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#oscar isaac fanfiction
liliacamethyst · 10 months
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Web of Secrets - Miguel O'Hara 
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Miguel O'Hara x SpiderSun Reader
words: 3.7K
warnings: secret pregnancy trope, swearing, angst, heartbreak, grumpy/sunshine, smut
Part I Part II Part III Part IV
In your universe, you are known as the Sun Spider. It all started on a school field trip to a solar energy research center, where you were accidentally exposed to a spider that had been subjected to intense solar radiation. You woke up with a white-hot surge of power, and your life changed forever. You donned a suit of pure white, taking the name that reflected both your newfound abilities and the brightness you brought into the world: Spider-Sun.
Your ability to harness solar energy and transform it into powerful blasts or create protective shields made you a formidable superhero in your home city, Nea Yorkey. Your ability to bring light to even the darkest corners of your city earned you the love of its citizens.
However, everything changed when you were suddenly pulled into the Spider-Verse.
Upon arriving, you were greeted by the gruff leader of this interdimensional team of Spider-People, Miguel O'Hara. His reputation preceded him - the genius intellect, the imposing figure, the gruff demeanor. Everyone respected him, and some even feared him. You, on the other hand, were drawn to him. There was something about that guarded demeanor that called to your own sunny nature.
You became an integral part of the team, fighting off anomalies and working hard to maintain the balance in the Spider-Verse. And despite Miguel's stern exterior, you felt yourself falling for him.
One mission was particularly rough, and you found yourself alone with Miguel in a safe house, nursing your wounds. His usually stern face softened as he tended to your injuries. The distance that he usually maintained was nowhere to be seen.
"Thank you, Miguel," you whispered.
He looked at you, his usually hard eyes soft. "You fought well, mi sol."
There was a moment of silence, a strange tension hanging in the air. Then, Miguel leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was filled with unexpected passion.
In that moment, you were not the Sun Spider, and he was not the Spider-Man 2099. You were just two people, seeking solace in each other.
Afterwards, as you laid side by side, Miguel turned to you, a serious look on his face. "This...this can't be more than what it is. Just...you know, stress relief," he muttered, his voice just above a whisper.
His words wounded you. Naturally, they did. He had reduced your relationship to mere stress relief, as if you were some object devoid of feelings. Yet, in spite of it all, you fell for him. Perhaps you were naive, even foolish, but you didn't care. You yearned for him and were ready to accept any fraction of affection he was willing to offer, no matter how small.
During the day, as you fought alongside him against the anomalies threatening the Spider-Verse, his attention toward you was sparse. He mostly shared only necessary information, barely making eye contact. Sometimes he didn't speak at all, and you and the rest of the team would receive mission orders and briefings from Lyla, his AI assistant.
But at night, when the two of you were alone, he became a different person. He'd whisper praises into your ear, telling you how exceptionally you fought, how much he desired you. He showed you his hidden vulnerability under the cover of darkness, the sheets their only witness. He'd gently stroke your hair and peppered your jaw and temple with kisses until you fell asleep, only for you to wake up the next morning to an empty, cold spot where he once lay.
This cycle - his coldness by day, and the fervor by night - repeated itself relentlessly for months.
And so, this is how you find yourself: disoriented, frenzied, and on the verge of tears, seated on the couch of your best friend, Peter B. Parker, in Earth-616. Cradled in your arms is his sweet daughter, Mayday, who, with her innocent touch, tries to console you. Yet her wide eyes dart anxiously to her father, reflecting her own alarm at your distress.
Peter rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe we should wait until MJ gets home?" he suggests, then, with a furrowed brow, he asks, “Have you tried talking to Jess about this?”
You shake your head vigorously. "No, I haven't told anyone. I have no idea what to do," you confess, your voice breaking.
Peter, ever the caring friend, gently takes Mayday from your arms and sets her down. He turns back to face you with a sympathetic gaze. “Do you..eh.. know who the father is?” he inquires softly.
You shake your head again, even though deep down, you know the truth. “The father is out of the picture. He doesn’t know, and he never will because he doesn’t want kids,” you whisper, fighting back tears.
As you and Peter sit down on the couch in his cozy living room, you find a sense of comfort being around him. His experience as both a superhero and a parent seems like it could be a beacon in this storm you're facing. The room is quiet, save for the soft ticking of a clock on the wall.
“You know, Peter,” you begin, your voice almost a whisper. “I’m terrified. What if the baby has powers? How am I going to protect them, especially if...if I can’t stop fighting anomalies?”
Peter looks thoughtful. “That’s a valid concern. First, you should know that you don’t have to do this alone. There’s a whole community of us, and we stick together. If the child does have powers, she or he will be badass like Mayday, right?”
You nod slowly but then anxieties pile on top of each other in your mind. “But... how can I hide this? Nobody and I mean nobody is supposed to know that I’m pregnant. Especially not...” You trail off, not finishing the sentence.
Peter rubs his chin, deep in thought. “We could look into modifying your suit, maybe talk to some tech geniuses in the Spider-Verse about creating something that can shield or conceal the pregnancy.”
You roll your eyes. “That kinda defies the ‘nobody is allowed to know ‘ordeal, Peter. You have to promise me that this stays between us.”
“I promise,” Peter says sincerely.
Silence fills the room again, and then you voice another fear. “Peter, what if...what if I’m not a good mother? What if I mess this up?”
Peter smiles warmly. “You know, I had those same fears when Mayday was born. I think it’s normal for any parent. But, take it from me, the fact that you’re worried about being a good parent means you’re already on the right track. You’ve got a good heart. Trust it.”
You look down at your hands, fingers interlaced. “Thank you, Peter. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“You’ll never have to find out,” he says with a reassuring smile. “We’re family, in this weird, Spider-Verse kind of way. But maybe… and I am sayig this as a father myself… reconsider telling the father. I can’t imagine any guy wanting to give up this.” He says, pointing to his precious daughter playing with a napkin she found on the floor.
"Maybe you should reconsider telling the father," Peter's words are echoing in your mind like a haunting melody. A part of you yearns for that possibility. Perhaps you're not alone in this. Maybe, just maybe, Miguel wants this as much as you do.With newfound resolve, you set off for the Spider-Verse headquarters, expecting to find Miguel tucked away in his office, immersed in maintaining the spider verse or as he calls it "arachno- something-multiverse-thingy” or something similar to that.
Upon reaching his office door, you pound on it sharply. No response. Frowning, you knock again, a little harder this time. When silence continues to greet you, you slowly turn the doorknob and peek inside. There he is, hunched over his desk, lost in a world of numbers and codes.
"Miguel, I-" you start, but his sharp voice cuts you off.
"No," he interrupts, his tone cold. "Did I say you can come in? Dios mio, why are you always so damn clingy?"
His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stare at him, taken aback by his blatant disregard for your feelings. You can feel the beginnings of tears prick at the corner of your eyes, but you will them away.
He doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean it like that. This mantra plays over and over in your head, like a broken record. You take a deep breath, forcing down the hurt his words cause.
"Look, Miguel," you begin, struggling to keep your voice steady. "There’s something we need to talk about, and I think it's important for you to listen to me."
“Fucking hell, woman! What exactly don’t you understand. I’m busy. I don’t care about your little problems, right now.” he barks, not even looking up.
“Miguel,” you speak up, forcing the words out through clenched teeth, “ I’ve never asked anything from you. Not once have did I ask you to stay, to feel the same I feel, to fucking talk to me when people are around. Please all I am asking you is to just ... listen to me, fpr once.” Your voice grows stronger as you speak, a determined fire igniting within you.
Miguel finally looks up, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, he seems taken aback by the resolve he saw there.
He rubs his temples. “Can we do this later?”
“No!” you shout. “It’s always later with you. You’re like...like a ghost. Just a figure in the hallway. I don’t need a figure, I need a person! I need someone who listens when...”
He glares at you, his eyes narrowing. “Okay, okay I will listen just not now. Whatever it is, it can wait.”
“No, it can’t,” you retort, your voice shaking a bit. “Why is it that every time I try to talk to you, you just brush me off? Am I that insignificant to you?”
He stands up abruptly, the chair skidding behind him. “This? This is what you want to talk about?” he says with a tone of annoyance. “Look, I have a million things to deal with and-”
“And what? And I’m not one of them? Just five minutes, Miguel! That’s all I ask!”
The room is tense. Your heart is racing. His eyes are fiery. It's a standoff.
“And what is so important that you have to disrupt everything right now?” he challenges.
Your breath catches in your throat. This is it. You're about to say it.
“I...” you stammer. “I need to tell you that...”
Suddenly, the door to the office swings open and Jess storms in.
“Miguel, we have a major issue in Sector 12! The anomalies...” she starts, then catches sight of your tear-streaked face. “Oh, am I interrupting something?”
Miguel seems to shake off the tension and slips back into commander mode. “No nothing important. What’s happening in Sector 12?”
You can't believe it. Just like that, he turns away. It feels like your heart is being squeezed.
Jess starts rattling off data and scenarios. The two of them are talking, but you don’t hear it anymore. All you can think of is how you almost told him. How you just wanted five minutes.
Your hands shake and you quietly step out of the room. The door closes behind you, and it feels like a chapter that you can’t read has been sealed away.
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The next day you are on Earth-8311, an anthropomorphic animal-dominated universe. It's the home of Peter Porker, the Spectacular Spider-Ham, and you can't help but find it amusing.
The mission: to transport an anomaly, which resembles an enormous floating jellyfish, back to its home universe. It's been pure chaos here, and you are determined to set things right.
The team: Gwen, Hobie, and Peter B. Parker. You're all in your suits, eyes sharp, and webs at the ready.
"Alright, Spiders. Let's round this jelly up and send it home," Peter B. Parker takes charge, shooting a web towards a nearby building.
You swing alongside him, your thoughts a whirlwind. The world around you blurs - the animal citizens, the bustling cityscape, the strange yet familiar surroundings.
The anomaly appears before you, thrashing and pulsating as it floats through the sky. It releases blasts of energy that ripple through the air.
"Watch out, Sunny!" Gwen calls out as she dodges a blast.
You, however, are a split second too late. Your reflexes are off, your movements sluggish. The blast sends you spiraling towards the ground.
Hobie swings in and catches you mid-air, his guitar strapped on his back. “Get it together, Sun!” he shouts over the noise, his punk-styled hair waving wildly.
You shake off your daze and look up to see Peter B. Parker shooting webs to pull the anomaly back down, while Gwen is deploying a device to open a portal back to its home universe.
Your heart races as you focus on the task at hand. You need to get this right, not just for yourself, but for the life you’re now carrying. Your suit seems to glow even brighter in the chaos.
With a final combined effort, you manage to lasso the anomaly and push it through the portal. The anomaly disappears, and the portal closes behind it.
The team regroups on a rooftop. Gwen is catching her breath, Hobie is tuning his guitar, and Peter B. Parker gives you a concerned look.
“Are you okay?” Gwen asks, her voice laced with worry. “You weren’t yourself up there.”
The weight of the secret you’re carrying feels unbearable. But you're not ready to share it.
“Promise me you won’t tell Miguel about this,” you say, your voice barely audible.
Gwen raises an eyebrow, while Hobie crosses his arms. Peter B. Parker simply nods.
“Nah, Bossman doesn’t need to know about this,” Hobie says, and there’s a firmness in his voice that is strangely comforting.
Back in the HQ, your head spins, and your stomach feels like it's doing somersaults. You mumble a quick excuse about feeling nauseous and practically sprint to the nearest restroom.
Meanwhile, Gwen, Hobie, and Peter B. Parker head to the cafeteria to grab something to eat.
As they sit down at a table with their trays, Gwen breaks the silence. “Is it okay if I say that this mission was kind of easy? Like, I’ve seen Sunny take down Doc Ock from Earth-818, and she did that without any problem. So what was that today?” Gwen’s concern is apparent.
Hobie, munching on a sandwich, nods in agreement. "Yeah, it's like her spidey senses were jammed or somethin'. Never seen her like that before."
Peter B. Parker looks thoughtfully at his sandwich, then glances up at Gwen and Hobie. He’s torn, having promised you to keep your secret but also wanting your friends to understand why you were off your game.
"You guys remember when she fought Morlun on Earth-001? She was a totally smashin’ it, and today, she nearly got turned into spider-paste by a floating jellyfish. That ain’t right," Hobie adds.
Gwen’s eyes suddenly widen. "Oh my God! Do you think she’s in trouble? Like, something from her universe? Or maybe she's having an identity crisis! Should we stage an intervention?"
Peter B. Parker clears his throat. “Maybe she’s just having an off day.”
Gwen’s eyes narrow as she scrutinizes Peter. “You know something, don’t you?”
Peter scratches the back of his head, obviously uncomfortable. “Nope, no idea.”
Hobie puts down his sandwich and leans in. "Oi, mate. Spill your guts. There's something dodgy going on. She's always been our burst of sunshine, lifting the mood. But now she's... dimmed. What's going on with our Sunny, Parker?"
Before Peter B. Parker could answer Gwen’s barrage of questions, Jess - Spider-Woman - appears, her belly showing. She takes a seat at the table and, oblivious to the serious conversation that was taking place, asks them about their latest mission.
"So, how did your mission go?" Jessica asks, while munching on her Burger.
"Nothing to report, Jess," Gwen answers, a little too quickly, her face all sunshine and false smiles. Peter simply nod in agreement.
“Yah, all good!” Hobie chimes in, flashing a grin that seems a little too bright.
“How about you? How are you holding up?” Peter asks Jess, trying to steer the conversation away from the mission.
Jessica shrugs, not overly concerned, and bites into her burger. "'M good. You know,  I'm so glad I can finally eat a burger again. At the beginning of my pregnancy, practically every food made me nauseous, especially after swinging around on missions.”
Suddenly, there's a moment of collective realization among Gwen, Hobie. It’s as if their spider senses are tingling in unison. They exchange knowing looks, all of them silently putting the pieces together.
Gwen’s eyes are wide, Hobie’s eyebrows are raised, and they both turn to look at Peter, who simply nods.
Jess, noticing the silent exchange, squints at them. “What is up with you guys? You’re acting weird. Well, weirder than usual.”
“Uh, nothin’!” Hobie says, a little too quickly.
“Yeah, just tired from the mission,” Gwen adds, trying to play it cool.
Jess rolls her eyes and stands up. “Alright, weirdos. I’m gonna go find some normal people to talk to,” she says jokingly and walks away.
After she leaves, the trio leans in.
“Sunny’s pregnant, isn’t she?” Gwen whispers.
Hobie's eyes are as wide as saucers. “That would explain everything!”
Peter B. Parker nods. “We need to be there for her, but remember, it’s her news to share when she’s ready.”
They make a pact to support you without pushing you to reveal anything before you're ready.
As you walk back into the cafeteria, you find your friends huddled together. They break apart when they see you and welcome you back with smiles and light conversation, but something in their demeanor is different but you can’t put your finger on it. They are being more attentive, considerate, and frankly, a little too curious about your well-being.
"Are you sure you're okay, Sunny?" Gwen asks for the third time since you sat down. Her concern is genuine, but her intensity is slightly off-putting.
"Yeah, do you need anything?" Hobie offers, his eyes gleaming with unspoken curiosity. "Food, drink, or maybe... pickles?" Pickles? Thats oddly specific.
There's a burst of laughter from Gwen, and even Peter is suppressing a chuckle.
"What's up with the pickles?" You ask, looking at them suspiciously.
"Oh, nothing!" Gwen says, a little too quickly, trying to hold back her laughter.
"Hmm, pickles and ice cream, a weird combo, innit?" Hobie wonders aloud, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
Again, there's suppressed laughter, and you look at each of them, a realization slowly dawning on you. You turn to Peter, your gaze steady and serious. "You told them, didn't you?" Peter looks shocked, but quickly composes himself. "I didn't exactly tell them, per se," he confesses, "I might've confirmed their suspicions when they asked, but they figured it out on their own. Spider senses and all that jazz.”
Before you could respond, Gwen and Hobie jump in, both talking over each other in an attempt to apologize.
"We're sorry, Sunny," Gwen says sincerely. "We didn't mean to invade your privacy, it's just that... we're worried about you. Please don’t be mad."
Hobie nods, adding, "And we're right behind ya, whatever comes our way. We've got your back, no doubt about it."
You are happy, while the situation isn't ideal, but at least you're not alone. You have friends who care about you and, despite their unconventional way of showing it, they are there for you. You smile, comforted by their concern, and grateful for their support.
"Yeah," you finally say, "I guess we’re gonna need a lot more pickles and ice cream around here, huh?"
“Sooo...who’s the dad? Is he hot?” Gwen, leaning on the table with her elbows, asks shyly after a while.
You let out a long sigh, “He’s very hot... but also a colossal jerk.”
Peter raises an eyebrow. “You took my advice and talked to him then?”
You shake your head, your eyes starting to well up. “No, I tried. But he wouldn’t listen to me. He was busy, and I guess I wasn’t important enough. So, the baby won’t be either,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.
Hobie's eyes narrow, and his face is flushed with anger. "Who's this bloke, eh? I swear on me nan's grave, I'll give him a right proper earful! No one treats our Sunny like a tosser and gets away with it!"
Gwen jumps in, her eyes wide with speculation, “Wait, is he a Spider? Is it Peter? Or the other Peter? Or—”
“Guys, guys!” you cut them off, your voice cracking. “Please, it doesn’t matter. He made it clear where I stand, and it’s not with him.”
There’s a silence that settles over the table as your friends look at each other and then back to you. Their faces are a mix of concern, sadness, and frustration.
Peter B. is the first to break the silence. “You don’t have to go through this alone. You’ve got us. If the dad doesn’t want to step up, then he’s missing out on something amazing.”
Gwen nods, her eyes firm with resolve. “Yeah, we’re family. We’ve got your back, no matter what.”
Hobie, still fuming, finally calms down enough to say, "All you gotta do is whistle, love, and we'll be there in a blink. Even if it means thumping some manners into this mystery idiot."
You can't help but crack a small smile, despite the tears. You’re overwhelmed by the love and support your friends are giving you.
“Thanks, guys. You don't know how much this means to me.” 
They all reach out and there’s a group hug right in the middle of the cafeteria. You didn’t know how much you needed this until it happened.
Part 2 “Webs of Fate”
a/n: Thank you guys for all your love on this fic so far.I really appreciate each like, comment, reblog <3. I still can’t reply to your comments so please if you want to tagged (and are not already) comment on part 2 and I’ll do my best and add you.Also I am open to requests, critic and wishes. Have a wonderful day. xx
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fake-bleach · 10 months
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all mine | miguel o'hara x reader
summary: You have an unspoken rule with Miguel O’Hara. He takes care of you, he provides for you, and in return, you let him take what he wants.
word count: 2.2k
warnings/disclaimers: (18+ only!) fem!afab!reader (no use of y/n), literally porn no plot, unprotected piv sex, implications of free use but also not rly, slight choking, dirty talk, roughish sex, no foreplay (straighttt to it), use of pet names (honey, baby, sweetheart, girl, etc), coming inside, i think that's it lolll, !no atsv spoilers!
i know this isn't p but i watched spiderverse last night and had to get him out of my system + i adore oscar isaac <3 working on two joel fics rn so expect those :)
ao3 link | masterlist
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The ruffling of your sheets weren't nearly enough to wake you from your sleep. But, the pressure of Miguel's body on yours was.
It always was.
"Hey, baby.. It's me," he whispers in your ear, his hands and arms practically consuming you as they roam across your entire body. With you laying flat on your stomach, his hips and chest press so tightly against you.
It runs chills down your spine; the force of his pent up cock in his rigid suit as the sultry voice fills your hazy mind, barely wakening from your deep slumber. His lips plant desperate kisses on the back of your neck, lowering the more he lifts your flimsy pajama shirt up and up and up.
He never did really like you wearing anything to sleep.
Your sluggish murmurs barely register to him, a soft, “Mmphf," and "Miguel.." making him almost instinctively say the same words he always does when he comes to you.
"Yeah.. Missed you too, cariño." He mutters out, his hands already reaching for your shorts to lower them along with your panties, not taking a single second to waste. The small kisses he plants on your lower back never slow, giving you that bit of reassurance which almost sends a surge of energy through you.
He was always so needy with you; never putting much effort to make any small talk. He was here for a reason and you knew that.
But, you didn't mind it one bit.
The cool air from the sudden exposure on your skin sends shivers throughout your entire body, making you tremble just enough to force a faint laugh out of Miguel's throat.
It's that same laugh that makes you crave him; the deep, heavy tone of it making your eyes flutter open with need already soaring through you and your core.
His fingers trail down to your inner thighs, almost teasing you with the gentle glide of the tips, wanting to force those little noises out of your mouth, which he successfully does. Your faint whines just make him grin, knowing that you need him.. just as much as he needs you.
He drifts them over your soft folds, nearly hissing out at how wet you already were. It makes him chuckle, your whimpers growing louder the more he touches you. "Already soaked for me, honey? Bet you were just waitin' for me to come see you.." He whispers out lowly, his lustful eyes fixed onto your glistening cunt.
His fingers take their time, faintly pressing against your entrance and swiping through your lips, gathering the wet slick that you were so graciously providing for him.
It always makes this so much easier for him.
You moan out, turning your head just enough to catch a glimpse of his body and the movement of his free hand releasing his cock from his suit, and the sight makes your mouth water.
He desperately guides the tip of it through your folds, getting ready to indulge himself into your warm heat. The feeling of his cock pressing into you makes you groan, gripping onto the sheets as butterflies flow through your stomach and core, hole clenching around nothing.
You needed him so bad already, just like you always did.
Mouth falling open, you whimper out, "please.." and all it does is make him laugh, smirking as he glances up at you. "Need me that bad, baby? Barely getting started.." He rasps out, nearly pressing the head of his cock into your cunt, but just enough to get him a taste of you.
He groans out, his hands now moving up to squeeze your ass eagerly before slapping it. The harsh sound and the sting of it makes you cry out, thrusting your hips against the sheets in attempt to get some kind of friction.
"Fuck, missed this pretty pussy.. Gonna cherish it.. fuck it.. just like you need, honey." He lets out with a faint hiss, taking his time to start pushing his cock inside of your tight hole. The girth of him makes your walls constrict around him, gripping onto him tightly as he presses himself into you, each inch making your jaw fall wider and wider.
You've been at this too many times with him, but you never get used to the feeling of him inside of you.
It doesn't take too long until his hips are flush against your ass, the tip of his cock piercing so deeply inside of you and filling you up to the brim. It has you letting out small pants, eyes almost rolling all the way to the back of your head at how heavy the air feels around you, how full you feel.
Your face lays on the bed, the side of your cheek pressed against your pillow as your eyes gaze onto Miguel's hips and large body nearly covering you entirely. He licks his drying lips, staring up at you for a moment to look at your face.
He coos at you, almost patronizingly. "Too much?" he teases, "Fucked you so many times, baby.. n' your cunt's still so tight around me."
His head tilts down to stare at the sight of your walls wrapped around him and slightly pulls out as he lifts your thigh up a bit, just enough to see you clench around him involuntarily. It makes him groan; the feeling of your warm pussy enough to wash all of his problems away.
That's why he was here, anyway.
His hips begin to create an unrelenting pace, slowly yet surely making your entire body push and pull into the mattress over and over again, every force of his cock hitting you harder each time.
The echoing smack of his hips slapping against your ass and thighs fill the room entirely, along with your moans growing louder with each thrust. The recurring sting of his skin leaves you breathless, letting out small gasps as you grip onto the sheets tighter.
Miguel doesn't take a second to rest, making sure he slams his cock into your cunt to the brim, using every inch of your hole as if it were only his to use.
He lets out short, hoarse moans each time he enters you. The squelching noises your soaked pussy gives out makes him smack your ass, your slick coating his cock and nearly running down your thighs.
The sounds make your cheeks burn, his mocking laugh forcing a groan out of you as he moves his body forward to lay his chest on your back now, the weight of him keeping your waist and stomach flush into the bed.
The pressure of him feels intoxicating, your breath hitching as he leans his mouth towards your ear. His grunts are the only thing that you can hear now, along with the faint sounds of the constant slaps of his hips against you. It's so filthy, yet you crave it every time with him.
His grunts now turn into whispers; faint, heavy breaths that you can barely process from how full and fucked out you felt.
It's almost like you're going in and out of consciousness, hardly registering what he was saying, until you hear, "Good fucking girl.. Lettin' me use you like this, fuck, taking such good care of me.."
You whimper out in response, his words making that heat in your stomach and core rise. The praise, yet degrading things that Miguel tells you always leave you wanting more.
His hips begin to slow down now, instead taking his time to pull his cock out of you, letting the tip of it rest against your entrance. Lifting his head from your shoulder, his eyes travel from your bare skin back to your ass. He shoves himself back into you, harder with each thrust so you can feel every inch of him, taking you completely.
You cry out at the intrusion, the harsh force making your eyes roll back as you whine out his name. The push of his cock reaches that spot deep inside of you, forcing your eyes wide open at the overwhelming sensation.
His name on your tongue drives him insane, lifting one of his hands from your ass to reach underneath the weight of your head, wrapping his fingers around your throat. He feels your heart pounding beneath his fingertips, his grip on you tightening just to see you gasp with his eyes fixed on your face now.
He moans your name, his coarse voice making you tighten around him, "There we go, sweetheart.. Think I hit a spot, yeah?" He murmurs out, your groans giving him the answer he needed. The repetitive movement of his thrusts never relent, Miguel making sure that the pace and aim of his cock stay the same.
Your body shudders at the feeling, sending waves of pleasure through your core as you feel him buried to the hilt. You breathe out, desperation seething out through your teeth, "Yeah, Miguel, s-shit, yeah..", feeling your orgasm build up the more he fucks you.
"That's it, honey, let me hear you say it.. Who's fuckin' you this good? Who's gonna make you come, baby?" He pants, thrusts growing faster as he chases his own release, needing to come with you.
Another smack of his large hand on your ass makes you gasp out, eyes shutting tightly as you force the words out of your lips, "You, Miguel, fuck, s'always you.. no one else.."
Your confession goes straight to Miguel's cock, pride growing at the knowledge that you give yourself to him and only him. He grits his teeth, groans slipping out of his mouth while he reaches between your stomach connected to the bed, pressing his fingers against your clit.
"Yeah, baby? I'm the only one who can fuck this pretty pussy, that right?" He urges out of you, hardly processing his thoughts before he can speak them, "You're mine to use? Mine to fuck when I want, huh?"
His words mixed with the pressure of his fingertips on your clit, pressing small, tight circles on it has you moaning out spurs of nonsense; mindless, fucked out noises, with the way his cock slams inside of you over and over again. You feel so full, the heat and coiling inside of your stomach and core increasing.
You whine out, biting your swollen lips, "F-Fuck! Yeah, yeah, m' yours Miguel, all fucking yours.." you breathe out, "Yours to fuck, whenever you want.. Yours to use; whatever you want, Miguel.."
Admitting that shouldn't have felt as good as it did.
You never thought you'd be able to speak like that, much less degrade yourself in such a way; not until he came into your life.
Not until he ruined you for everyone else.
His chest presses tightly against your back, lips back in your ear as he grunts into it, "That's my girl.. knowing your fuckin' place, that's right.." His hands press into the small of your back, forcing your stomach into the bed. You didn't think it was possible for you to feel even more full, but the way he buries his cock to the hilt has you seeing stars.
The quick circles on your clit with the force of his hips has your stomach tightening, coiling up as your walls constrict around his cock, making you come without any warning at all.
Your head lifts, pants and moans escaping your throat with your eyes shut. Miguel's voice encourages you, his fingers on your clit slowing, though his hips never let up. He lifts his chest off from your back to gain better leverage now, hands gripping onto your ass as he pounds himself into you.
The pressure of his cock into your sensitive, spent cunt has you wailing out, whining at the overstimulation. Miguel just uses you and your abused hole, chasing his own release as his cock twitches. "Shit, honey, gonna come, gonna fill you up, fuck," he groans out in rushed breaths.
You clench around him involuntarily, the spasms of your pussy and orgasm hardly to your own control, letting out, "Fill me up, baby, ruin me, please.."
Your words were enough to push Miguel right to the edge, the sudden halt of his thrusts making you gasp out as he buries himself deep inside of you, painting your walls with hot, thick streams of come. He lets himself fall against you, chest pressed into your back with his hips up to the hilt of your hole.
The mix of your heavy breaths and his pants fill your ears and the entire room, the air filled with the scent of sex as you both fall from your highs. Your chest fills with air, heaving up and down with each breath you take as you stare at Miguel, taking in his figure entirely.
You could never truly allow yourself to actually feel for him; you knew that would never be wise, but you can't help the words that escape your mouth.
"Stay tonight?"
Miguel just lifts his head to look into your eyes, giving you a small, tired smile. "Yeah, honey.. Thank you..” he breathes with a press of his lips to your shoulder, “I needed this.”
"I know."
-
a/n: idek if this made any sense bc i wrote it so quick but idgaf i need him <3
-
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bensolosbluesaber · 10 months
Text
Nowhere to Run: Part 1 (Miguel O’Hara (Spider-Man 2099) x Spider-Woman!f!reader)
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Pairings: Miguel O’Hara (Spider-Man 2099) x Spider-Woman!f!reader
Warnings: Hints of suicidal ideation on reader’s part, Fang stuff (Miguel uses fangs on reader), Chasing, Miguel is maybe ooc (I only saw the movie once and was mostly trying to keep from audibly moaning every time he was on-screen), Miguel and reader fight - he does some damage, Poison, Wounds, Not edited (but I will come back for some minor edits later on), Let me know if I missed anything
Summary: After the collapse of your universe, you resort to jumping around the multiverse to survive. Evolution gave you the powers needed to escape your universe. Technology of your own design stopped the glitches. But you haven’t found a way to escape the man relentlessly hunting you across every universe - Spider-Man 2099. ~2,500 words
Angst, hurt/comfort, eventual happy ending
A/N: This is for all of us who watched the Nueva York chase scene/train sequence and thought ‘when do I get to be Miles?’ This is dedicated to the Miguel O’Hara editors on TikTok - you guys are doing god’s work over there (especially with the captions). There shouldn’t be any spoilers in here beyond what was shown in trailers, but tread as carefully as you feel you need.
EDIT: Part 2
--
A persistent tingle deep in your mind vibrated madly the closer Spider-Man 2099 was to you. It was your Spidey-sense warning you of danger.  For the first few months, you managed to stay several universe’s ahead of the terrifying Spider-Man variant, but after running for months with no one to help you, dodging the Spider-Person in each universe, and growing more exhausted with each portal you opened, 2099 was catching up.
He was catching up quite literally. The man was a few blocks behind you, pursuing you through the streets of a Queens in a universe you had never seen before. Buildings were built into trees. The entire city was a perfect symbiosis between nature and technology. It was beautiful, but there was no time to appreciate it. The time on your wrist ticked down. Seventy-six seconds. Seventy-five.
You shot out another web. It caught a window, and you took a sharp corner then another trying to lose the hunter.
Seventy seconds until you could safely open another portal. Well safe was a relative measure. Ideally you would allow a full day between jumps, but if you only had twelve hours, well then odds of survival rose to about fifty-fifty. Anything less than twelve hours and implosion was basically guaranteed.
Sixty-eight. You extended your legs for more momentum, rolled in the air, shot out two webs and used them to zip forward. Sixty-two. 2099 was fast, faster than you. You didn’t dare to look back to see if he was still in pursuit.
He protected the multiverse, kept it from collapsing in on itself, and you put the entire web of connection at risk just by being alive outside of your universe. You didn’t begrudge 2099 for what he thought he had to do. Maybe it was true that your presence could cause a universe to collapse, but you were careful not to stay for too long, not to interact with the Spider of that universe, not to fight any super-villains. If he could just understand that you were careful, that you didn’t want a multiversal collapse anymore than he did, maybe he would be reasonable.
Then again, maybe not. He was relentless, and from what little you had heard of Spider-Man 2099, he wasn’t one for talk and negotiation.
Fifty-five. You dived down, shot another web, swung again. You could never go back to your world’s boundless emptiness and not another living soul. That thought kept your exhausted muscles working. Fifty. The void was all that remained of your collapsed universe, a void in which you could not die but where no one else could live.
Forty-eight. Forty seven. This block was all future, half-built apartment buildings.
Thirty. You’d long ago lost your suit. All that remained was the mask that obscured your face. You must look ridiculous swinging around in stolen street-clothes: a baggy sweatshirt, leggings, dirty sneakers.
Twenty-one. Nearly there. Just a few-
A solid mass of muscle stole the breath from your lungs and flattened you into a cement wall. Claws shattered the cement beside your head into a fine gray powder. A hand closed around your throat, and you were crushed between the blue and red clad Spider-Man and the wall.
He was pure muscle. This was the closest you’d ever been to 2099, and his sheer size was terrifying. The red lines on his mask narrowed with his eyes as he studied you.
Eighteen. You pushed at his broad chest, struggling desperately to fight him off, but he was enhanced too and probably well-fed and rested - two things you were not.
“Stop fighting me,” 2099 growled into your ear, his voice a deep rumble that you felt in his chest.
“I won’t go back.” You choked out the words while you planted a knee against him and tried to kick him away. Your efforts were utterly useless. Quite literally, you could feel muscles rippling across his chest and arms as he held you against the wall while you trid to wriggle free.
In the corner of your eye, you watched the red numbers tick down. Six. Five. Was it even possible? It had to be.
2099 brought you forward then slammed you into the wall again. The impact made your head spin. The red lines of his mask doubled and tripled. He was trying to get something around your wrist.
“Hold still!”
Two.
With the last vestige of strength left in your body, you brought a hand to his face and shot a wad of webbing at his eyes. He growled and stopped his attempt to hand-cuff you - or whatever he was doing - to wipe the webbing away. For a second he was distracted. You imagined the glowing golden portal. Closed your eyes. Energy sparked in your body, coursed through your veins and arm. You shot a web at the wall behind you. It shimmered gold, dim gold, but still gold.
There was a moment where you thought it hadn't worked. Then the wall crumbled away and you felt wind whip you backward as a bright gold light filled the space. 2099 reached for you, claws extended. Four knife-like talons dug into your shoulder, ripping through the ratty sweater, digging into your skin, and tearing four long bloody stripes into your flesh as the portal drug you away..
You planted both feet on his stomach and kicked him off. A bright red web shot out from 2099’s hand to tangle in a tree. The last thing you saw was 2099 falling then catching himself before you tumbled away from him and toward a new universe.
--
It was raining on this new Earth. Actually, ‘raining’ was a bit of an understatement. It was absolutely pouring, and you were soaked before you hit the ground. Hard.
You hadn't been as focused as you needed to be, and the portal had opened in the sky and dropped you ten feet to the roof of a towering building in some universe’s version of New York. You couldn’t tear the mask from your face quick enough as you gasped desperately for air. 2099 was strong, and he’d smashed you half a foot into solid cement.
Your ribs ached. So did your head for that matter. But it was the dull ache spreading across your shoulder, down your arm, and seeping through your muscles like liquid fire that really made you afraid.
The gray of your stolen sweater was soaked in crimson blood. Carefully, you pushed the stained fabric over your shoulder.
Shit. Shit!
