#oscar isaac fic
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Nowhere to Run: Part 1 (Miguel O’Hara (Spider-Man 2099) x Spider-Woman!f!reader)
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
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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
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A/N: Part 2 will be a little time jump, and we’ll actually see Miguel and reader get into a relationship!
My Masterlist
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Taglist (Want to be added? Click here.) -
@copingchaos @n1ght5h4d3-24 @paintmekala @chaoticevilbakugo @janebby @chaoticevilbakugo @weirdo125 @roseqzpd @bitchyglitterfox @m0nster-fvcker @romanarose
Won’t Tag: @janebby @marvelescvpe
If you want taken off, just let me know! I took a guess on who might be interested.
#oscar isaac#miguel o'hara#spider-man 2099#oscar isaac fic#oscar isaac fanfiction#miguel o'hara fanfiction#miguel o'hara fic#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x f!reader#miguel o'hara hurt/comfort#miguel o'hara angst#oscar isaac x reader#spider-man 2099 fic#spider-man 2099 fanfiction#spider-man 2099 x reader#spider-man 2099 x f!reader#spider-man 2099 hurt/comfort#spider-man 2099 angst#oscar isaac hurt/comfort#across the spiderverse#spider-man across the spiderverse#atsv
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summary: leto atreides x afab concubine!reader
cw: daddy kink, pregnancy, power imbalance, dark fic coded, implication that the other concubines “disappeared”, overstimulation, body worship, i would do anything to be in reader’s position here i’m being so real, not included but got reader pregnant in the full nelson position, the smut is in a flashback, mention of the reader having hip dips, mention of leto with others but he realizes you’re the one after lmao, probably dune world/lore inaccuracies, reader’s a member of the duke’s breeding program, mention of choking, intended age gap but you can read it as otherwise
wc: 1k+
block & move on if uncomfortable !!!
do not repost, translate, or give ai my work
kinktober masterlist
“It’s to wake up, my love.”
Your eyes flutter open to see Duke Leto Atreides standing over your bed, one of his hands brushing back some of your hair away from your face. He smiles warmly when you tiredly meet his gaze, and holds out an open palm. You take it and let him help you sit up, though that’s as far as he’s willing to let you go. Leto hovers his hands over your baby bump, borderline paranoid about you doing anything that could jeopardize the health of the baby.
“I thought my appointment with the doctor wasn’t until next week, my lord…” You yawn, resting your hands on your belly as you fight off sleep. Being heavily pregnant was no easy task, and most days it feels like you have as much energy as a corpse.
“It is, I simply wanted to see you.” Leto answers, petting your hair and curling one arm around your lower back to support it. “When we’re alone, get rid of the ‘my lord’, what we have is more than the results of an obligation.”
You sigh, leaning into his touch as you consider his words. Months ago, you were just another member of the Duke’s harem. One of many meant to produce heirs until your body shriveled up. Your family was noteworthy but not noble enough to stay afloat, you heard that the Duke was looking for breeders and you left without looking back. Though you will admit that Leto Atreides is not the worst man you could’ve taken inside you. He was gentle and the way he kissed you suggested that he felt more than just gratitude.
You pretended to not mind the sounds and stories you heard from the other concubines in the beginning. You knew perfectly well what you were signing up for, the feelings came from nowhere, you swear.
Leto’s mannerisms during sex were impossibly adoring and intimate, and he would tell you were special every time in the midst of the afterglow. You stopped hearing heart dropping noises and nauseating stories, and the day after you found out you were pregnant you heard nothing at all. The Duke took longer than usual to meet with you that night.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
“I’m sorry I kept you waiting.” Leto calls out, wrapping his arms around you from behind as you get ready for bed.
You finish tying the strings of your nightgown and turn around to face him. There are strange little flecks of red in the wrinkles on his face, but they could be a trick of the light so you brush the curiosity off.
“I am always waiting for you, my lord.” You repeat the same thing you say everyday, noting the way the corners of his smile flatten in displeasure.
He cups your face and walks the both of you backwards towards the bed, shooting his hands out to keep himself from crushing you when you inevitably fall on it.
Time passes by in a blur, every moment filled with cries of “Daddy” and overzealous movement from him that punches the breath of your lungs. He’s not incredibly rough, just passionate enough to have tears dot your lashes and his thumb buried in your mouth. Every kiss is a hot swirling mess of saliva and tongues colliding that gets you so wet, you really believe it could kill you.
“Mm, your tongue feels amazing, clumsily chasing after mine.” Leto grunts at some point, rutting and slamming his balls against your ass with no rhyme or reason. “The tightest cunt i’ve ever had, fuck-“
You hum around his thumb, suckling on it like he’s your god and his thick fingers in your mouth are your only reason to live. He grinds his teeth together when you make eye contact, and you struggle to keep it up as you hollow out your cheeks around his coarse digits.
“Wanna make you proud, Daddy, gonna be so good for you.” The words are muffled past the point of comprehension, but your eyes allow him to get the gist.
If you were not already pregnant, the flood of fresh cum in your pussy would’ve done the trick. You clench around your lord’s fat cock and let yourself break, squirting all over yourself.
When you come to, Leto’s busying himself with latching onto your tits like a leech and bullying your battered pussy.
“These are already so sensitive, aren’t they? And to think that I made them that way…” Leto trails off, licking a broad stripe over your nipple and pinching your clit.
You jolt and throw your head back, “Yes, Daddy, you did.”
He groans at the frequently used name, pinching your clit harder and digging his fingers in deeper. You’ve had more orgasms than you ever thought possible in the last hour alone, but your lord was insatiable like this. His head is too high in the clouds with visions of his future family to calm down.
Your legs shake but he takes his hand away from your clit and smooths his palm over your thigh to steady you.
“It’s alright, you know i won’t be too rough honey, you can take it. You’ve already taken my seed beautifully, growing my son in your womb.”
You know there’s no chance of stopping until Leto’s sure that he’s kissed and lavished every inch of your delectable body in Daddy’s attention. He gives each of your buds a ‘Goodbye for now’ kiss and wipes down the dips in your hips with his tongue, soothing the love bites and caressing the necklace of bruises around your neck he left when he lost control.
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The bed sinks with Leto’s added weight, and your cheeks warm as you come back to the present. You look down at your joined hands to see a box clenched tightly in his free one. Like he’s scared of dropping it. You gaze up at him questioningly and he smiles once again before softly kissing the skin between your eyes.
Next thing you know, Duke Leto Atreides is kneeling before you and opening the box to reveal a large ring. It’s magnificently crafted and all the details align with your taste perfectly.
“Will you marry me?”
#kinktober#leto atreides#leto atreides x reader#leto atreides x you#dune#dune x you#dune x reader#dune fanfiction#dune fic#dune smut#oscar isaac#oscar isaac smut#oscar isaac fic#oscar isaac fanfiction#oscar isaac x reader#oscar isaac x you#dark fic#⚰️.deaddove#tw daddy kink#tw pregnancy#tw overstim#tw age gap
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This is the Masterlist for my story "With You"
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8
Part 9a Part 9b Part 10 Part 11 Part 12
Part 13 Part 14 Part 15
Part 16: Conclusion
My Masterlist
Pairing: Established relationship. Marc Spector, Steven Grant, Jake Lockley x gn!reader. Reader is engaged to Marc/Steven. Jake is new. So elements of slow burn/idiots in love. No use of y/n
Summary: Your fiancé is 2 years sober, so what could have possibly upset him enough to challenge that? (It's Khonshu and Jake). A look at how the system learns about continued servitude to Khonshu and a new alter, with you - their fiancée - by their side
Overall fic content/warnings: Angst, drinking, alcoholism/addiction, hangover, cursing, hurt/comfort, references to past abuse, longing, feeling inadequate, some banter/bickering, mentions of food, domestic fluff, slice of life, nightmare, crying, romance, violence, injury, blood, implied sex, some sex but the language remains vague and gn - more erotic than explicit, not beta'd
Immersibility: Reader is gn, is somewhat shorter than Marc/Steven/Jake and able to wear their clothes around the house
#with you fic#moon knight#steven grant#marc spector#jake lockley#mcu#marc spector x reader#steven grant x reader#jake lockley x reader#marc spector x you#jake lockley x you#steven grant x you#marc spector x gn!reader#steven grant x gn!reader#jake lockley x gn!reader#oscar isaac fic#deals with addiction#read the warnings#moon boys#moon knight system
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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!
"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.
(´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡
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#oscar isaac fic#oscar isaac fanfiction#oscar isaac smut#oscar isaac x y/n#oscar isaac x you#oscar isaac x reader#spider man 2099#beyond the spiderverse#across the spiderverse#spiderverse#spiderman into the spiderverse#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara fanfic#miguel o'hara fic#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara x y/n#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara fanfiction#miguel o'hara imagine#imagine miguel o'hara
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predator & prey
8.6k | 18+ MDNI | Nathan Bateman x f!reader
Warnings: consensual non-consent, restraints, manhandling, face slapping, hard choking, rough p in v sex, biting, creampie, pain kink, degradation/praise, subdrop, aftercare, soft(ish) Nathan
Summary: Nathan fulfills your fantasy of being taken in the woods. Can you handle it?
A/N: Living in the middle of nowhere has its perks...Can be read alone or as an extension of in control. I'm so beyond excited to finally share this with you!! It's been wreaking havoc in my brain for months now. Enjoy the ride and let me know what you think! 🖤
As the last rays of the setting sun dip below the horizon, casting the world into a deep indigo hue, Nathan grabs the neatly folded pile of clothes, your trail running shoes, and his backpack. Still in your sweats, you’re taken aback when he steps into your office, his hand finding your shoulder.
“Put these on,” he tells you, his voice betraying no particular emotion. He hands you a pair of jeans in your size and an oversized, white t-shirt, along with a nude bra and panties. You swallow and look up at him, catching the subtle glint in his eyes.
“Time to go.”
You dress as instructed, your fingers deftly lace up your shoes, and the two of you set off.
The crisp air gently nibbles at your cheeks, and the faint glow of twilight casts a soft ambiance as the crunch of leaves and gravel beneath your feet echoes through the stillness around you. The air holds a charged energy, and each one of your steps carries a weight of anticipation. Your muscles are tense, your senses heightened, acutely aware of what lies ahead.
Nathan’s demeanor is casual. He’s smiling, asking about your day, about the project that’s been giving you a headache for the past two weeks. You give him a semi-honest answer, admitting that you’ve been stressed, but omitting the fact that you’ve cried yourself to sleep over it more than once.
“You’ll figure it out,” he reassures you with a soft smile. Your furrowed brow meets his confident gaze, and for a moment, you study his face. He’s sincere.
You’re used to discussing your work with Nathan, it’s what you’re living with him for, after all. And despite your…complicated relationship with him, he has never questioned your professional skills.
That’s all on you. Your perfectionism is draining.
As you reach the edge of the woods after a half-hour march along the river, darkness begins to cloak you like a shroud. The trees whisper secrets, and the unknown looms like a specter in the night. Nathan activates the small portable light attached to his backpack, rolls his shoulders, and fixes his gaze on you.
Your heart pounds in your chest, and excitement courses through your veins, fueled by a potent blend of curiosity and trepidation.
“You know what’s about to happen,” he says calmly, tilting your chin up with his gloved fingers to search your eyes. “Take a deep breath. We’re not starting until you’re ready.”
You take a moment to gather yourself, inhaling the grounding scent of earth and pine, your eyes locked onto his.
“Choose a path and make sure you memorize it. Be aware of your surroundings and where you’re going. Do not look back.” He rubs your cheek softly with his thumb as his dark eyes pierce your soul.
Sensing the rough leather of his gloves against your skin sends a chill down your spine as memories of pain and pleasure flood your mind.
These gloves have choked you until you passed out, just to slap you awake again. They’ve penetrated all your holes simultaneously, teasing you, stretching you, making you come over and over again. They’ve split your lip, caressed your cheek, spread Nathan’s cum all over your face, wiped away your tears.
There’s no part of your body they haven’t thoroughly explored in a tantalizing dance between violent and soft touches.
And Nathan only ever wears them for you.
As you study the man in front of you, the only man you’d willingly follow into the unknown, his presence feels both reassuring and elusive—a paradox you’ve come to not only accept but cherish. The intricate interplay of familiarity and mystery that shapes your connection is not just comforting; it’s irresistibly alluring.
In his all-black attire, he presents an effortlessly handsome yet imposing figure. You appreciate the boots on his feet, a deviation from his usual habit of walking around barefoot, and how they seamlessly blend into the darkness of his tactical pants secured by a familiar belt.
While the physical marks from your last encounter may have healed, allowing you to shower and sit down again without writhing in pain, the mere sight of the leather item makes you wince and sends a jolt of electricity through the muscles in your ass cheeks and thighs.
Provoking Nathan is fun, but the consequences hurt. Badly.
Your gaze wanders further up, drawn to the hoodie that tightly embraces his broad frame, accentuating the breadth of his shoulders and the defined contours of his chest. It’s one of your favorite sights, second only to seeing him completely bare. Beneath his glasses, dark eyes fixate on you with a keen intensity, silently assessing the anticipation evident on your face.
Finally, your eyes reconnect with his, and the magnetic force of his gaze draws you into the depths of his desires. You see the lust in his eyes, the look of raw hunger etched across his face. It’s a look you’ve grown to both crave and fear, a look only you bring out of him.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Alright.” He nods and takes a step back from you, his scowl deepening. “Ten.”
You’re up and running before ‘nine’ even fully leaves Nathan’s lips. You don’t look back as his booming voice echoes behind you. Do you remember the path you chose? Do you know where your feet are carrying you into the mist, through the labyrinth of trees, fast, faster than they’ve ever carried you? You better run, little bunny, run, run away from him.
Ignore your racing heart, ignore the weight of his presence, ignore the forest closing in around you. You need to run. Run through the shadows, run away from him. Can you feel his eyes on you? The predator’s eyes locked on his prey?
Your time is up. He’s coming for you.
Nathan’s eyes follow you, vigilant, watching as your silhouette disappears into the forest, his heart pounding in his chest. Swiftly, he fastens the chest strap of his backpack, tightens his gloves, turns off the light, and lunges into a run. He’s on your trail.
Can you feel him? Can you feel him chasing you, drawing nearer with every frantic beat of your heart? He’s not going to stop until he catches you.
And you know what happens when he does, don’t you?
You’re sprinting, the crunch of leaves and the snap of twigs beneath your shoes creating a frenzied symphony in your haste. Panic creeps in, its icy fingers tightening around your racing heart. The air, now cold and damp, clings to your skin, making you shiver. You run further along the path you’ve chosen, quickly, as quickly as your aching muscles will allow.
Are you scared? Is that why your breath comes in shallow gasps, and your eyes shimmer with unshed tears? Ah, yes. Yes, you are scared. That’s good. You should be. Let the tendrils of fear wrap around your every move, and embrace the primal instinct that tells you to run, run like a rabbit chased by a hungry fox.
He’s going to sink his teeth into your neck and tear you apart, tear you to shreds.
Your cold feet carry you along the path you chose, deeper into the woods, deeper into the darkness. Trees blur past, bathed in moonlight, casting enigmatic figures on the path ahead. You can’t stop. He trails behind, a shadow in the darkness, tracking your scent, treading the path your feet imprinted moments before. Can you hear him panting, can you feel his hot breath on your neck? He’s on your heels, inching closer, so close to catching you, so close to having you.
You’re a fast little bunny, Nathan quietly acknowledges, his hungry gaze capturing a glimpse of your shirt. It only heightens the thrill for him, pursuing someone deserving of his dominance.
Oh, how he’s going to enjoy devouring you.
He’s behind you, pacing himself, feeling the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He’s calm and calculated in his hunt for you, his feet carrying him swiftly towards you. You must hear the branches snapping under his heavy boots, you must feel the heat radiating off his body.
How do you feel? Are you afraid or turned on right now? Be honest. He’s not going away, you’re not going to escape him, he’s going to get you. Have you made peace with your fate?
You should have listened to him. Fuck. A fleeting glance backward is all it takes for you to lose your balance and trip over your own feet, twisting your ankle. The harsh ground rushes to meet you, hands breaking your fall, immediately sending a sharp pain through your arms and shoulders from the impact. Gasping for air, on the brink of tears, you fumble back to your feet, rising as quickly as your sore knees permit.
Where are you? Where has fate led you? The urgency to run grips you again, urging you to flee, escape. Start moving—now. Away from him. Are you sure you chose the right path? Darkness envelops you. Your vision is blurry, you’re tired, your body hurts. The echo of your breath lingers, a haunting reminder of your vulnerability. He’s so near, closing in. Why are you doing this?
A surge of adrenaline in your bloodstream propels you forward, numbing the pain in your ankle and legs. You push yourself into a sprint, using all of your determination and strength, ignoring the heart in your chest threatening to explode. Do not stop. No matter how suffocating the open space around you feels now, no matter how much the cold wind bites your face, no matter how much you yearn for respite.
Do not stop.
You keep running, heart pounding, panic rising. You hear him, feel him, know he’s toying with you like a cat playing with the mouse it’s about to rip apart. You like that, don’t you? The anticipation. Dull pain in your muscles slows you down, slows your desperate escape.
Exhaustion and vigilance intermingle, fear collides with excitement, and amidst the confusion, a strange clarity emerges. This is it. He’s here.
He’s on you – you’re free.
Nathan’s weight bears down, the forceful impact knocking the breath out of your lungs, his hands and knees pressing you face down into the unforgiving, cold ground. The weight of his breath, heavy and labored, blends with the earthy scent on your lips, clouding your mind.
“Caught you,” Nathan growls into your ear, his dangerous tone of voice causing your whole body to shudder with an urgent sense of dread. He’s panting, his teeth clenched as he grabs your neck, his gloved fingers painfully digging into your skin, putting his weight on you as you scream and thrash under him. He caught you, he has you, you’re his now.
Your brain races in overdrive as the primal fight-or-flight instinct kicks in, telling you to ‘fight, fight, little bunny’.
Go on, act like you don’t want it.
“No, get off me,” you scream at him, clawing at his hand on your neck, writhing and struggling to escape his grip. You can feel the sneer on his face, can feel his satisfaction with your predicament. Do you really want to resist him? That’s not true, is it? You don’t actually want him to stop, don’t want him to listen to the pathetic pleas leaving your lips. No, no, you don’t want that.
You want him to have you, to take you, to ravage you.
What a sick girl you are.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Nathan snarls, his knees pinning your legs down, his grip on your neck intensifying while his free hand retrieves something from one of his pockets.
“You’re mine now. Mine to take, mine to hurt,” he grabs your chin roughly, his dark eyes boring into you. “And you better believe I’m gonna make it hurt.”
Are you scared of him? He’s stronger than you. He’s going to hurt you. You made him chase you, made him chase what’s his. You’re going to pay for that, little bunny. You’re going to pay for trying to deny him. Can you see the fire burning in his eyes? That’s all for you.
Grabbing your wrist, he forcefully twists your arm behind your back, ignoring your pained groan as you struggle and try to resist. With practiced efficiency, he repeats the motion with your other arm, his gloved fingers digging into your flesh. He needs to use all of his strength to keep your hands in place as he fastens the zip tie tightly around your bare wrists, effectively immobilizing your hands.
You’re bound, restrained—like a little present on a plate, primed and ready for the taking. Does it hurt? Does it hurt to be this helpless, this vulnerable? Struggle all you want. There’s no way you can escape now.
Your fate is sealed.
Nathan manhandles you onto your back, grabbing you by your shoulder, then immediately straddles you and sits on your thighs to keep you pinned down. You can see the dark glint in his eyes and the violent desire painted across his face. Does that make you wet? The lust, the hunger, the raw need he has for you?
He knows, little bunny. You’re so pathetic.
“Fuck you,” you defiantly spit at him, as the subtle smirk on Nathan’s face stirs the rebellious voice simmering in your mind.
It’s the same inner voice that urges you to provoke him when your ass is already black and blue, the voice that tells you to deliberately graze his cock with your teeth, so he’ll grab your neck and fuck your throat harder, the voice that tells you to come without permission, so he’ll overstimulate you until you’re too weak to cry — the voice that tells you you need more.
Nathan strikes you hard across the face, splitting your lip. Tears spill from your eyes, and a surge of adrenaline floods your veins. The impact on your cheek is so intense that your head recoils, seeking refuge away from him, eyes clamped shut in an attempt to find solace in darkness. He denies you that respite.
“Look at me, whore!” His hands are on your throat in an instant, knocking your head against the ground, ruthlessly pressing on your veins, crushing you, choking you.
His eyes blaze with a wild fervor, pupils dilated to an almost feral intensity. The lines on his face contort, a mixture of raw desire and twisted pleasure etched across his features. Desire and dominance intertwine as his gloved fingers tighten even further around your neck, each breath he denies you heightening the predatory satisfaction he feels.
The crushing grip on your throat sends shockwaves of panic through every fiber of your being, alerting your body to resist. Resist him. Resist him or die. With your hands bound behind your back, your struggles are futile, your desperate squirms and frenzied kicks against the unyielding ground only fueling Nathan’s arousal.
Can you taste your own fear on your bloody lips? Delicious, isn’t it?
The world around you blurs, your head spinning, your heart racing, the dark grip of unconsciousness tightening around you. Dumb little bunny, willingly jumping into the fox’s den. What did you think was going to happen?
You’re so helpless under him, so vulnerable, so utterly…human.
Nathan’s cock is so fucking hard it hurts.
Right on the edge, as the vacant look in your eyes hints at a mind detaching from reality, he lets go of your throat with a growl, and takes off his gloves. Convulsing, you desperately gasp and cough and splutter as precious air revives your lungs. Your vision gradually returns, and as you gaze upward through tear-filled eyes, the vast expanse of the night sky unfolds above you, a celestial canvas painted with a myriad of stars.
It’s beautiful. Chaotic. Intimidating. Soothing.
Then, his eyes come into focus. Those deep, dark, intense eyes you could drown in. Wouldn’t that be nice? You see fire in them, hunger, calculated power, and…something else.
“You’re so fucking beautiful when you’re scared,” you hear Nathan pant, his bare hands gripping your cheeks firmly, before he leans in and presses his lips on yours in a messy, violent kiss. You’re still gasping for air, but he doesn’t care. He needs to taste you, to devour you, to claim you as his.
He’s frenzied now, moaning into your mouth, gripping your jaw, sliding his hand under your shirt, along your belly and further up, pulling your bra down. He bites your lip, tasting your blood on his tongue, bruising you, marking you. You sob against his lips, out of breath, in pain, mind reeling, so desperate to be close to him you’re shaking.
He laughs at the pathetic sounds you make as he sucks and bites at the sensitive skin of your neck while hungrily groping your tits, his hand exploring your soft skin, squeezing, twisting, punishing. He tugs at your erect nipples, loving how you arch your back and how your cries echo in the night.
“Scream all you want, baby,” he murmurs into the crook of your neck before peppering soft kisses along your jaw, his free hand moving down your belly and into your pants. “Nobody’s coming to save you.”
You cry and whimper as blood, spit and tears stain your face, giving Nathan exactly what he wants. God, you’re perfect.
He slips his hand into your panties, groaning at the feeling of your wetness, his fingers sliding through your folds, making you moan and clench around nothing when he brushes your swollen clit. You beg him to stop, twisting and pulling your arms back and forth under yourself, trying to wriggle your hands free to push him off. But it’s no use, is it? Poor baby. You’re bound, you’re, ensnared, like a fly caught in the spider’s silk, each struggle only tightening the threads around you.
What are you so afraid of? Why are you trying to resist so hard? Is it fear or is it the fact that you’re sopping wet from being violated?
The truth hurts, little bunny, it really does. But you can’t escape it.
Overwhelmed with Nathan’s assault on your senses, you gaze up at him with pleading eyes, his wicked grin widening with every agonizing second as he’s relishing the betrayal of your body. You’re such a depraved whore, letting him hurt you and getting off on it. He loves that you are, and he wants you to know that. He wants you to know how much he fucking loves hurting you, how much he wants you. All of you.
He can’t take it anymore. He needs to feel you.
