#but otherwise he should be ready to come back

[talesofesther]

𝔈𝔠𝔥𝔬𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔉𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔢

↳ 𝐂𝐡 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞: 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬

Aemond Targaryen x Reader/fem!OC

Series Summary: You made a promise to Aemond once, when you were young and naive, and the only friend he'd ever known; yet you abandoned him before you could fulfill it. Between broken bonds, a betrothal, and flames that still burn deep within you; this is the story of how you fell apart and found each other again.

A/N: One of my favorite chapters so far. <3

Word count: 3,5k

Masterlist | Previous chapter

A week has passed since you learned the news of your and Aemond's betrothal. And you, most naturally, have made your home in the Red Keep, beside your betrothed. However, much to your happiness, Rhaenyra, your father, and the rest of your family have been staying as well—acquiescing the wishes of Queen Alicent and King Viserys.

The day began with dark rain clouds in the distance and the sun's rays nowhere to be seen. Soon after midday, the downpour started. Heavy rain fell over King's Landing, the drops hitting loudly against the red stones of the Keep.

You stood hunched over the overlook of the training yard, watching with mild interest the few soldiers who insisted on continuing their training even under rain and on top of muddy grounds. Your betrothed, as it happens, was one of them.

Aemond swung his sword towards Ser Criston's shield, not caring for the curtain of rain falling over him, his smirk ever present. You tried telling yourself you weren't watching him, but it was impossible to deny the butterflies in your stomach every time Aemond looked up in your direction, as if to ensure you were still there.

For lack of better words, the past week had been… a lot. You had been doing your best to come to terms with your betrothal and everything it entails. However, in doing so, you might have distanced yourself from Aemond, when perhaps you should have done the opposite. Small things, like avoiding his presence in rooms and spending most of the daylight away from the Keep, riding out on dragonback more often than not. You knew it was mostly out of reluctance, it pained you to think that from now on any relationship you'd have with the second Prince would be born out of duty.

What you failed to notice was that your absence had started to wound your betrothed. Aemond could feel the lack of your warmth around him as clearly as the many years he was forced to live without it; it only served as a reminder for him that your union was not something you had wished for.

The loud thump of Ser Christon's shield falling to the ground brought you back to the present. You watched as the knight ran one hand through his wet hair and patted Aemond on the shoulder with the other.

It seemed Aemond was ready to let go of his sword as well, however before he could do so, you found yourself skipping down the stairs. An impulse that came to you before any rational thought could say otherwise.

Your boots dug into the wet mud of the training yard, and heavy raindrops were quick to soak through your clothes and make your hair cling to your skin. Feeling grateful that you had chosen against wearing a dress today and going for your usual breeches and overcoat. You brushed a hand over your eyes to no much avail, bending down to pick up one of the discarded swords.

Aemond had his back to you, chin down to protect his eye from the rain as he regained his breath. His long silver hair fell over his shoulders, now soaked and slightly curled because of the rain.

"My Prince," You called, prompting Aemond to turn around and face you, a mix of curiosity and surprise in his eye upon hearing your voice. You twirled the hilt of the sword in your hand, then raised its point towards him. "Would you do me the honor?"

Silence lingered in the training yard, with the only sound coming from the rainfall. You could feel the eyes of the few guards and knights around you, undoubtedly whispering among themselves about why a woman would dare challenge a Prince of the realm for a duel.

Aemond took in the sight of you almost hungrily. His lips parted as raindrops cascaded down his alabaster skin until they reached his mouth or the end of his chin, his silver curls framing his features almost poetically. A small, barely there smile molded his cheeks then. He glanced at the sword in his hand, and back at you.

Aemond took a step closer, and you could count the tiny raindrops stuck to his eyelashes if you wanted to. "The honor would be mine, My Lady." He eyed you up and down, savoring the feeling of your closeness once again.

You exhaled slowly when the Prince raised his sword, steadying your grip as steel touched steel. For a beat, all you did was look into his eye, as if speaking a language only you and he knew.

And your duel began under the eyes of the few curious and expectant guards and knights who watched you.

You swang your sword first, a swift movement that Aemond was quick to avoid and counter with an attack of his. The clash of blades rang loud even under the pouring rain, sharp steel cutting through the drops and boots skidding over the mud as you and Aemond danced around each other. Your bodies moved together almost in synchrony, almost as if you'd trained these exact movements together; swords clashing and flying a hair's width away from your bodies yet never breaking any skin or even cloth.

Aemond had a wide grin on his lips, enjoying himself a little too much. You were certain you were almost robbing a laugh out of him. With a twirl of your body and the deafening sound of blades sliding against one another, you and Aemond stopped face-to-face; both held each other's attacks, blade to blade, panting heavily.

"You've been training well all these past years, at least," Aemond spoke, his breath heavy on your lips as he tried to regain air in his heaving chest. From this close, you caught the glance he sneaked down your face, "Kept your form."

You ducked your head at him with a grin of your own, equally breathless as you tighten your hold on the hilt of your sword, "Of course, only waiting for the day I'd be able to beat you again."

Aemond almost faltered at the allusion of you thinking about him during your time apart. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, tasting the raindrops falling there, and skipped a step away from you, resuming the duel with a swing of his sword right after.

You easily blocked the attacks, and your elegant dance continued for a moment further, until Aemond ducked from an attack of yours and promptly raised his sword again. The swift action coming from below caught you partially off-guard and a low hiss of surprise escaped your lips when a sharp pain could be felt on the left side of your chin.

This made Aemond falter, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly and his eye widening as he held his stance yet frantically looked you over for any apparent injuries he might have caused. The thought of him hurting you caused an instant pit in his stomach.

His concern gave an opening to you, however, and you took it with a mischievous smile. You twirled the sword in your hand and dashed for him, but Aemond was the best swordsman in the realm for a reason.

The Prince was quick to block your sudden attack with one of his own. Swords clashed, a sharp and loud ringing under the falling rain, and then… silence. You and Aemond stood stock still over the muddy grounds of the training yard, the only movement coming from your heaving chests.

The point of your blade rested over Aemond's chest, and the point of his blade rested over your chest. A draw.

Heavy breaths fell past your lips and you could feel your body shaking from the exertion. But the smile stretching your cheeks refused to leave as you held Aemond at the mercy of your sword.

There was a smirk on the corner of your betrothed's lips as well, his hair the more disheveled you've ever seen it be, sticking to his wet forehead. His smile dropped, however, when his eye seemingly focused lower on your face.

Aemond watched intently as the rain carried a steady trail of deep red blood down your chin and then down your neck. The cut was small but seemingly deep enough as it continued bleeding incessantly.

You didn't seem to mind it, but Aemond gulped heavily at the sight. He was the first to lower his blade.

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

Small puddles of water were left behind with each step you took, your soaked clothes and shoes leaving their marks on the arched hallways surrounding one of the Keep's courtyards. Closely beside you, the rain still fell heavily from the sky.

You walked without much hurry to your quarters, despite thinking of changing out of your wet and increasingly cold clothes. A distant pain on your chin persisted, and as you raised a hand to the small wound, your fingertip came back a little bloody again. You didn't mind it, of course; a few cuts and bruises were a given even during a friendly spar. But once Aemond had locked eyes on the thin trail of blood making its way down your neck, he'd paled. There was no chance for you to tell him you didn't mind it though, for he walked out of the training yard shortly after.

A breath went past your lips and you willed yourself to stop thinking about him with a shake of your head, yet as you did so, you spotted his mother from afar, walking in your direction.

Alicent wandered slowly, she had her gaze focused on the falling rain outside, her hands clasped together in front of her and the brown curls of her hair lightly kissing her cheeks, framing her face. She must've caught a glimpse of you from the side of her eye as you were about to walk around her.

You gave her a gentle smile, halting your steps once she spoke your name with a hint of surprise.

"Darling, you're soaked." The Queen looked at you from head to toe, her brows furrowing in concern when she noticed your bluish lips. "Did something happen?"

"Oh, no, it's nothing." You reassured her quickly, "Aemond and I were just sparring in the training yard, under the rain, that is."

A small laugh came from Alicent then, her smile was a fond one as she glanced aside to nowhere in particular as if being taken by a memory. "You two." She turned to you with a teasing eyebrow raised, "I still recall the days when you'd come back inside for supper with your shoes covered in mud after spending the day together. You haven't changed."

You averted your eyes in the same heartbeat, with a breathless chuckle of your own, feeling your cold cheeks warm up. "Yes um- Perhaps… perhaps we haven't."

She could sense your hesitation easily, see it in the way you made yourself smaller under her gaze. Alicent took your hands in both of hers, "I haven't had a chance to speak with you, since you came back." Waiting so you'd look up and find her eyes, she squeezed your hands. There was a sympathy in her. "And you should know that I am very happy to have you in the family."

You knew she referred to your betrothal, and you managed a thankful smile to her in turn, before averting your attention back to your joined hands.

"Aemond is too." Alicent felt compelled to say.

You looked up at her with a quick move of your head, wisps of damp hair flying over your eyes. Your smile faltered and you could feel your breath catch at her words.

Alicent sighed, nodding softly. "My son, he might take his time to show it, but I believe he is happy." For a moment, she seemed to mull over her next words, choosing the best ones to speak out loud. "The years you spent away were… hard on him." She held a pause. "I know he missed you, dearly."

You wondered, briefly, why hearing it from his mother meant so much to you. "I..." The rain was heavy, almost as heavy as the beating of your heart. "I missed him too."

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

Aemond had chosen to hide away in the Red Keep's library for the rest of his day. He'd taken a quick but warm bath and changed to dry clothes, the afternoon was almost at its end and the day had only grown colder with the incessant rainfall; and the library that only a few people chose to visit was ever so comfortable.

The bookshelves were as tall as the windows that nearly touched floor and ceiling, each of them had a stair attached so anyone could reach any desired book. However, most of them held a thin layer of dust, especially the ones at the top, having long been neglected and left aside.

Aemond sometimes wondered if he and the maesters were the only ones who regularly stopped by to pick up a book or two.

Because of the lack of sun, the spacious room had grown dark, prompting the lighting of a few torches and candles that cast a faint but golden glow to the book spines and plush armchairs.

The Prince browsed the shelves in silence, fingertips running along the titles etched on each book cover and raising small specks of dust. He looked for nothing in particular, and allowed his mind to wander.

Aemond thought back to his duel with you earlier today, recalling the rush of excitement and tasting the recent memory on his lips still, like the cold raindrops. It was thrill, and ecstasy, and passion to share something so familiar with you again. As if you'd been kids practicing together, like you had done a million times before.

When your swords clashed together, there was no betrothal, there were no seven years spent apart, there were no heavy hearts. Only you and him, dancing around each other.

With a scoff, Aemond became all too aware of a secret he'd keep hidden behind lock and key; that he'd easily live in such moments.

But then there was red in the water, and just as with everything he merely touched, he'd damaged it. He'd hurt you.

The soft creak of the doors being pushed open captured Aemond's attention. And he watched as you walked into the library, because you knew just where to find him.

