When Nico walks into the dining pavilion wearing a golden yellow sweater, Percy does a double-take. Actually, it’s a triple-take: first, he thought it was a new Apollo kid, then he realized it was Nico, then he realized it was Nico. Wearing a color.
Is the world ending again? Was there something really wrong with the milk in his cereal? What in the everloving Hades was going on?!
Nico sits down at table 13, unbothered as ever, and pulls the sleeves of the hoodie up. It’s way too big on him, like Big Bird shed and some poor fucker decided Nico di Angelo needed the empty muppet skin in his wardrobe.
(Is it Nico? Maybe some changeling creature kidnapped their resident son of Hades and has decided to take his place? Maybe Percy needs to go over there and test him out, y’know, knick him with some iron or something to see if he burns. If it’s an imposter, though, they’re doing a piss-poor job. Is it an intentionally bad job? Gods, it’s barely eight AM on a Tuesday, does he seriously have to go save Nico from somewhere and kill a monster wearing his face? That does not sound like his ideal Tuesday, if he’s really real. He’ll totally do it, but he won’t like it, and maybe he should start planning how to take out a creature like-)
“I can see the mountain you’re building,” Annabeth says, popping Percy’s strangely detailed daydream of hunting down and killing a weird, half-Nico, half-demon gremlin creature. He blinks the image out of his eyes and looks up at her, her hip resting against the edge of his table.
She looks amused. He squints. “Nico’s been bodysnatched.���
“Mm, no,” she says easily, with a shake of her head. “Nico’s wearing a jacket.”
“A yellow jacket.” Percy looks at the son of Hades again. He just- can’t wrap his head around it. He hasn’t seen Nico willingly wear a color since the guy was ten years old. “A yellow jacket that’s, like, twice his size.”
“It’s a molehill, seaweed brain. A jacket’s just a jacket.”
“But it’s yellow.”
“What was your nightmare about?”
Percy physically recoils at the non sequitur, tilting back in his seat incredulously. His- what? His nightmare? What does his nightmare have to do with a jacket, anyway, that’s got nothing to do with this.
He folds his arms on the table and makes a face. “That’s unrelated.”
Annabeth’s mouth raise at the corners, her eyes watching him like an all-knowing hawk. An owl, three-sixty vision and nothing but questions, who, who?
She pets through his hair and pushes her weight back up. As she draws her hand back, she taps his cheek, then his chin, and says, “just leave him alone, then.”
Percy watches her walk back to her table. When she sits, he buries his face in his arms and groans.
“Jason has also been bodysnatched,” Percy hisses to Annabeth during pottery class.
“What makes you say that.” She throws her lump of clay at the pedestal in front of her and gives Percy the same look she gave him this morning.
Percy decides to ignore that look, because that is the look of reason and he is far beyond that now. “He was wearing this black jacket with, like, skulls in hourglasses and weird skeleton butterflies and shit during Latin.”
“He is related to Thalia, you know,” Annabeth hums. She wets her hands as the plate before her starts to spin. “Maybe he’s going through the family goth phase.”
Had she not just leaned in to start forming something magical and incredible out of clay, Percy would slouch over Annabeth’s shoulders and plead with her to at least consider that something weird is going on. Maybe it’s not bodysnatchers or changelings, okay, but something is strange! Jason Grace does not just decide to wear emo shit! Jason Grace once had a panic attack because the Aphrodite Cabin stole a pair of his jeans and cut them into shorts! This is a man who has a stricter sense of style than Nico, who, fucking hell, don’t even get Percy started on that. The yellow jacket has remained on all day and it’s haunting him.
Annabeth dips her thumbs into the top of her clay and does not respond.
Percy slumps down into the stool beside hers and huffs, more for himself than anything.
Change is okay. Change is fine. But change like this, with no reason, is the opposite of fine. Change like this is a low-blow stink bomb in an otherwise perfect Capture the Flag game, impossible to get out of his clothes and his skin and his hair. Change like this is how people die.
