whimpered, dropping your head between your shoulders, “Daddy, please. I’m so sorry for calling you a pussy! I’ll—I’ll never do it again, I swear!”

“Hush up, baby love. Quit your whinin’ and take what daddy fuckin’ gives you.” He growled. It was a miracle that even with his added weight to the float, the damn thing didn’t pop from the pressure as he wasted no time to slip two of his thick fingers inside of your pussy till they were knuckle deep with his palm pressing flat between the apex of your thighs. You felt the weight of his chest and shoulders pressing into your back while his fingers shallowly thrusted inside of you at a merciless pace, scissoring you open with each thrust, creating ripples in the water below the raft.

O—oh—oh fuck! Fuck! Fuccck!” You cried out, lurching forward as his fingers pistoned inside of you, “daddy, please! Please! I’m sorry!” Your eyes rolled back in your skull when he crooks his fingers, curling them against the spongy spot inside of you that has you seeing spots of stars cloud your vision.

He’s leaned over you completely now in a possessive manner. His lips at your ear, teeth nipping and biting anywhere they can, “if you’re a good fuckin’ slut for daddy, maybe he’ll reward you with his cock, because you and I both know that’s what my girl wants is her daddy’s thick cock splittin’ her in fuckin’ half. Ain’t that right, baby love?”

“YES!” You yelled, voice strained and on the verge of cracking as you started to roll your hips back against his hand, meeting the harsh thrusts of his fingers just as the back gate opened—

“Hey! I brought the Modelos—OH FUCK!” Tommy yelled in surprise, nearly dropping the case of beer in his arms at the sight of you coming undone around Joel’s fingers.

“GOD DAMMIT, TOMMY! I FUCKIN’ SAID YOU COULDN’T COME OVER!” Joel snapped, thrusting his fingers faster as he briefly glanced over his shoulder at his brother, “can’t ya damn well see I’m a little busy punishin’ my girl for bein’ a fuckin’ brat?!”

You weakly waved in Tommy’s direction, before completely giving into the pleasure with a blissed out look plastered on your face, “pass me one of those when we’re done! I’m parched!”

“Yeah, you’re fuckin’ parched alright.” Joel growled against your ear.

“Some things never change, ain’t that right Artie?” Tommy snickered as he attempted to crouch down and pet her, but she hissed and swatted at his hand.

“TOMMY!” Joel snapped, using his freehand to push his swim trunks over his hips so that he could replace his fingers with his cock. “Make yourself useful and gimme one of those beers, would ya!” He spit into his palm as his cock sprang free and slapped up against his stomach. He gave the base of his cock a few quick pumps before he slipped his fingers out of you, your pussy made a wet squelching noise as he slowly fed you his cock, inch by inch, stretching you open till he was bottomed out with his hips firmly pressed against your ass. The float had deflated considerably, but man, it was a trooper.

Tommy walked over, beer in hand, doing his best to not smirk at the scene unfolding before him as he held the beer out in Joel’s direction. “What did she do this time?” He mused.

Joel snatched the beer from his hand, twisting the cap off with his teeth before he took a swig, bringing his freehand down against your ass.

“I called him—fuck.” You moaned deeply, lip harshly taken between your teeth when he stretched you open. God, did you love your man’s cock.

“She called me a fuckin’ pussy.” Joel snapped his hips forward with his hand acting as an anchor around your hip. He took another swig from the bottle, blunt fingernails digging into your skin, “now fuck yourself on daddy’s cock like the good little slut that you are, baby love.”

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#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #pornstar!joel #baby love #pedro pascal #the last of us #the last of us hbo #joel miller fic #tlou joel #dom!joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal characters

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moondirti · 1 year

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animalic (4)

← chapter three // series masterlist

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!reader rating: mature word count: 2.5k summary: things don't go according to plan warnings: enemies to lovers, light bondage, sexual tension, arousal, choking, canon-typical violence, dub-con elements, paralysis, suicidal ideation, self-hatred, angst, miguel o'hara is not nice, no use of y/n notes: y'all. i promise we are getting somewhere. i promise. lmk what you think tho cuz i thrive off comments

“Lyla?”

