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moondirti · 3 days

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

They check up on you when they can.

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

But still, they check on you.

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

They find the two of you are always doing something.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nonsense, lass. 'twas cute."

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

"Bldha! Pffffpp."

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

"Gah!"

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

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

Now, he's made good on his promise.

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

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

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

Ah. There.

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

But then he notices the thin material of your top.

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

Another part sends blood to the weight between his legs.

"Bleedin' Christ."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A-Aye?"

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

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

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

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

Simon makes him lick the mess off his palm.

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

You'd heard the whole thing.)

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

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screampied · 20 hours

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whiny toji was something i did know i needed till now🧍🏼‍♀️

now what about whiny sukuna👀👀 in his domain👀👀

-👁️

riding sukuna until he whines ★

warnings. fem! reader, unprotected, whiney sukuna, brief choking, praise, dirty talk, premature ejaculation, mdni.

“oh, fine. do your worst, brat,” the curse would snicker with a sly grin stretching against the very curvature of his crimson pink lips. he’s not taking you serious.

then again, it’s rare for the sukuna ryomen to ever take you, his precious favorite human serious. you enlighten him so to speak, he cherishes the time he spends with you . . including the moments where you’re entrapped with him in his own domain. you’ve never had the patience though, as you’re straddling his lap— you’re hovering over his leaky tip and his fangs poke out into a mere, wicked smile. “givin’ up now? what’s with the hesitation, little one?” and a hand of his runs down the sides of your waist, a smirk pulling against his lips once he hums in amusement. “scared ‘m gonna stretch you out like last time?”

“no one’s scared,” you reply with an eye roll, pressing a chaste kiss against his mouth. sukuna hums, multiple eyes flickering at you, taking in your beauty. a broad hand of his slings around your waist before giving it a tight squeeze. “just shut up ‘n lie back, ‘kuna.”

“not likin’ that attitude,” he grumps—crossing the upper part of his two arms before parting his legs. he was very beefy, the size difference between the two of you was almost adorable. another broad hand of his brings you closer, a hiss snakes from his lips as he feels your folds gradually swallow his frenulum. “but like i said, do your worst. i’ll be nice ‘n try not to fall asleep, heh.”

you were always annoyed with the smug, complacent smile that’s forevermore printed onto the curses lips. as you’re taking him down, it feels warm. he groans at the way your gummy walls easily clamp down against him.

easy, two of his hands grab onto your waist before he leans back against his throne. “you’re too cocky for your own good sometimes, ‘kuna,” and his eyes flicker at you. the nerve, he’d let you get away with saying almost anything to him.

the only reason why—simply because you were known as his favorite,

“and you’re too bratty for your own good,” he replies back with wit, the roughness in his tone making you throb. sukuna was so close to your ear, you inch closer until you’re met with his chest. perfectly toned pecs—soft toned pecs rubbing against your own, you can feel how perky his nipples were, brushing against the fabric of his cottony made kimono. inside his domain— it was dark, a mere scary glimpse of his own perfect little world. and yet, here he was sharing it with you. he sucks his teeth, your cunt holds him tight, refusing to let go and his head goes back. “my, perhaps you’ve missed me a lot more than you let on.”

so cocky,

with an eye roll, you lean in for a kiss— the demon returns it, a free hand of his wrapping around your throat whilst you’re taking him fully.

your hips start to sway, picking up a decent rhythm before you moan in his mouth. he skims a thumb down the aisle of your throat, feeling the vibrations that’s continuously flees from your voice. so harmonic, the sweet sounds you always made for him was a song he’d constantly listen to if he could.

“ugh,” he grunts, pulling away—a glimmering mixture of his own saliva departs away from your lips as he stares at you blankly. he’s almost in disbelief. with your arched hips in mere constant rotation, a raw groan rips from his lips. he finds it cute. the small prints of your fingers wrap around his throat, never once leaving eye contact. “you’re a kinky little girl today, huh. got no right choking m-me.”

sukuna’s voice falters all of sudden, he lets off a sharp gasp. the plump tip of his dick abruptly thumping against a specific spot deep inside of your swollen cunt. it hits it again, and again, and again,

he’s getting a bit sensitive. sukuna’s caught off guard—especially with how not only you’re choking him gingerly, but resuming to grind your sweet hips against him. so warm, you ride his lap like it’s your own personal throne. the middle parts of his back slumps against his royal seat as he gnaws on his lip. his breaths become significantly heavy and he already sounds like he’s running out of breath.

languidly,

your hips stutter against him—the hefty size of his cock rummages all through your pussy before you conceal yet another moan.

sukuna groans, feeling you lean up close to pierce the crowns of your teeth into the depths of his skin. lolling out your damp tongue, you savor the curses taste. he tastes sweet, almost salty but of course candied. a hand of his reaches near the outer cusps of your ass before a long nail of his carved light against your skin. moaning yourself, you seep your tongue canines into his neck to leave a mark and he grunts— yet this time, instead of his usual gruff tone that booms throughout his infamous, blood-curdling domain, for the first time in centuries or ever, sukuna ryomen whimpers.

it slips out of him easily, and oh is he embarrassed once he sees the dumbfounded expression of yours turn into straight smugness.

the whine spews from his ancient lips and he’s not fond of this feeling at all— he’s so deep into the very pits of your lower abdomen, making you feel every staggering inch of his cock and he sucks his teeth in desperation. a finger of yours slips through his kimono, trailing against his sculpted abs before you lean up close to him to whisper.

“aw,” you giggle with a hum shortly following, the rupture his dick makes within you almost gives your legs a good enough excuse to give up. running a finger down his undercut, you’re met with the meanest glare. “all that sass and you’re a whiny baby, sukuna,” and you thrust your hips against him further. the massive weight of his balls slapping back against your skin and he tenses up. broad shoulders raise before he whines again, although this time— it’s from feeling you kiss near the neglected corner of his lips. “who knew the king of curses could be a cute whiner.”

“s-shut up, mortal,” he groans, the sensitivity of his cock repeatedly thrashes against your g-spot. sukuna’s too caught off guard that he doesn’t even realize he ends up finishing early.. too early,

thick stringy ropes end up shooting into you, it’s warm and sticky. you pause your hips—relishing in the hotness of his spurts of seed that trickles its way into you. sukuna’s spasming out underneath you, it’s so cute to see. his jaw hangs open, the most lewdest whimpers leaving out of his throat before the veins that run within his bulky arms pulse. he’s seeing everything but the vision; the vision of you straddling his lap, staring into his eyes with that cheeky grin.

submissive sukuna,

you lean in to kiss him whilst he’s still dumping an entire gluey load of cum into you. such satiny ropes, he sloppily returns the favor, breath heavy and sheets of sweat pouring down the sides of his face. “goodness,” and his voice— it’s not as confident as it was, you hear a slight tremor in it and it’s cute. he’s still heaving, clingy walls continue to grip around him before his fangs nip at your bottom lip. “a-ah, got me soundin’ like a worthless p—”

“shh, baby,” you purr, and he’s like puffy folding in your hands. once cruel and sadistic eyes—now all droopy and full of heart eyes at your very expense. he calms down from the strokes of your hand against his face and he shudders, trying to pull into another kiss but you stop him. he whines again. “oh, does the demon want another kiss?”

he nods, that same cute grump of a scowl returning to his lips before he sighs. “give me a kiss.”

“not when you ask like that, ‘kuna,” you tease and his eye twitches, again— the nerve..

he feels the way his cum starts to ooze out between your thighs and he glowers at you. such a baby, you lean in to kiss his pout away and his arms go back to being crossed. “say pretty please.”

“perish.”

“fine kiss yourself,” you roll your eyes with a sly smile, preparing to make your way off the demons lap until he holds you tight. two strong arms grabbing you,

so clingy . .

with a scoff, he looks away—a cute tint rising to his face before he mumbles. “give me a kiss, pretty please.”

“that’s a good demon,” you giggle, slinging your arms around him before pressing him a soft, wet kiss. he whines at your taste, wanting nothing more than to savor it. his tongue curls against yours before he feels your hips start to pick up again. he moans, his left thigh twitching before your bouncing accelerates. he was still so sensitive, and yet here he was, like dough mending underneath you.

a while after, you pull away and he pouts— hiding his face into the very crook of your neck. sukuna snarls, nibbling against your skin before whining out a low, raspy, “i- i need a minute,” and he hides more of his sweetened whimpers into your neck. “don’t move. we’re gonna stay like this, f-fuck.”

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charlietheepicwriter7 · 1 day

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Talia found Yasmin's hide out only two days after the bomb.

It wasn't easy. Yasmin had hidden herself well - her monthly reports had never mentioned an acquaintanceship with Vladimir Masters, the absolute gall of that girl - in the middle of nowhere Wisconsin. She bypassed the few security measures with ease, eventually finding her daughter sitting at a kitchen table, hyperventilating.

"What happened?" Talia's voice was cold and demanding.

"The-" Yasmin gasped before stealing herself. "The Fentons are dead."

"I know the Fentons are dead." Talia circled the girl. "One split navel to throat, the other strangled. What. Happened?"

"The Fentons discovered their son was a Meta. Specifically, they thought he had been replaced with the extradimentional species they study." She took a deep breath. "By the time I had discovered their actions, Daniel was... dissected on a table."

Talia closed her eyes. She knew from Yasmin's reports that she'd been acting as the Fenton child's primary caretaker since her adoption and a fondness had developed. "Yasmin-"

"Don't, Mother." She snapped. "Don't act like this is anything less than a tragedy."

"I know-"

"He was a child-"

"Everything's been taken care of," Talia said. "As far as the authorities are concerned, Jasmine Fenton died in that explosion you caused. You need to return now-"

"No!" Yasmin bolted to her feet, glaring at Talia. "He's dead, Mother! An innocent child, the child I raised as my own, is dead because I couldn't protect him! Don't you dare try to sweep this under the rug like... like Danny was something shameful! I'm not leaving! I have to-"

Time Out.

Yasmin shut her mouth mid-sentence, giving Talia time to convince her off her self-destructive path.

"What happened to Daniel is a tragedy, Yasmin. But wallowing in grief and what-ifs only leads to further pain." Talia sighed. "The Fentons and the research you were so fascinated with are gone now. You made sure of that. It's time for you to return home and put that knowledge to use."

Yasmin stared down at her hands. Odd that Talia hadn't noticed, but Yasmin's hands cradled a small, dark blue jewel, polished into a smooth, oblong oval. It glittered under the candlelight, like stars in the sky.

Yasmin swallowed the rock and spoke, refusing to acknowledge what she'd just done. "You are right, Mother. The time of Jasmine Fenton is gone now." She stared straight at Talia, no trace of fear in her gaze. For a moment, Talia wondered where her child had gone. Yasmin never met her eyes unless prompted to when she was growing up. Now she was met with a younger version of herself with cheap dyed-red hair, with the same level of determination that made Talia the Right Hand of the Demon Head. "I will mourn for Danny... on my own time. For now, what is my mission?"

Talia studied her daughter. There was a reason why she'd hidden the girl so far out of the way of her Father and her son. Yasmin was a strong fighter, but had her father's heart, despite her willingness to kill. She'd always reminded Talia of a bodyguard rather than an assassin, but Yasmin wanted to go her own way, wanted to study everything. For years, Talia had indulged her daughter, but now it was time for her to return to the fold.

"For the next month, you will be training to remove any weakness the Fentons may have left in you. After that, you will be guarding an ally for me."

"Which ally?"

"A boy a few years older than you, a son of the Bat." Yasmin didn't react to the mention of her father. Good. "His mind is infirm, but by the time you finish your training, he will be ready to strike a blow against Gotham. You will act as his guard during his training and act as my spy while he's in Gotham. Do you understand?"

For a moment, Yasmin's hand brushed her stomach before she forced her fists to her sides. "Yes, Mother. I will do as you ask."

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #jasmine al ghul #yasmin al ghul #c: talia al ghul #c: clockwork #c: danny fenton #reincarnated danny fenton #Or re-grown might be the better term #danny needs to regrow his human body after the Fentons killed him #danny could have been reincarnated properly; it would have taken a few years maybe decades but it would have happened #clockwork gives Jazz/Yasmin the choice to raise Danny as her own son from her own blood #and when Jazz compares her life as an assassin/spy to that as Danny's (sweet loving Danny who adored her) caretaker #she knows which life she can't live without #also Yasmin does know Damian exists but has never met him #she knows there's a heir and knows its her full-blooded brother but that's it - no emotional connection so she doesn't care #I can see this ending up Anger Management with a side of pre-reveal Red Hood Jason thinking he's the baby daddy #with Jazz violently disagreeing with that assumption

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evilminji · 3 days

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Okay, so maybe it's just me? Projecting my new Tea Phase?