Beneath the torn fabric, your skin glowed a sickly, dare you say radioactive red - the same red as 2099’s suit. His talons must have been poisoned, and now that poison was making it’s way through your body, causing unknown damage and immense pain. There had to be a lab on this Earth. Right? If you could only get there, you were smart enough to whip up an antidote.
But as you stood, it was obvious that you wouldn’t be going anywhere. The poison was potent and fast-acting. Insanely, you wondered if it was really poison or if you should be calling it venom. It didn’t matter, because a moment after gaining your feet, your legs failed. You careened forward and nearly smashed your head again, only just catching yourself before slowly laying down in the rainwater.
City lights sparkled in the distance and reflected in the puddle forming around your head. Purple and blues and few bright yellows. Not a bad view if this was how you died. If only the poison weren’t so painful. You wanted to scream, but you lacked the strength.
A familiar tingle shot across your spine a second before the bright gold light of a portal obscured the reflection of the city lights. No! He was so close when you jumped universe’s. He must have tracked you; no wonder he hadn't bothered to chase you through the portal.
You scrambled backwards weakly, your feet struggling for purchase on the slick roof as the broad shouldered man appeared. He was wreathed in gold light. You couldn’t jump again, couldn’t even stand, could barely drag your body through the rain as Spider-Man 2099 strode closer.
“Nowhere to run,” he said. His voice was flat, like he took no pleasure in finally having you trapped.
“I won’t go back!” You tried to sound tough, strong, but your voice cracked over the words. “There’s nothing there. I can’t. I’d rather die than- than go back to nothing. 2099, don’t send me back”
Your fingers felt the ledge of the building and empty air beyond it. Poison. Fall. The clawed Spider-Man. A slow descent into madness trapped in the empty and endless remains of your home universe. A fall seemed fastest. But you didn’t want to. You were scared. You didn’t really want to die. Your shoulder throbbed and head filled with fog. The skin was glowing such a bright red you could see it in the corner of your eye.
In the brief moment you hesitated, he was on you. 2099’s red webs wrapped around your chest, and he yanked you forward and away from the ledge. You crumpled at his feet, and he just stared down at you through that mask. His blue and red mask swam in your vision as you stared up at him. Was it the rain that was so cold? Or was it the poison? No, venom. Poison? Venom?
2099’s face got bigger as he knelt beside you.
“What is this?” He pulled at the torn sweater, his gaze falling on the bright red mottling your skin.
Miguel O’Hara had never seen his claws damage anyone like this. There was no venom in them… unless in whatever universe you had come from something about them was venomous. It was possible. His fangs were venomous, that he did know.
Miguel pulled off his mask, the adrenaline of the chase fading while he watched you struggle for life. He’d meant to stop you, take you back to base, figure out where you’d come from… not kill you. He ran his tongue over one of the fangs protruding from his mouth.
The next thing you knew, 2099 was sitting next to you and pulling you onto his lap. It might have all been a dream, you couldn’t tell. The lights were so beautiful. Your head lolled to one side, your whole body limp as a ragdoll in his muscular arms. His face filled your vision and blocked out the pretty lights.
He had a strong jawline, dark curls, sharp cheekbones, a broad nose, and were those fangs? And were his eyes glowing red? Yes, two orbs as red as the suit and your poisoned skin shone down at you. He was pretty too. This had to be a dream. The monster chasing you couldn’t be so handsome. You blinked, eyes unfocused. Your Spidey-sense was going wild, but you couldn’t bring yourself to fight. 2099 was warm, and you could go to sleep right here.
He shifted your body again so your side was pressed against his chest. “2099,” you whispered weakly, pathetically.
“I’m sorry for this,” he whispered in that low growl. Now it was tinged with what almost sounded like real regret. “It’s the best I can think of.”
He guided your head to rest in the curve of his shoulder, face turned toward his neck. One hand brushed hair away from your neck, the other wrapped around your waist. His fingers were no longer clawed, and his movements were gentle as he held you close, muscles tensing underneath your body. The expression on his face was tender. It seemed impossible that this was the same man who had made you his prey for months.
“Don’t panic now,” he whispered as he lowered his lips to your neck. “Stay still.”
You were barely aware of what was happening. His lips were warm, then four sharp pricks stung the base of your neck just above your collarbone and the deep poisoned wounds. Panic tried to rise in your throat, but you weren’t conscious enough to really process that a man currently had his fangs sunk into your throat. He drew back and spit out bright red poison, then bit into you again. Then again. And again.
Miguel was exceptionally careful with you, holding you perfectly still and being sure to sink his fangs into the same spot each time so as not to mark your skin any more than necessary.
Slowly, the world began coming back into focus. You were exhausted, but the poison was being was successfully being leeched from your system by his fangs. Brown curls were the first thing you became aware of, then the almost unnatural warmth coming from the man beneath you, then the cold pricks on rain on your back, then... then that something was biting you. Before you could wrench your head back, a large hand cradled the back of your head. You desperately tried to struggle as you realized what this vampiric Spider-Man was doing to you. The muscles in his arm flexed as he held your head still.
2099 pulled his fangs from your neck, spit bright red then let go of your head. You sat up quickly. The movement made you dizzy.
“I know you’re scared.” Miguel could see the fear in your eyes. He nodded to your still glowing shoulder. It was dimmer now and hurt less, but it was still obvious poisoned. “But this is working. Let me help you.”
You were looking him right in the eyes, the glowing red eyes, and though you didn’t trust him, you knew instinctively he was right.
“Okay,” you breathed lowly.
You laid your head on his shoulder. Miguel could feel how your whole body trembled, but whether it was from fear or cold or something else entirely he couldn’t tell. When his lips touched your skin you whimpered. That was fear.
Miguel still had one arm around you, but he took your hand in his free one, interlaced your fingers, and squeezed once. Then he sunk his fangs into your neck. It stung a bit but didn’t really hurt. Now that your were conscious, you could feel the poison being drawn toward the spot where his mouth connected to your skin. That didn’t really hurt either. It was like stretching a sore muscle - a satisfying pain that ultimately brought relief.
2099 drew back to spit out his poison. When was the last time you’d touched someone like this? A touch that was more than an accidental brush in the street - or a purposeful one so you could steal someone’s wallet. 2099 was your enemy, your hunter. He was dangerous. But he was saving your life and holding you so tenderly it made your chest ache.
“Once more,” he promised.
His fangs brushed over your skin for the last time. You pulled your hand from his and splayed your fingers across his chest. 2099 brought his now free hand to your poisoned shoulder and pushed the ripped fabric apart.
Miguel watched the last of the poison be pulled from your veins as it filled his mouth. He spit it out then turned back to study how your body was pressed against him.
“Can you stand?” He asked.
“I don’t know,” you answered honestly. Then panic hit and you jerked back, still sitting on his lap but with your face now safely away from his fangs. “You- you’re going to send me back. 2099, please don’t.”
“Why do you keep calling me that? My name is Miguel.”
Miguel. 2099 had a name. Of course he did, but hearing it made him seem so human. And his face was handsome. That was no venom or poison induced hallucination. The man was beautiful.
“And no. Not yet.”
“My universe collapsed. There’s nothing for me to go back to.”
His red eyes softened as they met yours.
“We won’t send you back to an empty universe,” he paused, and one side of his lips twitched up. “You ran because you thought I’d send you back to a void? I see I have quite the reputation.”
Miguel lifted you to your feet easily. He set you on your feet and tapped the watch-like contraption on his wrist. You leaned against his muscled chest for stability. Even without his poison, you were still wounded and tired and malnourished. A portal spiraled out in front of you both.
“You promise not to send me back there?” You looked up at Miguel. He squinted at the portal’s bright light and tugged the mask back over his face.
“Promise.”
To be continued... 
Part 2
-- 
A/N: Part 2 will be a little time jump, and we’ll actually see Miguel and reader get into a relationship!
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whatthefishh · 3 months
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house of balloons.
Marc Spector x f!reader
Warnings: unprotected p in v, spit, choking, slight breeding kink, Marc’s sweaty neck, cream pie, Dom/sub dynamic if you squint
Word count: 1.4K
AN: nobody asked for this but I’m giving it to you anyway. Beta’d by my bb @moonknightly ❤️
The way Marc was taking his time with you tonight was getting the best of you.
It wasn’t a particularly healthy relationship but it was what each of you could handle. He’d message you in the late hours of the night and conveniently for you, it would be on the nights you were too restless to sleep, in need of what only he could give you.
You don’t think he loves you. You definitely don’t love him, but you love the way he fills you up, his cock hitting the precise spot inside your hot and needy cunt that neither your fingers nor your toys could reach, the smug face he wore telling you everything you needed to know.
Your hands squeezed his shoulders where they were sweaty and bare, his own hands gripping your ass every time you sank down on his cock on the couch in your living room.
One of his hands moved to grip your jaw, thumb tugging on your bottom lip until you opened your eyes in question only to get caught in the most intense eye contact you’ve ever had with him. Marc continued to watch you as he pulled your pliant mouth open wider, and, while keeping his eyes on yours, leaned forward to fucking spit in your waiting mouth.
And God, you were so easy for him, you swallowed it down without hesitation.
At that you both groaned, and he leaned forward to do it again, kissing you tongue first right after letting it dribble down into your mouth. Suddenly, the pressure in your abdomen skyrocketed, your leaking pussy clamping down on Marc’s thick cock. Your spine seized up, hands reaching to entangle themselves in his hair as you neared your climax, desperate to ground yourself against the wave of pleasure threatening to drown you.
“Marc, ohh—“
“Fuck sweetheart, is that what you want? Huh?” He punctuated his question with a squeeze to your jaw, shaking your head a little.
You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want him to squeeze you tighter, choke you a little harder until you passed out. You were getting close to the edge, the wet sounds your pussy made loud in the otherwise silent apartment. You weren’t aware of the noises you were making, completely lost in the feelings Marc was bringing out in you.
“You know, I think about you sometimes. Whether you make noise when it’s just you and your fingers… you’re so loud, honey. How does nobody complain?”
Your thighs burned, for sure to be aching the next day to serve as a reminder of this moment. Pulling his face into your neck from his hair was your attempt at shutting him up, being more aggressive with it than usual but it only served to make him groan with pleasure.
“God, I’ve been thinking about this pussy all day. I think she missed me, too, leaking all over me. Such a mess,” he bit and licked at the junction in your neck. “I’ll clean you up after, don’t worry.”
You squeezed around him tighter at his words while Marc’s hands squeezed your ass on your way down, holding you there for a second before lifting you up and repeating it until he was basically using you like his own personal toy.
“Please,” you managed weakly.
You don’t even know what you’re asking for. Something, anything to free you. You needed the release and he was the only one who could give it to you now. You had a feeling Marc knew this, was using it to his advantage as he continued to grab and pull at your flesh with borderline animosity, channeling all of his feelings from the day and towards you into his large fingers, pressing and pressing and pressing.
“You gotta ask me, baby, c’mon use your words.”
Oh, fuck him.
Pretending to lean closer to whisper in his ear, you switched at the last second to pounce and bite down hard on Marc’s meaty shoulder, not being gentle while gnawing at his golden flesh. A loud groan was heard in your ear, encouraging you to repeat the action on the next space of golden tanned skin available to you. And while his fingers continued pressing bruises into your skin, his thrusts became all of a sudden erratic, pulling you down and grinding you on him, selfishly in search of his own release.
“Inside, inside,” you said breathlessly.
And with one last thrust, his hands still gripping your hips hard enough to hurt a little, he threw his head back. Your cunt fluttered around him as you came on his cock before you felt his warm cum trickling down and around where you were joined.
Marc’s bulging neck and heaving chest enticed you to lean forward again and lick at the sweat beading on his collarbone before he pushed your head away with a hand on your sternum. Sighing and pulling out, you both went quiet watching his spend leak out of you, twitching when he shoved it back inside with two fingers and fucking you with them a couple of times for good measure.
“Mmm.”
Whimpering when he pulled out again, you collapsed on your side against the cushions, focusing on evening out your breathing. Meanwhile, Marc was trying to fight his sudden instinct to stay with you and hold you, curl you up into a ball so that you may fit softly against him the way he dreamed about.
Deciding to cover you with a blanket instead, he quickly got dressed and hovered above you, avoiding eye contact before dropping a soft and lingering kiss on your forehead, only serving to confuse the fuck out of you. He never acted this way after sleeping with you, albeit tonight was a little more … intense, you could say.
You had to admit, it felt nice. Good, even.
Fuck, okay, it felt amazing. And now there was a look in his eye, kind of like he didn’t want to leave, kind of like he wanted to go again, stay the night, whisper sweet nothings to you while you lay in his arms until sunrise. Or maybe you were projecting.
A crease developed between his brows before he swiftly made his way to the door, his walk stiff and jaw set. You were probably projecting. He didn’t want to stay. Why would he? Like you said, you weren’t in love. You were just one of his girls.
“Uhh, yeah, well. See you around.”
Even his tone sounded more awkward than usual. Hovering near the entryway, shuffling, hands twiddling, he looked nothing like the Marc you knew for a moment. His shoulders hunched forward and for a split second his eyes went ridiculously soft.
Unlocking your door and making his way to the elevators, he headed down the hall, hearing a few heavy steps before your door swung shut. Just like that, he was gone.
You don’t know what you thought you saw, or if it was just something you wanted to see. You felt like a child again, a rejected little girl who’s crush wouldn’t play with them on the playground. The one time you let the silly hope shine in your eyes while looking up at the gorgeous man who you’ve come to realize you do sort of have feelings for, at least a little bit, was the only time Marc needed to see it before running away.
You’re not sure how long you lay there naked under the throw with his cum drying on your inner thigh before a couple of unsuspecting and quiet knocks sounded at your door. The weight of the hand behind the door didn’t sound familiar; maybe it was a neighbour who came to complain about the noise.
Wrapping the blanket around you like a shawl, you awkwardly (and sorely) padded to the door, opening it an inch before seeing the man who just bolted from your apartment back and looking uncomfortable. Maybe he forgot something.
“I forgot something.”
Opening the door wider for him, fully expecting him to immediately go looking for his wallet, keys, whatever it was, you don’t intend on watching him like a kicked puppy.
But Marc surprises you. He enters your home, shuts the door and still has that face of confusion on from earlier before he pulls you into his chest, his arms going around your waist as he hugs you close.
“Promised I’d clean you up, remember?” He whispers in your ear.
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dameronscopilot · 10 months
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burrowed in under my skin
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miguel o'hara x f!reader
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summary: years spent apart and a shiny new ring on your finger still don't stand a chance against the way you feel when you look at miguel o'hara.
word count: 2.8k
18+ content: NSFW, smut, infidelity, angst with a hopeful ending, feels, biting, a bit of blood, dirty talk, possessive!miguel, fingering, oral sex (m!receiving), unprotected p in v, sex against a wall!, creampie
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A small part of you always knew he would come back. 
Miguel’s hair is wet from the storm raging outside when he silently climbs in through the window in your bedroom, remnants of the rain following him inside. Pausing in the doorway, your breath catches in your throat as your arm freezes midair, fingers aborting their journey toward the light switch on the wall. Your hand drops uselessly back to your side as you tighten your grip on the laundry basket balancing against your hip, eyes roving over the sight of Miguel fucking O’Hara dripping all over your goddamn hardwood floors. 
Bathed in the soft glow of string lights framing the curtains, you feel an ache of concern as your eyes track across a fresh cut along his jaw. It’s a fleeting emotion, one that you quickly stomp down and kick to the side—he’s no longer your concern. 
Briefly, you let your gaze pointedly fall to the rainwater accumulating beneath his sodden form, and the corner of Miguel’s mouth quirks upward so slightly you’re not quite sure if you imagined it. 
He hastily tugs off the scarf that’s around his neck, dropping it to the ground and wiping up the water with his foot. 
“You always did like to clean up your messes,” you comment, your mild tone a direct contrast to the frantic rhythm trembling in your chest. 
He shrugs off his jacket, and you briefly consider shoving him right back out the still-open window as your eyes betray you, greedily roving over the way the damp, white cotton clings to his broad chest. 
“You still leave this window unlocked,” he observes quietly, idly toying with the small plastic lock before sliding it shut. 
“Force of habit,” you mutter, putting the basket down beside your closet and folding your arms across your chest as you turn back to Miguel.
Some things about your room have changed in the years that Miguel has been gone, like the pale blue bedspread that you’d never really liked and the collection of framed photos spread out across the top of your dresser. But there are also things that remain wholly the same, untouched—like your dad’s tattered old hat hanging on the wall and the well-loved, faded copy of Miguel’s favorite book nestled amongst your own collection on a shelf in the corner. 
But there’s something else that’s changed, too. And you catch the exact moment Miguel notices it—his entire body tensing as you curl your left hand against your forearm, the diamond on your finger falling into his line of sight. You let your arms fall back to your sides, hands tightening into fists while something hard reflects across his features. 
“You left.”
He looks away, running a hand through his hair. 
“I know.”
Miguel always left. 
He wasn’t even from your universe, after all. 
You’d gotten used to it, for a while—the stolen moments with him. The starved touches, the desperate kisses, sex that left you aching for him again long after he snuck back out into the night…to another place. Another time. Another plane of existence entirely. 
Just once, you’d pleaded for Miguel to take you with him. To let you pack your bags and leave your life—your universe—behind. 
You would have done it. Would have done anything for him, really. Even though you’d known what his answer would be before the words left his mouth, the weight of the obligations the suit plastered across his chest demanded far outweighing the scraps of borrowed time he stole with you. 
The sorrowful regret in his eyes had been answer enough. 
And when Miguel left that night, you both knew he wasn’t coming back. 
He couldn’t, for both of your sakes. 
So to find him standing in the middle of your bedroom now, each of you taking a step toward one another like you can’t quite help but give in to the magnetic pull of whatever invisible string is now pulled taut once more between you? It leaves you feeling off kilter, shaken. Thrumming with anticipation. You sway just enough that Miguel reaches out an arm to steady you, his grip firm against your shoulder for a heartbeat. 
He’s too late. 
He’s too fucking late. 
Half of your living room is packed neatly into the cardboard boxes piled neatly behind your couch, the kitchen next on your list to dismantle for your impending move across town to your fiancé’s much larger home. The weight of the ring on your finger that you’ve only just grown used to begins to feel foreign again as Miguel takes your hand and gazes down at it. 
“You hate gold,” he muses, taking in the ornate design of a band that, admittedly, isn’t something you would have picked for yourself. 
“It’s growing on me,” you protest as you snatch your hand back, though you’re not sure if you’re trying to convince him or yourself. 
“Hmm.”
It’s a noncommittal sound, one that most would brush off as a bland response. But you know Miguel, can nearly see the thoughts churning in his head by way of the slight tick of his jaw alone. 
“Do you love him?” he asks, the question nearly drowned out by the sound of thunder rumbling outside. 
You don’t know why you hesitate, why you suddenly find it so hard to arrange three letters into one simple word. The word catches on your tongue, stubbornly lodged in the back of your throat and leaving your lips gaping for a beat like a fish out of water. Maybe it’s because you know Miguel won’t hesitate to leave the moment you say it, leaving behind nothing but the licks of rain he brought in his wake. 
Lightning flashes outside, illuminating your face, and he tracks the way you bite your lower lip before you admit, “I don’t know.”
Miguel takes another step forward, close enough that you can feel the warm caress of his body heat. Shamelessly, you inhale as his familiar scent curls around you, something inside of you cracking open in response. 
“Tell me to leave,” he murmurs, lifting a hand and running his callused thumb along the curve of your jaw. 
But you don’t. 
You can’t. 
Instead, you tilt your head to the side, drawing an audible intake of breath from the man in front of you as you expose your neck to him. He curses quietly, and you can feel the faintest whisper of claws against your cheek before he leans in. 
“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, voice rough as his lips ghost over the shell of your ear. 
You ignore him, pressing close enough that you can feel the steady beating of his heart in his chest. A sound of frustration leaves Miguel, one of his hands coming to grasp at your waist as he wars with the rapidly dissolving dregs of his self control. 
A shiver crawls up your spine at the feeling of his fangs trailing down your neck, coming to a stop at the curve of your shoulder. He pulls his head back slightly, running two fingers over the place where the smooth expanse of your skin is disrupted by the feeling of slightly raised scar tissue. And you can’t help it, the breathy little sound you let out at the memory of him sinking his teeth into you while he fucked you. The way your lips part at the undeniably possessive way he kisses the spot, flicking his tongue over it.
Miguel pulls away again, eyes meeting yours. There’s a note of desperation his tone when he asks, “Where is he?”
For a moment, you have no idea what he’s talking about, no recollection of why you shouldn’t be doing this until he threads his hand with yours and jostles the ring on your finger. 
And as horrible as it is, you can’t bring yourself to care as you look right back at him, gaze unwavering when you respond, “He’s not here.”
A part of you will always belong to Miguel O’Hara, no matter what universe he’s in. 
It’s the part of you that’s felt so fucking empty every single day that he’s been gone. The dull ache that bloomed sharp and hot the moment you laid eyes upon him tonight, flaring back to life like a wildfire across your chest. 
“I missed you,” you admit on a quiet exhale. 
A nearly imperceptible shudder runs through him as he rests his forehead against yours and rasps, “I’m sorry.”
And when he eventually cups your face in both of his hands, the raging storm outside goes wholly silent as he lets one last question dance in his eyes. 
Do you still want this?
Your head’s barely begun to dip with a nod before Miguel’s lips crash against yours, the rest of your world slipping away under the swift current of desperation in his kiss. For all his reservations moments prior, there’s nothing hesitant in the way his mouth claims yours, tongue flirting with the seam of your mouth as he grasps the back of your head. And you can’t help it, the way you go pliant under his touch, your needy whimper in response to the pointed tug of his fangs on your bottom lip. The shameless way you rock into the thick thigh he slots between your legs, your silk sleep shorts helpless against the firm denim of his jeans. 
“Missed you so much,” he groans against your mouth, his palm a searing brand as it presses into the dip of your lower back. 
“Miguel,” you breathe, caught somewhere between a whine and a moan.
A soft growl escapes him at the sound of his name on your lips, both of his hands now firmly grasping your hips, the firm outline of his cock pressing into you. There’s nothing subtle about the way you gasp into his mouth, chasing the delicious friction. 
He reaches between you, cupping your clothed cunt with his hand and rasping, “Missed this, too.”
You know he can feel how wet you are already, arousal soaking clean through your underwear, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when he’s slipping a finger up through your shorts and tugging your panties aside to tease at your slit, pupils dilating with lust at the sticky squelch of his digit sliding through your folds. 
“Always so wet for me, baby,” he murmurs, his other hand sliding one of the thin straps of your tank top down your shoulder. He pulls your breast out, dragging his thumb over your peaked nipple as he continues, “Do you get this wet for him, too?”
Mind drifting to the bottle of lube tucked in your bedside drawer, you shake your head, “No.”
A sound of satisfaction rumbles in Miguel’s chest while he moves aside the other strap, letting both of your breasts spill free for him to grasp and massage. 
At the feeling of his finger circling your fluttering entrance, you don’t care how desperate you sound as you whimper, “Please, Miguel.”
He doesn’t hesitate to oblige, lips slotting against yours to swallow down your keening moan when he plunges a thick finger into your dripping cunt. Lace panties straining against the stretch of his hand tugging them aside, you rock into his touch, threading one of your hands into his hair. 
Miguel groans as you pull at the strands, “Gonna make you feel so fucking good tonight,” slipping another finger into the wet heat between your thighs.
You head spins with pleasure as he plunges his digits in and out of your aching cunt, more slippery arousal dripping into his palm with each and every stroke. Whether it’s a testament to how badly you missed him or just how well he knows your body, it doesn’t take long for the coiled knot of pleasure in your gut to burst open, your climax rippling through your body the moment his thumb begins to massage your aching clit. 
“That’s it baby, come for me,” he croons, the tone of his voice like liquid fire in your veins. “Get that pretty pussy nice and wet for my cock.”
Legs still trembling, you drop to your knees before Miguel can lead you toward the bed, fingers scrambling to tug down his jeans. Miguel’s hips cant forward as you begin to mouth at the tip of his cock through his boxers, lapping at the wet spot of precum staining the material while you grip his thick shaft. 
You know it’s a battle of restraint for Miguel to hold still as you slide off his boxers, eyes hungrily taking in his hard, flushed cock, cunt already clenching again in anticipation of feeling his length stretching you open. He breathes heavily when you slowly begin to take his length into your mouth, lips parting wide to accommodate as much of him as you can take. A salty spurt of precum hits your tongue, and you begin to lap at his cock, wrapping your fingers around the base and bobbing on his shaft just the way you know he likes it. 
There’s something about sucking Miguel’s dick that you’ve always loved—the feeling of this powerful man shivering and moaning with pleasure at your touch. The way he brushes a hand along your face as you take him deeper, wiping away the tears that prick at the corners of your eyes as he nears the back of your throat. The taste of his cum as he spills his hot load into your waiting mouth. 
But you know you won’t be getting that far right now, not when your cunt’s still waiting for him to bury his cock in it, a fresh wave of arousal leaking down your thighs. 
As if on cue, Miguel pulls you to your feet, lips claiming yours hungrily as he backs you up to a wall. He makes quick work of your clothes as you tear off his shirt before he lifts you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist. And despite how many times you’ve fantasized about this feeling in his absence, when he notches the head of his cock at your entrance, nothing can compare to the feeling of him splitting your empty, needy cunt open once again. 
You cry out his name, fingers leaving scratches down his back when you grip him tightly, rocking into him, moaning and whimpering with each thrust. Miguel kisses you hard as he fucks you against the wall, quickly finding a relentless pace to satisfy your desperate pleas for him to fuck you harder. 
“I bet he doesn’t fuck you like this, does he?” he breathes out heavily, sweat on his brow. “Doesn’t know how to make that pretty little face cockdrunk and begging for it.”
He snaps his hips upward so hard you almost see stars, your tits bouncing with each deep plunge. 
“No,” you shake your head, whimpering. “Only you, Miguel.”
A possessive growl tears from his lips at that, and he takes your left hand, eyes narrowing as he grips the ring on your finger. 
“Mine,” he breathes out, lips slotting against yours, tongue sliding into your mouth. 
And when a picture frame hanging on the wall goes crashing to the floor, your back arching into Miguel, you whisper, “Yours,” just as he sinks his teeth right into that same spot at the junction between your shoulder and neck. 
You cry out when he bites down, slamming his cock inside of your fucked out cunt to the hilt, and as a warm trickle of blood drips down your breast, your soaked, sloppy walls clench down on his cock with an orgasm that leaves you sobbing in pleasure. Your name is a broken sound on Miguel’s lips as he moans it, hips jerking into you one last time as he climaxes, spilling hot ropes of cum deep inside of you. 
He peppers soft, soothing kisses along your face and licks at the shallow wound on your shoulder as he pulls out of you and gingerly sets you back down on the floor. You’re so dazed in the aftermath, so sated that you miss the tensing of his shoulders—a reaction to a sound you can’t quite hear. Not yet. 
Not until a key scratches in the front door, shoes brushing against the mat in the entryway. 
Miguel tucks you into the robe hanging beside your closet, determination sparkling in his eyes as he brushes his thumb across your bottom lip before leaning in to kiss you again. 
“I’ll be back,” he murmurs against your mouth, hands trailing over the tender spot on your neck. 
And before you can say another word, he’s gone, the sound of the now calm rain filtering in through your window left just slightly ajar. A trail of Miguel’s cum begins to slide down the inside of your thighs just as your bedroom door swings open. 
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melodygatesauthor · 6 months
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Then I Saw You
Basil Stitt X f!Reader
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Beta Read By: @xbellaxcarolinax - Using prompts by @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction, a few Nonnies, and my own ideas.
PLEASE READ TAGS/DISCLAIMERS/WARNINGS BEFORE READING THIS FIC. THERE ARE DARK THEMES!
Summary
You moved in next door to Basil Stitt two weeks after his incident. After everyone he cared about ignored his calls and acted like he didn't exist, he was starved for affection, and your pretty voice caught his attention immediately. He decided he'd do just about anything to have you all for himself...anything.
Tags/Warnings
Disclaimers: There is heavy non-con in this fic, it's not for everyone. If you're sensitive to that sort of thing in fanfiction, please keep on scrolling thanks.
NSFW, non-con, rape, sex, unprotected sex, praise kink, masturbation, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, porn with some plot, smut, creampie, breeding kink if you REALLY squint, non-consensual somnophilia, drugged sex, non-consensual drug use, minor mention of suicide but NO actual death or implied death in fic, also me making some shit up like how peepholes work, neighbor!Reader, dark fic, dark Basil Stitt. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT (that means that what you see in the tags WILL be in the fic, don't act surprised when you get exactly what you were warned about.)
Word Count: 9.8k
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Basil saw the moving truck outside when it pulled up by the curb. Two men got out, opened up the back, and started to bring someone’s belongings inside. His apartment was only one of the two on his floor. The old man across the hall went to a nursing home a couple of weeks ago…was he getting a new neighbor? Sure enough, he heard them opening the door across from his and moving things inside.
He looked around at his living space, a disgusting mess of old pizza boxes, empty alcohol bottles, and his broken belongings. No doubt he’d need to get a better handle on his outbursts. He’d already received a notice from the landlord with all the banging and shouting the person living below him had dealt with. Depending on the kind of person the new neighbor would be, he might get more than just a warning if they heard him being too rambunctious.
That’s when he heard your voice, a sweet thing that crept under the gap between his door and the hardwood floor that he was likely to lose his security deposit for after destroying it. He ran to the peephole, looking through the lens and seeing you for the first time. 
His heart felt like it stopped beating. His entire body shook as he pressed his palm to the door. You were…beautiful.
“What the fuck…” he whispered to himself, as you walked into your apartment. “W-what the…” he stepped away from the door, “fuck.”
The second your door opened again he was pinned to his own, his good eye glued back at the peephole to get a glimpse of you. He whined, seeing your pretty smile as you handed the movers some money. Why were you smiling at them like that? Basil paused. Why did he care?
Maybe it was that you sounded, and looked, so nice. His calls to his girlfriend had still been unanswered, and the same could be said for his parents. You looked like someone who would care about him. Someone who could look past…
No.
Despite wanting to stare at you longer, he stepped in front of his mirror instead. There was no way you would be able to stomach looking at someone like him. He touched the reddened, rippled deformity on the left side of his face. An overwhelming dread poured into his chest, making him feel heavy with sorrow. How could anyone love him? His own mother couldn’t even be bothered to speak to him, even after all the voicemails he left.
“Yeah absolutely, I’d love that,” you giggled in the hall.
You’d love what? Basil thought, rushing to the door once again to see who had you feeling so upbeat.
You had a piece of paper in your hand. He didn’t like how one of the movers was smiling and looking at you. Was he flirting with you? Basil’s hand reached for the door handle, but he stopped. What was his plan? Was he going to walk out there, someone you’d never seen or met before in your life, and just tell the guy to fuck off?
In a perfect world…yes.
He’d step out there, no paper bag on, and tell the man off. Basil imagined you’d be so enamored with his actions that you’d kiss him, smiling at him the way you were smiling at the mover right now. You’d touch his cheek and look at him as though his face were normal, like it was just a couple of short weeks ago. Your lips looked so soft.
Basil whined, pressing his entire body against the door, cock rubbing between the wood and his abdomen. He saw you go into your apartment again, closing the door behind yourself. Over the next couple of hours he sat in front of the door, waiting…listening for your voice. All he heard was the sound of the movers going in and out, until finally there was nothing.
He stood there in the still of the silence, breathing slowly and trying to contain himself. He thought about opening his door again and knocking on yours, introducing himself as any good neighbor would. His breath hitched in his throat when he considered your reaction though. What if you saw his face…
What if you saw the monster he’d become?
“No, no, no…” he shouted, feeling emotionally overwhelmed at the thought of your rejection.
He would rather spend his life watching you through his peephole than risk your outright denial of him. At least in his mind, he could think up a million fantasies where you loved him, let him take you on a beautiful date, and where you were pinned underneath him, screaming his name while he made you come over and over again.
He was still so fucking hard. He needed you to step out of your apartment. He needed you now. Just the sound of your voice would do something for him. If he could just hear it, just a little bit, it was all he needed. He slowly opened the door and stepped into the hall, ensuring no one was there. He walked up to your door, looking through the lens to see if he could get a glimpse of you.
You walked by, and he thought he might collapse. You’d changed into something more comfortable, a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top. As you should, it was rather warm that day. You deserved to be comfortable, perhaps even naked. Basil’s thoughts consumed him as he watched you bending over to open a box, pulling some things out, and disappearing from view. How lucky he was that you put those boxes right there by the door.
His hands gripped the doorframe tightly, and he rutted his hips involuntarily against the door. His whole body shook, watching you move so freely around your new home. He wondered what would happen if he just walked in and took you while you were bent over in a box. Your pussy was right there, hiding behind such a thin layer of fabric. Surely it would be easy to just…
He bit his lip so hard he tasted iron, rolling his cock faster against the door. His breathing was labored, needy, and desperate for you. Basil knew he wasn’t good enough for you, but you might like him if you just gave him a chance. He could thrust into your wet, velvety heat and make you scream out like it was the best thing you’d ever felt. Or maybe you’d cry out in terror because no one wants to fuck a monster.
He let out a low growl, feeling his cock ache while it leaked in his pants. You’d heard the sound, stopping what you were doing to turn and face the door. 
That was it. 
That was all he needed to see before he lost it. His body shook against the door while a soft whimper left his lips. Hot cum spilled out through his clothes, leaving a wet streak on the wood he’d been rutting against. He sighed, finally feeling some sense of satisfying relief. Even after all the nights he’d spent palming his own release, he’d never felt so good. 
You did this to him. 
He had to move, looking into the peephole to see that you were coming closer. Basil darted from your door, opening his quickly and locking himself inside silently. He didn’t want you to know he was there. He couldn’t let you know he was there. He couldn’t let you see his fucking face.
----
It only took him a few days to get your schedule figured out. 
In the morning when you left - he presumed for work - you were dressed so nicely. He would’ve followed you but, on account of his horrific deformity, he couldn’t. So he settled for what little bits of you he could. He loved it most when you’d come home, tired from the day and retreating to your apartment so he could sneak over to your door and peek at you.
He would only allow himself a few moments of watching before his conscience forced him back to his own place where he would fuck his fist raw, passing out on the couch. Everything was fine, and he could see himself doing things that way forever, until it wasn’t enough anymore.
He needed more. 
Basil found a gift card to a coffee shop up the road that he knew only had a dollar and some change left on it, and made his way to your door late one night about a week after you’d moved in. You were already in bed, at least, he assumed you were. It was two in the morning and he couldn’t hear a sound coming from your apartment. Basil stuck the card in between the frame and the door, wiggling very slowly so as not to make a lot of noise.
Click.
When your door opened slowly, he felt his heart fluttering wildly. This was it. This was the moment that he finally would get to see you. He stepped slowly, sock-covered feet treading silently over your floor. Your apartment was laid out exactly the same as his only mirrored, making it easy for him to get to your bedroom. He stopped when he got to the doorway though. There was a mirror on the wall to his right.
Turning to see his appearance, he lost all confidence. The grotesque creature looking back grounded him. He couldn’t go in there, not like that. What if you woke up? Maybe if he was still attractive he could make you understand why he was there, standing over you and watching you sleep, but not like the way he looked now. If he tried that now, you’d scream, calling him a freak, or a monster. He couldn’t risk hearing such horrid words coming out of such a pretty mouth, so he backed away.