Your steps were slow, and Aemond's throat worked through a gulp when he noticed how you'd changed to a loose but not less beautiful dress. Light blue, with long sleeves, and showing a bit of your shoulders and collarbone.

The Prince straightened his posture when you made a beeline to him, not pretending otherwise when you stopped only a few feet away.

"My lady," Aemond spoke quietly. With the only sounds coming from the crackling of torches and the rain falling outside muffled by the windows, he needn't speak any louder for you to hear.

You greeted him with a timid smile, then ran the pad of your finger over the books' spines until you pulled one out. Red and golden adorned the cover of the thick book and its title was written in High Valyrian. Your cheeks flushed when you read it, and with a clear of your throat, you pushed it back between the other books on the shelf.

"I wonder if the tales of Old Valyria are still kept on the highest of shelves," You decided to comment, chancing a glance at him.

Aemond hummed, pursing his lips. "I wouldn't know, haven't picked up that book in years."

"We didn't have a copy of it in Dragonstone." You turned to Aemond then, leaning your shoulder against the bookshelf. "Sometimes I wished to read it before bed, like…"

"Like we used to." The Prince finished for you. If you looked closely enough, you could see the hint of a smile on his lips. His eye was gentle and soft, brows devoid of any crease of worry; his hair undone, falling freely over his shoulders and only held in place by his eyepatch. You liked him like this; relaxed, serene—it felt like being privy to a side of him very few were. It felt like a privilege.

Your heart got a little light and wishful when Aemond did this—staying too close, smiling at you, looking only at you—but he seemed oblivious to it. And it was dangerous. You crossed your arms over your chest. "Do you remember the day when maester caught us climbing up the stair." But your smirk stayed when you glanced at one of the stairs attached to the bookshelves, "Up to the very top. And he'd been so mad, because if we fell it would've been his fault."

Aemond averted his eye from yours, looking down at his feet with a nod. If he held your gaze any longer, he might lose his composure—deep in his heart, feeling selfishly content to have you back.

"I don't think he misses our younger days here," You chuckled.

"I doubt the maids do either," Aemond chimed in easily, raising a brow at you, "Can't recall how many sweets you forced me to smuggle from the kitchen."

You feigned offense with a small scoff and by placing a hand atop your heart, "As if you didn't enjoy them with me afterward, hiding us away in your chambers so your mother wouldn't find you with the lemon tarts, My Prince."

Aemond tried to hold back a laugh and failed. And your heart jumped at the sound, at the smile on his lips that accentuated the pink hue of his cheeks. You couldn't help but just look at him, take him in.

But silence eventually lingered when none of you had anything to say anymore. Both you and he trapped under the sudden realization of how close you were to each other.

Aemond locked his gaze on you and on his parted lips he could feel whispers of your shaky breaths. Standing so near, his eye cast over every contour of your face. He clenched his fist when his fingers itched to reach over; just a small hand move and he'd touch you. Soft candlelight bathed your skin aureate, outlining the shape of your eyebrows, cheeks, chin—Aemond gulped when he spotted the cut he'd left on you, a rather angry shade of red standing out amidst your soft features. The Prince wondered how he hadn't noticed it sooner.

You watched with an enraptured gaze as Aemond's brows furrowed, he blinked once, averted his eye for a moment, and looked back at you. The air got stuck in your throat out of instinct when you suddenly felt the ghost of a touch on your cheek.

Aemond's fingertips brushed your skin all careful and hesitant, as if a little unsure of what he's doing. He pursed his lips and you could see the turmoil in his eye; lost, destructive, almost angry—not at you, but at himself. The pad of his thumb drew a line just beside the cut he'd carved on your skin.

The rawness of his touch surprised you, something warm and familiar you found yourself drawn to, and despite your fears, you raised a hand to close around his wrist. You were gentle and slow with how you pressed his palm more firmly onto your face, with the encouragement and reassurance you knew he needed.

An unsteady breath fell past Aemond's lips. His hand shook the slightest bit in your hold, and with your thumb pressed against his pulse point, you could feel the racing of his heartbeat.

"You didn't hurt me," You promised him, it was nothing but a whisper; tucked away in your own world, far from duty and expectations.

Aemond's breaths had grown almost labored, he ran his tongue over a dry bottom lip, and the hand he held you with became a little desperate. His fingers buried in your hair, you could feel him pulling you in. Or perhaps you were the one leaning closer and he was just allowing you to.

But suddenly he was too close, and your noses almost touched, and with a crack of thunder outside, you were brought back to reality. You lowered your chin, breaking the connection with his gaze. Your thumb brushed against his skin in a silent apology when you pulled his hand down and away from your face, before taking a step back from him.

All you could hear was your heartbeat in your ears. All you could feel was the fear of falling into something born out of duty and not love.

In your haste, you failed to see the small glint of a wounded tear in the Prince's eye.

The doors of the library being pushed open with abandon stole both of your attention, you and Aemond looking at it with wide eyes as if caught stealing sweets from the kitchen.

A knight of the Kingsguard stood at the doors, he tightly clutched the hilt of his sword and his expression was a helpless one. "My Lady." He nodded at you, before turning to Aemond, "My Prince, your mother requests your presence at the great hall, at once."

Aemond chanced a glance at you and you could see the confusion in his eye. "Did something happen?"

The knight hesitated, and you felt a cold shiver going down your back.

King Viserys had died.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Next chapter will be out soon.

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Thank you for reading this chapter. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

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[xannerz]

The baby is coming home ;;

[mira-likes]

I found the scene of Fan Xian and Fan Jian jumping around with the discipline ruler and putting on the anger/punishment act very entertaining, but I just saw someone’s comment that like “Fan Jian knows he can’t hit him” and that made me pause. Can Fan Jian get away with flogging Fan Xian (the emperor’s biological son) if he wants to? How much of his approach to parenting Fan Xian is down to him being well aware that the emperor is looking over his metaphorical shoulder?

[whateveriwant]

Task force 141 reacting to their very pregnant wife still trying to clean, cook etc

This turned more into ‘Task force 141 preventing their very pregnant wife from trying to clean, cook, etc’ lmaooooo I hope that's alright

Price

HA! Good one!

No seriously, it's actually hilarious that you think you'd do anything for yourself when your hubby's around

That man has been waiting on you hand and foot since you first got together. So now that you're pregnant and you think he'd let you so much as lift a finger? You must have a serious case of pregnancy brain, sweetheart

Price is doing all the cooking, the cleaning, the running errands, etc. throughout the entirety of your pregnancy (and at least the first several months postpartum)

He's kept you practically bed bound these last few months to the point where you think there's a perfect indent of your body molded into the mattress

Seven months in, he's suddenly called away to a quick mission halfway across the globe, and you think finally you'll get some of your autonomy back...

Well, think again because who should show up at your door the next morning than your mother-in-law herself, ready to pick up where her son left off

She came at the behest of your husband, of course, and was armed with a detailed set of care instructions

What does your husband think you are? Some sort of one-of-a-kind, priceless artifact that needs special handling? (Actually that's exactly what you are. Price-less… I'll see myself out 🚶🏻‍♀️)

Ghost

When it comes to having some semblance of independence during your pregnancy, Ghost will give you a bit of a longer leash than Price, but only just so

You’re going for a walk around the neighborhood? Hold on, let him grab his coat to join you. Or you're going into the backyard to tend the garden? He'll pull the weeds while you water the plants

But when it comes to letting you do certain things, there are some hard nos that he will absolutely not budge on

You try to use a stepladder to reach the top of the cupboard? Stop! You'll break your neck! You try to pick up anything heavier than 10 pounds? Stop! Give it here! You try to drive?... Don't even fuckin' think about it, precious.

The farther along your pregnancy progresses, the better he gets at predicting (and intercepting) your next move

You were gonna do laundry today? Well, wouldn't you know, he's already got a load going in the washer. You were about to make dinner? Well shucks, he just ordered takeaway from that Greek place you love

His ability to read your mind is honestly impressive once you get past how damn annoying you find it. Just because you're pregnant doesn't mean you're incapable of fending for yourself, and you're tired of him acting as if otherwise

But really, you can never get mad at anything he does for you. After all, what kind of a husband would he be if he didn't take care of his missus and your little one?

Soap

If you take Ghost’s cautiousness, mix it with Price’s thoroughness, and crank it up to an 11, you get Soap

From the moment he found out you were pregnant, he put your house into full lockdown mode, stopping just short of booby trapping the front door in case you got any funny ideas

You want some fresh air? Just open a window. You want to go for a walk and stretch your legs? Just take a few turns about the living room like you're some Austenian heroine

Don't let him catch you doing any kind of physical labor, because so help him Jesus he will grab a spray bottle and use it like you're a feral alleycat he's trying to house-train (he wouldn't really... but don't test him)

You try to unload the dishwasher? Ehrr! Wrong move. You try to remake the bed? Ehrr! Nice try. You try to mop up your own mess. Ehrr! Enough already. You try to– OCH, WOULD YE BLOODY SIT DOWN, WOMAN?!

For nine long months during his requested leave from work, your husband is attached to you like some kind of loving, smothering barnacle

But doesn't he miss his job, or the lads for that matter? What if the world needs saving? What will they do without him?

Well, (in his exact words) fuck the rest of the world! You're his world, bonnie, and he'll give you everything you could ever wish for and then some

Gaz

By far, you have the most independence with Gaz than you would with any of the other three men… at least, at the beginning of your pregnancy, that is

Once you get to around five or six months he becomes just as helicopter-y as all the others; he's just ever so slightly more bearable, perhaps

There's lots of peeking his head around the corner to check on you throughout the day or appearing seemingly out of thin air whenever you're doing something he'd rather you wouldn't

You've lost count of the number of times you've been in the middle of cooking or hanging up the laundry or whatever and his hand has suddenly appeared out of nowhere, gently taking the object from you before directing you to sit and rest

And like, look. He knows you can handle yourself. He knows you could conquer the whole world if you wanted to. That's one of the things he loves about you the most

But seeing you like this – so fragile, so vulnerable, so beautiful and soft and pregnant with his child; his child – it just… It makes him…

He just needs to do these things for you, alright, love? Just let him take care of you, please? Would you let him do that?

You already have so much you have to carry. Let him ease some of the burden off your shoulders. Let him do these small things for you because they don't even compare to all that you're doing for him 🥲

[rememberwren]

Just a Ghoap/military!fem!reader little sex pollen drabble for the anon who requested it ages ago :) dub con, fingering. Reader is carried by Ghost but otherwise featureless and without description.

-

Ghost can take the screams. He can take the cries, the pleas, the begging. He does take it, planting himself outside the singular bedroom door of the safehouse they’re holed up in until the storm passes, his dark eyes watching Johnny pace a hole in the goddamn floor, ready to come between you and the Sergeant should needs must.

But it’s the silence that breaks him.

It’s even caught Johnny’s attention. The man stops his pacing and stands facing the bedroom, his face somber, both of their ears cocked toward the door as they listen for any sign of you on the other side. Maybe the wet sounds of you fucking yourself on your own fingers. Maybe more begging—begging for Ghost or Johnny or both at once to come in and stuff you full with their cocks.