Cause for med reasons, no more energy drinks, only Teeeeeeaaaaa~☆

But honestly? Now that I am an adult and ACTUALLY KNOW HOW TO MAKE IT? Really digging it! Am enjoying the Teas. Mmmmmmm~ leaf broth. I like the fruity ones.

So! IMAGINE~☆ If you will:

Danny. 14 and his parents are LOUD AS FUCK (CRASH BANG SMASH BANG WHIIII-) dispite it being, once again, a school night. This has been going one For Years. That STUPID fucking machine. All God damned hours. Crashes and bangs and powertools. Explosions.

When will it ever end!

He's... he's honestly used it.

Unknowingly? This is is a skill that will come in handy later. Living and functioning while sleep deprived. Healthy? Fuck no. But it's USEFUL. He IS the ten year old downing Monster drinks in the parking lot before school.

It makes him a jittery weirdo. Twitchy. Too much caffeine, not enough sleep, his parents either blew up or TOOK APART the washing machine AGAIN. He... he never stood a chance. It's a miracle the indoor plumbing hasn't been compromised yet... AGAIN.

His blood is more sugar, caffeine, and guarana or whatever those other things in the can are, then actual human blood. He doesn't CARE. He just needs too get decent grades, graduate, and become an astronaut. It's... it's FINE. This is normal. They're FINE.

(If they weren't... someone would have noticed, right? Would have DONE something. Cared. So it HAS to be fine. His family's just weird. It's FINE.)

But THEN...

The Accident.

And his biology CHANGES. Green goo, wrapped vicious and loving, around his very DNA. Like Kintsugi of the body and soul. In green, Green, GREEN. It... it's a lot. Everything changing all at once. Maybe that's why it takes him so long to notice.

Why he thinks "oh, I'm just tired cause I'm running more then usual. Fighting and flying. Doing ghost stuff."

When... when honestly? Some part of him always kinda KNEW. From the very moment he stumbled out of the portal. The aftershocks. The pain. Sam and Tucker crying, scrambling to help him up the stairs. Sam tearing her bag apart looking for her cramps medicine. Because... because pain medication is pain medication.

"It's gonna be okay, Danny. Please. Please god, just take it! I promise it's gonna be okay!"

How do you look your panicked, crying, strongest-person-you-know best friend in the eyes and tell her... you can FEEL it dissolving in your throat. Like the pills were dumped in a human shaped pot of acid. That... that the pain isn't changing... and you... you don't think it's going too.

When you're scared. Might be dying. And you can already tell they think it's their fault. W... when you're all just KIDS. And all you can think is... you can let them know how bad... how bad it hurts...

They'd never be able to live with that knowledge.

Yeah. Yeah, Sam. Thanks. T... The pills helped a lot. He feels better. You really saved the day. He lo... loves you guys so much.

...

.....

He thinks about that moment A LOT. About how much he realized and knew, before the denial kicked in. Before he got so... Tired. Fresh of all that energy. And? You'd think he realize. The mood swings. The irritability. The headaches that disappear the SECOND he goes ghost. That he's in caffeine withdrawal. But? Nope.

He kinda blames the constant ghost attacks for distracting him.

But see... Sam? Doesn't drink tea. Goes against her diet. Tucker was where he GOT his illicit borderline illegal energy drinks. And his sister? Big on flavored sparkling waters. Which are gross to him.

His PARENTS drink a thick tar they insist is coffee. It might be liquid fudge. Zone knows its nearly the same consistency. It's horrifying. No thanks, he wants to LIVE.

It's? Ironically? Mr. Lancer and his constant detentions, that help Danny realize somethings up. Because Mr. Lancer shares. If he makes a cup for himself, he'll make one for you. It's how he was raised. And, yeah, the after school detentions? Those were herbal blends. No caffeine.

But...

But they tasted nice. Were warm. The classroom was quiet and as frustrating as it was? The tea itself? Was always... the one exception to how shit the situation was. So Danny finally broke down and asked about it. Learned Mr. Lancer knew a? Surprisingly LOT about tea. Huh.

Then one day he gets SATURDAY detention. Oh joy!

Bright and early. One of the few times he could be trying, desperately, to be sleeping through his parents cacophony. Catching up on his desperately needed Zzz's. Here he is... getting a handed a new cup of different tea?

Breakfast blend? And a bagel..

N...none hostile breakfast? A quiet space to catch up on his homework? No Dash? Just... just a quiet classroom, some tea, and the sounds on a peaceful morning outside?

......oh.

It's the best time he's had in school in... God, in YEARS. He gets so MUCH done. For once can concentrate. And? Actually, now that he thinks about it? Feels... awake? Or at the very least, not as sleepy. And being a Fenton, whom to the LAST are a genius if eccentric family, it's pretty damn easy to put two and two together.

Tea.

He felt more awake after having Lancer's breakfast blend tea.

He obviously asks about it. Then, after detention is done. Calm packs up. Goes home. Drops his back in his room. Goes ghost. And SHOOTS for the Far Frozen with his phone and an energy drink. Because clearly he's missing something and it's time to ask.

The good doctors of the Frozen are... gently horrified. Clawed hands steeples infront of their mouths as they try to tactfully figure out how to word "Great One, WHAT THE FUCK!?!? Why would you DO THIS TO YOURSELF!?" Because that... is not professional. Breathe. In, out, in, out. We can do this.

They get the most patient and restrained of their elders to... CALMLY, very VERY Calmly, ask some medical questions. Listen. Without judgements! Because they are medical professionals. Who do NOT want to scream, forever, into the void. Certainly not. So Calm! (They are going to BURN THAT CAN IN-)

Which! Huh. Yeah, that explains the constant exhaustion. He was poisoning himself. Kinda. Not so much the GHOST but the human half. Putting to much strain and too much trace chemicals, minerals, and buckets of sugar. General "mmmm :/ Don't Like THAT ™" energy from the Goo causing it too try and constantly burning it all out of existence. Endlessly.

The more he put in, the more there was to burn. The more there was to burn, the more tired he became. The more tired he became... well, the more he put in. It was a slowly lethal starvation cycle. Big Yikes.

The TEA on the other hand? Those are leaves. The good recognizes leaves and water. Other various plants, dried or otherwise. It ignores them as "fine" until they reach a "problematic" threshold, apparently? So... *blank look at the doctor*

*sighs in medical professional*

Tea? Good. Satan Can of Halfa Poison? Bad. Please drink tea.

👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻

And it's like MAGIC. He's suddenly BACK, baby! Ha ha ha! Skulker you fuckin THOUGHT?! Oh it's 2am? Well SUPRISE bitch! He's bright eyed and bushy tailed! His grades are up AND he's beating you like a drum! He has ice breakers for old people discussions now!! The local Tea Shops have NEVER been so well protected.

He actually manages to graduate with not just decent grades? But GOOD ones.

And the second. The INSTANT. He is legally his own man? Has his important paperwork squirrelled away and the go bags safely WELL outside of Amity. It's time. He meets OUTSIDE the house, because he's not an idiot. He's been practicing his Clones and has them ready to grab his parents so he can get out of there alive. Jazz is on video call from Star city.

His parents... suspected. Not at first, but as goofy as they are? They aren't ACTUALLY idiots. They've been watching, going over old research. Trying, failing, to get in touch with the League to have THEIR team test their research. Peer review is critical after all. They... they had been so certain. Are still somewhat certain.

But their research doesn't exactly ACCOUNT for this "halfa" phenomenon. So, there is a very real chance they are missing something. The one thing the DO know? Danny is their son. Stuck in some eternal mortally wounded state or not, he is a hero. And they weren't there for him.

They can't change their beliefs on a dime. But they've clearly missed a great deal. And refuse to fall to academic bias. The very thing that got them LAUGHED AT for decades. Mocked and belittled. This is their life's work. By God they WILL find out the truth.

It's? Better then he could have hoped. Not perfect. But better.

He helps set up safeties and a security check point at the portal. Both sides. He's kinda a big deal these days, mom, dad. Ghost scientists eager to work with them. A whole TEAM under their command. It certain endears ghosts to them a whole lot more. Then?

Copy of the blue prints, go bag turned into normal bags, Danny's off to college.

Bounces from major to major. Nothing really capturing his interest. As he aged, he's need less sleep. Gotten stronger. Grown into his father's height and grandfathers build. Tucker keeps calling him a dorito. Danny retaliates with Ancient Egyptian Cyber/Pharoah Twink allegations. According to SAM they are both dumbasses.

She's not WRONG... but hey D:<

Eventually? A really niche botany seminar run by Pamela Isely catches the attention of Tucker, who forwards it to him n Sam. Nice ™. It's being held in her Murder Park! Cool! Obviously they have to go. So off to Gotham they go. And? When they get there? Sam is APPALLED.

She may HATE landlords as much as the next activist.... but LOOK at all these run down, foreclosed, rotting buildings! Beautiful gothic infrastructure! Those could be businesses or homes! Danny, busy with signing them up, makes the mistake of tuning her out as she rants in fury. She does this some times. Needs to vent. Uh huh, you're very right. You should contact somebody. I agree. Mmmhmmm.

Hey, Sam, Ms. Isely needs your-....

Sam?

Oh FUCK ™.

By the time the Seminar come around? Sam has violently kicked in the door of more then a feel reality offices. Owns QUITE a few buildings. Danny is sweating. She... she's doing the THING again. The "gimme your Ghost Crew, I KNOW you have a highly specific Ghost Crew, don't you DARE lie to me or I take your knee caps, Danny" stare.

>.> Sam you can't keep doin- *stare intensifies* Yes Ma'am. *Pulls out Fenton phone* and so? Here come the renovation crew. The ONLY honest building Crew in all of Gotham. They cut no corners. Can't be threatened. Gangs, villians, and even local government office try to arrange... accidents on the build sites.

Nothing. Nada. In fact, it turns out more dangerous for THEM then this crew of outsiders!

Wtf!

Then? After these two College age weirdos finish Poison Fuckin Ivys HIGHLY SUSPECT biology seminar? Manson fucks off to who knows where! Leaving what HAS to be "the muscle" behind. Cause I mean? Look, at the guy! He's huge! And what does he do?

Goes building to building. Rents them out to low income families. Honest, hard working shop keepers. And? Eventually decides to settle smack dab in the middle of Gotham, in the shadow of Wayne fuckin tower, spitting distance from the Space museum..... and open? A tea shop? The FUCK?

"The Zone".

In a weird shade of green. With little ghosts, wearing crowns, because and I quote "it's funny"? Certainly crazy enough for Gotham. But like, it's loud as FUCK here. Crowded. There are gas attacks and shit. It'll never las-....

It stays untouched for MONTHS.

Sometimes being the ONLY building near it to be untouched. Gas NEVER getting in. The damn place a BUNKER. And? Despite looking like it's two floors? It's three. You enter and your actually on the second floor. No one's even sure where the fuck the guy LIVES, since he never seems to leave.

Not only THAT. But it... it's like one of those old school apothecaries. Big ol bank of drawers. Guy'll mix up your blend for you right as you watch. Tea nuts are actually risking COMING to Gotham to try his stuff. Writing articles. Apparently he has some pretty rare shit in those drawers.

Some UNKNOWN shit, according to one guy on ViewTube.

There's this whole debate on if it's Ultra Super Rare or that means it's just super cheap knock off crap. Some of them he won't make for people, even if they ask. There's a rumor it's for Meta's with specific diets. Or alien blends. But no one can verify that. Cause like?

Anyone who tries to cause trouble?

Can't fucking FIND the place. And if you're already inside? You just... drop. Stone cold unconscious. It's definitely magic but no one knows if it's HIS or Manson's? You know? He won't talk. Gets annoyed when harrased.

Which off course!

Leaves Only ONE gentleman for the job. An elite special forces trained expert. Polite, dignified, enjoyer of fine Teas. Alfred "Why do you chucklefucks keep forgetting I was in the Queens Service and a Registered Badass" Pennyworth.

After all! He DOES have the days shopping to do.

@babbling-babull @the-witchhunter @hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @lolottes

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #Tea Shop of Mysteries AU #alfred pennyworth

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quesadilla-day · 2 days

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delicious jade 😋yummy yummy 😍

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dannnnnny666 · 2 days

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Day 12: Time Travel

“Sooooo Phantom, do ya have any siblings?” Kid Flash asked as he tried to make small talk with the newest recruit to the team.

