#future lower back pain

[toastsnaffler]

yeah I'm not gonna talk abt it am I...

[danisnotmyname]

things I've done this summer:

lost 2kg/4pounds

read On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous, The Importance of Being Earnest, and a bunch of other fantastic fics

made annotated bibliography for thesis, 3.5k words

wrote 63k words of fanfic

scheduled meetings with prof

finished 1st draft of graduation thesis abstract

made a new friend irl

facing mental health

meet new moots

to-do list:

finish reading current research article

find articles about subjectivity and Western object relations

pack + move to dorm

track expenses

get prof to seal the deal as instructor

see new doctor (? No need because looks like I’m better off without the medication? What is anxiety doing to me)

talk to family regularly

meet friends

stay in shape

don't do dating apps!!!

[vencerhospital]

Nerve Block

Neural blockades are also known as nerve blocks. These are a type of Nerve Block therapy. This can help prevent or alleviate a wide range of pain. For your comfort, we at Vencer Hospital give each patient sedative medication prior to the Nerve Block treatment. Before allowing someone to enter the operating room, it is customary to make sure the block is functional.

[running-with-kn1ves]

Fitness Trainer

A/N: I blended some french terms of endearment with English don't come for me. But is Antoine really French, or is he feigning this way to get closer to you? (Had a fem idea for this too)

Synopsis: Another day at the gym, your personalized trainer is helping you out a lot more intimately than he would with most clients.

TW: Creep gym trainer, yandere themes, mentions of future stalking/imagined groping, sensual content

And up... and down, just like that."

The squeeze on your hips kept you stable, even with your fingers shaking, mouth agape as hot breath was sucked in, and out. 

"One more, you can do one more for me."

"I can't..." you huffed, thighs quaking as the barbell on your shoulders made you ache. 

"Yes you can. C'mon sweetheart, we'll do it together."

He gripped the barbell beside where your sweating hands were, chest flush against your back as his feet entrapped the outside of your own. 

“Do it with me now,” He pulled the weight lower, forcing you to squat despite the agony in your ankles and tailbone. “Push through it, baby.”

The sweet name just slipped out, breathy against your ear as his hot exhales slowed compared to your huffs. It almost made you slip.

You could feel the muscles in your wrists shaking, vision going blurry as sweat drips into your eyes. One of his hands leaves the barbell to grip your hip, forcing you back into a standing position as your knees nearly give out. 

You rise slowly back up with the barbell in your hands, nearly groaning in pain at the strain. You finally lift your arms to your chest, finishing the rep with a strained frown as your personal trainer forces the weight off of your arms. His taller stature makes it easy to put the barbell back on the rack in front of you. 

You feel as if you could collapse, an hour and a half of intense training brought upon by your own determination leaving you exhausted and a little discouraged. You thought you could do more, push yourself harder-- but at the end of the day, the amount of reps your body would let you do, was it. You’d crack if you tried to go even further, end up tearing something or worse. 

Your trainer could tell; the way you sweat, your eyebrows furrowed as you kept that hard, strained look with each motion he made you do. 

“I hate to say it, but you’re done for today.” 

You look up at him from your place on the ground, water bottle hanging from your grip as you try to catch your breath. 

Antoine had only worked with you for a couple weeks now, what started as once a week now thrice, if you had the time after work of course. But somehow, he always enticed you to come back. 

His body, which should’ve been motivation, was more or less disheartening-- rippling muscles and bulging quads peeking beneath his tight ‘TRAINER’ black tee and athletic shorts as the perfect ensemble. 

He was so sweet, so encouraging and upsettingly positive. Always filling up your water bottle, saying how he’s always admiring the growth of muscle definition in your back, giving you light touches to show which area of your body that a machine might work out. He even offered post-exercise massages to make sure you didn’t get sore after each session, free of cost as a perk of joining the gym’s ‘premium membership’, an idea he sold you on. That, along with the complementary protein shakes made that were hi “specialty.”

You knew it was his job to hook you in, but who could say no to that sweet meathead’s face? Which is why you were here, on a late saturday afternoon, in this nearly empty gym with him that he convinced you to love. 

You couldn’t help but feel a little guilty, even if he was the one persuading you, offering to use his time off to come in and help train you.

“Feelin’ sore?” Antoine bends down next to you, offering a small towel from his pocket. The twinge of accent in his speech makes him sound funny, dry lips parted as he looks you over. “You went harder than usual today.” 

“Yeah,” You let out after a gulp of water. “Definitely gonna feel this later tonight; ha, maybe I’ll actually take you up on one of those massages.” 

You point with your water bottle, grinning tiredly as Antoine’s eyes seem to shine. He licks his lips to hide a giddy grin. 

“Of course-- definitely, I’d be more than happy to. These hands can work magic you wouldn’t believe.”

Antoine shuffles behind you, pulling at your shoulders to make you sit up straight. 

“Wha- you mean right now? I’m all, sticky.” 

“Now’s the best time, your muscles are just coming down from the effort they’ve exerted. Best to prevent any aches and pains as soon as possible rather than waiting.” 

He begins gentle rubs against the base of your neck; vast, warm fingers grace your collar with a softness you hadn’t expected. Usually when people try to massage your shoulders they’re too harsh, too grippy; but Antoine was rhythmic, pushing into your back with his palms as he made his way down to your shoulder blades. 

“But considering you’ve pushed so hard, I don’t want to see you back here for a couple of days.” Antoine insisted.

“Awe, you want me outa here that badly?” You joked, laying your head forward as Antoine’s fingers made their way to the back of your neck, running pressed thumbs down from your hairline. “I see how it is, prefer your other clients over me.” 

It felt sort of weird, having him massage you so deeply on the gym floor out in the open. But the only person here in the middle of the afternoon was an older woman, paying more attention to her cellphone on the treadmill than anything you two were doing. 

Antoine shook your shoulders. 

“Don’t say that, now!” He leaned his head over next to yours from behind, getting so close your nose almost brushed against his cheek. “It’s not funny; I hope you don’t see me that way.”

“It’s just a joke,” You titter, running your handtowel down the front of your shirt.

“I never understand your jokes.” He sighs, hands moving down to your tailbone. He lifts the bottom of your shirt sticking to your skin, digging his hands against the soft flesh. 

“Woah, hey,” You turn to look at him, but his head is down, looking at his fingers. 

“I have to get to your hips, you can’t do so many squats without release. And at the rate you were going to day… well, you see what I mean.”

The bottom of your tanktop covers his knuckles as he pulls and kneads the skin of your lower back. 

“O-okay.. I guess..” 

He’s not usually so insistent, but he seems so genuine about it-- and, he’s the trainer, shouldn’t they know best? 

He begins with little strokes to your skin, almost caressing. You grow anxious until his thumbs push deep lines into your flesh. 

“Does that feel a little better, Mon cœur? Less pain?” He asks up close, staring at your heated and perspiring cheeks. 

You’re awed by how good it actually feels, the tension melting away with each push of his knuckles into your skin, and grip of his hands around your waist as each of his thumbs digs into your sides. 

“Yeah… feels a lot better..” 

“You can rest your head on my shoulder, don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart.”

You do as he says, arching your back with your head against his shoulder. He had easier access into your back, working his hands up beneath your shirt to reach your mid abdomen.

The deeper Antoine kneaded, the farther he grew up your back, the more… audible, his groans became. Each dip was another breathy moan into your ear. It was fine at first, just the sounds of his work; and then, it became almost, uncomfortably sensual. 

“Just like that...” He mumbled, giving a deep hum.

With your neck so close, his nose dips against your jaw to sneak a sharp inhale of your scent. It was heightened from your hour of strenuous work, a smell he couldn’t get enough of. 

But you jumped forward before he could nuzzle as deep against you as he wished. 

“Uh! Thanks, I feel a lot better now. Really… got all the kinks out.” 

You clutch your towel, facing your trainer to prevent him from working his “magic fingers” again. 

“Of course. And that’s just a taste, a fully body massage would leave the workout you just completed to drain away, as if it was just a dream.” He wiggles his hands with a sheepish grin, one so simple and sincere your guard fell again.

Sure, guys at the gym could be creeps, but he was your trainer, eyes kind and a little foreignly clueless, who only wanted to see you thrive; he’d never try something with you, his client. 

“Yeah, maybe next time. But now, I need to shower and get this stink off of me.” You bring yourself to your feet, all wobbly and achy-galore. Even with Antoine’s work on your shoulders, you can feel your back beginning to seize up. It’s gonna be hard to bend down for a while. 

Offering a hand to Antoine still on the rubbery gym floor, he takes it with a slight ease. He doesn’t use the weight in his hand to get up, knowing he’d just drag you back down to the floor if he did. 

“Thanks again-- I mean, I know it’s your job but--” 

“Don’t thank me; it’s always a treat to have you here, my cherie. I’d train you for free, you know!” 

You laugh, flattered at the idea. If you were a bit more forward, you’d ask him for that little perk. Hey, paying for his service certainly wasn’t cheap!

Making your way to the bathroom, you thank your lucky stars the hard part’s over. Too bad you can’t look at Antoine’s pretty face anymore, though. 

Antoine on the other hand, follows your stumbling body with his eyes, watching as you disappear behind the water fountain and bathroom door. 

His eyes jut back and forth between the machines and front door for witnesses, seeing none before snatching up your forgotten towel. How’d you never notice they didn’t just give these things out? 

He’d brought the cute handkerchief from home, wanting to appear the most of a gentleman. And, in the hopes that you’d use it every and anywhere. 

Oh, he thrived off that scent, pushing the white damp cloth heavy against his nose. It smelled even more potent of you, moreso than the few inches away of sniffs he usually got. 

His tongue just barely brushed against it, writhing in ecstasy from how it still held the stickiness of your sweat. You didn’t know how intoxicating it was to him, watching each bead of sweat leave your neck, the dip of your back when he got the chance to help hold that barbell with you… it was almost maddening, how strictly he had to restrain himself from lapping at your hot skin and running his hands beneath your gymwear. 

 No, he had to save this for later. What would his manager think if he saw him acting so ferally? 

Besides, there were more important matters to attend to. Such as, taking out the bathroom trash, a simple excuse to slide his manager for the opportunity to watch you shower. 

Who knew working here would have such great advantages in getting close to you. 

[everythingseasoning]

MDNI *MINORS DO NOT INTERACT*

choso and riding that man religiously

Imagine him biting his lip, holding back a choked moan as you sink onto him, the pleasure clouding his blown out pupils as he gazes up at you with those dark brown eyes.

Him under you, his abs tensed up as you place a hand over his lower stomach, moving yourself up before slamming back down— the gasp he lets out— imagine the amount of pleasure in his sensitive cock snug in your warm walls, balls deep. He feels like he’s died and gone to heaven. And you’re god.

He pants, huffing, groaning, and he can’t stop making those noises. This is a religious experience for him. The amount of pleasure coursing through his body makes him shake and grunt, his pale skin covered in a sheen of hot sweat, and he can’t help rutting up into you with a look of both pain and pleasure painted on his expression as he cups your face to kiss you, completely enamored by you.

And then he remembers that this is how children are made— he’ll grab your hips and begin bouncing you up and down like a madman— engrossed in the fantasy in his head, of having a child with you. He sees the future: your swollen, pregnant belly with his tender touch, hand atop your bump. And he imagines running in the park with your kid as you watch. He cums so fucking hard, thrusting hard into you before slamming you down with his big, muscled arms, just as he thrusts up— and he empties himself deep into your body, his eyes rolling into his head as he chants your name along with “Yes, yes, my love, mmmfuuu—“

check out M’s Jujutsu Kaisen Masterlist

[tbaluver]

When You're On Your Period- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader genre: fluff, comfort a/n: posting my drafts atm bc i just have writers block sorrys /ᐠ - ˕ -マ

any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

He's not particularly educated in the realm of menstruation. So when he saw you clutching your sides in agony, he was so worried about you and ran to your side. He thought you were sick or injured. You try to explain to him that you're just on your period and he eagerly listens to you as you explain it to him.

It's his mission to try and make everything easy for you and makes a special effort to bring you things that might make you feel a little better.

"Can you buy me pads with/out wings?" And he would be really confused at first. He would think you want pads and wings. He would stand in the aisle for a while figuring out which ones you needed. So he'll come back home with a BUNCH of menstrual products with wings from your favorite restaurant.

But also the type to buy you your favorite snacks and drinks before you even ask. Sometimes he'll come home with a small plushie for some support.

Lowkey worried if you're going to be alright but he knows you're strong and will remind himself that you know how to handle yourself.

He would gently massage any areas that were aching. Lots of your time is spent in his arms or resting your head on his chest and he explains that the health website says its "beneficial" to do so and you're not complaining. He's so comfy.

Zayne:

In the beginning of your relationship, he was kind of inexperienced in this department. He knew some knowledge about the menstrual cycle but not too much so he made sure to educate himself so he knows how to take better care of you.

He runs down to the pharmacy to get you some pain medication and any menstrual products you need without any ounce of embarrassment. He doesn't find a reason to feel ashamed or embarrassed about getting you things for your period. Makes sure you have enough supplies to last you the whole week.

Prepares you some yummy warm foods that are nutritious for you and all cooked to your liking. He would also make sure to run down to your favorite bakery to pick you up some baked goods.

If you suffer from cramps, then he would find the best pill for you or make you effective tea. He'll also offer any massages you want on your body and let's just say this man is good with his hands that you don't want his hands off of you.

The type to not tell you that you stained the bed. He'll prepare you a soothing bath while he washes the sheets. When you come back the bed is nice and warm.

He'll start marking it down on his calendar so he can be prepared more in the future

Rafayel:

He would kind of forget periods are a thing but once you remind him, he'll try his best to take care of you. He has good intentions looking out for you and getting whatever you need. You would text him if he can get something for you and he's already on his way to you with whatever you requested.

He'll pay attention to your specific needs and preferences. He'll make sure you're getting your rest, staying hydrated, and eating well.