No sound comes.

“Fuck it,” Ghost says, beginning to strip. “I’m going in there.”

“The hell you are,” Johnny says, stepping into Ghost’s space. He points a finger towards your pointed silence. “She’s been compromised; she cannot consent!”

“She’s in there dying, Johnny,” Ghost says, the sound of ripping velcro loud in the quiet of the house. “She needs to get fucked or she’ll die. I’ll take the fucking discharge.”

“She’ll hate you for this.”

“She’ll be alive to do it; that’s good enough for me.”

Johnny grips his bare arm once he’s stripped out of his kit, fingertips digging into scarred skin. “You’re not going in there without me. If one of us has to do it, then the other has to help him keep his head, aye? You’ll do no more than what you have to do to keep her alive.”

Ghost brushes off Johnny’s touch, something which is normally welcome. He’d break Johnny’s wrist for suggesting otherwise if he didn’t think Johnny might need both hands for what’s to come.

When they unlock and open the door to the bedroom the silence is near eerie. You’re not on the bed where they left you, and it takes a moment for their eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room and find you laying on the floor beside the bed, like you had rolled out of it or fallen in your attempts to make it to the door. Your body is still except for the bone-deep shivers that wrack your figure. Ghost goes to your side and rolls you over onto your back, puts a hand to your forehead and withdraws from the way your skin burns with fever.

“Go start the shower. Tepid, Johnny. Not cold,” Ghost instructs him.

“Aye,” says Johnny, rushing into the tiny adjoined bathroom. The sound of water follows.

“Come on,” Ghost mutters to you softly. He tries to work his hand between your legs, but they are clamped shut tightly, the muscles seized up. It reminds him too much of the stiffness of a dead body. Instead he begins the arduous work of stripping you down, unlacing your boots, working your pants down your wide hips and thighs. It’s good enough.

Johnny reappears. “Shower’s ready. How is she?”

“Brain’s turning into a nice golden chip,” Ghost mutters, standing and hauling you up with him. You’re heavier than you look, especially when your body refuses to go limp in his arms. He steps into the bathroom and takes brief stock of it: the small, dirty porcelain tub, the shower faucet that is more of a dribble than a spray. He climbs into the tub with his clothes on and lays with you, both your bodies filling it to the brim as the cool water rains down on your figures.

Johnny kneels at the tubside. “What’s she need?”

“To cum,” Ghost says. He tries to work his hand between your thighs again, but your body actively fights against him, muscles trembling from the strain. At last he can work his fingers between your legs and he finds you sodden, soaked, dripping from the burning heat of your core. All he has to do is brush his fingers over the swollen knot of your clit and your body seizes against him, your jaw unclenching around a shriek as you cum for the first time. You arch against him like a cat, groaning like the frantic touch is the best thing you’ve ever felt. Pure pleasure to your frying synapses.

“Jesus,” Johnny mutters.

“Good girl,” Ghost mutters, unsure if you can even hear him. You’re still fighting against him, but not as much—or perhaps your body is growing tired, weak. He can work his hand between your thighs now, gathering your slick onto his three middlemost fingers and dragging the wetness up over your aching clit, rubbing in soft, rapid circles. This time when you cum, your knees snap open wide, cracking against the sides of the porcelain tub as your hips thrust upwards, chasing his fingers. The sounds that pour from your mouth combined with the way you writhe against him has his cock hardening against your back. Ghost takes even, measured breaths, trying to leave his body behind and focus on your own.

Johnny is fairing no better, shifting on his knees, cock pressed against the side of the porcelain tub. He reaches a hand down and adjusts himself, but lingers too long, until it’s impossible to call it anything but what it is: playing with himself.

A groan rips from your throat, forming syllables, nonsensical. You roll in Ghost’s grasp, your clothes clinging to your wet skin until your clothed breasts are pressed to his chest. Your eyes are open now but so frighteningly empty, glossy with fever and bloodshot. Your gaze doesn’t focus on him as you struggle to grind yourself against the hardening tent in his pants, fingers stiff and useless even as you grab at and cling to him.

“Give her some fingers,” Johnny insists. Your head turns toward the sound, and you scramble out of the tub, flinging water everywhere as you push him backwards off balance, pin him to the ceramic tile floor, and grind your cunt against his cock.

“Fu-uck,” Johnny groans, hands finding your hips. He stills you, the muscles in his arms straining as you put all your strength into defying him. “Lass, you don’t know what you’re doing—!”

Ghost climbs out of the tub, dripping wet. He turns the water off—hopeful that your fever is already beginning to abate now that they are giving in to your body’s needs—and loops an arm around your waist, wrenching you off of Johnny. Some help his Sergeant is. (Ghost had expected him to be about this useless.)

“Sit up,” Ghost barks. Johnny can still follow orders, sitting up and scooting back until his back is braced against the wall. Ghost puts you between his legs, facing away from him. “Hold her open.”

Johnny grips your thighs, fingers dimpling the soft flesh. His face is pained—whether that pain is coming from his cock or from his soft bleeding heart, Ghost doesn’t know. Doesn’t really care. He searches the soaked space between your thighs, finding your entrance and slipping two thick fingers into you.

You howl, body bowing against Johnny’s. Inside, you are like burning silk, soft and molten, squeezing tight around the girth of his fingers. He hooks them softly, aiming for that spongy area behind your pubic bone and works to fuck you with vigor, the wet squelches of your cunt nearly obscene in the enclosed, tiled space.

Your mouth forms words, simple ones: “Yes, yes, yesyesyesyes,” until you are hissing the word, your head thrown back to rest on Johnny’s shoulder and expose your corded throat, shirt sticking to your skin. When you run out of breath, you can’t draw in more, your body frozen in time, trembling with need. When you cum, you fucking squirt, a rush of wetness that follows his fingers when he trails them out of you and skims them over your clit to prolong the orgasm.

“Jesus,” Johnny mutters again, burying his face against your neck.

“No gods here,” Ghost reminds him. He reaches up and taps his wet fingers against Johnny’s cheek, thrills as Johnny turns his head and opens his mouth to take them, to suck them clean, groaning.

“No,” you shriek, wrapping both hands around Ghost’s wrist. You tug with all your strength, his fingers slipping wetly from Johnny’s mouth. “No—back inside, please put them back, please—”

But Ghost knows that these are only temporary fixes to get you off of death’s doorstep. If he wants to truly save your life, he knows the cost. What’s the use in prolonging your pain?

Ghost should pay up.

“I’ve got something better for you,” Ghost promises. To Johnny, he says: “Help me get her to the bed.”

[ohtobeleah]

Something that goes without saying is how uncertain Logan really is about sleeping in the same space as another person. Sure, he'll commit to the fun beforehand….The foreplay, the sex, the highs.

But the inevitable act of sleeping beside someone, terrifies him.

We see it in Origin, we see it in Days of Future Past. Sometimes while Logan is sleeping, his claws come out when he feels under duress. Nightmares are a common occurrence for this man, not a night goes by where he isn't waking in the dead of night to the ghost of his past.

And I'd like to think of all the Logans running around the multiverse, that the Worst!Logan has surely been through some things. He's never experienced true rest. Not until he met you.

“I'll sleep on the couch.” Its common at the beginning of whatever the dynamic between the two of you is. Logan ends up back at your cafe, or in your living-room, bathroom, kitchen or bed—but he never stays beside you for longer than a few minutes after. Not because he doesn't crave that intimacy or true human connection, but because the idea of losing you to his own mutation truly scares the ever-living fuck out of him.

But one night, you catch him off-guard. So off guard that Logan doesn't even have a counter proposal ready.

“Ill join you,” You beam, padding down the hallway with your blanket and pillow wrapped in your arms. “Somethings bothing you and with friends like me and Wade, that shits gonna come up eventually,” You ramble. As you sit beside Logan on the lounge he slept on more often than his own bed, he catches a glimpse of a few noticeable scars on your back. Scars where his claws had once accidentally taken over in an otherwise romantic moment between the two of you. “So, get talking pops.”

“Don't call me pops.” Logan sighs as he opens his body up for you to snuggle up against him. “It's nothing I can't handle, didn't anyone ever tell you not to stick your nose where it doesn't belong?”

“Are you trying to tell me that I don't belong here?” You counter quickly, playing Logan’s logic against himself. “Me? Resident of this timeline? Doesn't belong right here next to you?”

“Go fuck yourself,” Logan smiles all the while trying to keep his brooding man mask on. But with you he feels ever atom of his being igniting with desire and unconditional love. “I worry I'll hurt you, while I'm sleeping,” Logan explains as you listen to his heartbeat inside his chest. Snuggled on the lounge in your apartment. “You don't know how much that thought terrifies me.”

“Hmm,” You hum in response. “Perhaps the question you should be asking yourself Lo, is what if the nightmares, what if the fear stops, when you allow yourself to rest with someone you love?” It was a bold word to use, and even though it was rarely, if ever used, there wasn't another word in the English language to describe how Logan felt about you. Or how you felt about him.

And its a thought that's never crossed Logans mind before. He frowns, thinking it over in the late-night silence. You fall asleep there, right with your head on Logans chest as he tru thinks.

Only to wake up in a tangled mess of sheets, with Logan snorning next to you as the early morning sun kisses his golden, aging skin. Its the first night in years he hasn't woken in screaming terror.

“Tell me told you so and I'll turn you into a skewer.” Logan mumbles as you pepper him with kisses across his exposed back.

“I think I'll take my chances with you, Lo,” You chuckle to yourself. “I'll make you some coffee.”

@a-reader-and-a-writer Canon Ilya universe content

Ilya

[starmocha]

would you still love me if i was a worm? (and other thought-provoking questions) Sylus/Reader | 2100 words | AO3 In which Sylus answers many meaningful drunken questions at 2 AM. A/N: Why have I been clowning on this man 🗿 lowkey based on this post I made before his release lol

It was rather common for Sylus to be up at 2 AM, since in his particular line of work, businesses were best done in the dead of night when most people would be asleep. It didn’t help that the N109 Zone was shrouded in eternal darkness at all times, so the entire concept of time felt rather meaningless to most citizens.

What truly was uncommon for Sylus was receiving a call from you at this time in the middle of the night when you should be slumbering away like most normal citizens. He stared at his phone screen where “Kitten” was so affectionately featured prominently onscreen along with his favorite photo of you. He swiped his thumb across the screen to answer the curious call. Nothing, however, could have prepared the leader of Onychinus with your desperate plea: “Crow Man, come pick me up, pleasssseeee!”

Sylus raised a brow as he held his cellphone tighter in his hand. “Crow Man?”

“Is this not Ca-Caw Man?”

“…are you drunk, sweetie?”

“Mr. Big Ca-Cawk, please pick me upppp!”

Sylus set his phone down on his desk and leaned back in his seat, already massaging his temple in slow circles. He had lavished you with such sweet pet names, and in your darling little head, you had just affectionately bestowed upon him the nickname…Big Ca-Cawk.

Sylus inhaled sharply.

He knew he let you get away with a lot of mischievous things, but perhaps this might be the one time he needed to put his foot down. He held his phone next to his ear again, hearing you sniffled:

“Caw-Caw, do you not like me anymore?”