“Another day…I’ll see you another day then,” he whispered with a soft cry leaving his lips. “Goodbye.”
On his way out, he stopped when his foot landed on something unexpected on your living room floor. He reached down, feeling something soft in his hands. He knew immediately what he was holding, but he brought it to the dim light coming through the window from the moonlit sky to look at it anyway. They were black, made with delicate lace…your panties.
----
Basil stared at your panties on his bed for at least two hours. He hadn’t smelled them yet because he wanted to pace himself. He wanted to savor them, enjoy them as long as he could before he had to steal another pair. Deep down he hoped they would fix him; that they’d be enough to satisfy the unquenchable thirst you seemed to fill him with. At the same time, he knew deep down that this was likely only the beginning of what would become something very, very, dark.
Taking the delicate fabric in his hands, he brought them to his face, rubbing the place that touched your cunt along his nostrils and inhaling so deep he thought he might faint. He shuddered, falling back and catching himself on his desk. He moaned, feeling them against his face once more.
“Fuck, fuck baby…” he whined, breath coming out in a ragged pant.
His tongue darted out, dragging along the place where your flavor was most potent. He whimpered, squeezing the desk so hard his knuckles ached. He licked again. You tasted too good, so delicious he thought he might die if he never got his mouth on the real thing.
Basil’s elbow brushed against the handle on the knife he’d stabbed into his desk multiple times. He snatched it up, holding it and turning it in his hand, letting the moonlight shine off the metal. He could see his mattress just over the edge, and had - what he thought was - a brilliant idea. His cock ached, and it was your fault. Once again he needed to satisfy his urges because you wouldn’t.
He stormed over to the bed, knife in hand, before stabbing a hole deep into the center, making sure it was big enough to take him. He didn’t even know where the knife landed when he threw it to the other side of his apartment, and he didn’t care. Basil wrapped your panties around his pillow before hastily removing his pants, hands shaking in the process. He’d never felt so fucking desperate.
If he closed his eyes, he could almost convince himself that the stuffing in the mattress was a good substitute for your beautiful pussy. It wasn’t, nothing would ever be a good enough substitute for you, but this wasn’t too bad. He slid himself in all the way, body shaking at the sensation as the cotton moved aside for him. Basil buried his face into your panties, taking in your smell some more, and licking them to breathe in your taste.
The bed rocked against the floor, probably loud enough to piss off the occupant of the apartment below him. He didn’t fucking care, he was busy.
“Mm, that’s it, baby, you feel so fucking good,” he whispered the words he wished he could say to you. “So tight, you’ve been waiting for someone like me to come stretch you out hm? Fuck.”
He wondered if you’d like the way he sounded when he was grinding into you. Would you like listening to his hungry moans and low growls? What about when he whimpered and whined? He always thought he sounded a little pathetic, but would you judge him for it? He couldn’t help it, when the pleasure overwhelmed him he had to vocalize it.
“Honey, you’re so sweet,” he kissed your panties, imagining that you’d squirm for him when he did. “Such a pretty little pussy.”
He was good with his tongue, he knew you’d like it if you’d just let him have you. There wasn’t a man alive that would spend hours with his tongue flicking over that swollen little clit until you were nearly pissing yourself from overstimulation, not the way Basil would. No one could love you the way he would.
His drool made your panties wet, the taste and smell already mixing with his own while he fucked the hole in his mattress sloppily. He got louder, practically yelling in a loud rasp while he mouthed at his pillow.
“You’re so good, s-so g-good.” His voice became heavier, deeper, more like a low, feral growl as his climax closed in.
Basil’s body stopped with his cock buried to the hilt inside the mattress. His body trembled and shook while he pumped shot after shot of hot sticky cum into the cotton. He was practically screaming, face buried into the pillow to muffle the sounds. His mind went blank, except for your face. He felt his cock twitching, emptying every bit it could into the damn mattress.
It was just a fucking mattress.
Basil’s heavy breathing slowed and eventually turned to sobs. He held the pillow close, crying into it, soaking the fabric with his tears. What kind of loser fucks a mattress? He thought to himself, feeling his cock getting soft inside the hole he’d made.
----
Basil woke the next morning with his drool adhering your panties to his scarred cheek. His cock was dried with cum to the hole in his mattress. He groaned, feeling like he’d had the night of his life…only to quickly realize that he looked like a pathetic mess that his own mother couldn’t even bring herself to love. He’d fucked his mattress.
What kind of loser…
His thoughts trailed off before he could finish repeating the sentiment of the night before. He peeled his face off the pillow and winced in pain while pulling his dick out of the bed. He heard your voice in the hall, calling him like a siren song to his peephole. He looked out there, and you were standing in the hall laughing with your phone to your ear.
“Yeah you can pick me up at seven, that would be great,” you said as you disappeared out of view.
“The moving man…” Basil said to himself, turning away from the door and running both hands through his hair with his eyes wide, his anger building.
He saw himself in the mirror again, face dropping as he was reminded of his disgusting appearance. His hair was everywhere, cock limp and just hanging there like a sad, pathetic thing. His shirt had pizza sauce stains all over, and discoloration under the armpits. In a moment - a very short moment - of clarity, Basil realized that even if he did manage to get you to move on from the scar, he wouldn’t be able to impress you looking, and smelling, the way he did. 
“Alright, you’re going on a fucking date with some fucking loser huh?” He said, feeling the pain ripping through his chest. “Let me show you what you’re missing!”
He showered, feeling clean for the first time since the incident. When he stepped out of the shower, he noticed the good side of his face for the first time in over two weeks. The way the steam covered the mirror, only the unblemished side was visible. He touched it, feeling comfort in the fact that he could pretend for a moment that he was normal, that everything was normal.
He turned the hot water in his bathroom sink on, keeping the mirror steamed up while he took his razor blade and shaving cream out of the cabinet. He had to keep wiping the mirror so he could see himself, and that was probably why he nicked his cheek a little. He cursed, finishing the shave and then holding a small bit of toilet paper to the wound. As if he needed more deformities on his face.
Once composed, Basil walked out to his living room, realizing finally what a mess it was. He couldn’t possibly bring you in there with it looking like that. And he was going to bring you in there one way or another.
It took him all day to get his apartment back to a, somewhat, normal state. Basil had to push through several mood swings in the process, fantasizing about how impressed you would be, complimenting how nice his place was, and reality creeping its way into his mind and reminding him that you were going on a date tonight…
A knock on his door forced all the thoughts to a stop. Who the fuck was knocking on his door? He hadn’t bought pizza or groceries. The new mattress he ordered wasn’t expected until next week. Basil walked up to his peephole, peering through only to nearly collapse when he saw you. He stepped away from the door as if it were made of hot coals.
“Holy shit,” he whispered. His body immediately started trembling. “Um…I can’t come to the door right now!”
“Oh!” He held his chest when you spoke. You were speaking to him. “Well that’s okay, I just wanted to leave you some cookies.” You chuckled softly. “I honestly didn’t even realize I had a neighbor until I heard you playing some cool music yesterday.”
“C-cool music?” 
Basil was still so in shock that you were even speaking to him that he’d forgotten how inconsiderate he’d been yesterday afternoon. He remembered playing music so loudly it probably could be heard by you and the downstairs neighbor.
“I’m sorry if it was annoying, I’ll keep it down next–”
“No it’s alright! I actually like it!” You couldn’t be that perfect, you couldn’t be. “Well, I hope you like chocolate chip, I’ll leave them here! I’m not the best cook but I tried.”
Your little giggle would be the death of him. 
“I would like anything you made for me…” He said softly as he was struggling to breathe.
“What did you say?”
He cleared his throat, “I um…thank you so much I’m sure they’re great.”
“Okay well, have a good day! Maybe I’ll see you another time.”
With that, you were gone, and Basil’s knees felt so weak he had to sit on the floor. You talked to him. You fucking talked to him. You really did like him. You must have liked him, why else would you have come to his door and left him such a nice gift?
Basil waited by his door until he was sure you were gone before opening it and pulling the cookies inside. They were still warm, you must’ve just made them and waited for them to cool off before bringing them to his door. He held one in his hand, turning it around to decide which side to bite first. He finally bit into it, feeling the sweet flavor fill his mouth, forcing a smile over his lips.
You made those for him. 
Basil ate too many cookies, and with the pang of despair rushing through him periodically at the thought of you going on a date in just an hour, he found himself with his head in the toilet bowl, vomiting uncontrollably. He groaned into the bowl, beginning to cry in frustration. He couldn’t keep himself together. You deserved to go on that date with someone else, someone who wouldn’t flush the delicious gift you brought them because they didn’t know how to establish self-control.
Your door opened at 6:55pm on the dot. Basil was, of course, watching you. He felt his cock aching immediately at the sight of you in that tight black dress. Watching the way it shifted as your hips swayed down the hall made his heart rate rise quickly. He couldn’t believe that someone else would be seeing you in that, touching you in that.
He had the urge to be destructive again, feeling his breathing become rapid and labored in panic. He went to the window where he could see the street below to watch you get into the man’s car, only to see you standing there shivering. Why hadn’t you worn a coat? Basil looked over at the clock, 7:01pm. The guy was late.
While he didn’t enjoy seeing you waiting in the cold, Basil did like knowing the man was unreliable. He watched you pull out your phone, likely calling your missing date. He could tell the man didn’t answer by the way your arm dropped to your hip and head hung in disappointment. You waited though, still hoping he would show up, just standing there in the cold.
For ten more minutes Basil watched you wait, full of hope, only to end up disappointed in the end on your walk back into the building. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so happy, wanting desperately to rush out into the hall and offer to take you out. He couldn’t though…that stupid fucking scar was ruining his life.
It hit him suddenly, that you would be hungry. He couldn’t let you go hungry, not after how sweet you’d been to him, so it was time to repay the favor. Even before the incident, Basil couldn’t cook for shit, and he wasn’t about to try now. This opened the door for another opportunity though…an opportunity to see you in person…
“No, no you’re crazy,” he said, looking at himself in the mirror.
He couldn’t see you like that, not with the horrible scar. And showing up at your doorstep with food in hand and a paper bag on his head would be even weirder than the scar. But if you were asleep, well, it would be hard to be afraid of him then…wouldn’t it?
With a plan in place, he called to order a pizza. He didn’t know what you liked yet, but everyone liked pizza, right? You were nice, you’d probably eat it even if it wasn’t your favorite. Plus you’d be hungry. He was banking on you being hungry.
The food arrived at his door a little while later, and the delivery man knew to just leave it on the floor. Basil took the sleeping pills he was prescribed and crushed them, sprinkling the dust over each slice so you were sure to get some in your system. Every bit of reasonable thinking was gone. He needed more than just your damn panties and a cum filled mattress.
He needed you.
Basil put the pizza in front of your door and knocked before scrambling back into his own place. He watched through the peephole as you stepped out, dressed in a comfortable pair of sweats and a loose t-shirt. You sniffled and looked down at the pizza with a confused expression. It was obvious that you’d been crying.
That’s what you get for thinking someone else could do better for you than I can. Basil thought to himself.
You lifted the sticky note he’d adhered to the box, reading over it slowly before a smile appeared on your face.
Thought you might be hungry.
The cookies were really good, here’s some pizza.
Your neighbor, Basil
Basil’s heart nearly stopped. You were smiling because of something he did. You were smiling because of him.
“This is so nice of you,” you said softly, looking at the door. “Would you…would you want to come in and have some too?”
There’s no way this was real. There’s no way you were actually inviting him into your apartment. Basil looked down at his clothes and straightened out his shirt. His breathing became shallow at the thought. This was so unexpected, he couldn’t believe it. Basil looked over at the table next to the door and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the bowl he usually tossed his keys in. 
“Um…I can’t, but you should enjoy it,” he said with a crack in his voice.
He was surprised to see the look of disappointment on your face. This must be his delusions toying with him again. You weren’t disappointed that he wouldn’t come to your apartment, that would never be the case. He stood there awkwardly, watching you through the peephole, waiting for you to leave.
“Well, you didn’t have to do this, but thank you so much, I actually am hungry.” You paused and sighed, “I’m glad you liked the cookies,” you said to him before retreating to your own apartment once again, pizza in hand.
Basil was trembling at the door for the better part of a half hour. He was stunned by your reaction, by the fact that you invited him over. It couldn’t be real. You’d fucking invited him over! If you’d known what a loser he was, would you have still invited him? If you’d known he fucked a hole in his mattress while intoxicated by the smell of your cunt would you still want him in your home?
----
He waited until it was late and he knew you’d be sound asleep. He walked into your apartment, noticing the pizza on the counter, the box still open, and three slices missing. Surely you’d consumed enough to be comatose for the time being. He stepped into your bedroom and froze.
“Wow,” he whispered, staring intently at your half-dressed form on the bed.
You hadn’t even covered up. Did you know there was a chance he might creep into your house and you wanted to be ready for him? Did you wear that tank top that barely covered anything and those lacy panties knowing he would like them? What about the way your lips parted…were you expecting him to kiss them?
Basil knelt down, reaching his shaking hand out to touch your cheek. Your skin was so soft. He felt a sob swelling in his chest. If his face was still soft, would you let him touch you while you were awake? Would you be able to actually look at him without being disgusted? He couldn’t even look at himself without being disgusted anymore.
“So pretty…”
He leaned in, brushing his nose against yours, in a small way he was testing to see if it would wake you. You stayed asleep, and so he moved forward, pressing his lips against yours. He stayed there for so long, just letting his mouth linger, feeling the way his skin felt against yours. He felt his cock growing already, aching and pressing against the zipper in his jeans. He wanted to feel your mouth in other ways, a kiss wasn’t enough.
“Someday I hope you’ll be able to enjoy this while you’re awake but…for now this is how we need to do this, okay?” he looked at you, knowing you wouldn’t answer, but hoping your subconscious would somehow hear him and understand.
Basil unbuttoned his pants, sliding the zipper down slowly and pulling the waist down with his boxer briefs as well. His fat cock bobbed out, already leaking from the head, slick strands dripping to the floor beneath him. He held the top of your head with one hand, and his length with the other, bringing the weeping tip to your pretty lips.
His body trembled immediately, feeling the way your mouth opened around his girth. He moved in further, feeling the wet heat of your tongue on the underside of his shaft. If he gagged you would you wake? He tested it, sliding forward more, watching those lips stretch around him. If you were awake you’d look up at him so pretty, eyes filling with tears as you struggled to take him all the way.
He stuffed himself all the way into your mouth, the tip of his cock resting in your throat. He could feel your body responding to the foreign object naturally, throat closing around him while you gagged, but you stayed asleep. The feeling was indescribable, causing his entire body to shake and tremble while he kept your head impaled on him.
“You’re too good baby, too good…you're gonna make me come…gonna make me come too fast! Ah!”
Basil pulled his cock out of your mouth and jerked his spend onto your cheek. He fisted himself angrily, beyond pissed that he couldn’t hold it in for more than one fucking minute. If the time ever came - which he expected it wouldn’t - that he managed to get you in bed while awake, if his face didn’t scare you off, the fact that he was a minuteman surely would.
He looked all around for something to clean you up with, but anything in your apartment would have to be taken out, or else you’d know someone was there. Basil decided to peel off his t-shirt, using that to wipe your face clean. He leaned against the wall, looking at you, still scowling and infuriated with his inability to perform, even while you were sleeping.
The longer he looked at you though, the more aroused he became all over again. Maybe getting off so quickly wouldn’t be a dealbreaker…not with you being his own personal aphrodisiac. He walked over to you again, touching your hip and squeezing your flesh. He pushed you onto your back, hooking a finger into the waist of your cute little panties. To his surprise, between your lips was sticky, warm, and wet. Did he do this to you? Did he have this effect on you?
Basil pulled your underwear down your beautiful legs slowly, staring at the slit between them hungrily. He felt some drool spilling over his bottom lip that he wiped away quickly. Tossing your panties aside, he crawled onto the bed, lowering his head between your thighs. He could smell you as he closed in, the same familiar smell he’d spent the other night drowning himself in.
Using two thick fingers, he spread your lips, watching the slick strands of your arousal stretch and break as they moved further apart. Everything was glistening and wet, and it was all for him. He leaned in, licking a stripe up and collecting what he could on his tongue, bringing it in past his lips and letting the taste settle in his mouth before swallowing.
He became immediately addicted, going in and pressing his face against your mound, moaning loudly into it. He wondered if you’d notice the feeling of his textured skin against your thighs. Would you find that disgusting? Of course you would. You’d probably yell at him and throw him out of your apartment just for looking at you with that milky broken eye in his head while he ate you out.
Not while you were asleep though. While you were sleeping he could plunge two fingers into your tight little hole and feel your cunt clenching around him. In your sleep you wanted him, you were pulling his fingers in deeper like you were starving and needed to taste him. It wasn’t enough, his fingers just weren’t going to do it for you, you needed more.
Positioning himself between your limp legs, Basil brought his cock to your entrance, gliding it between your folds to get it slick with your juices. If you were awake he imagined you might be moaning, whimpering, maybe even begging for him. He tested your threshold, seeing how well the last man in there had stretched you out. Not very well it would seem.
Slowly, he slid himself in, shuddering as he felt your walls closing down over every inch. He used two fingers to hold your puffy lips open so he could watch your cunt swallowing his cock. He needed to last, he needed to keep himself from coming too soon again. He might be a pathetic freak, but he wasn’t going to spill his load like one.
Fuck.
He wondered if this was how he would keep you. It was entirely possible he’d just pumped a baby into you without your knowledge, but that was okay. It was perfect actually. You wouldn’t want to have a baby without someone around to help you, right? He’d be able to swoop in and be there for you, to care for you.
He touched your stomach as he pulled out of you. He shuddered on the way out, looking down at the mess he made as it trickled from your pretty little hole. Basil had never been so proud of something in all his life. He may have been a hideous monster, but he made you look so beautiful just by stuffing you with everything he could. He wanted to do more. He wanted to do it again.
But he wanted you to be awake this time.
----
Another week went by of you and Basil trading food and notes throughout the day. It started the morning after he fucked your sleeping body that you came by with breakfast. He smiled and nearly cried again as he watched you put down the plate with a metal lid keeping it warm as if he’d ordered room service.
“Good morning. I don’t know if you like coffee but, you can come over and get some if you want,” you said, waiting to see if he’d respond.
He didn’t, instead he just stood there staring at you. He didn’t want to come over yet. Not while you were awake anyway. He couldn’t stand the idea of you seeing him and being afraid of what you saw. The thought of it was devastating and it hadn’t even happened yet.
“Um, no thank you. Thank you for the breakfast though I’m looking forward to it. You’re a great cook.” He said through the door.
You looked disappointed again. Were you lonely or something? Why did you care if your neighbor wanted to come over or not? You didn’t even know him, wasn’t that dangerous? He sniffed out a laugh at his own thoughts.
“It’s fine, my offer stands,” you started for your apartment again.
“I’ll cover lunch,” he said quickly before you disappeared.
When lunch came, he wanted to do something better than pizza. You deserved something good after what you’d done for him the other night, so he ordered from one of the fancy restaurants nearby and had it delivered to your door. When you retrieved your food, you furrowed your brow and smiled widely.
“Really? Gino’s? That place is pretty pricey.”
“Well, you’re really kind so… I thought I’d do something nice for you,” he felt nervous every time you spoke to him.
To his surprise, you left the bag in the hall and disappeared into your apartment. Did he do something wrong? He started panicking, thinking maybe he’d offended you somehow. Did you hate expensive food? Did you not like Gino’s? He reached for the handle, ready to pull the bag into his apartment and hope you forgot about it altogether when your door opened again and you stepped out with a folding chair in hand.
“Well, if you’re going to buy me an expensive meal, the least I can do is join you for lunch. Did you get something to eat?” You asked, sitting down and pulling out the meal he’d bought for you.
“Uh, well…” he felt his stomach grumble suddenly when he realized he hadn’t thought of his own hunger in the slightest, “I had a big breakfast.”
You chuckled, “Yeah so did I…here…”
Basil watched in awe, still shocked you were even giving him the time of day, as you sorted the containers of food and made two meals out of the one he bought. You reached for his door and then stopped, dropping your hand at your side.
“I know you like to keep to yourself, so I’ll leave this here and turn around so you can get it, okay?”
Why were you so understanding? Were you quite literally the epitome of perfection wrapped up in the most beautiful looking person he’d ever seen? Basil, at this point, was nearly certain he was having visual hallucinations. It wouldn’t be the first time since the incident that he’d thought he’d seen things…or heard things. Maybe this was just him going completely nuts. Maybe this was just an extension of his psychotic break. You put the box of food down and turned.
Slowly, Basil opened the door, not peeking his head out far enough that you’d be able to see even if you did turn around, and he pulled the food back inside. You didn’t even try to peek. You didn’t let - what he assumed to be - your morbid curiosity get the better of you. Basil pulled a chair over and sat with his half of the meal on the other side of the door.
He couldn’t see you now, but he could hear you, and that was good enough for him.
“So, you obviously saw me get ridiculously embarrassed last night,” you said from the other side of the door.
He smirked, thinking about how much he enjoyed you last night, and how much you seemed to enjoy him, despite not ever knowing he was there. You called it embarrassing, but to Basil, it was an amazing, and unwasted, opportunity to show you something better.
“Well, maybe it’s good that he’s doing this now instead of wasting your time later,” Basil said, taking a bite of his food.
He thought about Katherine and the way she’d been to him. She cheated on him for so long, and yet he stayed. Since seeing you, Basil considered that he never really loved her, he just hated the thought of admitting someone could cast him away so easily after so many years. He further hated the thought of losing the social status that came with having a girlfriend. Everyone seemed to respect you and treat you differently if you had a pretty girl on your arm. He would’ve dealt with the cheating to avoid the shame of admitting she’d cheated on him, but he never really loved her.
Not the way he loved you.
“You’re very right about that,” you agreed with a mouthful of food. “What about you? Are you seeing someone?”
Basil laughed loudly, “me? Is that a joke?”
“Hey, just because you’re a hermit doesn’t mean you don’t have some online girlfriend or something.”
“No…no, no one would be interested in me,” Basil felt the weight of his loneliness on his chest again.
“You seem like a sweet guy, and you do have great taste in music, I’m sure there’s someone out there who would love to date you,” you chuckled, “this kinda feels like a date.”
Basil put his food down, having completely lost his appetite in favor of this conversation with you. He stood, going back to the peephole. You must’ve heard him because you looked up at him with those beautiful eyes of yours and stared.
“Why?” He asked. “This is weird.”
“What’s weird? Me talking to you about my dating life when you literally live next door to me? You probably know more about what’s happening in my personal life than anyone,” you said, shaking your head and putting your food on the floor too.
You got up and walked to the door, putting your palm on the wood paneling and resting it there.
“When I came in from that date, well, lack thereof, I called my best friend and my mom, and no one answered,” you looked at the floor and then back at the peephole. “Some stranger who I hardly know, but who also seems to be going through something, was kind enough to send me a pizza. That kinda checks off a lot of boxes for me as far as someone I might be interested in getting to know better.”
“What if you find out I’m actually a horrible person? Like you said, you don’t know me,” he retorted, thinking about what he’d done to that pizza you were so grateful for.
“Are you a murderer?” You asked bluntly, keeping your eye on the peephole.
“Well no, no I’m not.”
“Okay then I don’t think–”
“What if I’m hideous?”
“I don’t give a shit about looks really,” you sighed and sat back down in your chair. “I know this is weird, that’s why I just want to talk to you, get to know you a little. Is that alright?”
You were right. There was no harm in getting to know him, except it gave him hope. The last thing he could handle was the thought of you leading him on and then turning him down once you saw his face. What if getting to know you only made his obsession grow? How would he ever recover from the crushing despair if you rejected him once you saw what he really looked like?
“Fine,” he said, sitting back down.
For days you shared meals and stories, taking turns sitting outside the other’s door while getting to know one another. Basil was falling for you. It was more than just that obsession to fuck you now, it was that need to call you his. It was the need to have you smiling and laughing with him on a lazy Sunday morning or while apple picking in the fall. Simultaneously, it was the need to have you moaning his name while you took every inch he had.
He would overcome anything for you, even his greatest fear, which was risking your potential rejection of him.
He gave himself the excuse he needed to knock on your door and come inside. You’d had a heavy package delivered, and while he was certain you could handle it, he decided to offer some help. Basil knocked on your door, heart pounding with every step he heard you took toward him. He adjusted the paper bag on his head, knowing he looked foolish, but he wasn’t ready to show you everything yet.
You opened the door, and he saw your eyes scanning him up and down. This was the first time he was seeing you in the open while awake, and you took his breath away. It was evening, so the two of you had already had your dinner date. The UPS driver came late, and you probably hadn’t planned on company, hence the short shorts and ill-fitting tank top.
“Basil?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.
You were judging him, he could tell. His palms started to sweat and he lost the ability to speak. Could he remember how to breathe?
“Oh, my package!” You exclaimed, walking over to it and trying uselessly to lift it.
“I got it,” he said, coming out of his stupor and rushing to aid you.
You thanked him as he brought the package into your apartment and placed it down on your floor by the couch with a heavy grunt. He stood up, stepping away from the package. His paper bag rustled as he did so.
“Thanks. I probably could’ve dragged that in here myself but…I appreciate the help,” you sighed, giving Basil a smile that nearly stretched ear to ear.
If you could see his face, you’d see how flushed his cheeks were at your charming expression.
“What?” He asked, keeping his eyes on you.
“I’m just happy to see you out of your apartment,” you explained sincerely. “You don’t have to keep the bag on unless you want to, but it’s going to be kinda hard to drink some wine with it on.”
You went to one of your cupboards and pulled out a bottle of Barefoot Moscato and two glasses.
“All I’ve got is white, and it’s cheap,” you said, pouring the drinks.
“Oh um…I’m not…I was going to go back…”
“Come on Basil, please just stay for one glass?”
How could he say no when you looked at him like that? So sweet and begging that it nearly brought a tear to his eye to even think about turning you down.
“Y-you really want me to s-stay? You don’t think I’m weird or–”
You laughed, “I mean, you are wearing a bag on your head, I can’t lie and say that’s not odd but…” you trailed off as you handed him the glass of wine. “We’re all a little weird right? I mean, I’m letting a guy I barely know have wine with me in my apartment with a bag on his head. Who’s weirder?”
Basil couldn’t help laughing. You made a good point, so he decided to try and relax, and the wine certainly helped. Three glasses in each and you were both feeling a bit more loose, but he was also feeling something else. While you were laughing and telling him about how annoying this girl at work was, your breasts were bouncing with every wild movement of your arms. He was mesmerized.
“-And when I tell you that’s all she ever does…are you listening?” The bag on Basil’s head shifted as he looked back at your eyes.
“Yeah, yes.”
You chuckled, looking down at your chest and back up at him, shaking your head.
“All you men are the same, just after one thing huh?” You asked, downing a fourth glass of wine.
Basil’s heart stopped in terror. No. No, you couldn’t possibly think that of him could you?
“No, no it’s the wine I’m sorry I was zoning out and I wasn’t even looking at them I…I’m so sorr–”
“I’m kidding. You think I would’ve answered the door when I saw it was you out there wearing this if I didn’t want you to look at me?”
Basil let out a half-hearted chuckle, trying to breathe again, “kidding, right…” he finished off another glass as well. It was then that he realized what you’d said. “You want me to l-look at you? Like…like you…” he gulped, “you want me to…”
You laughed, nodding and sighing at him affectionately.
“Basil, I think you’re a nice guy, I want you to look at me.”
His mind was fuzzy, and even with only one good eye, he could see clearly as you started to bring the straps of your tank top down. Either your self-esteem was so on the floor, and you’d take your top off for any man that gave you the time of day, or you were really into him. He didn’t want to get his hopes up only to have them crushed, so he took what he could get, and enjoyed the moment, watching you lower your top down, showing your beautiful chest off in a lacy bralette.
You couldn’t see the way Basil’s jaw dropped, or see the way the drool dribbled down his chin, but he couldn’t breathe again.
“I’m going to assume that you like what you see, even though I can’t tell what you’re looking at…” you raised your eyebrows.
“Yes, yes I’m sorry I’m just…wow…”
“Wanna feel ‘em?” You asked with a hiccup.
Could you get cuter? Your big, gorgeous eyes were looking at him from the other side of the couch, begging for validation. You really needed someone as pathetic as him to validate you? Someone so beautiful needed his reassurance to feel adequate? You were practically asking him to tell you just how much he loved your tits and wanted them. Who was he to deny you?
“Um…I…”
Before he could stutter any longer, you were crawling on the couch over to him, sitting on your knees, your chest perked up for him to admire. Basil’s cock had been at half mast for the better part of the hour, and now it was threatening to bust through the seam holding it back. With a shaking hand, he reached out, touching your breast underneath the thin fabric of the bralette. You bit your lip as his thumb brushed over your hard nipple.
“You have really big hands,” you said with a giggle that made Basil’s body spark with an electric shock.
“You like that? Big hands?” He asked, bringing his other hand to cup your neglected right breast.
“I do,” your tone was sultry and sweet.
A breathy moan escaped as his hands massaged your tits, taking his time to rub his thumbs over your peaks, feeling the way they got harder under the bralette. He pinched them, enjoying the way you whimpered when he did. You were so sensitive, he knew you would be, he could feel it.
He felt something else too, the unmistakable and insurmountable arousal growing inside of him and pooling in his groin. He cursed under his breath, squeezing your tits tight while he felt the heat, shooting in spurts, and wetting his lap, making a mess of himself…right in front of you. Basil froze, afraid to move, afraid that you would see how pathetic he was, blowing his load after only touching you for a second.
“Did…did you just…” you started, looking down at the dark, wet spot on his lap.
“I’m so sorry, this has never happened to me before,” he lied, trying to cover himself with his hands. “I’ll go, oh my–”
“No wait,” you say, putting a hand on his shoulder before he could leave. “Are you kidding me? That’s so fucking hot.”
That was it, the proof Basil needed to convince himself that you were all in his head. Though he usually couldn’t feel his hallucinations, not like this anyway. He would’ve kissed you right then, but he couldn’t. You still didn’t know what he looked like, and no matter how much of his odd behavior you were willing to accept, he couldn’t be certain you would accept his deformity.
“Can you bend over for me?” He asked, voice soft and pleading.
You bit your lip and nodded slowly, turning around and putting a throw pillow under your chest. Basil removed the bag from his face, letting it drop off to the side of the couch. He could see you much more clearly now, bent over so nicely for him, rear poised and ready for him to touch. He stood up and unclasped his belt, then pulled down his soiled pants and boxer briefs, discarding them on the floor.
“Can you promise me you won’t look?” He asked, holding onto your hips as he positioned himself behind you.
You giggled and nodded, “yeah, I won’t look, I promise.”
He leaned over you, “thank you,” he whispered in your ear, feeling your body shudder in response, “such a sensitive girl.”
You whined as he kissed down your shoulder, bringing his hands to your waist and holding tightly. He ran his cock between your ass cheeks, feeling the sweet friction they provided was going to set him off again so soon after he just came. You said it was hot though…
“I’m sorry, it’s coming again I can’t stop–ah!”
Basil moved his hips faster and faster until he was shooting heavy ropes of white all over your back, getting some on the couch. He felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment, despite your saying how much you liked it. You laughed again, wiggling your ass a little and rubbing it along his length.
“Such a needy boy,” you taunted, “get it in me next time.”
He furrowed his brow, running the fat tip of his cock along your slit. You still made him so fucking hard, no matter how many times he came, he could keep going as long as you were around. Basil watched your lips part, swallowing him whole until his pubic hair was brushing against your rear. He whined, feeling your walls flutter around him and hearing your satisfied sigh.
“Yes, oh wow, you’re f-fucking h-huge,” you said, gasping as though he’d been pounding you for hours, but he still hadn’t moved since he slid into you.
“You really like it? You think it’s big?” He pulled back, seeing how wet you made his cock until he slammed forward again.
You cried out, “oh god yes!”
Basil squeezed your waist tighter, finding a smooth rhythm that kept you wailing and drooling on your own couch. He watched you hold onto the arm of the couch, burying your face into the pillow and screaming into it like he was killing you. He pushed on your back, forcing you to gasp and groan, face being forced into the cushions.
He leaned forward, kissing your shoulder, “tell me how much you like it,” he whispered, “please, I need to hear you tell me how good I feel.”
“I-oh god I can’t-mm!”
“Please,” he begged pathetically, kissing your back again, “tell me it’s good, please.”
“It’s good Basil it’s…oh!”
He felt your pussy squeeze around him, and when he looked down he could see it throbbing while you gushed over his cock. You were incoherent, making high pitched whines as you continued losing yourself in the euphoria. He’d slowed his movements, trying once again to contain himself a little longer. It was clear you wanted more when you started moving on him again on your own, taking what you knew you needed.
“Basil,” you mewled.
He leaned into you again, “yeah?”
“I want to see you, please,” you said, voice pleading for the one thing he never wanted to give you.
Basil would give you his soul, his body, everything in his bank account in order to avoid letting you see his fucking face. He slammed into your hips, growing a little frustrated with your curiosity. Did you want to see it so you could mock him? So you could laugh at the man while he fucked you full? Why did you need to see him so badly?
“I want to see your face when you come,” you said as though you could read his mind.
Basil pulled out of you.
This was it.
He couldn’t keep hiding from you.
He sat back, feeling the cool leather of the couch against his rear.
“Fine,” he said coldly, feeling dread weighing on his chest, making it hard to breathe.
You turned around slowly until you finally met his gaze. Your lips parted slowly, eyes scanning over his face as though you were mapping it out, memorizing the details. As you leaned in closer, Basil turned his face away from you, shielding the deformity from your eyes as though it might make you hate it less. He could feel the tears welling, he was already anticipating your harsh words.
“Why are you hiding from me? Pretty boy,” you cooed in the softest voice, reaching out a hand and touching his scarred cheek, turning him to face you.
“W-what did you just say?” He asked, a tear spilling over and running down his cheek.
“I can’t believe you’d keep your beautiful face hidden from me like that,” you climbed over his lap, straddling his hips.
“Are you playing with me? Huh? What’s your angle? Are you going to go to work tomorrow and tell all your friends you fucked a freak?” He was getting angry, but trying to keep it from boiling over.
You giggled, “do you really think that lowly of me, Basil?” your face closed in on his and your lips brushed against the rippled skin on his cheek softly.
He choked out a moan as you lowered yourself on him, stuffing your cunt full of him once again. You liked his face? You really liked it? He threw his head back, hair falling out of his eyes as he looked up at you. He guided you as you bounced up and down on his dick, feeling it bruising the deepest parts of you. You brought your hands to the back of his head, holding onto his dark curls tight while you kissed him deeply.
“Mm, you’re so so-good-baby,” he growled lowly, “use me, use me to get off again, I want you to come on me again and again I–”
“Shh,” you whispered, pressing your lips to his, forcing your tongue past his lips, and the second he tasted you, he let out a whimpering moan.