Would joke around and call this "Shark week." Would pray to any gods to bring mercy on him if he were to ever to be sassy to you on your period.

He'll be worried about you but he knows that you're strong. That doesn't mean he'll leave you alone during this time, unless you want him too. He'll be there to try and ease everything as much as he could.

If you were to have any bad cramps, he would give your lower abdomen a small massage while talking too it. "Hey don't be so mean to my cutie....." or sometimes he'll tell you some stories about Lemuria or maybe hum you a song in Lemurian to get your mind off it. Your head would be resting on his chest, his hands massaging gently into your aching sides.

It's easy to fall asleep in his arms because he can be so warm from his evol

He'll offer to make you a bath and gather your favorite bath bombs and your oils that might ease your discomfort. He would have the perfect temperature for you and would help undress you and help you into the bathtub. Would also feed you some yummy fruits like a princess while you were in the bath

Sylus:

Sylus treats you like royalty the entire time you're on your period. He's extra patient and understanding. You don't have to feel embarrassed at all with him and he will never be disgusted by you being on your period.

If you ever stained the bed, he would clean it up for you. He would reassure you that everything is okay and that bleeding is normal. He'll help run a bath for you while he cleans the sheets. He would never use these situations against you or even embarrass you about it.

He's always there to give you a massage knowing how bad cramps can be. Tell him where it hurts and he'll immediately massage the area with his hands. If massages weren't helping, then he'll warm up a heating pad for you and would find the best painkillers to make it go away.

The first time you were on your period, he bought way to many products for you so you were stocked up. Eventually in the future he knows the exact brand and everything you could possibly need.

When you wake up, he already has a meal prepared for you. Sometimes it'll be made from a private chef or he made it on his own. He'll gladly carry you to the kitchen so he can feed it to you or if you want, you can eat in bed.

Would give you random and frequent kisses. He knows that during this time you can go through a lot of emotions so he'll make sure to give you kisses to remind you that he loves and cares about you.

[ssahotchnerr]

i rlly wanna see how aaron would react to reader accidentally starting her period and leaking on his white sheets. i just know he would be so caring and conforming !!

stains

he soooo would cw; fem!reader, period talk, blood mentions, language, fluff <33

Even on the weekends, Aaron doesn't tend to stray from routine.

Apart from setting an alarm - he presses a kiss to the first patch of your skin he can find, rolls out of bed, and then opens the blinds so the morning light can naturally assist in waking you. Trailing into the en-suite bathroom, he hears you let out a gentle squeak, stretching from your laid position in bed.

He preps his toothbrush, blinking once, twice, in attempt to rid the heavy sleep from his eyes. Brushing his teeth is number one on his morning agenda; not only because it was the hygienic thing to do, he simply could not stand having horrid breath.

Despite the brushing sounds echoing in his head, he doesn't miss your low,

"Shit."

"Honey?" His attempt to speak was muffled, as his toothbrush was in his mouth. He tilted back from the sink, just enough to allow him to peer into the room, to see you.

You were sat upright, a handful of sheets in hand, meeting his eyes guilt-stricken. "I'm sorry. It wasn't due for another three days and you know I'm typically always on schedule and always prepared-"

"Hm?" Freeing his mouth from the toothpaste, quickly flicking the water on/off to rid the residue and wiping his mouth with a washcloth, he re-entered his room.

As he came closer, your flushed cheeks were vividly noticeable, the remorse in your eyes even more intense. You clarified, "My period."

"Oh," his expression softened, before alternating to deep concern. "Are you alright?"

"Am I alright? Aaron your bed-"

"What about it?"

"It's stained - the sheets. Fuck," you scrambled up, not wanting to ruin them further, wincing in pain as you did so. You quickly padded past him to the bathroom, the plush carpet soft under your bare feet. He followed behind.

"And? Sweetheart if you think I care about that," he chuckled, sweetly shaking his head. "Do you have...?"

"In my bag."

Feminine products - Aaron redirected himself, finding your overnight duffle tossed hastily near the foot of his dresser. As he rummaged through it, he mentally cursed himself for not already having a supply waiting under his sink, and mentally added such to his future shopping list.

He grabbed the other necessities - an extra pair of underwear, t-shirt, opting to grab your favorite pair of shorts from his drawer. One he hadn't worn in quite a while as you had claimed sole ownership.

You sheepishly accepted the items from him, refraining from lifting your gaze. "Thank you."

"Hey," With a finger he lifted your chin, causing you to meet his soft, brown eyes. "It's okay."

You shook your head in shame, prompting his hand to fall.

"It's your body. It's natural. It's- this is not an inconvenience to me, it is for you. Plus, this is exactly what they invented stain remover for."

Despite yourself you laughed, wrapping your arms around your middle. "I suppose."

The ends of Aaron's lips itched upwards, successful in his goal to crack a smile. Although, his amusement sobered back to concern, "You never answered my question from before. Are you alright?"

You grimaced. "Crampy."

"Advil then?" Aaron asked and you nodded. He placed his hand on your lower abdomen soothingly, the warmth of it calming your tensed muscle. That was the thing about his touch, it never failed to relieve any aches or discomfort, physical and emotional. "And a bath? I recall you saying that helps, with easing the pain."

"Please."

He quickly obtained the pain reliever, started the bath. "Don't worry about the sheets, I'll strip and get 'em in the wash. Hand me your clothes too." He ran his hand under the stream of water, regulating the temperature as you immediately began to protest, claiming, 'it was your mess, your doing,' but Aaron kindly shut you down, "Nope. Let me handle it, I insist."

"And if the stain doesn't come out?"

"I've been meaning to dispose of them anyway. They're getting old, they've fulfilled their job well." After flashing you a sympathetic smile Aaron stood, his age vaguely showing when his knees cracked as his legs straightened. He placed a kiss on your forehead, hoping to dissolve your current, growing pout. "Just relax."

You willingly met his eyes this time. You tousled his hair, still disheveled from sleep, paying extra attention to the short hairs behind his ears. Your nails scratched at his scalp, expressing your gratitude silently.

"And if it makes you feel any better, this isn't the first time I've had to soak blood from linens."

"It doesn't," you rolled your eyes at his injury-prone occupation, but he did however manage to pull yet another smile from you. A gentle laugh came from deep within his chest at your response. "But thank you."

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

*NSFW* How to train your pet Human (Yandere!Alien X GN!Reader)

CW: Mind break, training, human pet, pet/owner relationship, humiliation, dub-con, non-con, dead dove

Pt 2, pt 3

(Reader) sat quietly and fearfully in a small cage that didn't allow for any wiggle room, their legs falling asleep under them from being in the same position for so long. They didn't remember how they got here, in a cage surrounded by freaks in what seemed to be a street market, only remembering walking home from the convenience store a little past midnight and seeing a white, blinding light before passing out.

Aliens of all shapes stuck their disgusting faces towards the bars of (Reader's) cage, speaking in sounds that didn't sound like speech at all. (Reader) watched as sniffling cages near them were bought one by one, and feared for their future.

After nearly an entire day (Reader) felt their cage lift high above the ground without shaking, and witnessed a tall creature draped with beautiful deep blue robes raise the cage to get a better look at (Reader's) face without needing to bend down. And bending down to the tiny cage must have been impossible without dirtying it's knees, since it seemed over seven feet tall.

It's face face was smooth, with large, opal colored eyes eyes in a hard shelled face. There was no nose, or lips, on its black and purple iridescent face. It spoke in a human like voice, in an earth language (Reader) couldn't understand.

"What?" Their voice was dry from dehydration.

"I asked what language you speak."

The voice was higher than expected, and melodic, yet still masculine. He lowered the cage to his hip, but didn't set (Reader) down, exchanging chatter with the seller and handing over a bag full of, what (Reader) assumed to be, some type of currency.

(Reader) was carried back to what looked like to be a large ship, dying of anxiety over what was going to become of them. They passed through multiple corridors and gateways, before entering a room decorated with glass cases and blue drapery the same color as the alien's cloak. He placed the cage on the floor and unlatched it, stepping back to give (Reader) space.

They tried to stand, but their legs were dead from the hours they spent bent doubled over. They cried in pain as the feeling began to slowly tingle down their thighs to their feet.

"What is wrong, human?"

(Reader) wiped away the snot and tears rolling down their chin. "My-My legs are numb from sitting in the cage. It hurts."

The one who bought (Reader) reached under their arm pits, raising them up and sitting them on a very high desk. He reached with what looked like scaled hands and began to massage their legs. (Reader) whined in discomfort, both at the pain and the uncomfortable situation, fearful to push the much taller creature away. Now that they were out of the cage, the alien was much taller and imposing, visibly sleek bodied under the fabric, but not scrawny, (Reader) could feel his strength.

"What is your name, human?"

"...(Reader)."

"(Reader)." He practiced saying their name, still massaging their legs. "I am Kirtch."

(Reader) nervously fiddled with the bottom of their shirt. "Why am I here?"

Kirtch pried his eyes away from their legs, looking down into (Reader's) scared face. "This will be your new home."

"What?" (Reader's) heart dropped into their stomach.

"I promise your safety, (Reader). I will do my best to provide you with comfort." Kirtch picked (Reader) up again, but didn't set them down, carrying them around the room giving them a little tour. The room was actually three, entering from the main hall into a study first, with another door leading to a bedroom, a small restroom hidden within that.

"I didn't expect to be bringing you home, so I don't have any human furniture yet. Although I've never owned a human before there is no need for you to fret, I have done extensive research, and I am confident as a first time owner."

(Reader) only just began to fully realize what was happening to them. "I.. I want to go home." The back of their throat got tight, choking back a sob painfully. Their nose began to tingle and they knew they wouldn't be able to hold back their tears for long.

Kirtch rubbed their back in what was supposed to be a comforting manor, but his hands were harder than a humans, and it was rough against their skin. "You'll feel better once your adjustment period is over. I shall bring you something to eat. It won't be a cultural dish from your planet, but it will be made of human safe ingredients."

(Reader) stretched their legs while trying to smile through their tears. 'Like hell. I'd rather die.'

They watched as he left the room, wondering how far away the kitchen or dining area was from the room they were in. (Reader) waited for a few minutes after Kirtch left before shakily rushing towards the door. But the door had no handles or knobs, it was a flat wall with barley any indication that there was an opening at all. They touched all over the spot (Reader) had seen the tall man had placed his hand, but nothing happened.

"no no nO NO!" They slapped the "door" in frustration. Time for plan B. (Reader) pressed their back against the wall, as flat as they could muster, just trying to make sure they wouldn't be visible in Kirtch's peripherals. The fear was destroying the lining of (Reader's) stomach, gurgling uncomfortably.

A whirring noise activated as Kirtch entered the room, holding a tray in his hands. It was quick, but (Reader) snuck right behind Kirtch and out the room without him noticing, right before the automatic door slid shut. The walls of the hallway were very tall and slightly rounded, made out of a blue metal. (Reader) began running in the direction they remembered entering from. They knew the probability that they were still on land was slim, but dying was better than being kept a prisoner without any hope of returning home.

(Reader) made it down only one hallway before strong hands effortlessly lifted them under their armpits. They kicked while crying, not seemingly phasing Kirtch in the slightest. He brought them back to his room, and his lack of anger hurt (Reader's) pride; it was good that he wasn't furious, threatening to hurt them, but his calmness reinforced the futility of (Reader's) escape attempt.

"That was my fault. I read that humans were prone to escaping, especially in the adjustment period. I should have expected this." He sat down, a deep imitation of a sigh rumbling through his hard chest. Kirtch sat down in his large chair in front of his desk, and laid (Reader) across his knees as their face fell. "Knowing this is my fault brings me no joy for what I need to do, however the manual did say that humans will test authority and will continue to do so if not punished."

(Reader) protested while squirming, incapable of breaking free as Kirtch slid their pants down to their thighs, exposing their bare bottom. His shelled hand was cold against their skin. (Reader) clenched to prepare themselves for contact, but it was useless against the inhuman slap, his hard flesh resulting in a sharp pain like they had been struck with a paddle instead of a hand. They yelped, squeezing their thighs together as the tears began to form again.

Another slap connected with their ass painfully, stinging as their tender rear began to bruise.

"I'm so-sorry!" (Reader) blubbered, another whack rippling their buttocks aggressively.

"Humans may appear remorseful, however this is self defense tactic to cease the pain they are experiencing. Unless one establishes themselves as the dominant force, they will continue to act out."

"No! I really am sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!!" Their voice cracked as they screamed out the apology between sobs and slaps.

Kirtch smiled, rubbing the skin he had split open, stinging the fresh cuts. "I shall finish with your punishment for now. I do not wish to spoil you, but I would be lying if I didn't have a soft spot for you, my cute little pet. The next time this happens I will not be so gentle.."

(Reader) widened their eyes in horror. That was gentle?!

"Would you rather spend your first night in my bed, or shall I prepare a nest on the floor for you? I will buy a suitable human bed for you tomorrow, of course, but until then..?"

"The floor." (Reader) replied a little too quickly.

A "nest" of bedding was constructed, and (Reader) did find it quite comfortable, but refused to sleep, fearful that at any moment they would be in danger. They rested for what only felt like three or fours hours, max, before Kirtch rose from his bed and begun his day. His routine was uncannily similar to a human's, rising and dressing in his robe, stretching and leaving to five something to eat. It only enraged (Reader) further at their inhumane treatment.

"I am not a dog." They whispered to themselves, as though fearful they would forget.

The ship must have been still docked at the trader's colony, because throughout the day gifts for (Reader) were brought into Kirtch's room and office. With each piece of "human" furniture Kirtch would happily rub (Reader's) head, petting them like an animal and waiting for them to show some kind of sign that they enjoyed their new toys. But (Reader) showed no such sign, feeling humiliated as they were treated like a cat instead of an adult human. But they didn't snack away Kirtch's hand, or tell him off, scared of being punished again, so they simply sulked, trying to hide from his gaze so they could disassociate without interruption.

