#contingency's bloom | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

turtlecleric · 11 months ago

Text

I Know Now

late as usual ~ nsfw, rise!donnie x reader (cw: altered state of mind)

---

“Dearest?”

“Yes, Donnie.”

"Tell me again."

You blow out a slow breath, closing your eyes and pushing down the hint of exasperation that's starting to bloom in your chest. He's worried, you remind yourself. Unsure. Hesitant in a way that you simply aren't. You can be patient, for him.

"It will be disorienting and confusing," you say once more. "I may feel overwhelmed or scared. I may not be able to control my thoughts or actions. I may hate it."

Donnie searches your face, brows furrowed. "And you still want t-"

"Yes."

The movement of his free hand tapping rapidly against his thigh catches your eye. It makes you soften further, seeing how worried he is about this. About you. You step forward to wrap your arms around him, and his own slide around you immediately, making the bottle of pills in his hand rattle as he does. His cheek rests on the top of your head, and you bask in the comfort of his hold for a long moment before leaning back to catch his gaze. Somber, anxious eyes look back at you.

"I trust you,” you murmur. “I understand the risks. And I still really want to do this. Okay?"

His mouth opens, but he closes it without saying anything. When he opens it again, it's with a firmer, more resolute expression.

"Okay," he says, nodding and pulling away fully from your hug. "Let's get you set up then."

He leads you to the bed nestled in the back corner of the workshop - one that he put together specifically for this. Sturdy, with a mattress that has just the right amount of give, an absurd number of pillows, and the softest blankets and sheets you've ever had the pleasure of running your hands over. The memory of when he'd first shown you the finished product makes you smile.

It's perfect, Donnie!

Of course it is! I made it to your exact preferences based on the data I've collected over the past few weeks, and - oh, let me show you how the heating function works!

God. You love him so fucking much.

Settled amongst the pillows now, with him kneeling on the bed beside you, your heart sings thinking about how much work he's put into this. The pills, obviously. The bed. The lectures and pamphlets and reminders that you don't have to do this - despite the fact that you were the one who requested it in the first place. Wanting to experience a taste of what it's like for him, so you can understand better but… also because you're a little selfish. He's told you countless times how much better his season is now that he has you. Alone, it had been miserable. With you… it's something incredible. And he always seems so content during his season - relaxed and satisfied and so goddamn happy. Giddy with it, even. You want to see what that feels like.

"The effects should last approximately one hour," Donnie says, pulling you from your thoughts. The bottle rattles again when he gingerly shakes a single pill into his hand. "Don't forget that your heart rate will increase, and you'll start to feel really warm. That's normal. Oh, and don’t forget that-”

"Donnie," you call softly, cutting him off. You take the pill from him with one hand and use the other to weave your fingers around his and squeeze. "As long as I'm with you, I'll be fine."

His eyes soften, and the tiny smile on his face bolsters you. Before he has a chance to make you repeat the warnings (again), you reach over to one of the cup holders jutting out from the side of the bed and pick up a water bottle.

(It's important to stay hydrated, dearest. Ooh! Watch this, there's a hidden cupboard for snacks that raises up when you press-)

The pill goes down easily, and Donnie immediately starts to ramble again. Reminding you of what to expect, of the contingency plans in place should you decide this really isn't for you and you need to stop. You half-listen, smirking when he falters for just a moment as you start to strip.

You'd thought you might get a bit chilly since he keeps it relatively cold in here, but you're feeling okay even without your clothes. You get comfortable on the bed, lying down and… about to ask how long it will take for… hm.

Hm.

He's still talking, but you're a little distracted by the way his throat moves as he speaks. The way his tendons stretch and pull when he shifts, when he turns his head, or... the glimpses of his tongue, his teeth, as he talks.

Wait. Focus.

"-feeling?"

You blink up at him. "...Huh?"

He looks like he can't decide between worry or amusement. It's not an unusual expression to see on his face - you evoke that in him pretty often - but something about it mesmerizes you.

"How are you feeling?" He says again.

Feeling. How are you. Feeling.

It's hard to focus when you're staring at him. Looking away feels impossible, but you manage to close your eyes and think.

You feel... warm. That's right. He said that would happen. You feel… hazy. Like your thoughts have to drag themselves through molasses to make it to the surface. Hungry? No, hungry isn't quite right, but it's... similar. Like a craving. You want. You want. You feel your pulse in your throat, hear the blood rushing in your ears. You miss him. He’s right here, but you miss him.

When you open your eyes and see him there, you feel yourself relax. His gaze is intense. Heavy. It makes you shiver, goosebumps rising along your arms and legs, and you try to focus. Focus. Try to…

Why aren’t you touching him? It seems stupid to not be touching him. More than stupid, it feels wrong. You reach out, resting a hand against his plastron, feeling the vibrations there as he speaks.

Wait, what is he saying? You see the movement of his mouth, and you hear the words, but… the meanings slip away like smoke in your hands. Your name is the only thing you recognize, and oh, the way he says your name has you shivering again. Shivering - but you're so warm. The thought makes you smile, but it falls when you suddenly become aware of every inch that separates you from him. You place your other hand on his arm, curling around his bicep, pulling him closer, because he’s so far away. Even when he moves where you pull him, letting you wrap around him and press your face into the crook of his neck, he’s still too far away.

He says your name again. Quiet and gentle, and you love the sound of it. It echoes in your mind, a layered whisper that soothes something you can’t put a name to. You breathe him in, nuzzling into his neck as the both of you lie down together. Arms around each other, your legs entwined, he’s right here but you need him closer. You need… something. You need…

Hands massage your back. Your shoulders. Someone is moaning and you think it might be you. You want to say something, but you can’t, can’t, can’t - there’s an ache in your chest, a burning in your stomach. Your thighs are sticky. You need- you can feel your cunt throbbing.

A brief moment of clarity. Suddenly you can understand his steady murmuring, can fully remember what's happening and how you got here.

“-okay, I’m here. I’ll take care of you, okay? You’re safe, I’ve got you.”

You need him. You need him, you need him right now, and you have to tell him. You don’t even care, don’t have the capacity to even be embarrassed by how whiny your voice is when you finally manage to speak. “Donnie. Donnie, please. Please, I need you. Please fuck me, please, Donnie, please, I need-”

The moment he kisses you, all of your thoughts slip away. There is only him and you and him and you and him but then he pulls away, and it hurts. You miss him. You try to tell him, ask him to come back, but someone is whimpering, and you miss him, and it hurts, and you can’t think.

You miss him.

His hands find you again, his lips pressing against your own, and the relief is overwhelming. Your entire body shudders, shaking apart beneath him. You can't differentiate between the touches, his hands and mouth here and there and everywhere, everywhere, everywhere at once. Someone whines again.

Donnie lies on top of you then, arms pressed between you and the mattress, holding you close against him, and oh. The weight of him, the smell of him, the taste of him - it’s enough to make you go boneless. Something, something - his knee, you think - slides between your legs, pressing against you. You can't help but grind against it as his tongue just barely glides against yours. It’s so warm. Everywhere, everything, warm and good and safe.

You’re trembling, chills running up your spine, lighting sparking along your skin. You’re flying, you think. Weightless, somehow, with only friction and pressure and Donnie Donnie Donnie. He adjusts, his knee moving away, but before you can protest something slips inside of you. His finger, you realize after a few pumps, and it's better, so much better, but it's not enough and you need more more more-

Donnie is whispering something that you don’t understand, but his voice alone is like a balm. Soothing your impatience. Your desperation. You focus on the rumble of it, then on the rub of his jaw against yours, then on the slick circles of his thumb against your clit, then his fingers - two, now - pumping easily in and out of you. Your hips are in constant motion, your arms clawing at his arms, and you can't stop seeking him in every way that you can. Time warps - there is no time, only feeling as you fight to somehow have him closer.

He lifts himself up, and you miss having his weight press you into the mattress, but then you feel him start to press something bigger inside of you, and fuck yes this is it. His cock - this is what you were craving, what you need more than oxygen itself, and it feels so fucking good. The feeling of him inside you, filling you up, full, so full of him. And then he starts to move and - no, this is what you need. This delicious, wet friction, the feeling of him spearing you open again and again as you pull apart at the seams. There is only him and here and now, and it’s all you've ever wanted and it's yours.

Are you coming? You can't tell if you are or if it just feels that good to have him pumping into you. You can't seem to think past each thrust, your mind going blank after every... Fuck, are you coming? Or does it just feel that good-

One of his words slips through the mist that's replaced your mind. Mine. It makes your skin spark. You've never felt more safe, more content, more full. It's almost too much. Just the brush of his scales against your skin is enough to overwhelm you, and fuck, fuck, are you coming or does he just feel that good inside of you?

You want to tell him… something. Something. You don't know, couldn't put it into words even if you could manage to control your mouth enough to speak. You might already be speaking. You’re not sure. His voice, though, you are sure about. It's a constant echo in your mind, and you can’t understand the words but at the same time you do. You understand. Safe, pretty, good, mate, mine. Yes, yes, yes. You’re his. Forever.

Your heart is beating so fast. Your entire body is one big heartbeat, pulsing with every movement he makes. It’s almost scary - would be scary if you didn’t feel so fucking good and so completely, utterly safe. You're an imploding star, a burning, writhing, blissed-out thing that used to be a person and that may not ever be one again. You think you might be okay with that.

God, are you coming or does it-

That thought is abruptly disintegrated when you do come. Your eyes roll back into your head, waves and waves of shimmering pleasure lighting up every nerve. On and on and on, it doesn’t stop. It doesn’t stop, and you’re sure now. This is you coming, and it isn’t fucking stopping. Someone is crying, and this shouldn’t actually be possible. It shouldn't be possible for a person to feel this way, and it isn’t fucking stopping, holy fuck. The wave swells in a way it never has before, cresting and cresting and cresting, and- oh. You’re crying. That's you.

breathe, darling. got you, beautiful, mine, doing so good. breathe. that’s it, pretty girl

He’s comforting you, you think. What is there to comfort? There has never been anything that feels as good as this. You’re still coming and he’s still fucking you through it, and thank god, because if he stopped you might actually die. You reach for him, but he's already there.

mine, mine, mine

You think you might be starting to come down from that insane high. The trembling seems permanent, but you can think a little, can take in more of what he's saying now even though it's a little slurred in your ears.

“- got you. All mine, so pretty and perfect. Smell so fucking good, taking my cock like you were made for me, like the perfect mate. So good, pretty girl, you're doing so good. I love you so-”

He's happy with you. You're being good. You're good. You're good and safe and warm, and he's here, and this is where he belongs, always. Deep inside of you, fucking you, always, always, with his fingers in your mouth and his teeth in your shoulder. You can't separate pain from pleasure. It's all one swirling, overwhelming cacophony of sensation until you feel him release inside of you, coating your insides with his come, marking you as his in every way - and it does something to your brain. You think you really are talking now, thanking him, maybe, or just- fuck, you can't concentrate, you're so full.

Part of you mourns, even through the thick haze of your mind, knowing that he will pull out of you soon. But you're surprised to find that he doesn't, that he only needs a few moments before he's hard and pumping into you again. More sweet, incomprehensible words fall on your ears like so many shooting stars, and time continues to warp, and oh, fuck, the wave is cresting again-

---

When you wake, the first thing you become aware of is the fact that you feel so unbelievably relaxed. The second thing is that Donnie is holding you, stroking your hair and speaking to you softly.

You take a slow, deep breath, and his words stop, then start again. This time you push through the haze enough to actually listen.

“You haven't stopped smiling,” he says, his own smile audible in his voice.

His hand continues to brush through your hair, while the fingers of his other hand tap absent-mindedly against your thigh. It's nice. You bask in the feeling for a moment before you respond.

“It was like… like you said. The way you feel now, during your season. I just felt really… connected to you. Safe. And happy.” You sigh, snuggling in closer. “And really, really good. I don't know why you were so worried I would hate it.”

His hands stop. Then start again. When he answers, you can't hear the smile anymore. “It's only like that when- when you're with the person you…”

He trails off, and you wait for him to elaborate. He doesn't. The silence grows heavy. You pull back to look up at him, but he avoids your eyes, his lips thinning and his brows pinching together. You finish his sentence for him.

“The person you love?”

His throat bobs when he swallows, and his tiny nod makes your chest ache. To think that - even after everything you've been through - he was still unsure. Worried that the pill would not only make you miserable, but also that it would confirm your true feelings.

Or lack thereof.

“Donnie,” you start, but he cuts you off with a kiss. Slow, gentle, and intimate. He kisses you until you forget how to breathe, and when he finally pulls away you have to take a few moments to remind yourself of what you were going to say. “You thought I wouldn't-”

“I was wrong to worry,” he says simply, cutting you off once more. “I know that now.”

