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willcomemed · 11 months ago

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Disposable Isolation Gown

WILLCOME Disposable isolation gown is a type of protective clothing worn by healthcare workers or patients to protect against the spread of infectious agents, such as bacteria, viruses, or other pathogens. It is made of non-woven materials, such as polypropylene or polyethylene, and is designed to be used once and then discarded. The isolation gown covers the entire body and typically has long sleeves, a neck tie closure, and a waist tie to keep the garment securely in place. Disposable isolation gowns are commonly used in hospitals, clinics, and other healthcare settings, as well as in research and laboratory settings, where there is a risk of exposure to infectious agents. They are an important part of infection control procedures and help to prevent the spread of diseases from person to person.

Features of Disposable Isolation Gown

Fluid Resistance: Disposable isolation gowns are made from materials that provide resistance to liquids and fluids, including blood, bodily fluids, and other potentially infectious substances. This helps prevent contamination of clothing and skin.

Full Coverage: Isolation gowns typically provide full coverage of the body, including the front, back, and arms, to protect the wearer from potential exposure to infectious agents.

Tie or Snap Closures: Isolation gowns may have tie closures or snap closures, allowing for secure fastening while ensuring ease of removal.

Neck and Waist Ties: Many isolation gowns have neck and waist ties or closures to ensure a snug fit and prevent gaps that could expose the wearer to contaminants.

Disposable and Biodegradable Materials: Some gowns are made from biodegradable materials or materials designed to be eco-friendly, aligning with sustainability goals in healthcare.

Color Coding: ln some healthcare settings, isolation gowns maybe color-coded to designate their level of protection or specific use (e.g.. yellow for contact precautions, blue for standard precautions).

Compliance with Standards: Isolation gowns should meet specific regulatory and safety standards, such as those set by the FDA, ASTM International, or other relevant authorities.

- Latex-Free: Many isolation gowns are latex-free to

accommodate individuals with latex allergies.

· Disposable Design: These gowns are intended for single-use

and are disposed of after each use to prevent cross-

contamination and maintain a sterile environment.

.Open or Closed Back: lsolation gowns can have an open orclosed-back design.Closed-back gowns provide more

comprehensive coverage, while open-back gowns are easier toput on and take off.

· Elastic or Knitted Cuffs: Gowns may feature elastic cuffs orknitted cuffs at the wrists to provide a secure fit and preventliquids from entering the sleeves.

· Breathable Material: The materials used in disposable isolation

一oo-Linting:DiSPosaaIR i:eliAtioa :powu .rca.

sterile environments.

. Various Sizes: Disposable isolation gowns come in various sizesto accommodate different body types and ensure a proper fit.

. Resistance to Tears and Puncture: These gowns are designed toresist tears and punctures, ensuring their integrity during use.

. Antimicrobial Coatings (Optional): Some gowns may have

antimicrobial coatings or treatments to provide an additionallayer of protection against bacteria and other pathogens.

#medical #isolation #gowns #disposable

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arcielee · 7 months ago

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ilībio

Summary: Aemond finds comfort in your cunt. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x female!reader Word Count: 2.6+ Warnings: reader AFAB, dubcon elements?, oral (m receiving), vaginal fingering, rough sex as a coping mechanism, p in v unprotected, a hint of possessive Aemond as a treat Author’s Note: Thank you my beloved beta reader @sylasthegrim 💜 This story was partly inspired by the brilliance of @peachysunrize (my muse 💜) and @adragonprinceswhore and their wonderful pieces they shared on this hellsite, but it was also inspired by this bitch ass anon. This man is beautiful and I would do anything to be a hole at his disposal. Enjoy! Valyrian translations: ilībio is whore, Iksā ñuhon is you are mine 😈

The instructions from the madame were clear: you were not to speak to the prince and you most certainly were not to look him in the eye.

It was hard to follow her explicit instructions, as he was as beautiful as he was captivating. You recalled the night when you first saw Prince Aemond. He was poised at the entrance, pulling back his hood to reveal the silver spill of his hair that showed gold in the amber light basking the brothel, his brow furrowed as he looked over the room before taking a step. He was tall and lithe with a grace that cut through the crowd, not sparing a glance at the patrons or whores that parted to allow him through.

You remembered hearing the stories of the old gods of Old Valyria and thought that he was truly the embodiment from those legends, that he glowed from the ichor knitted into his veins.

He paused to look at you, and you felt your heart begin to gnaw at your ribs, your pulse erratic as you burned under his one-eyed scrutiny. Your head was in a fog, unable to understand his question. “Your grace,” you chose to say with a curtsy that was clumsy and unpractised.

He did not care for the attempt or for your formality, but instead repeated his question. “Where is she?”

You escorted him to Sylvi as requested, and the madame was quick to capitalize on her honored guest, excusing you at once. You continued to watch him from the shadows, entranced, lost in the daydream of being whisked away with the favoritism of a Targaryen prince.

When he finally left, she caught your gaze that followed him. Her law was laid, he was hers alone, and your envy was hot and thick in your blood, but you were nothing but another whore to serve, awaiting at her beck and call.

It was her constant threat of being cast out to Flea Bottom that kept you obedient. She wished you to be a decorative piece, dressed in sheer gowns chosen to complement your figure, and tasked to carry a carafe that would keep the cups filled. You did what you were told; you moved throughout, your fingers curled around the neck and the other hand supporting the bottom, careful not to spill a drop.

Your second run in with Prince Aemond was nearly your undoing.

You did not even see him, as your trained demure gaze left you counting your footsteps, and despite how lean the prince looked, he felt solid enough when you stumbled into him. Your hands cramped to hold the bottle upright, your senses flooded with the scent of the leather he had been wearing earlier, mixed with the sheen of perspiration and the bathing oils you surely would never afford.

You were rooted to the cobblestone with the realization that he was bare.

He seemed to tower over you, and the dragonfire that burned bright showed in the lavender of his eye, glittering in the sapphire of the other. You were mortified and he frowned in return, his silver brow furrowed as he looked you over.

You stared back at him, your embarrassment fading, and perhaps it was your unabashed awe that caught his attention–but whatever it was, he would not tell you.

Prince Aemond reached out to grip your jaw, dimpling into your cheeks. You could feel the warmth from his fingertip trickle down your spine and pool into your core; your thighs clenched for relief, your heart screaming to be consumed.

He tilted his head, his eye boring through as if he could see what you desired, though it was painted plainly on your face. He smirked. “One whore is as good as another,” he spoke out loud, and you felt your heart expanding, pumping your blood and encouraging your steps to follow after him.

The prince glided to a stop in front of an enclave that was draped in silk and lace. The whore and her patrons inside recognized him at once, scattering like rats into the shadows and leaving you alone with the dragon prince.

Your hands were still shaking as you set the carafe on top of a table, wiping your palms on your skirts. You turned to face the prince and saw his posture was proud, his muscles tensing as his hands balled into fists at his sides; his eye was ever-watchful of you.