While you’re – regrettably – unable to make good on your promise to phase through the floor, you catch yourself hoping it splits to swallow you whole instead. It certainly would be a better alternative to the purgatory you currently face.

“Lyla? Come in, Lyla.”

Feeble rays of light filter in through the weathered windows, their reach slowly growing as night surrenders to the wakings of dawn. Variegated motes bob lazily, suspended upon the streams of sun, quivering back and forth between a range of countless colours. Paralysed and splayed atop the frigid, hard ground of the empty store-lot, you try counting them all for lack of anything else to do. Pink, green, orange, gold. You wonder what force chooses the order, whether it’s sequenced to fit some plan of high design.

“¡Ay, coño–”

Slowly, you let yourself scrutinise other things, too. The scent of neglect that permeates the stale air, particularly pungent around the entryway. You trace the yellow-brown mass that runs along the door’s hinge edge, and attribute the vaguely muddy smell to rot. Then, it’s the glint of shattered glass, winking at you from lost corner’s of the room. They look narrow, far too inconvenient to clean out with a standard broom. You revel in the understanding that whoever had been in charge of scouring the wreckage appears to share your habit of quick quitting.

It’s only when your vision begins to water do you divert your attention to the situation at hand. Last you needed to blink, it took half a minute for the command to register, and even longer for the motor neurons in your eyelids to act. By the time you eventually got them closed, you’d already started contemplating whether his venom would be the death of you.

(Lame end to a lame life.)

It didn’t take a genius to figure out, though. You know that, if he wanted to, he could’ve kept imbuing you with the substance until your body was no longer able to perform the basic mechanisms necessary to sustain life. He could have kept his fangs lodged deep into your neck – encroached upon your stuttering veins, bathing in the ichor that flowed – until he felt you go limp, concentrated with his poison. It would have been a denouement to his problems – right there, easy, sandwiched between him and the wall – but it wasn’t. Because he didn’t.

Just like he didn’t let you plummet to your death that day at the quarry, or strangle you while you were unconscious back at HQ.

So, no. It doesn’t take a genius to acknowledge that Miguel O’Hara doesn’t want you dead. As he fiddles with his malfunctioning watch, you endeavour to come up with a divisive list as to why that is.

One: you’ve charmed him. The notion is almost funny enough to elicit a snort, given that you weren’t cast in an immovable anathema.

Two: he’s a good guy. Somehow, this option seems less viable to you than the first.

You find your third prospect slinging from the threads of a fraying memory.

You’d been a student, before – attending college at a reputable institute close to home. It’s easy to forget what it was like most nights: cramped in that two hundred square foot dorm, borderline losing it as you tried to validate your claims on matter-antimatter rockets and their potential contribution to interstellar travel. There were concerns of total annihilation, and sourcing, and an array of other limitations – that which you’d dedicated your academic career to drawing up proposals for. It’s laughable now; the stress and theories blurring together to form a vague picture of your long-lost ambition.

You have a hard time conjuring what exact future you were so hopeful for, but the lamp by your roommate’s bed remains clear in your mind’s eye. Warm-white, comforting. For as long as you were awake, tapping away at a never-ending thesis, she’d work through the latest volume of her beloved murder mystery anthology.

It was the night before your start at an internship with Alchemax that the series came to a close. Her aggravated screams still ring fresh behind the clouded pane of time. You had thrown your pillow at her in a belligerent plea.

(You wanna elaborate?

The suspect behind every case was shot!

So? Isn’t that a good thing?

No, dumbass. It means the detectives fucking lost! They’ll never be able to prove how right they were.)

Admittedly, you know very little about Miguel, but you have an idea of what matters most to him. It’s entirely possible, then, that he refuses to kill you for what your death would do to negate his efforts thus far.