He squeezed your hips tighter, intoxicated by the feeling of you, and the sounds of your wet pussy slapping against his lap. He started rolling his hips upward, feeling himself getting deeper and deeper with every pass. It was like your body knew he belonged in there, making room for him as it should. You let out a guttural moan, deep from inside of you, and Basil could feel your cunt starting to flutter around him again. 
He latched his lips to your neck, and you immediately held onto both of his shoulders and lurched forward, hips freezing while your cunt contracted over him in waves. Basil came once again, cock throbbing while it filled your little hole with everything he had. He pulled your hips down, placing both hands on top of your thighs and holding you there while he rutted upward, sobbing as he did.
He couldn’t believe you let him take you. He couldn’t believe you called him pretty. Most of all, he couldn’t believe that when you were both finished, panting heavily on the couch as clarity set in, you didn’t call him an ugly monster and scream at him to leave your apartment.
“So you…was that…did I do alright? You liked it? You don’t think I’m hideous?”
“Basil…” you leaned in and kissed his nose, “you’re perfect.”
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klaustozier · 10 months
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brute ; miguel o'hara
SUMMARY: miguel is trying to work and you are not allowing him to concentrate.
warnings: miguel o'hara x fem!reader, MDI, miguel has sharp teeth as well as claws, remember that :); he will use his "web" to tie you up (I described how I thought it would be); oral (in both, but when you do it's rougher); slaps and spanking; degradation kink; mention of body hair (chest <3); nipple play; he is older (hihi); miguel swears in spanish (because i'm a whore); bigcock!miguel; there are no traumas here, miguel is not suffering from a loss, there is just fucking horny angry miguel here; no condom; light spit kink; no spoiler; and I described the way I think it would be easier to take his uniform off, I think the zipper is on the back, but it's not as sexy :3; begging; anal; gag
word count: 1.6k
english is not my first language, so i'm sorry for any mistakes
i'm sorry for not deliverying the aib fics, but i'm kinda swamped and obsessed with spider-verse, so i wanted to make something different :)
hope you enjoy it!
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"You're getting on my nerves", said the older man.
You smiled innocently and rubbed your face against his knee, "Am I?"
Miguel was trying to work, he knew he shouldn't have brought you to the headquarters. You had promised you would behave and you had even kept your promise for half an hour. You soon got tired of just watching him tinker with all that technology and analyzing realities, it was boring just watching. So, like a good bored person, you tried to entertain yourself however you could. Your form of entertainment didn't match much with what Miguel planned for the day, he wanted to focus on work, but he soon noticed that you were ducking under his desk and started to bite his thigh still covered by the elastic cloth of his uniform.
It was no use asking you to stop, you continued as if he had no authority.
"I brought you to keep me company and not get in the way", Miguel said irritably, his handsome jaw locking.
"I just want to be close to you", you whispered, biting his thigh again.
"I hate you."
You smiled and rested your chin on his knee, "It doesn't look like it", and laughing softly, you felt the volume he displayed in his pants.
He took a deep breath, pulled his mask off with one hand and tossed it onto the table, his free hand grabbing your hair, pulling your face close to his, "You're testing me and you're not going to like where this is going. So stop."
"Am I really not going to like it, Miguel?", you asked, smiling wickedly.
"You won't", he agreed.
The elder clenched his free fist and pointed it downwards, immediately you reached your hands behind your back, feeling the warm red rope holding your wrists in place.
"Does it hurting?"
"No, sir."
He smiled showing his sharp fangs, "You're gonna wish you weren't such a dirty slut", he slapped you across the face and ran his thumb across your bottom lip.
"Please, Miguel…", you smiled, "Just take those gloves off, por dios."
He smiled, his sharp teeth shining in the reddish light of the office, "Puta madre…", Miguel took off the gloves of his beautiful uniform and slapped you once more in the face, receiving kisses on the palm of his hand, as if you were asking for forgiveness for hurting his hand with your face.
His hands were so beautiful, full of veins on the back and with long, sharp claws ready to destroy whatever he wanted.
If the uniform wasn't so perfect for Miguel, if it wasn't tailored to his body, maybe you could control himself, but you could see his thighs, the outline of his cock and ass, there was nothing that could distract you more.
The brunette's thumb slid across your tongue and saliva fell from his lips, earning a soft moan, seeing you roll your eyes before being kissed. His sharp teeth scraped gently against your bottom lip. His tongue rubbed against yours, your hands locked behind your body, the bright thread holding them together.
Miguel pulled the small zipper down the center of his uniform revealing his strong, broad chest. The short black hair spread across the skin, delicately cared for. The zipper continued down until it was under his cock, which was hard, pressed against the cloth glued to his body, resting to the left, pulsing gently.
"Do you want it?", asked the brunette, pulling his cock from his clothes, so thick and beautiful, the veins pulsing in the soft skin, the red tip begging for attention. You nodded desperately, "Then beg."
"Mr. O'Hara, please, I need to choke on your cock, fuck my mouth, please… I'm such a good girl…"
"Ah", he stopped you, holding up his finger, the long nail glistening, "We're not going to lie."
You chuckled and lifted yourself up towards his face, licking his lower lip, "I know how to be good, I just don't like doing it that much."
Miguel laughed softly and gave you a soft peck, "Stick your tongue out."
Promptly, you complied. Miguel took his cock and gently spanked your tongue with the tip, the soft wet sounds making you purr. Without any delicacy, the oldest held you by the hair and sank his cock into your mouth, forcing your head until your nose was pressed against his belly.
You moaned low feeling his cock once again widening your throat. Miguel sighed and groaned low, starting to move your head away from you, his hips rolling in opposite movements, thrusting into your mouth. Initially the movements were smooth, but soon they began to accelerate.
"Ay, carajo", he whispered, his low voice making you moan.
Your eyes watered, no matter how many times he fucked your mouth, your body always reacted that way. Your hands tried to force against the red webs on your wrists, your legs squeezing together to ease the throbbing on your pussy. He held your jaw just so he could watch his cock slide through your tongue.
Miguel positioned his leg between your legs, laughing evilly when you started to rub against him.
Pulling you by the hair, the brunette forced you to look at him, your mouth completely drooling and red, your eyes lowered, breathing hard, "Aren't you ashamed of being such a desperate slut? How ridiculous. You get dumb as fuck just because of a cock in your mouth..."
"Forgive me for being like this, sir, I can't control myself… what do I have to do for you to forgive me?"
Miguel smiled and said nothing, just kissed you desperately. His tongue once again dominating yours, his sharp teeth biting down on your bottom lip, controlling himself not to draw blood. His lips devouring yours.
"Lay it face down on my table."
Immediately you obeyed him. The brunette pulled your pants down and grabbed your legs, pulling them apart. His hands squeezed your ass tightly, his thumbs moving the lips of the delicate pussy apart, sighing, seeing how wet you already were.
"Ay, coño… all wet… fucking slut", he growled, giving a hard smack on your ass, making you moan.
You moaned slyly, your legs shaking, your face crushing papers that were on the table, feeling the wet tongue slide through your pussy, until it reached your clitoris. His hands rested on your delicate ass, squeezing, his claws pressing against the skin.
"Miguel", you whimpered.
"Slut", he chuckled, going back to his work.
His lips and tongue had fun with your pussy. Your hands ached trying to hold themselves in place, your legs shook, moaning.
"Miguel", you whispered, "can I cum?"
He grinned, slapping you hard on the ass, "No."
"Miguel… please… don't do that to me…"
"Shut up", he whispered.
The bright red web circled your face, gagging your mouth, not allowing you to continue to beg or cry. But that didn't stop you from muttering.
"Carajo, you don't shut up", he laughed at the whimper you gave, laying his body over yours, "If I get you full of cum, you stay quiet?"
You nodded, getting a slap on the ass. A soft moan escaped your lips as the tip of his cock rubbed through the wet pussy, gliding effortlessly.
"Fucking pussy."
A strangled moan caught in your throat, your mouth still gagged, as his cock sinking into you all at once, going deep.
His hands held you squeezing the flesh of your ass, using it support to help with the movements. As he thrust into you, he forced your body to do the opposite, just going deeper and deeper.
The sound of skin hitting skin filled the room. His moans low and rough, yours were muffled by the gag.
Your body started to shake on the table, you were about to cuj, but Miguel pulled out of you. He growled low seeing his cock all wet from all your pleasure.
"Open for me", he ordered, releasing your wrists.
You didn't have time to feel pain, your hands were routed by his rough hands to your ass, holding yourself open for him as he smeared saliva on your cock.
O'Hara positioned the tip of his cock in the tight entrance and began to force its way in. Big, strong body leaning over yours, crushing you against the table.
The gag was also undone so that the brunette could kiss you. His movements were less rough than before, but they were still accurate and made you whimper softly.
"You're going to be full of cum, princess", he whispered, his lips pressed against yours, his sharp teeth scraping on your lower lip on purpose.
"Miguel… please… I swear I'll be quiet, but let me cum… please… I beg you…"
"Of course, princess", he kissed you once more, his lips close to yours as he said, "Masturbate yourself for me."
And that's what you did, one of your hands went straight between your legs and you started masturbating frantically, desperate for relief. The other remained in place, leaving it open so he could continue to enjoy himself.
One of his strong hands tightened around your waist, keeping you in place and the other gripped your hair, kissing you desperately.
It didn't take long for you to cum even more after feeling his cum fill you. You panted heavily as he smirked and kissed you again.
"Now are you going to stop teasing like a whore?", asked Miguel getting out of you.
"Yes, sir, I will stop."
"Promise?"
"No."
He chuckled, giving you, and yet, another slap on the ass, "Now come on, let's get you straightened up and get you something to eat."
And Miguel pulled you by the waist, adjusting your clothes and his so he could take care of you a little before he could go back to work.
...
well, i hope you liked it <3
please reblog and leave a like if you enjoyed it! and leave a comment with your thoughts, i would love to know!
maybe if there is a lot of comments i can comeback with a hobie story <3
see ya next time.
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groguspicklejar · 10 months
Text
Sweet Nothings [Santiago "Pope" Garcia]
Summary: It's never easy choosing between your feelings and your friendship. In other words, Santi has to decide if he wants the new guy in town to snatch you up or if a friendship will have to be ruined.
Pairing: Santiago Garcia x best friend!reader
Warnings: Angst, Best Friends to Lovers, Santi being an idiot, Benny being a little shit, touching, lots of yelling, Angst with a happy ending, mentions of Santi getting shot, one sided love not really
A/N: scraped endless drafts because I had to look at it from so many angles. 3rd Commission of the year thank you so so much🥳 so sorry it took me so long, had to deal with a lot of bullshit at school and the depression it brought me. I really do appreciate the support you guys bring❤️✨ this one is for Alex (please link your username because 1am here am I'm sleepy as fuck to try and find it at the moment)
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He’s an idiot.
He wants a taste.
You’re murmuring a quick answer to Frankie’s question with your mouth full of a blueberry cupcake. Then you take a sip of some beverage Benny ordered. You hardly pay attention to whatever Ben and Frankie are bickering about, eyes too drawn to your book.
But Santi’s paying attention. To your mouth. To your lips. And he wants a taste. He’s an idiot who wants a taste.
“Santi, hermano, come on. Help me out here.” Frankie groans, exasperated while Benny’s mischievous grin flashes brightly.
“Hmm?” Santiago hates having to take his eyes off you. His thigh brushes yours under the table. It maddens the flutter of his heart. The only indication that you took notice was the brief glance in his direction and a tiny smile before your gaze returns to the words on your page.
No doubt whatever the little shit said only said it to grate in Frankie’s last nerve and it is working. And by extension, it’s getting on Santi’s last nerve because he hates it when Frankie starts complaining.
Before he even has the chance to tell them both to be quiet and eat their pancakes (mostly because he hadn’t been listening to a word they said), you chime in, without even looking up from your book, “He wants you to tell Ben that he’s an idiot for thinking that mint chocolate-flavoured stuff are better than caramel-flavoured stuff.”
Santiago raises an eyebrow. “Wait, you’ve been listening this whole time?”
He doesn’t understand how you can be drifting between two worlds. The real life and your book. Usually, you prefer the latter, especially when you’re out in public. Too often, he becomes jealous of the characters in your books. You pay far more attention to them than you do to him.
“It’s hard not to.” you mutter, taking another bite of your cupcake. “Not with that mind-numbing chatter.”
It’s hard not to laugh at your sardonic quip. He revels in these little moments. The tidbits of chaos in your eyes that spark from time to time. 
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means Benjamin has the inability to shut the hell up and enjoy a good meal on a quiet morning.” You put down your book with the most disgusted look on your face. “Also, mint chocolate? Really, Ben? I bet you like the taste of toothpaste in your coffee as well.”
“Oh, fuck off!” There was a chorus of laughter that sparked Ben’s scowl. “Leave my coffee out of this. It has nothing to do with anything.”
“Your coffee has everything to do with this.” you shoot back, nose wrinkling as you smile.
Frankie’s laughing harder with each second at the exchange. Benny crossed his arms, shrinking in his chair. “God, she sounds exactly like the jackass sitting next to her.”
Your gaze shifts to him, smiling. That knowing look as you let him in on your thoughts. He returns it with a grin.
He’s a moron.
I know, right?
The little moment that you both share as you peer into each other’s minds is one of many that will be cherished. Santiago shook his head, chuckling as he watched you roll your eyes and return to your book. To your own little world. You lean back on your chair, smiling.
There was nothing Santi loved more than watching you be at peace in your own little world. Hardly anything draws you out for too long. Not even him, but he doesn’t mind. As long as you’re happy there because this world doesn’t give much to live for, to dream for.
But you?
You’ve always given him something to dream about. 
“Hermano.” Frankie nudges (kicks) him under the table and Santi has half a mind to wring his neck from where he’s sitting. 
He’s got that shit-eating grin from where he sits, along with Ben. Will doesn’t smirk but simply gives him that look. Like he knows exactly what those two are thinking and he wholeheartedly agrees.
It’s not the first time they caught him staring. It certainly won’t be the last. Nor will it be the last time they’re going to give him shit once you’re out of the vicinity. Frankie gives him the hardest time because he has pried the most information out of him.
Pendejo–
“I said–” Will starts, and it takes a second for Santiago to realize that it was him who spoke. “Are you coming to the game tonight or are you preoccupied? Again?”
Preoccupied is code for ‘trying and failing to ask you out’. Emphasis on failing. Dismally, in fact. He’s blown them off so many times to spend nights at your place, just trying to get the words out.
But all that happens is that his hands start sweating while his heart rattles violently in its cage and he stares at the back of your head while you’re preparing the popcorn in the kitchen. Or he stares at you when you’re watching a movie. Or when you’ve fallen asleep on top of him. No words come out.
He can’t tell you. He just can’t. Because what if you say no? What if he loses you–
God, he doesn’t even want to fathom the thought. But he’s going to keep trying anyway. He doesn’t know how many nights he’s going to spend at your house just trying to ask or tell you how he feels
Before he can answer, someone calls your name.
Then your eyes glance up and–
Oh.
Oh, how they light up. And oh, how his stomach drops because who has the power to yank your head out of that book with such ease?
“Oh, hey, Jax.” You grin sweetly at the man who dared to walk over to the table, to all five of you.
Santiago has seen him before. He’s new in town. Moved a couple of months ago and he’s steadily been making himself acquainted with the locals.
The man is tall. Blond hair in a half bun, baby blues to match, and a jaw that could cut diamonds. He’s tall, built in all the ways that make the women giggle and whisper. He’s got a friendly face and attitude and it doesn’t help that he’s so… nice.
It doesn’t help that his attention seems to be focused on you.
“Fancy seeing you here.” Jax smiles before his eyes glance at Will, then Ben and Frankie. Then finally, they meet Santiago’s. The man gives a genuine nod, acknowledging all four of them. “Hello.”
And just like that, the boys are tense. On a razer’s edge and he seems to clock in on that. Good. Santiago wants him to know that he’s not welcome around here– around you. Frank and Will nod back, trying to be friendly, trying not to make a scene. But Santi stays as he is. Stiff as a board. Silent as a stone.
“Hey, man.” Ben plasters a bright smile, but it feels more like he’s baring his teeth. “How are you doin?”
But –heavens forbid– you’ve put the book down.
Santiago stares at it, failing to mask his shock for a brief moment before he masks it when you stand up. You introduce him to the boys. Pleasantries are exchanged but Santiago doesn’t say a word. He leans back on his chair, eyeing this man, Jax.
Those baby blues falter when they find the heat in the eyes of Santiago “Pope” Garcia. And he takes much pride in how he takes a step back, more out of self-preservation. He realizes that he’s looking at four hungry wolves, rather than men.
Only, you follow and go to stand farther away than all four of them would like. You and Jax talk like you’re old friends– buddies. Santi’s fist threatens to break the mug at how you touch this guy’s shoulder and offer a nod and he smiles right back, touching your elbow. Both of you just touching and something aches and burns and threatens to claw its way out of Santi’s chest to tear this man to pieces if he keeps doing that.
When the conversation looks like it’s coming to an end, Santi is jolted in his seat when Jax leans to kiss your cheek and you do the same, waving him goodbye with his two friends, who have their beverages in hand.
Santiago doesn’t want to plan yet another murder. 
But it is damn tempting.
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“Want me to make pasta?”
He hums absentmindedly, drumming his fingers on his thigh. Eyes glare out the window as he waits for the traffic to move. It’s slow. Agonizing to be trapped in the car with you.
He still thinks back to the man at the cafe. Jax.
He hates how you were around that guy. He doesn’t think he’s seen you like that with him or anyone else. You don’t let them touch you like that. You don’t let guys kiss your cheek like that.
Santiago has had to bear watching you with previous boyfriends and even a fiance one time and it was one of the most agonising things he has ever gone through. During those days, when you were with someone, he always opted to go back to Columbia so he doesn’t have to be near you. Some days, he wished he would catch a bullet in his head there because it would hurt less.
You say something. He doesn’t hear. But he can’t seem to bring himself to ask you to repeat yourself. Instead, he gives a curt– “Yep.”
“Santi.” The cut of your voice makes him flinch and his gaze flicks to you. Your eyes are narrowed. Makes his hackles rise. “You just agreed to let me put olives in the salad.” 
He hates olives.
His expression twists in disgust. “No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.” you counter.
“No, I didn’t.” He’s pretty sure he didn’t.
“No, but you should’ve been paying more attention to me.” You face forward on your seat, crossing your arms and slink one knee over another.
Your dress rides up a little, revealing more of your thigh and Santi thinks his blood might boil more because of that than the fact that you’re poking at him. He grits his teeth, facing forward too. His hands clasp the steering wheel tightly.
“What? You mean like how you pay attention to your new friend?”
He didn’t mean to let the words out. But he can’t stand the silence. Can’t stand to let you win this round. He feels a storm brewing and it is going to chew him up and spit him out if he’s not careful.
The lack of your response makes him realize he made a dumb move. He reveals his entire hand. Fucking idiot–
“So that’s what this is about?”
His mouth seals shut. Eyes fixed forward in a scowl that might burn a path through the cars in front so his can move. His teeth might shatter if he doesn’t loosen his jaw but he could care less. It would be easier to deal with than having to explain himself.
He doesn’t say anything. Neither do you. Not when the car moves. Not until he reaches your place and gets out of the car. It’s a torturous stalemate for now, but you hold the upper hand and you don’t realize yet.
You follow, slamming the door. “Santi, we were just talking. I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“C’mon, we both know what he was doing.” He’s in your house, beelining for the kitchen to open a cupboard. A bottle of tequila awaits him. He pours himself a cup.
You’re silent as he throws his head back, downing the shot. “Okay, what’s your problem?”
His nose flares, eyes shifting to meet yours. “My problem?”
“Yes, your problem.” you counter sharply, pointing a finger in his face. “You do this every time you see me talking to Jax–”
“No, I don’t!” 
“Yes, you do.”
He hates how your voice remains level while his reaches new heights. He does not understand how you remain calm when he feels like he’s boiling over. You’ve always been so annoyingly exceptional at pushing his buttons to the point where he almost can’t decide between two urges; to yell at you or kiss you.
He wants to choose the latter. Every time. And every time he has to choose the former.
Santiago wants to hurl the bottle of alcohol against the wall. But all he does is run a hand through his curls, letting out a frustrated groan. “God, you’re so blind sometimes! Not every guy who walks up to you has good intentions!”
“So?” you counter. “Why do you insist on acting like this?”
He rounds the counter, eager to get away from this fuming mess before it implodes on his face. But you’re just as eager to follow. 
“Like what?!” 
“Like you’re jealous, Santi!” you snap, finally raising your voice to match his. “You shut down every time you see me with a guy. And what’s worse is that you take off and head back to war because you can’t stand to see me happy!”
And something cracks within him as soon as that happens. He stops in his tracks immediately.
You don’t think for a second that he would whirl on you in a split second. But he does and the silent violent rage that comes with his close proximity frightens you. Even if the urge to kiss you threatens to burn him alive.
“Do you want to know what a jealous boyfriend looks like?” He takes a step towards you, and another. You don’t resign to his simmering rage, your expression remaining impassive, even as he backs you into the kitchen counter.
He wants to show you what a jealous boyfriend looks like. He wants to show you how much he hates not having your attention on him at all times.
There is nothing that can make him understand how or why he’s so drawn to you. He’s known Frankie longer than you. Benny and Will nearly just as long. They get on his nerves nonstop, but never to this extent.
Never to the point where he wanted to tear himself from the inside out at the thought of telling you how much he yearns to put his lips against yours, yet the mere thought of you turning away from him the minute he says it instantly seals his mouth shut.
He remains at that crossroads. He wonders if you’re there with him, trying to decide which path to take. Do you know that this time– this time he’s wading into dangerous territory? Do you know that he hopes it’ll lead him to you?
“You don’t see it, do you?” You don’t say anything. He chuckles dryly. “You don’t see how much it hurts when you’re with someone else–”
“How do you think I feel when the guys talk about your informants?” you harshly interject, eyes burning like dark flames. “You don’t think it hurts when they joke about how pretty they all are?”
Those fuckers. Why the fuck would they tell you that?
His shoulders draw in, ears burning with shame, even though he knows he’s done nothing wrong. He’s never slept with any of his informants. Yes, there is a pattern. His informants are women. Beautiful women. But he doesn’t sleep with them.
Not when he’s constantly thinking of you. This last job, getting rid of Lorea, all he could think about is getting that money so he can make a better man of himself. For you. All for you. That’s why he was so determined, so driven. Not by greed, as everyone thinks. But by love.
He did it because he loves you and he would do it all again if it meant it would give him the slightest chance.
He feels himself careening towards the point of no return. He takes a steady breath, eyes fluttering shut. “Do you know how much I wanted–”
But it’s like no matter how much he tries to choose his words carefully, they all lead him back to the definitive truth. The one truth he’s always tried to keep under heaps of soil, in the deepest grave he could dig.
It is unearthing and unbinding itself from every restraint, every chain and rope. Finding its way to you.
You wait for him to keep going. Only to be met with silence and it does not sit well with you.
He feels your hand graze his chin. The soft caress sends him spiralling further and further away from his sanity. “Wanted what?”
How many times has he let you touch him like this –like you weren’t his best friend? Too often, that line is blurred and the singular question of “what are we?” hangs in the balance. Taunting him every time his knee brushes yours under a table. Haunting him with your scent when you stand too close.
When his eyes flutter open, he falls right into the deep end. Whatever restraint he’s been clinging to all this time, it snaps as easily as a twig.
He inches forward, pushing against you, pushing past that line, pressing his lips against yours.
His hands grasp your arms, pulling you closer. He couldn’t bear it if you decide to draw away when he’s just getting the taste of you for the first time, and maybe the last. But you don’t. You don’t move away, you don’t push him away.
He takes another kiss. Then another. He can’t get enough. Years of orbiting around you and he realizes how starved he is after only having you in small doses. Each kiss feels like an overdose. It feels like it will kill him, but he doesn’t care. He wants more.
“You.” he rasps sharply against your mouth. “Wanted you.” You don’t stop his hands from cupping the back of your neck, angling your head as he quickly amends, “Want you.”
A weak moan escapes you as he touches you, a sound that melts right through his ache. He brings you closer, letting you sigh into his mouth, your hands slipping through the curls of his hair, wondering how he could’ve gone without this for years.
“Oh, Santi…” you peck his lips as he does to yours, nudging your nose against his. “You’re such a fucking idiot.”
But you’re giggling. You’re laughing and it makes him weak at the knees and when you draw him close, closer until your lips meet his again–
It’s like he’s learned a new meaning to breathing again.
He starts to laugh a little too, at the ridiculousness of it all. The record number of years he has gone without telling you how he felt seemed silly now. He was worried over nothing.
“For the record…” you murmur into his mouth, grinning. “Jax is gay.”
Jax.
Tall blond, baby blue-eyed, who’s got the women giggling and whispering Jax.
Santiago is momentarily stunned by the revelation. It doesn’t correlate. He thought that… No, because Jax was all over you. Constantly talking to you every chance he got. Touching your shoulders, your arms. Smiling sweetly as he speaks. Kissing your cheek to say goodbye. It never occurred to him that Jax might just be friendly. That he might not be attracted to you.
He groans, frustrated more at himself than anything. “Oh, for fuck’s sake–”
You’re laughing when you kiss him once more, wrapping your arms around his neck while he’s muttering curses in his native tongue. Yet he smiles as he walks forward. His mouth slinks against yours while you walk back against his steps until your knees hit the couch and you both fall back.
You’re still laughing, half moaning as he draws the zipper of your hoodie open to plant kisses along your neck, your shoulders as he mutters “tu puta madre– idiota–”
You’re still laughing because you’re overjoyed. Filled with such warmth because finally–
“Pendejo–” he’s still murmuring curses into your mouth, though they’re more directed to himself for being plain stupid.
Finally, he has you in his arms the way he wants. Finally, the boys are really going to dig into him for saying something.
“No way he’s gay.” he whines, pulling his head back to look at you with a stern expression. “Did he tell you that?”
“He’s been checking you and Frankie out since he got here.” you explain, smiling and shaking your head. “Wanted to know if either one of you is available.”
Santiago clicks his tongue, cheeks heating heavily as he shakes his head. “Get outta here.”
He feels stupid. Blinded by jealousy. Throwing tantrums like a petulant child over nothing. He should’ve come clean a long time ago. 
When his mouth meets yours, he comes to one final conclusion.
He really is an idiot.
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thot-of-khonshu · 8 months
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To get you out of your writing drought:
1. Gonna need some face sitting w all the moon boys pls and thank you, maybe all of them taking turns?
2. Jealous Marc or Jake x breeding kink, maybe w special guest of Jake’s cab?
3. Reader pushing Steven until he doms reader?
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Hi anon!! I ended up writing a face sitting drabble with Steven. I hope you enjoy!!
18+, Mature
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"You don't have to do this if you don't want to." Steven felt your legs shake as he held them. You'd been fantasizing about the moment you had Steven Grant between your legs for months, but now that you've finally got him there you suddenly feel exposed and vulnerable. He's got access to all of your imperfections and angles.
"I know most men don't like to." You said. He hadn't realized he was staring at your body until you called his name.
His trance from between your legs broken, he looked up at you, his brows furrowed in genuine confusion.
"Why wouldn't I want to do this? This is beautiful, you're beautiful." He plants soft kisses on the insides of your legs, going further and further to tempt and tease you.
He runs his fingers up your legs, higher and higher. He seeks your eyes for approval but all you can do is whimper above him at his gentle nips and teases.
He positions you so your legs are resting over his shoulders, hands roaming up and down your thighs as he waits for your permission. "Can I taste you?" Steven's breath tickles your inner thigh. His hot breath on your core makes you throb. You don't answer him verbally but he knows the answer when he slips his fingers in your panties. Steven peppers your clit with soft kisses, you've never felt anything so gentle and sweet. He moves his lips to your entrance, kissing it and tasting your excitement. His thick, tan fingers dip in your panties, finding that you're already wet and wanting.
"Fuck, you're so wet." Steven murmurs in awe, before moving your panties to the side.
He laps up your slit and you nearly come undone at the feeling of his warm tongue on your folds. He licks up your slit, tracing your lips and lapping at your opening. He looks up at you, eyes wanting with approval before he slowly presses his lips against you.
"You're so wet. I can taste you, love." His voice is deep, honey sweet and sultry.
He circles your clit with the tip of his tongue, earning a whimper from you. He closes his lips around your clit and sucks gently, it's so soft and loving, the way he takes his time and gently licks and sucks.
"Ohh, Steven." You gasp out, unable to stop the words from coming out of your mouth, you run your hand through his dark curls.
"Mm," he groans, sucking and biting your lips, making your body shake from the feeling. He plunges his finger inside of you, slowly pumping in and out of you, feeling how wet and ready you are.
"Steven," you moan, you feel him groan against your pussy, his warm breath tickling you and making you shiver with anticipation.
He moans into your folds, working his fingers inside of you. "God, you're so perfect."
He licks the tip of his tongue around your entrance before pushing his tongue inside you. His tongue presses against your inner walls, stretching you as he slides deeper and deeper inside you. Your mouth is dry and you're so dizzy. You're drunk off the feeling of Steven Grant on his knees for you, drinking you like you're his salvation.
He sucks your clit, swirling his tongue around it. You can feel him pressing his thumb against your clit, massaging it in soft circles, pressing harder as he sucks on it.
You're squirming under him, wanting him to move faster. You need him to move faster, you need him to bring you over the edge and feel the pleasure course through your body.
He lifts your leg up higher, so you're almost fully bent in half as he dips his tongue inside you once more, lapping and tasting your slick. "Steven." You whine, "please," you beg, "please, I'm so close." He keeps his tongue inside of you, circling it and moaning against you as his fingers continue their gentle rhythm.
You can't stand it any longer, you reach down and pull on his curls. He raises his head up, his hair is all tousled, you can see the mess his fingers and mouth have made of him, his lips are wet with your slick. He looks up at you, pupils blown. "Did I do something wrong, love?"
"No," you gasp, "you're just being so good, it feels so good."
"Good, I want you to feel good." He smiles, and you melt under his loving gaze. "I want you to come for me."
He moves back down to your clit and starts sucking again, the sensation is so overwhelming that you nearly choke on a sob. You feel him moan against you as you tighten around his fingers, moving them in and out of you, as his tongue moves faster on your clit, flicking it with each movement.
"Steven," you cry out, gripping his curls tightly.
Your back arches as your release rushes over you, waves of pleasure hitting you at once. You're nearly crying out as you let him keep his mouth on your pussy as you come. You can feel your wetness on your thighs and on his face as you're overtaken by pleasure.
You're still shaking as he kisses up your stomach. You're floating, you're dizzy as you watch him climb onto the bed and hover over you, your slick covering his chin.
"So beautiful," he murmurs, kissing you on the lips, sharing the taste of you with you. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down so you can taste yourself on his tongue. "You taste so good."
"You made me come." You laugh, the feeling still coursing through your body as you move your hips against him. "And you actually were worried you'd be bad at it."
Steven shakes his head and plants a soft kiss on your lips. "It's because I only ever wanted to make you feel good, I just want you to feel as amazing as you make me feel when we're together."
"It's pretty easy." You run your fingers through his hair, still riled up by how sweet and sincere he's being. The two of you roll over and you're on top of him. You push him back into the pillows. "How could I not feel good with the cutest and sweetest boyfriend in the world?"
Steven beams, his cheeks turning pink. You lean down to kiss him, peppering his lips in loving kisses, before biting his bottom lip. You suck on it and feel him groan underneath you.
You grind your hips down and he moans into your mouth, "You're wearing too much clothing."
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winniethewife · 1 month
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Got one inside the pants, the other on your- (Marc Spector x F!reader)
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Prompt: Dirty Talk
A/N; Happy Valentine’s day <3
Warning: Smut under the cut, Fingering, PinV, Unprotected sex, Good Girl, Babygirl, other petnames, choking
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Words: 579
Marc already had his fingers deep inside her as he leaned her over the back of the couch, his mouth attached to her neck, her pants pulled down past her hips, his other hand palming his bulge as he fucks her with his fingers. He had just come home and needed her the second he saw her. He growls lowly into her skin as she moans. His thumb making circles on her clit as he moved her fingers in and out of her.
“Fuck baby, wet for me already?” His voice tickled her earlobe as he spoke to her, his voice dripping with desire. “That’s it babygirl, let me take care of you. Let me fuck you with just my fingers, then my cock, Fuck you sound so pretty. Keep moaning like that for me…good girl, that’s my good fucking girl.” She can’t help it, she loves it when he gets all needy for her, when he needs her so bad he can’t even be bothered to make it all the way inside the door before she’s bent over the nearest piece of furniture as he says all those horribly wonderful things. He pulls out his hand, licking her slick from that hand while using the other to pull his cock from his jeans, Not even bothering to pull his pants all the way off in desperation to get to her.
“M-Marc…” She whimpers his name as he looks into her eyes, he takes his fingers from his mouth and puts them against her lips, a single look telling her exactly what to do. She opens her mouth taking his fingers in her mouth and sucking on them. He smiles.
“Good girl.” He growls before thrusting into her, letting himself bottom out inside her, letting her adjust around him. He hisses softly. “Fuck baby, you’re so fucking tight, Just like that. Mgh. Yes… that’s it. Fuck. I’m gonna fuck you so good you aren’t gonna walk right for days. Fuck you so hard that you feel me inside you until morning. Right baby? Yeah, You love this cock, Need this cock. My cock, My girl.” He starts to move, at first a slow but steady pace, all the way out, all the way back in, again and again, but its only a moment before he’s rutting into her like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.  She moans on this fingers, Her nails digging into the couch, she feels the knot of pleasure wound tight in her lower stomach. She was so close, she ever so slightly bites down on his fingers. He groans as he fucks her harder and faster seeking his own release in her tight walls. He moves his hand from her mouth to around her neck, putting just enough pressure on her neck to delay the blood to her brain, and restrict her breathing slightly “Fuck baby you feel so damn good, Fuck I’m gonna fill you up baby. Ngh. Yes, fuck yes. That’s it baby cum with me baby, cum with me…there there there there…Fuck” Marc kept whispering every filthy idea that came up in his mind as he coated her insides with his spend, releasing the pressure on her neck as she clamped down on him, gasping for air as her body shakes with pleasure. He starts kissing her softly, the marks on her neck truning a deeper red as he gently kisses her, muttering into her.
“Such a good fucking girl…My girl…Mine”
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Bingo Masterlist
Tag: @moonknight-events @juneknight @spacecowboyhotch @burymesanti @silver-night-m @justafandomgvrl
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bit-dodgy-innit · 10 months
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Something In You Lit Up Heaven In Me
READ PART ONE
Pairing: Apollo (who happens to look exactly like Orestes in Agora) x fem!reader
Rating: Explicit, Minors DNI!
Word Count: 3.5k
TW/CW: Oral (m and f receiving), gods don't have refractory periods because I said so, petnames, a bit of innonence!kink and some praise!kink for that matter, P in V, a smidge of overstimulation, creampie, humiliation (but it's not our reader).
A/N: OH MY GAAAAASH THANK YOU ALL FOR THE OUTPOURING OF SUPPORT ON THIS SILLY LIL FANTASY OF MINE! I know have a couple more ideas/installments for this little AU! And hope you all enjoy!!!