You consider pushing further, but the pleasant fog that still clings to your mind makes it hard to think. You close your eyes and breathe, trying to focus past the memory of his lips on yours. It’s hard when his hands still trail through your hair. When you open them again, he’s still avoiding your gaze.

“You know I love you. Right?”

His eyes finally meet your own, and you see something there. Something that’s too big to put a name to but that relaxes your concern nonetheless. He leans toward you to press a quick kiss to your forehead, and when he pulls back his lips have settled back into a soft smile.

“I know, dearest. I know.”

---

tag list: @yorshie @khayalli @thejudiciousneurotic @luckycharms1701 @mxalmighty @thelaundrybitch @justalotoffanfiction

#tmntspringshellebration #turtlecleric scrolls #rise!donnie #thank you again for proofing yorshie dear <3

380 notes · View notes

hope-to-hell · 10 months ago

Text

John Wick. The one good thing about being alone with nothing to do. Smut, masturbation, blood, blood as lube, spit as lube. He’s got a little downtime alone. What’s a man to do but take the edge off?

This began as a single, very specific mental image that then, naturally, needed a story to go with it.

———

The house always wins. You can’t fight fate. All that is, and was, will be again. The lesson’s on an infinite loop, round and round like ribbon, like rope, and yeah, sure. Maybe it’s true: maybe our lives are measured by blood moving through the body one heartbeat at a time. But it’s not like there’s nothing beyond the chains of fate— there has to be something that makes this all worthwhile, something beyond the gilded cage of order. Even if it’s just a single moment— one spark in the darkness—

One blinding white jolt of pleasure, brutal and unforgiving, a tracery of veins crossing your vision and oh, Johnny boy, there’s always one more, one more

One more

One more job (one more stroke)

and it’ll be done. You’re gonna go out wet and sticky, maybe moaning a little, more likely stoic and silent. But, hey. You’ve got a little time, old friend, so go ahead and lean back; try to pull the iron from your spine far enough to curl in and over yourself. The wall’s cold— these rooms aren’t made for comfort, after all— but soon it’ll be blood-warm in the shape of your body. Take a few breaths and slide down down down til your ass is freezing on the floor; your seat’s all shivery-wet but the rest of you’s still soaked anyhow so who gives a fuck.

And anyway, you look like hell but that’s a distant concern; if— when— this ends you can patch yourself up, butterfly bandages and rough stitches telling the story of this long night. But while you’re here with nothing to do but wait, how about you take the edge off a little? After all, with the way you’re straining at your trousers, it’s a wonder you’ve been able to think at all. You’re a man of focus, right? Focus on yourself a minute. Get your mind quiet so you can put your thoughts in order. So open your fly and feel the cool air on your cock; swipe your hand across the wound that’s oozing sluggish on your belly. Fuckin hurts, right? That’s okay. Look at how you’re already twitching with anticipation.

There’s nothing like a palm full of blood to get things going; it’s still a rough burn but it just looks so pretty on your cock, doesn’t it? Savor it. Admire the way it streaks bright across your knuckles and drips along your shaft. Yeah, yeah. You’re itching to spit, to see if you can get it right on the head cause it just feels so dirty when you twist and drag your hand to spread it around.

And you are not going to think about— no. Don’t even think of what (who) you’re doing your damnedest to keep out of your head. Blank it all out. Put that focus to good use— this is between you and your hand. Go ahead and tighten your grip just that little bit more. Grab the bud of that dirty shameful little thought and crush it before it can bloom. You’re gonna need a clear head, and isn’t that what this is all about? Weeding out distractions?

Nevermind the way need ripples down your spine when you see yourself all red and white, sticky and twitching and oh, John, baby, that nasty deep-down voice is saying these hands of yours weren’t made for gentleness and maybe that’s so; but you’ve had five years to give yourself some balance and don’t you dare lose that part of yourself now. Nevermind the calluses on your thumb and fingers, raised in the shape of a pistol grip, and how their friction is so fucking sweet. There’s something you need. Dig down and root it out.

‘Course, you’re still listening for muffled footfalls just outside; you may be stuck in the liminal space between one firefight and the next, but you never really rest. You’ve got so many what-ifs and contingencies racing through your head. Aren’t you tired, trying to find a single path through it all? Yeah, you’re worn to the bone but that’s the life. You get through one way or another, even when you’re worn down to nothing but wet red footprints on the tile.

Hey, Johnny boy—you disaster, you gorgeous ruthless singleminded sonuvabitch— do you feel that? The gold thread at the base of your spine coiling tighter and tighter but not quite breaking? That’s your climax just out of reach, the candle wick that’s just a hair’s breadth too far from the flame. That’s clarity. You know what you need to get there: a little more spit for slick, tinged red from the sting of a split lip, maybe another drag through the slow bleed on your belly. Hold your breath. Curl your toes inside your shoes. Focus. Take all those aches and pains, those cuts and stabs, those bone-deep bruises. Gather them up and pour them into your hand.

That’s it. That’s good— you’re so very nearly there. Your balls are drawn up so damned tight, you’re like a gift to be torn open. All you need’s a little ribbon and a tag: to John, from your right hand. Keep holding your breath until the edges of your vision haze out— there’s that focus, that pure unadulterated will that keeps you going until you’re ready to give. The precipice is right there, knife-sharp, waiting. Go ahead—

exhale—

And fall.

There, now. Doesn’t that feel better? Sure, you’re a little sticky but it’s not like it matters. You’re filthy already, so a little semen’s just another drop in a deep well. Tuck yourself away and prick your ears for the sound of distant footsteps. Someone’s coming.

#john wick #john wick fic #john wick smut #John wick x his right hand

78 notes · View notes

k-nayee · 28 days ago

Text

CHAPTER 12. ECHOES OF VALOR

❝In war, the way is to avoid what is strong and to strike at what is weak❞

Warrior M.List | Act Two

Previous | Next

˚＊˚✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ⚔️・⚔️・⚔️・⚔️・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ・・✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ˚＊˚

War on Troy: Year 1

Dawn brought the Greek fleet upon Troy's shoreline.

The sea was calm, its surface reflecting the fiery orange and gentle pink of the rising sun.

As the distant silhouette of the city of Troy loomed, towering walls casted long shadows over the lands—a fortress both intimidating and tantalizing.

Ships landed with startling efficiency as soldiers disembarked, their boots crunching against the sand as they swiftly began organizing into units.

Banners unfurled in the morning breeze, the Ithacan emblem standing tall among the myriad of insignias of the Greek forces assembling.

You stood at the helm as the ship’s crew completed their final tasks. Beside you, Penelope’s gaze was fixed on the shoreline, her expression unreadable but her posture unyielding.

News of Ares’ fiery intervention and chilling promise to Agamemnon had spread like wildfire and silenced any talk about Penelope’s leadership or your role as Second-in-Command.

Gone were the murmurs of doubt about a woman leading in war. Instead, the energy was honed in on the true enemy: Troy.

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

Midday brought blood.

By the time the sun had climbed high into the sky, the battlefield outside Troy’s walls had become a crucible of chaos.

The Greek envoy arrived at the gates of Troy shortly after dawn, their demands delivered with the weight of inevitability. They asked for Helen, her stolen treasures, and the dignity of Menelaus to be restored.

The answer came swift and resolute: refusal.

From behind the walls King Priam’s messengers declared Troy’s defiance in no uncertain terms. They would neither return Helen nor yield to the will of the Greeks.

And so, the war began in earnest.

Greeks had charged with fervor, but the Trojans met them with equal force—their soldiers fighting with a tenacity born of defending their homes and families.

Clashes of bronze on bronze echoed through the air, a symphony of chaos punctuated by the cries of the wounded and dying.

Ithaca’s forces—joined by smaller contingents of Kefalonian and Spartan warriors—fought with unmatched ferocity, proving to be a sharp edge of the Greek assault.

Penelope stood at the forefront, her blade a blur of motion as she cut down enemies with ruthless precision. Her movements were calculated and fluid, each strike purposeful.

Beside her, you directed the soldiers with tactical brilliance, your voice carrying over the din of battle. “Hold the left flank!” you shouted, pointing toward a vulnerable gap in the Greek lines.

The chaos was relentless. A young soldier fell near your position, his hand clutching his side as blood seeped through his fingers.

Your stomach twisted as you caught his wide, panicked gaze. For a moment his face blurred, replaced by another from a distant memory—a boy from your village who had fallen to raiders years ago.

“Get him out of here!” you barked, snapping back to the present. A pair of soldiers scrambled to carry the injured fighter to safety.

Resistance was heavy but your forces pushed forward, inching ever closer to Troy’s walls.

By day’s end it was clear—the Ithacan forces had come the closest to breaching Troy’s defenses.

Respect bloomed where once there was doubt. Whispers of admiration spread among the Greek ranks, the respect for you and Penelope growing with each passing hour.

Dissent and doubt had no room in the wake of your triumphs.

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

Evening brought a change in pace.

The Greeks regrouped, tending to their wounded and preparing for the next day’s assault.

You were near the encampment when Polites approached, his expression a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty. “Commander,” he began, addressing you, “there’s someone who requested an audience with head of Ithaca’s forces.”

You turned, your brow arching in question. “Someone?”

Polites gestured toward a figure standing at the edge of the camp.

He was striking.

He had russet skin that gleamed faintly under the setting sun, short tightly curled hair and vivid blue eyes that stood out against his complexion.

His armor bore a subtle retaining of the Greek aesthetic while being marked with flourishes that hinted at individuality.

The stranger stepped forward, a disarmingly warm smile on his lips as he gave a slight bow. “Patroclus of Phthia,” he introduced smoothly.

You narrowed your eyes, your mind rifling through your knowledge of Greek names and lineages. “Patroclus,” you repeated. “No name of importance comes to mind.”

Patroclus’ grin widened. “Caught me,” he admitted in an unbothered tone. “Allow me to clarify. I hail from Opus originally, though my time there was…cut short.”

Recognition sparked. Opus. The name and its connection came rushing back to you.

“Ah,” you said, your tone shifting to one of cautious understanding. “The exile.”

He chuckled with an edge of self-deprecation in his voice. “Guilty. Unsavory reasons and all. But,” he continued, his tone growing lighter, “I’m here for a good cause. Same as you I suspect—scouting potential dangers.”

You studied him. His demeanor was charming (almost too much so), and yet there was something in his stance—a subtle tension, a readiness—that contradicted his casualness.

“And what danger,” you asked slowly, “led you to seek us out?”

Patroclus’ eyes gleamed with amusement. “None yet. But I make it a habit to meet the competition.”

“Competition?” Your voice was flat, your expression carefully neutral.

Patroclus gestured broadly toward the battlefield. “As Second-in-Command of the Myrmidons,” he explained. “It’s only polite to meet our counterparts, wouldn’t you agree?”

You let out a soft hum, your lips curling faintly. “How polite of you,” you said dryly. “I’ll be sure to let my Captain know of your…courtesy.”

Patroclus inclined his head, his smile never faltering. “Please do.”

A tense silence stretched between you as the weight of his words settled. Polites shifted uncomfortably beside you, his eyes darting between the two of you, uneasy with the charged atmosphere.

The air seemed to hum with unspoken tension as you sized each other up—a battle of wits and will conducted in silence.

Finally, Patroclus broke the silence with a lighthearted chuckle. “I must admit,” he said, “the tales of Ithaca’s Second-in-Command hardly do you justice. But…” His eyes narrowed playfully. “You’re far more guarded than I anticipated.”

Your smirk sharpened. “And you’re exactly as insufferable as I expected.”

Patroclus laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Fair enough. It seems I’ve chosen my sparring partner wisely.”

Polites cleared his throat awkwardly, clearly relieved the exchange hadn’t escalated further. “Shall I…leave you to it?”

“No need,” you said, your eyes never leaving Patroclus. “We’re done here.”

Patroclus’ grin didn’t waver. Just as he open his mouth to respond—

“____.”

You turn at the call of your name to see Penelope striding toward you with purpose.

The scarlet fabric of the cloak she wore shimmered faintly in the sunlight, the gold cuffs in her war braids glinting with each step as she came to stop beside you.

Her expression was unreadable, but her presence was unmistakable—regal, commanding, and impossible to ignore.

“Is everything all right?” She asked, her sharp eyes cutting toward Patroclus who was already watching her.

He straightened, a glimmer of mischief in his striking blue eyes. He offers a light bow. “Based on the cloak and sword, I presume I have the honor of addressing Queen Penelope of Ithaca?”

Penelope’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, her demeanor unchanging. “State your name and purpose,” she commanded.

The man huffed softly before giving a more formal bow this time. “Patroclus of Opus,” he said smoothly. “Second-in-Command to the son of Peleus, Ach—”

“Patroclus!”

A loud booming voice interrupted. All heads turned to see a figure bounding toward your group.

