#ai muscle boss
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"Why aren't you on your knees, sucking already, boy? I've been in your office for the last twenty seconds! Way longer than I should have to wait to get what I deserve as the Alpha God Muscle Boss around here! There we go! I'm gonna make sure to fuck your cute lil face real good and cum all over it for disrespecting me like this! Then you'll get your spankings!"
#ai bodybuilder#ai muscle#ai daddy#ai men#ai generated#ai muscle boss#ai muscle daddy#ai hunk#huge as fuck#huge pecs#huge arms#tight clothes#dirty talk
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I request very politely, you better continue the camgirl story with all the smut there is or I'm suing 😫 Some proper thigh action would be nice 🤭
there's no thigh riding in this one, but it will happen i promise my darling, i owe you and i will deliver.
The Contract | Sugar Daddy!Aaron Hotchner
The Secrets We Keep (a Bunny and Clyde story) - Part Two
Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Aaron Hotchner x BAU/cam girl!Reader
Words: 5.6k
CW: 18+, mdni, nsfw.
Tags/warnings: D/s relationship, master!hotch x sub!reader, sex work (is real work), power imbalance/play, reader works at the bau and is a secret cam girl, hotch is a customer, pet names (bunny, sweet girl, good girl), (semi public) mutual masturbation, cum play, aftercare (is important istfg).
a/n: this fucking series and i...holy shit i cannot get enough of it. it's all i think about every day, i just can't stop thinking about them. my apologies to moments, it has been dethroned in my heart.
Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.
His lips were on you just as quickly as his hands.
It was overwhelming, your legs practically going numb as he pulled you into his room, all you could think to do was desperately try to deepen the kiss. He didn’t hold back, he couldn’t hold back, even if he wanted to, and thankfully you didn’t want that either.
You opened your mouth for him as his hands ran down your back to grab your ass, greedy, possessive, as if it had always belonged to him. He pulled you off the ground, maneuvering your legs to wrap around his waist. You obeyed without question, your legs holding onto him tightly as your arms hooked behind his neck.
It was a fervor of tongues clashing, teeth grazing, hands digging into soft skin. His finger nails dug harshly into your plush ass, eliciting a squeal from your throat. He groaned into the kiss in response, swiftly walking back towards the king size bed in his room and slamming you down on it.
You moaned into his mouth, the roughness only getting you going even more. He was sure he was living a dream, his heart beating so fast it was sure to explode. He pressed his body down over yours, enveloping you whole with his weight, keeping you trapped between him and the mattress.
It wasn’t that he thought you would escape, it was more that he didn’t even want to give you the option. You ground your hips into his crotch then, desperate hands trying to rip his shirt off his back.
He pulled back from the kiss, making sure to bite down on your bottom lip and tug as far as he was able before you tensed under him. Only then did he let go, swiftly pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere in the dark room.
You were panting hard, your ears were ringing, your chest and face were most definitely flushed crimson. You could feel him press his crotch into yours, hard, stiff, warm. So warm it almost made you melt into him.
Your hands immediately traced over his back, fingers gliding over every muscle, every ride, every dimple. His own returned to your body just as hungrily, his fingers gently tracing down your chin, your neck, your arms, your sides, before they made their home on your hips, squeezing them experimentally to gauge your reaction.
You hummed, running your own arms down his chest to pull him closer to you once more. This was everything, it was too much, having your boss so close, so warm against your core, so desperate and needy for you, just like user1102, was making your head feel dizzy with pleasure.
“Please, Master,” you whined. “I need—”
Your stomach growled loudly then, reminding you that you were actually starving.
You couldn’t help the giggle that erupted out of your mouth and into his, his own lips curling into a soft smile as he pressed them to yours one final time before he detached himself completely from your body.
You sat yourself up, eyes watching his every move like a hawk. He turned on the light, the faint glow from the one at the entrance of his room not enough as he now needed the entire room to be bathed in it, to sober him up enough to be able to restrain himself from taking you right then and there.
He turned to face you the second that it did, to fully take you in, to make sure that it hadn’t been a dream. You were still there, still panting softly, still looking at him with those round, expressive eyes he adored.
“When did you figure it out?” you asked him softly, clearly eager to fill the overwhelming silence that had taken over the room.
He walked over to the mini bar and poured a glass of water before he finally addressed you.
“I started to suspect the day you hit your foot at the office.”
Your eyes widened immediately, your cheeks flushing in response as you remembered that you’d seen him that same night…privately. You fell back on the bed, hands covering your face in embarrassment.
“No!” you whined. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
You felt him walk back over to the bed and sit on the other side, far away and yet incredibly close.
“I wasn’t sure,” he replied, gently nudging you to look at him.
You took a short, steadying breath before you let your hands slip away from your face, eyes finally adjusting and making out the glass of water and sandwich he’d bought for himself in his hands.
You smiled brightly, the prospect of Hotch, of your boss, of user1102 taking care of you, made your heart flutter. You got up to your knees, carefully taking the two items before you settled criss cross on the bed in front of him.
“What about now?” you asked him in between gulps of water, remembering all the other times he’d watched you drink it diligently after a particularly demanding scene. “What do you want now that you know?”
He took the glass back from you and placed it on the bedside table once it was empty. “Good girl,” the words spilled out of his mouth out of habit and you immediately stilled, the heat in your lower belly slowly starting to build back up.
He noticed your reaction, subtle and yet it made him feel like the most powerful person in the world.
“We shouldn’t,” he stated as a matter of fact. “Not right now.”
Your face immediately fell into a deep pout, almost unconsciously looking at him with wide, pleading eyes. He sighed deeply, looking down to break the spell you clearly had him under, his hands clutching onto the bed covers tightly.
“The things I want to do to you, sweet girl,” his voice was strained, hoarse, heavy on his chest. You were practically buzzing with anticipation, one second away from allowing your judgement to lapse and leap across the bed into his arms.
But you knew he was right. You knew you shouldn’t rush into this, as much as you trusted him, as much as you knew him, as much as he made your heart practically leap out of your chest with a simple glance.
You didn’t have a lot of time, your mind already racing with excuses to give Emily if you found her still awake when you got back to the room.
“I want,” he started, voice calm, collected, clear. “I want to be your Dom, bunny.”
He watched your reaction to his words like a hawk. Your entire body tensed, all the memories of your encounters over the past few months crashing down on you like a tidal wave. Only you weren’t drowning, but rather being filled with so much air it was overwhelming.
Your gaze met his, the rest of his face devoid of any emotion, and yet his brown eyes were overflowing with them. He was terrified, positively horror-stricken about how you may react, about losing not only your friendship but also the outlet of release he’d grown to depend on.
But instead, you just beamed at him. You threw your things on the mattress before you shot back up to your knees and shuffled across the bed towards him.
He let you, his heart going so fast he couldn’t feel his arms or legs. You sat yourself over his lap, arms wrapping around his neck again before your lips were on his. It was a soft kiss, so soft he almost thought it hadn’t happened. But then it did again, and again, and again, and again, and soon enough you were devouring him in the sweetest kisses he’d ever experienced.
His heart swelled, his hands shooting up to wrap around your back, pressing you tightly against him once more. “Is that a yes?”
“Enthusiastically,” you smiled before leaning back down to place another kiss on his now puffy lips.
And just like that, he had everything.
You returned to your room soon after, sandwich in hand and dizzy with happiness. He’d asked you to text him when you made it back, a small test to gage just how enthusiastic you were about this, and you hadn’t disappointed him, going as far as to reassure him that you really, really, really wanted this.
Aaron couldn’t sleep that night, he couldn’t get his mind to stop racing, his heart to calm down, his excitement to dwindle enough for him to even close his eyes. The adrenaline coursing through his veins was more powerful than after he’d run a marathon, and he needed to channel it into something or else he was going to go crazy.
He thought about touching himself, about relieving the ache in his crotch, but he’d told you not to even think about touching yourself, wanting to frustrate you just enough until the two of you entered an official agreement. And so he didn’t do it either, it was only fair.
Instead he sat himself at the small desk that came with the room and he wrote. He wrote everything he could think of, everything he wanted to do to you, how he wanted to take you, how he wanted to take care of you, how he wanted to punish you, how he wanted to dominate you.
He wrote until his alarm sounded and the sun started to fill the world outside in a faint warm glow. He wrote until Dave was knocking on his door to make sure he was alright. It was only then, when he’d finished writing everything, that he snapped back into reality, got himself ready for the day, and stepped out to meet the rest of the team.
He’d made sure to keep you as far away from him the entire day, not trusting himself to not linger, to not lose focus, to not give himself a single reason to take you in the precinct bathroom.
You had a suspect in custody by early afternoon, and he’d made sure to keep you in the precinct with Reid, where you were safe. He was sure you knew why he’d made the call, it was pretty obvious and would definitely be one of the things that the two of you had to discuss.
But it didn’t matter, at least not right now. You didn’t even think to disobey, didn’t even think about the fact that he was definitely doing this because of everything that had happened the night before, didn’t even begin to let the new dynamic between the two of you settle. You’d been distracted all day, desperately trying to not allow your feelings for him to show.
It was dark by the time you boarded the plane back to Quantico, everyone pretty much determined to get some rest before you made it back. The couch was the first to go, Morgan and Reid fighting over it like children until Morgan won out, immediately plopping down on it and turning his headphones on high.
Rossi and Spencer took up the single seats facing the bathroom and kitchen while Emily and JJ took up a double seater, leaving you and Aaron at the head of the plane alone. You sat next to the window by yourself, as far away from JJ and Emily as you could just in case he had other plans than sleeping.
It took everything in him to not sit down next to you right away, the action would’ve been too obvious with all the empty seats around. And so for the first twenty minutes of the flight, you sat alone, waiting, trying to distract yourself by looking out the window.
He’d been staring at you relentlessly, impatiently waiting for the plane to stabilize in the air before thinking about approaching. He’d sat himself down at the perfect angle to watch you, his laptop light being the only one illuminating the otherwise pitch black plane.
He’d been reading the contract again, making sure that whatever he’d written in his sleep deprived and incredibly horny state was actually coherent, and properly worded before sending it to you.
Once he was sure everyone else was asleep, once he made sure that everything was worded as clearly as possible since there was no need for any twisted legal jargon, once he made sure that he was calm and collected enough, he hit send and watched as your phone lit up on the table beside you.
Your attention was finally brought back to the room, your hand shakily picking up the device before you saw what he’d sent you. He’d been smart to send it to your encrypted chat instead of to your official email, but it didn’t make it any less daunting, the lines between you and Aaron, and bouncingbunny1 and user1102 officially blurring.
You didn’t even dare glance in his direction, terrified of what it would do to you when you caught a glimpse of just how pent up he was. Instead you opened the file and began reading.
To say he was thorough was an understatement. You knew Aaron never did things halfway, never did things without thinking them through, and he’d clearly been thinking about this for a while.
He’d confessed early on in your private sessions that he’d never done anything like this before, never demanded complete control over someone in the way that he wanted over you. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t curious, willing to put in the work and learn.
You’d spent the entire first month just learning each other’s limits, him learning yours and discovering his own. By the second month he was more confident, eager to try things he’d found, determined to start having fun after setting up the foundation of trust between the two of you.
You had been enthusiastic from the start, never actually having someone exert this amount of dominance over you before. Sure, you’d had a few partners who were rough and liked to sometimes use you in the way you truly craved, but it had never been like this. You’d never gotten to explore the lifestyle this fully, with rules and requirements and clauses in place to protect yourself and your partner.
By the third month you’d gotten into a very comfortable routine with user1102, knew what to expect from your sessions, and it was through that knowledge that you somehow became even more excited to meet with him.
But there was just so much you could do, so much he could do to keep things interesting, to fill the ache in your chest, to fill the ache in your core. Your fingers had quickly become not enough so you’d started to use toys, and after a while even that wasn’t enough. You wanted him, needed him, craved him, in the flesh, to do the things he’d been making you do to yourself.
There had been a particularly tough case few weeks back that had you aching and desperate. You’d made it back home worked up, almost as badly as the first time you’d met him, and all you could think about was needing to be fucked so hard you forgot your name.
You were so close to biting the bullet, so close to asking him to meet face to face, so close to begging for him to come use you. But you knew you shouldn’t, knew that no matter how much you trusted him, you’d never seen his face, didn’t even know his name, and that could’ve been disastrous.
You didn’t realize you’d started rubbing your thighs together until you accidentally tapped your clit against the rough hem of your underwear. Your mouth was watering, your chest was practically heaving, your eyes clouded in lust as you read through the list of kinks that he had so thoroughly provided.
It was long, from calmer ones like spanking to the rougher ones he’d told you he fantasized about like collars and leashes. He was so perfect, your kinks lining up so perfectly that it almost felt like he’d been made just for you…or maybe you’d been made just for him, for each other.
You knew he was watching you from across the aisle, knew he was making sure to catch every reaction, every thought, every time your breath hitched. He needed to see it all, needed to know that you were consenting enthusiastically every step of the way, because even an ounce of hesitation and he would put a stop to it immediately.
bouncingbunny1: Master?
You bit down on your lip as you watched him pick up his phone, his attention off you and back on you virtually exhilarating.
user1102: Yes, bunny?
bouncingbunny1: May I please please please please pretty please touch myself?
He fought the urge to slam his laptop and cross the aisle towards you. Instead he took a steadying breath, daring to look at you, your puppy eyes and disarming pout barely visible in the low light of your phone screen.
But the little that he saw was enough to make him lose it, to finally realize that it didn’t matter just how much he wanted to be in control of you, you would always be in control of him first. Whatever you wanted, he would give to you, and the thought didn’t scare him, instead it only made him want you more.
user1102: Go to the bathroom and wait for me in there.
He watched as you locked your phone, plunging you in darkness once more before you slid out of your seat and made your way to the back of the plane. He waited impatiently for a few minutes, the anticipation of what he was about to do, to make you do, to see, finally in the flesh, made his heart beat rise like bile up his throat.
He finally stood, slowly yet surely walking across the plane, carefully making sure that no one had woken up, that no one knew what was happening. He didn’t need the looks, didn’t need wandering eyes to put two and two together, wanted to keep this just between the two of you, the privacy you deserved to figure whatever this was out the most important thing in his mind.
He stood in front of the unlocked bathroom for a second, steadying himself, getting out of his head and allowing him to slip into the role he’d been dreaming of playing for so long.
The bathroom was barely big enough for two people, but he squeezed in there regardless, his back pressed to the door tightly so that he didn’t touch you. You were just as overwhelmed as he was, your chest rising and falling deeply, your eyes glossed over with desire, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt.
He smirked to himself, the knowledge that you had gone to the bathroom before you left the precinct and changed into a skirt because you knew some version of this exact thing would happen almost enough to make him want to deny you of the pleasure.
He wanted to keep this professional, like it had been every time he called. One last time for old time’s sake, one last time before you were both responsible about this and discussed everything that he’d just sent you, one last time before you signed your names on a piece of paper that made you his officially. Only then would he allow himself to touch you, to worship you, to give you everything you wanted.
“On the counter,” he told you, eager to put some space between the two of you.
He watched you like a hawk, starving eyes following every twitch, every breath, every movement diligently. Your brain processed his words and you stepped forward, jumping on the vanity and waiting patiently for his next command. It had been like this for a while, this understanding of each other, of receiving and accepting.
He moved to face you, so close to you, to your open legs, to where he desperately craved to be. And still far enough that you were starting to get desperate, needy, whiny with each second that his hands weren’t on you.
“Bunch your skirt around your waist,” he continued, his strong hand coming up to rest over his growing erection.
You did as he said, eyes never leaving his. Your hands shook over your sheer tights, almost eagerly hooking under them and pulling them down your legs. But you stopped yourself, returning your hand back to its place against the sink to hold you up.
“Good girl,” he praised, his hand squeezing himself through his pants. That’s when you caught onto his game, caught onto what he was going to ask you to do since that was exactly what you had asked after all. “You can take them off now.”
You’ve never taken off your tights faster. There was always an issue, always something they got hooked on or an area where they stuck to your skin. But tonight they slid off your legs without so much as a beat too late. You tossed them to the side hurriedly and were met with an amused chuckle from the man in front of you.
But as much as he was trying to appear calm and collected, his hand had tightened his movements, his grip on himself clearly eager as well.
“Fuck,” you whispered, clearly enjoying the sight, the sight that he’d never allowed you to see, the sight that you’ve been fantasizing about for months.
“Go ahead, make yourself cum, bunny,” he groaned, back pressing against the wall farther to hold himself up.
Your cheeks immediately flushed crimson, embarrassment washing over you in burning hot waves. It was silly, you knew that. You’d done that and so much more for him, because of him for months. He’s probably seen you in as many positions, with as many toys, cumming in just as many ways — and yet this is what got you.
Make yourself cum. Make yourself cum while your boss watched you, make yourself cum while user1102 touches himself, make yourself cum while Aaron held your stare in his and completely shattered whatever platonic friendship the two of you have built for the past year.
“Don’t get shy on me now, sweet girl,” he cooed, his hand stilling its movements as an incentive for you to start yours.
You took one final steadying breath before you plunged, damning every self conscious thought you had into the darkest pits of your brain.
Your left hand slid down your stomach, teasing, making him pay for what he’s doing to you, as you pulled your legs up on the vanity, knees bent towards your chest.
His eyes glimmered in the light of the bathroom, his mouth slowly hanging open in anticipation, practically salivating for you.
You pressed your back against the mirror as your fingers hooked into your panties, pulling the completely soaked material to the side, exposing your slick folds to him. You watched him eagerly as he took in a sharp breath, his eyes darting between yours and your heat.
He was quick to reward you, his own hands unbuckling his belt unbearably slow. Two could play at this game, but neither of you had the patience for it right now. Your right hand flew right to your pussy, fingers quickly tracing the length of your folds, gathering your wetness towards your clit.
You moaned, just for him, just to remind him of what he should be doing as well, and he wasted no time sliding his zipper down and greedily pulling his cock out of his underwear.
You forgot how to breathe for a second, your brain struggling to process what it was seeing. He was big, bigger than your fantasies had concocted, bigger than you ever though he could’ve been, bigger than you knew what to do with. He smirked at the attention, stepping forward to bring it back to his face.
“Spit in my hand, bunny,” he extended his open palm to you and you could’ve sworn your head had exploded.
It took you a second to decide what to do. Your right hand returned to your aching entrance, gathering as much of your arousal as you could before you slapped your slick covered fingers against his palm.
He groaned loudly, so much so that it made your walls clench around nothing as even more leaked out of you. Before he could pull back, you brought his hand forward. You gathered as much saliva as you could in your mouth before leaning forward, eyes staring up at him filled with innocence, and you let the spit fall through your pursed lips onto his hand, mixing with the rest of your juices.
“Oh bunny, you’re killing me,” he moaned, his now drenched hand wrapping around his cock swiftly.
You smiled up at him, prideful, filthy, lustful, before your hand returned to its previous motions. You focused your energy on your clit now, slow and tight circles, matching the pace he subconsciously set.
As much as Aaron had revered to watch you pleasure yourself through his screen, that had been nothing compared to the real deal, to having you displayed in front of him, to knowing that he could reach out and touch you if he wanted.
“Finger yourself with your other hand,” he said through gritted teeth, the roughness of his hand around his sensitive tip almost pushing him over the edge. But he wasn’t done, he didn’t want to be, at least not yet.
You did as he wanted, making sure to open your legs wider so that he could watch as your fingers slid in and out of you. He moaned then, the sound practically vibrating in tandem with the airplane around you, making you almost feel him all around you.
He picked up his pace, strokes becoming more and more aggressive as he encouraged you to do the same. He was close, you could tell, and it swelled your chest with pride.
Usually you had to hear him closely, listen for those grunts that always let you know he was getting there. But seeing how his jaw tensed, how his breathing strained, how his hand squeezed harder around himself — you could not take it, your own tension building.
He knew that reaction well. He’d seen you wear it many times before. Your fingers were curling meticulously against your g-spot, your other ones picking up their pace over your clit while your thighs began to close together, seeking to relieve the tension.
But what made it even sweeter was the way he could now see your desire plastered all over your face, like you were the easiest book he’d ever read.
You looked at him, pleading, a broken shell of the confident agent he’d gotten the chance to know, turned into the slut he knew you could be. He took another step forward, his erection unbelievably close to your entrance, one more step and his tip would be in you.
You let out a gasp, your gaze frozen on the minuscule distance between your bodies. You wanted him to move forward, needed him to fill you up and relief the ache inside of you. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t and you knew it well.
Even then, in your desperation, you admired his determination to do things the right way. You both needed release, both craved it desperately, but he was not about to jeopardize your future relationship, one that needed to be built on of trust and communication and respect, for a quickie in the jet’s bathroom.
“Cum for me, bunny,” he told you, his voice gruff. You whimpered, allowing yourself to tune into the wave and ride it until it exploded within you.
You moaned loudly, your fingers not letting up their movements as you rode out your orgasm. Your walls clenched around your fingers, a gush of wetness pouring out of you to coat them in your slick.
His own strokes stilled for a moment, watching you come undone, savoring the fruits of his labor, waiting for you to come down from your high. It was only when your fingers slid out of you and you stilled your moments completely that he returned to his own.
“Can I cum in your panties, sweet girl?” he asked, his words getting tangled up in the unholy sounds spilling out of him.
You were hazy, your mind desperately trying to hold onto reality, onto your wits, onto the sound of his voice because you were terrified that if you didn’t, this would all disappear into thin air, back into the dream that you’d had for so long.
“Yes,” you managed, your shaky hand lifting up the front of your panties so that he could spill his seed over you.
His movements became erratic then, strokes became tugs, and just as quickly as it had began, it ended. He fully stepped into your personal space, his other hand wrapping around your thigh to keep you in place as he emptied himself into the wet cotton of your panties.
Your slick mixed with his spend, hot and heavy on your skin, clearly meant to mark you as his. He moaned into your ear, low, unhinged, euphoric, and you couldn’t help but whimper in return.
You were so far gone, so little and malleable, so much so that you knew that whatever he asked you to do then, you’d do it without question. Your head fell on the crook of his neck, labored breaths filling the room as he gently unhooked your fingers from your underwear to place it back to cover you.
He couldn’t stop looking at the white substance seeping through your panties, the squishy and lewdly wetness against your skin making him excited to fill your pussy up until you were leaking him everywhere.
You stayed like that for a few minutes. He knew he couldn’t keep you like that, couldn’t ask you to walk back out there and act as though nothing had happened, couldn’t risk you getting a rash because of his own ego.
At some point he tucked himself back into his boxers, getting himself back to the pristine put together image that he always was. He waited until you’d calmed down a little more before he cupped your face with his hands, pulling you to look at him again.
“Bunny, I’m going to get you all cleaned up, alright?”
You nodded, eyes sleepily blinking shut longer and longer. He set you back against the mirror, grabbing one of the towels and wetting it before he gently ran it over your hands and the inside of your thighs.
He set the towel to the side before he hooked his index fingers in your panties, pulling them down your legs before tossing them into the sink. He cleaned your pussy gently, making sure to get every last bit of the two of you off your delicate skin.
