#sounds of claws against a keyboard
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HI snickeringdragon tumblr dot com. you should look up mountain bluebirds
hang oni gotta look up mountain bluebirds
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𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨 (𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥) — 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭
miguel o’hara x fem!reader. 4.8k words
fic masterlist previous part pt four next part
violence + mentions of blood and injuries (this is quite visual ha); angry + kinda ‘blood lust’ miguel; someone gets electrocuted, reader kinda does (small amount—I’ll be honest I don’t know how getting electrocuted exactly works, so for the purpose of the story ignore if the way it happens isn’t realistic, thank you!) — when you’re left alone in the tech room, many spiders out on missions, something unexpected happens. when miguel finds out his face falls and his claws twitch in anger. after the incident, you find miguel walking down the hall, calling to him he asks you questions, and you offer your help with something.
It was silent. For what felt like too long. Besides the tap of your fingers on the keyboard—which had begun to slow.
Usually you’d hear distant conversations or the sound of web shooting, but instead only silence greeted you. Unease began to make your body turn, your chair spinning with you.
You weren’t sure if you were just being paranoid. You were alone in the office. Which wasn’t anything strange, but it meant that your growing paranoia festered a little stronger.
You edged closer to the door, finally hearing what sounds to be rumbling. Low and too vague for you to decipher. Your hand reaches out to the door handle, but just as your fingers brush the smooth metal, you’re forced back.
Your body flies, coming to a bruising hit on your hip, making you hiss in pain. But you’re quick to get up, rushing to a clear wall, and away from the explosion. You breathe heavy as you slump against it, your ears slightly ringing, while your gaze stays blurry against the random scraps of metal and dust.
You look to the communal intercom, quickly rushing towards it. Someone or something that isn’t supposed to be here is. You have to warn the spider-people who are out on missions.
But where are the others?
Just as you reach the com, the sound of quick scuffling boots can be heard to your left. You snatch up the intercom, slipping under your desk, tucking your feet into the dark just as multiple pairs of unwelcome boots come into view.
Your shrink further into yourself. You couldn’t speak in warning to the spider variants or these guys would hear you. Your eyes narrow on the bottom of their legs. All black, but so far appearing humanised rather then some large monster. An anomaly?—you think to yourself—multiple?
You clutch the intercom mic tighter, your finger grazing the on button. And that’s when they begin to speak.
“Get the tech.” A gruff voice says. “Now! We can’t waste our time!”
You can hear more scuffling of boots as the sound of unplugging, or more so ripping follows.
“Boss, they’ll be back.” One of them said. You try to get a good look at them, but your movements will cause too much attention, so you grind your teeth and listen harder.
“If you pick up that damn monitor we might have a chance to get out quick enough.” What you assume to be the gruff voice of ‘boss’ says.
“Who even made you in charge?” One grumbles out.
“Who’s idea was it to lure those stupid spiders out on some fake mission, that, might I add, required a decent bunch of those freaks?”
“Not all of them, though.” One adds. You try again to peak out. You manage to scale the bodies of three, all in black, with…masks. Damn it. They looked worn out—handmade.
“Well, lucky for us the remainders are all too busy in the lobby. Now hurry up and pack the bags.” Boss agitatedly says.
And as if luck is still on your back-burner, your foot slips, only a fraction, but enough to knock a piece of stray metal across the floor.
“What was that?” One of the masked men asks.
The silence now following sounds threatening. You place your hand over your mouth, to quieten your breathing, as the scuffs of boots draws closer.
;;
“Ben!” Exclaimed Miguel, just as static breaks through his ear. He hisses, not expecting it, as he holds the earpiece, brows furrowed. Then the static grows clearer.
“Get the tech. Now! We can’t waste our time!”
“Boss, they’ll be back.”
Miguel narrows his eyes as he listens, confused at first. When he looks to the other spider-people they’re are all holding their own earpieces, trying to comprehend what they’re listening to.
“Who even made you in charge?”
“Who’s idea was it to lure those stupid spiders out on some fake mission, that, might I add, required a decent bunch of those freaks?”
“Lyla, what is this?” Miguel asks. She appears by him, tapping away at screens.
“It appears to be coming from a communal intercom.” She says.
“At HQ?” He asks, already flexing his claws. “Which one.”
“I’m just finding out. The connection is muffled.” More tapping.
“Well, lucky for us the remainders are all too busy in the lobby. Now hurry up and pack the bags.”
The voices still infiltrate Miguel’s ear. “Lyla.” He sounds impatient. “Which one?”
Then she stops tapping. “Y/n y/l/n’s.”
Miguel freezes, looking at Lyla as if she would be one to crack a joke. Then he hears the knock of something metal through his ear piece, followed by a ‘“What was that?”’. He can now hear your heavy breathes, slightly muffled, as heavy boots hit the floor.
Then all sound is gone.
He doesn’t wait for anyone, pressing his wristband to open the portal to HQ. But Jess stops him. “Miguel, think about this. What if it’s them?”
Miguel glances at her, shrugging her grip off his arm, as he taps at his wristband again, the portal opening up. His expression is downcast, one could easily say terrifying.
“Miguel! You have to think this through.” Jess persists. “We have spider-men and woman back at HQ—”
“Who are clearly too distracted to do anything.” Miguel grunts out, webbing towards the portal. But Ben intercepts this time.
“She’s right, Miguel. Don’t worry about the tech, we can get it back, or even get new ones—“
“The tech?” Miguel actually sounds in disbelief. “You think I’m fucking worried about the tech?!” His red eyes gleam, and Ben gulps.
“Then what are you worried about, Miguel?” Jess asks, exasperated. “Because I don’t see anything else that needs urgent attention. The tech is the main—“
“¿Tú no? The tech is the last of my worries, Jess.” Miguel interrupts. But this time he isn’t yelling. This time it’s toned down, and somehow that makes him appear much, much scarier.
“Miguel.” Jess tries to calm him down, not understanding what he could find more worrying. Data had been saved on that tech, important data. She places one hand on his wrist, but he immediately shrugs her off, glaring.
“Get out of my way.” He snarls. She doesn’t move, crossing her arms. “The reason why you aren’t hurt against that wall is because you earned my respect. That’s slipping, Jess.”
“Miguel you’re frantic.” She says.
“Call it what you want. I’m getting to HQ.” He webs past her, and Jess finally has the mind to let him go. Though she still stands there worried, and confused about what could have made Miguel so urgent to get to the scene.
;;
You tighten your hold on the intercom, now switching to use it as a possible weapon, as the boots near. You prepare yourself by silent deep breaths and a focused gaze.
The boots stop in front of you, pausing for only a moment. Then the desk is being flung to the side. You choke a gasp, managing to slam the intercom down into the guys shin, the harsh metal side bruising and buckling his leg.
He exclaims in pain as you scramble to your feet. You can finally see the detail on the three mens’ outfits. A dark green weaved into the fabric. Then you see the claws for hands, and all three of their masks turned to you. Shit.
“Who are you guys?” You manage to get out, as you reach behind you for a keyboard.
One looks at the other before looking back at you. “Were you here the whole time?”
You say nothing, edging closer to the exit. It’s silent from them for a moment then “…kill her.” The gruff voice of ‘boss’ says. And they’re quick.
You try to rush away but one yanks you back by your hair. You angrily swing around and knock the metal keyboard across one of their heads. Some of the pieces shatter against his mask.
But then one is grabbing your neck, pushing you against the wall. “Sorry—boss says no tattle tales.” The guy tightens his hold, and your hands scramble against his in an effort to intake air.
There’s a moment where your vision blurs. But there’s also a moment where his knee shifts letting your leg harshly kick out. You’re glad to find him humanised in his pants as he doubles over.
You rush away from the wall, heaving. One of the masked men is already trying to grab you and as his clawed hand wraps around your arm, he’s pulled back, a shining orange web yanking him straight into a monitor, his head smashing against glass.
The speed makes his claws cut across your flesh but your adrenaline is far too prominent for you to care. You notice the other guy stalking towards you, making you swiftly gaze around at your environment, Weapon. Weapon. Weapon. You stop on a machine, wires poking out, sparking with electricity. Holding a certain point you pull two out, ripping the electric wires, before stabbing them into his stomach, the electric current making his body shake and twitch.
You soon have to let go as they grow unbearably hot, leaving scolding burns on your fingertips and palms. That’s when you notice the owner of the orange web. Miguel has ruined the guy he originally threw into a monitor, his body now a bloody pulp.
You have to quickly look away to the second guy who had obviously gotten up from your kick and landed straight into Miguel’s palm. Miguel is retracting his claws from the masked man’s body, blood tainting the tips of his fingers, as he breaths harshly but somehow still controlled.
Miguel looks to the guy knocked out in front of you, still occasionally twitching from the strong current of electricity. You feel light headed, placing your hands on your knees as you try to slow your breathing.
But then you feel a hand. And not a friendly one as the masked man passes on some of the electricity moving through his body into your thigh. You scream, the half electrocuted guy—his hair frizzed and slightly cinched—stumbling to a stance, just as you fall to the floor.
Then you hear a crash and a curdling scream—not from you.
Miguel inserts his claws into the guys neck, practically ripping his throat out, as the guy chokes on his own blood. The blood sprays across Miguel’s face, leaving slight speckles as he rips the rest of the man with his teeth, letting him drop to the floor.
It was animalistic in way, as his tongue licked his fangs, his breathing now harsher—angrier.
But then he sees you drifting from consciousness on the floor.
Miguel doesn’t know what breathing is, or the meaning of the word slow, as he reaches your side in a millisecond, his hand coming to grab your face between his fingers—maybe a little harshly but his entire being was still on overdrive.
Miguel tightens his hold on your cheeks as he slightly shakes your head. “Y/l/n.” He hisses. “Wake up.“
He’s gentle now, realising that you’re a human and not some villain he needs to hurt, as he checks your pulse not wanting his claws to cut you. “Y/n!” He finally exclaims, as you get roused awake.
Your leg feels painfully numb, as your eyes flutter open. A thin layer of tears is making your eyes sparkle as you finally meet Miguel’s gaze. You try to slow your breathing, shutting your eyes to reassess.
Miguel tightens his hold on your cheeks. “No, no. Open them.”
You do, though they stay hooded. “I’m just…tired. No need to sound so harsh—shit.” The lasting electricity still spasms up your leg, as the hold of Miguel’s hand makes the tears fall.
You begin to shake your head, partially trying to get out of his hold. “Stop.” You say.
“Stop what?” Miguel instantly replies, his gaze shooting to your thigh.
“Just—“ you breathe. Then Miguel finds the deep scratch mark on your arm, his hand grabbing it as his eyes dart. “It’s fine. Just a cut.”
“Y/n, you just got attacked. You’re a weak human, don’t try to sound so tough.”
“You’re not helping.” You hiss, tilting your head back as you try to keep the tears in, not wanting them to fall. “And that was kind of mean.” You mutter the last part just for the sake of it. Using your pain induced state as an excuse to blurt out your annoyed feelings with Miguel.
Miguel grabs your chin, trying to pull your gaze back to his, but you resist, keeping it tilted away. “Stop.” You say again.
“No.” He answers, successfully pulling your chin back, and holding it there. “Why aren’t you looking me?”
Your eyes are darting around, before you choose to close them. “Y/n.” Miguel is stern, but underlying that he sounds almost desperate—almost.
You can feel him move closer to you and you place your hand out to stop him, your palm ending up against his chest. “Can you not—“
“What—not help you?” He asks harshly.
“Can you look away.” You say, finally opening your eyes. “Please.”
“Why?” Miguel isn’t budging, staying close to you. He’s already dialled in medical on his wristwatch.
“Jeezus Christ, Miguel! I don’t like fucking crying in front of people. It’s a weird thing I can’t get rid of. I hate it. It makes me feel embarrassed—“
“Embarrassed?” Miguel interrupts.
“Yes. Embarrassed.” You hiss harshly. You couldn’t find your filter, your tone far more aggressive then usual with the throbbing pain in your arm and the spasm of your thigh.
“Well, that stupid.” He says.
“Yeah, it is. But it’s not going away. So if you could just look away and let me…I dunno…recompose myself.”
“Recompose yourself?”
“Yes! Stop repeating what I’m saying!” You exclaim, only to follow with a groan of pain as you try to sit up.
Miguel knows your mind is frazzled and your body is reactive. He pushes you back down, grabbing your cheeks again.
“You got partially electrocuted and cut—deep, I’d think you’re a psychopath If you didn’t cry.” Miguel says, his volume dropped to one almost soothing—almost.
“Doesn’t make me hate it any less.” You mutter.
“Wow…I’ve never seen you this annoyed before.”
You narrow your eyes on him. His hand that was gingerly inspecting your thigh had slipped over your waist, partially caging you in.
You try again to sit up. But Miguel yet again, keeps you pressed to the floor. “O’hara.”
He leans closer to you, narrowing his eyes. “Stop moving.”
“I’m fine.”
“No your not.” He easily answers, which earns him a half hearted scoff. “You know I think I prefer you trying to suck up instead.”
You meet his gaze glaring. “I have not been sucking up, I just like—“
“This job. Yeah I’ve heard you.” He interrupts.
He can hear commotion behind him, but the voices of rushing spider-people makes his shoulders relax. The medical have arrived, and as you notice the new people you quickly wipe your cheeks, brushing against Miguel’s hand, as you get up.
Miguel finally let’s you, by slipping his arm around the back of your waist. You try to swat it away—any physical touch usually induces the waterworks you desperately wanted to keep at bay—but he tightens his hold, resulting in your side being flush against him.
The medical spiders inspect your bruised body. “It’s her thigh and upper arm…” Miguel begins telling the spiders. Then he grabs your hands holding your palms out. “And hands.” The burnt marks look raw, and you hiss as Miguel had to slightly stretch the skin to show.
He immediately lets go upon hearing the sound of pain. “Thanks Miguel, we’ll take it from here.” A medical spider says, already at your side checking your cut.
Miguel narrows his eyes on the spider variant, watching as you bite your lip as they inspect your wound. He sighs, finally getting up and letting your waist go. At the sudden shift your hand flies out to his leg, or more specifically his thigh.
Your quick, tight grip has Miguel stopping. You change your position, not having realised how much you were using Miguel as physical support, before you’re quickly taking your hand away and coughing.
You give him a brief nod. “Thanks for the help.”
Miguel scoffs. “Help? I did a bit more than help.”
You’re praying to get some anaesthetic soon so that your pain won’t make you loose your job. You press your lips together harshly. “Of course. You did spectacular.” You say.
The sarcasm isn’t lost on him. He eyes you once more before he’s walking out the exit.
You sat there, finally taking a proper breath. You don’t know why you were holding it for so long. …maybe you did have a clue. The image of Miguel ripping the guys neck out, blood staining his face is still fresh in your mind.
You’ll be honest, it scared you. He kind of scared you. But not in way you’d think he’d hurt you, just one that made him seem unpredictable. I mean what happened just then, with his touching and softer tone was something completely unforeseen.
If someone told you he would be do that today you’d actually laugh. Miguel was unpredictable and intimidating in general, sure, but what seemed to scare you more was the way he looked when his eyes shone with blood lust. His eye colour seemed fitting now.
You also happened to be scared of the way the sight made you feel. Something that settled far too low in your stomach.
;;
Miguel went straight to the lobby where a spider variant he kept high up in the ranks resided. “You. Get up. Now.”
The spider variant immediately stood, as he nervously followed Miguel to his office. The orange tech screens were the main thing lighting the place.
And as Spider-Man took a breath he lost it as soon as Miguel slowly turned to him. Blood still stained his skin and claws and suit, and the spider-man felt the urge to run.
“Where were you today?” Miguel asked, leaning back against a table and crossing his arms almost too casually.
“I was…here, Miguel.” He said steeling his spine. He knew where this was going.
“Were you?” Miguel asked, his eyes trained on the spider.
Spider man gulped. “I’m really sorry, Miguel. I didn’t hear any sort of explosion. I didn’t get any awareness. Which…shouldn’t happen.”
“You know what ‘shouldn’t happen’?” Miguel asks, now twirling an empty glass on the table. “Spider men and woman shouldn’t only rely on that “tingle thing”.”
The spider hangs his head lower in apology. “Someone could have died today.” Miguel continued. “And you would have what—been too busy playing poker?”
The spider variant winces at his words. Miguel knew of his addiction, always using his free time to gamble.
“Do you get that?” Miguel asks.
“I do. I’m sorry.”
“Sadly that’s not gonna cut it.” Miguel says, making spider man look up. “I left you in charge while I was gone. You failed miserably.”
“Miguel. I didn’t mean to only rely on my usual awareness, it’s a force of habit. That’s never happened before. I can always sense when danger is close.”
“But you didn’t.” Miguel says. “There’s someone in medical right now who got injured—badly. And she was all alone.” Miguel has stood up, stalking towards him.
“Now for personal reasons I may find her annoying.” He quickly mutters out. “But that certainly doesn’t mean you can let her die. Do you hear me?”
Spider man quickly nods. “Of course. This’ll never happen again.”
“No it won’t.” Miguel turns away, and the finality in his voice makes spider man’s eyes widen.
“Miguel—“
“Go home.” Miguel cuts in, stepping up to his screens. Anger still seeped from every pore.
;;
You woke up, feeling a dull ache in your body, but for the most part you felt alright. Better, a lot better. You swing your feet off the medical bed, realising that the lights were out.
Your feet hit the cold floor, before you quietly step towards the exit door.
Making it out to the hallway you were grateful you were already on the high level, no need for a long travel up the stairs.
You needed to rest. Alone. Not surrounded my medical items. You slowly headed to your room, but stop upon seeing a familiar body walking away.
“O’hara.” You say, making the figure freeze.
You quicken your steps, reaching him. He turns and you have to stop the intake of breathe at the reminded visual of the now dried blood.
“You didn’t want a shower?” You joked, forcing a chuckle.
Miguel just scans your body, narrowing his eyes, his expression is it’s typical, solemn and moody. “You should get back to bed.”
“I was actually heading to my room. But I just wanted to…thank you.” You say, finally making Miguel meet your gaze.
“You really did help me back there.” You spare him a small smile and a nod. Then your gaze gets caught back up in the blood stains, as you gulp.
“You saw, didn’t you?” Miguel suddenly asks.
You look up. “Mm?”
“The reason I’m covered in blood.”
“Oh.” You say. “It was…quite impressive.”
“No it wasn’t.” Miguel says making your brows furrow. He steps a fraction closer. “You didn’t think so.”
“What do you mean?”
Another step. “You thought I looked animalistic. Scary.”
You dart your gaze down to his slowly moving feet before quickly looking back up. You shake your head. And in return Miguel nods.
“You think I’m scary.” Everything he’s saying is statements. He knows, but you keep shaking your head.
“Don’t do that. Don’t lie.” He says, much, much closer now. “You’re terrible at it.”
You stop the shake of your head, blinking a few times. “O’hara—“
“Just be honest.”
“I am.” You say, straightening your spine. And as your eyes dart you notice a deep cut running across his thigh. The dried blood, his.
You step closer. “Why didn’t you get that checked out?”
He glances down at his wound. “It’s fine.”
“Oh come on, don’t do that. Don’t act like your above it all, including pain, and infection.” Your blatancy makes Miguel raise a brow.
You pause for a moment, mulling over potential decisions in your head. Then before it could get later and before you could back down you speak. “Follow me. Let me help.”
Miguel stares at you. “It’s fine—“ he goes to monotonously repeat.
You just grab his wrist, pulling him towards your room. Miguel grabs your wrist in turn, preparing to pull your hand off.
“Hey. You made me go to your room, now I’m just returning the favour.” You say.
Miguel stares at you, scoffing. You let go of his wrist, knowing you don’t have the strength to pull him. “If you’re scared I don’t know what I’m doing, then know that I studied to be a nurse before I found out about…all this.”
“Why?” Miguel asks. “Why help?” He elaborates.
“I just told you.” You say, beginning to head to your room. “I feel weird if I’ve seen your room when you haven’t yet seen mine.”
“That’s not a good reason at all.”
“But your walking my way aren’t you?”
Miguel hadn’t realised that he’d moved to your door without the permission of his mind. He curses under his breath as your scent floods his senses, your room making it ten times worse. This is the last thing he needed.
But you’re already shutting the door and ushering him further in. “You can um…” you look around. “You can just sit on the bed.”
No—Miguel thought. God, no. But you were already getting out an older looking kit from under textbooks—your stuff having been brought to you from your universe.
He slowly sits, trying not to get one bit comfortable. You reach his side placing the kit on the bed, as you drop to your knees.
Miguel’s breathing stops at the visual. You’re directly by his thigh…kneeling. No, no.
Miguel clicks his jaw, looking away. He looks back down, to see your hand is midway from touching his cut thigh. “Why are you doing this?” He can’t fathom why you would actually want to help him.
You sigh. “I just feel kinda bad.”
“Bad?”
“Mhm.” You nod.
“For any particular reason?” Miguel pushes.
“No.” You sarcastically scoff. “You’re just generally a person everyone feels bad for.”
Miguel narrows his eyes as you chuckle. He shifts on your bed. “Stop doing that.”
Your hand stops by his cut, thinking it’s the touching of his wound, when in actual fact it was the way your ‘chuckle’ had sent a strange vibration through him to somewhere he desperately didn’t want you to notice. He was right. This was a terrible idea.
Then you’re touching him. Delicate and gentle, as you pull away his ripped suit. You begin to dab what looks to be an alcohol cloth onto his wound, and in response Miguel snarls, his grip tightening around your sheets.
“Sorry.” You mutter.
“Dios.” He mutters, closing his eyes a moment. “Stop being nice.”
You look up at him. “I have to say, I’ve never heard someone say that. Usually it’s ‘stop being mean’.”
His face is tight as you continue to clean his cut. “Someone said that to you?”
You pause. “No actually. But I just mean in general. And I’m not being ‘nice’ to you. I’m returning a favour.”
“Ah.” He hums, before all his muscles tense. “Can you hurry up.”
“You’ve never let anyone touch you up before, have you?” Catching onto the fact that he’s clearly cleaned his past wounds himself.
Miguel glares at you. “So, you can stop.” He reaches to take the cloth from you, but you lean away resting your hand on his knee for support.
“You can just sit on the bed.” Miguel grits out. He couldn’t watch you being on your knees for him any longer. Not unless he’d do something he’d end up regretting.
“That’s okay, it’s an easier angle here.”
God. You had to stop. ‘Easier angel’? Yeah, Miguel definitely wasn’t thinking about you cleaning his cut. He runs his hand through his hair.
You quickly reach out grabbing his wrist. He looks at you, expectantly. “You have uh…blood on your fingertips…claws.”
Miguel darts his gaze across your face. “And you’re worried about it getting my…hair dirty?”
You shrug. “Well, now you’re making me sound stupid.”
“I don’t need to do that.” He quips, and you shoot him a glare. “But um…” he drifts off, as you look up at him, now waiting expectantly.
“Did you find me…scary, or whatever?” He asks, and surprisingly there’s a hint of…vulnerability hidden in his tone? No—you think to yourself—that can’t be right. “Before. With the anomalies.”
You dab a fraction harder, making Miguel hiss a groan. You ignore the way it vibrates through your body. You shake your head.
“Why do you keep lying?” He asks.
You sigh. “I just—“
“Just?” Miguel seemed to really want to get an answer out of you. He shifts closer. And when you don’t answer, continuing to focus on his wound, he grabs your jaw, pulling you up to meet his gaze. You gulp, his large hand nearly reaching to wrap around your neck.
“Do I scare you?”
Your chest picks up a quicker beat. He leans closer, pulling you towards him, your chest hitting his leg. “Do I—“
“Yes. Alright.” You quickly say. “A little bit…yes.”
His grip tightens around your chin a fraction. “Because of what you saw?”
“And the way you talk to people.” You mutter out. Why were saying this? This isn’t something you say to your boss.
You hadn’t noticed at first but one of his claws had begun to brush back and forth against the skin of your jaw, his eyes not leaving yours. You were utterly frozen. And there’s a moment that you just catch where his gaze darts down to your lips, his breath feeling extremely close.
But then he’s leaning away, his jaw clenching as he looks to the door. “Are you done?”
You quickly look down to his cut, rushing to get out a bandage. “Uh, almost.” Your entire body was buzzing.
While you stayed focused on finishing him up, Miguel’s gaze went back to staring at you. He almost gave in—almost. He wouldn’t, though.
You were scared of him. He knew you were somewhat so, but now hearing you say it confirmed that you’d never see him how he had gradually started seeing you. He had to stop. Now, before he dove in far too deep.
He couldn’t let himself go any deeper. Because at this rate he’d certainly drown, and if he was going to die, it wouldn’t be from some silly little crush.
okay, I’m sorry, I lied. there is nothing sexual in here. but I didn’t think adding anything like that yet would work. since a lot of you guys asked for a slow burn
again, I hope this is up to a good standard for you guys to continue reading. I wanted to add something a little different then the usual Spanish lesson then Miguel’s end of the deal. I needed some action of some sort.
and ofc, part five will come soon x love you all MWAH
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𝐒𝐢𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐞.ᐟ
ᯤ Vox x Fem!Reader
ᯤ NSFW, cockwarming, dom!Vox, mean!Vox, spanking, claws, riding, overstim
wc - 1k
˗ˏˋ Vox has a long day of work ahead of him and he knows just the thing to make it bearable ˎˊ˗
Today was going to be a long fucking day in his monitor room. He has to prepare next week’s broadcasts, look over blueprints for new products; basically anything you could think of Vox needed to do.
It also didn’t help that last night, Valentino went on another rampage, complaining about something Angeldust said to him at a club.
So to say the Tech Overlord was stressed and very much not looking forward to today was an understatement.
At least, he wasn’t until he got a brilliant idea.
And that brilliant idea of Vox’s is what led you here, straddling his lap completely naked with his cock buried inside of you.
You weren’t allowed to move, not until he finished all of his work. No, you were just meant to keep him company, keep him warm, and keep him entertained.
It was so hard to sit still with him, stuffing you full, tip just kissing your cervix. Especially when Vox would bring his hand to your back, gently running the tips of his claws along your spine and making your skin prickle with goosebumps.
You clung to his suit jacket to ground yourself. Your eyes were glued to the floor, watching his sharks swim around under the thick glass as a distraction. But the throbbing between your legs just got worse as time passed.
Just sitting here felt like torture.
All you wanted was for him to at least let you roll your hips, even slowly. Feel his hard dick move inside of you and drag across your sweet spot.
You didn’t even realize you had started moving until a loud smack filled the room, and your ass-cheek began to sting.
“W̵̦͌h̶̫̘̰͝ä̷̯̻́̐́t̶̰̼̋͌ did I tell you?” Vox’s smooth voice sounded like static, and you whimpered.
“Don’t move.”
“Correct, and what are going to do?”
You took a shaky breath and clung to him tighter, “Sit still.”
Game show noises rang condescendingly from the speakers in Vox’s monitor. “Good girl. I’m almost done, so if you can continue to be good for me, I’ll let you cum, okay?”
“Okay.” You nodded against his chest, the nickname making you clench around him.
The sounds of Vox glitching make you realize what you’re doing and relax. A hand comes down to smack your ass again, making you flinch, “D̷͉͇͊̀̎o̶̬̔̌l̷͉̇̒͛l̸͈͛͝-“
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry it’s-“
“I know, you love it when I call you that, don’t you?” Vox asks, his hands squeezing your ass and his claws just barely piercing your skin.
You nod, and He smacks your other cheek, the feeling of his cock twitching inside of you making you moan, “But I can only call you that if you’re actually good for me. So will you be good for me, Dollface?”
“Yes! Yes, I’ll be good, I promise!”
Vox chuckles, “Good.”
Another hour passes like that, you trying your absolute hardest to stay still while Vox continues working. Your legs and hips are sore from being in this position for so long, but nothing is worse than the ach in your core.
You silently wish your flat-faced boyfriend would hurry up.
A sigh leaving Vox’s lips made you perk up like a dog, and the sound of the keyboard being replaced with the clicking of a mouse got your hopes up.
“Okay,” Vox hummed, making one final click with his mouse before leaning back to look at you, “All done.”
“R-really?” You ask, tears of relief filling your eyes.
The Overlord chuckles meanly and brings a clawed finger up to wipe a tear that escaped, “Yes, honey, really. Are you ready to ride me now?”
“Yes!” You sniffle, nodding your head so fast you almost bump it against his monitor.
“Then what do you say?” That cocky smile you both love and hate spreads across his screen as he asks.
“Please! Please let me ride you, please let me cum!” You all but scream, tears really falling now.
Vox’s smile grows impossibly wider, and he leans back in his chair, getting comfortable as he slips his hands in the crease between your hips and thighs, “Good girl. Now go on, make us cum.”
You didn’t hesitate for even a second. The moment those words fell from his lips, you were bouncing and rolling your hips, hands fisting his suit in a death grip.