He was tall—commanding, though not quite Godlike— with tanned skin that spoke of countless hours under the sun. His golden-blond hair caught the light, falling in a wild yet somehow deliberate cascade over his shoulders.

Broad shoulders and rippling muscles that spoke of dedication to combat, his ruggedly handsome features held a boyish charm that made his grin seem almost mischievous.

“There you are!” he exclaimed, clapping a heavy hand on the other man’s shoulder. The force of it would have staggered anyone else, but Patroclus remained steady, his expression softening in a way that felt far too familiar.

You recognized that look—it was the same fondness seen often exchanged between Odysseus and Penelope.

“Patroclus,” the golden-haired man continued, “you’ve been holding out on me. Ithaca sends troops to the war and you neglect to mention the company they’ve brought along?”

Patroclus gestured toward you and Penelope, his smile quirking at the corners. “May I present my captain—Achilles of Phthia. Captain, these are the leaders of the Ithacan forces—Queen Penelope and her Second-in-Command.”

Achilles wasted no time taking stock of his audience. His piercing gaze swept over Penelope first, lingering on the red cloak draped over her shoulders. Recognition flickered in his eyes as he took in the sword at her hip—a symbol of Odysseus’ legacy.

Then his attention shifted to you, and his grin widened into something wolfish, sharpening as though he’d stumbled upon an unexpected treasure.

“So,” Achilles began, his voice carrying a blend of humor and confidence. “This is what Odysseus sends in his stead—a Queen and her second. A bold move even for him” He huffed with a shake of his head. “Though I must admit it’s not a disappointing one.”

You raise an eyebrow, your arms crossing as you regard him with an air of detached amusement. “Flattery will get you nowhere, son of Peleus,” you quipped.

Achilles chuckled, undeterred by your boldness. “Flattery? No, that was simply an observation.”

“She’s sharp.” Patroclus notes as if to back up his captain’s words.

Achilles laughed again. “A rare combination isn’t it? Ithaca clearly has an eye for talent. Though I’d wager you’re not just talented, but dangerous too.”

You snorted unimpressed. “Careful Achilles. You’re getting dangerously close to sounding like a poet.”

“Oh I leave the poetry to Patroclus,” Achilles replied smoothly, casting a playful glance at his companion. “But even he’d agree you’d inspire quite the verse.”

Patroclus hummed thoughtfully as though contemplating something. “She’d make a fine muse,” he mused, his smile turning sly. “Or perhaps...more.”

“Indeed.” he agreed, his gaze moving to you briefly before he shifted his focus to the group as a whole now.

“Many of the men have expressed their...let’s say astonishment at women leading troops into war. Though I say if they’re so easily unsettled,” he shrugs, “perhaps they shouldn’t be here at all. Brawn and strength aren’t the only qualities that matter. We warriors value strength, wit…and beauty.”

His eyes moved to Patroclus, lingering for the briefest of moments. The faintest trace of a smile softened his features—a moment between the two men.

The fleeting exchange didn’t go unnoticed by you even in its subtlety. It was clear to see their dynamic was more than mere camaraderie; it carried a weight of affection and trust that transcended the battlefield.

Achilles returned his attention to the group, his smile growing once more as he added, “After all, even audacity itself can be far more lethal than brute force.” His gaze drifted back to you, his expression both teasing and appraising. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

You tilt your head as you regard him. “Perhaps. But audacity can also be a weakness if misused.”

Patroclus glance at Achilles. “I like her already,” he said, the words carrying a hint of genuine admiration beneath the jest.

Achilles’ eyes sparkled as he leaned slightly closer as though sharing a secret. “So do I,” he said, his voice dropping just enough to make the words feel intimate despite the company.

Polites, who had been silent until now with a steadily darkening expression, suddenly cleared his throat loudly. His lips were pressed into a thin line as he gave Achilles a pointed look. “Perhaps you should focus on the war at hand, not Ithaca’s forces.”

Achilles turned his attention to Polites, his grin never wavering. “Ah the watchdog,” he teased. “Fiercely protective I see. Admirable, truly. I can respect that.”

Polites bristled slightly but said nothing.

You suppressed a laugh. “Polites calm down. They're harmless.” you said lightly. “For now.”

“Harmless?” Achilles repeated with mock offense, his hand pressing to his chest. “You wound me. I assure you my intentions are entirely noble.”

“Entirely,” Patroclus echoed with a sly grin.

Before the exchange could continue, Penelope stepped forward, positioning herself squarely between you and the two men.

Achilles blinked. His grin faltered for a split second before he recovered, the edges of his smile softening into something more genuine.

“Ah,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “Apologies my Queen. We didn’t mean to overstep, simply admiration I assure you.”

Penelope didn’t waver. For a moment the tension between her and Achilles seemed to hum in the air, a silent understanding passing between them.

You, meanwhile, fought the urge to smile at her protective stance.

Achilles and Patroclus’ flirtation might have been harmless—even entertaining—but Penelope’s subtle display of possessiveness was undeniably gratifying.

“Tempting,” you said dryly, letting a faint smile tug at your lips. “but I think I’ll pass. My place is here.”

“A shame,” Achilles mused, his tone still light. “But I suppose Ithaca’s finest must remain loyal.”

Patroclus’ smile lingered as he glanced between you and Penelope with a knowing look. “Loyal indeed,” he murmured, stepping back slightly as though recognizing the unspoken dynamic.

Penelope’s presence seemed to shift subtly beside you. She gave Achilles a pointed look, her own smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Perhaps you should focus on your captaincy rather than Ithaca’s Second-in-Command.”

Achilles chuckled, bowing his head slightly in acknowledgment. “Noted my Queen.”

As the two men took their leave, Polites shifted awkwardly beside you, his expression caught between irritation and something unknown.

“Don’t pout Polites,” you teased, nudging him with your elbow.

“I’m not pouting,” he grumbled, his arms crossing defensively.

But you caught the way his sight lingered on the retreating figures of Achilles and Patroclus, his brow furrowed as though weighing their intentions.

*･:*:★☽✧⚔️ BONUS ⚔️✧☾★:*:･*

The battlefield was chaos—clashing swords, guttural cries, and the metallic tang of blood hanging thick in the air.

Dust and smoke stung your eyes as you surveyed the fray. The lines of Ithacan soldiers, intermixed with those of other Greek allies, surged forward in disciplined waves against the Trojans.

You darted between soldiers, your movements sharp and purposeful as you directed formations. Penelope's orders had been clear and you ensured they were executed with precision.

Yet, as you maneuvered through the thick of the fight, it was impossible to ignore the two figures who always seemed to gravitate toward you—Achilles and Patroclus.

“You should consider stepping back for a moment,” Patroclus quipped, his tone light even as his blade cleaved through a Trojan soldier. “Can’t have Ithaca’s finest getting scratched now can we?”

You threw him a pointed glance as you wipe sweat from your brow. “Ithaca’s finest has survived worse. Worry about yourself Patroclus.”

Achilles, a few steps away, dispatched another enemy with terrifying efficiency. He turned toward you, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

“The battlefield is no place for hesitation,” he said, his voice carrying over the clamor. “But when it’s you, it’s hard not to act.”

You rolled your eyes despite your heart giving an involuntary lurch. “I don’t need protecting,” you replied sharply. “I’m here to fight, not be coddled.”

Achilles’ lips quirked into the faintest smile. “Noted.”

Despite your irritation you couldn’t deny that their presence had its benefits. Their skills in combat were unparalleled, and their instincts—apparently overprotective when it came to you—were razor-sharp.

Still, you felt a twinge of annoyance each time they deflected a blow meant for you or inserted themselves into your battles.

Like now.

A Trojan soldier charged at you, his spear aimed with lethal precision. You sidestepped smoothly, your own weapon arcing toward him.

Before you could strike, Achilles’ shield slammed into the man, sending him sprawling.

“I had that!” you snapped, glaring at him.

“I’m sure you did,” Achilles replied, not missing a beat as he turned to engage another foe.

Nearby, Patroclus dispatched the last of a small group of enemies before turning back to you. “You’ll thank us later,” he said, offering a cheeky grin. “When you’re not nursing a wound.”

You shot him a glare but said nothing, instead throwing yourself back into the battle. You didn’t need them to shield you; you had proven your capability time and time again.

And yet their attentions never waned, their protective instincts flaring whenever you were within reach.

Later, as the battle waned and the Greeks regrouped, you found yourself at the edge of the camp away from the bustling soldiers, sharpening your blade near the fire.

“You’re always so focused.”

You look up briefly to see a thoughtful Patroclus taking a seat beside you before returning to your work. “Focus keeps you alive.”

Achilles appeared not long after, dropping onto the other side of you with his signature grin.

“You know too much focus is no good right?” he said teasingly. “Come join us for a drink. Or a sparring match. Something to remind you there’s more to life than war.”

You raised an eyebrow, not even glancing his way as you continued your task. “And you think drinking or sparring with you will help me relax?”

Patroclus chuckled. “Relax? No. But it might make things more interesting.”

“Interesting isn’t what I’m aiming for,” you replied dryly.

Achilles pressed a hand to his chest, feigning hurt. “You wound me.”

“Not yet,” you shot back.

“So much fiery, so much bite...” Patroclus leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know there’s always room for one more.”

The whetstone stilled against your blade as you turned to meet his gaze.

“For what?”

Achilles smirked, gesturing between himself and Patroclus. “For us. Imagine it—Achilles, Patroclus, and the legendary second of Ithaca. A trio unlike any other.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, but before you could respond a shadow fell over the group.

Penelope stood there, her arms crossed and her expression unreadable, though the sharpness in her eyes spoke volumes.

“Am I interrupting something?” she asked, her tone calm and edged with steel.

Achilles and Patroclus exchanged a look before the Prince gave a shrug. “Simply in need of her insight,” he said. “We’re planning an attack near the western ridge. We believe her strategies have proven…effective.”

Penelope’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m sure my Second-in-Command has more pressing matters than aiding you with your skirmishes,” she said coolly.

Achilles met her gaze evenly. “Of course,” he replied, though his tone held a hint of challenge. “But perhaps a brief consultation wouldn’t hurt.”

You suppressed a sigh, sensing the tension between them. “I’ll take a look,” you said, stepping forward to diffuse the situation. “But only briefly. We’ve got our own plans to finalize.”

Patroclus’ grin widened as he pulled out and handed you a small sketch of the ridge. “We knew we could count on you.”

Penelope’s eyes burned into your back as you studied the map with displeasure practically radiating off her. She didn’t say anything; the slight tension in her posture told you everything you needed to know.

Before you could dwell on the thought, a distant horn broke the peace, its mournful note slicing through the quiet camp causing any ease from earlier to evaporate.

An Ithacan runner emerged from the shadows, breathless and wide-eyed. “My Queen, my Lady! News about a truce! A duel has been arranged—Menelaus against Paris. They say it will decide the war.”

You exchanged a sharp look with Penelope while Achilles and Patroclus straightened.

“When?” she asked, her voice steady despite the tension thrumming in the air.

“Right now,” the runner replied, his chest still heaving. “The Trojans—”

Another horn blast cut him off, louder and more urgent this time. Moments later Polites sprinted into view, his face pale and his voice hoarse. “Menelaus has been shot!”

“What?” you demanded.

“Pandarus,” Polites spat, his disgust evident. “He broke the truce. The Gods…Athena—they say she manipulated him. Menelaus is wounded.”

Patroclus’ face darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “How bad is it?”

“Not fatal,” Polites assures him. “But it’s enough to shatter the truce.” He hesitated, his gaze flicking to the ground. “This...will not end quietly.”

Achilles’ jaw tightened as his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Fools,” he muttered coldly. “A duel meant to end the war and they couldn’t even hold to their own terms.”

You glance at Penelope, the unspoken decision passing between you in a heartbeat.

“All right then,” you said, gripping the handle of your sword. “Polites, ready the men. We march at first light.”

Penelope nodded. “Send word to Diomedes and the others. We’ll need every fighter we have.”

Achilles didn’t wait for further instructions. “Patroclus with me,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “If war is what they want...” His words hung ominously in the air unfinished.

The Opuntian-born firmly nods before following Achilles into the shadows.

Now buzzed with activity of preparations for battle, fires burned brighter, casting long shadows over the Greek banners rippling in the wind.

The time for calm had passed.

War was about to reignite.

37 notes · View notes

rjthirsty · 5 months ago

Text

Shackled to You

Nicola/Lili (Piofiore)

Words: 3.2k

Tags: Dubcon, Smut, Smut, Smut, Yandere!Nicola, Possessiveness

Nicola rounded the corner in the hallway, feeling more disquieted as his search for Liliana continued to produce no results. She was meant to be here at the family mansion, yet she wasn’t in any of her typical locations-- any of the locations in which he had approved her to spend time, the places where she wouldn’t be disturbed by any other men. She was absent from her bedroom, the sitting room she would read in was empty, the kitchen devoid of anyone at all. Panic started to claw at his thoughts.