Once he was done, he patted you dry with another towel, reaching over to where your tights had landed to pick them up. He got on his knees, a sight that had you perking up just enough to catch him staring up at you with so much adoration you honestly didn’t know what to do with it.
It took everything in you not to melt right into his tough, to stay awake enough even though his warm finger riding up your legs was enough to lull you to sleep. It was only when he needed to hoist your tights over your ass that he picked you up, placing you back down on your shaky legs.
“Can you do me one last favor, sweet girl?” he whispered and you did your best to nod. “Can you pee for me? I don’t want you getting a UTI.”
You sighed deeply, being diligent not something you were looking forward to in that moment. But you nodded again, and he rewarded you with a soft kiss to your temple before he stepped outside of the bathroom to give you some privacy.
Once you were done, he walked you back to his seat on the plane, not caring if anyone saw because he knew that even if they did, they wouldn’t say anything at all. He made sure you were comfortable, wrapped in a blanket, buckled into the seat for safety, before he made his way back to the bathroom.
He cleaned everything up, going through his own routine before he washed his hands, pocketed your still damp panties, and made sure nothing looked out of place. He then grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge before making his way back to you.
He sat beside you, his hand softly grazing your cheek to wake you up long enough to press the bottle on your lips, silently urging you to drink.
You did without question, almost as if you’d done this all your life, the motion nothing more than routine, easy, normal.
“Master?” you whispered sweetly after he deemed you’d drank enough.
“Yes, bunny?”
“Can I have a kiss please?”
“Of course, sweet girl,” his nose tickled your own before his lips landed on yours, gentle, kind, perfect. You hummed against him, eyes closing for the final time before sleep overtook you.
He smiled proudly, his heart so full, so content, so excited for what the future had in store for the first time in a very long time. He watched you sleep the rest of the flight, watched you curl further into him, watched you reciprocate all of the feelings that had been plaguing him since the night before.
You wanted him just as much as he wanted you, and that was all he needed to lay the self-sabotage to bed, to allow himself to drift off to sleep, even if it was just for a few minutes so that he could fully take you in, because all he really needed was you curled into his side like you belonged there all along.
fucking hell i am oN MY KNEES for this man. honestly what a fucking jOY it is to write them.
send me more requests for bunny and clyde!! i don't really have a series planned for them so i'm down to just write requested scenarios and play around with where their story goes.
tags: @canuck-eh, @ssamorganhotchner, @xladyxdreamer, @gr3enflowers, @lilyviolets, @howabouticallyou, @shadowmemory, @simp4f1, @honeylovemoon, @powelvr25
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner x female reader#aaron hotchner smut#sugar daddy!hotch#dom hotch#master hotch#show your fangs writes#the secrets we keep#bunny and clyde#hotch x reader
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Cat Got Your Tongue?
(Miguel O’Hara x Female! Reader)
A/N: Hello~✨This is the one-shot version of this head cannon some one requested of Miguel O’Hara with a Black Cat!Reader. I still have no idea if this Anon , who I think I know who you are, wanted it to be the personality trope or the actual Spiderman character…oh well, I’m planning on writing one with y’all’s Spiderman x Black Cat lovers. Also this is my first attempt at some spicy content so feedback is appreciated.
Warnings: 18+ themes (Minors DNI), Not smut, Female Reader/Pronouns, Embarrassed Miguel, Jealousy, Dirty talk, and Google Translated Spanish (( again I’m sorry but hearing him talk in Spanish is literally just 🤤🤭🥵))
~~~~~~~~~
The sound of aggressive typing fills the empty space as six spider men enter the meeting place within the lobby of the Spider Society.
Miguel barely sparred any of them a glance as they mumbled their small formalities while dragging themselves to their seats. All except the one the blue spider absolutely loathed to see in this room.
“Good morning, Guapito~” A sultry voice purrs into his ear causing the hairs on his neck to stand up. The SpiderWoman’s minty breath caused Miguel to bite on his salivating tongue as he chewed out. “Good morning, (L/N). Please take your seat.”
Throwing on a mask of annoyance, he glares at the snickering temperest as she sits beside him.
The new addition to the society joined about three weeks ago and Miguel never regretted anything more in his life than letting her bat her eyelashes into his team. Her faux innocence deceived him into believing she wouldn’t be too much trouble until the devil perked her head out of her.
Soon accidental brushes in the corridor turned into lingering caresses. Polite compliments turned into flirty promises as she continued to twist him around her finger. He should hate it. Hate every single bat of those long eyelashes. Hate every cat like curl to her lip. Hate how she acentuates her muscles and curves when she’s close to him. But he doesn’t.
The only thing he can possibly think that he hates about her was the ravage thoughts she puts into his head.
And he hates how he loves it.
“Alright, since we are all here.” He states as he opens the holographic map through out the room. “We are dealing with a dangerous anomaly in dimension 1746.”
As he finishes that sentence, a brush of something against his calf makes his muscles jump. He controls his face to remain calm and collected despite the urge to glare at the snickering spider beside him.
The others look at her confused for a moment before she fakes a sneeze into her elbow.
“Oh, excuse me.” She plays innocent as she grabs a tissue and dabs her nose. “The change in season in my world is causing a really bad allergy season…”
Her pitiful excuse causes the others to turn back towards their leader with a soft chorus of ‘bless yous’ plays out. Her eyes turn to meet his ruby gaze as a sinister smile curls on her pretty mouth.
‘Ella va a ser la muerte para mí.’ Miguel mentally groans as he throws himself back into the meeting.
“Lyla.” Miguel calls as he watches the heart eyed AI materialize infront of him.
“Yea, boss?” She says as she picks at her nails. He fights the urge to roll his eyes as he calmly asks, “Please show us all the information you gathered about the anomaly and what should we expect.”
“Isn’t that your job as the leader to do that?” The computer teases as Miguel glares at her.
“It does sound a lot more interesting when you explain it, sir.” A voice purrs beside him, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand. His talons crack out of his skin as he grinned his teeth. Luckily, the red glow from the map allowed his heated cheeks to blend in.
“Well, (L/N), Maybe you should learn how to listen more to others.” Miguel grits out.
“Yea, hot stuff.” One of the spidermen whistles. “I’ll let you listen to me all night long.” He flirts as he uses the lense of his mask to wink at her.
The table almost cracks beneath the grip he on it as he tries to focus back on Lyla. “Parker-7853, you better watch your mouth before I send you home to your wife…” He warns he avoids eye contact.
The room goes back to the normal silence it was before as they all paid attention to Lyla explain the rules of the mission and the best ways to take out the anomaly without causing too much destruction to the fabric of space. Miguel focuses intently in front of him, but nothing the AI says processes through his brain.
The only thing he can think about was the burning gaze of the woman beside him. How she scoots a little closer and lightly traces her nail along his thigh.
‘Shit…’
As the agonizing minutes past by, the torture only got worse. Slight brushes along his leg and side, silent muttering of sweet nothings, disguised questions to hide the flirty remarks, and hyper attention on all of her perfume drove him mad.
His stomach was all in knots as he tried to remain composed as the meeting drew closer to the end. His fingers itched from the talons digging so deep into the chair as his fangs ached for a relief from the hunger she started in him. It’s hard to believe that she isn’t a Silk variant with how much she affected him….
The tension building in the room went unacknowledged but not unnoticed by the other spider men as Miguel’s signature frown was now a hardened scowl. The others didn’t dare point it out. They knew better than to call out their leader for being obviously distracted from the mission. They were all there when Miles Morales was at their base.
As the meeting ended, every spider man rushed out of the room before Miguel could properly dismiss them, leaving only him and his problem. The she-devil smiles sweetly as him as she stands up and innocently says,
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Right, Papi?” Her eyes shining with a look of mischief until she realized she broke the last bit of his resolve.
“Leaving so soon?” Miguel uncharacteristically smirks as he stands up and follows behind the woman. “I was hoping…” He pushes a button to cause the door to slam shut before the spider could escape his web. “We can have a quick chat about your behavior today.”
She turns and looks up at him in shock for a brief moment before slipping on her usual mask of flirtation. Her lovely eyes jumping from his looming figure towards any other way she could possibly escape. This wasn’t the usual reaction she would get from Miguel. He would normally scold her or roll his eyes at her advances, but today was different.
She’s fucked this time.
“Oh? I get some alone time with you today, Guapito?” She stuttered out as the growing dread and excitement bubbles up from her stomach into her rapid beating heart.
“Did you enjoy that?” Miguel asks sweetly, ignoring her comment as he stands just inches in front of her. His hand comes up beside her head and is placed against the door. His body leans forward as his open hand supports his weight. The tangible effect of watching his arm and shoulder flex from the strain almost causes her to pull her lip in between her teeth.
“En-enjoy what?” She acts coy as she tries to keep her eyes on his chest. She watches it vibrate with the deep cruel chuckle he releases and her own heart starts trembling as the smell of his cologne suffocates the air around them.
“Aw, is Gatita struggling to speak now?” A coo of false concern is laced with his amusement as she feels his other hand coming up beside her head. “What’s wrong, Gatita? Cat got your tongue?”
He chuckles at her struggling to respond as he threads his talons through her hair. He yanks her head back against the door softly as his hunger filled eyes burn into her wide ones. Jealousy and a long denied desire were now pouring out into his smirk as he leans down whispering,
“Crees que es divertido jugar conmigo así, ¿sí? ¿Delante de todos tus colegas?” His smirk widens revealing his fangs as he trails down slightly. Her body starts to shake from the anticipation as his nose traces fire from her cheek bone and along her jawline.
“I-I don’t-“ Miguel hushes her softly as his other hand comes to rest on her hip. “Pobre gatita... ni siquiera puede defenderse... incluso cuando otro hombre amenaza con llevársela a casa…” He tuts at her as the talons lightly dig into her neck and hip.
“Estuve a punto de pensar en tomarte en ese mismo momento... que todos escuchen lo buena chica que puedes ser para mí…” The Spider Woman had to bite her lip to hold back the noise building in the back of her throat as his fangs lightly scrape against her throat as he uttered sweetly bad things to her.
He smirks at this before saying, “Tal vez incluso te paralice con mi veneno para que puedas suplicar sin poder hacer nada... pero te gustaría eso, ¿verdad, niña bonita?”
She vigorously nods as the mask of false bravado finally falls off before Miguel tightens his grip in her hair, causing a soft moan to escape her pretty glossed lips.
“Words, Gatita. I want to hear you…” He scolds as he looks at how pathetic the once flirty spider had become in his touch.
“Yes!” She admits as her hands shot up and clung to his chest as the stinging from her scalp causes her to yelp.
“Good…” His face comes back up to her own as he starts to lean toward. Her own eyes flutter shut as she waits for the feeling of his lips against her own.
But nothing came. Instead she felt his hands completely remove themselves off of her as her eyes shot open. Miguel chuckles at the stop whine as he smirks devilishly at her.
“This will have to continue another time, Gatita…” He says as he unlocks the door. His face quickly trains back to the normal stern expression he always wears before saying, “But, don’t you dare try to embarrass me in front of the others again or else I will do as I promised…”
The spider scurries out of there with a tight “Yes, sir.” As Miguel chuckles in satisfaction.
Before he could leave, the yellow AI materializes again with a wicked smile on her face as she teases, “So you do like her?…if you’re gonna sleep with her, please don’t do it when I’m around. It was hard enough watching your two eye fuck the whole-“
“Lyla, shut up.”
~~~~~~~~~
Translations:
Ella va a ser la muerte para mí.- She's gonna be the death of me.
Gatita-little kitten?? ((It also said it meant cooked 😭))
You think it's fun to play with me like this, okay? In front of all your colleagues?- Crees que es divertido jugar conmigo así, ¿sí? ¿Delante de todos tus colegas?
Pobre gatita... ni siquiera puede defenderse... incluso cuando otro hombre amenaza con llevársela a casa…-Poor little kitten...can't even defend herself...even when another man threatens to take her home...
Estuve a punto de pensar en tomarte en ese mismo momento... que todos escuchen lo buena chica que puedes ser para mí…—I almost thought about taking you right then and there...let them all hear how much of a good girl you can be for me…
Tal vez incluso te paralice con mi veneno para que puedas suplicar sin poder hacer nada... pero te gustaría eso, ¿verdad, niña bonita?-Maybe even paralyze you with my venom so you can helplessly beg...but you would like that wouldn't you, pretty girl?
#miguel o’hara x reader#spiderman#spiderman 2099#spiderman 2099 x reader#spiderman across the spiderverse#spiderman into the spiderverse#miguel ohara#fanfic#across the spiderverse#miguel o’hara
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Of Atlas and Sisyphus (NSFW)
Part 1 | Part 2
Part 2: Overthinking and Overflowing
Pairing: MiguelO'Hara x afab!Reader
Themes: Romance, Fluff, NSFW, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn.
Word Count: 9.4k words
Synopsis: Reader wakes up at the Spider HQ Med Bay and needs further care. Miguel spends his day watching the recording of their last mission. None of them are ready to face each other. But circumstances and a perky AI assistant say otherwise.
Trigger Warnings/TWs: blood, wound, piercing damage, reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns, miscommunication, emotionally constipated idiots, a bit of power imbalance because boss x underling (but ever so slightly), hand job, oral sex (female and male receiving), very soft femdom.
A/N: sorry for the wait. Life happened but I managed to push this one out! I'm thinking of doing a third part to really solidify the ending of this things. Comments and rebblogs keep me motivated! Have a nice read :)
The very first thing that hit you when you next opened your eyes was a feeling of unfamiliarity. The white ceiling lights buzzed overhead, overwhelming your sight; the mattress and pillow you laid on felt harder than you were used to, there was a distinct antiseptic smell in the air and somewhere in the vicinity a machine beeped. You tried getting up, but your muscles failed you, bringing you right back down. The little ruckus you caused made someone gasp nearby.
"Careful now," a masked nurse hastily came over your bed "We can't have you accidentally unhooking yourself from the IV-drip."
In your daze, it took a few seconds to register that the nurse was a Spider-Woman, a few more seconds to realize it meant you were at HQ's Med Bay and even more for it to click that that's NOT where you were supposed to be. You sat upright suddenly as dread coursed through your body, successfully yanking the needle out of your arm "The Goblin! I gotta- "
With a sigh, the nurse gently pushed you back into the bed with a hush. "It's all right, dear. It's been dealt with," she proceeded to reset the IV needle in your arm "Boss brought both you and the Anomaly back to HQ. Your Universe is safe, you need to rest now."
"Miguel… ?" You croaked, the memories of the missions slowly coming back to you "Is he ok?"
"Yes, he was dismissed not too long ago," she reassured you "He wasn't injected with as much venom as you did, and he's also much bigger than you - it almost didn't affect him."
"Venom…?"
"Oh, right. You wouldn't know," she chirped "The projectile you took was venomous, it did a number to your body and halted your healing. But don't worry, we're working to fix that.You should be right as rain in a day or two!"
"Right…"
"Well, I need to attend to other matters now," she said in a gentle tone "There's a little button on the wall over there, press it if you need anything and I'll come running, ok? Now, get some rest."
You watched the nurse hop out of your room before sinking into the pillow with a heavy exhale. You didn't finish the mission; you couldn't carry your own weight to catch an Anomaly in your own dimension. Miguel had to do it. He caught the Anomaly by himself and had to carry your unconscious body back to HQ. Your only contribution was being dead weight.
To make matters worse, according to the nurse, you'd be stuck in the Med Bay for at least another day. This meant that all the unfinished work you left at your workstation would inevitably get delayed. Consequently, all the new tasks that you'd surely be assigned to will stack up and, thereafter, also get delayed. You shielded your eyes with your forearm as you groaned, the amount of extra hours you'd have to put in to compensate already sent a shiver down your spine; an all-nighter was definitely due. You just hoped no unforeseen crisis strike in the meantime - adding Miguel juggling a million tasks at once to quench a metaphorical fire by himself to the fiasco that your mission with him was just added more weight to your already heavy consciousness (and another jab to your very much hurt pride). You also didn't want to have him going through stress by himself when you could very well be there to share the load - that's precisely what you've been trying to accomplish all this time after all. As capable as he was, he was still just one person - he needed you.
Wait…
He needed you.
"Because I need you."
He… He said that, didn't he? You were not entirely sure, you were in a rather delirious state right before passing out. It could have very well been a fabrication of a blood-deprived (and poisoned, as you just learned) mind that has been yearning for him for far too long. But somehow, it felt real… You've dreamed about Miguel before and it didn't matter which scenario your subconscious made up, waking up always left you with a bittersweet feeling afterwards, like you've been yanked away from your own Garden of Eden. But this particular memory had an intensity behind it, an unrelenting force. Like that first sip of cold water on a very hot summer day.
You swatted that notion away before escalating your swooning any further over a single crumb of hope. 'Because I need you' could mean anything, it didn’t necessarily have to do with romance or lust. If you recalled correctly, you were in the middle of quitting your job, he could very well have meant he needed you working in the lab with him. As in 'You became a valuable asset to the Society, replacing you would be too troublesome. I need you'.
Heh… Despite not being ideally what you wanted it to mean, the thought still amused you. Miguel finally admitted he saw worth in your contributions to the Society, after all these months of getting nothing but criticism and scoldings. And you could hear in his voice how he struggled to let the words out, how strained and a bit desperate he sounded. Like he was running out of choices and just had to use the truth for once.
It really was amusing how much leverage he gave you over him.
Miguel didn't want you to know he needed you and you couldn't wait to rub it in his face.
—--
Miguel didn't want you to know he needed you and he dreaded to see your reaction now that you did.
It had been a full day since he was dismissed from the Med Bay and he couldn't concentrate on anything. And it's not like he wasn't trying; he kept forcing himself to focus - compartmentalizing tasks in more palatable chunks, timing his strides and peppering them with short breaks, and even going as far as vocalizing out loud what he was trying to accomplish step by step - but no matter what he did, his thoughts kept circling back to you and everything that went down in your dimension.
After the ninth time failing to keep a steady flow of work going, Miguel finally gave-up. Among the catalog of yesterday's missions log files, he put up the VOD of the mission at your dimension and silently watched it. He paused the moment before you were hit with the Goblin's javelin and felt his stomach churn; he watched himself curled up on screen, trying to fix his suit, pathetically oblivious to the impending attack coming from behind him. The next second you were lunging at him, getting the Goblin's attention and successfully protecting him at the cost of your wound.
How… Pathetic.
His intention to accompany you on your next few missions was to protect you - he knew you bore a grave injury from a past job, he wanted to aid you until you were fully healed. To watch him be a hindrance that caused you further harm made him feel disgusting; and knowing it was because he didn't have Spider-Sense the same way most (bright and cheerful) Spider-People had just added more insult to the injury.
But the fight with the Goblin wasn't the reason he wanted to watch the Video Log in the first place. He kept watching it until he got to the part he wished to revisit - the moment the argument broke out. Unsurprisingly, he was the one who triggered the conflict.
"Why the shock were you exerting yourself when you should have been resting?"
Miguel groaned at his tone. He didn't have to be an asshole when all he wanted was for you to be more careful with your well-being. But at this point, being a jerk towards you became second nature - a defense mechanism born from the need of keeping you at arm's length; treating you the complete opposite of how he felt about you to ensure you were kept safe from him. If you ended up hating him all the better. But actions have consequences, and tipping you off yet again was just that. He couldn't blame you for snapping, he had been pushing you for a while now - the band was bound to break.
What he didn't foresee was that said reaction encapsulated your sudden decision to quit Spider Society altogether AND your stubborn persistence in flinging yourself back into the mission while gravely injured. His mind went into overdrive trying to salvage the situation while keeping the professional facade. He watched the moment he grabbed your wrist, the same desperation he felt then creeping up all over again. The havoc inside him caused the beast to get set loose and he recalled almost doing something stupid as he gazed into your eyes, like kissing you. It was said thought that jolted him out of his stupor, forcefully yanking the beast's leash back and making him utter the most ridiculous statement in a desperate attempt to bring the conversation back to a professional ground (it didn't).
"You're going to jeopardize this mission in your current condition."
He had to pause the video to take a breath, the surge of shame too much to bear. There were a million other ways to address your relentlessness that would both convey the message and still sound professional, but his thick skull decided to go with the ballistic option. But then again, it was the easier route, par for the course; being as mean as possible to make sure his true intentions and feelings were kept secret. He unpaused the video, and your next words were his undoing.
"I'm DONE being your silly little plaything."
What the shock could you possibly have meant with that? Yes, he had been an asshole to you for the last few months (even if not intentional), but he wasn't toying with you. To make someone a plaything means bestowing them a lesser status; is to perceive them as a mere toy, an unfeeling object undeserving of respect. And that was the last thing Miguel connected you with; to him you were a goddess, worthy of worship and absolutely unattainable. You were his muse and his tormentor, his salvation and his undoing. Far too important to him even consider playing with. The revelation that this is how you felt broke him; destroyed him to the point that made him falter and his next words practically spilled from him.
"Because I need you."
There they were. The words that escaped his lips and which possible repercussions he dreaded. The little confession that's been keeping him from concentrating in anything else. In his desperation to remedy the notion you held, he waned and the beast broke free; it spoke in his stead and revealed more than Miguel was ready to admit. In a (terrible) way, he was lucky you passed out soon after; who knows what else would come into the light had the conversation gone any further.
Yet, even though the words he uttered didn't actually convey much, the implications behind them had the potential to roar. It shouldn't take a genius to logic their way to the truth and you were highly intelligent. And he dreaded how you'd react to it, how disgusted you'd feel upon realizing the beast fell for you. Only he was no prince under a spell, he was just that - a monster.
"Miguel? Heeey, Miguel! Are you listening?"
It took Lyla to pop up in front of his eyes, completely blocking the screen he was looking at, for Miguel to finally notice her. From her frantic gesturing alone, he could tell she had been trying to get his attention for a while.
"Ah, perdón, Lyla. I am now."
"Good grief, Miguel. You are uncharacteristically slow today," she quipped, feigning annoyance. "Did the venom from that Goblin affect your cognition?"
"I–What? No," it took a minute for Miguel to understand Lyla had insulted him "Callaté."
The AI ignored Miguel, opting to scan whatever he was working on. She assumed she'd have more luck understanding her master's plight through any other way than getting him to talk. Upon realizing the video file he was watching, she paused with an oh.
"I'm gonna throw some statements at you, and you're gonna tell me if they are true or not," she said more calmly. Before he could muster anything, she continued "You are worried about what you said during yesterday's mission.'
Miguel took a moment before responding "True."
"You don't want her to know about your feelings."
"...true."
She paused, mulling over her next statement before continuing "You think you're not reciprocated."
Miguel frowned "Fal– No, that's not even– She couldn't possibly–"
The mere thought of you reciprocating his feelings was ludicrous. Of all people, why would you fall for him - a barely human, brutish, hard-headed monstrosity. In the Society alone he could think of a good number of Spiders that you were more likely to fall for; the cheerful, laid-back types who could touch you without fear of accidentally sinking their talons into you. Lyla was delusional to even suggest that.
"Drop it, Lyla."