Your lips parted with a soft exhale to soothe your nerves, to settle the pounding in your chest. You took a slow step towards him, your fingers wishing to reach and touch the marble he had been crafted from, but instead you untied the dress that was wrapped around your waist. The fabric pooled at your feet and you were just as bare, your blood seering to the surface when you saw his cock twitch, a lust that began to cloud his eye.

It was exhilarating to entice a god.

Your eyes widened with your own admiration as you took him in, a trepidation that fluttered throughout when he did not reach for you right away. Another exhale and you moved closer to kneel before him, your head tilting up to look at him.

His jaw ticked, a curiosity flickering, waiting for your next move.

You swallowed your hesitation and your eyes washed over him with reverence, falling to the lines that cut into his slim hips and trailing in-between. Your touch was gentle to wrap your fingers around his hardening cock, moving it aside to press a wet kiss on the curve of the base. You rested back on your heels and looked up again, licking your lips.

The prince had you rooted with his heady gaze, a rose dusting to his features. His hand touched the top of your head, returning your attention back to how hot and heavy he now was against the palm of your hand.

It thrilled you. Your tongue flattened to follow along the side, tracing every ridge and vein of his impressive length. The tip was flushed and you pressed another kiss, licking away the briny taste from your lips before wrapping them around to savor the dragon thrumming in your hand.

He gave a low groan, tensing with how your mouth moved to engulf him. His hand curled into the back of your scalp with a hold that made your skin prickle; your hand grabbed his hip to anchor your endeavor, moving up and down until he was slick from your spit, your desperation to try and swallow every inch of him.

You gagged, pulling back to lick your other hand and wrap it around what could not fit, matching your pace. He now held onto you with both of his hands, his fingers knotting into your hair with a hold that brought tears to your eyes, but you would not stop–the taste of royalty igniting in your blood vessels. You were spurred on with the sounds that spilled from his lips, and he bucked into your mouth, bruising your throat.

Only then did you let go, gasping for air. “Forgive me–”

He did not let you finish. He reached to wrap his hand around your upper arm and he pulled you to stand. “Get on the bed.” His voice was low and lethal, velvet that wrapped around to control you.

You scrambled on top with a visceral shiver from that anticipation already curling at the base of your spine. You looked up at Prince Aemond and it beckoned him closer with a heavy sway between his slender thighs. “My prince, you will not fit,” you realized, “I must–I need to prepare myself…”

He loomed over you, balancing one arm on the edge of the mattress while the other reached to stop your hand. “Allow me,” he murmured, bringing his first two fingers to his tongue before dipping to slip them between your silken folds.

It mixed with your arousal, jolting through you as his fingers curled into you. The stretch burned for a moment, but his touch was tactful, pressing upwards until colors began to dance in front of your eyes, soft sighs spilling.

You whined when his hand pulled away, wiping your slick onto his cock. He pushed forward until you melted back onto the bed. Your legs spread to invite him to the cradle of your hips, and he paused to look at you, a softer expression worn as his eye dropped to your lips.

Your pulse quickened with your hope for a kiss.

But instead, his hand dipped to guide his length. You felt a shiver of delight from the glide of his swollen cockhead up and down your slit, gathering the wetness that pooled. You ached for more, willing, wanting, canting your hips to angle yourself in a way for him to sink into you.

The prince took his time and you back arched, gooseflesh rippling over from the intimate pressure, from his intoxicating scent and the softness of his hair tickling your skin, from the heat that seemed to permeate from him. He pushed into you further and it was a fullness you had never experienced before; your walls clenched with the slow rut of his hips, deeper and deeper, until he fully sheathed himself within your warm cunt.

The prince melted into you, molding to your body. His head tucked into the curve of your neck, his teeth nipping at your pulse to muffle his low groan that rumbled through you.

Your lips pressed to his collarbone, a muted mewl in response. Your vision spun and your legs lifted to wrap around his slender waist, pulling him closer. Your hands followed up the definition of his arms to his shoulders, nails biting to hold onto him; you licked his skin.

He pushed back with a shudder, eye blown and red blotches staining his alabaster skin. A slow roll of his hips went even deeper and you moaned at the sensation. This pleased the prince, and his lips touched the soft spot under your ear, your nipples pebbling when you felt his smile, his rasped command on your skin: “Let them hear you.”

The madame taught all the girls how to feign pleasure. There was an art of kohl and hooded eyes, of girlish whimpers and whines to encourage patrons to completion.

But it was unneeded with how the prince was splitting you in half with his cock.

His palms pressed to hold you against the slow snap of his hips, fucking you into the bed until you were teetering on the precipice of both pleasure and pain. Tears pearled at the corners of your eyes and spilled with his brutal pace. He does not see them, his sharp chin tucked to his chest, mesmerized by the white ring forming around the base of his cock that glides in-and-out of you.

It sparked a kaleidoscope of colors with each thrust and you clenched again. “Gods,” he hissed, “you were made for me.”

His praise was muted, your mind so lost in the haze of passion building, in the wet suction of your cunt desperate to pull him back into you. Your slick spilled in-between your thighs, your fingers fluttering to his hips to pull him even closer–

But Prince Aemond pulled away.

You could not stop your whine, pressing to your elbows to watch him. He cupped your chin, not rough like before, but enough to tilt your head back and truly look at you. The severity of his features softened, the natural curl to his pink lips ticking upwards and hinting at a smile. “I want you to turn around and get on all fours.”

Your stomach dropped at the thought of him claiming his pleasure in a more… unnatural means, remembering the horror stories that the girls shared. You burned as you moved, just as he wished–for how could you deny a prince? You faced away, your arse up.

His palms were warm when they touched your hips, sliding back to spread your cheeks to see how you glistened for him. There was another noise of content as he shifted behind you, another trill of pleasure up your spine when you felt his cock pressing into your cunt again.

This new angle was tight, and your hands knotted into the linen of the bed to brace yourself. The prince does not force himself on you, but takes his time to fit; he leaned over you, his lips touching the curve of your spine and his large hand reaching around to palm your breast, pinching your nipple between his finger and thumb.

You crumbled, another muffled cry into the bed, your nerves aflame. His hand followed to the nape of your neck, a firm hold to pull you back up. “Let them hear you,” his repeated rasp was hot against your skin.

His hands bruised into your hips, sinking into you until the tops of his thighs were flushed against your arse. You were shaking, your back arching to feel him pressing even further than before. He hummed and slammed into you with a pace that builds.

It returned you to that pleasure you tasted earlier when his fingers curled within you, something anew. It was a warm sensation that prickled over your skin, igniting with his thrusts. Your hips rocked back to meet with his unrelenting rhythm as he crashed against you, again and again, until you shattered, splintering off and lifting above, a thousand butterfly wings fluttering throughout you.