Perhaps she left…

No. Not possible.

Nicola attempted to squash that line of thinking before it had the chance to grow. She wouldn’t leave, and even if she did… He came to a stop, his mind turning over the possibilities of what to do if that were the case. Alternate plans upon plans upon contingencies were cycling through his head, some of them leading to particularly dark scenarios– only in the most dire and unlikely cases, of course.

With his eyes out of focus, and the shadow of gloom growing around him, movement from outside the window caught his attention. The sunshine filtered into the room, lighting up the floor and pane like it was calling to him, beckoning Nicola to return to the present; outside the window he saw the woman he was looking for. Lili was bathed in shining splendor, the spring weather brightening her features, more beautiful to Nicola than the flowering garden she was standing in.

The strategies he was concocting faded to the back of his mind, while the corners of his mouth quirked upwards from his unintentional frown. And like it was in response to his own feeling of relief, Lili also smiled, though she wasn’t looking towards the mansion at Nicola like he was looking at her. That’s when Nicola noticed– she wasn’t alone.

His face fell, and his footsteps echoed through the empty room as he hurried towards the back garden. Whoever it was that earned her smile would regret infringing on his love. He was in a foul mood already, and that person just volunteered to take the brunt of his discontent.

Nicola stepped out of the mansion onto a beautifully mosaiced walkway in the courtyard. Neatly manicured hedges lined the walls that gave way to smaller shrubbery dotted with budding flowers, and eventually into a well-cultivated variety of decorative perennials that kept the garden lively all year while the annuals bloomed into season when the weather was right. His leather shoes clicked against the stone, heralding his arrival before he had the chance to confront Liliana and the man that was overstepping his place.

However, once the two were in sight, his steps slowed and a cold pang lanced his chest. His cousin - Dante - was the only other person with Liliana. They were a respectable distance apart, and surely Dante wouldn’t be attempting to court his lover, but they were also alone in the gardens and Nicola didn’t like when anyone was alone with his love - even Dante.

For a moment, he hesitated. Dante meant the world to him, but Liliana had quickly grown to be as important, if not more - a thought he hadn’t really put time into considering seeing as how he never imagined he’d have to measure the two. But now he wondered just who he should be disappointed with.

Could it be both? That must be it.

Nicola placed a placid smile on lips and called out to announce himself. “Cara mia, I was looking for you. You’re not at all where I expected you to be.”

Dante and Lili turned towards him, and while one of them brightened to see him, the other looked on with cool indifference.

“Nicola! I didn’t expect you to be home this early in the day.” Lili moved to join him halfway to where she had been standing, wrapping her arms around him in a greeting that eased the pain in his chest.

He placed a hand on her back, almost protectively, as he kept his eyes on his cousin. “I’m glad to see you, Dante, it saves me the effort of locating you as well.”

“Has there been a development?” Dante asked.

“You could say so. Though I don’t want my sweetheart to have to hear business details.” Despite the pleasant way he looked and the musical lilt to his voice, there was a sharpness to Nicola’s words and movements. He brought a hand up to cup the back of Lili’s head as he turned to press a soft kiss to the side of her forehead - it was purposeful and punctuated with a pointed look at Dante. Nicola might have been smiling, but his eyes were not.

“Come by my office later.”

“Of course.” Nicola kept his words short. Lili turned in his arms, letting him lock her next to him in a loose embrace. “Now if you will excuse us, I need a moment with my love.”

Dante gave a non-committal noise, his eyes shifting from Nicola to Lili, and Nicola struggled to keep his smile. His eyes darkened and he stepped around her, putting himself between them, rather than letting her stay in front of Dante. Reaching back, he clamped a hand on Lili’s arm, and with steps that betrayed his agitation, quickly escorted Lili towards the walls of the large estate - but not the main doorway to the courtyard.

Dante gave a sigh as Nicola dragged Liliana off. He’d have to have Leo check up on her later, but it was probably best if he put some distance between himself and Liliana for a while.

Lili struggled to keep up with Nicola’s long and hasty strides. “Nicola?” He didn’t even look at her as he pulled her along and her heart began hammering wildly. “Wait, you’re going too fast.”

“Just bear with it, my love. We’ll stop soon enough.” His voice was still as sweet as ever, but his actions were anything but.

He wove through another stoned-off flower bed, and Lili realized he was taking her down a path between the bushes she hadn’t seen before. It looked like some sort of maintenance route for the gardeners to manage the foliage, with the way it was hidden and how it brought them down a side of the mansion between two sets of walls.

Once they crossed the corner of the house, and shade enveloped them in gloom from the two buildings they were nestled between, Nicola stopped and turned on her. Liliana barely had time to catch her breath before Nicola backed her against the wall, setting a hand near her head to cage her in. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and questioning. She could feel the cold stone through her dress, and it leeched the warm early summer heat from her body.

She didn’t dare take her eyes off him. She drew in short breaths, trying to calm her racing heart. He stared back at her, whatever thoughts were running through his head was a mystery to her, but she could see the way they were spinning him up. She knew this look of his, though never to this extreme. It was a precursor to those times he clung to her, where he held her so tightly that it hurt, when he whispered his love and devotion over and over again as if he was trying to convince her and himself.

Nicola felt that darkness rising in him as he stared down at Lili. He kept that part of him smothered down in the depths of himself– he struggled to keep it below the surface, despite it always being there, despite it always being a part of him. His love had always been tainted, but he tried his best to keep it at bay. There were times, though, times when those inky tendrils wove their way into his actions, and he questioned the validity of his feelings and his mind.

Now was one of those times.

Now he had let that darkness shackle her.

He had let it take hold and he pulled her into a place that mirrored the murkiness that lurked within him.

No more than a foot away the sun shone and the world continued on bright and beautiful. But here in this alley, it was cold and silent and just the two of them, where no one else could get to her.

“I was surprised to see you with Dante.” Nicola’s voice sounded hollow to his ears, but he knew that he could lie convincingly without even thinking about it, and he was sure Lili had no idea what was hidden behind his words.

I found you with another man. Am I not enough?

“I ran into him when taking a walk.” Liliana answered, trying to keep her voice even and calm.

“Does that happen often? My love, I worry about you. What if it was someone else you ran into?” Nicola smiled, his free hand moved under Lili’s chin, fingertips delicately holding it angled so she continued to look up at him.

There was a large number of men who moved about the family house. Men who weren’t as upstanding as his cousin. Men who wouldn’t bat an eye at committing heinous acts to fulfill their own desires. She was his. And even then, he knew there were some men who would still be tempted.

You’re too beautiful. You’re too pure.

“No, it doesn’t. I’m alone most of my day, besides the maids and you. The whole house gives me a wide berth, Nicola.” Lili knew he was the one keeping others away, and she had allowed it because she didn’t need anyone but him.

“But not Dante.” Nicola added, his smile taking on an edge that reminded Liliana of the blade of a knife.

“No… not Dante.” She admitted. There was no point in lying about it, or trying to be deceptive. She had never lied to him before, and she had never felt she had a reason to.

She was aware of how he felt about his cousin, knowing that he had pledged himself to work his best for him since they were children, even before he became Cappo and Nicola became his Underboss. But since that relationship was built on years of trust, she hadn’t thought it would be a problem to have one person in this large house that she could occasionally converse with. She hadn’t expected Nicola to let his possessiveness interfere with his bond with his family.

It appeared she was wrong.

“Cara mia, my love, my sweetheart.” Nicola recited each pet name like poetry, his voice dropping lower and dripping with honey. “How do I show you how much I need you? How do I prove to you I love you most?”

Nicola thought he had done everything to make her happy. To tell her that she was special and loved. If she needed anything, he would give it to her. She wanted for nothing, he made sure of that. He poured affection on her day in and day out. He took care of her in ways no one else would be able to.

“You already do.” Lili raised her hand to gently touch his face. “Nicola, I know you love me. And I love you.”

Then why? Why did you test me?

Nicola wrapped his fingers around Liliana’s wrist, moving her away from his face and pinning her hand against the stucco stone.

“Nicola?”

He dipped in and covered her mouth with his, cutting her off before she could say anything else. He felt Lili open her mouth and he thrust his tongue inside it. He delved deep into her, his lips moving against hers, his tongue twining and wrestling with hers. He tried to pour all his love into the kiss, stretching it out and refusing to pull away even when she gave hints that she wanted a chance to breathe. He was drowning in her, and he wanted her to drown in him, too.

A noise rose from Lili’s throat, heady and groaning, and Nicola felt himself growing stiff. She was his. She was all he needed. And every part of her fell under that black desire, her voice, her thoughts, her eyes, her body…

“Mnnmph,” Liliana tried to pull away again, but there was nowhere for her to go. She was pushed against the wall, pinned there by one wrist, and closed off on the other side by Nicola’s hand. His kissing was relentless, and she was getting dizzy. She needed air and felt her knees becoming unsteady.

Finally he broke away from her mouth and she gasped and gulped in air, panting heavily. But Nicola didn’t seem to be done with her and his lips moved from hers to her chin, then her jaw, then he nudged her head aside with his nose and licked and sucked on her neck.

“Wait, Nicola.”

He could hear her words, but they were weak and belied her need. It didn’t matter what she said, he knew she wouldn’t deny him. He knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t put herself in this position. She wouldn’t test the depths of his love. She wouldn’t participate in events that asked him to prove himself.

“Hnngh, Nicola– wait.”

He nipped at her neck, then wound his tongue over the spot to caress it in apology. Holding her wrist tight to the wall, he moved his other hand down to roughly brush his hand up her thigh, hiking her skirt up.

“Haaah, please, Nicola.”

No one would see them here, she didn’t need to worry. They were alone. Sure it wasn’t the most romantic place to prove their love for each other, but it would just be between them.

Nicola pressed his knee between Lili’s legs, holding her skirt in place. He tugged at his trousers, loosening his pants to pull himself free. Releasing her wrist, he scooped her up where her ass met her thighs, and lifted her to his waist, using the wall to support her back. Lili’s hands moved to her skirt, and she pushed it down to cover her exposed panties. She didn’t seem to understand that despite being outside, this was just as private as the back of a car, or even her own room.

His hand moved between her legs, a finger hooking the side of her underwear to pull the fabric from her sex. With his forearm, he knocked her wadded skirt clenched between her fists away, and without any attempt to lubricate her cunt, he plunged into her entrance with his cock. It was rough and tight and took some effort to push and nudge himself in completely. The sounds that Liliana made hastened his thrusts, further fueling his lustful love for her.

She clutched at his chest, holding onto his coat, her eyes squeezed shut as she whimpered. And once Nicola was inside her, he paused, taking a moment to look at his love. Her face was flushed and her eyelashes glistened with tears, and he thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Tenderly, he kissed her eyes, wetting his lips with the moisture on her lashes.

When he pulled back, she cracked her eyes at him - they wavered behind a misty veil.

“Nicola…” she whispered hoarsely.

He liked the way his name sounded on her lips.

“I’ve got you, my love. I won’t let you go.” He assured her, pressing a loving kiss to her forehead before he rested his own forehead on hers.

Her cunt had adjusted to him, no longer fighting his size, and Nicola slowly began to pump into her. The wall made it easy to hold Lili steady, only needing to support her weight with his body while he used the concrete for leverage.

Words of affection and adoration drifted from his lips, bubbling up from the churning pool of his bottomless love.

“I love you.”

“I need you.”

“I would do anything for you.”

The saccharin promises poured out of him as he rocked into her. Soon, Lili was quietly moaning along. Her voice sounded like a blissful sigh, hitching each time he bottomed out on a thrust.

“You’re my love.”

“You’re my life.”

“I can’t live without you.”

Nicola continued to whisper, not caring if he could be heard above Lili’s own moaning. He didn’t need her to hear his heart, she just had to feel his love. That’s what it meant to him when he pledged himself to her, when he was stroking his cock inside her. He’d make her feel every part of him and he would feel every part of her. He’d give her so much pleasure and joy that she would never doubt him again.

He would treat her like a queen.

He would use her.

He would be the only one in her life.

He would fill every need and desire she ever had.

He would shackle her to him.

He wouldn’t let her leave.

As Liliana became more vocal, Nicola sank further into the darkness inside himself. If he could only share it with her, if he could taint her too, she might understand.

He slapped his pelvis against hers, pounding and pumping and orchestrating her symphony of pleasurable moans. Her cunt throbbed around him, and he knew he was getting close to coming with the way his groin tightened. It felt like a knot of pressure was building and bundling below his dick, at the very base of his core.

Almost as if acknowledging the sensation gave it permission to release, Nicola felt a need to push deeper and thrust harder. He rammed into Lili, spilling his seed inside her. Claiming her with his cum. Making her his fully.