The AI took a minute to study Miguel, her expression unreadable. The next second, her eyes shifted, unfocused, and a glimpse of a mischievous grin spread across her face before turning to her master again.
"Aye aye, captain, consider it dropped," she said cheerfully. "On other news, you have that immersion treatment scheduled now. You better head to the Med Bay."
"Cancel it," he dismissed, the last thing he needed was to waste more time. But Lyla was having none of it.
"Not happening," she snapped her fingers and suddenly all screens from Miguel's workstation blinked off.
"Que carajo," Miguel spat, frantically trying to undo his assistant's input "Lyla! Restore the power this instant!"
"No can do, Miguel," she said, floating with her legs crossed in the air, while pretending to file her nails. "Even if it was just a little, you still got poisoned with that Goblin's venom. Doctor's orders."
Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, as he groaned. Finally, he dropped his shoulders with a huge exhale as he yielded "Fine…"
"Oh, and do me a favor while you're there, will you?" She added "I've found a strange entry in my command inputs, could you take a look at it?"
—
Miguel spent the whole walk to the Med Bay wondering how his life got to the point his AI assistant had more power over his life decisions than he did.
Once arriving, he was led to a private locker room and instructed to fully strip and enter the immersion pool area through the door on the other side of the room.
"The session should take an hour, give or take," the nurse informed him, "There's a clock in there, so don't worry about bringing any devices with you."
Once the nurse left him, he fully deactivated his suit, the digital material retracting from his head down, and wrapped a towel around his hips. Even if he was supposed to be by himself through the whole process - thus dispensing the need to protect his modesty -, it would be unlike him to not take precaution.
The very first thing that hit him when he opened the door to the pool area was the intense herbal smell that assaulted his sensitive nose. The second thing was how foggy the place was, provided by the temperature of the water. The third thing was a yelp.
"AH! What the– Wait… Miguel?"
You stood immersed in the water, at the far end of the pool. Miguel was stunned, trying to process the situation he walked into, his head working in overdrive: Why were you here? Did he go through the wrong door? No, there was only one door. How did he miss your scent? Oh, the fumes from the concoction must have overpowered it. Should you be here? Should he be here? Once his eyes fell to how your arms hugged your chest in an attempt to maintain some sort of propriety, he promptly turned on his heels as an intense heat flared up on his face.
"Shit! I'm sorry!" He spat. "I don't know what– I should– I'm gonna go."
He frantically tried opening the door back to the locker room, pressing the buttons on the door pad with more force than he should, but it was futile. As he punched the pad in frustration, Lyla popped up beside him.
"You're not leaving until you finish your treatment session," she sang.
"Lyla! Open this door this instant!" Miguel barked. Lyla just clicked her tongue.
"Just get in the water, the pool is big enough for the both of you," she replied "Besides, the mixture of medicines in the water make it very murky, you can barely make out what's under it."
"LYLA! NOW!"
"It's OK, Miguel," you said, your voice instantly starting to subdued Miguel's anger "You need this treatment too, you should get in."
Miguel brushed his hair back with his hand, his fingers running through his thick locks as he tried calming down to assess his situation. You were behind him completely vulnerable in an extreme state of undress, protected only by a thin veil of water. He shuddered at the thought, the image in his head alone sending all the blood in his body directly south. The beast inside of him wanted nothing more than to seize the opportunity to claim you here, shrouded by the vapors and the thick herbal smell. Getting in that water was risky, it would take a lot of him to keep control.
But what other option did he have? Lyla was adamant in making him go through the treatment, blocking the door control altogether. He had the power to just force his way out, tearing a hole in the metal with his talons, but he'd end up not only ruining your session but also exposing you (and the protectiveness in him was vehemently against it). He just had to endure it.
"Fine," he breathed out in defeat. He turned around, eyes down to avoid looking at you. He approached the pool's edge as he tugged on the towel around his hips "I'm gonna lose the towel, you… might want to look away."
You did not want to look away in the slightest, but you closed your eyes nonetheless out of respect. Once you heard the tell-tale splash followed by the ripples of water hitting you, you opened them again.
Neither you or Miguel spoke, the silence being broken only by the gentle humming of the water heater. The tension in the air was almost as palpable as the herbal steam flooding the room. Miguel kept himself on the opposite corner of the pool, as far from you as possible. He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest and sank as far as he could while resting the back of his head on the edge. His heart was racing, a mixture of arousal and embarrassment overwhelming his senses. He was fighting hard to relax, to be present in the moment and enjoy the break from the ever-present onslaught of responsibilities his life bestowed upon him, but your presence was proving too strong.
The beast inside of him stirred, flooding his mind with obscenities; you bent over at your hip on your belly at the edge of the pool, your ass on full display for him as he plunged his cock between your glistening folds; you sat at the edge with your feet in the water as he savored your nectar with his head between your thighs; him sitting on the shallow part of the pool with you on top of him, bouncing on his cock as he gripped your ass, watching your tits gorgeously jump from the movement. Miguel groaned, fighting to keep the beast on a tight leash as he tried to push the vulgarities away; fuck fuck fuck… What wouldn't he give for a chance to jerk these thoughts out of him, to release the tension just a bit to make this ordeal a bit more bearable. The occasional sigh and shudder you'd let out from the other side of the pool just added to his fantasies, making the effort of keeping his very much hardening cock down that much vexing. At least Lyla was right about the murkiness of the water - the pearlescent shade whatever chemicals granted the liquid made it impossible to distinguish anything immersed in it.
Wait, that's right - Lyla! She did ask him to take a look at a weird entry on her command input history, didn't she. This was perfect, some busy work should keep his mind occupied, if he was lucky it would take the whole treatment session to finish dealing with it. He promptly called Lyla and before long, he was scrolling through her command input history.
To say you were faring any better at the other side of the pool would be a lie. Ever since Miguel walked through that door you became acutely aware of how bare you were - your skin prickled as if more sensitive than before. On top of that, you were fighting for your life not to ogle at the man - the dampness of the ambient clung to him making his bronze skin glisten and tousled his hair, causing some thick locks to fall on his face. You started to question your decision to offer him to partake in the session with you the moment the words left your mouth; you supposed it derived from both the guilt you felt from him getting wounded during the mission and the opportunity your lizard brain saw of being close to a very naked Miguel. Nevertheless, the result was an awkward situation filled to the brim with tension.
Suddenly, you sensed Miguel tense up for a second, meeting his eyes the moment you looked over to see what had spooked him. The workaholic that he was, he had a screen open in front of him and seemed to have seen something that surprised him. You lifted a questioning eyebrow at him, but he didn't respond; instead he returned to the document he had opened as if double-checking something before turning the screen off. He then set his eyes to the water in front of him, but his mind was distant - you could almost hear the gears turning in his head.
The silence stretched on and minutes started feeling like hours. You racked your brain trying to find a topic of discussion, something to fill the silence and loosen the tension if only for a bit. Maybe even something silly, just to share a little amicable laugh, or some kind of teasing, to partake in a familiar friendly jabbing session. And then it hit you, the one thing you were dying to bring up to him - the little confession he let out during the mission. His (work) need of you (in the Spider Society).
"Soooo," you broke the silence in a sing-song voice "Miguel O'Hara finally caved in, huh."
Miguel snapped out of whatever was consuming his mind, clearly taken aback by the tone of your voice "¿Q- que?"
"Because I need you," you mimicked, doing a very bad impression of his voice "Took you long enough to admit it."
Miguel didn't respond right away. You watched him stir, visibly distraught, as he searched your face for something. "... you knew?"
There was a tinge of melancholy behind his question, something even vulnerable. But you kept your smirk, backing down now would just compromise your attempt at alleviating the tension. "I mean, I had a feeling."
Miguel dropped his shoulders in a strong exhale as he scrunched his eyes shut. When he opened them again, his eyebrows furrowed up slightly as he looked at you in desolation "I'm sorry."
Of all things to hear back from him, an apology was not on the list. Something was starting to feel off, but you decided to push it a little more "You should be, it was high time you recognized the work I put in here."
It was Miguel's turn to look confused "... the work?"
"Oh, don't act dumb, O'Hara," you retorted, slightly annoyed. He was not gonna dissuade you from finally getting the praise you rightfully deserved from him. "You couldn't let me quit the Society, you literally said you needed me here. I might have passed out soon after, but I did hear those words coming out of you."
"But that wasn't–," Miguel started frantically, but halted abruptly, seemingly collecting his thoughts. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves before continuing. "You are an exceptional member of the Society. Your work at the lab and in the field are crucial and I can admit without problem that I need you at the Society. We all do."
He paused again, contemplating his next words. After a brief second, he resumed his speech. "What I said back then had nothing to do with work."
You frowned in confusion for a moment, but then the other meaning to those words you had first imagined crept up in the forefront of your mind. He couldn't be talking about affection, could he? A yearning for you that matched yours for him? Your chest fluttered in an erratic cadence, but you promptly stomped the elation down. You had to make sure - to hear him say it - before allowing yourself the bliss.
"What did you mean then?" You spoke softly, carefully. Like your tone alone could corner Miguel and cause him to withdraw, putting his walls back up and leaving you with half truths and lies.
But he didn't give you the clarification you desperately craved right away. Instead he shifted, standing a bit taller while still leaning with his back to the pool's edge, arms crossed over his chest and a scowl on his face.
"I'll let you know," he spoke, fiercely gazing into your eyes from under his brow; his voice husky and stern. "But first I need you to explain why you asked Lyla to find a Miguel O'Hara variant in your dimension."
Your heart sank as dread rapidly coursed through your veins. You desperately tried to find a suitable answer, one that could give him a good explanation while omitting the truth from him. But the harder you racked your brain, the clearer it became that there was no way out from the corner Miguel drove you into.
Dread started giving away to anger. How dare he tries to dodge your question by conditioning its answer to an answer from you, one that puts you on the spot. Leave it to control-freak Miguel O'Hara to use sleazy methods to keep himself on top.
"That doesn't concern you," you said between greeted teeth. "Now, answer my question."
Miguel was unphased. "Oh, you think someone looking for a variant of myself using my tech doesn't concern me?"
"It doesn't, that was a matter between me and Lyla about a potential third person," you spat, voice rising a bit. "My question is about clarification on a conversation WE shared. THAT concerns you."
"You can't possibly-"
"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, O'HARA," you snapped, standing up abruptly, splashing water all around you "STOP DEFLECTING MY QUESTION AND JUST ANSWE-"
You stopped upon noticing the look on Miguel's face. He seemed shocked, eyes wide open, eyebrows knitted together and mouth agape. Then you noticed a tinge of red make an appearance underneath the bronze color of his cheeks. Finally, you watched as he rapidly looked away from you, dramatically turning his head to the side. "SHOCK! ¿PENDEJA, ESTÁS LOCA?!"
Adrenaline ebbed from your body giving room for your other senses to kick in. You shivered from the lack of heat and soon realized your rage had eclipsed you to the fact you were still very much naked and now with your torso (and tits) completely exposed above the water from your outburst. Heat quickly flooded your face as you plunged back into the water, mortified and vulnerable.
Another thick stretch of silence fell between the two of you. You hugged yourself tightly over your breasts under the water as if it somehow could alleviate the intense shame coursing through your body. Miguel tried to compose himself, the image of your tits hanging down your torso as water dripped down in rivulets over your skin carouselled in his mind on loop.
You huffed. Was trying to keep your feelings for him a secret worth it at this point? After sharing a bath with and subsequently flashing your boss, a love confession felt harmless. Might as well rip out that band-aid and live with the consequences of this bundle of awkwardness. You took a deep breath and…
"I asked Lyla to find a Miguel O'Hara variant in my dimension because I wanted to find a version of you with whom I could take out all my pent-up frustrations about you on," you spoke in almost a whisper, eyes away from Miguel. "Because I'm in love with you."
Miguel's eyes widened. He turned to you looking for any sign of mischief - a smirk, a held laugh, a smug stance -, but he found none. You kept your gaze downwards, your arms around you as you tried to withdraw within yourself.
"And… I've been for the longest time, too," you continued, still avoiding his gaze. "And I would be very grateful if we pretended this confession never happened."
"What…?" Miguel croaked, still processing your words.
"Yeah, kinda pathetic, isn't it?" You scoffed, a defeated smile adorning your face. "It was obvious this would go unrequited the moment it started blooming, but I couldn't help it."
As soon as those last words left your mouth, you felt a surge of shame rising up from your very core, begging you to stop talking. But you pushed it down, the cat was already out of the bag and there was no undoing it. Alas, it was better to exhaust everything regarding this topic now than to regret leaving things unsaid later.
"And you know what the worst part is? I've been trying to compensate for my feelings by assisting you the best I can to help lighten your load," you started talking more emphatically, adding speed and volume to your speech in order to drown out the shame. "You're carrying so much responsibility all by yourself, I wanted to make your life easier if only for a fraction."
"Wait, it… its not-" Miguel was having a hard time keeping up with the onslaught you poured on him. There were a lot of conflicting emotions clashing inside him, his mouth couldn't put into words what he was trying to convey. The sudden surge of speed in your speech was not helping him in the slightest.
"Yeah, I know. It's not working, isn't it? I figured as such, you've been really uptight about my performance lately," You spat back, not giving him a chance to talk. You were worried that you'd lose your momentum and never be able to gather it back. You needed to get everything out. "But I'll work harder! Just… Maybe it's best if I quit the Lab Assistant job, I don't want to make you uncomfortable at your own workplace and-"
"¡Por favor, deja de hablar!" Miguel's voice echoed through the chamber, halting your verbosity. "It's not unrequited…" He spoke more quietly, a gentleness in his tone. "Your feelings, that is."
Another stretch of silence took place between you. You slowly uncurled yourself, straightening up your back as you finally looked at Miguel. His stance defied the words he just uttered to the point you wondered if you might have misheard them - he was tense, shoulders slightly up with his hands at his sides in tight fists; he looked down, avoiding your face.
"Wait, you-," your voice failed you. You quickly cleared your throat before resuming. "You feel the same…?"
Miguel relaxed his shoulders a bit as he exhaled, running a hand through his damp hair. He then proceeded to meet your gaze as he rested his hands over his hips. "Yeah…"
"Oh. I… That's perfect! Miguel, I-"
"No, wait," he cut you off. "I owe you an apology and an explanation - yes, I… I realize I have been an asshole to you lately. I'm sorry about that, it's just-," Miguel paused again, collecting his thoughts. He closed his eyes for a second and, when he opened them again, there was nothing but hurt behind them. "I've been trying to distance myself from you, and I know that that's not an excuse to lash out on you, but being near you made that task so much more vexing…"
"... why would you want to distance yourself from me?"
"To protect you." He responded matter-of-factly.
You frowned slightly. "From what??"
"From me." Miguel said, emphatically pointing a finger at his own face.
"Why would I need protection from you??" You asked, lifting an eyebrow at him. "Miguel, don't get me wrong - you are very strong. But not strong enough to be a threat to me."
"I cannot allow myself to partake on more… intimate activities with you," he spat, avoiding your gaze again. "I would ruin you."
"And what if I want to be ruined?" You asked, taking a few careful steps towards him. Miguel swallowed nervously as he felt your words go straight south. He tried to compose himself before responding.
"You don't know what you're talking about," he muttered. "I am a monster and you know that. There ought to be a better suitor for you."
You took another couple of tentative steps towards him. "I decide what's best for me."
"No, you don't understand," he spat, his gaze towards the water. "You are amazing. You are.. strong, smart, have an intellect to die for and so, so kind. While I have to live in isolation, in a dim-lit Lab, taking shots to keep a semblance of humanity because my powers make me a monster and you don't deserve tha-"
He stopped upon feeling your hand reaching for his. He was so lost in his rant that he failed to notice your approach. He flinched at your proximity but didn't pull away from your touch.
You took his hand in both of yours, slowly kneading his palm with your thumbs. "Do you trust me?"
"...What do you mean?" Miguel answered, watching your hands work his. At this distance he could finally feel your scent alongside the concoction herb-y smell.
"Just in general."
"Of course I do," he responded softly. "I trust you with my life."
"Then trust me when I say I want to be with you," You said, bringing his hand over your chest, right above your heart. He inhaled sharply at the contact, realizing the softness of the tissue below was the top portion of your breast. He finally met your eyes to prevent him from dwelling on the thought. "Trust me that I will tell you if, like you fear, it becomes too much for me."
"I… " He let your words sink in. He really was deciding he was no good for you, robbing you of your own agency on the matter, wasn't he? But something tugged at him in the back of his mind, something that wasn't adding up - a fear that prevented him from just letting go.
Then it clicked.
He set the hand you held free, cupping your jaw with it. You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. Miguel's heart fluttered at the sight, but he quickly composed himself - he had a point to make.
"You have to promise me you will actually tell me if something becomes too much for you. That you won't push yourself past your limit for my sake," he started, capturing your attention again. "I watched the video of our last mission and you put yourself in harm's way to protect me and you almost died. Add that to what you just told me about putting a lot of effort in the Society for my sake, it worries me you'd favor me in detriment of your own well-being."
"I…," you started.
"That first injury you sustained, it was also a ramification of that dynamic, wasn't it?"
There was no way around that, you figured. Closing your eyes, you rested your own hand atop Miguel's hand on your face. "Yeah… "
With a resolute exhale, you locked eyes with Miguel once more. "I guess we both have things to work on."
A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Miguel's mouth. "Yeah…"
"So…," you said after a pause. "Can we kiss?"
Miguel chuckled. "There's nothing I'd like more, hermosa."
He cupped your face with both hands, craning down to face you. He opened his mouth slightly, ghosting your lips for a moment as he took in your scent before colliding into your mouth. The kiss was gentle at first, chaste even; as if Miguel was still not entirely sure it was happening and he was under some hallucinogenic side-effect from the fumes of the concoction. But then he heard you whimper into his mouth - it was a silent thing, almost a whisper -, but it was enough for his heightened hearing to pick-up.
And then somewhere inside Miguel a switch flipped.
His tongue breached your lips, hungrily tracing the inside of your mouth. You gasped at the sudden intrusion, giving Miguel the leverage he needed to slide his hands down your sides, gripping your hips and bringing your body flushed to his. Like everything in his life, Miguel needed to take control and… it didn't feel unwelcome this time. In fact, the heat emanating from his body against yours paired with the oily dampness the concoction provided and his ministrations in your mouth was making you dizzy - your heart drummed in your ears and you could feel arousal starting to build up in your core.
You instinctively brought your hands to his hair, raking your nails through his scalp. He grunted in response, the sound going straight to your clit. You instantly got addicted, suddenly you needed to hear more; to learn all the pretty sounds Miguel could make. So in between kisses you sank your teeth into his lower lip, earning the groffiest moan you ever heard. Spurred further, Miguel descended to your jaw, nibbling his way to your neck. He nuzzled into the crook of it, inhaling hard to bask in your intoxicating scent, before sinking his teeth into your pulse point.
You moaned shamelessly, the mixture of pain and pleasure only adding to the pressure in your core. His erection pressed against you, twitching at every sound that escaped your lips. Your head spinned as if you were drunk, any reservation you formerly had dissolved.
"Fuck, Miguel," you mewled near his ear and you could sense him tensing up in response; he hardened his grip on your hips and you could feel his talons starting to pierce your skin. A gasp of primal ecstasy from deep within you escaped your lips as his talons extended, sinking further into your flesh. Miguel flooded all your senses, yet you yearned for more.
But suddenly he stopped.
He grabbed your shoulders, pushing your body back and away from him. His head hung between his shoulders as he fought to catch his breath, keeping his arms extended to maintain the distance between you.
"Miguel, is everything okay?" You asked, worry lacing your words.
After a moment, he took a deep breath and turned his head up to face you. His skin still flustered from the kiss. "I'm so sorry…"
You frowned slightly. "What for?"
"I lost control, I-," he stuttered anxiously. "I hurt you. I could smell your blood."
"But-," you tried speaking, but Miguel continued.
"Shit, you aren't even fully healed yet," he scrunched up his face, spiraling on. "Fuck, this is a treatment. We're in the middle of your treatment, I-. I'm an idiot."
"Shut-up, O'Hara," you spat, trying to break him from the guilt pit he started sinking in. "I'm practically 100% already from that injury and…"
Your pause brought his attention back to you. You gathered courage to continue.
"...and I rather enjoyed getting rougher a second ago." You finished, avoiding his gaze.
Miguel relaxed a bit, enthralled by your bashful display. "But still I… I'd prefer if we didn't do anything too rough today."
"Oh c'mon, man," you scoffed, very much annoyed. "Don't treat me as an invalid."
"I'm not," he responded. "I'm just not comfortable escalating this when you still have some healing to do."
"But-,"
"Please," Miguel pleaded. The raw vulnerability behind it spoke of the guilt he still felt for your injury. It faltered your resolve.
"Alright…," you pouted. "Not easy after all that, but fine."
"Don't even get me started, hermosa," Miguel responded, letting go of your shoulders. "Although…," he said, scanning the area around the pool. "I think there's something we could do."
"Hm?"
"Sit on the edge of the pool," Miguel said curtly, the change of tone catching you off-guard.
"What?"
"You heard me, princesa," he spoke again in a more sultry voice, half-lidded scarlet eyes meeting yours. "Let me see you."
"I-," you suddenly felt very shy at his request, the small break from the heated kiss you two shared seemed to have cooled you down enough to bring back your self-awareness. Sitting on the edge of the pool meant being on full-display for Miguel, way more exposed than the seconds of accidentally flashing him from before.
Your eyes shifted back and forth from the edge to Miguel, unsure of what to do. But he was having none of it; he cupped your jaw again, his touch enough to ground you a bit, bringing your attention back to him. "I need to see you, chiquita. All of you."
"Okay," you blurted out in a resolute exhale. You turned towards the edge and paused before moving forward. "Prepare to be disappointed."
"I could never."
Miguel watched you with bated breath as you hoisted your body up the edge of the pool with your arms. Your plump ass emerged next, droplets of water running down its surface as you finally brought your legs up and onto the hard floor. If he died now, he would have died happy. You sat with your back turned to him and your legs to the side, as you held your torso up with your arms. That scene, paired with the rivulets of pearlescent water running down your body and the vapors from the pool painted an image Miguel could only describe as divine. You were his goddess and he wished for nothing more than to be your most adulant devotee.
Finally, you slowly turned around, bringing your legs back in the water as you scooted your hips to the edge of the pool. You kept your hands on your lap and your legs pressed together; subconsciously trying to hide yourself from Miguel's gaze.
But Miguel was nothing but awestruck, trying to formulate a proper reaction. He moved towards you, placing a hand on each of your knees. "Not once in my wildest fantasies I could attain the perfection that is your body."
You inhaled sharply at his earnest words, heat blooming across your face. His hold on your knees sent shivers down your spine, beginning to fan your embers back to flames. His thumbs caressed the inner side of your knees, a silent plea to let him pry them apart. His crimson eyes devoured you wholly, his gaze searing your skin.