He claws his hands up into his hair and listens to the steady whir of the pottery wheel, the sound of wet clay being molded and shaped in different ways. There’s a lull of conversation from other campers in the class, kids from all different cabins, because to them this is any other day.
Maybe this should be any other day to him, too. No, not maybe. It should be. This should be a regular Tuesday, full of regular classes with his regular friends who are ordinary in whatever ways they can be, but instead, Percy’s brain has to go and mix up everything, make everything feel- out of control.
HIs next exhale shakes too hard for his liking. His shoulders are too tense.
Beside him, Annabeth keeps calmly shaping her pot. She dips her hands into the water every so often, probably executing some flawless plan of action she drafted the night before. She’s not always delicate with her hands, with art like this - Percy knows that’s something she’s self conscious about. She never thinks she can be good at finer things.
That’s normal. That’s normal for her. Ordinary, to think that Annabeth Chase would tackle arts and crafts in the same way she would a war strategy, devising the perfect approach for a flawless result. Executing it flawlessly.
She pinches too hard pulling up the walls of the pot. It crumples, then swings off the wheel entirely with the force of it’s motion, splattering wetly across Percy’s arms and the other campers at the bench.
Percy watches Annabeth glare at her failed creation. She sticks her hands in the dirty water to scrub the clay off, wipes her hands off on her shirt, and pulls on Percy’s sleeve.
“I hate pottery,” she mutters as they rise together.
Percy grins. “I think it knows that,” he teases, and follows as she stomps toward the exit.
When the answer slaps Percy in the face, it feels more like a gut punch in the way it makes him breathless and off-balance.
“You’re…huh?”
Annabeth clicks her tongue. “You two couldn’t think of a better way to do this?” she gestures between Nico and Jason, standing awkwardly side by side as if they don’t know what to do with themselves.
They’re still wearing the wrong jackets. Each other’s jackets.
Percy makes a face, then realizes that might not be the best response to his two friends telling him their dating, so he tries to make a different face.
The world’s not ending. They’re just…together. Sharing jackets, like couples do.
“We didn’t want to make it a big deal,” Jason says. He keeps glancing at Nico and chewing on the inside of his lip. Nico, with the golden sleeves of apparently-Jason’s-jacket pulled over his hands once more, looks stubborn. Like he’s ready to fight about something.
Percy wipes his sweaty hands off on his shirt and gestures, though he’s not sure at what. “But Nico’s wearing a color?”
He feels more than sees Annabeth’s disapproving glare at the side of his head. Jason draws himself up, then seems to falter. His head cocks to the side and he shakes his head.
“What?”
“That’s a big deal,” Percy reiterates. “Nico doesn’t wear colors.”
“Nico is standing right here, wearing a color,” Nico grumbles. He shoves his hands into the pocket of the sweatshirt and gives Percy a glare that is far more familiar than literally anything else happening right now. “I’m allowed to wear whatever I want to wear, for the record.”
“But you don’t!”
“Well I do now. If you have a fucking problem with it-”
“I never said I had a problem with it,” Percy snaps back, immediately on the defensive. “I was fucking worried about you, you little shit, I thought something was wrong. I thought- I don’t know what I thought! I thought you two were swapped with some other versions of yourself, I thought you’d been- I don’t know- abducted by aliens, or fairies, or something!” He throws his hands up in the air, then drops them back onto his head, staring sort of at the middle point between the two of them. “You can’t do that shit and not expect- I mean, because, come on, guys, you’re you, you two fucking freak out if someone so much as touches your clothes. What were we supposed to think?”
The hearth crackles. It’s too pleasant a sound for the sick Percy feels.
Annabeth takes his hand, at least, and squeezes. His face burns with the shame of yelling like this, over this, it just feels so fucking stupid all of a sudden. He feels so stupid. Annabeth tried to tell him it was nothing, and he let it all get away with him, he let that nasty part of his brain win and win and win, and now he’s taking his losses out on them.
“I’m happy for you two,” he makes himself say, when no one else speaks. “I think I just also need therapy.”
