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saradika · 2 years

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hoping against hope

Rated M - 2.8k

Pairings - kino loy x wife!reader

Tags: andor spoilers, fix-it fic, hurt/comfort, mentions of violence and death, anxiety, vaguely implied sexual content, loose third-person pov, flashbacks

Summary: There is one way out. And against all odds - he takes it.

He comes home.

A/N - Based heavily on this vanity fair interview (the snippets of his backstory), and an exploration to see what it might be like if he had made it home to his family (which comprises of his wife - no descriptors given). Of course Andor is so brilliantly written - this is purely for a little bit of angst and comfort.

There had been a time - years ago - when a knock at the door would have had her racing through the room.

Her heart leaping into her throat as she threw open the door, chest so tight she could hardly breathe.

And now, she despises it.

It’s become a painful thing, something she’s become dulled to over the years. Enough to where if she has company, they will answer the door for her. Walk right in, if they know she is home.

But she’s alone, tonight.

And the knock rings out, again.

———

It’s late, far past dark - nerves coiling in her stomach as her fingers curl around the blaster. Something she had never wanted to own, but had become a necessity over the past few years.

With the troopers that moved into town, the trouble seeming to follow in their wake. A constant and painful reminder of what happened.

It’s been close to a decade but she still remembers the call - the hushed croak of a voice, the tone of someone not wanting to be overheard.

“It’s Kino. They’re here, at the mine-”

She knew the comm was from one of the boys on his shift. Had barely made it in time, pushing her way to the front of the crowd as a group of men were slapped in binders.

Her husband - red-faced, the shaken-loose swoop of hair that swung across his forehead - still arguing, as his arms are yanked behind him.

Her voice, carried through the air - his snarl cutting off as he sees her. The flash of sorrow, the moment of distraction used to push them into the transport.

Eight years.

For disturbing the peace.

For disrupting Empire regulations and procedure.

For just wanting fair hours - the recent increase in output leading to illness, accidents, injury. Two men in critical condition, a dozen more wounded, from a collapsed tunnel that never should have happened.

All under his watch.

It could have all been prevented.

It had been enough to make him snap.

A calm discussion that had quickly turned to shouting, to violence, leading to four men arrested. Their judgment passing just as quickly - barely any time to process, to say goodbye - before he was gone.

And it’s like a ghost stands before her now - as the door swooshes open. The blaster clattering to the floor, because she knows that shape, the curve of lips and the shape of a nose beneath the low hood of the cloak.

The hands that push the fabric back, the bit of light from the twin moons casting shadows across his face.

And though a part of her know this - her brain seems to stutter, the picture in front of her not making sense.

Because, it was him. Not entirely the him she knew. Her husband. His face is different - still him, just older. The dark ink of his hair turned silver, the light, neat beard now full and long. Lines carved deep from time around his eyes and forehead.

Though, his eyes are the same.

The same as the photos, the same as in her memories and dreams.

They blink at her - no words coming as he takes a step forward. As her arms are coming to wrap around him, a sob choking her as his hand curls around the back of her head, crushing her against him.

He was home.

———

The door locks in place when he steps inside.

There’s a million questions they both have, all of them tight and stuck in their throats. A weird sort of melancholic remembrance - a moment in time where things felt just as they had been. A jolt as they realize it couldn’t be more different.

She says his name and it’s like a gift - his memory returning, so much already restored when he had stepped onto this planet. Even more so when he found his way to the town.

So unsure if she would still be there.

That was something that had been on his mind for days, months. Years.

Afraid that she would have left. Or maybe, if she had stayed - that she had moved on.

Found someone else.

He wouldn’t have blamed her.

It would have hurt - after everything. Crawling his way out of that hell, to get back here.

But - he would have understood.

That twist of unease and fear finally and mercifully laid to rest, when he saw her standing in their doorway.

He’s home, but he’s not.

It’s not the same, and it never will be.

Her hand trembles against his face, thumb brushing over weeks-old scruff. He leans into it, the first touch in years that wasn’t a means to an end.

When her mouth presses to his and his eyes close, it’s now and it’s twelve years ago and he can hear a rough, ragged sound that takes him a moment to realize it’s coming from his own throat.

Eight years of pushing everything down, springing to the surface as his jaw grits.

She leads him to their room. Set up the same but much like them, the details had changed over the years. Searching through closets that still hold his things, even after all this time.

Finding him clothes, to get him out of the ones he’s been working in, traveling in, sleeping in. Clothes that weren’t even his - the shoes too tight on aching feet, the jacket frayed at the cuffs and heavily stained.

Both a luxury, after the prison.

“Tell me everything.” She tells him, handing him an old sweater that smells freshly laundered.

He hesitates.

So much like he had on the platform at Narkina 5.

Because nothing had turned out the way he thought it would. Even after the days, weeks, it took to get back here - he's still uncertain.

Such a different hestitation from before, because then, he had been sure of what would happen. Had known from the beginning, as soon as the whispers began.