“Oye,”

Your mental traipse is reeled in when the devil himself snaps at you. Steadily, your pupils roll up to look at him.

“I need your day pass.”

You continue to stare. His jaw clenches.

“Because of your little headbutt outside, my watch is busted. My only hope of fixing it is by using the parts of your day pass.”

Is he asking? Does he expect you to respond?

You can’t fool yourself into believing he’s that ignorant.

But Miguel stays on standby, scanning your lax form. He takes in the webs that wrap around your waist, branching out to your thighs and shoulders, restraining your arms behind your back. When his eyes meet yours again, the reluctant question you see glaze over them pushes the recognition to the forefront of your mind.

He is asking.

Or, notifying – making sure you’re aware of what he’s about to do.

God, you wish you could speak. You’ve never come up with so much to say without promptly blurting it out before. Irritation and amusement rip at one another within you, locked in a brutal dogfight fated to have no real winner. How hypocritical of him to pick and choose when your treatment takes priority over his mission; you’re littered in marks that all point to his prior negligence of such subtle humanity. Four stabs above your wrist, a pounding migraine at your temple. If it weren’t for your paralysed stomach, you’re certain you would have regurgitated your innards as consequence to the concussion he’s given you.

But, oh.

How funny would it be if you agreed. To let him discover the harrowing truth for himself.

Deliberately, you muster an affirming blink.

Miguel's weariness escapes him in a heavy sigh, the weight of it etched upon his expression. Thick brows furrow, evidence to his age creasing between them, before he sinks down with a purposeful grace and carefully flips you over. Despite the resentment that festers in your gut, you can’t help but hiss a mental sigh of relief at the service it does to your elbows, which had begun throbbing in response to the pressure that the hardwood floor exerted.

From that point onward, it becomes a guessing game of sorts; you can’t see him, nor are you able to tilt your head and confirm your assumptions as to what he’s doing. Deprived of your most reliable sense, the others strain to fill the gaps in your knowledge, drawing upon every available cue; the sound of his miniscule grunts, the warmth of his skin – that which penetrates through his gloves. You’re alarmed into attempted action when the characteristic rip of his claws equipping pierces the strained air – your body powerless in addressing the adrenaline it secretes – until the spider-man touches his forefinger to your palm.

“Relax.” He all but commands. “I’m just cutting the webs off.”

You’ve no reason to trust him, of course, but you can’t exactly pitch a complaint right now.

(Perhaps it’s in your best interests to ignore how easy he’d been able to read you.)

A few moments of jostling ensue, before he withdraws with a curse. Your arms remain ensnared in the tight restraints, the ache that smarts your skin all too real for the continued predicament to be illusory. An assortment of jokes occur to you.

Can’t get it up?

In your peripheral, you catch him weighing his options. The pause is laden with a sticky indecision – this change in placement, you realise, exacerbates the already difficult task of breathing for you.

While you fixate on that fact, he seems to come to a conclusion. With one swift manoeuvre, he positions himself astride your thighs, straddling the deadened extremities, and reaches forward to push your wrists apart. You’re quick to catch on to his intention, how the arrangement gives him better leverage, yet–

His groyne presses into the swell of your ass, worsening with every bid to sever the webbing. It’s impossible not to notice, especially not when the seam of your jeans start to shift in tandem, smoothing over your clothed core. It’s not exactly ecstasy, far from it — no rainbow blooms, tingling gold from your toes to your nose – but it’s been ages since you were last roused like this. Enough for it to feel brand new, a wrapped curse in a prim little bow, eager for all that you shouldn’t be.

And… Christ–

And then he unfastens the lines around your arms, and runs his hands up your skin. It’s not gentle, nor is it brutish, but you can feel his desperation escalating. His touches grow progressively antagonistic, kneading your palms up to your shoulders, patting down to the shallow pockets of your pants. You’re searched like you hold the key to his success – you suppose that, in some oddly comical way, you do. And it should be upsetting, blasphemous.