Finally, Annabeth snorts. It’s a noise Percy knows, one he can ground himself with, same as her palm hot in his, her weight tilting into his side as her head bonks into his chin.
The stress he’d held bundled up in his spine and his shoulders and his stomach all day releases in an instant. He slouches back in against her and laughs against the top of her head.
“Jesus Christ,” Nico mutters, when Percy can’t stop himself, dissolving into a fit of hysterics over his own bullshit. “This is why I said we should just tell them. He’s laughing at us.”
“I think he’s laughing at himself,” Jason says. He sounds uncertain.
Percy hugs Annabeth tight, and laughs himself hoarse.
EXTRA
Nico stares at himself in Jason’s mirror, with the sweater hanging halfway down his thighs, sleeves hanging off his hands, the peak of his collarbone through the freaking collar. He narrows his gaze into a glare.
“I look like a toddler,” he says derisively.
Jason, still getting dressed himself, laughs. When he appears in the mirror behind Nico, looking far more proportional in Nico’s sweatshirt (which is frankly fucking unfair), his grin softens into a smile that’s- something. Sweet.
Nico twitches his nose.
“I look like I’m six years old,” he says, grabbing the hem of the sweatshirt and yanking down. “Why are we doing this.”
“‘Cause it’s silly,” Jason says. He presses a kiss against the side of Nico’s head and hugs him loosely from behind. “You don’t look like a baby, either. You just look your age.”
Nico looks down at himself. Maybe there’s a point there, a point to be made about how he dresses for practicality, dresses to blend in, but never to express himself. Maybe there’s a point to be made about how his discomfort isn’t really for how he feels about this, but how he thinks others will feel about it.
He tugs at the hem again, and looks back up. Jason’s eyes in the mirror are bright, as if taking in the sight of Nico in his hoodie like this is something to savor.
Nico likes when Jason looks at him like that. He likes how it feels to be looked at like he’s attractive. He likes how it feels to be wanted.
“I guess,” Nico concedes, leaning further back into Jason’s chest. Immediately, Jason’s stance is more solid, sturdy, holding them both up as easy as breathing. He holds Nico like it’s a promise that he’ll never let go.
He looks at the pair of them in the mirror, a cohesive unit rather than two separate halves. Jason in black is definitely something Nico wants to see more of, especially with the way Nico’s clothes fit snug over him, just a little tight at the biceps and chest. He looks good, not that he doesn’t look good otherwise. Different.
With Nico his contrast in yellow…maybe it isn’t so bad. Maybe he likes being the counterbalance, even.
Jason squeezes him again. Those damn eyes in the mirror are making Nico too warm, like his stomach is full of hot jell-o.
“Okay, fine, let’s do this,” he huffs. The difference in his tone must be audible, though, because Jason perks up and grins, his eyebrows up, face aglow. Nico can’t look at him for too long. It’s still strange knowing he can make someone feel like that. He doesn’t know what to do when Jason turns the full puppy-love thing on. “And stop looking at me like that, you’re going to give me cavities.”
“Okay,” Jason says in a voice identical to his expression.
Nico grabs his hand and squeezes it twice.
Jason squeezes back, so tight it aches. Nico’s heart swells with bright affection.
While Khare wasn't exactly considered a 'success' by PROMETHEUS, there are times where her body does function according to plan. One of these are enhanced capabilities, particularly in regards to improved jumping thanks to the frog DNA inserted into her genetic sequence. One time when walking to Pauli's, Khare was startled by a group of young thugs calling out and running after her. When met by a dead-end, she jumped straight up and on top of the building, losing the group but ended up arriving late to work as she struggled to find a way down after getting on top of a (very) high roof.
time 4 yet another wavernot4love gig recap, gloomtown rochester edition (aka my seventh time seeing idkhow, fourth in rochester, & third at the montage music hall, the latter two a feat i cannot say for many bands) (note this was typed primarily at three am last night so once again there is probably incoherent rambling):
- gonna start this off with this clip of sunnyside since 1. i think that is becoming my favorite song off gloom division and 2. the ending gives me a chuckle
- boring live finally came back 2 me after four long years!!!!