His new pet's attitude was making Kirtch worried. He flipped through the human owning handbook, wondering what he could be doing wrong. They seemed so stressed, and Kirtch felt it was far worse than the normal stress of a new environment. Then Kirtch flipped to an interesting chapter on chemical responses. "If your human has pent up frustrations or stress, a fun way to help them relieve themselves is the manual release of the chemical oxytocin..."

(Reader) hid under a box, hating the irony of their hiding place while they tried to formulate a new escape plan, now knowing that they were in fact still connected to some type of land. Not every alien could be a cruel monster, there had to be some kind of interplanetary animal rights group or space hippies. The box was lifted and removed from (Reader) sat to the side as Kirtch smiled down on them.

"I'm sorry I haven't been playing with you, pet. I've been so busy trying to make this room more comfortable for you that I have been unintentionally neglecting you." He scooped (Reader) up into his arms, and brought them over to his desk, which he had already cleared off. (Reader) nervously glanced around, wondering what was going to happen to them. "But I wanted to help you become acclimated to your new home. And you still feel more comfortable the sooner we ease your stress." He pulled out a box and a couple of strange bottles with syringes.

(Reader) scrambled to get away, but was quickly held down by one hand, being shushed in what was supposed to be a calming manner. One of the strange bottles filled the syringe, making (Reader) thrash harder. Kirtch pulled down their pants, revealing their still sore ass cheeks, and stuck in the needle, injecting them with the unknown liquid. (Reader) cried out as a warm sensation rippled through their body, turning their limbs to jello and making it difficult to breathe.

Kirtch released them, seeing that they could no longer run from him. (Reader) growled, pissed off that their body wouldn't act as they wanted it to. "What did you do to me?!" Their body was rapidly heating, becoming to feverish to hold up.

"If your human has pent up frustrations or stress, a fun way to help them relieve themselves is the manual release of the chemical oxytocin..." Kirtch opened the box next, revealing a strange rubber looking object shaped like a cup on the outside with polyps inside. "I have always wanted a pet human, (Reader), so I was very excited to see you for sale. You are the most attractive like human I've ever seen, and I promise to give you a long, happy life."

The device was placed on (Reader's) crotch, attaching itself to their pubic area without needing to be held on. It came to life, each nub moving on it's own as it rubbed (Reader's) growing erection. The contraption grew against (Reader's) body, enlarging to fill every hole and crevice, pulsating and writhing like a living creature.

"No! It feels gross! Take it off!" (Reader) screamed in fear, watching as their hips bucked against their will and their nipples hardened through their shirt. Tears over how unfair everything was pricked at their eyes. Kirtch lifted (Reader) into the sitting position, rubbing their back soothingly while giving them a better view of the throbbing toy violating them.

"Shh. There's a good pet.." His words felt like taunts to (Reader) as they kept approaching their orgasm.

(Reader's) body was shaking as it begged for release, but (Reader) held strong, trying to rob Kirtch of the satisfaction of seeing them crumble. Another bottle was opened, this one however was poured down (Reader's) throat before they had a chance to cognitively force themselves to close their mouth. The warm liquid was tasteless and odorless, but the effect was like an immediate five shots of vodka, clearing (Reader's) sinuses and plunging them into a drunken stupor.

"What..? What..?" (Reader) couldn't even form their sentence correctly. Their unfocused eyes drifted around confusedly before snapping down to their lower regions, feeling their stomach muscles clench in anticipation.

Kirtch continued to rub their head and chest, gently rubbing their head like a good puppy while he rolled their nipple between his harsh fingers. "Whose my good little pet?"

"Ahh! No.. I'm not a pet.." (Reader's) whimpering voice mewled pathetically, their quivering lips complimenting their sweaty visage. The tingling feeling that had been building was ready to overflow.

"Don't you want to cum, little pet? It's okay. I'll make sure to always keep you happy like this, all you have to do is ask nicely." Kirtch leaned in, amused by his human's drenched thighs soaking his desk, shaking from being denied their orgasm. Behind (Reader's) back, Kirtch held a remote. They would not achieve relief until they played the part of a good little pet.

Drool dripped down (Reader's) chin, unnoticed by their hazy mind. "I-I want to cum."

"What was that?"

"Please let me cum?" They moaned, trying to press themselves deeper into the toy.

A button was pressed outside of (Reader's) peripherals.

Their body rocked violently as (Reader) was finally allowed to achieve their climax. Kirtch continued to stroke their head affectionately, whispering words of praise to his little human as liquid dripped from between the toy and their wet holes.

Kirtch kissed the top of their damp head, still smiling over how adorable (Reader) was. Although he hoped his pet would come to love him and enjoy his company on their own, he was secretly excited to use this toy on his little pet again. He peeled the appliance off, causing (Reader) to twitch sensitively in Kirtch's arms. Their eyes were unfocused and glazed, but Kirtch found that it wasn't a bad look on (Reader).

"Why don't you lay down for a nap, little pet. We'll play some more when you wake up."

[rileyslibrary]

pretty pretty please 🩶

imagine ghost is forced to speak at a school’s career fair because he’s out on medical, and reader gets sent with him to chaperone. (i.e. make sure he doesn’t scare any kids to 💀. and also maybe to feed him some slightly manipulative praises so he stays in a good mood lmao)

———————————————————————

You’re both standing in the principal’s office. The school was kind enough to offer you a private room since kids are a little rowdy today, and Ghost isn’t very fond of tiny hands tagging at his uniform and asking him “how many people he has killed”.

You’re holding two balaclavas; one is black, while the other is a deep shade of army green.

“It’s either this one or that one.” You say while raising both to his eye level.

He pushes your hands down and points to his skull mask. “No.” He states. “I’ll stick with the one I’m wearing.”

You frustratedly shake the balaclavas to your sides. “Come on, Lieutenant,” you plead, “you’ll scare the kids.”

“Have you seen kids these days?” he asks, raising his hands. “These fuckers are not afraid of anything!”

“Oh god,” You wince and toss the balaclavas on the principal’s desk. You shake your index finger at his face like a teacher disciplining a misbehaving student. “Don’t you dare to swear in front of them!”

“Have you heard, kids—”

“—these days.” You cut him off with a flick of the wrist. “Yes, but there’s no need to reinforce bad behaviour.”

He lets out a long exhale and places his hands on his waist. He begins pacing around the principal’s office, swearing under his breath. You’re trying to figure out whether he needs to let it all out before his big speech or if he’s cursing the moment he has agreed to do this.

He pauses in front of a painting hanging next to a window overlooking the school’s playground. He slouches and places one hand on his lower back, rubbing his injury.

You approach him from behind and gently grasp his forearm.

“Hey,” you whisper, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replies sternly. “Never mind.”

“Are you in pain? Please talk to me.”

“I’m not in pain!” He protests. “In fact, I wasn’t in pain to begin with, when the medics decided that I was,” he makes air quotes with his fingers, “temporarily unfit for duty.”

You place a palm on his lower back and begin rubbing it. He relaxes at your touch and puts one hand on the wall to support his weight.

“You talk about not reinforcing bad behaviour,” he murmurs, “but I’m not the best role model either.”

“Bullshit!” You scowl.

“Seriously,” he insists, “I highly doubt I’d be here talking to kids about their future if I hadn’t been injured.”

He’s correct, but he doesn’t need to know that, especially now, as you wait to enter a classroom full of kids. Any other team member would be far more qualified for this role. Gaz is such a cool guy that most kids would deem him a god. Price feels like the father you wish you had when he talks, and Soap can adapt to anyone he speaks to. Even you would be a better fit for this year’s career fair. But, Ghost? No, not at all.

“Come on, Simon,” you say as you continue rubbing his back. “It’s less about ‘being a role model’ and more about relating to them.”

“How am I supposed to relate to them?” He wonders, “My childhood was nothing like theirs.”

“How do you know?”

He looks at you and motions towards the window. “Look at them,” he says, “they’re full of life.”

“Not all of them are like that, Ghost; some are putting on a show.” You explain, and he turns to look at you again. “They look all jolly, but they might struggle at home or school. Worse, they can’t admit what’s happening behind closed doors because they’re either ordered to remain silent or not understand it themselves.”

He huffs and shakes his head. “Now I can relate to that.” He murmurs.

“See? You need to spot these kids and indirectly talk to them.”

“Spot?” He asks. “How do I spot them?”

“You mean to tell me you’re trained to spot targets from miles away but can’t see when a child suffers in silence?” You ask back. “Plus, it takes one to know one.”

He nods. “And what should I communicate to these kids?” He asks. “How do I help them?”

“By showing them that there’s something better waiting for them out there.”

“Don’t be naive, Y/N. How is what we do better than what they’re going through right now?”

“It’s not about the military, Simon.” You elaborate. “It’s about giving them another chance. They deserve to know there are options other than turning into their drug-addicted mother or alcoholic father.” You lean forward so he can meet your gaze. “Someone gave you a second chance, right?”

He closes his eyes and ponders your words. You tilt your head at him, trying to predict what he’ll say next so you can respond quickly.

But he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he straightens up and takes a deep breath. “You know,” he begins, “I gave one of those speeches to a school a few years ago.”

“Oh!” You cheer and pat him on the back twice. “Did you, now?”

“Lysychansk, Ukraine.” He recalls, “I was being held hostage with a bunch of kids.”

“Tell me more about it,” you say, sitting on the principal’s desk and playing with a pink highlighter. He begins narrating his story, and you can tell he’s becoming more confident as he realises he’s spoken to children before, albeit in a very different context, but who cares? What matters is that he is becoming more at ease with his “previous experience.”

You, in turn, try to give him your full attention, but now that his doubts have subsided, your primary concern is that mask of his. He needs to take it off.

“See? You’re far more experienced than any of us!” you shout. “And in that setting? My god! None of us would have been able to do such a thing!”

He chuckles and looks proudly out the window at the children playing in the school’s playground. He seems to be looking forward to it now.

“Hey, um, sir?”

He shifts his focus to you.

“Your mask, sir; It’s dirty,” you say as you point to his cheek.

He puts his hands on his mask. “Where?” He yells.

“It’s right….” You get up from the desk and take a step closer to him, inspecting his mask. You raise the marker and draw a bright pink line across his cheek, “...there.”

He immediately places his hand on his cheek, looks at the highlighter in your hand, and then back at you.

“You... motherfucker...” he murmurs.

You move away from him and stand behind the desk.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t let you go out with that mask on; the parents will be furious.” You point to the balaclavas on the principal’s desk. “You do, however, have two other options! Take your pick, and I’ll see you in class in 5 minutes!” And with that, you rush out of the principal’s office and into the school’s corridor.

You enter the classroom and greet the kids with a smile, trying to hide your nervousness. Walking towards the back where the parents are seated, your mind starts racing; Is he trying to choose a mask, or is he cleaning up your mess? What if he’s so furious that he doesn’t show up, leaving you to give the speech? Worse, what if he enters the classroom and takes his anger out on you?

But, the door opens, and Ghost walks in. Your eyes widen, and your jaw drops. He’s not wearing any mask. Not the black one, not the green one, not the skull—with the pink streak—mask on. Nothing.

You observe him moving around; despite his lack of disguise, he maintains his composure. He greets everyone in the room, smiles, waves back at the kids and stands next to the teacher. You let out a relieved exhale through pierced lips. This is going well, thank god.

As the teacher introduces Ghost to the class, you turn to give him a thumbs up, and his eyes lock with yours. There’s a faint smirk playing on his lips, and your heart skips a beat as he silently mouths something in your direction: “You’ll pay for this.”

———————————————————————

A/N: YOU’LL PAY FOR THIS, ANON! I was forcing myself to take a break from writing, only to be slapped by an inspiration wave. Hope you liked it, though; I had fun making it.

[endless-ineffabilities]

sapphire-hearted (part five) 18+

Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

The reader decides to give Aemond a proper goodbye - one that befits what became of the bond they share.

themes/warnings: smut (minors dni) - a bitter breakup roll in the hay, jealous and possessive and idiotic Aemond

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

Aegon's jeering from the great hall has barely subsided before you harshly pull yourself away from Aemond's hold.

"Seven fucking hells, Aemond," you exclaim, your voice ringing in the empty hallway. "Why did you do that? Why must you humiliate me in such a way?"

"You humiliate me," he spits, matching your venom, "by declaring yourself as betrothed to that snivelling bastard."

"He is no bastard," you seethe, your finger poking at his chest. "He is a gentle Lord, and a far more decent man than you will ever be. And I am certain that he will honour me when he soon becomes my Lord husband."

"No." Aemond lurches forward, cradling your face with both hands. There is pressure to his hold - he is letting his anger take over him. "No, my love," he repeats, softer, his shoulders releasing their tension.

Your resolve falters at his words. They used to be a thing you would spin in your mind, over and over, an endless song to sing. My love. "You cannot me call me that, Aemond," you murmur. "That is no longer true, if indeed it ever was."

"You doubt me so," he lowers his head, as if wounded.

But you do not have it in you to soften your approach. "You have given me every reason to doubt you, Aemond. I can no longer trust you. Not after Alys."

At the mention of her name, he is rendered alert, a wild look in his eye. "Yes. Alys."

"I do not wish to hear of her," you step away from him, but he only moves in your path.

"I have something to tell you, my love." He reaches for your hand, and you are too exhausted, too uncaring to fight back. "She has agreed to put an early end to our arrangement. Yet she will continue to aid our cause, ensuring that we win the war."

It seemed too good to be true. You are unable to believe that the witch would simply relinquish the power she has with Aemond. And you are proven correct when he adds, "But she presents one condition. I must give her a child."

The absurdity of it all makes your head spin, and suddenly your skirts weigh far too much for you to bear. Without realizing it, you lean into Aemond for support, seeking balance. He mistakes the gesture for approval - how foolish of him.

"That is ridiculous, Aemond," you croak harshly, your words coming out garbled.

"My love, what - "

"I am afraid you have lost me completely," you pull back, eyes darting around for reprieve. You cannot bring yourself to look at him, your gaze distant and hollow, fixated on nothing. With icy detachment, you murmur, "Go on, then. Wed her, if that is what you wish. Why stop at just making her the mother of your child?"