A few days ago, Young Justice was called to a meeting by Batman where he introduced their new team mate, Phantom. Phantom was a tough looking dude, he was jacked and towered over them all, even Conner!

Batman didn’t give them much information about the guy but apparently John Constentine was the one who suggested him for the team since he needed “community service hours”.

The dude was currently drinking some soda next to the computer as Red Robin searched for any new info on their latest mission. He turned his attention away from the can, and stared at Wally, his red eyes piercing into his soul.

“Why?”

“Well we are all about to go on a mission together and none of us really know you so I think it’d be best if we all got to know you better,” that was half true. Mostly Wally was just being nosey, but the dude really did make everyone nervous since he was this really tough dude with blood red eyes and apparently was here because John Constentine said he needed community service hours???? Constentine typically say some wild shit, but what the fuck do you mean by community service? Wally knows you can’t use those for school, he’s tried, and what else gave you community service? Juvie and prison!!

Phantom stared at him hard for a few seconds, his eyes searing into the back of Wally’s skull before saying, “Okay fine”.

The answer surprised everyone in the room, I mean the guy had barely even spoken the last few days and had rejected every question about his personal life.

“Depending on how you see it, I have 2 to 4 siblings”

“Is your father a serial adopter too?” Tim joked.

“Yes and no”

“Huh?”

“It’s pretty complicated,” Phantom shrugged, seemingly deciding to end the conversation there and taking another swig of his drink.

However, Tim, out of annoyances of every attempt to get to know this jerk being thwarted and a bit of confidence his family was more complicated, decided to challenge Phantom’s statement.

“Ehh, it probably isn’t as complicated as my family, we got about 50 more siblings adopted each month, all with lots much trauma”

At this, Phantom narrowed his eyes at Tim.

“I see what your doing, your trying to get me to talk tell you guy more about my family by acting like yours are more insane”

“Am I?” Tim asked, trying to hide the shivers going down his spine from the way Phantom was staring at him.

Phantom to a huge swig of his soda, emptying it and throwing it into the garbage, before fully turning to Tim.

“You’re lucky I am always good for competitions, now sit down this is going to take a bit”

Tim gladly obliged and soon everyone sat around Phantom as if it were storytime in kindergarten.

“Okay, so at first I only had an older sister and my parents” Phantom began, “but then they died because of a mistake I made and I had to move in with my evil godfather”

Megan raised her hand and asked, “Isn’t a godfather someone who is very close to the family? Why would your parents choose an evil person?”

“‘Cause my dad was oblivious to this and though they were good friends even though the dudes tried to kill him multiple times”

“I see,” Megan lowered her hand, no less confused.

“There I went mad with grief and had him remove my humanity and tried to kill all of humanity”

“I think that was a bit of an overreaction,” Wally joked.

“You tried to kill all of humanity? Why weren’t we told of this when it happened?” Kaldur'ahm asked.

“That was in a different timeline, I was a big enough problem that they gods tried to kill the younger version of me to stop me, so to avoid dying, my younger version decide to try to defeat me and the only reason he did was cause I was underestimating him,” Phantom emphasized the last part because he had to stress he didn’t not lose to a 15 year old boy because he was weaker than him.

“What happened next?,” Artemis asked, completely inraptured in the story.

“I was then imprisoned for sometime before escaping, causing problems and then realizing that causing younger mean the same pain I experienced won't bring my loved ones back,” Phantom continued to explain, “so I am now going to therapy, doing community service, and got the majority of my powers taken away”.

“Is your therapist open to seeing new patients?” Konner asked.

“No, but this timelines version of my sister is and she has a lot of experience so I can give you her number instead”

“Sure, that’ll work”

“Okay,” Phantom said before writing her number down and handing it to Konner, “The thing is I can’t go back to living with my real parents because they don’t know that I am Phantom so I have to go back to living this timelines version of my godfather”

“You gotta be kidding me” Tim groans.

“Exactly what I said!!” Phantom put his arm up defensively, “Fortunately, this version is a little better, he is no longer tiring to kill my dad and has stopped chasing after my mom, he did clone the other of me and now there is a genderbent version of him but my godfather treats her like a princess and will not stop spoiling her, which I am also guilty of”

Phantoms continues to explain more and in the back of Tim's mind he remembers he was supposed to be doing something but honestly this conversation was too good to care.

“Anyways that's how I technically have 2 to 4 siblings, Jazz and Elle are permanently my sisters and I love them so much, and even though the other Jazz is technically the same as this Jazz, I still think of her as someone else, someone I miss dearly. Also if I considered this Jazz my sister, I guess I’d have to considered the other me as my brother”

“Damn bitch your family is crazy” Wally said, happy he finally managed to get through Phantom’s tough skin.

As they finished up their storytime, the Zeta-tubes activated and Red Tornado and an upset looking Batman walked to the group.

“You all were supposed to leave thirty minutes ago”

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s0fter-sin · 3 days

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mermay idea

mers keep their faces covered as a way to indicate social status and familiarity. warriors have intricate masks, handcrafted when they win their first battle and the more detailed a mask is, the more accomplished the wearer is. they're rarely shed and are only taken off for their closest kin and mates

warrior bull shark mer!soap seeing human!ghost, seeing his skull mask and immediately knowing he's a high ranking warrior; one to be feared going off the numerous scars covering his body

an ideal and worthy mate, so long as he can prove his prowess

so he follows him as he's deployed on a mission near the ocean and is smitten when he sees how ruthless and capable he is; bathing himself in his enemies blood. he keeps his distance, not wanting to tempt fate but ghost spies the tip of his fin cutting through the water

and he's nothing if not an opportunist; kicking the bodies off the pier to the waiting jaws below

but soap? all he sees is the first step in a courting ritual

and he has to come up with something truly brilliant to match such a glorious offering

on ghost's part, it's been difficult getting people to understand the depths of his dependence on his mask. price thinks it's something to overcome, gaz and other soldiers just think it's an accessory to help with intimidation

the few partners he's tried to have thought he was someone to "fix"; nothing more than an object, a notch on their belt to prove how "good" of a partner they were to put in so much work to make him better. it always leaves him feeling violated, more so than if they'd just taken his mask off outright. one night stands were hardly worth it either; scratching a physical itch but falling so short of the intimacy and connection he craves that he feels worse off than he'd started

when he finally meets the mer that's been hunting him across the country, sees the bright red mask so artfully hewn and attached to his face?

it's like looking at a reflection of himself

he might have finally found the understanding he's been searching for

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nereidprinc3ss · 3 days

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andromeda | (dybmn? bonus)

a bonus vignette from spencer's POV. we find out how he really feels about reader. takes place the day before the argument at the bar.

note: this is not part six! takes place between parts four and five, five being the most recent part. read part five here

18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, semi-graphic descriptions of sexual fantasies, some angst, you're not actually present, mention of alcohol, very vague discussions of murdery stuff bc he's supposed to be working, sassy spencer makes an appearance a/n: for all my angels who said they wanted a snippet of spencer's POV! i'm sorry if i'm overdoing it with this story or clogging the spencer tags, i'm just having a lot of fun! i hope you enjoy or that this may be clears some things up for you, pls lmk your thoughts:) ily!!!

Spencer is incessantly drumming the particle board table underneath his fingers.

The polymer veneer is one of his least favorite textures—he hates the grain of it and if he were to accidentally scratch the table with his nails he knows it would make the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

But of all the things he’s worried about, that ranks very low on the list.

He’s got a lot of mental tabs open all the time—and the tabs, he can deal with. It’s when he starts trying to operate with multiple windows that he begins to struggle. His brain, while it is a very fine tuned sort of computer, only has one monitor. Unfortunately, no human (except for the ones who’ve had their brain hemispheres surgically split) is immune to the inevitable pitfalls of multitasking. By dividing his mental energy between you and his job, he’s really fucking up his job. But he also thinks he really fucked up with you on that phone call the other night and for being as logical as he is he can’t seem to make that feel unimportant—even though he’s disgusted with himself for it because there are literally people dying.

Someone knocks on the open conference room door—he looks up, skimming his lips over his fist.

“What’s up?” he says too quickly upon seeing Emily’s mildly concerned face peering in on him.

Her mouth bridges into a sort of nonchalant frown and her brows kick up.

“Just… checking in. Haven’t heard from you all morning.”

“Yeah, the, uh—the geo-profile. I’m still… I’m still working it out.”

It’s not like he’s ever been phenomenal with his syntax in a social sense, but Spencer is certainly aware he’s doing even worse than usual right now.

“Okay. Uh… is there anything in particular stumping you, or…?”

“Nope. Just not enough information. But I’m—I’m going to keep trying.”

“Alright. Got your phone handy?”

It’s an odd question—of course he has his phone handy. He’s been doing this job longer than Emily has. How else would he communicate with the rest of the team? He bristles.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

Emily shakes her head. She’s always been particularly good at reading his moods.

“You’re not under attack, Reid. I was just asking.”

Just as he’s about to say, why would you assume I’m not prepared for my job, he manages to swerve away and stifle the words with his fist. Instead he looks back down at his copy of the map and nods. In reality, he truly isn’t prepared for his job today. The reason he has his phone so close, fully charged and at top volume is because he’s worried he’ll miss a call from you.

Emily says something else, and he hums in response, and then she’s gone.

He shouldn’t be reading into your reticence this much. It’s not like you just sit by the phone all day, eagerly awaiting a call or text from him (like he does you). You have a life. You’re busy. And even if you are intentionally dodging his texts, he can’t entirely fault you for it. Spencer knows he’s clingy. He knows he’s overbearing. It’s part of why he panicked the other night and told you the whole humiliating story about Elle. Because he can’t ever just be cool and he felt the need to explain himself.

But the problem was, and is, that he doesn’t know how much longer he can go without saying those three words that fucked him over all those years ago.

So he’d danced around them. Applied them to someone else to try and avoid outright professing his all-consuming love for you over the phone. However you feel, Spencer has to assume he feels more. Spencer always has to assume he feels more because he usually does and it’s gotten him into trouble before. And now he’s pretty sure he was exactly right, as often is the case, because you didn’t tell him he was mistaken and you’d clammed up and you haven’t talked to him since and he’s not supposed to be reading into it this much.

Three victims killed and dumped within a 6 mile radius of the first victim plus one victim killed and dumped 23.8 miles away. That doesn’t make any fucking sense. Fuck this guy.

Spencer decides the problem is that he needs more caffeine.

Or possibly, if he were a different kind of man—copious amounts of alcohol.

So he stows his phone in a pocket and asks the first person he sees where the coffee machine is.

“Looks like you found it earlier,” the woman says, glancing pointedly down at his mostly empty mug. A playful smirk tugs at pinkish-brownish lips. She’s pretty, he realizes distantly. But he registers it the same way he’d take note of the model of a car, or the species of a bird, or the kind of shoes someone is wearing. It doesn’t actually interest him. It’s just part of processing his environment. “I can show you to it?”

He doesn’t have the heart or energy to explain that someone else brought him his cup earlier and he’s not flirting with her.

“If you could just point me in the right direction…?”

She laughs, short and dry, before she’s pointing down a hall.

“Kitchenette down there and to the left.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, already walking away without sparing her a second glance.

She’s the kind of woman he would have paid a lot more attention to before you came along. Not that he’d ever sleep with someone on the job (not since he was 25, anyway), but if he’d met her under any other circumstances he probably would have cared more about the way her pupils dilated and her eyes had widened slightly and she’d adjusted her posture and all the other small things people do when they’re attracted to someone else. 30 year old Spencer might have slept with her. 27 year old Spencer definitely would have slept with her. Current Spencer obsessively pines for a woman who is already his girlfriend and whom he has yet to sleep with at all far too much to think about other women like that.

But god, does he think about you like that.

His feet carry him down the dim, carpeted hallway but really it took barely a nudge and he’s thinking about you like that. At work. As he’s pouring himself coffee.

Spencer is confident in the fact that if anyone were to look at him right now, they’d never guess he’s running clips of you in his mind like a dirty supercut. Because he’s just pouring coffee. That’s one good thing about having all those tabs open all the time. He can toggle between them quickly. He has enough going on in the background that people look at him and all they can tell is that he’s thinking hard about lots of things. Some of them just happen to be the way you look when you’re naked on his bed, skin shining and glazed eyes sleepy, parted lips higher in color than usual and catching your breath. Some of them happen to be your hair brushing his stomach before he gathers it back for you. Some of them happen to be the way your thighs feel on either side of his face, or how you stretch around his fingers, or how you might feel when you stretch around his—

He hisses as hot coffee overflows from the mug and burns his hand.