- (dallon neurodivergency mention when talking about the themes of gloom division) (crowd erupts in cheers)
- return of the mormon tabernacle choir comparison arrived post- a letter, with dallon saying the next song (what love) wasn't something they tell you about in church, in typical cheeky fashion
- somewhat related, bro was wearing a gold sparkly grandma cardigan and randomly ripped it off and threw it CLEAN through the doorway of the like, green room at montage mid- what love. speaking of he said people at the vip earlier apparently planned his outfit
- dallon straight up grabbed a kid by the hand mid song and yanked them out of the crowd & onstage so they could do a lil jig together? good for them!!!
- going to leave the dallon quote "this isn't a frat house!" here w/o context
- someone handed him a giant american flag with a picture of him printed on it. god bless america
- ALL OF THE BRACELETS/KEYCHAINS WENT? after the show maybe 40 of us camped outside in case dallon came out and at one point someone who had reached out about them came over & so did a BUNCH of other folks who realized there were, in fact, bracelets. my cousin referred to it as the "meet & greet" since there were barricades set up along the sidewalk which gave me a bit of a laugh. guess i'm making more for buffalo yippee!!!! possibly may make stickers too later if i have time. i'll probably post em, but otherwise look for the person w curly hair & a baggy black thought reform hoodie w bracelets on a carabiner!
- so while we were waiting my cousin and i were sat RIGHT next to the main entrance of montage, right? basically the start of a sort of line of people sat down going down the sidewalk.
anyways, at one point only maybe 45 minutes after the show, out of said main entrance strolls dallon. collective whiplash moment as bro took one look, stopped dead in his tracks, we all collectively looked at each other like
and dallon (who i think was truly surprised so many of us were out waiting in the cold) goes, lightheartedly but genuinely, "what are you guys doing all out here? it's freezing outside!"
and then proceeds to kinda frolick around for a couple minutes laughing w people or whatever. we didn't really approach him since i think he was a bit overwhelmed but it was still just a funny moment and we'll see what happens in buffalo! maybe less people will hang after so it'll be less intimidating for him.
- i do feel the need to mention i heard this one kid we were talking to bring up video games to him & dallon said he's not a huge video games person he just plays the last of us & spiderman really which is funny to me but fitting
- i did bring my point & shoot so once i edit those maybe i'll post some!
I just really love Louis and Lestat because they are each exaggerations of what they once were, given infinite time to extrapolate into the most niche, hair trigger anxiety cases I’ve ever seen in my life.
one of the best parts of stargirl season 2 is cindy going up to cameron w the intention of getting him in her Bad Kid Squad and he almost completely unprompted is just like You are the worst and I hate you and No One likes you and You said some fucked up shit in the 4th grade Leave me Alone. and she was like okay and just went welp i guess he's out
✎. he’s nice. well, that’s what everyone’s been telling you.
tags. fem!reader, mild dubcon, possessive and obsessive behavior, simon is an excon, non-linear narrative for future chapters [18+ only]
part one | part two
He’s always been a little obsessed with pretty things, even as a child.
It only makes sense that the habit would follow him into adulthood.
He sees you once while he’s walking by the bus stop. A timid thing wrapped up in an oversized sweater and parka coat, not looking up from the little book in your lap until the bus stops before you and takes you away.
The next time he sees you, he makes sure to come a few minutes earlier, lighting a cigarette and keeping his distance while he watches you read the same book from the day before. Simon knows it’s you, the girl from the letters, even if it’s a big city. It has to be—his pretty, lonely, silly girl.
He thinks about walking up to you just to make sure, but he doesn’t really need to. The address on the envelope brought him here, and you’re the only one he’s seen wearing a university sweater in this neighborhood.
But when he hesitates too long, a boy starts talking to you, and he watches you smile at somebody else.
Simon runs his thumb over his bottom lip and takes a deep breath to fill his chest with the soothing feeling of menthol and the burning taste of nicotine, trying to relax his white-knuckle grip on his steering wheel.