Had made peace with it the night before. A stab of guilt the he had thought about the complicity he had been lulled into. The daze and ache in the hallway with Ulaf that came when he realized he was never going to leave that prison alive.

Because there would be no escape.

Not for him. Not here.

He couldn��t swim.

An irony that was not lost on him. It was a prison in more ways than one - caging him in, even as he stood, breathing in the fresh air.

Feet planted flat on the platform as the others rushed by, diving into the ocean, to their freedom. The rueful smile he had managed to send Keef, before the despair set in - so close to freedom, after all those years.

At the cost of his self-sacrifice, thousands of others could go home, rejoin their families. It was what he had to do, he knew that.

She was never far from his mind, as his eyes closed. Stinging, from the sun and the wind and the tears that seem to spring up, unbidden.

Not paying attention to the surge of men from another floor, rushing from the stairs. His feet ripped out from underneath him as he's suddenly falling.

Plummeting.

Kino is ripped from the memory when she touches his arm - still unsure if he’s real. A sentiment he understands well, the ghost of a smile he sends her way in thanks.

He’s sure he’s frightening her, that she’s worrying. So - as he eases off the torn, canvas jacket - he begins.

He fills in what he can - as he tugs on a pair of thick woolen socks, because he never wants to be barefoot again. Because she knows the timing didn’t line up. That he’s early, that something had happened.

Her hand clutched in his, as he catches her up over these years they’ve been apart. His voice clipped and mechanical, because the wounds are too fresh, and this is the only way he can get through them.

But there’s so many things he doesn’t tell her.

That he won’t ever say out loud.

How he’s spent the last three years unable to remember the way her voice sounded.

Hating himself for forgetting.

How he never thought he’d breathe fresh air, again. How there’s so much of him he’s had to tamp down, close up inside his head, just to make it through each day. Turning himself into a shell, because he had to.

How he’s seen death. Time and time again.

Seeing his own on that platform, how he mourned for himself but also for the woman waiting for him. Wondering if she would ever find out what happened.

His throat growing tight as he weaves in what he can. Skipping over the parts that were too painful. Trying to make her understand just how dire things had been, for all of them.

Her fury and fear and amazement written so plainly across her face. It’s hard to bear.

The afterwards is easier. How those in the water had scattered - how the few of them that had made it to the eastern shore had escaped.

Grateful for Keef again - figuring out how to sneak them aboard a transport that was heading off-world. Stealing clothes, lying through their teeth. Surviving.

Finding men desperate enough for workers, that they didn’t care where they came from. It had almost been funny - the old Weequay foreman telling them to keep their heads down, to do what they were told. It felt different, when you were a free man.

He could do that.

Hours of hard labor in exchange for a pitiful amount of credits. Each day passing, until he could afford a ship home.

Talking until his throat grows hoarse, until he’s realizing for the first time just how weary he is.

She takes over then - like she always had. Coaxing him to bed after a long shift, making him take care of himself.

Sliding in besides him, just as they used to. Lying in silence, her head pressed against his chest. His arms around her in an iron grip.

“I missed you.” He speaks into the dark, “Stars, I missed you.”

Grateful she can’t see him, the cracks that threaten to shatter his armor. He isn’t sure what would happen if she could.

Isn’t sure he’s that strong, yet.

His eyes shut when she repeats the words back.

Finally feeling like he can breathe again.

———

It pains her to hear what happened. To see him like this, though she’s never been more grateful. It’s feels unbelievable, what he’s been through.

Staying awake after he drifts off, exhaustion pulling him under after his long travels, the effort of revisiting the memories.

Watching him, the furrow in his brow that persists, even when asleep.

He’d always been a stern man.

It had become a running joke, the man who was used to barking orders, keeping the line running flawlessly.

A loth-wolf, ferocious as one.

Until he met her.

“And what am I, now?” He had asked, an eyebrow cocked - at one of their evenings spent in good company, at the local cantina.

The two men across from her exchanged looks, before one smirked, leaning closer.

“A tooka, chief.”

Kino had scoffed, lifting his glass - but she could see the edge of a smile hidden behind the cup.

Could feel the warmth of his hand, from where it rested along the back of the booth. Where his fingers brushed the bare skin of her neck, goosebumps raising after.

There was a lot she remembered about that night.

But, she thinks - that softening was gone.

All hard edges, now. Rougher than before.

She think she understands. She isn’t sure she could have made it through what he did - what he had to do to made it home.

The waiting had been agony, but she had bared it. The boys at the mine had been there for her, after. Checking on her, making sure she ate. They had respected him, knowing what he had done was for them.

But Kino had been alone. Stolen from her.

He wasn’t the only thing that Empire had taken from them.

Once upon a time, recently after they were married, there had been whispers. Just little hopes and dreams under the sheets, about their future together. Where they would live, where they would go. What they would do.

Things that she wasn’t even sure were possible - but at that moment, it hadn’t mattered.