"You cannot mean that." He flinches at the suggestion.

Taking a deep breath, in finality, you declare, "We have to end whatever we have, Aemond. For both of our sakes. For the sake of your future children with Alys, and mine with Ramsay. We must part ways... and say goodbye."

His expression switches, desperation showing through the cracks in his mask of self-assuredness.

"No." He steps back, instantly rejecting your words. In his warped mind, the thought of separation is impossible. He could never leave you, and you could never leave him. That’s how it has always been, and how it always will be.

To his credit, he actually appears pained. For a moment, you see your Aemond. The only one you have ever loved. You are certain that his pain is reflected in you now.

You reach a hand out, and he tentatively accepts it.

Without a word, you lead him through the halls of the Red Keep.

"Where are we going?" he asks.

"To my chambers," you reply firmly. "We both deserve a proper goodbye."

When you reach your destination, the unbearable weight of everything comes crashing down on you. This will be your true final moment with Aemond. You will never get to hold him, kiss him, feel him buried inside of you after this night.

On the morrow, he will be a stranger. He has to be.

He makes an attempt to speak, presumably to inquire upon your reasoning for taking him here. But you do not allow a word to slip past his lips, effectively silencing him with a searing kiss.

He melts unto you instantly, a soft moan escaping his throat as he welcomes your touch.

Your hands move instinctively to the fastenings of his tunic, deftly undoing them without breaking the kiss. He reaches down to come to your aid, his fingers brushing against yours, until the fabric slips from his shoulders and falls in a careless heap on the floor.

His tongue tangles with yours as his hands fumble with the ties on the back of your gown. A low growl escapes him when they don’t loosen as quickly as he'd like, his impatience growing - eager to have you, desperate to taste the sweetness he craves.

It does not much longer before the both of you are left completely bare, as naked as the day you were born. He kisses you hungrily, afraid that you might disappear if he lets go. That you might do good on your threat to leave him.

You push him backward until his heels hit the edge of your bed, causing him to land on his bottom on the sheets.

His hands grip your hips tightly as you stand between his thighs, and he gazes up at you with pure, unrestrained desire. The same way he always has, as if nothing else in the world exists but you.

In this fleeting moment, you will allow it. Nothing and no one else exists except for Aemond and yourself.

With a sharp nudge to his shoulder, he reclines willingly, lying flat on his back, arms held out, silently inviting you to press your body onto his.

You crawl slowly from the edge of the bed toward him, hovering above with lust smoldering in your eyes. He bites his lip at the sight, his erection pressing hard against your lower stomach. As you shift, the slick tip grazes your skin, leaving a heated trail in its wake.

He groans as you let his cock drag across your skin, pulling you close with a strained, "Māzigon kesīr, issa jorrāelagon."

Come here, my love.

The kiss is sloppy, he sucks at your lips while his hands roam the warmth of your body. Groping at your breasts, your hips, then the curve of your ass. He takes two fingers, travelling down your pelvis, until it feels the wetness of your clit. He fondles it eagerly, leaving you mewling softly, and the sounds turn into unbridled open-mouthed moans when his fingers dip inside your dripping cunt.

"Iksos bona sȳz?" he purrs, as he slides them faster in between your folds. Does that feel good?

"Y-yes, Aemond, fuck yes." You collapse on top of him fully, your breasts pressed against the side of his face, your body angled to grant his deft hand unhindered access as he strokes your pussy.

He turns his head to suck at your breasts, his tongue darting out to flick your nipple. His fingers quicken their pace, the squelching sounds blending with your lustful whimpers.

A silken sheen coats his digits, catching the lamplight as they slip out, only to plunge back inside with a deliberate, relentless rhythm.

"Let go, my love," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. "Allow me to savour the sight of your unraveling."

His words are intoxicating, and you can’t help but use his mouth to muffle your cries, your kisses fervent as you come undone. Your teeth graze his bottom lip as you reach your peak, the sensation of his warm breaths mingling with your gasps of heightened pleasure.

After a moment, as you slump against him, he licks his hand clean of your substance, his good eye darkened with wanton pleasure.

You trail a finger tantalizingly over his chest, lingering on his jaw before it gently glides across the apparatus covering his eye. He remains still, the act of baring himself to you as natural as breathing.

"Does she see you for who you truly are?" you whisper softly.

"No," he replies with a quiet intensity, "only you do, my love. For eternity."

Eternity, you bitterly think, if eternity ends on this night.

With a deliberate motion, you remove the eyepatch from his head and toss it aside. The sapphire in his eye socket gleams with a mesmerizing light, giving him an otherworldly glow.

"My Prince Aemond," you sigh, "my dragon. I am going to ride you until you forget her name."

"She does not matter to me - ahhhh, gods - " His words die in his throat as you align your still dripping cunt with his cock and sink down in one swift and merciless motion, taking him to the hilt until your ass is pressed against his flesh.

Without missing a beat, you continue to ride him with frantic intensity, your breasts bouncing as he forcefully bucks his hips to meet yours. He responds with guttural moans and fragmented words of praise - yes my love, fuck me, you fuck me so well, there is no one else, I love you, I love you, I love you.

"Does she fuck you as well as I?" you ask menacingly, the walls of your pussy clenching around him.

"No." He tilts his head back in sheer bliss. "She could never. When she... uses me... I feel hollow."

As you brace yourself on his chest, your hands gripping him for support, you quicken the pace, aiming for that sweet spot within. Each thrust drives you closer to the edge, drawing every ounce of pleasure from his thick cock as you both lose yourselves in the raw, all-consuming passion of the moment.

When he starts to quiver, his length sputtering inside you in those quick, successive jerks, you know this is your cue to release him from your cunt. But this time, you lean forward as you dismount, and pat his cheek in the most patronising manner, saying, "Save your precious seed for Alys. Since she needs it so terribly."

Depraved as it might be, the wickedly cunning expression on your face proves to be Aemond's undoing, that cold glare sensuous to him. With a strangled cry, he erupts, his Targaryen seed spilling across the taut planes of his pelvis in hot, white streams.

His mouth is open in pleasure and surprise as he helps himself through his release, gripping and tugging his cock firmly through the throes of his release. His gaze remains fixed your face, his sole source of pleasure, though the furrow in his brow reveals that he heard your bitter jibe.

"What a waste," you click your tongue in disappointment, eyeing the mess he made.

He still lies there, naked and covered in his own release, as you swiftly pull on your slip dress, followed by the heavy cloak hanging over the chair in the corner.

The emotions that once swirled within you - desire, sadness, yearning - harden into a bitter mix of anger and resentment. This is his doing. It is his fault that tonight will be the last. The love you once shared, the tenderness you once felt, has been shattered by his own hand.

Turning to face him, you bend your knees into a mocking curtsy, an emotionless smile tugging at your lips. "My Prince," you say, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "If I may be excused. I must fetch my lady-in-waiting to help me into something more fitting. After all, I have a feast to return to... and my betrothed awaits."

Just as your hand touches the door, his desperate voice cuts through the silence, "Wait!" he pleads.

You pause, tears welling in your eyes as you turn ever so slightly. Your voice trembles, barely holding together as you say one last time -

"I love you, Aemond. Goodbye."

taglist (let me know in the comments if you wish to be added): @immyowndefender @aemondswifeisme @fuck-the-reaper @shessthunderstorms @aemondsbabygirl @melsunshine @snh96 @noxytopy @ellooo0ooo @brianochka @not-a-glad-gladiator @mac95650 @midnightmystic @saminalloxo @oh-no-tia @magnificentsapphiresoul @clara-geekhime @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @ananas26t @iloveallmyboys @carriellie @summerposie @verycollectivecreator @toodlesxcuddles @brie-annwyl @dc-marvel-girl96 @bellstwd @bibli0thecary @happinessinthebeing @magnificentsapphiresoul @rorawinters @targaryen-madness @hanula18 @rhaenattargaryen @an0ther-us3r @sugurubabe @theshatteredideal @let-love-bleeds-red @s-we-e-t-t-ea @mydemimonde @the-intjs-dark-academic @heavenly1927 @anehkael @minttea07 @barnes70stark @cheneyq @cloudroomblog @neptuneiris @zaldritzosrose @oh-theseus

Some notes in the margins...

I should point out that in this story, Alys actually has magic and she has been instrumental in bringing about the victory of the Greens. Much like how she aided Daemon in season two, but dialled up to a hundred.

But no. That does not excuse Aemond's actions. Not at all.

Our bitter lovers needed their final, fucked up release. It is final for her, at least. But for Aemond?

[rahuratna]

Nanami Kento: Relationship Headcanons (now a fic), Part 11

Warning: MDNI!! Explicit sexual content in this chapter. Details below cut.

Contents: smut, showering together, penetrative (vaginal) sex.

He holds you back with a playful grasp on your hips, but you manage to wrangle him into the bathroom. Every touch on your skin is an alluring little reminder of what awaits you, his fingers lingering, intimate. The resistance he puts up, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and wrapping small lengths of your hair around his fingers, bringing them to his lips, has you fighting every instinct to give in to his advances.

You have never felt attraction for anyone like this before, something you are gradually coming to terms with. It's almost as if there is some gravitational force he exerts over you, the gentle, bruising weight of his presence inside you, around you, something you want to hold so desperately against yourself that you feel an almost physical pain.

The water of the shower is warm and soothing against your aching muscles, the echo of your first orgasm still reverberating through you, the soft trilling through a tuning fork, readying itself for the strike that follows. Kento doesn't join you immediately. You brush damp hair away from you brow and glance back at him, and he is leaning against the shower door, taking you in, his gaze warm and unguarded. There it is; that look that you somehow cannot believe is directed at you, that kindling that leaves your lungs questioning their function.

You reach out to him, fingers stroking down his bare chest, leaving a damp trail of invitation. He feels powerful, weighted with possibility beneath your touch. His gaze clouds slightly, and he steps in, still nude. He has nothing to hide, not from you.

Nudging you slightly until you turn away from him, he embraces you from behind. The sheer strength lying latent in those arms of his, so vital, so filled with living possibility, makes you shudder slightly. You want him to embrace you like this on every day of your future lives, to use your shoulder as a support for his questing chin, to offer him the curve of your spine to rest his tired body against.

You can feel it in the growing firmness against your inner thigh, rising. He pushes you gently away from him, grasping your bar of moisturizing soap. Facing the wall, you feel rather than hear the movements he makes over the soft patter of the warm water on your skin, the slick sounds of soap being lathered over his hands.

He isn't tired now.

His grasp is sudden, firm across your stomach, caressing with strong, deliberate strokes in ways that make your body edge towards him and your breath catch in your throat. He spreads the lather across your torso, and you can feel the hum of approval in his chest as you lean back, surrendering to his attentions.

He moves upward first, covering every inch of your skin he can reach, slipping slowly over the flesh of your breasts, cupping and smoothing until he reaches the peaks of your nipples with a soft pinch. Tracing up along your sternum, he takes the soap to your neck. You tilt your head back as his fingers scrape along your collarbone, wrapping gently around your throat, breath hot in your ear. There is something there, a written  message against your skin, fingers tightening briefly, then releasing you.

He wants more. He is now comfortable enough expressing his desire to let you know this; that he wants you pliant, slightly submissive to him, worshipping you as he takes charge.

You can give that to him. Gladly.

You trace over his knuckles lightly, showing him that you're enjoying his attentions, then apply slight pressure. You want him lower, to give the same attention to all of you. He complies with a low murmur of assent, hands now bracing on your hips, squeezing the ample flesh there appreciatively, before moving lower. The power of his grasp as his fingers dig slightly into the flesh of your buttocks has you gasping, bracing your hands on the walls of the shower.

Th soft moan that leaves you at these attentions is enough to spur him on to the final stage of your cleaning, fingers gently tracing the outline of your labia before stroking slowly over, taking his time, spreading water over the already dewy arousal that has been building to slippery slickness down there.

He pays the same dedicated attention here as he does everywhere else, massaging, capturing your flesh in the comforting prison of his palms, pausing in between to replenish the lather he spreads over you. He kneels behind you, leaving you feeling vulnerable and exposed, quickly forgotten as his soft, damp hair presses again the back of your thigh, breath ghosting heatedly over your sex as he strokes down each leg, committing their shape to memory.

Your breathing is ragged now, but you maintain your position, just the way he wants. Something about your obedience in this small matter seems to be riling him up, quickening his own breath. He stands, turning you around to face him, finally, making sure that the warm spray catches you everywhere. You reach for the soap, to return the favour, but he stops you. He whispers against your lips, barely audible in here, in this cocoon of steamed glass and flesh on flesh.

"Don't worry about me. You have work tomorrow. I don't."

"Are you sure?"

"I can clean myself up any time. And besides ... I  want to take you again."

He pauses, and this is the first time he has spoken his desire with such directness, such possession, his eyes trained on yours with such need that you feel consumed by him. Leaving him tomorrow morning will be the hardest trial you've faced yet.

When he kisses you, all thoughts of tomorrow fly from your mind, scattering like wheat from a thresher. You are vaguely aware of his hands pushing open the shower door, of the care he takes such that you do not slip in spite of how close he holds you, the fact that he bats the towel away from your hand and seizes you even closer, engraving his answer on the shell of your ear with such startlingly primal need.

"Darling ... please. Want to feel you wet all over, like this."

He lifts you slightly, the damp wicks of hair on his chest grazing your nipples, wet hands catching and slipping on your thighs and buttocks, electricity building like charged static between your bodies. His mouth is so hungry, so sweet, so hot, and he is kissing you like he did that time in your office. But now, there are no clothes separating your entwined forms, no propriety that stops the way his hardened cock presses and slides with the urgency to mate against your folds, no desk preventing your precipitous journey from bathroom to the bed, guided by his reinforced strength.

He only pauses to tug the towel he's somehow maintained hold of beneath you, preventing the sheets from absorbing the dampness of your still wet bodies, and then he is on you. Your body is responding to him as if the rawness of your first orgasm had never existed, thrumming with the delight of fresh arousal, the need to be filled, grasped, taken apart, fucked until you can't take any more by this man you wanted above anything or anyone else in the world.