Your cries pulled him after, your cunt grasping for his release. It was quieter for him; the prince hunched over you, his damp brow pressing to your spine with another guttural groan as he pulsed hot and deep into you.

You fell into the mattress, breathless and drunk from the pleasure pulled. Your mind was tittering how you should fetch a cloth to clean the prince, to pour a fresh goblet to wet his throat, but your body refused.

At best, you muscled enough strength to turn your neck and look at his sharp angles as he laid on his side, taking in the vision he commanded: the rose tones that touched him intimately, the freckles sprinkled on his shoulders, the lavender color that returned to his one eye.

Princely, you thought. “Beautiful,” you murmured.

His jaw ticked and for a moment, you swore he flushed from what you said. He touched a finger to your hip, following your curves and coming up to press into your chin to hold your attention–as if you would dare to look away.

“I will be back for you tomorrow,” he decided.

Your practiced stoicism masked your elation. “She will not like that, my prince,” you reminded him, thinking of the venom that poured when Sylvi glared at you. She made sure to mention him like a trophy she possessed, her face perpetually smug with her every mention of him.

A smirk played on his lips. He pulled you into his chest and you felt his spend spilling in-between your thighs. You did not care but melted into his warmth, your arm wrapping around his waist, pressing your face to his chest and feeling the low hum of his heart.

“She will be of no concern,” he spoke like a man who acted without any fear of consequences, but you supposed that this was the tone of all royalty. He pressed a kiss to your hairline and it jolted through your chest. “Iksā ñuhon.”

You curled against him, too dazed to comprehend the weight of his words that rolled from his lips–the tongue of Old Valyria. They meant nothing to you as you laid in the arms of a god.

hotd masterlist || arcie's navi

#house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #hotd x you #hotd x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader

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8health · 2 years ago

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#wholesale isolation gowns suppliers #disposable isolation gowns supplier usa #wholesale medical isolation gowns #disposable isolation gowns bulk #disposable isolation gowns manufacturers

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gghostwriter · 5 months ago

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Camaraderie

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer and some unwanted guests catch you singing at a bad time Trope: Fluff! Just fluff! w.c: 1.1k a/n: something short n’ sweet, get it? i know i said i was sick and I still am but i wanted to really write something based on this post so i did and since I’m still battling the flu, this isn’t my best work nor has this been edited but still posting it for the fun of it all! Hope you like it. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗

Spencer Reid was never one to forget. After all, his near perfect memory didn’t allow him to, which was a curse and a blessing on itself. So it came to everyone’s surprise when Morgan came strolling in the BAU office after hours to pick him and Luke up for a scheduled boys’ night out and the boy genius innocently asked what he was doing there.

“No way,” Morgan chuckled, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Pretty boy has forgotten something? It must be my lucky night ‘cause this only happens once in a lifetime.”

“You really forgot?” Luke clarified as they all packed into Morgan’s four door vehicle. “Oh man, I thought you were pulling my leg a while ago when I brought it up and you made no comment.”

“It really slipped my mind!” Spencer’s voice going up in defense.

The duo laughed.

“Or maybe you’re getting old,” Morgan needled as the car came to a stop at a red light.

Spencer shook his head, wishing to drop the subject. “Hey, do you mind passing by the apartment for a bit? I didn’t tell her that I was going to be out late since it you know, slipped my mind—”

“Can’t you just text her for that?” Morgan argued back.

“—and I’ll drop off my dirty go bag.”

“Oh got the missus doing the laundry?” Luke teased.

“She’s not my wife yet,” he sighed dreamily. If he was going to be honest with himself, he was looking forward to it. He had half the mind to propose elopement when got down on one knee but the excitement you radiated off when discussing about themes, dinner placements, and the wedding gown was enough for him to dispose of that idea quickly. It didn’t matter how fancy or how long the planning would take, as long as at the end of it all, he got to call you his and you get to call him yours. Everything in between was just lavish wrapping to present the world Mr and Mrs Reid.

The car came to a stop, bringing him out of his musings.

“Thanks Morgan,” Spencer started to exit the passenger seat. “No need to go up, I’ll be quick.”

They both shook their heads, also stepping out—Morgan from the driver’s side and Luke from the side beside him.

“We’ll say hi to the future Mrs Reid,” he patted his back as the trio packed into the elevator up to his floor.

Spencer shrugged his shoulders in acceptance. With your busy work schedule and the upcoming nuptials, it was a rare occurrence for anyone from the team, expect for Garcia, to catch even a glimpse of you.

Echoing melody was the first thing that greeted them once they stepped out of the lifts.

He laughed under his breath, already knowing that it was coming from the home you both shared. It had been a ritual for you, of sorts, as the only neighboring apartment was empty from tenants. There was really no one to scold you for making any ruckus at this acceptable 7pm time. Spencer, for one, wasn’t one to spoil your fun. He loved seeing you be free, dancing around in his clothing and singing the lyrics no matter how off key.

Key slotted to the door, he let themselves in without any words exchanged—just looks and laughter under their breath.

—and I’m obsessed Are you free next week? I bet we’d have really good

Spencer admired your swaying form from behind. Wearing his Caltech tee that was three times too big for you, neckline slipping off to one shoulder. His very own personal sunshine chasing away all the darkness that had tainted his very being.

Unaware of your audience, you belted out the next cheeky lyrics. “Come right on me, I mean camaraderie. Said you’re not in my—”

Luke slapped his mouth to stop his chuckle from escaping while Morgan’s eyebrows raised at an all time high.

“Love,” Spencer urgently called out.

“—timezone, but you wanna be—eek!” You shrieked, turning to face the voice of your lover, only to find two more unaccounted for in the audience.

“Hey pretty girl,” Morgan drawled out. “That’s some nice singing you’ve got there.”

You felt your face flush with mortification. Out of all the people to have caught you, it had to be Morgan. The self titled big brother who liked to tease all he held dear to his heart.

“W-what are you all doing here?”

Spencer reached out to give you chaste kiss on the lips. “We’re going out for a boys’ night out and I forgot all about it.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re all here exactly.”

“I was just going to drop off my dirty go bag and they wanted to say hi,” he smiled at the embarrassment he could clearly see written in your expressive face.

But i bet we‘’d have really good bed chem How you pick me up, pull ‘em down, turn me ‘round Oh, it just makes sense How you talk so sweet when—

“Oh my god,” your feet pattering on the hardwood floor as you ran to stop the vinyl still playing in the background. “Not one word,” you threatened the duo with a finger raised up high.

They both raised their hands up in defense but mirth was clearly painted on their faces. This was definitely becoming a lethal ammo perfect for quips and teasing.

“Okay, you three out,” you all but pushed them out to the lobby. “I need to bury myself in copious amount of wine and please, forget everything you saw, okay, and Spence—” you leaned in to give him a kiss goodbye and squeezed his hand that held yours. “—I’ll see you when you get back. Have fun!”

The door slammed shut without another word uttered.