Sitting up straight, he kneels between your legs, momentarily abandoning your tit and your pussy to hastily fumble with the button and zipper of your jeans. Can you see how hard his cock is straining against his pants and how hard his chest is heaving? Can you see what you’re doing to him? He’s in agony and he’s finally going to get his relief from you.
If only he hadn’t underestimated you.
A split second. A split second of lust-fueled distraction is all it takes for Nathan to give you an opportunity to get out. And you take it.
It all happens so fast.
The forceful kick you deliver to his abdomen shocks you both. He gasps as the unexpected blow catches him off guard, and he stumbles backward, crashing onto the backpack strapped to his shoulders. The impact jars through his spine, making him groan in pain as he feels the sturdy surface of the thermos he brought pressing into his back. Hearing his pitiful groans stuns you for a fleeting moment, a hint of concern creeping in.
You catch a quick glimpse of Nathan’s dark eyes and that’s when the flight instinct finally kicks in, telling you to get the fuck up and run.
Oh, what have you done, little bunny?
You wriggle on the ground, pain pulsating through your body as you scramble to your feet, wrists still bound behind your back. You run, feet pounding against the uneven forest floor, frantically, unsteady, driven by a primal need to escape.
Your eyes, wide with terror, dart wildly in all directions, desperately searching for an escape route. The whites of your eyes stand out starkly against the backdrop of fear, reflecting the moonlight that filters through the trees overhead. Each breath is visible, quick and shallow, as if the very air you inhale carries the weight of your anxiety. The cold air stings in your lungs, each breath hurting your sore throat.
“You fucking bitch!” Nathan’s furious shouts echo behind you as he pulls himself up with a pained groan, a relentless pursuit that adds to the drumming rhythm of your heart. “Running won’t save you, you stupid girl. You’re mine. And when I—fuck—when I catch you I’m gonna hurt you like I’ve never fucking hurt you before.”
Your blood freezes in your veins at his words, but you don’t respond, focusing solely on the path ahead. Running, panting, gritting your teeth, trying to keep your balance with bound hands. Twisting and turning through the dense foliage, you try to outsmart your pursuer, relying on instincts honed by fear. The shadows dance around you, leaves crunching beneath your feet. You better run, little bunny, run, run away from him.
You think a little groping and choking was bad? Oh, you naive thing. That was nothing. He means it when he says he’ll hurt you like never before. But you know that, right? That’s why you’re running now even though your body is threatening to collapse. You just had to be defiant, hm? You just couldn’t accept that you fucking loved what he did to you.
Now look where your pride got you. Was it worth it?
He’s catching up to you, determined to win, his quick feet carrying him through the mist, his angry shouts getting closer. Can you feel his anger, his hot breath on your neck? Can you feel the venom with which he spits his threats at you? There’s nothing more dangerous than a wounded animal.
“You think you can escape me, you dumb bitch?” Nathan’s voice is a predatory growl, following your every move.
His cruel laughter chases you like a haunting melody, spurring you on to push your aching muscles harder. The forest seems to tighten around you, an inescapable labyrinth closing in as the predator hunts its prey. And then it happens again. He’s got you.
As you dart left, he anticipates your move, and your bodies collide with a force that knocks the wind out of you. You both tumble to the ground with a thud, intertwined, leaves and dirt swirling around you in a chaotic dance.
“No, no, no,” you scream, thrashing about like a wounded animal caught in a bear trap.
You’re so much stronger than Nathan anticipated, it’s incredible. He knows you have a high pain tolerance, but your resilience is honestly amazing. You truly are the perfect prey.
You squirm and struggle to get away again, but Nathan puts all of his weight on you, pinning you face down under him, your face pressed into the mud, his fingernails digging into your arms so hard you’re making yourself bleed when you desperately try to pull away from his grip. His eyes burn with a mixture of fury and triumph as he pants against your neck, his knees digging into the back of your thighs, one hand moving to press on your neck.
“That’s enough,” he growls through gritted teeth, as you just won’t give up, even though he can feel your exhaustion.
He slaps your exposed cheek as he holds your neck steady, the sharp crack of the impact echoing in the oppressive darkness. A surge of pain courses through you like lightning, leaving a heavy imprint on your senses. Before you can fully register the sting, he ruthlessly yanks on your shirt’s collar, revealing the vulnerable expanse of your shoulder.
Without hesitation, he bites into your flesh, dragging his teeth, breaking your skin. His assault is akin to a wolf sinking its razor-sharp fangs into prey, tearing into your body with a savage hunger. It hurts worse than anything you can remember. Your body’s in shock and your cries come out soundless, weak, futile. He’s pushing you to your limits.
When he’s had his fill, he wipes his bloody mouth, sits up and turns you on your back, immediately straddling your thighs as one of his hands constricts around your bruised neck. The pressure is not yet enough to completely cut off your air supply, but it’s enough to evoke vivid and terrifying memories of how he choked you just moments ago. The implied threat is enough to keep you still.
Nathan slings off his backpack in a swift motion using his free hand and turns on the light. He then takes a few seconds to look into your wet, glazed-over eyes, caressing your tender cheek with an unexpectedly gentle touch, tracing your soft skin with his palm. He can see it in your dilated pupils, he can feel it radiating off your body, he can hear it in your trembling voice as you can’t hold back the pathetic little whimpers escaping your lips.
You’re flying.
Seeing the need in your eyes, his handprint on your cheek, his bite mark on your shoulder, and the blood on your lips makes his cock throb in his pants. He can’t wait anymore, he needs you.
He lets go of your neck with a menacing growl, moving back to sit between your legs. His unwavering gaze remains locked onto yours, stripping you of any semblance of agency. He quickly grabs the waistband of your jeans and drags them over your ass and down to your thighs like you’re a doll — like you’re one of his androids. Sentient, but not in control.
It’s so peaceful, isn’t it? Being his toy. His little slut to play with.
You feel your panties being yanked down, feel the cold breeze on your pussy as Nathan lifts and bends your legs for better access, feel him holding your thighs with a tight grip. He can see how wet you are, how swollen your clit is, how much your body craves his violence. And he’s going to give it to you. All of it. Because he craves it just as badly. His cock is aching for you, rock-hard, pulsating, desperate to feel the warmth of your cunt.
He hastily pulls down his pants with controlled movements, revealing just how much his body wants you. You can see his cock through your wet lashes, causing your walls to clench around nothing and your hips to jerk at the sight; a conditioned response from the hours upon hours of ecstasy he’s given you.
“All for you, my little whore,” Nathan says with a sly grin as he follows your hungry gaze and reaches down to grab the object of your attention. Locking eyes with you and searching them for a second, he strokes the tip of his cock up and down your slick, puffy lips once, twice, and then pushes into your cunt in one forceful thrust.
You whine pathetically as he stretches you open with a loud groan, your toes curling in your shoes, the feeling almost too much to bear. He gives you no time to adjust before he pulls out completely and slams back inside as hard as he can, pushing your body up on the cold ground.
“F-fuck yeah,” he groans as he bottoms out deep inside you, savoring the delicious feeling of your wet pussy sucking him in. “That’s it…Now, be a good whore and take it.”
You can’t hold back your moans as he starts fucking you at a relentless pace, holding on to both of your thighs, putting his weight on them, pressing them against your torso. The angle makes you incredibly tight and allows him to go deep, deep inside of you.
Nathan’s gaze penetrates yours, watching in awe as the need in your eyes grows bigger and bigger with every inch of his cock stretching you, with every snap of his hips against your thighs, with every demeaning word he spits at you as he takes what he wants, reducing you to a toy he can use and abuse.
You take it, take everything he gives you, take it so well. You take it until you can’t anymore.
“Please stop,” you whimper as his deliberate, continuous hits to your cervix cause you immense pain.
Nathan laughs breathlessly. You’re so cute when you pretend that’s not exactly what you need. What hurts more, huh? The pain of him using you or the fact that you’re close to coming from it?
“Can’t take it, slut?” he pants as he can feel his cock swell deep inside of you, your pussy gripping him like a vise. You feel so fucking good. “What happened? I thought you wanted this.”
“Hurts…” you whine as fresh tears run down your temples. You writhe under him, trying to move your legs, but it’s no use. You’re trapped.
“I know it hurts, baby,” he coos in response, his voice deceptively soothing. “But I need you to be good for me. You wanna be good for me, don’t you? Yeah, you do. You wanna be my good girl. That’s it, baby. Just like that.”
His words send heat straight to your core, causing your walls to flutter around his cock. God, you’re a perfect little fuckdoll.
You yelp in surprise as Nathan suddenly leans in, putting your calves on his shoulder, crushing his lips against yours in a feverish kiss. You instinctively open your mouth for his tongue to slide inside, wanting to taste him, to feel him, to have him claim you completely.
The coil in your lower belly is wound tight and ready to snap at any moment. You’re so close. You moan into his mouth as his tongue swirls around yours, and he groans in response, his hips picking up the pace, slamming into you feverishly. Your pitiful cries evaporate in his mouth as his cock hits your cervix over and over again, determined to make you come from pain.
He can feel you burning up against his body, can taste the desperation on your trembling lips, can feel your pussy gripping him so hard it hurts. You’re fucking loving this. He chuckles against your lips as you start jerking your hips, trying your hardest to get more friction on your clit.
Poor little bunny.
He’s not going to touch you. You’re going to come like this or not at all.
Not giving you even one second to catch your breath, he draws back from your lips and immediately grabs the base of your neck with a firm grip to pull himself deeper inside you with every harsh thrust. Lightheaded, mind reeling, your overstimulated body is screaming for release.
“Nathan…” you sob, your voice a mere whisper as tears stream down your temples.
“That’s right, slut. Keep fucking crying,” he groans, his hips stuttering for a moment when he feels your pussy twitch around his cock. You’re so close. Your whole body is trembling and your moans are getting louder and louder as he’s picking up the pace, thrusting into you relentlessly, telling you what a depraved little whore you are for coming on his cock.
It only takes a handful more of Nathan’s measured thrusts before the coil inside you finally snaps and you crash into your orgasm at full speed. Your walls clamp down around his cock so hard he can barely keep moving, and the overwhelming ecstasy that spreads through your body and mind makes you forget who or where you are. You feel weightless, free, whole as he fucks you through your high, drowning you in his touch that masterfully blends pain and pleasure.
He almost comes instantly when he sees and feels you fall apart so completely, your blissed out expression the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
As you start to come down and all sensations begin to blur into an elusive haze, you feel the edges of your vision start to blur and Nathan’s groans seem distant and muffled. On the precipice of your consciousness, in your delirium, you feel the gentle touch of Nathan’s lips on your skin, you see him smiling at you, you hear him whisper in your ear that he lo–
A sharp slap to your cheek wakes you up and has you turning your head to cough and gasp for air. After a few seconds of trying to catch your breath, your chest heaving, your head spinning, you notice that Nathan’s still moving, his hips slamming against the back of your thighs with a relentless ferocity that borders on primal.
“You don’t get to pass out on me, baby,” you hear him chuckle. “I want you to feel it when I fill you up.”
He can feel it building and building, winding tighter and tighter, his cock swelling and twitching inside your cunt. He pants and moans your name, telling you what a perfect little whore you are, how fucking good you feel, how much he enjoys hurting you.
“Holy shit, that’s it. Fuck. Fuck.”
He explodes deep inside you, cum painting your walls, still thrusting as he twitches and pulses, making sure your pussy swallows every last drop. He sits up, panting heavily, sweat running down his temples as he looks down at where your bodies are connected. He slowly pulls out of you with a strangled groan, watches with satisfaction how his cum leaks out of your swollen pussy, and at last lets his spent body collapse on the ground next to you.
“Fucking unreal,” he sighs deeply, covering his face with his hands for a moment before wiping his sweaty forehead with his sleeve. He takes a few seconds to catch his breath and to wait for enough blood to flow back to his brain, then turns his head to look at you.
You’re lying on your side, turned away from him, your knees pulled up to your chest in the fetal position. Nathan’s eyes are immediately drawn to the burns on your wrists, the scratches covering your arms and ass, and the blood he can see on your shirt’s collar.
Seeing you in this state has his cock twitching on his belly.
He did this to you. He beat you, overpowered you, took you, fucking destroyed you. You were so sure of yourself before, and now look at yourself. Pathetic.
What hurts more, little bunny? Your body or your mind?
Your pitiful sobs cut through the still of the night, interrupting Nathan’s thoughts.
“Shit.” He snaps out of it and immediately sits up, haphazardly stuffing his cock back inside his pants before opening his backpack to get out the shears he packed. He grabs them, then kneels behind you.
“I’m gonna cut your ties, okay? Don’t move.”
You give no indication that you can hear him, but you don’t move your hands as he cuts the ties around your sore wrists. You lie still, limp, even now that your hands are free again.
Concerned with your body temperature, Nathan quickly reaches for his backpack again to get out a woolen blanket. He drapes it over you, shielding your exposed body from the cold wind blowing around you.
He tries to turn you around, so he can look at you and talk to you, but you start thrashing about and crying violently when he puts pressure on your arm.
“Hey, hey, shhh, it’s over,” he says calmly but firmly, pulling you up into his lap with your back against his chest despite your protests. His strong arms hold you close, the blanket tightly wrapped around you. “Shhh, it’s over, you’re safe.”
He can feel you stop resisting and your muscles relaxing in his arms after a minute or so, your head falling back against his shoulder, your breathing getting calmer.
“I’m so fucking proud of you,” he murmurs into the crown of your head, rocking you gently.
After a short while of sitting in silence, he decides it’s best you two get going, so he can clean you up and take care of your wounds. But first, he wants you to drink from the tea he brought, to warm you up and rehydrate you.
With a careful maneuver, he reaches into his backpack while keeping a supportive hold on you, retrieving the thermos that left a lasting impression on his back. He takes a sip to make sure it’s not too hot before encouraging you to do the same. He smiles to himself when you don’t bother asking what’s in it this time, too exhausted to care, apparently.
You feel the soothing warmth trickling down your sore throat, warming you from the inside. A gentle cough escapes your lips, a testament to the wear and tear your body has endured. When Nathan’s satisfied with your intake, he stows the thermos and helps you stand up. He pulls up your panties and pants without any protest from you, then picks up his backpack.
“Here,” he murmurs, wrapping the blanket tightly around you, so it stays put without you having to hold it. He then hands you a blue cool pack for your swollen cheek and lip and guides your hand to the affected area. You wince and groan when the pack makes contact with your tender skin.
“Keep pressure on it, okay?”
You nod and press a bit harder, the throbbing pain prompting a new set of tears to well up in your eyes, silently expressing both pain and relief.
“Can you walk?”
You can’t bring yourself to look at him. “Mhm.”
“It’s not far,” he murmurs, prompting you to walk in front of him. The flashlight he brought illuminates the path, but exhaustion causes you to stumble a few times. When Nathan has to catch you for the fifth time, he realizes this isn’t going to work and finally opts to rearrange the blanket, so he can guide you with a supportive hand under your armpit.
You’re not really here, so you don’t notice that he’s leading you down a different path than the one you came from.
The cold night air is filled with unspoken truths as you walk in silence, the sound of gravel and leaves crushed beneath your feet echoing the muted conversation you’re not ready to have.
Your body is beginning to hurt more and more with every step you take, as you can feel the adrenaline slowly leaving your body. The fog in your mind begins to clear at the same time, revealing a storm of conflicting emotions you’re utterly unprepared for.
Nathan’s just fulfilled a fantasy you’ve had forever but could never find the right partner for, either due to lack of sexual compatibility or lack of trust. And despite having you climbing the walls with frustration many times over the past few months, you trust Nathan and know he would never seriously harm you.
Not physically at least.
So, why are you pouting right now? He gave you what you wanted, didn’t he? This was your idea and you wanted it so badly.
Is it because you didn’t think it would feel so real? That it wouldn’t hurt so much? Hmm, that’s not it, is it? No, no. What you’re feeling is shame. You’re ashamed. Ashamed at how much you loved it. How much you loved the thrill of the hunt and the pain of being beaten and used.
What kind of fucked up person would enjoy something like this? What is wrong with you?
– – –
“I had it built over the past week,” Nathan murmurs as he’s opening a new pack of sterile wipes. “Pretty great, huh? I designed every room myself, feng shui included.” You dig your fingernails into your palm and suck in a sharp breath when the alcohol makes contact with the bite mark on your shoulder.
You’ve been in Nathan’s new cabin for half an hour now, and he’s been trying his best to make you feel comfortable—turning up the heat, helping you take off your dirty shirt and jeans, preparing a cup of tea for you while you were on the toilet, giving you pain meds a non-billionaire could only dream of getting their hands on, and carefully disinfecting your wounds in the bathroom. He’s even refrained from misquoting Oppenheimer or exclusively talking about himself.
He is trying.
You, however, have remained unresponsive, eyes vacant, lost in the echoes of your scene. Vivid memories pulse through your veins, and when Nathan notices the subtle tremors wracking your body, a flicker of concern shadows his eyes.
“Looks good,” he goes on as he’s done cleaning the mark his canines left on you. “It’s not as deep as I thought. Still looks like it hurts though.”
He can’t help but smile at the sight, the evidence of what he did to you. Beautiful. He puts the wipes down onto the wooden bench you’re sitting on and studies your profile. Silent tears are slowly rolling down your swollen cheeks, your bruised neck, over your breasts, pooling in your bra. Your lip is quivering.
You hear him say your name. “Can you please look at me?”
When you don’t react, he says your name a little louder, his patience waning as he grapples with his own sense of helplessness.
He’s not used to feeling this way—unable to fully understand or solve a problem that’s presenting itself. He’s a genius for God’s sake. Concern turns to frustration, his eyes mirroring the helplessness he’s experiencing—an unusual and uncomfortable sensation for someone accustomed to being in control.
“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head. But your silence persists, and his frustration peaks. With a sudden resolve, he reaches for your chin, intending to force you to look at him. As soon as his fingers make contact with your skin, you slap his hand away.
“Don’t touch me!” you hiss at him with such venom in your voice that he’s momentarily stunned. Your eyes meet his for the first time since you left the woods, bloodshot and watery, pupils dilated.
The sudden break in the stagnant atmosphere startles both of you and you immediately regret what you did when you see the look on Nathan’s face. Your palms are clammy, the bathroom suddenly feels far too hot, and every scratch on your body burns and pulses in time with your racing heartbeat.
“I–I’m so sorry,” you stutter, your eyes wide, your trembling hand reaching for his arm.
“It’s okay,” he says calmly, studying your face with a furrowed brow. “Are you in pain? Is that it?”
“No—well, yeah. Of course I am, what the hell do you think?” A small smile tugs at Nathan’s lips, amused with your answer. “But, uh, that’s not it.” You avert your gaze and absentmindedly rub your right thumb over your left thumb in your lap.
“Was it too much? Did I do some–”
“No.” You vehemently shake your head and look into his eyes. “It was perfect, Nathan. I liked it, really.”
He can see in your eyes that you’re telling the truth, but that just confuses him more.
“It’s just,” you go on, shifting uncomfortably on the bench. “What’s wrong with me?”
A lightbulb flickers to life above Nathan’s head, and suddenly, it’s crystal clear what your pleading eyes are trying to say.
“Why do you think anything’s wrong with you? You just said you liked what we did.”
“But why?” you blurt out. “Other people don’t ask their boss to chase them through the woods. They’re not perpetually bruised. And they wouldn’t get off on half the shit you do to me.” Your voice is agitated now, your hands wildly gesticulating between the two of you.
Nathan can see how distressed you are, but he genuinely doesn’t understand why. This isn’t like you. He sighs and puts his hand on your naked thigh. You let him.
“Pain, humiliation, submitting to me,” he says softly, his eyes locked onto yours. “That’s your thing, okay? Now, why is that your thing? Because you did a detailed analysis of all kinks and you cross-referenced that analysis with a points-based system? No. You’re just into pain and humiliation. You like submitting to me. It’s how you were programmed. Nature and nurture, baby.”
You hear the words he says, but your tired brain and your aching body make it so you’re not really processing them. His logic isn’t what you need right now.
“But…don’t you think that’s weird?” you murmur, your eyes filling with tears again.
Nathan sighs deeply, pushing his glasses back on his nose. “This is your insecurity talking, this is not your intellect,” he says sternly. “You’re better than that.”
He gets up with a suppressed groan, clutching his abdomen, and holds out his hand for you to join him.
As soon as you’re standing, he pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you and capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. Your lips still sting, but you don’t mind. Nathan’s lips, his warm body against yours, and his hands roaming your naked back feel too good to care. You’re losing yourself in his touch again.
He directs you backwards toward the sink without breaking the kiss, pressing his growing erection against your core when your lower back hits the sink. His tongue swirls around yours, his low hums vibrating against your lips as his hands find your hips.
Breaking the kiss, out of breath, he turns you around, so you’re in front of the mirror.
“Look at yourself,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting the shell of your ear, his lidded eyes watching you. He slowly traces your skin with his fingertips, appreciating the marks on your body. A shiver runs down your spine and you moan softly at his tantalizing touch.
“I did this. I did this to you.” Nathan kisses your neck with his warm, soft lips, his beard tickling you. You close your eyes and hum at the feeling, resting your hands on the sink.
“And you took it so well, baby,” he murmurs against your skin between kisses, his hard cock pressing against your ass. “You earned every single bruise. You’re such a good little whore.”
His right hand moves down your belly, down between your thighs, cupping your mound over your panties. Gently but firmly. He keeps kissing up and down your neck, his warm breath and soft groans making you wet. You let your head fall back against him, wrapping your hands around his neck, and rocking your hips against his hand.
“Nathan…don–” you murmur, but he cuts you off.
“Shh,” he purrs against your neck, sliding his hand inside your panties and finding your clit with his fingers.
“Look at yourself.”
You reluctantly open your eyes. His gaze meets yours in the reflection, your brows drawn together, your lips slightly parted. You still wince at the sight of your swollen face, the mark on your shoulder and the bruises and scratches you can see. But all of your thoughts are quickly washed away when Nathan’s fingers start rubbing your clit, his dark eyes never leaving you.
“That’s it, baby. Look at what I did to you. Look at how much I hurt you.”
Speeding up the movement of his fingers, he can feel your legs starting to tremble as your orgasm approaches rapidly. He wraps his left hand around your front, his hand splayed over your tense belly, holding you against his chest.
Sweet release. You can already taste it.
Your moans are becoming louder and louder, and right when you’re about to tip over the edge, Nathan roughly grabs your throat and simultaneously pushes three fingers into your pussy, pumping them in and out of you hard and fast. Your eyes widen in shock and your hands instinctively grab at his, trying to get him to loosen his grip, but he’s undeterred.
He knows you’re sore, so he’s not going to fuck you with his cock. But you need this.
“There is nothing wrong with you or with what you want,” he growls into your ear, his eyes boring into you as he feels you coming around his fingers with a desperate moan.
You ride out your high on his hand until your knees buckle and your limp body collapses against his, your walls rhythmically pulsing around him. Holding you upright, Nathan presses a soft kiss to the mark on your shoulder and nuzzles the crook of your neck with his nose.
“You’re such a fucking good girl,” he murmurs as he slowly pulls his fingers out of you.
“Now, how about a bath?”
– – –
Lying in the softest bed you’ve ever laid in, feeling the comforting embrace of the satin sheets around your body, and thanks to the pain meds working their magic, you find yourself in heaven. Floating on a fluffy cloud. Mind empty. Content.
“Feeling any better?” you hear Nathan’s voice behind you before the bed dips under his weight as he joins you.
“Mhm. Great meds,” you murmur into your pillow.
“Yeah, right? I feel like I’m floating.”
“Huh?” You turn around to look at him, his face illuminated by the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the trees and the wall-to-ceiling window opposite the bed. “What the fuck, Nathan? You can’t mix those with alcohol.”
“No worries. My liver’s been training for this.”
You scoff. He’s unbelievable. “Why did you take them anyway? It’s not like you got hurt.”
“The big, purple bruise on my abdomen begs to differ,” he chuckles. “You got me pretty good.”
You can’t hold back a little laugh. “You’re a baby.”
“And you get a little too bold when you’re high. I’d watch it if I were you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you murmur, your eyelids beginning to droop.