But you’re no sacred thing. You’d laid down that possibility a long time ago.

No. You’re foul, questionable at your best, and erupt into goosebumps over the ruthless grip of a man who hates your very soul. You’re a deeply detestable spirit, truly, but a detestable spirit who has just managed to get one up on Miguel O’Hara.

He throws you back around, wrapping his hands around your throat. His snarl is primal, maturated in acrid anger.

“Where is it?”

You’re sure that, in some alternate reality, your face is stretched in a shit-eating grin.

“Where’s the fucking day pass?”

Your satisfaction is short-lived.

You’ve never been one to notably detest humiliation. It’s productive – healthy, even – in smaller doses; a fitting consequence for those who you deem deserve it. Yet, as you find yourself unceremoniously hoisted over Miguel’s shoulder, forced into a meandering parade through the streets of New York, you breach into uncharted territory – a threshold where your tolerance encounters its breaking point.

He makes no effort to soften his strides, unmoved by the idea of providing even a shred of respite for your susceptible self. If anything, it feels as though he deliberately seeks out the harshest terrain, silently chastising your earlier defiance in the most passive aggressive manner known to man. He’d reinforced your constraints before marching out on this fruitless venture, and now you bobble uselessly, backside pointed upward, anchored solely by the meaty arm around your knees.

At least you’ve regained control of your mouth.

“D’stroyed it. Gone. Dearly d’parted–”

“If you’re going to run that little mouth, then make it helpful.”

“M’bein’ helpfoo,” you start, straining your weakened vocal cords in an effort to mock him. The grip of paralysis may have slackened its hold, but neurotransmission remains at an all time, sluggish low. In all actuality, it astounds you that he can even begin to decipher your words from the tangled murmurs they become.

“You had it on at the convenience, and a little bit afterward. You can’t expect me to believe that you dealt with it while running for your life.”

Running for your life. Sure.

Displeasure sparks at the confidence he imbues in his assumption.

“Escoos m– hnngh–” A sudden jump of stress robs you of breath, your stomach plummeting alongside the rapidly distancing ground. As Miguel propels himself above the city skyline, effortlessly evading the crowded streets via a web he’d grappled to an adjacent building, you’re confronted with a stark reality – that this is the very first time you have ever, and likely will ever, experience what it’s like to swing.

It’s exhilarating and nauseating all at once, gravity relinquishing its command as you transcend the confines of the physical, soaring through some reality where law loses significance. If it had been you, your arms and skill and jurisdiction, you’d never come down. But maybe that’s why it isn’t; maybe your life was meant to lead up to this, and only ever this.

(Not antimatter technologies or heroic conquest. Yeah, this feels more fitting.)

Your skin prickles. You phase through the sturdy frame that’s held you up so far, and plummet from its grasp.

Slicing through the boundless sky, you’re accompanied by a profound tranquillity. It isn’t absolute – fear still gnaws at your core, its presence undeniable. But, amidst the churning horror, your instincts are fainter than they ought to be. They whisper in a subdued tone, overshadowed by conflicting conceptions. One, being the inference you’d drawn earlier about how – whether you like it or not – Miguel would not let you die.

Another, quieter suspicion hints toward the full reality of your… relief.

Though, of course, you’re right about the former. Tree-trunk biceps wrap around your waist, pulling you close as he slingshots off to a nearby rooftop. You flop into him, a ragdoll to the overwhelming force of his agitation, and squeeze your eyes shut at the hints of patchouli permeating from under his mask.

You don’t have to face the gospel just yet.

“¿Qué mierda? Eh?” He shouts, propping you up against a ledge. “What the fuck was that?”

You don’t have an answer for him. Your heart lurches, catching up to the urgency at hand, striking on the hollow bars of your ribcage to some reckless tune. It’s only amplified by the torrent of blood distending through your system, throbbing at your temple, rushing by your ears.

What the fuck, indeed.