There is a moment of crushing intimacy, when his body is pressed so completely against yours that you can't imagine being apart from him again, fingernails drawing agonizing lines against each other's skin, and then something seems to click in his mind and he pushes himself up and away, a startled realization building behind the lustful haziness that has overtaken him.

"I ... wait. We need protection."

The tension releases from your frame in a breathless sound of protest, as he draws back hastily with a somewhat tortured expression.

"Kento ... please tell me you brought ... "

"Yes, my love, I did, just - "

You raise yourself slightly, watching the taut lines of his incredible backside flex as he marches over to the hallway where he'd dropped his jacket somewhere on the way to the bedroom. He snatches it up, and a quick rifle through an inner pocket produces the gleaming wrapping of what he's been searching for.

You cock an eyebrow at him.

"Just one?"

He glances up at you, and you watch with delight as that same subtle reveal of mischief in his natural stoic expression is echoed by the unfolding of a whole row of condoms, maybe six in total, as they tumble downwards in a joined section from the first.

"Of course not. Do I ever come unprepared?"

You purse your lips, shoulders shaking with laughter as he detaches one with a flourish and makes his way back to you, carefully removing the wrapper. When he reaches you, you sit up quickly, wrapping your fingers round his wrist, looking up at him from beneath your lashes, reminding him that you are also here to please him.

He takes a shuddering breath, silky, hardened flesh twitching in your palm as you unroll the condom over his length, stroking him with a gentle roll of your fist. His hand slips behind your neck, large palm rising until his fingers are entangled in your damp hair, tugging with eager, but gentle insistence. You allow yourself to be pulled back against the towel, moaning slightly as he covers your body with his, the slick coolness of the condom warming against your folds as he rubs, hard and intentional, against you.

He is panting again, losing himself in the sensation of you, taking control of your body further as he presses you into the mattress. You bless the instinct he has for pure sensuality as his skin, still damp from the shower, slides against yours, bringing you to the height of sensitivity.

Your legs open for him further, and he grunts, adjusting your position so that he can kiss you with messy fervour, rocking his hips against yours, drawing small cries and gasps from your lips. Your fingers are drawing lines of fire against his shoulders, begging him for more, and he complies. You are both operating on pure desire, fueled by an incredible need that blazes under your skin and out, over the shifting, press of hard and soft, wet and tacky, teeth and tongue.

He pauses, breathing hard, his hair tickling your forehead, and then, with agonizing slowness, presses his tip into your entrance. Your mouth opens in pained delight, body tensing reflexively, then relaxing. He is watching you with those beautiful hazel eyes, adoring, even now, misty with uncontrolled lust. He watches as he pushes further, as your head snaps back, a mix of scream and groan escaping your throat as he fills you, stretches you, feels you fluttering around his steely length in that contradictory mix of resistance and eagerness.

He is whispering soft, sweet nothings of encouragement and praise, shifting his hips, reaching down to grip your inner thigh and hold you open for him.

"Th - that's it, sweet love. Like that. Take me - oh. Oh fu - yes. So sweet. So tight. Let me - "

Your mind is barely functioning as he presses himself in, but there is enough coherent thought left to match the effort he is putting in to keep you with him, connected and focused on him.

"Oh God, sweet - fucking - ah. Angel, you're doing so well, I - "

"Y - yes, Kento, need you, need you so - please. Inside me."

"Right th - ah! Ahh, please. Oh God, like that. Want you ... want you, Kento. Stretch me like that - "

He is a large man, no doubt, and you can feel the full extent of that when the light scattering of hair around his base lightly brushes against your sensitive lips, cock bottoming out inside you, flesh bending and flexing hard against the yield of your soft walls. You are so wet that the slide of his entry pushes some of your slick out, and you feel it trickling down the side of you. He does too, and an explosive groan leaves him, his hips bucking forward in a way that makes you yelp and press your palm against his abdomen.

He isn't hurting you; you're much too wet for that, but he is slightly overwhelming, not just in sensation, but the idea behind this, that it is him, Kento, this deep inside you, his arousal keeping you stretched and open like this, his desire for you pressing you down into the bed under his powerful body. Panting, you meet his gaze, your own face flushed and drunk on passion, lip caught between your teeth, sweat now gleaming between the rapid rising and falling of your peaked, hardened nipples.

For the first time, you see Kento really and truly lose his restraint and control, even after everything you have already done with him.

He makes a sound somewhere between a moan and a rough grunt, hands closing like a vice on either side of your waist as he tugs you towards him, and then up, your back arching off the mattress under his guidance. He begins a slow, but punishing pace, drawing back and plunging back in, taking his pleasure, filling your mind with a white static haze that lifts and brushes against the edge of your awareness like a soft, lace curtain, blowing inward against you with every thrust. His movements inside you are a contrast to the uncontrolled manner with which his hands explore your body, greedy, desirous, taking everything he can.

And you'll give it to him.

As overwhelming as he is, you learn his body, his movements. You brace your hands on his shoulders, and he's strong enough to take your full weight, even as you all but hang from him. The arch of your back becomes a sinuous wave, rolling upwards to meet the press of his hips, his lips whispering the litany of a prayer into the curve of your throat before you undulate away from him, then back. It is a cycle of catch and release, the slick sounds between your bodies growing, sweat and the remaining dampness from the shower glistening on your skin and his.

His hands slide beneath your buttocks, fingers digging into your flesh, his grunts evolving to fully fledged groans and huffs. Neither of you is capable of coherent speech now, your movement reduced to that most basic and primal need, to be closer, closer, closer, deeper inside the very fabric of each other. Your eyes flutter open briefly, taking in his face between the dark lines of your lashes. Dampness is building at the corners of your eyes, but not enough to blur out the sight of him, the sinew standing out on his neck, the pureness, keen as a knife edge, of the ecstasy in his expression.

And at that moment, his eyes open, and you fall head first into the honey of that gaze of his.

Your perfect rhythm stutters, and you know it can't sustain itself forever, as much as you want it to. You can feel it in that wild stab of bone-deep pleasure, the heat building in your abdomen, the ache of your trembling thighs.

He pulls you towards him, moving backwards and you cry out as he presses somewhere new, deeper, in this sitting position. Your fingers scramble for purchase on his shoulders, and he soothes you with soft, wordless whispers as his pace slows, still buried inside you. You release him, hands flying behind you to find leverage on his thighs, lifting naturally off him until only the tip of him remains inside. You glance down at him, body quivering, the stretch and burn of him reduced down to the most beautiful fullness.

He looks at you as if you have brought the stars down into the bedroom, revolving around you both in an endless stream, and you know. You know then, that the sight of him, the feel of him, will be with you forever, as you will be with him. That he is committing this sight to memory, so that it will sustain him when you are not there, when distance, violence, the implosion of your world by forces beyond your control are all that remains. But so will you.

And you take the reigns he hands you now.

You bring your body down again, filling yourself with him. His hold on you is more supportive than guiding, and you bury him to the base, lips touching his briefly. You're close enough now to feel the deep, rumbling groan that bursts from him as you roll your hips, allowing his cock to slip out almost fully, before the return of your circular motion takes him back in. The stretch is even greater now, but you're riding him through it, using the muscles of your lower back to lift, swivel, release and again, and again, and again.

His moans become delirious, his arms looping behind you to pull you against him, so that every new movement of your body has your nipples brushing against the hard planes of his chest. The water of the shower has dried on the both of you, leaving new moisture in its wake. The slippery heat of you makes the most obscene noises as you take him, your cries building, building, like the billowing cloud of a dust storm against the horizon of your bedroom walls, a promise of blinding finality.

The world shifts, and you think for a moment that the pleasure has made you pass out, but then your back hits the mattress and he is above you again, snatching complete control away from you. And now his hands are beneath and behind your knees, lifting, and your cries are fevered, uncontrollable, as he drives into you once more. The hard drag of his sculpted abdomen against your pubic bone is pushing you steadily over the edge, your clit stimulated to an unbelievable peak of raw pleasure. Your fingers clutch helplessly at his chest before dropping, slipping around and behind him, dragging him further into you even as you scream for him to stop, no please, can't take any more, can't feel this, too much, its so good, love, love, love you, and -

The storm hits, and your body shakes like a leaf in a gale force wind, each shuddering wave catching you so hard that you can barely breathe, think, see, but you can feel. It's as if the synapse of every nerve has collectively fired an overload into the next, volley upon volley crashing through you as he calls your name, desperate, loving, pleading. You're unable to answer him, but your arms do the work for you, crushing him against you, fingers tangling in his soft, soft hair as you hiccup into his ear, dampness sliding down your cheeks.

The vice grip you have on him brings him down with you, and he roars in your grasp, powerful thighs trembling as his feet dig into the mattress. His chest is heaving against you, face twisted in such complete, unguarded bliss that you can't help the dizzy smile that breaks across your face. Something warm is building inside you, the tip of the condom swelling slightly. Kento plants his arms on either side of you, forehead resting against yours, the hot dampness of his exhalations spreading over your cheeks.

Is this what it feels like, you wonder, as he slumps slightly against you, careful even now not to place his full weight on you.

It is like this, that it happens? That the slide of his rough palm against your cheek, stroking away the moisture, becomes indispensable to you? That the heat of him, the heavy warmth of his body against yours, now so familiar, becomes an indelible mark on the canvas of your life?

It is perhaps here, in the glide of your hands across the broad expanse of his back, soothing the angry lines you've drawn there earlier? Is this how intimacy is born, and remains until we draw our last breaths, remembered forever in the rhythm of hushed, synced breathing, the secret veil that covers your tangled limbs.

This is how Kento becomes your lover, and you his. This is how he lays claim to your body, through every touch of his lips and hands, every stroke of his flesh inside yours. This is how you stay with him, until the small hours of the dawn, breathing in his scent, cradling his head against your stomach, whispering about a future neither of you can be sure about, but desire above all else.

This is how he kisses you, when the sun rises, burnishing his hair and eyelids with a patina of russet gold. The light pours through your fingers, spilling out across the forest-flecked tapestry of his soft, soft gaze and you are richer, in that moment, than anyone on earth. 

[bunnys-kisses]

HI BUNNY!!! can I order a milkshake with Oscar Piastri?

bakery menu

thank you for ordering from the bakery! if you would like the suggest your own future order! please check out the menu! there's a little something for everyone and i accept orders from outside of formula one so hit me up!! i do love how simple this one is so thank you! just a simple lil fic for this one!!

milkshake (size kink) served by oscar piastri (formula one)!

cw: smut/pwp, size kink, drinking, enthusiastic consent, fingering

you were all giggles. oscar didn't even want to know what happened on your girls night out. the driver group chat had seen enough of the photos of your adventures out on the town.

now you were dropped off at your doorstep to a very amused oscar. his arms across as he looked at you sit at the front door trying to get your heels off. you were giggly like he was tickling you instead of a few feet away.

once you were barefoot, he crossed over and pulled you in his strong arms. then kissed you on the cheek, "how are you feeling, babe?"

you nodded, "great, i had a great time." then held onto him, "but i missed my big strong handsome boyfriend."

oscar got you into the kitchen and some water in you. he petted the back of your head gently when you drank it down with a mild pain reliever. you snuggled up close to your boyfriend and kissed at his jaw.

he chuckled, "oh, you're just so cute. how much did you have?"

you giggled, "okay, okay. i had three cranberry and vodkas, but you know how they're like red."

he nodded and smiled, "yes, and what colour were you drinks?" he wondered if he should be concerned. but instead you just giggled.

you pinched his cheeks and said, "it was pink. like a baby pink. like painting the walls of the nursery pink. it was like eighty percent vodka." you shook your head, "it was crazy."

oscar pushed back your hair and kissed you on the forehead, "aw, my poor baby. that's a little too strong for you." he knew that your alcohol tolerance was pretty high, he had heard your stories from when you were in post secondary school. so he could only imagine how strong those drinks were.

you clutched onto the front of his mclaren t-shirt, you just wanted to feel close to him. your bigger, stronger boyfriend. at that moment you wanted to feel like a delicate princess.

when you pressed your face against his chest and he ran his fingers through your slightly messy hair. you melted when he kissed your forehead. he asked, "how are you feeling?"

you gingerly pressed your palm against his, noticing the difference between your hands. you knew that formula one drivers has pretty big hands, came with the territory of a sport where they had to grip onto a wheel tightly.

you swallowed at the sight then made eye contact with him. you nodded, "yeah, i just didn't realize how big your hands were. did they get bigger, they're like paws!"

he laughed, "nope they're the same as always, babe." he took your hand in his and kissed the back of it. he let you hold onto him again then guided you off the chair by the kitchen island. then brought you up to your shared bedroom.

his large hand on your lower back felt comforting as you got up the stairs. once in the bedroom, he got his fingers on the zipper of the back of your dress. you giggled when it hit the floor and you stepped out of it. to be washed tomorrow.

you shed your under garments and slid into bed. he was close behind, he admired your naked body under the covers and couldn't help but slide a finger across your wet slit.

"mm, oscar." you whimpered.

he chuckled, "oh, does someone like that? does someone want to be touched by their boyfriend?" his voice was low and got under your skin.

you nodded, "yeah, i mean. i was talking about how hot you were to some girl at the club bathroom. she didn't believe we were dating until i showed a picture of us together. then showed off with a photo of your shirtless."

he laughed, "was some of my dignity left in tact? or did you show that poor girl the full package?"

you giggled and got closer to him, "of course not! i would never show your nudes to anyone!" your voice was a little more high pitched and oscar believed you.

he sank two fingers into your sweet cunt and you made a sweet moaning noise. he loved the sound of that, you sounded so cute. he asked, "how bad do you want it?"