Maybe he’s not as calm and collected as he thought.

But on top of all the other things he’s dealing with, having been so close to actually sleeping with you the other night is really fucking with his head. Even if he tells himself he wouldn't have done it, he knows himself better than that. He's too familiar with the effect you have on his judgement.

“Found it okay?”

Spencer looks down, surprised to see the woman from earlier sitting at her desk and watching him as he quickly passes by on his way back to the conference room. Her legs are crossed. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and a flouncy sort of blouse which seems impractical for working in an FBI field office. Maybe she notices his eye catching on her figure and misguidedly swivels her chair to give him a better look. But all he’s noticing is that it doesn’t look like yours. Now he’s picturing the curve of your hip dripping in silk after that first night at Rossi’s. How your waist and your stomach feel when he slides his hands over you. This woman—she might as well not even be here for all he’s actually seeing her.

“Yeah. Thanks again.”

Then he’s gone. Very briefly he acknowledges that he should feel sorry for so obviously brushing her off, but he doesn’t care even close to enough. He sets the coffee down on the table and rounds to the board where one of several maps is taped. On autopilot he draws lines between dump sites because one of the background tabs had deduced, while he was busy watching you like porn, that the distance between dump sites form the beginnings of the constellation Orion with some mathematical precision that’s too exacting to be coincidental. Orion’s Belt plus the most recent victim. Betelgeuse.

There are ten formally named stars that make up Orion. He marks all of them, but circles the transposed coordinates of Bellatrix, Saiph, Rigel and Meissa as the next most likely dump sites. Most probably it will be Orion’s head. They’re all in wooded areas. He calls Garcia. Garcia will call Emily, wherever she is. If the unsub sticks to pattern, which they always do, they have until midnight. It’s trite, really. Predictable, like people always are. Far too quickly he drinks half the cup of scalding coffee and retraces his steps through the office to find the bathroom.

It’s empty. The fluorescent lights hum. Spencer washes his hands with cold water and presses still wet fingers to his eyes. You’re waiting for him behind the black of his lids.

At first you would whine, and he would kiss you and you’d moan into his mouth and say his name when he opened you up as far as you would go. The air would be thick and warm with sex and vanilla perfume. Afterwards he’d take care of you and buy new sheets for his bed in your favorite color even if they didn’t match the walls and there would be nothing you’d want for that he couldn’t give to you ever again.

But.

That’s all contingent.

No matter how often he fantasizes about it, no matter in how much detail, and regardless of how often those details change wildly, one thing always stays the same.

The shape of your lips, swollen from kissing, bending around five or six vowels and only two consonants (it seems odd that there are only two consonants in I love you), sometimes before you start, sometimes in the middle or right at the peak—but always there, always moving in slow motion—and always silent.

In real life, they’d be aloud. It’s why his fantasies aren’t good enough. It’s why he can’t stop fantasizing about it. That’s the only part that really matters to him. The rest varies.

Not because having sex with you doesn’t matter—it matters so much he almost shatters his molars whenever he starts picturing it around other people. But because Spencer can’t have sex with you until you love him.

And he worries that you can’t love him until you have sex with him.

The last time he thought that about a person, it didn’t turn out well.

Maybe there is some magic number. Some amount of times you need to have sex with someone before they’ll love you back.

If there is, he knows for a fact it’s more than 32.

And he also knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he cannot have loveless sex with you thirty three times while he waits to find out.

Not again.

But he's going to hold out as long as he possibly can until you say it because he so badly wants you to love him back. He'll let the weight of every ignored text, every reminder that you don't feel that way about him, hang from his shoulders until he collapses. And then he'll probably try to get back up.

Recycled paper towels scratch against his skin. He dries his face and hands and throws them crumpled into the trash can.

Outside the restroom, he pulls out his phone. For safety reasons and paranoia disguised as professionalism, you’re not his lock screen. It’s a photo of the Andromeda Galaxy. Whatever distance lies between you and Spencer, it could always be greater. No matter where you are in the world, you will always be the same 2.537 million light years away from Andromeda that he is.

It makes Orion feel much closer. You, too.

He sends you a text—the third message in a row.

The distance between blue bubbles feels like light years.

I’ll be home tomorrow. I miss you.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine

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ghouljams · 1 day

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Some Ghost!Ghost that I wrote in a blind panic at midnight last night before collapsing back asleep. Minors DNI (cw: dubcon, somno)

Your cunt stretches around his cock, clenches around him like you can't get enough. Your body trying to keep him locked in place even in your sleep. he can see the soft pink walls of your pussy, the translucent cock that spears you open also giving your ghostly top an clear view of your insides. Your hips shift at the pressure of being filled, your knee moving from where you lay on your side to try and get comfortable. Look at you, so cute drooling against the pillow, arms wrapped around another as your silly little brain keeps you under the throws of sleep. Poor thing. It's a good thing Ghost is around to keep you safe when you're such a sound sleeper.

The burn of being stretched around his cock makes you whimper, the soft sound breathes out of you as Ghost fucks your pliant body. You're getting better about sleeping through his visits. Must be getting used to him, used to being filled by him. He wonders what you're dreaming about, if you're dreaming at all. Your soft lips part around delicate moans, hardly anything worth waking up over. It has to be him doesn't it? Perverse thing that you are, so willing to take his cock in the daylight even when you can't see him, do you dream about him too?

Some sick part of him purrs, pleased to know you're so easily trained, that your body welcomes him so nicely. But the part that's still human twists. He knows he shouldn't take advantage of your kindness like this. If he was a better man...

Well, if he was a better man he wouldn't be stuck in this terrible limbo in the first place. He wouldn't still have blood spilling from his slit throat. He wouldn't be fucking the sweet thing that's trying so hard to accommodate him in a house that's no longer his own.

Still, he thinks, better than the men that you've brought into the house. He's protecting you, really, by chasing them off. He's keeping you safe from their lecherous hands, their perverse glances and impure thoughts. He's keeping you satisfied so you don't try to seek satisfaction elsewhere. It's just the two of you here, no one else. He won't allow anyone else to know you like he does, to enjoy your kindness, your understanding, your body.

"There you go baby, big stretch," He murmurs, speaks in a voice he knows you'll never hear, when your brows scrunch the tiniest bit as he draws his cock out of your tight hole and presses it back into you, "you can take it, know you can." The warm clutch of your body is too much to resist, even when your skin seems to lose its heat wherever he touches you. He can't stop touching you, passing through your clothes to grope at your chest during the day, ghosting his fingers over your hips when you lay tile, his lips against your neck when you reach for something off a high shelf, his cock fucking you over the kitchen counter like the little trespassing whore you are.

You take it all so eagerly. Leave offerings for him, take his opinion, do you even know the strength you give him, the power. He wouldn't have been able to do this months ago, wouldn't have been able to sink into your slick cunt and hold himself up with a hand on your hip. Fuck you look so good when he spreads you open, tugs your folds out of the way with his thumb to watch the way you swallow him.

There is, he supposes, one nice thing about being dead: when you wake up in the morning with your pussy aching and sticky, you assume it must be from the wet dream you had last night.

#cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #mw2 ghost #ghost cod #ghost!ghost #ghost au #tw dubcon

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yyokkki · 2 days

Text

Asking to Sketch Them

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*cough* I forgot this series was a thing I was doing uwu

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DIASOMNIA

Malleus Draconia

"Oh? How bold of you to think you could capture my visage in a mere canvas."

He says with the goofiest smile imaginable（⌒▽⌒）

He's already summoning a chair to sit on

Very experienced with posing so it's a breeze

You have a nice chat about philosophy, gargoyles and culture while you draw him

When you're done he's fangirling internally

Asks if he can commission you to draw a portrait of the both of you tgt

Hangs it up in his room <3

Becomes a regular commissioner

Mostly gargoyles

10/10 honestly nothing bad to say he's lovely

Lilia Vanrouge

"Fufufu, I've been in thousands of portraits over the years, you'll have to try your hardest to really impress me~ No pressure though!"

100% pressure once again

The old bat man will probably be hanging from the ceiling no negotiating

So it's either you draw him upside down or get upside down too

If you choose the second option you best hope no one walks in on you cuz damn wtf

How are you doing that you aren't even using magic???

When you're finished he jumps down and looks and goes

"How nice! Art has truly evolved so much since the last time I had one done~"

Starts showing you some of the portraits he had before like he's showing you baby pics

One of them has him looking like those medieval babies TT

4/10 I can't explain why I'm not giving him a lower score he's just funky

Silver

"No problem. If I fall asleep you can just wake me up, I won't mind."

He doesn't have much experience in posing but he's a natural

He's lookin like a disney princess fr, animals have started gathering

You're having a pleasant chat abou-

Oop he fell asleep

You think about waking him up but like

He looks so peaceful and like he's not even really moving so-

By the time you're done he's probably up and he starts apologizing

Tbh it's Silver so it would've been beautiful whether he was awake or asleep

Bonus points if you include the woodland critters snuggling into him

Human anatomy AND animal anatomy practice!!

9/10 he tried his best and it did turn out well

Sebek Zigvolt

"I DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR THIS HUMAN! MY VALUABLE TIME IS SPENT GUARDING AND PROTECTING THE HONOUR OF THE GLORIOUS YOUN-"

once again someone kiss him and shut him up omg

Or actually just show him the Malleus portrait he'll shut up

Yeah you have to do Malleus first if you wanna draw him

Stiff like a ramrod his face looks constipated

Ask him a question about his young master and he forgets he's being drawn in exactly 3 seconds

His face really lights up as he talks about him it's kinda cute

By the time you're done he's probably still talking so interrupt in a speech break

Thinks you did a good job and asks for some advice with art

Then starts trying to buy the malleus portrait off of you

I should've tried harder to not make 80% of his just him talking about the dragon boi but it's really hard cuz he's just him TT

7/10 he's not that bad but your ears are bleeding

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#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst headcanons #twst x reader #malleus draconia #twst malleus #twst silver #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #twst sebek #sebek zigvolt #malleus draconia x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #silver x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst diasomnia

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aajjks · 2 days

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Destroyer (m)

Synopsis: you better start to love him before he destroys you and himself.

warnings: yándèrè, kïdnáppèd rèádèr, dárk contènt, câptívè rèádèr, obsèssíón, ünhëälthy bêhávïöür, dárk côntènt, ünstáble jk.

note: just a small little something, shouto’s ver. SHARE FEEDBACK AND TALK TO HIM. ENJOYYYY!!!!

“Jungkook… I hate you so much, I can’t even begin to describe how much I fucking despise your guts!” You scream at the top of your lungs, but your voice only comes back to you with the sound of echoing in the basement, Jungkook watched you with his calculated gaze. His lips were pressed in a thin straight line, you stared back at him with hatred filled eyes. A flash of longing and disappointment shined in his brown coloured eyes, but only for a second.

“Fuck you! Fuck you! I hate you!” You spat again, anger was coursing through your veins. He didn’t care, did he? Your skin was itching with irritation, it didn’t bug him. He was really insufferable. But you wanted to hurt him, in the worst ways possible.

But, To your disappointment, He only looked down.

“I know.” After what felt like an hour, he finally replied. Your eyebrows farrowed, what did he mean? “What?!?” You were now, genuinely confused. His tone was void of any emotion. It was cold, just like him. “I know, y/n.” He looked up from the concrete floor to you. His feet were starting to walk ahead in your direction, where you were held captive by the steel chains. “You never fail to express it. I-I know..” His eyes were glossy, his lips upturned, almost in a pout. If you didn’t know the real him, his tone would’ve made your heart shake.

But you knew damn well than to pity a monster like him.

“Oh that’s good! Kook, then… tell me..” you gave him a faux smile in return, taking in a deep breath. “Why don’t you fucking let me go?”

Your eyes never left his face. He was now close than ever, your faces were only inches apart, he could grab your face easily in his hands. You hated the way he looked at you, like you were his world. “Because I can’t. I can’t let you go, y/n.” His eyes were swimming in obsession, “I love you- AND I FUCKING HATE YOU!?!” It was infuriating.

This was starting to get frustrating, more than before. It had been months. Months without any human contact expect him, who claimed to be your lover. You only saw his face.

“I don’t care. I never cared. I love you and I only care about that. I don’t care if you hate or want to fucking kill me. I can even die for you.” Jungkook only dismissed your confession. His eyes had been covered with a dark shadow, his jaw was clenched, his tone was deadly. “Don’t you get it, sweetheart? I love you.” He chuckled at your disgusted expression.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to love me. My love for you is enough for both of us. I love you so fucking much, ever since I saw you, I have loved you ever since.” He whispered in a low husky tone.