Nathan smirks and shakes his head at you. “Hey,” he lightly taps your shoulder, “wanna see something cool? Check this out.”
He flips a switch on the wall next to the bed, and suddenly, the roof smoothly retracts, unveiling the vast expanse of the starlit sky.
It’s breathtaking.
“Pretty amazing, huh?”
“It is,” you whisper as your thoughts float away like dandelion seeds carried by a gentle breeze, dancing into the realm of dreams. “Thank you.”
The quiet in the bedroom stretches for a few minutes as the soothing embrace of sleep begins to claim you. Suddenly, Nathan breaks the silence with a soft murmur.
“I didn’t know you felt that way.”
“Hm?”
He sighs. “About your masochism. You never told me.”
“Hmm. I don’t always. Only sometimes.” You turn onto your side, your face buried in the pillow. A content sigh escapes your lips. “Can’t help it.”
“Don’t keep stuff like that from me. Tell me next time.”
“Hmm.”
“I’m serious, it’s–” He stops when he hears your rhythmic breathing. He leans over you and looks at your face. You’re sleeping. You look peaceful.
Nathan rolls onto his back and stares at the stars overhead for a few minutes, contemplating the universe and his role in it until your breathing lulls him to sleep.
– – –
Thank you for reading 🖤
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Got one inside the pants, the other on your- (Marc Spector x F!reader)
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
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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dinner party || Steven Grant x f!reader
summary: after attending the same book club for weeks, you and Steven run into each other at a dinner party and all of your curiosity and tension finally clash together.
word count: 3.8k
A/N: first fic of the year yaay😌 felt like writing something lighthearted so no warnings besides tension, a hot makeout session & Steven being a sweet literature nerd. I'm actually having a very hard time getting into writing & posting lately but I'm working through it. anyway, feedback is always very much appreciated ❤️
You weren't planning on showing up to this dinner, but according to your friends, "it’ll do you good" to socialize and get out more. While they may have been right about joining the book club to begin with, you don’t want to reveal the real reason why you're attending this event because they’re gonna be all over you, asking incessant questions and badgering you all enthusiastically and frankly, you need some time to process what you're feeling.
What are you feeling exactly?
You're excited about the possibility of seeing Steven again tonight. He’s the big reason why you're going to your book club’s owner’s house for this dinner party in the first place. You can’t help but be attracted to him; that much is clear, blatantly obvious. You are definitely attracted to him. He’s so damn intelligent and curious about things and open-minded and sweet… oh lord, he is so intoxicatingly sweet. And so shy! Steven seemed like the kind of man to wear his heart on his sleeve and that is like a breath of fresh air to you.
And when he mentioned the dinner party happening tonight… you figured it was the perfect excuse to go. It’s not a sin to want to see someone you're attracted to, right?
And it’s been such a long time since you’ve felt this attracted to someone.
Okay, so bottom line is, you're here tonight to show support for the book club, to have some wine and maybe talk to Steven.
You definitely want to talk to Steven. Or at least see him.
He’s got such a sense of humor too. The kind where he doesn't necessarily intend to joke but it comes out funny anyway and it makes you giggle involuntarily. He can make you laugh by saying dry and bad jokes, and when he talks about poetry and interprets it, about history, the way his eyes flicker when he talks about literature in general...
Yeah, one might say you are dangerously attracted to him.
Maybe tonight is a mistake. Maybe you shouldn’t be around him and wine. The combination oozes trouble, and you are not a troublemaker. You are certainly not a reckless person when you drink. You're fun and lighthearted and honest, a little too giggly sometimes, but never reckless. You don't plan on binge drinking, so you should be alright.
Unless your nerves get the best of you and you remain tongue-tied around the sweetness that is Steven Grant.
By the time you soothe you nerves, you are on your second glass of wine, politely engaging with the guests, with Miranda—bless her for starting this book club in the first place—and then you decide to indulge into some appetizers and look around her library. Man, she’s got a huge collection! She has a library in the living room and, from what Miranda herself says, three smaller ones in the three bedrooms.
She says it’s okay to take a look throughout the house—or should you call it a mansion because damn!—and so you look in the first bedroom. You are more interested in the library. The book collection is so damn impressive. She even has first editions of books that would be considered extinct nowadays and you are in absolute awe.
“Oh, hi.”
You turn around so violently you nearly pull a muscle in your neck and spill your drink. There’s Steven, holding his own glass of wine in one of the hands, a boyish grin on his face. You instantly feel your cheeks burn at the sight of him: he’s wearing black suit pants, a turtleneck sweater with the sleeves rolled up and his hair is so curly and luscious it almost makes you sigh.
“Hi,” you finally reply with a flustered smile. “Sorry, I didn’t realize anybody was gonna sneak off to look at books.”
“That’s my idea of a party to be honest.”
You both chuckle, and you can’t take your eyes off him. There’s simply something magnetizing about his presence, about the way he makes you feel just by being around you and that’s dangerous. This has the potential to be a fatal attraction and it’s scaring for all the reasons that it's exciting.
Steven approaches you, although visibly hesitant himself. You clear your throat in an attempt to diffuse your own tension. “But it is a great dinner party though,” you say, avoiding his gaze. “Everyone’s so nice.”
“They are, yeah.”
“The music’s nice too. The food is—“
“Nice too?”
You break into nervous laughter. “I’m babbling. I’m sorry. I tend to do that when I’m nervous.”
“That’s alright. It’s—quite endearing, really.”
Your eyes shoot up at him. Your cheeks burn by this point, and you're fairly certain he can see how red they are, too.
“But why are you nervous?” Steven asks and his voice is so sweet and filled with care that it's impossible to not melt.
“Um… this is not a conversation for a second glass of wine.”
“For a third glass maybe?”
Your eyes widen some more and you find yourself absolutely flabbergasted at the notion that this sweet, intelligent and introverted guy is being flirty right now.
He’s flirting with me.
He’s actually flirting with me.
“Maybe,” you decide to tease against your better judgment. “But I wouldn’t want to ruin my image by binge drinking tonight.”
“I was thinking about getting a third glass myself, so I doubt you’d ruin anything.”
It’s tempting. Too tempting.
You shouldn’t.
But he’s so close to you and he looks and smells so good it impairs your judgment. There is no judgment to be done though. You are feeling needier and more impatient than you have in a long time, and you can barely keep it together.
“If you’re having one, then fine,” you reluctantly agree. “But three is where I have to draw the line.”
Steven giggles. The sound is so youthful and pleasant it’s almost like it tickles your skin.
There’s a moment of hesitation and silence between the two of you as you both acknowledge the fact that you should probably head back downstairs, but you remain locked in some sort of trance looking at the books on the shelves, still nursing on your second glasses of wine and stealing glances at each other. The tension is so thick that you're starting to wonder whether a knife would be able to cut through it.
“Can I confess something to you?” you foolishly ask.
Steven offers a polite smile and a nod right next to you and you feel your heart racing.
“I wasn’t totally sure if I wanted to come tonight,” you muster up the courage to say.
“After what I can assume are a lot of dinner parties over the years, this one probably seems a bit dull.”
“No, it’s—“
“Nice?”
You both giggle and exchange a glare that’s filled with yearning. Oh god, the yearning is consuming, devouring from inside out, clawing with unbearable hunger.
“Yeah,” you laugh. “But I’d agree with you in the slightest. It’s just an ordinary dinner party, nothing fancy. And I am all for that. But... I’m glad you’re here tonight.”
Silence. You gulp, afraid to find his eyes this time around.
“I really like—“
No. Stop before you say something you’ll regret and scare him off.
“I really like talking to you,” you smile at him, and you are so relieved to see Steven smile as well. Watching him be so flustered is an absolute delight. “So you’re pretty much the big reason as to why I decided to come tonight. Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy the other members of the book club, but it’s just—“
“I was looking forward to seeing you tonight too.”
That shuts you up real quick. Your pulse has skyrocketed, and all you can do now is gaze practically shamelessly at this beautiful man, now in front of you. Your knees weaken, your yearning suppresses all other sentiments, and he is all that you can see. All that you want, the sole reason why you can scarcely think straight at the moment.
It’s a primal instinct, to want and to have, and to be had.
The more you look at him, breathless, the more you wonder if he feels like that too. He probably thinks in far more decent terms than you do because you can get a bit too dark on the inside to think straight and decent.
“I really enjoyed getting to know you over these past few weeks, to connect on a human level,” Steven continues. “I mean, who you are. And who you are is… really fucking spectacular.”
You haven’t heard him cuss before and you wouldn't have pegged him as the kind of guy who cusses, but it’s definitely doing something to you. Might be him, might be the wine, or it might be a combination of the both. At this point, it's futile to try to understand.
Tonight is shaping up to be quite the evening after all.
“I’m—not,” you smile flustered. “I try, but sometimes I—I go a little dark.”
“That's alright. Everyone does, don't they?"
You scoff. “How are you so open-minded and okay with the idea that someone is telling you upfront, ‘hey, I’m kind of a mess sometimes’? How are you so—so dreamy?”
Steven laughs, scratching his head, and you realize you might’ve made him a bit uncomfortable with your previous remark. But it’s a genuine question because how is he this dreamy?! Can he actually be the ideal man?
All you know is that Steven makes you feel things you haven’t felt since high school, if maybe ever. You haven’t felt anything this intense in years. It might actually rekindle your hope for the male species.
“I wouldn’t call myself that,” he giggles. “A couple of my former dates might disagree with you. I'm not actually a pro at dating."
“Yeah well, an ex might be bitter enough to think that way. But I do think you’re an amazing guy, and… I’m glad you’re here tonight.”
“I’m glad you’re here tonight.”
Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuuuuck. The way he says your name right after that sentence, your full first name, with that British accent sprinkled in, oh my God.
You discover, much to your dismay, that you are feeling things you haven’t felt in years. Carnivorous, urgent, tingling and prickling your skin and you're in imminent danger.
“So did you find what you came in here for?” Steven asks all of a sudden and just like that, when your eyes meet, you're a puddle.
Your heart’s thrumming in your ears, pounding away in your chest; so, so loudly you're afraid it might burst out for him to see it too. You haven’t felt this way in a long time, that much has been established; but this just seems incessant and over the top. You barely know him as a regular person and you just wonder… can you be this insanely attracted to someone you barely know?
“I think I did,” you respond eventually, your voice scratchy against your dry throat, like sand on paper. “Except now I’m debating… um… whether I should or should not have it.”
Steven takes a step closer to you, thus indirectly forcing you to look up at him and you swear you feel your knees buckle under the weight of this solitary glare. Then he clears his throat and stares at you, cheeks flushed and all.
“If you really want it, perhaps it means you should have it,” he says. “There should be no hesitation with the things you want.”
“What if—what if I’m not fit to have it? What if I do something to ruin it? Because this thing, it's—it's beautiful and sweet and kind and a lot of the time I'm not. What if when I inevitably hold it in my hands, I'll stain it?”
This would be a great time to claim this is a metaphor about a book on the shelf, but it isn’t. You know it, Steven knows it. There’s no need to pretend, even if no specific words are given.
“I suppose you have to take a chance and see what happens,” Steven says nearly breathless and to my shock, you see his eyes drop straight to your mouth. “It’s a gamble, as with most things.”
You unconsciously lick your lips and bite on your bottom one, and something changes in his eyes. You swear it fucking does. It can’t be just your imagination, however hormone-soaked it may be right now.
“Take Orpheus and Eurydice for instance,” he continues. “Their love was no gamble, no what if’s. They just knew it from the moment their eyes laid on each other. They knew they had to have each other.”
Okay, so citing one of the most infamous love stories of all time is not helping right now because you're really about to throw caution to the wind and live in the moment, for once in this damned life.
What repercussions would there be, anyway? You simply want to kiss him, that’s all; to kiss him on his cheeks, his nose, his lips, down his neck and down his whole body till he’s writhing beneath you and he’s a pleading, mumbling and sweaty mess. Pleading for the kind of release only you could give to him.
Okay, maybe some repercussions. And this isn’t the time or the place for any of that.
Shit, the image of a sweaty, pleading Steven haunts you now as you're met with his blown-out eyes, somehow still kind.
“That’s… I can’t argue against that,” you smile, way too flustered about the images running through your head. “Thank you for the wise words.”
“I have often been told I am somewhat of a wise man,” Steven jokes.
You chuckle. “You really are though. Um, Steven?”
You're not really sure what happens after you call out his name; all you know is that you pull him in by the wrist, our eyes locked in what seems like a pleading glare, both of us begging the other to move, to do something, anything, and then your body is pressed against the bookshelf, one large hand on the small of your back and the other in your hair, while a sweet mouth is a hot furnace on yours, pressing and touching relentlessly.
And you feel like you're straight up in heaven. You taste, see and feel heaven.
Christ, his lips are so soft, and yet the way he kisses is passionate, tender and ferocious all at once. It’s like he’s trying his hardest to let you know he’s gentle and caring but that he wants this so fucking much and the mixture, the entire idea in and of itself, has you absolutely feral. So much so that you kind of groan into his mouth, and that seems to spur him on. He pushes a bit of himself into you, and you're melting. You're melting and burning up and you never want to be apart from him, from any part of him.
You're left confused when you don’t feel his mouth on yours and oddly disappointed, but then you notice why he stopped. Miranda’s in the doorway, her hand on the knob, chuckling at you.
“My apologies,” she smiles at you. “Didn’t realize I was interrupting.”
“No, we were not—it’s not—“you start, losing the string of your own sentence as you manically lick your lips in what appears to be a feeble attempt at memorizing the taste of Steven's lips.
“If it’s urgent, the bedrooms are all free, and the bathroom’s stocked.”
You feel a rush of embarrassment flood you, and your cheeks are even redder than before.
“We weren’t planning on—on any of that,” Steven mumbles.
Miranda cocks an eyebrow at you, and you both feel like two teenagers being scolded—oddly enough. “Didn’t look like that from here. I was wondering how long it will take you two to finally get your act together. Enjoy the evening!”
With that, she leaves, and you feel even more determined to explain yourself, even if… really, there’s no reason to feel this way. You only shared one kiss, albeit a very heated one. Nothing else happened.
Could it have happened? If Miranda hadn’t walked in… would you have gone all the way?
You know you could have, with the way you felt so devoured and consumed by that kiss and by Steven himself.
Steven clears his throat, scratching the back of his head as he looks at you, his whole face red, just like his lips. Now that you’ve had a taste of his lips, of the way he can be when he wants something—someone—you feel feral, in an absolutely unhinged desire for more.
And it scares you as much as it thrills you.
"I'm really, really sorry," Steven apologizes.
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I feel like I sort of lured you into this… bookish trap.”
And then something hits me. “Actually… no. I’m not sorry,” you correct yourself.
Steven seems surprised, only pleasantly. “I’m not sorry about this. We didn’t do anything bad, right? Unless the kiss was bad, in which case…”
He giggles, and he’s so damn sweet you could eat him up, spread him on a cracker.
Naked.
Okay babe, focus. Stay on topic.
“It was the stellar opposite of that,” Steven smiles reassuringly, though his eyes maintain that look in them that’s rather… feral as well.
“I’m not sorry about the kiss because… truth be told, I’ve been sort of… thinking about this for quite some time.”
“Yeah? Anything else you thought about?”
Oh shit, when he’s intentionally flirty is just so attractive you can barely hold yourself together in one piece.
“A lot of anything else,” you admit and gosh, how is it possible that your cheeks are burning even more?! “But this is a third glass of wine conversation. Or—maybe for another setting.”
Steven smiles, still flustered himself. His cheeks are rosy, slightly reddened, and it paints such a beautiful image. It is now that you realize he truly is beautiful: his chocolate brown eyes, long eyelashes, gorgeous hair, and simply the kind aura about him that makes you want to be around him at all times. He exudes safety and warmth and you have genuinely become frightened by how much you am into him already.
“Maybe that glass of wine isn’t such a good idea in the end,” Steven mutters affected.
“Oh? How come you changed your mind?”
“Full honesty?”
“I usually appreciate it very much.”
He leans back in, his eyes roaming your figure and your spine tickles with electricity. A hot and cold shiver passes through you; you tremble. You actually tremble. Holy shit.
“It’ll have quite an effect on me and I might want to take Miranda’s advice from before. Get on with what we started.”
Nothing but a faint oh leaves your mouth; and that’s barely the word itself, just a gust of wind that resembles the word oh, because your brain cannot compute anything at the moment besides what he just said.
And what he said is… well.
“And that would not be the gentleman-y thing to do,” he carries on, and his face is so flustered and yet riddled with something akin to neediness that your head starts spinning again.
Of course he wants to do gentleman-y things. Of course. How on brand for someone such as Steven Grant.
But oh how much you'd love to tell him—and show him—that he can easily do the opposite of that.
You can’t get the sensation of his lips pressed against yours out of your mind. You can’t get his taste out from your lips or your mind. It’s like he’s infiltrated far below the skin, straight into your bloodstream, swimming in your veins, becoming one with your entire system, and you find yourself absolutely speechless. You have genuinely no idea what to tell him or what to reply to him, so you kind of just stare at him in disbelief whilst also wishing for more, almost begging through that single stare, begging him to do anything remotely close to that kiss. Any touch right now would send you into a pleasurable orbit, even a breath in your direction would set your whole body on fire, and as you're thinking this, you come to realize maybe it isn’t such a good idea.
After all, you're still at the dinner party where loads of other people are and something like this, with someone as special as Steven, requires to be in a very intimate setting.
“Is there ever a time when you don’t think of the gentleman-y thing to do?” you chuckle and immediately face palm yourself mentally. Why would you so shamelessly pose such a flirty question when both your minds are in very fragile states right now?
Good god, get a grip over yourself, woman.
“Right now would be a very solid example,” he replies and you could so easily faint right now knowing that those words actually came out of his mouth. “But we can’t always give into our very first urges, can we? Otherwise it’d be so much chaos in this already chaotic world.”
Your jaw slightly drops as you look at him in awe. “You are... impossibly poetic.”
Steven chuckles, a soulful and hearty sound, and to know you are capable of rising such crystalline sounds from him, from such a beautiful man, it means so much to you.
“I just say what I think, nothing to it,” he keeps laughing.
“You’re really making things difficult right now, you know?”
“How so?”
“Well… let’s just say I have half a mind to surrender to that very first urge regardless of what might happen.”
“Kind of an unreliable narrator that urge, isn’t it? Saying it wants things, and it wants things badly, but rationality knows that if we do give into it, into that lust, we also become unreliable in a way.”
Your jaw drops further, and you shake my head. “Steven, you have got to stop with this, seriously. You’re making things very hard for me right now.”
“Sorry! I'm sorry.”
But he keeps laughing and laughing, even as he allows you to leave the room first and leads you back into the kitchen where we end up having a glass of water and talking about literature for another hour.
And around midnight, you arrive at the startling realization that you might be falling in love already.
#steven grant#steven grant x reader#steven grant x you#steven grant x y/n#steven grant x f!reader#steven grant x female reader#steven grant fanfiction#steven grant fic#steven grant fluff#steven grant smut#oscar isaac#oscar isaac fanfiction#oscar isaac fic#moon knight#moon knight fanfiction#moon knight fic
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Murder Daddy Kinktober 2023 Day 28 You trying to get me fired?
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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The Thin Line Between Victory and Survival NSFW!
(Santiago "Pope" Garcia x f!soldier!reader)
Summary: Having been newly promoted, your first mission with Delta Force goes wrong and you have to deal with the consequences of going against Santiago's orders
w/c: 6.6k
Warnings: NSFW! war environment, slight knife play, masturbation (f!reader), oral (m!receiving), self-edging, orgasm denial, choking, dom!Santi, p in v, slight fluff at the end, think that's everything?
a/n: reader's callsign is 'Midge'. this takes place after the events of triple frontier but where the gang are still active members of Delta Force. I kinda imagined Santiago as Ghost from COD (cos daddy)
ENJOY!
***
“Frankie. Sit rep?”
“ETA 30 seconds. Sit tight.”
“Rog’.” Santi’s gravelly voice worms its way into your ear in harsh rumbles as you begin to take position at the edge of a sandy cliff, overwatching the vast desert valley ahead of you. His voice shakes the nerves inside you that are already on high alert. You remind yourself to turn down your comms when you can afford the chance. “Midge, how copy?”
You perk to attention at the sound of your nickname and respond accordingly. “Loud and clear, sir. In position. Eyes on Frankie.”
Towards the heart of the valley, Frankie’s distant figure calmly approaches the enemy-riddled farm under the cover of darkness and you watch with bated breath through a window of green. Directly ahead of you, even further away on the mirroring side of the valley is your superior Santiago “Pope” Garcia, providing overwatch just as you are. You can’t see him but you know he’s there, like a ghost lurking in the shadows. Even though you are just as concealed as he is, you have this disconcerting feeling that he’s very much capable of plucking you out, watching you.
You readjust yourself nervously.
It’s incredibly dark with nothing but the twinkling stars and Jupiter’s bright sparkle to keep anyone sane. Without the night vision goggles, you are a lost hope. They sit squarely on your nose, grinding the bone and encasing your eyes, and the sweat trickling down your neck is no home comfort either, but now is not the time to be complaining. You have a job to do.
Having been recently promoted for your sharp shooting and bright mind, you’re no longer an extra in someone else’s play, you’re the real deal now. You’re still taking orders no less, except now word doesn’t have to pass through at least three ranks above you like a game of Chinese Whispers before you receive the order.
Every mission is different but your response has always been the same: subdued nerves to begin, then before long, you’re in your element and the job gets done. However, this task in particular has your heart beating a little harder and you don’t sense it settling any time soon. The whole mission is unnerving. It’s just you, Frankie and Santiago, sent out into the middle of nowhere to retrieve controls for a weapon that’s been missing from the US government for three years. The very same that is currently being protected and fortified by an armada of Russian extremists. Every minute in between the initial briefing and your current breath has been spent quietly fretting about it.
This mission alone has introduced a lot of firsts for you; first time working with Delta Force rather than for, first time working off the grid, first time working in a squad with fewer than 5 comrades beside you, first time being completely and hopelessly outnumbered…
First time feeling extremely, extremely doubtful.
“Remember, this is a covert operation and completely off the grid so keep it quiet. Frankie, I want you in and out before they even get a whiff that you were ever there, and Midge--” you gulp, “keep Frankie alive.”
“Yes, sir.” You and Frankie’s voices ring through simultaneously. By now, Frankie has approached the back door of the barren barn, a large building that no doubt houses a number of enemies inside. Through your scope, you witness Frankie infiltrating the barn, his voice verbally confirming it seconds later. “I’m in. Going dark.”
“Copy that.”
The second you lose sight of him you take a hefty breath, letting it flood your lungs while the waiting game begins. From out here, there’s nothing you can do for him except warn him of any outside movements. As of right now, he’s on his own, doing what he does best.
“Stay sharp.”
You keep quiet on your side of comms, too paranoid to risk speaking unnecessarily. Instead, you keep your wits on what’s in front of you. There’s no movement, not even a breath of wind to shake the lonely tree that stands at the far end of the farm and it feels as though time has stood still. If it wasn’t for the mouse scuttling underneath your sniper stand, you would’ve thought so.
The little creature skips and hops over the rocks to your right, stopping every couple of seconds to clean the dust from its ears. Cute. You quirk a smile at the thought of something as simple as a mouse breaking the tension that’s riddling your bones. God knows you need it. Every fibre of your being is buzzing with uncertainty and the heavy nauseating feeling in your stomach is enough of a sign that something about this mission just isn’t right. Some would call it instinct, others would call it a load of rubbish, regardless, the feeling is there and you’re not willing to ignore it.
In all honesty, you would’ve carried out this mission entirely differently if you had the authority. But that’s the thing. You don’t. Outranked and out-experienced by the two men alongside you, you had no option but to play by their rules. Where you would’ve gone all-in, they chose to keep their cards close to their chests.
You never agreed with the idea that less is more. Not in the military.
Ten agonising minutes pass by. Nothing has been said and nothing warrants being said. Everything about you is screaming to point out the obvious; that something clearly isn’t going right. Frankie should’ve been out by now.