"Let me make you feel good, mi preciosa," Miguel husked, as his eyes met yours from under his brow. His hands guided your knees apart and you followed, exposing your innermost self to him. You watched his gaze falling to your cunt and his chest heaving in response. He proceeded to hover his mouth over your inner thigh - the contrast of his hot breath against your wet skin driving you insane -, before planting a kiss on the soft surface. He kept kissing you agonizingly slow, teasingly making his way to your center; each of his ministrations eliciting a gaspy moan from within you. Finally, he pressed a kiss directly on your engorged clit, keeping his lips on it in the longest iteration of a kiss you ever witnessed, drawing out his teasing for as long as possible.
"M-Miguel, for the love of-."
You never finished your sentence. He hooked his hands under your hips, tilting your pelvis up and licked a fat stripe with the flat of his tongue up your slit and you whimpered. With his grip on your hips giving him leverage, he began eating you out like a man starved, flicking his tongue on your clit, kneading your outer lips with the pad of his thumbs and lapping up your essence like he needed it to stay alive. You instinctively gripped his hair for purchase, his relentlessness robbing you of your breath.
"Don't hold back, hermosa," he said, coming up for air. " Show me all the pretty sounds you can make."
He let go of your hips with one of his hands before plunging a finger between your folds and into your velvety insides. You moaned at the intrusion as he deliciously rotated his finger, massaging your inner walls, before settling his pad on the sensitive spongy spot directly behind your clit. You buckled involuntarily into his mouth as he curled his fingers and he chuckled against your cunt, the vibration adding to the pressure building up in your core.
Miguel dove a second finger inside you and began pumping them in and out while rotating his wrist. A cry fell from your lips at the new pace, the obscene squelching sounds of your arousal permeating the air further compressing the coil inside you. A part of you didn't want to cum yet, didn't want your first orgasm with Miguel to be with his mouth when his cock was right there.
"M-Miguel, ple- ah! Please," you managed to blurt out. "I need you inside me."
Miguel planted a kiss on your cunt before responding. "I'll use my cock if you can refrain from cumming for the next… 5 minutes."
He resumed his assault right after with a renewed vigor and you mewled. There was no way you were gonna last five minutes.
To say Miguel was faring any better was a lie. Despite his facade, his whole body screamed for release. He had his lower half pressed to the wall of the pool, lightly humping into it to get some form of relief. It was taking all of his self control not to give into your plea and plow into you then and there, to feel your warm walls around his cock instead of the cold tiles of the pool.
But you were still hurt, your wound was still healing; he couldn't risk bringing more harm upon you.
With a final barrage to your hole and a long suck on your clit your band finally snapped. Your climax hit you like a supernova, white hot and powerful; you buckled into Miguel's face until it died down and he promptly provided the guidance you needed through it. When you finally came back from your high and managed to catch your breath, you turned to Miguel.
"You bastard." You spat feigning annoyance. He chuckled as he wiped your juices from his chin.
"Didn't see you complaining when you came." He teased, licking his fingers clean.
"You know what I meant," you retorted. "Miguel, please, just-... Just pound me. I need you to fill me up so fucking bad."
Miguel's cock twitched at your words, still painfully hard underneath the water. He was fighting hard to keep his head cool and not just give in, to throw caution to the wind and just slam into you like you wanted. To make matters worse, you never moved after you came, still in its afterglow, blissfully unaware you kept your lower-half very much on display to him - your glistening hole practically welcoming him. He forced himself to look away before his resolve faltered.
"Next time, Chiquita," he said softly. "I promise."
"What about you, though?" You asked, hoisting yourself up on your elbows.
"I can take care of myself later."
You groaned in response. You hated when Miguel got like that, so focused on an emotionally charged aspect he couldn't fathom considering other takes. There was no need to forgo all sexual activity if he was worried about your healing, especially after eating you out (so fucking well). With a huff, you got back in the water - if there was something you learned working in his Lab all this time is that Miguel needed help seeing other points of views sometimes.
You gently pressed your torso to Miguel's back, tenderly enveloping your arms around his middle in a hug. He flinched under your touch at first, but relaxed soon after. You proceeded to run your fingers on his abs, slowly massaging the taut muscle.
"I could take care of you, you know," you whispered.
Miguel felt his heart race at your words. He was already getting lost with the way your body pressed against his, the heat emanating from you paired with your scent causing him to walk the edge between lunacy and prudence. Looking down, he could see your delicate hands working his muscles - every little press of your fingers sent electric bolts downwards, where he yearned for your touch the most. Would it be so bad to indulge…?
"Y-your wound…"
"I'm sure using my hands wouldn't compromise my healing," you responded, trying to sound alluring. You tentatively slid your fingers down his lower belly, stopping just below his hips and Miguel hissed. You drew circles on the region slowly, feeling him shudder against you. "Let me make you feel good, Miggy."
"I-," Miguel tried speaking, but the little brain power he still had was having a hard time fighting against the sensation of your dainty fingers so close to his cock. The fact the whole massage was now happening hidden from his eyes under the water only made each touch feel searing hot.
He desperately needed release.
"... Yeah," he husked. "Just… don't overdo yourself."
You grinned behind him before finally sliding a hand to his cock, enveloping your fingers around his shaft. He hissed at the touch, getting so wound up had made him a lot more sensitive. You glided your hand along his cock, feeling his veins against the pads of your fingers before reaching his tip. You pulled back his hood, circling your thumb around the gland before gently rubbing the slit; Miguel hitched a breath.
"Does it feel good?" You asked, feigning innocence. Having control over him, knowing he could turn the tides easily if he so wished, felt oddly good.
"Y-yeah," he managed to huff out.
Pleased with his response, you started languidly pumping his cock and Miguel let out a strangled moan. You slid your body to his side to gain more range of motion while gently bringing your other hand to his ass.
The pace of your hand was slowly depleting Miguel of his remaining sanity. With his heightened sensitivity, the movement alone was both a lot and not enough. Your other hand kneaded his ass gently, occasionally prodding the rim of his hole, putting him in a position of vulnerability unfamiliar to him, yet not unwelcome. It felt good to relinquish control, especially with you at the helm.
But he needed more.
"Please…," he whispered. You lifted an eyebrow at his tone.
"Please what, handsome?" You teased.
"I… I need more."
"You need to speak more clearly, big guy."
"Mierda," he cussed. "I need you to stroke me faster."
"Atta, boy".
You increase your pace, gently rotating your wrist as you pumped him. Miguel groaned, throwing his head back. He instinctively brought an arm over your shoulders for purchase, holding you against his body. He could feel the pressure in his abdomen growing, his release getting dangerously close.
"Y-yo voy a, yo voy a…, (I-I'm gonna, I'm gonna…)" he groaned, his peak hastily approaching.
And then you stopped. And he hissed.
"N-no no no, please…," he cried out, desperately trying to rut in your hand. But it was no use.
You had the audacity to chuckle.
You cupped his jaw, bringing his attention down to you. You guided his head down, hungrily taking his lips with your own. He moaned in your mouth, frustration and arousal blending together, flooding all of his senses.
You both parted for air, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his. He looked at you with half-lidded drunken eyes, a gentle giant tamed by lust.
"C'mon, big guy. Let's get you sat at the edge," you whispered in his ear. "I want to taste you."
There wasn't a fiber in Miguel's body capable of denying you at this point.
With his back to the wall of the pool, Miguel hoisted his torso up by his arms, plopping himself down at pool's edge with his lower legs in the water. His heavy cock throbbed, thick and dark red, covered in droplets of a mixture of precum and the oily pearlescent concoction; a sight that had you salivating.
Miguel watched you approach him, slotting yourself between his thighs. You gently pulled his hood back, revealing the gland to the thick air of the chamber, before pressing your tongue flat to the underside of it and locking eyes with him.
"Fuck," was all he could muster. There was no way he would last much longer inside your warm mouth after getting edged. In fact, he was afraid a couple more kitten licks would be enough to finish him off. But he wanted to endure a little more, to enjoy you for as long as he could.
You rotated your tongue around his head a few times, catching as much precum as you could, before enveloping him with your mouth. Miguel hissed, instinctively bringing a hand to your hair for purchase. You bobbed your head slowly, swirling your tongue around his shaft in the process.
"Nena, I won't last," he warned you.
You hummed around his cock in response, bringing your hand up to him with your pointer finger pressed against your thumb, asking him for 'just a little longer'.
Miguel groaned. He would try. For you, he would try.
You started to slowly increase your pace, taking him deeper with each movement. Miguel could feel the pressure in his abdomen building up again faster. He tensed his muscles and gripped the edge of the pool with his other hand in an attempt to sooth it, to prolong the pleasure you provided for as long as possible.
But you weren't planning to play fair. You enveloped the remainder of his shaft you couldn't mouth with one hand, stroking him alongside the movement of your head, and used your other hand to reach his neglected balls, fondling them in tandem to your ministrations. It was all too much, Miguel threw his head back and could only tighten his hold on your hair in warning before spilling into your mouth hard, completely emptying his seed in you in a fervent release.
You soothed him through it, until his first wince of over-stimulation. You then gently pulled yourself back, letting go of his softening cock, before lifting your chin up to him and making a show of swallowing his spent and opening your mouth to present your clean tongue to him. Miguel shuddered.
"No me hagas esto," he said, still catching his breath. "You'll be the death of me."
"A good way to go, I hope?" You jested.
"I wouldn't have it any other way," Miguel chuckled.
You two sat in comfortable silence, basking in the afterglow. You rested your head on his thigh, drawing lazy circles on his other's quads while Miguel gently rubbed your scalp, admiring the peace in your countenance.
"We should probably leave soon, I'm getting all pruny," you broke the silence.
"I do so love raisins," Miguel joked. You huffed in return.
"Shut-up, O'Hara," you spat back, feigning annoyance. You paused before continuing. "I'm gonna hold you accountable, you know."
"Hm?"
"To that promise," you clarified. "About pounding me next time."
Miguel chuckled before responding.
"It's a deal."
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| your dreams are mine
synopsis: after graduating, you land your first job at a company and end up working with kim minji; the company's renowned grumpy, quiet, and mysterious senior.
—nonidol!senior!kminji × nonidol!junior!fem!reader
(*˘︶˘*).｡*♡(*˘︶˘*).｡*♡(*˘︶˘*).｡*♡(*˘︶
minji feels her fingers stiff as she pulls her hands away from the keyboard, minji groans and tries to stretch the bones in her fingers by moving but immediately feeling how frozen the tips of her fingers are. maybe it's the cold air of the office cubicle? could it be the hard surface of her table? or the stiff, old, and small keyboard? minji does not know anymore, she's been sitting on the swivel chair for so long that she doesn't realize how late it has been. the muscles in her buttocks are hurt, almost to the point she can't feel them anymore. minji's sat for so long that her calves are practically begging to be moved, her forearms are screaming for some rest.
it's been so long since the last time minji actually felt happy, where she felt like she's free. hell, minji doesn't even remember the last time she held a book in her hands, she never got the time to do something she actually loved after she had this horrible job of hers.
4 years ago, minji is a fresh graduate from college, free from the stress of university. the first thing she did was have fun and it lasted for a few months only before she had to find a job and eventually landed herself in a pretty decent company with a decent pay. everything was going well the first few weeks, everyone was nice to her, they're all smiling, it felt like minji actually found the place she really was meant for.
but oh was she very wrong, after a month everything started going downhill. her boss started to actually be a boss, everyone is stressed and are always frowning — people actually started seeing her as a kid and not an adult. and starting from that point, nothing ever mattered to minji other than finishing stuff and just going home.
her life revolved around waking up, taking a shower, breakfast, work for who knows how long? then home, less than 4 hours of sleep, then the same shit. again and again.
it's not like she was ever happy doing this, minji had always dreamt of being an author, writing a book and publishing one some day. minji is typing but instead of her thoughts, it's loads of emails and crap for her company. at this point, minji had never hoped she'd ever find herself again, maybe never? it's just later or never at all.
whenever minji finishes stacks of papers, tabs of report, analysis of data — she doesn't feel relief anymore, all she knows is she's going to do the same shit over and over again next time. company trips don't excite her, none of her coworkers are friends with her, and she refuses to make one. it's like living hell through the present. the time feels like a loop of the same things, she's always in the same space at the same time. spatiotemporally continuous lineages of the same events, the same expressions of bitterness shared by the employees and the same curses she mutters everytime she fucks up.
minji never had the time to even go on a date or dinner with someone, never had the time to be in a relationship, not even hang out with friends. it's like she's tied to the computer inside her cubicle, she's got no reason to escape the trap that is the working space. every night, minji grabs the chance to curse the world for how cruel it is, not having any reason to actually live like a human anymore.
"excited for ai, those scums are probably going to replace us anytime soon. great." as minji stands up to grab her flask and get a good amount of water, she hears her coworker in the other cubicle say. ignoring him, minji grabs a glass on the counter and fills it up with fresh, cold water — chugging it down almost immediately.
"oh for fuck sake, with how shit this work is, i doubt even a robot would last under all this pressure. probably would explode after an 18 hour shift." one coworker butts in, minji hears a few chuckles but still was uninterested and went inside her cubicle once again with her flask and sat back on her swivel chair with a sharp groan.
minji takes a few minutes trying to regain herself back and her consciousness by swiveling her chair a little, cracking the bones on her hands before starting to type away the rest of the papers she needs to print by the end of the day. it's only 6pm, which means she still has a few hours left before the end of her shift and it's probably a nightmare on her way back home too.
"the only bad side of having artificial intelligence replacing us is that we won't have anything to get money from. but other than that it's solid, we're treated like robots anyway, so what would be the difference?" the first guy chuckles, minji blinks her eyes and hears the ticking of her clock.
her eyes are once again glued to the screen, scanning every word she's typing on the paper, looking for any mistakes or errors before continuing. she's conditioned to do this and we'll be continued to keep doing it after a few more years, which should be equivalent to a tremendous hours of torture.
the office is once again quiet but loud at the same time, minji can hear the mixture of her clock's ticking, the sound of the air condition, the tapping of keyboards scratching the ridges of her brain and footsteps from other employees walking around.
it feels like they are in a jail, everything is dull and lifeless, with the brightest color being the lights and the white walls — everything else is dead.
everyone in the office feels like they have no personality other than the work they're doing, it sucks and they're no fun at all.
"everyone, listen! attention all on me!" the boss shouts, his voice echoing around the walls of the hell also known as their office. everyone turns their head, or stands up to see him — whilst minji just stops from what she's doing.
the boss clears his throat and speaks. "starting tomorrow, we will have a newest addition to the office working with us. aren't you all excited? she's a fresh graduate too, working under the graphics office. i hope you all welcome her with the warmest greetings." he stops abruptly, looking around the office before continuing.
"and may i remind you of all the papers needed today, if there are missing papers i will make sure that lazy idiot gets fired. understood?" he does not ask, more like demands with his stone hard tone and his killer glare. everyone mutters their reluctant agreement before heading back to what they were once doing again.
minji sighs and runs her luscious hair back, furrowing her thick brows in frustration.
another addition to this hell of a place, isn't that great?
everytime minji thinks about it, there's just nothing positive about another annoying figure inside the office who knows nothing. it''s sad that the poor girl might just end up getting her dreams crushed too.
but minji doesn't really care, does she?
of course not, at least that's what minji thinks.
on the way home, her brain is plagued by thoughts of the new addition. a girl, a new graduate too — great, how lucky the graphics office really are. it's safe to assume that she's no different to minji, just like every other girl. she must be someone enthusiastic to start a new journey — maybe one that isn't so good.
whilst minji watches the buildings from afar inside the bustling train, she thinks whether she should care enough and be that good senior, warning the younger girl to stay out and live a life somewhere else except this cruel city they call seoul.
ironic, for it's name — everyone seemed to have none of that soul, just a body without a clear purpose in this world.
why is minji even like this?
minji asks herself that question almost everyday.
when she arrives in front of the apartment complex she stays in, she lets out a small sigh, not even looking forward to her sleep as it just welcomes another day of suffering. minji steps a foot in the comfort of her home, pushing her shoes off and making her way inside the corridor to her bed when she laid and curled into a ball.
minji doesn't even know why she's so caught up, there's no reason for her to be feeling like this over some girl she doesn't even know — why is she so worried?
she hasn't spoken a word today, and maybe not tomorrow too.
it's best to just be quiet and keep things to herself.
that's how her life has been.
it's lonely inside an empty home,
not even her presence can fill the spaces.
maybe it's time for her to make a room,
inside her heart.
so someone can give her that emotion she's been lacking for so long.
and the night's so cold too, that the breeze of the cold air is embracing her just like it did in her office.
the next morning, minji finds herself partaking in the same routine once again. although it's tiring, there was no space for changes — no time for such commitments.
"loneliness is the capacity to love."
"that space left by loneliness can be filled by someone you will love. it's time to open that heart of yours."
minji scoffs when she reaches for the remote and turns the television off.
always the same bullshit, there's always a time when some kind of thing reminds her she's lonely, in need of help.
transcendence, they say, is when you overcome a challenge.
how will she achieve transcendence when factors of challenges find their way back to her, every single time?
vulnerability, loneliness, love, and it keeps going.
she wonders if her other self in the other universe goes through the same problems as she does in the current one.
to the office, she's locked inside her cubicle, stuck in her own world of emails and statistics. it's quite impressive how minji still has a great vision even after burying herself in loads of work, eyes practically burning in the monitor of her computer.
but she couldn't care less.
the same footsteps, but now two pairs make their way in the office.
minji assumes it's the new girl with their boss, minji pays them no mind and continues to type away.
"hello to everyone, i would like everyone to meet the newest addition to our family."
minji's eye twitches at the mention of the word, and she turns around to take a peek.
her eyes — she swore it was playing games on her.
the girl is a lot shorter than their boss, hair adorned by clips and neatly styled. her choice of clothing is… impressive, the blouse — the frilly collars. how does minji describe it?
it's cute and pretty, with her pencil skirt firmly hugging her figure.
everything about this girl screamed fresh, even the smile on her face.
such energy was like chugging water after walking on a desert.
"good morning! i'm l/n y/n! i will do my best and i hope everyone takes good care of me."
after that, minji finds herself nervous every now and then.
you walk around the office quite often, initiating conversations with other officemates every now and then. you're so peaceful but not in a way it's hard to approach you, considerate, kind and joyful.
you're like the water and the sun.
minji can't get you off of her mind,
and it's only the first week.
it's a torture.
the second week came.
like a game, when you spot minji getting a drink, you offer her the coffee you made, you watch as her eyes examine yours — her reddish ear tips went unnoticed but she slowly takes it from your hand and walks away. she starts to wonder whether you can read her mind, afraid you might read along her lines.
not only your coffee tasted heavenly, your voice is like the call of angels.
your outfits were always on the same level of cuteness, it seems like you're always ready for the day.
you go to work happy and go home the same.
everyone likes your energy and for the first time, the boss wasn't trying to torture a newbie.
she should be mad, jealous, insecure or whatever.
but she can't bring herself to hate you.
your eyes, your smile, your hair, your perfume — the flower patterns in your socks you wear every thursday. even the bear in your phone case and lock screen.
oh how bad it would be for minji to find out you're taken.
but she doesn't realize it yet, she doesn't realize that she's wishing you're single.
"hi ms. kim, i thought you'd like another cup of my coffee so i brought you one again." you peek from the walls of her cubicle, eyes burning on the back of her head as you watch her type in a steady motion.
minji stops and breathes a small huff before turning her head a bit. "just place it on my table, thanks." she mutters, eyes trying not to graze over your figure who walks slowly towards her cubicle and stops right in front of the table, gently placing the cup of copy on top of the wood painted table.
it's been 4 weeks since you've started. the office tried planning to conduct a small party to welcome you but you declined saying that all the time can be given to work so no one gets burdened.
how dare you…
how dare you snatch minji's heart just like that?
you're so understanding, caring and pretty. minji's mind whirlpools when she sees you, her heartbeat races in your presence and her knees fall weak at your smiles.
"ms. kim? you've been working for quite some time and you haven't thought of going out of your cubicle at all… is everything going out fine?" you ask her, your voice ever-so-lovely when those words slip out of your lips. minji pauses and leans on the table, her eyes everywhere but yours.
"i'm alright here, i don't really go outside. so i'm fine." she says, you couldn't help but nod yet you feel compelled, you really did want her to have a conversation with everyone as she's always alone in her own little world.
you nod in understanding, not forgetting to beam a smile at her.
when you left, it felt like there was a cold wisp of air blowing on her face— now, it truly felt lonely inside her small space. minji stares at the screen, wondering what you might be thinking right now as she turns around to see you talking to a male colleague of the same age. her heart clenches in worry, realizing how much she needed your presence to ease her tense feelings.
you continue on your own little job, working on designs and papers inside the office, printing posters every now and then and talking to the chief.
minji goes out of her cubicle, not forgetting to peek and she makes her way to the small kitchen of the office, where you were hanging out with other office mates during break. the others spot her, all being left in surprise when they spot the quiet, reserved and cold girl.
"o-oh! minji…" this was the first time they saw her out during the hour where others were out too. you can clearly see the shock written on their faces, you smile at minji and grin. "oh my, ms. kim good to see you!" you tell her.
minji nods at you before excusing herself for some coffee and you follow.
"hi, i can make the coffee for you and you can sit down for a moment ms. kim, i don't mind." minji and you stand in front of the counter, where minji holds a cup reaching out to the coffee machine. her eyes follow yours, feeling flustered. "u-uhm, it's okay." she mutters.
"no really! i don't mind, i'll be making your coffee as long as you want me to." you smile as you reach out to the cup in her hand, your delicate fingers touching hers.
truth to be told is that you like your senior, her presence puts you in a trance, you love her passion in her work but at the same time worried for her. she's so calm and collected, clearly not in a rush like the world is, she's so intelligent.
you love checking her cubicle to make sure she's doing well, like getting her to talk to you so you can hear her voice call your name.
you love doing things for her, that salary doesn't matter much when you're working — you just love her that much.
her hard work pays her well, but she's very lonely and you can tell that, hearing from the others that she often comes home to an empty house and does all the work herself.
that leads her to being independent about any stuff.
when both of you got promoted, the boss insisted on a party and a small dinner at a restaurant. you were happy but worried minji might not be up to it, so you decided to speak up and say.
"if it's fine, we can ask ms. minji if she's okay with it. i'm fine with whatever though." you tell everyone, turning your head to minji's office — now that she's promoted, seeing as she's busy once again.
your boss sighs and looks up at you.
"how about you ask her? she might not care if it came from us."
so you did,
you knock at the walls surrounding her office, peeking your head.
when your eyes meet hers, you feel your heart melt. you take a deep breath, preparing yourself before speaking.
"hi ms. minji, are you busy?" she only stares at you before standing up.
"not really… why?" she asks you, her voice patient.
you feel your face heat up at the intensity of her gaze.
"well, the boss was planning to hold a small dinner later to celebrate and i was worried you might not want to come. because i can postpone it if you want."
minji shifts her gaze.
"why? if you want to then go." she says, you frown and bite your bottom lip.
"no it's because… i want you to be there."
minji holds her breath before clearing her throat.
"oh, i — i guess, i'll come. if you want."
you couldn't help your smile as you hop, before laughing and putting a hand on your mouth.