Damn. You were good.

Sylus huffed softly, finding your drunken speech pattern rather endearing now. With a soft smile on his face, he spoke low, “Far from the truth, sweetie. Now, give me your address.”

You relayed to him the address of a late-night restaurant you were at in Linkon City.

“Stay safe,” Sylus responded, “I’ll be there in twenty.”

The call ended and Sylus heaved another heavy sigh before he stood up. He walked pass where Mephisto was roosting on his perch, and Sylus mumbled thoughtfully to the mechanical crow, “Maybe I should just assign you to monitor her 24/7 from now on.”

Mephisto tilted his head to the side, clearly confused by his owner’s odd words. He cooed quietly in response, watching as Sylus left.

With no speed limit in the N109 Zone, Sylus breezed through the city on his motorcycle in a matter of less than fifteen minutes. Through Linkon City, the street was mostly vacant, and he managed to avoid many of the cop hiding spots. It took him roughly another ten minutes to finally pulled up to the restaurant you said you were at.

As he parked his motorcycle, he took his helmet off, eyes instantly narrowing in anger when he noticed you were backed into a wall by a couple of sober sleazebags. Sylus started to walk up to you, his temper flaring when he heard your feeble protests:

“No…I don’t like this. Go away...”

“Aww, come on, sweetcheeks, you look like you could use a rest at a motel with us.”

“Yeah, it’d be in bad conscious of us if we leave a cute girl like you hanging around on the street like this—”

Sylus had heard enough. His hand tightened into a fist, and thick, dark tendrils wrapped around the two men’s necks, easily lifting them up and sending them hurtling down the block. When they gotten up, ready to assault their attacker, they were instantly frozen with fear from just a simple sharp glare from Sylus. He merely snapped his fingers and new tendrils shot straight down the block at the two men, the sight enough to send them running away in terror.

How fortunate for them. Sylus had other important things on his mind this particular night, or otherwise, he would have felt no qualms with ridding the world of two lowlifes.

When Sylus turned to look at you, his gaze softened considerably, a look of exasperation settled on his handsome features. He approached you slowly, his voice soft and gentle, “Sweetheart…”

His eyes widened in shock when you flung yourself against him, arms wrapped around his waist tightly. You sniffled softly, “Sy-Sy…”

Sylus regained his composure and he smiled down at your head, his hand rubbing your back soothingly. “So I am Sy-Sy now?”

He waited for you to calm down, speaking gentle, comforting words to ease your fears. When he noticed you appeared calmer, he led you to where he had parked. After handing you a helmet, he made sure your arms were wrapped tightly around his waist again before he took off, heading to your apartment.

Once he had arrived to your apartment building, he led you upstairs to your floor. He watched in amusement as you attempted to open the door, unable to get your thumb aligned correctly with the biometrics.

“Here,” he murmured, grabbing your wrist and guiding your thumb to match up with the small screen.

There was a click.

The door opened.

You stared in absolute awe. “Sy-Sy is so amazing…”

Sylus chuckled as he led you inside. “Sweetie, how much did you drink tonight?”

You shrugged. “It was Tara’s birthday…and it was our 5000th wanderer kill…and it was also pay day…and—”

Sylus immediately cut you off, laughing. “I get it,” he said, leading you to your bathroom to help you wash up, “You had a lot to celebrate today.”

He watched you smiled happily as you splashed some cooling water on your face. He helped you removed your jewelry before leading you to your bedroom. Sylus crossed his arms over his chest as he eyed you up and down in your black bodycon dress.

“Now, while I do appreciate seeing you in this dress,” he said with a teasing lecherous smirk, “I don’t think it’ll be comfortable to wear to bed, right?”

You giggled. “Nope!”

Sylus’ eyes widened, completely unprepared when you decided to shamelessly take the dress off yourself and flung it at a chair in your room. You smiled sweetly at him as you stood there in just your bra and panties.

Sylus covered his face, groaning softly. “This girl…” He took another look at you happily smiling away at him with not a single sober thought in your head. He turned away, mumbling, “Stay put.”

He sighed and walked into your closet, muttering to himself as he searched for some sleepwear for you, “You suck at drinking, sweetheart, and yet you let yourself get this drunk…”

After spending about five minutes of searching for some decent sleepwear, Sylus came back out to find you on the bed laying on your side, half-asleep. Sylus sat down on the edge of the bed next to you. He gently shook your shoulder. “Come on, sweetie, as cute as you look like that, you need to get dressed.”

You mumbled sleepily, and Sylus took it upon himself to help you get dressed in an oversized shirt and some shorts. This task felt rather foreign to him, since he was honestly more used to doing the complete opposite. As if reading his mind, you fell against him giggling again once you were fully dressed. “Are you going to take my bra off, too, Sy-Sy?”

He groaned again, his brain about to explode. “Sweetie, you are testing me.”

You giggled again and batted your eyelashes at him.

He smirked, slipping his hands under your shirt from behind and expertly unhooked your bra, tossing it to the side with your earlier abandoned dress. “It’s a good thing I am such a gentleman who doesn’t like taking advantage of intoxicated women.”

“Sy-Sy is the sweetest,” you agreed solemnly. You leaned up and clumsily kissed him, catching him off-guard for just a few seconds before he chuckled against the kiss, pecking your lips lightly. He pulled away first, amused when he saw your look of disappointment at how quickly the kiss ended.

Sylus pinched your cheek, eliciting a pained yelp that stirred you fully awake. “Next time, you are not allowed to get yourself drunk without me around,” he scolded you firmly, though his facial expression was more gentle than angry.

“But it was pay day…”

One sharp look from Sylus had you clamming up. When he turned away, you let out a soft whine, “Wait…are you leaving me?”

He turned back just in time to see a pout forming on your face. He sighed for what seemed like the umpteenth time that night, giving you a slow shake of his head. He knew he was coddling you too much tonight, but he couldn’t bear to leave you alone in such a disoriented state. “Of course not, sweetie,” he answered with a smile, “I’m just going to turn off the lights.”

Once the lights were out, Sylus made his way back over to the bed. He chuckled in amusement as you scooted to the center, giving the empty space next to you an enthusiastic pat. Sylus climbed into bed, happy when you cuddled up to him.

“Caw-Caw, I have a question…”

“So it’s Caw-Caw again?” he asked bemused, and then muttered more to himself, “I think I’d rather you call me Sy-Sy instead… What is it, sweetie?”

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

“Sweetie, I would feed you to Mephisto,” he answered, not missing a single beat.

“Noooo…” you whined at him with tears brimming in your eyes. You weakly pawed at his arm with little fists, pleading, “Don’t feed me to Mephie…”

“Mephie?” he laughed, astonished that now you had taken the liberty of nicknaming his mechanical crow.

“I won’t taste good,” you insisted with a sweet pout.

“Personally, I think you taste divine,” Sylus teased with the double-entendre, but in your drunken state, you didn’t catch the double meaning. You could only sniffle sadly at him. He rubbed your cheek affectionately with the back of his hand, his crimson eyes seemed so bright in the darkness.

“Sy-Sy…”

“Hmm?” Sylus propped himself up on his elbow, his chin cradled in his hand as he peered down at you snuggled up close to him again.

“Where does the light go when you close the fridge door?”

“Drunk you is just full of silly questions, huh?”

You continued, not caring that he didn’t give you an actual answer to your previous inquiry, “Why do we make round pizza, put it in a square box, just to eat it as a triangle?”

Sylus blinked, sighing, feeling at a complete loss for words. “When you are sober, I’ll make sure to look up the answer for you, sweetie.”

“Sy-Sy?”

“What now?”

“Life is soup.”

Sylus raised his brow in complete confusion, not understanding a single damn word out of your mouth now. He didn’t even know how to respond to the odd comment, so he just continued to stare at you, hoping for a follow-up.

“And I am a fork.”

Sylus pulled you into his arms, laying on his back with you on top of him. “Alright, sweetie, it’s time for bed now.”

You giggled, rubbing your face against his soft shirt, inhaling deeply the faint scent of cologne on him. You sighed happily, smelling the familiar comforting, warm and woodsy fragrance on him. “Would you…” You yawned and rubbed your drowsy eyes, “love me if I shrink down to the size of your thumb?”

“Sweetheart, I’ll just have to keep you safe in my pocket.” Sylus brushed the flyaway hair away from your face, his expression tender as he gazed at your sweet, sleepy face resting on top of his chest. Even though he knew by morning, you wouldn’t remember a single thing from this night, Sylus still couldn’t help but voiced his thoughts and feelings aloud.

“I adore you,” he said, hushed, the weight of his words hung heavy in the stillness of the bedroom, “More than you will ever know.”

You yawned again, burrowing deeper into his embrace. “I love you, too, Mr. Big Ca-Cawk.”

Sylus could do nothing but laughed resignedly, his arms wrapped securely around you, holding you close to his body, the soft warmth of you against him was calming. Sylus felt a strange mixture of both happiness and bemusement by your drunk words, knowing your intoxicated state was also your most honest side, revealing to him the depths of your feelings for him. He kissed the top of your head, letting his eyes closed to rest as well, as he murmured, “Sweet dreams, you silly girl.”

[lovelyghst]

simon riley with a virgin!gf would be such a sweet, softhearted bully. always making an effort to be so gentle with you, never pressuring you past a prolonged kiss or some touches between layers of fabric, only to turn around and relentlessly tease you in passing.

simon riley and his addiction to subtly dragging a hand up your thigh when you're in public, whispering sexual remarks in your ear to get you all hot and flustered at the worst of times.

simon riley thought the reason he worked you up so much and so often was to get you begging for it, but was proven terribly wrong when he finally broke through your reserve and even he couldn't believe the words that came so surely from his mouth.