You’ll learn, he thinks, when the bus drives off, and the boy doesn’t follow you on. He’s a patient man—it’s possibly one of his finer qualities.
He lets his car idle as he climbs out before crushing his cigarette bud underneath his shoe, straightening his black tie, and crossing the street. The boy sees him and freezes, but Simon can only laugh, wiping blood off his cheek several seconds later.
You’ll learn.
He’s nice.
Well, that’s what everyone’s been telling you. But nice, you've learned, can mean any number of things: a nice laugh, a nice house, a nice job, et cetera.
But how he holds himself—tall, broad, and dangerous—hardly screams nice.
It’s funny because you don’t remember seeing him around the office before—the company, including IT, occupies only four floors in the building.
Someone tells you he’s a friend of a friend. This initially sounds odd until Rose, the office gossip, says he’s someone rich who helps fund the company's social events. Hence, the crisp suit and the wide berth of space you’d give someone who wields their smile like a weapon.
You quickly look away twice when you find that smile aimed at you, heat traveling up to your hairline at an alarming rate.
It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s not your type.
“Enjoying the party?”
You nearly jump out of your skin at the deep voice so close to your ear. Careful not to spill your drink, you turn your head to find him smiling down at you with a sharp curl of his mouth.
Then he’s in front of you, eyes dark and crinkling in the corners.
“Uh, yeah. It’s not bad, though,” you squeak nervously when you realize you haven’t answered him. “It’s different from what I’m used to.”
He raises an amused brow. “Oh? And what might that be?”
He’s intimidating up close, and you take a small sip of your drink to ease your nerves. “Well, no kegs or trashy music playing, and boys with egos bigger than the room.”
The man lets out a low chuckle as he considers your honest reply, and you swear you see something ripple across his features, but when you blink, it’s gone. “I suppose that differs from top-shelf liquor and live bands, huh? Which is better?”
You shrug. “Well, it depends on who you ask.”
“I’m asking you.”
“Honest answer?”
He nods.
“Neither. I don’t really care for parties.”
“Then it’s quite unfortunate that you found yourself at one tonight.” He seems privately amused, in on a joke you have no part of. Then he says, “You want to get out of here?”
“I probably shouldn’t follow a stranger home,” you tell him bashfully.
“That’s very responsible of you. Then how about I get you a drink? There’s a hotel across the street, and the bar’s not shit.”
You bite your lip, and his big, warm hand is on the small of your back before you say anything. It must’ve been written all over your face like he knew you would say yes.
He’s ever the gentleman, unlike most boys your age. Though, perhaps that’s the difference. He isn’t a boy—nothing about him can hardly be described as such. This fact becomes a bit overwhelming and more evident once he has you on your back, thighs nearly up to your ears, and held in place by a firm, intricately tattooed forearm.
His smile—almost too sharp to be nice—makes your chest do this silly thing when he says, “Let’s play a game.”
You whisper into the night air. “What kind of game?”
“It’s simple. You tell me yes or no.”
Your brows furrow, unsure of the rules of the game. “But—”
The slap against your cunt isn’t harsh, but it’s the suddenness of it, how no one has ever thought to touch you like that, is what makes you squeak and tremble underneath him—the rings on his fingers sharpening the sting—trying to scurry up the bed, but hindered by his iron grip.
“Yes or no?”
“Y-yes.”
“There’s a girl,” and then his fingertips drop down to where you're slippery-wet and sensitive, moving in hard, tight circles until you're clenching down on a curse between your teeth. "Messy little cunt."
It's too much, you think when he plugs two fingers (feeling like three of your own) into your pussy. The muscles in his shoulders roll as he shoves his fingers in and out, batting your hands away when you try to get him to slow down. Too much, too—
“It’s not. I want you to cum like this,” he says, teasing, nudging your clit with his thumb and swirling it in tight spit-slick circles; you have no choice but to chase that bright light feeling until you cum, sticky and sweaty.