Quick vocab word that'll be helpful: Archiereus = high/head priest
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The rest of the day following your covert meeting with Apollo passed in a blur. Your mother claimed that you no longer needed to bother with your daily chores, but you insisted on doing them anyway. It wasn’t fair to Caris and besides, the routine was anchoring. It was one small shred of normalcy that you’d been able to maintain since Apollo upended your world. Even so, your mind was elsewhere as you washed the linens and swept the house, drifting through the evening mechanically. 
Falling asleep was impossible. Your gaze was glued to the moon as it rose steadily in the sky, Selene’s radiance never wavering as she drove her chariot across its inky canvas. 
At first, you dismissed them as a mere cluster of fireflies…until they made an uncannily neat and tidy line leading away from your window. You giggled, quietly so as not to wake Caris, and tiptoed out of your modest home. The insects led you through your village, past the temple, into the forest once more. 
Apollo waited for you in another small, tucked away clearing. Despite it being the dead of night, the god’s gleeful grin illuminated the little corner of the forest. As enchanting as the fireflies were, they were no longer necessary when the god of light was present. Your feet carried you on your own accord and launched you into Apollo’s arms. 
Now that it was only you and your lover, hidden away from prying eyes and scheming minds, you completely surrendered your desire. Apollo made you feel liberated, wild, when you made love. 
“Want you to take me in your mouth,” he exhaled as you rolled around on the lush, soft grass, tangled within each other. Even though it wasn’t your first time seeing his member, you were unable to stifle your gasp when he shed his chiton. 
“Yes,” you replied at once. Then, “but I’ve never–”
“Shhh–I’ll teach you,” he assured you, sprawling back on the ground. 
You crawled closer to him. He disarmed you with his trademark grin, and the crinkling at the corners of his eyes instantly put you at ease. Apollo may have been an Olympian, but he was still a man. He took pleasure in the same way you mere mortals did. 
Your gaze met his expectantly, eager for his instruction. 
“We’ll start simply. How about you give the tip a kiss?” 
You did as he said. His reaction was immediate, a pleased groan escaped his lips. 
“Just like that, sunshine,” he spurred you on, “now see if you can take more in your mouth.” 
A memory surfaced in your mind – Caris, sharing what she did to please a man in this matter. You recalled her advice to wrap your lips around his teeth as you sank down, and to use your hand to stroke any part of him you couldn’t fit into your mouth. It turned out, you were initially too keen, sputtering and having to pull off of Apollo after your gag reflex was triggered. 
He cupped your face with one strong, sure hand, his thumb caressing your cheekbone, “Oh darling, there’s no need to rush.”
Like before, there wasn’t a trace of disappointment or derision on the god’s face. He traced his finger down your jaw, slipping in between your lips. You sucked on the digit instinctively, looking up at him with what you hoped were doe eyes, and Apollo moaned. “Mmm, I knew you'd turn out to be a little minx.”
You pulled off of the god’s finger to try again. It occurred to you that it would be difficult, if not unpleasant, to stroke what you couldn’t fit in your mouth dry, so instead of trying to swallow down Apollo’s flushed cock immediately, you licked the circumference of his girth to wet him. The deity seemed to very much enjoy that, the action eliciting another deep groan. 
“Oh Tiii-Titans, you’re like a little naughty kitten for me,” he cooed. “Don’t stop.” 
Once he was properly slicked, you eased back down again. This time you opened your jaw wider, and though you only could take about half of him in, you wasted no time covering the remainder with your hand. It took a moment to teach them to work in tandem, yet you strove to sync the two movements. Your jaw began to ache slightly, the god’s mortal form was certainly not lacking, but you powered through. You wanted to be good for him, being good made you feel good, because you knew afterwards, Apollo would make you feel incredible.
Your lover never ceased his encouragement, his hand resting atop your head to guide you ever so slightly. A light tug on your hair made you pause, allowing him to ask, “Kitten, might I lead the way from here?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Apollo’s inquisitive, umber eyes narrowed at you, “Don’t refer to me so.” One look at your petrified face and he instantly amended, “There’s no need. I want you to use my name.” 
Your face split into a wide, pleased grin. “Alright, my–Apollo.”
“My Apollo, I like that,” he grinned, then stood. “C’mere kitten.” 
You rose onto your knees to level yourself with Apollo’s unflagging erection. He fed his cock back between your lips and instructed “You needn’t do a thing. Just pretend as if you’re yawning, it’ll help you take more.”
You wanted to nod in assent, but thought better of it given your full mouth. His fingers threaded into your hair, gently but firmly, holding you in place before he began to move his hips. Implementing his suggestion, you were shocked to discover how much more of his thick shaft penetrated your mouth. Apollo gave a few introductory thrusts, then began pistoning into you steadily. 
Your first instinct was to shut your eyes, but you coaxed them back open to observe your lover’s face. His jaw was tipped up, his brows knit together, his lips parted. To see a god this vulnerable was a privilege even the highest priests and most devoted acolytes would never receive in their lifetimes, a privilege whose magnitude that was not lost on you. 
On your knees for Apollo, you felt…safe. And not merely because that was the “natural” thing to do - to kneel for one’s god. Strangely, it wasn’t about that. The deity made you feel cared for, that you could set your burdens, however petty and innocuous they may be, down. He would shoulder them for a while, so that you could discover parts of yourself that you didn’t know existed.
Apollo pulled you closer to him, your nose now pressed against the taut skin of his belly as he used your mouth. It made breathing a bit harder, but the god’s rhythm began to falter soon after. 
“Ohhhh sunshine I’m gonna—try to swallow it down if you can.”
You hummed your assent around Apollo’s cock, inadvertently sending him over the edge. He shoved his shaft nearly down your throat as his release dropped down it, all but singing your praise the entire time. 
“Good girl kitten,” he painted the back of your esophagus with his seed, “taking it so well for me. You were so good for me.” 
At last he extracted his spent member from your overstretched mouth. The entirety of your chin was covered in drool from your coupling, and you barely had a moment to wipe it away before Apollo’s lips were on yours. He plundered your mouth with his tongue as if he was to lick the combined taste of his cum and your spit from it. The thought sent a hot thrill down your spine. 
“You did so well for me, darling.” He murmured once more after you’d broken apart. Apollo made quick work of your chiton, “Now what does my very good girl want?” 
“I…” your lover had begun to trail his lips down the soft skin of your neck. It made it impossible to think, let alone speak. “I want you…inside.”
“Of course,” he agreed from where he was now dotting kisses across your collarbone. 
Apollo continued his descent down your bare skin, kissing the tops of your breasts before pulling each nipple into his hot, sure mouth for a hearty suck. It felt so good that you changed your mind on how you wanted Apollo to ravish you, yet the sight of him sinking between your legs was too enticing to resist. He used the tip of his nose to part the seam of your sex before changing course and licking a long stripe between your folds. 
“Mmmm, just as sweet as I recall,” he husked. Your reply came in a strangled mewl. 
He chuckled darkly. "I know darling, but I must ready you.” 
No sooner had the words left his mouth did Apollo slide his index finger through your wetness and into your heat. Relief flooded you – no longer were you clenching around nothing. Apollo resumed kissing your neck as he tucked a second digit in along with the first. You met his movements eagerly, vaguely aware of how swiftly you’d shed the trope of the blushing virgin. Before, the god’s ministrations had felt like too much, now they were not enough. You needed the god’s hardness inside of you now. 
Despite being reduced to pitiful whines and whimpers, Apollo understood you. 
“You want your god’s big cock, don’t you?” 
You practically sobbed in agreement. But although the deity was a generous lover, he had a wicked streak. One that Apollo decided to unleash when he demanded right as he finally applied pressure to your bed, “Words, kitten.” 
“Yuh-YES!” you cried. It felt heavenly, but it wasn’t enough to bring you to climax. You legitimately feared you may go mad from the anticipation. 
“Good girl,” He parted your legs wider and locked them around his ample hips. He paused briefly to marvel, “what an offering you make for me.” 
Apollo proceeded to slap the head of his arousal on your clit, then at last he entered you in one smooth of his hips. The feeling of becoming one wrung another cry from you, while a deep, satisfied rumble sounded from Apollo’s chest. 
There wasn’t much talking after that. It was unnecessary. The god’s gaze locked onto your as he plowed you, first holding firmling onto your sides to steady you, then they crawled back up to breasts to pluck at your nipples. You were definitely going to go mad between the acute, concentrated ecstasy he was drawing from your pebbled peaks along with the astounding stretch and burn of his cock plowing into your channel. All the while, the swirling brown of Apollo’s eyes bore into yours, gauging your pleasure - how he could heighten it, how he could surprise you, how you would bit down on bottom lip whenever he changed angle slightly. 
The last observation spurred an idea from the god. He bent over you further, catching your wrists in his hands and pinning you to the ground beneath you. The shift allowed him to hammer a special, previously unknown spot within you, and for your vision to go a burning, blinding white. 
“AH! Ohhhh…Apo-Apollo,” you keened.
“That’s it, c’mon sunshine,” he urged you, now slamming his pelvis into yours, “Say my name. Scream it so that my kin can hear it on Olympius, and I’ll let you come.” 
“Apollo!” You were not one to disobey your god, “Oh stars above, Apollo! Holy Her–APOLLO!! ”  
Your orgasm exploded seemingly from the spot your lover’s cock was not battering outwards. You convulsed as the pleasure rushed from your core throughout your spasming frame to the very tips of fingers and toes. There was no way to ride it, let alone fight it, the ecstasy Apollo elicited from you demanded nothing less than complete surrender. 
At last, the euphoria in your body began to subside. You desperately gasped down more oxygen, yet, Apollo’s hard, thick member was still thrusting into you relentlessly. Next thing you knew, the deity had collected you into his arms and lifted you to sit on his lap. 
You winced at the deeper penetration and your growing sensitivity, but he whispered into your ear, “I know kitten, but I need a little more and Titans, you feel so damn amazing.” 
You pressed a kiss into his temple, now damp with sweat, and like before, surrendered your body to your god. He moved your hips for you, essentially fucking yourself on his cock, meeting each and every downstroke with an untiring vigor only an Olympian could possess. 
Suddenly, his hold around your torso tightened, and you felt his manhood pulse within you. A deep growl reverberated from his as his seed flooded your channel. Your head was spinning, so much so that you barely realized you two fell back on the grass again. 
Apollo rolled so you were beneath him once more and eased himself out of you. 
“Now, that is a sight,” he moaned as he watched his release drip out of your entrance. 
“Is it?” you panted. 
“Mmm indeed,” he promised, gingerly probing your puffy pussy to collect his spend. This time, he brought it to his own mouth, “Hellfire, we make quite the concoction.” 
“I…” you eyes were fluttering closed, “I’m glad you’re pleased.” 
The god pulled you close once more. “I am beyond delighted. You were magnificent, my little kitten.”
***
You didn’t remember returning home, but your mother’s voice barking your name to wake was unmistakable. It wasn’t until she jarred you into consciousness that you realized you were back in your own bed, and thankfully, clothed. 
“You were due at the temple a quarter of an hour ago!” 
Grogginess prevented you from sniping back at her that your tardiness wouldn’t anger the god, since Apollo was the very reason for it. Instead, you held your tongue, and lethargically, but as quickly as you could, you rinsed your face and dressed. Your mother shooed you off to the temple with a small cloth holding berries and cheese in tow. 
You trudged up the hill to the temple, you’d never liked going there to begin with, but now that your presence was compulsory, it maddened you. The more time you spent with Apollo, the more you despised the structure meant to venerate him and the men who inhabited it claiming to act in his name. The god himself and his priests seemed to be two disparate parties. 
Distressed shouts and —was that bleating?— jolted you from your thoughts. You ran the rest of the way to the temple’s entrance. Something was wrong. 
Breathlessly, you arrived at the temple’s sanctum to find the priests and acolytes in a frantic scrum and…a goat. 
You caught the eye of one of the younger priests. “Don’t we usually sacrifice ravens to Apollo?” 
The priest, Karolos, you believed his name was, gulped. “Th-that…that is the Archiereus.”
Now it was your turn to gulp. Your eyes widened, then darted up to the large statue of Apollo that looked over the chaos. 
“I need privacy,” you told Karolos lowly, “somewhere I can be alone.”
His brows furrowed, only for realization to dawn on his features a moment later. “Are you going to…?”
“I’m going to try.”
“Come with me.”
As he led you through the madness, you pressed further. “What exactly happened?”
“We all woke up from a terrible, seemingly shared, nightmare. The god appeared to us and we could see ourselves being roasted alive as the temple burned,” the priest began, “and the goat—I mean, the Archiereus, was in his chambers…eating his own bed linens when we rose this morn.”
“Gods,” you groaned. 
“We’re very sorry.” 
Your gaze shot to the ground at the mention of your violating confirmation as Apollo’s latest lover. 
“Truly,” he averred, “I knew it was wrong but they didn’t listen—“
“Stop,” you had no interest in reliving that terrifying day. “But thank you. Truly.”
Karolos sent you a small grin and then opened the door to what seemed to be the head priest’s chambers, half-eaten bed linens and all. The room was imposing, large, and most importantly, tucked into a corner toward the back of the temple complex. 
The bedchamber seemed even more intimidating when you were left alone within it. You hadn’t the faintest idea of how to summon Apollo, or if you even could. Therefore, you defaulted to the simplest of methods. You looked up, yet closed your eyes, and called out this name. 
“Sunshine.”
His voice was close. Very close, since not a second later you were pulled back into the deity’s arms. You startled, a very undignified and unappealing yelp escaping you. 
You pivoted in Apollo’s embrace to face him. “You enjoy frightening me, don’t you?”
“I enjoy arousing you in any and all forms,” he countered wryly. 
“You must change him back.”
Apollo’s face fell infinitesimally before resuming its usual brightness. “Of course. As soon as you admit how comical it is.”
You huffed. “Apollo.” 
He shrugged as if the power wasn’t solely and completely in his hands. 
“What’s this about a shared nightmare?” 
“I promised you not to harm them,” the god responded, frustration creeping into his tone, “but these provincial dolts needed to be taught a lesson. They cannot flout me, and by extension you, in such a brazen manner.” 
Arguing was pointless, you knew this. Because Apollo was right. As much as you felt as the reluctant center of the issue here, it actually came down to the priests and their respect, and therefore fear, for their patron god. 
“While the goat is very comical, I have to say, I think a slug would’ve been more fitting,” you offered with a small smile. 
Apollo laughed, his expression beaming once again, and captured your lips. 
When you breathlessly broke apart, you inquired, “Does this mean I no longer need to come here everyday?”
“Darling, you don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to.”
“I suppose so, but if you wanted me to, I would.” 
“Always so willing to please,” Apollo groaned in satisfaction, “you have no idea what you do to me.” 
Before you could counter that you didn’t he nudged his groin into your hip to give you one. You nearly jumped at the feel of his arousal pressing through two flimsy layers of your clothing. 
The god continued, “However, I believe there are better uses for your time too.” 
“Thank you, my–my Apollo.” 
“Oh you truly want me to take you on that bumpkin Archiereus’s bed, don’t you?” 
The god began backing you toward the bed in question, though you managed to slip out of his grasp just in time. 
“Apollo!” 
Another peal of laughter from the god. “My desire for you has no bounds.” 
“As does mine,” you offered, “I swear it. However, I have to go back and live amongst these people, and I’d prefer to be able to look some of my neighbors in the eye.” 
The god studied you, as if the fact you went back and lived among other people had only just occurred to him when you spoke it. However, maddeningly all he said was, “I see.” 
You fidgeted under the intensity of his gaze. “I very much enjoyed our time together last night though. I cannot remember if I told you.”
He grinned. You would never tire of it. “Good, then I shall see you tonight?” 
“Yes. Please.” your answer came without hesitation. 
“I’ll send you a route again,” he vowed, stealing one last impassioned kiss from your lips.  
“I shall count the moments,” you whispered. 
“Go,” he urged you softly. “I’ve taken care of the ​​Archiereus.” 
A commotion sounded from what you thought was the temple’s sanctum. It startled you, and when you turned back to your lover, he’d disappeared. 
Karolos was not waiting at the door when you emerged from the high priest’s chambers, much to your relief. So you hurried to where the shouts were emanating from. 
The Archiereus had been changed back alright. He lay in the sanctum stark naked and humiliated, barking for a cloth to cover his modesty when you arrived on the scene. Yet he cowed immediately at the sight of you and in a truly baffling role reversal, kneeled at your feet. 
“Please, we never meant to harm you, nor anger the mighty Apollo,” he all but blubbered. It was arresting, and honestly, you thought you might have preferred his haughty countenance more. “Your claim was a bold one, we simply sought to substantiate it, however if I could take it back, I would. I beseech you for forgiveness.” 
You didn’t wish to forgive him, however you didn’t wish to condemn the groveling cleric either. The happy medium it seemed was to respond, “The god is appeased. I will no longer be present for your daily rituals.”
With that, you turned and left the oppressive structure, unsure whether to stifle or welcome the exhilarating sense of authority following through you. It was truly the first time in your life you’d ever felt powerful. 
A/N: Ehhh...we like? Seriously, y'all give me the motivation pound out more of this! I already have an idea of another god I want to bring into the mix 😜
Taglist:
@whatthefishh , @thhriller ,  @simpforbritgents , @oof-its-roobi @pakhiya @fandxmslxt69  @twwcs, @damnzelsoul  @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @dameronscopilot @sharin4readers @ireallymadeamoonknightblog
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liliacamethyst · 9 months
Text
Webs of Fate - Miguel O'Hara (Part II)
Sequel to Web of Secrets
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Miguel O'Hara x SpiderSun Reader
words: 5.2K
warnings: secret pregnancy trope, swearing, angst, heartbreak, grumpy/sunshine, smut, time jumps, not really comic accurate (canon events), semi public piv, 18+
Part I Part II Part III Part IV
You are all back at the Spider-Verse Headquarters and the atmosphere is tense. Everyone is still high on adrenaline from the mission. You’re nursing a deep gash on your arm but your spirit is far from broken.
Miguel, however, seems to be on the verge of an explosion.
“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT OUT THERE SPIDER SUN?” he bursts out, his voice echoing through the HQ.
You're taken aback. “What do you mean?”
“That reckless behavior! You could have been killed!” he roars. “Why didn’t you retreat when you were injured?!”
“Because there were lives at stake! I can handle myself, Miguel!” you shout back.
“You think this is a game?! You think being part of this team is just for kicks?” Miguel’s face is red, his voice strained.
“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare question my dedication!” you yell, your own anger now matching his.
The team is watching, shifting uncomfortably. Gwen looks at Jess, who shakes her head. The room is thick with tension.
Alright, if you are being honest with yourself, your recent actions in the field could definitely be classified as reckless. Perhaps even bordering on idiotic - not that you’d ever confess that in front of Miguel. You didn’t know where your mind went. Wait, no, scratch that. You knew precisely where your thoughts were, every mission since you discovered your pregnancy has been like this; your spider senses dulled, focus scattered to the wind, and reflexes that would’ve made a sloth proud.
And then there was this mission – your first one in quite a while alongside Miguel. He was bound to notice.
So you were fighting an Electro variant from an alternate universe, alongside Jess, Gwen, Ben and Miguel. The electric villain was throwing bolts of energy left and right and everyone was giving their all. You noticed a civilian trapped under some debris. You made a beeline for them, not thinking about anything else.
As you lifted the debris, an energy bolt flew straight for you. Usually, your Spider-Senses would have alerted you but not today. It hit you square in the back and sent you flying.
You hit a wall but ignored the pain as you scrambled back to your feet. A sharp ache spread across your arm but you gritted your teeth and kept fighting.
Miguel yelled, “What the hell are you doing?! Fall back!”
But you didn’t, you kept pushing forward.
He landed next to you, his eyes filled with anger and something else, maybe a hint of worry. He grabbed your waist to pull you back. But as another energy bolt was coming your way, you shoved him out of the path, taking the hit for the second time. So yeah, you could say that this mission wasn't exactly the shining star in your superhero career.
“ESTÚPIDA! So damn stupid. I won’t fucking watch someone throw their life away recklessly!” Miguel was now yelling loudly in oyur face for everyone in the HQ to hear.
“Oh, please. What’s it to you? Since when do you care, Miguel?!” you shout back, finally having enough of his insufferable attitude. “All this time, you’ve treated me like I’m dispensable. Like I don't matter! Well, guess what? I can fight, I can make decisions, and I don’t need you to approve them!”
“Don’t!” Miguel's voice cracks, and for a brief second, there’s a look of hurt on his face that surprises you. But his rage quickly replaces it. “I cannot do this anymore with you, ¿me entiendes?” he yells.
The room falls silent. Everyone’s gazes dart between you and Miguel. You can feel Gwen’s worried eyes on you, and Ben Riley. looks like he wants to intervene, but this moment is too charged.
You take a deep breath, tears welling up. “I can't do this anymore either,” you whisper.
“What?” Miguel's voice is barely audible.
“I can't keep fighting for a team where I’m not respected or trusted. Where you treat me constantly like a liability, like I am worth nothing to you,” you say, your voice steadier now.
“You don’t know what you are saying,” Miguel says, his tone slightly softening.
You turn around, your eyes welling up once again and open a portal to your universe. “I do, I quit” you say, your voice breaking.
You reach into your pocket and pull out your transdimensional gizmo, the small device that every Spider-person uses to travel across the multiverse. It's an intricate piece of technology, a blend of science and magic that fits in the palm of your hand.
You toss the device on the table in front of Miguel. It skids across the surface before coming to a stop right in front of him. He looks from the gizmo to you, his expression unreadable.
"Take it. We don’t need it anymore." You say defiantly, meeting his gaze.
Everyone knows the implication of you returning the gizmo. Without it, you're effectively stranded in your universe, unable to return to the society. This isn't a decision made lightly, it's a point of no return.
As you step through the portal, you glance back one last time. You see Miguel’s face, contorted in pain, but he doesn’t move, he doesn’t speak and he doesn't stop you.
Your heart is breaking, but you can’t stay here. Not when it’s this painful.
You turn away and head toward the portal room, with one hand lightly grazing your tummy. Gwen calls your name, but you don’t stop.
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In the dim light of the room, the world seems to fade away as you lie there with Miguel on top of you. You are under him, breathless, your fingers running through his hair. His body pins you down in a tender, electrifying way, and you can feel the rhythm of his heart beating against yours.
His fangs graze the curve of your neck lightly, eliciting a shiver that runs through you. In response, he nuzzles into you, his breath warm against your skin.
"Ever think about what we're doing?" he asks in a whisper that vibrates against your neck.
"Constantly," you respond, your fingers tracing the curve of his broad shoulders, "but I don’t regret it, not a moment.”
He lifts his head, his red orbs searching yours. “Neither do I,” he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. His hand reaches up to trace the contour of your face.
"You know," you whisper, your hands continuing caressing his back, "I always wondered what it was like in your universe, in your time."
He shifts a little, propping himself up on one elbow as he looks down at you. His eyes, usually as unreadable, now seem to crack open; emotions swirl within them like stars.
"It was great, you know," his voice is gentle, each word enveloping you. "No, more than that – it was perfect," he corrects himself. His eyes never leave yours as he continues, "I had my Gabriella. Ah, you would have adored her." His voice softens to a mere whisper as if speaking her name too loudly might shatter the memory. "She was this incredible burst of life just like you. My own little sunshine. I didn’t know my heart could hold so much until she came into my life."
"The way she would throw her head back and laugh, it was like music. Her tiny hands – so soft and gentle. I remember how one of them always found mine, and the world felt... right." He continued, "I was never alone, never empty." He swallows hard, as if trying to keep the flood of emotions from washing over him.
You cup his cheek gently, smiling up at him. "You don't have to be alone, you know?"
He lets out a dry chuckle. “Sometimes it feels like there's no other option. It’s my fate."
“What scares you the most, Miguel?” you suddenly ask, your voice barely above a whisper.
He hesitates. “To lose myself… to forget what it means to care for someone,” he finally confesses.
“You won’t,” you assure him, your thumb stroking his cheek. “Not if you don’t let yourself.”
“¿y tú?” His voice is husky. “What’s your biggest fear?”
“To be forgotten,” you whisper.
He lowers himself and presses his forehead against yours. “Imposible,” he breathes. “You’re the sun. No one forgets the sun.”  He pulls you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer until the world outside disappears.
Suddenly, his wrist console beeps, yanking him back to the present. "O’Hara, are you okay?" Lyla's voice echoes in the room, breaking the silence. He blinks, his gaze focusing on the holographic screen displaying the mission details in front of him. "Yeah, Lyla," he responds, his voice a bit hoarse. "Just remembered something," he murmurs, and refocuses on the screen before him.
Amidst the sea of codes and numbers, Miguel finds himself struggling to focus. His thoughts still are consumed by you, and a heavy realization crashes down upon him like a tidal wave - he’s lost you forever.
He always knew that this was how it was meant to be. This was the only logical conclusion, the inevitable outcome that he had tried so hard to deny. He was aware of the potential repercussions, the cosmic imbalance that could be brought about by your intertwining fates. 
Lyla had warned him multiple times, cautioned him against letting you close. But how could he have possibly resisted you? You, who shone brighter than the sun, who captured the hearts of everyone around with your aura and your kind soul. Your beauty was unparalleled, and your laughter had the power to fill a room, casting away shadows. He was a moth drawn to your flame, hopelessly captivated from the very first day he met you.
 But you were never meant to be his story, not the path his life was meant to tread. You belonged to another world, another universe.
"You're thinking about her, aren't you?" Lyla breaks the silence with her smooth, computerized voice. “No,” he interrupts her sharply, his voice a little too forceful.
But Lyla isn't easily deterred. "You know it was dangerous from the beginning, Miguel," Lyla continues. "Engaging with her like that...it could have caused irreparable damage to the multiverse."
"I know," he replies curtly.
Unyielding, Lyla continues, "This was never supposed to be a canon event. Her universe is not meant to mix with yours. It's fortunate that she left when she did. The damage could've been—"
“I KNOW!” Miguel suddenly erupts, his voice thundering through the room. He screams, his frustration boiling over, "¡Ya lo sé, Lyla! ¡Basta ya!" ("I already know, Lyla! Enough already!") With a loud grunt, he sweeps his arm across his desk, sending his keyboard, mug, and various other items crashing to the ground.
There is a deafening silence as Miguel breathes heavily, his chest heaving. His eyes are wide, his face is flushed and his fangs are bared. He never loses control, not like this.
Lyla, for once, remains silent.
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3 months later…
Back in Nea Yorkey, Earth 586 , you are perched on the rooftop, absentmindedly rubbing your stomach. Time has passed since you left Nueva York and Miguel, but your feelings for him are still a tangled mess. Damn these pesky pregnancy hormones.
 For once, it’s pretty calm out there. No honking horns in traffic jams or the usual buzz of people everywhere. It’s like the city hit the pause button and honestly, it’s kind of nice. The streetlights are like tiny fairy lights all over, and the tall buildings around you feel like they’re keeping you company.
The cool breeze brushes against your face, and you can't help but be lost in your thoughts. Thoughts of him. The relentless flood of emotions is almost too much to handle.
The flashback hits you hard, placing you right back in Miguel's office late one evening. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, your backside planted firmly on his desk amidst strewn cables and metallic pieces and half-empty coffee mugs.
"Miguel, someone will catch us," you had warned, your breath hitching as he nipped at your skin, his hands deftly moving to undo your skintight suit. His hair was a little longer then, the ends tickling your forehead as he kissed you.
He had just chuckled, the sound deep and throaty, making your heart flutter. "They know better than to disturb me," he'd responded confidently, his lips trailing fiery kisses along your jawline.
Usually, Miguel was cautious about showing any sign of affection when others might be around, even if 'around' meant anywhere in the sprawling headquarters of the Spider Society. Yet, that night, he seemed to throw caution to the wind.
In his enclosed office, late into the evening, he let his guard down - a rarity. His lips were insistent against your skin, his touch setting you alight. You remember how the soft glow of the desk lamp had caught in his eyes, making them appear even more mesmerizing.
As he was holding your ass up steady and pounding into you, in a pace and fervor you never experienced before, you hear his communicator ring vibrating. You instinctively attempt to pull away, assuming he would answer the call, but he holds you tighter, his lips never leaving your skin.
His free hand pulls up a holographic screen,which flickered to life above the desk, revealing a slightly pixelated image of Jess. You panic for a moment, worried that she might see you in this intimate moment with Miguel, but he just shook his head slightly, reassuring you that she can't. He must have filtered the video feed on his end.
“Yes, Jess?” Miguel’s voice was steady, but his breath ghosted your neck in short spurts. He continued with his action, his thrusts a little slower but deep, nevertheless. You clamp your teeth down onto Miguel's shoulder in a desperate attempt to stifle the moans escaping your throat, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. You can barely contain yourself. Miguel's soft, amused chuckle vibrate through you as he wraps his arms around you protectively. Asshole.
“We’ve got an anomaly on Earth-4067, seems like a temporal rift,” Jess's voice came through the hologram.
“Have you tried the Q-particle stabilizer?” Miguel asks, his voice so casual it's almost disarming. His eyes meet yours, a playful glint in them.
“Yeah, but it didn’t work. The rift is actually growing,” Jess responds, the worry in her voice increasing. “What do you think we should do?”
“Alright, I want you to reconfigure the dimensional frequency to match the rift. Then patch the satellite feed through the Alchemax algorithm, reverse the temporal frequency by 4.7 hertz and use the resonance pulse to stabilize the rift,” Miguel articulates with authority as he continues to pick up his pace. You’re close to the edge, with the euphoria threatening to make you cry out. The sheer pleasure is now tinged with a faint edge of pain, and a wave of panic crashes over you. The thought of Jess possibly hearing you is nerve-wracking, and you’re now fighting to suppress your screams.
Your breathing becomes erratic as you whisper in a hoarse, needy voice, “Miguel, ‘m close."
"I know, mami. Come for me," he whispers back, his voice filled with a playful mischief that seems to defy the gravity of the situation. His hot breath against your ear sends shivers down your spine and the wave of pleasure crushes down on you.
“Miguel, are you sure about this? I mean, if something goes wrong…” Jess hesitates.
“I’m sure, Jess.” Thrust. “Do.” Another hard thrust. “it.” Miguel’s voice turns forceful.
“Okay, I trust you. But... are you alright? You sound kinda breathless,” Jess's suspicion returns.
“Oh, just...uh...running some diagnostics. It’s a bit stuffy in here,” Miguel replies with a smirk on his face, his fingers now gently brushing against your bare heated skin.
The rooftop is silent again, and you're still rubbing your belly, where the life you and Miguel created is growing. A bittersweet tear rolls down your cheek as you wish, not for the first time, that things could have been different.
You don’t know how long you are sitting there, taking in the city scene. But it was getting dark, when a familiar figure swings onto the rooftop. It's Gwen, carrying a small package in her hand. “Gwen? What brings you to Nea Yorkey?”
She walks up to you with a soft smile, "Do I need a reason to visit my favourite Spider-Ma? I've got something for you."
You raise an eyebrow as she hands you the package. As you unwrap it, you find a tiny Spider-Man hat, similar to the one Mayday usually wears. And to your surprise, there’s a tiny anarchy pin, attached to it.
"From the group," she says softly. She adds, pointing at the pin, "This bit here, that’s from Hobie." Of course it is.
You’re moved to tears as you hug the hat close. It's a simple gift, yet it means so much. You feel a lump in your throat, and Gwen steps forward, wrapping you in a warm, comforting hug.
"I...I miss all of you so much," you manage to whisper, your voice choked with emotion.
"We miss you too," Gwen replies, her voice equally soft.
You pull back, wiping your eyes. Gwen tries to lighten the mood, "So, any guesses on the gender? I bet it’s a boy."
You shrug, a small smile tugging at your lips, "I don't care what it's going to be. I just want them to be healthy."
Gwen grins, "Just remember, if it is a boy and he turns out to be a handful, you owe me a soda."
You both sit on the edge of the rooftop in a comfortable silence, legs swinging over the city, the conversation turns more serious.
"So," you venture, "how are things back at the Spider Society?"
Gwen’s expression turns contemplative. "It's been... strange since you left," she admits.
"Strange how?" you prod.
"Well, you know how Miguel was always a little on the, uh, grumpy side?" she says, making a grimace.
"You mean being a brooding fortress of doom and gloom?" you quip, and Gwen chuckles.
"Yeah, that. Well, he's gotten worse since you left. Like, way worse," Gwen's face turns somber as she continues. "He’s even more closed off than before. His temper’s shorter, he barely communicates, and he's been pushing everyone away. Miguel’s basically got everyone on lockdown. No unauthorized visits between universes. There’s this... I don’t know... this cloud hanging over him, you know?”
Your heart tightens as you take in her words. You had no idea that your departure had such an impact on him, or anyone for that matter.
“He doesn’t talk about it, but I think he misses you,” Gwen adds, looking directly into your eyes.
You are torn. Part of you wants to be angry at Miguel for how things went down, but another part aches for him.
Gwen nudges you. "Maybe he needs his sunshine back," she says with a gentle smile.
You sit in silence for a moment, the weight of Gwen’s words sinking in. “Don’t be silly. I was never his sunshine.”
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4 months later…
Beneath the pale glow of hospital lights, pain and joy mingle in the delivery room. The grip you have on the sheets gets tighter as you push to usher your baby into the world. Your hair is sticking to your forehead, your breath comes in heaving gasps, exhaustion painting dark circles under your eyes.
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to you, a portal flickers to life outside your window, and Gwen, Peter B., and Hobie emerge.
“Make way! The party has arrived!” Peter B. exclaims loudly.
“I don’t believe in parties.” Hobie says as he struts in, clad in his Spider suit with a leather jacket over it, pins and patches proudly displayed.
Gwen knocks at your door. The midwife, busy with you in the labor, answers.
“Uh, who are you?” the midwife asks, slightly agitated.
“We’re friends of hers,” Peter gestures towards you, “is it a good time?”
You hear their voices, but you cant muster up a response all you can do is scream and push.
“Blimey, I didn’t think it’d be like somethin’ outta Alien! You alright there, love?” Hobie’s eyes go wide, as he enters the room.
You can't help but laugh through the pain, "Oh, just peachy, thanks for asking."
Gwen steps forward, immediately grabbing your hand, her voice soothing, “Hey, you’re doing great. Is there anything we can do?”
“You could get Hobie out of here,” you jest, rolling your eyes, but your smile betrays your appreciation. Another loud scream follows.
“You got this, luv!” Hobie shouts. “Just imagine the bloody contractions as guitar riffs! You’re about to release the raddest album in history!”
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you hear the cries of your newborn baby.
“Congratulations, it's a boy!” the nurse announces, handing the baby to to you.
You can’t help but laugh. Gwen steps closer to the bed and takes a peek at the baby. Her eyes light up. “Told you, it’s a boy. He’s absolutely beautiful,” she whispers.
Hobie chimes in. “Alright, let’s get a proper look at the little bloke!” He leans in, and his face softens. "Oh, look at 'im!" Hobie exclaims in his thick British accent, peering at him. "Little blighter's a spitting image of 'is mum, ain't he?” No. You see it then, the dark eyes with a hint of red glow echo the intensity of his father's gaze, the dark chocolate hair and the sun kissed complexion. He looked undeniably just like Miguel. You cant help yourself but fall immediately in love with your and Miguel’s little boy.