"not yet, baby. wanna make sure you're ready for me when the time comes, otherwise you’ll end up hurtin’ yourself."

simon riley adores watching you touch yourself. whether it be from right by your side as he guides you along, or from the entrance to your bedroom as you missed his texts telling you he’d be home early. he just loves to see you struggling to finish, getting all frustrated and embarrassed when you can’t do it yourself, prompting him to reassure you that everything’s alright before he’s taking over.

simon riley allows you to use his thigh or abs to get off only when you really need it badly, which you'll need to be in tears to prove most often. it's cruel, maybe, but reticence is necessary.

simon riley will urge you on as you rub your clothed cunt against his flexed muscles, even grabbing your hips to help you finish when you lose energy and begin to slow your movements. laughs when he bounces his leg to make you lose balance and yelp, but pouts in sympathy when you whine 'cause he ruined your high.

simon riley never lets you use his crotch to get off, though, as he can't promise his own restraint after a certain amount of your whines. it's the only time the soldier feels grossly weak, and you could never seem to figure out why it’d be such a bad thing.

simon riley gives you his mouth at most, and that's only after weeks of your pining and pleading for the next step. he just had to taste you before he went mad, but nothing more. he adores your innocence far too much to take it away it so soon.

the first time simon riley eats you out is nothing short of a warm mess. he tries to take his time—and he did, bringing out every word of praise in his vocabulary as you gradually got more comfortable—but once he started with the real thing, he couldn't hold himself back.

his thick and hot tongue laps at your pussy as his eyes quickly turn dazed, big inked arms wrapped around your soft thighs to hold your sensitive frame down. you can't tell that he's just slightly grinding himself down on the bed since you're instantly entranced in watching him show you what you've been missing out on for so long.

you don't notice how severely his cock strains in his pants with your mind only able to focus on the knot in your stomach, and how pretty he looks with a slick-covered stubble and drunken smirk. he makes you come on his tongue once before the moment is quickly cut short, your blissful whimpers and raw taste driving him to mutter a sharp swear under his breath and abandon you for the restroom.

you're left on the bed alone, distraught and worried you'd done something wrong, completely unaware to the fact he's fisting his cock with gritted teeth and an unruly pace only a door away.

heavy breathing filling the space, his mind running on all the possibilities for how he could just take you right now, apologize for everything. christ, he should just give you what you want and his poor cock throbs at the prospect, but what kind of man would he be?

he bites his tongue, muffles his groans, and spills himself in his palm with clenched eyelids and fists. absolutely shameful, but bound to happen. you hear the sink run for a moment before he's returning without a single trace or reason for his disappearance. he reads the guilt on your face and soothes you with a kiss to the forehead.

"sorry for the wait, lovie. wasn't very fair of me to leave you like this, now, was it?" and you can only shake your head, tears spilling over.

and finally, simon riley with a virgin!gf who will spend the rest of his day making things up to you: resuming his services with a newfound patience, showing you all the best ways to touch yourself for when he's not there- or for when he is there, because as he reminds you often, he won't be able to take his sweet girl's virginity for a long, long time. for your own sake, of course <3

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru

TW: ish-bullying, loser reader, popular gojo and geto, player gojo, mean-ish gojo

fem reader

Satoru didn’t get it at first.

You weren’t the typical bombshell he’d usually go for. To the naked eye, you were just any other girl he’d pass on the street, with neither a face nor a body worth doing a double take. You were average, perhaps a little above at best, but nothing sensational. Your wardrobe was drab, and so was your makeup—if you wore any—he couldn’t really tell—maybe chapstick with a dull tint and some mascara, but nothing flashy. No one would envy him if he had you on his arm—or in his bed. In fact, you were so invisible that looking at you for too long became an eyesore.

He truly didn’t understand it. Why Suguru’s dour gaze always settled on you. What could it possibly be that he saw in you that his six eyes couldn’t? 

He was desperate to figure it out. When he’d asked his raven-haired friend, he’d only spoken a bunch of nonsense that went straight over his head. And so he’d taken matters into his own hands and gone and gotten himself a good look at you up close. And by look, he means bumping straight into you and making you drop all your books onto the floor—scattered papers and everything. 

You’d landed on your butt with a wince—he’d even snuck a peak at your panties in the fall, and still, he didn’t really get what the hype was about. You were just another run-of-the-mill girl—an utter nobody.

He looks down at you with a disappointed grimace, almost frustrated with how utterly mediocre you are. Fully bored with his findings, he’s about ready to give up, ignore you, and walk away without a word, leaving you there in the puddle of your own dismal banality—almost afraid it would rub off on him like a disease.

He’s very nearly convinced he finds your presence utterly disgusting until your voice slips out and stops him dead in his tracks.

“I’m so sorry—are you okay?”

Sweetly nervous and earnestly apologetic, you call out as if he’d not been the one at fault, as if he hadn’t just committed a plain hit-and-run, as if you weren’t the one on the floor and he wasn’t standing there fully unscathed with his hands down his pockets, staring down at you like you were a filthy thing at a zoo.

You look up at him while singing your sorries—big round eyes full of something he wished he could drink—that’s how suddenly parched he felt—breathless. No, hungry. Starving, actually—as if his inner animal had just found the perfect prey.

This is it, he thinks—that thing Suguru has been admiring all this time, that something that makes the otherwise grim line of his lips softly quirk upward. And oh, it’s such a simple thing, but truly priceless all at the same time—makes him want to eat you up and lick the plate.

“I’m the one who should apologize.” His grimace smoothens into a smile as he crouches down and reaches his hand out to you like a gentleman. He’s never done so before, but it comes naturally now.

His chest swarms with warmth and noise at the pretty blush of your face as you gingerly accept his gesture—bowing your head shyly once he’s helped you back on your feet, nodding so prettily with an ever-sweet and soft-spoken “Thank you—”

He can’t believe he didn’t see it before—you’re absolutely adorable.

You even try insisting he needn’t help you gather your wayward books and belongings, but he just tuts at you—determined to observe you a little while longer as he tells you it’s no big deal, it's the least he could do after being reckless and walking right into you. 

He carries it all for you to your classroom, where you once again bow your head and sing his praises. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were trying to get rid of him with the way you apologize for taking up his time. How cute—he’s making you really nervous, isn’t he? Of course, he is—you’re a complete mess, unable to look at him for any longer than a second before looking away.

It’s funny. To think he’d been dining with his own kind for so long—all sharp-tongued vixen with claws curling themselves into him, each sinking their teeth in for a piece—when he could have instead been feasting on you.

♡ GOJO SATORU masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[elysianightsss]

He laughed so bostrously, lips closing around his cigar while he did so, blue eyes not leaving yours as you got out your keys ready to enter your house, white picket fencing the only thing separating the two of you.

“Thank you.” You smiled his way, ecstatic with the compliment. You’d only been driving a little while so to hear how good he thought you were at parking made your chest swell with pride.

“John Price.” He spoke again coming closer this time, blowing the smoke from his mouth, head turned so as not to blow it in your direction. You gulped watched a single bead of sweat roll down the skin of his thick neck.

You have to blink yourself back to the present as he’s extending his hand to you over your side of the fence, only coming up to your waist.

You grabbed his hand, a little suprised with how hot it was, slightly sweaty too. You told him your name in return, cheeks flushing slightly, more than they already were from the heat of the day when he hummed approvingly repeating it like he’s testing it out so he can use it more often.

“God it’s hot today ain’t it.” The question was obviously rhetorical as the sun was beating down on the both of you as you spoke. It was so far what they called ‘the hottest day of the year’ and this time the weather girl wasn’t lying. You’d had to put sun cream on before you left the office because of how hot it was.

Thank goodness your office building had air conditioning because you don’t know how you would have survived otherwise. As soon as you walked out the hot air was choking and the sun’s heat was awful after being in the nice cold all day.

“It’s better than it raining though.” John spoke again almost trying to fill the gap where he thought you may have commented.

“I don’t know, I kinda like the rain and the cold. It’s nice when you get to have the fire going and cuddling up on the sofa with an old movie or book, maybe some hot cocoa-“ you began to ramble on all the things you like about autumn and winter. All the while John is watching with a smile on his face, picturing doing all those things with you.

He’s more distracted than you are that there’s an awkward pause when you stop rambling, he’s still in a trance while you stand there biting your lip nervously as he simply stares at you.

“Doing some gardening?” You try to break the silence to which he slightly jumps, eyes regaining their focus on you.

“Yeah, thought I’d do the front of the house up a bit, make it look somewhat presentable.” He chuckled looking back at his handy work, it didn’t look half bad. The lawn was mowed and he had started to plant some seeds by the looks of it.

“Looks a lot better than my dump, I never have time for it.” You say with a laugh, glancing over your shoulder at the overgrown grass and dying flowers you’d planted last spring to try and making the place look better. Fail.

“You work a lot huh? I see you coming and going most days. Barely ever home.” He tilts his head, arms folded over his chest bringing his cigar up to his mouth once more.

“I only get weekends off, and they’re really the only time I spend at home if you don’t count coming home to sleep at night.” You sigh thinking about how hard you had worked today, always taking on problems that maybe you should let others handle but then you wouldn’t be paid as much as you get.

“I’m glad I’m retired, but I must admit it’s rather boring.” He inhaled the smoke, a thinking look clear on his rugged face.

“You don’t look old enough to be retired.” You comment, not meaning to say it out loud. Your eyes widening once you realise you have.

“I’ll take that as a compliment love.” He laughs, the corners of his eyes creasing when he does. His thick beard surrounding the way his lips curve up in smile. Your face burns and you definitely look like a tomato right now.

“I best go inside and shower off today.” You smile at him with a small wave before turning on your heal and heading inside. You slump against the front door cursing yourself. “Stupid stupid stupid.” Heading upstairs you do exactly what you said you would, shower.

That’s why you don’t hear the lawnmower turn on again, that’s why you don’t notice it’s right outside your house, that’s why you don’t notice that John Price is mowing your lawn as you scrub your white loofa over your legs. But when you’re done and you look out your bedroom window, your heart stops.

Your handsome neighbour, is cutting your grass in the hot sun, without a shirt on. He spots you staring a sends a wink your way…..that man will be the death of you.

[visionsofmagic]

day 13: clark kent [aftercare]

࿓ synopsis • after having a rough session with clark, you let him take care of your exhausted body.

―❦ nsfw, kissing, soft!clark, after a rough sex, f!reader, pet names, confessing, cleaning, washing, watching, fluff, i's all! • 0.6k • couldn't publish sooner, but, here we are at least. enjoy! [kinktober m.]

"agh -" you say, moaning lowly, in pain that comes from your sensitive clit as clark's fingers travel on it, cleaning you under the warm water.

“oh, baby,” he says, fingers stop for a moment, eyes scanning your face; furrowed brows, lips are getting a bite, hands hold him from the neck and chest as a source of cure and stability at the same time. “you okay? I can go slower if you want.”

he proposes as you sit on his lap, hugging him, and negatively shaking your head while one of his strong arms holds you from back so that you stay still, warm water waving from time to time as you move in sync.

sitting on the clean bathtub, you let clark take care of you after one of your roughest sex – you can see all the redness on your body which he left intentionally yet acting so innocent when he sees them, fingers caressing your soft skin gently as if he wasn’t the one who fucked you in different positions, earning a pathetic state out of you, nearly making you use the safe word because of how good he was fucking you and how much you wanted it to end even though your actions told otherwise.

fear of fainting, you stopped when he got your fourth orgasm, then, cumming all over you as he cries in pleasure, confessing how you make him so weak that he loses mind whenever he has you beside him, under him, above him – in every way he can, he loves it, he loves you.

so it’s not a surprising thing when he picked you up from the messy bed after preparing the bathtub for you to wash and get clean, got into it, taking you into his arms, making you feel smaller yet quite peaceful, letting him do whatever he wants to do to get you cleaned up, ready to rest on the bed you are sharing with him beside you.

he said sorry over and over again until you said it was okay – that you enjoyed every bit of it because you missed him as much as he missed you.

fingers gripping your chin, he makes you look at his shining blue eyes – your own reflection on them. he smiles widely, fingers moving to your hair, caressing it gently, still having that precious expression on his face, looking like a greek god yet feeling so human – one of his kind, always.