It feels like the Empire has stolen that from them, as well. Hope and dreams and time.

So much time.

But, she thinks - maybe they could make it up.

Together.

———

It’s still dark when he finds himself gasping for breath.

Forgetting for a long moment where he is.

This happens often now - the memory of falling. The feeling of weightlessness, the terror as he suddenly jolts awake - expecting the icy impact.

Remembering the way the fear tasted as he went under, as sharp as the salt water that filled his throat.

Somehow - mercifully, instinctually - finding his way to the surface.

Thinking, better to die here, a free man - than face the same death of so many before him.

But he hadn’t. Another grace of the gods, the Force, he'd thank anything - as some of the men from his shift find him. He thinks he tells them to leave him. It’s hard to remember, the panic overshadowing his memories.

But they don't.

They remember his words.

You see someone who's confused, someone who is lost, you get them moving and you keep them moving until we put this place behind us.

They put the place behind them.

His feet touched down on land.

He reaches for her then, remembering. Just as he had reached for them, just as his head was about to submerge again.

The worn cotton of her nightdress feels like silk to his calloused fingers. Unable to sleep soundly in a room that isn’t harsh and white and sterile.

Too warm in his clothes but it’s better than being cold all the time, as he curls himself around her again. Slowly recounting all the things he’s forgotten.

Reacquainting himself with the one he loves, as she stirs, rolling over to face him. Remembering with slow and careful fingers, how they used to fit together so perfectly.

If he only has tonight - then he’ll make it count.

———

There’s the brush of his cheek against hers as the sky just starts to turn from violet to bronze, a voice low in your ear. Tugging her from slumber - this time a much more rested sleep.

“I can’t stay.”

There’s an edge to his voice, sorrow wrapped in steel because he hasn’t been sure how to tell her.

Because he had known. Had been asked to go with Keef and Melshi - where he had hesitated again.

“I can’t.” He had rasped, his eyes bouncing between the two of them.

Keef had understood. The sharp look in his eye, the way his head ducked to make eye contact. His words just as clipped and clear and sure as during that moment in the elevator.

“Kino. There is no going back. Not now.”

He knew there wasn’t. Not to before.

But he could afford a night, couldn’t he? Hadn’t he earned that, after all of those years?

Just a chance to see her, again.

She turns, frowning as she blinks sleepily at him, trying to caught up. Awake enough to notice the singularity of his words, the exact tone in which he says them.

“It’s not safe. For you, for me.” His arms tighten around her, betraying his words, “I haven’t told you everything that’s happened. I need to leave, before-“

Kino’s word die off as she scoffs, her frown deepening - as she rolls over to face him.

It’s insulting. How he assumes she’s stayed here because she wanted to. That she wouldn’t have ran - to her old home, to somewhere new, anywhere - if there had been a way to tell him.

That she hadn’t been terrified to leave the house for weeks, in case something had changed, and he had come home. That she still left notes when she left the house for more than an hour.

That she hadn’t been staying for him.

He misinterprets, hurt flashing across his features, before his jaw sets. But then she’s kissing him, the soft press of her mouth before she’s pushing herself up, legs swinging over the edge of the bed.

“Tell me the rest, then.” She calls from over her shoulder, as she pull the bags out from the storage beneath, “While we pack.”

She’s waited for him - just as he had for her.

She wasn’t letting go of him now.

#a fix it fic #kino loy x reader #kino lot x f!reader #kino loy x you #Kino Loy #andor spoilers

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gabapple · 8 months

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Chapter one of our TriMax fix it fic is up!

True Fairytales, ch 1: Living Like the Dead

Wolfwood is in Hell. Or at least, he believes he is. After all, he died, right? Turns out, that's not exactly true.

M / 6.5k / WiP by @gabapple and @mamodewberry

#trigun #trimax #vashwood #vw #vash the stampede #nicholas d. wolfwood #trigun fanfiction #true fairytales #a fix it fic

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indouloureux · 2 years

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angel numbers

go read "liquid smooth"

#self promo maybe #eddie munson #a fix it fic #bc #we need it #stranger things spoilers

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yeehawpim · 9 months

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a comic about fix-it fanfics

#original comic #fanfic #fix it fic #fandom #dr who #bbc sherlock #avengers #my comic #my art #been thinking about the truly dumb amount of time I've spent reading fanfic #i started writing fix-it fic like a couple months ago and I Get It #teenage pim was a dumbass

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finleycannotdraw · 6 months

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we need all types of art in fandoms

#angst #fluff #fanfiction #ao3 #fic writers #fix its #whump #what do I tag this as💀#fandom #good omens #loki series #legend of zelda #sherlock

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elexuscal · 1 month

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squinting at the 'fix it fic' tag on any given story on Ao3, trying to discern if it's intended in the sense of:

I genuinely think the story had bad writing and I am taking my toolbox and improving it [and i the reader agree]

I genuinely think the story had bad writing and I am taking my toolbox and improving it [and i the reader disagree]

The story's ending was Tragic and I Respect that but also i just want to read about my faves having some kind of joy and fulfilment okay?