As they prepare to leave, Gwen, Peter B., and Hobie each take turns holding Gabriel and whispering well-wishes to him. 
“I can’t thank you guys enough for being here,” you say, wiping away a tear.
Peter’s mask is off and he’s beaming. "We couldn't miss this for the multiverse!"
Gwen follows suit, "Yeah! Plus, Hobie wouldn't let us hear the end of it if we didn’t."
“We’re family,” Peter says firmly. “Across universes and timelines. We’re always here for each other.”
With that, the trio put on their masks and with another whoosh, they're gone.
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1 year later...
One year has passed like a whirlwind. You've established a balance in your life. By day, you are a doting mother, and your world revolves around a little ball of energy named Gabriel. His laugh is the music that fuels your day, and his tiny hands holding yours make everything seem alright.
At night, though, you become someone else. Clad in a white suit adorned with golden sun patterns, you swing through the skyscrapers of Nea Yorkey as the Sun Spider. Your heart swells with pride, knowing that you’re keeping the streets and your little boy safe.
Your neighbor, Melissa, sometimes babysits Gabriel. She is a cheerful, quirky 19-year-old neighbor who dreams of becoming an Instagram influencer. You trust her (her career choice not so much) and, most importantly, Gabriel adores her.
Up until today, you believed that he hadn't inherited any powers. However, today was the first time he climbed up a wall and spun a web, without the aid of a web-slinger. It was the first time you witnessed him display such powers, and naturally, you were impressed. However, you also realized that being a mom would now involve dealing with a whole new set of challenges and responsibilities, making everyday life more exhausting than before. But you are up for the challenge;
Meanwhile, in the Spider Society’s HQ in Nueva York, Lyla’s holographic screen blinks red as she detects an anomaly in Earth 586 - your universe. She reports it to Miguel, who is still his grumpy self, seemingly even more irritable with each day passing.
“There’s a presence in Earth 586 that does not belong,” Lyla reports in her emotionless tone.
Miguel, sitting at his desk, sighs deeply. “Assemble the team. Pavitr, Lego Spider-Man, and... let’s bring in the newbie, Miles.”
Minutes later, the trio is briefed about the anomaly – a two-year-old child. They are to extract the child and bring it back.
Back in your universe, you're facing off against a notorious villain – The Shocker, who is on a rampage downtown. His high-frequency shock waves shake the very foundations of the buildings around you.
“Not tonight, Shocker,” you quip as you dodge a blast. “I’ve got a bedtime story to read!”
You're agile and sharp, but you can’t wait to get back home to Gabriel.
In your apartment, Melissa is on the couch, engrossed in her phone. She doesn't notice Pavitr slyly slipping into Gabriel's room. He can’t help but feel conflicted, seeing the innocent child asleep.
“This is the target?” Pavitr speaks in a hushed tone into his communicator. His voice is laced with doubt.
“Yes, proceed,” responds Miguel firmly.
Pavitr gently picks up Gabriel, cradling him in his arms. “Sorry, little guy,” he whispers and slips out.
Outside, they gather near the portal. Miles, who is visibly excited to be on his first mission, can sense the tension among the group.
“That was… too easy,” Pavitr murmurs, still holding the sleeping child.
Through the swirling portal, they make their way back to Nueva York.
Meanwhile, you web up The Shocker and leave him hanging for the police.
Back in the Spider Society's HQ in Nueva York, the team stands in a specialized containment room with the toddler still peacefully sleeping nestled in a makeshift bed of spider-web, completely oblivious to the attention he's attracting. One by one, members of the Spider Society trickle into the room, drawn by curiosity and concern.
Miles, who is new to the Spider Society, looks at the child with confusion. "I don't get it, what's so dangerous about a kid?" he asks.
Pavitr looks conflicted, “We have to determine where he came from and why he is considered an anomaly.”
Lego Spider-Man remains silent, trying to analyze the situation. He finally speaks up. "We should be cautious. Just because it's a child doesn't mean it's not potentially hazardous to the multiverse."
Miguel enters the room, his face cold and emotionless. He glances at the sleeping child, then at his team. “It doesn’t matter what it is. Anomalies threaten the balance of the multiverse. Every anomaly has to be returned to its home universe. That’s the rule.” he says sternly.
"But he's not an anomaly, boss," Jess adds, gazing fondly at the child. "He's a little boy."
Miguel’s gaze is unwavering, ignoring Jess. “Lyla? Whats the status?” 
Lyla's holographic form flickers into the room. "This entity possesses unknown powers," she declares, her voice ringing out with clinical detachment. "And according to my scans, it doesn't belong to any known universe. Therefore, it cannot be returned. It must be... eliminated."
Miles' eyes widen. “Wait, you mean…?” he can’t bring himself to finish the sentence.
Pavitr steps forward, his fists clenched. “We can’t just... There must be another way.”
Back in your universe, you swing closer to your apartment, but your spider-sense starts are tingling with a ferocity you’ve never experienced before. Your heart races, and you quicken your pace. Bursting through the window, you find Melissa still sitting on the couch, scrolling through her phone.
"Where is he? Where’s Gabriel?!" you shout, panic straining your voice.
Melissa's eyes go wide as she looks up from her phone. "What? He's in his room, sleeping," she says, but her voice falters when she sees the terror on your face.
You rush into Gabriel's room and find the crib empty. Your knees buckle, and a guttural scream escapes your lips. The room spins as you run back to the living room, grabbing Melissa by the shoulders.
"Did anyone come in? Did you see anything?!" you practically scream at her.
“I... I didn’t see anyone. I swear!” Melissa's voice shakes.
Your heart feels like it's tearing apart. You look around the room, desperate for any clue. You need to find your son, and something deep within you tells you that the Spider Society is where you need to go. You have to find a way to travel through the multiverse without a gizmo and the time is ticking. You have to find your son.
Back in the HQ in the midst of the tension-filled room, Gwen stands up, "Miguel, you can't be serious," she pleads, disbelief resonating in her voice. "We can't just... kill a baby.”
Miguel's eyes narrow. "Sometimes tough decisions have to be made for the greater good.”
Just then, little Gabriel wakes up. His big eyes wander curiously around the room, and he starts to make happy babbling sounds. Unfazed by his surroundings, he looks at each of the Spider-People with fascination.
As Peter B. is about to reach down to pick Gabriel up, the toddler crawls quickly over to Miguel. His little face lights up with the purest of smiles and he reaches his tiny arms towards Miguel as if trying to give him a hug.
The room seems to collectively hold its breath. Even Miguel seems taken aback.
Pavitr can't help it, “He seems to have taken a liking to you, boss.”
Gwen smiles, her eyes watering up. “See? Even this innocent soul can sense there’s still good in you.”
Tiny fingers grip at the fabric of Miguel's suit, baby Gabriel coos and giggles as he clambers up the towering figure. Planting tiny baby kisses on any part of Miguel he can reach, the toddler's joyous laughter rings in the silent room. "Vete, Vete." Miguel mutters. And despite Miguel's cold exterior, Gabriel is unphased, drawn to him as though an invisible bond exists between them.
Miguel looks frustrated and uncomfortable with the baby's affection. He awkwardly picks Gabriel up at arm’s length. But the little one is relentless, trying to cuddle into Miguel’s chest.
Annoyed, Miguel places Gabriel into a containment field made of energy beams, to keep him in place. The baby, though restrained, is still reaching out to Miguel with his tiny hands, cooing.
The room goes quiet again, and Gwen speaks, her voice soft.
“Look at him, Miguel. Please. You can’t tell me that this doesn’t affect you in any way.”
Miguel's face is tense, his jaw clenched. His eyes dart between Gwen and Gabriel. All eyes are directed towards Miguel. The room feels like it’s waiting for something to shatter.
“We do what needs to be done, no exceptions.”
Part III "Web of Shadow and Light"
a/n: Honestly, I can't begin to express how much your support and kind messages mean to me. I literally started crying when I saw how much love this story received. It means the world to me. Truly, thank you. I'd love to hear your thoughts, and if someone could give me a heads-up on whether the tag list functioned properly, that would be great. Also, apologies for any inconsistencies or logical errors regarding the multiverse or canon theory. I watched the movie but I'm not 100% sure of that's how it works.
Once again, I really do appreciate each and everyone of you. Please, don’t forget to take good care of yourselves and stay hydrated! ILYSM
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januaryembrs · 11 months
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LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant x Reader [1]
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description: Steven finds his life slowly turning upside down when the man in the mirror starts talking back, he's sleepwalking all the way to the Alps, and the woman he's besotted with from work finds herself more caught up in all of it than he'd ever wanted. [Last Night in Soho inspired]
word count: 11.1k
trigger warnings: gore, blood, swearing, reader has a dark past that will be explored more read at discretion, third person & no use of Y/N, death, reader will become an avatar eventually,
main masterlist | series masterlist
Authors note: I have been in love with this show since I watched it and have finally started the fic I’ve been wanting to since it came out! The chapters are going to be long and readers backstory is dark but this is a piece very personal to me and I hope you enjoy!!!
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She felt someone picking up her limp body. The museum lights had long since been shut off, but through the darkness of the exhibition she caught a tall figure standing over her. Her lids were heavy, vision bleary, yet she blinked a few times to try and straighten her mind that still felt like it was pulsing stiffly in her tight skull. Her voice was no better, the only sound she could let out was a guttural whine as the stranger pressed hard on the three deep lacerations on her abdomen that were now gushing blood like a scene from a 90s slasher movie.
They were broad, blocking out the minimal slither of light as they crouched over her and seemed to be yelling something. Probably scolding her for getting copious amounts of thick blood over the freshly mopped floors, she thought numbly. The sound came to her in something akin to static, a muffled string of nonsense. All she knew was they were talking loud and fast. Or maybe she had a concussion too? That thing had thrown her through that glass wall pretty hard. 
She couldn’t see a mouth moving, nor could she actually see their face, just two beams of white blinking down at her. 
This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be happening for real. She thought maybe someone had slipped something in her drink when she was at the club, but that was two days ago. There would be no reason for her to be feeling the effects only just now. And when she had been jumped on by one of those things she’d sure as hell felt it. She'd seen it with her own two eyes the way her clothes had been ripped as something plunged its claws deep into her, heard the air whoosh out her lungs as it hurled her through the partition wall. 
She’d felt, still felt, the open wound seeping so harshly that she knew it was going to be fatal. 
There was no coming back from whatever fever dream this was. 
She blinked again up at the mystery guy who seemed to be holding her heavy head gently, but the hot, red wetness on his hands that smeared on her cheek said he also knew how fucked she was. He was muttering something, was there someone else here? Oh god, where was Steven? 
“Stev-” Came her broken murmur, but the metallic taste crawling its way up her throat cut her off as a blob of viscid blood rolled down her chin. 
“He’s here, he’s okay. It’s gonna be okay,” Said the voice back to her, his grasp on her hair tightening as she garbled. The breath, life, was leaving her now. Every time she tried to get air into her lungs, she was met with more of the thick liquid spraying into her mouth, her chest retching for oxygen.
She didn’t have long left, she realised numbly. 
The room was blackening round the edges even more now, sped up by the way she felt her hands grabbing his arm in a panic. She’d thought she would welcome the cold hands of Death, it wasn’t a stranger in her home. Death rooted himself in her very soul, and yet as it dragged her under consciousness, she couldn’t help but feel like a scared little girl and she tried to cling onto the mystery figure as if he could keep her from Death’s greedy clutches. 
It was sweet poetry, knowing she was drowning from the inside out. She had always known her biggest monster lay within her, in her every cell, festering and rotting her, since the moment she was born. There was really no other perfect way to sum up her whole life than it ending this way, choking on her own body. Grabbing onto a stranger, trying to plead for help as a few precious tears wet her face and she realised she was crying. Scared, vulnerable to her own demise like she had always known she would be. 
How do you fight off a monster coming from within? You don't. You can’t. So she didn’t. 
No amount of soft words or desperate touches on the figure helped her, it only made the departure messier, a bigger pool of blood for them to find her in.
The world felt surprisingly calm the moment she was snatched ruthlessly into Death’s open arms.
FOUR DAYS EARLIER
“Come the fuck on, Steven” Cursing under her breath, she cradled the two disposable cups of coffee tightly, her rosewood coloured lipstick surrounding only one of the lids. The London air whipped her coat around her shins, frigid and unwelcoming as it was even on a good day. 
As per usual, Steven was late for work. The two of them had an agreement to meet each other outside the museum every Wednesday and Thursday, which meant his lateness slid in her own time. She could of course just meet the undoubtedly dishevelled man inside, but what kind of a friend would she be then? Leave him to face Donna’s wrath on his own? No, if he was in for a bollocking then so were she.
Friends didn’t exactly come easy to her nowadays, either. So if waiting in the bitterness for another five minutes meant she could keep this one, then so be it.
She had even taken the time on her commute to work to grab him a drink, the thin, black ink on the sticker reading: LATTE, + CARAMEL, -XTRA ESPRESSO SHOT, -XTRA HOT. she had banked on him being late despite the fact she had left him three messages this morning asking if he was awake (he wasn’t) and called him last night before bed to remind him not to sleep in. 
A minute or so before she would have figured he was just calling in sick today, she caught sight of a slouched figure dashing off the bus, the grey knitted cardigan belonging to only one person his age in London. His thatch of messy black curls were a next dead give away, as well as the bags under his eyes that never seemed to budge even if he were to sleep two days in a row. Yet, she couldn’t help but smile at the way he seemed to apologise to a flock of pigeons he nearly trampled on in his haste up the many steps leading to their workplace.
“Donna’s going to serve our heads on sticks to scare away rude customers, you know that right?” She said, handing him his drink, now lukewarm, as he nearly crashed into her own body.
“Thanks, Dove,” He said absently as the two of them headed quickly to the entrance, “Yep, I’m aware I’ve buggered us. Bloody weird dreams again,” Steven shook his head as if to rid himself of the odd thoughts. “Sorry though, love. You must be freezing,”
She was freezing, but the way he was quick to worry over her warmed her insides more than she’d care to admit. The nickname crafted just for her, the bird symbolising ‘Quiet innocence’ in Ancient Egypt, as Steven had once told her. Sure enough, the endearing term had stuck quickly, and it warmed her to know she had a special enough place in his life to have a pet name. 
It was plain to see just by looking at the twenty-five year old she was smitten with her co-worker. No sane person stands outside in Brittain’s April winds for just a friend. But Steven was different, which she knew was what every naive young girl said about their work crush, but he truly was. Steven had a kindness she had never known someone to offer without wanting anything in return, which he didn’t. He was so sweet to her she understood why he loved the sugary caramel syrup in his coffee so much, she thought often it glazed his every word with a honeyed tone. His face was a blend of a greek god and a lost puppy, a combination she never would have banked on being so damn attractive until she met him. 
Even his smell alone of a quiet library, a rain soaked meadow and freshly brewed coffee had her inebriated. 
“It’s fine,” The woman reassured as she cut through the main lobby where it was already lively with school kids. A few queued up at the gift shop to pay for their treasures; she smiled when she saw a girl with an Anubis plushie tucked under her arm. “I’m sure she would have found a reason to snap today anyway,”
She adored her job, she really did. Graduating university with a degree in Ancient Languages, working in London’s heart of archeological texts had been a linguist’s version of Broadway. Sure, her talents were beyond soured working in the gift shop, but anything was better than the life she’d fled to get here. 
No amount of sneers and dry remarks from Donna could ever drag her kicking and screaming back to that time before she left for Soho. 
“What did you dream about this time?” She asked, her black, kitten heels clicking against the freshly polished marble floor. 
A ghost of a smile spread across his face, and her eyes couldn’t help but linger on the way his brows lifted, giving away his amusement at his own head. “It was the weirdest thing. I felt like I was flying over London, but not, like, in an aeroplane or anything, like I was flying. Like, me. No wings or anything. Like I’m bloody superman or something.” Steven shook his head again and she gave a small laugh.
“Certainly beats getting the underground. You know, I saw a rat the size of a dachshund this morning, swear on my life. I thought it was about to ask me for spare change,” Steven smiled at his colleague as they entered the Ancient Egypt area. She took a sip of her own hot latte, sweet cinnamon with whipped cream that had long since melted, the liquid already half devoured when she was waiting for him to show up. 
“Don’t you ever have dreams like that, then? That feel so ridiculous. It's like, how can my head even come up with it?” Steven asked, and her smile wobbled a little as she saw her manager set her predatory gaze on the two of them. The people pleaser in her wanted to cower at Donna’s furious expression. 
In all honesty, she wished for dreams as ludicrous as flying over Piccadilly like a Mary Poppins wannabe. She wished she had Steven’s innocent look on life, that the world around her didn’t terrify her, that it could be as gentle with her as he was. 
But that was not real life. 
Her dreams were not filled with silly fantasies of flying like heroes. They were filled with dark monsters that looked too much like men to be supernatural, that managed to catch her no matter how many times she ran, begged, screamed. They always caught up to her. Always. Leaving her clawing at the duvet, drenched in sweat and a pulse that could challenge a hummingbird’s. 
“Brace yourself,” She ignored his question, muttering the words to him as the blonde came strutting over to them with a daggers look. Ah, Donna. The woman that made her job so joyful, so easy, a delight to be around.
Donna hated her almost as much as she made it clear Steven was on a metaphorical hit list the moment he stepped foot into the museum. 
“You pair better have a good explanation,” Donna snapped, dumping a tower of boxes in Steven’s arms. 
“Bus times-” Steven said at the same time she came out with:
“Road works-” 
They both stopped, hesitating a glance to one another. The blonde looked between them, shaking her head with a furrowed brow and a scornful sigh. 
“It’s like tweedledum and tweedledee having you two together,” She muttered, nudging the younger girl towards the stands in the middle of the gift shop, “Dum, you’re stock shelves today, love,” The term didn’t sound nearly as friendly coming from her mouth, nor did it make her chest flutter like it did when Steven said it. It was condescending, rude. Made to make her feel inferior, which it did. She pointed at the man then, shoving a basket of insect themed sweets to him behind the till, “Dee, you’re selling these.” 
Donna looked between the two of them one last time, her steely blue glare never wavering, as if checking they could be left alone together without wasting company time, before going to set her unforgiving jaws on some other poor creature.
The girl set her bag behind the counter and got to work organising the merchandise, twisting the ceramic scarabs to all be facing the front. 
It was a menial job at best, being stuck stacking shelves as mothers and fathers reached over to inspect the new stock, most of the time messing up the meticulous order she’d put them out in. Kids got their grubby mits all over the glass pyramid paperweights, making her eye twitch since she knew she’d need to polish them up again, only to flash them a smile and ask them kindly if they had the pocket money to pay for it. 
They didn’t, kids just liked to fiddle with priceless things and their parents were too busy on their phones to notice. 
She was half way through showing two young girls to the sarcophagus themed pencil cases when she caught sight of Dylan at the front counter, leaning in to talk to Steven. 
Dylan was a nice woman to work with. She was one of the only people who’d tried to coax conversation out of the greenie the first week she started there, which had been painful for both of them since she had never been known to be sociable. Companionship did not come easy to her and it was only by sheer luck that Steven seemed so similarly awkward in a charming way that she was able to feel comfortable around him. 
It was childish really, a silly work crush that she had no intention of ever letting slip. He was too good for her anyway. He was sweet and kind, gentle, innocent. Everything she was not.
Steven Grant deserved someone who could give him the world. Which is why it shouldn’t have come to too much of a stab to the chest when she heard what the two of them were talking about. 
“We still on for seven tomorrow?” Dylan asked, her hair falling in those beautiful, tight curls over her shoulder. Dylan was the type who showed up to work every day looking effortlessly gorgeous which clawed at the younger girl more than she cared to acknowledge. She liked Dylan, she really did. She was friendly in a way that was genuine, didn’t have her second guessing whether she meant the compliments she gave to anyone. 
Some days she wondered if Dylan pitied her. A plain Jane girl with no family to lean on, trying to make ends meet in a city as extortionate as London and chin deep in university loans. It was enough for any attractive, confident adult woman to kiss their teeth and “Awww”. 
The girl watched the two of them, waiting for the teenagers to decide which stationary sets they wanted. They were looking for ‘different but matching’ they had said, not that she was paying much attention to them. Steven’s face was the picture of lost as he stared at the grown woman, seemingly entranced with her face. And she couldn’t blame him. Dylan flashed him a teasing smile, brilliant white teeth poking out from behind her luscious dark lips. 
“Seven tomorrow?” He asked, despite nodding happily as if he understood what she was talking about. But his friend didn’t miss the confusion blaring on his face, his eyes as brown as the coffee she’d bought him scrunched up slightly in bewilderment. 
“Best steak in town?” Dylan prompted, her smile not faltering though she seemed to also be slightly thrown off that had forgotten. 
Their unknowing audience kept her head down, not wanting to watch for a second more of their conversation. She didn’t need a degree to see the way Dylan had leaned in, her body language turned completely towards him as if to tease him with what could come if their date were to go well, her own almond eyes trailing over him with the air of confidence her younger counterpart lacked. 
“Oh right, yeah. Yeah,” Steven replied. She could tell he still had no clue what Dylan was talking about. 
“Yeah? Okay,” Dylan replied, oblivious to his dilemma, and stepped away from the desk to go tour the new group of school kids waiting in the hallway. 
Steven followed her trail hotly before she could leave, “Sorry but,” He stepped towards her to talk a little quieter, almost embarrassed about how forward he was being, “Are you asking me out?” 
Dylan stopped, reeling slightly in shock before she wagged a finger to him and chuckled. “You’re funny. I’ll see you then.” She seemed unbothered by his ‘joke’ though she could hear in his own voice he was muddled. The woman walked away with a sultry looking smile, her eyes flicking to her where her other coworker silently arranged the pencil sarcophaguses. “Morning, babe,” She gave the girl a friendly squeeze on the upper arm as she passed. It only made it more difficult to writhe in jealousy knowing the woman he was seeing was downright lovely.
“Morning, Dylan,” She returned the smile, though the bitterness festered inside her. She had no claim over him, and she really couldn’t blame the two of them for gravitating towards one another. Not only was she merely twenty-five, a decade under Steven and Dylan’s thirty-five years, but Dylan was sexy, confident, flirty. Knew what she wanted. She was incredibly smart too, not an airhead like some other people trying to live the big dream in London. Dylan was a tour guide at the British Museum, and what was she? A graduate with a dead degree, pun intended, and a job that could be done by any wannabe walking in here.
Taking a moment to rearrange her feelings, shoving down the way her heart wriggled in her chest as the little green monster worked its way through her veins, pumping disappointment around her body like a drug. 
The two young girls seemed to only then decide which pencil boxes they wanted, unbeknownst to her inner turmoil, and she remained silent as she led them over to the till to talk to Steven, more for her own benefit than theirs. 
“I didn’t know you’d asked her out,” She said finally, though it came out as a croak, which she cleared from her throat quickly. Steven scanned their items as the girls both fiddled with ten pound notes, the great Queen Elizabeth staring at the woman from their hands as if she even knew how childish she sounded.
“Neither did I,” Steven replied honestly, printing off the receipts for them, “And you would think for a woman like her there’d be no chance I’d forget a date, you know what I mean?”
Ouch. She smiled tightly, waving the younger girls off as they caught up with Dylan’s tour group. The woman of the hour. Of course he’d be elated at the sound of that, what man with eyes wouldn’t? Anyone would count their stars lucky to be given a chance by a temptress like her. 
“Must have needed that coffee today after all,” She joked, though she couldn’t bring herself to smile properly, instead finding a middle ground between a grimace and a simper. 
Steven chuckled at her, shaking his head. “Must have. What would I ever do without you?” She grinned painfully at him, looking away to try and hide the way her face grew hot at his thoughtless words. “Am I still walking you home tonight?”
Another of their routines. She lived closer to Islington than the lovely apartment Steven had in Whitechapel. Despite paying a lot per month to live so close to the city centre, some areas of London like the borough she lived in was still ridden with some of the highest crime rate in the county. Steven was more thoughtful than anyone she had ever met, a rarity in this place, and on the days they were at work together he would ride the underground home with her before detouring around to his own apartment even further away. 
“Uh, no,” She replied, busying herself with unloading one of the boxes Donna had dumped in Steven’s hands earlier. She loved spending time with Steven, loved it so much that she felt guilty of lusting over him without his knowledge, but she couldn’t bear to hear any more about this date that he would no doubt want to pick her brain apart over. He’d want to ask what to wear, how to style his hair, if he should buy her chocolates and flowers even though she already knew he would. And the whole time she’d be hoarse in the throat from holding back the urge to say Date me instead, I’m begging you.  “No, I have a date of my own tonight,”
Liar. Liar. Liar. 
It was like their monarch Elizabeth was still glaring at her, judging her through her inky lashes and driving the dagger in further at the fact that this kind of behaviour was exactly what made her too immature to be considered for a real date with Steven.
He raised his brows, surprised. It wasn’t uncommon for her to have an occasional fling with a guy every now and then. But none of them really progressed to a date, just a single night of passion to groan over in embarrassment when Steven asked how her weekend went. 
“Oh, who’s the lucky guy?” Steven asked, nudging her shoulder in a tone that was nothing but teasing. 
“No one, just someone I met on tinder,” She brushed off, the lack of excitement making the man stop trying to pry a smile out of her. 
“What’s the matter?” She shrugged at him, not coming up with a response in time. What he took as nerves was in fact guilt and disgust feasting on her insides at the fact she was lying to him. Lying. There was no mystery man, no one coming to save her from this awkward display of what pure jealousy can do to a reasonable person. “You can always cancel if you don’t want to go.”
“I just…” she trailed off, stuck for what to say. He was looking at her with those puppy eyes no grown man should be able to perfect. And yet he was patiently waiting for her to stumble on the right set of words, his entire focus on whatever it was troubling her. That was another thing, for as chatty as a person as Steven was, he was just as good a listener, and she could tell he gave her everything every single time they would talk.  “I just don’t know what to wear, is all,” 
He seemed content with her answer as his eyes trailed down her body. She squirmed under his gaze but hid it well (not at all) by pulling her cardigan sleeves over her hands and balling her fists to fidget with, “Wear what you’re wearing now,” He said simply, as if it were obvious.
She looked down. A large top and casual jeans did not exactly say date worthy, though she wasn’t sure if there were actual rules to hypothetical dating, seeing as her man was fucking imaginary. 
She giggled at him nonetheless, shaking her head, “These are my work clothes, Steven. I can’t go like this.”
“Why not? I think you look lovely,” Steven’s comment was passing, tiny in the scale of things. Yet it sent her heart scrambling for a grip on reality. He was just her friend, complimenting her on her perfectly ordinary clothes. Nothing more. 
It wasn’t until she found herself smiling at a set of metal Pharaohs that she realised she needed to get a date for this evening fast. If Dylan and Steven could find someone in this wide city, surely it couldn’t be too hard for her to.
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Sound was the first thing that came back to her. The crappy animated kids show she had been watching out of pure boredom last night was still playing after being left on all night. No doubt running up her already high electric bills. The exaggerated, slapstick bangs blared through the speaker. That caught her attention, drawing her into the awake like a fog horn from shore. The midday sun slipped through the open curtains, flicking over her lids and coaxing her to open them. She did so gently, lashes batting over her cheeks as she tried to make sense of where she was. 
Her sofa. 
The two empty mugs glared back at her from the coffee table, making her eyes wince in confusion. Why was she making tea so late last night?
Then the stench hit her. The smokey yet overwhelmingly powerful smell of a gentleman caller named Jack Daniels wafted up her nose and brought back a panorama of memories flicking through her head; The date. A real date that had been scheduled since Thursday. A completely ordinary blonde named James. The restaurant. Him being almost too charming. Fake laughing at his jokes she had already seen on Twitter weeks ago. Him touching her thigh every chance he could get. Suggesting they go to a club. Dancing. Shots. More dancing. Sharing a beer she pretended not to think was the most horrendous thing she’d ever tasted. More shots. More dancing. Him grabbing her hips. Her waist. Him kissing her neck, cheek, lips. Him grabbing her more, something she would find sleazy if she wasn’t desperate to force Steven out of her intoxicated brain. 
Which led to her apartment. The sofa, as classy as it sounded, was seemingly a better option than her bed. She had been quick to shut him down when he suggested moving it to her room; that was too intimate. That was her space, which would only be tainted by this stranger wanting to bend her over. So the sofa it was. 
Whiskey served in old mugs she got from the gift shop being chugged for Dutch courage. The same mugs she had bought with Steven as part of a set. They had taken two each, promising that they would be used whenever the other visited. 
She had given him Steven’s mug out of spite, even in her vodka riddled brain she was burying her feelings six feet under. 
Her hand shot out when she heard her phone buzzing, not wanting it to wake up her actual gentleman caller. 
The phone was clumsily brought to her ear, not even bothering to check who was calling before she swiped the green icon.
“Hullo?” It came out a horrible croaky mess and had her coughing the second she’d asked. 
“Hi, Dove! Just called to see how your date went.” Steven’s voice blared through the speaker, which only served to have her pulling it away and groaning. “And also to tell you about my dream, I think it was the weirdest one to date!”
“Woah, slow down, Steve-” She tried to say, but the man had clearly a mouthful to tell her and continued on regardless.
“I was in the alps, but it was all so real. There was this group of people taking it in turn to hold hands with this weird American guy, and then I got into a high speed cupcake-van chase with the lot of them because they started saying I’d stolen this little scarab thing from them, I don’t know where I get this stuff from-” Her eyes scrunched together in pain, though she lay in the quiet and tried to gather her bearings. She sat up from the sofa, shivering when she saw it was around midday outside and she had forgotten to close the window. 
“Sounds intense,” She mused to keep him talking, pulling a blanket over her still nude body as she stood to close it and preserve the heating. Her head spun as she stood, a rush of bile rising to her throat dangerously, which she choked back down and looked around the room. Quickly realising she was alone in her flat, she shuffled over to the kitchen in her blanket cocoon to find her purse to see how bad the damage her little excursion had done to her limited stash as any responsible youth did after a night out in London. 
“It was! I swear it was like I could feel the cars smashing into me- Oh right! How was your date?” 
She blanched, head still pounding, “Uh. Yeah it was great.” It was average at best. “He was super funny,” For a Twitter fraud. “So romantic,” If romantic was the new word for ten minutes of missionary and not even making her cum. “He took me wine tasting,” She was sure she’d be tasting the wine she’d bought at the club any second now judging by the way her head spun, “Yeah, he was great,” He wasn’t you, Steven.
“I’m so pleased for you, love!” Her best friend cheered, a part of her writhing in repulsion that she had lied to him again. Though maybe that was the wine begging to make an appearance. She stuck the lever down on the kettle to get the water boiling, sure that a fresh cup of strong tea would be the only thing to pull her through this hangover.
Part of her, the dark, twisted part, wanted him to be jealous. Wanted to make him as frustrated and envious as he had unknowingly made her. But he would never, could never. Steven was tender and good. He was too sweet to ever think a single bitter thought towards her, towards Donna even. Which only served to make her feel even more rotten inside. 
“How was your date with Dylan?” She forced herself to ask. It was selfish for her to think, but she wished more than anything for him to tell her that it went horribly. She hated the part of her inside that sang with glee at the idea of him hating his date. She truly was wicked inside, and the idea only reminded her more of why she would never be asked on a date by him. Maybe he could see it too, how sick she was for wanting the world to suffer if she couldn’t have the one man she’d ever truly wanted. 
“That’s not until tonight, love, remember?” He said casually, as she fumbled around her kitchen for her handbag. She locked eyes on the little black clutch sitting on top of the counter. Her brows furrowed in confusion, she could have sworn Dylan said they were meeting Friday, two full nights ago. Her heart plummeted, maybe it was a second date. 
Ofcourse it was. Ofcourse they hit it off, who wouldn’t. He was as smitten as anything and Dylan wasn’t that kind of woman that was too afraid to tell him exactly what she wanted. If she wanted to see him again, then Steven would give her exactly what she asked for.
“Tonight?” She asked, squeezing the phone between her shoulder and her head as she popped open the clasps to her bag. 
“Yeah. I wouldn’t forget a woman like her twice in a row,” Steven joked. But what should have made her gut curdle in pain only fell on deaf ears. 
Her purse was gone. Her purse that never left her damn bag, that she had stuffed her rent money in as soon as she’d gotten it was missing. 
“I-I’m gonna have to call you back, Steven,” She uttered through the heart sized lump in her throat. Her palms were already clammy with sweat, both from the drink and from her sheer panic, “Good luck on your date,”
“Alright, gators!”
She barely got a chance to murmur their goodbye back before she had thrown her phone down on the plain, white counter and dumped out the contents of her bag. 
Hair ties, the odd two pence, a pen she stole from the bank. But no purse. 
She turned her coat pockets inside out, the blanket falling down her waist and exposing her round breasts to the cold air. But she couldn’t care less. The goosebumps slithering up her arms did nothing to fight the hot panic as the sofa cushions were thrown off their frame, the young girl still turning up empty handed. 
Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck. 
This could not be happening. She hadn’t opened her bag all night, even when she got out of the taxi she had her phone readily in her hand and the bag tightly closed. Someone could have taken it in the club, sure, but that made no sense seeing as her bag was definitely still heavy with the wallet when she had gotten home, not near empty like it was now. 
Which only meant…
Her date had fucking stolen from her. 
“FUCK!” She yelled, throwing her vacant bag across the room with tears brimming her eyes. 
It seemed life had been digging a trench underneath Rock Bottom reserved for her at a time like this. And she was left clutching at the muddy walls, trying to drag herself to safety and anywhere that wasn’t her shitty situation where she pined over a man she could never have, where she was still walking the line between sane and whatever else was brewing inside her, fighting against tendrils of hatred and chaos, malignance, that wrapped around her organs and reminded her where she came from, what she was. A life where she got mugged by the men she fucked at her expensive pity parties. 
She just hoped Donna wasn’t too hard on her tomorrow after this shit show of a weekend. 
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“Late, again,” Came the chiding voice the moment she stepped in the building. 
Sweat dripped down her back from her long trek through London to get to work. 48 minutes of power walking is what she had been reduced to, unable to get the bus or underground for lack of money. 
And she was still late. She was expecting a nice, fat kick to the teeth any time now.
“It’s five minutes, Donna,” You pleaded, yanking an earphone out. Music was the only thing that could block out the thrum of anger and agony she was in from the weekends chaotics. 
“Even Stevie-”
“Steven,”
“-Was on time today and he’s the worst for it,” Donna snapped, and the young girl could do nothing but slump in defeat. 
“I’m sorry, Donna. It won’t happen again.” She promised. She wasn’t sure if she meant it yet with her lack of transport, but she couldn’t lose this job. She didn’t even know how she was going to pay for this month’s rent let alone catch the bus, breakfast itself had been skipped in an attempt to conserve food. Her stomach ached from the exercise, crying out for anything to fill its distressed cavern. “I got robbed yesterday so I walked,” She murmured, avoiding the blue eyes that had narrowed in on her. She hated feeling pitied, feeling as though people were sorry for her. But it was the truth, and the truth sucked sometimes. 
She wasn’t sure what beam of light had shone out of Donna’s ass this morning, or whether she really did look just that pathetic, but the blonde woman just sighed and nudged her towards the gift shop.