Morgan turned to Reid with a smirk on his lips. “So camaraderie, huh?”

“Shut up,” Spencer quipped back, giving him a slight shove towards the elevator.

But before he himself stepped into the awaiting lifts for a night of no doubt teasing and innuendos, Spencer sent a quick message back to his other half with cheeks red and a grin on his face.

Your wish is my command, love. Later.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #Spotify

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tritonmarketresearch · 2 years ago

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Rising Infection Incidence to Drive the Global Hospital Gowns Market

Triton Market Research presents the ‘Global Hospital Gowns Market’ report sectioned by Type (Surgical Gowns, Patient Gowns, Non-Surgical Gowns), by Usability (Disposable Gowns, Reusable Gowns), By Protection Level (Minimal, Low, Moderate, High), by End-user (Specialty Clinics, Hospitals, Other End-users) and by Regional Outlook (Middle East and Africa, North America, Europe, Asia-Pacific, Latin America).

The report further discusses the Market Summary, Industry Outlook (Parent Market Analysis, Impact Analysis, Market Maturity Analysis, Porter’s Five Forces Analysis, Industry Components, Regulatory Framework, Key Market Strategies, Key Buying Impact Analysis, Drivers, Challenges, Opportunities, Analyst Perspective), Competitive Landscape, Research Methodology & Scope, Global Market Size, Forecasts & Analysis (2023-2030).

According to Triton Market Research’s report, the hospital gowns market is expected to experience a CAGR of 11.83% during the forecast period spanning from 2023 to 2030.

Request Free Sample Report:

https://www.tritonmarketresearch.com/reports/hospital-gowns-market#request-free-sample

The hospital gowns market is being driven by the increasing number of surgeries being performed worldwide. The United States alone sees over 50 million procedures conducted each year, according to a study published in July 2020 titled “trauma of major surgery.” Hospital gowns play a vital role in protecting patients against nosocomial infections, which is why surgeons consistently recommend their use.

Additionally, the growing demand for hospital gowns is due to the increasing prevalence of healthcare-associated infections caused by a lack of sanitation and precautions. Hospital gowns can help protect patients against these infections. This is expected to drive the growth of the global hospital gowns market during the forecast period.

The global hospital gowns market could face difficulties in the forecast period due to the strict production standards for hospital gowns in different countries. For instance, medical gowns in the US are categorized as medical equipment and regulated by the FDA, with surgical and surgical isolation gowns requiring premarket approval as Class II medical devices. Non-surgical gowns, on the other hand, do not require premarket review but are still subject to production standards. This variation in production standards across different types of hospital gowns and countries may pose a challenge to the growth of the global hospital gowns market.

The global hospital gowns market is led by North America, which accounted for the highest revenue share in 2022. The demand for hospital gowns in the region is expected to increase due to the growing number of surgeries and healthcare facilities. The hospital gowns market in the United States is driven by the increase in hospital-acquired infections and the number of surgeries performed. The American College of Surgeons reports that approximately 15 million people in the country undergo surgery each year, creating a significant demand for surgical gowns.

Some of the key players in the hospital gowns market include Standard Textile Co Inc, Angelica Corporation, Halyard Health, Mölnlycke Health Care, Aramark, Medline Industries LP, Cardinal Health Inc, 3M, AmeriPride Services Inc (acquired by Aramark), and Primed Medical Products Inc.

Entering the hospital gowns market is challenging for new players due to the substantial investment required for purchasing supplies, vehicles for transportation, and raw materials for gown production. Moreover, stringent regulatory standards for hygiene and safety act as a significant restraint. Therefore, there is a moderate overall risk predicted for new entrants in this market.

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Phone: +44 7441 911839

#Hospital Gowns Market #Hospital Gowns #disposable hospital gowns market #healthcare #medical devices #market research reports #market research #triton market research

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silverfairywings · 18 days ago

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— IN THE WAKE OF FLAMES PT IV

eris vanserra x archeron!reader

summary: even before you became fae, your favourite season was autumn. it’s a little hard to hide this when your least favourite newly appointed high lord has made it his life’s mission to be the most annoying male in your life.

a/n: she's baaaack. this one made me a bit excited ngl i hope u enjoy and also the tag list is closed now sorry! thank u all for enjoying this story :) please lmk what you think <3

The first thing you become aware of is the cold. It seeps into your skin, sharp and biting as if the stone beneath you is sentient and determined to steal any ounce of remaining warmth in your blood.

For a second after you open your eyes, you start to panic when nothing but darkness comes into view and you blindly reach out for something to hold onto. Your wrists make a rattling sound with the movement and you realise there are chains around them. Blinking, your eyes slowly adjust to the darkness and it becomes apparent that the only light in the room is a dimly lit torch mounted on the wall far from where you’re sat.

When you try to move, your muscles scream in protest and you wonder if you’ve sprained your wrists because they feel like they’re on fire. The manacles are clamped tightly around them and you reach for one with your opposite hand to see if it has some give. As soon as your fingers prod around under the cold metal, you recoil with a sharp hiss of pain.

You inspect your finger as close as you can in the dim lighting and see that it’s now red and sore. Suddenly, the burning sensation around your wrists makes more sense and you lift them up to find that the insides of the manacles are lined with some sort of powder.

Ash wood.

Stomach turning, you slump against the damp wall and it’s almost as though the realisation that you’re physically being weakened has made you even more susceptible to it.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you register that it’s going to leave scars on both of your wrists.

Despite the pain and the fear that settles on your chest, you don’t cry. You’re too distracted wracking your brain, trying to remember how the hell you got here in the first place.

The last thing in your memory is rushing out of the High Lords’ meeting with Eris’ biting words replaying in your mind. Even now you feel scorned, despite your much bigger issues. You had left the gathering in a hurry and gotten a short moment of solace alone.

You were outside. Alone. And then…

Bile rises in your throat as the memory hits you — a hand clamping over your mouth and the smell of something strong and chemical before the world faded to black.

Biting back a sob, you force yourself to take deep breaths to avoid making any noises in case there’s someone stationed outside the cell you’re locked in.

Still breathing shakily, you decide to test your limbs and shift on the cold floor, swallowing down a gasp when a sharp pain flares in your ribs. You glance down at yourself and pull up your gown to inspect your side. Even in the dim light you can see the blossoming bruise, how the colour of your skin is starkly different to the injured area.

Your pulse thunders in your ears.

Clearly, whoever has thrown you in here doesn’t care about being gentle with you. Who? You think to yourself.

You think hard for answers, for any clue that might explain your predicament. Was this about the rebels? Did they think they could use you as some sort of bargaining chip against the High Lords? You’re sorely hoping they need to keep you alive in order to do that, and that you’ve not been taken just to make a point. Because in that case… you’re disposable.

The realisation that whoever took you may not need you alive for much longer makes your skin start to become slick with sweat, despite the freezing cold.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoes in the distance, pulling you from your spiralling thoughts. They’re slow and deliberate and grow louder with each passing second.