Finally, you were chasing that release you craved.
“Fuck Doll, this really got you worked up, huh?” Vox groaned, squeezing his hands in your hips and piercing your skin with his claws. The pain made you cry out and clench around him.
You wanted to yell at him; of course, you were worked up after being teased like that for hours. Instead, all you could do was moan and hold onto him, already feeling your climax approaching.
“I’m- I’m gonna cum-“ You babbled out, trying desperately to fight it off until he gave you permission.
“Okay, but you better not stop moving.” Vox chuckled breathily, “I’m not finished with you yet.”
All you really registered was his permission to cum. Your body tensed as pleasure tore through your body, making your hips stutter and your back arch.
“God, you look so good like that.” Vox glitched out, his hands moving your hips for you, fucking you on and off his cock like a toy.
You were definitely screaming now, barely able to enjoy your orgasm as the Overlord roughly thrust up into you. Overstimulation made the feeling painful but didn’t stop a second release from building in your core.
“F-fuck Vox!”
“Yeah, that’s right, I’m the one making you feel this good!” Vox’s voice was buffering along with his screen, and you barely registered the lights flickering.
“I’m- fu-ck gonna-“ You couldn’t even finish your sentence, cumming without his permission and clenching around him like a vice.
“F̴̻̺̂̀ǘ̷̝͂̓c̶̣̈͒k̸̟̄!” Vox cried out, cumming inside of you and filling you up even more.
You could feel the static in the air as the power went out, but neither of you cared. Instead, you both sat there panting, limply holding each other as you came down from your highs.
“We,” Vox said through quick breaths, “are definitely doing that again.”
You chuckled tiredly and opened your mouth to reply before a loud, muffled scream tore through the quiet, and you recognized Velvette’s voice as she shouted,
“VOX I SWEAR TO FUCK!”
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Workaholic
Miguel O'Hara x GN! Reader
Summary: An outlet is what Miguel needs. ~
WARNING: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Oral (Male receiving), Rough Sex, a bit of Manhandling, nerd talk, stress relieving ~
Thanks for the request dear anon ♥️ Hope it's what you wanted~
Requested here
Enjoy ✨
The constant whirring and beeping from the screens, alerting him of possible anomalies, was a sound that Miguel had grown used to. Silence had turned for him a bit too dull, not that he didn't enjoy it, but it was a nuisance whenever his mind was berating himself about what ifs and what nots about the canon.
The whirring kept his mind going, as if reminding him his purpose, and the beepings only distracted him enough to focus on what his mind though important at the moment. It kept him grounded. A little peace for himself.
Until you showed up in his floating bay.
"Can see you tensing up from here, Miggy" your quiet giggling earned you a deep sigh from him.
A silent 'Not now' from his end.
His fingers traced and mapped new information, but something was off. The information he had created didn't match the algorithm. A large hand rubbed his features, trying to ease the simmering anger below the surface.
"Whatcha working on?" Your steps echoed closer, his eyes drooped emotionless, bored and quite sick of the same displaying message on his screen he had been seeing for the past hour.
Error.
His jaw clenched, his claws digging so ever softly at his palm. Muscles so rigid you thought any movement would break him. He was tense. Despite his calculated movements, stress oozed from each pore of his skin, as if waiting for the screen to show up that pestering message again to finally snap.
Error
His fist went across it. Sending shrapnels of glass across the room. Your eyes only widened slightly as your lips pursed, amused.
"Well, at least it means you can focus on something else?" Your mocking voice offered, he plopped on his seat. Legs manspreading as his nose bridge was pinched.
"What do you want?"
His gruff voice echoing in the bay, your voice disrupting the list of frequent sounds he was used to.
"Just a report delivering, but seeing you're about to snap, just watching."
He grunted in response. His head leaning on the chair.
"No puedo más" he exhaled. (Can't do this anymore)
"Glad you finally notice. We're still humans, y'know. We need rest."
Your steps came closer, he lowered the brightness settings from the outside windows. Standing behind him you ran your fingers through his head, rubbing in small circles
"¿Qué estás haciendo?" (What are you doing?)
The anger laced in his voice only made you to chuckle.
"Taking you haven't body slammed me against the wall yet, means you like it."
Your hands moved to his nape and then spreaded on his shoulders. It was like trying to make a block of concrete soft like putty.
"I'll take my guess and say you were working on some new algorithm."
He shook his head softly and sighed quietly as you worked on his broad shoulders. The warmth of your hands trying to soothe the built up tension.
"Fucking shit doesn't work."
One thing you had noticed is how much of a potty mouth he was when he was angry, frustrated or stressed.
"Nada de esa mierda funciona bien." (None of that shit works properly)
"You're thinking too much, Miggy."
"Stop-"
Your hands stopped and his brow furrowed impossibly deeper.
"I meant for you to stop calling me that, not your hands." You smirked and raked your nails softly on his chest to then guide them up his shoulders.
"Just relax" you whispered to his ear. His hand gripping tighter the arm rest of the chair. A new idea popping on your mind.
"Why don't you tell me more about it?"
You removed yourself from him and sauntered over the keyboard.
"About what?"
Your fingers deactivated the main link to his suit. He growled but was too tired to even argue.
"About what you think it's making the algorithm to fail."
Your eyes darted to his groin, even limp, it was a sight. A pinkish hue at his mushroom engorged tip, followed by a thick body that fit just perfect in your already salivating mouth.
His eyes darted upwards, as a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk adorned his sharp features.
"I don't even know where to start." He huffed as you kneeled before him. Dainty fingers running up his thighs to finally take a hold of his cock. He inhaled
"Let's try something simple. What does the algorithm do?"
Your hand pumped him a couple of times as your mouth kissed up and down a trail on him.
"It's just..." He trailed off ad your mouth focused on his tip, "Just a patch to..." Blood rushed to his cock, springing it back to life. The quick response of his body just signaled how much of an overall release he needed thanks to the pent up stress.
"To what?"
"T-To..." you took him whole and he clawed at the plastic arm chair. "To fucking fix a five second information delivery delay" He blurted as his eyes finally focused on you.
His red eyes watched as your mouth swallowed him whole with ease, to reach the base. Your throat muscles constricting against him made him shudder. His breathing hitched as you bobbed your head up and down, big eyes looking at him curiously, as if telling him to keep talking.
"T-That way we could have a more immediate response to-" he choked as your tongue swirled all over his cock but again, paid special attention to his tip. Pouty and full lips shaping themselves in the form of his girth, his eyes followed your peeking tongue that slid to the sides and flattened once more, preparing to take him again.
"Any anomalies that show up." His voice tried to remain even, but he couldn't help but almost whimper the last two syllables. His hands reached for your nape and held a fistful of your hair.
"But that... fucking thing won't work." He guided your mouth up and down on him, "I don't know if its-" A hiss as your throat was again constricting him, "A fucking issue with the code or the code itself." The squelching and sucking sounds you made were engraved on his mind, the two were added to the list of sounds he was getting used to.
"I'm fucking making it work. One way or-" He rasped I between soft pants and growls, "Another" He held your head still as his hot seed spilled in. Tears prickled at your eyes as he had made you deep throat him, a bit rougher than intended.
Swallowing, you couldn't help but cough softly, to your surprise his cock was still hard. Liking your lips clean, you tapped another button and deactivated your own suit.
"So that's the reason we are having issues with the comms?" His hands held you by the hips and guided his cock to your core, sheathing you ontop of him. It was your turn to whimper. The good stretch of him made your back arch as you smacked your hips against his once, pushing him as deep as the space allowed you.
Big hands grope each side of you, making you to grind and squeeze him. He felt so snug and comfortably embraced within your moist walls.
"Probably, de todos modos muchos hacen lo que quieren." (Many do as they please anyways)
Your legs spreaded, allowing a tighter grip. He growled as his hips smacked yours upwards, sending electric jolts all over your body. You hissed when his claws sunk a bit deeper, holding you in place.
"No sabes cuánto me frustra eso." (You don't know how frustrating is that.) His hands made your hips to slap rougher and faster, if it wasn't for the keyboard before you, you would've been on the floor by now. Your grip on the sturdy material tightened as he pounded his way into you.
Your mewls and needy pleas was something he'd definitely need to hear again.
"M-Maybe you should be-" You choked a moan as he pressed you closer to him, one of his hands secured you in place, as the other one held you by the neck, squeezing softly.
"Should be what?" He breathed, the constant slapping of your flesh made the chair to bounce.
"A bit more chill" you whimpered and nearly came undone as he poked repeatedly at that spot that made you sputter an array of lewd curses.
His cock twitched, a bit too drunk on the sensation you provided to his relief. He bit your shoulder as his thrust turned slower and sloppier, you came first, and he just followed. Your walls were painted white as he squeezed your throat and then he released you.
You whimpered and exhaled, soft raged pants turning into a small giggle.
"What?" He breathed and looked at your shaking form
"Nothing. Feel better?"
His eyes drooped in exhaustion, the good sort of tiredness and chuckled.
"Maybe."
"I might drop by more often, to see if you're stressed."
"You must. That's an order."
"Yes, sir."
-----------
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Impatient
Miguel O'Hara X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info
Summary: Miguel needs to see you in his office, immediately.
A/N: First Miguel fic! Pretty sure I have written him a little too soft. But I can't help myself. (Also, I read Spiderman 2099 100 years ago, please forgive me.)
Warnings: hickeys, secret relationship (kinda), p in v sex, oral (f receiving), swearing, this has not been proofread, overuse of italics, please let me know if I’ve missed a warning.
Word Count: 2404
________________________________
It’s always been difficult for you to work when someone’s looking right at you.
Especially, when the person staring was Miguel.
You took a risky glance up from your computer screen to the far side and-
Yeah. Still staring.
Nerves twisted in your stomach as you quickly looked back to your work and swallowed. You tried to type, tried to verify the equation you were meant to be double checking, but your mind was swimming. The numbers and symbols just weren’t adding up to anything no matter how much you willed them to make sense.
“I need to speak with you in my office.” Miguel’s stern voice made you jump and accidentally hit several keys on your keyboard.
“Of course.” You managed to squeak out, the sound of your voice made you want to slam your head against your computer. “I’ll, erm, be right there.”
He stayed standing close, his arms crossed.
You swallowed again and got up quickly when he didn’t move.
Sabrina, your colleague at the desk next to you gave you a worried and apologetic glance. She obviously thought you were in for a bollocking.
You followed Miguel silently as you both exited the room and went to the elevator. You stayed silent as he pushed the button for the highest floor, the one his office was on.
You bit your lip, digging your nails into the skin around your thumb.
It was only when you were both two steps into his office that Miguel looked at you, turning so quickly that he was almost a blur. His hands on your shoulders as he pushed you back into the door.
The little yelp of surprise that started to escape your lips was quickly muffled by his mouth on yours. He grabbed the back of your thighs, lifting you up and wrapping them around his hips in one swift motion.
You clutched at his shoulders, the yelp turning into a moan as he slid his tongue into your mouth and pressed his body flush against yours.
“Fuck,” you pulled away to the side just enough to speak, “is this what you wanted to see me about?”
His lips are back on yours in an instant, muffling your question.
You pulled on the hair at the back of his head, just enough to be able to speak. “Migu-”
“Missed you.” He murmured, sinking his head back to your lips before trailing kissed over your jaw.
You gasp, arching your back towards him as dips lower, leaving soft open mouthed kisses along your throat and rocking against you. You can feel his cock, thick and heavy straining against the confines of his trousers.
“You, you could have sent an email.” You lose your train of thought for a second as Miguel nips at your pulse point. “I would have come straight up.”
He makes a hum of disapproval into your neck, already so desperate to feel you. He snakes his hand under your top, pressing against your waist and using it as leverage to move you against him.
His bulge rubs just right over your clit and you bite down a moan.
It’s like something in him snaps at the sound. “Need you, need you so bad.” He growls, pulling you away from the door and to the floor.
He’s everywhere, crowding you in, pulling at your shirt buttons and trousers impatiently. All while kissing you roughly.
You’ve been in this position too many times to know it’s only a short matter of time before he gets so irritated that he’ll either rip the buttons off or claw the material in two.
“Miguel, Miguel,” you soothe, your hands going to his face and making him look at you.
He pauses, breathing hard.
You kiss his lips softly, pulling back when he tries to press against you hard.
He whines, his hands on the floor on either side of your head. You can see his claws digging into the carpet in your peripheral vision.
You kiss him again, just as soft. And he lets you this time, rolling his hips against you ever so gently in a perfect rhythm with your lips.
You pull back, pressing another quick light kiss to the tip of his nose. “You okay?”
He keeps his eyes closed and nods.
You know he’s lying. Something’s upset him, something’s gotten under his skin and set his blood ablaze.
But you also know him. You know he can’t talk about it right now, not when whatever it is is fresh and bleeding.
He’ll talk about it later. Miguel always talks about it later.
You kiss time again, light and sweet before trailing your lips to his neck. While you don’t want to be seen covered in hickeys after talking with the head of the company, no one would dare even mention it to Miguel if they saw a love bite just above his collar.
You undo the top three buttons as you kiss his kiss, moving your lips lower and lower and then biting down hard.
Miguel hisses and clutches at you, pulling you tightly against him and rubbing his aching cock against your thigh.
“Please… need you.” He moans softly at your ear. The tension in his lips is insurmountable, like the smallest action could cause him to shatter.
You nod, kissing his chin then his lips.
He doesn’t pull away quickly. Instead he melts into the kiss, groaning softly, as he swallows your tongue into his mouth. Enjoying your hands running up his chest.
Thankfully (for your rapidly decreasing wardrobe) he unbuttons your shirt carefully, kissing every inch of newly exposed skin like it’s the first time he’s seen it.
He bites at your breast playfully through the material of your bra, gazing up at you and chuckling as you gasp and give him a look.
It’s always good to see him smile, the expression never fails to send a rush of heat to your core.
He undoes your trousers painfully slowly, taking his time in popping the button and pulling the zipper down as he kisses your hip and you wiggle underneath him.
He’s doing it on purpose now, going extra slow because you made him calm down.
“Miguel,” you start but he’s chuckling again.
“Don’t be so impatient.” He mutters against your skin.
You prop yourself up on your elbows and gawk at him. “Me? What about you?” You try to keep your voice stern, but it’s hard not to smile when he’s looking up at you like that. “You’re the one that-”
He loves waiting until you're in the middle of a sentence to act.
Without warning he hooks his fingers into your waistband and pulls your trousers down to your knees, the force of the motion nearly making you fall completely flat on your back.
You open your mouth to speak but Miguel is grinning like the spider that caught the fly.
“Looks like you're falling for me baby.”
You pretend to hit him. “That’s terrible.”
He laughs, pulling off your shoes and then finishing taking off your trousers. “You love it.”
“I love you, you idiot.” You can’t help but smile. “In spite of your jokes.”
He snickers and leans back down, lavishing your thighs with kisses until he reaches your centre.
You can’t help but moan softly and arch your back off the floor as he presses his face into your clothed pussy. “Fuck.”
He kisses your clit over your panties and nuzzles his nose into the wet patch that has started to leak through. “You love my jokes.” He murmurs, looking up at you, already so close to falling apart, with his large red eyes.
You shake your head. “They’re terrible.”
He grins. “Fair enough.”
Oh so slowly, he slides his finger underneath your underwear, and, for a second you think he’s going to swipe through your folds. But instead he curls his finger towards himself, extending his claw, slicing the material clean apart.
“Miguel!” You chide, without any real heat in it.
“I’m allowed to rip one thing,” he bats his eyes at you, completely juxtaposing his shit eating grin. “Besides I bought you these.”
“I’ll kill you.”
His smile widens, showing the sharp points to his canine teeth, “How about you give me a little death instead?”
“Now that is worse than-” You moan loudly, your head falling back against the carpet as he licks a long, slow stripe through your folds. Ending the action with a swirl around your clit.
You gasp, bucking up against him involuntarily.
“Oh,” he repeats the action, a little faster this time. “Looks like you like my quips actually.”
You huff and gently grab a fistful of his hair, pushing him back to your cunt. “Be quiet.”
He laughs softly but doesn’t talk back, pressing his face back into you and licking slowly, broad stripes with the flat of his tongue. He grabs hold of your ass, canting you upwards ever so slightly so he can fully work you over.
“Fuck, ah-”
He hums smugly as he takes your clit into his mouth, sucking on it gently and then flicking it with his tongue.
“Shitshitshitshitshit,” you can feel yourself getting close already, it was embarrassingly fast how well Miguel knew your body, how quickly he could bring you to the edge and push you over.
You grind against his face as he fucks you with his tongue, lapping up your juices and groaning happily.
It’s only when your back starts arching completely off the floor, when your breathing changes into a high pitch whine that he moves his mouth, focusing completely on your clit. Swirling circles and sucking on it gently before teasing it with the edge of his teeth.
You writhe underneath him, pulling on his hair as he continues his onslaught.
He looks up at you, catching your eyes for a second and it’s the happiest you’ve ever seen him.
You don’t even get the chance to warn him you're about to come. Your orgasm hits you suddenly, flooding your mind and body completely and utterly. Drowning out all other thoughts and senses.
Miguel worths you through it, pulling moan after moan from you, until you fall back on the floor exhausted.
He sits up quickly, the bottom half of his face and neck shining from your release. He’s grinning a little smugly and quickly pulls off his tie and shirt, wiping your come off his skin with the latter.
You barely get the chance to sit up before he’s kissing you again, the action deep and needy. He guides your arms out of your open shirt and undoes your bra, throwing your clothes to the side before kissing your chest.
“Fuck Miguel,” you whine as he takes one nipple in his mouth, his fingers toying with the other. Heat rises to your skin and even though you’ve just come, you still need him so, so badly.
He kisses up to your neck. “Get on your hands and knees.” There’s a softness to his voice, an unspoken please.
You move, doing what he asks instinctively.
There’s a shift and shuffle of material behind you as he kneels and pulls his trousers and boxers down to free his weeping cock.
He places his warm hand on your hip. The grip is strong, solid and comforting as he moves closer to you. The front of his thighs just touching the back of yours.
He pumps himself slowly, teasing himself with the sight of you wet and ready for him.
The carpet bites into your knees, but you don’t care. The anticipation, the warmth in your belly is driving you insane. You lean back a little, offering up yourself for him.
And he graciously accepts.
He presses the tip of his cock to your entrance and so slowly eases in, taking his time like he hadn’t been hard and wanting for long before he came to see you.
You gasp at the stretch, his thickness filling you up so completely and utterly it seems to push the thoughts out of your mind.
“You okay?” He mutters, his voice low and strained as he tries to control himself.
“I’m good!” Your voice goes up embarrassingly high at the end as he bottoms out, brushing deep inside.
“Good.” He breathes in deeply, trying to ground himself and you can feel him pulsing inside of you.
You push back ever so slightly, arching your back, “you can mov-oh!”
He pulls back and snaps his hips back into you, almost dragging himself out completely before slamming back into you.
You cry out as he sets a brutal pace, changing the angle with every thrust until he hears you whine loudly when he hits that special spot.
“There baby? You need it there?” There’s a teasing edge to his voice but warmth as well as he focuses all his energy on fucking you exactley right.
You gasp, unable to fully form words with the way he's ramming the air out of you. You barely manage a “uh, uh, uh,” of confirmation.
Pleasure coils in your stomach, building higher and uncontrollably higher.
He’s pulling your hips back with every thrust, his fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises.
Your knees burn, rubbing raw on the carpet, but you hardly register it with the way he’s making you feel.
“Miguel, I’m,” you whine, not able to get another word out as he picks up his pace. Fucking you even harder, even closer to your peak.
“That’s it baby, that’s it.” He leans over your back as he thrusts, kissing your shoulders and reaching his right hand down to rub your clit.
He barely gets a chance to circle it once before to cry out, clamping down on him as a wave of pleasure blooms through you.
His hips stutter as you grip him, your walls pulling his orgasm from him suddenly. He groans as he comes, emptying himself deep within you and thrusting softly as you both come down.
You feel light, boneless and ready to sink into a heap on the floor. Miguel’s firm grip is the only thing that stops you.
He kisses your shoulder softly.
And you sigh, your knees twinge. “One day I won’t get carpet burn after a ‘meeting’.” You mutter and he laughs.
“I love you.” He mutters against your skin softly. “Maybe I’ll get a bed put in here.”
You laugh loudly and he smiles.
____________________________________
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kinktober day one - “use me”
miguel ohara
miguel is stressed by nature and by profession, and the man is stubborn. he refuses to address his own mental and physical state, no matter the amount of concern. but how can he resist you, a pretty little thing, so eager to help him?
content: nsfw (duh). dirty talk. use of ‘slut.’ dom/sub dynamics. sex on desk. oral (fem!receiving). unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids.) creampie. cum eating. spanking. clit slapping.
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miguel was stressed. intensely, inescapably, and completely. every nerve was fried, and his patience had gone down the drain a few hours ago.
he knew how he must look to you; an animal, with his hair a mess from running his hands through it, his eyes bloodshot from staring at screens for far too long, his body trembling slightly from the sheer amount of caffeine he’s consumed.
and yet you offered-
“what?” he questioned, looking at you over one hunched shoulder.
“use me.” you reiterated.
you leaned against the desk opposite him, the one without any keyboards or screens.
how were you so damn casual about it? with your relaxed shoulders and easy presence, your sweatpants low on your hips and your hair carelessly styled. you looked at him like you just asked them out to lunch, not about this.
“and how exactly” he dared to ask, turning to face you and mirror your posture. “would i use you?”
and your smile was slow, spreading across your face like you knew you had him. and you did, especially as you lifted yourself to sit on the dark surface that you leaned on.
“you’re stressed.” you said as he took a step closer. “and you refuse to sleep, or eat, or relax. you won’t find an outlet, no matter how much everyone begs you to. so…”
his hands found the soft flesh of your thighs, allowing his claws to just barely puncture the fabric of your sweatpants to prick at your skin. if he hadn’t taken rapture earlier, he wouldn’t have caught the soft hitch of your breath as his palms settled against your legs.
“…use me.”
he allowed himself to lean down to you, dragging his nose along your jawline. you tilted your head for him, and he hummed his approval. “this isn’t going to be soft, cariño.” he murmured, and he felt you exhale against his ear. “if you want me to let off steam, i’m going to do it without restraint.”
his canines dragged along the smooth skin of your throat, and goosebumps rose along your body.
“are you ready for that?”
one hour less and he would have turned you away with a scoff and a glare. one hour less and he would have fired you on the spot.
but like miguel said before, he was stressed.
he watched as your hands gripped there edge of the table, and he was close enough to count each heartbeat before you replied.
“of course.”
the sound that came from his throat was primal, and his hands moved to your hips to hold you still as his mouth pressed to yours. you let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, and he gripped you harder.
if he hadn’t been shaking, he would have put more effort into his foreplay. but the sounds you were making as his teeth nipped at your collarbone sent liquid heat to the pit of his stomach, and he could feel the warmth between your legs as he pressed against you.
he found the divot between your ass and the back of your thighs and tugged you forward, and your feet thumped against the floor as you skipped off the desk. miguel slipped his hands down against your hips, pulling your sweatpants down with them. he groaned at the sight of your clothed sex, nearly shivering as he sunk to his knees and caught sight of a small wet spot.
“what are you-“ you managed before he ripped your panties down your legs and licked a line from your dripping entrance to your clit, closed his lips around the bundle of nerves, and sucked.
your moan was broken and pitchy, hands flying from the edge of the desk to his hair as you bucked into his mouth, already trembling from the stimulation.
miguel’s hand delivered a sharp smack to your ass when you bucked again, and you gasped and jumped against him. he pulled away slowly, lapping at your clit as he tipped his head back to look up at you.
“shouldn’t i be sucking you off?” you asked, voice breathy as he mouthed at your inner thigh before sucking a hickey into it. your hands dropped from his hair to his shoulders, but a glare from him sent your fingers back to curling into the strands.
“you asked me to use you, correct?” he said as he rested his chin right below your belly button. “so i’ll use you how i want, and you’ll take it until it’s too much.” he smacked your butt again, and you nodded.
he rested his hands against the back of your thighs, slowly pulling you close once more. “safe word?” he uttered, his breath fanning against your wet pussy.
“mercy.”
miguel pulled back with a sharp look. “you think you’re funny?” he said after a second of disbelief.
and you smirked down at him, eyeing him cockily from above. “oh, i think i’m hilarious.”
it was all it took for him to shove you forward and suck at your clit again, nipping it with his sharp canines as he learned your reactions. he lapped your release like a man devastated with thirst when you finally came, and he pushed you back up onto the desk as he rose.
“you okay?” he asked as he circled your entrance with his pointer finger, and you nodded. he slapped your cunt, earning a yelp. “words, cariño.”
“yes. yes, i’m okay, just put it in-“
he slipped his finger into you with ease, and you whined as he found your g-spot, stroking it as he pushed inside of you slowly. the first finger was easy, but he met some resistance with the second.
“have you done this before?” he asked, watching your expressions carefully. your eyes darted up from where his fingers disappeared inside of you to his face. “i haven’t in a while. it’s just been my fingers for the past…year?” you managed through gasps as his thumb worked slow circles against your clit.
he smirked. no wonder you were on the edge just with his fingers, miguel thought as he studied your hands. you hadn’t had something bigger than your digits for a while.
when he judged you properly prepped, he pulled you closer, rubbing the length of his dick along your pussy to gather your slick. lyla had reverted down to her basic mechanics, refusing to even make herself known in this situation. instead, the lower part of his suit disappeared without so much as a word from him.
the tip passed without resistance, but you cling after the first few inches. miguel pressed his hands to your lower back, pulling you to him as your nails dug into his back. you hid your face in his shoulder as he bottomed out, and he sat there until you managed a soft “ready.”
miguel had promised no restraint. and he never went back on his promises.
his thrusts were hard and bruising, the slap of skin on skin harsh in the quiet of his cavernous office. but the moans and cries from your mouth reassured him, and he found your second orgasm quick.
miguel pulled out and flipped you around, pressing your chest against the cold metal as he bit down on your shoulder.
“you like that?” he groaned against your back as he spanked you. “taking me so well, little slut. being such a good little stress reliever.”
you babbled, hands blindly gripping for purchase along the desk. miguel grabbed your wrists and held them at your lower back, ramming into you harder.
“fuck, yes, right there-“ you gasped, and he sped up as your cunt clenched around him.
one of his hands reached around your front to grab at your throat, pulling you up so that your back pressed against his chest.
you screamed at the new angle, walls spasming as the tip of his dick pushed against your cervix. he rested his chin over your shoulder as the pressure in both your cores finally burst, and he came deep inside of you.
he sat there for a few moments, allowing both your breaths to even out as you came down from the high of your orgasms.
miguel pulled out of you, his cum dripping down your legs as you both slid down to the floor.
“you okay?” he murmured, not for the second time though your little rendezvous.
“fantastic.” you hummed as he pressed his mouth to your shoulder. you exhaled shakily as his thumb gathered up the line of release down your inner thigh, bringing it to your mouth.
you rested your head back against his chest, fluttering your tear-clumped lashes at him as you sucked his cum off his finger.
oh, he thought as he pressed a kiss to your lips, was he going to enjoy using you.
his little coworker, his slut on call, his pretty little stress reliever.
this was going to be fun.
———————————————————————————————
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#kinktober 2023#—pearls kinktober#@kinktober#miguel o'hara#miguel ohara x reader smut#miguel ohara smut#miguel ohara x reader
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The Hunt
Yandere! Miguel O’Hara x Fem! Spider! Reader
tw: yandere (slow-burn(?)), dark-fic, violence, assault, spoilers for across the spider-verse.
word count: 6,1 k
status: in revision
Prev chapter
taglist: @zeniiin @aikoiya @caramelcandescence @adamsloverboy @slowlymax @reapersimps @jenniferdixon05207 @superduckmilkshake @ceeesxy-blog @wotterblue
Part II
“Stay still and let me squash you like the spider you are!"
"I think I'll pass on that one, thanks" you retorted as you moved out of yet another attack which could have pierced through you. You were jumping around, feet and arms in sync as you balanced your body to dodge the snapping metal claws.
The flow of your body conveyed an effortless image, but the fight was far from over. As hard as it was to admit, you were having a tough time figuring it out.
"Be wary of those, (Y/n)"
"Yep"
The foe before you was good at maintaining his distance and using the range of the metal limbs to his advantage. The claws snapped any web you shot at him and easily dodged and covered from your attacks as well. This metal exoskeleton he had was really bothering you- whereas you were used to the fleshy feeling of the mutant tentacles of the mad bio-engineering scientist you knew, this self-proclaimed Otto Octavius’ tentacles were purely made of metal. And it was quite metal, because your fist hurt like hell when you came into contact with it despite your super-strength. In addition, the metal exoskeleton was purely coordinated with his movements. They were calculated and clean, unlike the brash and wild nature of 'your' Doc Ock. [Thank God this copycat came in with a discount, it would have been worse if you had to deal with eight metal octopi-limbs.]