He seemed to have completely change in a span of fifty seconds. It was scary. “I love you so much, like a fucking madman. I’m starting to go insane.” He gritted his teeth. His intense gaze sent shivers down your spine, his eyes were filled with craze, passion. “You’ll learn to love me, baby. Yes, you have to. You have to love me.” His fingers grabbed your face, gently but tightly. You only stared back in horror. His tone was dripping with craziness.

“You have to love me, sweetheart because now, my patience in running thin. I was never really a patient person y’know? But I have waited so fuckin’ long for you to finally become mine. Only mine,

So love me now, before I fuckin lose it and destroy both you and myself.”

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girlsworldillusion · 2 days

Text

Summary: Amid the severe consequences of war, Aemond finds himself alone, without the presence and support of his young and sweet wife, who insists on staying away from him, afraid of who he has become. He has been a respectful and patient husband. But tonight he feels like he has finally reached his limit.

Author's note: Please, pay attention to the tags. This story contains sensitive topics, such as: +18, SEX, SEVERE INTERNAL CONFLICT, DUB-CON/NON-CON, POSSESSIVE/OBSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, EMOTIONAL DEPENDENCY, TOXIC RELATIONSHIP AND MORE.

word count: 6k

There is no specific description of which house the reader belongs to, so feel free to fill this in as you wish.

English is not my native language, forgive me for any spelling mistakes.

Good reading!

He can taste vomit in his esophagus.

Aemond knows it wouldn't be too difficult to get out what little he ate. He coughs as discreetly as he can into the back of his hand before taking off his eye patch, wanting to splash some cold water on his face and throat. He pretends not to notice how his hands are a little shaky as he pulls the gloves off of them, cupping his fingers inside the basin left by the servants on the table. The cool water feels refreshing on his hot skin, and with a satisfied hiss, he looks up, staring directly at the reflection of his own face in the mirror.

The flickering flames of the fire near the wall provide no comprehensive illumination, and he is honestly relieved by that. What little he can see is disturbing enough. His single lilac eye is bloodshot, his silver hair is disheveled, so different from normal. Paleness in the face, sunken cheeks. The subtle glow of the blue stone in his other eye and the deep scars around it only add a dying touch to his ghostly visage.

Another deep tug wracks his stomach and he leans forward, gripping the sides of the table with abandon, preparing to actually throw up this time. But nothing comes, nothing but the painful, nauseating feeling in his body.

He can't forget.

It's all his doing, after all. It's all his fault.

The death of all those people, the desolation of the entire Riverlands. It's all his fault.

Any feeling of greatness and power that previously inhabited his body no longer existed. His superiority and confidence swept away by the tide until he was spat out on the shore with nothing but pain and trauma.

He is a hypocrite and he knows it.

Aemond is not a good person. He doesn't want to fool anyone with his anxiety attack, he definitely doesn't need to take on the role of the poor regretful guy. He doesn't regret what he did, he doesn't regret doing what was absolutely necessary for the good of his family. He could never regret this. And he knows that tomorrow, a week from now, or a month from now, he will do exactly the same thing again if necessary. There are no limits to what he is willing to do to and for those to whom he is loyal.

He can't even dare deny liking it all.

When he's on Vhagar's saddle, with the world in flames just beneath them and the addictive power to decide for good or ill for those poor, hopeless souls, he can swear he's never felt anything better. There's something disturbingly liberating about embracing the monster that resides in his chest. It's surprising to him how good it feels to be ruthless, to take on the role of the uncontrollable beast everyone says he is (rightfully so).

It wasn't always like this. But a series of violent and tragic actions that may or may not have been intentional earned Aemond more than just an ominous codename. They gave him respect; fear. Aemond One-Eye, the son without expectations, the child without any prominence. No more.

He feels ruthless when he is in the skies, dictating the fate of humanity. It gives him power. He is powerful now, he is no longer the boy forgotten by everyone. The feeling of being superior pumps hard through his veins until he goes wild, makes him feel like he's crushing people under the soles of his boots. He is more powerful. Their lives depend solely on the way his hand moves and it turns out that, to their misfortune and terror, his hands are wrapped around the saddle of the largest dragon in the world. It is difficult to be sensible and godly when there is so much power at his command. He is more powerful. There is nothing that can stop him. He feels invincible, unstoppable. He doesn't just enjoy it - he worships this feeling.

At least until it's all over.

When the dust settles and all that is left is the consequence of his actions, it is then that he quietly withers away.

He killed them. All of them. His hands are stained with blood and ash and it's all his fault. He has separated families forever, traumatized so many souls with insurmountable depression and pain and it is all his fault. Adults, elderly, children, babies. All dead. Because of him. Hoarse screams of terror and fear, all begging for a mercy that would never come - could never come. Not by his hands. Not when he had a family and a purpose he was so loyal to.

Aemond worships the sense of power that comes with a reputation for being ruthless and regrets nothing he has done and will do for his duty. Unfortunately, this does not mean that he does not suffer the consequences in equal proportion.

Another sigh. He drops his head and presses his fingers against the edge of the table. He closes his eye so tightly that patches of white light explode into his vision, each labored breath makes him lean forward and clench his teeth. The pain is impossible to ignore – it shakes his insides, leaves his limbs trembling.

"Is this hurting you?" a soft voice asks, a small, fragile thing, almost impossible to hear - if it weren't for the fact that he lives to hear the sound of that voice. He knows this, and so does the owner of the voice, both fully aware of this dangerous dependence. “Pretending to be a God, I mean.”

Aemond feels his heart beat faster, the angelic sound of your voice rescuing him from the merciless depths of his own mind, making him slowly raise his head as he stares at the place where the voice came from. He almost can't believe what he heard. But there you are, sitting on your bed, surrounded by comfortable sheets and pillows, your wide doe eyes catching the moonlight and fire flames in the dark of night, shining like stars.

His sweet wife.

He simply looks at you, not offering any kind of response right away. Not because he doesn't want to. But because he's too surprised to hear your voice and see your face to form words at the moment. Aemond doesn't know how he ended up here, in your private chambers - the place he hasn't been welcome in for some time. He was supposed to go to his chambers. Was he that distraught and distracted? Could the confusion clouding his senses have unconsciously led him directly to the person he needs most at the moment?

He looks around quickly just to confirm that, yes, there is no doubt that he is in your chambers. He didn't intend to do that. He shouldn't be here, invading your privacy and ignoring your request that he keep distance. Of course, his longing and need for you made him consider such a thing countless times. Regardless of your wishes, he was your husband; he had a right to be here. But he never did that. You don't want him in your bed anymore and you've made that clear. And Aemond was not ignorant or even insensitive enough to pretend not to understand your reasons. You had a lot of them and he knows.

You were not made for cruelty. Your innocence and purity made you unable to be aware of the horrible things he did and still treat him the same way as before. You were afraid of him now, just like everyone else. The blood of many was on his hands and you knew it, just as you knew he regretted nothing, and that he would not stop this - not until victory was achieved.

You didn't agree with that, you never did, not even before the marriage. But what could a young woman do in the world they lived in? You were just a piece on a board game, an ace up his sleeve used by your father specifically to provide armies and loyalty to the crown in exchange for a marriage and a more than convenient name for your family.

Aemond knew from the beginning that you didn't want to marry him; how could you after all? You barely knew him beyond the questionable reputation that surrounded him, and a dangerous family clash was about to break out in the kingdom - this was definitely not the right environment for romance to blossom. But you did your duty. You had been an exemplary wife in the short two months of peace that followed your marriage. You treated him with respect and patience, slowly opening your heart to him with each passing day. He wasn't the most talkative or the most sensitive husband and yet you showed empathy for his limitations, accepting what he gave you with gentle smiles and rosy cheeks, without demanding anything more. So sweet. So inocent.

It was no surprise the feeling that welled up in his chest.

Aemond was obsessed before he even realized it. Needing your gentle attentions like a flower needs the sun. He clung to you as his only comfort in an almost bleak existence, he became more and more obsessed with you and you didn't notice. You read with him, walked through the gardens with him and talked to him as you always did, kind and polite. And every day he felt hungrier, pushing the limits of restraint. You welcomed him into your bed every night, welcoming him between your legs as if he belonged there - and he did, indeed. Aemond's appetite for you and you alone knew no bounds.

But he wasn't the man you married anymore, was he?

You fear him now, any and all advances he's made with you over the past few months have vanished into thin air like the ashes he's so used to seeing now. The feelings he was carefully cultivating in your chest now seem to have sunk so deep into your being that he thinks they no longer even exist. You no longer craved his attention; the touch of softness and affection, whenever “husband” dripped from your mouth, was absent. And now all he could do was want.

Aemond doesn't look away from you, not wanting to miss this moment for anything, not after being deprived of it for so long. And you look back at him from where you sit on the bed, chin lifted in false courage. You looks at him with your bright eyes and high cheekbones, which seem even more highlighted in the warm lighting around your bodies.

He may have entered your chambers out of pure unconscious instinct, out of nothing but silent desperation. His body guiding him when his mind no longer could. But now that he's here, he doesn't know how he didn't realize it from the beginning. It's impossible to think about anything other than you. You, you, you.

At this point, deaths at his hands no longer existed. Not his pains or the weights he carries, not revenge, not duty. Anything. Absolutely nothing. There is only this moment, between him, a boy who so wanted to be enough for those he loves and the young girl who is illuminated by the light of the flames.

He feels it. It's not new. That strange impulse that draws all the attention of the environment around him to you and you alone; an almost painful need between his teeth to take a bite and not let go, to have it with all your heart and nothing less.

"Nothing to say?" You press and he's not even embarrassed by the fact that he doesn't remember what you said before. He should leave. It's all he thinks, even as he takes an uncertain step closer to your bed. And that's enough for you to immediately tense up, wrapping your small hands in the sheets to subtly pull them towards you. You are hiding yourself. Hiding yourself from him.

Aemond should leave, continue respecting your limits.

If this had been another night, maybe he would have done it. If the smell of smoke and dragon scales hadn't been trapped in the leather of his war clothes, as well as the dust of ash, then perhaps he could have left. If he couldn't smell the insistent scent of charred bodies and decimated land in his nostrils, taking permanent root in his lungs, perhaps he could respect your innocence.

Not even Aemond knew how on edge he already was. Your refusal of his proximity was just the final push to his downfall.

He adores you. He worships the ground you walk on. He respected your decisions and stayed away much longer than any other husband would have done. And this is how you repay him?

Aemond narrows the only functional eye he has left. You don't react, nothing more than another protective grip on the sheets and a slow swallow of saliva. He wants you so much and the thought enrages him. Why? Why does he feel this way? He desperately wants to punish you for making him feel this way. He wants to punish himself for even thinking about doing this to you.

You left him like this; nothing but a mess. When would you finally accept him for who he is? When would you understand that some cruelties were necessary for the final goal to be achieved? When would you see that everything he did and would do was solely for his family? For you. To keep you safe. When would he be enough?

He grits his teeth and feels his entire body tense with thoughts. He hates it; he hates the way you confuse him and make him feel all these terrible emotions. It makes he feels weak. The temptation of the slightest chance of your affection suffocates his common sense. He feels his hands shaking. He'd been so blinded by the hopeful, innocent vision he constantly saw you through that he fooled himself into thinking he was on your mind as much as you were on his all this time.

"Aemond?" You whisper, sounding more uncertain than before, disturbed by his extended silence as he slowly approaches the bed. He keeps looking at you the whole time, letting you glimpse the flames of fire reflected in the icy sapphire in his eye. He adores you, with every fiber of his being. But the flash of fear that shines in your eyes in response makes him stretch the corner of his lip in a malicious smile. He couldn't help it, there's something sweet and pure about you that makes him constantly waver between wanting to protect you and wanting to destroy you.

You try not to weaken before him, but Aemond immediately notices the way your body is a little trembling when his hand, that same hand that drags the musk of leather and death, passes through the fabric of the sheets, spreading lightning over your legs. You don't stop him, but your eyes flash with a frightened warning, a warning he ignores tonight. His palm flattens against your ribs, daring to caress, to feel the linen of the sheets beneath his fingers, the softness of your flesh beneath it, and you squeak an off-key sound, pulling the cocoon of blankets and furs up to hide you.

A small annoyed growl leaves his lips and his other hand quickly covers yours, stopping you from continuing.