Body tensing, adrenaline surges as you scan the barren room for anything you could use to defend yourself. Using your powers is out of the question for now. The ash wood is weakening you and until each little bit of the ground wood has fallen from under your manacles, you’re powerless. You doubt whoever took you even did it for that reason. It feels more like a torture tactic.

The footsteps get closer and closer and you give up on thinking of any ideas, pressing yourself against the wall to make yourself as small as possible.

They stop just outside your door.

You hold your breath, your entire body trembling as a key scrapes in the lock. The door creaks open, revealing a figure silhouetted by the torches from behind them.

They don’t speak, but you can feel their eyes on you, taking in every detail of your weak form.

“Who are you?” you demand, your voice hoarse and raw. You hate how weak you sound, but you do everything in your power to infect as much force into the words as you can.

“Forgotten me so soon?” he says, voice flat and devoid of any emotion. Rage bubbles beneath your fear, hot and consuming.

“I can’t see you,” you growl, scowling as your impertinence makes itself known. You gesture around your cell with your hands, chains clinking. “You didn’t exactly spoil me with the warm and cosy lighting.”

The figure turns and closes the door to shut out the light that’s causing too much glare. You have to bite your tongue so you don’t beg him to leave it open, very aware that you’re at his mercy.

When he turns back around, you have to blink to adjust to the lighting again before having to squint as his face comes into view when he steps nearer the torch, silver braid glinting in the fire.

You blink, leaning back to slump against the stone wall. “Vaelith?”

Your scowl drops in favour of a confused expression that has the Spring Court official’s eyes narrowing in irritation. He was most likely expecting you to be afraid, but you’re simply baffled.

Vaelith. The same Spring Court advisor who had questioned you in the High Lords’ meeting which had prompted Eris to humiliate you the way he did.

His lips curl into a thin, cruel smile at your silence. “Surprised?”

For a moment, you can’t find the words. Your mind reels, trying to piece together how one of the Spring Court advisors — someone you’d see countless times at meeting, trusted even in a superficial sense despite him being an asshole — could be standing here as your captor.

“Slightly underwhelmed, if anything,” you mutter, only regretting your words a tiny bit when he clenches his jaw. You have to remind yourself that he’s in control of whether you live or die and it sobers you up a bit. “I don’t understand. Why?”

Vaelith sighs, as if your confusion is an inconvenience to him. “You really think that this rebellion we’re all trying so hard to stop, could have achieved even a fraction of what it has without someone on the inside?” He steps even closer, the flickering torchlight catching the cold gleam in his eyes. “You and your little circle and all the other High Lords were so focused on our precious borders… you never thought to look closer to home.”

Your ears start ringing as the pieces click into place. “You’re the one who let them into Spring. You’ve been feeding them information…”

“Clever girl,” he sneers, crouching down so he’s at eye level with you. “Not clever enough to stop this, of course. But clever.”

Your lip curls and you tug against your restraints, despite the pain. “Does Tamlim know? Or are you just another rat gnawing away at his Court.”

“Tamlin is weak,” he spits, venom dropping from his every word. “The Spring Court has been rotting from the inside for years. The rebellion is the future — Prythian’s future. And you… You and your sisters are nothing but obstacles in its path.”

You spit in his face.

Vaelith recoils, the spit glistening on his cheek, before he straightens, his lips bulling back into a dangerous smile. His eyes flash with anger, but there’s something darker, more unsettling in them as he wipes his face clean with a nonchalant gesture.

“You’re going to regret that,” he remarks, as though he’s pointing out an obvious fact.

You breathe heavily, chest rising and falling rapidly. “You going to kill me?”

Vaelith smirks. “You’re going to wish I had,” he mutters and the last thing you see is his fist flying out to connect with the side of your face, knocking you further down into the darkness of your cold, damp cell.

“I need to speak to the two of you,” Eris demands, not bothering to knock as he bursts into Tarquin’s throne room where he knew he would find the High Lord of Summer along with the Inner Circle. His eyes land on Rhysand and Feyre. “Alone.”

Eris knew something was wrong when he saw everyone departing for their own courts except the Night Court, their faces lined with worry. All except you.

You’re missing from this particular gathering too and the bad feeling in his chest progresses into a sinking feeling that has his footsteps slowing.

“And why would we allow that?” Amren asks, in a quiet voice that sounds almost challenging, if her eyes are anything to go by. She regards him like he’s a toy to be played with and he decided to ignore her completely, focusing instead on Feyre.

“You can’t find her, can you?” he says, not really asking. Eris attempt to keep his voice as composed and unbothered as possible, but the way Feyre doesn’t look surprised to see him suggests that maybe he isn’t being as subtle as he thought. “You haven’t seen her since she left the meeting room.”

Feyre hesitates and Eris doesn’t know if it’s because she deems him untrustworthy, or if she truly doesn’t know what to say.

Tarquin, who is still staring at Eris with a slight frown after he threw open his doors so unceremoniously, steps forward. “I have my people searching my court. As does Azriel,” he explains, gesturing to the Shadowsinger’s dark spies that swirl around him, whispering in his ear.

Cassian crosses his arms, glaring at Eris. “Why are you so interested? Do you know something?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Eris drawls, unable to help himself from provoking the Illyrian warrior. It works, although Eris doesn’t feel much satisfaction from knowing that, when Cassian steps forward menacingly. Mor hurriedly intercedes and whispers something in his ear that makes him hesitate and eventually allows her to lead him away.

Eris turns to the High Lord of Night again. “I need to speak to you,” he repeats. Rhysand simply stares at him, until Eris throws up his hands in exasperation. “Fine. Fine, just let me know when you find her corpse-”

“Alright,” Feyre interrupts him, holding up a hand to stop him speaking further. She sighs, turning to Tarquin with a strained smile. “May we use your room for a moment?”

Tarquin’s eyes flick over to Eris as if he’s worried that his throne room will be burnt to a crisp by the time he returns. Eris rolls his eyes.

“Of course,” the High Lord of Summer replies smoothly, giving Feyre a slight nod. He gestures for the Inner Circle to lead the way out of the room and it’s only when Rhysand nods at them that they follow. If looks could kill, Eris would be deceased six times over.

As soon as the doors shut, Eris whirls around.

“This is all your fault,” he says darkly, glaring at Rhysand. “You were the one who told us all to make her seem weak in front of the others. She never would have left if I hadn’t-“

He cuts himself off before he gets too worked up in front of them, inhaling deeply.

Rhys didn’t answer right away, instead watching him carefully. Then, with a calm that made Eris’ blood boil, he said, “You agreed to be cruel in that meeting. To deflect attention from her strength. It was a calculated risk to protect her — and you were more than happy to comply.”

Eris scowls at him. “And what good did your little strategy do? Because she left the room and disappeared into thin air. She’s gone.”