In the battle's agitation, something odd occurred. Just when you thought it could not get any weirder, his frame shook violently, and he fell to the ground in a flash of strange colors and shapes. His voice quivered, his shout of pain came out distorted and chopped.
"What the-? Peter, is he...?"
"Glitching?” he said with doubt, “but how..." immediately, he began to tap away on the keyboard.
You did not want to waste your time observing the phenomenon, instead deeming this man dangerous, you took the opportunity to confine him in your webs. The webs surrounded his torso and tied extra-tight around the metal limbs.
The glitching stopped and you neared him.
"So… Otto Octavius, right? Mind telling me more about Spider-Man?" You asked, but there was no answer. His head was hanging, and his shoulders were too lax, he seemed unconscious.
"Um, sir?" You closed the distance between you and touched him briefly. "Sir? Other Dock Ock?" You continued, and just as you were about to check if he was breathing, something cool clamped down on your wrist.
Immediately you redirected your sight and saw a metal claw on your wrist, it was viciously gripping you. Then you heard laughing, making you turn your attention at a now perfectly conscious man with scraps of web around him on the floor.
"Ah, shit". In cue with the curse that left your lips, you were thrown at full force against the building. Your head impacted first and your body slumped to the ground, a loud ringing sounded off in your ears, and your sight turned terribly foggy.
You groaned in pain and attempted to get up, but the metal limb got to you first and lifted you off the ground once more. It pulled you near as you thrashed. To escape from the vice grip, you focused the muscles of your arm and began to open apart the metal claw. The metal screeched and folded, yet your efforts dwindled when another claw came at you.
This time, it wrapped itself around your throat, cutting the airflow into your system. He hoisted you up to admire your writhing form.
"I just love killing spiders," he grinned wickedly, "after this, Peter Parker is next".
The mention of your friend sent the adrenaline in your body rushing and your heart strained against your chest. Your body was urging you to move, muscles tightening to contract and exert force- but your eyes began to fail you. Your vision slowly turned opaque due to the lack of oxygen.
A final metal claw appeared, and you vaguely made out a glimmering edge at the center of it- a sharp blade.
"Die."
You heard the words laced with venom and your friend frankly calling out to you, his voice drowned by the fading consciousness of your body. Was this the end? Is this the way it all ends?
'C'mon girl, keep it up!'
Just when the point-end of the blade was about to pierce you, an orange glow painted the scene. An engine roared— the blade never came.
You were dropped on the ground unceremoniously when the vice grip let go of you. Lips parted for a large gasp for that sweet, sweet air. Still, its sudden intrusion made you cough, and as your back shook furiously you felt a soothing sensation on it. Somebody was rubbing your back.
"You alright?" Another masculine voice, but this time, it was friendly and caring. There were no traces of animosity in it.
Even before your sight could clear, your spider-sense was running. It was running even more wild than before, and when you opened your eyes to see your savior, you were left astonished.
Your spider-sense tingled and evened out, synchronizing up with another spider-sense.
This man was just like you.
The web-patterned mask, his lenses, the arachnid symbol on his chest. It was all too familiar.
"You...are me?"
"No, and yes. I mean, no, I am not you, but I am like you." He hoisted you up by the elbow and put you on your feet. "Anyway, explanations later, now we have to deal with this guy and put him back in his dimension."
"In his dimension? What-"
"Explanations later", a female voice interrupted and reiterated. You glanced at the direction of the voice and your spider-sense picked up the same feeling.
It was a woman with big, dense curly hair, in a stylish leather tracksuit with a matching headband, and she rode on a motorcycle. She did not wear a mask, revealing part of her brown skin, but she had large, yellow-tinted sunglasses in a shape and proportion you knew all too well.
The woman flashed you a sweet smile, showing her gapped-pearly whites.
"Now, let's kick ass" and she roared the engine once more and rode straight at Octavius. She crashed the vehicle into him, pushing him back, and stood up on it. As she balanced her weight forwards on the vehicle, she reached out her hand- five web strings much like your own sprouted from the pads of her fingers. She brought the villain flush against the tire of the running motorbike, and he clutched his face in pain. The man who patted you followed suit, and he too shot web, although out from his wrist, and launched himself against him. He delivered a couple of blows, punches, and kicks, as he used his 'web-shooter' -you guessed- to propel back and forth.
You just stood there, eyes wide and lenses as big as round plates.
"Peter, are you seeing this?"
"Yes, and I'm already coming up with some theories" you heard the fast-clicking sound of a keypad going on. "I can't have anything for sure and it's not like I can track back to any tabs on these guys... The best thing I can produce is for you to stick around and find out, but do not lower your guard"
"I guess so" you said, simply taking in and accepting what was going on as you took speed and jumped, your legs pulling back and your arms stretching at a sharp angle behind your back.
Your body flew, and you looked down to see Octavius struggling to stand up as the two new heroes faced him.
Octavius stood up on all metal fours and he growled in rage, "Spider-Man!" his sights now focused on the blue and red hero.
"You might want to look behind you, Doc"
The smirk of the lady on the motorcycle and the cheekiness of the disguised man said it all. The dark silhouette of a shadow cast upon him was growing bigger, and Doc Ock turned his head.
Your wrists extended and web shot from both. The silk rope attached itself to the upper shoulders of the metal limbs and you grasped the webs to pull yourself. With the help of force and acceleration, you delivered a powerful kick on the man’s back.
Your attack was not meaningless, for your aim was set on the bright spot at the top near his nape. The power source, the connection of the exoskeleton with Octavius’ nervous system.
A few sparks blew off, signaling your success in delivering the final blow. Well, that, and how the tentacles trembled before collapsing- dropping the mad man on the ground.
“You!” he whipped his head, “You little- “his words were cut short by web sticking on his lips, sealing them shut.
“Not a word more from you, please. I kinda had enough,” you exasperated and slumped your shoulders. Your hand rubbed on your head, a little bit of pain still lingering on the impacted area.
You were about to web him up, this time making sure he would stay put, but the curly-haired woman halted you with her hand. With the other, she slid a disk across the floor which stopped in front of Octavius. Then, laser-like hexagons formed, one by one until the villain was encased fully.
“Oh, well that’s nice. What is that?”
“A portable prison we use to capture anomalies.”
“Anomalies?”
“People that stray from their original dimensions and pose a threat to the cannon.”
“The cannon?” 'Geez, keeping up with this new information is hard'. Amid your confusion, the woman laughed. She was not laughing out in mockery, more like she had found your confusion endearing.
She stretched out her hand for you to shake it, and hesitantly you did.
“I am Jessica Drew, Spider-Woman, Earth-404.”
“And I’m Peter B. Parker, the one and only Spiderman from Earth-616B” The man took off his mask, showing excited eyes and a warm smile as he stretched out his hand. The physical resemblance he had to your best friend was uncanny, well, he was him from another dimension, of course. The brown eyes and hazelnut hair, but he was much taller, certainly older and you could distinguish the outline of worked muscles below his spandex suit.
“(Y/n), this is unbelievable...” but you ignored your friend through the comms as you were just as surprised as him, or even more.
“Spider-Woman, I mean, (Y/n) (L/n), Earth…
“Earth-699” Peter B Parker filled in for you, and you repeated his words, taking them in your mind.
“Wait, wait… So, you are Spider-Women,” you glanced at Peter B. Parker, “Spider…people… sorry, from other dimensions?” you asked in disbelief.
“Yeah, that’s pretty much it,” and Jessica Drew hummed in approval of Peter B’s words.
“And, and you! I know you! Well, I know you in this world. He’s my best friend, and my back-up” the other Peter chuckled.
“Ooh, the classic back-at-the-chair guy?” his eyebrow twitched in curiosity. “Feels like a demotion though…”
“Hey!"
You giggled at his antics, "Trust me, you are very cool in this dimension too. Without him, I would not be Spider-Woman". Your warm smile and noble words caught the brown eyes of Jessica, and for a moment, she stared right at your own not long after her and the other Peter -you will call him Peter. B- shared silent eye contact which spoke volumes between them. Then they both smiled, and Jessica Drew giggled, "This one is yours; I have already recruited a lot. Miguel will bite my head off if I bring in one more"
"Right, right, you just want to make me be the one to ask him"
Confused about what they were talking about and who, you were about to ask them before Peter B spoke first.
"So, we like you- my spider-sense can already tell me you are an amazing hero, (Y/n). Do you want to join us? And the rest of Spiders, a spider-society of our own if you are interested."
People just like you? Your heart began to beat fast with joy and excitement, this, this was amazing. If there is a whole society of other people, of other You's, Peter B's, and Jessica's, with their own hero journeys, spider-suits, spider-abilities, and voices to be heard- you wanted all in.
"I'm in!" you exclaimed, physically jumping at the opportunity. The afro spider-woman hopped back on her motorbike, you saw her fiddle with a bracelet on her wrist, a slick white-metal watch of sorts, and the same orange glow from before emerged. This time, you took a closer look- it was a portal, a hexagonal electric-orange portal made of rings.
Peter B. hopped on behind Jessica, and he looked back behind at you and beckoned you closer with his hand, patting the space left on the leather seat. You smiled wide below the mask and rushed your feet to the vehicle, hopping on.
"You know it's almost two in the morning and we have work tomorrow, right?" Your Peter's voice sounded. You groaned, "Yes, don't wait for me. Also, didn't take my keys so leave the window open please"
"Again? Girl, I-" but Peter heard the roaring of an engine and the sound of screeching tires before the loud beep signaling the end of the intercommunication device and he cursed under his breath. He shut down the three-screen PC and kicked his feet to distance the chair from the desk, drawing a large sigh from his lips. He stood up, revealing his pajama set and house coat, and very fluffy set of Spider-Woman slippers you had gifted him jokingly, [wearing unofficial merch of your vigilante best-friend was weirdly hilarious, but they were too comfortable and soft to pass]. He walked toward the living rooms' window, thank God you two were on the seventh floor, and pulled off the lock.
"One of these days I swear I will lock her out, so she begins taking her goddamn keys", he grunted in between teeth. He dragged the palm of his hand down his features, squeezing down his cheeks and wrinkling them. He glanced at the dreadful hour, led bright numbers making out 1:50 AM.
'As long as I get in bed before two...' Despite the petty annoyance this occurrence caused, he could not help but crack a smile.
He looked out the window and observed the city lights, contemplating the night.
You were incredible to Peter, your best friend. Sometimes he wished NYC were more grateful for the protection your courageous and self-risking services lent. Although he was aware they were out of your heart.
Peter took a long, loud sip of his mug of tea. It was halfway cold. As he drank and emptied the contents of his cup, Peter wondered.
"Who is going to protect you when you are too busy protecting others, (Y/n)", his worrisome thoughts were vocalized. Part of why Peter helped you back to the chair was because of this because he was worried about you. Of course, it felt nice and gratifying to put his own grains of sand in the jar of NYC's safety, protecting citizens and loved ones alike, but deep-down Peter felt powerless.
What if one day someone manages to best you, or you mess with the worst of people? Someone you will not be able to defeat, someone like you? The possibilities, the enemies, could be endless. After what tonight's events revealed the existence stirred something within him, call it his Parker-Sense [turns out there is a Peter Parker who is a Spider-Man as well in another universe- he will have to ask you more about it, tomorrow.].
He placed the cup down on the coffee table beside the heater, casting aside his worries along it. Peter knew he could do nothing but help from back of the front lines- he could only hope the gadgets and suits he designed for you would help you in your quest and help you make it back home every night.
You raised your arms as if you were on the best rollercoaster ride in the world whilst you travelled through the fabric of time and space. It was fast and short, but breathtaking. There was not enough time to process what you had just experienced as you crossed through a flash of light.
As the flash dispersed, you noticed your surroundings. You found yourself inside a big, big building. Although the design was minimalistic, and the color grey was dominating, you made out figures of diverse colors.
Not figures, people.
And not regular people, people like you- spider people.
Hundreds of them, walking, chatting, hanging around. On the floor, on the ceiling, on the walls, all around the unorganized columns that stretched everywhere in every direction.
Your spider-sense had already caught up with the gig, because your mind has surprisingly not fallen apart.
"Welcome to HQ, this is the lobby" Peter B. announced.
A simple 'woah' was all you could muster as your lenses widened. Jessica hopped off her motorbike and stored it in a pocket-size gadget, somehow but it does not surprise you, and she tapped on your wrist. She handed you a purple bracelet, "It's a one-day pass, it allows you to stay here without glitching. You may have seen it happen to that stray Doc Ock".
‘So, he was glitching, huh.’
You hung the bracelet around your wrist and secured it tight, you guessed glitching was not very comfortable and you did not really want to find out for yourself. Once you put it on, she smiled and turned on her heels, gesturing to you with her head to follow her.
"We got to go girl, can't keep Miguel waiting."
"Miguel?" you enquired.
"Miguel O' Hara" Peter B answered for her as he began to walk beside you "the man behind this society. This-", he twirled around and raised his hands in contemplation as the three of you walked, "-was all his idea. He is the leader, it's thanks to him that we are all able to protect and maintain every dimension stable".
'Well, he sounds like a cool guy- I should probably meet him if I'm around here, want to make a good first impression’
"He can also come off as intimidating and harsh, but he's got no bite. He just has a little bit of fang to show, no more. So don't be scared or feel intimidated".
'Or not', you gulped.
Something about the sweet tone in Peter B’s voice, like he had given this disclaimer a couple of times before, slightly unsettled you- but you hid your nervousness behind a small chuckle.
As Jessica lead the way, or Jess as she insisted you call her, you 'toured' the facilities- a cafeteria with spider-themed food, a gym fit for training the super-strengthen, a villain-confinement area in which you found yourself mesmerized by the different versions of villains you had faced [which was a slightly awkward experience as you tried to ignore the daggers that were coming out from that Doc Ock's eyes and threatened to destroy the barrier that imprisoned him]. You even got to know of a therapy room, which could always come in handy later, who knows. You must make sure to swing by the cafeteria later and try out that Spider-Burger, and certainly try out the super/human equipment in the training center [it is not your usual friendly-neighborhood gym that has a leg press machine loaded with the weight of a train].
It was crazy- Peter B. and Jess told you everything about this place. They talked about the multiverse, and how everyone is connected through key moments in their lives as 'Spiders' through cannon events- which were more or less significant events that would shape their paths as heroes, some good, some bad, and some very bad- but all of them necessary.
The death of your parents. Although you would never get over it, and the belief that you could have done something if you hadn’t been so powerless at that time was still rooted deep within your heart- but the fact that it was destined to happen as part of your life as Spider-Woman brought you some relief, because you felt as if it was not entirely your fault alone. They were cannon events in your life as Spider-Woman, and nothing was supposed to prevent them.
It was bittersweet- it made you feel understood. Even though you had your own best friend who you could rely on, and you knew you could tell him everything, you also knew he would not understand. There is a great responsibility that comes with this power, and with its burdens, and inner battles that make you feel alone in the struggle, but not anymore.
You are not alone, you are not the one and only Spider-Woman, and that made you feel you could find other people to bare this struggle with.
The 'Spider' Peter continued with the explanation, "-- and that's why anomalies are so dangerous, and we have to deal with them, because they can break the cannon and thus destroy the fabric of the dimension that has been disturbed, and with it, millions of lives."
In cue with the end of his talk, Jess and Peter B. halted their steps. "We're here" she said and pointed with her gaze to move forward. So, you did, you took a step forward.
Your eyes took in the room, it was dark, and the ceiling was tall. There was a platform in the middle of it, and the orange light was abundant. Atop the platform was a man standing, his wide back facing and disheveled strands of hair facing you- he seemed busy, and too concentrated on the dozens of holographic screens surrounding him.
There was a loud silence in the room, until Jess nudged Peter B with her elbow, and he blurted, "Okay, okay, lemme’ just" he adjusted the collar of his suit, as if it were too tight on him. He breathed in, calming down his nerves, which made you more nervous because why would he be?
"Hey! Miguel!" his voice echoed through the room, and he waved eagerly at the man above. It was a slight movement, but you noticed how this 'Miguel' threw his head back and sighed loudly- it was clear that he was annoyed by the interruption.
"Que ganas de molestar... What is it?!" The first part of his sentence was barely audible, but he made sure to raise his voice for the words that came out in English. His body was now facing the three of you, hands rested on his hips, and body weight slumped on his right leg.
From that height, he seemed as if he was looking down on you...
"Give me a minute, (Y/n), you see he looks tough, but he is really easy to crack" Peter B attempted to reassure you, earning a roll of the eyes of Jess which you barely dismissed, and he webbed a corner of the platform and pulled himself up to it.
Peter B's physical gestures were funny and full of movement, while the man remained stiff and stoic. You could not hear the conversation well, they were meters above you, but you guessed they were talking about you--
"C'mon Miguel, she's amazing really, we could use a helping hand and-"
"There's lots of helping hands already"
"Yes, but the more the merrier right? I am serious, you're not going to regret it, I've seen her, and Jess too"
Their talk continued for a few minutes, but then you saw Peter B clinging on to the man's shoulder and you saw him turn his head, mouthing the words 'all right.'
Proving your guess to be true, you saw Peter B smile widely and he walked towards the edge of the platform, "Y/N! Climb up here!" He called out to you and gestured with his hand, and you did just as he did a few minutes ago. Before you could pull yourself, however, Jess tugged lightly at your mask.
"You should probably take that off, you don't want to be rude in your first day before the boss, right?" she chuckled. "You're right," you nodded and proceeded with her advice. Your fingers slid under the mask and hooked at its hem, you tugged upwards. Your (h/c) strands cascaded down and bounced on your shoulders, and you revealed a curious set of (e/c) eyes and (s/c) skin.
Jess ran her hands through your hair, quickly fixing it- after being pressed down by the mask it had a little bit of frizz to it, "You're looking great, now go get that job girl" and she turned you around by the shoulders and patted your back in support.
You smiled and blushed, a little bit of confidence surging within you, you were nervous.
[His gaze, something about it, it made you uncomfortable. You did not think much of it, putting the blame on the towering height the platform provided.]
You twisted your fist around the web, and swung yourself and pulled down with strength, propelling yourself upwards. You made sure to land with grace on the platform, you really wanted to land yourself that good first impression.
"Here she is," Peter B dragged on the sound of the vowels, as if presenting some grand entrance, he walked behind you and placed his hands on your shoulders. Quickly, Peter B hunched and whispered encouraging words in your ear-
"You'll do great," he said softly against your ear. You offered a small smile and walked out of his hold, facing the man before you two.
'Well, damn' you said loudly in your mind. If when you were below this man seemed intimidating, now up close, it was ten times more so. He had a big build, broad shoulders and clear, lined brick muscles under his cyber-punk blue and red suit. His forearms left his hips and were flexed below his broad chest, highlighting the muscles in his arms even more. You looked up to his face and gulped.
He had a chiseled, handsome, tanned face- his jaw was sharp and so was his wide nose, his cheekbones were high and his eyebrows thick and straight, giving him a mature look. Your guess was that he was somewhere in his 30's, and by the look in his fierce yet tired eyes evinced by the bags under them, you guessed he had also gone through a lot (not like you will pry about it now, that seemed like a death wish for sure).
Were you staring for too long? You did not notice, at least not until the man before you grunted and shot raised his eyebrows, tilting his face to the side as if granting you the permission to speak.
You also heard Peter B. cough, not so casually.
"Uhm, hi! I," you smiled widely, only to earn a slight judgmental look from him, 'oh my god, this is going to be harder than it looks.' To recover from that small awkward moment, you offered you hand to shake it and rephrased, "Hello, I'm (Y/n) (L/n) and I'm Spider-Woman from Earth-699, or so I've been told."
You recomposed your breath and stance, shoulders and back straightened, trying to come off as confident and polite. "I met Peter B. Parker and Jessica Drew on my night patrol, and it was quite a surprise, but a nice one. They told me everything about this place, and about the multiverse," unbeknownst to you, the glint in your eyes as your excitement began to slip past the professional facade caught his eyes, "and let me tell you I would be more than glad to join the team, it would be an amazing opportunity, and a responsibility I would be more than glad to take over".
Miguel could tell you were not lying, albeit he could tell you were nervous and a bit fidgety, but your tongue rolled not honeyed words, but ones that were sincere. He genuinely appreciated that.
Your hand was still outstretched when he called out for his trusted A.I, "Lyla", and with simply calling out her name, it appeared.
A tiny orange holograph of a person appeared right before you, at the edge of your nose to be precise, like a playful fairy. She wore an oversize coat and fashionable boots, and distinctive pink heart-shaped glasses.
"Hello!" She greeted, and you were slightly caught off guard. You were about to greet back, but she vanished, and reappeared on your shoulder, and then again, and she reappeared on your other shoulder, and again- this time above you. Your sight tried to follow her, but to no avail as she vanished and materialized, yet you did catch a glimpse of these round devices she had with her which bathed you, in yet again, orange light.
"Scanning complete!" she announced and appeared for a final time on Miguel's shoulder. "Let's see... Indeed, from Earth-699, and with an excellent track record of ten years! Her cannon remains intact, and if you ask me, she seems to be an excellent candidate."
"Oh, thanks...?" You were not sure what to say, how could she know all that? It was a heck of an artificial intelligence, nothing you had witnessed back at home, even with Pete's genius, and she even winked at you. She was sentient, that was mind blowing.
Whatever Lyla, as you recalled, showed Miguel seemed to be some sort of CV. He was looking through a holographic tab, and you managed to see a few mirrored images of you and your New York, recognizing frames and scenes from your life and the people you had come across. As he scrolled down through the screen, he kept taking glances at you, as if corroborating the information, while you just stood there with a bright smile and relaxed features in your face- although you were panicking on the inside.
The tanned man closed the tab and redirected his gaze on you, his dark eyes piercing right through yours, but his features relaxed and he even offered a small smile.
"My name is Miguel O' Hara," a smooth, Spanish accent evident on his first name, "and I'm this universe's Spiderman, Earth-2099." He stretched out his own hand, offering it to you and you shook it- his grip was strong and secure, and his hand enclosed over your smaller one.
He retrieved his hand, but he kept it open, his palm facing up while he showed it to you. A bracelet began to materialize on it. After a few seconds, the materializing process was complete, and you noticed the same device Peter B. and Jess had on their wrists.
"It's a travelling gizmo, used for hopping to other dimensions without glitching" the A.I filled in. You took it carefully from Miguel's hands, and with the same manner, you slid it on your wrist- it was a perfect fit.
After the click sound, you admired it for a few seconds before Miguel spoke again, "You are part of the club now."
His features fell back to a strict, but calm, look on his face, and he continued, "You'll be called for missions through the gizmo, nothing for today but be sure to answer on time. I do not like it when people are late for work", he said harshly, and you nodded.
"See, I told you it would work out!" the 'professional' atmosphere was cut short by Peter B, who seemed excited as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders. "She won't disappoint Miguel, I'm sure of it." He said as he smiled at Miguel, and you noticed how his features fell flat upon Peter B, however you could not help a giggle escape from your lips.
"Yes, I'll make sure of that", you looked at Peter and smiled, and repeated the same affection with Miguel, who widened his eyes but recomposed quickly, covering for any slip-ups.
"Well if everything is settled then, I'll be leaving." Peter B. patted your shoulders simultaneously "I have a little girl and a beautiful wife waiting for me, back home." The words that came out of the Spider' Peter made your eyes widen and your mouth dropped open,
"You are married?! And have a child?!"
"Yes, they are the most wonderful people on Earth!" he said giddily, then he quirked his eyebrows and put his hands on his hips, he sounded quizzical "Why do you sound so surprised though?"
"No, no, I'm just very curious- as you are the other version of my best friend. So, who's the lucky girl?" you enquired, still not believing it.
"Mary Jane, I don't know if you know her in your dimension," he said with a warm tone in his voice, you could tell by the way he spoke about her that he was really in love with her. Of course, you knew Mary Jane, or MJ as you called her. She was a close friend of yours, and Pete, and the main subject of your teasing against him. In your dimension, Peter is so in love with MJ but has yet to gather the courage to face her and take her out on a date.
You laughed, "My Peter would be blushing mad right now. He has yet to take her out on a date and make his move", your words made Peter B remember of the past, and he chuckled.
"Any advice I could relay to him? I want to be the best wingman there is"
"Just tell him to be himself, it'll work out. Ooh, but be sure to tell him he must be on time when he arranges any dates! It will save him a lot of trouble!"
"I'll make sure to tell him", you giggled. Then Peter B proceeded to take out his cellphone and show you pictures of his baby daughter, MJ. You could not help but gush alongside him, she was adorable, with her funny faces, the pictures of her playing around and in little outfits, and as she was doing little mischiefs [you swore right there and then that when the time comes, you would be the coolest auntie ever]
You continued to fangirl over the baby photos until Miguel O'Hara interrupted the both of you, "It's getting late, the both of you. "
His face said it all- the poker face, and flat lips, he looked tired. Hence you bid farewell, Lyla sat on your shoulder as she helped you with the interface of the gizmo. You managed to open a portal back to your home dimension and bid the corresponding farewells before jumping back home.
"So, I get that you did like her?"
Miguel grunted, "Como sea, el tiempo lo dira. Go home Peter, I can't stand you any longer".
Seeing that Miguel was already switching back to his grumpy humor, Peter B raised his hands in the air. "Geez, Miguel, cut me some slack" and turned around, not before making a portal to his own dimension. With his hands still raised in the air, he teased, "You'll end up scaring the new recruit" and jumped back into the portal before he could face an even grumpier Miguel.
"Ese insufrible hijo de-"
"He's kinda right though"
"Lyla!"
"See? Geez, you're going to get even more wrinkles..."
The A.I vanished out of Miguel's clawed swipe, and sticked out her tongue in mockery as the man growled.
Surprisingly, instead of landing on the hard concrete floor, you landed on the soft surface of what you recognized to be your own bed, and you made a mental note to remind yourself to thank Lyla.
"Ah, right, the window", you recalled you had told Pete to leave it open, so you went out to the living room and put on its lock. The living room was dark, it had the faint glow of NYC's night. It was a pleasant surprise for you thought you would be arriving at dawn, but it was not the case- you would get more sleep.
"Five hours of sleep are still better than one" you mumbled and retrieved the used mug left on the coffee table, which you then rinsed in the sink- a small favor for your guy in the chair.
At last, you took off your suit and after doing your nightly bathroom routine, you plopped on the bed. Sleep caught up with you quickly, it had been a busy and long night- you only hoped you would listen to your alarm in the morning and be able to get to work.
You shifted in your bed and cuddled into your pillow, your lips parted and let own a drowsy yawn, "I'll have to tell everything to Pete tomorrow" and with that, you closed your eyes.
Although tired and sleepy, you could not help the fuzzy feeling in your chest- you were so happy for what was to come, hoping for the best. You could not wait to be back at headquarters, but you guess, it will have to wait until tomorrow in the least. For now, you would have to settle for some hours of sleep.
A/n: EVERYONE THANK YOU SO MUCH! Part I is about to reach 2k notes and I can't believe I now have 1k followers, truly, thank you so much. Thank you to all the people that have reblogged and commented, I can't express how thankful I am truly.
I also want to apologize for the delay, I had a hard writer's block as regards Miguel's introduction, I wanted it to be perfect, and it still not is. I also wanted to give reader a good backbone for the story. Anyway, Part III follows suit and with it the yandere! (yes! finally- I know people can get impatient for it bc it happens to me too). Anyways, I hope you like this part, and I am looking forward for your opinions!
Translations:
(Btw, I am Argentinean, not Mexican, so I do speak castellano or spanish, but not mexican-slang spanish. I hope my Mexican readers are cool with the way Miguel speaks!)
"Que ganas de molestar..." = So bothersome/ so annoying, or literally 'such need to bother'
"Como sea, el tiempo lo dira." = Anyway/Anyhow, time will tell.