No other man would penetrate her. No other man would see these faces that she made while they made love. No other man would hear the sweet sounds she sang for him.

Nicola sagged onto Lili, leaning on her for support as he caught his breath.

Lili sucked in heaving mouthfuls of air. Nicola’s weight made it more difficult to breathe, but not to the point that she felt like she was being crushed. Timidly, she wiggled her hands free from his coat and swept them up to his cheeks. With a gentle pull, she brought his face up to look him in the eyes, and surprisingly, Nicola followed her lead without contest. She gazed into his eyes, trying to see the man she loved within them.

When he had first pulled her into the alley, his eyes were cloudy and dark, not at all the eyes she was used to seeing. Sometimes they got stormy, but never that dark and tumultuous. Now, however, they had cleared somewhat. He still looked distant, and a darkness lingered in his eyes foretelling stormy weather, but at least there was a piece of the man she knew still in there.

“Lili,” he said as they gazed at each other. “I will love you completely if you allow me to.”

She nodded slightly.

In reality, she knew she no longer had a choice in it. Nicola was going to love her completely whether she allowed it or not. He would love her fully, utterly, and devotedly. He would fill her life with him until there was no room for anyone else. And while she knew her love would never be as deep as his bottomless fount, and she would never know the full darkness of the shadows that loomed within him, she knew she had already drowned within his heart.

#piofiore fanfic #piofiore nicola #nicola francesca #piofiore #commission #fanfic #repost from ao3 #rjthirsty fanfic

23 notes · View notes

sio-writes · 2 months ago

Text

Botanist's Guide - Chapter 15

< Chapter 14

<< Chapter 1

Summary: Cassandra Rowland, PhD, finally has the chance to work on an experiment that really matters: growing Earth crops on another planet. But too many overdue reports and marked failures have put her in hot water with the board, and this is her last chance at redemption. So when she finds herself railroaded by a seven foot tall, glowing alien named Kri, it won’t be as easy as sticking some seeds in the soil and running them under the tap. Tack on the looming repossession of her lab contingent on her success in Kri’s reports, and Cassie realizes she may have her work cut out for her.

Tags: No new tags today, but Cassie really gets down on herself

Cassie Shower sex did not go as planned. In fact, Kri had simply wanted to forego anything physical and talk instead. I tried to use what little feminine wiles I still had to seduce him, but it was no use. Kri is playing some version of doctor/nurse/mother hen which leaves no room for "unhealthy coping mechanisms."

I knew scowling at him would do no good, so I sighed out my frustration and tried to appreciate the fact that he's only trying to help. I'd groaned to the ceiling and pushed Kri out of the shower, and then waited until he had dried off and left to see if I could work up the gumption to masturbate. The motivation, though, wasn't there and I stepped out of the shower unsatisfied and grumpy.

Bathing was nice though, I needed it. Hot water, nice-smelling soap. Kri had apparently texted Ari for Jillie to get me some new clothes and had them ready for me as I stepped out of the shower. I'm surprised at Kri's networking skills, and also a little intimidated.

I feel like I'm floating as I get dressed. Jillie brought me my favorite jeans and an old band t-shirt, my ultimate comfort outfit, but as I look at myself in the mirror I realize that I'll need more than just clothes. There's dark circles and bags under my eyes, I look pale, and I've chewed my nails down to the quick. I can feel my temper angrily pacing in the back of my mind, mumbling about things that need to get done.

I need to clean the greenhouse today, and find places for all the plants that aren't going to be mulched. My little planters are unfortunately in the later category, but the bigger ones I could try to sneak away with on their own. They'd fit right in with the plants at home, and I could continue the spirit of the experiment indefinitely. God, there's still so much to do, and I have so little time to do it. The lab comes after the greenhouse, and there's even more shit in there that's going in the garbage, too. I'll need boxes for the office and containers for the lab, and I have to clear space in my apartment now for the extra plants.

Thinking about everything makes my head spin, and the frustration of it all has fresh tears of blooming behind my eyes. No, I can't do this, I can't break down. Not today, not ever.

I take an unsteady inhale to push every ugly emotion wanting to surface, and jab my finger against my reflection. "You. Get your shit together."

There's a soft knock at the door, and Jillie's soft voice carries through. "Cass, you okay in there?"

My voice cracks as I respond, "Yeah, I'm good."

I push off the countertop and pass over to the door while wiping my face free of tears, opening it and letting the steam out into Kri's apartment. Jillie's still there, eyes wide and locked on me. She steps forward and wraps me in her arms, hugging me tight to her and burying her face in my shoulder. "I'm so sorry, hon."

Another deep breath from me, and I hug her back to let her know I'm functioning. "Yeah, it sucks."

She pats my arms reassuringly, and squeezes my shoulders, and I think the move is more for herself than me.

On the couch sit Kri and Ari, their heads bowed down so their antennae touch. Ari has on arm wrapped around Kri's shoulder, and another holding two of his hands as they both quietly speak in Universal. When I step out of the bathroom, though, they both stop immediately, watching me with wary eyes. Kri stands up, and I'm struck by a pang of irritation at that-- they were talking about me, or something else they didn't want the humans to hear, and it sets my teeth on edge.

I step around Julie and towards the exit. "We have to clean the lab today."

Jillie stops me halfway to the door, grabbing my wrist. "We have a few days to do that. How about some lunch first?"

I sigh through my nose. I need to get everything cleaned out, then I'll feel better, or at least I can go home and cry in the solitude of my own apartment. I turn on my heel and I'm met with three concerned faces. "Guys, I really want to just get everything cleaned out."

Kri chirps an anxious note as he rests a hand on my shoulder. "There's no hurry, why not eat first?"

His hand is meant to comfort, but instead another shock of annoyance courses through my system. I have to resist shrugging him off. "I really just want--"

"Cassie, please," Jillie says. "Humor us? Let us take care of you."

Et tu, Jillie? The thought of eating makes my stomach twist. I could barely get down the bread and fruit Kri shoved in my face, now I'm expected to eat again? I'm not in the mood to entertain a group of hovering nannies while I force down a sandwich. That shock of annoyance comes back, and I have to focus on my expression so I don't scowl. They won't let me do what I want to do, I'm going have to play their game until they're satisfied and leave me alone. After another moment to weigh my options, I roll my eyes and give in. "Fine."

At that, Jillie lights up, she even gives me a smile instead of a drawn in half-frown of concern. "You feelin' anywhere specific?"

I shrug. I'm really unfamiliar with the restaurants here, even the shops. I spend most days at the food court eating whatever is offered, and everything I need to live is supplied by the Outpost. Jillie, though, is socially active enough for the both of us, and has likely been to every restaurant and store twice over. She goes out here on Summanus more than she did on Earth.

Jillie gives me a strange look. Usually I'm all for finding somewhere to eat, but right now I just want to crawl back into Kri's super comfortable hammock and sleep for five days. I don't want to make any decisions.

Snap out of it, Cass. Be a better friend.

Back on Earth, I'd been given bad marks on assignments, failed tests, the usual. Rejection happens to even the best of us, not that I'm even close to the best, but I'm not new to the sting of it. Stephen was there to give me pep talks-- although, thinking back on it, he only did it to get me over the emotional slump and move on as fast as possible so we could focus on him. I can give myself a pep talk just fine, thank you very much, I just have to ignore the big part of my brain convinced that I do nothing but fall on my face.

To distract myself while they find somewhere to eat, I step over to Kri's bookshelf. Most of the books are in Universal, but I spy one in English and pick it up. It's an artbook; more specifically, a book on the Museum of Modern Art in New York. It's well-worn, with indentations in the thick spine and several bookmarked pages. Kri must have revisited this book a dozen times or more, if he marked out his favorites.

It's a side of Kri I'm unfamiliar with, and one I find infinitely fascinating. What else does he enjoy, besides art? Clearly he enjoys reading, too, but what kind of books? Does he like romance novels like I do? Our back-and-forth in Igrien was surface level, and thinking of the trip makes a foggy memory come to surface: his favorite color. He'd told me it was blue, like my eyes. I truly hadn't made the connection at the time, but now I want to smack myself for being so stupid. At the same time, though, I feel warm. It could be a coincidence, it could've been his favorite since he was born, or if it has anything to do with me, but I don't care.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open to the first bookmarked page. It's pop art, like I've read about from the 1970's, with bright screened half-tones on canvases as large as I am tall. There's an image of a white woman with curls of blonde hair and bright red lipstick, holding a matching red soda can with the label facing out. The image of the can is repeated as a border around the image in different colors. There's a passage that I skim, explaining the artist's process, their feelings on the creation of the art, and plans for future installations, and something about anti-capitalism.

The second bookmark makes me smile. It's a photo of a young black woman with vitiligo, wearing bright yellow underclothes that barely cover her breasts and groin. Her pose is simple, one leg propped up on a low block, the opposite hand planted on her hip. It looks like an advertisement for alcohol, if the setting was an art gallery. She's dark-skinned, and the vitiligo is a pasty white that goes all the way down to her feet, and Kri's fascination suddenly makes sense. The pattern almost looks like his.

A cleared throat to my right makes me jump, and I slam the book closed. It's only Kri; he hooks an arm around my waist and rests his head against my temple. "Is there a word for one who goes through another's things?"

A hot flash of shame locks me up. "Sorry."

"I'm only joking." He presses a kiss to my hair, and the tension in my muscles unwinds. "What did you find?"

"Your human obsession." I open back to that bookmark, and Kri makes a choked noise in the back of his throat.

"That is--uh, well--hmm," he says, rubbing the back of his neck before aborting an explanation. "It is not an obsession, I simply appreciate the aesthetics."

"Uh-huh," I say with a smile, my first smile since this morning. "Shall we go through the rest of your marked pages?"

"No no--" he grabs the book from my hands, closing it and stepping around me to place it back on the shelf. "How about…" He searches the shelf for a moment, so I glance behind me at the others. Ari and Jillie are bent over Ari's phone, scrolling through restaurants. One of Ari's hands is resting on Jillie's shoulder, and they're leaned in close together as they search. I wonder at what their relationship is, and I want to ask, be nosy. They must feel me staring, and both look up at me at the same time.

Jillie raises her eyebrows. "How about Indian food?"

The hoverbus that takes us is crowded and hot, and the person behind me keeps kicking my seat to whatever music they're listening to. I grind my teeth the whole way there and try not to think too much about what I need to do, but I do anyway. Why did The Board fail me? There was progress. It was small, but very present, and they saw that. Why wasn't I good enough? Who do these people think they are, cutting an experiment so new it's not even off the ground?

The good mood from Kri's apartment has all but disappeared once we walked out the door. It felt like the balloon holding up my mood suddenly had a brick tied to the end, and then plunged into the ocean. Kri seemed to have backed off once we left, and I understand he's giving me space, but I wish he wouldn't. His presence isn't as abrasive as the others, not that I dislike them, but Jillie can be…a lot sometimes. I love her, but I'm someone who needs quiet once in a while.

We end up at a small restaurant in the Chem Building run by the Outpost. It looks like it seats maybe fifty people max, with a small but well-stocked bar at the far end.

"Oh thank god, I need a drink," I say, pushing past the others to make a beeline for the bar, but a small hand around my wrist stops me mid-step. It's Jillie, her face pinched in concern.

"Maybe that's not the best idea?"

I roll my eyes, jerking my hand out of her grip as my anger spikes. "Seriously, Jill? I can't have a fucking drink with lunch?" She flinches back, and I immediately feel bad. I've yelled at Jillie once, and only once, and swore to never do it again. I collect myselfwith a deep breath and correct my words, "No, no, you're right. Probably not a good idea."

We're told we can sit wherever we like, and Ari grabs us a half booth with two chairs on one side. The cushions are soft and it's relatively secluded, but I find it hard to appreciate. How many more fuck ups can I make in one day, I wonder? Maybe I should just stop talking.

I take the first of the booth seats, assuming Kri and Ari will take the chairs because of their wings. But Kri sits next to me, and Ari slides in next to Jillie, who then sits opposite me. I feel trapped, boxed in and under pressure to do…something. I'm not sure what, yet. In very human fashion, Kri stretches his upper arm over my shoulder, resting it on the back of the booth. I feel his wings poke at my back, slightly extended to accommodate the booth, but he doesn't look uncomfortable or stiff. I try to move forward to give his wings more room.

A young woman introduces herself as our waiter and takes our drink orders, and I float through it like I floated through dressing earlier. Menus are handed out, and I notice that Kri and Ari's are in Universal, the squiggly lines of the language stand stark against the several English words that couldn't be translated. I sneak a peak at Kri's menu, curious, and he tilts the large sheet of laminated paper towards me so I can see. I feel his other right hand move to rest over my thigh, from the inside of my knee upwards, and before I can pretend to be scandalized he turns his wrist and opens his palm for me to take. I slip my hand into his, his fingers slotting between mine, and I feel stabilized for the first time in days.