In perhaps the nicest tone she’d ever spoken to her, Donna quietly said “Last warning, girl, alright?” The younger woman thanked her quickly, her small voice sheepish. Her boss looked down at her in discontent, “Alright, get going. And you’re on inventory with Steven tonight so best behaviour, I mean it,”
She nodded, turning on her heel to speed towards the gift shop. 
Turning from the main lobby to enter the Ancient Egypt exhibits, she’d not gotten halfway there when she’d caught up to Steven seemingly helping a customer. Odd considering the fact he wasn’t even in the shop yet, but knowing Steven he’d probably stopped to chat the guy’s ear off about something he knew too much about to be just a giftshoppist. 
She went to wave when he looked up and met her gaze, but the forlorn, scared expression she found there had her already negligent smile drop completely. Steven seemed relieved to see her, too nervous to say anything to the man himself as he stood too close for his comfort.
Her eyes fell to where the stranger held Steven’s hands tightly, murmuring something to him that seemed to have her friend freaked out. The whole sight threw her for a loop, and she called his name on instinct, the new man’s head shooting up to stare at her blankly.
Speeding up her pace, she met the two as Steven pulled away from the stranger’s strong grasp. “Steven, are you okay?” She asked gently, looking from her friend to the lithe figure of the man. He wasn’t tall by any means, but his presence, the way he dressed and held an intricately woven cane seemed meant to make himself superior. His hair was long and greying, still young enough to be attractive but probably a bit older than Steven. A neat sort of scruff sat on his chin, and old blue orbs took her in head to toe where she stood. Not out of lust, but out of intrigue.
“We were just talking, weren’t we, Steven?” The man said calmly, seemingly sizing her up himself. She looked over her shaken friend quickly, the alarm written over his face that had near brought him to tears telling her all she needed to know. 
This man was no friend. 
“Sorry, I don’t remember asking you,” She snipped in the cold politeness English people all knew how to enact, bringing her friend’s hand into her soft one for reassurance. Steven had never seen her so infuriated. And perhaps it was the weekend she’d had or the way the man so gentle he refused to kill insects seemed to be trembling beneath her hand, she wasn’t sure, but a fierce frown was deep set into her face that dropped into concern the moment she looked back to him, “Are you alright?” 
“Can we go, please?” His round, nut brown eyes were soft and welled up as he quietly spoke, as if asking for her permission to be away from here despite being the older of the two. Her heart dropped at his sad expression, and she felt him squeeze her hand as if needing to reassure himself someone was there to save him. 
She had no time to note the way the butterflies swelled in her stomach as he did so, focused on getting him away from the strange man. 
“Ofcourse,” She said softly, turning to direct him to their little corner of the museum, hoping that the stranger would get the hint and just leave them be. 
That seemed short lived when a cold hand wrapped itself around her lower arm, a gasp drawing its way from her lungs. She could feel the panic of being grabbed by the unfamiliar man crawling up her spine, her limbs going numb, her hearing dipping in and out of static at the adrenaline flushing through her system. 
She heard Steven say her name as her head snapped to where the man’s strong grip tightened around her wrist. He seemed to stare at her with something calculating, and she wished she hadn’t run her mouth despite the fact she did so to protect the same person who was now behind her, a deeper sense of panic blaring in his eye than before. 
“Let go-” Taking a deep breath to overcome the bubbling fear rising in her chest, her only words were cut off by a much clearer voice. 
“There is a darkness in you,” The stranger said, as if he knew it for a fact. 
Her heart plummeted. 
Was it so obvious? No one had ever been able to see it, she buried it so deep in the hopes no one would ever get a glimpse beneath her kind shell. But it was a facade, and even he knew it. The shock must have read clear on her face as he pushed on, as if to reopen scar tissue with his bare hands.
“And chaos, oh there is chaos.” Her lips quirked between her teeth as she tried to stop them from trembling, “A shadow looms over you, little dove.” She felt Steven pull her closer to him, but this man had her every morsel of attention. How did he know, if he knew then surely Steven knew too. Knew she was born so dead she felt she was living a lie by being here. The man laughed to himself, just a small breath but it was enough to break her spirit, “What is it those witches say about Macbeth? Something wicked this way comes.” He asked though he already knew the answer, as if to entrance her with his own spell, “And I see you are truly something wicked.” 
Her breath left her chest. The voice escaped her throat. Every intention of protecting Steven had practically evaporated out of her body as her co worker tugged her arm hard enough that the stranger let go of her. 
“Leave us alone or I’ll call the police, alright?” Steven murmured with a new sense of courage, “I don’t care if you’re friends with the security here, you leave us alone,”
But the man’s eyes hadn’t left her, as if he knew just how deep his words had struck with her. He wormed his way into her brain even as Steven led her away with a kind hand on her back, his own words of reassurance coming to her as if she were underwater. As if she were being dragged under a current.
“He has no clue what he’s talking about, love. He was trying to get into my head too,” Steven said, but he could tell by the lost look in her eyes it was barely being registered. 
“Who the hell was that?” She asked after a moment, the feeling in her fingertips just about awakening once they were far enough away to be considered safe.
“You won’t believe me if I told you-”
“Steven, please,” She begged, looking up at him with a desperation he had never known from her. That man, Harrow, one of the women in the alps had called him, had truly shaken her up with the near omen he had given her. 
Steven couldn’t understand why, she was possibly the loveliest girl he had ever met. There was no one who so much as held a torch to her light in Steven’s eyes. She was kind. Gentle. Good. This Harrow had no idea what he was talking about saying she was wicked. She was anything but. 
Steven sighed, looking at her gravely. “Remember yesterday when I said I had that dream the other night. When I was in the alps, and those men were chasing me for some scarab I’d stolen,” 
She blinked at him emptily. In her defence, her brain had still been riddled with alcohol when he’d been rambling, and she had gotten caught up in her own personal issues since then to take much notice. But the scenario sounded familiar as she wracked her brain for the information, some light sparking in her eyes when it clicked to their phone conversation the day before. 
She stayed silent, eyebrows furrowing, “You said that was a dream, Steven. That man is very much real,”
“I know, I thought it was a dream,” Steven explained, “But now they’re here, and they keep saying I’ve got this scarab and what not. I don’t understand any of this, love. I’m sorry. I just know he’s dangerous and we need to stay far away from him,” 
The younger woman looked at him sadly. He was clearly in distress himself, and she felt a flash of sympathy run through her at his lost expression, yet his eyes were full of concern for her well being. 
She knew what it was like to struggle to know what was real and what was not. What it was like to feel as though you're barely keeping your head above the waters of reality. Yet she trusted Steven would tell her if he knew what was happening. 
She knew he was more honest than anyone she’d ever known, so she didn’t push. 
“Alright,” She said with a heavy sigh, rubbing her eyes to relieve the pressure building in her frontal lobes, “Alright, let’s just steer clear of him, okay? And if he comes back, we go to the police together.”
Steven seemed relieved, which wasn’t a surprise since he knew it was a big ask to have someone trust such a ludicrous story. Yet he didn’t know why he doubted her. She was loyal and would never dream of ridiculing him like other people might. She just took his word as gospel. 
She was too good to him. 
“Okay, yeah. Good plan,” He said, nodding and checking behind him to see if the guy was still after them when a smaller body pressed its way into his chest. 
She didn’t know why she did it, whether it was for his benefit or hers, but she hugged him. Tightly too, as if she had been holding back for a while (she had). They hugged all the time, when saying goodbye at her train stop, when they saw each other on a morning given they weren’t running late. But it never felt like this, so intimate. So much like she needed him so desperately. 
Perhaps it was childish, but the way he drew her closer, resting a head on top of hers as if he needed the contact as much as she did made her heart flutter even with the strange circumstances. For a moment, they both felt safe, like Harrow couldn’t get in their heads entirely because they had each other to ground them, reassure the other that they were not alone in the web his ominous words had spun them into, and that was enough for now. 
Yet the two of them barely spoke all day. 
Whether it was they were too busy with their actual work, or they were both in their heads thinking just what Harrow had meant by his prophesying. 
It wasn’t until inventory was nearly done that she spoke first. 
“We’re going to be alright, aren’t we?” She asked, his head cutting to hers from where he was scanning some Beefeater Rubber ducks. He seemed to notice the slight glint of fear in her tone, “As in, they don’t know where you live do they? Or me?” 
“No love, of course not,” At least he hoped they didn’t. Steven realistically couldn’t promise anything, he had no idea how far this Harrow’s network of followers ran. But he knew for certain he couldn’t stand to see her so scared. It ran a streak of anger in him that was unusual. Steven never found himself particularly angry, but it had run red hot when he saw the way Harrow had grabbed her and knocked the soul out of her with his words alone. “If you want, you can stay at mine tonight? I’ll take the sofa, you can take my bed,” After he’d swept away the giant ring of sand of course. 
She smiled at him finally, maybe the first proper one she’d shown him all day. And he couldn’t help but feel his chest grow lighter that he had done that. Gods be good, she was pretty when she smiled, he thought. 
“Thanks, Steven,” She said quietly. He was confident the two of them could figure this out together, and if he was sure of her, then how wicked could she truly be? 
She knew it was a cop out, that she hid so much from him that he didn’t know the real her; that if he did he would turn tail and run as far as he could from the monster in front of him. That he would curse himself once he realised Harrow was right; she was polluted down to her marrow.
“I’ve only got this box left to do, love, then we can get out of here,” Steven promised, his eyes flicking over where she collected two half full crates of merchandise and headed out of the gift shop to the stockroom. 
“I’ll take these out and meet you in the lobby?” She called over her shoulder, hearing him agree as she walked away to the area meant for employees only. 
Sighing deeply, she put the crates down gently, sliding them into a bottom shelf out the way of clumsy feet (most likely her own). A thought jumped in her tired brain, and she was quick to turn out her pockets for any spare change she could use for the train fare back to Steven’s apartment. 
Just as she suspected: empty. Because why would she be so lucky as to have anything good happen to her. She could always try and persuade Steven to walk home and save the embarrassment of revealing what actually happened to her Saturday night, but she knew the pitiful look he would give her if she told him the truth of her date. The sad eyes that would flash that neither of them needed after a morning of such anguish. 
They didn’t need another of her pity parties today, and she grimaced at the thought of how horrendously the last one ended. Though she knew Steven was different, that he would never do anything so cruel to a stranger let alone herself. 
It only made her heart yearn for him more.
Sighing, she thought on her feet as to what to tell him as she left the stockroom, locking the door behind her with the key Donna gave them all a copy of. Her heels rhythmically clicked on the freshly polished floor that reflected her frowning face back at her as if to remind her to stop looking so tormented. 
She saw the light of the main exhibit at the end of the darkened hallway, heading towards it at no rush since she figured Steven would likely just about be done himself. Lost in her own head as to what excuse to give the man she called her only friend, she almost missed the deep sound snarling in the shadows behind her. 
Whipping her head around with a wide eyed expression, her eyes flicked around the hallway for any glimpse of what made that sound. 
But she saw nothing. Not in the way shadows were nothing, dark patches of nothing, as in she saw nothing there. Had anything been lingering behind her, she would have at least caught or heard any movement. 
She paused for a second to take another look, only to still come up empty. Her foot warily continued its original path, figuring the sound must have been the cleaners dragging something against the floor. 
“Hey, Steven,” She called upon approaching the lobby where he’d be waiting, “Do you reckon I could owe you a coffee for my train fare? It’s just-”
Her voice cut out when she heard the low growl again, much louder this time. Loud enough to have her wince and stop in her tracks in the centre of the room. 
She caught sight of the navy blue jacket she knew too well walking backwards slowly, his eyes trained on something in the adjacent corridor. 
“Steven-” She whisper yelled, his panicked eyes snapping to hers, “What the hell is that-”
His arm raised out to point at the shadow illuminating the wall. Her gaze fixed on the shadow of a wild dog of sorts, its snout long and open in a fierce grin. She could practically see the outline of the drool dripping from its sharp teeth, at least she hoped it was saliva she thought gravely. 
Her breath left her instantly. What the fuck was that? Her knees felt as if they were about to buckle underneath her, calves going numb as the adrenaline flushed over her body in tidal waves. She was always a dog lover, she’d had two as a kid, but something told her whatever kind of beast this was, it was not nearly as friendly as a tamed canine would be. 
And it seemed Steven realised it too as he was quick to cower behind a display of an ancient relic clutching his bag to his chest tightly. 
His frantic eyes pleaded for her to move, but she seemed frozen to the spot. 
The overhead tannoy rang melodically, as if God was preparing to make the announcement that they were truly fucked, something she didn’t need a bulletin to know. 
“Steven Grant of the gift shop.” The sound of that familiar voice had her heart plummeting into her gut that twisted painfully. Did this guy have attack dogs or something? How had he gotten them past security? They looked huge. “Give me the scarab and the two of you won’t be torn apart,”
The scarab? Everything Steven had said about his dream was true. And if that was true then that meant this guy was a nut job capable of having his entire team hunt her down for so much as associating with poor Steven who looked as lost as she felt. 
The shadow moved, shifting around the corner of the hall to enter the open lobby. A scratch-like sound found her ears, as if someone were running knives over a cold slab, and she realised with a shiver this thing must have claws.  
And they were approaching. 
An open mouthed growl echoed through the room, which only served to confuse her even more. From the volume alone she knew the thing was big, and in the very same room as her. Which meant she surely should be able to see it as she could see the entire length of the room it had to be walking down. 
But that was the thing. There was nothing there. 
“Steven,” She whimpered quietly. It was stupid, making that noise and attracting attention to herself. But she was scared. She wanted to know what to do. Wanted comfort that she wasn't going insane, that maybe this was all a practical joke and there really was nothing there. 
A second set of razor sharp nails entered the room from the same direction, yet again she could only decipher that on sound alone. The chorus of snarls that only got closer did nothing but have her step back on instinct. 
“Steven-” She said again, only to see him standing in a rush. 
“RUN!” He yelled, taking off towards the exit. 
She didn’t need to see the dogs to know they were in the way of her and the same route Steven had taken, so she settled for scrambling back the way she came. The black heels she wore for work to seem professional only proved to be useless when running from wild animals, it seemed. Who’d have thought it? 
Her feet pounded down the maze of exhibits, trying to make it to the exit where Steven had headed towards. But for every one step she took, two paws advanced on her like an apex predator heading for its kill. 
Which she no doubt would be. 
Turning past the Anubis exhibit her stomach dropped when she heard a strong body colliding with the same wall she had practically skidded past. Her lungs burnt with effort, her breaths coming out in wheezes. She had one last turn and before she would be seconds away from the fire exit that she could barricade from the outside. 
The feeling of the dog’s hot breath on the back of her ankles had her pushing herself harder, too scared to look over her shoulder. She was coming up to where the hallway split into two and she headed for the right where she was sure the back exit was. She couldn’t help but wish Steven was able to outrun the mutt on his own heels, having not heard from him since she had taken off in separate directions. 
Taking the turning past a remaining chunk of what was once a Cleopatra statue, her eyes adjusted to the dark corridor. Where were the slab paintings of the sphinx? Where were the memorials to King Tut? They should be here, they’re always next to this exit-
Her chest constricted when she realised her mistake. Her grave mistake.
In the panic of escaping the creature, she had taken the wrong turning. She should have gone left. 
Yet judging by the way the animal grunted with the effort of the chase, she had no option but forward. 
Forward to a dead end. To the Setekh exhibit room. 
The walls were alive with paintings recovered from ancient tombs. The god of Storms, among other things, was feared through all of Egypt in the later dynasty. He was associated with all things evil, mysterious and disordered. The huge altar that held the statue of Set, his long face foreboding and as cold as the stone it was preserved in, looked down at her in almost malice as her feet took her into the one place she had left to go. 
It wasn’t until she felt the walls surrounding her, the penny dropped how fucked she was. There was no way out, no cutting back the way she came as the creature ran into the vast room with her. Dodging one of the plinths containing statues of the demon god, she had barely a second where her pace slowed down as she considered how she was going to turn back before she felt it. 
A force stronger than a freight train hit her from behind. She heard every molecule of air get pushed from her lungs at the sheer weight of it, her throat audibly yelping. Its body collided with hers with a weight that she was sure must be pure muscle, and she was thrown to the hard floor with less effort than a child tossing a ragdoll. 
The impact had her ribs rattling in her chest, brain bouncing against her now bleeding forehead. The cold floor was harsh against her raw skin. Her nose made a loud pop as it smashed against the marble, a hot sting erupting over her entire face.
But the worst was yet to come. 
There was a moment when she was collecting her thoughts, head spinning from the collision. She was sure she’d damaged something in her skull as it pounded, harder than it ever had with any hangover. 
She’d give anything to be back on her sofa feeling sorry for herself. 
She hadn’t the time to pick herself back up when she felt something large do it for her. It must have been eight feet tall with how big its behemoth paws were as the one grabbed her leg and dragged her on her stomach towards itself. Like a cat playing with a mouse. Not ready to devour, not yet. Just playing. Torturing. Tormenting. 
Then came the claws. Her eyes looked down at her ribs, the thin air surrounding them making her cry out in horror - there still wasn’t a fucking soul in sight. No dog, or animal. Or human even. Nothing. Yet her shirt ripped almost too easily as it let out a deep hiss of what she would call a near laugh and sunk its talons into her side. 
That was when she started screaming. 
Her throat hurt from the volume alone, a banshee shriek akin to a horror movie. It reverberated through the museum halls, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. 
Vision started slipping then. Whether it was panic or her mind protecting her from what was coming next she didn’t know, but all she knew was everything felt weightless for a moment. 
She thought maybe she was dying and ascending at that moment there and then. But she wasn't so lucky. She was still being made this creature's bitch as the God of chaos watched. What beautifully horrible irony.
It was then that it clicked in her stress-addled brain that she was not in fact weightless. That the reason she felt so was because she was now being suspended midair by the thing that had her in its vicious grasp. 
It took shockingly little effort for the creature to throw her through the wall-sized fortified glass surrounding the monolith and for her whole body to crumple to the floor. 
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Steven slammed the bathroom door shut with a panting “Oh God”, his coffee brown eyes never leaving the thick metal that shook with the weight of the monster throwing itself at it violently. 
What the fuck was his next move? What even was that thing? He retreated further into the bathroom with a lost expression, clutching his arms for a semblance of comfort. 
“Steven,” The man in the mirror spoke in the same American accent he’d been hearing in his own home. 
Looking at his reflection, he was agog to find the man identical to him moving on his own, as if independent from Steven himself. That was not his reflection, he knew that much, no matter how much it looked like it. “Steven, I can save us,” He said darkly, his eyes and frown much meaner than any expression Steven would ever wear. 
The way he stood was entirely different too, as if he were bigger in stature despite being encased in the exact same body as Steven was. 
“W-What?” Steven whispered, backing away from the door that weakened by the second. 
He thought of Dove. Had she been able to get away, run out the front door and get help from anyone who would believe her? He hated the thought of those adorable little heels she wore clattering against the floor, he wouldn’t be surprised if they’d slowed her down. He always heard women complaining about walking in heels let alone running from fucking monsters in them. 
Where was she?
“But I can’t have you fightin’ me this time,” He had felt like he’d been playing tug-of-war with his body for some time. But against what, he hadn’t known. His own reflection? This man staring back at him in the mirror with a scowl he knew wasn’t plastered on his own expression? “You need to give me control. You understand?”
He swivelled on his heel to see the man in the full length looking glass behind him, who seemed to tower over him in frame. 
“No, what? Control of what? What are you talking about?” Steven bumbled, his eyes looking over the stranger’s shoulder to see the door shaking on its hinges now. Dents were appearing now where the monster was caving its way into the bathroom, and one look at the length of its claws told Steven all he needed to know. He stood no chance against this thing alone. 
“That thing’s about to break through the door. We’re out of time.” The man said, realising their predicament as much as he did. This couldn’t be real. This had to be a dream, the lot of it. The entire day. From that Harrow guy to the idea that he could possibly lose her to some ancient wild dog. 
“No! No!” Steven cried, flinching as the door clattered one more time, the frame whining with the effort at which it held the assailant at bay. 
“All right, hey. Listen to me,” The mirror man tried to reason, but Steven was panicking too much to hear him. 
“Dammit, no! Stop it!” Steven slapped himself around the face a few times, begging with anything listening to wake him up from the worst nightmare he’d had yet. The image of her being chased by that thing wouldn’t leave his welled up eyes. He wanted to run to her, god knows he would have if that thing hadn’t been stood in between the two of them, blocking his way to her. “This is not real! You’re not real!”
“This is real. I’m real.” The man spoke calmly, as if a diametrical opposite to his own mood. He seemed to know more about what was happening, what that thing was, what it could do. Perhaps that was why Harrow had been chasing him in the first place.
Either way, Steven didn’t care. Not now at least. When the only person outside of his parents that he had ever held affection for was in danger. Imminent danger. 
“No! You’re not,” Steven yelled back at his reflection through tears. 
It was then he heard the screaming. A howl of visceral pain enough to rattle his bones at the familiar feminine tone to the voice. 
It was her. 
It was like nothing he’d ever heard, like an animal in a slaughterhouse. He trembled in his place at the thought. She was in danger. Oh god it had her. 
“I’m gonna die- She’s gonna die-” Steven whimpered, the tears rolling down his olive cheeks at the thought. He really was useless. 
“Steven, look at me.” He finally listened to his reflection with a pitied sniff, “You’re not gonna die, I can save us. But she is if you don’t give me control right now. Let me save her, okay?”
That was the straw that broke Steven’s resolve, the idea of her dying. He had never found it so easy to concede.
He just hoped the man using his body got to her in time. 
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She felt someone picking up her limp body. The museum lights had long since been shut off, but through the darkness of the exhibition she caught a tall figure standing over her. Her lids were heavy, vision bleary, yet she blinked a few times to try and straighten her mind that still felt like it was pulsing stiffly in her tight skull. Her voice was no better, the only sound she could let out was a guttural whine as the stranger pressed hard on the three deep lacerations on her abdomen that were now gushing blood like a scene from a 90s slasher movie.
They were broad, blocking out the minimal slither of light as they crouched over her and seemed to be yelling something. Probably scolding her for getting copious amounts of thick blood over the freshly mopped floors, she thought numbly. The sound came to her in something akin to static, a muffled string of nonsense. All she knew was they were talking loud and fast. Or maybe she had a concussion too? That thing had thrown her through that glass wall pretty hard. 
She couldn’t see a mouth moving, nor could she actually see their face, just two beams of white blinking down at her. 
This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be happening for real. She thought maybe someone had slipped something in her drink when she was at the club, but that was two days ago. There would be no reason for her to be feeling the effects only just now. And when she had been jumped on by one of those things she’d sure as hell felt it. She'd seen it with her own two eyes the way her clothes had been ripped as something plunged its claws deep into her, heard the air whoosh out her lungs as it hurled her through the glass wall. 
She’d felt, still felt, the open wound seeping so harshly that she knew it was going to be fatal. 
There was no coming back from whatever fever dream this was. 
She blinked again up at the mystery guy who seemed to be holding her heavy head gently, but the hot, red wetness on his hands that smeared on her cheek said he also knew how fucked she was. He was muttering something, was there someone else here? Oh god, where was Steven? 
“Steve-” Came her broken murmur, but the metallic taste crawling its way up her throat cut her off as a blob of viscid blood rolled down her chin. 
“He’s here, he’s okay. It’s gonna be okay,” Said the voice back to her, his grasp on her hair tightening as she garbled. The breath, life, was leaving her now. Every time she tried to get air into her lungs, she was met with more of the thick liquid spraying into her mouth, her chest retching for oxygen.
She didn’t have long left, she realised numbly. 
The room was blackening round the edges even more now, sped up by the way she felt her hands grabbing his arm in a panic. She’d thought she would welcome the cold hands of Death, it wasn’t a stranger in her home. Death rooted himself in her very soul, and yet as it dragged her under consciousness, she couldn’t help but feel like a scared little girl and she tried to cling onto the mystery figure as if he could keep her from Death’s greedy clutches. 
It was sweet poetry, knowing she was drowning from the inside out. She had always known her biggest monster lay within her, in her every cell, festering and rotting her, since the moment she was born. There was really no other perfect way to sum up her whole life than it ending this way, choking on her own body. Grabbing onto a stranger, trying to plead for help as a few precious tears wet her face and she realised she was crying. Scared, vulnerable to her own demise like she had always known she would be. 
How do you fight off a monster coming from within? You don't. You can’t. So she didn’t. 
No amount of soft words or desperate touches on the figure helped her, it only made the departure messier, a bigger pool of blood for them to find her in.
The world felt surprisingly calm the moment she was snatched ruthlessly into Death’s open arms.
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Murder Daddy Kinktober 2023 Day 28 You trying to get me fired? 
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NSFW 18+ minors DNI. Warnings: Office AU/Lawyer AU, Office romance/sex, co-workers, sexual tension, voyeurism, fingering, dirty talk, the whole office definitely heard, unprotected PiV (wrap it up folks). Let me know if I missed anything!
Unproofed, yolo I needed to get it posted.
Word count: 1578
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You saunter into Miguel’s office, blouse undone just enough to show off your cleavage and a whisper of your pale blue lace bra. Your tight pencil skirt hugs your hips as you drop the take-away box of empanadas on the desk. 
“Layla said you haven’t moved from your desk since seven this morning, thought I’d make sure you aren’t going to keel over at the three o’clock.” 
Miguel doesn’t look up from his computer screens, lost in the legal brief you know is up on both his monitors. His one hand is scribbling away on one of those artists tablets that allow you to draw digitally. But instead of creating art, he’s annotating evidence and marking pages to go back to with you after the meeting. 
“You’re welcome, hijo de puta.”
You grumble under your breath as you turn to walk out, your hand is on the doorknob as you hear the growl from behind you. 
“You tryin’ to get me fired muñeca?” 
There it is. 
You hear the hungry rasp in his voice accented by the sound of his desk chair being rolled back; it hits the wall with a crack, and you smile to yourself. Is today the day you finally get Miguel to snap? To take what you both know is his, and only his? 
You twist the doorknob, pulling the door open only for it to be slammed shut. A broad palm slaps against the wood as you feel him crowd you from behind. 
“Couldn’t have just asked me to fuck you like a good girl, could you?” Miguel’s lips ghost along your exposed neck, his breath fanning across your skin in short, hot bursts. 
“You know I’m not one to beg, Miggy.”
“God, you’re fucking annoying.”
 Miguel says, almost softly, as he slides his free hand down your thigh, dragging it back up slowly before slipping his thick fingers under the hem of your skirt. You struggle to stay still, heart pounding in your chest as your cunt throbs in anticipation. 
“Careful, we’ve got that meeting later.” 
You purr as you feel the fabric strain as he yanks it up. You moan softly as he licks a stripe up the column of your neck, and you feel his lips pull up into a smirk against your skin. The sound of your skirt tearing makes you hiss, and you try to push back against Miguel. 
“Don’t be a brat, I know you have another outfit in your office down the hall.” 
He pushes you flat against the door now, your cheek pressed against the hard surface as he pins you with his large form. You can feel the press of his cock against the seam of your ass, and you whimper as he rips the rest of the fabric away.
“Look at that.” Miguel purrs as he pulls your lacy panties down just enough to expose your dripping core to the air-conditioned chill of the office. You cry out as he runs his knuckles through your wet folds, gathering your slick over his fingers.
“You finally gonna give in and fuck me, Miguel? Taken you long enough.”
“Mierda, can’t keep your mouth shut, can you?” He grunts as he pushes two thick fingers inside you, giving you no time to adjust. The burn is sinful, and you can’t help but whimper at the stretch. You grind back against his hand instinctively as he fucks you with his fingers. curling them up to press into your g-spot. 
“Miggy, fuck, better than I could have imagined.” 
“Oh?” He presses you up against the door with his whole body as he picks up the pace, the breath is forced out of your lungs as he smothers you with his body, “You been thinking about how I’d fuck you muñeca? How often, tell me.” 
“Fuck.” You groan as he grinds his palm against your aching clit. You’re pinned under him, completely at his mercy as he unravels you with his thick fingers and scathing tone. 
“Answer me.” 
His hand stills inside you and you whine at the lack of friction. You try and move against him, but you’re pinned too tightly against the door. Your walls flutter around his fingers buried inside you and he hums in approval as he licks a flat, broad stripe against your skin, driving you closer to the edge. 
“All the fucking time.” You wheeze through clenched teeth and that only makes him laugh, a low, barking sound. 
“Fucking slut, you touch yourself when you think about me?”
“You fucking know I do Miggy, been trying to get you to do this for months.” 
You’re rewarded for your sass with a sharp, loud crack, as Miguel spanks you hard with his free hand, the pain sending ripples of pleasure straight to your core. 
“I’m a firm believer in consent baby, can’t give you what you want if you don’t use your words to ask for it like a good girl.”
“You’re such an asshole.” You grumble as your fingers scrape on the lacquered wood of the door. 
“Well?” 
“Miguel, please, put your cock in me.” You bite through your pride as you beg. You’re so close, and all you want is for him to finally give in to you. Fuck you like you deserve, pressed against his office door like a whore. 
His fingers leave you and you groan in protest at the way your pussy clenches around nothing, the emptiness maddening as you try and squirm against him. Relief washes over you as you hear the clink of his belt mere seconds before he nudges his head against your entrance from behind. 
“Was that so hard?” He scoffs as he asks with all the smugness you deserve as he notches himself at your needy core, holding himself there for a few agonising seconds before he eases into you. 
“Fu-uck.” Is all you can muster as he drives his thick length inside. You pant and moan at the burning stretch of his thick cock. He takes his time, filling you up, pausing, letting you adjust, before pressing into your once more. 
“Such a tight little cunt, been holding out on me.” Miguel growls as he finally fills you to the hilt, both of you panting and gasping as he sits heavily inside you. 
“Please, Miguel, fuck me.” 
“There it is.” 
Miguel’s fingers press firm marks into your hips as he pulls almost all the way out and you whimper at the way his cock rakes through your slick walls. You let your hand fall to your clit, not caring if Miguel’s ego would be bruised or not, you’re beyond letting men, even men like Miguel, from dictating your pleasure. 
“Fucking dirty girl, I love it,” He growls as he notices what you’re doing, “Was going to take it slow, touch you myself, but I love that you just take what you fuckin’ want.” 
Miguel starts to thrust into you harder, pulling almost all the way out, before snapping his hips forward to fill you to the brim. You cry out as pleasure arcs through you like tongues of flame, a desperate push and pull as you let him use you. 
“Where do you want me?” 
He pants against the column of your neck as his pace quickens, his thrusts getting sloppy as he kneads the swell of your ass, no doubt leaving bruises where his fingertips press into your flesh. 
“Inside, I’ve got an implant, come inside me, please.” You whine as your fingers press just right on your clit as you rub frantically against the swollen bundle of nerves. 
Miguel groans low in your ear as he fucks you so hard the door rattles violently beneath you. But you don’t care about who hears, you’re sure half the office are rolling their eyes as they hear the evidence of your months-long sexual tension finally coming to fruition. 
“Fuck going to come, fill this sweet little-!” Miguel’s sentence is cut off by the guttural snarl that rips from his lips as he buries himself deep inside you as he comes. You cry out as the blinding rush of your orgasm rips through you, your cunt clenching around Miguel’s cock as you milk him dry. You pant heavily into the air as Miguel presses soft, tender kisses to your shoulder as you both come down from your high. 
Eventually Miguel breaks the silence.
“So, you still keep that pant suit in the second desk drawer?” 
“Of course you fucking know where it is.” You huff out a laugh as he eases out of you, his spend already trickling down your leg. 
“When are you going to learn muñeca? You can’t hide a thing from me.” 
“Asshole.” You groan as you use your torn skirt to clean up the worse of the mess before sliding your panties back into place. 
“Got that right, now stay put.” He smirks at you as he eases the door open to slip through, giving you the dignity of not being laid bare to the office floor. 
“Not like I can go anywhere!” You shout after him and you shake your head as the door clicks shut behind him. You shuffle over to his desk and perch on the edge, looking over at the screens to see a hand written message on a blank document. 
Stop being so stubborn, and we can do this again sometime.
“Asshole.” You say to yourself, already formulating a plan to get back at him. 
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whatthefishh · 11 months
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Rydal Keener x f!Reader
Summary: You got into Harvard, based on your own merit. Rydal was a legacy kid and pissed you off every chance he could get. AKA the 90s University AU I spent two full days working on.
Words: 7k+
Warnings: NSFW, oral sex (m and f receiving), p in v, cream pie, Rydal is a cunt lmfao, a lot of run on sentences and overly describing situations because you just had to be there
Series Masterlist
———-
It all starts during homecoming. 
Well, sort of. 
That’s when you met him.
\\\
“I didn’t even want to go to school here, you know. Fucking bullshit,” you heard someone say. 
You bristled at the thought that someone would want to turn down the posh ivy university that you somehow managed to get a scholarship to. You had busted your ass for your grades and extracurriculars, balancing being on the school paper and being top of your class just for the chance to apply to Harvard. And here this prep kid was, complaining that this wasn’t his top choice. The privilege was pouring out of him like a faucet.
“Didn’t your dad bribe you though? He bought you a new car. Like, the exact car you’ve been whining about,” the taller boy said.
“It wasn’t a bribe–”
“And! Didn’t you get a custom licence plate? Something that had to do with Greek mythology or some shit–”
“You’re a fucking idiot,” the snooty boy sniffed. “He chose the plate. Wanted everyone to know who it actually belonged to.”
“Well– yeah. Still, we’re legacies. May as well use it to our advantage.”
You were listening so closely that when someone behind you in the crowd of students bumped you too hard, your drink spilled on the taller boy’s shoes. Not a lot, but enough to embarrass you in front of the clearly well-off duo. They both turned around to look at you at the same time, the shared weight of their accusatory gaze shrinking you even further, if that was even possible.
Chester, the taller boy whose name you had come to learn after hearing the snooty boy refer to him as such, threw a fit about the now dried cranberry stain on his crisp white Sperry’s, which he had apparently just purchased. 
The other boy, the one who didn’t want to go to school here, was watching you amusedly the whole time, his lids low as he slowly took in your appearance while you were stuttering out an apology to Chester. You didn’t notice how he was watching you until he interrupted you and said that it was fine. That he’d buy his friend another pair, to which you did a double take, catching his winning smile. That ten kilowatt smile probably got him out of a lot of situations, and he was aiming it at you now. For what, you didn’t know. He was genuinely very handsome. In a classic, old money kind of way. Sweaters around his shoulders, Ray-Ban wearing, summer in the Hampton's kind of way. To be honest, it just made you dislike him more. The uncomfortable feeling spreading over your body in goosebumps under his stare, most likely manifesting into a cringe-worthy blush across your cheeks. 
You needed to get away. Hopefully, this was a one-off and you’d never have to see or speak to them ever again. After an uncomfortable ten or so seconds of silence, you turned on your heel and walked into the crowd, not bothering to catch the other boy’s name.
///
The distinct smell of his expensive cologne hit your nose before you saw him again. 
Looking up from the list detailing the books you needed for your semester, you stopped short as someone cut in front of you in the aisle of the campus bookstore. The back of his head rang familiar but you couldn’t place him, until he grabbed something off the shelf – the last copy of The Communist Manifesto in his hands – and turned to give you a smug smirk when your eyes connected. You couldn’t help but flick your eyes back and forth between his eyes and the title in his hand, the same book you needed for your Perspectives of Politics course. And he’d just taken the last copy available.