Feyre’s face tightens with concern. “Why did you wish to speak with us, Eris?” she asks, tiredly. “Do you know something?”

Eris’ hands fist at his sides. He had hoped it wouldn’t have to come to this. But the feeling of dread inside him wasn’t something he could just ignore. “I’ll help you find her. But I need something in return.”

Rhysand raises an elegant brow. “What could you possibly want from us?”

“Your silence.”

Feyre tilts her head and frowns. “About what?”

Shaking his head, Eris’ lips turn up into the ghost of a smirk. “Swear it. You need to swear it first.”

The two of them exchange a look and no doubt some words through their maddening bond. Eris nearly rolls his eyes at the secrecy, patiently waiting for them to finish talking to each other silently. Eventually, Rhysand sighs after Feyre gives him a stern look.

“If you help us find her,” Rhys says slowly, “we’ll keep your secret. Unless it becomes relevant to the safety of anyone in my court, including Y/N. And that’s non-negotiable.”

Eris meets his gaze, amber eyes blazing with defiance. “Fair enough,” he says, begrudgingly. “I accept your terms.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he feels the unfamiliar magic in the air arise. Eris doesn’t make oaths often. Lifting his arms, he pulls back his sleeves to look for the evidence of agreeing to a bargain with the Night Court. When he doesn’t find anything, he glances down his shirt to find inky black tattoos peeking up from his waistband and swirling up, just stopping short of his navel.

“Interesting placement,” Eris says drily, raising his brows at Rhysand. “Are you trying to hint at something?”

“Eris,” Feyre warns, gesturing at him to hurry up. “Don’t forget my sister’s life is at stake here. How are you going to help us find her?”

He wishes he could forget it.

Rolling his neck, Eris clenches his fists at his sides, his knuckles turning white. He takes a deep breath and meets the High Lady’s eyes directly. “Because she’s my mate.”

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susicheng · 1 month ago

Text

⋆.˚ i spy with my little eye — l.mk

this is an 18+ work. mdni secret agent! mark x secret agent! reader warnings: death + murder, guns, knives (not used between each other) contains: oral (f receiving, mentioned m receiving), safe sex, piv, mentioned fingering, tease! mark word count: 2376

assignments like this one were always the most irritating. shoved into a tight gown, too much skin visible to any of the rich douchebags surrounding you. a knife pressing against your thigh where it’s tucked into a garter belt discreetly. an earpiece hidden by the over-the-top updo drowned in gallons of hairspray. the sickening sweet scent of perfume lingering on your skin to appeal to the prey.

the only consolation was knowing your agency wasn’t the only one with commissions for tonight. with this many wealthy men and women in one place, there had to be other targets beyond your own. though, you couldn’t help but hope that meant you’d see who you were really watching for.

that’s how these things always went. you kept an eye on the pig you were assigned to dispose of, and another on the man who erased their touches with his tongue and teeth.

it didn’t take long. you spotted the target before finishing your first glass of wine. so much for a pleasant conversation before enduring the leering glances and clumsy flirting from someone old enough to be your father.

time to play the game. with a final sip of wine and a subtle adjustment to your dress, you moved toward him. a smirk curled your lips as you approached, feigning a stumble to fall into his arms. his annoyance at first contact quickly melted into intrigue as he took in your fluttering lashes and too-innocent expression. you were in.

too many lingering touches, too many thinly veiled innuendos, and far too many explicit remarks later, he was convinced to “find somewhere more private.” by now, the powder slipped into his drink should have started working. his movements slowed, his steps unsteady as the two of you entered a private room.

the door shut behind you two. a hand slid to your waist, and then up, up, up. he didn’t hesitate to cop a feel before pressing his greasy hand firmly against your mouth. you felt the cold press of a gun barrel to your temple.

“pretty young things like you only approach me for two reasons.” he hissed.

he cocked the gun.

“you either want me dead, or you want to be spoiled.”

“judging by this little thing…” he used the gun to push your hair behind your ear, tap, tap, tapping on the earpiece previously hidden beneath it. his voice lowered to a whisper. “you’re here for the first one.”

it wasn’t the first time a target had figured you out. honestly, it was refreshing that he realized attractive women don’t usually flock to men like him. not that it made him any less deserving of a bullet.

he didn’t get the chance to finish you. with a quick twist and a knee to the groin, the gun was yours, and he was on the floor. now, it was your turn to press the barrel to his forehead.

“you’re smarter than you look,” you sneered. “still slow, though. that wine wasn’t just alcohol, y’know?”

his grin was sharp, defiant. his hand shot up your dress, pulling your knife from its hiding spot and plunging it into your thigh before you could dodge. instinct made you pull the trigger.

the gunshot echoed, his blood painting your dress a deep burgundy. pain shot through your leg, the knife buried deep in the muscle. with an easy press to your earpiece, and a murmured “it’s done” you disconnected it and took a deep breath. you had had enough of people barking demands in your ear all night.

suddenly, the doorknob rattled. you raised the gun, limping toward the door. it opened, and a figure entered swiftly.

before they could react, you had them pressed against the wall, the gun at their temple, your arm pressing against their throat as blood dripped to the floor.

“jesus. i check to see if you’re alive and i get jumped!?” they rasped, hands scrambling to pull at your arm.

you stepped back immediately, recognition hitting you like a slap to the face.

“mark?”

his laughter filled the room as you pulled him into a hug.

“holy shit, mark. you scared the shit out of me. i thought i was about to get found out.”

his arms wrapped around your waist and squeezed you against him. you winced at the pressure it put on your thigh. mark pushed you back immediately, dropping to his knees and pulling your dress to the side from the slit in the long fabric.

“my god, you have an entire fucking knife in your leg! and you were still trying to put a bullet in my head?”

you had to say, the sight of him between your legs like that might have been doing something to your body, especially when his stern gaze met yours, making you inhale a sharp gasp. something in you tightened.

a disbelieved laugh echoed through the silent room. “no way you’re turned on right now. there’s a dead guy less than 2 feet from us and there’s a dagger sticking out of you. absolutely nothing is happening until you aren’t actively bleeding on the floor.”

you grumbled as he stood and lifted you into his arms easily, stepping over the corpse as he carried you further into the room, to the bed.

“y’know,” you said with a smirk, “you just said nothing’s happening, and now you’re carrying me to the bed. mixed signals, mark.”

he rolled his eyes as he gently laid you onto the plush sheets of a hotel bed too luxurious to be familiar with the stain of red seeping into it.

the moment you opened your mouth to continue your teasing, mark decided to tug the dagger out of your leg, eliciting a loud groan of pain. somehow he had found a first aid kit. how, you’re not sure, but mark always had a trick or two up his sleeve. obviously, being in this field had caused both of you to pick up some life-saving medical tricks. his hands moved with practiced efficiency, stitching and wrapping the wound with care.

“all done,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to the bandages.

your fingers tangled in his hair as fire lit in your eyes.