The story's ending was Tragic and I do Not Respect That please God Damnit Let Them Be Happy

We Are Literally Fixing The Canon With The Application of Time Travel or Reality Warping or some other Wild Plot Device

I am going to fix one obscure detail or plot element that 95% of the fandom has never thought about in their life

(because these are all extremely different vibes)

#fanfic #ao3 #also shout out to those who write fix its of their own fucked up angst fic

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ao3-crack · 8 months

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(x)

#archive of our own #ao3 stuff #ao3 quotes #archive of our own quotes #fanfic #fanfic quotes #funny #ao3 #ao3 tags #this isn’t a fix-it fic #this is the opposite of a fix-it #this is a break-it #i make it so much worse #bro star kid is so fucking good #I watched npmd and now I’m rewatching the whole hatchet field universe #and I forgot how fucking good they are

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bebx · 7 months

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AO3 writers when canon sucks:

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gauloiseblue · 2 months

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You always joked about how you'd find out what's beneath his mask someday. Literally and figuratively.

He'd scoff at your attempts, or suggestions to lift up his sniper mask. Some of them caught him off guard, to the point he almost did it if not for his logical mind. But some of them were downright ridiculous, that he couldn't help but snort.

Maybe you already accepted it from the start, that he would never give in, but it had become a harmless jest at this point, so you might as well keep it going.

Until he gives you permission.

The thing is, it doesn't make you happy—it scares you to death instead. He once bit off someone's finger when they poked it in the place they shouldn't have touched. So what's behind the mask couldn't be worth the pain.

At first, you thought of it as a warning. Yet he wasn't showing any signs of threat. He even pulled you closer, so you'd get a better view of him.

His mask stays on, but he lets you touch his face. Your hands hover an inch away from his veiled visage, before you test the water with a touch.

He doesn't flinch away, or charge at you like a venomous snake. He stays still, letting your hands cup his cheeks.

"Didn't you say you wanna feel my face?" He said as he brought you closer, causing a shiver down on your spine.

"I did," Your lips trembled slightly, "I'm doing it."

"You're not doing it right." He tugged your paralyzed hands onto his chest.

You're confused when he firmly grips both of your hands, before slowly sliding them under the hem of his hood.

"Inside, maus." He commanded you, "Tell me what you feel."

And so, you complied.

You reach into his mask, and touch his neck tentatively. For a brief moment, his muscles tense under your fingertips, before they come down relaxed.

"Oh." You murmured as you pressed your palm onto his nape, "You can certainly survive a fighter jet ride."

He doesn't give you any response, so you take it as a cue to continue.

Your hands creep up higher, until your fingers reach the soft bones of his ears. They seem small in your grasp, smaller than they should, for a man of his height. A quiet smile spreads in your lips, as you imagine the tiny shells that frame both sides of his face.

"I'm surprised you have clear skin." You commented when you caressed his cheek, feeling the texture of his skin, "I thought you'd have a problem with it since you always wore a mask."

"Not always." He replied, nudging you to roam further, "I took it off whenever I'm alone."

"Did you take care of it?"

"No."

"How unfair." You chuckled, "I want to have your skin."

He keeps his eyes on you, and you feel the need to clear your throat, before you trace the lines on his face.

"You have a big nose." You mused as you ran your finger down from the bridge of his nose, "It's crooked."

He hums, while his eyes follow your uncertain gaze.

"Why you stopped?" He called you out, and you jumped upon hearing them, "There's one place you haven't touched."

You bit your lips, trembling, as you lowered your hand, until you felt the soft lumps on your fingertips.

They form a thin line, before they split open, inviting your finger inside. Your breathing becomes labored, as he takes a hold on your hand, guiding your thumb into his mouth.

He doesn't break eye contact the whole time, and you're too paralyzed to look away. You feel the sharpness of his teeth as his lips are closing around your digit. You have anticipated the guillotine falling on the head of your thumb, yet what comes after is a soft brush of his tongue.

It was rough, and drenched with his saliva, that it formed a string at the time your thumb left his mouth.

"König—" You gasped when he dragged his lips down to your palm, before stopping on your wrist. Pressing his tongue on your pulse point, where the skin barrier is so thin, that it feels as if he's tasting your flesh.

"Scared, maus?" He muttered, his teeth scraped against your skin, "Are you scared of me?"

You stare at him, as your instinct screams at you to nod. But you shake your head, despite the tremble in your hands.

"Then you'll do as I say." He wraps his arm around your waist, leaving no room for you to run, "Take off my mask."

Your eyes widened, not believing what you just heard from his mouth. Alas, his glare is enough to confirm the truth.

He guides your hands to his mask, pushing it up in a manner that's close to unveiling a white cover. And once the mask is lifted, you have no time to admire him as he slams his lips against yours.