"No. Enough of that." He says in a low but firm tone, looking sternly into your eyes. You part your lips, surprised by his behavior, and try to pull the hand still trapped by his, but he doesn't let you go. "That's enough, wife."

He thinks you might try to deny it, but you fall silent, slowly relaxing against his grip on your hand. Aemond wants to purr at this, wants to praise you and spoil you, because you are so good, so good. His good girl. Even when you're crushing his heart between your delicate hands.

It's not your fault, he tells himself. It's not your fault that he's obsessed with you, driven crazy by the idea of you. Aemond can't even focus properly, even when you're in front of him, defenseless and at the mercy of his whims. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest from pure ecstasy and excitement at the same time. And he can feel, on top of it all, the blood flowing to his hard cock, making it swell beneath his black riding pants. He feels embarrassed by his actions, but at the same time excited, just by the little things you do, by everything you are to him.

“Something is wrong with me...” He says, more to himself than to you, gently pushing a strand of your soft hair behind your ear, sliding his thumb in a gentle caress across your delicate earlobe. “You're in my house. You're in my house and I don't want you to leave. Never." He approaches your face, sliding his fingers from your ear to the side of your face, until he holds your small chin between his thumb and forefinger. "I need you." He continues, ignoring how honest and frank he looks - weak. “I keep thinking of ways to make this happen,” the more he talks, the faster you breathe, sweet little sighs near his lips, calling to him like a siren’s song… “I want to ruin you. Because I think that's the only way you won't leave me."

The intensity of his words scares you, he realizes, he sees how your eyes fill with tears and your eyebrows twitch. But even in the dim lighting of the flames, he can see how the tops of your cheeks turn red, how your chest trembles with the breath that catches there...you want him.

It's a shame you're so willing to keep him away.

But he can't stop.

Aemond closes the distance in an instant, pushing you down until he traps your body beneath his, feeling the contours of your soft, supple curves against him; he shudders. He caresses your face one last time before moving down, ignoring your hesitation and your useless efforts to push him away. Quick as a viper, he grabs the hand that moves to push against his chest, wrapping it with the other still attached to his, holding your wrists tightly above your head.

You cry out at the pressure on his wrists, the long lashes over your eyes fluttering, pleading. "A-Aemond, what are you doing?" you stutter. "Please, please... I said I needed it - please give me some more-"

"Time? Oh yes, you said it." He hums thoughtfully, placing a thigh between your legs, dipping his face into the crook of your neck to breathe in the fresh fragrance of your shower, snoring contentedly with your naturally sweet scent. Intoxicated by your scent, he trails his lips along the slender column of your neck before stopping at the shell of your ear. “I’m so sorry, dear, I’ve waited too long. We’ve both waited too long.” He intones, intoxicated by your presence. You sob once but don't say anything else, choosing to turn your face away from him. Aemond snorts a laugh at that, but doesn't stop you, preferring to leave a tender, wet kiss on your cheek.

Squeezing your wrists with one hand, he allows the other to slide slowly down your body, almost reverentially. He paused at the delicate laces holding the front of your nightdress before untying them with deft fingers. The front opens, exposing your silky, flushed skin to his hungry gaze. He doesn't have the patience to remove the fabric completely from your body, so he just lowers it enough so that your breasts are exposed. He bites his lip, holding a curse between his clenched teeth. When he presses his bare palm to your perky breasts, he tastes your trembling innocence, your soft flesh.

So beautiful.

So pure.

From the beginning you were his opposite, your delicate hands, as irritatingly clean as his are stained with blood and ash.

As much as he truly suffers from the consequences of his actions, he never regrets them, because he knows they are right - necessary. There was only the future to shape, the past should stay where it belongs; behind him. Something he had learned through much pain, but unfortunately, his sweet wife had not yet. But as he runs his greedy fingers down your body, feeling the goosebumps on your soft skin with each touch, Aemond knows he scares you as much as he excites you. You can't hide it from him. Your obviously involuntary response to him only makes him fiercer, hungrier. He wants to ruin you from the inside, until you can't bear to live a single day without his touch.

He allows you to continue your theatrics, still stubbornly staring at the wall while pretending his actions don't affect you. There's something almost too tempting about it, in fact; It's a matter of honor for him. He will break your masks and he will take pleasure in doing so.

Letting his fingers slide down your sides, Aemond's lips wander. He kisses the hole in your throat, moving down with wet, licked breaths to your breasts, tasting you. You gasp softly and grip tight fists on the bed sheets when he captures a soft nipple with a slow suck of lips and a teasing scrape of teeth, your body curling beneath him tightly. He smiles with your nipple still between his lips, leaving wide, warm trails of his tongue on the little perky bud. His hips slide against the inside of your parted thighs, pushing the hardened bulge in his pants against your pussy once.

You bite your lip and close your eyes, but he doesn't stop. With another thrust he uses his strength to push you back onto the bed, the bed you shared many nights with him, to fuck you into the warm sheets. It's almost too much for him to finally feel your little pussy once again, even through the leather of his pants and your delicate nightwear. But he continues with slow, strong thrusts, rubbing his cock against you in a way that teases your clit, the smell and heat of his effort wafting throughout his body; sweat, dragon, fire, ash, blood, death - all mixed together, merging with your own sweet, intoxicating scent and, of course, the unmistakable scent of sex.

Before the chaos broke out, Aemond was quite skilled at this, at driving you crazy. A part of him is extraordinarily pleased to find that he still remembers correctly, especially when a press of his fingers and a twirl of his thumb on your slobbery nipple makes you gasp. He wants to see you, to see you blush and sweat, looking ruined for him. Gods, oh yes, Aemond wants this so much. He can't stop, he can never stop, especially with you singing so sweetly to him. When you arch into his touch and whisper his name softly, like a secret no one can discover, his breath hitching. Aemond can't stop.

A specific thrust makes you let out a high-pitched meow, your hands pulling at the linen on the sheets and he moans along, releasing your breast with a wet pop to look at your face. You have your lips parted, your long eyelashes touching the top of your cheeks, your eyebrows furrowed in sweet agony. He thrusts a little faster, rubbing your clit with more pressure, taking in your presence and the feeling of your tiny, supple body, preening at every sound that leaves your lips.

Sounds so sweet, so beautiful; he considers himself a sinner with the way something so innocent and angelic makes his blood boil and his cock throb with need inside his pants, surely soaking the fabric with the way he feels himself leaking.

“Fuck, you’re going to kill me, baby...”

And yet, he doesn't think he cares about dying by your hands when things turn out like this. He is admitting defeat without any embarrassment now; he can bear the dull weight of war, he can bear his own mind trying to destroy him at every turn, he can bear the betrayal of his own family and the demands of his duties. He can bear with anything.

Anything except being without you.

With an impatient grunt, his fingers tug at the soft skirt of your nightdress, bunching the thing at your waist as he rips your underwear down your legs. You don't try to stop him, but you don't try to help him either, remaining almost motionless against the bed, and he feels like he can growling at you like an animal for that - stubborn girl. He hates and loves this about you in equal intensity. He's almost rough and punishing as he hooks the back of your knee into the inside of his elbow, pushing your leg up to your breasts. And then you're giving up your fight, sighing - all anxious expression, furrowing your eyebrows and biting your lip as he hurriedly unzips his pants and pulls them down just enough to pull his cock out, slamming the wet, throbbing head over your clit before sliding his entire length along your folds.

You moan, he moans. The slide is wet and he can't tell if it's all you, if it's all him, if it's all both. He doesn't care, honestly. All that matters is how his cock is thrusting into your heat, hitting your clit with luscious pokes, coaxing more of those sweet sounds from your pretty lips.

He hooks your other leg in the crook of his elbow and does exactly what he did with the other, trapping you between him and the bed in a position where your entire pussy is presented to him. With his hands flat beside your head, he brings his face closer to yours, the leather covering his chest pushing your knees further into your breasts. You moan through your teeth, unable to do anything but tighten your hands around his shoulders. He smiles slowly, drunk on the sensations, still gently sliding the length of his cock into your folds.

Aemond doesn't look away from you, enchanted by the way you dance between looking at the sapphire stone and the deep lilac of his functional eye. You've always done this, he thinks - saying one was as beautiful as the other, impossible to choose.

“I’m giving myself to you, love…I’m yours.” He whispers softly, husky, needy to you. "Will you do the same from now on?"

He’s so close he feel how your heart races violently at his words, slamming against your ribcage as you take a deep breath. Every expression on your flushed face makes him sure you're going to have an intense crying fit, but even when the liquid in your eyes pours down the side of your eyes, you keep yourself almost in one piece. You look deeply into his eye as your shoulders shake. "Y-yes." You exhale, fragile. “Yes, yes, yes,” your voice sings repeatedly, with quick, confused nods, tears streaming from your eyes.

He can't hold back the husky sound that leaves his lips, his cock pulsing in reaction to your obvious fragility exposed to him.

"Yeah?" He asks breathlessly and it's very slow - as he thrusts inside you, thrusting his hips back and forth once, twice, three times until your pussy swallows as much of his cock as it can, until the tip of his hip bones rub it against your thighs. And it's so intense, so obscene – the position he puts you in, the full weight of his body pinning you to the bed, broad shoulders hiding you from view, silver hair like a curtain around the two of you, your mouth falling open in a silent scream and his releasing small curses between clenched teeth... debauchery.

You give his shoulders a few desperate slaps as he fills you, your tight ring of muscle stretched to accommodate his girth, and no matter how long it takes him to prepare you, no matter how wet you are, he knows there's always that initial pain that rips through your groin as he pushes into you. It makes you sway beneath him, little tearful sobs that are like the sweetest song to him.

Another curse muttered in deep Valyrian was his only warning as his palms sink into the softness of the bed. Your own hands looking desperate too, one tangled in the silver base of his hair at the back of his neck and the other gripping the material of his leather shirt, a strangled moan catching in your throat as he begins to fuck you slowly. You can only hold on as he pulls and pushes his body above you with each deep thrust, his impatience shown only in the forceful and violent way in which his hands grip the bed sheets.

He leans into you a little more, moving his hips in different ways, testing the angles until he makes more of those tears well up in your eyes as your pleasure increases almost painfully. Your moans quickly turn into babbling when a particularly strong movement of his hips makes you shake all over. The way your tight pussy tries to contain him and suck him in at the same time drives him crazy, feral.

He won't last long. He already knew this before it even started, but now, feeling your walls squeezing the life out of him after so long deprived of it, with your cute little noises getting louder and louder, with your expression drunk with lust and sadness, the buzz of battle still vibrating through his veins... Aemond feels release approaching shamefully fast for him.

He'll make it up to you later, Aemond promises himself. When the hot need subsides at least a little in his system, he'll take off his dirty war clothes, maybe ask you to take a shower with him. He'll soap your body and tease you until you're riding his cock in the tub at your own pace, his fingers rolling your little clit with each bounce of your hips. He will lay you on the bed and love every inch of your soft body, worship your skin with kisses and hickeys. He will part your thighs and bury his fingers and tongue in your wet softness. He will rip orgasm after orgasm out of you until you are hoarse from screaming, until your body is physically unable to continue.

He will do it all.

He has done it in the past, many times.

Now, however, all he needs is to find his release, to unload those months of forced distance inside his trembling body. But Aemond will be damned if he doesn't bring you along with him.

He leans down to press his forehead against yours, pushing your legs against your body further, lips parting with hoarse, breathless moans that escaped him with each thrust and the sweet pleas you murmured incoherently. The movement of his hips quickens, one hand leaving its blunt grip on the sheets to squeeze between your thighs, poking your clit in tight circles, his cock hitting a spot inside your walls that makes you shiver and tremble in anticipation.

“Aemond…” you cry, digging your nails into the back of his neck, pulling his body towards yours, as if you weren’t already physically as close as possible.

He growls at your plea.

“My little, innocent wife,” Aemond giggles wildly as your pussy clamps down on his length again, your climax approaching, his thumb rotating a steady rhythm on your clit. If only your mind was clear enough to form a coherent thought, maybe you'd complain that the rhythm of his cock in your pussy would be painful, that the continuous and harsh scratching of his clothes hurts the soft and delicate flesh of your body, but you don't say anything, not now. You just accept what he gives you. And he knows you missed him as much as he missed you. “Always so good to me baby.”

Aemond watches you intently, unable to look away from the pleasure that shows on your face. You're shaking, lost in your wet breaths and high-pitched, broken cries, your legs trapped between his body, welcoming him. You're tight and small, his sweet wife, and Aemond can feel your cracks stretching, a spider's web of fractured thought and temptation too much for anyone to bear, and as much as he knows it's impossible, he wants this moment to last forever. Aemond is undone. A fool in love. And it's sad. And it's beautiful. It's being at home.