“you have no idea how much I missed you,” he says, now taking warm water on his palm, then, cleaning your naked body within it – he seems to have guilt because of what he has done to you; biting marks as he claimed you shine brightly, red marks on your waist is visible due to holding you tightly as he shoved his cock into you, the neck has pink colors because how he held it, pushing your face onto the pillow so that you could moan as much as you wanted while he had you from behind.

all because of him.

he would never hurt you, he didn’t either, yet, he seems a bit sorry. however, you know he also has prideful feelings, so, you smile softly, resting your head on his wide shoulders, saying, “they all will heal, don’t feel sorry – it was so good that I can’t wait to get better and do all those things again.”

he chuckles, kissing your forehead, and then, your whole face, “then get better soon because there are lots of things that I want to do to you, my prettiest girl.” with that, he kisses you one more time. he cleans you, drying you with the softest towel, changes the sheets, and puts you on the fresh bed, taking his side beside you – hugging you, he watches how peaceful your face looks, smiling down at you, and sleeping as he has you close enough to himself – he knows he should leave soon enough yet being with you seems as the right thing to do. he missed you so much after all – the world can wait a bit longer.

[awakenedevildays]

「bathtubs and requests」 Art Donaldson x F!reader

you can read the other parts here!

━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━

"you should move in with me" Art's voice echoes off the bathroom walls of his apartment, it's all so relaxing: the heat of the water around your bodies, his chest pressed against your back and his arms wrapped around you are so comfortable that it takes a while for you to realize what he just said.

"what?"

"you heard me" he murmurs against your neck "come live with me" an incredulous laugh leaves your mouth and you try to turn completely towards him, but his arms clench tighter around you and prevent you from moving enough to do so.

"may I ask why you are asking this now?" you move slightly to the side to see his face emerging from the hollow of your neck.

"I feel like we're ready to do it" his eyes avoid yours and focus instead on his fingers as they start caressing your shoulder "and it's also the next logical step in our relationship."

"You think so?" this time, despite Art's protests, you turn towards him: your breasts press against the boy's chest and his eyes fall down quickly before being brought back to yours by the hand under his chin. The tease is evident on your face and Art feels his ears warm up quickly to the realization of being caught in the act.

"I know so" and kisses the smile off your lips to distract you.

"My answer is not a no, but how do we know that our relationship is ready for this?" you ask him and, without realizing it, the agitation inside you rises: how did you know if you were ready for this step? and if you break up because you went too fast?

The tennis player frowns "what do you mean?" and the sight in front of you distracts you for a second: Art sits back against the back of the tub to stand more upright and listen to you better, his arms, after moving his curly damp hair out of his face, leans on the edges of the tub, his wet and smooth chest shines and his legs are open and bent to the sides to give you more space between them. If you weren't so determined to finish the topic you are having you'd kiss him to death, but you're a woman on a mission and you can't get distracted.

"I mean, some of my behaviors might irritate you or we might fight about serious things and then we wouldn't be able to run away from our problems by going back to our apartment, we'd have to deal with these situations and be mature about what bothers us and-"

"love, you're getting worked up over nothing" he says and his expression relaxes into a smile: now that he understood that your reasons are motivated only by insecurity and not by the fact that you don't want to take the next step with him, he feels it will be easier to convince you otherwise.

"You see? this is exactly what I'm talking about! if we move in together we can't belittle each other's feelings and concerns like this. It wouldn't be healthy and-"

"love," he interrupts you again, and your hands that were gesturing in the air fall on his chest, your eyes avoid his.

Out of your mouth comes a small "…yes?" that makes the man in front of you chuckle.

"we're ready" his calm tone makes its way into your chest "we're 24 years old and we've been together since we were 19, we both have a steady job and we already know everything about each other, there's nothing you can tell me that will change my mind".

"what if we fight?"

"I can't promise you we won't fight, we fight even now that we don't live together, but it seems to me that we are pretty good at making up, if we fight we will solve it as always" it's true, you never went beyond a day without talking to each other, even if you were angry.

"what if we break up?"

"It won't happen," he answers immediately, his fingers move the locks of hair behind your ears and then rest his hands on your face, his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks.

His head lowers to chain your eyes together and you look up to facilitate his task "I won't let it happen", the security in his eyes makes you exhale a breath you didn't know you were holding.

Your eyes move around to look at the bathroom, "but I wouldn't be able to pay half the rent of this apartment"

"I don't care about that".

"but-"

"If you really want to pay something, we can split the bills," he answers hastily, at the moment Art doesn't care about how to split the expenses, he would pay everything if it meant he could spend the rest of his life next to you… he just needs your 'yes'.

Your face gets close to his, your lips a few inches away.

"okay" his eyes still fixed in yours

"'ok' what?" his smile gets brighter, he wants to hear you say it.

"I'll move in with you" you smile too.

"that's what I like to ear" he kisses you again.

Now he only has to ask you to marry him… but that will have to wait a little longer.

━━━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━━━

Hope you guys will like it as much as I liked writing it! 🩷

(in this fic he still has long hair cause I said so)

[blastoqueen]

Sunrise.

Chapter 4

Rating: Teen and Up

Relationships: Noa x Mae (Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes)

Content warnings: None

Comments: English is not my first language. The chapter problably has a lot of bad english, but in my defense I wrote this with a terrible headache. Anyway this doesn’t have a lot of plot, I just wanted to write something sweet between them

When Noa looked at Mae, the first thing that came to mind was her eyes. Bright blue, looking deep into his soul. Next thing he thought of was her long hair, entangled and dirty, he often wanted to tell her that she should just cut it all.

“If you are going to be a hairless being, do it right” he never dared to say those words out loud, but the need was strong.

There was a part of him, a confusing and strange part of him, that wanted to touch the brown hair and detangled every not. He has seen Mae do that with her hands.

It had been two weeks since Mae settled in the village. Noa never told the human, but it took a lot of convincing and yelling for the elders to accept her permanently into their clan. He felt almost embarrassed when he had to make an announcement to the rest of the apes, telling them that Mae was a part of them now, and that they should respect her as long as she did her part in the community. Of course, there were disagreements, but eventually most of them came to accept the Echo in the Eagle Clan.

“But going back to her hair…”

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

“Why only females… come with you?” Soona asked Mae. They were at the lake, getting clean.

“Actually, humans don´t shower next to each other… ideally” the human responded.

“Why?” Case, Soona´s friend interrogated.

“We are shy”

Mae removed her clothes and step into the water, joining the other two females, who were fighting playfully.

“Are you mom?” Case asked.

“What?”

“Your chest”

Mae felt self-conscious, she braced herself, covering up her breast and looking away.

“No, I´m not a mom”

“Oh. Echo thing then”

Soona pinched her friend.

“Chest is big” Soona explained, trying to get Mae out of her shy shelf “Only moms get chest that big… to feed”

“Oh” the human girl said, she uncovered herself, starting to scrub the dirt out of her skin “Yeah, for humans is normal. Most girls have this. You don’t have to be a mom”

They continued getting clean, and when they were done, they relaxed in the grass, watching the sunset.

“I know nobody… sees beauty in you” Case said “but I do. I think you are… pretty”

Mae stayed silent for a few seconds, not sure if she should feel offended.

“I see the beauty too” said Soona “Your body… is different, hairless, thin. But there is beauty… in that. Even if you… are not like ape”

The human smiled, she felt safe, appreciated, loved.

She felt also pretty. And that was nice

--------

“Where were you, Mae?!” Noa asked. He came running to her and almost hug her. Luckily, he stopped in time “Hair is wet”

“Calm down. I was taking a shower, with the girls” Mae said, almost ignoring him and passing by him

“What? You took shower recently” the ape started to follow her into her room in one of the towers.

“Yeah, humans need to shower often. Be grateful, otherwise you would be begging me to take a shower”

When they got into her shared room, she stopped him right at the entrance.

“Goodnight Noa” she said with a smile. This would be fun.

“Wait what?” the male got confused, she wasn’t going to let him in? Maybe chat a little bit like other nights?

“I share this room, Noa. I can´t just invite a boy whenever I want” she had this grin on her face… the ape catch on her game.

“Oh, I see. Well, if I cannot come in, maybe you should come out” he responded back, leaning into the wall.

“And go where?” Mae asked with a funny smile.

“You´ll see”

“Would there be climbing? You know I prefer walking”

“Do not worry. We take horses” he said. Mae closed the door of her room, ready to follow the Eagle Clan leader.

She started to walk when a hand stopped her.

“And by the way, if we climb, just get on my back, Echo” Noa whispered in her ear.

-------

“Are you allowed to run away in the middle of the night?” Mae asked.

They were in a green field with knee-length grass walking under the moon light and a torch.

“I am not running away” the ape said distracted, looking down to the grass, concern in his face.

“What´s wrong?”

“They should be dancing”

“What?”

“I wanted to show you the lighting dancers”

Mae stared at the ape. Was he loosing his mind?

“Wait!” Noa spoke “They are here”

Right when the girl was about to make a sarcastic comment, a firefly emerge from the grass, shining bright. Then, more of them started to fill the air. Dancing.

“Have you seen one of these?” Noa asked her

“No. I read about them. But I have never… woah”

The human watched fascinated how those little insects were producing light and just flying around, illuminating the dark night. It was truly amazing.

“Thank you for showing me this” Mae said with happiness.

“Anytime”

The fireflies kept dancing and Noa kept falling.

[emmyrosee]

helloooe i don’t know if u write for gojo (i’m new in your blog and haven’t seen gojo posts lately or maybe i haven’t scrolled far) and saw that your looking for angsty requests, can i request angst as in the different levels of gojo and reader, that gojo is so powerful and that the world constantly needs him so he can’t give reader enough attention, in a way actually hit them both in their relationship?

if not, it’s okay, i hope you’re doing fine!!

GOJO ANGST MY BELOVED-

---

"If you leave, you will come home to an empty house."

The warning falls confidently from your lips, as if premeditated and ready to be released into the air at any given trigger. Satoru stops getting his shoes on and turns to face you. Your eyes hold nothing but exhaustion, eyes under your bags dark and the lifelessness in your face sends a shiver through him. Had you looked so worn out all day?

"What... did you just say?" He whispers, brows pinching in the center in betrayal.

"You heard me. If you leave me right now, without a second thought of my regard, you will come back to nothing from me but my scent and this memory of us."

Thirty seconds ago, he smearing frosting on your nose and when you pushed him away, he’d peppered kisses over your face and fingers dug in your sides. Thirty seconds ago, you'd been interrupted in your baking by the man who would move mountains and swim oceans for you, only for his phone to ring just seconds later, calling him away like it always does.

Thirty seconds ago, he was kissing the laughter from your lips. Now, you’re threatening him.

You're cruel for this predicament, this choice and this bomb to be dropped on him mere seconds from him leaving for who even knows how long. But it doesn’t matter to him. You knew what you were getting into, and it’s not his fault he’s needed more often than not.

You should love him no matter what. As he does you.

He swallows thickly, "don't do this. Not right now."

You shrug, "this is your choice. Not mine. You know my terms.”

Bile rises up his throat and his hands tremble before fisting themselves into a little ball, "this is your choice, you doing this right now when I need to leave-"

“You always need to leave. I’m just sick of it.”