Just like he promised you would, your orgasm is a shivery thing, molten heat, incandescent, settling in your veins until it pours out of you like liquid wax against the scratchy hotel sheets, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, his fingers curl up and press into where you’re soft and tender.
He smiles. “This is fun, isn’t it, love?”
“I can’t,” you whimper, not exactly answering him. “No more, please.”
His eyes, already pupil-fat, go dark at hearing you beg, nostrils flaring. Please, the key for the small amount of mercy he grants you as he replaces his fingers with his mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to your clit and lightly sucking it into his mouth. His lips are just there, and then they’re gone.
“Say it again.”
Your response is a wet little hiccup at the back of your throat. “W-what?”
“Beg me.”
“Please.”
“Again,” he says one more time.
“Please, please, please…”
It’s all you can think to say, strung between that dreamy space and reality, that you don’t even notice him flipping you onto your tummy with ease, not until the light in the room is blotted out as he leans over you. He wraps a hand into the scruff of your neck and presses your face into the bed, the other tucked under your hips to keep them at the right angle—held down with nowhere to go.
He leaves biting open-mouthed kisses across your shoulders and the back of your neck—Simon—he manages to tell you his name from one little bruise to the next. Somewhere between the buzz in your ears, you hear him telling you that he wants you to moan it for him, nice and loud.
The haze clears a little, however, at the metal clink of a belt and the sound of a zipper coming undone before you feel his cock prodding you open—raw, without a condom.
“There you go. Lay there, and just—just give me what I fucking want,” Simon rasps as if you could actually move with his hands pinning you in place.
There are many things you should feel: scared of his words, trapped by the rings digging into tender flesh, by his thighs forcefully pushing yours apart. The red flags look more like flashing lights at this point.
Instead, you feel wanted—your walls tighten around his cock, fluttering, pulling him deeper inside, letting him turn you inside out. A small smile buried into the pillow.
authors note: repost bc tumblr took it down for no reason...
☾ GOJO SATORU
“Fuck Love, you’re sucking me so good.” Satoru groans, struggling to not crash the car. During dinner, you two kept passing each other such heated looks that even your friends commented on the tension. Earlier today, you got a notification from your health app that you were ovulating. Satoru jumped on you as soon you told him, he wanted to stay in all day and fuck, but your guys’ friends blew up his phone reminding him of the promises you both made to them. After dinner you couldn't keep your hands off each other, you were desperate for his cum and Satoru was desperate to breed you. “Don’t cum ‘Toru.” You warn before sticking his cock back in your mouth. “Can’t help it Love, mouth too fuckin’ good,” he says, sighing in relief when he pulls onto your street, clicking the button in his car that opens the garage. He barely has the chance to take the keys out of the ignition before you pull him out of the car. “Don’t have time to make it up to the bed, just fuck me right here.” You demand, leaning over the car and presenting Satoru with your ass. Satoru pulls your dress up and shoves his cock into your pussy. He reaches over your hip to stimulate your clit. “‘Toru, just cum in me, I don't care ‘bout gettin’ off.” You move your ass in perfect sync with his hips. “You sure Love–” “Breed me ‘Toru!” You moan, feeling his cum fill you up. You drop your head to the still-warm hood of the car, finally able to catch your breath now that his load was deep in your cunt. “C’mon Love, let's finish this in the bedroom.”