"Mine." His murmur echoes next to your lips, both of you breathing each other's breath, his rhythm starting to falter, the searing heat rushing through his body beneath those layers of heavy clothing makes him dizzy, but he doesn't stop, he doesn't stop. “So pure, so beautiful, so delicate…” he caresses your clit without faltering with a rumbling purr as his cock swells inside you. “Ngh...oh fuck, so tight. You're going to get everything, aren't you, darling? All of me.” His own teeth graze your neck as you arch and scream in pleasure. “Be a good girl and don't let anything leak, hmmm…”

He fucks you roughly, your name dancing on his lips like a prayer in the dark. Aemond savors this moment with the veneration it deserves, the final chase. The two of you so broken, so vulnerable, shaking with pleasure for each other. He rubs your pussy, hips slamming into you at lightning speed.

And finally, gods yes, it finally happens.

"Aemond! A-Aemond, please! Please-" You throw your head back, your lewd pleas turning into a broken scream as you explode around him. Your face is flushed and glistening with a subtle sheen of sweat, tears streaming down. It's all he can take. You convulse and break and the sensation of his cock swelling with the resulting explosions of hot cum filling you follows shortly after. As your body and pussy tremble and clench, he finally releases his own pleasure, biting down hard on your shoulder to muffle his husky moans, spilling himself deep inside you, the continuous spasms of your orgasm milking every drop from him. You and he cum together, and even in the hazy haze of climax, he thinks he's never experienced something so sublime, so perfect.

You're both shaking as you come down from the waves of mutual pleasure, and Aemond is especially careful now, gently unfolding your legs from that tight position to allow you to stretch them, which earns him a long, grateful, relieved moan. He slowly pulls away until he's kneeling between your thighs, watching raptly as you bite your lip as his cock leaves your heat. A tight grip circles around your parted thighs, lifting them up a little to expose your dripping pussy. He looks almost in awe as he watches his seed flow steadily from your abused pussy.

But Aemond is selfish and his cum doesn't belong on the crumpled, sweaty sheets. No, he told you to keep it safe inside you and that's what would happen. His fingers slip into the wet mess of cum in your folds, pushing as gently as he can all the thick liquid inside you again.

You're too tired to react, but you still sob softly at the sensation, subtly squirming on the bed, legs shaking from being held in the same position for so long. He looks at you, icy lilac gaze half-lidded with lust, blue stone glowing in the flames of the fire. He looks at the soft, creamy flesh of your sweaty body. He longs to see dark spots and bite marks, a way of proving that you belong to him. He lifts his head, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh, just above your left breast. His teeth leave crescent moons on your skin and you scream loudly at the stinging sensation, but you don't stop him. He walks away, admiring the constellations he had traced on your skin. Painting you for him, marking you as something unique to him.

You sniffle and blink wet eyelashes at him. He kisses his bite, murmuring gentle words to you, his lips trailing up with soft sucks and wet kisses in your throat until he brushes against your lips. And it's then, and only then, that he realizes he hasn't kissed you yet. He doesn't know why he didn't do it, given that it's probably the thing he misses most about you. Feeling the softness of your lips on his, the gradual way a small, innocent kiss quickly evolves into something more urgent, the way you immediately struggle to keep up with his pace, his hunger as he swallows your cute sighs and your ragged breaths as he suck your tongue.

Yes. This is what Aemond longs for. How easily he could make you fall apart in his hands.

Taking into account the way that you blush and look down at his lips, you're thinking the same thing. He smiles mischievously, slowly leaning in for a deep kiss, fingers damp with your juices and his cum resting on your jawline. Your little hands sink into his hair until you lightly scrapes your nails across his scalp, making Aemond shudder. The fingers of his other hand cup your hip, tracing the line of the bone in gentle patterns. His nose bumps yours as his tongue dances in your hot mouth, spreading in you the taste of smoke and revenge that seems to follow him at absolutely every moment now. And like his perfect antithesis, you gasp, let him savor your sweet, fruity flavor - so fuckin sweet.

Your legs circle his waist, making him press against your heat, quickly reigniting the flame of need within him. You lick it off his tongue, moan when he sucks your bottom lip and bites it, you beg between quick breaths and Aemond continues to rub himself against you, the kiss becoming sloppier, driving him crazy with how irresistible you are in this state. You give yourself completely to Aemond, without asking questions or making new complaints, and it drives him crazy.

"You are mine. Only mine. And you will never leave me again, do you understand?" He murmurs as he pulls away, both of you panting, looking seriously into your water-bright eyes, noting how they're a little wide and your mouth is swollen and wet from his kisses.

A few tears slide down your face, but you smile shakily at him, the hand in his hair stroking the silver strands lovingly.

"I am yours, Aem. Now and forever." Honesty bleeds into your shallow voice, your little fingers on your other hand tentatively tangling with the buckles of his shirt to open it.

Aemond rests his forehead against yours and truly smiles for the first time in a long, long time. Not a malicious, mocking or condescending smile... No, this time his lips are stretched into a small, but genuine, honest smile.

And it's because of you.

Because he knows he got what he wanted so much. He has you again. He was resilient, he was patient and he was fair. He fought and, with his efforts, created a space just for himself within your heart. He knows you're still unhappy with everything that's going on, and no matter how much he wants to, he can't change that. He can only strengthen you to bear it. It can only burrow deeper into your body and your heart until you are able to forget the atrocities that are happening around you - the horrible things that he is doing. It's a gaping hole in your chest that leaves you continually bleeding, he knows, but the exposed cut is so sweet, and here he is, licking the wound like an animal, with all the violent, relentless gentleness he has to offer as the vengeful prince that he is.

He wraps his arms around you, pushing his cock back into your abused pussy in a deep movement that draws a broken sound from both of you, pulling you against his chest. He rubs his sweaty face against your throat, your face, your hair. His voice syrupy and thick as he whispers, "I love you."

Fuck. Aemond would never let you go.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen smut #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond imagine #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #hotd x reader #hotd aemond #prince aemond #aemond x fem!reader #dance of the dragons #aemond smut

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spaceman-earthgirl · 3 days

Text

“Did you see this?” Lena asks, holding her phone out towards Kara. “It’s about your cousin.”

Kara’s instantly worried. If there’s a news article about Clark, there’s only two things it could be. One, he’s been in a big fight or something else dangerous has happened, or if it’s about Clark, and not Superman, then that could only spell bad news for Clark and his secret identity.

Kara’s heart actually stops for a moment when she sees “Clark Kent” in the headline, but lets out a sigh of relief when she realises it’s not a Daily Planet article, but an article from an online gossip magazine.

Lois Lane and Clark Kent, Metropolis’s Hottest New Couple?

Kara quickly scans the article, which is nothing but gossip, and two photos, one of Clark and Lois holding hands, another of the couple leaning close at a restaurant.

Kara smiles as she hands the phone back to Lena. Despite the lack of privacy some papparazi have, Kara is happy for her cousin.

“So, it’s true then?”

Kara nods. “It is. Clark called me last week. He was so happy they’re soulmates. Anyone with eyes could see they belong together but it’s nice to have it confirmed.”

And nice for Kara too. She’d always wondered if it was still possible that she could have a soulmate, one not from Krypton.

Turns out it is.

“That’s-“ Lena cuts herself off. “Wait, confirmed? What do you mean?”

Kara’s eyes widen as she realises her slip. She’s thought about telling Lena in so many different ways, at so many different times. But fear has always stopped her. What if she told Lena the truth, what if they kissed, and she finds out Lena isn’t her soulmate?

Kara’s never felt this way about anyone before, doesn’t think she could ever feel like this about anyone else either.

“I…do you believe in soulmates?” Kara asks, stalling slightly.

“No.” Lena replies. “Or I didn’t, until you just implied that soulmates are real.”

read the rest on ao3 or under the cut

Kara sighs. There’s no getting out of this. “They’re not real, at least not on Earth. Or not usually. Lois is the only human I’ve seen or heard of that has a soulmate. Clark and Lois are soulmates. All Kryptonian’s have one.”

“Are you…” Lena narrows her eyes. “You’re being serious?”

Kara nods. “The legend goes that Rao picks your soulmate, the person whose soul matches yours, the one most suited to you. But he doesn’t tell you who it is, you have to find that person yourself.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, they just find each other.” Kara had lost hope, with no one but her cousin left on Earth. But then she’d found Lena. Even before Clark had told her about Lois, she’d wondered if Lena could be her soulmate. “And then after your first kiss, a mark appears on your skin with their name, and that’s how you know they’re the one.”

Kara can see Lena’s mind working. “Does that mean Clark and Lois now have the other’s name written on each other?”

Kara laughs. “Yes. It was actually pretty funny when Clark called me, he’d had to explain to a very confused Lois why she now had a tattoo of Clark’s name.”

“So, you have to kiss someone to know?”

Kara nods. “I’m not sure why. I think it gives you a chance to get to know someone before you find out you’re destined to be together.”

“Have you found your soulmate?”

Kara shakes her head, though it feels wrong when she’s pretty sure her soulmate is right in front of her. Not that she knows for sure. “Not yet.”

“Do you wonder, every time you kiss someone, that they’ll be the one?”

“Yes and no. When I was younger, I’d hoped, just to prove I wasn’t alone. Sometimes I know they’re not the one, but now I know there’s someone out there for me, and I just have to wait.”

Lena lets out a little laugh. “I guess it puts more pressure on a first kiss, like there isn’t enough already.”

Kara laughs too. “It really does.” She can’t help but wonder, that without this extra pressure, whether she would have already told Lena how she feels.

“Who knows,” Lena says, still smiling. “It could even be me.”

Kara chokes on nothing. The hand that appears at Kara’s back, soothing up and down as Kara tries to catch her breath, doesn’t help at all.

“It…it could be,” Kara finally manages to get out.

Lena looks amused, clearly enjoying Kara’s struggle, and Kara suddenly wants to do nothing more than kiss that look off of Lena’s face.

Lena shrugs. “We’ve never kissed so you never know.”

“I haven’t kissed a lot of people,” Kara points out unnecessarily. “It could be any of them too.” She’s not sure why she says it, except for the fact she wants to point the focus of the conversation away from Lena and kissing.

“Well, you’re not getting any younger, you need to start crossing people off that list.”

Kara rolls her eyes and suddenly everything feels back to normal, she’s just talking to her best friend, the person besides Alex she trusts most in the universe.

“Are you hungry, we could-“ Kara starts, assuming the conversation is over, at least for now, until Kara can work up the courage to tell Lena how she feels, but Lena isn’t done.

“Kara,” Lena cuts in, looking suddenly serious. “I don’t know if I’m way off here but I know I’m not going to be able to stop thinking about this.” Lena reaches out and takes Kara’s hand and Kara’s breath catches in her chest. “Please tell me you feel this too? Please tell me I’m not the only one who’s fallen in love with their best friend? I didn’t even believe in soulmates before today but I’ve always believed we found each other for a reason, that we belong together. And maybe this is why.”

There are tears in Lena’s eyes by the time she finishes talking and Kara’s own heart is racing as she reaches up to catch a tear before it spills down Lena’s cheek.

And then she doesn’t even think as she leans forward, capturing Lena’s lips in a kiss she’s dreamt about too many times to count.

Lena’s breath catches as their lips meet and now Kara’s crying too as Lena’s hand grips her shirt, holding her close.

The kiss is brief, only because Kara’s forgotten something crucial and she has to tell Lena. “I love you, too,” Kara says as she pulls back, the words brushing Lena’s mouth as she does.

Kara’s whole body is on fire as green eyes meet hers, still so close. Kara doesn’t even need to look down to where her arm is tingling, to know that Lena’s her soulmate. She’s pretty sure deep down she’s known since she first laid eyes on her.

With great effort she does look away from Lena, only because she wants to show Lena the words now written on her skin.

Kara pulls up her sleeve and there it is, in black ink, undeniable against her tan skin. There is Lena’s name, and Kara is crying again.

“That’s going to be tough to hide,” Lena says, and it’s meant to be a joke but it comes out too breathless to be anything but awe. Lena lifts her hand, runs her fingers gently over the name, and Kara’s knees go weak.

“Do you…” Kara asks, because now she wants to see it, needs to see her name on Lena’s skin too.

Lena turns, and she must have had the same feeling as Kara because she lifts up her shirt and there it is, low on Lena’s back, ‘Kara Zor-El’ written clear as day.

Kara reaches out, thumb ghosting over the spot her name is written.