"Ese insufrible hijo de-" = That insufferable son of a-
#yandere#yandere x reader#self insert#yandere blog#yandere fanfiction#yandere writing#miguel o' hara x reader#yandere miguel#yandere miguel o' hara#yandere miguel x reader#yandere miguel o' hara x reader#fem reader#yandere across the spider-verse#yandere spiderman#spiderman 2099#yandere spiderman 2099
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cherry // ross macdonald x reader
valentine's week - day 1: secret admirer
a/n: before you say anything, yes there will be a part 2 that's literally just a nasty fuck fest. i just wanted to get the plot bits out of the way and it got way too long as you can see.
cw: age gap (10-12 years), highkey ooc, incredibly self-indulgent btw, ummm kinda dom/sub? hand kink, kinda corruption kink also
wc: 7.8k
it’s been twenty minutes that they’re all sat in this room—concrete walls, a little like matty’s house honestly, simple furniture and minimalist decor. it feels anything but sparse though—there’s the mic guy and the cameraman and a few assistants. there’s the host, a cheery, fresh faced woman dressed to the nines. but ross can’t stop staring. which is a problem because he really should stop staring and focus on his actual job. except the girl in front of him is distraction personified.
next to him matty babbles on about the cultural and political significance of their latest album—all interesting, thoughtful stuff. ross, however, stares at the girl transcribing it all. and that’s what she is really, a girl. all softness and innocence, gently rolling the end of a pencil between her perfectly pink lips in a room full of lecherous men. unaware. aloof. or maybe he’s projecting. maybe he’s the lecherous one for staring at a girl who’s most definitely in her early twenties; at the pencil between her lips, at her cherry red dress.
every now and then she pulls the pencil away from her mouth and scribbles a few notes—something in neat, curving handwriting that is a little too far for him to read properly. every once in a while she also types something on her laptop, long, painted nails clacking so softly on the keyboard that the mic probably won’t pick up any of the sounds.
on her notepad, ross can see little doodled flowers—a bit janky and uneven petals, underneath it she’s doodled a box. thin, pencil lines tracing the same shape over and over again until the paper almost rips.
he tries not to be so obvious—tries not to stare at her face so much, at the curve of her cheek and the long lashes almost touching it, at the sharp line of her jaw, and the claw clip holding her hair up and out of her face. a few strands escape though, blowing gently against the air blasting from the aircon.
he tries to keep his attention back on the interview. and he tries to give himself little goals—he can only look at her if matty says a certain word. he can only look at her every time the host laughs—all trivial stuff that goes out the window every time she shifts in her seat and he catches the movement from the corner of his eye.
more than a few times, he catches her staring back—big eyes lingering right on his face with a distinctly interested expression. every time it happenes, he straightens a bit more and runs his hands through his neatly trimmed beard.
the girl follows the movement with her eyes and ross wonders what she makes of him.
“ross?” someone calls out for him. the host stares, expectant, and he stifles the urge to curse. searching his memory for the question that was just asked is useless; it’s not like he was listening to a word that was said in the last two minutes. but now everyone’s eyes are on him and the collar of his shirt feels tighter than it is. his cheeks grow warmer but ross laughs it off.
“yeah, agree with what matty said,” he replies quickly and clears his throat. he has no idea what matty said last but the host seems satisfied and moves on to the next question. the girl looks up at him again and quickly presses her lips together. still, he sees the slight quirk of them, almost like she’s trying to stifle a smile or a laugh.
this time he stares back just a bit longer, meets her eyes with intention and raises an eyebrow almost in challenge; just to see if she’d keep staring so blatantly. her eyes widen a fraction and the pencil stills on her lips. her teeth graze its end and almost dent her soft lip.
ross sees the movement of her iris, unsure where to look. she fidgets in her seat, shifting again and crossing her legs. then she averts her eyes entirely and goes back to scribbling on her notepad.
“your head’s in the fucking clouds,” george deadpans the moment they step outside on the balcony. there’s already a cigarette dangling between his fingers and smoke curls around his head.
ross groans. “haven’t slept properly.”
it’s not exactly a lie. he was up pretty late last night but ross lights a cigarette of his own if only to avoid looking at george. they stand there in comfortable silence for a bit, letting the smoke settle into their lungs and blowing it out. matty’s boisterous laugh floats outside and ross thinks back to the shitshow of an interview.
there’s a reason he hates doing these, there’s a reason matty always speaks on all of their behalf. but ross knows big publications want all four of them and it’s good to create hype and get the fans excited. and he knows it’s just necessary—
the balcony door open with a creek.
at first, ross doesn’t turn. it’s probably adam who’s bored of the conversation or matty who’s managed to escape it but out of the corner of his eye, he sees george turn around and straighten imperceptibly.
and so he follows suit.
the girl clears her throat. “uh… sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt you.” there’s a slight tremor in her voice and she looks up quickly from george to ross. she’s shorter than he’d realised before, only coming up to the base of his throat, fucking tiny compared to him and george and he pointedly ignores what it does to his brain to see her staring up at him, craning her neck just to meet his eyes.
“ross…mr macdonald. sir.” she comes to a stop in front of him, all wide-eyed and flustered and calling him sir for fucks sake. he can almost feel the laugh george is trying to hold in. this isn’t the first time a nervous fan’s approached them and he’s had far weirder interaction. still he plans to smack george later for making him lose his composure
“just ross,” he corrects on autopilot then gestures for her to continue. he expects the usual—a selfie or autograph on a vinyl. to his surprise she holds up a phone in front of him and ross almost gapes before reigning it in.
“your phone,” she says. “you left it on the set.”
quickly, he taps his back pocket and feels nothing.
up close, he can see the tiny smudge of mascara under her eyelashes and the precise shade of red on her lips. up close he can smell her perfume too—sweet and warm, something that definitely suits her.
the girls stares up at him expectantly, still holding out his phone.
“thanks,” he mumbles, voice almost gruff and takes his phone back. his hand brushes her for just a moment—the pad of his finger against the back of her hand. but ross swears he feels a little jolt. quickly, she drops her hand and looks at his chest.
“you’re welcome,” she says and this time her voice is a bit steadier than before. he’s about to ask her more. anything to make her talk more when george steps forward.
“thank you, darling,” he says and gives her a winning smile, “he would have made us all search for it later.”
the girl blushes furiously under all the attention, trying to maintain her bravado from before. ross stifles the urge to roll his eyes but takes the time to quickly look at her again. her hair’s down now, falling over her shoulders and hiding half her neck that was exposed to him before. he has the sudden and visceral urge to touch it, to run his fingers through it and tug on the strands until her chin tilts up to him. until she’s looking right at him.
what the actual fuck is wrong with him!
he steps back and takes a deep drag of his cigarette untilt he smoke burns, until his eyes water. the girl nods and stammers a goodbye. then she quickly scurries back inside.
george snorts and ross shoots him a death glare.
“head in the fucking clouds,” george singsongs under his breath and puts out the rest of his cigarette. then before ross has the chance to respond, he opens the balcony door and disappears inside.
ross stays back on the balcony and groans in his hands. then he lights another cigarette.
there’s a rot in his brain, gnawing at his neurons and eating through the organ until everything is replaced by a single image of her sucking on the end of her pencil absentmindedly. ross has been through this scenario a dozen times now. it was fine when he was busy, staving the thought away by replacing it with work related things.
a million things he’s got on his schedule…
but in the comfort of his home, his bedroom, he can’t stop picturing the hollow of her throat—delicate and unmarred skin in direct contrast to her dress, her voice calling him sir. god, she’d even looked at him like a fucking fawn—all wide-eyed and unsure. he would have fucking loved to trace his finger over her bottom lip right then, if only to steal a sweet sound of surprise right out of her.
he’s going straight to hell for this, straight to the fiery pits for doing what he’s about to do.
ross props himself up on the pillows, delaying the inevitable, or trying to at least. but the ache in him won’t subside, the throbbing between his legs, the dizziness as all his blood rushes south. the tent in his joggers taunting him as if he were a teenager in heat. he groans. the sound echoes around the room.
shame courses through him, already overshadowed by the heat that flows through his veins at the speed of lightning.
he needs to stop thinking about her, this girl who he has barely said two words to. maybe this is how he gets her out of his system. instinctively, his hand creeps towards his thighs.
he wastes no time dipping a hand in his pants, the other arm supports his head; nothing he hasn’t done a million times since he hit puberty. somehow this feels more electric than ever before.
ross palms himself, eyes fluttering close and muscles pulled taut. he’s aware of everything—from the stretch of his soft cotton t-shirt against his skin, to his head touching the bedframe. he needs to keep what little sanity he has left, trying to sort through all the depraved and deviant thoughts racing through his mind. what would she have done if she could read his thoughts, if she could see him like this—a mess at the mere thought of her? would she kneel down and crawl towards him, hunger clearly written all over her face, her big eyes hooded with lust.
ross groans loudly, letting out a string of curses, imagining that it’s her hand wrapped around him—small and inexperienced. stroking him up and down with unsurely; long, tentative, languid strokes making his head swim with deluded thoughts.
his cock is painfully hard. ross knows for a fact that he’s never wanted to fuck someone with this intensity before, never before has his brain reverted to its most basic instinct like this.
thoughts of taking her all over his house makes him fuck his fist faster and faster. gone are the gentle, sensual strokes from before, now his hips buck as he thrusts into his hand. his mind plays a slideshow of made up images—her bent over on his kitchen island, the marble biting into her hips as he pounds into her. he would speak the dirtiest and filthiest words to her as he watches her squirming with want; her pussy swollen and wet. his brain conjoures up the phantom feel of her silky tresses between his fingers, gripped tightly in his hands.
ross chokes out a gasp that turns into a broken moan.
this is wrong, this is so wrong and sinful and every other synonym there is for it yet his mind refuses to move on from her. rather, it conjures up more images—her jaw slack with pleasure, eyes rolled back in her head as she rides him at her own pace, figuring it out along the way. he would flip her at the last second, of course, looming over her like a dominating presence, wrenching another orgasm from her after she’s already cum on his tounge, his hand, his stomach. but she would let go for him again. she would do anything to be his good girl.
his pumps grow rougher and more erratic, gasps leaving his mouth, echoing around the room.
fuck. fuck. fuck.
ross wonders if she’s doing the exact same thing he is, hand buried between her thighs, his name spilling out from her perfect lips. he wonders if that would absolve him of his guilt, his shameless act. it’s the thought of her soft sounds that tips him over the edge until he cums so hard, his vision goes black.
his strokes slow down, back to slow and sensual as he watches his cum flow out of him; milky white ropes splashed on his stomach, on his thigh. his hand is a mess, the tissues he had tried to grab at the last second are nowhere near enough to contain all of it.
with her, ross wouldn’t need any of that. he would fill her up with his cum, fucking it into her, watching it drip out of her mixed with her own release, making a mess of her thighs that he could clean with his tongue.
fuck it. he was damned already. he might as well enjoy the ride.
somewhere in this city, she has no clue about all the dark and wretched things ross wants to do to her. and maybe he could get her out of his mind now, have her out of his system.
he could just as easily fuck someone tomorrow. and someone else the day after.
yes. yes, that’s what he should do. he should forget about the girl he’s known for less than twenty-four hours. that’s what he should do.
he settles on it too, making a mental note to text one of his old flings who might still be in the city. he feels very strongly about his resolve too. the interview is done, he’s likely never seeing her again.
until she shows up at the studio the morning after.
the day starts like any other. he drives up to the studio, one of the assistants tells him that the band will be shadowed for a magazine profile—some prolific publication that’s going to document their entire process ahead of the release. he doesn’t worry about it too much, talking is matty’s job. sometimes george chimes in. ross and adam speak only as a last resort.
besides he has his to-do list cut out for him.
last night—the entire day really—was a momentary distraction. now he’s back on track and focused. the track playing on his headphones is all he is thinking about. all he should be thinking about. until jordan taps him on the shoulder.
“need you for a few photos, mate. and the magazine people are here,” he turns around to leave, almost walks up to the door too then turns back to ross to mouth something. someone new! followed by a waggle of his eyebrows.
ross shakes his head, sets his things aside and walks out with jordan.
everyone’s out in the lobby, and ross hears matty laugh before he sees him. then he hears another familiar laugh and turns the corner to a familiar face. he knows tobias, who shakes his hand and gives him a friendly pat on the back. he’s met tobias before—the man is soft spoken and has a keen ear for good music, a quality ross admires and the thought of him documenting their recording process makes him happy.
tobias goes around making the rounds, hugging george and joking with the sound engineers. then he stops and turns to look at them.
“oh i almost forgot!” he claps his hands together, “need to introduce to a fresh face.”
behind tobias, ross catches a movement. and it’s then that everything around him fades away instantly.
there is no mistaking it. it’s her. it’s the girl, stepping out a bit unsurely from behind her boss and smiling tentatively at the room. he observes how she doesn’t look at him—no, rather she doesn’t look at anyone, cleverly staring at a spot just near them. but never direct eye contact and never more than a few seconds.
unlike yesterday, she’s in a simple jeans and a t-shirt—grey with a faded queen logo on it—but it fits her like a glove regardless. and when she introduces herself in a lilting voice, ross feels his thoughts from yesterday threaten to make a comeback.
this cannot be happening… behaving like a horny teenager once was enough. he doesn’t need her working here and being close to him constantly, doesn’t need her to constantly be a presence in his thoughts. thoughts that are already way too focussed on the way her eyes light up after seeing him. it’s a trick of the light and nothing else. he’s sure of it.
she introduces herself—her name, the fact that she’s here to transcribe and take notes and assist tobias. she tells them she really liked their last album and that it was her introduction to them. matty teases her about not being a fan and she blushes deeply, barely making eye contact with him.
ross, in a world of his own, burns with irrational jealousy. of course, it would be matty who makes her blush and gets her to open up. matty’s a flirt—charming and confident and knows how to get people to come out their shells, even the shy ones it seems. in contrast ross feels about as subtle as a boulder.
but she seems slightly relaxed after that conversation, even throwing him a look once (and only once) when he plucks on his bass string a bit too loud. ross doesn’t look at her for the rest of the day though, not a single time. no matter how tempting it is. even when she’s buried deep in her transcripts, murmuring to herself and listening to a recording of something adam said over and over again.
even when she crosses and uncrosses her legs, sucks on the end of her pencil again—clearly a habit, he’s come to realise. not when she stretches and the hem of her t-shirt rides up, exposing a sliver of smooth skin and the hints of cherry coloured lace. not even when she asks him where the espresso machine is.
the rest of the day ross spends hunched over his bass, glowering at the floor. and he doesn’t manage to focus even once.
day two he’s in the studio bright and early, gasping for some very strong coffee after tossing and turning the whole night (quite honestly, he’s gasping for something stronger but it’s 8 am and becoming an alcoholic now is not an option)
every time he closed his eyes, his brain would haunt him with images of soft skin and lips caught between teeth and sucking on the end of a pencil. every time his brain sent his body’s supply of blood to one organ and one organ alone and ross has had enough of it.
starting today he’s focused. he’s serious!
that is until he walks into the tiny kitchen and sees her on her toes, stretching and struggling to get a coffee mug down. a red one. the same one she’d used yesterday. with some amusement, he also notices that there are at least two mugs near the coffee machine—one plain black and one with a swirly pattern. but she hasn’t cast either of them a single glance.
she’s stubborn, someone who knows what she wants.
shamelessly, he staggers to a stop at the threshold, watching her lean against the counter and wiggle her fingertips in the air as if that would magically summon the mug. her calf muscles are pulled taut and visible in the dress she’s wearing. each time she stretches, he sees a flash of her thighs.
his fingers twitch by his sides, desperate to what what it would feel like to drag his knuckles against the inside of her thigh, trailing them up and up and up until he reaches her hip. how she would react if he pinched the skin between his fingers, if he marked it with his teeth.
“need some help?” in the early morning stillness of the kitchen, his voice comes out a bit too loud and a moment later she startles, whipping her head to look at him and hand coming up to her thudding chest.
“christ!” she gasps loudly, closing her eyes and opening them again to look at him properly. “ross–shit! sorry, you scared me a bit is all.”
he can’t help the way his eyes linger on her face—big, wide eyes and scarlet mouth parted open as she blows out a breath. when he starts walking towards her, she stays in her spot, practically transfixed on him as he comes closer. ross stops right in front of her, their bodies so close that another inch and he would be pressing into her, or rather pushing her body back against the kitchen counter. with some satisfaction, he also realises how he towers over her—almost a head taller and practically twice her size.
her breath catches in her throat when he reaches for the mug, pulling it out and setting it next to her. but he makes no move to step back, not until she finally looks up at him instead of just staring at his chest.
her throat moves, her pupils dilate. almost as if she’s doing it involuntarily, she quickly looks at his lips and back into his eyes.
for perhaps the hundredth time, he’s blown away by how beautiful she is, how fucking perfect. and everything he’s thought about her comes rushing back to him, all the times he’s pictured her mouth and her hand, her soft sounds and the feel of her hair between his fingers. his train of thought runs him over so thoroughly that ross actually staggers back a bit, averting his gaze and pointing at the mug.
he has to wait a beat and clear his throat before he can speak.
“there.”
“thank you…” she trails off unsurely, voice barely above a whisper. “did you want some too? i was just about to brew some fresh coffee.”
all he can do is nod. and when she moves around the room, getting other things out and making coffee, all he can do is watch.
by day ten, they talk a few more times, each time being interrupted by someone or the other—first it’s tobias, assigning her frankly trivial tasks (in ross’ opinion anyway) that she agrees to happily. then it’s matty coming over to shamelessly flirt with her which honestly makes ross want to deck him with his bass even though he knows it’s harmless.
but at least with matty she opens up slightly—telling him she’s been working for tobias for almost two years now and that it’s her first adult job. ross finds out that she’s not from london, instead she shares a flat with a friend.
day ten is also when she stays at the studio much later than anyone else, even when the skies outside darken and turn grey and flashes of lighting burst through every few minute. ross watches her anxiously stare out the window once it starts drizzling a little before she buries herself into work again, sorting through the video and audio footage of that day and making her notes that tobias seems to praise so much.
and so ross does the same, putting on his headphones and focusing of the actual music instead of the tip of her nails digging into her jaw, creating slight crescent moons. this time, he even manages to stay focused for ten whole minutes until he hears unsure footsteps walking towards him.
ross looks up at her, nervously playing with the ring on her index finger and takes off his headphones.
“you need anything?”
she shrugs, looking at him and then around him briefly. “yeah i just needed a little break from work and, uh… barely anyone else seems to be here?”
barely anyone. he’d rather there was no one here at all. and even then, the urge to seduce her into the little soundproof recording booth weighs strongly on him. it would be just him and her and the tiny cramped space and all her sounds would belong to him and only him—
“ross?” he jerks back to her looking expectantly at him before her eyes widen. “uness you’re busy, i don’t want to be a bother. sorry.”
he quickly dismisses her apology, motioning for the chair opposite him before ross smirks at her. “so you’d like to sit there and stare at me huh?”
he feels a little evil for enjoying the way she sputters, trying to come up with a retort or just plain denial or whatever else but he gets a little distracted by the faint red tinge to her face…
what else would make her blush like that? he can think of a few thing for sure.
“what? no! no, i just…” she scrunches her eyes shut, trying to gather her bearings. “i like watching you work.”
oh that’s certainly interesting.
“just me? not the others?”
“uh, well.” she leans back in her chair slightly, getting a bit more comfortable than before and catching her bottom lip betweem her teeth for a second. just long enough for ross to go entirely rigid.
“you’re really still when you work,” she continues, “it’s quite calming.”
oh he’s still alright. if only so he won’t give into the urge of constantly looking at her and following her every move with his eyes like some creep. he has to stay still if he needs to stop himself from going to up to her to try and flirt and like matty does, when he will inevitably end up making a fool out of himself.
but she’s entirely unaware of his inner conundrum. she’s all too absorbed in her analysis of the band.
“matty bounces and paces around and it makes me slightly nervous. i like watching george when he’s on the drums or the piano but lately he’s been doing more production work so he’s always on his laptop and well, that’s slightly… boring”
“boring?!” he laughs sharply. “i should tell george that.”
and then he finds it even more amusing when her eyes widen and she scrambles to backpeddle. there’s nothing to salvage it though. so she just sighs in defeat.
“you wouldn’t! would you?” she looks at him with those big, round eyes and juts out her bottom lip and fuck! she could ask him to sign over half his possessions right now and he would say yes.
“no,” ross laughs again, softer this time. “your secret’s safe with me.”
this time he sets the bass aside, all pretenses of work gone as he leans back on the sofa, one arm behind his head. “what about adam? why not him”
she contemplates her answer for a bit before speaking. “i don’t think he likes other people watching him, he looks a bit uncomfortable.”
“love, half our job hinges on other people watching us…”
“no, not like that!” she straightens, gesticulating wildly, “not when you’re playing songs you’ve already played hundreds of times. i’m talking about when he’s experimenting and writing new stuff. i don’t think he likes to be watched then.”
and once again ross is impressed by her astute observation skills. he knows how young she is—younger than him by a decade, yet here she is, reading his best friend of twenty years perfectly in just ten days.
so he leans forward, properly interested now and scans her face for a bit, trying to get a proper read of her, of what she might say next. “and is that what you like to do? watch people?”
“sometimes,” she shrugs, “when i find them really interesting.”
“so you find me really interesting.”
he expects her to blush and stutter again. it is a bold statement after all and yet again she surprises him. “yeah… yes, i do.”
this time she’s the one with her eyes roaming over his face, maybe a bit over his arms too (something he observes with an immense level of satisfaction) and the way they strain against his t-shirt.
“good,” he smiles. “now i know i’m not the only one dying to know more about you…”
he tries not to flirt with her too directly but they talk. he tries not to ask anything and everything all at once and freak her out before she’s entirely comfortable with him but with every question she relaxes even more, leans forward and places her chin in the palm of her hand while he’s explaining something inconsequential about his bass.
it’s only the muscle memory that keeps him going when the strap of her top slides away and a sliver of lace peaks out.
his fingers still on the strings and she frowns. “no, play! i like the way your fingers move.”
the words slip out before she even realises it. in fact, it doesn’t dawn on her until he freezes completely and she goes bright red!
“i– no, that’s– i didn’t–”
but ross laughs it away, if only so he won’t fucking dwell on it until his head feels like it’s going to explode.
“let’s go outside for a bit,” he offers and she accepts gratefully.
the air on the balcony is cool—the sort of breeze before a thunderstorm—and he’s itching for a cigarette. ross looks at her again as she stares out at the trees outside, swaying with the wind. one strong gust and she shivers. her skin erupts in goosebumps.
“you’re cold.”
she quickly shakes her head. “it’s fine, it’s so nice outside. i don’t mind that much.”
he wishes he was wearing some kind of a jacket that he could give her. the though of her in his clothes does something absolutely primal to him to the point where he has to physically stop himself from grabbing her by the waist and kissing her till she’s dizzy and moaning in his mouth. and she doesn’t help matters by moving a little closer to him, until they’re almost touching, until her arm is almost pressed up against his chest.
“you’re cold,” he says again, voice tinged with roughness but she clicks her tongue.
“‘s alright. you’re warm.”
“am i?” he chuckles deeply and takes a hold of her by her arm. “come here then. have a cigarette with me.”
it’s about as bold as he’s been with her. she whips her head up to look at him, and ross doesn’t miss the way her gaze dips to his mouth. just for a moment, maybe even half a second until she quickly looks away and at his chest.
“i don’t… i don’t smoke.”
“ever?”
that makes her giggle. “no ross. i don’t smoke. ever.”
he wants to say something but the words don’t come out easily. the palm of his hand feels electric just from touching her arm, just from being so close to her. and the breeze all around them makes it impossible to escape her sweet perfume.
“i’m not opposed to trying though,” she continues shyly and ross quirks an eyebrow.
“you could try with me…”
“i’d like that.” he studies her face for a moment, looks at her big eyes staring up at him with a mix of sincerity and interest.
“do you know what to do?”
she mulls it over for a moment, pinching her lips together until they’re in a kissy pout. “sure, i’ve seen people do it. i’ve seen you do it.”
“have you now?”
“mmhmm, seems easy enough.”
so ross pulls out a fresh one from the pack and places it between her lips. his finger grazes her bottom lip, the touch electrifying, making him linger there until her gaze dips to his mouth again and a light flush covers her face. she shivers again and steps even closer to him than before.
“should i light it then?”
she nods tentatively, and ross flicks the lighter on. the flame wavers, almost goes out until he shields it with his palm and brings it up to her mouth. the fire casts a warm glow on her face, in her eyes. and she’s somehow even more breathtaking than he’s ever imagined.
once the cigarette lights, she takes an unsure inhale and breaks out into a cough until there are tears brimming on her lashline and she’s pushing ross away lightly for laughing at her.
“you’re helpless,” he teases. “here. let me.”
his hands graze her lips once again as he takes the cigarette from between her lips. it’s smudged with her lipstick, something sheer and pink. then he places it in his mouth, lazily taking a drag.
“watch.” she obeys instantly, pupils dialating when her eyes linger on his mouth until her lips part and she swallows visibly. he takes the moment to blow the smoke out, bending down so he can blow it in her parted mouth without startling her too much. her eyes widen and she sucks in sharply but this time she doesn’t cough. instead, she bunches her lips together and tries to blow out some of the smoke she inhaled. it comes out in broken wisps and disappears on the wind.
“there we go, darling,” he speaks roughly and watches her blush all the way to the tip of her ears. “should we try that again?”
she nods. he takes another drag. this time, he grips her chin between his fingers, tilting it up until her mouth is so close to his and he can practically feel her breath on his skin. her pupils are so blown out, her eyes almost look black. then he lightly brushes her lips to his and blows the smoke out again.
ross stays where he is. he even pulls her closer until she’s pressed against him and her eyes flutter shut. her breath hitches, her hands move up to his biceps, gripping onto him until she exhales again and smoke caresses his mouth before dissipating once more.
“a-again,” she whimpers but he’s already taking the cigarette out of his mouth and putting it out on the railing.
“yeah?” he challenges just to see if she’d move away but her hands move up from his biceps, fingers traliing up his arms until they’re at the nape of his neck, nails softly trailing down his skin. and when she shivers again, it’s definitely not because of the cold.
“yeah,” she nods and presses her lips onto his.
his heart skips at how unsure it feel, how she has to stand on the very tips of her toes and hold onto his just so she won’t lose her balance. he doesn’t give her a lot of time to overthink it though. as soon as he’s over the initial shock, he wraps and arms around her until she’s fully pressed against him, effectively trapped between him and the railing. the light drizzle of rain starts again. ross grabs her face in his hands, keeping her still so her can kiss her properly—the kind that leaves her gasping when he grazes her bottom lip with his teeth, the kind that has her leaning against him entirely for balance when her knees almost buck under her. the kind that makes her moan involuntarily but ross doesn’t let her pull away in embarrassment. instead, he pulls her up until her legs are wrapped around his middle, her thighs pressed against his waist and his hands under her ass. and then he carries her back inside.
just like he predicted, he fills up the tiny little space of the recording booth. the mic stand clatters and she moves it aside with a ferocity that’s unlike anything he’s seen from her before, it’s a nice surprise, to see just a glimpse into her feral side.
ross groans into the kiss and slides his hand under her ass. his fingers snake up her neck, gripping her jaw in a grip that’s almost too tight. it’s tempting to mark her up, to leave behind bitemarks and fingerprints everywhere for people to see. she responds in kind and bites his bottom lip just hard enough to make him hiss.
“someone’s going to hear us”
“it’s a soundproof booth darling, no one’s going to know a thing.”
his hand that’s been cupping her jaw slowly moves to her throat and she lets out a whine so desperate and needy that all the blood rushes straight to his cock. she’s practically begging for more at this point and he hasn’t even properly touched her yet.
he thinks back to all the times he’s thought of her like this, so malleable in his hands—thought of the feel of her hair between his fingers that damned bottom lip that’s driven him so crazy over the last few days. he can’t resist nipping at it and the sting makes her breath catch.
“i’ve nev-i’ve never done this.”
his heart thuds in his chest and for a second he worries she’s entirely inexperienced. not that he’d have a problem being her first… but he’d be damned if he let her first time be in a fucking recording booth.
“done what?”
“hooked up.” she clarifies almost through a gritted tone, almost like she’s trying not to be ashamed of it. “outside of relationships i mean.”
“no? do you want to stop?”
she takes a beat to think then shakes her head. “no, i-i just really want you.”
ross hums in approval. it does stroke his ego immensely if he’s being honest and he can’t help but see how far he can push her buttons. “do you now? what do you want about me?”
just like she had outside, she blushes furiously, to the point where she has to stare right at his chest and take a moment to compose herself. her hands never let go of his chest though. and it’s safe to assume she can feel his racing heartbeat just like he can hear hers.
“your hands are… i like your hands.”
“do you think about my hands a lot?”
“i don’t–i d—” her eyes go round again, wide as saucers, almost like it’s impossible for her to lie.
“no lying, sweetheart.” he tsks, and then bends down just until his mouth caresses her earlobe. “bad girls don’t get what they want.”
she makes a stragled noise, somewhere between a moan and a sound of protest but ross cocks his eyebrow and that shuts her up effective. a beat later, she tries again.
“fine. yes. i think about your hands a lot. all the time…”
“and what are my hands doing when you think about them?”
he enjoys it very much when she stutters, trying and failing to meet his eyes, to say the dirty words in her head out loud. that alone is enough for his painfully hard cock to throb again.
“go on,” he breathes over her skin and lets his hands trail up and down her body, “show me what my hands do.”
she places her palm on the back of his hand, so much smaller in comparison, and moves it down her body. he lets his fingers trail, lets the callouses pads of his fingers brush over every inch of skin he can until she stops just at the waistline of her jeans and looks up at him again.
“i want you t-to…to touch me. use your fingers on me.”