Now, Satoru just feels himself getting angry, "is this ultimatum really necessary right now? You couldn't have waited three damn days-"

"I think you're optimistic in guessing you'll only be gone for three days," you chuckle, crossing your arms over your chest. He sees the hurt in your features, but he merely shrugs it off as he continues to put on his shoes. “I’m not kidding, Satoru,” you warn. “You leave. I leave.”

“Then leave!” He shouts, hating the way tears sting at his eyes, “do it! I dont need you! You think I do? I’m Gojo Satoru.”

He does. Good fucking god he does, Satoru needs you like he needs water, craves food and forces breath into his lungs, he needs you like he’s paid to and loves you more than himself.

But you can’t know that. Even if not knowing it will drive you away.

You just your lower lip out and shrug, “then leave. Gojo Satoru.”

In desperation, he searches your eyes for something, anything to call your bluff, anything to tell him you’re lying, you won’t leave him. But your eyes tell him nothing, your eyes are closed off and protecting yourself from his venom.

He balls his fists and takes a sharp sniff through his nose in an attempt to ground himself.

“Maybe I will.”

He opens the door before slamming it shut behind him, the vibrations rattling his bones and making him feel even weaker than he was before. He knows that you might slam the door in a not too dissimilar way in but a few hours, cupcakes abandoned and bags packed into your car, leaving your keys in the mailbox and leaving his life for good.

All he can do is hope otherwise.

But in all the lies he can tell himself, that’s one he’s having a hard time believing.

[monarchberrysblog]

𝔩𝔢𝔱’𝔰 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔲𝔭

18+ Miguel O’Hara x Fem! Reader

Summary: After arguing with Miguel over a touchy subject, you both come to a consensus.

Content Warning ⚠️: Soft! Dom! Miguel, Dacryphilia?, Praise (from Miguel), little nicknames (Mainly cariño and neña), and a little bit of Miguel being a complete munch. (if you don't know what that means, you're too young to read my content.) The reader is a bottom, overstimulation (nothing new), and unprotective P in V. (wrap it before you tap it). Miguel talks the reader through it, and Miguel cries. (I wish I were playing) (NOT PROOFREAD) (OOC MIGUEL)

Word Count: 3.1k+ words (holy shit…)

Author's Notes: Well, this occurred to me while soaking my hair in rice water 😭 But in all seriousness, here’s something sweet but smutty 😗😋 Hope you all enjoy it. If there are some plot holds, I'm sorry. I've been busy recently.

To my girlies who have a praise kink, your secret is safe with Miguel. 💌

It had been two weeks since you spoke to Miguel, let alone share a bed.

Miguel regretted that he yelled at you or how he compared you to Dana, his former lover. The truth was, you were far better than Dana. You were kind, patient, and understanding of his responsibilities as Spider-Man. He didn't know what came to him when he compared you, a literal angel, to one of the worst partners he'd dated beforehand.

You remained a pillar of support and unwavering patience throughout his double life. Despite the countless tasks, you never once complained. You were there to tend to his wounds at the odd night hours, offering comfort and care. During the frigid winter months in Nueva York, you never failed to have a warm and nourishing soup ready to soothe his ailing body. But now, asking him to come home soon was too much?

"Dana would never complain about me coming home late!"

"Well, I'm sorry that I'm not her!"

The same argument returned for the last few days until one instance ended it. It was the same argument managed, but he managed to end it—not as you expected.

"I should have never dated you! You are so demanding. Dana would never be like this." The second he finished, he covered his mouth with his hands quickly and backed away from you. He wanted to take back his words, but you didn't give him that advantage. Your silence felt suffocating to hear and to be around. But the sight of your lips quivering and your eyes at the brink of spilling tears. The urge to run to you and to beg for forgiveness rushed through his veins.

Before even having the opportunity, you are running away from him into your shared bedroom, like a small rabbit running away from its predator to seek shelter in a small hole in the ground.

As soon as Miguel laid eyes on the scene before him, his stomach turned, and he felt like he would be sick. It wasn't just that he had acted up—the complete lack of remorse he felt at that moment truly frightened him. Meanwhile, seeing you trying to hold back tears made the situation unbearable. But when he heard you weeping in your bedroom, the guilt he felt just got magnified.

/

The sound of thunder boomed throughout the apartment complex. Usually, this made you want to grab a soft blanket and snuggle in Miguel's arms. However, the events that led to this said otherwise. He was out in Nueva York while you were bedridden. The sensation of your pillow against your cheek buried away the melancholy and the tears that your poor pillow always caught whenever you got upset.

The now old Victorian complex now creaks and settles down every other occasion. The sound of a muffled evangelical leader seeped through the thin walls, despite the number of complaints Miguel had told the older man to turn it down. But now? The preaching from the frustrated man drowns out your sorrows as thunder continues to rumble throughout the complex.

The window sliding open greets you, snapping you out of the evangelical preacher's words. Veering over your shoulder, you see your boyfriend, Miguel, crawling back into the apartment, closing the old window, preventing the downpour from creeping in and soaking the red oak floors. The sight of him changing into his sweats and undershirt was enough to make you blush, but you ignored your instincts. The simple 'hey' he greets you made you toss and turn on the bed, ignoring him.

Your heart skipped a beat as you heard the words "Cariño, por favor" uttered from behind you. Your mind was racing, and you wondered whether to turn around and face him. The temptation to forgive and forget lingered in your heart for a week, but what he had said had left an unforgettable mark. The hurt and pain were too much to ignore, and you knew deep down that it was time to move on—even though you were too adamant for your good.

A small sigh of defeat fills the mere pregnant pause in the air as the bed creaks under the added weight on the bed before settling down. The blankets bunched around your chest and near your chin comforted you despite the smell of it being your favorite fabric softener combined with his scent. "C'mere…" He groans, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into a spooning position. A loud whine from you wasn't the response he was expecting. He expected a giggle when he did so, but an adverse reaction said otherwise.

"Please don't be upset, cariño. I didn't mean what I said about, well—" Miguel suddenly stops. There is no other way around it. He messed up big time, and can see the hurt in your eyes.

You weren't Dana, something that Miguel always took for granted—the memory of having to deal with someone so parasitic, like a brain-eating amoeba, was emotionally draining. Even thinking about it is enough to make anyone tired. The emotional unavailability was the thing that got to him when it came to her, knowing that she wasn't waiting for him and cared about herself instead. The artificial bullshit was the only thing she desired, such as the dates and the gifts, not the emotional side of things, such as aftercare.

"What I said, it was true. You're not like Dana," A pause filled the space as you waited for him to continue. "You're not her, and it's something I adore." The simple kiss to your temple made you liquefy in his arms, but you remained silent, giving the silent treatment. "And I'm sorry about what I said; it was something I said in the heat of the moment." A nuzzle to the pillow was the only response he received, along with the low rumble of thunder.

As his lips touched your temple, a wave of gentle affection washed over you. The kisses continued to rain down softly, dotting your forehead, cheeks, and finally, your lips, like a fluttering of delicate butterfly wings. A tiny grumble left from you, not wanting to cave into his little kisses and advances that you ever so adored dearly.

The harassment of sweet kisses ended after ten minutes, and you turned your body to face Miguel. "…hey."

"Hey, cariño…" He hums, sneaking a kiss to your lips, which you allow. "…hey." You repeated, not knowing what else to say. "Hi." Miguel chuckled from the back of his throat and planted another kiss on the forehead. You stayed silent for the longest time until you looked up at him from where you rested your head on his chest. "I'm sorry too—" Miguel covered your mouth with his hand, nearly covering your entire face. "No, don't apologize. This argument was all my fault." He pulled his hand away from your lips, and a subtle sigh left.

"I shouldn't have exploded over one little thing. You rarely ask for me to come home a little sooner." His fingers combed through your hair, occasionally fixing some knots. "It shows that you care; you want me to be at home, safe and warm…" The pitter-patter of rain continued to play a steady tempo like a metronome at an adagio, not too fast, yet a bit slow. "I'm sorry for giving a poor excuse for blowing my anger at you. It was… stupid." He breathes out. "I had no reason."

You hummed and nuzzled closer to him. "I forgive you…" You mumbled, soon curling up to him for his warmth. "I should have known that asking for you to come home sooner is a bit too much—" You were cut off once again with a kiss on your lips, muffling your words. After you stopped and returned the kiss, Miguel pulled away after a moment and ruffled your hair.

"No, cariño. None of this is your fault. The blame is all on me." He rubbed the back of your head with his hand, lightly massaging the nape of your neck with his thumb. A small chuckle escaped from him. Seeing your messy hair makes him smile at the sight you gave him. Usually, you would throw a fit about how you looked, especially when the two of you went out. But now, you seemed loosened up and mellow.

He embraced you tightly, nuzzling into your neck as soon as you returned it. "I missed you so much… I don't like being mad at you," you muttered, slowly rubbing your fingertips against the nape of his neck. Then you started playing with his hair. A small smile formed on your lips as you felt his soft waves against the pads of your fingers. "Even with your suit, your hair is always soft. It never fails to surprise me."

Miguel only gave you a chuckle before pulling you to rest on his body and planting a long kiss on your lips, which you happily reciprocated. The soft, supple kisses soon evolved into something hungry and messy. The soft caress around your waist soon became handsy and coping with a feeling of being on one another. "I missed you, nena…" He mumbles in between kisses.

His kisses moved from your lips, leaving a small trail from your neck to your collarbone and, finally, on your plush lower stomach. “Nena… let me, please…” With a rush, you nodded, rubbing your thighs together slowly. "Here, let's help you out…" Usually, the man would rip your underwear off, but this time, he held back. He patted your hips lovingly, gesturing for you to raise your hips. "Raise your hips for me." You obeyed immediately, soon squirming out of your underwear and helping Miguel.

His arms hooked around your thighs, dragging your upper half down onto the mattress and having your pussy close to Miguel's lips. "Look at that, that kiss got you all wet…" Before complaining that you could feel his breath against your sensitive clit, Miguel indulged himself, devouring you slowly and slurping any remnants of your arousal. "My god, you taste so good…" He shuddered in between your folds and soon probed his tongue at your entrance. The light flicks from the wet, active muscles tease you enough for you to grasp onto the duvet underneath you and moan deep from your throat. "Oh fuck, fuck me with it…"

Hum is the only response you accumulate as you feel the wet tongue slowly tease your fluttering hole and soon feel Miguel lightly push his tongue at your fluttering hole. A small, needy moan filled the space while the wet muscle made you arch your back against the mattress. "Fuck, I want it inside…" You urgently whine.

"What do you want, cariño? Use your words, m'kay?" He muttered, slowly pulling away from your pussy and taking the time to savor you.

"I want it…"

"You want what? Please tell me what you want." He cooed to you and rubbed his thumbs against your thighs. The light breathing against your clit and entrance didn't help your case. Your high was making it nearly impossible to get on top of him and to take regime.

"I want your cock… please."