“I don’t like this. It’s too quiet. Nothing’s happening.”
Santiago instantly replies, a slight ring of chagrin evident in his tone. “Good. Means we haven’t been compromised.”
“Then why isn’t he out?”
“Patience, Midge. Keep focussed.”
You’re seconds away from overstepping boundaries and saying something you shouldn’t, but the moment you open your mouth, you spot a black vehicle off in the distance, quickly morphing into view as it speeds across the expanse of the valley with a plume of dust trailing behind it. It’s heading directly towards the farm.
“Be advised. Vehicle inbound coming in from the north. Pope, you see it?”
“Affirmative. Six Russians inside and likely armed. Do. Not. Engage. Frankie, get the hell on with it and get those controls.”
The vehicle approaches and screeches to a stop, the occupants immediately disperse from the vehicle with rifles in hand. Fear shoots through you, wide eyes pinned on the door Frankie entered through, desperate for it to open again and see Frankie escape but alas, no sign of him. “Come on, come on, come on…”
“Enemies heading towards the front entrance.”
“I’ve got a shot on two of them.”
“No. Stand down. Do not engage. They don’t know we’re here, we can’t draw attention to ourselves.” Pope’s voice rages through your earpiece again and you wince, both from his tone and volume.
“Why the fuck are we here then?”
“To prevent a ruckus from happening. If we engage, we’ll be the reason for it. Now shut up and keep your eyes peeled. Frankie, for Christ’s sake, you better have those controls.”
You listen intently for his voice, hoping that he’s succeeded and he’s on his way back, but when you hear a slight crackle, a groan and high-pitched frequency piercing through the comms, you assume the worst. Your heart stops dead in your chest when you hear a shot being fired, its echo carrying the weight of dread right to your position. “Fuck! Santi--”
“Frankie! Do you copy?”
Short, resounding booms resonate from the farm and you’re left with no doubt that Frankie’s position has been compromised, leaving his life and the controls to this weapon at stake. You can’t afford to lose both and you’re certain that Pope knows that too, so why isn’t he giving the order for backup?
“He needs help!”
“Stay put! I can’t risk losing two of you. This is Pope to Ironhead, how copy?”
You drown out William’s voice with worries of your own, constantly watching for signs of Frankie’s survival but to no avail, you find none. You knew this mission was never going to succeed. Your instinct was right. And based on that fact alone, what’s to stop you assuming that when your gut instinct is now telling you to go and extract Frankie and the controls yourself, it’s the right decision no matter what your orders are?
“Fuck this.” With haste, you pack up your equipment, whipping it over your shoulder with a new-found surge of adrenaline pumping through you. The hill you’re perched on isn’t tall, but it is steep, so as you run down the slope, your body falls faster than your legs can keep up. The howl of air blows past your ears and the clinking and clanking of your equipment rattles with each step. Even still with the cacophony of sounds, nothing can be louder than your boss’s rage.
“Midge! What the fuck are you doing? Get back to your position!”
You don’t bother responding because you’re too out of breath…and mostly because you’re shit scared. When you hear his voice again, you’re at the door Frankie entered through with a shaky hand holding your pistol and the other tightly gripping the handle.
“Midge, so help me God, if you take another step--”
“We can’t leave Frankie!”
“We don’t know if he’s still alive.”
“But we know the controls are in there, if we can’t get one, we’ll get the other.”
“NO! You get back here right fucking now!” The scratch of his growl descends down your body, making you curl your toes. Suddenly, a farm full of Russian extremists doesn’t seem to be your biggest threat…
“I’m going in.”
A grunted sigh crackles through the comms as Pope watches you push through the door into chaos.
“Just so you know, if you somehow survive this, I will kill you myself.”
~~~~
Miraculously, you did exactly that. You survived. Not only did you extract Frankie’s beaten body and save his life, you also retrieved the controls before they got away. You can’t deny that the odds were slim and it did nearly cost both of your lives, but at the expense of breaking a few rules and a few bones, you made it. And you won’t apologise for a single bit of it sitting here in an unused briefing room with Santiago.
The tale of twists and turns didn’t end when you and Frankie both made it out alive only hours ago, in fact, it continues with Santi; a man with chains around his heart, a shield around his mind and a look of steel donning his face. It is fair to say his reputation precedes him, especially since his comrade Redfly died years ago. Before you met him officially, you had only ever heard of his emotionless gaze, his inhuman self-restraint and deeply enigmatic personality, and you found it strange that no one told you what it was like to be around him. Until Frankie told you that how you felt being in a room with him could not be explained through words, it was something you had to experience for yourself.
Frankie was right. You had to be there to see that he was stronger, colder, smarter, more intimidating than anyone had let on. His presence wasn’t one to be easily swallowed. It was obvious that strangers couldn’t settle the unease they felt when he walked into the room; cautious eyes, bitten lips, fidgeting muscles. They succumbed to his eerie, silent domination very quickly. Quicker if those dark eyes were locked on you. They were seared into the back of your mind the moment they landed on you for the first time, remembering how you just couldn’t decipher the encrypted messages they hid. Whoever stated that the eyes were windows to the soul had clearly never met Santiago.
But tonight, that restraint is gone. He is positively seething. Outwardly, publicly, irrationally seething. In the dimly lit room, he stands menacingly in the corner where the light doesn’t quite reach, yet still you can see his knuckles tensing and untensing with each breath he takes. You don’t say a word, quietly picking at the forming scab on your knuckle, and in your head, you speak the words you don’t have the conviction to say out loud.
“Do you have any idea how fucking reckless you are?”
You slowly peer up to him, his words still processing as you narrow in on him. “Reckless? With all due respect, my actions saved a man’s life and finished the mission. What part of that is reckless?”
“The part where you didn’t follow my orders! You went rogue. Off plan. Completely out of line. If you don’t follow orders, you don’t know how it will end. I could’ve lost you both unnecessarily.”
“Could’ve,” you mutter.
He begins to loom closer, taking every word of yours like they’re a sour taste in his mouth. In muted tones, he whispers out to you. “What?”
“You said you could’ve lost us both. But you didn’t.” The words feel like liberation. It’s the first time you’ve ever behaved like this. It’s so uncharacteristic but you just feel so insulted by his lack of gratitude or appreciation that anger bubbles inside you, spitting out words that you know you shouldn't, turning you into someone you definitely aren’t. You are usually a rule follower, you are usually obedient, and you usually respect authority, but in the blinding light of anger, you just can’t surrender to Santiago’s discipline so easily.
“And you should’ve listened to me. But you didn’t. Nobody ever fucking listens to me and they end up dead because of it.”
“Just because Redfly did, doesn’t mean everyone else will too.”
Low blow, Midge.
Sensing immediate regret, you keep your eyes firmly pinned on your hands on the table in front of you. Like a dark rain cloud, you catch sight of his shadow engulfing your own. His stature and all-encompassing presence emerges behind you but you don’t dare move a single muscle. His hands curl around the back of the chair you’re sitting in, the pathetic plastic creaking under his fists. The brave front you’re putting on begins to yield to his growing temperament and the facade crumbles piece by piece.
Everyone in the unit had heard of what happened when a certain team of the Delta Force went rogue. The US Army had never let them live it down since.
He leans his head over your stiff shoulder and you can even feel the heat of his anger just glazing over the shell of your ear.
“Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.” Santiago spits every word with heavy articulation as if he’s etching the words into your brain. His laboured breathing is a concern, knowing that it’s a warning of the wrath that’s about to ensue. “Redfly didn’t follow my orders to stand down and it inevitably got him killed. And right now, the same might happen to you.”
With a sharp, unexpectant tug of your hair, your head whips back, swinging the chair with you until the overhead light burns into your eyes. Reflexes have your hands gripping the edge of the table until they turn white with tension, stopping yourself from tipping backwards. The sudden blade on your neck stops you moving forward.
“Do you remember what I said to you before you disobeyed me?”
You remember all too well. If you somehow survive this, I will kill you myself.
“You wouldn’t.”
Santiago presses the blade harder against your skin, unapologetic. “Wouldn’t I?”
You really don’t know whether to call his bluff but to stay on the safe side you remain silent. Until anything happens, you are both stuck staring into each other’s eyes, holding a resentment none of you are willing to let go of. Looking up at him, it’s obvious that he is teetering on the edge of breaking a few rules himself, allowing the sharp edge of the knife to roll across the expanse of your neck, bobbing as you swallow, until the sharp point rests precariously atop your pulse. But even he knows himself that he wouldn’t follow through with it, because as much as it pains him to admit it, your courageous actions, although downright stupid, did save Frankie’s life and secured the controls. And he fucking hates it. If there was anything he could do to scare the absolute shit out of you to stop you being so smug and defiant about it, he would do it in a heartbeat.
“Santiago,” you warn, just as the point of the knife starts to break through the thin layer of skin on your neck. You try to move your head but he still has his fist entangled through your roots.
The instant the little whine of his name broke from your lips, something snapped inside him. The desperation of it, it was too provocative for him to ignore and an electrical feeling pulsed from his chest and shot straight towards his dick. Having you in his tight clutches, essentially at his mercy, exacerbated the feeling and suddenly he could feel himself growing hard. Fuck, what was he doing?
It’s perverse of him to want to hear it again, to see those plump but bitten lips of yours say his name again in a plea for his forgiveness. He becomes so fixated on the idea that he gets carried away, pricking your skin with the knife, watching as your eyes widen and your body writhing beneath him.
“AHH! Pope--fuck--okay, okay, I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry, just…please let go of the knife.” There it was again, the slight twitch in his dick, one that makes him grow uncomfortable beneath his boxers.
It’s one thing for Pope to be angry, but when lust is thrown into the equation, there’s much less he can do to suppress it and with you still whimpering beneath him, it’s something he’s quickly realised.
He relieves the pressure of the knife just enough to alleviate the pain but not enough that you haven’t completely escaped its threat. He moves out of your sight, his head dropping lower until his lips are gracing across your ear. You hear nothing but his slow breathing, funnelling down your ear and you instantly shiver. You want to pull away from him but for some reason, you’re chemically drawn into him; his close proximity, the smell of him, the hold he has on you, it’s all so…dangerously alluring. Something changes and the air starts to grow hot.
“Y’know,” he purrs, “I can’t allow you stay on my team if you can’t listen to my orders--”
“No! No, I-I want to stay.”
“How do I know you won’t pull something stupid like this again, hm? You’re still a rookie, you’re not an addition to this team, no, what you are is a liability. Your actions today proved to me that you are just not capable.”
“I am. I was promoted for a reason.”
“Yeah? Prove it. Prove you’re capable and I might consider keeping you on my team.”
“How?”
“It’s simple,” he says, his lips trailing from your ear to skim across your cheek, just teasing with feather light touches. “Follow…my…orders. Do you understand?”
Your cheeks are burning, your lungs are heaving, everything about this screams ‘this is a risk you shouldn’t take’. But it’s hard to heed those words when Santiago’s grip of your hair loossens to soothing scalp scratches, when the tips of his lips and his nose brush over your burning cheek, inhaling the scent of you, when your gut is telling you to listen to how tempted your body is, how wanting it is for him.
Your thighs press together beneath the table.
“Yes.”
“Yes…what?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Better. Stand up.” You swing forward so fast that a violent rush of blood to your head almost makes you lose your balance, but Santiago keeps you up with a firm hold to your arm while he casually throws the knife onto the table. He perches himself in front of you to lean against the edge of the table, touching toe-to-toe and holds your gaze; bold, dark brown eyes that give nothing away about the inner workings of his mind. And it’s those same eyes that can read everything about you.
“Nervous, soldier?”
“No, sir.”
“Don’t lie.”
“A…A little, sir.”
“Good, you should be. Take off your top.”
With those words, you know, that whatever happens from this moment on, Santiago will not be following any official protocol but his own. You do as he says, now feeling the heat of the room touching your bare skin. Santiago admires the way your belt hugs around your waist, waiting for the moment his hands can do the same when he’s fucking you from behind. Your bra is standard, nothing sexy. It’s what he expects on a day you had been on a mission, but what his eyes catch is your nipples pebbling through the material, and the slight blood stain discolouring the straps from the shrapnel wound to your shoulder that he didn’t realise you had.
“At ease,” he commands. You act on instinct, bracing your hands behind your back with your legs standing shoulders-width apart. The instruction has been ingrained in you since the day you started your training. “You got hurt?”
“Minor wounds.”
“Wounds you wouldn’t have had if you had listened to me.”
Fluttering warmth spreads from your core the moment Santiago cups your breast, your nipple weaving through his fingers and caught in a tight pinch. When you don’t react, he peers up at you to engage in a wordless conversation that both are in tune with. Keep going? Yes. He brings his other hand up to mirror the other and this time he finally elicits a small, but audible sigh from you.
It’s been so long since you’ve had anyone like this, even longer for Santiago. His failures to locate his old contact Yovanna in Australia broke him and since then, he had sworn off getting close with anyone for fears of time repeating itself. As for you? You had yet to claim anyone as your own. Sure, you’ve had a few romances over the years but no one had ever satisfied you in the sick, slightly twisted way you were searching for. Up until now, you didn’t think there was a man out there who was interested in the same things you were. You didn’t think they existed.
Until you met Santiago. He is a thrill personified.
It was impossibly cruel that the world had dealt you this hand; to fantasise over the ways his gravelly voice could murmur the dirtiest, filthiest things to you, the ways his experienced hands could ruin with the slightest of touches. However, you always knew that professionalism and the dangers of your line of work would always take priority over your fantasies, and you forced yourself out of your fictional world to come face to face with the harsh reality of war. It was a miracle how you were able to survive this long without going absolutely feral, but now, with Santiago losing his patience too, you’re starting to think that you won’t last much longer.
“So fucking reckless,” he whispers, a reminder for both you and himself. His brow dips when his frustration rolls back in its tide, keeping that stone-cold expression hard on his face. It’s slightly different though. His parted lips, his vigorous movements, the slight pant to his breath. In your eyes, it all points towards desire more than frustration. “As your superior…” His voice is somehow quieter, but it’s heard all the same, “it’s my responsibility to punish you, to teach you a lesson about discipline. You need to learn that when I tell you to do something, you fucking do it. You understand?”
A bead of sweat rolls down the back of your neck fluidly, your hands itching to wipe it away but obedience locks them behind your back. Suddenly, he snaps forward, his hand coming to snatch your jaw and force you to look him in the eyes. The precision of his quick movements makes you flinch, trapping a breath in your lungs and he notices, lips curling momentarily.
“Yes, sir!”
Shivers follow wherever his other hand roams. He moulds out the shape of your waist and hips, squeezing tighter than your belt ever could. He begins to unbuckle your belt with little regard, popping the button of your trousers and bursting the zip to admire the way your trousers hang loosely from your hips. Everything inside you tenses at the sudden exposure.
Santiago begins toying with you, running his knuckles lightly over the edge of your underwear, dipping just the tip of his finger beneath the elastic rim, but retreats just as quickly. He follows the line of your navel, travelling up and up to trace small ghostly circles around your ribcage and it takes everything in you not to shudder. Your body can’t quite figure out how to tune into him, the stark contrast between the harsh grip he has on your jaw and the fluttering touches to your body has your mind going crazy and it’s mildly disorientating.
His thumb circles around your chin before resting upon your bottom lip, pulling it out into a pout for his eyes to fixate on. He has that expression on his face that you’ve seen before; determined and fully resolute. The features of a man with authority.
“That mouth…” he pants, “‘s gotten you into trouble today.” He draws you in until the tips of your noses clash and he’s a hair’s breadth away from kissing you. Instead…“I want to fuck it. Get on your knees, soldier.”
Your knees collide the cold surface of the ground almost instantly much to his pleasure. He wastes no time undoing his belt as efficiently as he did yours, and before too long the tip of his lengthy cock replaces where his thumb was just seconds before, wet with little beads of cum. Your hands reach out to guide him into your mouth but he snatches your wrist before you can commit.
“Nuh-uh, this one’s for you. If you have some semblance of discipline, you’ll cum only when I say.”
You nod, falsely, and promptly take him into your mouth with one hand at the base of his cock while the other slips beneath your underwear and swirls around your clit the way you know best. A strangled groan leaves his throat and you feel the vibrations of it with the way his cock twitches in your mouth. The same pleasure buzzes in you, spreading warmth from your stomach down to your cunt.
Despite having eventually found a rhythm that you can settle into, bobbing your head and taking as much of him as you can, you can’t find balance. Your multitasking skills have taken a hit because as soon as you feel the tight pinch of pleasure erupting from your clit, you know you can’t succumb to it and just like that, all your focus and effort turns to pleasuring him and the feeling dissipates. It’s torturous having to edge yourself, it’s not something you are particularly well-versed in.
“So good, so fucking good,” he praises. Santiago’s hands come to scrape through your hair and take control, causing you to move faster and suck him down even harder, so much that you have to plant your other hand against his thigh to regain balance, going against his orders. He notices and chastises you. “Get that fucking hand back where it should be.”
A moan gargles from your throat, a lack of patience wearing you thin. It doesn’t help that you’re incredibly turned on by the whole situation and you’re hesitant to touch yourself because of it, unsure how much more you can take before yet another one of Santi’s orders is disobeyed. So you take it slow, lazily circling around your bud just enough to keep you satiated while you occupy yourself with Santiago. Your mouth detaches from him with a pop, using those tear-stained eyes of yours to silently beg for his own release in exchange for your own but his head is thrown back and takes no notice, indulging in the way your tongue swirls around his tip. Just the sight of the vein popping from his neck is enough to send a rush of lust to mount up onto the orgasm that’s impatiently waiting. Fuck, you really need to cum.
What gets his attention is your needy little whine. A whine that warns you both that you’re on the precipice of cumming, that if you pressed any harder on your sensitive clit you would combust. Your thighs are almost rattling beneath you.
“Don’t you dare,” he warns in a low growl, thrusting into your wet mouth and straight to the back of your throat. “Don’t you disobey me.”
“I can’t hold on,” you splutter.
“You can and you will. Fuuuck…”
Decidedly, your hand comes to a halt because after all, this is about discipline, right? It’s all about being able to control yourself, to place your trust in him and listen to what he says hoping that it will all pay off.
You need to do something that would push him over the edge, do something that would completely shatter his world, never to be forgotten. You offer every trick in the book; swirling around your tongue around the head of his cock, sweeping it across the small slit to collect the small bead of cum, teasing him before taking him down your throat and gagging on him. He’s already so close, and you're already dripping onto your hand, and with one last final trick up your sleeve, you catch his eyes, sink yourself onto him until your nose bashes against skin, and fight through the gag. Teeth baring, you slowly, lightly, graze your teeth up his cock, ghosting over every vein that pulses, leaving behind the soothing aftercare of your soft lips. By your side, his thighs twitch and by the time you reach the head of his cock, an explosion happens.
Santiago leans forward, grappling onto your head as you drink down everything he gives you. His entire body tenses, trapping you into a headlock and just only for a couple of seconds do you feel yourself losing breath, but it doesn’t matter, because above you he’s panting heavily, enclosing his thighs around your head and holding onto you for dear life. It’s all the signs you need to know that you’ve done what you promised, you proved yourself.
“Fucking hell,” Santiago pants. His grip loosens around you and you suck down a large breath as he releases you. The instant your lips are free, he forces you to a stand and claims them, humming into them with hunger. He slips his tongue past your lips searching for a taste of himself on you with a delectable moan. It only takes him a couple of seconds of clawing at your waist before his hand slips beneath your underwear to feel the result of your constant edging; a wet cunt that’s pleading for relief. The slightest touch of his fingers has your hips buckling, you’re so close it hurts.
“So wet. So needy.”
“F-fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper. You want it, you need it, you can’t live without it, for god sake, please!
“Yeah?” You could hear the smirk in his voice. “On whose authority?”
“Santiago, please.”
“I told you this is about discipline and listening to orders--” his fingers drill into your clit with absolute precision and immediately takes control of your pleasure, luring it to the surface. “Did I say you could cum?”
“No, but--”
“Then you can’t. Have the discipline to stop it.”
“Fuck!” Just seconds away from orgasm, you drop to a crouch, his hand slipping from you in one fluid movement. So close, so fucking close.
Santiago maniacally chuckles above you. He has little sympathy for you hunched on the ground reeling into yourself, but what he does have though, is just a little pride. Pride that you listened, that you obeyed no matter how desperate you were to go against his word. Because, of course, in Santiago’s eyes, his word overrules everyone else’s. His word is gospel. What he says goes.
You don’t get to relish the pride he has for you because you are spiralling. Your shaking body can’t allow you to stand knowing that even the slightest friction of anything against your clit would set you off and you’ve done so well to abide by his rules, you wouldn’t want to ruin it.
Santiago’s hand comes to stroke the back of your head in a supportive manner to find that you’re burning up. It’s obvious that you need release and that resides with him.
“Stand up.”
“I…I don’t think I can.”
“Come on,” he demands, his tone a little harsher. “Stand up and put your hands on the table.”
Shaky legs raise you to your feet and you brace yourself against the hard wooden table, the cold surface just a slight relief to the fire raging through your body. Santiago teases down your trousers leaving your panties to feel the brush of his hips against your ass, giving you a large hint of what’s to come. Your stomach plummets at the thought of having to hang onto the precipice for any longer. You could cry at the thought, tears ready and waiting behind your eyes.
“Good girl,” he whispers seductively. “You’re so close, aren’t you? So desperate for release that just one--” he lightly brushes your clit through your underwear, “little--” he does it again and you judder, “touch will set you off.”
Jesus, you could cry. You could cry and cry and cry, and beg for forgiveness, yield and submit yourself completely to him for the one second of pure bliss you’re starving for. He’s reduced you to nothing but a licentious and needy beggar you don’t recognise.
“How much longer can you last?” He knows, but it pleases him to ask anyway.
“I’ll break if you touch me.”
“Perfect.”
Wicked hands and fast reflexes rip your drenched underwear from you and Santiago mercilessly drills his cock straight into you. The second you feel him fill you up, one hand comes to encircle your neck, closing off your oxygen while his fingers find your clit once again and with just a few devious laps around your clit, you explode. A blinding light flashes behind your eyes and your body becomes engulfed by a white-hot pain that ironically, freezes you to the spot. Santiago growls loudly behind you, feeling how your pussy clenches so tightly around him that he’s barely spared an inch to move, but his fingers don’t face the same challenge and are still effortlessly ruining you to the core. There’s a pathetic attempt from you to remove his hand but his persistence remains far superior.
Santiago relieves the pressure on your throat to hear you sing for him. You’re thankful the walls are thick enough to contain your cries.
The thing is, Santiago knew you were close, but what he didn’t anticipate was how close he was too, especially so soon after you sucked him dry. With how intensely your pussy milks him of everything he has, it takes less than a few forceful thrusts before he succumbs to his orgasm and collapses on top of you. It washes over him hard, electrocuting every nerve and filling every pore with sweat. Fuck, he thinks, haven’t felt this good in years.
Warmth envelopes you both, eyes fluttering to a close with the liberating feeling of release. Santiago, having just a little more sanity than you do, still has enough energy to lazily work his hips back and forth, fucking you so slowly and deeply, you think it might just trigger another explosion. Alas, he spares you the burden and finally comes to rest against you.
It feels like an eternity has passed by the time the heat dwindles and air returns to your lungs. During the quiet minutes that pass, euphoria eases into your muscles, massaging out the cramp and any discomfort of your desperate attempts to contain your orgasm. The soft, grounding kisses that Santiago leaves at the nape of your neck seem to have a similar effect and you hum contentedly.
“I mean it, by the way,” Santiago mutters behind you, still brushing his lips against your skin. “You really could’ve gotten yourself killed today.” His fingers trace down your shoulder, gently running across the bandage that covers your shrapnel wounds to reinforce his point.
You sigh. “I know.”
You feel him leave you, alleviating his weight and dressing himself. “Look at me.”