He damns you, it seems, with a fervour that breaches the heavens, as if willing God Himself to commit his plea to eternal memory. Or not; truthfully, you can’t tell. With the roar of your own snowballing thrill, it becomes impossible to discern the sequence of interrogations that explode from him. The world around you fades to the background, your preoccupancy consumed by the disquietude it leaves in its wake.

Your sense is only validated a minute later when, two blocks away, an ear-piercing shriek ruptures your dissociation.

Miguel stiffens, slowly turning to face its source.

𝘛𝘏𝘌 𝘈𝘙𝘈𝘊𝘏𝘕𝘖-𝘏𝘜𝘔𝘈𝘕𝘖𝘐𝘋 𝘗𝘖𝘓𝘠-𝘔𝘜𝘓𝘛𝘐𝘝𝘌𝘙𝘚𝘌 𝘋𝘈𝘛𝘈𝘉𝘈𝘚𝘌:

Earth-15 – analysed, marked as closed.

Spider-totem – The Spider: soon after being bit by his radioactive spider, convicted felon Peter Parker merged with Earth-15’s variation of the carnage Symbiote.

Notes – do not engage, at any cost.

chapter five →

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mrssabinecallas · 10 months

Text

Self Love Day

Pairing: Miguel O’hara / wife!reader

in which your husband is confused by your “self love” evenings, but doesn’t hesitate to join in on the festivities

CW! flufffff, mentions of alcohol (wine LMAO), lowercase intended, miguel being a bimbo husband and just loving you 🥹

gif creds to owner mentioned here ^^

ever since you were a teenager, you’ve always had a dedicated “self love” day, where you just take a day to yourself and unwind from all the stress in your life. they usually were a couple months apart as you never had time anymore, being co-leader of a multi-dimensional society of mutant spider people.

even as you were dating, your husband miguel never understood the importance of these nights in, and just left you in peace. it was none of his business, so he left it alone. but when you got married and lived together? boy was he in for a treat.

it had been a particularly rough week in nueva york, and it had been a while since you took a night for yourself, so you though, you know what? i deserve a break. as you poured yourself a nice glass of expensive wine, a gift from your cousin from your wedding two months ago, you exhaled a breath of relief to a nice quiet apartment.

as miguel entered the calm atmosphere, he sought out for you, calling out your name in the empty home. he saw the wine bottle on the counter, next to your favorite candle, lit. he slipped into your shared bedroom, the smell of your candles growing stronger. as he pushed open the door to your on suite, he saw your figure, back turned, getting things out of the bathroom cabinet.

“hola, amor,” he spoke into the warm silence. he was captivated by you as you turned around, sheer love in his eyes.

“hi, baby!” he noticed you had some skincare items in your hands, and your makeup was removed. he loved when you didn’t wear makeup. you looked so beautiful, he could just stare at your face for hours. “it’s self love day, you wanna join me?”

“sure, cariño, give me a minute, i’m going to put on something more comfortable,” he gestured to his suit, dirtied from a long day’s work. you nodded at him, and returned your attention to the cabinet, getting two of each now that your husband was joining.

returning to the bathroom, miguel was adorned in a tee shirt and grey sweats (to your liking). you handed him a fluffy makeup headband and he stared at you like you had three heads.

“¿qué demonios es esto?(what the hell is this?)” he questioned, taking note of the softness of the material and the light baby-blue color.

“a headband? to hold back your hair?” you weren’t sure why he was confused, but you would consider it a win if you could get him to wear it. shrugging his broad shoulders, he pulled it over his head, and tried to put all his hair behind it with his hands.