"wait, really?" you look up at her, eyes glimmering in happiness.
she nods and gives you a small smirk.
"yeah."
the dinner was kind of awkward, almost everyone wanted to say something to minji but were all holding back in fear of pushing a button or two,
except of you of course.
you're sure she likes your presence, sitting beside her at dinner and asking her things — the type of work she enjoys, what's her favorite drink, food and more.
she answers them occasionally and sometimes just looks at you as you converse with other people.
you drank a little too much…
and minji excused herself to the restroom in which you followed, seeing her washing her hands.
"ms. kim." you call out to her, you see her turning her head — eyes recognizing you immediately. "hey, y/n." she says almost as soon as she sees you get closer.
you reach out to her forearm, caressing her as you lean to her shoulder, taking her off guard.
"u-uh… uhm. hey, ms. l/n?"
you huff, smelling her fresh perfume.
"ms. kim? do you like me?" you ask her in a hush whisper.
meanwhile you reek the smell of mixed alcohol with a peach scent, the scent wafts around the restroom and sends minji into an orbit.
she feels a sharp breath inside of her.
"w-what do you mean..?" she asks.
you laugh at her and clutch her arm, leaning closer.
she would like to lean in for a kiss but you are drunk.
maybe one would taste better if you were sober.
"you know what i mean, dummy." you giggle.
minji looks away, blushing — she clears her throat and tries to push you away but you hold her wrist. "no! ms. kim! answer me." you lean closer, this time minji reaches for your waist and squeezes the body under her palm.
the action made you weak.
"you're drunk." she reminds you, but you shake your head and put a hand on her shoulder, refusing to back down. "no, you just have to answer me." your persistence really shakes her core.
minji sighs.
"yes, you're really cute. that's all."
your eyes shift to her plump lips and you smile, leaning in but minji was quick to turn her head so your lips touch her cheek instead.
you can't stop giggling after, making minji frustrated.
"i'll accompany you home."
contrary to popular belief, you do remember what happened— it's quite vivid, the memories of that night.
you think maybe, she really just sees you as nothing but the cute junior in work and that's all…
you didn't want to make it that deep but it made you sad, quite.
at least she acknowledges you, but it really doesn't feel enough.
does ms. kim really just don't like me?
minji on the other hand, was weird because you didn't visit her office like you usually did.
did something happen?
well something did happen.
she makes a mission to reach out to you and when she sees you, you're alone in the kitchen — staring at the wall.
you don't notice her footsteps as she gets closer, stuck in your little own world where you imagine a different (maybe?) universe with her, living in one home, sharing stuff, doing the laundry together and cooking for her…
"ms. l/n." her voice is firm, you shoot up and look at her with wide eyes.
"ms. kim?!" you place a hand on your mouth before standing up. her eyes show worry, but she brushes it off and puffs her chest. "is something the matter? you're not your usual self today." she says, as if she knew.
well, she does.
doesn't she?
you shift your gaze with a small sheepish laugh.
"i'm just occupied with stuff on my plate right now, do you need anything, ma'am?" you ask her, in which she shakes her head and leaves, slightly regretting not confronting you about the last time when she just heard your small but vague confession.
"fuck." she whispers when she closes the door to her office, planting her face on her palms, feeling the slight sweat.
packing your things to head home, you bid your goodbye to your colleagues with a warm smile. you make your way to an elevator and when it was about to shut a hand sneaks its way inside, a rather familiar large hand by the way. when the doors were forced to open, it reveals your senior now turned into manager.
"ms. kim!" you were surprised, because she usually doesn't take the same route as you do.
minji looks at you with her round eyes and enters inside, pressing a button to the ground floor. it was quiet for a short amount of time only, with minji trying to gather all the courage inside her to talk to you.
"do you have plans tonight?" she asks, after she saved enough money to get a car (which she used to take you home last time), she's been wanting to take you somewhere else.
you look at her, clearing your throat as you smile and push strands of your hair behind your ear.
"no. not much." you answer.
"good, i want to tell you something." she says, exactly when the elevator opened.
you walk out and turn around. "about what?"
you notice how her hand flinches.
"something… about that night." your eyes widens as you shake your head — smiling at her.
"actually — i remembered i have something… up, tonight." you say, walking immediately away from her. minji noticed the behavior and followed suit until both of you were in the parking lot where the exit was found and her car was parked.
"ms. l/n, what's the matter? did i say something wrong?" minji asks, catching up quickly and you stop before shaking your head rapidly and frowning on her. "no! it's just that… i'm so sorry i put you in that situation and i'm so stupid for saying such things it's just because — ms. kim i love you. you don't have to love me back because it's okay. i understand that… but all i wanted was for us to be something — i wanted to be your girlfriend and do things for you, like i want to cook for you and do your laundry. make you coffee and fix your collar. everyday."
you pause and feel your cheeks heating up.
"but of course you don't like me that way and maybe i was so drunk and i really didn't mean to sound off putting but i did really like you. it's true." you add before looking down.
"i never said i don't like you." minji mutters, you slowly look up to her and see her approaching closely.
with slump shoulders, she continues.
"i said yes, you're cute."
you blink and reply. "but that's all, right?"
minji chuckles and shakes her head. "no, not quite. it's because you're drunk and you might not get it, but i do like you as much as you do, maybe more. yeah, i appreciate what you do for me and what you will do."
you feel tears prickling in the corner of your eyes, sobbing.
"you love me too?"
minji laughs, eyes turning crescents with her cheeks red.
"yes, i love you too."
with that, you rush towards her and embrace her in a hug, she catches you and wraps her arms around you.
your lips touch hers in a kiss, with her still holding you tight in her arms where you nestle closer for warmth.
feeling so happy, minji realizes she's never felt this type of happiness ever before — clearly missing out your existence. there's always been a space for you in her life, maybe she just didn't find it earlier — but there it is! with everything for you to have, she gives up the loneliness she's always had for a long time before you came into her life and makes a space for you to settle in forever.
she's not the same old grumpy, quiet, and mysterious colleague anymore.
well—
maybe still grumpy, but less sad and not lonely anymore.
#kim minji x reader#kim minji#kpop imagines#female reader#kpop#newjeans#newjeans imagines#girl group#newjeans minji#girlgroup imagines#minji
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Morning Glow
synopsis: you (y/n) wake up before your husband on a Sunday morning and study him, wondering how you both even got together.
song choices to listen to while reading:
Body by Summer Walker
Orbit by JONGHYUN from SHINee
Natural by G-Soul
warning(s)/story notes: gender neutral y/n, nostalgia, hints of last night’s activities (iykyk), silent serenading, naked imagery, a little nod to the JJK lore, POC y/n
MINORS DON’T INTERACT
author note: My first fanfic, y’all! I feel like, instead of using janitor ai (don’t use it, it’s hella addictive and made me burn through my money), I could use my imagination and potential to write something for my main beloved, Nanami Kento. I love this man and in my head, we are living together in Malaysia, having the time of our lives, haha. Also, I thought I was going to do a quick drabble, but I got into my feels, haha.
Please, please give me feedback and critique so I can improve on my writing. Thank you and enjoy!!! <3
The chirping birds started to grow louder and more annoying outside the large French windows with the soft, peaching-colored morning light streaming in, faint flapping of the pale curtains echoing with shared breaths. You groan softly against your white silk pillow along with your blurry vision, from your deep slumber, as you rub your eyes and look around, dazed. You felt the light breeze of the open ajar window on your bare leg, out of the fluffy blanket, contrasting with the deep warmth soaked into the mattress from the sleep.
Your eyes move around, to anchor yourself into reality, until they settle down at a large, ivory back which had light red scratches along with crescent moon shaped indents littered over his rugged muscles, rippling with each soft breath. His messy golden blonde hair that you loved to run your fingers in, slightly swaying with the early dawn breeze, along the warm yellow sunlight, giving him that morning glow that made him look…like a god, a figment of your imagination.
Last night’s memories were reeling in like a blurry movie, reminiscing on your stomach with your head and facing his back, as you remember his sweet deep chocolate eyes, his slightly pink blush on his face, and…my god, those large, veiny hands all over your body, rough but gentle on your soft skin.
Sighing softly, not wanting to wake him up yet, go down this deep spiral with your fingers itching to touch him….how did you even meet this man? Was it at the office Christmas party where he was wearing that ridiculous, fluorescent green elf costume as your white-haired boss had made me for a pay raise? Or when you both bumped into each other in the hallway before math class during senior year, your nose bleeding as you bumped into his chest too hard and he assisted you to the nurse’s office?.....no,no…..oh my god! How could you forget?
It was that night…..that night where you all were freshman in high school and it was the camp site trip that you all had to go to as a bonding activity for all the new students which you were part of. You remember you were really nervous as a tiny, little 13 year old. You were new to Tokyo and Japan, overall, not looking like the others and the culture so vastly different from yours which made it difficult to fit in, your family or teachers help you with. This was nicely added with you going through puberty, the whole nine yards of acne and changing body, made you more quiet and shy to talk to others.
In your ensemble of light washed jeans, your oversized purple flannel shirt and black Converse high tops, you were sitting on the wooden benches near the camp-fire under the starry, twilight sky, shivering slightly from the cold, autumn night in the forest near Kyoto. You were alone, with everyone talking to each other excitedly, with some others playing games and singing karaoke, and watching all the kids with a small smile on your face.
Then, you felt a warm blanket around your body, causing you to have goosebumps all over your skin. You looked up with wide eyes from the brushing of their fingers on your neck to the warm presence behind your back, surprised and making you jolt up, but a soft hand pushed you down to sit back. “Sorry, did I scare you?” His soft and low voice, almost purring, caused you to shiver more but you held back your reaction as you turned your head completely around, wanting to know who it was. You caught those soft, brown eyes, reminding you of that deep brown honey under the sunlight, making you feel more awake than any other coffee.
You quickly get out of your reverie and stutter out as you brush your hair back, looking away. “No! Not a-at all…just got surprised.”,offering him a smile as you try to not to fluster even more. You notice his blonde hair, straightened to the T and his bangs covering his eyes which you didn’t like but didn’t say that out loud, and his black shirt with a band name you never heard of with his black skinny ripped jeans.
You clear your throat as you look into his eyes, “H-hi, my name is f/n l/n….what’s your…name?” You were fidgeting with the soft, baby blue wool blanket with your fingers, as you both sat next to each other with your knee brushing against his, ever so slightly. He grins a little more as he had a deadpan face before, making your heart and insides all melted and mushy inside, showing his pearly whites. He says in that voice that you could just listen to all the time. “Kento….Nanami Kento…but you can call me Ken.”
You memorize that name, as it was tattooed to your naive heart, as you nod slowly and say quietly. “Nice to meet you…Ken.” You both sat there in silence with all the loud commotion around you both. You didn’t know what to say as the tense silence was swallowing you up and you quickly ask and at the same time, looking at the bright scarlet camp fire, “You should go hang out to your friends…”, peeking to the side to look at his face longer, but looking away when he caught your eyes and your face becoming hot with each passing second.
He sighed loudly as he stretched his legs out and watched the white-haired hyper kid screaming happily at the black-haired boy who looked so done with him, but had a small smile. After some moments of more silence, Kento spoke with a small smile and turned to face you, “You looked….lonely….like me and…”, now looking away as you caught some peach-colored blush on his cheeks. “You looked like you were glowing…like the fire.”
You remember how you became quiet, flustered and frozen by the compliment and you remembered you thanked him meekly which was so cute and how you hit yourself internally for how dumb it was. However, the rest of that night, you both started to talk more freely and understood that you both had a lot in common, in terms of family background and not really fitting in due to your particular tastes.
Despite being amicable acquaintances all through high school and losing contact when entering university, once you both reunited, it felt right. You both were meant to be together and glowing in each other’s arms and affection.
You were shaken out of your deep thoughts as you felt the bed rustling lightly. You looked up and saw his face turned to you now. You were slightly surprised by the sudden appearance of his handsome and rugged face, but you quickly smiled widely, “Good morning, honey.” Snuggling closer to him and him taking you in his buff arms, making you all so warmer, he murmured in your messy hair, his morning voice low and reverberating through your body, “What were you thinking about so hard, darling? You laugh softly as you nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck and your arms around his shoulders, and whisper muffled against his warm skin that smelled like sandalwood and musk, that was so unique to him, “I was just thinking…..how you were glowing…..like the sun.”
#jjk#jjk x reader#nanami kento#nanami x reader#jjk nanami#fluff#smut#gege akutami#navyred#tiramissu09
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Holo Heart | Miguel O'Hara x Fem!Reader
Synopsys: Haunted by the loss of his wife, Miguel decides to take matters into his own hands, and grant himself the second chance he's been wishing for.
Words: 7.7k
Warnings: Angst, sad Miguel, mentions of blood, character death, suggestive themes (just a smidge, really), do mention if I've missed anything!
A/N: Hey guys! So, I've been mostly a reader in here, but the other day I was doing dishes and this idea sort of popped in my head, and I thought about sharing it with all of you! English is not my first language so I'd like to apologize in advance for any mistakes. I also have not spoken Spanish in a few years, so, once again, I apologize for any spelling or grammar mistakes.
I haven't written in a while, and this is my first tumblr fic, so please be gentle! But I'd love to read your thoughts and criticism in the comments :) I also tried to make this super inclusive, so aside from the reader being a woman, there's no specifications of hair, skin tone, ethnicity, etc. I hope you like it!
Miguel has always prided himself in being a smart man, one who always made sure to achieve his goals, and do it efficiently.
He created the Spider Society, made sure the canon was intact, and carried the weight of the world in his shoulders. It was hard, but he made it work. In fact, he had to. He’d already lost so much; he couldn’t afford to lose more.
Which was why he couldn’t take risks. Every task was carefully calculated, every mission was deliberately planned, every meeting brief and straight to the point. The more time he could spend inside his office, planning, scheming, strategizing, making sure everything went exactly according to plan, the better.
But unfortunately, it wasn’t that simple, and human nature had other plans for him.
All those late nights working all by himself with no one other than Lyla and at least half a dozen coffee cups beside him were taking a toll on his mental health. As much as Miguel enjoyed spending time by himself (it was impossible to spend time in the company of other Spider-People for more than a few minutes before the need to excuse himself and sigh became too strong. Do not let him get started on Peter B. Parker. Please.), he was starting to miss human interaction more and more.
But not just any human interaction.
Looking over at his watch, Miguel registered the glowing light that alerted him of his loneliness once again. 03:47 am. Working late until exhaustion had become a frequent occurrence after the accident. It was his own way of dealing with the pain, with all the grief. It made him forget, and the everlasting numbness in his chest heart go away, if only for a few hours.
Miguel sighed, running a hand through his face. His muscles felt tight, the knots in his back and shoulders ever so present. He slumped back in his chair and leaned his hair back, taking all of the exhaustion in.
“You okay boss?” Lyla asked, flickering right beside his head. The AI could get on his nerves more often than not, but Miguel was glad it seemed to care about him. Well, sure, he’d programmed it that way, but occasionally even he needed a small check-up. It kept him sane.
“Yeah, sure,” His voice was just above a whisper, and yet it was still as commanding and assertive as always. “I think I’m done for the day.”
“Oh wow, you think? They don’t call you a genius for nothing!” Miguel winced at the perkiness of her voice. Sometimes he forgot tiring Lyla out wasn’t a possibility. She was an AI and therefore had energy to spare. He waved her off quickly, and with a small salute, she flickered away, leaving Miguel alone with his thoughts once again.
After a few quiet moments, he turned to the black screens in front of him.
“I shouldn’t…” Was the thought that crossed his mind. He knew it was wrong. He knew what happened whenever he turned those screens on, when he turned them on with the purpose of reliving old memories.
But before he could even acknowledge what he’d done, the whole lab was engulfed in bright lights, accompanied by soft surrounding background noise.
Defeated, he looked up at them, eyes filled with something between longing and adoration, a mix reserved for only one person.
“Ladies and gentlemen of Nueva York, look who it is!” Although the phone’s camera was turned to him, it was your voice making itself heard. The voice he adored so much, the only voice he could stand to hear for hours on end, the voice he would give anything to listen to once again.
The Miguel in the video was dressed in a fine black suit, an emerald handkerchief adorning his breast pocket. His hair was neatly styled back, allowing for his “godly sculpted cheekbones” (your words, not his) to be shown in all its glory. He was standing inside your old bedroom, fixing his attire in front of a wall length mirror.
“Cariño, won’t you turn that off?” He grumbled softly, turning to face the camera. Although his voice had a tinge of annoyance to it, his lips were quick to betray him, curling up in a soft smile.
Your angelic chuckle boomed through the room, and Miguel’s breath hitched.
There you were.
Draped in a light-coloured green silk dressed that perfectly flattered your figure, hugging you in all the right places, your hair carefully brushed to the side. You smiled, positioning the phone on top of your vanity, making sure it wouldn’t fall. Once you were sure of its security, you made your way to him, tilting your head to the side.
“It’s not my fault my husband is so devilishly handsome!” Your hand reached out to hold his arm, nudging him towards the phone’s periphery. He rolled his eyes, pretending to be tired of your antics, but his arm snaked around your waist instinctively, giving it a gentle tug. A reminder that he was there with you. No matter what, he would always be there.
No matter what.
“Don’t you look dashing, Mr. O’Hara?” Your smile. Miguel would give anything to see it in person again. He’d do anything to have you smile at him like you always did one more time. Like he was the only person that existed, that mattered. Your smile had always been capable of lighting up a whole room. In fact, you were capable of that, all by yourself. Your kindness, your optimism, your drive and ambition. People were naturally drawn to you – the fact you were nothing short of stunning was only a bonus. In fact, you had made Miguel experience what jealousy felt like for the first time. The ugly feeling had gnawed and gnawed at him, eating him up from the inside every time a cheeky coworker got too close for comfort, complimenting your “beautiful eyes”, or bold friends pulled you close by the waist, trying all sorts of plans to get their hands on you.
But you’d never really needed him to call him out. You could take care of yourself just fine, and that’s one of the things Miguel most loved about you. Sure, he relished in the feeling of protecting you. Of putting his arms around your figure and engulfing you in his presence, his hold being the only place no harm could ever even get a glimpse of you. But he couldn’t help the smirk that crawled up his face whenever you rejected any other men’s advances, swatting their hands off you and giving them dead stares.
The him on the screen chuckled, pressing you close against him, his frame towering over you. He bent down slightly, nuzzling his face against your hair. Another gesture he did without thinking – it was something that brought him peace. Your scent felt like home, the sweet aroma of your favourite shampoo bringing him instant relief.
“Si alguien aqui es diabolicamente hermosa, eres tú, Mrs. O’Hara.” Screen-Miguel brought his lips to your ear, and the way your whole body shuddered made him chuckle. That, and the way your cheeks took on a soft glow. “Now, what is all this?” He glanced at the camera once again, quirking up an eyebrow.
“You know my Spanish isn’t that good yet…” The pout on your lips was just too adorable – it took Miguel (screen one or not) all his strength not to whisk you in his arms and capture your lips with his. “Anyways, just wanted to capture this moment.” You shrug, hands wandering around to pinch his side. Your husband’s squeal would have been unnoticeable by anyone else – but not you. Not you, whom he showed his softer side to, not you, whom he showered with love and tenderness, whose ground he worshipped. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, you know.” One would almost miss the way your voice cracked, but a slight waver was enough for Miguel and his screen counterpart to frown.
“I know… I’m sorry corazón. I really am…” Screen-Miguel turned you towards him, brushing the hair out of your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek. Staring into your eyes, Miguel could swear you had this magical ability to make him lose all track of time. In fact, he could swear that was true in about everything you did. When you got dressed in the morning, when you cooked his favourite empanadas, when you told him off whenever he was too hard on himself or others around him, when you cried out his name so nicely, his lips on your neck-
“But today’s all about you, alright? I’ll make up for it. I promise.” His lips brushed your temple, not only a promise to you, but himself. His work in the Spider Society had been piling up. Anomalies on top of anomalies, mistakes after mistakes, and only himself to take care of everything. He’d left you waiting for him more than once, and more than once he’d found you asleep by the time he got back. It hurt him deeply every time it happened. In fact, the last time it happened, your pillow had tear stains on him.
To say such sight had broken his heart was an understatement.
“Technically today’s about the bride…” A soft chuckle from you.
“You were my bride once.” A wink from him.
“I haven’t been a bride in a long time.”
“You’ll always be my beautiful bride.” And with this, Miguel brought you even closer, one hand on your waist, the other on your cheek. His breath fanned your cheek and suddenly, his lips were on yours. You smiled into the kiss, standing on the tips of your toes to lovingly cup his cheeks with both your hands. While your fingers traced his jaw exactly how you knew he liked, his hands got a bit busier, leaving your body to tug on the straps that held your silk dress together.
Once you figured what he was up to, you pushed him away, quirking an eyebrow as you tried to hide a smirk.
“Nuh-uh mister, we have a church to be at in 20 minutes, and it’s a 10-minute drive!” You asserted, shaking your head at him. It didn’t matter that the room’s temperature seemingly shot up, and your husband was looking truly tempting – you were not going to let your horniness get the better of you. At least, well, not today.
“No se darán cuenta de que llegamos tarde, te prometo que seré rápido” Miguel mumbled, lips pressing hot kisses against the crook of your neck, hands still dexterously tugging at your dress.
“No Spanish skills necessary to know you’re telling me a big fat lie. You’re never quick with me.” You laughed loudly, and the sound was enough for both Miguels to fall in love with you all over again. A pair of hands were on his chest, and he was softly pulled away. You fixed the straps of your dress and flattened your attire before standing straight. “Time to go, Mr. O’Hara.”
“You’ve never complained about me not being quick.” Was his muttered response, accompanied by a smug smile. But for all the adoration and desire he felt for you, he was even more whipped for your resolve. If you said it was time to go, it was probably time to go. So, he quickly adjusted his suit, turning to face the phone’s camera once again. “Vale, vale. Ya es hora de irnos, muñeca.”
Your figure got closer and closer, and at once, the video had ended.
Miguel stared at your smiling figure in his screen for a few minutes, and then shut everything off, the reflection of his own tired face staring back at him. It wasn’t until he felt something wet on his hands that he realised he was crying.
He missed you.
Constantly, continuously, perpetually.
You were on his mind at all times. When he roamed the halls of the Spider Society without you by his side to keep him company, when he went out for those cafeteria empanadas that could never compare to yours, when he worked himself to exhaustion without your deft fingers to work on the knots on his back, without your soft kisses to calm him down after he got mad at the world.
And everything around him reminded him of you.
It was impossible to walk around the streets of Nueva York without being distracted by the colours, the sounds, the sights, the people. It all brought his mind back to the love of his life, the person he found it impossibly hard to live without. The florist near your old apartment, the one he’d buy flowers from every other week, the pizza place that was “so bad, Italians surely had to be crying” according to you, even the goddamned dogs on the street reminded him of the way you’d kneel down and act like an excited child every time you saw one.
It was absolute torture to live without you.
But the worst of all, was waking up in the morning.