You’re just about able to turn yourself around, and with Santiago’s help, he dresses you too. Once decent, the very hands that ruined you come to clamp against your cheeks, far too delicate for what you had known them to be. “What you did today was out of line—”
This again. “But Frankie--”
“Frankie is a different story. His mission to infiltrate the barn and receive the controls meant that the chances of him dying was a lot higher than ours. And even though it’s a fucking bastard of a pill to swallow, it’s just one of those things that we all have to come to terms with. I went into this mission already prepared to accept the possibility of his death should anything go wrong. Yours I wasn’t willing to accept.”
“But I didn’t die.”
“You’re not getting it.” His words are spat through gritted teeth and something in you sinks at the disappointment. The only thing that seems to calm him down is the sensation of your forehead against his, proof that you are alive. “Frankie’s death would’ve hurt, yes, but like I said, I would’ve seen it coming. If you expect disappointment, you won’t get disappointed. But when you threw yourself into the firing line like that, you started playing a game of Russian Roulette. Neither of us knew whether you were going to live or die and I panicked. I was so scared, terrified even at the thought of losing you because I knew I would never be able to recover from it. Your death, your untimely, unprecedented death under my watch would’ve haunted me for the rest of my life. That’s the difference between you and Frankie. That’s the lesson you need to learn from this.”
Your eyebrows crunch together, feeling stupid for not coming to the realisation sooner. You feel embarrassed to admit that you had never thought of it like that.
A long silence fills the room because you’re not too sure how to put the feeling of heavy regret into words, none of them justifiable enough to convey even a hint of the remorse that you feel inside. The fact that you refuse to look Santiago in the eyes is proof enough to him that you’re aware of the mistake you made, and instead of looking for a response, he settles for your silence and simply brushes his thumb across the highs of your cheek.
“Just promise me you won’t do it again, no matter how immoral it seems, no matter whose life is at stake, please, if at all possible, keep yourself safe.”
“I promise.”
He brings his lips to yours, melting them together in a kiss as though it is his last. “Good,” he smiles lightly, sealing the lesson with a kiss to your forehead. “I…I might’ve gotten carried away trying to get that message to sink in.”
For the first time in a while, you smile. “It’s okay. I’ve definitely learned my lesson not to piss you off.”
“Hmm, keep your promise and stay alive long enough and you’ll find out what the reward is.”
#santiago garcia#santiago pope garcia#santiago pope garcia x reader#santiago garcia x you#santiago garcia x reader#santiago x you#santiago x reader#triple frontier#oscar isaac#oscar isaac characters#oscar isaac fic#oscar isaac x reader#oscar isaac x you#oscar isaac smut#santiago garcia smut#triple frontier fic#santiago garcia fanfiction#oscar isaac fanfiction#moon knight#the thin line betweem victory and survival
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Nowhere to Run: Part 2 (Miguel O’Hara (Spider-Man 2099) x Spider-Woman!f!reader)
Read Part 1 Here
Pairings: Miguel O’Hara (Spider-Man 2099) x Spider-Woman!f!reader
Warnings: Miguel helps reader through a panic attack (descriptions based on my own experiences but not necessarily perfectly written down), mentions of isolation and isolation-related trauma, references to child loss, scars
Summary: Living in Nueva York and working with the Spider Society is pretty great... except for Miguel O’Hara, the man who injured you, saved your life, and now refuses to speak to you. Luckily, Peter B. Parker loves interfering in Miguel’s life, so when you’re at your lowest, it’s Miguel who is there to help you through it. ~ 2,200 words
Angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending
A/N: This is still dedicated to the Miguel O’Hara editors on TikTok as well as the people leaving the comments. There are light spoilers for AtSV (I made up an ending for BtSV since this is set after that).
--
Two Months Later…
Miguel O’Hara kept his promise. His Spider Society ran all kinds of tests, searching for an explanation for the rapid evolution that provided your the ability to travel the multiverse. Best they could guess, you had been close to the epicenter of your world’s implosion, close enough to absorb some of the energy leaking from what was essentially a black hole devouring the universe.
Another Spider-Woman had given you a more advanced goober - no, gizmo - to keep you from glitching and destabilizing the place they called Nueva York. It was Miguel’s home, she’d explained, and the home base of the Spider Society that kept watch over the multiverse. You’d started volunteering for missions with them, happy to be doing some good. It made you feel like a hero again, like there was a point to all the sacrifices that led you here.
But you hadn't seen Spider-Man 2099 since he dropped you off at a Nueva York hospital and huffed an order to “make sure she gets stitched up, and for god’s sake, get her some food.” That was two months ago.
--
“I can’t believe you bring a kid here.” You waved to Mayday who was sitting on her dad’s lap and trying to steal his food with her webs. For some reason, Peter had given her a web-shooter… as if toddlers weren’t difficult enough.
“Neither can I, honestly. But she loves these guys. Especially Miguel.” He frowned and took a bite of empanada. “She’s borderline obsessed with Miguel actually. I think it’s because he has such climbable shoulders. It’s good for him to see her too.”
“Meaning?”
“Ah nothing.” Peter waved off your question.
An awkward pause filled the space between you and Peter B. Parker. Just ask him, you told yourself.
“Is Miguel avoiding me?” Blunt. Right to the point.
“Ummmmm…” He drug out the word for far too long, looked to his daughter for help, seemed to remember she couldn’t do more than babble random sounds, and then sighed heavily. “Yes. He feels bad about…” Peter gestured broadly to you. “About a year ago we had a little situation with this kid - I mentored him. Good kid. Smart,” Peter added proudly. “This kid, Miles, made Miguel rethink a lot of things. We started handling anomalies... differently, a bit more gently.”
“He calls this gently?” You touched your scarred shoulder.
“Ummmmm… no.” Peter scooped Mayday out of the air where she was now dangling from the ceiling. “You freaked him out pretty bad. I mean you are a huge anomaly. Dangerous. He sort of, uh, how would those kids say it? Oh, yeah, he ‘went off the deep end.’ You should hear him tell the story.”
Mayday babbled incoherently.
“Yes ma’am, it does all seem a bit romantic when he tells it doesn’t it?” Peter cooed to Mayday then grinned at you.
You blinked once. Twice. Romantic?
Mayday went zipping away. Peter stood and sighed.
“Gotta get this kid, but I’m sending him to see you.” He took off after his daughter who was expertly navigating a minefield of other Spider-People (and animals). “Promise!” Peter tossed over his shoulder.
You seriously doubted Peter B. Parker would be able to convince Miguel to talk to you. And that was just as well because by the time you made it back to your room, it was turning into one of your bad nights. It was illogical. How could you could be fine for and suddenly a panic-stricken nightmare-ridden mess one random night? But then, the human mind is an enigma even to itself, the traumatized mind even more so.
It happened when you walked into your room and found yourself suspended in complete darkness. You followed the same routine every night, but today was different. Blackness surrounded you and closed in. You could see nothing, not even the hand in front of your face, and something tightened in your chest, clamped down on your lungs. For a second, you had control of the thing, were reaching for the light switch. Then you were spiraling.
Your mind was no longer in your safe room in Nueva York surrounded by the Spider Society who had taken you in and protected you and even become your friends. No. It was trapped in the silent and endless darkness of a collapsed universe, utterly alone, smothered in deafening silence. Your breath came in rapid, shallow pants, and you stumbled back until your knees hit the edge of the bed. You sat down on the soft mattress, drew up your knees, wrapped your arms around yourself, bowed your head, and tried to breath through it.
Caught in your panic attack, you didn’t even hear two familiar voices arguing, or see the light from the hallway fall across the room as the door was pushed open, or notice the shadows that loomed in the doorway.
“I know what you’re doing, Peter,” Miguel snarled.
“I’m not doing- why’s the door open?”
Miguel noticed you first. The dim room was the perfect environment for his sensitive eyes to make out your hunched form and trembling shoulders. In an instant, he was kneeling in front of you, an act that confirmed every one of Peter B. Parker’s suspicions. He watched for a moment from the doorway before taking a step back and closing the door with a click. Miguel had this under control. He was sure of it.
--
A deep voice, gravelly as if it were being drug over stones whispered your name. It wrapped around you, held you tight, and pulled you above the thrashing waves. That crushing feeling in your chest relaxed ever so slightly, and finally, you managed a deep breath. Then a second. It’s okay now. The worst is over.
After the third breath, you looked up and searched the dark room in a search of the voice’s owner.
Two dimly glowing red orbs shone in the darkness. You knew exactly one person with red eyes. Slowly, your own eyes adjusted, and the broad outline of Miguel O’Hara materialized. He wasn’t wearing his usual vibrant suit, just a dark colored sweater. Even kneeling on the ground he was still tall enough to be eye level with you. The two of you stared at each other for a long second before Miguel slowly raised a hand and... and brushed his thumb across your cheek?
What was happening? All you could do was blink stupidly at him, but when you didn't shy away he brought his other hand to your face. He smoothed his thumbs over your cheeks. He was wiping away your tears so gently and with such concern it seemed impossible. His hands were soft, softer than they had any right to be, and those dangerous claws that had done so much damage to you earlier were nowhere to be seen.
“You’re safe. You’re here with me.” Miguel’s voice was so commanding; he was obviously accustomed to giving order, but that actually made it more reassuring. “I’m here.”
I’m here. For some unexplainable reason those words reassured you more than anything. You didn't even think, just did. You slid forward on the bed and buried your face in the broad muscles of Miguel’s shoulder. His sweater was as soft as anything you could have imagined, and his warmth seeped through the fabric. He smelled like fresh laundry and something more woody and musky.
Miguel haltingly wrapped his arms around you, awkward at first, before he pulled you in closer. He held you like that for several long minutes, running his hands across your back and drawing small circles with fingers until your breathing synced with his.
Since coming to this place, the most physical contact you had with anyone was the occasional hug or handshake or Mayday crawling up your arm. Before that it was Miguel holding you in the rain while he sucked his venom - you had confirmed that it was venom - from your body. Before that you had been trapped in a collapsed universe or on the run. Before that... well, being Spider-Woman was a lonely job.
To be held like this was the most comforting experience you had in longer than you cared to remember. You didn’t want to let go. Even when you realized that in this position Miguel was kneeling between your legs you didn’t let go.
Eventually, he shifted with a quiet huff. You pulled back immediately. What were you doing? Miguel definitely didn’t want you all over him. What could you have possibly been thinking, using the man who actively avoided you for comfort?
Miguel stood and stretched. You looked away, suddenly self-conscious.
“Thank you. I’m okay now,” you muttered.
That was an obvious lie. The man tilted his head as he gazed down at you. He knew what this loneliness was like, how it felt to have wallowed in solitude for so long that you forget how to feel anything but alone. His eyes shifted to your shoulder where a tank top did nothing to hide the four long scars he had left in your skin. You tracked his gaze and immediately tried to cover them with your hand.
“I’m okay,” you repeated, hinting that he could go even though part of you - an insane, irrational, needy part of you - wanted him to stay.
Miguel ran his fingers through his wavy brown hair with a sigh before sitting down, uninvited, on your bed. Next to you. He sat down next to you. On your bed.
Miguel O’Hara was handsome. You never denied that, especially now while he was inches from you smelling the way he smelled and radiating much needed warmth. The temptation to lean into him was strong, but not strong enough to override your embarrassment that he, of all the Spider-People, had seen you at your lowest point.
“I thought you were jumping through the Arach- the Spider-Verse with bad intentions. I had no idea you were running… from me.” The explanation came out of nowhere. Miguel turned to look down at you. “You had the potential to cause a lot of damage, and I panicked. I forgot you’re one of us, and I hurt you, and I’m sorry.” Another long pause. “My claws have never poisoned anyone before.”
The apology was genuine, you could hear it in his voice. Some invisible barrier between the two of you shattered then.
“Are you saying you didn’t mean to kill me with your venomous talons, you only meant to seriously maim me with your regular talons?” You could feel a smile growing as you tried joking with him.
Miguel looked back at the bed spread. Should you? Was this a good idea? You threw caution to the wind and leaned over to bump your shoulder against Miguel’s.
“Hey, it’s okay. We’ve all made mistakes. Glad I was threatening enough to scare you like that.”
“That’s not what- okay.”
“You can look at them. If you want, I mean.” You nodded to your scarred shoulder.
Slowly, as if afraid to scare you off, Miguel smoothed a finger over the scars. They were deep and jagged, but had healed rather well all things considered. His hand on your neck startled you for a moment before you realized what he was doing. Four tiny scars from his fangs still decorated your skin, and he was tracing his thumb over each one.
Miguel felt you swallow, realized what he was doing, and then froze. A single second stretched into an eternity during which you could confront every thought racing through your head. He’d chased you for months, but he had a good reason. He’d hurt you. Then he saved your life. There was that thing Peter said about Mayday being good for him. And Miguel’s sad eyes and ever-present frown. And how warm he’d felt while he held you. And the ripples of muscle across his entire body.
He’d kept his promise not to send you back. And he was handsome. Handsome and sad. So instead of pulling away and kicking him out and going back to avoiding each other, you leaned into him.
There was nothing awkward about Miguel’s movements this time. He wrapped an arm around you and maneuver you both until you were laying down, curled up against his side, head on his shoulder, his arm around your waist.
“What is going on?” You whispered.
“I’ll stay here until you fall asleep,” Miguel whispered back.
“Okay, but why?”
“Because... because I know how it feels to lose everyone and have no one to hold you.”
You looked up at him then. He was staring at the ceiling, some memory you couldn’t see dancing across his eyes. Peter said Mayday was good for Miguel then refused to answer any more questions. The frown lines. How ferociously he protected the multiverse. Mayday was good for Miguel. Mayday. The kid.
It hit you then, and it should have been the most obvious thing in the world. Miguel had lost his family, probably in circumstances not too different from your own. You wanted to know everything about the Spider-Man with the fangs and venom and the saddest eyes you had ever seen. Not now though.
Already, you felt sleep tugging at the edge of your consciousness, a sense of safety and comfort brought on by Miguel’s presence.
“You could stay until I wake up,” you offered drowsily and splayed a hand across his chest. “If you want.”
Miguel ran his fingers lightly over the back of your hand.
“I think I might.”
--
A/N: There is a teeny tiny potential for an 18+ Part 3. No solid plan yet, but possible. Thanks for all the love on this fic!
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summary: priest!leto x afab!reader x priest!paul (title from scorpio by pour vous)
cw: blasphemy if i’m being so real, spit roasting, reader is lowkey losing it but they’ll be okay, dubcon, pwp-ish (there’s set up but it’s not that long imo), mention of paul being into predator/prey, daddy kink coded without the actual daddy kink, horror elements, unreliable narrator vibes, mention of them being willing to non con reader if things didn’t go their way, no incest between leto & paul 💀, reader’s their sad loser turned attic spouse, mention of eventual impreg, implied soft dom!leto & mean dom!paul, religious practice inaccuracies, possibly predictable plot twists, implied painful anal but reader’s too out of it to feel it, implied natural aphrodisiac in their spit, reader bleeds
wc: 2.5k
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You’ve been feeling… lost. The trees keep secrets from you and the clouds mix together like egg whites. You wish you knew what kind of pill you need to be on, you wish you knew what was wrong with you. You’re paranoid and seeing blank eyes watching you through the brick and mortar of your apartment. Your skin burns hotter than hell and sometimes you think that there are claws grabbing at your ankles when you sleep.
Church hasn’t been something you’ve bothered to attend since you were a kid, but you yearn for it now.
You pull your tattered coat around yourself as you step into the ancient building. The Church of Caladan is the oldest church in the country, if not the world. You hope you don’t look silly when you take caution with how hard your feet hit the stone. ‘You break it, you buy it’ must apply to old churches too.
Your unease rolls off you in waves, and a couple nearby priests seem to sense it in the same way that horses can sense fear. For a second you imagine bursting into flames, but there are hands groping your flesh through the great hellfire.
They’re about even in height, though one is clearly older. The gray hair weaved into his temples suits him more than it shows his age. The younger man has the same dark and wavy hair, but his gaze is a touch more haggard and rife with burden.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn't have burst in here…. I'm just looking around.” You rush to explain so they would go away, internally cringing at yourself.
“No, we want newcomers to feel comfortable enough to ask questions. I’m Leto,” He says and shakes your hand. “And this is my son, Paul. He’s recently started working here at the church with me.”
Paul steps up to shake your head as well, his mouth doesn’t move but you swear that the corners twitch. The stained glass windows cast a multicolored hue on his eyes and you find yourself lost in the swirling pools of light. Then black holes swallow the brightness in the irises, cosmic cannibalism.
You blink in alarm and awkwardly take a step back from the two priests. Father and son share a look between them that has the hairs on the back of your neck standing them.
Leto clears his throat and pointedly grabs your hands in both of his, encapsulating them in his warmth.
“You’ll have to forgive him, Paul’s never dealt with a lamb as darling as you before. He’s never dealt with one at all actually, you two can go through this together.”
Paul smiles but it fits all wrong, with teeth that should be fangs and with a tongue that appears forked. You blink again and all is well, the man before you fits his human skin like a glove. Maybe you should give them the benefit of the doubt, you’re convinced you’re going crazy anyway and Priests would never be capable of hurting someone. Ghosts aren’t real and Demons are just a crazed mother’s bedtime story.
“Um, okay. Thank you for accepting me.” That’s all you want, deep down, and they know that. “I felt moved to be here, I can’t explain it.”
Leto nods and Paul rubs your shoulder in sympathy. They would hiss that they know full well what called you here, but you might bleat and scurry away. You make a sad picture, abandoned and half insane, but that’s what they are for. To soothe and to serve you, to purify you from the inside out.
“Then all the more reason to stay and sit for a moment, don’t you think?” Paul finally speaks, the boyish tone surprising you.
“Paul’s right, let’s get this jacket off you, poor lamb. You must be freezing to death.” Leto coos, shushing your protests and carefully pulling the cheap thing off of you.
They take you on a little tour of sorts, pointing out the architectural details of the building itself as well as passionately delving into its history. Centuries of worship and service to the community, strangely never having sustained any kind of property damage. The priests speak of the church as if they were wandering through the halls all this time, and they chuckle when they tease you about how relieved they were that you didn’t suffer from a nosebleed. They’re quite common apparently.
“I think that should do it, i’d hate to think that we’ve been talking your ear off, dear.” Leto says, rubbing the inside of your wrist and directing you towards the large piano on the stage at the front of the church.
He must notice the sudden spark in your eyes at the sight, because his crow’s feet wrinkles deepen as he pulls the black piano bench out. Leto’s palm spreads out wide and he gives the leather seat a firm pat, signaling for you to sit down. Butterflies swirl in your stomach with anxiety but you feel too shy to refuse the clearly eager offer. You take a seat in front of an onyx grand piano far grander than you’re used to seeing in a church.
Leto soon occupies the space next to you. The bench is small enough that your thigh is pressing against his, warmth bleeds through your clothes and the indication of muscle really makes you wish you were alone in your room with a rose toy. You place your fingers on the pristinely polished keys and clumsily play some hodgepodge of a melody that you remember from your childhood. A mix of tchaikovsky and children's church songs.
You jump and play the wrong note when you feel thick fingers slide up your thigh. Your cheeks burn with heat but you focus on the music. Leto sighs with sugary sweet satisfaction but doesn’t move his fingers any further. He also doesn’t try to play, it’s almost like he only wants to bask in the domesticity of watching you perform. You think you hear him whisper “That’s it, who knew such a talented lamb would be gracing our doorstep?”
You get a flash of riding him on the piano, gasping into his hair chest when it breaks under the weight of your passion. Thin fingers come from behind to caress your ass as it moves, much colder than the cock you’re bouncing on. Then it fades away, and you’re back to making a fool of yourself with your little song.
Paul watches from the pulpit, eyes drinking in the way your curves expand and move as you squirm. His grip tightens on the bright wood but you’re none the wiser. You almost forget that he’s even there, something which he realizes because he strolls to stand behind you and his father. The music stops once you feel his breath on your neck and he bends down to tenderly pull your hair off of your shoulder, getting himself acquainted with the texture as he rubs his fingertips down the strands.
A distant voice calls out for Leto and he stands, smiling apologetically and thanking you for the performance. You feel adrift as you watch him walk away, reminding yourself that a man like him has other things to do than coddle you.
Paul slides a hand down your back and guides you down to the pew right up front, with a view of center stage, sitting right beside you with a wink. Once Leto returns, you spot the silver tray of communion wafers in his hands. The tray is set on the pulpit by his side.
The older man's eyes darken as he puts one in his mouth, and your brain shuts down when he snatches your face in his rough palms and kisses you sense no less. The wafer cracks as his tongue passes it into your mouth, the salty crumbs oddly making you crave something even saltier. There’s a sticky sweet sensation traveling through your body as you exchange saliva with him, your brain feels so foggy.
You break away, curling your hands into the collar of Leto’s uniform.
“Wait, what are you doing?” Your voice is small and not completely filled with disgust, you’re honestly too desperate for some form of human contact to make good decisions.
“We’re helping you, honey.” Leto purrs into the seam of your mouth, shaking his head in apparent fondness.
You’re too cute for your own good, at least they don’t have to worry about covering their tracks. Any incubus or succubus would be glad to get a hold of someone as lonely as you, but they wouldn’t love you like you deserve. You haven’t been watched by anyone as long as you’ve been watched by them. He hopes that Paul doesn’t shove his foot in his mouth and let it slip that he wished you gave them the opportunity to take you by force. His son carries a torch for a bit of predator and prey action, he likes playing with his food too much. You’re different from the scrambling mice that get torn to bits, though, you’re forever.
Plus, if you don’t get it now, he has no problems with explaining everything when you’re too weak to get up and try to run away.
Paul buries his face in your neck, spilling the vial of wine he had in his pocket down your shirt. It soaks the tank top underneath and though you try with all your might to wriggle away, the desire to resist gets brushed away under a heavy fog.
It’s nice to be touched, to be wanted after a lifetime of feeling the exact opposite. Perhaps this is why the lord guided you to his grandest home, so you could take his prophets into your body.
The black vanishes from Paul’s eyes and you sink against his chest, making out with his father as your eyes roll back into your head.
No words are uttered verbally as Paul shuffles to the side and pulls you to lie back on the pew’s cushion. Leto deprives you of his tongue and gives you a chance to breathe, which both men do with you in sync, resting their foreheads against you.
The nectar on your tongue tastes divine, little lamb, a voice whispers in your mind.
Let us give you purpose so you no longer need to roam, another begs.
You’re crying from the relief of having your mouth filled, Paul tilts your head up by your chin as he slowly slides his cock into your mouth. The ridges and bumps of what feels like piercings sends a jolt of arousal through you.
“Fuck-” He hisses and rubs your neck, watching you adjust to the stretch. “So warm-”
Leto tuts and clamps his hands around your hips, you’re already too fucked out to register sharp black claws taking care of your clothes. Leaving you bare. A shiver passes through your body as he drags his huge hand down to your pussy, being mindful not to accidentally scratch you. He intends for there to be no blood, this time, not a lot.
You gag on Paul’s length when Leto slams your hips against his pelvis, grinding not one but two large cocks against your cunt. If you were looking at his face, you’d see pitch black eyes and intimidating fangs, but all you can focus on is the hazy candle light and what must be someone playing an organ.
You catch a view of one of the stained class windows, a pair of angels cradling a lamb. It’s the only damaged part of the church, with cracks running along the angel’s wings. You’d think it’s a sneeze away from shattering entirely. Your view of it is blurred by Paul’s quick thrusts, gagging on it again. Drools drip onto the red carpet.
Leto grabs one of Paul’s curled horns and yanks his head to the side, scolding at him to be nicer to you. You’ve clearly never taken three cocks inside you, the one you’re servicing is proving to be overwhelming enough. Again, Paul’s new to this experience as well, just in a different way than you are. In a sense, it’s like he was born yesterday. The older man relays this to you through your choked moans and tears, assuring you that he’s taught Paul how to clean up his messes and be grateful. Something like this will be no different.
“Hush, beloved. I would have gladly speared your mouth but you would be dead before I could cum inside it.”
You see God in the sky when Leto slaps the tapered tip of one of his dicks against your slick entrance, God sees you when he gets the tight walls of ass to wrap around the other. Unbeknownst to you, it’s funny how so many things are, your blood pools around his balls. You’re in pain sure but you’ve never felt as much pleasure as you have in this instance. Both “Priests” smell your blood and well, only your body can tell the rest of the story. Later you’ll wake up to find that the building around you has ruby walls and it seems to be breathing. The shooting pain in your left hand is the result of two iron rings being chiseled into the bone of your ring finger.