“no, no… hun.. that’s the hard way to put it on..” you tried to explain, but gave up and just walked over to him. reaching up, you pulled the headband down his head to rest on his collarbone, and then pulled it back up. “there.”

he looked over to the mirror, making a face when he saw the small bunny ears peeking over the top of his head, and looked at you with a ‘seriously?’ expression. you giggled at him, and turned to run the bath.

as you stripped of your clothes to get in the back, miguel made a different face at you, and looked you up and down. you shook your head at him with a teasing smile.

he frowned at you, before taking off his clothes and stepping into the bath with you. as the hot water lapped at the exposed skin of your legs, the familiar smell of your essential oils you had put in the bath wafts up to your nose. you sink back into miguel’s large figure as he sits down, releasing a content sigh.

you stayed there, laying against one another for another half hour, your husband caressing your waist under the water. the smells we’re wearing off, and the water started to cool, and it was time for the next phase of self love day. stepping out of the bath and drying off, you and miguel both put on a bathrobe.

pulling back your own hair into a headband, you pulled the back into a clip and opened a face mask for both of you. as you pulled the cold paper mask out of its foil and lifted it to your husbands face, he bent down so you could apply it for him. he cringed at the cold feeling of the moisturizer, but relaxed as you massaged the muscles in his face. you then pulled the other face mask out of the package and smoothed it onto your own skin.

grabbing your wine glass and your husband by the hand, you led him into the kitchen to pour him a drink. you got another glass out of the cabinet and poured two servings of wine, handing the second glass to miguel. he thanked you and swirled the class, then took a small sip.

you tread back into your shared bedroom, adjusting the slippery mask on your face.

“do you want to help me with my nails?” you asked over your shoulder to miguel, who nodded slightly and moved closer toward you.

“what are we doing to them today, mrs. o’hara?” he asked with a smirk on his face, in a mocking tone. “do you have an appointment? you know i’m booked full…” you rolled your eyes at his antics and lightly smacked his arm, walking into the bathroom to grab the polish.

returning to the bedroom, you held two colors in each of your hands.

“red or white?” you inquired to your husband, who began to study each color intently. it was cute, how he cared about the smallest little things.

“red,” he said, with a small confident smile on his face. you smiles back at him, returning to the bathroom to set the white on the counter.

as you filed your nails down, miguel began to take your hand and applied the polish. he grumbled as he got some on your finger, and wiped it away before setting down the brush and your hand to retrieve his glasses. (old man 🥹)

he re-entered the on-suite, small metal glasses situated on the bridge of his nose, and started to paint your nails again. he was making his “focused face,” you liked to call it, where his eyebrows scrunched together and his lips drew into a puckered state. it brought a small smile to your face as you, unknown to miguel, admired his features.

he dropped your right hand, and signaled for you to hand him your left, however you didn’t catch on.

“ahem..” he cleared his throat and cocked his eyebrow, waving for your hand to be place into his. “i am very busy ma’am, do not waste my time.” you scoffed at his antics, and placed your smaller hand into his much larger one.

“how many clients are you seeing today, ‘best nail artist in the multiverse?’” you played along with his little game, making him smile and reply, “too many, dear. now, let me in on all the juicy gossip. what’s goin’ on?”

“oh you don’t even want to know! turns out amanda has been sleeping with her ex again, after me and charlotte told her not to! now she’s upset about him cheating again when they’re not even really together anymore!” you put on your fake gossip voice and make up a story for your “nail stylist.” he nods along and gasps at your fake drama, totally invested in the story.

“no way! did he cheat on her with the same girl or some new hussy he picked up?” he fed into your story as he finished your left hand, blowing gently on your nails to speed up the drying process.

“yes! i don’t know how she didn’t learn. i mean come on! he’s a terrible person! a literal walking red flag!” you laughed at his “hussy” comment and his fake girl voice. as your nails finished, miguel twisted the brush top back into the polish bottle and placed it on the countertop.

you both just smiled at each other, happy to be in each others presence. how did you get so lucky with a guy who cared so much about the small things? i mean, cmon! he just pretended to gossip with you while he did your nails!

you reached up to your face, and gently rolled off the paper mask that had begun to dry on your face, miguel following suit. you threw them in the small trash bin beside the toilet and returned to take a sip of wine.

suddenly, as your set your glass back down with a small clink, miguel pulled you in for a light kiss to your lips. he pulled away smiling, and held you close to his chest.