“you sure nothing’s happening?” you murmured, voice low and teasing.

mark sighed, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “you’re impossible.”

“you’re already down there… might as well finish what you started.”

you didn’t miss the way mark’s eyes fell to the thin piece of fabric separating himself from your core. when he met your eyes again, there was heat in his gaze. a subtle nod from you, and he was sliding your underwear down your legs, throwing the garment somewhere onto the hotel floor.

he dove into you with an eagerness you were not prepared for, grip on his hair tightening as a whine slid out from between your lips. his tongue moved expertly, pressing every button he could to work you up. his arms adjusted to wrap around your thighs (careful to avoid pressing on your wound), effectively pinning you down. all of your squirming and hair pulling was futile as mark dove deeper and held you tight against his mouth.

your whimpers were increasing in frequency, hands tugging hard on his hair as you desperately tried to pull him away from his place between your thighs.

“mark— mark, wait.” you gasped. “mark— need you… inside. please”

just when your orgasm was about to crash into you, he pulled himself away, adjusting to kiss up and down your thighs instead. your whine, of relief and of annoyance at your denied pleasure, filled the room as he continued to happily mark up your inner thighs, your hands still attempting to pull him upwards and get a move on.

that was one thing about you and mark that was different. he preferred to take his time. he liked to take you apart, piece by piece. cover the touches of your targets with touches of his own. make your body forget that it had ever been defiled by anyone other than mark himself. you, though, were impatient. you hated begging for what you wanted. you preferred to get what you need without much trouble.

something about the way mark forced you to be patient, though, was undeniably attractive. working you up until all you could think about was him, and then giving you an orgasm satisfying enough to last until the next time a mission overlapped. you couldn’t help yourself from craving him 24/7, though, despite the fact that it would never be possible to pursue a relationship given your careers. for now, these spontaneous rendezvous were enough for you.

with one final tug, after what felt like hours, mark relented and allowed himself to be pulled up your body. your lips finally met for the first time that night, your own taste lingering on his tongue.

“get inside of me. now.” you pulled him down further to whisper in his ear, delighting in the groan it earned from him.

“condom?” you sighed and reached into your bra, pulling the condom you had stashed there out and handing it to mark. the placement brought another smile of disbelief to his face, shaking his head as he unzipped his dress pants.

you hadn’t really had the time to appreciate it fully, but he looked good in a suit. you let your eyes drag up and down his body, gaze lingering on his now exposed dick as he rolled the condom on smoothly.

“ready?” you snapped your eyes up to his, meeting the smug expression on his face with a roll of your eyes.

“mark, if you don’t get inside of me right now, i might grab that gun and put a bullet in your leg.” his laughter echoed as he busied himself with lining himself up to your entrance.

he slid in smoothly, bottoming out with twin groans escaping both of your mouths. this part was always surprising to you. every time you saw each other again, it felt like he had gotten bigger. pressing deep into every part of you. he barely had to angle himself to hit all of the spots that elicited loud moans from you.

his movements began slow, his kisses traveling down the side of your neck and over the exposed parts of your cleavage. he had always liked leaving marks on you, painting you in shades of purple and red that he scanned your body for even when it had been months since you had last seen him. his kisses turned sharper, teeth infiltrating and pulling on your skin, as he picked up his pace. your hands clawed down his clothed back, one sliding up to wrap into his hair and pull him back up to meet your lips. with the moans you were letting out, and the grin on mark’s face, there wasn’t much actual kissing happening.

“you look really good covered in blood, by the way.” he gasped out against your lips, reminding you of the blood that had splattered over your entire body when you had shot the man still lying in the hotel room earlier.

stunned laughter sounded from your lips, morphing into a strained moan when one of mark’s hands slid down to press against your clit, the other arm working to hold himself up.

it didn’t take long for you to get close. his tenderness as he treated your wound worked you up more than you would care to admit, and he worked you halfway to transcending into another dimension when he ate you out.

“mark— mark. i’m,” you subconsciously clenched down on him, hard, pulling a hiss from his lips. “i’m close. please.”

he doubled his efforts, shifting down so his lips were brushing your ear as he spoke.

“yeah? go ahead. cum for me, pretty.”

the raspiness of his voice, his steady thrusts into you, his fingers abusing your most sensitive spot, all of it worked to push you easily over the edge, whimpering his name as he shuddered with you, flooding the condom with his own release.

you panted against each other for a who knows how long, until mark pulled out and tied off the condom, throwing it into the trash can placed in the corner of the room. he pulled you up, ignoring your whines and complaints as he dragged you into the bathroom to wash up.

after a quick shower together, in which you got on your knees to repay the favor from earlier and mark thanked you by burying his fingers inside of you until your legs were so shaky he had to carry you out of the tub, you worked together to scrub at your bloodstained dress. you shot a message to your agency’s cleanup crew, providing them with a room number as you blow dried the expensive fabric of your dress. thankfully, most of the more noticeable splatters had been mostly washed out. the worst of it was on the torso.

mark handed you his jacket to wear over the dress, effectively hiding the evidence of your kill. you tried to be discreet when you inhaled his scent surrounding you, but you still heard mark bark out a laugh, shutting down any thoughts that you had succeeded at that.

this part was always the hardest. leaving the hotel room hand in hand, still bantering as you made your way to the lobby, where the party had mostly vacated by now. making excuses to stay together.

“i’ll treat you to a quick dinner” led to “let’s just have a quick smoke break” which ultimately faded into “i’ll call you a ride. let me wait with you so i know you make it safely.”

getting into the car was difficult, mark leaving you with lingering kisses and promises gently whispered into your ear.

it wasn’t until you made it home that you noticed it. casually reaching into your (mark’s) pocket, instinctively looking for your phone there (which was still sitting safely in your purse), you found a small slip of paper. a smile spread across your face as you took in the contents.

0802 127th street

if you ever get sick of rushed one-night stands, find me here :)

— mark

mel yaps: this is my REAL 200 (now almost 300) follower special!! hope u all enjoy hehe.. fraktsiya mark has been clouding my brain for far too long i had to get it out of my system.

#: @f6llsun @i03jae @jeonghansshitester @holyhaech @chenlezip @mi1kteaa

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wyvernest · 1 year ago

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bright red lust

pairing: miguel o'hara x f!trophy wife! reader

warnings: smut, car limo sex, misogynistic undertones (reader feels good about being a trophy wife), pda, teasing, dryhumping, unprotected sex, creampie, cowgirl

summary: you attend a gala with miguel and tease him until he finally gets you to himself in his limo

translation: "que rico" = 'how nice'

Any woman’s dream is to be his wife. For his rank, his money, his reputation, his everything. And it feels so good to know that he's so desired.

Because you’re at his side, not them. It’s you whom he spends his money on. It’s you whom he buys all the exquisite dresses and gowns for, all the best things you could ever want or need. It’s you whom he makes love to after a tiring day. Or after you wake up. Or anytime, for that matter.