Your cry of surprise is swallowed by his mouth, as he pushes his tongue between your lips. You can't do anything but cling to him, as he presses your body down with his, until your back is flush against the cushion.

When you open your eyes, what greets you is a pair of eclipses. Gone was the cruel Colonel, as he's replaced by a voracious brute.

The moment he opens his mouth, you know you'll be devoured by him.

#i wrote 2 konig fics in one day there's something wrong with me #cod #cod mw2 #call of duty #konig x reader #könig x reader #könig cod #konig mw2 #is this cannibal core?#idk girl #yandere konig #there's something about fingers in a mouth...........#i'm normal i swear #I've fixed the 3rd person pov. just noticed it now. oopsie my bad

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horsechestnut · 2 months

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There are so many Dick, Bruce, or Tim kills the Joker fics on AO3, meanwhile Barbara was the one talking about how The Joker should be the exception to the No Kill Rule years before Red Hood Jason even existed.

#joker: last laugh #barbara gordon #oracle #batgirl i #let. barbara. kill. the. joker.#she deserves it #also that's basically exactly what jason says in the red hood movie #(i have not read the comic yet I'm still in 2001)#batfam #batfamily #i read comics #look i'm not saying dick shouldn't be allowed to kill the joker #but right now on ao3 there are more fics where D*NNY PH*NTOM kills the joker #then fics where Barbara does #we should fix that

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quicksilversg1rl · 4 months

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HE’S INNOCENT YOUR HONOUR ྀིྀི

#slipping back into my rafe cameron phase oh em gee #i truly believe i could fix him #he just needs love #MY LOVE #rafe cameron ᰔ #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron #drew starkey #drew starkey imagine

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eraenaa · 1 month

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I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

Inspired by the song "I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)" by Taylor Swift

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: Trust me, I can handle me a dangerous man.

Warnings: Substance Use, Possessiveness, Jealousy, ¿Kinda Toxic Relationship?, Mention of Violence, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Shower Sex, Oral Sex (F & M receiving), Fingering, Choking, Boobjob, Filmed Sexual Relations, Not Proofread

Word Count: 2,372

A/N: Sorry for being MIA finals week was rough and I was kinda burnout hence the almost month long hiatus but Taylor's new album revived me, so maybe expect more works inspired by TTPD songs!

You sat quietly as Rafe rested his warm hand on your thigh. You waited for him to finish his drink as he laughed around with his boys at the bar. Their voice echoed through the establishment, garnering curious glances from the other patrons present. You feel him squeeze your thigh tighter, his little signal that he wanted some affection, maybe a kiss or a touch from you. He turned to you, pupils enlarged from the little pill he took, “Are you bored?” He asked, and you quickly shook your head, placing your hand on the back of his head, and ran your nails gently against his skull. “No, baby,” You murmured and moved to kiss his lips, tasting the brandy on his tongue. Rafe parted from your kiss, looking intently into your eyes to see off you lied; he seemed satisfied enough and returned to his conversations with his friends.

You hear the offensive joke that Rafe said a bit too loudly and held your breath. Placing your hand on his shoulder, hoping it would snap some sense into him, it usually did. You feel pitying and feared glances pointed towards you. The bartender to your left shook their head and muttered, “God help her,” when they realized you were with Rafe. A man who was notorious for his rage and ill temper. He was often perceived as rash and maybe even psychotic. Perhaps their judgment of him was true… but that is what attracted you to him anyway. You could not help but be intrigued by him and his imposing and reckless demeanor. You were certain you could tame him. You said to yourself, “I can fix him; no, really, I can.”

He drove the both of you home. A bit of a misjudgment on your part, seeing how intoxicated he was, but there was something thrilling about him taking the reigns while still addled with dopamine and alcohol. There was something seductive in the way his hand would trail upward and upward on your thigh as he raced down the streets of the Outer Banks. But there was something different this night. There was tension in him that did not come from the lust you and him were succumbing to. “What’s wrong?” You asked, taking hold of his arm, caressing it in a way that made gooseflesh rise on his flesh. You bit your lip as his hold on you was tighter; you were certain it would once again leave his mark. “Everyone in that bar was looking at you… they were looking at what’s mine.” He snarled and pressed flat on the gas, making you speed down the streets so carelessly, but you could not find care as that elicited a wave of want in you. “They were only looking…” You trailed, testing to see what reaction it would garner from Rafe.

You watch him shake his head, his jaw clenching in annoyance. “They were looking at what’s mine. They were practically undressing you with their eyes— imagining stealing you from me,” He gritted as you were nearing home. You voiced your disagreement, but that only seemed to enrage him more. “You enjoyed it, didn’t you, huh? You fucking enjoyed their attention.” Rafe accused, and your eyes darkened at his words. Just as the rage in him burned quickly, it died in a snap. You removed his hold on your thigh and stole away your touch on his arm. You did not wait for him to open the door of the passenger seat for you but instead got out of the confined space you were trapped in and left him. “Baby, wait, I—“ Rafe called, any irritation in his voice gone the moment he realized he had offended you.