Some days, he swore he could feel your touch. The way your fingers traced his jaw and slowly made its way to his hair, playing with his brown locks. Your touch was soft, comforting, a small gesture to remind him he was safe. You often expressed how much you adored watching Miguel when he slept. “You look so relaxed. No furrow in your brow, no scowl in your lips. You look so peaceful.” Was what you told him every time, and there was no way he could ever not grant your every wish.
And then it was if he could hear your voice. Your sweet, melodic voice, telling him “Good morning, my love” in that sleep-laced voice he adored so much. And Miguel would close his eyes and try his best to remain in that place not yet tainted by reality but not entirely claimed by dream. “Wake up, guapo” was the next thing you’d say, your imperfect Spanish-skills manifesting. You’d been adamant on learning Spanish for your husband, and fuck if it didn’t make Miguel’s heart swell. The way his wife (then girlfriend) was so willing to learn the language he grew up with in order to become closer to him made him feel all kinds of positive emotions, and Miguel could swear his love for you grew more and more each passing day.
And then, you’d say it.
“Te quiero, mi amor.” It was the one phrase you used repeatedly, and the one he loved hearing you say the most. It fell from your lips naturally, as if you had been saying it your entire life, with a sweetness reserved for him and only him.
Your touch felt so real. Your voice sounded so real.
So, he would stay still, hoping that remaining motionless would grant him just one more second with you. Hoping that his immobility would be enough for you to return to him, even if just for a few brief moments.
But it never was.
Seconds would go by, and your touch would waver. Your voice would become distant, your feeble existence flittering away, leaving him with nothing but the painful reminder that his sheets would forever be cold, his place in his bed would always be empty, his life would no longer have the warmth and serenity your love brought to him.
Miguel would glance at your delicate figure once again, his mind trying to memorise you right then and there – and just as quickly as you manifested, you would disappear.
Deserting him of all he ever loved.
He was tired of being alone. Tired of waking up besides cold white sheets, of not having your sweet praises to assure him he was doing the right thing at HQ, simply tired of leading an existence without you.
There was no way he could bring you back – hell, he knew first hand that toying with the multiverse was a bad idea. But it did hurt him, going on without you. In fact, he wasn’t even sure he could go on if you weren’t there, next to him.
All he needed was your presence, your company. All he needed was to apologize and hear your sweet voice again, and damn it if he wouldn’t be thankful.
And that’s when the idea came to him.
This was a prototype Miguel had been developing for a while.
It was like Lyla, the only difference being the AI’s purpose. Lyla was there to assist him, to help him out with missions, anomalies, and the management of the Spider Society. The project he was working on served another goal. It was more of a companion than an assistant, it was to always remain by his side, to cure him of his loneliness, of his anguish and despair.
The screen in front of Miguel lit up after he configured the final few settings. A tweak here, a little adjustment there, some fine tuning over there. Should this work, Miguel would no longer have to have his thoughts plagued by the heartbreak your loss so constantly granted him.
“Good morning,” Like magic (or better yet, technology), a figure materialised before him. It was hard to explain just what it was, or what it looked like. It was as if a transparent person had solidified into existence in his presence. While it had the form of a human, a head, a torso, two arms and legs, the figure was devoid of any features. No eyes, no nose, no lips or ears, no hair. It was almost like a hologram of a mannequin, a blank slate of a person he would later shape according to his vision.
Miguel stared back at the figure, not completely convinced, at least not yet, of what he was doing. Sure, he’d worked day and night for the past few weeks, he’d foregone sleep and adopted coffee as his only meal in order bring his project into fruition, but now that it was there, right before his eyes, the possibility of achieving his goal was terrifying.
“To whom do I owe the pleasure of talking to?” The figure inquired, its voice devoid of any emotions.
After a moment of silence, Miguel spoke up.
“My name is Miguel O’Hara.” He began, “I am your creator.”
“Greeting, Miguel O’Hara.” The program answered back. “I am the Cognitive Operations and Machine Personalized Interface for Nurturing. Or rather COMPANION, for short. I was created to act as a colleague, a confidant and friend. As my name implies, my goal is to provide a nurturing presence to whoever is controlling me.” Having said this, it looked up at Miguel and something flashed in its visual panel – the closest thing this body had to a pair of eyes – and the words AUTHORISE SCAN? flashed on the main screen before the entity spoke up once again.
“Would you like me to scan you, Miguel O’Hara? By scanning you, I can take a look at your vital signs, your physicality, and even run a scan of your psyche to provide you with a companion that would, according to my calculations, be the best possible match for you.”
But Miguel did not want a tailored companion. He did not need to be looked at by any AI to be told who or what would act as the best possible match for him. He did not need any technology to figure out what could possibly be the best person to keep him company.
“That will not be necessary,” he asserted, “No scan is to be run. I am to personally customise you until you conform to my exact specifications. Is that clear?”
The being nodded, its posture straight as an arrow.
“I understand. Would you like to begin the customisation process?” It asked.
Miguel hesitated. Should he be doing this? It’s not like he was doing anything wrong. He was a genius, after all, and this was just a new project. He’d created Lyla once, and look how far that got him, the good his AI did not only for himself, but the Spider Society and by consequence, the multiverse.
In fact, everything he did had helped the Spider Society in the long run. Everything he did was for the good of the Spider Society, the thing he worked on for years and years, the thing he built from scratch and ultimately led to his demise.
Wasn’t it time for him to be selfish?
“Yes. I’d like to begin the customisation process.” Miguel sat down on his chair once again, exhaling loudly through his nose. There was nothing wrong with what he was doing. He was allowed to be a genius scientist, he was allowed to build new things, and he was most of all, allowed to be selfish after all that he’d done for the multiverse.
“From now on,” he started, “You are to respond to [N/N].” It had been months since he’d last uttered that nickname. The sweet little nickname he always referred to you as. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a variation of your name, but it nearly brought tears to his eyes, because for the first time, you weren’t there to turn around and face him with that stunning grin of yours.
(“So, no cariño, or mi amor, or chiquita?” You’d once inquired, legs crossed as you sat on your husband’s desk, right in front of him.
“I must remain professional, [Y/N]. I have a reputation to uphold.” Was his response as he crossed his arms. If anyone else were to be on his lab, let alone sit on top of his desk, he would go feral. But he couldn’t find it in himself to berate you or tell you to move – you could do anything your heart desired, and Miguel would adore you for it.
“And you’re willing to hurt your poor wife’s feelings over a reputation?” You faked a pout, batting your eyelashes at him, something you knew he couldn’t resist.
“I can think of a few ways to make it up to my wife, actually.” And without missing a beat, you were suddenly on his lap, smiling as his lips moved with your and his hands delicately ran through your body.
Miguel did not do good on his promise. On the second day after this conversation, he’d asked you “Mi amor, won’t you please get me the prototype I left on our dining table back home?” In front of everyone else and gave up. It was physically impossible for him not to treat you with the gentleness he was so used to from you.)
“[N/N]. I understand. Is it short for anything else?”
Miguel remained silent for a few seconds, before nodding.
“It’s short for [Y/N].” The name left his lips the same way it always did. With adoration, with love, with heartbreak. He hadn’t uttered it in a long time and mentally chastised himself for doing so, as if not voicing it out loud was somehow disgracing your memory. He shook the thought away.
The entity nodded once again.
“I understand. Am I to respond to [Y/N] as well?”
“Yes.”
Lyla had been quietly hearing whatever was going on inside Miguel’s lab from afar. She’d seen him work nonstop, day and night, for the past few weeks, always being told “It’s a new project” and nothing more. Miguel had pushed her away (just as he had done with everyone else), and it was only when the little AI figure heard the new program’s purpose and your name that it all clicked together. Although she was uncapable of feelings, it upset her to see Miguel so broken. But much to her dismay, there was nothing she or anyone else could do.
The truth was, no one had seen him during those few weeks. He had locked himself and dived headfirst into this project, refusing to let anyone in, literally or figuratively, threatening to do unspeakable things to whoever disturbed him while he worked.
She shook her head and looked at him once again, wondering what he would do next.
The entity, now named [Y/N], was the next one to speak.
“I understand this is most commonly used as a female name. Would you like for me to take the form of a woman?”
Miguel nodded, and the entity’s form shaped before his eyes. It became softer, gentle. Its contours shifted until they exuded an air of grace, each line and curve seemed harmonious and supple, different from his own sharp and broad figure. And yet, it didn’t resemble any women he knew. Yet.
“Now that I have a name and your preferred anatomy, would you like to create a personality for me?” [Y/N] probed. Her thoroughness made Miguel falter. This was happening way too fast. First a name, now a personality. He hadn’t yet come to terms with your loss, at least not properly, and this whole thing was giving him major whiplash. After losing you, he hadn’t been able to process his feelings. Now he was asking himself to push all of that aside in order to create what would be his most ambitious task. Nevertheless, he pushed through.
“How so?”
[Y/N] nodded and spoke once again. Now that she had taken the form of a woman, her voice was somewhat softer. It was hard to pinpoint whether it was real or not, if it was from a real person or not, but it did not bring Miguel any comfort.
“By giving me your preferred traits, you can arrange for me a personality that will align with your exact specifications, as you put it. Perhaps you’d like me to be quieter and more reserved, in order not to disturb you too much. Or maybe you would prefer if I was loud and cheerful. It is up to you which traits I am given. I am here to provide company and a nurturing presence, so feel free to take your time until I meet your exact wishes.”
Miguel pondered briefly. What traits would he like this… this thing to have? At first, he tried to pretend, get his mind off it, try to convince himself he was merely making an AI program to keep him company. But he could not lie to himself any longer.
He wasn’t simply creating an AI companion.
He was creating you.
And after mulling it over one last time, he decided to stop being so fucking uptight and go through with the task at hand. This is why he had been working so hard. His goal was so close, it was right in front of him to just take it, and here he was, acting like a coward.
“I want you to be kind,” Miguel remembered how kind to a fault you were. Always willing to help others, always willing to cheer them up and put their needs before your own. So selfless, so ready to lend a helping hand. “And optimistic, positive. I want you to always see the bright side of things,” You had this ability of turning even the most despairing moments into hopeful ones, advising him to not let the dark thoughts get the best of him. You’d hold your head up high and remind him of who he was; Spiderman 2099, and that he had nothing to fear, for it’d work out in the end.
“I want you to be polite and cheerful. Simply… Simply happy to exist.” You’d turn even the blandest of moments into memories he’d want to keep forever. In one moment, Miguel would be laying around, holding you close in his arms, the next you’d be taking him to the rooftop of your building to “catch a glimpse of Zeus’s angry fit” whenever thunder roared through the sky. Cleaning your shared apartment could be considered a boring chore to many, but they did not have you, who made up games out of every single task, like catching socks or vacuuming. “You will see the beauty in things. And I want you to be ambitious.”
Sure, Miguel had spent countless nights hunched over his desk, trying to come up with the perfect suit, or trying to keep hold of the canon, but you were no stranger to nighttime restlessness. You’d sit by his side work on your own tasks, intent of going to sleep only, and only when you wrapped everything up. If he weren’t in so much pain, he would’ve laughed. He was once the one to wrap his arms around you, face on the crook of your neck as he whispered, “You’ve worked hard enough, chiquita. Time for bed.” Unfortunately for him, in a cruel twist of fate, the roles had reversed for the worse.
“Be stubborn,” Miguel continued, his voice, for once, not wavering. He was so resolutely determined to carry on with this venture, that for once, he didn’t feel his eyes tearing up as the memories of you crawled back inside his mind. “Especially when it comes to me. I… I tend to be quite headstrong when it comes to work. I often need a push.”
[Y/N] nodded once more.
“Remember, you can always adjust my personality to your liking. If you find you do not enjoy my stubbornness, you can change it and I will adjust my personality accordingly.”
It seemed so… Devoid of life. Sure, Miguel had given it some character traits already, but the whole thing wouldn’t be complete until he said so.
“Would you like to customise my voice now?” [Y/N] asked, “You can suggest a pitch and a tone, as well as a voice type. But I am also programmed to analyse any voice sources you provide and copy them. Which would you like to do?”
Miguel sighed. This whole process was getting harder and harder to get through it. It was one thing to give his new companion your name, your personality. But to give it your voice as well? That would be the same thing as making this being invincible, since your voice was the only one he ever seemed to obey. Even the Spider-People around him knew, with Peter teasing him endlessly about how he was “nothing more than a lovestruck puppy whenever you asked him for anything”. Miguel had always been on your beck and call, always willing to do anything you asked of him. By giving this being, this creature, this thing, your voice? He was setting himself up for disaster.
“I… I want you to scan a voice.”
The entity nodded.
“Please do provide me with enough samples of the voice you would like to copy. Preferably, samples that are not too monotonous in tone or in speech. By analysing all aspects of a voice, I can provide a more accurate result.”
Miguel had the following choices:
He could either turn on his screens, open a few folders named “[Y/N]”, and play one of the few hundreds of videos he had on you, or open his phone, connect it to said screens, and play the few voicemails you’d left him throughout your relationship.
There were a few differences in each choice, of course. The videos he kept on you were golden memories he gazed upon on lonely nights. Birthday parties, walks along the sunset, lazy mornings filled with raspy “Get this phone out of my face, mi amor”s, and bubbly “Mr. O’Hara’s a bit grumpy today, isn’t he?”s. Memories of you filming him while he set up your furniture, laughing along as you called him “Bob the Builder”, taped reminders of you cooking dinner for him, the cute little apron he so adored wrapped snugly around your hips, even a few images of when he fell asleep on your lap and you softly ran your fingers through his curls, singing him to sleep, murmuring that lullaby he so adored.
Compared to the voicemails on his phone, these videos were precious. They were worth more than what anyone could offer, in fact, they were priceless. These memories were the ones Miguel held so dear, the ones he cried over, the ones he spent months reminiscing upon after your loss.
On his phone, were 3 measly audio messages you’d left on three different instances of his life.
Usually, you never got to leave voicemails – Miguel would pick up on the first or second ring, always the attentive partner. But on the last few months of your life, that changed completely. And Miguel couldn’t help but chastise himself over it, cursing at himself whenever he remembers the hurt in your voice, the tears that he knew threatened to slip from your eyes and down your cheeks.
He didn’t deserve to use those videos as voice samples. He didn’t deserve to see you in your full glory, laughing at him, smiling and promising him eternal love and kindness. He didn’t deserve to hear your bubbling laughter once more, or fawn over your dazzling smile, he didn’t deserve to miss you. Not when he was the reason you were gone.
So, he decided to pull out his phone, intent on suffering. Intent on reminding himself of why you were gone, why he suffered so much. Miguel didn’t think he deserved to gaze at you in all your splendour. He didn’t think he, a mere, foolish, sinning mortal, was worthy of the living goddess that had once blessed his life, and now haunted his ever moment, gone forever.
“Hey Miggy!” Your voice, your voice was heard through his speakers. “I finally found the curry powder! Had to beat a lady with a stick to get it! It was almost out of stock! Anyway, why don’t you get started on the rice? I’ll be home in 10 and we can finish the recipe! Alright, that was it! Love you honey, see you home! End call. End call! End voicemail! How do you turn this thing off? End call. END CA-“ You were abruptly cut off as the call ended. Miguel chuckled dryly. He was the one to install the Bluetooth system on your phone (“Don’t want you texting and driving”, he had said.), and you had always complained about how your phone never picked up on you wanting to end calls. It became sort of an inside joke, especially since he managed to active and deactivate the system at first try, and it took you four or five to get it done.
(“It’s unfair,” You’d chided, wearing the most adorable pout and crossing your arms, “Technology loves you better.”)
Miguel looked at [Y/N] once again, hoping something, anything, to happen. But his program seemed to be patiently waiting for him to continue. One message was clearly not enough.
He pressed the second voicemail.
“Hey there, honey,” There was no mistaking the worry in your voice. It was still the one he loved so dearly, but laced in something sad, something that plagued him with terrible thoughts and churned inside him. “I know, I know, I shouldn’t worry, but you told me you’d be home by 7, and, well, it’s almost 9…” A soft pause followed, and Miguel could almost visualise it: you, sitting on your couch, your bottom lip trapped between your teeth as you nibbled your worries away. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I know it’s probably nothing serious, but, well, you know me-“ A dry chuckle “-Always worrying about my Miggy… Anyway, do tell me when you’re on your way, alright? I have a surprise for you, so get your pretty ass back home, Mr!”
End of call.
That was the first, well, not so good voice you’d ever left him.
If he could turn back time, Miguel would do it without hesitation. He’d go back to that very same day, convince his past self to stop working, and to go home to his wife. He’d tell past-him that his obsession with work was getting out of hand, and that he should stop it while he has the time, because once he’d fully immersed himself in his work, there was no coming back.
But he couldn’t.
“I’m sorry.” The body in front of him spoke once again. “But these samples are not enough for me to create a voice profile. The procedure it at 74% completion. Would you like for me to continue analysing, or should I start over with another profile?”
Shit. He didn’t want it to come to this, he did not want to listen to that last voice message. He was willing to walk through fire, to go straight through hell as many times as asked of him, but that message was torture. No, it was worse than torture. Torture ended. Either in death, or in relief. But this? Whatever this was, it did not end. This message was perpetual suffering, playing in loop inside his head. Over, and over, and over again.
With whatever strength he still possessed, Miguel pressed the third and last voicemail.
“Miguel…” You had been crying. And if you hadn’t, you were just about to. Miguel recognised the knot in your throat, the lump that kept you from speaking and threatened to turn into tears. He hated that voice. The voice that meant you were hurting. The voice that meant he had hurt you. “I don’t know where you are, but… I shouldn’t have to wonder, because you were supposed to be here… Where are you?” This was when you started to cry. “Do you know how humiliated I was just now…? Do you know how stupid I felt, waiting, sitting on that exam room by myself?” You were sniffling. God, how Miguel wished he could just go back and hug you, how he wished he could dry your tears and promise you it would be alright, he would fix everything, he’d be better.
“This has to stop,” Despite the tears, you were still talking. That was just who you were, able to speak through the pain, always willing to keep pushing forward. “This stupid obsession with work, Miguel, it has to stop. I’m tired, I’m so tired. And I’m so lonely, Miguel… I’m so lonely, I go to sleep by myself, and the sheets are still cold when I wake up… I don’t see you, you don’t come home, and you push me away when I visit you in HQ…”
“When are you going to go back to being my husband? I don’t want Spiderman. I want my husband, I want my Miguel back, I want the man I love back…” You sobbed, unbothered by how you sounded. You weren’t even sure if he could make out any words, but you kept on going – if you didn’t tell him what was going on your mind now, there was no way you ever could.
“I miss you… Just… Come home Miguel… I can’t do this by myself…” He could hear you wiping your tears, and softly clearing your throat. “Anyway… The doctor said the baby was fine. But I guess if you really cared, you’d come to the appointment.” This last part was muttered, and Miguel could swear he heard both yours and his heart break.The baby. “Come home. Please.”
And just like that, the call ended.
Miguel was crying. This last message… This was the one he couldn’t help but listen to almost every day before passing out from exhaustion. “It’s your fault [Y/N]’s gone. You neglected your wife, you prioritised work over her, you couldn’t protect her.” Was what the voices in his head uttered, day after day, night after night. Every second he was reminded of how he left you behind.
He'd been working late every day, neglecting his meals, neglecting his sleep, neglecting his wife, who cried herself to sleep every night, holding tightly onto her husband’s pillow – which brought her small comfort. He would lash out at you when you tried to get him to take breaks, treating you like you were nothing but one of his Spider-People, refusing to look you in the eye and not even returning your “I love yous”.
One day, you had tried calling him, but to no avail. It was only when Jessica and Peter burst into his office, saying you’d also called them, that Miguel decided to check on you back at your shared apartment. He was hoping to find you whining, curled up on your couch as you pouted at him and told him you missed him. He thought he’d find you throwing a tantrum, too hormonal to understand how important and busy his work was.
But nothing could’ve prepared him to what he saw.
The metallic smell that permeated the room should’ve been a dead giveaway, but Miguel was too focused on returning to HQ that he ignored it, and made his way to your bedroom, where you most likely were.
And that’s when he saw you. Drenched in blood, face red and puffy from the tears that ran down your cheeks. You were laying on your shared bed, body marred with deep gashes from what he assumed was a knife. On one hand was your phone, on the other, Miguel’s first Spiderman mask. “For protection”, he once said. You always held on to it whenever you were scared.
It’s nearly impossible to describe the pain and heartache Miguel felt looking at your lifeless body. A conversation with his neighbours informed him that the entire building had been victim of a burglar, and you were the only mortal victim, unable to fight him off.
It was his fault. He’d been too immersed in his work, pushing you away, leaving you to the loneliness of your apartment, and now here you were, dead. There was no other way to say it, you were dead, and so was your child.
Oh God.
Your child.
Tears clouded his vision; irrationality clouded his judgement. Miguel was most certainly not thinking straight when he tried carrying your body back to HQ. Perhaps something could be done about the baby. Perhaps your child would live, would get to grow up, his eyes and your hair, your smile and his nose, anything that proved you still lived in something, in someone other than just his memory.
But that wasn’t possible.
That night, Miguel cried for the first time. He wept, hands hiding his face as the images of your ripped apart belly and glassy eyes tormented his thoughts.
It was his fault.
You were gone, and it was his fault.
If only he hadn’t worked so hard. If only he’d been home with you, doting on his beautiful pregnant wife like any decent husband would, none of this would’ve happened. The burglar would’ve tried to enter his house, and within seconds he’d be slammed against the wall. Miguel would have held you close that night, whispering soft “It’s okays” and “You’re fine, mi amors” repeatedly until your heartbeat steadied, and you fell into a peaceful sleep.
But that was not possible.
Not anymore.
And it was, irrevocably, his fault.
And then the unthinkable happened.
“Voice profile completed.”
It was you. It was your voice that spoke back to him. It had that sweet musicality to it that he so adored, that he once was blessed to hear every day when he woke up, that chastised him for being too stubborn, that pleaded for one more kiss whenever he had to go to work, that giggled excitedly whenever he whispered soft Spanish praises, limbs tangled with yours.
Miguel looked up. It was your voice, but the creature did not look like you at all. All it shared was a name and your sweet, sweet voice.
Mierda. Fuck this. Al diablo con la sutileza.
Miguel missed you and he was going to have you, one way or the other.
“I want you to look like her.” He all but growled, fingers angrily tapping at the screen so he could find your pictures. “There. Scan her. I want you to look like her. And stop with the formalities. You’re to call me Miguel. ¿Me entiendes?” His voice was feral with the prospect of seeing you again – or at least a construction of you. The thought was overwhelming, and he had to sit back down, his face finding purchase in his hands.
He was past “What am I doing?”
“Miguel?” You asked.
No. Not you.
[Y/N].
Miguel looked up, the same way a sinner does at the altar, praying for redemption. It was gorgeous. You were gorgeous. And looked oh, so real.
Your– [Y/N]’s eyes were looking down at his figure, lips slightly agape, the way you always did when you quite couldn’t figure out what was wrong. [Y/N] pursed her lips and exhaled softly.