“that what you think about hmm?” slowly, the slowest he possibly can without jumping out of his own skin, he undoes the button of her jeans. then he pulls down the zipper, all the while letting his knuckles drag across her skin. she shivers at the smallest of touches, so responsive and perfect.
“words, darling,” he taunts again. “i’ll stop touching you if you stop telling me what you want.”
“ross,” she whines, and tries to grind against his hand, tries to push it deeper in her pants but he quickly gathers her wrists together and tuts at how little strength he needs, how easily he can hold both her wrists together with just one hand while using the other to feel her up through her underwear.
it’s soaked and he can clearly feel her clenching and unclenching, desperately trying to move her hips and grind shamelessly against his hand but he won’t give her what she wants until she forces the filthy words out.
“please!”
“you’re soaked, sweetheart. i can give you what you want but only if you ask for it.”
her eyebrows knit together and she almost looks… angry, about as feral and threatening as a little bunny. “fine…” she huffs, “i want–i want you to fuck me. with your fingers.”
the crass words sound filthier from her mouth, like she shouldn’t be saying things like these to lecherous old men in dark corners on even darker nights. “see?” he grins at her, all sharp teeth ready to almost rip into her, “was that so hard?”
when they kiss again, ross pushes his tongue inside her mouth until all he can taste is her, until all her can smell is her. his fingers move faster against her clothed pussy, making the fabric soak more than it was before and her legs spread wider, her hips move faster until she’s soaking his hand and practically rutting against it.
she’s shaking, clenching around nothing and looking at him with tears in her eyes—so frustrated now, constantly whining for him to push his fingers inside her. slowly, ross pushes the underwear aside and circles her entrance with his middle finger. before she has the chance to whine again, he plunges the fingers inside and swallows her cry with another kiss.
she clenches around his finger desperately, slickening his hand every time he pushes into her, more so when he adds another finger and thrusts into her faster. as a reward he lets go of her wrists and she immediately latches onto him, pushes her hands inside his shirt and lets them greedily roam all over his body. she traces his chest and down his stomach, she lets her nails trail up his back, scratching and digging into his flesh every time he thrusts his fingers deep inside her.
her breathing quickens and she starts pressing kisses to his jaw, tracing the golden chain around his neck with her tongue. every so often she tries to nip at his skin, to leave some of her own marks behind. once or twice he lets her… but it’s more fun to hear her gasp and mewl and cry out his name.
“good girl,” he coos at her, “taking it so well, sweetheart.”
“feel so good,” she whispers and lets her head fall back. under his hand, her thigh spasms lightly and his pulse pounds all over his body—his chest and throat and stomach and fuck even his cock that so hard and leaking with precum now.
he needs her so bad, bad enough that he entertains the idea of pulling his fingers out and bending her over right there.
but this might be his one and only time with her and he needs to make it memorable.
he needs her to feel him between her legs for days and taste him on her tongue for weeks.
he needs to bottle up her gasps and whimpers and the feel of her cunt around his fingers and keep it hidden away forever.
so he needs to make her cum over and over again until she can’t remember any other name but his.
and he’s not about to do all that here of all places.
“‘m so close,” she moans out, rutting her hips faster now, almost trying to match his thrusts and ross increases his pace, presses his thumb against her clit harder than before. “kiss me.”
instantly, he obeys, getting lost into the kiss and the way it sends little currents through his blood. she’s no better either, exploring the inside of his mouth with her tongue and riding her fingers until he can practically feel her dripping down his hands and wrist. until she lets out a string of curses and her eyes roll back. she lets out a broken moan, louder than all the ones before and he feels her squeeze around his fingers harder then before.
then he feels her release, gushing onto his hand until he has to hold her up so her legs won’t give out on her.
ross doesn’t stop though, he pumps his fingers in and out of her, each time earning himself another cry or hiss or groan until the tremor in her body subsides to a slight shiver and she presses her face into his chest, sweaty and barely coherent.
“that was–” she tries and breaks off. “you were–”
“have i left you speechless, sweetheart?” he teases pointedly. “look at me.”
when she manages to open her eyes, ross pulls his fingers out of her and brings them to her mouth.
“suck,” he orders. to his surprise she obeys without hesitation. her mouth closes over his fingers, taking them all the way in until her lips are around the base of his fingers. then she swirls her tongue around them and licks them clean. every inch, every crevice.
she lets them go with a slight pop and ross almost gets on his knees right there.
“you are not what i imagined,” he whispers, not trusting his voice at all.
“am i better?”
he only nods in response and kisses her deeply, tasting her on his tongue, tasting the tang of her release mixed with her saliva.
“let me take you home,” he offers. “i want to fuck you. but not here. i want to fuck you properly.”
“like a gentleman,” she giggles.
he worries she might say no. but she only pulls away to button her jeans properly.
“let’s go then,” she smiles mischievously and hooks a finger through his chain, eyeing it with intent. “i have thought of loads of other things apart from your hands.”
lemme know what you think <33
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#this is the longest. the others are not going to be this long#well it's already past midnight when i'm posting this so i'm already a day late but shh you didn't see that#valentine75#valentine's week#ross macdonald#ross macdonald x reader#ross macdonald smut#minors dni#the 1975 fanfic
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𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒
𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: blaze, garroth, gene, laurance
𝐂𝐖: NSFW, sexual content and kinks, but nothing extreme or disturbing
𝐀/𝐍: woah omg guys who wrote this?! it wasn't me i swear!! (it was me) i’ll probably make a part two with the other men i didn’t include in this one but um… yeah someone needs to restrain me i’m biting my keyboard
𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓
𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑺 𝑷𝑶𝑺𝑻 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑨𝑰𝑵𝑺 𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑻, 𝑰𝑭 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑨𝑹𝑬 𝑼𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹𝑨𝑮𝑬 𝑶𝑹 𝑼𝑵𝑪𝑶𝑴𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑻𝑨𝑩𝑳𝑬 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯 𝑺𝑬𝑿𝑼𝑨𝑳 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑻 𝑷𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑺𝑬 𝑫𝑵𝑰.
𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐙𝐄 | biting/scratching, restraining, predator/prey
☆ you had discovered that he got off on chasing and catching you one day when you had jokingly teased him and ran away, giggling as you went to hide from him. he had frozen just a second, giving you a headstart before he quickly went after you.
it’s really unfair, a human running away from a werewolf literally twice her size in height and muscle. you let out a surprised shriek when familiar, thick, tan arms wrap around you.
it felt like he was nearly about to tackle you, but you’re instead whisked off of your feet and pressed into the nearest surface—the wall. you tilted your head back to look at him, eye’s widening when you catch his gaze.
he huffs, hunched over you and pupils blown wide in lust. you’re shocked you riled him up so easily, and you’re just about to open your mouth to tease him again when he pins his hips into your behind. he grinds his hardened bulge into your ass, cutting off any of your previous thoughts and turning them into mush.
“got you.”
☆ you’re just so cute when you look up at him like that, eyes wide like a bunny trapped in a wolf’s claws. it’s instinctual, really, so can you blame him for how turned on he gets? the thrill of the chase and claiming his catch is in his blood.
so it’s no wonder that he claims you there and then, not bothering to move to the bedroom and instead humping into you from behind.
“so tight.” he groans, his voice nearly sounding like a growl. “feels s’good every time.”
he bites down on your shoulder, groaning and fighting off every urge to immediately go hard and rough. he still knows you’re smaller, and it shows in the way you whine when your pussy stretches and flutters around him, struggling to take him in.
☆ when you finally do adjust, rip to any kind of movement or function below your waist for the rest of the night. you will be numb and sore for days.
one of his hands easily has your wrists pinned together, pressing your arms against your chest while he uses his other arm to guide your hips. it’s incredibly easy for him to do, lifting you up before bouncing you back down on his cock at a ruthless pace.
you’re not sure what to do with yourself, head drooping and legs twitching and flailing while he has you completely restrained by your torso. he was hitting so deep, you’re sure you can feel it in your throat with every thrust.
his nails dig into your sides, not breaking the skin but still leaving irritated scratches along the surface while his mouth continues to hotly lick and bite into the skin at the juncture of your neck.
☆ it’s not until a mix of your cum is dripping out of you, trailing down your thighs and onto the floor beneath you that he finally calms down, whispering apologies in your ear while leaving sloppy kisses on your jaw.
“sorry, babe,” he pants, heart thrumming in his chest against your back. “i don’t know what came over me.”
he once again picks you up, carrying you bridal style in his arms as he kisses every scratch and bite mark he left behind before cleaning you up and snugly tucking you under him in bed.
𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐇 | size kink, manhandling, breeding, praise
☆ he is tall and he is stupidly strong. he would never ever use his strength to hurt you, but he still loves how much smaller than him you are. he thinks it’s adorable, how easily he can throw you over his shoulder, or how he can flip or bend you whichever way he wants.
you had let out a startled squeak when garroth had scooped you up as soon as you entered your home, wasting no time before the front door had even shut.
he had carried you with ease to your bedroom, tossing you onto the mattress without even slightly gasping or struggling for breath. when his long, thick fingers met your folds to prepare you, he was surprised to find you were already soaked in your slick.
“does me throwing you around like that really make you this wet, baby?” he smirked, slapping his erect cock onto your stomach, admiring how the tip nearly reached your navel.
☆ he knows he has to be careful, with his unnatural strength. but it’s so hard, especially with how your cunt greedily sucks him in, fluttering as you struggled to adjust to his size.
“fuck,” he hisses, his fingers roughly gripping the sheets by your head. “relax, sweetheart. or it’ll never fit.”
“ ‘m trying!” you whine, never getting used to the stretch even after all of the times you’ve gone through this process before.
☆ as soon as you finally do adjust and he bottoms out, you find yourself practically folded in half as he pounds into you, his hips slamming against your thighs.
his eyes focus on your lower abdomen, fascinated at the bulge that appears every time he slides himself back into your walls. his hand is large and warm, something that overwhelmed you as he pressed down against your stomach.
your legs shake and spasm against his hands as your eyes roll and your head lulls back. a sign, garroth has learned, that showed you were close to tipping over the edge.
“are you gonna cum, baby? yeah?” he pants in your ear, his pace stuttering. “go on. do it for me, i know you can. mhmm, good girl.”
as you tighten and flutter around him he lets out a broken moan himself.
“you gonna let me cum inside? you’d look so cute pregnant. you gonna let me fill you up? make you a mommy?”
☆ he buries his face into your shoulder when he reaches his peak, strong hands holding you in place as his hips jerk and press into you. his grip would probably leave bruises, ones that he’d individually kiss and apologize for when you were done.
a deep, husky groan vibrates against your throat as he stills, and his hot release shoots up, coating your insides white. you’re still catching your breath when he places sloppy kisses against the crook of your neck, lowering your legs and massaging your hips.
“you did so good for me, sweetheart.”
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄 | degradation/teasing, spanking, dacryphilia, dumbification
☆ you really should know better than to try and tease and be bratty to him, because it always ends the same. though, you did know better, because he always reacted exactly how you wanted.
you whine into the sheets your face was shoved in, your grip white-knuckled against his pants as you were splayed across his lap. your back arched against his long hand that held you in place, while his other one cracked down against your reddened ass once again.
your hips jerk against the leg you were bent over as you muffle your moans.
“where’d your claws go, kitty?” gene questions, gently soothing the irritated skin with his lithe fingers before delivering another harsh slap. “you were talking all tough earlier, weren’t you?”
☆ he lifts you up, keeping your head face first in the bed while he raises your ass up in the air, pushing himself into you. he gives you just enough time to adjust before he’s started a merciless rhythm, your moans and cries stuttered and jolted every time he slams into you.
“poor thing…” he turns your face to the side, kissing the tears of pleasure from your cheeks and licking his lips with a grin. “just keep taking it. can you at least do that? hm?”
you nod, gasping and eyes rolling as the thick vein running along his shaft continues to hit that one mind-shattering spot inside without fail. you’re not sure how many times you’ve came now, but the soaked sheets and sticky feeling against your thighs was enough of an indication.
“good doll,” his thumb from the hand that firmly held you down between your shoulder blades rubbed soothing circles on your skin—a sharp contrast to his rough and unwavering pace.
“yeah, you’re too sweet to be tough, aren’t you?” he tilts his head, laughing at how your attempt to tease and one-up him once again ended with you drooling underneath him. “sweet thing.”
☆ he’s the type to mock your moans as he has you bent over and nearly unconscious, his deep voice pitching higher as he whines and gasps in your ear.
“ah~! mmn~! aah~!” he whines, a raspy laugh leaving his lips when he realizes you’re too fucked out to even respond.
“aww, can’t take it anymore? you should’ve thought of that before you started talking like you were all tough, huh?” he juts his lip out, giving you a look of fake pity as he continues to show no mercy in his pace.
☆ it’s not until he knows you really are at your limit that he finally slows down, brushing your hair back and kissing you as he rolls you over to lay on top of him.
“are you okay, lovely?” he whispers, holding your droopy head between his hands.
you sleepily nod, relieving his tense worry that he had been too rough on you. he wraps his arms around you and mutters for you to hold on as he carries you to the bathroom, whispering praises in your ear and peppering sweaty kisses against you.
𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 | marking, overstimulation, orgasm control, begging
☆ you’d lost track of how long you’d been in bed, something that was a common recurring theme anytime laurance dragged you under the sheets with him.
his hips leisurely roll down into yours as a lazy and overconfident smirk stayed cockily plastered on his face. he ducked his head down into your neck, kissing casually on the exposed skin as if he wasn’t balls deep inside of you right now.
“laurance,” you whine in frustration, hips twitching and bucking up into his. “please.”
he bucks deeper into you, pinning your hips into the bed and preventing you from squirming any further. he tilts his head and hums innocently, lips brushing along your jaw and hovering over your lips.
“please what, my love?”
“move,” you demand, cheeks red and chest heaving.
he clicks his tongue disapprovingly, continuing to slowly grind into you as his lips trail away from yours, moving to nibble on your earlobe.
“well that’s no way to ask for something…” he purrs, voice vibrating against your ears.
“please, go faster, harder, something!” you grit, nails digging into his shoulders as he suddenly draws back and snaps back into you.
“good girl. keep begging for me like that and i might give you more.”
☆ the teasing fuck doesn’t actually keep to his promise until you’re a babbling mess from his slow movements, spasming on his dick while he’s barely gotten started. when you finally really beg for him, you almost regret asking for it. almost.
“oh, fu-ah!” you cry out, hands reaching down to push on his waist in a futile attempt to slow him down. “slow down, laur—ance!”
laurance barely raises his head from where he has just been sucking on your chest, lovely red and purple marks forming on the sensitive skin. his eyes droop in satisfaction as he stares down at you, admiring your mussed hair and bleary expression.
despite your overstimulation, he continues the same unrelenting tempo, his length battering your insides as he smiles down at you.
“oh, but how could i after you asked me so nicely to speed up?” he asks, relishing in how you spasm around him as he coaxes yet another orgasm from you.
your eyes scrunch as you arch up into him, gasping and frantically steadying yourself by digging your fingers into his toned back. you see white as you gush and squirt around him, jaw dropping as you try to catch your breath.
you think you’re in the clear as his hips still against you, giving you a moment of reprieve to recover. as soon you open your eyes they blow wide open, a startled moan leaving your lips as he pulls out to the head and hastily snaps himself back in.
“c’mon, just one more for me? you can do one more.”
☆ “just one more” is never the case with laurance. it’s not until he himself has wasted his own energy that he finally collapses, leaving you both spent and satisfied against the sheets.
he relishes in the afterglow, giving you sloppy kisses as if he hadn’t been doing that for the past couple of hours anyways. after his legs return their strength he carries you to the bathroom, knowing he once again left you sore and used.
he’s used to the scandalized gasp and harsh slap he earns on his chest when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.
☆ he always leaves you with hickeys spanning from your neck down to your breasts. sometimes you’ll find them on your lower stomach and thighs… if he spends a little extra time on you that day.
“laurance zvahl! how am i supposed to hide this?”
“by wearing my sweater again…” he giggles, rubbing his hands along your waistline.
©starhvney, 2024. please do not steal or repost my works as your own.
#aphmau mystreet#mystreet x reader#aphmau#x reader#mystreet#mystreet garroth#garroth ro'meave#garroth ro'meave x reader#garroth x reader#aphmau garroth#aphmau gene#mystreet gene x reader#mystreet gene#gene x reader#mystreet laurance#aphmau laurance#laurance x reader#laurance zvhal x reader#aphmau blaze#mystreet blaze x reader#mystreet blaze#blaze x reader
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Can I please request Idia with a reader that has a prosthetic cybernetic arm?
Idia with an s/o with a prosthetic cybernetic arm
Idia x reader
Sometimes, you wake up spasming.
Pain wrecking through your veins, black spots swarming your vision. Tears running jagged trails down your cheeks, your body trembling like a leaf. Your mouth wide open, a silent scream clawing its way up your gut, tearing up your throat.
Your hand reaches out, clutching your arm. At least, where your arm used to be.
A stub was all that remained.
Slow breaths. You slam your eyelids shut, before choking out a sob. Heart thumping rapidly against your chest. It beat furiously against its cage of bone and flesh.
Forcing yourself to take a deep breath, you exhale. Palm over your chest, feeling your heartbeat slow.
Even if it’s just ever so slightly.
Your arm throbbed, pain gnawing away at a phantom limb. Your nerves, mourning for what was once there. They set your body alight, burning your flesh for whatever it was worth.
Nights like this, you can’t sleep. Fumbling around on your bedside table, your finger wraps around metal, freezing cold. You drag it over, before fastening the device to your limb.
A prosthetic arm. Wincing, you watch the lights flicker, the arm calibrating itself to your body. Your fingers flex, curling and uncurling. A flower in bloom. Neon blue lines glow, pulsing softly.
A child’s nightlight, hope in the dark.
A buzz. Your phone screen flashes to life, vibrating wildly. Snatching it off the table, you spare a brief glance at the caller ID.
Shroud (The hot one)
Swiping the green icon, you lift the phone to your ear.
“You do know you’re ruining my sleep schedule, right?”
A dry chuckle, before that ever familiar voice whispers through your speaker. It wraps around your heart, a comforting weight pressing into it.
“You weren’t even asleep in the first place.”
A rustle of blankets, as you drop back onto your bed. Phone still pressed to your ear, you turn around, pillow propping your head up.
“Touché, Idia.”
You hear the creak of his chair. The sounds of fingers tapping against his keyboard. You could just see him, in that oversized striped shirt of his, legs curled up on his chair. Hunched over his deck, playing whatever game captured his attention.
A moment of silence, before Idia spoke.
“Is your arm hurting again?”
You sneak a glance at your prosthetic, wiggling your fingers around.
“Maybe. How did you know?”
A nervous splutter, before Idia fumbles with his keyboard.
“I…may have installed an alert… that tells me whenever you put the arm on.”
“Creep.”
A sigh.
“A concerned one, at the very least.
Do you need me to come over? Maybe I’ll touch up the arm or…”
Shaking your head, you let out a laugh. Pulling the blanket over you, you snuggle into the bed. You prop up the phone on the bedside table, watching Idia’s icon blink in and out of focus.
“No, that’s fine.”
A pause, before you whisper.
“Could you stay? At least until I fall asleep.”
The sound of his computer whirling comes to an abrupt stop. Wheels rolling away, before you hear the creak of bedsprings. Idia plops onto his bed, leaning back into the bed frame. He cradles the phone to his ear, before mumbling:
“I’ll stay forever, if you want me too.”
#twisted wonderland#twst#twisted wonderland x reader#disney twisted wonderland#twst x reader#Idia shroud#Idia#Idia shroud x reader#Idia x reader#lucky potion🔷
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Night active
Paring:Bang Chan x Reader
Genre:Angst,fluff at the end?
Warnings:none
Spider Kids
This chapter didn’t come out to my liking at all (i rewrote this 5 times and decided to scrap everything and completely redoing it just a few hours before
Rain lashed against the windowpanes, mirroring the storm brewing inside Y/n. Another text. Another "running late, sorry babe." This time, the excuse wasn't even creative. Just another night sacrificed at the altar of the recording studio, another date with Chan turning into a solo act for Y/n.
She stormed out of her apartment, the crumpled reservation for their fancy dinner clutched in her hand. The address was meaningless now, another casualty of Chan's workaholic tendencies. The neon glow of "JYP" mocked her from across the street. It was a familiar sight, a beacon that usually promised exciting new music, but tonight, it felt like a prison holding her love captive.
Pushing open the heavy metal door, Y/n was met not by the expected cacophony, but by an unsettling silence. The air hung thick with the scent of stale coffee and burnt popcorn, remnants of late nights spent chasing sonic perfection. Yet, the mixing console was untouched, the keyboards lay silent, and the screens displayed static ghosts of unfinished projects. A knot of worry tightened in Y/n's stomach.
"Chan?" she called out, her voice echoing eerily in the empty studio.
She navigated the maze of cables and instruments, checking the sound booth, the vocal recording room, even the dingy kitchenette - all deserted. A growing sense of unease gnawed at her. This wasn't like Chan. He might be late, he might be stressed, but he wouldn't simply disappear from his own studio, not without a message.
Desperation clawed at her. She tried calling him, but his phone went straight to voicemail. Panic bloomed in her chest. Had work finally pushed him over the edge? Had something bad happened?
The crumpled reservation slipped from her hand, forgotten on the worn floor. The fancy dinner, the carefully planned evening – all insignificant compared to the gnawing worry that had taken hold.
Y/n knew this wasn't just about a missed date anymore. This was about Chan, and the terrifying possibility that under the relentless pursuit of his passion, he might be lost.
The studio walls seemed to close in on Y/n. Each unanswered call, each ignored text, resonated like a hammer blow. Panic transformed into a cold dread that gnawed at her insides. She tried calling the studio again, just in case, but it went straight to voicemail once more. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the glow of the computer screen.
Desperate for any sliver of information, she frantically searched the news. Traffic accidents, building fires, even a report of a rogue squirrel causing a power outage – nothing. Then, a headline jumped out – "Spider-Man Thwarts Bank Robbery, Two Villains Apprehended!" Relief washed over her, so sudden it almost made her dizzy. Chan was alive, that much was clear. But the elation was short-lived.
Spider-Man.
The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. Her usually reliable, grounded boyfriend was also the city's hero. The missed dates, the late nights, the cryptic excuses – it all made a horrifying kind of sense. But where was he now? Was he injured? Had he gotten caught? The image of Chan, hurt and alone, flashed in her mind, and a fresh wave of terror threatened to consume her.
Y/n knew waiting at the studio was pointless. Grabbing her jacket, she raced out into the rain-soaked night. Chan's apartment was the only other place he could be. The journey felt like an eternity, every car horn, every siren, a potential omen of disaster.
Reaching his building, she sprinted up the stairs, two at a time, ignoring the burning in her lungs. Her trembling hand fumbled with the keys, finally unlocking the door. The apartment was dark and silent.
Calling his name, she flicked on the light switch. Empty. The air hung heavy with a familiar cologne, a ghost of his presence, but no sign of Chan himself. Disappointment clawed at her, a cold companion to the gnawing worry. She checked every room with growing desperation. The kitchen was spotless, his usual mess of takeout containers and forgotten mugs absent. The living room held no sign of struggle, just the usual clutter of his life – books, instruments, a half-finished model airplane. Finally, she reached his bedroom, the last bastion of hope and dread.
Pushing open the door, Y/n's heart hammered against her ribs. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, revealing an unmade bed, clothes strewn across the floor – a familiar, comforting mess. But the sight that made her blood run cold wasn't the scattered laundry.
A figure perched on the windowsill, back to her, clad in a sleek, crimson and blue suit. The unmistakable mask with its large, white eyes sent a jolt of terror and… something else, a flicker of recognition, through her.
"Chan?" she whispered, her voice barely a breath.
The figure remained motionless, but a soft sigh escaped it. It turned slowly, revealing the familiar face beneath the mask, etched with exhaustion and concern.
"Y/n? What are you doing here?" His voice, distorted by the mask's modulator, was a low rumble.
Y/n stared, speechless. The pieces clicked into place – the missed dates, the frantic exits, the news reports – it all pointed to this. Her boyfriend, the reliable, music-loving Chan, was also the city's hero, Spider-Man. A bewildered laugh escaped her lips, laced with a touch of hysteria.
"You... you're Spider-Man?"
Chan winced at the laugh, a sound devoid of joy, and carefully climbed off the windowsill. "Look, Y/n, I—"
He started to explain, but Y/n cut him off, her voice surprisingly steady. "Hold that thought. Right now, I just need to know you're okay. Why weren't you answering my calls? Where were you?"
Relief flooded his features, momentarily pushing aside the guilt. He reached out, but stopped before his hand could touch hers. "I was... busy with something. I couldn't risk taking my phone out."
His explanation was thin, and Y/n's gaze narrowed. "Busy with stopping another bank robbery as Spider-Man, you mean?"
Chan flinched again. The secret was out, hanging heavy in the air. He sighed, deflating. "Y/n, I... I didn't want to lie to you. Being Spider-Man is a huge responsibility, and it takes up a lot of time. But I never meant to hurt you."
He took a tentative step closer, but she remained rooted to the spot. "Did it never occur to you that maybe I could understand? Maybe I wouldn't want you to give up saving people, but I also wouldn't want to be kept in the dark."
Hurt flickered in his eyes, quickly replaced by a pleading look. "Y/n, please. Give me a chance to explain everything."
He gestured towards the bed.
Chan sat there, the mask tucked under his arm, his face etched with worry. He sat beside her, a comfortable distance maintained.
"You said you wanted to explain," Y/n said, her voice quiet.
He took a deep breath. "It started a few years ago," he began, his voice low and sincere. He recounted the fateful night he was bitten by the spider, the awakening of his powers, and the dawning realization of the responsibility thrust upon him. He spoke of the fear, the exhilaration, the constant battle to balance his life with that of a masked hero.
As he spoke, Y/n listened intently. The anger began to recede, replaced by a grudging respect. She saw the burden he carried, the sacrifices he made to keep the city safe. But his words also revealed a crucial flaw.
"You never gave me a chance to understand," she said once he finished. "You treated me like I wouldn't handle it, like I was too fragile to know the truth."
Chan looked down, shame flickering across his face. "I was scared. Scared of losing you, of you judging me. I thought keeping you in the dark was protecting you."
"But it wasn't," Y/n said softly. "It pushed me away. It made me feel like our relationship wasn't important enough to confide in."
Silence stretched between them again, heavy but not without hope. Finally, Chan spoke. "Y/n, I love you. More than anything. This whole… Spider-Man thing, it doesn't diminish that. I just want a chance to show you."
She met his gaze, the hurt still lingering in her eyes but softened by a flicker of understanding. "I need to know if there can be a balance," she admitted. "A life where you can be a hero and still have me by your side."
Chan reached out, his fingers brushing against hers. "There has to be a way," he said, his voice filled with determination. "I won't give up on being Spider-Man, but I also won't give up on you."
Y/n squeezed his hand gently. "Let's talk it through," she said, a glimmer of hope returning to her voice. "Together."
If you’re user is red i can’t tag you | tags list: open
Taglist: @juskz @blackhairandbangs @sxnset-angel @emossssss @hanjsquokka @feelikecinderella @starlostastronaut @kpopsstuffs @lixxpix @jinnie-ret @bangchans-angel @puppyminnnie @michelle4eve @kpopsstuffs @skzswife @saiko-skz @quailbagutte @briqnne @ilychee08
#Spotify#stray kids#skz x reader#skz fluff#skz imagine#skz scenarios#stray kids x reader#stray kids fluff#bang chan#skz#bangchan imagines#bangchan scenarios#bangchan x reader#christopher bang#straykids angst#stray kids imagines#•~spider kids~•
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The Itch
Stanford era!Sam Winchester x fem!Reader. Swearing, sexually suggestive/explicit language, mentions of drugs and alcohol. No smut (yet); this one’s a good ole fashioned slow burn. Takes place around 2002-ish
Author’s notes: Helloooo! I said I had something longer, and here it is. I intend on turning this into a multi-part fic, so keep your peepers peeled! I didn’t post sooner because while I had ideas for this fic, nothing was really clicking for me. However, @uncouth-the-fifth recently shared some Sam AI chatbots she’d made (which I highly recommend you use btw) and after using one of them my creative juices started flowing again, and out popped this fic. Enjoy!
—
The air is thick with the competing smells of booze, weed, and sweat. Some fratbro’s shitty spin on house music is booming at a deafening volume throughout the house, and all around you people are drinking, grinding; generally having the kind of time you’d expect at a frat party. It’s Valentine’s Day, so the amount of couples making out in corners has increased drastically, much to your chagrin. Your friends had dragged you here under the pretense that you all needed to blow off some steam after another grueling week of tests and homework. You have to admit, the idea had been tempting; you don’t consider yourself a party person, but you’d had this itch to do something outside of your normal routine. The itch had developed suddenly a week ago while you were standing in line at your favorite coffee place, debating on ordering your regular cup of joe or really spicing it up and asking for a shot of espresso when you saw him.