You were nearing your bedroom door, ready to lock him out for the night and repent for his offense, but he caged you in his arms, pulling you close to him. Burying his head at the side of your neck, he offered his apologies. “I’m sorry baby… I just don’t wanna lose you,” You hear his muffled boys. Smirking to yourself as you actually got an apology from him. From all the stories you heard of Rafe, ranging from his family to his friends and even his past flings, not one of them got an apology or anything that resembled half of it from him. But here he was, saying sorry over and over again, waiting for your reply. You kept silent for a while longer, and you felt him move over to the front of you, trying to kiss your lips, but you moved your head to the side. You bit your lip as you hear him puff, surprised by his following action. You watched Rafe sink down on his knees and hold you tightly against him, burying his face in your abdomen, his apologies spewing out from his mouth as if you were a god to whom he offered his prayers, pleading to be heard. You sighed and ran your hand through his hair, hearing him soothingly hum and burrow his head deeper into your abdomen.

You were about to urge him to stand, but you were rendered frozen, and your breathing hitch when you feel his fingers take hold of your dress, hiking it higher. “Rafe,” you called as his lips trailed kisses on your exposed skin, his breath teasing your core that had already been aching for him. “I’m sorry,” He said once more, and you could only sigh as he placed a kiss between your thighs. You held tightly onto him as he lapped your folds, showing you just how sorry he was. “Rafe… Fuck, Rafe,” you called as he inserted a finger, but you were already on the verge of an orgasm by just the way his nose burrowed into your nubbin. “Do you forgive me, my baby?” Rafe asked, and you could only moan out your agreement and hear him hiss as you pulled on his hair and came down hard on his fingers and face.

You hummed as you woke the next day with Rafe tracing hearts on your face; he had been watching you sleep. You gazed at him through the hazy sight of the fresh morning, “You look so pretty when you sleep,” Rafe said softly, and you smiled up at him. Gone in his system were the substances that were his ruin, but he could not deny. You quite liked him in this state, but you knew he would rather have his mood be altered by opioids and any other drugs that he believed would aid him. It won’t. And you just need to change that outlook of his or at least find another drug that would not be his ruin.

“You’re mine,” Rafe gritted in your ear, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he realized every bastard at the party was staring at you. “I’m yours,” You repeated to calm the rage in him. He did not consume anything harsh or damnable per your request, but you were starting to rethink your decision because apparently Rafe, without his usual pick me up, was rather more paranoid and frantic. Every little interaction you have with the opposite sex pushes him closer over the edge. “Rafe,” you sighed as he stepped away, challenging a guy whose gaze had been flying to you the whole night. “The fuck you staring at, huh! Do you want a fucking fight, bro?! Stop staring at my gi—“ Rafe screamed, and you pulled at him with all of your might for him to face you and save the innocent man from being beaten up to a pulp. You turn to Rafe’s friends, urging them to help, them being the able-bodied ones to escort Rafe outside to calm down.

You stood before him as he sat by the ledge of a planter box. His head was in his hands as he tried to calm his ragged breathing. You stood silently as he took out a box of cigarettes and hastily lit a stick. “Stop looking at me like that,” Rafe spat, and you furrowed your brows at his words. “Like what?” You asked, and Rafe shook his head and took a long drag of a cigarette. “Like you’re disappointed! I know that look all too well,” He scoffed, and you took in a deep breath, stepping closer to him. Squatting down to meet him at eye level, placing a kiss on his cheek, and your hand found home at the back of his head again, running your fingers through his hair, noting how he would lean into your touch. “I’m not disappointed,” you say in earnest, but Rafe scoffs at your words. “You are. Don’t lie to me.” He gritted and threw the bud of his cigaret onto the ground, the glowing embers slowly dying down like the rage in him.

“I never lie to you,” You say softly, placing your hold on the side of his face. “I’m yours, Rafe,” you say softly. “You’re mine.” He answered back. “Exactly. Then why are you trying to fight those others who are completely insignificant to us?” You ask softly, brushing your thumb across his brow, watching as his eyes fluttered close and a sigh left his lips. “Because I know what they want. I know they want what’s mine.” He gritted, tensing in anger once more, his fists clenching and warning danger. “But they won’t get to have it, won’t they?” You asked and stared deeply into his ocean eyes as they opened once more. “No. Never.” He swore, and you smiled, placing a kiss on his lips.

Kissing you was the greatest high Rafe felt. The high he now realized was the only one he’d want to chase. Nothing chemically and artificially induced could compare to your lips. “Let’s go back inside,” Rafe said after your kiss had sedated his rage. “On one condition,” You said and stood your ground as he tried to pull you back into the direction of the party. You pulled him to you, flushing your bodies, and returned your hand to caress his troubled head. “No more invoking fights? Stop glaring at those guys?” You asked and watched as he frowned at your words. “I… I can probably do no more fighting— but baby, come on, they keep staring at you and—“ You shook your head and interrupted him.