The four leathery wings protruding from your back, with spikes poking out from the joints, are waiting to be discovered. As are the nubs sprouting out of your hair.
For now beads of sweat highlight your bouncing tits, Paul gropes one and Leto runs the edge of his claw along the side of the other. They’re hissing words that string together and disappear in the blink of an eye, voices slurred and sticky. Their babbling stops and starts again as you reflexively swallow around Paul’s cock when he skull fucks you without warning. They laugh too, but you can at least pretend that Leto’s tone is kinder.
“Alright, alright. That’s enough teasing.”
“But father-“
“I said no. And don’t think for a second that you’re getting anything else but their mouth.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“You lack self control, it wouldn’t be suitable for conception to occur like this. As delectable as their quivering cunt is, demons shouldn’t abstain from courting.”
“You’re saying that as you’re balls deep inside of them.”
“Don’t start with me, Paul.”
All while you’re making gurgling sounds in between the younger priest’s thighs. You hear growls that sound like a mountain lion’s emitting from both men, and the heavy thumps of something flapping in the air gets you holes clenching around Leto. Both men feverishly scratch up and down your limp body, but you’re so enraptured by the chorus of angels happening outside. You have no sense of time, it’s minutes or it’s hours before their cum spills inside of you. There’s too much to possibly keep it all inside, a good amount of it leaks from your cunt and your throat. Leto feels like Christ incarnate when you squirt all over him and yourself with the dumbest expression on your face. Multicolored pieces of glass fall down around you with the loud chime of an invisible bell.
#dune#dune x you#dune x reader#dune smut#dune fanfiction#dune fic#leto atreides#leto atreides x you#leto atreides x reader#leto x reader#leto x you#paul atreides#paul atreides x you#paul atreides x reader#oscar isaac#timothee chalamet#oscar isaac x you#oscar isaac x reader#oscar isaac fic#oscar isaac fanfiction#oscar isaac smut#oscar isaac characters#yandere themes#⚰️.deaddove#timothee chalamet x reader#timothee chalamet x you#timothee x reader#timothee x you#tw dubcon#tw dark content
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Based on a combined request from @babyprofessorsharkpalace and @dowbastan. The requests were so similar that I wrote this one shot and I hope you both like it!
Summary: You're the childhood love of Duke Leto Atreides. Years have passed and your paths took you different directions. You have one final night before he leaves Caladan for Arrakis.
Pairing: Duke Leto Atreides from Dune x f!reader
Word Count: 2.9k
Content: NSFW, mdni, language, fingering, oral - m. rec., p in v, unprotected sex, size kink, nipple play, spitting, not beta'd
✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧
An invitation to Caladan to celebrate House Atreides' appointment to Arrakis was a coveted opportunity, and an honor.
You belonged to a noble family on a neighboring planet, and your family had a history with House Atreides. In fact, you were once pledged to a young Leto Atreides.
✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧
Then...
Long before silver sprinkled his inky curls - before his father passed on the title of Duke - the handsome first son of Caladan was your intended.
This resulted in multiple visits to Caladan during your childhood, in which you actually befriended young Leto. The two of you remained unaware of your families' intentions for years. You played along the wet, craggy rocks and numerous caves of Caladan, and the sprawling gardens of your homeworld.
When you came of age, plans were made to announce your engagement officially. This was the first you'd ever heard of it. You visited Caladan once again with your parents, eager to see your dear friend Leto.
You were both still so young - you even more so than he. You and Leto stole away to your usual childhood spots, laughing and catching up, but this time, once you reached your favorite cave, he gathered you into his arms.
"We're to be married," he whispered, gazing adoringly into your eyes. "Does this please you?"
"Leto," you whispered, with a breathless laugh. "Who else could it ever be but you?"
His strong hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against his body as he lowered his lips to yours.
This was the last happiness you would know with your childhood love.
The Bene Gesserit installed Lady Jessica as a concubine for young Leto.
You understood that many nobles had concubines for companionship, while remaining open to strategic, political marriages. But you assumed you would be Leto's companion, as well as his wife.
Despite your protestations, you might have been forced into the arrangement anyway, except that your parents would have you nowhere near the influence of the Bene Gesserit, if they could help it.
So you didn't see Leto again for years - not until you were married to another powerful man, and Leto had a son and heir, thanks to Lady Jessica.
You had the opportunity to meet them once - young Paul Atreides and his mom. Truthfully, they were lovely and you found yourself wondering why fate had brought a man like Leto to your heart only to yank him away and give him to someone else.
Then your husband passed away. You received a note of condolence from Leto, in his own hand, no less.
'I will always cherish our fond childhood,' it read. 'Please know my sympathy and warm affection are with you always.'
✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧
Now...
So, here you are, these years later, in the home - the castle - of your once intended. A farewell party, to honor House Atreides before they set off to oversee spice production on Arrakis.
Your invitation is nothing special. Hundreds were invited from all over. The chance of you seeing, let alone speaking with the Duke is minuscule. He likely has more important things to do than worry about widowed childhood friends.
The opulence of the occasion enchants even you for a time, but you eventually grow weary of the fake smiles and never-ending condolences. Bored with the evening, and damn near everything in your life, you wander away from the bustle and celebration, through once familiar corridors of Castle Caladan.
Hardly a thing has changed. Few things ever do in these ancient royal dwellings. You find yourself meandering along, just as you did as a child, darting from one lavish room to the next, avoiding the elder duke's stern glare.
Speaking of which...
"If I look at you at just the right angle, it almost seems like we're teenagers again."
The unmistakable voice of Duke Leto Atreides sounds over the faded swirl of orchestra music, drifting from the great hall.
"In complete darkness, maybe," you lightly return, keeping your back turned. "Seeing how I have not walked these halls since the birth of your son."
"A young man nearly grown," Leto evenly responds. "It's been far too long."
The thump of his heavy boots alerts you to his approach. You stiffen as he draws near. You suppose it's time to acknowledge your host in his own home. Before you can, however, he moves in beside you.
Just the scent of him throws you into inner turmoil. The years have been kind to Leto. He wears middle age very well. Distinguished and brutally handsome, he commands respect, despite his shorter stature.
"Too long indeed," you finally respond, longing to turn and gaze into his eyes - to see if any trace of the boy you loved still lingers.
"Let me look at you," he softly commands, boldly cupping your shoulder with his palm.
"Nothing to see." You shrug him off, or attempt to anyway. "Just a lonely widow."
He crowds into your personal space demandingly, grasping both shoulders now. "Am I such a stranger to you that you won't greet me in my own home - or even look at me? Why did you even make the journey?"
Your eyes meet his unflinchingly - a perfect match for his stubbornness. "I came to congratulate you and your family on your appointment to Arrakis. Now that I've done so, I'll take my leave."
He holds you firmly, the heat of his fingers seeping through your sleeve. "Why so soon? I've only just laid eyes on you for the first time in years and you can't even spare me a glance? You might as well condemn me to walk the sands of Arrakis alone."
"Don't be so dramatic, Leto," you mock, attempting to wrench free of his grip. "Everything you need or want is going with you to that desert rock."
"Not everything," he firmly protests, dark eyes boring into yours. His fingers, so insistently gripping your arms, relax and began to trace soothing circles on the soft fabric of your dress.
You huff, rolling your eyes, but your body automatically eases closer to the duke, as if responding to him instinctually.
"Don't pretend I mean anything to you now," you scold him, melting into his embrace, with only your words left to cut him.
"No one in this world means more to me except for my own son," he breathes on your cheek, his hands gripping your hips as he pulls you flush against his pristinely uniformed chest.
Your heart stops for a moment as you struggle to breathe. "I think you forgot Lady Jessica," you finally manage. "The Bene Gesserit's strategic installation."
He groans. "She's the mother of my heir."
"All the more reason to leave me be! I've paid my respects. I'm done here. We're done." Your chest heaves dramatically as Leto runs his hands possessively up your back, pulling you desperately close.
"I'll never be done with you," he breathes against your mouth, covering your lips with his own. You want to fight him but the heat of his tongue lures you in, your body wilting into his powerful embrace. His soft beard tickles your face as you liquify in his arms.
Taking advantage of your compliance, he kisses you endlessly, working the elegant skirt of your dress up your legs until it bunches around your waist, giving him access to caress your thighs.
His tongue thrusts hungrily but his fingers touch you softly, tracing your inner thigh, on a determined path to the core of you.
He doesn't ask - he feels your hips shift toward his caress as he strokes you through the flimsy fabric covering your folds.
He wastes no time brushing the material aside to push his knuckles against your wet heat, already slick for him. He surprises you with the brazenness of his touch. His fingers stretch out, separating your slick folds. The pad of his thumb drags demandingly down over your needy bundle of nerves as his fingers work their way into you possessively.
He groans into your mouth as you squelch and clench around him - your hole tight and unused.
You shamelessly moan against his parted, panting mouth, fucking your hips down onto his thick digits, the stretch of even two fingers stuffing you fuller than you've felt in years. His rhythm in and out is the most incredible sensation you've ever experienced in your life.
"This is all for you," he rumbles on your ear, curling his fingertips against the spongy softness inside you, making you shudder with desperate want. "Invited half the galaxy here just so I could be inside you again."
"Leto," you keen, your back arching as a wave of euphoria rolls through you, drenching his fingers with your desire.
You're instantly yanking at the belt of his uniform trousers, panting, somewhat satisfied, but not truly sated. You remember the beautiful, soft, strong body of your first lover. Your husband had no hope of comparing.
As you work him free of his pants, which drop to his knees, you gasp out an eager whine as his cock springs free, stiff and thick and already dripping for you. Without another thought, you're sinking to your knees to swipe your tongue over the proud length of him.
He sucks in a breath and growls out a swear. You can tell you've managed to truly surprise him.
You can't fit him in your mouth - there's no way, so your hands grip his shaft twisting possessively as you open wide and try take him to the back of your throat.
"F-fuck," he hisses, stumbling forward slightly and you gag, drool trickling from the corners of your mouth. Once you get your bearings, you chuckle around him because this man never loses control of any situation.
He's so thick your eyes start to water, but it feels good to have him in your hands again - to have someone want you, crave you, even.
His body is tense and impatient and he grips your chin forcefully, although not painfully, easing his stiff cock out of your mouth. You wonder what's going on, but he doesn't keep you guessing.
"Turn around," he orders, bringing your skirts back up to where they started, around your waist. "Hold this," he commands.
His hands grip your hips underneath your dress and you feel his cock rubbing against your ass as he leans over you the nearest table, his breath falling hot on your ear. He doesn't speak yet, just breathes in and out. You manage to hold your skirt with one hand while bracing yourself with the other.
Unsatisfied with your position, he grumbles out a curse, pushing you so far over that your backside is higher than your head, your body halfway sprawled across the table’s end. Leaning down, he separates your pussy lips with his fingers and spits on your cunt. You let out a whine - your own voice sounding foreign to you. Then you feel the tip of his cock drag through your wet folds, back and forth, before he finally eases in, halting as he feels how impossibly tight you are.
You whimper at the intrusion, your body thrumming with lust. This elegant duke - controlled and noble in every interaction - is grunting, his hips stuttering as he tries to fit his impossibly huge cock into your unused cunt. Your whines and his groans are shamefully loud, echoing off the ancient walls of this corridor, where anyone could find you.
"You'll take all of me before you leave here," he hisses, his fingers finding your clit, circling languidly, while his other hand wraps around your abdomen, holding you in position. He palms your breast through the fabric of your dress and you wish you could feel his skin against yours again.
You almost say as much - beg him, even, but you know these are stolen moments. Hundreds are waiting for him, probably looking for him.
But he's here, inside you. Or half inside, anyway.
"That's it, dove, let me in," he huffs, pushing in more, and more.
Tears prick your eyes because it stings but you need it so badly. "You're so big," you gasp out, "I can't, Leto. Please."
He jerks out of you so fast, you almost topple over, but the strong arm wrapped around you holds you steady. Pulling you up to your feet, he drags you by the hand to the nearest sleeping quarters down the corridor - essentially, the closest room with a door.
Securing the door, he all but rips the bodice of your dress, pawing at you until your breasts spring free. Catching your nipple between his teeth, he tugs, making you hiss out a whine, the pain and pleasure making you weak.
His tongue soothes your sore skin, coaxing your nipple to hardness. Then he suckles you while yanking at your laces and bindings.
You chant his name like a prayer, pushing your fingers into his perfectly kempt curls, twirling them into a mess as he sucks your tits, one at a time. It feels so good you could come again just from this.
But you need to feel him, to have him. This will be your only chance - you're sure of it. Barely managing to give up the sensation of having this perfect man suck your nipples, you push him back and work on the buttons of his uniform jacket. He's way ahead of you, having rid himself of everything from the waist down.
Finally, finally you feel all of him, all these years later.
He pulls you against him, kissing you deeply, gripping your thighs before hoisting them around his waist. Backing up to the bed, he eases down, sitting on the edge with you on top of him.
"Need you to take all of me," he repeats the directive, clutching your hip with one hand, while gripping his cock in the other.
Nodding, you push up onto your knees, letting him drag his tip through your folds, collecting your wetness.
"Fuck me," he commands, squeezing your hip and pushing you downward, fingertips digging into your flesh.
Bracing yourself on his broad, muscular shoulders, you sink onto his tip, breathlessly moaning at how swiftly and easily you feel full.
"More than that. Need more." His jaw is locked in unbearable tension and you feel his cock twitch as he slips deeper inside.
"Kept this cunt tight for me," he rasps, pushing again. "No one can stretch you out like I can."
"Yes," you unabashedly whine, your legs trembling as you try to hold your body up just a little longer, feeling as if he will spear you in half if you sink all the way down.
He leans back a little and uses his fingers to push your pussy lips apart. He wants to watch your squelching cunt split open over his thick cock.
"Look at how you take me," he marvels, licking his lips, using one fingertip to toy with your clit. Your back arches in ecstasy, but you still, you don't sink all the way down.
"Let me in," he snarls, rubbing you rapidly but so featherlight, you teeter on the edge of orgasm. Desperate to come, to please him, to feel all of him, you give in, letting your legs give out as you sink down - the heavy length of him searing you inside.
"Leto, fuck...fuck," you cry - wincing at the sting but reveling in the stretch.
He groans out appreciatively, but his arms quickly wind around you to support your weight and he stills the movement of his hips as you adjust to the full length of him.
"So good for me," he rasps, kissing you again. You melt into the taste of him, threading your fingers through his curls. Your breasts press against the warmth of his chest. He kisses you on and on, his legs twitching with the need to move, to push up, to thrust into your cunt, stuffed full of him.
He almost comes just from the first rock of your hips, finally feeling the friction he needs. He wants to grip your hips and force you down on his cock, over and over, but he's patient, just a little longer. Your hunger for this - for him, is almost as intoxicating as the way you begin to slowly grind your pelvis in a tantalizing, delicious rhythm.
Wanting you to feel as good as he does - needing to feel the clench of your cunt around his cock when you come - prompts him to reach between your bodies again and strum at your oversensitive clit. He meets your rocking with slow, sensual thrusts upward, sucking a mark into your throat as he coaxes you to another delicious climax.
You forget to mind the fact that this spontaneous reunion could technically result in a child. But Leto hasn't forgotten.
"Want to fill you up," he pants, desperation creeping into his thrusts. The initial sting has worn off after two orgasms, and the slick heat between your bodies creates a pleasurable friction for you both.
"Dance with me tonight," he carries on, pulling you against his chest as his thrusts grow more demanding. "You'll feel the ache of me inside you. I want you to feel me leaking out of you. You're mine."
"I belong to no man," you protest, even as your cunt flutters in agreement with him.
Just a few more thrusts and he comes with a groan, spilling deep inside you, his breath heavy on your throat.
Wrapping your arms around his neck, you hold him close, keeping him inside you, reveling in these stolen moments before he disappears from your life.
Most likely for forever.
✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧
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uniform ; miguel o'hara
SUMMARY: you and spiderman 2099 are arch enemies, but when you capture him things are different.
warnings: miguel o'hara x fem!reader; you are archenemies; light knife play (there will be NO injuries being done, the knife is for taking off part of his clothes); angry sex; bigcock!miguel; nipple play (in both); light mask kink; again he will swear in spanish; mention of blood (he will bite you a little 😳); choking; degradation kink; fingering; pet names (princess); spanking and slapping; i think i might have a fang kink idk
word count: 2k
english is not my first language, so i'm sorry for any mistakes
the villain is invented for this story, okay? you don't exist in marvel universe, at least not that i know of
have fun ^^
Miguel was trapped. He had appeared in your lair to try to capture you before you destroyed more lives. But he didn't imagine it was just an ambush to capture him. He was in a dark warehouse, bound with chains, mostly on his hands, not wanting to give his claws a chance to help him break free.
"Oh…", you said approaching, wearing a tight black outfit, the beautiful makeup adorned your face, with sparkles on your eyelids and a star under the eyeliner, "You always think that you will be able to defeat me, but we know that is not so, uh?", you approached with knives in hand, your face getting close to his, the mask and a small distance separating them, "You have to remember that I will always, always be one step ahead… Miguel."
His eyes widened, his mask moving in astonishment, "What?"
You laughed, "You don't have to hide from me, I know a lot more than you can imagine…", the tip of the knife passed gently across his cheek, cutting through the mask without difficulty, making him pull back his face, "Calm down, mi amor", you whispered, "Miguel is a beautiful name…"
"How did you find out?", he asked, feeling the cold wind of the warehouse lit by computers cool the skin on his cheek that had been exposed.
You were good with knives so you hadn't cut him because you didn't want to draw blood, and something inside him responded to the thought that you could do as you pleased with him.
"Ah…", you chuckled, "I have my tricks, Mr. O'Hara", the knife slid gently across his chest where the chains didn't hold him, horizontally, the uniform opened, revealing his strong chest. You sighed seeing the delicate nipples prickling, his breathing seemed uneven not out of fear, or out of anger, but for another reason, which made your eyebrow rise, "Oh…", you smirked, positioning the flat part of the knife on his nipple, making him suck in air between his teeth as the cold metal made contact with his hot skin. He groaned and shook his head trying to get rid of that feeling when the thin sharp tip of the knife played with his skin, "What a shame, Miguel. ¿No tienes vergüenza de eso?", you laughed seeing his erection showing in your tight clothes, "You like to be dominated by the enemy, Miguel?"
Your mouth was positioned on his, still covered over the mask, not much contact, just a slight proximity.
"You will pay for this", he whispered.
You laughed, your knife being placed in its holster on your thigh, leaving you free to slide your finger across his nipple, "How? Are you going to lock me up, 20-9-9? You'll never get it and you know it", and you ran your tongue across his lip, the tip of the knife in your other hand playing gently with the skin of his chest, only teasing the delicate skin, not cutting it.
"Shut the fuck up."
"Come on, Spider-Man."
You, again, licked his lip, then biting it, still covered by the thin cloth, your finger pinching his nipple. Abruptly, he grabbed you, grabbing your arms, pushing you toward the center of the room, slamming you against the computers.
Pulling the mask off, baring his massive fangs at you, earning a wry smile, "So pissed off."
"Carajo", he cursed.
And he kissed you. First you were startled, then you allowed it to continue. Your mouth opened to allow his tongue in, kissing him angrily, feeling his fangs rub against your lower lip, scraping as you kissed him. Your hands went to his soft black hair, stroking as you kissed him angrily.
The older one held your face tightly, his lips red from the kiss, panting hard, "You have to learn to shut your fucking mouth."
"If I don't learn, will you teach me, Miguel?", the way you said his name filled him with anger. You took the knife in your hand and started ripping his clothes off, from his neck, down his chest, until your hand was grabbed and the knife was positioned under your neck, "Are you going to kill me, O'Hara?"
"In a little bit", he promised.
And he kissed you again. His hands went to your ass, squeezing through the tight pants you wore, devouring your lips. One of his hands went to your chest, its claws scratching at the tight-fitting black turtleneck you wore, ripping through the material. With the hand that previously ripped your clothes off you, he grabbed you by the neck and squeezed, pushing you against the computer screens, looking at what he had done.
Your chest rose and fell, your lips red from the kiss, your breasts showing through the torn fabric. His free hand went to your breasts, scratching the soft skin over the nipple gently before sliding his thumb over the hard spot making you moan.
"Such a sweet moan, fucking slut", he grinned, letting go of your neck so he could grab both breasts at the same time, pinching the nipples, your back arching in the direction of his touch. Your legs tightened together making him laugh, "Carajo… tan increíble…"
"Miguel", you whispered.
You groaned loudly as you received a slap across the face after he held it, making you look at him, "Don't call me that."
"What do you want me to call you? Daddy?", you mocked, getting another slap on the face.
He laughed, bringing his face closer to yours, "I want you to shut up."
"Whatever you want, cariño."
He smirked and gave you a soft peck, lowering his lips to your neck, scraping his sharp teeth over your skin. Even though it was smooth, a little blood escaped, instinctively, he ran his tongue over the área, tasting your blood, before continuing his way down.
You held your own breasts and offered them to him. The brunette smiled and looked at you as he licked at your nipples before scraping his fangs over them. You moaned and took a deep breath feeling his strong hands tearing your pants, he didn't even use the claws, it was brute force, and that alone made your pussy throb.
He knelt down between your legs, picking one of them up and placing it over his shoulder. His intention was to provoke you, to just lick your thighs, kiss your pussy and lick the wet delicate lips, but you didn't have the patience, so you squeezed his hair and forced his handsome face against your pussy.
His lips sank into your wet pussy and he sighed as he began to lick you with so much lust, his mouth getting all wet. His experienced tongue going up and down with no rhythm, making you squirm and whine, while holding his hair. Miguel's claws were positioned over his thighs, holding them while he sucked your clit.
"Tan dulce", he whispered.
The brunette gently bit your thigh, making you moan and tremble, "Harder", you asked softly.
"Puta", he chuckled.
He bit the thigh a little harder, kissing the área, and soon after, started licking it, moaning low as he felt the taste of your blood on his skin again.
Miguel retracted his claws and took the gloves off one hand just so he could fuck you with his fingers, he needed to feel you, you were just begging for him to fuck you while you moaned disconnected words and begged for absolutely nothing with your mind completely blank. His mouth was experienced, licking you with such precision, making you squirm and moan, gripping his dark hair.
When O'Hara sensed you were close to cum, he pulled away, getting up, lips all wet with your pleasure, the pretty lips glistening, he licked them tasting a little bit more of you.
"No", you whimpered, "I thought you were the good guy."
"You thought wrong, princess", he sighed looking down, "Come on, take off my pants."
You nodded, taking a knife from your boot and sliding the shiny blade down the happy trail area, tearing his uniform, taking his cock in your hands and sighing thinking you could finally suck him off and have your jaw hurt from the effort to suck that thick cock.
Miguel had other plans. He flipped you over on the table, leaving you with your face pressed against the computer screen, your ass facing him. He slapped your ass and positioned the tip of his cock at your entrance. Your legs shook.
"Miguel", you whispered, "please."
"Oh", he chuckled, "are you polite then?"
You wanted to respond, to be rude and smart, but there wasn't time. Miguel sunk his cock all the way into you, his cock filling you completely, stretching you.
"I'll leave you all loose…", whispered the brunette, his body leaning against yours, biting your earlobe, "You'll stay days", and he thrust hard, pausing, "and days" , lunging once more, "thinking of me."
"Miguel."
O'Hara smiled and continued to thrust, making the table move with his movements, the monitors moving with the force he exerted. You whined softly and he moaned low, against your ear, feeling your insides crush him, press on his cock.
He didn't think he was going to end the day like that, fucking his archenemy in your hideout, but he wasn't going to complain, it felt so good. They kissed, the movements didn't stop. At first, as you went, he came back, but time passed and the rhythm was out of step with their desperation, each moving how they saw fit to sick for their own pleasure. His hands caressed and pinched your nipples, which were erect and hard against your digits.