He was good-looking, sure; tall, despite his seated position at one of the tables, broad-shouldered and well-built with these soft hazel eyes that just screamed “kicked puppy in need of someone to take care of me”. But none of that is what kept your gaze on him. No, as ridiculous as it sounds, it was his hands. Huge, muscular hands that made your mouth water just thinking about them. Ten long, thick fingers that dexterously flew across his keyboard as he typed. You were hit with a barrage of hand-related fantasies ranging from dirty to holy fuck that’s dirty when the barista cleared her throat and brutally snapped you back to reality, causing you to stammer out an apology and place your drink order with haste.
Ever since then, you’d been haunted by the memory of those hands and felt “the itch”, as you called it. It was an aching want that existed deep in your gut, and it demanded satisfaction. It clawed at you, showing you images of those ginormous hands pawing you, squeezing your neck, your tits, anything they could reach. You’d done your best to resist, throwing yourself into your coursework, hoping desperately that if you ignored the itch it would go away. But it didn’t. So here you are, at a frat party, trying to find a way to scratch your itch so that the ghost of those hands could be put to rest and stop tormenting you.
You take a sip of the drink you’ve been nursing all night in a secluded corner of the living room and make a face. It tastes like piss and vodka’s evil offspring. You look around for a place to abandon your solo cup, but decide that you should properly dispose of it so no one knocks it over, or worse, drinks it. You crane your neck over the sea of sweaty, horny college students and map a path to the kitchen. Your friends had abandoned you long ago in favor of going onto the floor to dance, so your trip to the kitchen will have to be a solo mission. You take a deep breath, mustering up your courage and preparing yourself for the bumpy journey ahead, and plunge into the crowd. Things are going smoothly enough and it looks like you’ll actually make it to the kitchen unscathed when someone suddenly slams into you. Thankfully, you’re pushed into a sorority girl, so you manage to not eat shit or get trampled to death. Unfortunately, this crushes your drink against your chest, drenching the entire front of your top. Miraculously, the sorority sister is spared, and she doesn’t even seem to register the fact that she’s been bumped into.
You turn around to glare at whoever just ruined your favorite shirt and come face-to-face with a solid wall of muscle. You have to look up to get a good look at your assailant, and you see it’s him. The guy from the coffee shop. All of your anger is quickly replaced by an interesting cocktail of shock, embarrassment, and need. You thought he was big in the coffee shop, but standing before him now makes it clear just how fucking massive this guy is. He clears six feet easily, and you can tell he’s got miles of muscle underneath the henley he’s layered under a faded tee shirt.
You manage to drag your eyes away from his chest and see that all of the color has drained from his face, puppy-dog eyes apologetic and wide with shock. He’s speaking to you, but with your height difference and the ear-splitting music you can’t hear him. You pull a confused expression and have to shout “what?” a few times over the music before it gets through to him that you can’t hear a fucking word he’s said. He looks around quickly, then gestures for you to follow him. You do, confusion and nerves swirling around sickly in your stomach. Eventually he leads the two of you to a quieter corner of the room, and resumes his rapid-fire apologizing. “Jesus, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bump into you, I swear, I was just trying to get away from my friend who kept trying to introduce me to this girl and I—“
You hold up a hand to silence him and force yourself to smile. “It’s okay, shit happens, I get it.” He shakes his head, unsatisfied with your response. “No, no, seriously. I feel awful about your shirt—“ you don’t miss the way his eyes dart down to look at your front, and you realize with a blush that he could probably see down your v-neck if he wanted to, “—and I really want to make it up to you. I have an extra shirt in my car if you want to change, and I’ll get you a new drink, I promise.”
The poor guy looks like he’s about to have an anxiety attack, so you wave your hand again before laying it on his arm. His eyes snap to where your hand has curled around his forearm and you jerk it away, uncertain of what possessed you to touch him. Great, now he thinks I’m some kind of perv. You clear your throat before you start talking again. “Um, yeah, a-a new shirt would be cool. Oh, but don’t worry about the drink though; it uh, it sucked. I was actually on my way to get rid of it when you bumped into me, so maybe spilling it was a blessing in disguise.” Jesus Christ, you’re rambling and stuttering like a kid asking out their high school crush. You nervously tuck some loose hair behind your ear and try to inhale some calming breaths, cringing at your social ineptitude, and look up at him. He’s smiling kindly, revealing two adorable dimples that make you want to melt into a warm gooey puddle on the floor.
“Yeah, I tried one of the drinks earlier; I don’t know what was in it but it was not good.” He scrunches up his face and pretends to gag, which pulls some genuine laughter out of you. His grin gets wider and it makes his eyes crinkle, and this has your stomach doing somersaults and your pussy clenching around nothing. The song changes and after a smiley beat passes he leans in a little closer and tells you his name. “My name’s Sam,” he practically shouts into your ear, “Sam Winchester.” You turn your head ever so slightly so you can give him your name in return. “Y/N L/N. Nice to meet you.” Sam straightens up and you extend a hand for him to shake. He accepts, enveloping your hand in one of his gigantic palms. You fight to keep a blush off of your cheeks. Your hands fall, but he doesn’t release you. Instead, he gives your hand a small tug, and nods over his shoulder. “C’mon. I’ll take you to my car.”
You dutifully trail behind him, your hand still wrapped up in his. If you weren’t appreciative of Sam’s height before, you are now; he effortlessly parts the throng of people around you, allowing the two of you to walk to the door with ease. And it’s only when the two of you step out into the chill of the February night air that he lets go of your hand, which you try not to read into. You cross your arms over your chest to trap some of the warmth that is rapidly escaping your body, your still-wet top clinging coldly to your frame. There are a few wasted stragglers on the lawn, and the music starts to fade as Sam leads you to his car. You’re mildly surprised when you see what it is; a black Honda Civic sedan. It’s a newer model, but it’s nothing fancy. You get the sense that while Sam isn’t very materialistic, he takes pride in his possessions and their upkeep. He pops open the trunk as you rub your arms, wishing that you had opted for more layers than just your v-neck long sleeve and a lacy camisole. You glance back at the house, wondering what your friends are doing as Sam goes through the trunk. After a minute he produces a black Metallica tee. You accept it gratefully and smile at him, cocking an eyebrow. “Metallica? You’ve got good taste.”
Sam clears his throat and awkwardly looks at his feet, his expression a bit pained. “Actually, it is… was… my brother’s.” He says, looking up at you through his bangs. You nod, and decide against probing for more information. He’s a stranger doing you a kindness; you don’t need to know about whatever family history that is capable of eliciting such a reaction from him. You glance at the road and then back at the house before looking at Sam. Your cheeks feel warm. “Um, do you mind covering me? Sorry, I know that—“
Sam cuts you off, flustered. “No, god yeah, of course. I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think.” He admits sheepishly, redness creeping up his cheeks as he rubs the back of his neck. You shake your head. “It’s okay, really. Um, and thank you, for the shirt, I mean. You really didn’t have to.” His expression softens and he gives a small shrug of his shoulders. “‘Course I did. I’m the one who bumped into you like a total jerk. This is the least I can do.” His response only serves to intensify your burgeoning crush on him.
You both stand there for a minute, just looking into each other’s eyes, something similar to tension but too clumsy and new to be called that building between you. A fierce shiver courses through you, and Sam apparently remembers that you asked him to cover you. He maneuvers the two of you so that the car is blocking you from any prying eyes lurking on the street, and he places himself in front of you to shield you from the people in the house. He turns his back to you, giving you some more privacy, and you murmur a quick thank you as a burst of heat goes straight to your core.
You quickly shed yourself of both your camisole and your top, thankful to be in a dry shirt that doesn’t reek of alcohol any more. You tap his arm to let him know when you’re done, and he turns to face you. He sees that you’re still shivering and wordlessly goes back to his trunk, leaving you a bit perplexed and holding your sopping bundle of shirts in your hands. He pulls out a gray zip-up hoodie and stands before you again. “You look cold,” he says, obviously. It’s a sweet gesture, and it makes your heart flutter in your chest. Sam holds his hand out for your shirts so that you can pull on his hoodie, and you swap your bundles. As you pull on the hoodie, you tell him, “I really do appreciate what you’re doing for me. Most people would’ve just let me freeze.” You chuckle quietly, racking your brain for some other way to express your gratitude without sounding like a broken record.
Sam shakes his head, and another sweet, sympathetic smile graces his face. “Y/N, again, it was the least I could do, believe me.” You nod, and then gesture vaguely for your shirts. “Oh, right,” he says with a small laugh, adorably absentminded, and hands them over. As you go to take them, your fingertips brush against his, and you feel like you’ve been electrocuted. Deliciously, wonderfully electrocuted. The contact causes you to jerk your hand away, dropping the shirts. “Shit, sorry—“ you curse, and the two of you drop to your knees simultaneously to retrieve them. Your hands meet again, but this time the contact lingers. You lift your head to find Sam’s eyes boring into yours, his lips slightly parted, his cheeks flushed. And that’s when you feel it again.
The itch.
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Author’s notes: I know this wasn’t a *super* long fic but I’m slowly pushing myself to write longer stuff. One of these days I’ll write something longer than 2,000 words, I promise. Anyways, thanks for reading!
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Polaroids (Jschlatt)
A/n: oi oi! idk i really dont have anything to say for this one
The dimly lit room was filled with the soft clinking of glass against glass as Schlatt idly swirled the amber liquid in his tumbler. The warm glow from the string lights overhead cast a comforting atmosphere, but tonight, that comfort was tinged with a hint of melancholy. His gaze was fixed on a small stack of polaroid pictures strewn across the wooden table in front of him.
Schlatt's scruffy features were painted with a mix of nostalgia and longing as he picked up one of the polaroids. His lips curved into a faint smile as he traced the edges of the photograph, his thumb brushing against the captured moment frozen in time. The image depicted a sunlit park, a gentle breeze tousling the hair of a couple locked in an affectionate embrace. The woman's laughter echoed in his ears, even though the picture itself held no sound.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, taking a sip of his drink as if to numb the yearning that clawed at his chest. His gaze shifted to another polaroid, this one showing the two of them sharing an ice cream cone by the waterfront. She had a playful grin on her face, and he remembered the way her laughter mixed with the crashing waves.
Schlatt's brows furrowed as he traced the outline of her face in the photograph. He had always mocked her insistence on taking these pictures, claiming they were a waste of time and film. But now, in the quiet of his apartment, with a few too many drinks in his system, he found himself incredibly grateful for every single one.
He picked up another polaroid, his fingers slightly clumsy from the alcohol. This one captured a rainy day spent indoors, her head resting on his shoulder as they watched some obscure movie on a battered old couch. He chuckled softly, remembering how he had teased her about her movie choices.
"Y'know, you were right," he mumbled, his voice tinged with a mixture of amusement and sadness. "These damn pictures... they're all I've got right now."
Schlatt's gaze lingered on the remaining polaroids, each one a testament to their time together. A day at the carnival, a hike through the woods, lazy mornings tangled in bedsheets. He ran his fingers through his hair, feeling a sense of longing that seemed to intensify with every photograph he examined.
His phone buzzed on the table, drawing his attention away from the polaroids. A text message from her, filled with emojis and inside jokes that only they understood. He smiled, fingers dancing over the keyboard as he typed out a response. As they exchanged messages, he felt the distance between them shrink, at least for a fleeting moment.
Schlatt finally pushed his tumbler away, the alcohol-induced haze giving way to a clear-headed determination. "You're damn right," he muttered, his voice firm this time. "I miss you more than I'll ever admit."
And as the night wore on, he found solace in the polaroids, his thoughts filled with memories of their time together and dreams of the day they would reunite.
#jschlatt x reader#chuckle sandwich x reader#jschlatt x you#schlatt x reader#jschlatt#schlatt#chuckle sammy
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HELLO!!! its me🌝 could you write a ff on miguel o’hara where reader gets hurt during a mission and doesn’t report in and miguel just goes crazy cause even though they’re not dating he still cares? LOTS AND LOTS OF ANGST POR FAVOR🫶
All I wanted was you
description: You don’t report back after a mission, and it’s sparking something deep inside Miguel (Miguel O’hara c fem. reader)
a/n: OMG THIS IS MY FIRST REQUEST THANK YOU SO MUCH i hope you enjoy this as much as i have enjoyed writing it 🩷 (NOT EDITED)
song inspiration: All I wanted was you by Paramore
Warnings: LOTS AND LOTS ANGST, mentions of blood and injuries
The beating of his heart transformed into a horror of ticking sounds. The faster it went the more anxious thoughts he got. Why haven’t you reported back yet?
It was suppose to be a simple mission. He wouldn’t have sent you alone if it wasn’t. He wouldn’t have even sent you out at all.
“Maybe you should take some deep breaths and page her again?” Lyla recommended, once again appearing on Miguel’s shoulder for the forty time this hour.
“I’ve tried that already,” he sighed, “it just cuts to static.”
“Are you sure you are doing it right?” Lyla peered over to see, only to shunned off by a furious Miguel.
“You think I don’t know how to work THE FUCKING WATCH?!?” He yelled out as he threw the device across the room, not bothering if or if it didn’t shattered into millions of pieces.
“Not when you’re blinded by your emotions, isn’t that why you made me in the first place you furry face troglodyte?!” She contradicted him, “to help you when you are in this kind of state.”
Miguel rolled his eyes groaning at the AI, not bothering to respond back. He continued his intense search for you, looking at all of your locations last notified in before the signal went out.
————————
You laid back against the wall clutching your stomach as you took deep breathes. Even as you applied pressure to the wound, heavy amounts of red covered your hands and suit leaving you bare to the crisp air.
The mission was suppose to be easy, a simple get in and get out type of formation. You hadn’t realized something was wrong when entering the danger zone, and that was the first warning sign. Your spidy senses were blocked out in this universe, leaving you too vulnerable to serval attacks.
“No! No! No!” You whispered yelled as the sound of innocent civilians screams echoing through the alleyway. You tried to push yourself off the wall, balancing the weight of your body on your wobbly feet.
“Y/n- Y/n are- Y/n are you- are you there?!” A muffled voice asked - you knew it was his, and you so desperately wanted to answer back with a screaming “YES” but it was no use. If you answered now you would lead more danger onto the others. You had to do this by yourself.
You shot a web on your wound, using it as a makeshift band-aid before grabbing a rock and smashing the watch into pieces.
“Sorry Miguel, but I can’t afford another loss.”
——————-
“PINCHE BASURA DE MIERDA!” The keyboard was crushed under his firm grasp. The little letter keys scattered to the floor as Miguel’s knuckles turned white. You had destroyed it.
He was so close - so close to finding your location and you crushed it like a piece of glass.
“Lyla,” he grunted out as he retracted his claws from the destroyed technology. The clock taunting him back with a flick of the hand.
“Lyla!” He bellowed seeing as the AI didn’t appear to his answers. “Lyla I SWEAR TO EVERYTHING GOOD IF YOU DON’T SHOW UP I WILL DISCONNECT YOU!” He let out a shaky breath. The situation reminded him too much of Gabriella, and he just couldn’t let it go down like that again. He just couldn’t.
“What do you want?” She appeared on his shoulder, face turned away from his trembling gaze.
“I need you to call for back up.” His mask already covered his face, yet she could still see the way his eyes turned bloody under the pressure of you not reporting back.
He never admitted out loud that he loved you. He didn’t need to. Everywhere you went, he followed behind you like a lost puppy. Every thing you wanted, he made sure to give it to you in a matter of seconds. It was the love sick stares when you weren’t watching that attracted the attention of other’s curiosity. The only thing holding him back from expressing his love out loud, was the fear of uncertainty, and it was eating him from the inside right now.
“Why don’t you assemble a team right now?” She questioned, hoping she wasn’t thinking what he was thinking. It would be a suicide mission if he went alone without back up.
“I don’t have time for that.” He typed in the coordinates of your last location. “She doesn’t have time for that.” He whispered before running through the portal.
———————————
You didn’t know how long you had been standing there. Bodies laid on the floor like flowers swaying in a forgotten meadow. The adrenaline once keeping you standing now left you on the ground with nothing.
You tried your best. You gave everything you had, yet it wasn’t good enough. Hundreds of lives were taken under a matter of seconds. You couldn’t tell where your blood trail started nor who it stained.
“Y/n!” Goosebumps erupted from your body, covering the skin that wasn’t pouring out your blood. He shouldn’t have come.
“Y/n!” He called out once more swinging to reach you; his mask disappearing. His shaking hands grabbed your shoulders, ignoring the corpses around him, and only focusing on the tears pouring out of your puffy eyes.
“Gracias a Dios que estás bien,” he pulled you into his chest letting you hear his fast beating heart.
“Are y okay? What hap- happened? Did you-“ His voice came in and out, leaving you with a confused face and a pounding headache.
“Lyla!” He called out to her, asking when was back up coming. His eyes never left your face. It wasn’t until a sticky wet feeling tainted his skin that he noticed the wound.
“Fuck! Okay, okay Y/n, sweetheart I need you to keep your eyes open.” He laid you down on the ground gently, pulling apart your suit to see the gash. You let out a painful scream as he applied pressure onto your injury.
“I’m sorry.” His hands began to tremble, making him yell out in frustration. Now was not the time to start panicking.
“Miguel,” you whispered out, placing a hand on his when he didn’t turn your way. “Miguel it’s okay.” You stated, he shook his head scrunching his eyes trying to clear his blurry eyes.
“No it’s not Y/n, you aren’t going to die on me. You can’t.” He cried out as you looked at him sadly. “You can’t give up that easily y/n! YOU CANT DO THAT TO ME!” He screamed applying more pressure, causing you even more pain.
“Miguel you need to let go!” You mumbled out, your conscious fading in and out of the conversation.
“I can’t Y/n! I fucking can’t!” The sound of sirens filled the air. Even as you laid splattered in blood, your hair tangled up and face filled with bruises, he still thought you looked beautiful.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your grasp on his hand loosened as your eyes closed for the very last time.
“NO!” Quickly, he began to do chest compressions, the crushing sounds of your ribs gave him no indication of stopping. He didn’t care. He didn’t care. He did not care. He needed you. He couldn’t live without you. All he ever wanted, all he ever needed was dead and he couldn’t cope with that.
Maybe if he had revealed he loved you before it wouldn’t have hurt this much, maybe if he never had fallen for you he wouldn’t have felt anything.
But in the end, all he was always going to loose you.
#angst tag#anon <3#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara x you#miguel o’hara#miguel o’hara x y/n#spider man 2099#spider man across the spider verse#major character death#sad ending#i’m crying#request#miguel spiderverse#i tried#anon request
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Sex Pollen
A/N: This is my first time writing in a while. Miguel O’ Hara brought my writing back from the dead (so did Oscar Isaac, let’s be honest). I’m so excited to share this fic with you guys! Also yes I know the sex pollen trope is so overdone but... I had to.
Content: Miguel x gn! reader (this is my first time writing for a gender neutral reader, I hope I did well). Smut, 18+.
Words: 1.7k
You had been working in the Spider Society for almost a year now. Although it was a bit scary when you first joined, all of the different Spiders had warmed up to you immediately, Jess taking you under her wing to show you all the ropes of just exactly what they did. Lyla helped you learn the ropes of how the technical side of things worked, and that’s what you fell in love with doing. You ended up working with Spider-Byte, both of you helping run things smoothly with getting anomalies back to their actual universe. Everyone was so sweet and welcoming.
Everyone except Miguel O’ Hara.
You had worked hard in the Spider Society and impressed everyone. Everyone except him. He always had a snide comment to say, or was quick to snap at you if you interrupted him in the middle of his observation of the other universes. He made your blood boil and you tried to avoid him the best you could. After countless attempts to show Miguel different ideas that you had come up with-to which he dismissed quickly, you decided to just keep your head down when you found yourself around the hothead.
“(Y/N), how is that report coming along on that anomaly?” Miguel asked you, his head raised slightly as he looked down at you to await your answer.
Your hands were working fast on the keyboard and you kept your eyes glued to the screen, refusing to meet his eyes. “Almost done with it,” you said simply. You looked up after a few seconds when you saw Miguel was still there, his head cocked to the side with an eyebrow raised.
“Why the avoidance, (Y/N)? It’s almost like you’re… annoyed. Are you annoyed at me?” Miguel asks, his voice hinting at a tone of amusement.
You pressed your tongue against your cheek and bit back a smart retort, before focusing back on the task at hand. “I’m not annoyed. Just trying to avoid small talk, you get mad anyway.” You said, voice curt. Before anything else could be said, Lyla popped into the room, interrupting Miguel as he opened his mouth.
“Miguel, we have an anomaly spotted.” Lyla said, pulling up a screen to show Miguel what universe it was in. You started to sit down to help gain more information on this anomaly but Miguel shook his head.
“You can go ahead and head home, (Y/N). You’ve done enough work today,” He said, his voice low.
‘But-.” You started and Miguel just looked down at you, his eyes narrowed.
“I wouldn’t want you to have to deal with my anger,” He said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. Before you could say anything else, he was gone through the portal and you cursed under your breath. You waved at Spider-Byte before leaving, finding yourself back in your apartment in your universe. You tried to ignore the bite of Miguel’s words as you changed into a soft pair of PJ’s, deciding not to let the asshole get to you. You fell back against the bed, your body instantly relaxing against the pillows. You started to close your eyes, but heard the familiar sound of the portal and lifted your head, seeing Miguel step through. He looked frustrated, but what was new?
You pulled your covers towards you, covering up when you realized you had sheer pj’s on, heart pounding in your chest. “M-Miguel?” You ask, your voice almost a whisper.
Miguel pulled his mask off and you noticed that he was panting, his chest rising and falling in quick succession. You started to come towards him, but Miguel put a hand out, and you noticed his claws were out.
“Don’t. Just… stay right there.” Miguel growled and you froze. “The anomaly led me out into a field. Lots of different flowers around, and one species happened to produce sex pollen.”
“Oh,” was all that managed to come out of your mouth. Your heart started to thud against your chest even harder, almost able to feel the tension in the air.
“Yeah, I don't really know why I brought myself here, but….” Miguel trailed off, slumping down against the wall, his head falling back with a small thud.
“Does it hurt?” You ask softly, still on the bed. You were scared to move, not because of Miguel, but because you knew what would happen if you got close to him. It’s not like you hadn’t thought of Miguel in that way-he was an attractive man, but you guys hated each other. Or you thought you did. The heat in your stomach was saying otherwise at the way that he was looking at you, eyes dark with need and lust.
“Not terribly. It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Miguel said with a small smirk. “Mierda,” He growled, his hands digging into the carpet, tearing shreds into the fabric. You tried your best not to imagine him moaning, his hand gripping the headboard as his other ripped at your sheets. You tried not to imagine his tongue in your mouth, how it would feel to have his cock inside you. The room suddenly felt unbearably hot and you moved to open a window, covers be damned. You felt Miguel’s eyes on you, and it made you warmer.
“If you’re trying to tempt me, it’s working.” Miguel says, motioning to your pj’s and you quickly cover up again.
“You’re the one who showed up here unannounced.” You bit back, trying to ignore the guilt clouding your annoyance.
“Mhmm, that I did.” Miguel said almost matter-of-factly. “If it’s an annoyance though, I can leave,” Miguel said, starting to get up and open a portal. Before you knew it, you were across the room and had a hand on his wrist. You found yourself on the bed as soon as your hand touched his skin. Your breath hitched in your throat as Miguel hovered above you, his black hair falling forward slightly, his mouth slightly parted.
“I told you not to get close to me, (Y/N). You have a bad habit of not listening, you know that?” Miguel quipped, one of his hands coming up to touch your chin, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip.
“I listen plenty. It’s you who doesn’t listen. You act like you can’t stand me,” you admit, biting your lip in regret as there’s a slight flash of hurt in Miguel’s eyes.
“Can’t stand you? You’re one of the most brilliant people we have on the team,” Miguel says, his voice soft.
“Then why do you shut down all of my ideas?” You ask, confusion lacing your tone.
“Because most of your ideas involve you putting yourself in risky situations,” Miguel says and you can tell that he’s being sincere. He winces slightly and you frown.
“I thought you said the pollen doesn’t hurt.”
“It doesn’t. For a bit, but… if I don’t do anything about it soon, It can.” Miguel explained. “I don’t want to pressure you though, and I’m pretty sure this is already pressuring you enough,” He said, almost through a groan as he tried to get up, but you pulled him back down to you.
“No, I’m not pressured. I promise,” you say, your voice sincere. Miguel lets out a small growl, his lips landing on yours. His tongue slips inside your mouth, your hands finding his hair and you hear a moan escape his mouth. His lips meet yours in need, his hands going to grip at your hips. You start to slowly move your hips against Miguel’s, his lips falling open in a groan.
“Fuck,” he growls out, his cock throbbing against you. You feel as one of Miguel’s hands come up to your pj’s, a gasp escaping your mouth as his claws rip it off of you.
“Miguel-,” you start to protest but are cut off by Miguel’s lips against your neck, his tongue licking against your skin.
“I’ll buy you another one, promise,” he mutters against your neck. A moan escapes your mouth when Miguel’s hand travels down to your dripping core, a breathy chuckle muffled against your neck. “You’re so wet for me already, cariño.”
“Miguel, please,” you plead, suddenly hating how needy you sound right now.
“Please what?” Miguel teases, lifting his head up to look into your eyes.
“Please fuck me,” you beg and Miguel smirks. His lips meet yours passionately, his tongue slipping into your mouth again as he lines himself up with your entrance. The tip of his cock presses against your entrance and you gasp as he slowly bottoms out inside you, your hands gripping his shoulders. Miguel lets out a groan, his face burying into your neck as he slowly starts to move his hips.
Your fingers move to rest in his hair, tugging slightly as you move your hips in time with Miguel’s. The sound of skin slapping against skin and moans fill the room, a melody that is like music to both you and Miguel’s ears. His lips trail kisses up your neck to your ear before he whispers:
“You’re taking me so well, mi tesoro.”
A surge of warmth rushes through your body at Miguel’s words and you let out a whimper. His hips start to pick up the pace and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper into you. You feel as a familiar warmth courses through your body, your orgasm right on the horizon as Miguel continues to fuck you.
“Miguel, I’m-.” You cut off with a moan.
“I know, baby, I know.” Miguel says softly, his lips covering yours in a passionate kiss as you finally reach your orgasm, body twitching slightly as it comes in waves. Miguel continues to rock his hips against yours, a growl low in his throat as his free hand comes up to rest on the pillow, claws tearing gashes into it. His hips start to stutter as he chases his own high, finally reaching his peak when he lets out a low groan against your lips, the pillow now almost shredded to ribbons.
Miguel pulled you close to him, breathing now slowing as he looked down at you. He touched your cheek, his thumb rubbing gently against the skin.
“Thank you for the help, (Y/N).” Miguel says softly, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “And as for your ideas… I’ll hear them out again. As long as I can protect you if there’s trouble,”
“I can handle myself, but how can I say no to that?” You tease, a smile forming on your face as Miguel rolls his eyes playfully.
“Cállate.” He says back, hitting you softly with a non-ruined pillow.
#oscar isaac x reader#oscar isaac x you#miguel o'hara#miguel o' hara x reader#miguel o' hara x you#spider-man#spiderman#across the spiderverse#spider-man x reader#spider-man 2099#spiderman 2099#oscar isaac#spider-man 2099 x reader
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3am. ☆
🔞🔞**CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP 21+**🔞🔞
★ pairing: Takashi Mitsuya & f!reader
★ word count: 3.4K
★ cw/tw: comfort, anxiety, sleepy kisses, sleepy cuddles, suggestive (at one point), sweet whispers, reassurance
"Worry is my worst enemy… an enemy I unleash upon myself." -Terri Guillemets
This fic is also located on my AO3. Feel free to like and kudos ♡
All comments and likes are greatly appreciated, but please be respectful!! ♡
A steady rhythm thumping through your headphones drowned out the world around you – pulling you into a bubble of solitude. A soft breeze blew through the room, coming in from the window you had cracked open earlier. Occasionally, your head would roll back when you stretched your arms over your head, and a sigh of relief would escape you, feeling the small pops between your shoulder blades from the action. The silence of the night would have unnerved you had you given it even a second of attention, but you barely registered the hum of your laptop fan running in the brief silence between songs. Shaking your head, you blinked a few times to clear your vision before letting your eyes scan over the page before you.
Your eclectic taste in music showed now more than ever in how your playlist would jump from the sound of waves crashing against the beachfront shore to some poppy tune you heard somewhere online. There was no method to your madness, but it got the work done as you continued to check off task by task on the list. Each checkmark urged you onward in your goal despite the edges of your vision darkening slightly as your exhaustion finally began to wash over you.