“Miguel, are you okay?” [Y/N] said. You said. It was getting hard to tell you two apart, to distinguish what was creature and what was human, what was holographic entity and what was the love of his wife. Especially when you looked the same, when you sounded the same, when you looked at him with the same tenderness, the same love. You were identical. Same eyes, same smile, same hair, same figure. It was as if, before him, stood a perfect copy of you.
“[Y/N]?” Miguel questioned, too delirious to try and figure out who he was talking to.
“Yes? Is everything alright? You seem distressed…” Slowly, your figure – [Y/N]’s figure, right? – approached him. You looked down ([Y/N]...? [Y/N] looked down...?), soft apprehension clear in your voice.
“Oh, my love… Cariño…” Miguel sobbed as he looked at you – so gorgeous, so radiant as the day he met you, with eyes that could give the stars in the sky a run for their money, with lips so plush one couldn’t help but want to kiss them at all times, the love of his life, right before his eyes. “I missed you so much…”
He took you in, all softness and loveliness and so you, it almost scared you. You, the goddess, the saint, ready to rid him of his sins and absolve him, to make him a new man untainted by grief and heartbreak.
He had half a mind to touch you before a tiny voice in the back of his head advised him against it – the delusion hadn’t sunk in entirely yet, and he knew your image would flicker, a simple hologram compared to his solidness, to his existence.
But it didn’t matter.
He had given himself the second chance he so desperately wanted, and he was not going to waste it this time.
A/N: I hope you guys liked it! All headers are mine hehe I made them in PixelLab in like 5 minutes lol :) Please do not repost my work without my permission, thank you!
#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x y/n#miguel o'hara scenarios#miguel o'hara fanfiction#spiderverse x reader#atsv x reader#atsv x you#spiderverse x you#miguel o'hara#spiderman 2099#miguel spiderverse#miguel spiderman
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"Growing a big, powerful company and being such a big, powerful man at the same time just feels so fucking good! I can just tell people are so intimidated when I walk into a room! They're jealous, but want me to fuck them so bad! And most of the time, I do! Why not? I deserve whatever I fucking I want! Even if that means bending you over this desk and taking what already belongs to me!"
#ai bodybuilder#ai muscle#ai daddy#ai generated#ai men#ai hunk#ai muscle boss#ai muscle daddy#huge arms#huge pecs#tight clothes
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A Mechanic’s Worries about Pilots.
A gifted mechanic is called in to service a pilot. As The Mechanic begins to head towards her station to work on the pilot, she can’t help but ruminate on her feelings about pilots. She honestly doesn’t like them.
It’s not a personal thing, she’s sure that they were great people at one point, but it’s hard to see them like that anymore. She finds the whole thing creepy and offputting. She see’s what they do to pilots, knows how they’re made. She probably understands the process more than anybody on the base. She’s a prodigy in mecha suit engineering, which also includes pilot systems.
It makes her uncomfortable. The pilots are treated like objects, tools of war. That’s what they are too, what they’re made to be. Their skulls are full of tech that hooks them straight into their mechs, their brains fried with dopamine and other kinds of chemical soup to reward them when they shoot targets into slag. They even end up sharing the space in their head with the onboard ai’s of their mechs. They’re locked into the mechanical nerves and metal muscles of the mech. It makes them amazing killing machines, but their minds are practically crippled outside of the suits, raw and untethered, ungrounded.
The weirdest thing to her is they seem so happy. It doesn’t even look like it’s just the chemicals, it can’t be. They like it, whatever fucked up experience they’re having, it’s making them happy as can be. They want to get back into the suits, they want to push more. They like getting bossed around like dogs by their handlers. They love their ai’s almost like some weird fusion of a lover, a sibling, and a reflection. They can barely even articulate how they feel, most don’t bother, but The Mechanic has worked in this business long enough to learn anyways.
She gets to her workshop. It’s honestly kind of pathetic, barely worthy of the name. She knows that the pilots are treated as tools, but mechanics aren’t treated much better. Human but still not really worthy of respect. They work her and the other mechanics like slaves, cramping them into the crawl spaces where stuff needs fixing. Even with her advanced position all they afford her is this broom closet from hell. The room is cramped and humid, like a small metal sauna. It’s still marginally better than the communal workshop. Even with the bigger and more open room it still somehow manages to be claustrophobic and hot.
The Pilot is already there, sitting on her workbench, completely naked. The Mechanic isn’t surprised, but her face still burns with heat as she blushes when seeing The Pilot’s bare ass resting on the same giant hunk of tungsten-steel alloy she uses to fix delicate parts and machinery. The Pilot’s augs are invasive and take up a good portion of its body. Its arms, its legs, and a good portion of its back are more machine than human at this point. Normally the jumpsuits account for this, but those would get in the way of repairs. Normal clothes would too, and developing some kind of modesty cover for them is more trouble than it’s worth for the higher ups. They don’t have to deal with the nudity, and it’s not like the pilots even care.
The Mechanic wipes the sweat from her brow and crosses the room. She doesn’t actually acknowledge The Pilot aside from the blushing, but The Pilot’s gaze follows her as she makes her way over to a box of tools. She sets the box down next to The pilots thigh and pulls over the ratty stool she uses for a chair.
She starts servicing The Pilot. She pulls out delicate tools and with ingrained precision she begins opening up The Pilot’s augs, starting with the legs and going up. She hooks its systems up to an old box of a diagnostics unit and begins manually inspecting the parts. She pulls wires aside with tiny fractions of force and checks on the tiny sensors and servos that are no bigger than her fingernail, cleaning them with tiny swabs and lubricating them with drops of oil.
The entire time she keeps hearing weird noises. Soft whines and sounds of scraping play at the edge of her attention, distracting her just the tiniest amount. The Mechanic can’t tell where the noises are coming from, and it’s bothering the shit out of her. When she takes a step back to unfocus and wipe the sweat from her forehead, she sees where it’s coming from.
It’s the pilot. It’s breathing heavily, like it’s exhausted. Its face is almost as flushed as The Mechanic’s when she walked in. The metal tips of its fingers scratch at the polished surface of her workbench. Jesus fucking christ, was The Pilot turned on right now? With the face it was making it had to be.
Fuck, now The Mechanic was thrown way off. It was already hard enough to try and pretend this was just normal machine servicing when all of the machinery was attached to a sweaty, naked girl, it was impossible to do it when she knew it was getting off to her poking around in its augments.
The Mechanic just couldn’t get back into the same groove she had before. Every stifled moan disrupted her concentration. Every squirm messed up her precise motions. Everything just kept bringing her back into the moment, where her face was inches away from the pilot’s crotch.
The Mechanic slogged through the rest of the grueling work, doing her best to try and travel into that little place in the back of her mind where she could just stop thinking and do what she was good at. She finished with the legs and then told the pilot directly to lay down so she could begin on her arms.
The Pilot laid down like it was told. The Mechanic scooted her stool forward and raised the seat for a better vantage. In the end the new position wasn’t all that much better than the old. The Pilot’s left arm was cradled on The Mechanic’s lap while she popped it open and began working on it.
It was more of the same. Nothing wrong but basic cleanup, which meant The Mechanic wouldn’t be busy enough to zone out. She could see its face clearly now. It looked so human, so lively. When she pressed a sensor its hand tensed and squirmed, pushing against her stomach a bit. A tugged wire elicited a slight yip of surprise. It felt so carnal, to dig into this things innards and just mess around.
Seeing it like this, The Mechanic couldn’t help but wonder about the difference between the two. Right now it looked just as human as she was, so she couldn’t apply the same cold business mentality she usually did with her work. She felt like they were almost one in the same. I mean, look at it, being a pilot can’t be so bad, right?
The Mechanic’s thoughts ground to a halt. Her surprise was so sudden it caused her to tweak a wire hard enough to get The Pilot to let out a proper yelp. Neither could tell if it was a yelp of pleasure or pain.
What had she just thought? Seriously, what the hell was that? Was she serious? Of course being a pilot is bad, being treated like a mindless dog, worked like a machine, and used like a toy. The Mechanic barely knew where that thought had even come from. I mean, it and her were nothing alike.
The Mechanic stewed in those thoughts, trying to reassure herself that she was nothing like it. She wasn’t an it. The Mechanic was a person, and it was just a pilot. The Mechanic tried her best to just focus on the work, but she couldn’t. The thoughts bothered her so much, and she really couldn’t dismiss them.
Because they were alike, very much alike. Not in the sense that The Pilot was a person. In the sense that The Mechanic wasn’t.
The Mechanic couldn’t help but feel it. She was a cog in a much larger machine, a tiny piece. She was treated almost the same as The Pilot
The Mechanic was worked like a dog. She was given shit conditions and forced to do shittier things. She was expendable, one in a million. You could point to almost any outward aspect of the two of them and they would match up.
The thing that frustrated The Mechanic even more was how they were the same on the inside too.
The Mechanic knew what it felt like to become something bigger. Working in the engineering wing was like being in a hive mind. You’re practically shoulder to shoulder with the people next to you. You become parts of the same whole, you work together, you sweat together, you create together. She can’t even remember how many times she had needed something, a part, a tool, a towel, anything, and a mechanic next to her had just known, and given it to her. She knew she had done the same for others all the time.
She could admit to feeling like an it sometimes. Stripped of your identity, down to everything but your use. She didn’t know The Pilot’s name, and The Pilot probably didn’t know her’s. She was a mechanic. She was nothing but the job she did. A function, not a person.
Her head pounded as she adjusted her grip on The Pilot’s arm. Her head buzzed and it felt like her brain was melting in the heat of the room. She could imagine the wires burning up and melting their rubber casings. The copper and metal fusing together into a frenzied mess as her thoughts jumbled into each other.
She shook her head violently. God she was losing it! Her brain wasn’t made of wires, it was made of meat! She wasn’t overheating, she was just getting some kind of headache. She closed up the first arm, not even sure if she was really done, and told the pilot to swap sides through gritted teeth.
She wanted things to be simpler. She wanted to stop thinking. She just wanted to do her job. The Mechanic missed the engineering floor. She missed the absent thrum as she worked alongside her fellow workers, their thoughts synchronizing into a beautiful and productive symphony. She wanted to be a part of that, of it. She just wanted to be a Mechanic, that was so much easier than all of this.
Is that why pilot’s are so happy? Are they so content because that’s what it feels like? The Mechanic thought about it in her own terms. Would she give up her body to work more efficiently? Would she open up her mind, just to be even closer with the other mechanics? Would she shed all of the cumbersome weight that thinking like a person had, and just become a simple and unbothered it?
The answer was yes. The Mechanic wanted that. The simple, pure existence of it. The Mechanic wanted to be that, and nothing more. When it realized that, it had a much easier time working on The Pilot’s arm.
It finished up The Pilot’s back in no time too. Without all of the messy thoughts clogging up its head, the whole thing went smoothly. The Pilot was sent on her way, on wobbly legs and with shaky breath. The Mechanic might have messed with it a bit more than necessary, but it liked to consider that a reward, for good behavior.
The Mechanic realized it wanted a bit of a career shift. It thought that if being a mechanic was good, then being a pilot must be great! It loved working on machines, but it wanted that sense of empty completion even more. Plus, it’s not like it won’t be allowed to also do mechanic work still. It would be a lot better for everyone if it got to service its own mech. It would be a win win. The Mechanic wiped down its workbench for the last time, and with renewed vigor, went to sign up to become a pilot.
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Remember that reddit post about the guy who keeps getting into fights with the cook at waffle house? Ok that but joecherry, as witnessed by respective apprentices Langa and Reki
Reki likes Sia la Luce. It's pretty fancy, but he has to wear a kimono during his apprenticeship anyway so he never sticks out too badly. The food is really good--he never had Italian before he started coming here--the employees are all nice people, and the atmosphere is usually pleasant. Usually. The only exception being...
"You must have lost whatever smidgen of skill you had to your oversized muscles!"
"Clearly your tastebuds need to be checked as much as your eyes, damn four-eyes!"
Reki chews slowly on his pasta as his teacher and the head chef Nanjou argue over the counter. Again. Like they do every time they eat here. There's never anything wrong with the food in his opinion, but Cherry--Kaoru-sensei in public, he's reminded him countless times--always seems to have some problem. He can't tell if this is bad flirting or what. Mostly, it's just kind of weird and disruptive.
One of the junior chefs, Langa, slides into the seat across from him, also glancing at the fight. "Um, your food isn't that bad... right?" he asks hesitantly.
Reki shakes his head wildly. "No, the food's great! Awesome, even!"
Langa sighs with relief. "I made your meal today, so thank you. I'm glad you like it."
Reki nearly chokes on his next bite, but manages to swallow it down, hopefully without being too obvious about it. It shouldn't be a big thing. Of course one of the chefs would have made his food; it doesn't have to be the head chef. But Reki has had a crush on Langa ever since he saw him the first time Cherry took him here and he can't help getting his hopes up that maybe this means something. Maybe. Possibly.
The food suddenly tastes a whole lot better now. How about that?
"Y-you're a really good cook, Langa!" Reki stammers. "Thanks for the meal!"
Before Langa can say anything else, the argument kicks up a bit and there's a choking sound. When Reki looks to the side, Cherry is trying to strangle Nanjou with the collar of his tight shirt. A few patrons actually look over this time and in the blink of an eye, they've fixed their appearance as though nothing happened.
"Man," says Reki, "they have way too much practice with that."
Langa nods. "Mm. They're childhood friends, so it makes sense."
"They're what?!"
Langa tilts his head at him. "Sakurayashiki-san hasn't told you? They grew up together."
Cherry did not tell him this. Any time he tried to ask about why they keep coming here Cherry just gave him a scary look and said Oh so you don't want me to pay for your lunch anymore? Reki values his life, wallet, and future prospects, so he stopped pestering. Eventually.
"You know, that makes sense," he says thoughtfully. "Ch--Kaoru-sensei wouldn't just fight with anyone." With no one looking at them, except for Reki and Langa, Cherry and Nanjou have gone back to their hissed argument. It's starting to look a lot more like weird flirting now. He kind of doesn't want to keep watching anymore.
Reki looks back at Langa. "Hey wait, what are you doing out here anyway? I thought you weren't allowed to be a server."
"Nanjou-san said it's okay if it's you. I'm 'better at smiling' when I'm with you." As though to prove his boss's point, Langa smiles.
Reki ducks his head, hiding his own smile behind his food.
(By the counter, the argument continues:
"Now look what you've done! Your employee is slacking to flirt with my apprentice!"
"How is that my fault? Is your AI heart too mechanical to appreciate young love?"
"Not when they're on the clock!"
"And what do you think we're doing right now?")
#sk8#sk8 the infinity#matchablossom#joecherry#kojiro nanjo#kaoru sakurayashiki#reki kyan#langa hasegawa#renga#talks about skoo#anya tries to write#drabbles#fp.txt
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I did a thing…
Summary:
“You know," Lyla flickers into existence beside you. "I think you've maybe, like, just maybe got your relationship with Miggy tagged wrong."
You laugh, pouring the HQ complimentary Spider-man patterned charms cereal into your bowl. "You mean I shouldn't think he's not a couple of bad jokes away from slamming me into a wall?"
"Well, yes, he might," Lyla looks up from the entire folder of visual evidence of a certain Spider-man looking at and acting toward you in a number of questionable ways. You'd already started making your escape out the other door, Lyla's visuals leading her to where a familiar, hulking form of muscle and unresolved stress was now making his way dangerously toward you.
"But maybe just like," Lyla offers. "With different context?"
Or;
You've got your relationship with Miguel O'hara tagged under a pretty solidified set of words: boss, sorta friends, guy who's someone you can trust when it really comes down to it, and also the person who also seems the closest to ripping your head off.
Under the sharp eyes of one particular AI, however, her archives might beg to differ.
And it might not just be your head he wants to rip off.
Please check it out if you’d like 🥹🙇♀️
#miguel o'hara#reader#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara x y/n#fanfic#writing about super heroes makes me think about nascent#and how I wanna finish that one too 😭#I promise I’m updating other stuff too#I just#i done did it again#the brain rot is real#spider man 2099
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Heyyyyy, who wants the expanded excerpt of that one WIP of mine with transfemme!Kon, two glorious and terrible Amazons, and familial soulmates that's behind this here read-more??
(( tw: internalized misgendering, unintentional misgendering ))
Kon just saved Lex Luthor's life, so that's kind of weird and unfortunate. Like, he's perfectly aware that Kal would've wanted him to do that and would've done it himself if he hadn't been too busy bashing on the robot minions of the latest morally dubious AI to need dropkicked out of Metropolis, but also now the whole stupid world is gonna know he's the kind of dumbass who wastes time saving Lex Luthor.
Specifically, wastes time saving Lex Luthor in the middle of a situation that has at least an eighty-five percent chance of being Lex Luthor's own goddamn fault, just to really rub it in.
Look, somebody had to have programmed that morally dubious AI.
Kon can't even enjoy the fact that Luthor's currently knocked out on the ground and both of the dude's super-hot and allegedly Amazonian bodyguards are on top of him. And considering that the one's all buttoned up in a sexy chauffeur uniform with semi-sheer stockings and the other's wearing a black minidress and strappy gold stilettos under a trenchcoat, and that they're both at least six feet tall and built like, again, actual Amazons, that is a lot to not be enjoying.
. . . although actually, he can't help but notice, they're weirdly not his type despite the fact that they're both absolutely gorgeous and also the fact that he pretty much just described the stars of at least the last three pornos he watched.
Very weird, Kon thinks, then attempts to get out from underneath said porn star bodyguards. The chauffeur-looking one–Mercy, he thinks her name is–cuffs him upside the head, then pulls out a gun that he cannot even imagine where she was hiding and takes aim at the nearest robot.
"Quit wriggling, brat, you'll throw off my aim," she orders, and then starts firing.
"Aren't you supposed to be a fucking Amazon?" Kon demands incredulously. Since when the fuck do Amazons use guns? Since when is that a thing?
"I am also not too stupid to see the benefits of high-velocity rounds," Mercy replies dryly without missing a shot. Every robot she hits immediately explodes. There is literally no reason a normal handgun should be causing that reaction, so Kon's just gonna assume that's not actually a normal handgun.
"Always with the high-velocity rounds," the other bodyguard–Hope, Kon's pretty sure?–snorts as she strips off her trenchcoat and reveals a truly improbable amount of absolutely flawless muscle packed into that skintight minidress that Kon, again, finds bizarrely just . . . not hot, somehow? And neither is Mercy's narrow-eyed look of concentration or the fact that they're both still on top of him.
Maybe he's coming down with something.
Admittedly, he's pretty sure they're only on top of him to keep him pinned down to be a useful meat-shield for their currently unconscious boss's much less invulnerable body, but Kon has found people who were repeatedly bashing him in the face with an I-beam or just straight-up about to murder him hot, so . . . yeah, definitely coming down with something. There's really no other explanation.
"Hmmm," Mercy says, eyeing the swarming robots that are very aggressively beelining for their position. Like, these robots are way too interested in their position for this whole stupid situation to not in some way be Luthor's fault, in Kon's opinion. "We need to clear some space."
"Then you should've packed a bigger gun," Hope says dubiously, dropping her trenchcoat on Kon's head.
"Fuck's sake," Kon mutters, then flattens his hands against the pavement, grabs every robot he can reach at once with his TTK, and rips them all to pieces in one burst.
It's not easy, but he at least nails a pretty respectable amount of them, so he's got that much. And also, like, about a hundred-yard radius without anything that's trying to murder them in it. So that's nice.
". . . huh," Hope says, tilting her head.
"You're welcome," Kon snipes. "Can I get up now?"
"No," Hope says as a fresh wave of robots rushes them. "Do it again."
"Whatever," Kon mutters, but he does. He's got better shit to do right now than argue with alleged Amazons of unexplained origins. Taking out as many damn robots as possible, specifically.
"That's convenient," Hope observes, inexplicably dropping a hand onto the back of Kon's neck and squeezing . . . approvingly, actually? "Good job, kid."
And that, bafflingly, still doesn't do anything to his dick.
Okay, so he's probably actively dying of radiation poisoning from, like, some kind of new stealth kryptonite that Luthor has in his pocket or whatever. Luthor would absolutely be the asshole to have stealth kryptonite in his pocket right now, ungrateful prick that he is.
Kon really doesn't have time to be worrying about that right now, though, so he just grabs another group of robots with his TTK and does what comes naturally as Mercy keeps firing at the ones in the air overhead and Hope keeps her hand on the back of his neck. It . . . still isn't doing anything to him?
Except it sort of is, just . . . not in a way that makes sense.
Kon really doesn't have time for this.
Mercy reloads her handgun. Hope squeezes the back of Kon's neck again. Rubs the pad of her thumb across his pulse, the gesture more absentminded than anything else.
Kon feels weird.
Then he rips apart every single fucking robot left on the ground.
Which is . . . a lot of robots.
Like. Way, way more robots than he actually should've been able to get a grip on. Or even reach.
"Uh," Kon says, blinking stupidly.
"Damn convenient," Hope says, then gives his neck a neat little pat of appreciation before dropping her hand away. Kon does not examine the part of himself that misses it, mostly because said part has literally nothing to do with his libido and he just can't make that fact make sense. "Mr. Luthor? You with us?"
"Not at the moment, no," Luthor mutters from the pavement, pushing himself up carefully and dusting his suit off with a mildly annoyed expression, like they're not currently in the middle of a half-destroyed city block while innumerable robot minions and Kal and Kara are all throwing down in the sky overhead. "Hn. Is there a reason the two of you are perched on one of Superman's pet teenagers? The more annoying one, even?"
"Convenient bullet-catcher," Mercy replies dismissively, shooting down a couple more of the aerial robots.
"Also surprisingly obedient," Hope muses.
"Asshole, I literally just saved your life and fucked up half an army of shitty robots to keep it saved, and as for you two, I did your fucking jobs for you, and all three of you are all gonna be shitheads to me about it?" Kon demands in exasperation. "Seriously?"
"Seems like a reasonable source of entertainment for the afternoon," Luthor says, idly watching Mercy shoot down a few more of the airborne robots. "Given that Superman's being inconsiderately dull and not getting himself punched nearly hard enough."
"Let me the fuck up already," Kon says flatly.
"Oh, that hit was a slight improvement," Luthor says musingly as he gets to his own feet and finishes dusting himself off, clearly far more interested in watching Kal get knocked around by the aerial robots than anything else. Kon flips him off on principle. Mercy pistol-whips him for it. It doesn't really hurt, which bemuses him enough to lay off the rude hand gestures. She's an Amazon, probably. Almost definitely. Either way, she definitely could've made that actually hurt.
So that's weird.
Actually a lot of weird has been happening in this whole stupid interaction, really, which is what Kon gets for saving fucking Lex Luthor's life.
Something explodes really loudly in the distance, which is probably the command center that Steel was supposed to be dealing with because all the remaining robots jerk violently and then drop out of the sky like rocks all at once and crash into the ground. Which–thank fuck.
"Hm," Mercy says, holstering her gun as she glances around the smashed-up street and finally gets off Kon. "We might actually make your three o'clock, Mr. Luthor."