"I've never eaten here before, what is good?" Ari asks, scanning their own menu before turning it facedown at the end of the table.

Jillie repeats Ari's action, then props her elbows on the table and folds her hands under her chin. "Indian food can get spicy, do ya'll like spice or not?"

Ari shakes their head while Kri nods, and Jillie nods in understanding. She turns to Ari, "You'll like butter chicken or tikka masala. Kri," she turns to him, "Get whatever speaks to you."

Kri chuckles as he flips the menu over, and then tilts it for me to see. It isn't a requirement to learn Universal to come to Summanus, human vocals have a hard time with some the tonal sounds. But the fun part of being discovered by an alien species, as the ento did us, is that they already decided to learn a handful of Earth languages before landing. It scared the hell out of the first contact scientists. In my early days of training at NASA, I took the course on the language hoping to get a leg up in applications, but nothing stuck. Very similar to my lessons on Korean, I've forgotten most of it outside of a few key words, like "hello," or "fuck off."

"Drink," I say, pointing at the word on the menu. It's something a toddler would do, yet I feel too numb to worry about embarrassing myself. I want to impress Kri with my knowledge of his language.

Kri smiles down at me, "Yes, that's right," and I blame the sudden heat in my face on the close quarters. "Do you have any recommendations?"

I know he's trying to distract me, pretend everything is normal, and it's a little overbearing but I think I can handle it. I look down at our linked hands. "I like tandoori chicken, and biryani is always tasty. If you're feeling veggie options I've heard aloo gobi is good, and you can adjust the spice level."

Kri hums in thought and flips the menu over to study it. I feel bad that he's down to half his hands and try to unlace our fingers, but Kri softly locks his down, making escape impossible. It's soft, like he's afraid of hurting me. He squeezes my hand reassuringly without taking his eyes off the menu and suddenly, our hands feel like a secret between us. It's pretty obvious by the way we're sitting, but the small movements of his against mine are our own, something only we'll know. I return with a squeeze of my fingers.

When the waitress brings us our drinks, the conversation dies down. I think Jillie was expecting Kri or me to talk, but I'm not feeling very chatty. It leaves a hole in the interaction, like a tear in a stocking. I stay safe and order tikka masala, but that's the extent of my attention span, and I wind up staring down at the table.

I'm exhausted, but I'm also wired. Everything to do is still on my mind, everything that still needs to be done, and we're just sitting here. Sitting around like nothing matters, and I'm growing more anxious by the minute. Kri squeezes my hand again, but I don't squeeze back. When our meals come I don't feel like eating anymore. I pick at it, rolling the chicken in the sauce as Jillie talks to Ari through a mouthful of food.

"This tastes like the creckt from home." Ari says. "'Asxu, taste." They push their bowl towards Kri, who takes it in one hand and grabs a bite with the other. His eyes light up and he hums in exclamation.

"Indeed it does! Here, try mine," he says, pushing his bowl forward.

"No, thank you, it's searing my eyes from over here."

Kri shrugs and says something in Universal that makes Ari scoff and smile. Kri reaches over and easily steals another piece of chicken from their plate. It's strange, watching Kri pick off Ari's plate, like how girls in high school would flirt with the boys. It sets me on edge, watching a tradition I know very little about. It could be cultural or just between them, I'm not sure which, but that fact of it doesn't make me feel any better.

Julie breaks the silence, "Ya'll come from the same town, right? What's home like for you guys?"

Shame twists my stomach before I can sort it away. The last time I asked Kri about his life was in Igrien, and I made him sad thinking about V'les. Since then it's been about nothing but me and my issues, and I hate to think I've been such a bad girlfriend after so little time has passed.

Kri speaks up, "We are from Lethien, about 300 kilometers, ah, Northwest?" he looks to Ari for confirmation, who only shrugs in response. "It's a small mining village built into a mountain and surrounded by forests."

"That sounds gorgeous," Jillie says.

Ari nods again. "In the summer, yes. Spring too. But the winters I do not like."

That piques my interest, and I want to say something, ask about their home, but Jillie beats me to it. "Ooh, Cassie you grew up in Maine, aren't the winters there bad too?"

"Um, yeah."

Jillie waves her hand dismissively. "She's downplaying it. Maine is up north so it sees harsh winter. Northwest of here…Ya'll farm, like, staple crops, right?"

Ari nods. "The Athena Grain that's in most breads. We also have three kinds of berry bushes that grow naturally in the area. 'Asxu is fond of the grengish berry." They turn to briefly acknowledge Kri, whose hand falters against my own as Jillie chuckles.

They keep pretending like everything is normal, like my life hasn't been uprooted. Part of me wants to scream, part of me wants to cry, but mostly I just stare at the table and say nothing. The same touch of annoyance comes back to nibble at my conscious as they continue to talk around me. I don't feel in touch with any of them, not even Jillie. I feel isolated and far away.

We finish lunch without issue, and I digest my half-eaten chicken on the walk to the lab. It only takes about ten minutes, but it's ten minutes of conversation, pointless talking, and things I'm not part of. Julie asks more questions about Lethien, and each one is a stab in my chest with a knife that says, You're a subpar friend and girlfriend.

We step into the lab and a heavy weight settles over my shoulders. My lab isn't mine anymore, it belongs to the Outpost. Well, it always belonged to the Outpost, but there's white tape criss-crossed over the counter like police tape. There's no text on it, just a shiny finish that reflects my face back at me at weird angles. "I feel like I'm being evicted."

Beside me, Kri frowns in confusion. "It is not. You will continue to live at your apartment."

I sigh. "I know, I was just being dramatic." No jokes allowed, I guess. "Let's get started." I grabbed a box of garbage bags from the apartment's convenience store on the way over, and tears begin to well in my eyes as I pull out the first one. I push my tears down. I can cry tomorrow, where I can properly process it.

"Lets grab what we want to keep, first." Jillie says, delegating the other two. "Electronics, hardware, anything not owned by the Outpost-- Cass, not that!" She stops me before I grab a single planter, my hand hovering over it. It's just a cup of dirt that I assumed would be composted.

"This is garbage, it didn't even germinate," I reply, following through to pick it up and put it in the bag.

Jillie pouts, her lower lip pushed out. "I had a system…" I look to Kri and Ari, who don't respond, so I guess I'm outnumbered. I sigh again, and pull my hand back.

"Fine." I let the trash bag fall from my hand. "My laptop's already been returned to the Archive."

"Yeah yeah, I turned mine in too," she waves me off as she scans the desktop for electronics. She picks up a microscope and sets it back down. That's not ours.

It soon becomes clear that Jillie intended to take the lead from the beginning, organizing every item into huge, unmanaged piles of "Keep," "Outpost," and "Trash." It works, I suppose, but the piles are so close together they're starting to fall into one another and we're going to have to sort through them all over again. Her system left us with too many cooks, so I wound up leaning against what was once my desk and watching her and Ari sort through the past half year of my life.

On my side, though, is Kri again. Normally, I'd be annoyed, but he's not hovering over my shoulder, he's not trying to talk to me, he's just standing half a step away. It's hands-off, not really like his style, but I can appreciate it. It doesn't do much against the visuals in front of me, though, so I resign myself to grinding my teeth and fighting back tears. There's no point in resisting anymore, there's no point in trying to salvage things, there's no point in trying anymore. I don't even have my music to cut the silence.

"Cass, what do you want us to do with this?" Jillie asks, holding up the stack of paper that contains my report. It's at least an inch thick, full of mistakes.

"I don't care," I say with a shrug. She'd just thrown away all my pictures of the planters that hadn't made it to the slideshow presentation. All my hard work, right in the trash. I grind my teeth and push back another wave of tears. Without ceremony, Jillie dumps it all into the garbage pile, where a few flutter to the ground.

She continues piling up piece after piece until the lab returns to its original appearance, sparkly clean, just like the day it was assigned to me. Just like I predicted, we had to sort through things again as the piles had started to blend together, taking twice as long as it should've.

I volunteer to carry the first bags to the trash compacter, where I had to throw out Emmie the MP3 player. I drop the bags into the chute, and turn away before I can consider throwing myself in behind them, and stand there, in the hallway. The 'Keep' pile in the lab is so small, just enough to carry in my arms and back to…I'm not sure. I can't keep the equipment in my apartment, there's barely enough room for me. We'll probably donate it to the Outpost, and then what?

I look down at my hands. Going back to the lab isn't an option anymore. The door is going to close in my face for the last time, and it's going to break something in me. Instead, I turn to the right, take the stairs down, and leave the building. I need to talk to someone else.

At my apartment, I toss my keycard on the kitchen table and I pull out my laptop and sign into StarNet, the network that allows communication to Earth. It's used primarily to send scientific data back to NASA, but we recently got an update to allow video, at least for a few minutes. I last used it months ago to talk to my folks. I'd told them about Project EVA being approved, the audit, how excited I was to get started. They don't know about anything else, not because I kept it from them, but because I ever took the time to call them about it, and I admit that I was apprehensive telling them about my relationship with Kri. Technically, he was in a position of power over me, and it's not ethical to start a relationship with a power imbalance, that's what NASA told us, at least.

I check the time and mentally calculate that would mean for my parents-- and it's just after dinner there. I dial their address, and dad picks up after the second ring. "Cass! It's been a minute!"

Hearing his voice hits me with a wave of emotion and my chest heaves. I can't break down yet. Still, it makes me miss them. "Hi, Dad."

"Oh no, sweetheart, what happened?"

I'm A Daddy's Girl through and through, he's always been able to read me like a book, especially my moods.

He leans back to reveal Mom puttering around in the background, and I recognize that the laptop is set up the kitchen. "Is that Cassie? Cassie, hi! I love you, baby!" She waves at me with a long spoon, splattering red sauce everywhere. Behind them, out the window, I see the crescent Earth peeking around the corner of the window.

I miss Earth, a little more than usual. There's no fast food on Summanus, nothing from Earth at least, NASA wanted to keep commercialism to a minimum when setting up the Outposts, so all the restaurants are privately owned. But damn, I miss gobbling down french fries from the deep fryer, covered in salt.

I can only muster a half-smile. "Hi, Mom."

Dad asks again, his face coming back into frame, "Are you okay? Did something happen?"

My chest feels like it's going to cave in as another wave of emotion washes over me. "The experiment failed, Dad. I've lost my lab, and my greenhouse."

There's no point in hiding things anymore, and I recount the events of the experiment. I carefully leave out Kri to save myself more heartache, but I know it's going to come up later. They'll ask, and I'll have to answer, but I'm going to put it off for as long as possible. When I reach the presentation, the letter of determination, and the notice of failure, both Mom and Dad are crowded around the camera, faces drawn down in concern.

"Sounds like it was a success, though," Mom says after I finish recounting cleaning up the lab.

I sigh. "Technically, it was, it just wasn't fast enough."

"That auditor they sent probably didn't help, I bet he was an ass."

That makes me chuckle. "Yeah, at first, but it turned out to be a misunderstanding. His name is Kri, and he's actually very kind."

"Oh, are you two friends?" She says the word friends like she means something else. It's a distraction from the talk of the experiment, but I don't mind.

I fiddle with my hands shyly. "We're actually…seeing each other."

"After the experiment, right?" Dad asks, drawing it out suspiciously.

I chuckle again, but awkwardly. "Well…"

Mom gasps, scandalized. "Cassie! That's incredibly unprofessional."

"I know, I know."

They both give me a look of mock-disapproval, but Mom's fades almost instantly. Dad's though, only becomes stern. Mom lightly smacks him on the shoulder. "Give her a break, Daniel, she's had a hard few months."

Dad scoffs, but doesn't say anything else. Mom pushes past him, "So, what's he like?"

I smile at her eager face on screen. She's always been supportive of my relationships. "He's an ento--"

"Ooh what color? Wait-- Is that rude to ask?"

"I don't think so. He's blue and black, about seven feet tall, big wings. He's actually a botanist like me, except I think he did field work, and then got promoted to auditor. He likes art, and he's really smart." For a brief moment, I feel like a teenager again, telling my parents about my crush. Then, like being hit by a truck, that feeling of inadequacy comes back full force, and I go quiet. I'm not good enough for him, I shouldn't be here. Before I can stop it, tears are falling down my face

"Cassie, honey, don't cry. Crying won't solve anything," Mom says firmly. She in Psychiatrist-Mode, and that means no big emotions. I sniff back the next set of tears, pushing my emotions down as she guides me through a breathing exercise. I wipe my eyes, sit up straight, and try to calm myself down. At the end of it, Mom says, "You need to start looking for a job."

"I know, Mom."

Dad leans in. "Do you need someone to look at your resume?"

I shake my head. "There's a database that keeps all our work data. Cuts down on paper."