Should you have gone to bed hours ago when your boyfriend asked you to? Probably. Would you regret staying up late to get some work done? Absolutely. When he had asked you, though, sleep hadn’t yet sunk its fangs into you then, and you had made the mistake of glancing over to the notebook on your desk with two ever-growing lists of things you needed to get done. So, of course, your only thought was that it wouldn’t complete itself, and you had promised him you would join him in bed after a few minutes.
You almost didn’t want to take off the full-screen mode you were in to check how long ago that was…
A deep bass vibrated through your eardrums, startling you out of your thoughts, and you unconsciously started to bounce along to the pace it set as you sat up straight again. In a way, you lived for nights like these when you could lose yourself to the music and let the words flow through your fingers to the keyboard with a movement so effortless it almost seemed natural. Occasionally, you would lean back in your chair and tap your nails against the desk’s wooden surface, trying to recover the train of thought that would briefly derail before jumping back into your work.
The white light from your monitor was the only thing illuminating you or any other part of your desk, allowing your eyes to dart back and forth between the screen and a scratch sheet filled with the messy scribbles that were your notes when sleep made your mind wander and lose its momentum. That thread of inspiration would come back to you, though, and the clicking of keys would begin anew. It was filling the silence of the room around you with the muttered utterance of its words that only those who received the results would read.
At one point, the song changed to an old track from your childhood and brought you to a pause again. The pads of your fingers rested against the smooth keyboard for a second before sliding over two, three, four keys in a row and ultimately sliding off the keyboard altogether. The spark had disappeared, filled instead with gnawing dread that clawed at the center of your chest. An ache centered around memories brought about by the song that played. A part of you wanted to change it, but instead, you let your eyes slip close as the memories washed over you.
A shallow sigh of a laugh forced its way out of you as the song played. Remembering your childhood dreams of how you thought your life would end – a comfortable home with just enough space for the things you loved, a comfortable job, a loving partner…
You could feel your muscles relaxing slowly the further entranced you became with the song. It should have given you a sense of accomplishment knowing that you achieved two of your primary goals in life. Instead, there was an ache in the back of your throat with the sour taste of bile forcing you back upright. Your eyebrows furrowed together as your nose scrunched up in frustration.
Another list left unfinished.
Suddenly, you felt your left headphone plucked out of your ear, and your heart raced into overdrive almost painfully in your chest. You hadn’t even realized that someone had entered your office – didn’t feel the vibration of footsteps against the hardwood floor beneath you.
“It’s 3 AM…”
Honestly, you weren’t sure what surprised you more, the headphone taken out of your ear or the low timbre of a male’s voice rumbling next to it in place of the music. Either way, your body went tense and jerked away from them in immediate response; the movement was so sudden you almost fell out of the chair had it not been for the other person’s quick reflexes. Calloused fingers tightly wrapped around your upper arm when the person reacted, only loosening when they were sure you were safely seated again.
Turning your head to look up at the intruder, you let out a deep sigh of relief and felt your body begin to relax almost instantly. Your lips parted to greet him, but no words came out. So, you smiled up at your boyfriend, a tired half-smile that almost matched his amused one with which he looked down at you with. There were soft shadows under his half-lidded eyes from his own long nights at work that the blue light of your computer put on full display for your tired eyes to see.
“You scared me, Taka,” you finally said while he held your earbud away. The shrill guitar solo of the song that had just started was distant now.
Heat crept up your neck to paint your cheeks with a soft blush of embarrassment. A burglar would never take your headphones out and alert you of their presence like this – and the fact that you thought otherwise made you feel silly.
“It’s 3 o'clock in the morning, love.”
His voice was so soft, still heavy with sleep, as if something had woken him and compelled him to find you. He spoke clearly despite the slow drawl to his words. Still, your brain took longer than it should have to process what he said – focused instead on how his black and purple hair was mussed in the back from obvious tossing and turning. It was almost too easy to lose yourself in his lavender eyes, letting your body relax further as you unconsciously leaned toward him for extra warmth – the chill in the room suddenly more noticeable than before now that your attention wasn’t focused on a singular task. Mitsuya chuckled, watching the exact moment his words finally clicked in your mind. Your eyes widened in shock as you turned to your computer and scrambled to minimize the window you had pulled up to finally look at your clock.
“Huh…”
Takashi raised an eyebrow at you, but you merely slumped back in your chair. Eyebrows furrowed together in thought, and your bottom lip poked out in a slight pout. He knew that the endless deadlines had started to weigh on your mind, haunting you the closer they got, but he didn’t expect you to lose track of time this way.
“Didn’t realize the time.” You mumbled more to yourself than to him.
Eyes focused on the flashing cursor on the document you had minimized down to a windowed screen. It sat precisely where you left it, in a box halfway down the paper you were finalizing for work. Another cold chill ran down your spine, forcing your shoulders to jerk up in an almost shrugging motion that you knew had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with your once calm nerves, which were beginning to fray at the ends again. Slivers of panic creeping into your mind once more and bringing your focus back to where it was before he had come in.
“Gimme another hour, ‘kay?”
Keeping your eyes on the computer in front of you, you straighten your posture and reach out with your free hand for the earbud he had taken from you. He held it just far enough away that it threatened to pull the other earbud from you too as you leaned over until you felt like you would fall out of your chair again. You glared up at him, but he only smiled down at you knowingly. The corners of your eyes prickled with the threat of tears from the sudden yawn you had to stifle back.
“Give it back.” You demanded; hand still outstretched toward him.
The combination of fatigue suddenly starting to wrap its hands around your throat and the stubbornness of your partner’s actions at this moment had irritation seeping into your veins as he continued to silently refuse. You could feel the weight on your chest pushing further down on you as if it was trying to crush you into the ground. The panic and mental exhaustion you had been trying to push away for weeks came back full force to slap you across the face. Something had Mitsuya crouching down so he was at eye level with you.
“Love.”
The low rumble of his sleep-laden voice and the hooded look he gave you put you at unease. What was he seeing when his soft lavender eyes looked at you? Did he see the exhaustion finally taking hold of you after weeks of pushing it back? Did he notice your silent plea for help that your pride forced you to swallow with your dismissive smiles and soft words of assurance that you were fine?
He turned his head toward your notebook and the extensive to-do list you had written there and let out a low whistle. “Did this get bigger since yesterday?”
His question pulled your thoughts from their spinning track of anxiety. You didn’t need to look at it to know what he saw. Countless little activities that demanded your attention with deadlines written down for many of them in bright red – deadlines that seemed to be racing at you faster than you could manage.
“Shit, I thought you were making progress on this.”
That was it. That was the line that broke through the cracks in your wall. You hated the single choked sob that escaped you so suddenly. Hated the tears you could no longer hold back. Your cheeks now wet with the salty liquid steadily streaming from your eyes.
That stupid little paper with every stupid little task you needed to get done written in black ink. Perfectly written in your best handwriting that pleased your hamster brain with its small, simple strokes. It was your main method of staying organized, giving you a strong sense of accomplishment every time you could cross an item off with your red pen. Normally when you make a new list for the month you could get through it within the week. You were no stranger to adding to it, of course, but this month had hit you with so many deadlines and activities that you felt like you were barely holding on by a thread these days. There was something about the way Takashi’s eyebrows furrowed together as he looked over the remaining items on your neatly made paper that compelled you to rip the single headphone from your ear and toss it to the table in front of you in frustration.
“Don’t worry about it, Taka.” You muttered in defeat, looking down to hide your shame from his prying eyes.
It was borderline painful to hear the haunting words of your parents come back to the forefront of your mind.
‘Lazy!’
‘You’ll never accomplish anything like this.’
‘Why can’t you just do what needs to be done?’
‘If you didn’t waste so much time, you’d be done already.’
‘This is why you keep failing.’
Failing. That was the word that stood out to you more than anything else. You couldn’t finish your list on time, not for lack of trying, and the crushing feeling of disappointment and failure was burning through your lungs. Scraping at your throat and preventing you from speaking the words that you wanted to say. Stopping you from asking for the help you desperately needed.
You took out the other headphone from your ear and tossed it on the desk before standing up from your chair, you didn’t look at where he was still crouched next to you. Eyes pinned on the door instead. “Let’s just go to bed and I’ll finish it tomorrow.”
The quiet rustling of his sweatpants when he stood up was the only indication you got of his movement. “Do you need help?” There was a lump in your throat, choking you, keeping you from replying. So, you shook your head, your pride too strong to give the answer you wanted anyways. “Do you want my help?”
“I want to go to bed…” You winced at the crack in your voice when you spoke.
You just needed to move. Left foot, right foot. Left foot-
Takashi’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, stopping you. Still, you didn’t turn to look at him. You didn’t need to look to know that he was looking at you with concern. His soft lips parted slightly, ready to speak even when he didn’t know yet what to say. Sleep was probably the last thing on his mind right now, pushed away by the concern he felt for you and your mental health. His thoughts racing around and around, trying to figure out how to best help you.
Help.
“You know you don’t have to do this alone, beautiful.” You were pulled back towards him, turning on your heel so you didn’t fall, but you still stumbled into him. Chest to chest with him with the tips of your ears burning from embarrassment. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”
“I don’t need help.” The response came out of you like a knee-jerk reaction. Your words were a bit crueler than you intended them to be.
He only raised an amused eyebrow at you, bringing a hand up to smooth your hair down. “I saw the list. You need a little help.”
His chuckle made your jaw clench. Venom swimming in your veins ready to come out. Did he think it was funny to look down at you? He probably thought you couldn’t do it either. Why-
“My stubborn, stubborn girl…” You barely heard him with his voice so gentle, but his lips on your forehead quelled the darker thoughts for the moment. “Let me help you.”
Stubbornly you shook your head again. Takashi only brought his hand up to cup your cheek, thumb stroking the apple of your cheek with such care. As if he were handling a porcelain doll with hairline cracks hidden just under the surface.
“I got some free time, let me help you.”
“I can do it.” You whispered.
“I know you can, but it doesn’t mean you should.”
Before you could say another word, he leaned down to slot his mouth against yours. Your responding hum was immediate from the action. Eyes fluttering shut while his lips molded with yours, moving in sync and parting with the slightest push of his tongue against them. It was futile to attempt any form of dominance with this man, but you were stubborn to a fault, and you’d be damned if you didn’t give him some form of pushback. It was one of the many things he loved about you, after all. Your tongue battled his for dominance, only needing the pressure of his hand that had held your wrist to make its way behind you push against the small of your back with just enough pressure to have you arching into him.
Seconds turned to minutes that turned to hours, it seemed. Just you and him in the middle of your office space that was once drowned out by the dark clouds of your anxiety and fear. Now filled with the familiar warmth and peace that seemed to always follow him. Filling your mind with a distracting haze, the smell of his deodorant and shampoo overwhelmed your senses. He pulled back from you, eyes locked on the string of saliva that still connected you two until you swiped your tongue along your bottom lip to disconnect it.
“I can help you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know I don’t have to.” He chuckled; a bit more audible now that he was a bit more awake. “Wouldn’t it be easier with two more hands though?”
“Do I have a choice?” You cocked your head to the side with mock curiosity. You knew Takashi, which means that you knew the answer to this already.
It was his turn to shake his head now. “No.” He let out a deep sigh. “We’ll tackle this in the morning though.”
“It’s already morning, Taka.” You quipped.
That made him roll his eyes. “Later in the morning. After you’ve gotten some actual sleep.”
“But-”
Another kiss pressed to your lips, this time to silence you.
“Don’t be a brat.” He murmured against your lips.
A smile tugged on the corner of your lips, but you didn’t argue this time. This time when he pulled away, he didn’t go far. Forehead pressed to yours with his eyes still closed. The comfort of his arms wrapped around you, holding you close. It was something you simultaneously knew you could never live without yet didn’t realize it was exactly what you needed right now. Lethargy crashed into you immediately when he loosened his hold on you. The clock was usually striking 5 AM when you would make your way to bed to then wake up an hour later. This time there was no fight left in you as he led you to the bedroom, helping you out of your jeans while pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck. Tongue darting out to lick over the spots he would nip at to soothe the sharp sting from his teeth. Your breathing became shallow the lower he got, kicking off your pants where they pooled at your ankles. This desire that made your stomach curl only grew the lower he traveled. The calloused pads of his fingers graze up the sides of your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
“Let’s get to bed.��� He smirked against the apex of your neck, leaving one more chaste kiss before pulling away. “’M tired.”
“You’re an asshole, is what you are.”
You tried to stifle a yawn, but he still caught it, opting to not say anything, but still shooting you a knowing smirk before climbing into bed. For a moment it felt like all you could do was stare in shock at him, lying comfortably in bed with an arm behind his head. He was waiting for you, and that knowledge was enough to have you crawling into the comfort of your shared bed with him. He only hummed in acknowledgment, pulling the covers over you both before comfortably pulling you into his arms, head resting on top of yours.
All was quiet for the moment. No crickets, no computer fans, no racing thoughts. Just peace and silence. The peace you had craved so desperately lately.
After a few minutes of silence, Mitsuya shifted his head down to kiss your cheek. Nudging your chin with his index finger to make you look up and catch his lips with yours in slow, lazy kisses. Soft sighs and sleepy giggles between kisses; whispered “I love you”s that were never spoken aloud but portrayed through subtle actions. An arm around your waist to keep you against him. The two of you sharing the same small smile with each other before settling yourselves back to let sleep take you under.
“What’s on your mind, pretty?”
Your eyes were already heavy from the surrounding peace stripping you of the adrenaline that kept you moving. Your muddled mind was already struggling to process his words.
“Nothin’.” For once, you weren’t lying. All you wanted to do was fall asleep in your partner’s arms. When was the last time you had laid with him like this?
“You sure?” Something about his gravelly voice whispering low above you filled you with a comfortable warmth. “If you wanna talk-”
“I think I want to sleep now.” You breathed in his scent, letting it lull you further into the promise of a dreamless slumber. “’S 3 o'clock in the morning.”
A steady rhythm thumping through your headphones drowned out the world around you – pulling you into a bubble of solitude. A soft breeze blew through the room, coming in from the window you had cracked open earlier. Occasionally, your head would roll back when you stretched your arms over your head, and a sigh of relief would escape you, feeling the small pops between your shoulder blades from the action. The silence of the night would have unnerved you had you given it even a second of attention, but you barely registered the hum of your laptop fan running in the brief silence between songs. Shaking your head, you blinked a few times to clear your vision before letting your eyes scan over the page before you.
Your eclectic taste in music showed now more than ever in how your playlist would jump from the sound of waves crashing against the beachfront shore to some poppy tune you heard somewhere online. There was no method to your madness, but it got the work done as you continued to check off task by task on the list. Each checkmark urged you onward in your goal despite the edges of your vision darkening slightly as your exhaustion finally began to wash over you.
Should you have gone to bed hours ago when your boyfriend asked you to? Probably. Would you regret staying up late to get some work done? Absolutely. When he had asked you, though, sleep hadn’t yet sunk its fangs into you then, and you had made the mistake of glancing over to the notebook on your desk with two ever-growing lists of things you needed to get done. So, of course, your only thought was that it wouldn’t complete itself, and you had promised him you would join him in bed after a few minutes.
You almost didn’t want to take off the full-screen mode you were in to check how long ago that was…
A deep bass vibrated through your eardrums, startling you out of your thoughts, and you unconsciously started to bounce along to the pace it set as you sat up straight again. In a way, you lived for nights like these when you could lose yourself to the music and let the words flow through your fingers to the keyboard with a movement so effortless it almost seemed natural. Occasionally, you would lean back in your chair and tap your nails against the desk’s wooden surface, trying to recover the train of thought that would briefly derail before jumping back into your work.
The white light from your monitor was the only thing illuminating you or any other part of your desk, allowing your eyes to dart back and forth between the screen and a scratch sheet filled with the messy scribbles that were your notes when sleep made your mind wander and lose its momentum. That thread of inspiration would come back to you, though, and the clicking of keys would begin anew. It was filling the silence of the room around you with the muttered utterance of its words that only those who received the results would read.
At one point, the song changed to an old track from your childhood and brought you to a pause again. The pads of your fingers rested against the smooth keyboard for a second before sliding over two, three, four keys in a row and ultimately sliding off the keyboard altogether. The spark had disappeared, filled instead with gnawing dread that clawed at the center of your chest. An ache centered around memories brought about by the song that played. A part of you wanted to change it, but instead, you let your eyes slip close as the memories washed over you.
A shallow sigh of a laugh forced its way out of you as the song played. Remembering your childhood dreams of how you thought your life would end – a comfortable home with just enough space for the things you loved, a comfortable job, a loving partner…
You could feel your muscles relaxing slowly the further entranced you became with the song. It should have given you a sense of accomplishment knowing that you achieved two of your primary goals in life. Instead, there was an ache in the back of your throat with the sour taste of bile forcing you back upright. Your eyebrows furrowed together as your nose scrunched up in frustration.
Another list left unfinished.
Suddenly, you felt your left headphone plucked out of your ear, and your heart raced into overdrive almost painfully in your chest. You hadn’t even realized that someone had entered your office – didn’t feel the vibration of footsteps against the hardwood floor beneath you.
“It’s 3 AM…”
Honestly, you weren’t sure what surprised you more, the headphone taken out of your ear or the low timbre of a male’s voice rumbling next to it in place of the music. Either way, your body went tense and jerked away from them in immediate response; the movement was so sudden you almost fell out of the chair had it not been for the other person’s quick reflexes. Calloused fingers tightly wrapped around your upper arm when the person reacted, only loosening when they were sure you were safely seated again.
Turning your head to look up at the intruder, you let out a deep sigh of relief and felt your body begin to relax almost instantly. Your lips parted to greet him, but no words came out. So, you smiled up at your boyfriend, a tired half-smile that almost matched his amused one with which he looked down at you with. There were soft shadows under his half-lidded eyes from his own long nights at work that the blue light of your computer put on full display for your tired eyes to see.
“You scared me, Taka,” you finally said while he held your earbud away. The shrill guitar solo of the song that had just started was distant now.
Heat crept up your neck to paint your cheeks with a soft blush of embarrassment. A burglar would never take your headphones out and alert you of their presence like this – and the fact that you thought otherwise made you feel silly.
“It’s 3 o'clock in the morning, love.”
His voice was so soft, still heavy with sleep, as if something had woken him and compelled him to find you. He spoke clearly despite the slow drawl to his words. Still, your brain took longer than it should have to process what he said – focused instead on how his black and purple hair was mussed in the back from obvious tossing and turning. It was almost too easy to lose yourself in his lavender eyes, letting your body relax further as you unconsciously leaned toward him for extra warmth – the chill in the room suddenly more noticeable than before now that your attention wasn’t focused on a singular task. Mitsuya chuckled, watching the exact moment his words finally clicked in your mind. Your eyes widened in shock as you turned to your computer and scrambled to minimize the window you had pulled up to finally look at your clock.
“Huh…”
Takashi raised an eyebrow at you, but you merely slumped back in your chair. Eyebrows furrowed together in thought, and your bottom lip poked out in a slight pout. He knew that the endless deadlines had started to weigh on your mind, haunting you the closer they got, but he didn’t expect you to lose track of time this way.
“Didn’t realize the time.” You mumbled more to yourself than to him.
Eyes focused on the flashing cursor on the document you had minimized down to a windowed screen. It sat precisely where you left it, in a box halfway down the paper you were finalizing for work. Another cold chill ran down your spine, forcing your shoulders to jerk up in an almost shrugging motion that you knew had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with your once calm nerves, which were beginning to fray at the ends again. Slivers of panic creeping into your mind once more and bringing your focus back to where it was before he had come in.
“Gimme another hour, ‘kay?”
Keeping your eyes on the computer in front of you, you straighten your posture and reach out with your free hand for the earbud he had taken from you. He held it just far enough away that it threatened to pull the other earbud from you too as you leaned over until you felt like you would fall out of your chair again. You glared up at him, but he only smiled down at you knowingly. The corners of your eyes prickled with the threat of tears from the sudden yawn you had to stifle back.
“Give it back.” You demanded; hand still outstretched toward him.
The combination of fatigue suddenly starting to wrap its hands around your throat and the stubbornness of your partner’s actions at this moment had irritation seeping into your veins as he continued to silently refuse. You could feel the weight on your chest pushing further down on you as if it was trying to crush you into the ground. The panic and mental exhaustion you had been trying to push away for weeks came back full force to slap you across the face. Something had Mitsuya crouching down so he was at eye level with you.
“Love.”
The low rumble of his sleep-laden voice and the hooded look he gave you put you at unease. What was he seeing when his soft lavender eyes looked at you? Did he see the exhaustion finally taking hold of you after weeks of pushing it back? Did he notice your silent plea for help that your pride forced you to swallow with your dismissive smiles and soft words of assurance that you were fine?
He turned his head toward your notebook and the extensive to-do list you had written there and let out a low whistle. “Did this get bigger since yesterday?”
His question pulled your thoughts from their spinning track of anxiety. You didn’t need to look at it to know what he saw. Countless little activities that demanded your attention with deadlines written down for many of them in bright red – deadlines that seemed to be racing at you faster than you could manage.
“Shit, I thought you were making progress on this.”
That was it. That was the line that broke through the cracks in your wall. You hated the single choked sob that escaped you so suddenly. Hated the tears you could no longer hold back. Your cheeks now wet with the salty liquid steadily streaming from your eyes.
That stupid little paper with every stupid little task you needed to get done written in black ink. Perfectly written in your best handwriting that pleased your hamster brain with its small, simple strokes. It was your main method of staying organized, giving you a strong sense of accomplishment every time you could cross an item off with your red pen. Normally when you make a new list for the month you could get through it within the week. You were no stranger to adding to it, of course, but this month had hit you with so many deadlines and activities that you felt like you were barely holding on by a thread these days. There was something about the way Takashi’s eyebrows furrowed together as he looked over the remaining items on your neatly made paper that compelled you to rip the single headphone from your ear and toss it to the table in front of you in frustration.
“Don’t worry about it, Taka.” You muttered in defeat, looking down to hide your shame from his prying eyes.
It was borderline painful to hear the haunting words of your parents come back to the forefront of your mind.
‘Lazy!’
‘You’ll never accomplish anything like this.’
‘Why can’t you just do what needs to be done?’
‘If you didn’t waste so much time, you’d be done already.’
‘This is why you keep failing.’
Failing. That was the word that stood out to you more than anything else. You couldn’t finish your list on time, not for lack of trying, and the crushing feeling of disappointment and failure was burning through your lungs. Scraping at your throat and preventing you from speaking the words that you wanted to say. Stopping you from asking for the help you desperately needed.
You took out the other headphone from your ear and tossed it on the desk before standing up from your chair, you didn’t look at where he was still crouched next to you. Eyes pinned on the door instead. “Let’s just go to bed and I’ll finish it tomorrow.”
The quiet rustling of his sweatpants when he stood up was the only indication you got of his movement. “Do you need help?” There was a lump in your throat, choking you, keeping you from replying. So, you shook your head, your pride too strong to give the answer you wanted anyways. “Do you want my help?”
“I want to go to bed…” You winced at the crack in your voice when you spoke.
You just needed to move. Left foot, right foot. Left foot-
Takashi’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, stopping you. Still, you didn’t turn to look at him. You didn’t need to look to know that he was looking at you with concern. His soft lips parted slightly, ready to speak even when he didn’t know yet what to say. Sleep was probably the last thing on his mind right now, pushed away by the concern he felt for you and your mental health. His thoughts racing around and around, trying to figure out how to best help you.
Help.
“You know you don’t have to do this alone, beautiful.” You were pulled back towards him, turning on your heel so you didn’t fall, but you still stumbled into him. Chest to chest with him with the tips of your ears burning from embarrassment. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”
“I don’t need help.” The response came out of you like a knee-jerk reaction. Your words were a bit crueler than you intended them to be.
He only raised an amused eyebrow at you, bringing a hand up to smooth your hair down. “I saw the list. You need a little help.”
His chuckle made your jaw clench. Venom swimming in your veins ready to come out. Did he think it was funny to look down at you? He probably thought you couldn’t do it either. Why-
“My stubborn, stubborn girl…” You barely heard him with his voice so gentle, but his lips on your forehead quelled the darker thoughts for the moment. “Let me help you.”
Stubbornly you shook your head again. Takashi only brought his hand up to cup your cheek, thumb stroking the apple of your cheek with such care. As if he were handling a porcelain doll with hairline cracks hidden just under the surface.
“I got some free time, let me help you.”
“I can do it.” You whispered.
“I know you can, but it doesn’t mean you should.”
Before you could say another word, he leaned down to slot his mouth against yours. Your responding hum was immediate from the action. Eyes fluttering shut while his lips molded with yours, moving in sync and parting with the slightest push of his tongue against them. It was futile to attempt any form of dominance with this man, but you were stubborn to a fault, and you’d be damned if you didn’t give him some form of pushback. It was one of the many things he loved about you, after all. Your tongue battled his for dominance, only needing the pressure of his hand that had held your wrist to make its way behind you push against the small of your back with just enough pressure to have you arching into him.
Seconds turned to minutes that turned to hours, it seemed. Just you and him in the middle of your office space that was once drowned out by the dark clouds of your anxiety and fear. Now filled with the familiar warmth and peace that seemed to always follow him. Filling your mind with a distracting haze, the smell of his deodorant and shampoo overwhelmed your senses. He pulled back from you, eyes locked on the string of saliva that still connected you two until you swiped your tongue along your bottom lip to disconnect it.
“I can help you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know I don’t have to.” He chuckled; a bit more audible now that he was a bit more awake. “Wouldn’t it be easier with two more hands though?”
“Do I have a choice?” You cocked your head to the side with mock curiosity. You knew Takashi, which means that you knew the answer to this already.
It was his turn to shake his head now. “No.” He let out a deep sigh. “We’ll tackle this in the morning though.”
“It’s already morning, Taka.” You quipped.
That made him roll his eyes. “Later in the morning. After you’ve gotten some actual sleep.”
“But-”
Another kiss pressed to your lips, this time to silence you.
“Don’t be a brat.” He murmured against your lips.
A smile tugged on the corner of your lips, but you didn’t argue this time. This time when he pulled away, he didn’t go far. Forehead pressed to yours with his eyes still closed. The comfort of his arms wrapped around you, holding you close. It was something you simultaneously knew you could never live without yet didn’t realize it was exactly what you needed right now. Lethargy crashed into you immediately when he loosened his hold on you. The clock was usually striking 5 AM when you would make your way to bed to then wake up an hour later. This time there was no fight left in you as he led you to the bedroom, helping you out of your jeans while pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck. Tongue darting out to lick over the spots he would nip at to soothe the sharp sting from his teeth. Your breathing became shallow the lower he got, kicking off your pants where they pooled at your ankles. This desire that made your stomach curl only grew the lower he traveled. The calloused pads of his fingers graze up the sides of your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
“Let’s get to bed.” He smirked against the apex of your neck, leaving one more chaste kiss before pulling away. “’M tired.”
“You’re an asshole, is what you are.”
You tried to stifle a yawn, but he still caught it, opting to not say anything, but still shooting you a knowing smirk before climbing into bed. For a moment it felt like all you could do was stare in shock at him, lying comfortably in bed with an arm behind his head. He was waiting for you, and that knowledge was enough to have you crawling into the comfort of your shared bed with him. He only hummed in acknowledgment, pulling the covers over you both before comfortably pulling you into his arms, head resting on top of yours.
All was quiet for the moment. No crickets, no computer fans, no racing thoughts. Just peace and silence. The peace you had craved so desperately lately.
After a few minutes of silence, Mitsuya shifted his head down to kiss your cheek. Nudging your chin with his index finger to make you look up and catch his lips with yours in slow, lazy kisses. Soft sighs and sleepy giggles between kisses; whispered “I love you”s that were never spoken aloud but portrayed through subtle actions. An arm around your waist to keep you against him. The two of you sharing the same small smile with each other before settling yourselves back to let sleep take you under.
“What’s on your mind, pretty?”
Your eyes were already heavy from the surrounding peace stripping you of the adrenaline that kept you moving. Your muddled mind was already struggling to process his words.
“Nothin’.” For once, you weren’t lying. All you wanted to do was fall asleep in your partner’s arms. When was the last time you had laid with him like this?
“You sure?” Something about his gravelly voice whispering low above you filled you with a comfortable warmth. “If you wanna talk-”
“I think I want to sleep now.” You breathed in his scent, letting it lull you further into the promise of a dreamless slumber. “’S 3 o'clock in the morning.”
A steady rhythm thumping through your headphones drowned out the world around you – pulling you into a bubble of solitude. A soft breeze blew through the room, coming in from the window you had cracked open earlier. Occasionally, your head would roll back when you stretched your arms over your head, and a sigh of relief would escape you, feeling the small pops between your shoulder blades from the action. The silence of the night would have unnerved you had you given it even a second of attention, but you barely registered the hum of your laptop fan running in the brief silence between songs. Shaking your head, you blinked a few times to clear your vision before letting your eyes scan over the page before you.