After a few moments of your demands and feeling his soft breathing against your pussy, he slowly slid you back down onto the bed, laying you down on the bed gently. "C'mere…" Miguel whispers sweetly before he gently holds you close and slowly rubs his aching length against your folds. The sensation of the fabric of his sweats rubbing against your bare skin was enough for you to moan at the feeling. "Wait, this feels…" He paused and looked down at you. "Are we okay? I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." You could hear the sheer panic in his voice, but you only nodded, giving him the green light.

Reaching down, your hands worked quickly, and you pulled on his sweats and boxers. A low groan emits from Miguel, feeling his dick get freed from the restrictive clothing. "You wanna hump on my cock like a good girl?" He mumbles out heavily, slowly lowering himself and allowing his length to rub in between your folds slowly. "Oh god, slowly. Slowly, cariño…" He urgently breathes out, slowly letting his bulbous tip rub against your clit. The burning yet slippery sensation slowly builds up. The slow, sensual rubs are enough for more arousal to build up, making it feel like a slippery slide thanks to your arousal and Miguel's precum. "Mierda…"

"Do you want me to fuck you, and do you want my babies?"

You nodded immediately, squirming in underneath him on the mattress.

"C'mon, grab it and slide it in. You know how to do it."

It had been weeks since you'd had sex with Miguel, especially since the argument about Dana; it almost had been a month without any intimate contact. You slowly reached for his cock and lightly tapped his tip against your entrance, a little nervous about how it would be a tight fit. "Miguel?" You slowly whined, still holding onto his aching cock. "Do you need any help?" He hums, slowly getting himself comfortable. "It's been a while…"

He nods before he grabs his cock and helps you slowly push himself in. "Shit!" He suddenly hisses out, barely letting his tip inside of you while you claw at his arms and groan. "You are tight…" You looked down and saw that your poor partner barely kept it together. "Give me a moment, nena…" He murmurs out quietly, slowly thrusting his tip at your entrance.

"Just the tip?" You sweetly suggested, looking down again, seeing how desperately he wanted his length to disappear by simply slowly pumping into you. "Maybe… Just the tip…" Miguel nods, slowly letting his tip probe at your entrance.

/

The sounds of labored breathing and moans filled the apartment, drowning out the evangelical preacher from next door, along with the angry bangs from the other neighbors. "I want you…" You breathed out, slowly feeling him sink in his length until his happy trail brushed against your clit. "Then you can have me. I'm yours to do as you please." His voice was like warm molasses, a sweet honey running down with sweet venom.

Another shout from the older man next door causes Miguel to roll his eyes as he slowly thrusts into you, allowing his mushroom tip to brush against your cervix. "Shut up!" Miguel yelled out to the angry neighbor and returned his focus to you. "Can we go a little faster?" You meekly suggested while slowly moving on his length. "Ay, cariño…"

The sensation of his length twitching inside of you is enough to have the man nearly cave in and thrust into your fluttering walls to end the slow overstimulation on his tip. "Easy, easy…" He breathed out weakly, slowly grasping onto your hips. His talons digging into your flesh felt like tiny needles lightly prickling at your thumb while sewing. "You're a little tight, and it's been a hot minute." His breathy groan filled the space immediately, slowly moving in and out of your fluttering hole. Not listening to his demands, you began to move your hips down and slid with ease, allowing your arousal to cream on his length. "Let's piss the neighbor off."

It was a sick, twisted fantasy to anger your neighbors, especially with the fact that y'all had thin walls in the time-old apartment that could drive anyone crazy. Mainly because the older neighbors around y'all are rowdy and complain about every little noise you or Miguel produced, most the sound of a blender or even if some music played a little too loud to their liking. But to you and him, it was time to get back at them and be as noisy as possible.

His pace was languid yet deep, taking his time while letting out low, rough grunts. “You're doing well, cariño.” You respond weakly by letting out a mewl and only let your fluttering wall convey the message more. “I'm trying…” You whined, bringing him to your embrace. “Can you go a little faster?” You plead, feeling the slow, delicious burn from his girth. “You sure? I don't want to hurt you.” He nuzzled close to your neck, leaving tiny kisses.

“I can handle it.” You pant, slowly sink yourself into him, pushing yourself down on him. The veins running down his length brushed against your clit deliciously, with a loud mewl filling in the apartment. “Please, please, please.” You plead out loud. “I'm on birth control, please.”

“I want you to—” One quick thrust ended your words. A sudden scream of pleasure filled the space, feeling Miguel’s merciless tempo. “Oh fuck! Yes! Keep it at that!” You demanded while being underneath him. “Baby, I'm a little—”

The wanton moans filled the space while the banging of the neighbor on your apartment walls made this nothing but filthy. “Shut up!” Your hoarse demands filled the space while you banged your fist against the wall. His unrelenting tempo continued, feeling that burn you ever so missed desperately.

The wet, squelching noise made the scene more lewd for Miguel, along with your shared bed creaking underneath the two of you, barely holding on with whatever strength it could conjure up. You are underneath him while he can feel your arousal coat his length along with his precum. The pace felt nothing but filthy and desperate. The feeling of tiny water droplets landed on your cheeks, causing you to wipe them off before you look up and see your partner, your usual aloof, stoic partner, shedding tears before you. The rough pace continued as you clawed at his back, leaving faint, red marks before you felt your rippling finish come to you and embraced Miguel tightly. “Please, I'm close…”

With one single thrust, you felt him twitch inside you before putting his heavy load in you.

“You okay?” You peeped out to him while feeling him slowly slide out and wiping away his tears. “Yes, I'm fine. Just overstimulated myself a little.” Slowly, he pulls out, earning a tiny groan from you and immediately pulls you into a warm embrace. “I didn't hurt you, did I?” You shook your head no, taking in shallow breaths. “No, I'm okay. Just a little sore.” You mumble quietly. Little sore was an understatement…

“C’mere…” He pants out, pulls you into a warm embrace, and plants soft, lazy kisses on your temple and cheeks. “You did so good…” The lazy, slow presses of his body against you felt like a weighted blanket, along with his chest heaving against yours. His hands roamed your body, allowing his fingers to trace light patterns and memorize you. “What do you want for dinner, cariño? Do you want me to prepare you something or do you want that one pizza you like on Main Street?” He murmurs from your shoulder, not wanting to get off of you. An incomprehensive mumble is the only thing that responds to him.

“Pizza it is, then.”

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt ~ Honor to Us All ~ Gotham as one true the most haunted city edition

~~~~~

Instead of a welcoming banner in front of a city was an old column, so familiar to a boy, with a warning inscription:

"To outsiders mad enough to attack Gotham: You will be forced to understand that dead soldiers will also go into battle. And having risen to protect, they will be ready to perish all again, So no one of the living would die near them."

Danny smiled with love. 'I’m home, Mother.' Ghost whispered into the void. And Gotham answered.

~~~~

Danny: My Lady, I brought you the crown of Pariah Dark. And The Ring of Rage. They’re gifts to honor the Gotham family. Lady Gotham: The greatest gift and honor is having you on my side, child.

~~~~~

Danny Fenton was born in Gotham and lived here until his parents decided to move. The city didn’t accept them.

'When I die, I want to be one of the Gotham Knights.' Little Danny with pride and eagerly reported to his parents after visiting the Battle Glory of Gotham Museum on a school trip. This evening, Danny learned that not all his plans should be told to his parents.

Danny know his parents are crazy about ghosts. and that all ghosts are "bad". But obviously, the ghosts they talk about, and his, or rather Gotham's, ghosts are completely different creatures. The spirits of the defenders are those who, even in the darkest of times, make the shadows of the Gotham a protection to the citizens.

But that knowledge is his little secret for now. Because if he starts arguing he’ll be punished and he won’t be able to run off to the roof where he’s arranged to meet Robin. Robin’s cool! He works with one of the 'still-living' knights. And he knows more about the city than anyone. Danny doesn’t want to offend his friend.

~~~~~

Mr Lancer doesn’t understand why the lecturer about ghosts, Constantine, after seeing Danny, said something about the bloody gothamites and their inability to stay underground. It wasn’t nice at all. Mr Lancer doesn’t blame Mr Fenton for smiling at the man a little aggressive and viciously. Poor boy probably didn’t know how to respond to his behavior. Danny moved to Amity Park a long time ago and did not stand out at all. So what was this man’s problem?

Danny only half dies because Lady Gotham blessed him when he was a child. So when Danny sees snow-white hair and glowing green eyes in the mirror, he is not frightened but surprised that the Lady protected him even though he is not living in Gotham now.

~~~~~

Danny knows gothamites don’t consider that Gotham is a part of the USA. Even their Metropolis neighbors are just pathetic cowards, unable to withstand the hardships of life. No, really. Why the hell would they be patriots of the country that thinks they’re its dirty secret? This opinion is shared by old ones and children, rich ones and residents of Crime Alley, heroes and villains.

Danny loves Gotham. And he likes local jokes about how if one of their supervillains ever took power enough to threaten the government, he would be obliged to release them from that citizenship. Otherwise, he would be shamed and ridiculed by the inhabitants.

Phantom is not a villain. But for Gotham? For their common purpose? He is ready to pretend to be.

~ A ghost can bring his city ~ Great honor in one way ~

Gothamites remember that the child of mad scientists was the only person Boy Wonder was willing to call a friend. They remember how boys' laughter was heard from rooftops and from alleys on particularly dark nights. And they know whose restless spirit has returned to mourn the death of the second Robin.

The boy’s parents must be fools. Many outsiders are. They call their blessing a curse. People die in Gotham. And not all of them come back. Residents know that these ones are chosen by Lady Gotham herself.

The public enemy of Amity Park number 1? What nonsense. He is not theirs anything! In Gotham they will accept the Phantom as a guard, as a silent shadow, as a villain or a hero. In any kind. Because he belongs here. He should be part of their dance between life and death. He should be amidst dark alleys and acid rains, gliding between fear and laughter in the air.

Even local villains experience strange yearning. Like something’s wrong. Like a piece of a puzzle that’s lost. Therefore, the local abandoned observatory is empty, and none of them is in a hurry to call it their territory. Because it will be in demand, it will be loved and needed. It’s only a matter of time.

Let the spirit of Gotham guide you home, child. Dead gothamite is still gothamite. Which means there will always be a place for you.

~~~~~

When Danny first enters his favorite cafe in his Phantom form and with a wound on his leg, he doesn’t expect a cleaning lady to yell at him immediately for the blood on the floor. With a mop in his hands and with already bandaged leg, Danny feels as if all his worries had gone. They are not afraid of him. Of course. No one in Gotham would avoid him because of glowing eyes and sharp teeth. And that’s nice.

The waitress throws a tray of food on a table next to him: Welcome dinner for the wandering son of the alley. Red Hood said it's your usual order. He’ll be waiting for you on the gargoyle. You should know which one.

~~~~

If parents listened to his childhood stories about good ghosts, they would know that the Phantom is not special. He is not an anomaly of ghost nature and not a mistake. He is one of many who always were and will be defenders of the city. Danny stands in front of the costume that he admired years ago. He's ready to take another shift at work. The remains of his colleagues can rest quietly this night. Lady will wake them only when in dire need.