“I…I was going to buy that,” your voice came out weaker than intended.
“Were you?” he was still smiling at you, infuriatingly. 
“Yeah, right before you jumped in front of me. It’s the last one in stock.”
“Hmm. Didn’t see you reaching for it. Guess you’ll just have to order it online then.”
You grit your teeth together, trying to go for polite but by the way his eyes lit up at your jaw clicking, you were having a hard time keeping it together.
“Come on, they’re like double the price online, I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt daddy’s wallet. Let me have this one!”
You grimaced as soon as the words left your mouth. They were ugly and not the way you wanted to carry yourself at a prestigious school such as Harvard, especially not to someone whose parent was a faculty member. 
He arches a brow and takes a deep breath in before tilting his head back and staring down his nose at you. He wasn’t much taller than you, not really, but he held himself with such distinction that you couldn’t help but feel three feet shorter. 
“Listen, I don’t know what backwater town you came from, but we don’t use those words around here unless you’re moaning about it.”
God, you hated him. You wanted the floor to swallow you up so you could disappear from this awkward fucking moment. 
Narrowing your eyes at him, your tongue once again got you in trouble, “Motherfucker,” you whispered incredulously. 
“No, my name is Rydal. But you were close.” 
He shook his head, the smug look back on his face as he walked away from you, leaving you to gape at the empty aisle trying to rewind time. 
\\\
You only realize he’s in your class when midterms come around, seeing him show up to write an exam for a course he’s never attended in person.
You avoid him, casting your eyes downward until you pass by him, too ashamed of your last conversation all those weeks ago to even look him in the eye. 
He finishes the exam quicker than someone should be able to for someone who hasn’t attended a single lecture. It’s almost questionable. Until you see several other students get up around the same time as him, leaving a good two thirds of the lecture hall still full. You’re still around the halfway point of the exam, and trying your best to remember what it was you read about capitalism and Marx, and but the moment from the bookstore comes to mind, your thoughts unintentionally drifting to Rydal again. His deep set eyes watching you from atop his aristocratic nose, lips parting curiously, temptingly–
You’re writing an exam, for fuck’s sake. Shaking your head and blinking rapidly to get rid of the thoughts (read: thots) you were having, you shifted your attention back to the papers in front of you. 
You double checked everything before handing it in, well before the last third of students finished. A small part of you bitterly wondered how he had managed to finish so quickly, but you again didn’t let yourself brood for too long.
///
You didn’t see him but you saw Chester in the library once, kicking the printer in an attempt to make it work after jamming for the umpteenth time. 
You made eye contact after he had just done so, your body freezing at the exact moment your eyes met inadvertently and making your library trip last half as long as you initially intended. If you were being honest with yourself, which honestly you were, way too often and mostly to your detriment, you high-tailed it out of there out of fear of running into Rydal. If Chester was around, you could safely bet that he was probably nearby, the two frenemies often spending their free time together. 
Planning on finishing your paper in your dorm, you made your way back, secretly hoping your roommate wasn’t there. You had no problems with her, she was actually really nice to you and often wordlessly gave you snacks if she saw you skipping meals. The thing was…
Your roommate started smoking weed and thought she was being slick about it. She wasn’t.
The smell of it followed her in the dorm, leaving its teeth marks in the sweaters she left around, in the bathroom where she would spend an hour in the shower washing it out of her hair, and in her bed sheets when she’d come back from god knows where smoking up. 
There was one night when she came back with some gummies for you to share, since she noticed you being on edge and wanted to help, bless her. You kindly refused, since you were in the middle of crying about your grades, but appreciated the thought nonetheless. 
Your midterm came back with a lower grade than you expected. Your project partner didn’t finish their part of the assignment, forcing you to do most of it yourself. You were going to get a lower grade than you wanted, than you needed to keep your scholarship. You had to get at least a 90% on the final to keep your average where it needed to be. How the fuck were you supposed to accomplish that? What with the stress of managing your finances and trying to blend in to this stupid crowd, most of the kids around you not having to even think about any of the shit that was on your mind. 
You couldn’t fail, you weren’t allowed the same slip ups half of the students around you were allowed. Not only could you barely afford your meals on campus, but you were skipping dinner some days, desperate to make it to the end. It’s not like you could ask anyone at home for help, that was a write-off. You were here off your own merit and volition. You and you alone. You thought about all your peers who had help getting here, jealousy rising like bile in your throat. You needed this more than them. And yet you felt hopeless when you thought back to the pre-requisite course you were failing.
Okay, fine. Not failing, just falling below the mark you needed.
Which you tried explaining to your roommate. Her casual suggestion made you stop crying immediately, turning to her in confusion.
“Why don’t you just buy an answer key?”
What. The. Fuck.
“What the fuck?”
“Yeah, like the answer key to the final. I’m sure someone has it.”
“Like… you mean like someone’s selling the answers to the exams we’ve been writing? Like… a student? Isn’t that against school rules?”
She laughed and looked at you like you’d grown two heads.
“Of course it’s against school rules, that’s why you have to be careful who you ask. Honestly, how have you been getting by this whole time? Don’t tell me you’ve actually been doing every single reading?” she asked you as if the mere thought of it was ridiculous.
You just stared at her in stunned silence, a little bashfully when you had no reason to be. 
“Oh honey, go ask Rydal, I’m sure he has it.”
Now you were going to scream.
“W-what?” you were struggling to wrap your head around it. The same Rydal whose father was a professor at the school, the same Rydal who left the exam early for a class he never fucking showed up for – that scumbag was cheating and still had the audacity to steal the last copy of the book you needed right out of your stingy hands. 
The sound of your roommate talking faded into noise as you were thinking about all the times you felt less than, and all the times you stayed up late in the library studying, trying to prove yourself to your professors and peers when all this time half the student body was probably buying their way through school and doing the bare minimum.
You realize she’s been droning on about how cute he was today, and how kindly he offered to roll her weed for her when she bought the dime off him and it occurred to you that she was still talking about Rydal. Her weed dealer, Rydal. 
A thought occurred to you. 
“Where’s his dorm?” you adopted a fake tone of cheerful curiosity. 
She adapted to your change in diction better than you could’ve hoped for really, giving you the information you were looking for and feeling altruistic about herself in the process.
He opened his door with an air of boredom, masking his surprise at finding you there – your eyes probably red from crying, hands wringing in front of you – and leaning against it with his arms crossed, looking you up and down before asking, “can I help you?” with a twist of his lips.
Taking a deep breath and trying not to literally twiddle your thumbs, you start explaining how you need at least a 90 on the exam to keep your GPA, trying to skirt around the topic of maintaining your scholarship. For whatever reason, you felt the need to hide your financial status in front of him, and you were already here groveling for his help. You didn’t need to hand over your dignity on a silver platter for him. 
Halfway through your monologue, he opens the door more fully for you, signaling for you to enter with a slight tilt of his head. Looking around his dorm, you take in the frames and posters lining his walls; the stack of books next to his extremely comfortable looking bed; his mostly cleared desk; an acoustic guitar half hidden behind it; and a hefty looking filing cabinet with a lock. It was much loftier than yours looked, even with the lived in state. His worn but expensive denim jacket hung off the chair at his desk, and you briefly wondered what the hell his deal was. Why was this rich kid with daddy issues acting out in a clear violation of several campus rules and regulations, pulling out a spliff from behind his ear to rest between his lips and light it up lazily in front of you? 
“D’you wanna hit?” he asks, blowing the smoke out as he watches you gingerly look around for somewhere to sit. You shake your head ‘no’, tugging at the hem of your Harvard t-shirt. 
“Take a seat, I have to find the copy,” he says gesturing to his unmade bed. 
So you do, you sit in the same place his body had been prior to you knocking on his door and you can tell by the traces of cologne you pick up as soon as you sit down.
You try not to stare as he’s bent over the heavy duty cabinet, rifling through the folders - criminally organised, this one – until he finds the one he’s looking for and turns around to catch you staring at his bum, your eyes widening as they meet his a second too late. 
"Y'know, you look good like that,” he says, leaning his hip against the cabinet and looking at you down his nose again, his lids laying low over his brown eyes. 
"Like what?" you ask, despite you already having a feeling where he was going with this. 
Rydal smiles, like you played into his hand exactly like he wanted you to.
"Sitting on my bed."
"Just give me the photocopies, Rydal."
"Alright, alright,” you stood up to grab them from his outstretched hand, more than ready to leave his cave of horrors. 
Except he doesn't let go when you grab them. 
"How much?"
He still hasn’t let go; you’re at an impasse with how to proceed. Looking up at him with a slight panicked look, he concedes, finally releasing the paper from his grip.
"For you? Nothing, for now.”
“The fuck does that mean?”
“Means you owe me one,” he said with an unethical twist of his pink lips. 
"I don't know how I feel about that."
"I have a feeling you'll like the way it feels,” he was ushering you out now, his hand on the small of your back raising goosebumps in its wake. Once in the hallway again, you turned around poised to dish it back but he didn’t give you the chance. Rydal winked at you before swinging his door shut in your face, leaving you half confused and half flustered at his blatant flirting and somewhat generosity. 
///
The next time you see Rydal is at a frat party that your roommate somehow convinced you to go to. She had insisted you needed a night out, a normal university experience she had called it, ever since she found out about your long study hours. Apparently, she had thought you were seeing someone and that’s why you were out late, not because you’d been holed up in the library this whole time. So she took it upon herself to throw some of her clothes at you, more expensive than anything you owned, albeit shorter and tighter. 
“This isn’t my size,” you tried to tell her from inside the bathroom you shared. 
“Yes, it is, stop being dumb and let me see,” she was being nice, you reminded yourself.
Groaning, you opened the door to reveal the kitschy micro pleated skirt she had lent you with the thigh high socks, to go with it. You felt ridiculous, but by the way her eyes lit up at the sight of you, you were made to believe that it was a good look, despite the irony of the academia look gone wrong, all things considered. 
Before she could drag you out any further, you managed to swipe your oversized denim jacket to throw on top for the chill November air, letting her drone on about how she wants to find you a guy tonight. 
The party was being held in a dated building on campus, hosting one of the many fraternities that Harvard has to offer, and of course, one of the many yearly gatherings where students come together to make terrible, horrible decisions together. The structure itself is historically beautiful from the outside, if one were to ignore the trashed students huddled together in swaying groups as the speakers from within the house blared out Hypnotize. There were shouts coming from inside the house, a constant stream of students going to and fro, and someone was most definitely throwing up in the hedge. 
Linking her arm through yours so she wouldn’t lose you to the throngs of people, your roommate pulled you through, ending up at the drinks table.
“Pick your poison,” she urged you, before turning and saying hello to a bunch of people you didn’t know, leaving you alone for a minute before he descended upon you.
“Step on me, would ya?” his soft voice was closer to your ear than you expected anyone to be. 
Your head whipped around and even his eyes widened at seeing your face, not having known it was you from behind. 
“Are you lost or something?” you scoffed at him. 
“Oh my god, Rydal! So good to see you,” your roommate swooped in at just the right time, stepping between you two to hug him, a hug that he returned though he kept his eyes on you the whole time. “You two know each other, right?”
He cleared his throat before smiling and nodding at her, answering all her socialite questions before seeing someone he knew across the room and taking his leave. You knew this outfit was a bad idea. 
“Babe, I’m gonna go dance with Sebastian over there, is that okay? He keeps smiling at me and– don’t look at me like that, I’ll be back soon, I promise, okay?” 
You felt bad, not wanting to keep her from having fun so you assured her you’d be fine, busying yourself with your drink and finding something to snack on. Which led you to search for the food table, it was bound to be here somewhere. Near the drinks is where they usually set it up, right? It should be here – 
He was already staring when your gaze landed on him, looking at you through his lashes from across the room, his index finger resting on his tongue as he licked off whatever food was leftover on it. You felt your cheeks heat as he didn’t look away, the pink of his mouth wrapping around his finger now and making a show out of cleaning it while he looked you up and down. 
Oh, fuck him, you needed some space. The back door was nowhere to be seen so you pivoted and took the stairs two steps at a time in your rush to find the bathroom. After brushing past some older, more inebriated students draped over each other in the hallway, you found an unoccupied bedroom, rather nondescript and clean to belong to this house, at least. Stripping yourself of your jean jacket, you tossed it somewhere near the door. Taking a few breaths to steady your racing heart, you tried to shake the tantalizing image of him and his perfect mouth out of your head, the way his lips wrapped around his finger and leaving behind a trail of spit–
The door swung open and you were about to apologize, presumably to the resident of whoever’s room you were occupying but the words died on your lips when you noticed it was him, closing the door behind him. 
You don’t have the energy to deal with whatever brand of crazy has him acting up tonight, his eyes drinking you in now that he has you cornered like a predator. Taking the moment to study the boy before you, to really study him, you notice he’s not really that tall and not really that imposing. The watch on his wrist looks old and worn, not like his flashy counterparts you thought he was similar to. His polo shirt, though obviously expensive judging by the material and the way it draped over his shoulders, was minimalistic in design. No logo, if any, was immediately visible, and you realized you wouldn’t have known about his ridiculous opinion of the institution if you weren’t eavesdropping that first day, and honestly? He’s probably someone you could have befriended upon first glance (or fallen for, but that’s neither here nor there).
You’re eyeing him with blatant distrust. He’s an asshole at times but his lips part as if he were about to speak and then thought better of it, cocking his head while searching for the right words and you’re waiting with baited breath, crossing your arms across your abdomen and inadvertently pushing your breasts up just enough, because why the fuck did he follow you up here?
He has the audacity to look a bit ashamed actually before deciding to press his fingers to his lips and not speak.
“You’re not going to say anything?” you manage.
He shakes his head and you can see the smile he's trying to hide behind his hand, “well I was going to, but I didn’t want to come off like a dick.” 
You narrow your eyes and sigh, “what? Just say it.”
“I wanted to cash in that favour, what with you looking like… well, like that.” His hand finally leaves his mouth to vaguely wave in the directions of your legs. 
///
So, you meant to put up more of a fight. 
Really.
You didn’t mean to give in to his stupid advances so easily, so wantonly, and you don’t even remember who moved first but you remember it being a damn good kiss. Rydal basically devoured your mouth, tongues fighting for dominance soon after your lips met with one hand cupping the back of your neck and the other pulling your body closer by your hip. You pushed his jacket off him while his hands reached under the hem of your top, fingers pressing into your skin. You finally had the opportunity to rake your fingers through his dark locks, causing him to moan into your mouth and bite your bottom lip in retaliation and you swore you could feel the vibrations in your fucking tonsils, your hips rocking into his and you could feel him–
Time seemed to blur, and suddenly you found yourself on your knees, his hands hurriedly unbuckling his belt while you looked up at him from below, his cheeks dusted pink. Massaging the head of his cock through his stupid corduroy pants, he whined under his breath, pushing your hand away to pull himself out of his briefs.
He’s so fucking thick. After unceremoniously pulling out his cock, he didn’t want to force you to do anything, his arms hanging awkwardly by his sides while you just blinked stupidly at it, watching the tip as it leaked out a drop of precum.
Rydal was watching you watch his cock, before you finally gripped the base and leaned forward to kitten lick the tip, and his hesitation flew out the window. His hand buried itself in your hair, not pushing but holding so gently, it was almost tender and it occurred to you that you wanted to wreck him.
Opening your mouth to let more of him in, you breathe in deeply through your nose until you feel him graze the back of your throat, hearing him stutter a breath when you do. Moving your mouth over him until the hilt, you repeated your movement, fingers tightly gripping his base and ignoring the way his thumb rubbed your cheek on every pass. You chanced a look up at him and saw his wild eyes watching you, groaning when your eyes met. His hips unintentionally thrust forward, hitting the back of your throat and causing you to swallow around the tip, both of you moaning at the same time. 
An ache is building in your jaw but you were determined to make him lose his shit, he drove you crazy and despite you being on your knees for him, you felt in control of the moment, taking pleasure from it. There was a throbbing between your thighs that you tried your hardest to ignore for the time being. 
He was whining now, and you continued to bob your head over his cock, obsessed with driving him further to the edge. Rydal made the prettiest noises, even his exhales were music to your ears and you were glad that you were completely sober enough to remember this, to remember how his head dropped back when you swirled your tongue around his fat tip, the sensitive spot underneath the head and you think he might come. You can't help but wonder if he'll taste any different having fed from a silver spoon all his life
Hes whining a lot now, please– so good j-just like that, God yes – you’re sure hes about to blow his load and you’re preparing yourself to take it as he starts bucking into your mouth but before he can the door swings open and none other than fucking Chester walks in and the moment’s diffused, dissolved, deflated, you’re on your feet faster than you realize and you grab your jacket from the floor as Chester guffaws at the scene. Your feet take you down the stairs and out of the house in a daze, you don’t hear Rydal calling your name behind you in your haste to leave and you see your roommate still with Sebastian, leaving her in his good hands as you make your way back to your dorm. 
Halfway through the Quadrangle you realize you weren’t wearing your own jacket, Rydal’s cologne wafting from it in the humid pre-rain atmosphere. Great, now you had a corporeal reminder of what just transpired. Out of everybody at that party to walk in on the two of you, it had to be his best friend, the one who he was probably going to dish all the dirty details to anyway. 
“Ughhhh!” you groaned once you reached your empty dorm room. 
The entire walk back was filled with images of Rydal, the way his hair felt between your hands, the way his thumb was softly caressing your cheek, the way he felt heavy in your mouth, the way his eyes looked at you like he couldn’t believe his reality. What a waste of your time, you thought bitterly. Neither of you even got the chance to finish what you started. 
Neatly folding the borrowed clothes on your roommates bed, you forced yourself to sleep, only able to nod off after several failed attempts to relieve the buildup between your thighs. 
///
The next two weeks went by uneventfully. Never mind you leaving your dorm for literally anything other than necessities. Classes ended a week before exams, the library was full at all hours, so you resigned yourself to studying in your bed and at your desk. Your roommate spent half her time at her desk and the other half at her new boyfriend’s dorm, Sebastian. That fateful night turned out in her favour, ironically.
She had actually asked you what happened and if you were okay, not having found you after your pathetic runaway stunt. 
“Uhh, I had a really bad acid trip. Ended up here, no memory of how.” 
She nodded at you solemnly, her hand coming to rest on your shoulder comfortingly as if you’d just told her someone in your family had died. 
Rydal’s jacket rests on the back of your chair, the smell of it lingering, both comforting and disconcerting at the same time. You’re bad at lying to yourself so you’ve come to terms with the fact that you enjoyed what happened between you two at the party and felt real regret that you couldn’t finish what you started, going home empty handed. Like a kid at the carnival with no prize, it was stolen from you at the last second and you had to leave before letting them see how badly you wanted it. 
And you did, you wanted him so badly. You almost hate yourself for acknowledging it but when you closed your eyes he was all you could see, his face moments before coming down your throat. Studying in a perpetual state of horniness wasn’t doing you any favours either. You had taken to going for early morning runs to get rid of the itch under your skin, having given up on trying to relieve it yourself. 
The answer key worked, flawlessly of course. You still studied, you weren’t completely undignified in your cheating. It’s not like you were behind in the course, so you did your due diligence and it turned out in your favour. You hung around after finishing, double checking your work and then handing it in with the first half of the class and leaving the examination room with a pep in your step. Once again your thoughts strayed to Rydal, and how you should thank him for his help but then memories of your thanks came to mind and you decided he already got his dues.
Still, you had his jacket. You should probably take it back, all things considered. You turned in your seat to check the tag, curious as to how much it cost him. No doubt that it cost more than half your closet – Balmain. 
Okay, upon first glance it was just a basic denim jacket, but now that you knew it was designer, you noticed the detailing, the strong hardware and clean top stitching that held it together. A quick google search told you it cost him nearly $3,000 and you’re rendered speechless that he hasn’t come knocking down your door and calling you a thief. 
Your leg starts bouncing under your desk, his cologne somehow more fragrant while the words on your laptop screen stop making sense, jumbling together as your mind screams at you to return the jacket at once.
///
Twenty minutes later you’re knocking on his door.
You speed walked here, his jacket in hand. Yes, it was cold outside, but you braved the wind and refused to put the denim on, based entirely on principle and fear that you’d be billed in case anything happened to it while you wore it. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you tried to listen to the shuffling behind his door. What if he wasn’t home? What if he was and didn’t want to see you? What if Chester was here? What if he had a girl over?!
Before you could drop his jacket and leave, the door opened to a shirtless Rydal, sweatpants hung low on his hips and he held a towel to his hair, drying it while looking at you with a clear question in his eyes. 
“Um, hi. I just came here to return this, since, well since I mistook it for mine. They basically look the same except yours cost you like, a lot more than mine did so it's okay if you don’t have it, I kind of ran away. Anyway, I’m gonna go–”
“You still owe me a favour, y’know.”
You pause in your turn, looking at him exasperatedly. He doesn’t even have the shame this time, there’s no pause in his words, no hand to cover his smirk, no, his mouth is twisted up crookedly and making his dimple jut out at you infuriatingly. Insultingly. You’re not staring at the water droplet making its way down his chest but you’re also not not staring. He’s gorgeous. 
“That’s not true, I think I remember–”
“Doesn’t count. I didn’t finish.”
Your eyes flash at his brazen response. Rydal licks his lips in response, staring openly at your mouth now. 
“If you wring my jacket any further, you’ll owe me two times–”
He didn’t get to finish his stupid threat with your mouth covering his, your body colliding with his almost violently and pushing him into his room in the process. He was quick to push you against the door once he had half the mind to close it, his body smothering yours and his hands ripping the jacket from your grip to toss it haphazardly behind him. It was somehow better this time, maybe due to him already being half undressed but you were enjoying the way his tongue was lapping at your bottom lip while your hands roamed his torso, running down his shoulders and lightly scratching him at the same time. His body shuddered and slumped against you as his forehead came to rest against yours, lips parting for air and sharing the same breath pointlessly. 
“This doesn’t mean anything,” you pant, his hands pushing your shirt up inch by inch as he explores your skin. 
“And what exactly is this, baby? Because it feels like more than a favour right now,” he said the last part while grinding his hips into yours causing you both to groan at the well-needed friction.
You glare at him, despite his face being mere centimetres away from yours and an irritating grin playing with his mouth, “You’re ridiculous.”
Flattening your palms against his bare chest, you push him back until the back of his knees hit and buckle against his bed, falling on it before your legs come up on each side of his hips, straddling him as your hands tangle in his hair again.
He’s volatile and sharp and unpredictable in ways that make you nervous and excited and you want to keep him you realize. Rydal’s hands rest on your hips, massaging the skin he can reach without pushing you for more but the desire is clear on his face, looking up at you with no mask. He presses your lower back so your hot core rubs his hardening cock through his sweats and you gasp and arch your back and press in a little closer, and his eyes are tracing your facial expressions. His hand comes up to cup your cheek again and you’re reminded of the last time he held your face like that, his thumb rubbing the same way as before and angling your face better for him to kiss you, stopping just before your lips connect.
You feel a little vulnerable until he says, “Yeah, I know.”
And then he’s kissing you and he’s not stopping and you’re grinding your hips down again, addicted to coaxing small groans and whines from him.
He takes a frightening amount of pleasure from seeing you come around his fingers, his lips wrapped around your clit and leaving behind a trail of wetness, just like you imagined all those days ago. His three digits curled and pressed on your sweet spot, your fingers tightening in his hair as he hummed into your mound, not letting up. 
When he rests the fat tip of his cock against your entrance, looking at you one final time before pushing in, you can’t bring yourself to plead with him so you kiss him instead, hoping your lips conveyed what you didn’t want to voice. He gets it, and enters you in one rushed thrust. Your nails dig into his meaty shoulders, eyes closing against the intrusion. 
You thought sex with Rydal would be competitive, as every exchange between the two of you usually is. You wanted to turn him inside out and devour the crumbs. It should’ve been aggressive, he should’ve fueled your violent tendencies, it should’ve been all bite and not soft brushes of his hand against your face, not him kissing your face as you gasp around a particularly deep thrust, not him religiously watching your mouth as you whimper and your cunt fluttering around his cock. 
He wouldn’t speed up. You already came twice, once on his fingers and once on his thick length as he stayed still inside you, holding off his own release until he reached some-inflicted goal to make you go cross eyed and cockdumb for him. He didn’t let you put your mouth on him before, claiming that you could ‘repay him for last time’ at another date, cheekily insinuating there would be a next time, without a doubt. 
You bite your lip to hold back from begging him to fuck you faster, harder, anything but this slow torture he was inflicting on your slick folds. There was no catch, he was gliding through you easily and he wouldn’t shut the fuck up about how wet you were. Pulling your lip free from your teeth, his thumb dipped into your mouth and caught your spit on it only to drag it across your cheek messily. You let out a high pitch whine at that, his cock hitting you deeply.
You turn your face to the side, scrunching your eyes closed as you feel your core building up again despite his agonizing pace. Rydal grabs your chin and turns you to face him again, holding your jaw in place.
“No, you look at me, wanna watch you come again,” he huffs into your face, lifting your leg to fold you in half. 
“I–” you start to choke, needing him to understand.
“What, baby? You owe me, remember?” he thrusts a bit harder at that, hard enough to make you snap and pull a guttural moan from you.
It happens before you’re ready; your spine feels exposed as your back arches into him, eyes unfocused and brain short-circuiting, and you gush around him. He’s still thrusting, albeit sloppy and irregular now, but he’s also talking a lot and you can’t focus on his words because your ears are ringing from how hard you just came.
“...fuck, baby, so pretty, love watching you come, fuckkkk, I’m gonna– ahhhh!” his hips buck wildly until you feel hot spurts of his come inside you and dribble out of your puffy pussy. His whole body flexes over yours as he all but empties his balls and slumps over you, your hands mindlessly running through his hair and petting his sweaty back. He had just showered before you showed up. Oh well.
The urge to keep touching him stays even past the time it takes for you to regain feeling in your legs, and Rydal has been nuzzling your neck for the time being. You don’t know how long you two stay like that, just basking in each other’s calm presence for the first time since knowing him. You feel like all the stress from the whole semester, let alone the past two weeks, had left your body, seeping out of you and into his sheets. 
You feel him smile against your skin and without thinking, you tug his hair to pull his face up to yours, wanting to see it. It’s not his regular smug smirk that he gives you, it's something else entirely. 
This smile is a bit gummy, not as dazzling as the one he turned on you on the first day you met, but sweet and genuine. His nose wrinkled a bit with it and you had to physically refrain yourself from kissing him silly.
Your bodies are sticky and clammy, no space to be found between you two until he pulls out of you, hissing as he does so. Taking a moment to slyly appreciate the mess between your thighs, he swiped a finger through it before you moaned in resistance, swatting his hand away. Rydal sniffed out a laugh, murmuring an apology before getting you something to clean up with. You were worried he’d be cold as soon as it was over, the tenderness he showered you with minutes ago was still present though and he seemed to share the need to keep touching. Useless and unnecessary touches, lingering hands and longing gazes hung around as he gave you something clean to wear, holding you close once you were decent. 
“Um–” you began.
“Can we talk about it tomorrow or something, for fuck’s sake, shouldn’t you be like super zen now?”
You choked.
He was right though, he had made you come, like, really hard. Plus, you did feel more relaxed so you let yourself laugh at his sassy remark, adjusting to his humour now that you saw how soft he really was. You tried to fake glare at him but couldn’t hold it since he was giving you the nose crinkling smile again, your own lips twitching at the whole situation. 
Burrowing yourself further into his chest, you remembered what you originally came here for.
“By the way… Can I keep your jacket since you lost mine?”
He burst out laughing at that. You find yourself loving the sound of it. 
//
tagging people who I think want to read this and if you don't kindly ignore lmao: @melodygatesauthor @360iris @xbellaxcarolinax @annautumnsoul @ninebluehearts @bit-dodgy-innit @moonknightly @luc-k-y @eyelessfaces @kittyofalltrades @romanarose @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @campingwiththecharmings @fandxmslxt69 @missdictatorme @loonymagizoologist
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spicyllewyn · 5 months
Text
Kinktober 7. - Exhibitionism
Rydal Keener x F!Reader.
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Tags & warnings. Exhibitionism + brat tammer. (+18)
Word count. 1.4k
Summary. You want to keep acting like a bitch? He'll treat you like one.
Kinktober masterlist.
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It had been 20 minutes since you couldn't stand yourself. The heat of Greece was killing you; everything felt sticky, your hair had frizzed up after the long time you spent fixing it, and you undoubtedly despised Rydal.
Why? You didn't really have a reason; he was just the last person you wanted to see. Which was a bit silly considering that you were traveling together.
You had a complicated relationship, yes, but he was a good friend and an excellent tour guide.
Oh, and he was amazing in bed.
Maybe he didn't deserve it, but when bad mood struck, it was a lost battle for you and everyone around you. The best thing was to simply wait for time to pass until things relaxed on their own.
You had been walking for an hour, and he kept talking, talking, talking, never stopping. You just nodded or made sounds that translated as a 'Yes, I'm listening' kind of thing.
"And... the last step." This was a tradition of his; you celebrated reaching the end of the path, together and out of breath.
There were almost always kisses involved, and the way you turned your face to avoid him was enough to make Rydal lose the ounce of patience he had left with you. Still, he smiled; he always had everything under control.
"We made it. Bochali viewpoint."
The village looked beautiful from up there, and you couldn't deny that both the silence and having completed the journey did ease your furrowed brow a bit.
"Sit on the edge," he murmured in your ear, and you could only look up, confused by the sudden order.
"What? I don't think it's allowe..."
"Sit on the edge." His voice suddenly grew firmer, and his hand on your lower back gave you a little push that made you walk clumsily. You looked around to make sure that no one else could see you and obeyed. With your gaze ahead, you sat on the rocky ledge that protected the edge of the lookout.
You felt the uncomfortable pressure of the stones against your skin, your thighs exposed thanks to your choice of wearing a sundress that ensured you wouldn't pass out from the heat halfway. Rydal stood up behind you.
"You've been acting like a fucking bitch all day," he whispered in your ear, your cheeks turning a rosy cute tone almost instantly as his hands settled on your hips. "Open your legs."
You weren't far enough away; you could make out the figures of people in the distance, which undoubtedly meant that people could see you.
"Rydal, no, they can see us," you stammered quickly, his right hand sliding down one of your legs until he could give a tug, opening them just as he had asked.
You swallowed hard.
"If you want to behave like one, then I'll treat you like one." One of his hands remained on your thigh, his fingers gripping it to make you understand that you couldn't cover yourself. "We'll let everyone see how much of a bitch you are." He licked his lips before starting to kiss your neck softly.
Maybe that's what you needed to forget your bad mood.
You closed your eyes, and instinctively, your head tilted to the side, giving him more room in the area as his kisses turned into bites and hickies. You both had been there for three days, and you couldn't find any more space on your skin to add more marks.
Your underwear became damp in less time than you would have liked. His fingers teased your pussy lips above the fabric.
"Take off your panties," he whispered against your skin as he slowly slid said piece of fabric down your thighs. You obediently lifted your hips so he could expuse you completely, letting your underwear fall.
You always thought that if you left a souvenir on one of your trips with a guy, it would be one of those locks with both of your names on a cute bridge, not your panties caught in some bushes a few meters away.
You felt the breeze hit the humidity between your legs and a shiver ran through you from head to toe. His left hand held you still in place by your waist, his opposite hand began the work.
He slid his index and middle finger between your lips to wet them with your arousal, you trembled when they found your entrance, firmly inserting themselves inside you.
“Fuck, Rydal.” You stammered as your back pressed against his chest for balance.
“This was what you needed, wasn't it?” He took out his fingers and pushed them back into you with such speed and force that you were able to hear how the liquid coming out of you made his thrusts louder. “If only I had known this was enough to wipe that scowl off your pretty face.”
You nodded quickly with your eyes closed, your head falling onto the boy's shoulder.
“Put your legs up.”
“Rydal.”
“Put them up.” He growled and you obeyed awkwardly. You raised both legs onto the fence, bending them slightly so that you were completely exposed to the panorama. Surely more than one person had already seen you. “I want to show them how to treat a brat like you.”
With his fingers completely inside you, and he continued to push deeper. You felt him rub against that sweet spot inside you that made you whimper out loud.
Your slick wet the stones beneath you, you moved your hips slowly seeking more contact between your body and his hand. You thought you were about to lose your mind when his thumb pressed against your swollen clit, hungry for some attention.
“Look at you, sweetheart.” The hand that was kept on your waist crawled up little by little, cupping one of your tits. He squeezed with his fingers in that rough way that only Rydal knew. “Such a good girl.”
It didn't take long for him to slide his hand under the neckline of your dress to have better access to your breast, pinching your nipple until it hurt, you whimpered with your eyes closed. You were getting closer to your limit.
“Apologize.” Of course, Rydal already recognized perfectly when your body was about to reach it, he felt your walls squeeze his fingers while he increased the pace of his movements. “Come on, tell me you're sorry.”
“S-Sorry, Rydal, s-sorry.” You muttered in a breathy voice as you swore you heard your screams echoing across the landscape. You were close to begging for more.
“Louder, princess, I couldn't understand you.” Princess was his favorite nickname for when you were misbehaving. He always told you that you behaved like one, not exactly as a compliment.
"Sorry, sorry! M-More, please, please. R-Rydal!”
“Are you going to behave like that again?” His thumb played with your clit, giving it quick touches that made your entire body vibrate in place, suffering from small spasms.
When you didn't respond his fingers came out of you, he used them to gently slap your sensitive pussy. It throbbed around nothing and you could swear your eyes were filling with tears from your desperation to cum once and for all.
"Answer to me". One more slap brought out a pained moan from you, your body shaking.
"N-No." You shook your head quickly, your back arching slightly in place as a way to push your hips closer to his hands. “I-I won't, I…” You took a deep breath. You were choking in your own moans. "I promise".
"Good girl". Placing a small kiss on your shoulder he finally gave you what you wanted, his fingers inserting inside you again, his thumb pressing your clit and tracing circles that brought you to the end faster than you expected.
Your whole body tensed as you enjoyed the devastating orgasm, he nibbled on your neck roughly with the intention of leaving more marks on it. His opposite hand kept pinching your nipple on the left side.
His movements became slow as you relaxed, and after a few minutes he finally removed his fingers from inside you and brought them to your mouth, pushing them between your lips in an act that you accepted immediately. With your eyes closed and breathing hard you began to suck them clean, tasting yourself.
"Better?" He placed one last kiss on your cheek, but not before you turned towards him, your lips brushing against his as you felt him smile.
You nodded your head slowly, something almost imperceptible.
"Do you want to eat something?"
You nodded again, and he gave a small laugh.
“No wonder you were in such a bad mood.”
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Tag list. @ninebluehearts @shousha133 @unear7hly @onefinnedwonder-fm @automnepoet @lokisremainingsanity @uncle-eggy @just-a-nightdreamer @spktrgantenk @chinglewingledingledong @queerponcho @faretheeoscar @spideyman-peter @poppyflower-22 @steven-grants-world @urmomsgays-world
Remember to comment if you want to be on the kinktober tag list!! <3
This is my comeback lol not a fan of it but hopefully my brain will start braining
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