“te quiero mucho, mi amor.”

“gracias para este, mi vida. te amo.”

A/N: thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed please show this some love, and my inbox is open if you have any ideas you want to send my way!

have a good day/night and stay hydrated! much love!

#x reader #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara x reader #spider man 2099 #atsv miguel #atsv x reader #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel x y/n #miguel x you

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themissinghand · 5 months

Note

aahghh i'm happy that your requests r open :33 i want to ask for a Jinwoo x sleepy male/gn reader.. basically the reader falls asleep somewhere but always wake up in the most random places. Bellion has found them sleeping somewhere in the shadow realm more than once and no one knows how they got there. it's actually concerning-

this can either platonic or romantic idc rly

take care!

Solo Leveling: Sleepy Bois are Cute Too!

Summary: 3 times that Jinwoo caught his partner falling asleep on him, and the one time he didn’t. Not in any particular order.

In which Jinwoo is worried, but you reassure him every time.

Pairing: Sung Jinwoo x sleepy GN! reader

Note: Last one for 2023! Will be back in the new year :)

Warning: None. Just fluffy goodness.

★・・・・・・★

Jinwoo is worried about your sleeping antics.

He’s worried that when you fall asleep, he will never find you again.

He took all the precautions, making sure there was a shadow soldier by your side when you fall asleep, keeping a tracker on you (with your consent of course!), and even taking you on his missions to ensure you don’t disappear on him.

“Jinwoo-ah, don’t worry, I can protect myself.”

Sure, you were an A-class weapon maker, and yes, you knew how to use your weapons well, but no matter how much you reassure him, Jinwoo is a protective person by nature, knowing how dangerous the world can be.

He also knows how dedicated you are to your craft, spending days on end without sleep or food to create S-class grade weapons for the world to marvel at.

But it was only more of a reason for him to protect you from those greedy hunters and associations!

Perhaps that was where your sleeping habits stem from, the lack of sleep.

It didn’t start off this way, as at the beginning of your relationship, Jinwoo found you cute for dozing off like a baby.

It was during a movie night, where the two of you cuddled on the bed, and holding each others’ hands. You dozed off very shortly after the movie began, and Jinwoo couldn’t help but pull you closer into a hug.

Loving your warmth and the peace you bring, Jinwoo easily fell asleep by your side.

Only to wake up with you not by his side.

In panic, he rushed around the shared home to find you, only to get a call from his sister, and see you at his mom’s house. Apparently, Jinah found you sleeping in Jinwoo’s old room.

“It happens sometimes…but don’t worry! I’m usually safe.” Your reassurance didn’t make Jinwoo feel any better about it.

The next time, it was when the two of you were bathing together.

Jinwoo hummed, satisfied and relaxed, as you washed his hair, scratched his head, and massaged his shoulders. Your voice was soothing, as you told him about your next weapon idea.

Until suddenly, he felt a hard knock onto his back, making him turn around quickly to see you dozing off.

He withheld a snicker before he switched your positions, and had you lay on him.

“(Y/N), how could you sleep in the middle of doing something?” Jinwoo whispered, and although he gently rocked your body, he didn’t bother trying to wake you.

Jinwoo made sure you were comfortable, and finished the bath, before carrying you like a princess to your shared bed.

“Jinwoo?” Your slurred words made him smile, and he placed a kiss on your forehead.

“Bedtime, your favourite time is here.”

“Yay~” Your dopey smile made him happy as he covered the both of you with a blanket. Jinwoo snuggled close, and this time, made sure to hold you tight, so you wouldn’t disappear on him again.

Your little snores, and light breathing lured him to sleep.

The next day, you were gone.

This time, he searched the home, and even checked with his mom and sister, but nothing.

This time, he panicked, and immediately searched everywhere for you.