“It is there?” Lena asks, voice filled with such hope that Kara places her hands on her arms, spins her gently until they’re facing each other again.

“Yes.” Kara lifts her hands, cups Lena’s cheek, thumbs catching more tears as they fall. They both know they’re happy tears. “I love you,” Kara repeats, because she can now. She’s going to say it so many times, Lena will get sick of it.

“I love you, too,” Lena repeats, her smile so bright Kara’s knees go weak again. And then Lena leans forward and kisses her again and Kara is lucky she manages to stay upright because Lena’s mouth feels so right and perfect against her own.

---

Two days later, in the CatCo gossip column, there’s a picture of the two of them kissing in Noonan’s, with the title:

Lena Luthor and Kara Danvers, National City’s Hottest New Couple?

#supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #supercorp #supercorp fanfic

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werecreature-addicted · 7 hours

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Could you do a headcannon where a merman keeps begging to hold his human mate and use them like a cocksleve as he swims around? Because I imagine a merman who isn’t ready for his human to go to shore yet and just wants to fill them with pups and kiss them until they can’t remember anything

"it's getting dark, the water is going to be too cold for me soon, I need to go," you protest, the mermaid that has you trapped just chitters happily and squeezes you tightly. You float in the middle of the ocean on top of his chest as he swims in lazy circles, you hadn't realized how far away from shore you'd drifted. you'd need him to swim you back there's no way you could get back to land by yourself. and it's clear he isn't ready to let you go, especially because he's not so subtly grinding his sheathed cock against your hip.

"how about you take me to shore-" this earns you an unhappy growl "and fuck me against the rocks, give me a nice clutch," you purr, this seems like a much better idea to him. he nudges your hip again and looks at you with pleading eyes.

"fine you can keep it in me while we swim over there," you agree, and shift your swimsuit to the side and reach between your two bodies, you feel the place where his skin goes from human flesh to sleek scales, you feel the bulge where his cock lies, slowly you rub your fingers over his slit, coaxing his long tentacle-like cock free. he whines as his hips buck trying pitifully to fuck himself into you, his dick writing with a mind of its own. you grasp his length and guide it to you. he purrs happily as he sinks inside of you, he grips you with his hands pushing your ass down to grind against his hips. your breath catches as his prick writhes inside of you, he's so deep inside of you that it almost hurts.

"swim," you remind him. he nuzzles your neck nipping at your skin with his sharp teeth, almost like he is trying to tempt you to stay out a little longer. you push his shoulder. "We have a deal swim to the shore and fuck me there," you insist. Slowly he turns you toward the shore and starts lazily swimming, taking his time getting there, just enjoying the feel of you wrapped around his dick.

The sun is completely set by the time you reach the sandy beach, it's just the two of you as he pushes you out of the surf onto the wet beach, pinning you down beneath his body. in the moonlight, he seems to glow silver, and his scales glitter iridescent. He nuzzles your neck again bitting your shoulder, and this time you let him, his hips roll against you as he fucks you, filling you with his thin twisted cock filling you up with his brood.

#monster imagine #monster fucker #monster #monster boyfriend #teratophillia #mermaid x human #mermaid x reader #mermaid #mermaid smut

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ystrike1 · 2 days

Text

My Plushie Suddenly Turned Human - By usunooshiri (8.5/10)

Is it scary? Yes! Is it realistic? No! Imagine dating your favorite character. One that loves you so, so, so much. You carried his plushie everywhere lovingly, so of course he came to life for you!

How cute!!!

Not.

Yuna is trapped in an abusive relationship. Her greatest comfort is her favorite character. A sexy, caring older brother type named Shaw.

Her boyfriend doesn't go on fun dates with her. He just uses her for money, so she goes with the plushie instead! Good for her but oh my goodness it's sad. This is way better than those "wah, I'm an orphan" setups. Burying yourself in a cute hobby is an actual, realistic reaction to being abused. It is deeply chilling to see on paper in a cute style.

Yuna finds enough courage to mention his "second girlfriend", because obviously he's also cheating on her. He uses his fists, and her reaction implies this is not the first time he has threatened her. Threats and fear are the only two elements keeping their awful relationship together.

Yuna just wants to be free.

Before she falls to the ground a huge man pushes her shit boyfriend out of the way. He looks exactly like Shaw! Down to the hair color and the way he acts.

Her brand new ex-boyfriend leaves with his tail between his legs. He's got another girlfriend to abuse anyway. He doesn't need Yuna('s money) anymore.

He gets to live and that sucks but whatever he's gone.

It's an unbelievable scenario but Shaw has all the evidence. He remembers his life as a plushie. Yuna took him to the hot springs. He knows all of her favorite meals, and he claims her sweet love gave him a reason to come to life.

How cute!!!!

Shaw is a plushie so it's not like he has a job. He becomes her stay-at-home boyfriend and Yuna loves it. Shaw isn't even super overbearing, or clingy. He likes to see HER have fun, and that's all she needs. She doesn't care if he has money, or nothing to his name at all.

She loves his gentle love.

Yuna begins to fret about reality.

They start dating officially after two months. Shaw is innocently happy, but Yuna isn't sure if she can make a future with a plushie. Obviously he's her ideal type, but he doesn't have a family. He's not really human. What if he can never get a job? Or being a plushie makes being human extremely stressful? What if he can't blend in?

It interrupts their perfect and fluffy relationship.

Also, Shaw doesn't like it when she hangs out with other men.

She finds her plushie.

The man who saved her isn't her beloved plushie at all. That was just a fantasy she wanted to believe in after experiencing so much abuse and stress.

Shaw says she's gullible, and he admits his name isn't Shaw.

He introduces himself, and the ending goes the way he wants to go.

Yuna knows he's a stalker, but she still says yes.

Shou was so nice to her, and she really needs some kindness in her daily life.

Yes, her stalker waited until she was broken to save her.

But he came.

#yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere boy #recommendations #recs #rec #recommended #webtoon #My Plushie Suddenly Turned Human

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ellecdc · 3 days

Note

I come with wolfstar comfort thoughts <3

When you're sick remus is wonderful, he hates seeing you ill so he does everything he can to help: makes you tea, maybe some soup, gets you some meds and puts you on the sofa with a blanket and a pillow (sirius's chest)

Sirius on the other hand is less sure of what to do but he still wants to help so he let's remus tell him what to do, he's in charge of physical stuff like carrying you to the sofa (even if you're perfectly capable of walking) and being your human pillow while remus is busy in the kitchen, he's also tasked with moral support which mainly consists of stupid jokes and funny stories (he has many of james being a total drama queen when he got ill in the dorms)

I hope you feel better soon <3

-💫anon

poor Siri - I had a vision for this and now that it's written, I'm not sure I quite hit the mark, but let me know what you think! and thanks for your request <3

poly!wolfstar x sick!reader who they plan to nurse back to health

CW: fem!reader, cold/flu symptoms, brief passing mention of Sirius' childhood (no details), fluff

Sirius closed the door behind him and tossed his keys haphazardly into the dish that Remus insisted they go in, causing a loud clanging which echoed through the hallway.

He realised only then how quiet the flat was in comparison which was rather unusual for this time of day as you and Remus always managed to beat Sirius home.

Sirius felt some tension ease from his face (and body and soul) when he saw a familiar head of tawny curls over the back of the couch.

His plans for a surprise upside-down Spiderman style kiss - to what he had assumed was a sleeping Moony having fallen asleep reading a book - was foiled when Sirius came around the top of the couch to see you - looking particularly pathetic - curled up and resting your head in Remus’ lap fast asleep.

“Wha-?” Sirius asked dumbly, looking between Remus’ sad smile and your sleeping form - you seemed flushed and were breathing with your mouth open, likely because you couldn’t breathe from your nose.

“Hey Pads.” Remus offered quietly.

“What happened?”

Remus grimaced as he looked down at you and brushed some of your hair away from your face; you didn’t even stir. “I don’t think she ever made it to work today; I got home and found her on the couch.”

And Sirius could see that this was likely true, based on the vast amount of evidence that you’d been living on the sofa.

You’d tried to contain your used tissues to a paper bag but there were a few stragglers from where you no doubt lacked the strength to put much effort into aiming anymore. A half empty waterbottle and a bowl of soup with a layer of film on the top sat dejectedly on the coffee table along with a packet of Benilyn with a few missing tablets.

“Poor babydoll.” Sirius cooed as he rubbed Remus’ shoulder.

Remus turned to press a kiss to Sirius’ hand before gently lifting your head in order to stand.

“We’ll nurse her back to health in no time.”

Sirius felt his eyebrows furrowed as he watched Remus gently lower your head onto a throw pillow; still never managing to rouse you from your sleep.

“How do we do that?” Sirius asked.

Remus hummed as he made for the kitchen and Sirius followed him much like a lost puppy. “Well she needs lots of rest, and we should try to get her to eat before we give her anything to bring down her fever; she hardly ate any of the soup she made earlier. Maybe some Chamomile too. But I want to start by bringing her fever down.” He said with finality as he started puttering in the kitchen.

“What should I do?” Sirius asked like a child helping their parents in the kitchen; he felt worse than useless, he felt like he was in the way.

This is what happens when you don’t have a loving family; you don’t always know how to love - the verb to love, the action of loving someone.

Sirius feels love, he knows that much. He just doesn’t always know what to do with all of that love.

Luckily for him, he had two of the loveliest partners in the world to help him on that end.

Remus turned to smile softly at Sirius before leaning down to peck a kiss to his head. “Go change into some comfies and I’ll put you to work.”

And well, Sirius didn’t need to be told twice.

Officially donned in his favourite pair of sweats and a long sleeve band tee, Sirius returned to find Remus knelt in front of you on the couch as he whispered.

“I know, Dovey.” Sirius could hear Remus coo quietly as he approached. “Think you can try for me, though?”

You made a sound halfway between a groan and a sob as you pulled yourself into a seated position and accepted a cup of tea from Remus.

“Too much honey.” You protested meekly without even taking a sip; Sirius was sure he could smell the honey from where he was standing.

“It’ll help your throat, love.”

You groaned again but took a dutiful sip which earned you a beaming smile from Remus.

“I feel horrid.” You croaked, and Remus - god love him - managed to not grimace at the sound; Sirius was thankful he was stationed behind the sofa where you couldn’t see him, because he was not as gracious as your other boyfriend.

“I bet. When did you last take these?” Remus asked as he motioned towards the medication.

“It was early, I think around eleven.”

Remus hummed in acknowledgement as he stood from his crouched position. “You should be okay to have more once you’ve got something in your stomach, then. I’ll make soup, okay? Here Pads.” He pointed towards Remus’ now vacated spot on the couch.

Sirius offered you a sad smile as you turned to look at him. “When did you get home?” You queried.

Remus scoffed in response. “I’m surprised he didn’t wake you, sweet girl, the way he comes in and throws his shit everywhere.”

Sirius scoffed in faux offence. “I am very graceful, thank you very much.”

Whoever said laughter was the best medicine was a sodding liar, because though Sirius got what he had sort of wanted (which was to see you smile), your chuckle quickly turned into a coughing fit.

“Alright, that’s it.” Remus chided jokingly. “Sirius, lay here please.”

Sirius dutifully followed Remus’ direction and laid back on the sofa with his head resting on the arm and his legs spread, welcoming you into his arms as Remus encouraged you to lay back down with your head resting on Sirius’ stomach.

“Neither of you are to move until Y/N is better.” Remus ordered with severity no one truly believed.

“I hope she never gets better then.” Sirius harrumphed as he burrowed further into the sofa beneath him and rubbed loving strokes up and down your back as you wormed your hands around Sirius’ middle.

“That’s mean.” You pouted.

“I was just saying that to our tyrant, dolly; you get better but pretend you’re not so we can trick him into letting us stay like this forever, deal?”

“Deal.” You agreed with a sniffling sigh, causing Sirius to tsk in sympathy.

“My poor sweet girl, so poorly. S’breaking my heart.”

Sirius could feel the heat radiating from your forehead as you hid your face in his stomach.

“I feel a bit better now.” You barely got out without coughing.

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you, babygirl.” Sirius said with a sad chuckle.

“It’s true.” You insisted sleepily, turning your head again so that your cheek was pressed against Sirius as you looked up somewhat dopily at him. “It’s always better when you guys are here.”

And you were likely a little loopy from your fever, feeling more than vulnerable in your current state, and sufficiently doted upon by both Remus and Sirius; but Sirius couldn’t help but admit you were certainly onto something.

Sirius always felt better when the two of you were around too.

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