You came first, moaning loudly in agony, your lower lip being bitten as you felt your body being overcome with pleasure.
You didn't have time to compose yourself, Miguel picked you up and put you on your knees in front of him. The thick cock in front of your face, glistening, the tip flushed and oozing pre-cum. One of your hands held the thick base, helping you to suck it while the other went to his ass, squeezing the soft flesh. You had to do it, you had looked at his ass on his uniform far too many times not to feel the need to grab it.
His hands held your hair, moaning low, feeling his cock hitting your throat, "What a loose throat, uh, princess?"
You smiled and licked the base before swallowing all of it again, your hand and mouth making twisting motions, going back and forth to give him more pleasure. His moans made your pussy ache, it was so good to hear, so low and dark, his fangs gleaming in the delicate light.
He pulled you by the chin and forced your mouth open with his hand, his thumb holding your tongue and the other fingers under your chin. He jerked off looking into your eyes, pausing only to watch his cum fall onto your tongue. The brunette held your mouth open for a few seconds, absorbing the image of you like that, the cheeks flushed, the eyes watery, the lips red and the tongue marked with his cum. And after that, he finally released it so you could swallow.
"Puta madre", he whispered as you got on your feet.
"I agree", you laughed while kissing him.
Miguel kissed you desperately, tasting his cum on your tongue. For a second, he wondered what he would do now, with his clothes torn like that, how would he get out of there like that? He needed to change clothes, but what clothes would he put on? Without being able to think of a solution, the brunette felt a thin needle in his neck, letting go of your lips, and soon after his body went limp, fainting.
Miguel woke up in his home, scared. He was wearing his own pajamas and lying on his bed, in the empty space next to him, his uniform was folded delicately with a card and a note on top.
Lost, he took the note and read it, chuckling afterwards.
"2099,
I hope you can pay off the damage with this credit card. We can't let you fight evil with your cock out. It will scare the old ladies.
Next time, you'll end up in a coffin, not in your bed after I blew you oh so gracefully. So be careful.
Signed,
Your #1 fan."
...
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!
see ya next time.
(´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡
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#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara fic#miguel o'hara fanfic#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x y/n#spiderverse fanfic#oscar isaac x you#oscar isaac x y/n#oscar isaac smut#oscar isaac fanfiction#oscar isaac fic#miguel o'hara fanfiction#miguel o'hara imagine
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smile, baby
5.1k | 18+ MDNI | Nathan Bateman x f!reader
Warnings: D/s dynamic, drinking, degradation, orgasm denial, masturbation (m), spitting, big fat cumshot
Summary: Nathan teaches you a lesson in submission. You hate love it.
A/N: Filth with heart. I can't be normal about this man, okay? Can be read alone or as a prequel to in control and predator & prey. Enjoy and let me know what you think! 🤍
“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” he asks. “Giving up control. Being able to turn your brain off.”
– – –
“What are we doing tonight?” You sit down on the couch beside Nathan, a glass of wine in hand.
“I’m watching TV,” he answers coldly without as much as a glance in your direction.
“Hmm…okay,” you murmur. You take a generous sip from your glass, appreciating Nathan’s excellent taste in wine. It’s your favorite; you discovered it on a trip to France during your college years and haven’t been able to find it since then.
What an incredible coincidence that he would just have it here, right?
Not right.
Unbeknownst to you, Nathan meticulously arranged every single detail of your living environment before you even crossed the threshold of his mansion for the first time.
The exquisite wine you now sip, seemingly a stroke of luck, was deliberately stocked to align with your taste. Much like the lavender shampoo that envelops you in its soothing fragrance during each shower, the never-ending supply of fresh strawberries, and the perpetually replenishing KitKats in your minibar, each aspect of your surroundings has been carefully curated to ensure your every comfort is met.
You haven’t really picked up on that fact yet, as you’re still in the process of settling into your new, exciting, but overwhelming environment.
In the two weeks since moving in, you’ve immersed yourself in the intricacies of artificial intelligence, navigating the uncharted waters of innovation under Nathan’s eccentric mentorship.
And eccentric, he is.
It took you five minutes of mostly one-sided conversation to realize that his intellect, an unmatched force of brilliance, is rivaled only by the staggering magnitude of his ego.
And, even more strikingly, it took you just as little time to realize you’ve never craved another human being as badly as you do him. There’s just something about him…beneath all the arrogance and assholery. You can’t put your finger on it, but you feel it’s there.
Nathan sensed your immediate attraction to him, of course, reading your microexpressions and body language. And after a few days of subtle teasing, he decided to give you a small taste of pleasure you didn’t know you were capable of, only to leave you without it for the past week since then.
Beyond lingering glances, the subtle brush of his hand against the small of your back in the kitchen, the knowing smirk when he catches you stealing glances at the bulge in his shorts, or his deliberate choice to work out shirtless—Nathan has been purposefully cold, relishing in your growing desperation.
For him, this is more than a game; he revels in a level of amusement he hasn’t experienced in years.
He could never get the androids to look at him with the same intensity, hunger, and raw need he can see in your eyes, and the control he now holds over your desires is a source of unparalleled satisfaction.
He definitely made the right choice by selecting you.
Nestling your feet under you in an attempt to find comfort on the cushion, you silently study your boss’s profile, observing as he brings the fourth bottle of beer to his lips. Your eyes slowly trace the distinct contours of his nose, the meticulous lines of his beard, the strength evident in his neck and shoulders, until they finally reach the casual sprawl of his naked feet at rest on the coffee table.
His lidded eyes remain unwaveringly fixated on the screen as he leisurely surfs through the channels, a deliberate act of indifference that extends to ignoring your presence. You nervously chew on your lip, trying your hardest not to break the silence first, even though you so obviously want to.
Seemingly absorbed in the movie he settled on, Nathan is keenly aware of your eyes repeatedly drifting towards him, lingering for a few seconds before retreating reluctantly back to the indifferent glow of the screen.
You’re so cute when you’re trying to be coy.
“Did you think of me?” he asks suddenly, taking a sip of his beer.
“Did I…huh?” you respond, startled, your brow furrowed in confusion.
He turns his head to look at you, his face revealing no emotion, his dark eyes piercing yours. A shiver runs down your spine as his gaze drops to your lips for a split second before finding your sparkling eyes again.
“When you were fucking yourself with that purple dildo last night. Did you think of me?” He peers at you with a straight face, casually taking another sip from his bottle.
“Wha–”
Your heart skips a beat, and heat immediately rushes to your cheeks as his words hang in the air. Shocked and exposed, your eyes widen, and your body tenses. After a few endless seconds, surprise turns into a mixture of anger and humiliation as you figure out how he knows.
Mother. Fucker. There’s a fucking camera in your room.
“No need to act embarrassed, baby,” he scoffs. “You put on quite a show.”
“It’s not technically a show when I’m unaware that my pervy boss is watching me, though, is it?” you snap at him, crossing your arms defensively in front of your chest.
“Yeah, well. It’s all in the NDA you signed.”
“Oh, of course it is,” you chuckle incredulously, looking up at the high ceiling of the living room.
“Did you think of me?” Nathan asks again, his eyes not leaving you.
“Uh...yeah, I did.” You down the rest of your wine in one go.
“Tell me about it.”
You sigh deeply. “You saw everything, so why don’t you tell me?” you say, unsuccessfully trying to mask your embarrassment with annoyance.
Nathan raises an eyebrow but doesn’t respond.
When he had you on your knees in front of him a week ago, hands tied behind your back, allowing you a few seconds to catch your breath before going back to fucking your throat, he asked if you’d thought of him while touching yourself. You were flying high at that point, teetering on the edge, so desperate for release that you would have admitted anything he asked.
And so, you blurted out the truth.
He can tell you regret it now, but that only makes him want to push you further. The thought of forcing you to admit what you want, what you are, has his cock hardening in his sweatpants.
“Okay, fine,” you murmur, unable to take the deafening silence anymore. You clear your throat and shift uncomfortably in your seat.
“I couldn’t fall asleep and thought…you know, an orgasm might help. So I started with my hand, trying to get myself off as fast as possible. But then, um, that wasn’t enough,” you trail off, your gaze avoiding his, and you set the empty wine glass on the coffee table with a sigh.
“Look at me, baby.”
Nathan studies your face, typically adorned with a confident smile, and feels a surge of satisfaction as he takes in your dilated pupils and bashful expression. This is turning you on.
“Continue.”
“My fingers weren’t enough, so I thought I could use the toy I brought. I, um,” you inhale and exhale deeply, “I imagined it was you and I thought of what you…I thought of what you’d do to me.”
Anxiously, you search his eyes for a sign of approval, your heart racing in your chest.
“What did you think I’d do to you?” he asks, taking a swig of his beer without breaking eye contact.
You swallow audibly, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, your cheeks ablaze with heat. The sensation coursing through your body is undeniable—an intoxicating blend of humiliation and arousal.
Under Nathan’s intense scrutiny, you can feel yourself growing wetter with each passing second, succumbing to the forbidden pleasure of confessing your innermost, shameful desires.
“I thought you’d grab me like last time and kiss me…kiss my neck, bite my lip, hold me down while…” you stop again, too ashamed to go on.
“Hold you down while?” Nathan prompts, making it clear that you’re not done talking.
You tilt your head and furrow your brow as your gaze lingers on the man who has dominated every waking thought since the first time your eyes locked with his.
He’s condescending, self-centered, moody, and so used to playing God in his kingdom of androids that he’s seemingly forgotten how to connect with humans and their emotions. And yet, there’s an inexplicable allure about him that has you longing for his touch, his attention, his…guidance.
What is going on with you?
“I imagined you’d put your weight on me, keeping me pinned down, making it impossible for me to get away,” you say, peering at him through your lashes. “You’d fuck me, hard, using me in any way you like.”
You bite your lip and shift in your seat, feeling your pussy clench around nothing as you catch sight of Nathan’s hard cock twitching beneath the elastic fabric of his sweatpants. He’s still looking at you, his casual demeanor unchanged, beer in hand on his belly.
“You’d take, um, you’d take control of me, choking me, muffling my screams with your hand, grabbing my tits. I’d beg you to let me come, you’d bring me right to the edge and then you’d stop, denying me over and over again, and using me until I…”
“Until you?”
The subtle arch of Nathan’s eyebrow, the lingering scent of his beard oil, the way his lips press against the glass bottle’s opening—it all ignites an overwhelming surge of arousal within you, urging you to give him what he wants.
“Until I couldn’t take it anymore,” you purr seductively, your pupils so dilated your eyes are black.
“Is that the thought that made you squirt all over your bed?”
Your jaw drops and your chest tightens, the humiliation intensifying as he talks about this intimate, vulnerable moment with such nonchalance. Like it’s not a complete invasion of your privacy. Like he’s not penetrating the very core of your personal boundaries.
You feel a flutter in your stomach, and your throat constricts as you struggle to find your words.
“I…no,” you murmur, averting your gaze. Your eyes land on Nathan’s hand gripping the bottle a little harder than before. “What pushed me over the edge was you telling me to come.”
When your eyes meet his again, you recognize the same dark glint in them that you saw seconds before his lips crashed against yours for the first time.
“I would beg you to let me come over and over again, and you’d always deny me…until you decided I deserved it. And when you, uh, when you ordered me to come on your cock, I came so hard I lost all control.”
Nathan can barely hold back a groan as you confess your desire for his dominance. His cock is leaking precum, staining the inside of his pants. He’s this close to ripping your clothes off and taking you right here, right now, burying himself deep inside you and filling you up with his cum.
But that’s not the plan for tonight.
“Is that so,” is all he says, turning his head back to the TV, a satisfied, almost unnoticeable smirk playing on his lips. He chugs the rest of his beer, then sets the empty bottle down on the little side table next to him.
Keeping his eyes on the flickering screen, he purposely ignores you again, reveling in the escalating neediness and desperation he perceives from you. He can sense your fidgeting and squirming beside him, uncertain of your next move. After a brief pause, you lift your hand but retract it hesitantly. Amused, Nathan catches a glimpse of your indecision from the corner of his eye.
You’re such a perfect little slut—beautiful, eager, smart, pliant. And it just tickles him that you could scream at him to fuck your ass harder during sex, but act all shy and flustered when asked to talk about it.
Another minute of silence, and you’re unable to resist any longer. Your swollen clit is painfully sensitive, your damp panties are clinging to your pussy, and your brain is screaming at you to make a move. You reach out again, this time making contact with Nathan’s clothed chest. The rhythmic beat of his heart becomes palpable under your touch, and feeling his body connected with yours has you pressing your thighs together.
Your breath quickens as you slowly start trailing your hand down his chest and his belly, but before you get a chance to touch his cock, he stills your hand with his.
“Don’t,” he says without looking at you.
You wince and immediately pull your hand away, clasping it protectively against your chest with your other hand.
“I thought…sorry.” You look at him like he just slapped you.
Nathan sighs, but doesn’t say anything. There’s no scolding, no inquiries, no indication of what he wants you to do—it’s unnerving. You’re fidgeting with your shirt again, clearing your throat, and shifting your legs, trying to find a position that will alleviate at least some of the burning ache in your core.
“Can I–” you say quietly, but cut yourself off. You’re facing him completely now, feet tucked under you, hands on your thighs, a silent restraint preventing you from reaching out to touch him again.
Satisfied that you’re learning, he decides to reward you with his attention. His eyes find yours again, and he’s pleasantly surprised by what he sees. It’s not just lust or neediness; no, you’re lost. Completely, unequivocally lost without his orders.
Nathan’s used to Kyoko looking at him with a blank face, awaiting his commands, reacting to his actions, doing what he programmed her to do. But this is different.
You actually want him to tell you what to do.
He takes his feet off the coffee table and scoots back in his seat, spreading his legs. “Sit on the floor,” he orders, watching with an imperceptible smile as your eyes light up. You quickly get off the couch and kneel on the floor between his legs, your eyes fixated on the outline of his cock inches from your face.
You want to taste it so bad you can feel yourself salivating at the sight. You bite your lip and move a little closer, looking up at Nathan expectantly before gently putting your hands on his thighs. He lifts his hips slightly, groaning at the delicious feeling of his tip rubbing against his pants. You take that as a sign to continue, moving your hands further up to the waistband.
“No,” he says calmly before you can pull it down.
“Why not?” You don’t pull away your hands this time. “You’re hard. Why won’t you let me–”
“Look.” He leans down to tilt your chin up with his thumb and index finger. “I get that you’re a needy whore and seeing my cock instinctively makes you want to suck it, I really do, baby,” he scoffs, condescension dripping from his words. “But I honestly thought you’d be able to follow a simple instruction even dogs can understand.”
A sharp inhale catches in your throat and your eyes widen at his demeaning words. Your gaze locked onto his, you can feel a surge of frustration coursing through your veins, tinged with a spark of defiance. You swallow hard, trying to keep your composure.
Nathan tilts his head, studying your expression, your reaction. You could have slapped him by now, stormed off, told him to go fuck himself—anything. But no, you’re still kneeling between his legs, lust and determination evident in your eyes.
“Let’s try this again, hm?” His thumb gently traces your bottom lip. The sensation sends a wave of ecstasy through your body and it takes all of your self-control not to start sucking on his finger. He can read in your eyes what you’re thinking, so he repeats the motion with your upper lip just to test your resolve.
The way you squirm under his touch is mesmerizing and oh so gratifying.
“Sit on the floor.”
He releases his hold on your chin, reclines into the couch, grabs another beer from the side table, and redirects his attention back to the TV.
You decide to crawl out from between his legs, ensuring he gets a tantalizing view of your shapely ass in those snug yoga shorts. Leaning against the couch with a deep sigh, you position yourself next to his leg. You glance up at him, searching for a sign that he’s happy with your obedience—and also very much hoping for a reward that involves him fucking your brains out again.
It’s not as if you don’t deserve it for enduring his grandiose monologues and drunken crying sessions every other night. Besides, you’re hot, and he should be so lucky…
To your frustration, though, he’s ignoring you again, absentmindedly tapping the beer bottle with his index finger as his eyes stay focused on the movie. He can feel your annoyance, your anger, and it’s almost enough to get his softening cock hard again.
You sit in silence for a minute before quietly scooting closer and gently leaning against Nathan’s leg. Feeling him, even through fabric, is enough to embolden you to go further. You look up at him, trying to be sneaky. He doesn’t look at you. His eyes are fixated on the TV, one hand cradling his beer, the other casually draped over the backrest.
You’re not giving up that easily. Your pussy won’t let you. Just one little touch, and you’re convinced you can get him in the mood. Just one little touch, and he won’t be able to resist you. Just one little–
“I’m not going to fuck you.”
“Then why the fuck am I down here?”
“Because I want you to be.”
“Oh, wow,” you scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. “And now what? You think I’m just gonna sit here and watch you get drunk?”
He ignores your pouting.
“I got better stuff to do, you know.”
He turns up the volume of the TV.
“This is so dumb, Nathan. Why do you want me to sit here if you’re just gonna ignore me?”
“You like it when I tell you what to do,” he says calmly.
You’re taken aback by his statement and furrow your brow. “Well, yeah…but this isn’t…I–”
He looks down at you, effectively shutting you up.
It’s absolutely amazing how he can watch in real time as the defiant fire in your eyes fizzles out. The small, self-satisfied smile creeping across his arrogant face stings.
He’s such a cocky bastard.
You huff agitatedly, cross your arms in front of your chest, demonstratively turn away from him, and kick your legs out from under you. Nathan, on the other hand, relaxes in his seat. He’s thoroughly enjoying your little show, and your pouting doesn’t bother him. Not as long as you’re doing what you’re told.
After a few minutes of listening to the blood rushing in your ears and the occasional gulping sound coming from Nathan working on his beer, you can’t hold it back any longer.
“I’m not just gonna stay down here,” you hiss at him.
“Yes, you are.”
Unbelievable.
You stare at him incredulously. “And what makes you so sure of that, huh? I could just walk away and leave you here to sulk. I don’t need this, okay? And you–you can’t just–”
Nathan says your name sharply. “Stop your whining. You’re sitting on the floor because I told you to. That’s it.”
He looks at you, his eyebrow arched, daring you to defy him.
“That’s it?” you repeat, your eyes narrowed.
Nathan smirks and turns towards the TV again, slowly sipping his beer.
“Yup. That’s it.”
You glower at him, and, for a brief moment, he half-expects you to finally get up and storm out in frustration. He wouldn’t mind, really. But there seems to be a subtle shift within you, and after a few tense seconds, you release a long, aggravated breath. Turning away from him, you cross your arms with annoyance, and firmly plant your back against the couch.
Nathan keeps an eye on you, observing how your tense posture relaxes and how you make yourself comfortable after a few more minutes of sitting at his feet.
It’s an image he wants to savor.
You’ve been good for some time now, doing what he told you to do, submitting to him nicely. He decides to reward your obedience, reaching out to pet the back of your head. You’re startled and your body stiffens at his touch, but he can feel you relax more and more with each gentle stroke of his palm up and down the nape of your neck. He gives you a soothing massage, soft scratches, allows you to lean into his touch.
He’s stroking you for some time, relishing the feeling of dominance, of control, until a quiet moan escapes your lips.
Nathan smiles to himself and tightens his grip on your neck for a few seconds, intensifying the sensation. You sigh in pleasure and close your eyes, getting lost in his forceful touch. He then loosens his grip, and you release a contented sigh as you rest your head against his leg. He lets you, gently scratching your scalp, your soft moans music to his ears.
“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs. “It’s so much better when you do what I say, hm?”
You lift your head to meet his gaze, your brow furrowed.
Seeing you look up at him with those pretty, lust-filled eyes of yours is enough to get his cock hard again.
“You can just do what you’re told,” he says, his fingers gently tracing your neck. “You don’t have to think, or ask questions. You can just let yourself fall and give up control.”
Your eyes widen, and he caresses your cheek.
“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” he asks. “Giving up control. Being able to turn your brain off. Not having to think for yourself, not having to make decisions.”
You don’t respond, mesmerized by his dark eyes and calm voice. There’s a hint of surprise in your expression, but that doesn’t surprise him. You’ve been suppressing your desire for submission for a long time, and now, he’s presenting you with the chance to finally embrace it.
“If I want you to sit on the floor because that’s where I feel you belong, you don’t ask why. You just do it,” he says, running his thumb over your lips again. “Right?”
You nod slowly and press your thighs together with a little whine. Your panties are drenched and it physically hurts you how empty you feel.
“Very good,” Nathan murmurs, pressing his thumb against your lips, and giving you a quick nod when you look at him questioningly. You open your mouth for him to slide his finger inside, your eyes going even wider at the sensation.
Nathan’s cock twitches at your total submission.
He gently thrusts his thumb in and out of your mouth, sliding it along your warm tongue. You suck and lick it seductively, eyes half-closed as you hum around the digit, swirling your tongue around it as if to show him what his cock is missing.
He sucks in a sharp breath and takes his thumb back out of your mouth, pulling down your bottom lip slowly before bringing his face close to yours.
You half-expect him to kiss you, but instead he murmurs, “Clothes off, hands on your thighs.”
He watches contentedly as your eyes light up, and you eagerly follow his orders, pulling your shirt over your head, unclasping your bra, pulling down your shorts and panties in one swift motion.
“Kneel over there,” he says, directing you to a spot away from the couch.
He gets up and pulls down his sweatpants, letting them fall onto the floor. You stare at his cock with need, awe, and a tinge of fear—your holes were sore for days after your last encounter. He smiles to himself, crossing the distance between you two, and positioning himself in front of you.
You’re sitting back on your heels, thighs spread, your hands firmly placed on them, your glistening pussy on display. There’s a smooth arch in your back and your head is tilted upwards as you wait for further instructions.
Nathan looks down at you, his eyes scanning your naked body, spits in his hand and starts stroking his cock. He groans at the delicious feeling of finally getting some relief. He hasn’t jerked off all day, despite watching the tape of you fucking yourself after he got up this morning. And after lunch. And again this afternoon.
To say he’s pent up would be an understatement.
“That’s it,” he moans, wasting no time to tease himself. His right hand sets a steady pace, sliding up and down his length with honed efficiency.
“I’m gonna come all over your pretty face, baby. And you’re gonna take it like a good girl, aren’t you?”
The thought of it, of Nathan marking you that way, dirty and wrong and everything you’re not supposed to desire, it sends a surge of heat through your body, settling in your clit with a throb.
You whimper an unintelligible response, your eyes fixated on his hand moving in practiced motions around his thick cock. Nathan chuckles above you, and you manage to tear your eyes away from his cock to catch the look of dark amusement on his face.
“You gotta speak up, baby. Or are you too cock-drunk to use your words already?”
You swallow hard and dig your nails into the flesh of your thighs. “Y-yes,” you manage to choke out. Your face burns with humiliation, intensifying your desperation as you plead, “Please come on my face, Nathan. I want you to mark me. Please give me your cum. Please.”
Shocked at your unexpectedly bold words, Nathan’s hand momentarily falters in its movement, before picking up again with increased speed.
A strangled groan bubbles out of his throat, followed by your name and a swipe of his thumb over the tip of his cock. His dark eyes meet yours for a split second, looking down at you as you’re patiently waiting for your reward with an opened mouth.
You writhe and squirm at the sound of Nathan’s groans and the intense sight of him pleasuring himself. You’ve never seen anything hotter. You want to touch yourself, to rub your clit or slip your fingers into your wet core—to finally get some release—but you resist the urge, clenching your hands into fists.
“Fuck, I’m gonna come, baby,” Nathan pants, his words coming ragged and tight. He’s so close.
You look up into his lidded eyes and whisper, “Please.”
“You want that, huh? Oh fuck. Such a filthy little cumslut.”
You moan at his words and feel your walls clench in desperation. Your arousal is dripping out of your pussy onto the floor below, an obscene sight that confirms what Nathan already knew.
You’re loving this.
Nathan’s hand is jerking his leaking cock, fast and firm, as he races toward his orgasm. He’s all you can see, all you can hear, all you can feel—the wet squelching sound of his hand around his slick cock, his grunts and moans, the mumbled curses, the heat radiating off his imposing body.