Like a parent who lost their child, he searched far and wide, until he found you sleeping on top of the Korean Hunters Association’s building. He immediately hugged you close, waking you up from your drowsy state.

“Jinwoo? What’s wrong?” You who have just woken up from your long sleep didn’t understand why Jinwoo was hugging you so desperately. You patted his back as you rested your head on his shoulder.

“Are you okay? How did you even get up here?”

“What are you talking about-” Finally registering your current location, you were shocked.

“This isn’t our home.”

When Jinwoo registered your confusion, then acceptance (almost too easily), he couldn’t help but feel helpless. If you didn’t know how you got here, and he didn’t sense your disappearance twice in a row, Jinwoo knew he had to be careful.

This was when you and him talked of the dangers and of the precautions you should take to ensure your safety.

One time, Jinwoo had a nightmare.

Of the times where he was still an E-class hunter, where he was still weak, poor, and helpless.

Of the times where he had nothing to his name, but only shame and disappointment.

He felt powerless, feeling the shadow of a cold blade cutting into his flesh and warm blood spill from his body.

“Jinwoo!”

He woke up to you calling his name and wiping his face.

“Jinwoo! Are you okay-” Jinwoo hugged you tightly, knocking the air out of your lungs for a moment, as he inhaled your scent.

He then noticed you wearing his hoodie, clearly oversized for you, and your messy bed hair.

Then he remembers you, who had taught him how to use different weapons, and how to not get scammed by weapon dealers.

From then till now, you have supported him, and he has found your talent in return.

“There there, my little king.” Jinwoo smiled as he felt little pats to his back, and kissed the crook of your neck.

“Thank you, (Y/N).”

“Always.”

The next time, when you disappeared, Jinwoo knew where you were immediately.

He didn’t panic, nor did he fret, though this time, he really did question your abilities as an A-class weapon maker.

Were you really an A-class hunter at this point?

Jinwoo observed, perplexed, as you once again emerged from an unexpected slumber, this time in the shadow realm.

With a yawn, you flipped to the other side on the throne, and without any sense of danger, you curlled into a ball, and fell asleep again.

Jinwoo quickly went over to you on the throne, and picked you up, before sitting down and placing you in his lap. He made sure you were comfortable before he looked to Bellion for any explanation.

“My Liege, I…have no excuses. I was unable to sense any changes in the shadow realm and was unable to find out how Their Highness was able to arrive here.”

Bellion, equally puzzled, knelt before the two of you, ashamed.

“Bellion, stand. It’s not your fault. Even I can't sense when they disappear. But keep others updated on the situation.” Bellion nodded, before standing and leaving you two space.

"How does this keep happening?" Jinwoo asked, and sighed, concern etching onto his face. Even so, he caressed your cheek, and woke you from your slumber.

Like a cat, he saw you scrunch up your face, and even pushed his finger away, before popping open one eye.

“Jinwoo? Where am I now?” It became a habit of yours now to observe your surroundings every time you woke up.

“In my realm, in my castle, and on my throne.”

“Huh.” It took a moment for you to process.

“How did I get here?”

“No idea. But I'd rather have you here than outside.”

“Well. This is new.” You ruffled your messy bed hair, before a hand pulled your chin back to face Jinwoo.

“You were sleeping on my throne…were you thinking of me?” Jinwoo’s hand slowly cradled your face as he stared at you with intent.

“Maybe?” You cheekily answered, before replicating the same action back. However, you steal a quick little peck to the corner of his lips.

In the next moment, his mouth lands on yours passionately, completely taking your breath away as he pulls you in further and further, until you’re completely at his mercy.

Pinned to his throne, wearing his oversized black silk pajamas, and puffy lips, you realize that maybe you should learn to control your sleep antics.

#manhwa #gn reader #solo leveling #sung jinwoo #shadow soldiers #bellion #jinwoo #sung jin woo x reader #sung jinah #solo leveling headcanons #solo leveling fic #s class #sung jin woo x gn reader

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