You’re irreplaceable, but at the same time at his disposal. You don’t see it as a price paid but rather as a bonus. You’ve never been pampered so good before, loved so good, fucked so good.

So that’s why, whenever he has a new gala or special event to attend, you let him pick your dress out of all the various selections you spend so much time on finding.

“Too long.” he dismisses, vision darting from your mauve-satin covered legs to your face. He’s manspreading on the king size bed of your presidential hotel room, hair dishevelled and half lidded eyes sleepy, relaxed.

“You’re so picky today. I only got a few more!” You giggle with a faux offended expression. Behind the façade of worry that he won’t be satisfied with any of the looks, you secretly love these little fashion runaway sessions, feeling like his own personal top model, trying out different outfits for him. If you weren’t in a hurry, you wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to sit on his lap and accidentally grind your ass on his crotch when you got up as part of the little show.

“Mm.” He hums, seemingly unaffected by your playful frustration. He knows you love it when he acts so pretentious and superior, but he loves you, and he loves the enthusiasm with which you show him everything. “Next, bebita. This one’s sombre.”

After a few minutes and struggles, you manage to pull on the pièce de résistance; a bright, blood-red skin tight satin dress. Miguel’s eyes widen at the sight of you, brows raised in silent approval and admiration. The length isn’t a problem this time, your beautiful legs and thighs peeking out with every step through the long slit on the right. The fabric is wrapped so deliciously around your breasts, slightly pushing them up together, plump and tantalising.

"Maybe this one's a bit too much? I-"

"Do a 360." His eyes lit up, attentive and pleased. You twirl, making sure to slightly stick your ass out, checking yourself out in a full body mirror nearby.

"Me gusta." He gets up from the bed, gripping your waist to place a needy kiss on your cheek, before placing his lips on your own. You take his face in your hands, melting into his embrace. “This is the one.” His deep, low whisper sends shivers up your spine, your brain short circuiting. Who are you to say no to him? To those pretty, dark brown, red-tinted eyes?

"I'm gonna go get ready now. Thank you, papi." You turn around, yelping as he doesn't miss the opportunity to smack your ass as you do, smirking to himself.

When you finally arrive at the gala, you get out of your limo and start flaunting your exquisite dress, proud and flashing. You feel Miguel instantly cling to you, a secure, strong hand on your waist, its touch fervent and possessive.

He doesn’t fail to notice all the other spiders gawk at you, turning their heads too sharply just to catch a glimpse of his beautiful wife. All the lingering looks, the whispered words of admiration, all for you. The hand on the dip of your waist tenses, both in immeasurable pride and a hint of stinging jealousy. But it felt amazing.

All the comments, the remarks.

“Can’t believe he pulled such a pretty thing.”

“Imagine coming home at the end of the day to her.”

“Maybe being the leader of Spider-Society has its perks.”

They thought he wouldn’t ever hear them, but his enhanced senses have little to no limits. He feels his pants slightly tighten at the thought that so many other men want you. And yet, it’s his cock that you beg for, late at night.

And you’re aware of this weakness of his. You know that showing everyone that you’re his gets him hard in no time. And as the brat you are, you can’t help it. Especially not when all eyes are on you two. Not when the paparazzi’s come in.

You run a cursory hand from his chest to his abdomen, arching your back, pretty figure on display for the pictures. Bolder. Your hand finds his cheek, his jaw, your eyes never leaving him. You enjoy feeling like an accessory, something that accentuates him, his masculinity. Something that belongs to him.

No other man has ever made you feel this way.

You gesture to him to lean down, your heels still not enough for you to be able to reach his face without his aid. He does, and you place a tantalising peck on his cheek, light enough so that your bright lipstick doesn’t transfer.

Feeling him stiffen, unsure of your teasing, you decide to risk it and lean your face down to the crook of his neck.

Hundreds of photographs flash as you kiss his neck, your soft lips lingering just a second too late, only for a red print to remain plastered on his skin, for everyone to see.

He turns to you with an expression worth a thousand words. You know that face all too well.

As soon as you get back in the limo following the after-party, you wave good-bye to all your acquaintances and friends. The driver takes a turn and exits the flash-lit area.

Turning to look at Miguel, any conversation or small talk on the event you just attended gets smushed into a heated kiss you both longed for, his hands on your hips, pulling you into him on the back seat, your arms thrown over his shoulders.

When he grabs your thigh, you waste no time in lifting your leg over his waist, straddling him without breaking away from the kiss.

His warm hands slide underneath the red satin, grabbing at the globes of your ass greedily. You start grinding on him, your damp panties rubbing onto his erection in his pants.

Your breasts nearly pop out of your dress during the hazy make out session, and he parts from your lips to start kissing down your neck, stealing a glance down at them. Throwing your head back, your body turns into putty in his strong arms. He licks and kisses at the delicate skin of the tops of your tits, slowly and reflexively grinding up into your heat.

You moan his name, your breathing getting heavy.

He knows that having you in risky places only makes you even wetter for him, and he can't get enough.

"Ah! Oh- Miguel!" You whimper as a heavy hand smacks your ass, making you jerk forward into him, your tender body smushed against him so perfectly.

"Here? Are you sur-"

"Here, yes." Hot, shallow breaths fan your neck as he speaks in between kisses and gentle bites. "Can't wait any longer."

Your hands fumble with his belt and he quickly rips your panties at the seam, making a hole over your slit. Panting and rushing, you pull his hard, meaty cock out and align it with your dripping cunt. You feel him slip into you, nice and slow, filling you up with the familiar euphoria you have craved so ardently for the whole night.

He groans as he enters you, wet, warm and tight. Just when you were getting adjusted to his size, the limo goes over a speed bump and his cock thrusts up into you with the turbulence, its bulbous tip kissing your cervix.

You feel him deep in your guts, and as you begin riding him, he starts to buck his hips up into you, making you see stars.

"Que rico", he pants out, whispered, "having a pretty thing like you all over me." He

Keeping the thrusts quick and shallow, so as not to make your shenanigans too obvious, you bounce yourself on his cock; at first for his pleasure alone. Seeing him drowned in ecstasy will eventually being you your own pleasure as well.

All until he brings a hand to your swollen clit, rubbing furiously, throwing you over the edge in mere seconds. You come all over his dick, eyes rolling back, his name falling off you tongue in a strangled moan, sweet music to his ears.

He feels your pussy pulsate oh so deliciously around his cock, and it doesn't take him much longer to also release his load in your velvet walls, painting your insides white, claiming you as his.

As soon as he comes down, catching his breath, he smothers you with another fierce kiss, groaning into your mouth as you stir with his still sensitive cock inside you.

"We should do this again sometime, Mr. O'Hara." You tease, your lips straying away to nibble at his pulse point.

"Oh, we will, bebita."

divider by @cafekitsune as always

a/n: finally wrote this 7 mesozoic eras after it was requested sorry man

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