"i want you, oscar! oh my god do i want you! it was at a point where i knew i was talking about you, but i couldn't stop myself. i could feel myself get wet when i thought too hard about you. it was driving me crazy!" you sounded so good. when you gave him consent, he felt a surge of pride in his gut.

he knew that he was the only one that could make you feel that good. that he knew your body inside and out. he dragged his fingers in and out of you, you made a cute noise and it all went to oscar's cock.

"ya like that, beautiful?" he asked, "you like when i touch you, make sure you feel good all over. you're so painfully cute when i finger you."

"please, oscar. why are you so big all over?"

"all over, huh? i guess i might make you feel pretty small then." he was joking, but he didn't realize the effect of his words until you let out a small moan. then he pushed the hair out of your hair as he asked, "oh? does someone like feeling small? such a small, little girl." he chuckled. he could feel the heat in his cheeks.

"yes!" you squeaked, "yes, yes, yes!" you squirmed a little but oscar kept you pinned to the bed. the sounds of his fingers buried in your cunt paired with your heavy pants filled the room.

he chuckled, that was something that he'd bring up at a later point. he kissed your cheek lovingly, "you're so cute. my good girl." his accent did things to your brain as he played with your clit.

you stretched out your legs and felt good all over.

"so beautiful." he admired your beauty. it made his heart race as he continued to rub his fingers against the most inner parts of you. you were so fucking beautiful.

you held onto his strong forearm, you panted heavily. your jaw tensed as you climaxed around his fingers. you felt your entire body throb with want as your toes curled. you tensed up for a moment, nails dug into his skin, "shit, oscar! ah! please!"

you visibly relaxed onto the bed and loosened your grip on him. your head swam with the aftershocks of lust. oscar got his fingers out of your sweet cunt and licked the digits hungrily.

"mmm, you taste so good." he purred, "sweetest i've ever had." his cock strained in his sweatpants. he laid out beside you and would deal with his painful erection after he got you into bed.

he took off his shirt and put it onto your naked body. he tried to find your panties but they were lost in the covers till morning. he laid beside you on the pillows and wrapped his strong arms around you. he kissed the apple of your cheek and said, "take a breather and i'll help you brush your teeth."

he knew that tonight was a good night for you and he was happy that he could end the night on a high note for you. he buried his face into your back and inhaled deeply. he said quietly, "i love you."

you melted a little at his touch, as he laid behind you. he felt so big compared to you. and you felt so protected and small by him, even after he made you orgasm. you knew soon you'd have to get up and go to the bathroom. you didn't want to sleep in your make up and with alcohol still heavy on your breath. but for the moment you laid there, you felt the warmth of your lover.

your big, strong handsome man <3

[rosygaze]

cupid

pairing: eddie munson x female!reader

summary: you swear cupid hates you but maybe he’ll finally take mercy when you meet eddie. 

warnings: reader insecurity, slight period misogyny, mostly fluff, eddie being a cutie patootie, inspired by cupid by fifty fifty <3 

word count: 2.4k+

masterlist

You were starting to think that Cupid had a personal vendetta against you.

Three failed dates in a row, all with different guys.

You were optimistic about the first date. After hitting it off with a friend of a friend at a party, you agreed to go on a date with them—a simple movie and dinner.  Only you didn’t make it to dinner since your date started hysterically sobbing after watching the newest rom-com. Apparently, he was missing his ex, and seeing two people in love on screen was the breaking point.

The second date came and went. Another movie and dinner but this time you actually made it to dinner. Which you quickly regretted when he kept trying to play footsie with you under the table. At the end of the date, he leaned in for a kiss. You panicked and dodged which had your date kissing the brick wall behind you instead. You didn’t hear back from him again.

On your third date, you lowered your expectations exponentially. You wanted to play it safe and have a coffee date. It started out normal enough. In fact, you were even having fun. He made you laugh until the conversation drifted to the topic of the future. You told him you wanted to get out of this small town and get a job.

For some reason, that made him extremely upset. He started talking about how women shouldn’t ever work and that the only work you should do is cleaning the house, taking care of the kids, and all that 1950s bullshit. You stared at him, mouth agape, not knowing how to respond.

When he was done with his tirade, he excused himself to go to the bathroom. You waited a few seconds before jumping out of your chair and sprinting out of the coffee shop at a speed that should’ve qualified you for the Olympics. You didn’t stop walking until you reached the park down the street and sat down on the empty bench to catch your breath. You looked at your surroundings and grimaced.

Couples.

Everywhere.

A couple having a picnic on the grass. A couple kissing sweetly on the bench across from you. An elderly couple taking a midday stroll. There was even a pair of kids hugging while their parents cooed at them. It’s like the universe was playing some cruel prank on you.

Did Cupid enjoy watching your love life crash and burn? Did he take some sick enjoyment out of hitting you with one of his arrows and shoving you in the direction of another failed love interest?

What was so great about love anyways? It can’t possibly be as good as all the movies and songs made it out to be. Surely, everyone had to be lying or delusional.

And yet…

You wondered what love was like.

The kind of love that kept you smiling all day, that made you see the beauty in the world. The type that swept you off your feet and made you feel like floating through the clouds. The type that completed you.

This is why you kept going on these dates, giving that little cherub second chances in case he finally takes mercy on you and gives you the right man.

Because someone had to be out there for you. Right?

You groaned and slid down the bench enough for you to lean your head on the back of the bench. Watching the clouds float across the sky, you wished the overwhelming loneliness in your chest could float away just as easily. Tears pricked your eyes and you tried desperately not to let them fall. You would not cry here, not in public. You can save the crying for your room like you usually did.  

Despite your best efforts, tears still trickled down your cheeks. You huffed in frustration. You are pathetic.

All of a sudden a sharp pain shot from your head. Your eyes shot open and you sat up. With crossed eyes, you could make out a blurry form of a stick. You gripped the stick and realized that it was literally stuck to your head by suction. You dug your nails into the sides of the rubber to release it. Rubbing your forehead, you finally got a closer look at the toy arrow that hit you.

What. the. hell.

You glanced around the park, looking for who could’ve hit you. Turning around until you faced the open field behind you where you saw two people: a short, curly-haired kid and a tall, long-haired man.

The latter was holding a toy bow looking incredibly guilty.

You blinked at each other for a couple of seconds, in shock about what happened. The boy nudged him and he came stumbling forward. You stood up as well and wiped your tears away. God, you hoped you didn’t have a giant red circle on your face.

The ten-foot distance between the two of you felt bigger than it was. The awkwardness alone almost made you turn around but you pushed through. Once you were close enough, you stopped and took him in.

Everything about him screamed ‘danger’. He wore a black shirt that said ‘Coroded Coffin’ and dark jeans with a chain hanging from his belt. You wondered how he wasn’t sweating under the sun.

Black polish chipped off his nails and a collection of chunky rings adorned his fingers. Trailing your eyes up, you saw the patches of dark ink etched into his skin. He was all hard features and sharp edges that had you slightly antsy but when you finally met his eyes, that feeling flew out the window.

He had these big baby browns that softened his entire look. His long hair was wild and framed his face. The combination made him look slightly like a puppy. He had full, pink lips that opened and closed slightly as if he was trying to find the right words to say.

Stop ogling him. He shot a projectile at you.

You cleared your throat, deciding to break the silence. “I assume this is yours?” You held the arrow out to him.

He seemed to snap out of his trance and took the arrow from your hand gently. “Yeah! I’m really, really sorry. I swear I wasn’t aiming for -” He stopped mid-sentence and you saw his eyes flicker with worry. “Are you okay?”

“Oh yeah, I’m fine. It didn’t hurt that much.” You waved a hand over your forehead, dismissively.

“No, not that but I am glad to hear I didn’t hurt you.” He smiled lightly but as fast as it came, a frown settled in its place. “You were, uh… were you crying?”

Taken aback, you furrowed your brows at him. How he could’ve known? “Uh…”

“Sorry! That’s weird. It’s really not my place. It’s just… your eyes are red but you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” He rambled and held his hands up to show he meant no harm. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had actually paid attention to you like this.  

“I’m okay.” He nodded but, ultimately, didn’t look convinced. You sighed. “I just had a bad date.”

“He didn’t hurt you did he? We can track him down. I’ve got a weapon.” He held up the plastic bow.

You giggled and that made him relax just a tad. His shoulders dropped and the wrinkle between his brows smoothed over. “He didn’t, don’t worry. No need to wield a deadly weapon on him.”

“Yet.” He narrowed his eyes at you but had a playful smirk.

“Yet.” You copied his expression. The tension had disappeared and lighthearted laughter took its place.

“I’m Eddie, by the way.” He introduced himself.

Eddie. It suited him, you thought.

You gave him your name. A charming smile tugged on his lips and you felt your cheeks heat up. “Pretty.” Eddie said under his breath.

Your cheeks flushed even more.

“Eddie, did you get the arrow?” A voice called from behind Eddie. You peered over his shoulder and saw the younger boy. Only now did you notice that he was decked out in a full medieval costume, his curly hair peeking over the edge of his pointy hat.

“Yeah, dude.” Eddie held up the arrow.

“Then come on! You gotta help me with my shield.” The boy whined which made you chuckle slightly. Eddie looked back at you and smiled.

“In a sec, man!” He yelled back but kept his eyes on you. A childish groan came from behind Eddie which had him rolling his eyes playfully. “Sorry about that.”

“Your brother?” You asked.

“Dustin?” Eddie asked, surprise clear in his voice. “Yeah, he is.” A fond smile spread across his face. You could see the resemblance in their unruly curls.

“So, what’s with the outfit?” Peering over Eddie’s shoulder, you could see Dustin practicing with the shield, swinging it at invisible monsters.

“He’s testing out his costume for the Faire.” He said, casually.

“The Faire?”

“The Renaissance Faire?” Eddie’s brow lifted. You shook your head, not understanding. “It’s like an amusement park for history buffs. People dress up, eat, drink, roleplay. It’s great.” He explained.

“Have you been before?” You wanted to hear more, both equally fascinated by the concept and Eddie’s voice.  

“Yeah, a couple of times. It’s the little guy’s first time and he wants to go all out. He said he wanted to try his costume out in the correct environment. He’s a bit of a nerd like that and that’s saying something coming from me. King of the nerds, right here.” Eddie held his arms out as if presenting himself and bowed low. You smiled at him.

You haven’t stopped smiling since he made you laugh the first time. “It’s sweet that you spend time with him like that.”

“It’s nothing, really. He’s a special kid.” He scratched the back of his head. You tried not to notice the slight flex in his muscles.

“I’m sure he’ll have a great time.” You said, managing to pull your eyes away from his arms.

“You know.” Eddie started, looking a bit timid. “I’ve got an extra ticket. You could come with us if you want. It’s this weekend in Indianapolis.”

“Oh, I don’t want to impose.”

“You wouldn’t be.” Eddie stepped a quarter of an inch closer to you. The proximity made you the slightest bit dizzy. “Maybe you’d have some fun. Forget about the asshole who made you cry.”

“The asshole?” Your eyebrow quirked up.

“Every man who makes a woman cry is an asshole and should be jailed.” He said with the most serious expression that you knew he wasn’t joking around.

“My, what a gentleman.” You found yourself inching closer to him too.

“My uncle taught me well.” Eddie puffed his chest out proudly. “So what do you say?”

“The Faire does sound really fun.” You paused. “But I think you should spend time with your brother. Since it’s his first time and everything.” “Oh, y-yeah. You’re right.” Eddie’s cheeks were turning red. He started to move back when you spoke again.

“But… maybe you could tell me all about it after? Over coffee?” You offered, biting your lip shyly.

Eddie froze then his face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Really?” You nodded, just as excited. “Fuck yeah! I’d love to.”

“I should… uh, give you my number. So you can call me?” That initial bout of confidence was fading away. The intensity of Eddie’s gaze made your knees weak.

“That seems like a good plan.” He nodded.

You pulled your pen out of your bag and dug around for a piece of paper but you couldn’t find anything. Pausing to think, your eyes drifted to the spattering of tattoos on Eddie’s arm. “May I?” You pointed at the back of his hand.

“Go ahead.” He gave you his hand. “I’m not afraid of some ink.”

You let his hand rest on your palm while your other hand scribbled your number on his skin. You had to write slower than usual to make sure the ink stuck. His eyes were burning holes in the side of your face. You spared a glance up at him and the corner of his lips twitched up when you met his gaze.

Ducking your chin, you tried to finish writing but your pen stopped working on the last number. Your lips pouted, petulantly. Eddie must’ve noticed since his thumb rubbed against the skin of your wrist, comfortingly. If you were a cartoon character, you were sure there would be a comical amount of steam coming off you right now with how hot your body felt.

A couple of taps against your thigh and the ink started flowing again. After the last stroke on the final number, you added a small heart beside it.

“Beautiful.” Eddie said. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off of you nor did he let go of your hand. “I should have you design my next tattoo.”

“Oh yeah, ‘cause my little hearts will definitely look good with that.” You poked the bats on his forearm.  

“Damn right, it will. Hearts are metal.”

Before you could continue your banter, Dustin’s voice cut through the air. “Edward Munson, stop flirting and help me!” He had his hands on his hips and looked extremely cross with his brother. You let go of Eddie’s hand in embarrassment.  

“I’m coming!” Eddie’s cheeks were red but his eyes were full of amusement. “As much as I’d love to stay, it looks like I gotta go.”

“I figured.” You were actually sad that your time with him was up. “You two have fun this weekend.”

“Thanks. Don’t go on any more dates with assholes, okay.” Eddie still had that playful grin but you heard the slightest hint of unease in his voice.

“I won’t.” You assured him.

You said your goodbyes and walked away. Every couple of steps, you looked back at Eddie. You felt like a teenager again, willing for her crush to look at her in class. You took one last look at Eddie and, as fate would have it, he was turning to look at you too. Both your eyes went wide, a similar situation to your meeting just a couple of minutes ago.

The two of you laughed and Eddie drove the toy arrow into his chest dramatically. He threw his body back on the ground and rolled in the grass. When he got up, he had a smidge of dirt on his cheek but that smile never dimmed. You’d be thinking about that smile all day.

That very night your phone rang.