Your eclectic taste in music showed now more than ever in how your playlist would jump from the sound of waves crashing against the beachfront shore to some poppy tune you heard somewhere online. There was no method to your madness, but it got the work done as you continued to check off task by task on the list. Each checkmark urged you onward in your goal despite the edges of your vision darkening slightly as your exhaustion finally began to wash over you.
Should you have gone to bed hours ago when your boyfriend asked you to? Probably. Would you regret staying up late to get some work done? Absolutely. When he had asked you, though, sleep hadn’t yet sunk its fangs into you then, and you had made the mistake of glancing over to the notebook on your desk with two ever-growing lists of things you needed to get done. So, of course, your only thought was that it wouldn’t complete itself, and you had promised him you would join him in bed after a few minutes.
You almost didn’t want to take off the full-screen mode you were in to check how long ago that was…
A deep bass vibrated through your eardrums, startling you out of your thoughts, and you unconsciously started to bounce along to the pace it set as you sat up straight again. In a way, you lived for nights like these when you could lose yourself to the music and let the words flow through your fingers to the keyboard with a movement so effortless it almost seemed natural. Occasionally, you would lean back in your chair and tap your nails against the desk’s wooden surface, trying to recover the train of thought that would briefly derail before jumping back into your work.
The white light from your monitor was the only thing illuminating you or any other part of your desk, allowing your eyes to dart back and forth between the screen and a scratch sheet filled with the messy scribbles that were your notes when sleep made your mind wander and lose its momentum. That thread of inspiration would come back to you, though, and the clicking of keys would begin anew. It was filling the silence of the room around you with the muttered utterance of its words that only those who received the results would read.
At one point, the song changed to an old track from your childhood and brought you to a pause again. The pads of your fingers rested against the smooth keyboard for a second before sliding over two, three, four keys in a row and ultimately sliding off the keyboard altogether. The spark had disappeared, filled instead with gnawing dread that clawed at the center of your chest. An ache centered around memories brought about by the song that played. A part of you wanted to change it, but instead, you let your eyes slip close as the memories washed over you.
A shallow sigh of a laugh forced its way out of you as the song played. Remembering your childhood dreams of how you thought your life would end – a comfortable home with just enough space for the things you loved, a comfortable job, a loving partner…
You could feel your muscles relaxing slowly the further entranced you became with the song. It should have given you a sense of accomplishment knowing that you achieved two of your primary goals in life. Instead, there was an ache in the back of your throat with the sour taste of bile forcing you back upright. Your eyebrows furrowed together as your nose scrunched up in frustration.
Another list left unfinished.
Suddenly, you felt your left headphone plucked out of your ear, and your heart raced into overdrive almost painfully in your chest. You hadn’t even realized that someone had entered your office – didn’t feel the vibration of footsteps against the hardwood floor beneath you.
“It’s 3 AM…”
Honestly, you weren’t sure what surprised you more, the headphone taken out of your ear or the low timbre of a male’s voice rumbling next to it in place of the music. Either way, your body went tense and jerked away from them in immediate response; the movement was so sudden you almost fell out of the chair had it not been for the other person’s quick reflexes. Calloused fingers tightly wrapped around your upper arm when the person reacted, only loosening when they were sure you were safely seated again.
Turning your head to look up at the intruder, you let out a deep sigh of relief and felt your body begin to relax almost instantly. Your lips parted to greet him, but no words came out. So, you smiled up at your boyfriend, a tired half-smile that almost matched his amused one with which he looked down at you with. There were soft shadows under his half-lidded eyes from his own long nights at work that the blue light of your computer put on full display for your tired eyes to see.
“You scared me, Taka,” you finally said while he held your earbud away. The shrill guitar solo of the song that had just started was distant now.
Heat crept up your neck to paint your cheeks with a soft blush of embarrassment. A burglar would never take your headphones out and alert you of their presence like this – and the fact that you thought otherwise made you feel silly.
“It’s 3 o'clock in the morning, love.”
His voice was so soft, still heavy with sleep, as if something had woken him and compelled him to find you. He spoke clearly despite the slow drawl to his words. Still, your brain took longer than it should have to process what he said – focused instead on how his black and purple hair was mussed in the back from obvious tossing and turning. It was almost too easy to lose yourself in his lavender eyes, letting your body relax further as you unconsciously leaned toward him for extra warmth – the chill in the room suddenly more noticeable than before now that your attention wasn’t focused on a singular task. Mitsuya chuckled, watching the exact moment his words finally clicked in your mind. Your eyes widened in shock as you turned to your computer and scrambled to minimize the window you had pulled up to finally look at your clock.
“Huh…”
Takashi raised an eyebrow at you, but you merely slumped back in your chair. Eyebrows furrowed together in thought, and your bottom lip poked out in a slight pout. He knew that the endless deadlines had started to weigh on your mind, haunting you the closer they got, but he didn’t expect you to lose track of time this way.
“Didn’t realize the time.” You mumbled more to yourself than to him.
Eyes focused on the flashing cursor on the document you had minimized down to a windowed screen. It sat precisely where you left it, in a box halfway down the paper you were finalizing for work. Another cold chill ran down your spine, forcing your shoulders to jerk up in an almost shrugging motion that you knew had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with your once calm nerves, which were beginning to fray at the ends again. Slivers of panic creeping into your mind once more and bringing your focus back to where it was before he had come in.
“Gimme another hour, ‘kay?”
Keeping your eyes on the computer in front of you, you straighten your posture and reach out with your free hand for the earbud he had taken from you. He held it just far enough away that it threatened to pull the other earbud from you too as you leaned over until you felt like you would fall out of your chair again. You glared up at him, but he only smiled down at you knowingly. The corners of your eyes prickled with the threat of tears from the sudden yawn you had to stifle back.
“Give it back.” You demanded; hand still outstretched toward him.
The combination of fatigue suddenly starting to wrap its hands around your throat and the stubbornness of your partner’s actions at this moment had irritation seeping into your veins as he continued to silently refuse. You could feel the weight on your chest pushing further down on you as if it was trying to crush you into the ground. The panic and mental exhaustion you had been trying to push away for weeks came back full force to slap you across the face. Something had Mitsuya crouching down so he was at eye level with you.
“Love.”
The low rumble of his sleep-laden voice and the hooded look he gave you put you at unease. What was he seeing when his soft lavender eyes looked at you? Did he see the exhaustion finally taking hold of you after weeks of pushing it back? Did he notice your silent plea for help that your pride forced you to swallow with your dismissive smiles and soft words of assurance that you were fine?
He turned his head toward your notebook and the extensive to-do list you had written there and let out a low whistle. “Did this get bigger since yesterday?”
His question pulled your thoughts from their spinning track of anxiety. You didn’t need to look at it to know what he saw. Countless little activities that demanded your attention with deadlines written down for many of them in bright red – deadlines that seemed to be racing at you faster than you could manage.
“Shit, I thought you were making progress on this.”
That was it. That was the line that broke through the cracks in your wall. You hated the single choked sob that escaped you so suddenly. Hated the tears you could no longer hold back. Your cheeks now wet with the salty liquid steadily streaming from your eyes.
That stupid little paper with every stupid little task you needed to get done written in black ink. Perfectly written in your best handwriting that pleased your hamster brain with its small, simple strokes. It was your main method of staying organized, giving you a strong sense of accomplishment every time you could cross an item off with your red pen. Normally when you make a new list for the month you could get through it within the week. You were no stranger to adding to it, of course, but this month had hit you with so many deadlines and activities that you felt like you were barely holding on by a thread these days. There was something about the way Takashi’s eyebrows furrowed together as he looked over the remaining items on your neatly made paper that compelled you to rip the single headphone from your ear and toss it to the table in front of you in frustration.
“Don’t worry about it, Taka.” You muttered in defeat, looking down to hide your shame from his prying eyes.
It was borderline painful to hear the haunting words of your parents come back to the forefront of your mind.
‘Lazy!’
‘You’ll never accomplish anything like this.’
‘Why can’t you just do what needs to be done?’
‘If you didn’t waste so much time, you’d be done already.’
‘This is why you keep failing.’
Failing. That was the word that stood out to you more than anything else. You couldn’t finish your list on time, not for lack of trying, and the crushing feeling of disappointment and failure was burning through your lungs. Scraping at your throat and preventing you from speaking the words that you wanted to say. Stopping you from asking for the help you desperately needed.
You took out the other headphone from your ear and tossed it on the desk before standing up from your chair, you didn’t look at where he was still crouched next to you. Eyes pinned on the door instead. “Let’s just go to bed and I’ll finish it tomorrow.”
The quiet rustling of his sweatpants when he stood up was the only indication you got of his movement. “Do you need help?” There was a lump in your throat, choking you, keeping you from replying. So, you shook your head, your pride too strong to give the answer you wanted anyways. “Do you want my help?”
“I want to go to bed…” You winced at the crack in your voice when you spoke.
You just needed to move. Left foot, right foot. Left foot-
Takashi’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, stopping you. Still, you didn’t turn to look at him. You didn’t need to look to know that he was looking at you with concern. His soft lips parted slightly, ready to speak even when he didn’t know yet what to say. Sleep was probably the last thing on his mind right now, pushed away by the concern he felt for you and your mental health. His thoughts racing around and around, trying to figure out how to best help you.
Help.
“You know you don’t have to do this alone, beautiful.” You were pulled back towards him, turning on your heel so you didn’t fall, but you still stumbled into him. Chest to chest with him with the tips of your ears burning from embarrassment. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”
“I don’t need help.” The response came out of you like a knee-jerk reaction. Your words were a bit crueler than you intended them to be.
He only raised an amused eyebrow at you, bringing a hand up to smooth your hair down. “I saw the list. You need a little help.”
His chuckle made your jaw clench. Venom swimming in your veins ready to come out. Did he think it was funny to look down at you? He probably thought you couldn’t do it either. Why-
“My stubborn, stubborn girl…” You barely heard him with his voice so gentle, but his lips on your forehead quelled the darker thoughts for the moment. “Let me help you.”
Stubbornly you shook your head again. Takashi only brought his hand up to cup your cheek, thumb stroking the apple of your cheek with such care. As if he were handling a porcelain doll with hairline cracks hidden just under the surface.
“I got some free time, let me help you.”
“I can do it.” You whispered.
“I know you can, but it doesn’t mean you should.”
Before you could say another word, he leaned down to slot his mouth against yours. Your responding hum was immediate from the action. Eyes fluttering shut while his lips molded with yours, moving in sync and parting with the slightest push of his tongue against them. It was futile to attempt any form of dominance with this man, but you were stubborn to a fault, and you’d be damned if you didn’t give him some form of pushback. It was one of the many things he loved about you, after all. Your tongue battled his for dominance, only needing the pressure of his hand that had held your wrist to make its way behind you push against the small of your back with just enough pressure to have you arching into him.
Seconds turned to minutes that turned to hours, it seemed. Just you and him in the middle of your office space that was once drowned out by the dark clouds of your anxiety and fear. Now filled with the familiar warmth and peace that seemed to always follow him. Filling your mind with a distracting haze, the smell of his deodorant and shampoo overwhelmed your senses. He pulled back from you, eyes locked on the string of saliva that still connected you two until you swiped your tongue along your bottom lip to disconnect it.
“I can help you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know I don’t have to.” He chuckled; a bit more audible now that he was a bit more awake. “Wouldn’t it be easier with two more hands though?”
“Do I have a choice?” You cocked your head to the side with mock curiosity. You knew Takashi, which means that you knew the answer to this already.
It was his turn to shake his head now. “No.” He let out a deep sigh. “We’ll tackle this in the morning though.”
“It’s already morning, Taka.” You quipped.
That made him roll his eyes. “Later in the morning. After you’ve gotten some actual sleep.”
“But-”
Another kiss pressed to your lips, this time to silence you.
“Don’t be a brat.” He murmured against your lips.
A smile tugged on the corner of your lips, but you didn’t argue this time. This time when he pulled away, he didn’t go far. Forehead pressed to yours with his eyes still closed. The comfort of his arms wrapped around you, holding you close. It was something you simultaneously knew you could never live without yet didn’t realize it was exactly what you needed right now. Lethargy crashed into you immediately when he loosened his hold on you. The clock was usually striking 5 AM when you would make your way to bed to then wake up an hour later. This time there was no fight left in you as he led you to the bedroom, helping you out of your jeans while pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck. Tongue darting out to lick over the spots he would nip at to soothe the sharp sting from his teeth. Your breathing became shallow the lower he got, kicking off your pants where they pooled at your ankles. This desire that made your stomach curl only grew the lower he traveled. The calloused pads of his fingers graze up the sides of your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
“Let’s get to bed.” He smirked against the apex of your neck, leaving one more chaste kiss before pulling away. “’M tired.”
“You’re an asshole, is what you are.”
You tried to stifle a yawn, but he still caught it, opting to not say anything, but still shooting you a knowing smirk before climbing into bed. For a moment it felt like all you could do was stare in shock at him, lying comfortably in bed with an arm behind his head. He was waiting for you, and that knowledge was enough to have you crawling into the comfort of your shared bed with him. He only hummed in acknowledgment, pulling the covers over you both before comfortably pulling you into his arms, head resting on top of yours.
All was quiet for the moment. No crickets, no computer fans, no racing thoughts. Just peace and silence. The peace you had craved so desperately lately.
After a few minutes of silence, Mitsuya shifted his head down to kiss your cheek. Nudging your chin with his index finger to make you look up and catch his lips with yours in slow, lazy kisses. Soft sighs and sleepy giggles between kisses; whispered “I love you”s that were never spoken aloud but portrayed through subtle actions. An arm around your waist to keep you against him. The two of you sharing the same small smile with each other before settling yourselves back to let sleep take you under.
“What’s on your mind, pretty?”
Your eyes were already heavy from the surrounding peace stripping you of the adrenaline that kept you moving. Your muddled mind was already struggling to process his words.
“Nothin’.” For once, you weren’t lying. All you wanted to do was fall asleep in your partner’s arms. When was the last time you had laid with him like this?
“You sure?” Something about his gravelly voice whispering low above you filled you with a comfortable warmth. “If you wanna talk-”
“I think I want to sleep now.” You breathed in his scent, letting it lull you further into the promise of a dreamless slumber. “’S 3 o'clock in the morning.”
A steady rhythm thumping through your headphones drowned out the world around you – pulling you into a bubble of solitude. A soft breeze blew through the room, coming in from the window you had cracked open earlier. Occasionally, your head would roll back when you stretched your arms over your head, and a sigh of relief would escape you, feeling the small pops between your shoulder blades from the action. The silence of the night would have unnerved you had you given it even a second of attention, but you barely registered the hum of your laptop fan running in the brief silence between songs. Shaking your head, you blinked a few times to clear your vision before letting your eyes scan over the page before you.
Your eclectic taste in music showed now more than ever in how your playlist would jump from the sound of waves crashing against the beachfront shore to some poppy tune you heard somewhere online. There was no method to your madness, but it got the work done as you continued to check off task by task on the list. Each checkmark urged you onward in your goal despite the edges of your vision darkening slightly as your exhaustion finally began to wash over you.
Should you have gone to bed hours ago when your boyfriend asked you to? Probably. Would you regret staying up late to get some work done? Absolutely. When he had asked you, though, sleep hadn’t yet sunk its fangs into you then, and you had made the mistake of glancing over to the notebook on your desk with two ever-growing lists of things you needed to get done. So, of course, your only thought was that it wouldn’t complete itself, and you had promised him you would join him in bed after a few minutes.
You almost didn’t want to take off the full-screen mode you were in to check how long ago that was…
A deep bass vibrated through your eardrums, startling you out of your thoughts, and you unconsciously started to bounce along to the pace it set as you sat up straight again. In a way, you lived for nights like these when you could lose yourself to the music and let the words flow through your fingers to the keyboard with a movement so effortless it almost seemed natural. Occasionally, you would lean back in your chair and tap your nails against the desk’s wooden surface, trying to recover the train of thought that would briefly derail before jumping back into your work.
The white light from your monitor was the only thing illuminating you or any other part of your desk, allowing your eyes to dart back and forth between the screen and a scratch sheet filled with the messy scribbles that were your notes when sleep made your mind wander and lose its momentum. That thread of inspiration would come back to you, though, and the clicking of keys would begin anew. It was filling the silence of the room around you with the muttered utterance of its words that only those who received the results would read.
At one point, the song changed to an old track from your childhood and brought you to a pause again. The pads of your fingers rested against the smooth keyboard for a second before sliding over two, three, four keys in a row and ultimately sliding off the keyboard altogether. The spark had disappeared, filled instead with gnawing dread that clawed at the center of your chest. An ache centered around memories brought about by the song that played. A part of you wanted to change it, but instead, you let your eyes slip close as the memories washed over you.
A shallow sigh of a laugh forced its way out of you as the song played. Remembering your childhood dreams of how you thought your life would end – a comfortable home with just enough space for the things you loved, a comfortable job, a loving partner…
You could feel your muscles relaxing slowly the further entranced you became with the song. It should have given you a sense of accomplishment knowing that you achieved two of your primary goals in life. Instead, there was an ache in the back of your throat with the sour taste of bile forcing you back upright. Your eyebrows furrowed together as your nose scrunched up in frustration.
Another list left unfinished.
Suddenly, you felt your left headphone plucked out of your ear, and your heart raced into overdrive almost painfully in your chest. You hadn’t even realized that someone had entered your office – didn’t feel the vibration of footsteps against the hardwood floor beneath you.
“It’s 3 AM…”
Honestly, you weren’t sure what surprised you more, the headphone taken out of your ear or the low timbre of a male’s voice rumbling next to it in place of the music. Either way, your body went tense and jerked away from them in immediate response; the movement was so sudden you almost fell out of the chair had it not been for the other person’s quick reflexes. Calloused fingers tightly wrapped around your upper arm when the person reacted, only loosening when they were sure you were safely seated again.
Turning your head to look up at the intruder, you let out a deep sigh of relief and felt your body begin to relax almost instantly. Your lips parted to greet him, but no words came out. So, you smiled up at your boyfriend, a tired half-smile that almost matched his amused one with which he looked down at you with. There were soft shadows under his half-lidded eyes from his own long nights at work that the blue light of your computer put on full display for your tired eyes to see.
“You scared me, Taka,” you finally said while he held your earbud away. The shrill guitar solo of the song that had just started was distant now.
Heat crept up your neck to paint your cheeks with a soft blush of embarrassment. A burglar would never take your headphones out and alert you of their presence like this – and the fact that you thought otherwise made you feel silly.
“It’s 3 o'clock in the morning, love.”
His voice was so soft, still heavy with sleep, as if something had woken him and compelled him to find you. He spoke clearly despite the slow drawl to his words. Still, your brain took longer than it should have to process what he said – focused instead on how his black and purple hair was mussed in the back from obvious tossing and turning. It was almost too easy to lose yourself in his lavender eyes, letting your body relax further as you unconsciously leaned toward him for extra warmth – the chill in the room suddenly more noticeable than before now that your attention wasn’t focused on a singular task. Mitsuya chuckled, watching the exact moment his words finally clicked in your mind. Your eyes widened in shock as you turned to your computer and scrambled to minimize the window you had pulled up to finally look at your clock.
“Huh…”
Takashi raised an eyebrow at you, but you merely slumped back in your chair. Eyebrows furrowed together in thought, and your bottom lip poked out in a slight pout. He knew that the endless deadlines had started to weigh on your mind, haunting you the closer they got, but he didn’t expect you to lose track of time this way.
“Didn’t realize the time.” You mumbled more to yourself than to him.
Eyes focused on the flashing cursor on the document you had minimized down to a windowed screen. It sat precisely where you left it, in a box halfway down the paper you were finalizing for work. Another cold chill ran down your spine, forcing your shoulders to jerk up in an almost shrugging motion that you knew had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with your once calm nerves, which were beginning to fray at the ends again. Slivers of panic creeping into your mind once more and bringing your focus back to where it was before he had come in.
“Gimme another hour, ‘kay?”
Keeping your eyes on the computer in front of you, you straighten your posture and reach out with your free hand for the earbud he had taken from you. He held it just far enough away that it threatened to pull the other earbud from you too as you leaned over until you felt like you would fall out of your chair again. You glared up at him, but he only smiled down at you knowingly. The corners of your eyes prickled with the threat of tears from the sudden yawn you had to stifle back.
“Give it back.” You demanded; hand still outstretched toward him.
The combination of fatigue suddenly starting to wrap its hands around your throat and the stubbornness of your partner’s actions at this moment had irritation seeping into your veins as he continued to silently refuse. You could feel the weight on your chest pushing further down on you as if it was trying to crush you into the ground. The panic and mental exhaustion you had been trying to push away for weeks came back full force to slap you across the face. Something had Mitsuya crouching down so he was at eye level with you.
“Love.”
The low rumble of his sleep-laden voice and the hooded look he gave you put you at unease. What was he seeing when his soft lavender eyes looked at you? Did he see the exhaustion finally taking hold of you after weeks of pushing it back? Did he notice your silent plea for help that your pride forced you to swallow with your dismissive smiles and soft words of assurance that you were fine?
He turned his head toward your notebook and the extensive to-do list you had written there and let out a low whistle. “Did this get bigger since yesterday?”
His question pulled your thoughts from their spinning track of anxiety. You didn’t need to look at it to know what he saw. Countless little activities that demanded your attention with deadlines written down for many of them in bright red – deadlines that seemed to be racing at you faster than you could manage.
“Shit, I thought you were making progress on this.”
That was it. That was the line that broke through the cracks in your wall. You hated the single choked sob that escaped you so suddenly. Hated the tears you could no longer hold back. Your cheeks now wet with the salty liquid steadily streaming from your eyes.
That stupid little paper with every stupid little task you needed to get done written in black ink. Perfectly written in your best handwriting that pleased your hamster brain with its small, simple strokes. It was your main method of staying organized, giving you a strong sense of accomplishment every time you could cross an item off with your red pen. Normally when you make a new list for the month you could get through it within the week. You were no stranger to adding to it, of course, but this month had hit you with so many deadlines and activities that you felt like you were barely holding on by a thread these days. There was something about the way Takashi’s eyebrows furrowed together as he looked over the remaining items on your neatly made paper that compelled you to rip the single headphone from your ear and toss it to the table in front of you in frustration.
“Don’t worry about it, Taka.” You muttered in defeat, looking down to hide your shame from his prying eyes.
It was borderline painful to hear the haunting words of your parents come back to the forefront of your mind.
‘Lazy!’
‘You’ll never accomplish anything like this.’
‘Why can’t you just do what needs to be done?’
‘If you didn’t waste so much time, you’d be done already.’
‘This is why you keep failing.’
Failing. That was the word that stood out to you more than anything else. You couldn’t finish your list on time, not for lack of trying, and the crushing feeling of disappointment and failure was burning through your lungs. Scraping at your throat and preventing you from speaking the words that you wanted to say. Stopping you from asking for the help you desperately needed.
You took out the other headphone from your ear and tossed it on the desk before standing up from your chair, you didn’t look at where he was still crouched next to you. Eyes pinned on the door instead. “Let’s just go to bed and I’ll finish it tomorrow.”
The quiet rustling of his sweatpants when he stood up was the only indication you got of his movement. “Do you need help?” There was a lump in your throat, choking you, keeping you from replying. So, you shook your head, your pride too strong to give the answer you wanted anyways. “Do you want my help?”
“I want to go to bed…” You winced at the crack in your voice when you spoke.
You just needed to move. Left foot, right foot. Left foot-
Takashi’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, stopping you. Still, you didn’t turn to look at him. You didn’t need to look to know that he was looking at you with concern. His soft lips parted slightly, ready to speak even when he didn’t know yet what to say. Sleep was probably the last thing on his mind right now, pushed away by the concern he felt for you and your mental health. His thoughts racing around and around, trying to figure out how to best help you.
Help.
“You know you don’t have to do this alone, beautiful.” You were pulled back towards him, turning on your heel so you didn’t fall, but you still stumbled into him. Chest to chest with him with the tips of your ears burning from embarrassment. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”
“I don’t need help.” The response came out of you like a knee-jerk reaction. Your words were a bit crueler than you intended them to be.
He only raised an amused eyebrow at you, bringing a hand up to smooth your hair down. “I saw the list. You need a little help.”
His chuckle made your jaw clench. Venom swimming in your veins ready to come out. Did he think it was funny to look down at you? He probably thought you couldn’t do it either. Why-
“My stubborn, stubborn girl…” You barely heard him with his voice so gentle, but his lips on your forehead quelled the darker thoughts for the moment. “Let me help you.”
Stubbornly you shook your head again. Takashi only brought his hand up to cup your cheek, thumb stroking the apple of your cheek with such care. As if he were handling a porcelain doll with hairline cracks hidden just under the surface.
“I got some free time, let me help you.”
“I can do it.” You whispered.
“I know you can, but it doesn’t mean you should.”
Before you could say another word, he leaned down to slot his mouth against yours. Your responding hum was immediate from the action. Eyes fluttering shut while his lips molded with yours, moving in sync and parting with the slightest push of his tongue against them. It was futile to attempt any form of dominance with this man, but you were stubborn to a fault, and you’d be damned if you didn’t give him some form of pushback. It was one of the many things he loved about you, after all. Your tongue battled his for dominance, only needing the pressure of his hand that had held your wrist to make its way behind you push against the small of your back with just enough pressure to have you arching into him.
Seconds turned to minutes that turned to hours, it seemed. Just you and him in the middle of your office space that was once drowned out by the dark clouds of your anxiety and fear. Now filled with the familiar warmth and peace that seemed to always follow him. Filling your mind with a distracting haze, the smell of his deodorant and shampoo overwhelmed your senses. He pulled back from you, eyes locked on the string of saliva that still connected you two until you swiped your tongue along your bottom lip to disconnect it.
“I can help you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know I don’t have to.” He chuckled; a bit more audible now that he was a bit more awake. “Wouldn’t it be easier with two more hands though?”
“Do I have a choice?” You cocked your head to the side with mock curiosity. You knew Takashi, which means that you knew the answer to this already.
It was his turn to shake his head now. “No.” He let out a deep sigh. “We’ll tackle this in the morning though.”
“It’s already morning, Taka.” You quipped.
That made him roll his eyes. “Later in the morning. After you’ve gotten some actual sleep.”
“But-”
Another kiss pressed to your lips, this time to silence you.
“Don’t be a brat.” He murmured against your lips.
A smile tugged on the corner of your lips, but you didn’t argue this time. This time when he pulled away, he didn’t go far. Forehead pressed to yours with his eyes still closed. The comfort of his arms wrapped around you, holding you close. It was something you simultaneously knew you could never live without yet didn’t realize it was exactly what you needed right now. Lethargy crashed into you immediately when he loosened his hold on you. The clock was usually striking 5 AM when you would make your way to bed to then wake up an hour later. This time there was no fight left in you as he led you to the bedroom, helping you out of your jeans while pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck. Tongue darting out to lick over the spots he would nip at to soothe the sharp sting from his teeth. Your breathing became shallow the lower he got, kicking off your pants where they pooled at your ankles. This desire that made your stomach curl only grew the lower he traveled. The calloused pads of his fingers graze up the sides of your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
“Let’s get to bed.” He smirked against the apex of your neck, leaving one more chaste kiss before pulling away. “’M tired.”
“You’re an asshole, is what you are.”
You tried to stifle a yawn, but he still caught it, opting to not say anything, but still shooting you a knowing smirk before climbing into bed. For a moment it felt like all you could do was stare in shock at him, lying comfortably in bed with an arm behind his head. He was waiting for you, and that knowledge was enough to have you crawling into the comfort of your shared bed with him. He only hummed in acknowledgment, pulling the covers over you both before comfortably pulling you into his arms, head resting on top of yours.
All was quiet for the moment. No crickets, no computer fans, no racing thoughts. Just peace and silence. The peace you had craved so desperately lately.
After a few minutes of silence, Mitsuya shifted his head down to kiss your cheek. Nudging your chin with his index finger to make you look up and catch his lips with yours in slow, lazy kisses. Soft sighs and sleepy giggles between kisses; whispered “I love you”s that were never spoken aloud but portrayed through subtle actions. An arm around your waist to keep you against him. The two of you sharing the same small smile with each other before settling yourselves back to let sleep take you under.
“What’s on your mind, pretty?”
Your eyes were already heavy from the surrounding peace stripping you of the adrenaline that kept you moving. Your muddled mind was already struggling to process his words.
“Nothin’.” For once, you weren’t lying. All you wanted to do was fall asleep in your partner’s arms. When was the last time you had laid with him like this?
“You sure?” Something about his gravelly voice whispering low above you filled you with a comfortable warmth. “If you wanna talk-”
“I think I want to sleep now.” You breathed in his scent, letting it lull you further into the promise of a dreamless slumber. “’S 3 o'clock in the morning.”
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