“Be a good boy tonight, and later… I’ll do what you’ve been asking me to do since last month,” You hindered your grin as you watched Rafe’s jaw turn slack, his eyes now intoxicated and dilated with the thought of you. “What do you say?” You asked, batting your lashes at him, trailing your fingers against his forearm, your eyes already catching a glance of the dent in his trousers. “I’ll be a fucking angel if you want.” He almost growled. And you let him usher you back to a party with a smile beaming on your face.

Rafe kept true to his word. There was practically a halo around his head for the rest of the night. Foregoing his pilled and powdered remedies, even tossed out the intoxicating liquid in his glass. You thought miracles never happened, but Rafe even let you join your friends on the dance floor without him. You saw as he reigned in the hellish thoughts in him as men around danced by your side. Instead, he stood still in his spot, his mind on the thought of heaven you’ll present him if he played nice.

You, too, kept true to your words. You were on your knees, your hands pushing your tits together, and in between them was Rafe’s cock. A video camera by your side as Rafe had been begging you almost everyday for a home video together. Reasoning that ‘it would be a reminder of you when you are away.’ And the thought of you is the only thing that gets him on. “Fuck, baby— god, you’re so good. How are you this good?” Rafe groaned as you fucked him with your tits. It was the best reward for him, you rarely gave him head, and this was the first time you ever fucked anyone this way. Rafe fisted the sheets as you wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock again. He moaned out your name as you took him deeper into your mouth, the sound of you gagging on his cock spurring him on. But before he could come, before he could reach a different and higher level of high he always sought, you pulled away.

“Baby… oh, baby, please, you can’t do this to me,” he almost begged, his eyes in a daze at the sight of you messy from sucking his cock. You crawled upwards and hung from his lips, him already expecting a kiss. “Fuck me in the shower,” Was all you said before you hastily dispread to the bathroom and turned the faucet on. It took a few moments for Rafe to process your words, but once he did. He quickly stood, took the camera, and positioned it to point toward you, who was already soaking wet.

Rafe was quick to push you against the glass shower door, already excited to watch the video of you and your tits against the glass. “Yes… oh, god, like that,” You cried as Rafe mercilessly pounded behind you. He gathered your hair and gripped it back, eliciting a burning yet pleasurable sensation. “You’re always so prim and proper… but looked at you, you fuck like a whore,” Rafe gritted, and your eyes rolled back as he positioned his thrust to hit the spot that made your words incoherent. “You like that, huh, baby? You like it when I fuck you, dumb?” He asked, not expecting a reply but rather your moans. Rafe relinquished his hold on your hair and instead gripped your throat. Pounding harder into you as he felt you clench tighter around him, your body shaking and on the precipice of orgasm. “Mine. Mine, mine, mine.” Rafe gritted out as he, too, was close. “Yours. All yours, Rafe.” You cried as you came around him. Panting his name as he clung in the high that was you.

I screamed when I first listened to the song that inspired this fic, bc Rafe was the most prominent thing that it conjured in my mind.

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fettuccin-e · 7 months

Text

So Good

Kinktober Day 17: Praise Kink

Tags: Miguel O'Hara x Reader, afab!fem!reader, unprotected piv, fingering (r!recieving), praise kink of course, Miguel has a filthy fucking mouth, shy!reader, miguel going feral because of course he does (w/c: 1.2K)

A/N: Back on my Miguel bullshit for my Kinktober catch-up of course. I cannot help it when he is so big and broad and sexy okay??? Anyway enjoy him goin' feral for his girl for 1k words hehehe (For the month, I have been following this list from flightlessangelwings!)

He first noticed it after a mission, and cursed himself for never seeing it before.

It had been innocent, tugging you close to his side as you both walked through the portal back to HQ, whispering a “you did good out there,” into your ear. Innocent enough.

But you had practically squeaked, your eyes looking anywhere but him, nearly pulling out of his grasp. Miguel saw how your thighs clenched together at the compliment, and it takes everything in him not to take you in the hallway right then, bury his face between them.

He doesn’t. He opts for filing it away in his mind, saving the information for later, somehow knowing that it would be important.

You both hadn’t been together for very long then, still in the trial stage of this new beautiful thing between you both. He was still hesitant to kiss you then, you had still been hesitating to go to his apartment with him.

But Miguel watches, waits, and of course, gathers more information. Starts complimenting you more on missions, in the office. Tells you what good work you’ve done, how you look so pretty in the new dress he bought you. It makes you fluster nearly immediately, your gaze pinned to the floor as you smile shyly, and fuck, those gorgeous, gorgeous thighs clench together every time. Taunting him.

Finally, after months of watching, waiting, he gives in.

He’s got you spread out beneath him, practically sobbing as he fucks you deep on his thick fingers. You loosen up so easily for him, desperate for it, your slick fucking dripping around his hand. Finally, after so long waiting to tell you exactly what goes on in his mind when he has you like this, he lets himself speak aloud.