“I hope you don’t mind.” Eddie said over the receiver. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

You twirled the phone cord around your finger. “Neither could I.”  

This is your last chance, Cupid. You thought. Please let him be the one.

[de4dlyniightshade]

munch! spencer, reader with migraine, spencer reads something about how orgasms can help with pain

꩜ warning!: this post is +18!!! mdni!

꩜ word count: 1.6k (got a little carried away;-;)

꩜ A/N: honestly i don't rlly like this but hopefully it's good enough :,)

You let out a quiet groan in pain as you squinted your eyes at the tv, trying to watch your favourite show but the light from the screen only made your throbbing headache worse, to the point it was almost unbearable.

"Another migraine?" Spencer asked quietly from the other end of the sofa as he looked up from his book, keeping his voice low so as to not make it any worse. You just nodded, holding your head in your hand and letting your eyes close, feeling slight relief from the light no longer beaming into your eyes.

You didn't get migraines all that often but when you did they could be pretty bad and Spencer hated seeing you in pain and hated the fact that there was nothing he could do to fix it even more, or so he thought. He'd spent hours researching ways to alleviate your pain after your last migraine, which got so bad that it practically debilitated you and you couldn't do anything but sit in a darkened room for hours until it passed.

After reading countless articles and blogs a unanimous opinion was that an orgasm relieves a large amount of the pain, one woman going as far to say that hers was completely gone afterwards. Honestly the remedy was a complete win-win, he'd be able to help you and make you feel better and he'd also get to do his absolute favourite thing at the same time, which just so happened to be eating you out.

"Do you want me to help?" Spencer suggested, laying his book down on your coffee table and turning to face you, a slightly excited feeling bubbling in his chest.

"Remember nothing worked last time, Spence" you murmured, sighing at the realisation that you'd probably end up back in your bedroom, cocooned under blankets for your unforeseeable future. You felt Spencer shift closer to you and you could practically feel the excitement radiating from him, knowing that meant he'd found some scientific way to help you and wanted to try it.

"I researched a lot about migraines and how to help you since the last one and the method that came up almost every time was that a sexual release would alleviate a large amount of the pain and i was thinking maybe..." he didn't even have to finish his sentence for you to know what he was thinking, as soon as he uttered the word "sexual" you knew what he had in mind.

"You seriously think it'll work?" Your tone was hopeful and you were prepared to try anything at this point, feeling your pain slowly worsen the more time went on. you'd tried almost every other remedy you'd been suggested by friends and nothing had worked even a little and painkillers did nothing for you no matter how many you took.

"It's worth a try," Spencer smiled, resting his hand on your lower back. you knew he wasn't just doing this for himself, it was just convenient that he loved nothing more than to be buried between your legs.

"Alright, but if this doesn't work I'm not gonna be happy" you were only half serious, you were happy to let Spencer run his little experiment, considering that if it did work, you'd both not have a migraine anymore and would have had an incredible orgasm, so either way, you got something out of the experience.

You watched as Spencer moved to turn off the TV, leaving just a lamp on so that it was light enough that he could still see but dark enough that it wouldn't hurt your head so much.

You quickly hooked your fingers into the waistband of your underwear and pants, lifting your hips to tug them down over your ass and slide them down your legs, kicking them to the side to deal with later as Spencer moved to eagerly kneel in front of you, placing his hands behind your knees and leaning down to press a chaste kiss just above your left knee.

You smiled as you slowly spread your legs apart, watching Spencer's eyes glint with anticipation. You already knew the drill—moving to place your legs over his shoulders the way he liked it and shifting forward on the sofa to give him better access.

Spencer didn't waste any time with teasing, reminding himself that this wasn't for him, no matter how much he enjoyed it; this was an attempt to alleviate your pain.

You let out a sigh as you felt his warm tongue lick a bold stripe up your folds before he circled your clit, moaning quietly at your taste that he'd grown to love so much.

You tangled your fingers in his hair as he buried his face deeper into you, urging your thighs apart to lap at your pussy, your quiet whines and moans egging him on as he took your clit into his mouth, sucking and licking at your sensitive nub, the stimulation making you twitch and grip his hair tighter, rolling your hips into his face as you let your head fall back against the couch.

Spencer wrapped his hands around your thighs as he nuzzled his face into you, making sure to get as close as possible to you so that he could dip his tongue into your entrance. The feeling of his warm, wet tongue pushing into you causing you to arch your back, a loud gasp falling from your lips, your migraine long forgotten.

"F-fuck spence," you whined as you tugged on his hair desperately, letting yourself grind into his mouth. Spencer continued his ministrations on your sensitive cunt, drinking in everything you had to give him with pleasure as he whined into your wantonly.

You felt Spencer push one of your legs to the side, and instantly you got the message, lifting your leg to sling it over the arm of the couch to give him access. You couldn't help but gasp when you felt his middle and index fingers prod at your entrance, teasing your hole briefly before he began slowly sliding them in. The copious amount of saliva and your arousal making it easy.

"Oh, f-fuck!" you moaned out as you felt his fingertips curl right into your g-spot, the mixture of his mouth on your clit and his fingers pressing right into that spot that made your toes curl, making your mind go completely blank as you whimpered and moaned, his name falling from your lips in breathy gasps.

Spencer began massaging his fingers into your g-spot, drawing needy moans from your lips as he brought you closer to your release, revelling in the way you moaned his name and the way that your walls clenched around his fingers.

You got completely lost in the pleasure as you rutted your hips into his face, gripping his hair harshly and pushing his face into you. You felt the familiar knot in your stomach tighten as you squirmed and shuddered, the feeling of Spencer's fingers nonstop stimulating your sensitive spot making you a needy mess.

"C-close! 'm close, Spence." Your voice was high-pitched and whiny as you warned him, Spencer only pushing his fingers harder into you, the action pulling a loud moan from your throat as your body began to shake and tremble.

You couldn't help but sling your leg back over Spencer's shoulder, letting your thighs clench around his head as you felt your orgasm approaching. Spencer's tongue never letting up his brutal sucking and licking on your clit, sending shockwaves through your body.

Spencer began moaning and whining into you, the sounds sending vibrations through your sensitive cunt and making you cry out in pleasure as your breath came out in gasps and huffs, your whole body tending as you felt your release dangerously close.

"G-god spence, I'm gonna c-cum!" You practically wailed with no regard for how loud you were being, letting out a constant slew of desperate noises when Spencer massaged your soft spot more precisely, coaxing you to your release as he sucked harshly on your clit.

Spencer let out an especially loud moan as you tugged on his hair, the intense vibrations sending you over the edge as your mouth dropped open in a silent scream, your whole body shaking and writhing as your release gushed around Spencer's fingers that continued to curl into you, coaxing you through your orgasm while he gently licked at your clit.

You were breathing heavily and still shaking slightly when Spencer slowly pulled his fingers from your sopping cunt, wincing slightly as his skin dragged against your sensitive walls. You watched as he buried his fingers in his mouth, cleaning off your release like he always did, sighing at the taste before he pulled them out and leaned back in, dipping his tongue into your slit to lap up everything he could, not daring to waste any of it.

Spencer leaned his cheek on your knee when he was satisfied, looking up at you through his lashes as you lay completely fucked out with your eyes closed, a beautifully content expression on your face.

"How do you feel?" he asked quietly, watching as you cracked your eyes open and furrowed your brows, scanning around the room and sitting up slightly, a smile spreading across your lips as you looked back down at him.

"I feel...great?!" You laughed slightly, completely fascinated by the effectiveness but also relieved that you'd found something that worked, both for you and for him. Spencer couldn't hide the wide smile that adorned his lips. He was overjoyed that his method worked as he pressed gentle kisses up your leg before he situated himself beside you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and sighing.

"i'm glad" 

(dookie ass ending again ik</3 i need to work on that :,)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Roads Untraveled 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, pregnancy, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Single and pregnant, you discover a super soldier in the dumpster but he might not be hero you think he is. 

[This is a rewrite of a series of the same name which I removed a couple years ago]

Characters: Silverfox!Steve Rogers

Note: I finally did this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

‘When he went away  The blues walked in and met me  Oh, yeah if he stays away  Old rocking chair’s gonna get me  All I do is pray...’ 

You sway to the melody as you wipe dry the last plate. You set it in the rack as Etta James’ soulful crooning wafts around the kitchen. Just the simple task of washing the dishes has you out of breath. You can no longer hum along as you’re suddenly light headed with sweat speckled across your brow. Even the breeze drifting in through the open window can’t cool the constant heat brewing within you. 

You brace your lower back as you reach for the dish towel and pop open the cupboard. The music drones to silence as the next some in queue loads. Your rounded stomach presses to the counter as you take a mug and dry it inside and out. Strange, you don’t remember the song starting like that; the strange warbling noise much unlike Marvin Gaye’s rich tones. 

You set the mug on the shelf and back up. Another noise peaks your attention, too tinny to be a snare. You rub your stomach mindlessly as you sling the cloth over your shoulder. You waddle across the tile to the folding table beneath the window. You tap pause on your phone and the bluetooth speaker goes silent. 

Your fingers pick the damp fabric away from your bump. These days you can’t avoid getting soaked. Even as you can’t forget about the burden of your condition, you’re still oblivious to how it gets in the way until it does. You sigh as you listen for another clue. 

A pained deep grunt floats up from below. Distant but decisive, another rustle beneath the unexpected noise. You lean over the table, a hand on the ledge as you push the pane higher. You bend, stomach pressed to the speaker, and peer down. You expect another dumpster diver searching for empties to trade in; rather you meet a most unexpected sight. 

There is a man in the dumpster, alright, but he isn’t moving. From there, you can’t see very clearly. You squint at the figure strewn among the trash but the zigzag of the fire escape obscures your eye line. 

You shouldn’t go and see. Not only is it a lot of effort, but it’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be wandering into alleys to check on strangers in dumpsters. You don’t know any good reason someone might be swimming in garbage. Nor do you think they would want to be bothered.  

Still, the prickling in your neck urges you to do something. There’s just something so peculiar about the angle of the arm you can see clearer than the rest of the body. At least they’re moving, even if they sound agonized. 

You take your phone and untether it from the bluetooth speaker. You unlock it and keep your thumb ready to dial out. You move as quickly as you can, not very, and waddles along the back of the couch into the entry way. You take your keys from the hook near your door and step into your cushy slides. 

You turn back the latch and leave the door unlocked behind you. The slides shift on your swollen feet as you rush down to the elevator. God, your back hurts. You try not to lean too far back as it only adds to the pain. You need a belly belt but they’re so darn expensive. 

You’re out of breath as you step on and turn to watch the numbers count down. You’re still panting as you reach the lobby and push through the front doors, leaning into the heavy grated iron until it creaks loudly. You clamour down the steps to even ground and your hips pang. 

You put your hand under your stomach, trying to lift it and ease the pressure in your hips. You blow out between your lips as you have to slow down. You shuffle across the grass and into the paved lobby. The stink of the trash brings you back to those early days of morning sickness. And afternoon sickness. And night sickness. 

You try not to inhale too deeply as you step between the brick buildings. You bring your phone up, ready to hit those three digits in a heartbeat. You should’ve done so already. Even if you do, it’ll take hours for anyone to come out here. 

You stop and listen a few steps from the dumpster. You don’t hear anything now. You look up at the sky, dimming towards evening in a mixture of pink and blue, the moon peeking palely through the hue. You grip your phone tight, keys jangling with your movement as you continue forward. 

“Hello?” You call out, “is someone in there?” You linger near the corner of the dumpster, the trash reeking in your nostrils, “do you need help?” 

No answer. You stare up, wondering how you might see inside. If you weren’t built like a keg, you might be able to see from the lower level of the fire escape but you can’t even make it one rung. You blink and call out again. 

“Hello? Are you okay?” 

You wait for a response. Silence again. Maybe they found their way out on their own. You huff. So much for all that. All you’ve done is added to the pain in your arches. You turn on your heel and a groan gurgles and plastic crinkles noisily. 

You stop again, wavering, and peer back over your shoulder. A hand appears over the tops of the dumpsters edge and grips it. You face the large metal bin as the knuckles strain within the stained brown leather, fingertips poking out nakedly, blood and dirty tinged across the flesh. A long grunt follows as the figure drags himself to look over the top. 

“Sir, are you--” you begin, voice catching at the sight of the cowl and the man’s square jaw. The white star on his chest stuns you. It’s him. Everyone knows that uniform, that face, even under his helmet. New York’s own Captain America. 

You gape as the super soldier strains and swings himself out of the dumpster with one arm. His other is hanging limply as his feet hit the pavement. His knees crack and buckle. He drops down onto them and hisses. 

“Captain America?” You utter dumbly. 

He puts his fist to the ground and leans on his arm. He hangs his head and heaves. He drags a leg forward, planting his foot, and makes himself stand. He pushes his shoulders back and winces, reaching to cradle his dangling arm. 

“Steve,” he rasps, “goddamn.” 

You don’t expect the obscenity. Not from him. He leans against the dumpster and turns his chin up. He gnashes his teeth as he grips his arm and jerks, moving the heavy bin with his effort. The pop of his shoulder is sickening as he growls tightly. He stomps his foot and as he shakes out the arm he just put back into place. 

He reaches up and peels off his cowl as he puts his head straight. He looks at you as he wipes the streak of blood from lip to chin. His blond locks are streaked silver and his face is lined. He looks much older than the magazine covers and the TV screens. The magic of editing, right? 

He swipes the sweaty hair from his forehead and huffs. 

“Steve,” you rest your phone on your stomach, “are you okay?” 

He pushes himself away from the dumpster and puffs, “I’m fine. Just... a hiccup.” 

You stare at him. He looks tired and worn. You believe him when he says he’s okay. He's a super soldier and the world has seen his many feats. Yet he looks completely hollow. 

“Are you sure? I could call someone or...” you step forward and point to the slash that borders chest and shoulder, “you should clean that out, shouldn’t you?” 

He looks down and grimaces, “had worse. I got comms. HQ doesn’t care about a few scratches.” 