They both nod in understanding. "Well, now you know what you need to do, you've got your orders," Mom says, half-joking. By the time we hang up, another half-hour has passed where they update me on their life on the moon. They show me their new kitten, Tyson, a gray Maine Coon that hasn't realized he's on the moon and keeps yowling to be let outside. Macy, their three-year-old German Shepherd, has tried to make friends with Tyson, but Tyson isn't big enough to romp with a forty-pound dog yet. I push down more emotions, and by the time we're waving goodbye, I'm exhausted. Still, I remind myself, I need to find Jillie and apologize for disappearing. They took the rest of the garbage out by themselves, cleaned the lab, and returned everything to the Outpost that needed returning.

The door closes behind me, and I instantly realize my mistake. My fucking keycard for the door is on the table.

Fuck. Fuck!

I kick my door, forgetting for a moment that it's steel, so when my toe makes contact I scream. The pain lances up my leg and I reel back and hold my foot. "Ow, ow, bad idea, son of a bitch--" Of course. Of course this happened to me. Was I supposed to expect differently?

God damn it.

Down the hall is a call station, a cutout in the wall with buttons for Emergency Services, the Fire Department, and Maintenance. I hit Maintenance and hold the phone to my ear as it rings. A sleepy-voiced man answers. "Hello, Sagan Building Maintenance."

"Hi, I'm in 407-C, I need my door unlocked. My name is Cassandra Rowland, Code 6702."

The man sighs, not annoyed but like he's standing after not having moved for very long. I hear him shuffling through papers and typing something into a keyboard. "Alright Ms. Rowland, my buddy Scott will be there in a few minutes."

"Thank you." I rest the phone on the receiver to hang up. I can't go find Jillie now, even though she's probably back at her apartment. Out of things to do, I look up and down the hallway, empty. I pat my pockets one more time, just to make sure I didn't stupidly just leave my keys in there. They're also empty, and I'm oddly comforted by it. At least I didn't rope someone else into my existential crisis.

For lack of anything to do, I walk back to my door and sit on the floor, pulling my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around my legs. My boobs get in the way of resting my chin on my knees, so I let my head fall back against the door and stare at the ceiling.

God, I feel so stupid. After everything that's happened today, I had to lock myself out. I've never done this before, not in the three years I've been here. I lose my keys, I can't write reports, I can't even grow plants, which is my whole job. I'm not good at much of anything, am I?

I groan against the door of my apartment and thunk my head against it. Fuck.

After another few minutes of stewing in silence, I feel a presence at the end of the hallway, an ento if my ears are to be trusted. I don't look at them, I don't care who it is, I don't care how I look, I don't care if I get any weird glances.

They stop in front of me-- It's Kri. I'm almost relieved. His head blocks the harsh fluorescent of the hallway, casting his face in a soft halo of light. He says softly, "I hope I'm not intruding."

"As long as I can just sit here on the floor," I grumble into my arm. I'm not in the mood to be carried to three different places again. "How'd you know where I went?"

"I didn't," Kri says, still soft. "This was the third stop." He moves to sit next to me, wings extending to accommodate the floor. He wraps an easy arm over my shoulder, and I allow myself to scoot into his embrace. "I think…avoiding the problem is not advised."

I snap my head to face him. "I'm not avoiding--!" I stop myself with a sigh, cognizant of the space we're in. There's other people living here, probably sleeping. "I just wanted to clean the lab." I sniff and rest my head against the door again, and I think of the beach before a tidal wave. The water has receded from the shoreline, which means something ugly is coming. I've been pushing things down so much today, I don't have in it me to resist anymore. Kri rests his head on mine, his cheek on my hairline, and reaches for my hand like he did at the restaurant. I take it and interlace our fingers, the points of contact helping ground me.

Kri doesn't answer right away, and I feel him shift to look at me. He's examining my face in my periphery, until he lets out a sigh and returns to resting his head on mine. "I'm sorry. I thought having direction would help your mood."

I sigh heavily through my nose. "I appreciate everyone trying to help, but my mood wasn't going to change in a different setting. I wasn't suddenly going to be happy."

"I understand that now. Similar tactics were of use on me, and they worked well."

"When?"

He pauses, and I feel his jaw working against my temple. "After V'les died, I was inconsolable. Ari kept me distracted, which kept me from falling into despair. I'd hoped for the same results for you."

I sigh again. "I'm sorry. I know you were all trying to help, I just didn't want it."

"Can I offer you anything now?"

After a moment of indecision, I realize what Kri is doing. He's giving me the option, which is really all I wanted in the first place. An opposite hand comes up and brushes a curl of hair from my eyes, and he looks at me with an expression of deep concern. It's for me, he's worried about me. This level of gentleness is too much, and I feel my walls crumbling. I'd been holding them up all day, but now the day is over, and I'm tired. I sniff, feeling a tsunami on the horizon, and when tears start falling, I can't stop them. I'm hit full force by everything that's happened today, and I start to sob in earnest. Kri doesn't say anything, only holds me tighter.

"I lost my greenhouse," I gasp between breaths. "I lost my lab, my job."

His voice is low, sympathetic. "I know. I'm sorry." He wipes away my tears with the opposite hand, turning his torso into mine to reach, forming kind of a protective cocoon against the outside world. It's a futile effort, one he realizes after a few moments of my tears spilling over his hands and onto the floor. I'm being wrung out like a wet washcloth, my shuddering breaths only serving to egg me on more. Kri rubs my back, offering hums of appreciation, active listening noises, but doesn't force anything.

I find a break in to storm to apologize, "I'm sorry, Kri."

He brushes another curl from my face. "Why?"

"For being," I gesture vaguely to all of me. "This."

His expression turns confused. "What, human? You should be proud to be human, you're one of the hardiest species on Earth. The universe throws so much at you, and yet you keep standing up again."

"I'm so tired of being knocked down." First Stephen, now this. I'm pretty pathetic. "I don't want to get back up."

"But you must."

"I know," I whine in earnest, wiping at my cheeks with the back of my hand. "But it's so hard."

"That is what makes it amazing."

We sit there for a moment in silence that's occasionally punctuated by my disgusting sniffling. I disagree with Kri, I'm nothing amazing, just a botanist with rotten luck.

"May I offer a word of encouragement?"

I sniff again, feeling the tears beginning to lessen. I must be running out. "Go for it." His thumb rubs comfortably over my shoulder, providing encouragement.

He kisses my temple, and squeezes encouragingly. "It's going to be alright."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

A strange sensation-- I should be crying, but I'm tapped out. My nose burns and my eyelids twitch, but nothing comes after, except maybe a wayward sniffle. The sensation I feel is much like how I felt at the restaurant after Kri had grabbed my hand. The eye of the storm. The deeper waters underneath are finally still. "Thank you."

"Of course." He kisses my temple again, and I'm filled with warm affection.

We sit in the hallway like that, Kri comforting me with those small circles on my shoulder, not talking. We don't say anything, not when maintenance comes to unlock my door, or when we step inside and close the door behind me. I walk into the kitchen and pull two glasses from the cabinet, and I fill them with water from the sink.

I empty the glass, then I set it down. "Do you wanna stay here?" Kri looks apprehensive, standing in the space between living room and kitchen like he doesn't know what to do. If there's some ento or cultural protocol that goes with inviting someone else into your home, I'm too tired to remember it. "You're welcome to sleep over, but I'll warn you, I'm a blanket hog."

At that, Kri seems to relax a bit. His shoulders slump and he takes a long sip of his water before clearing his throat. "My body temperature is hotter than yours, so that shouldn't be an issue." His straightforward tone reminds me of his early days with us, and it makes me smile.

After I quickly change into pajamas and crawl into bed, I feel the last of my energy evaporate. My mattress is comfortable, my pillow feels like a cloud. I leave space enough for Kri to crawl in next to me, and he does so and faces me on his side. I move closer and tuck my head into his shoulder, breathing in the scent of rain. I feel myself relaxing as both arms curl around me and pull me in, and as I fall asleep, I feel safe and cared for.

Chapter 16 >>

#my writing #A Botanist's Guide #monster romance #teratophillia #monster boyfriend #exophillia #scifantasy #alien x human #alien boyfriend

17 notes · View notes

xodeity · 6 months ago

Text

exposé | pt 2

summary: a daily bugle journalist shows up to the spider-society headquarters, to set the record straight and write the first exclusive piece from leader miguel o’hara. pt 1

inspiration: c.ai prompt from @stormcurls_ & dividers from @anitalenia ۰ ۪۪۫۫ · 🩰

wc: 10.7k

content warnings: 18+ MDNI!!!, lowkey descriptions of reader?, prob contingency issues idk

a/n: i hate proofing sm so there may be mistakes i just wanted to publish this! + it’s my first time writing smut so it’s prob not good lo siento mucho

It’s been two weeks since your brief interview with Miguel and you promised him you would talk to his receptionist first. But when she gave you the workaround every time you called, you decided to show up, as it’s much harder to turn someone away in person. To your dismay, it wasn’t harder in person, just more demeaning to your self-esteem. The receptionist was brutally criticizing, after all, it was obvious you weren’t a Spider-person and the headquarters was a sacred spot for those who were.

That was reasonable, but ouch.

Miguel was filling out paperwork when he heard his office assistant on the phone, who appeared to be barely engaged in the argument that was ostensibly coming from the other line. He scowled as he heard the receptionist was giving someone a hard time for being a “normal person” and requesting an audience with him. He almost rolled his eyes in aggravation, that’s all it took for him to know it was you and he instantly picked up the receiver and spoke in a solid, authoritative tone.

"Put her through to me now." His tone left no room for probing and his associate was alarmed at his command, nevertheless doing it right away.

Soft breathing accompanied the other end as the woman you were speaking to was cut off abruptly. “Mr. O’Hara... Is this a bad time?”

Your voice was like flowers blooming in his ears and Miguel's expression immediately softened as he heard your voice again. He didn't expect to hear from you again this soon, then again, he had very little sense of time, but he certainly wasn't complaining about it.

"Princess. It's never a bad time for you." He leaned back in his chair, a small smirk forming on his face as he held the receiver to his ear.

“Oh... okay. I was trying to set an appointment like you told me to, but your receptionist doesn’t believe that you and I have any business together.” You clarified, turning around as the office personnel gave you disbelieving eyes, confused how you actually made it to Miguel how you did.

Miguel's smirk faded as he heard her words, and he let out a deep sigh in frustration, an annoyed look appearing on his face. "My receptionist, right... I'll have a word with her later. Don't worry about that. She'll put you through from now on, no matter what." His voice was firm, and there was a hint of... something there. Dare you say possessiveness?

“I don’t want to cause a stir, I’m sorry. I know you’re a very busy man and you can’t set aside time for just anybody.” Knowing already from his tone he was willing to clear his calendar if you asked, you still wanted to feign some manners.

Miguel's frown deepened, he hated hearing that apologetic tone in your voice. "Just anybody? You're not just anybody, princess. If you want to see me, I'll make time for you, no matter how busy I am." He paused for a moment, then continued in a lower, almost purring tone. "Besides... I quite enjoyed our last 'meeting', didn't you?"

“A little too much.” You mumbled, swearing at yourself again as you knew he picked it up.

Miguel's smirk returned as he heard the muffled whisper, a low chuckle rising in his throat. She was very bad at hiding her feelings. He leaned back further in his chair and spoke in a low, amused tone. "What was that, princess? I didn't quite catch that last part."

Quick to lie and hopeful he would move on from her comment, you rebutted, “I just said that it was very enlightening but much too short. When can I see you again, I mean meet with you?” Did you sound too eager?

Miguel let out a minor huff as you hastily changed the subject. He knew damn well what you said, but he'd let you have dignity for now. He leaned forward in his chair again, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "How soon can you be here, princess? I'm sure I can squeeze you into my schedule if you get here right away."

His acceptance brought a giddy smirk to your face, “It’s a good thing you said that, because I’m downstairs and security won’t let me up without an escort.”

Miguel's grin widened into a modest smile at her words. He hadn't expected this, but he certainly wasn't complaining. He sat up in his chair and spoke in a commanding, but somewhat satisfied tone. "Is that so? Well then, that's good." He paused for a moment, then continued in a low, suggestive tone. "I'll be right down to collect you, princess. Stay where you are."

You waited patiently downstairs, avoiding eye contact with the security guard who was giving a snobbish glare that you didn’t belong here. The building was huge so you knew it would take a moment for Miguel to reach ground level, so you took the time to adjust the tight dress that accentuated your many curves. Knowing who you were dealing with this time made you crave his attention, as scary as it was, even more. You used this to your advantage to wear something that was very flattering on your voluptuous figure and took a little more time on your appearance.

Miguel walked out of the elevator moments later, his eyes effortlessly spotting you in the crowd, his gaze immediately settling on your figure. His eyes roved over your curves, the way your dress squeezed you just right, and a low, appreciative hum rose in his throat.