☾ TOJI FUSHIGURO
You peak over the corner of the hallway, winking at Toji who was busy talking to your mother. ‘Come fuck me.’ Your mouth once you catch his attention before running back up the stairs, careful not to make any noises. You told your mom that you weren't feeling well, that during the drive back from college you must’ve caught something. In all honestly, you just wanted a chance to freely fuck your stepdad without your mother coming in and out of your room. Specifically, you wanted to be bred by him, and the best way to keep his cum in you was to use several pillows and put them under your ass so his cum didn’t spill out, hence why you didn't want your mom to barge into your room. Thank God she's a germaphobe. You strip out the Pj set you threw on and lay yourself face down, ass up. Your stepdad’s favorite position. As expected, you hear your stepdad softly shut the door a few minutes later. “Desperate now, are we?” He grips your hips. “Always desperate for you Daddy.” you mumble into the bed. “Huh,” he slaps your ass before pulling you up by the hair. “Didn’t hear you slut.” “Said ‘m always desperate for you Daddy, even prepared myself with the dildo you bought me.” You whimper. “Such a good girl,” He pulls his hard cock out of his slacks, gives it a few tugs before stuffing your cunt to the brim. “Now take this dick slut.” He pushes your head down into your lilac duvet. You try and fail to be silent when his dick hits that special spot every time he goes deep enough. “You okay in there, y/n?” You hear your mother's muffled voice through the door. You clench down on your daddy's dick in surprise, causing him to fuck you faster. “Y/n?” “Y-yes mom, I'm fine, just go away p-please.” You gasp out, throwing your head back into the bed in ecstasy when you hear her mumble and walk away. “Daddy, 'm cumming! Cum with me!” You whisper-yell. “Gonna fill this pussy, get you so full of my seed you can never leave this house again.” He grunts, slamming into you at a bruising pace. “Yes, please Daddy, fill me up!” You orgasm and Toji follows suit, filling you with so much cum it spills out.
☾ GETO SUGURU
“I'm so full Sugu.” You mumble, dazed. You fight the urge to close your eyes and fall back into Suguru’s big, warm chest. “Wake up sweet girl. ‘M not done yet.” He mumbles into your sweaty neck. “B-but Sugu–” “Shush Lovebug, one more time.” Suguru looks over your shoulder to see where you two are connected. He plugged you up good, but after so many loads a trickle of his cum slowly travels down his almost empty balls. “O-one more.” You grab his chin and kiss him sweetly. He rubs your noses together before grabbing your hips and moving you down the shaft of his cock. He pays close attention to not pull you over the tip of his cock. You hold onto your stomach, feeling it protrude slightly more than normal, Sugu’s cock and cum inflating you. You feel like a cum filled, flesh light as Sugu moves you to his liking. It’s hard to believe he has more cum in him. “Fuck Lovebug, you feel so warm and tight.” He mummers, giving you a few more neck kisses. You lean closer into him. Right now, you want to live in his skin. “Love you Sugu, can’t wait ta have your baby.” “I Love you too, can’t wait to see you carryin’ my child.” He grips your hips tighter at the thought. “‘bout to fuck another load into you sweet girl, you wan’ it?” “Yes please, more than anything.” You rest your head back into his shoulder. He shrugs at your head until your mouth is close enough to kiss. He slams your hips down and cums as you two make out and whisper sweet nothings.
☾ CHOSO KAMO
“Again, Baby.” Choso holds the vibrator to your clit. You arch your back and forget the fact that you have nipple clamps on. You scream when the clamps move. Your entire body is sensitive, Choso came up with the idea to simulate you to the max when you said you wanted to have his baby, that you wanted him to breed to and fill you to the brim with his cum. You readily agreed to his idea because you knew that the more orgasms you had the better chance you had to get pregnant, something about the virginal walls relaxing when women orgasm. Now though, you’re regretting it. Choso’s been holding the vibrator on your clit for the last hour and every time you think you’ve gone numb to the sensation; he finds a way to make you cum harder than the last. “N-no Choso, ‘m done down, I've cum as I can, wan’ you to fuckmenow!” You slur your words, the pleasure making you lightheaded. “One more Babygirl.” He soothes you, rubbing your stomach and imagining what you’d look like full of his cum. Beautiful, you’d look beautiful. “At least fuck me while you give me another orgasm!” You argue, staring at him with glossed-over puppy eyes. Choso gives in and situates himself between your legs, still holding the vibrator over your clit. You sigh happily when he sets the vibrator down and thrust his cock in you. You thought you were completely numb down there but the feeling of Choso thrusting into your hole that’s been contracting nothing felt godly. Adding that with the vibrator that he put back on your clit, you come immediately. “Choso!” You scream clenching around him so tight he can’t help cumming. “Fuck! ‘M filling you up so good baby!”