He goes to step forward and stumbles slightly. He snarls and kicks his foot into the gravel. He wiggles his knee and bends to rub the joint. 

“I...” your mouth opens and closes. This isn’t the man you’ve seen in the media. He's not smiling and golden and shining. Still, he’s the Captain. “I live above,” you gesture upward, “I could help... or maybe you can just... sit for a little bit. Get yourself straight?” 

He looks at you. As if for the first time. His forehead smooths as the tension eases from his jaw. His gaze slowly crawls down to his stomach and you see the dimple in his cheek. 

“Your husband okay with that? I’m a bit of a mess,” his tone is lighter as he fixes his grip on his cowl. 

“Oh no, I don’t have--” you chew your lip and look at the brick wall, “it’s just me. But I have first aid kit and learned to stitch in summer camp. I think I can still remember how.” 

He glances around and nods, “got a back door?” 

“Yeah, it’s... past you,” you nod in his direction. 

He pivots stiffly and cranes to see around the dumpster. You near him and your keys jingle again. You follow him to the metal door with the glass window and you shove the key in and twist. You pull it open a few inches. It’s heavier than the front door. He grabs it and wrenches it all the way back. 

“Thanks,” you murmur. “There’s an elevator.” 

“Hm, fewer people see me, the better,” he sniffs as the door clanks behind him. 

“It might take me a while,” you warn, “I’m slow.” 

“What floor. I’ll meet you,” he offers. 

“Sure, it’s three.” 

“Number?” 

“310.” 

“I’ll find it,” he states and marches towards the stair sign. 

You go to catch the elevator, stewing in disbelief on your ascent. You step off and continue on to your apartment. He’s already there. He stands with his hand on the frame, looking over his shoulder as you waddle down the hall towards him. 

“It’s unlocked,” you say. 

He opens it and waits for you. You thank him as you enter and he follows. He locks it and lingers behind you. You put your hand to the wall as you slip off your slides. He gently lays his cowl on the corner table and bends to unlace his boots. You hang the keys on the hook and place your phone on the small table. 

He leaves his dirtied boots on the mat and limps forward. You stand in the open doorway of the living room and peek back at him. He looks around reluctantly. 

“Please, sit down,” you insist and wave through the doorway before you pass through. 

“I...” he begins and you hear his uneven gait down the hallway. “I don’t want to dirty your couch.” 

“I have a steam cleaner,” you assure. “Sit, I’ll get the kit.” 

He stares, his eyes once more scanning the space. Does he think this is a trip? That you’re some covert agent who all too conveniently found him? That’s absurd. Look at you. 

You shrug off that ridiculous idea and cross to the kitchen. You open several drawers before you remember it’s in the bathroom. Of course. Your brain likes to play games these days. You grab the metal tin from under the sink and return to Steve.  

He pulls off his gloves and balls them on the side table next to the couch. You come around the other side of the couch and sit, leaving lots of space between you. You squeeze the kits as you’re once more out of breath. 

“You okay?” He turns the question on you. 

“I’m not the one bleeding. Just pregnant,” you smile. 

You balance the kit on your stomach as you lean back. You sanitize a needle and weave it with surgical thread. You put that aside and fish out an alcoholic swap. You shift the kit aside and push on the back of the couch as you try to sit forward. You shake and he helps you, a humbling assistance. 

“First,” you turn to him, “we’ll see how deep it is,” you tear open the swap, “can I...” 

“One sec,” he dips his fingers into the fabric and tears the sleeve, renting the fabric like tissue. His arm is thick and well-toned despite the years. A centurion like him can’t complain for the shape he’s in, even battered. “I can do it myself.” 

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be easy.” 

You reach as he angles towards you. You gingerly dab around the gash and he tenses. He takes a sharp breath, “you don’t have to be so gentle. I can handle pain.” 

“Right,” you work more diligently. 

He’s quiet as you tend to him, picking out gravel and some metal slivers. You worry that you might miss some. You lean in closer and he steels himself at your proximity. 

“So,” he clears his throat, “just you and...” the kid?” 

“We all make mistakes,” you chuckle. You can only laugh about it, as scared as you are. 

“Mmm,” he flinches as you sweep down the length of the cut. It’s not that deep, mostly superficial. 

“Let me put some steri-strips on, shouldn’t need the stitches, ” you say as you sift through the kit with one hand, “if you’re hungry, I have leftovers. You like chicken?” 

You don’t know why you’re offering. Maybe it’s because you owe him. Like everyone in the city. It’s your chance to give back to the hero who gave so much. Or maybe it’s because you’re so damn lonely talking to your own stomach. 

“I should go,” he insists as you place a strip across the cut. 

“Up to you,” you say, “I don’t mind either way, but I’m not going to chase Captain America out of ym apartment.” 

He doesn’t say anything. You finish dressing his wound and gather up the wrappers and all. You crumple it in one hand and rock yourself to stand. You’re overly aware of him watching you. You touch your stomach and rub it, soothing your nerves. You find him watching the movement of your hand. 

“You must be pretty far along,” he says. 

“Six months. Chicken tortellini, if you want. I was gonna reheat some. I haven’t eaten since work.” 

“Work?” He frowns and stands, moving better than before. “Should you be?” 

“I’m at a desk. It’s nothing. HR got me some ergonomic stuff. Nothing compared to what you do.” 

You put away the kit and toss the garbage. You wash your hands before you search out the container of pasta in the fridges. You sense him behind you, just in the wide archway that peers into the kitchen. You reach into the cupboard you left open and take the single plate that isn’t in the rack. 

“So, you want some?” You ask. 

He’s silent with contemplation, the shift of his weight creaks in the floor, “I appreciate it, yes, please.” 

“I might have something you can change into,” you say. You wonder why you’re doing all this. Maybe it’s that maternal instinct kicking in. “The father, before he took off, left a few things.” You peek over your shoulder, “he was a bit smaller than you.” 

He shrugs then winces at the careless gesture. “Do you mind if I wash up before I eat? I smell like garbage. I don’t wanna overstep--” 

“Go ahead, it’ll take a while to warm this up,” you say. 

Another long lull. He taps his fingers on the wall and inhales deep enough for you to hear, “promise, I’ll get out of your hair after dinner.” 

“Please, take your time,” you say as you put the tortellini in a glass pan to rebake. He backs away and you sense his hesitation, “oh, down the hall, to the left of the bedroom at the end.” 

“Thanks,” he intones, “oh, uh, just realised, you know who I am...” 

Your brows pop up and you stop before you can put the pan in the stove. You look back at him and give your name. He nods. 

“Pretty,” he comments, “also, it’s just Steve, not Captain.” 

[rynwritesreid]

MunchSpencer, stressed bau reader 😉 do ur thing

A/N: I will absolutely do my thing for you iluvreid. Did I base this of that video of MGG eating that pie? Yes. Do I think about that video daily? Yes. Also to answer somebody else’s questions, I am planning on writing Luke fics in the future, and I do take Rossi requests (I take all requests that are to do with CM). I am also working through everyone’s else’s request, I’m waiting for some inspiration on the song ones :) As always jag älskar dig 🫶🏼

Content: Smut and Fluff. Fem! Reader. Overstimulation. Oral (F! receiving). Vaginal fingering. Slight dom/sub undertones. Mentions of doing this at work in the future. Munch! Spencer. Pet names (princess). A little argument to start of with, but it’s resolved quickly.

Masterlist| requests are open| Navigation.

 

Spencer had noticed how you were acting at work; he knew all the signs of you being stressed out. He tried his hardest to de-stress you at work, he had brought you all of your favourite snacks, he made sure you had plenty of water and coffee, but none of this seemed to be working.

 

Once you were both at home, he tried to ask you what was wrong, but you just shrugged him off, asking him to just leave you alone for a minute. “I’m not going to leave you alone; I know something is wrong. Just tell me.” His voice was strained, he was becoming frustrated, not with you, but because he didn’t know what to do.

 

“Spencer, back off. Nothing is wrong, I’ve told you. I’m just tired.” You bite back at him. You knew he was trying to be helpful, but you just wanted some piece of quiet.

 

“Something is wrong, why aren’t you telling me? Let me help you out here.” Spencer's voice softened as he watched the frustration etched on your face. He understood that his insistence might have been adding to your stress, but he couldn't bear to see you in pain. With a sigh, he took a step closer and gently wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a warm embrace.

 

"I'm sorry if I'm coming across as pushy. I just hate seeing you like this, and I want to be there for you," he whispered against your hair, his fingers slowly rubbing soothing circles on your back. Spencer knew what would help him out if he was stressed, and he knew it would also work on you.

 

See, Spencer’s favourite place was to be in-between your legs. If he could, he would spend every hour, of every day there, exploring every inch of your body, losing himself in the pleasure he found there. He cherished the way you moaned his name, the way your legs would tremble as he brought you to the edge of ecstasy.

 

His hands continued their caress, moving lower down your back until they reached the curve of your hips. He could feel the tension in your body slowly melting away as his touch seeped into your pores, bringing warmth and comfort. The rhythm of his movements matched the beating of your heart, steady and reassuring.

 

"I know you're tired, but maybe... just maybe, I can help you relax," Spencer murmured, his voice laced with a mixture of gentleness and desire. He guided you towards the bedroom, with every intention of not letting you leave until you were totally relaxed.

 

As he undressed you with utmost care, his fingertips brushed against your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Spencer's touch was like a delicate dance. His lips followed suit, pressing soft kisses along the path his hands had taken.

 

You found yourself surrendering to his ministrations, allowing the weight of the world to be lifted from your shoulders as pleasure consumed you. The stress that had plagued you all day melted away under the skilled touch of your lover.

 

The bed welcomed you both, its soft sheets cradling your bodies as Spencer continued his exploration. He knew every inch of you, every secret spot that drove you wild with desire. His mouth found its way to your neck, peppering it with butterfly kisses before trailing down to your collarbone.

 

A sigh escaped your lips, mingling with a gasp of pleasure as Spencer's tongue danced across your skin. The knots in your muscles unravelled as his hands glided over your body, burning away any remnants of stress. Your breath hitched as his lips descended further, leaving a trail of wet kisses along your chest, pausing to pay special attention to your sensitive breasts.

 

Spencer's touch was both tender and insistent, his fingers tracing patterns of desire across your skin. He knew exactly how to coax pleasure from your body, each stroke and caress tailored to elicit the most exquisite sensations. With every passing moment, the weight on your shoulders lifted, replaced by a growing sense of bliss that radiated from deep within.

 

Lust and love intertwined as Spencer's mouth found its way to the apex of your thighs. His tongue teased and taunted, sending electric currents of pleasure through your veins. Waves of heat cascaded through you, building with each flicker and swirl until they crashed over you in a tidal wave of ecstasy.

 

Your moans filled the room, mingling with Spencer's own growls of desire as he revelled pleasure. His movements became more urgent, his tongue delving deeper, coaxing louder cries of satisfaction from your lips. You clutched onto his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands as you rode the waves of pleasure that consumed you.

 

Spencer’s hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place as he devoured you with an intensity that left you gasping for breath. Your hips were instinctively rocking against his skilled mouth, grinding against his face in search of more.

 

Spencer's touch was relentless, his tongue and lips working tirelessly to ensure your pleasure knew no bounds. The sensation of his mouth on you, the wet heat, and the flicks of his tongue, sent sparks of electricity coursing through your veins. Your walls clenched around nothing as your body convulsed in bliss.

 

But Spencer didn’t plan on stopping now, he was never satisfied if he only made you cum once. And now, more than ever, he was going to continue, he knew you needed it, and he knew he wanted it.

 

Soon enough, his fingers joined his mouth slipping inside you with a precision that left you trembling. You hadn’t been able to come down from your first orgasm, and now you were soaring even higher. The dual sensation of his mouth and fingers brought you to the brink of another climax within moments. Every stroke, every flick, and every curl of his fingers sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

You lost all sense of time and space, consumed by the pleasure that coursed through every fibber of your being. Your mind became a haze of pure desire as Spencer continued to bring you to new heights with every stroke, every flick of his tongue.

 

Spencer's movements became more insistent, his fingers moving with an urgency that matched the burning need in your core. Each stroke sent shockwaves through you, intensifying the pleasure that consumed you. Your breath came in ragged gasps as you teetered on the edge of yet another mind-shattering orgasm.

 

He paused, giving you a slight break. “Are you feeling better now, princess?”

 

You lay there, panting heavily, your body still trembling from the intense pleasure that Spencer had just bestowed upon you. Your mind was hazy, your senses heightened, and a sense of tranquillity washed over you. The stress that had weighed you down seemed to have dissipated, replaced by a deep sense of satisfaction.

 

You turned to look at Spencer, his face glowing with adoration as he admired the aftermath of his ministrations. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you nodded, the words caught momentarily in your throat.

 

"Yes," you finally managed to rasp out, your voice laced with awe and gratitude. "I feel... incredible."

 

Spencer's eyes sparkled with delight as he took in your response. He gently caressed your cheek, his touch feather-light against your flushed skin.

 

"Good," he whispered, his voice filled with tenderness. "That's all I wanted."

 

“I think I should get stressed more often.”

 

Spencer chuckled softly, his fingers trailing lazily along your side. "If getting stressed means, I get to relieve your tension like this, then I might have to start causing trouble on purpose."

 

You playfully swatted his chest, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Oh, so you're admitting that you enjoy being the cause of my stress?"

 

His lips curled into a smirk as he leaned down to capture yours in a lingering kiss.

 

“No, I’m admitting that I love hearing your moans, and it took all my might not to do this at work, but I can’t let the rest of the team hear how you moan for me. Those noises are for my ears only.”

 

Your heart raced at his words, a delicious mixture of desire and anticipation coursing through your veins. You had always known that Spencer had a playful side, but this level of raw intimacy was something new and exhilarating.

 

With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you leaned in closer, your lips mere inches from his as you whispered, "Well then, Agent Reid, I guess we'll have to find somewhere at work no one would be able to hear us”.

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