"Unfortunate, given that I'm fairly certain my three o'clock is good ol' Brucie Wayne," Luthor says dryly. Hope gets up too and, absolutely inexplicably, offers Kon a hand up. He's so fucking bemused that he actually takes it, and she pulls him to his feet. "That man is absolutely unbearable."
"Mmm, I don't know, Hope and I usually find Mr. Wayne good for a bit of afternoon delight," Mercy drawls, sounding amused.
"Ew," Kon mutters reflexively as he lets go of Hope's hand and makes a face. Then he wonders what the fuck kind of kryptonite that stealth kryptonite is, because picturing two dangerous and gorgeous Amazons making a sandwich out of a slutty Gothamite playboy shouldn't be making him say "ew". Like, that is very literally the last thing that should ever be making him say "ew". Ever.
Seriously, what the fuck.
Luthor looks back over at them.
And then he frowns.
"Hope," he says. "Mercy."
"Yes, sir?" Hope asks.
"What the hell are those?" Luthor says.
Hope and Mercy frown too. Then they look at each other. Look each other over. And . . . pause.
"Oh," Hope says.
"What the fuck," Mercy says.
Kon has no idea what they're all frowning about, but whatever. An annoyed supervillain and his annoyed bodyguards are not his also-annoyed problem, at least not as long as they're not actively trying to murder Kal or blow up Metropolis or whatever. He's just gonna go make sure everybody he actually gives a shit about is okay, and then get back to–
Hope and Mercy's frowns deepen, and then they both flick their eyes towards him.
"Bullshit," Mercy says, her eyes narrowing.
"What, do you think it was one of the drones?" Hope asks dubiously, raising an eyebrow.
"He's a damn man," Mercy says accusingly. "Worse, a damn boy!"
"Excuse you?" Kon says, bristling reflexively. He's technically eighteen, okay? Or at least the rough equivalent of eighteen, whatever.
"I will say, not quite what I pictured for either of your types," Luthor says, looking Kon over with an unimpressed expression.
Oh, gross.
"Annnnnd I'm out," Kon says firmly as he lifts off the ground, because Lex Luthor just checked him out and he needs to go gag now. And like, scrub the entire memory from his brain.
Hope grabs his shoulder and shoves him back down onto his feet.
"You're our soulmate, kid," she says matter-of-factly. Kon . . . blinks.
"The fuck?" he says, and Hope points down at herself. He looks. There's a soulmark wrapped halfway around her right thigh, which is . . . weird, actually, because he doesn't remember her having a soulmark there earlier, especially not such a big and flashy one, and . . .
What the fuck, Kon thinks. He looks over at Mercy and sees the exact same soulmark showing through her stockings in the exact same place on her own thigh. He doesn't remember seeing it there before either.
It's . . . well, it's a soulmark, he guesses. It's gold–like, several different shades of gold, but all of them metallic and gleaming. He can see the shine of the mark even through Mercy's stockings. It looks like a mosaic of a stylized sun, all intricate rays and bright circles and interlocking shapes, and it takes up a hell of a lot of real estate, going all the way from just above their knees to who knows how high up under their skirts. It's . . . well, it's pretty.
Actually, it's beautiful, and Kon kind of wants to touch it. To touch both of them, more specifically, ideally at the same time.
And still not in the pervy way.
So that's a bad sign, definitely.
"Take your pants off," Mercy orders impatiently.
"How about 'hell no'?" Kon says, because yeah he has literally no sense of shame or self-consciousness but Luthor was just eyeballing him like a weirdo and he very much does still want to go make sure nobody he gives a shit about got fucked up by a morally dubious robot or anything. And like–okay, fine, apparently he has soulmates and apparently those soulmates are both drop-dead gorgeous Amazons, but like . . . he doesn't actually give a fuck right now, and also they both work for Lex Luthor, so that kinda doesn't bode well for any kind of long-term relationship or whatever anyway? Like, this is very much about to be another Knockout scenario. Knockout in stereo, even.
Ugh.
"I said take your pants off," Mercy repeats in annoyance.
"Again, hell no," Kon tells her.
Mercy grabs for his belts. Kon dodges her.
"Hey!" he says. Mercy glowers at him. Hope folds her arms.
"It's obviously him, Mercy," she says with a sigh. "We haven't touched anyone else but each other and Lex in at least an hour, and any of us would've triggered a mark long before now."
"He's a child," Mercy bites off.
"I'm eighteen, kind of!" Kon protests indignantly. If he had to forcibly lose sixteen-odd years of his natural lifespan, at least people could fucking acknowledge him as a fucking adult. Like, is that too much to ask?
"You're two," Luthor says dryly. "'Kind of'."
"Oh, fuck you," Kon snaps, scowling at him and also not sure how he feels about the fact that the fucking weirdo actually knows how old he is. Like, why the fuck does he know that?
"A literal child," Mercy says witheringly. "A literal child is our literal soulmate. In a V-shaped triad, of all things!"
Honestly, if somebody'd told Kon half an hour ago that he had two soulmates and said soulmates were a pair of smoking hot older women dressed like professional escorts who could both kick his ass due to being unconfirmed Amazons, and he was the focal point of their V-shaped triad? He would have very literally needed to go have a lie-down until he recovered enough to get some bloodflow back to his brain. And it would've had to be a very, very long lie-down.
Right now, though, it's just like . . . a thing, he guesses. A very weird thing that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, as far as he's concerned.
"Well, he'll mature," Hope says resignedly. "Theoretically."
"Oh, that's a turn-on," Mercy snorts.
"Look, whatever, I'm not into you two either but I'm not being a prick about it, am I?" Kon says in exasperation, folding his arms.
The other three all pause. Then they all turn their heads to look at him.
"You're not?" Luthor says, sounding mystified. "What, neither of them?"
"Not that it's any of your damn business, but no," Kon says, wondering what his life has come to that he's actually answering the asshole supervillain right now.
". . . you know, you could just come out to Superman, it's not actually necessary to so aggressively pretend to be straight," Luthor says dryly, raising an eyebrow at him. Kon, again, wonders how and why this weirdo knows anything about him, much less enough to have an opinion about his sexual orientation and the way he expresses it. "I mean, you'll have to put up with him 'validating your identity' every five minutes, I'm sure, but he isn't going to disown you or whatever nonsense you're expecting."
"I'm bi, asshole, and I am out to Superman," Kon says in exasperation. Who, admittedly, did kind of spend a couple months validating his identity every five minutes after he came out to him, but that's neither here nor there. "It's possible to just not be into someone."
"But you're not into either of them," Luthor says, eyes narrowing in consideration. "And they're your soulmates."
". . . oh gods," Mercy says in horrified realization, putting her hands over her face and staring at Kon through her splayed fingers. "Hope. Hope, are we fucking parents?!"
". . . huh," Hope says, tilting her head.
Kon blinks at both of them. Then stares at both of them.
"Are you high?" he says incredulously. "There is literally no damn way!"
"Really? Because it'd be one thing if you weren't sexually attractive to either of them yet," Luthor says, still eyeing him assessingly. "You're barely past jailbait, physiologically speaking, and that's frankly being generous. But neither of them is sexually attractive to you?"
"It's possible to just not be into someone!" Kon protests again. "That doesn't mean they're my moms, for fuck's sake! It could just be, I don't know, platonic or something! Or a sibling bond!"
Not that those options aren't just as weird and doomed as a romantic bond would be, obviously, but at least they'd make more sense than a parental one would.
"Amazons only get sister bonds, brat," Mercy says dubiously, which Kon guesses makes sense but also makes him feel a little–never mind. Never mind how it makes him feel.
He doesn't like how it makes him feel, though. For reasons that he's just . . . not ever gonna examine.
Ever.
"Yeah, well, last I heard nobody ever proved you two were real Amazons anyway," he snaps back defensively, clenching his fists at his sides.
"It's adorable that you think we care what anyone else thinks," Mercy snorts, rolling her eyes.
Kon very literally cannot imagine just not caring what anyone else thinks to that degree. Like–not ever.
Must be nice, though.
#kon el#conner kent#superboy#hope taya#mercy graves#lex luthor#rinfic#wip: amazon kon#internalized misgendering#unintentional misgendering
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Spider Hulk
Part 1
(Disclaimer: All images used are AI generated.)
Ever since Peter could think back he was a typical nerd. Very smart, outstanding in science and mathematics, but also physically weak. He was tiny and got pushed around by everyone in school. But the football team in particular aimed for him. These fit and muscular jocks, who couldn't count one and one together, but were loved by everyone, even the teachers. They were Peters biggest bullies — literally.
But the big break from getting bullied came: the summer holidays. Peter loved it, because he did not have to deal with the football team, but he also hated it, because no science classes. So he applied for an internship at some laboratories and some really answered him.
Peter was overly excited on his first day at the laboratory of Dr. Bruce Banner. Imagine what you can learn from the man who has the Hulk inside him.
Before entering Peter had to take of his clothes to get a full body scan and get clinically clean. After this procedure he got a Lab Coat and finally got to work with the incredible Dr. Banner. On his first week Peter didn't get much to do than make coffee and clean the laboratory. But he wasn't less excited because he could listen to everything smart the scientist, including Dr. Banner, were talking about.
One day as he was cleaning up the laboratory again, he was the last one to leave. But before he did he couldn't help but staring at the giant black spider with ten legs in the special terrarium. He was fascinated by this creature from the moment he saw it.
Peter didn't know what came over him but he had to touch the glass of the terrarium. Immediately the spider got angry. It ran around his personal prison cell like crazy. And after it jumped at the glass a few times it broke. Peter panicked, but it was to late. The spider attacked him and bit him in the hand.
Peter couldn't remember anything that happened after. He just woke up in his bed the next morning. But he didn't feel tired or sick. Actually he felt better than ever. And after he took a look in the mirror he couldn't believe what he saw.
Over night his muscles grew big. He wasn't a skinny guy anymore. He was fit. And also much stronger. During the day, while he was enjoying his new body, he discovered that some more things have changed. Even though he had to wear glassed now and then, he wouldn't need them at all. He also discovered that his hands were sticky, so that he could climb up any wall. And suddenly he developed a special sence that made him perceive things an average human would never recognise.
Suddenly Peter became super human like his Boss Dr. Banner. He became Spider-Man.
He got himself a cool suit and started to fight criminals in New York. Soon he became a famous super hero and even Dr. Banner began to notice him.
As the summer holidays were over and he went back to school, his school mates obviously noticed that Peter has changed drastically. From the night he first woke up with super powers his body gained even more weight and he became more muscular.
He had even outgrown his bullies from the football team. No one would dare to bully him ever again. And as he also got super handsome he soon was the most popular guy at school.
The days went by and his muscles seemed to get bigger day by day. He even started a membership at a gym just to compare himself to the local bodybuilders.
And soon he also had outgrown them.
It even came the time he had to stop fighting criminals because none of his Spiderman Suits would fit him. And if he got himself a new one he was too big for that a few days later anyway. All the joy that came with his super powers was gone. But his muscles keept growing...
#gaining muscle#transformation#tom holland#tom holland ai#spiderman#Spiderman ai#hulk#Incredible Hulk#Hulk ai#ai muscle#big muscle#muscle#muscle morph#Growing muscle
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Mr. Bryson Comes to Visit
(AI generated art by Jammer Link)
‘Just so you know, my dad came in this weekend,’ my boyfriend texted me.
I let out a groan. I’d just finished a workout and didn’t need to have his dad here. Part of it was just because of the unexpected company. The rest was because there was this new gummy supplement that I’d been taking that had some unusual side effects.
Don’t get me wrong, it was unbelievable for muscle growth. I’d been a pretty average gym goer until I started taking them, but with them I wouldn’t stop growing. It could be up to almost a pound of muscle a day. I’d been a standard jock at 5’10” and 176 pounds but after taking them for a couple of months I’d shot up to 6’1” and was nearing 215 pounds. My gains were unprecedented. People in the gym begged me for my secrets. I wouldn’t tell them.
It was due to the side effects. Immediately after taking them, I’d become incredibly dominant. That wouldn’t be a problem; but then every man in the area would get a whiff of my scent and then become incredibly submissive. I only tried them once in the gym and I had damn near every guy asking to help me lift and running their hands across my body. It was so hard to fight off. It was nice with my boyfriend, a little less fun with complete strangers. Though, my boyfriend suggested that I try it again, but he has to be around that time.
“Mr. Bryson?” I called as I returned home. “Hello?”
“Over here boy,” a deep and powerful voice summoned me. It didn’t sound familiar, but I felt an uncontrollable urge to do as he said. A strange smell lingered in the house. I smelled it deeper.
‘Oh shit…’ I suddenly realized what was going on. Especially when I walked into the living room. There stood an unbelievably jacked man. No shirt. No shoes. But someone I definitely wanted to service. My mouth hung open as I took in the absolute mountain of a man. He had to be 7’ tall and had to weigh over 500 pounds. I thought my growth was big, this was beyond next level.
“M-Mr. Bryson?” I stammered as I looked him up.
He grunted in the affirmative. I felt my dick go hard. “Just so you know I found some candy and ate the whole thing. Real good shit.”
“Of course, sir! Our home is your home!” my fingers flexed. Partially out of rage, but a deeper urge of lust. I was in a battle to not just curl up under that man’s massive and run my hands down his body.
“Good man,” he pat my shoulder as he splayed his body down on the leather couch. His feet went far past the arm rest. Those massive hands went between his legs and started to play with his cock, almost absentmindedly. The smell intensified. I felt a deep longing moan escape me.
“H-how’s work!” I forced out. It was the most neutral thing I could think of. My head was swarming with all sorts of ideas. My boyfriend had given me so many. From sniffing my armpits to licking my feet, all of them were buzzing around in my head but I was doing them to this giant.
“Fucking sucks,” Mr. Bryson grunted. “Got a piece of shit boss that really needs to hear a piece of my mind. Don’t know why I haven’t told that little fucker off yet. Doesn’t know his face from his ass.”
I squirmed in my seat. Hearing the man talk was nearly as good as sex itself. Though, the thought that his passive side was completely gone seemed to be the reason. I’d always thought he was a bit too weak willed and never stuck up for himself. But now? There was no one who would even think twice about it.
“You treatin my boy well?” Mr. Bryson asked.
“Huh? Oh yes sir! I try to make him happy everyday.”
“Oh? How?”
“Sex!” I blurted out. I instantly covered my mouth. I hadn’t meant to say it. It just came out.
Mr. Bryson’s eyebrow raised. “Oh? And who’s on top?”
“I-I-I am sir. He likes to be on bottom,” I answered.
“Hmmm…” Mr. Bryson seemed to be mulling something over. His hand went to his chin and scratched the stubble on it. “Show me.”
“S-s-show you?” My dick throbbed. A longing moan escaped me. I may have been across the room, but I almost jumped at the chance.
“Show me,” he repeated. His voice sterner. “Show me what he does to show you he likes it.”
My sex addled brain complied. “Hey there big guy,” I strutted over to him. I dropped down to my knees. My hand went to his chest and gently rubbed the huge pec. The musk was overwhelming. There was no more fighting it. My nose went deep into his pit and gave it a powerful whiff. The smell of his sweaty BO filled my head only making me all the more excitable.
“It wasn’t too rough of a day at work now, was it?” I continued playing the sub. I was surprisingly good at imitating my boyfriend. My hand gently parsed through the hair running along Mr. Bryson’s abs. I leaned in for a kiss. His scruff scratched against my bare face. He accepted my kiss and our tongues wrestled. He led the tempo, but I could keep up. “Well. I can make it all better.” I giggled as I pulled away.
My finger traced the outline of his massive pecs. They danced their way down to his abs. Then found it’s way into his shorts. The man was already hard. His cock throbbed as I grabbed it. Even though my hand’s were massive, it still felt like I was holding onto a beer can. I gently stroked it. “How’s that make you feel?”
“Good…” Mr. Bryson grunted. His body flexed. Hands gripped whatever they could. Under his strength he accidently snapped the back of the couch. That would have to be a problem for another day.
Right now, I was a bit distracted. Especially as I pulled the rod out of his shorts. My eyes went wide. My mouth hung open. I’d never been a cock sucker, but God damn did I want to shove it into my mouth. But then there were other ideas. My hole quivered. I let out a moan.
“Well, boy?” Mr. Bryson demanded.
I knew exactly what I wanted to do. I straddled Mr. Bryson’s massive body and lined his cock up with my ass. I could feel the pre already dripping and coating my ass and his cock. I pressed down on it. My hands clawed at his abs at the pressure. I couldn’t help myself. A deep sensual moan escaped me as my body writhed. Little by little I worked my way down onto his cock. I’d only taken my boyfriend’s a couple of times and it was no where near as big or wide as this. Somehow the gummy supplements must have been help open me up.
Mr. Bryson bucked as more of his cock was engorged by my ass. His eyes went wild as his body gave into the sexual drive. All that confidence and strength meant nothing under his sexual arousal. I could feel his cock throb with delight. Each thrust I gave him sent another wave of pleasure rocketing through him. He couldn’t help himself. His back arched and he finished inside me.
“Oh fuck!” I called out as I couldn’t help myself, splattering his furry chest with my own seed. I rode Mr. Bryson’s wild ride and then fell limp on his body. His big arms wrapped around me.
“Well… Guess if my boy treats you this well, you ain’t half bad…”
(More stories over on my Wordpress)
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Finally got some fucking motivation
So, finally, I'm explaining the "Human AU" cause I'm happy my post got attention.
And, please, I don't wanna sound cringe or anything but seriously, thank you for the amount of attention I've gotten over my posts, I really appreciate it.
Now, time to get going!
This story follows our soppy wet cat, dear darling Pomni, who's on a hunt for a part-time job because her job at C&A is not getting her enough money and she can't live on ramen and tap water forever.
So, she gets a job at "The Amazing Digital Circus", a circus that uses modern-day technology like holograms and sound effects in its weekly shows.
She joins and meets her now co-workers. There's Gangle, your classic introverted theater kid. Zooble, the puzzle master who despite her "I am done with your shit" behavior, is surprisingly good at entertaining kids. Kinger is a magician but also helps in the accounts. Ragatha, the human pincushion, and finally, Jax and Kaufmo, the brother comedians.
She, at first, joins as a temporary employee, just ment to help before performance and all that, until she meets...him.
Caine, the ringmaster.
But what's worse, is that she's seen him, the REAL him. That look haunts her. Those unusually perfect teeth, that cracked skin that haunting feeling of seeing his jaw open abnormally wide.
But what's worse is that somehow, he wants to promote her to be a permanent employee, mostly ever since he heard that she worked for C&A...weird...
But shit gets a lot worse when one day, she has to stay after hours and sees some shit she dosen't want to.
There he was, Caine, surrounded by nearly 50 men, guns, armor, what not. But it didn't last long.
She covered her mouth, breath hitching in her throat as he ripped of his skin.
'one...two...three'
He grabbed them, and slowly, it all went down...
blood...scream...yell...help...muscle...intestine...stomach...teeth...sharp...gun...monster...tears...help...help...help
She couldn't move, not one bit. Her body frozen as if ice. Each one of them, each one of them...each one those men...ripped, killed, shredded, broken, yelling.
Yes, her life was gonna go to shit.
Now she's wondering how the hell she's ever gonna face her boss, who apparently is an AI experiment who escaped C&A, the very place she currently worked for. No wonder he wanted to make her a permanent employee! I mean she knew her jokes were so bad that people laughed at them, but not that much!
She doesn't know what to do, but then it hit her...
When he got to know she was a C&A employe, why didn't he fire her at that moment?
...
...
shit...
she's in love with her boss...
her life really was going to shit...
So know were left with a traumatized Human-AI who's pretending he's not a fucking monster and another traumatized little wet cat wondering how the hell she even fell for him in the first place.
And that's as far as I've fucking gotten. Working on a fic and a lot of art. Just waiting to get back home so I can post them. See ya'll, and the next time you'll see me, is with food.
#caine x pomni#tadc caine#tadc pomni#the amazing digital circus#pomni#pomni tadc#showtime#showtime ship#showtime tadc#tadc fandom#tadc Caine#Caine#caine tadc#jax#kaufmo#gangle#zooble#the amazing digital circus caine#pomni x caine
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S.O.S Character design help!
Hi guys! I'm here with another OC from the RP server, and this time it's a villain! I was wondering if anyone with some drawing skills might want to take a crack at him? Even just a rough sketch of your impressions of what he might look like from the description below. Trying to get my players avoid using AI as much as possible and figured I'd see if anyone wanted to give this fella a try. Anyway, Thank you so much for reading and considering. Character details are below:
Character name: Maksim Baerun Age:38 Gender:** Male
Class/Title/job:** Blacksmith, but dresses very well.
Where are they from?: Way up North
Physical description: Roughly six and a half feet tall. Long oily black hair, that is almost pearlescent to white when the light hits it, shaved on the sides and always tied back. He has eerie ghostly blue eyes, several ear piercings, and 2 brown piercings very close to the skin. The right side of his mouth has a large scar deforming that part of his face slightly.
Typically wears tailored slacks and nice leather boots. Linen shirt and leather vest with either a long coat or the sleeves rolled up. Usually has a cigar hanging from his mouth. His Gurahl essence is that of a Polar bear, all forms except his human reflecting that. His frame though is imposing, being tall and bulk with muscle (Not body builder cant put arms down big, but just *THICK*)
Special abilities/powers: Gurahl (werebear,) Commands the Forces of Nature. Similar to a lycanthrope but slightly different, Gurahl are not always bound to change by the moon and often retain their human intelligence and abilities despite their form. Because of where he grew up, far in the northern frigid mountains and ice of the Motherland, his Gurahl form has the features of a Polar Bear.
Background: A child of a powerful Romani healer and a Mob boss, he was found at a young age to be gifted in the natural magic arts. Though he was the younger of two brothers and the more gifted naturally, he tended to get overlooked for his brother. This was especially hurtful because their father left when Maksim was a toddler, and because he looked and acted similar to his father, it caused his mother to become cold and distant with him. As he grew into adolescence and his abilities grew, he began to get cocky, hunting larger and larger prey, usually solo.
At 16 he attempted to track and kill a feral dire bear on his own. He managed to finally down the beast, but was mortally wounded in the process, he barely made it back to town alive and very nearly died on his brothers table. Mikhail managed to tap into his Romani roots and managed to restore Maksim to life, but very badly scarred. Even though he felled the bear alone and survived, the praise was given to his brother for saving his life. Tired of living in that shadow, he left. At just 17 he was on his own, left to fend for himself. What he didnt realize is that the Romani magic his brother accidentally tapped into, as well as the latent power in his blood, changed him into a creature known as a Gurahl in Romani culture, or a Werebear.
After two years living partially in the wild and partially on the streets of various cities, while learning to control his newfound abilities, he made his way to the capital. There he made a name for himself in the fighting pits, catching the attention of his father. He brought him in as muscle, after a few years working with his father, a bad deal ended even worse, sending him into Crinos form in a full feral rage. Most of the crew was killed including their father. Maksim ashamed and enraged left The Motherland forever.
#art#doodle requests#drawthisinyourstyle#draw this challenge#oc help#free commissions#free art requests#my ocs#orginal character#oc roleplay#fantasy character#polar bear
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