✶ synopsis: everyone on the team loves you, expect miguel who seems to hate you more than anyone.
✶ warnings: angst!! major angst. sunshine!reader x grumpy!miguel. reader is nicknamed sunflower, mentions of death.
✶ notes: there's one spanish sentence in this, I'm not good with spanish so if I've made a mistake please tell me so i can fix it! part two is already up!!!
Everyone on the team loved you from the moment you joined, everyone, except Miguel.
You knew Miguel was cold towards everyone, but he was extra cold with you. Maybe it was because of how different your personalities were.
You were the embodiment of sunshine, always positive in any situation, putting others before yourself. Hence why everyone calls you sunflower, it fits perfectly, Miles was proud of coming up with it.
Miguel on the other hand was cold and distant but that didn't stop you from trying to get him to open up. You'd try to have simple conversations with him but nothing, all you would receive in reply was an eye roll or a slight grunt, but you wouldn't give up that easily.
Like today, you got him some coffee.
"Morning, boss. Got you some coffee." You said in your usual cheerful tone.
"Why?" He raised his eyebrows, looking down at you suspiciously. That's the most he's said to you all week.
"Because I wanted to." You shrugged, placing it down on his desk.
He steped down walking towards his desk, you couldn't help but stare at him, unfortunately for you, everything about him was so attractive, it's such a shame he hated you.
"This isn't how I like my coffee."
"Huh?" You snapped out of your daydream at the sound of his voice.
"The coffee, it tastes terrible. Get it from another place next time."
"Well, actually I made it-" But he had already walked away from you not listening to a word you said. "Alright, never mind, I'll just go back to work." You mumbled hurt by his words.
"Wait, hold on." You looked up, thinking, maybe he'll say something nice after all.
"Yeah?"
"Take the coffee with you, I won't be drinking it."
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
"Girl, why do you look so sad? Did Miguel do something again?" Jess asked with a frown, she did not like seeing you sad.
"No."
"Sunflower…"
"Okay, yes." Miguel being cold towards you was normal, he never spoke to you unless necessary. Out of everyone here, he probably hated you the most, even more than Miles.
"Sunflower, I've told you to stop trying." Jess sighed.
"I know, I know… why does he hate me so much, Jess?"
"That's just the way he is, don't overthink it. It's his loss, baby." She replied, gently patting your shoulder.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Today was going to be a good day, you were so sure of it.
But, of course, you were wrong.
Everything was going great up until a few hours ago.
Miguel had assigned you on a mission to catch an anomaly, alongside a few other spider-people. His instructions were clear, stick to the plan and catch the anomaly. It was supposed to be simple.
If only you didn't disobey him. You screwed up badly, and because of that, you could have been killed.
"Why don't you ever listen?" Miguel shouted. No one had ever seen him this angry.
"I was just tryin-"
"¡Ay, por el amor de Dios!" Being yelled at by your boss in front of your coworkers was humiliating, everyone was looking at you with pity.
"I'm sick of this, why can’t you follow simple instructions? Is it that hard to understand?" He barked, towering over you.
"It's not a big deal." You tried to keep your composure, you didn't want to humiliate yourself further by bursting into tears.
"Not a big deal? You could've died! A simple mistake would have ruined the whole mission."
Don't cry. Don't cry.
"But we're all fine, aren't we?" You weakly chuckled. That was the wrong thing to say because it only made him angrier.
"Oh? If that's the attitude you have then you shouldn't even be on the team." Ouch.
"Miguel, I think that's enough-" Hobie said, quickly jumping in.
"Not now, Hobie." He growled.
Never once did you think that you'd be in a situation like this.
"If you put more focus on trying to be good at your job, rather than impressing me, we wouldn't even be here!" Oh, so he did notice that.
At this point, tears were streaming freely down your face and you made no attempt to stop them.
"Yep, you got it, boss." You smiled up at him through your tears. It was pathetic, but you did not care, you just wanted to leave and never come back.
"Next time make sure this doesn't happen."
"It won't happen next time." That's because there won't be a next time.