You see him twitch in his hand and your swollen clit pulsates in response. He increases the speed of his hand and reaches to fondle his balls with his left hand. It takes a harsh squeeze and a “Holy shit, fuck!” before he’s coming with a long, low moan.
Your eyes shut instinctively but you don’t flinch as you can feel it hitting your face and tits in hot, wet spurts. You stay still, like the good girl that you are, moaning as another thick rope of Nathan’s cum lands across your lips, dripping into your mouth, salty and bitter on your tongue.
You don’t get to see his face as he comes, but the explicit sounds that reach your ears are enough to make you twitch and moan in pleasure, expanding the puddle beneath you.
Nathan strokes himself through his orgasm until his balls are empty and he’s milked every last drop out of his cock and onto your face—until he’s painted you with it, until he’s marked you as his.
“Goddamnit.”
Spent, he lets go of his pulsating cock, putting his hands on his hips, taking a step back to take a good, long look at his work of art.
Your face is painted white with cum, spread all over your cheeks, chin, and dripping down to your tits. You put on a little show, gathering up the drops with your finger and sensually putting them on your tongue while keeping unwavering eye contact.
“You can swallow,” Nathan says, pleased with your conduct.
You do as he says, happily adding some more cum from your lips, and swallowing it all down with a blissed-out smile.
“Thank you, Sir,” you coo.
“Such a filthy little thing, aren’t you?” he murmurs, stepping closer. He bends down, grabs the back of your neck forcefully, and tilts your head up.
“Open your mouth, slut. Tongue out.”
You open wide, sticking your tongue out for him to see. He leans in to let a big glob of his spit fall directly into your open mouth. He hums in satisfaction as he watches you swallow it eagerly, and then he finally kisses you, dirty and messy, tasting himself on your tongue. You moan into his mouth, bucking your hips, desperate for him to finally touch your neglected pussy.
“Good girl,” he whispers against your lips, making you moan. “Now, go get cleaned up.”
Oh no, he wouldn’t.
You stare at him with wide eyes. “But I–”
“Go. Get. Cleaned. Up.”
“But I haven’t…what about me?” you stammer, your voice trembling.
“What about you?” he responds with a raised eyebrow, a sadistic glint in his eyes.
Your face falls and his cock pulsates at your expression. You look like you’re close to crying, your thighs pressed together to alleviate your aching clit, your nails painfully digging into your palms. You’re shaking with anger and frustration.
Nathan’s never been as turned on as he is from seeing you suffer—you’re just so pretty when you’re denied.
He can already picture himself playing with every part of you for hours on end, denying you over and over again until your body is ablaze with burning anticipation. And then, once he’s finally reduced you to a brainless, overstimulated mess, he’ll wrap his hand around your throat and make you take him until you beg him to stop.
But that’s for another day.
“Smile, baby,” he smirks, tapping your cum-stained cheek and straightening up to get himself another beer from the kitchen. “You’re on camera.”
– – –
Thank you for reading! 🤍
in control || predator & prey || main masterlist
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#nathan bateman x f!reader#nathan bateman x reader#nathan bateman smut#nathan bateman x you#nathan bateman fanfiction#oscar isaac characters#nathan ex machina#nathan bateman#nathan bateman fic#ex machina fanfiction#smut#oscar isaac fic#ex machina
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Pura perfección || Jake Lockley x femReader
Warnings: unprotected sex, daddy kink, rough sex, doggy style
Synopsis: You're intensely craving Jake's attention
Author: Simpster
A/N: Welcome to another day of Kinktober '23 Collaboration. Today's prompt: daddy kink
Masterlist
Since Jake was always so preoccupied with fulfilling Khonshu's tasks, he rarely had time for you, and you found yourself missing him terribly. His attention, which was so vital to you, seemed to be in short supply lately.
"Why don't you take a break and fuck me, daddy?" You asked, your voice leaking with lust.
Jake looked up at you from above his notebook, scattered documents spilling across the coffee table before him. "I think that's just what I'll do, sweetheart," Jake replied by placing his notebook on the coffee table. He gazed at you as you stood in a doorway, exuding a sensual aura as you leaned against the frame, biting your lower lip, one of your hands slipped in your tiny shorts.
He got up from his seat and crossed the room, standing in front of you. He leant down and captured your lips in a needy, messy kiss; you let him dominate it.
Lockley's strong arms encircled your waist, effortlessly hoisting you over his broad shoulder.
“Jake!” Your compliance was met with a quick ascent up a flight of stairs, leading to a bedroom where the bed had been stripped bare, save for the crisp, inviting sheets.
With a grunt, Jake threw you onto the bed, his muscular frame claiming its place on top of yours.
His hands, rough yet achingly gentle, began their descent along your body. Fingers danced along the fabric of your clothing, tracing a seductive path down your chest, where they met the first button of your blouse. With deliberate care, Lockley unfastened it, revealing the lacy undergarments beneath. His gaze met yours, a silent promise of the passion that was about to unfold. The second button yielded to his patient touch, exposing more of your skin to his hungry eyes.
Each delicate release seemed to heighten the anticipation, your breath quickening in tandem with the unraveled fabric.
As he worked his way down, his fingers brushed over the curve of your waist, causing a shiver to course through your body. The blouse slipped off your shoulders, your shorts followed soon after. Jake proceeded to delicately remove your undergarments, unveiling the enticing secrets they concealed. "Fuck, eres muy sexy."
His hand began a tantalizing journey, caressing your skin from your face, tracing a tantalizing path down to your shoulders and then further south, embracing your breasts with his palms. He momentarily cupped them, savoring the feeling before descending to your nipples, his touch both gentle and possessive, eliciting a symphony of sensations that caused your back to arch in pleasure and desire, a testament to the gift he generously bestowed upon you. "Oh, daddy..."
After a few minutes of exhilarating teasing, Jake's firm grip around your waist signaled a shift in his intentions. In one fluid motion, he deftly flipped you over, compelling you to present him with your enticing, plush ass.
You turned your head to meet his intense gaze, your expression an intoxicating blend of lust and aching need, a testament to the intoxicating journey his ministrations had taken you on, your cheeks flushed. "Please, daddy," you whined and keened when he pressed his calloused thumb into your slick heat.
Jake rumbled in response, "You're so tight for daddy, princesita. You're going to take my fucking dick so well, aren't you?" He slid his finger out and bent down to lick your pussy from behind, from clit to hole, stopping to linger and fuck his tongue into your needy cunny. He let out a contented hum as the flavor danced across his tongue, akin to ambrosia itself. "Oh, fuck, yeah, tan deliciosa!"
The tip of his tongue flickered over your slick entrance, and he grunted, palming himself through the thick fabric of his pants.
You mewled and clawed at the sheets, panting open mouthed and begging for your daddy to fuck you senseless. "Daddy, please, please! Fuck me!"
Jake drew back and put two fingers back in your cunt, fingering you deep and without mercy.
You let out a soft whimper, your body twisting with a mix of desire and uncertainty, as if you couldn't decide whether you wanted more or to escape the situation.
Jake unbuttoned his jeans. Not bothering to take them off, Jake pulled his hard dick out of his pants, jerked himself a few times, and rubbed the head of his cock against the sweet wetness of your pussy.
Once more, you vocalized your desire, and at last, he fulfilled it. Without warning Lockley pressed his dick inside you, thrusting hard and burying himself completely in your slick cunny. Lockley reclined, his head tilting backward as he let out a contented sigh, feeling the relief of being completely seated inside you.
Your cunny clenched around his throbbing dick rhythmically as you moaned his name.
He began fucking you in earnest, filling the room with the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh and your combined groans and pants.
Your breath hitched as he fucked in you at a new angle. "Yes, yes, daddy! Oh, dear God!"
"Is that your favorite spot, niña? You like when daddy fucks you right there, huh? Sí, porque eres una chica sucia," Jake growled lowly, increasing his pace.
The bed swayed to the rhythm of his thrusts.
You gasped, quivering while your cunt was slapped by Jake's calloused hand several times. "Daddy!!"
"That's a good, little slut, daddy's going to fill you with thick cum," Lockley warned, licking two of his fingers. Soon, they joined his dick in your cunny, filling you to the brim. “Fuck yeah, take it all, doll.”
You hummed your assent and Lockley gritted his teeth as he plowed into your tight cunt. His thrusts became harsher and you wailed, pressing your head to the mattress. You arched your back, cries of overwhelming pleasure escaping your lips. It felt as if you were transported to a state of pure bliss, your eyes moist with emotion, and your mind clouded with desire and ecstasy. "Yes, yes, yes, 'm cumming, daddy!" His body went rigid as he emptied himself inside you with a final guttural grunt. Jake pulled out and watched his seed drip from between your legs. "Perfección pura."
#kinktobercollab‘23#kinktober 2023#kinktober2023#divider by cafekitsune#jake lockley x reader#jake lockley smut#jake lockley x you#jake lockley#moon knight x reader#moon knight x you#moon knight smut#moon knight imagine#jake lockley imagine#jake lockley fic#oscar isaac fic#jake lockley drabble#oscar isaac x reader#moon knight#jake lockley x f!reader#jake lockley x y/n#marvel smut
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Oh Nosy | Steven Grant x Reader
Worth an Oscar | Masterlist
Part 2
Context: After work, you were supposed to visit a friend's house, but instead, you ended up helping Steven with his sex drive problem.
Warnings: Sexual Content, Descriptive Sex, Needy Steven, Vulgar Words, Mentions of Drugs
"Steven, love, we're going to be late," you called from the living room, slipping your small purse strap over your right shoulder and tucking excess hair behind your ears. You squinted your eyes at yourself, turning sideways to see if you were presentable enough.
You smiled as you ran your hands down your defined curves, satisfied with how you looked. You were wearing the dress Steven had secretly purchased for you; he figured you'd look good in a raven corset bodycon dress, so he bought you one.
You adored how it fit you and that he knew your size. You twirled around again, a little giddy, to see yourself in the full length mirror. But when you remembered that time was running out, you looked towards the bedroom, where Steven should have already emerged.
"Steven!" you yelled, but there was no response. What could possibly be taking him so long to prepare? It wasn't as if he was applying makeup or layering clothing; you remembered that he was simply wearing a suit that he felt comfortable in. You called him again, irritated that he was ignoring you. After a few seconds, you marched towards the slightly open bedroom door and pushed it open.
"Steven."
Your anger was replaced with worry as you were about to scold him for not responding when you noticed him leaning on his desk, head low and visibly panting. He was already dressed and all he needed was his coat, but something seemed off about him, so you quickly set your bag down and approached him. "Love, are you okay?" When you were about to touch him, he flinched and slightly backed away. Your brows knitted together in concern as you noticed how sweaty he was and how his previously combed hair had become disheveled and was hanging on his brow.
"Steven, what's wrong, baby?" you asked softly, alarmed by how he looked right now. Now that you mention it, you recall him acting strangely since he got home from work. When you tried to grab his shoulder, he avoided and shook his head rapidly, his breathing became even more ragged. "I-I can't." You raised your eyebrows slightly in surprise when you heard him suddenly whimper, not just any whimper, but a very needy one.
Steven's big puppy dog eyes were drawn to what you were wearing, and his breathing became visibly labored. He turned around, gripping his hair in frustration, and lowered his head, his heavy breathing becoming more audible. "You can leave without me...I'm not feeling well," he muttered. You were perplexed as to what was happening to him, until you noticed how his body shuddered in response to you softly calling his name. That's when you realized you might know what's wrong with him.
You'd known Steven for years and had memorized his body language, which is now telling—screaming for you. Your eyes scrutinized his body from head to toe, and with his back to you, you began to approach him quietly. "Steven, baby," you said, wanting to know if what you were thinking was correct, so you wrapped your arms around his waist, tenderly caressing his stomach with your hands, eliciting a small moan from him.
As you were right in your thoughts, a small smile crept up your face. Steven is desperate right now, perhaps too desperate to moan to such a single caress. When you pressed harder against him, he leaned back and rested his head on yours, his mouth slightly parted, causing his breathing to reverberate throughout the room. "There's something...wrong with me, love," he whined, softly holding both of your hands and resisting the urge to ask you to touch him.
You placed a small wet kiss on his neck, causing his grip to tighten and his lip to bite roughly. There's been a change of plans because there's no way in hell you're going to let Steven suffer through this. But you wanted to know why he's so desperate right now, and why he didn't ask for help hours ago. "What happened?" you whispered in his ear, smoothly dragging your hands from his chest to unbuckle his belt.
"I...uh...there was this..." He struggled to speak every time his belt moved, and you could see his bulge begging for attention. You hummed, requesting Steven to continue. "My coworkers, they were doing something...and I asked to know what it was," he said, his voice husky and strained, and just looking at him like this aroused you.
"Then what?" you wondered, tilting your head to see Steven's reaction when you finally slipped your hand into his boxers. He gasped when he felt your hand delicately massage and stroke him, and he couldn't answer your question because his mind was fogged up. His one hand darted to your touching wrist, begging for more. "Oh bloody hell, that feels so good," he groaned, closing his eyes and leaning back. You took advantage of the situation by biting and nibbling on his neck. "Then what, Steven?" you asked between bites.
If Steven became this way as a result of his coworkers, you'd want to know how, because they didn't have the authority to do so.
"Oh—God, your hand feels so..." Steven's breath became shaky, and his grip on your hand tightened, causing you to harshly bite your lip.
"Steven."
"Then there was this powder, and they forced me...God...they forced me to inhale it," Steven explained, moaning in between words. You could feel yourself becoming more enraged by what he said; if he hadn't been begging for you right now, you would've gone to the museum and made them pay for what they did to your helpless Steven. Your other free hand was now caressing his body beneath his slightly unbuttoned polo. "Please, love...I need you—so badly," he whimpered, closing his eyes tight before beginning to squirm, indicating that he was nearing his release.
"It's okay, I'm here," you cooed, slightly gasping as his slowly rocking hips began to move faster. Steven made a noise with every pump of your hand that you could never get used to. You've both done it countless times before, but it always feels like the first time. Steven's body was becoming increasingly hot, with perspiration streaming down his face and onto his neck. His hair is now tousled and dangling from his head, and his eyes are filled with nothing but desire.
You decided to ignore the aching and pooling entrance between your legs and focus on Steven and getting him the pleasure he requires so he won't suffer any longer. You asked him if he wanted you to stop because he isn't himself, but all he responded with was a loud moan, telling you that he needs this, he needs you.
"Go on, come on my hand, darling," you breathed into his ear, steadying your pace just enough to make his knees buckle. Steven pressed his back against you even more, and you ground on him in response. That was all he needed until he threw his head back, closing his eyes in bliss and letting out a guttural groan that lingered in your ear. "That's a good boy, my Steven," your hand that was inside his shirt, yanked his pants and boxers down completely, while the other continued to stroke him even though he had already came.
"Shit, love....I wanna be inside you—if that's okay..." His hand let go of your wrist and gently held your head on his shoulder. Even though he was under the influence of a drug, Steven wanted to make sure you were doing this willingly. You placed a soft kiss on a mark you had made on him and whispered, "Sure love, go sit on the bed..." He shuddered in response as you grinned against his neck.
Steven let out a small whine when you finally let go of his still hard cock; obeying your command, he stepped out of his pants and struggled to unbutton his polo. His breathing was still labored, and it felt as if his heart was about to escape from his chest. You stood there silently watching him unfasten the last button on his shirt before tossing it elsewhere. Although he may feel like the messiest bloke on the planet, in your opinion, he is the most perfect human being to ever exist, and it saddens you that he had to go through this because of his shitty coworkers.
After failing to notice that you were staring too long at Steven, who is now sitting on the mattress, he became anxious and attempted to cover up, but was stopped when you approached and slammed your lips against his. Steven's kisses were desperate, therapeutic, and feral. It was a little sloppy at first, but once you could straddle him, it was perfect. You moaned as you felt his hands gripping your waist, fingers digging into your still-clothed flesh.
You gasped as you began grinding on him, feeling him already hard beneath you. Steven took advantage of the situation by slipping his tongue inside you, competing with yours as he made sure to go through every part of your mouth. "Shit, love, this dress—you look beautiful in it—but please—I don't think I can last another second with you still clothed," he groaned in your mouth, causing your fingers to harshly tug at his hair.
You drew away, causing him to whine, but it was to undress. When Steven noticed your struggle, he assisted you in pulling it over your head, and once it was above your chest, he wasted no time and buried his face between your breasts. "Oh Steven," you moaned loudly, interlocking your fingers with his wild curly hair once more before rolling your hips on him again.
Steven's hungry mouth brushed up against one of your nipples while massaging the other with one hand. Your hips sped up as his tongue swirled, fiddled, and nibbled on it. You know you should be concentrating on Steven first, but when his other hand began rubbing small circles on your still-clothed clit, you knew your brain was melting. The sensation of him beneath you, his mouth on one of your breasts, his hands on the other and your clit, caused heat to build up on your lower belly.
Steven returned to your open mouth and his hands to your waist, making you wine at the loss of contact. Even just grinding on him, you could feel your release approaching, but you didn't want to finish yet; you wanted to be filled up by him. Steven trailed kisses from your swollen lips to your jaw and then to your neck, sucking on them until your hot skin gets bruised.
"Steven shit...," you exclaimed, feeling him thrust upwards even more faster.
"Fuck, can you please get rid of this?" he groaned, harshly sinking his teeth into your neck and hooking his hands around your waistband. You nodded at him, briefly closing your eyes before lifting yourself up to remove the only piece of clothing that stood between you and Steven. But just as you were about to pull it down, yours and Steven's heads whipped towards the ground, where your purse was laying, there was an incoming call.
You returned your gaze to Steven, who whimpered, shaking his head at you with pleading eyes, begging you to just ignore it, but you were curious as to who it was. You smiled at him and softly kissed his frowning, swollen lips before getting off him and walking towards your purse. Steven gripped your waist tightly, protesting, but you eventually got away, causing him to groan and collapse on the mattress.
The loss of contact dampened your pleasure, but it only aggravated your aching entrance. You dashed towards your purse and took out your phone, slightly gasping when you saw who it was. You returned your attention to Steven, who was desperately waiting for you to hurry up, and answered the phone. "L-Layla!" you greeted, trying to keep your panting under control and from laughing when you saw Steven's shocked expression. Layla's dinner party slipped your mind, and she seemed to call to see where you both were.
[Hey! Where are you guys?]
You tightly closed your eyes before mouthing "shit." You couldn't possibly leave now because Steven is still in heat. You started chewing on your nails, trying to come up with an excuse. "Uh, sorry I forgot to inform you, but there was a problem and I had to assist Steven with it." You let out a nervous chuckle before turning to Steven, who appeared to be struggling to keep from touching himself. You smirked and started walking back to him, phone still in your hand. Steven pleaded with you to hurry up with his big doe eyes. You just bit your lower lip at him before returning your attention to Layla.
[Oh is that so? That's unfortunate, but it's okay! I hope you can resolve your problem soon.]
"Thank you, Layla. We'll make amends soon," you chuckled, relieved that Layla understood your predicament. You returned your gaze to Steven, who was lying, and began to hover over him. Before saying goodbye to Layla, you raise your brows teasingly. When Steven heard the end call button, he instantly grabbed it and threw it away, exhaling, "That was too long," before pulling you in for a deep kiss. You smiled at how desperate he was, but your smile faded as you felt him throb against you. "So needy, my Steven" You moaned, licking his bottom lip before dragging your tongue down his neck to his collarbones.
You began to align yourself with his throbbing cock without wasting any more time and with Steven's small but desperate pleases. Taking a deep breath before finally settling down on him. Your eyes widened as you felt him enter you so forcefully that tears welled up in your eyes. Steven helped you by gently holding your waist and panting against your heaving chest. You rested your head on his shoulder for a few moments to gather your thoughts. Despite your inaction, Steven moaned, "So tight, my love." You prepared by gripping his shoulders, your heart racing so fast that it hurt your chest.
Steven arched his brow in concern and gently cupped your flushed cheek, lifting it up so you could see him. "I'm sorry, love, but you know you don't have to—"
"Shut up, Steven, I want this...Godyou'resofuckinghard." You flutter your eyes open, blinking to get the tears out. Steven chuckled before planting a sloppy kiss on your parted lips. You were telling the truth, and you also want this for reasons other than pleasing Steven, so you have no reason to stop.
After hearing Steven moan in your mouth, begging you to move, you began to rock your hips, slowly at first, before riding Steven into oblivion. "Oh fuck—" Steven's hand darted around your waist, his mouth biting into your flesh as you closed your eyes and yelled his name in pleasure. The sensation of Steven throbbing inside you caused you to clench even tighter around him, eliciting a lewd cry from him.
You hissed as you felt every roll of your hips and Steven's relentless thrusts numb your legs, but it was quickly replaced by overwhelming pleasure. Pleasure that you're certain you can feel in every vein, muscle, and bone in your body, it's a sensation you'll never forget.
The heat that formed in your lower belly was a sign that you were getting close. You moaned as you felt yourself tighten and that faint heat that was now being exacerbated by your and Steven's arousal.
"Steven!" you cried out, repeating his name as if it were the only word you knew, and it echoed loudly throughout the whole house. Steven harshly sucked on your jaw, groaning and his breath catching as he felt him approaching his second orgasm.
Steven brought you closer to your release by thrusting deeper and hitting the areas that needed attention. You shivered as he made certain he hit every single sweet and spongy spot, not missing one. Your grip on his shoulders tightened until you finally let go with a mind-shattering orgasm that left you seeing thousands of stars. "Steven, please—" Everything was becoming overwhelming, and your muscle begged for a break, but Steven persisted and prolonged your pleasure.
"Oh God—" Steven threw back his head in bliss, your come dripping down on him being the thing that had pushed him over the edge. You two let out a loud, breathless moan as Steven released inside of you, allowing his seed to freely flow through and leak out of you.
The sweet aroma of sex and the sound of both of your labored breathing filled the room. You collapsed against Steven, and he cupped the back of your head gently, securing you against him as he slowly lied back down. It was a good thing he finished sooner rather than later because you thought you'd pass out if he didn't.
Steven lovingly stroked your back, tracing his index finger between your shoulder blades before kissing you on the crown of your head. "Thank you, my love," he mumbled in husky, croaky tones. You couldn't form words because he literally fucked them out of you, so you just hummed and nodded.
You nuzzled Steven's neck, still steadying your breathing, when what he said next made you open your eyes in disbelief. "Those coworkers I've mentioned, I overheard them challenging themselves that they can sleep with everyone in the museum, and I must've been their next target," Steven felt how you became still, and he almost regretted telling you that because he knew you wouldn't let any of it go.
You raised your head slowly and gave him an expression that only confirmed his thoughts. "Who are they?" you asked softly, reaching up to gently wipe Steven's stray hairs from his brow. He swallowed nervously, touched that you'd come to avenge him but also terrified of what you'd do, given that you were an avatar of a powerful deity.
Steven pursed his lips, hesitant to name the culprits before nervously chuckling and averting his gaze from time to time. "Don't worry, love, it'll just be a friendly talk," you teased, hoping Steven would reveal the names. He wanted to because they intended to take advantage of him despite knowing he was already in a relationship, but a part of him felt sorry for them.
You smirked at Steven as he turned away slightly. Your dear Steven, still thinking about the other despite the fact that they've done something horrible to him. You cocked your head and smeared soft, passionate kisses on his already bruised neck. "It's okay...I'll figure it out myself," you whispered between kisses, making Steven moan softly.
When you heard Steven say the names, your mouth shut and hatred welled up inside of you, but you remained calm so as not to alert Steven too much. You locked your gaze on him, searching his face and marveling at how stunning he was. "You know I'd do anything for you, right?" you declared solemnly.
"I'd do the same for you, love," Steven followed as you leaned in and made your longing lips connect once more. When it comes to Steven Grant, you always keep your words and act on them with pure intentions.
That's why, after this, you're going to pay those coworkers of his a visit.
#oscar isaac#oscar isaac fic#oscar isaac fanfiction#oscar isaac x reader#oscar isaac imagine#moonknight#moon knight#moon knight smut#moonknight smut#steven grant#steven grant x you#steven grant x reader#steven grant smut#smut#oscar isaac smut#fanfiction
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