“So good, hermosa, taking me so well,” he murmurs, and watches as your eyes fly open, a strangled moan flying from your lips. He can’t help the smile that plays at his lips. “You like that baby? Like hearing how good you are, how perfect you sound when I’m playing with this gorgeous pussy?” He can fucking feel the way your cunt clenches around his fingers with his words.

“Fuck, oh my God, Miguel-” you gasp, but you can’t seem to help yourself as you grind your hips towards Miguel’s hand. He adds another finger, stretching you wide to take his cock. “You- you can’t just-”

Miguel growls, leaning forward to nip at your jaw with fanged teeth. “Oh baby, of course I can. I can tell you how fucking good this pussy feels around my fingers, how it’s going to feel even better around my cock. This little cunt gets so wet for me, doesn’t she?” You whine wordlessly, and Miguel grinds the calloused pads of his fingers into that sweet spot that makes you fucking scream for him. “Answer me,” he snarls.

“Yes! Yes, ‘m so fucking wet, need you to fuck me so bad, Miguel,” you cry, humping your hips desperately into his hand, chasing your orgasm.

“Come on, sweetheart, soak my fucking hand,” he says, deep and dark, his eyes trained on the way your entrance leaks around his fingers. He reaches a thumb up to rub hard circles into your clit, and chuckles darkly when you let out a shaky moan with your orgasm, clenching around his thick fingers and somehow getting even wetter.

“So fucking pretty when you cum for me,” he mumbles, and your eyelids flutter shut, trying to breathe through the aftershocks.

Miguel pulls his hand out of your gaping entrance, bringing his hand to his mouth and sucking your slick off his fingers. “Tastes so good, baby,” he murmurs, and you whine softly under your breath, completely at a loss for words.

Leaning down, he licks into your mouth, giving you a taste of yourself as he notches the thick, leaking head of his cock to your entrance, pushing in, in, in.

Like every time you take him, it’s so much, and you gasp into his mouth as his cock reaches so deep inside, spreading you wide enough that you fear you’ll break.

“I know, amorcita, I know, it’s so much, isn’t it?” he whispers against your lips as he pushes in to the hilt. "You’re taking it so well for me though, baby, so fucking good for me.”

He can’t help the groan that wrenches its way out of his throat when you clench around him like a vice, moaning high in the back of your throat. His hips move of their own accord, pulling slowly out of you before he shoves himself back in, and it feels like he reaches even deeper.

“God, Miguel-” you moan, “it feels so good, you feel so big.” And Miguel’s vision blurs at the edges, his eyes tingeing red at your words.

He loses himself to it, the way your cunt squeezes him every time he pushes inside, hot and tight and fucking maddening. You claw at his shoulders every time he presses deep, grinding the tip of his cock into your cunt while overwhelming pleasure sparks up your spine.

He wraps his strong arms around the small of your back, tugging you up into a nearly impossible arch as he fucks into you like a goddamn animal, your head pressed back into the pillows. “So fucking perfect,” he snarls, and God, he’s not even talking to you anymore. His eyes are unfocused, wild, unable to focus on your face or the sight of your swollen pussy as you take him over and over and over. But he doesn’t stop talking.

“Fucking perfect, beautiful girl, taking my cock so goddamn well. My fucking girl, so good to me with her perfect pussy, feels so good, Dios, necesito este cuerpo constantemente, mi nena, mierda-”

Your head swims, blood pounding in your ears as he takes and takes and takes. You feel tears fall down your cheeks, choked moans forcing their way from your lungs.

Your orgasm rips through you without warning, without buildup, your body just locking up and electrified like a livewire as you soak his cock, his thighs.

“Good girl,” he rasps. “That’s my good fucking girl.”

“Shit- Miguel-” you keen, but he only shushes you, nearly hissing through his fangs, as he pushes as deep as he can into your body, pumping you full as his cock pulses inside of you. It’s fucking everything, pure bliss, and you both tremble through it together. He lowers your hips slowly back down to the bed, keeping himself buried deep inside while you quake through the aftershocks.

Time passes, but you can’t tell how fast it does. Only that you try to match your breathing together, Miguel wiping the tears off your cheeks. “Fucking perfect,” he whispers, but you’re too fucked out to respond.

He pulls out slowly, rolling you to your side, and plastering himself to your back. You can hear the way he breathes you in, and you settle into his warm body.

“Got a thing for compliments, baby?” he murmurs into your hair.

“You ass, I was trying to be subtle about that,” you admonish, but you can’t help the way you smile.

“Can’t hide anything from me, sweetheart,” he chuckles, his chest rumbling against your back. You tilt your head to the side, and Miguel leans to meet you in a kiss.

“I’ve still got my secrets, O’Hara,” you mutter against his lips, and Miguel grins.

“If you say so, baby.”

#oh miguel with your tortured soul and big dick #let me fix you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara smut #miguel ohara x reader #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 smut #across the spiderverse fic #across the spiderverse smut

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