He walked towards you, closing the distance with only a few strides of his long legs. A small, shameless smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he stopped in front of you, his eyes unabashedly drinking in every detail of you. "You know, no one in this lobby can take their eyes off you. They're all ogling you, princess."

A deep blush hit your cheeks immediately, and you were quick to shift your belongings in front of your chest, self-conscious at his compliment that meant to do the opposite for your self-esteem. “I think they’re actually just ogling you, sir.”

Miguel chuckled as he watched you blush and move around subconsciously, you were obviously a bit flustered from the thought of people watching you so intensely, at least in his mind. "They're not looking at me, princess. They're looking at you... because you are utterly beautiful."

He paused for a moment, then he reached out and gently took you by the elbow, his large hand wholly enveloping your smaller arm. His gaze darkened slightly. "And they have no right to look at you like that."

Thank God Miguel couldn’t hear your thoughts, her brain was moving a thousand miles per second. The effect he had on you was palpable, and you can see it on more than just your face. He could smell you, from your perfume to the excitement that effervesced in your abdomen. Goosebumps littered your skin where his hand touched your arm.

Miguel could see the effect he had on you vividly and smirked. He could almost hear your heart pounding in your chest as you blushed and your skin reacted to his touch. Tightening his grip on you ever so slightly, he led you into the elevator, where his large hand completely enveloped your arm. The elevator doors closed, and they were alone, just the two of them in the large space, that felt so confined with the way the tension took up all the room.

He glanced down at you for a moment, his smirk growing slightly as his eyes roved over her form again.

You turned to meet his gaze, speaking before he had the chance to, “Thank you for saving me.”

Miguel chuckled slightly as she spoke, his gaze meeting you. He took a step closer to her in the lift, only a few inches separating them. He still had a hold on your forearm, his grip firm but not painful. He would be lying if he said his hero complex was basking in the glory of you, his little fangirl that would do anything for him, it stroked his ego as thoughts of you stroking his cock flooded his mind.

"I'm always happy to save a pretty lady from prying eyes." He leaned in slightly, towering over you. He looked down with a dark, intense look in his eyes.

As much as you’d fantasized having a moment like this with your superhero crush, you knew you had to get work done before indulging in personal pleasures, so you were forced to change the subject. “And to think that the last time I saw you, you almost tore me to shreds for showing up in your office at 7 o’clock at night.”

Miguel smirked slightly, fascinated by you but turned on. He remembered that last time all too well, the way you had stumbled and stuttered through your personal questions. And the way you had looked in that short dress, all flushed and nervous.

He took another, more deliberate step forward, bringing them almost chest to chest in the small elevator. He leaned down slightly, his face tantalizingly close to yours, his voice low and rough. "I wasn't being entirely inviting at that time, princess. I can’t just trust anyone who walks through the dorm no matter how gorgeous they are.” He paused, fighting the urge to play with your loose curls. “I was just... In a particularly bad mood, I guess."

“Which villain was it that time?” Was he allowed to disclose that information to her? Her voice matched his low volume, the tension thick. Even though it was a large elevator, his body surrounded you and it made you feel like the only person in the world. It was dizzying.

Miguel chuckled, a low, gruff sound that sent a shiver down your spine. He leaned closer, so close that your noses were nearly touching, and his hand slid from her elbow to her hip, his large hand enveloping it entirely. He had her practically pinned against the wall of the elevator, his body towering over you, his presence surrounding her. "It was Electro. He was being an absolute pain in my ass, and I had a shitty enough day already at that point."

“I’m sorry,” Your eyes began to flutter short as his lips were almost touching your glossy coated lips, but a DING! pulled you away from him as quickly as you had the moment.

Miguel's smirk widened into a small smile as she began to flutter her eyes, your gaze growing lidded as his lips neared you, but the not-so–sudden stop of the elevator snapped both of you back to reality. He took a reluctant step back, his hand leaving your hip as he reached out to place it on the small of your back instead, guiding you out of the elevator as you reached his floor. He led you through the hallway, walking beside you with his hand on your back, the heat from his touch seeping through the dress’s thin material and burning into your skin.

You didn’t mean to shrug off his touch, but you didn’t want anyone to look at you weird, like they would some random woman sleeping with Miguel for fame and notoriety. You didn’t work this hard for your reputation to be tainted like that.

Miguel's expression darkened slightly at her action as she shrugged off his hand. He noted the way she seemed to be nervous about anyone seeing them together, and he didn't like it. He wanted you to be proud to be seen with him, not ashamed and nervous. He kept his hand on the small of your back, moving you along with him as he led her down the hallway, force with more pressure than before so you couldn’t push him away again. He leaned in close to you, his voice a low, rough whisper in your ear. "You don't have to worry about anyone else here but me, princesa. I'm the boss here."

“Yes sir.” You whispered, following him into his office as he shut the blinds for the office staff to see into. After Miguel closed the window, he obscured the view into his office from the rest of the Spider-Society. He turned around to face you, a small, possessive smirk on his face as he watched her.

"Good girl."

He closed the expanse between them, crossing the room to stand in front of you and closing you in against his desk. He placed his hands on the edge of the desk, on either side of your thighs, effectively trapping her against his desk and his body.

“Miguel... I must work on this article.” You whispered, not wanting this moment to end, although it was everything you ever dreamed of.

Miguel chuckled deep in his throat, the sound low and rough. He leaned down, his face only a few inches away from you, his eyes roving over her. He enjoyed having her pinned against his desk like this, trapped with no way to get away from him. "Work can wait, princess. Let me play with you a little bit first." He leaned in even closer, his body practically pressed against yours as his mouth neared, and his voice was huskier than you’ve ever heard it.

You grabbed his tie to pull his mouth close to yours, inviting him to finish what he started just to ultimately tease him. “I prefer to not be bent over this desk, so can we please get some work done first? I am on a deadline after all.”

Miguel chuckled, a low, rough sound in his throat. He was more than happy to continue what they’d started, but he supposed he could wait a little longer. "Fine, fine. We’ll get some work done first, princess." He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours as he spoke. "But afterwards, you’re all mine. Understood?”

“Yes sir...” You whispered, biting your lip, nodding agreement.

"Good girl…" Miguel leaned in, capturing your bottom lip between his teeth and biting it gently before pulling back with a smirk. He finally let go of you, taking a small step back and clearing his throat to compose himself. "Now, let’s finish this piece so we can get back to… more important things."

“So eager, Mr. O’Hara. Who holds the cards now?” You said with a smirk as you sat in the comfortable chair and pulled out your notes. Your words were ironic considering the scene that just played out on top of his workstation, you at his complete mercy, but neither of you would comment on that.

Miguel chuckled as you sat down with a newfound confidence, his smirk never leaving his face. He was still itching to continue what they'd started a few minutes earlier, but he could be patient. "Don't get too cocky, princess.” He leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms as he watched you start to take notes. “But it’s cute that you think you have any control right now….”

“The tent in your pants says otherwise...” You purred in a sing-song voice.

Miguel’s eyes darkened further at your words, his smirk growing wider. “Watch it, princess. You’re going to get me all worked up again and I won’t hold back this time.”

His eyes roved over her body, taking in the form of her dress and the way it clung to her curves, still slightly tousled from your interaction. He ached to touch you again, but he knew it. You smirked and playfully rolled your eyes, before opening the binder and turning on the recorder.

Miguel let out a low chuckle, enjoying the way her playful eye roll made him want you even more. He pushed himself off the desk and took a seat in the chair directly across from you, leaning back in his chair and crossing his ankles. He still couldn’t keep his eyes off that dress, the way the fabric clung to every divot. He leaned forward, resting one elbow on the desk and his chin on his palm as he looked at her.

"Alright, princess. Let’s hear what you’ve got for me."

Not holding back, you located the first question you prioritized since you were here last. “If you could say anything to JJJ, what would it be?”

Miguel smirked, his expression darkening at the mention of the old man. The thought of the reporter and his constant slandering of him made his blood boil. Well, she was straight to the hard-hitting questions, and it threw him only slightly off guard.

"If I could say anything to JJJ? I would tell him that he’s a narrow-minded, self-righteous, bigoted prick who’s just jealous that I'm a million times more successful than he’ll ever be." His tone was the opposite of what it was a second ago, thankfully he didn’t see you as an extension of your dad, or who knows how he would have treated you?

“You must know that in every universe that we know of, he hates Spider-man in each one. That makes his hatred canon, doesn’t it? Isn’t that an important concept for you.” You spoke into the microphone watching his reaction tentatively.

Miguel’s expression clouded at the question, the mention of JJJ’s revulsion for Spider-Man in every universe bringing back hostile memories. He stiffened at the reminder, and his voice came out rougher than before. “Yes, I'm well-aware that he hates Spider-Man in every universe. And yes, it seems his hatred is a sort of canon event. What’s your point?”

“Keeping that in mind, do you think that his unorthodox approach is partially a driving factor for making Spider-Man the great guy that he is?”

Miguel recoiled even further at her question, the thought of JJJ being in any way a contributing factor for Spider-Man’s greatness was like a knife in his side. “You’re saying that JJJ’s unhinged hatred actually helps push Spider-Men to be the heroes they are…” He considered your words, his expression slowly turning into a reluctant grimace as he failed to admit they could possibly carry some truth.

“Maybe a little. I don’t agree with his ways whatsoever, but they continue to prove him wrong each and every day he opens his mouth. What’s that saying about enemies making you strive for more?” You practically reached out to find the phrase on the tip of your tongue, but coming up short.

Miguel’s expression softened slightly as he considered her words further. He still despised JJJ and everything he stood for, but he had to admit that there was a sort of truth in what you said.

“I suppose you have a point. Having a powerful enemy who always doubts and undervalues you could push someone to prove them wrong. To be better than they ever thought you could be…” He paused for a moment before continuing, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you. “But that doesn’t excuse all the vile lies and slander he spews. And I don’t owe him a thing for my success, I did it by myself.”

“Of course,” You whisper to the man, grabbing the recorder to make a mental note. “Let it be known that this author does not agree with the political or overall stances of J. Jonah Jameson. And that this part should segue into a metaphor for both extremes, hate or love.”

Miguel watched you intently, reminding himself to simmer down, a flicker of curiosity sparking in his eyes as he listened to the commentary. The way you spoke, so confidently and with a hint of fiery determination, was intriguing to him. He leaned back in his chair once again, watching carefully as you continued to scribble notes into the binder sitting atop your lap.

"So, you believe that JJJ’s vitriol and hatred can be seen as a sort of extreme, just like how an excess of love and adoration can also be harmful?" he asked, his tone more curious than defensive this time.

“Yes, that’s a great point, Miguel.” You nodded eagerly, it wasn't exactly what you were going for, but it helped prove the point you wanted to make in this paper.

Miguel nodded slowly, mulling over the words that lingered in the air. He was surprised at how much he was enjoying this conversation, how these differing ideas and insights were making him see things from a different perspective. "Interesting..." he mused, his gaze roaming over her again. "That’s a unique take. I must admit I haven’t thought about it that way before.”

“Let’s move on past that horrid man for a second, we will circle back, I promise. Are there times where you consider giving up Spider-Man?” The question spilled out before you read it fully, making you pause as you asked him something so personal, having a brief idea of what happened to him.

Miguel’s face darkened at the question, the thought of giving up being Spider-Man making a wave of emotions flood his insides. Fear, sadness, anger, guilt... He had contemplated the idea of giving up being Spider-Man many times in the past, but he always managed to push those thoughts down.

“There have been moments where I’ve considered it, yes…” he said slowly, his voice hoarse. “When things got too difficult, or the losses became too hard to bear…”

His silence as his mind filled with negative memories was clear to you, and you wanted to help in any way you could. “The burden on your shoulders is immense and incomparable. Surely, that must be overwhelming at times.”

Miguel let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumped as he continued to lean back in his chair. "It is… incredibly overwhelming.” He paused for a moment, his eyes locking onto you as he continued in a quieter, more vulnerable tone.

"There have been times when I’ve felt like I’m drowning, like the weight of being Spider-Man and the responsibility for the multiverse is too much for me to bear. But I can’t give up… I can’t let everyone down…” Miguel let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumped as he continued to lean back in his chair.

“You don’t have much time in your life for relationships, do you?” Not asking for yourself but rather, it being a question on your mind for all the Spider-People, they sacrificed more than people think to do a job they didn’t ask for.

“It’s not fair to be with someone when your life is filled with so much danger… so much pain…” His attention diverted, looking at a random object in the space, and you could hear the pain in his voice.

“That’s why you surround yourself with others like you, so they can protect themselves if need be.” Your arms laid across your laps, your heels involuntarily clicking in the quiet space.

Miguel nodded in agreement at her words, a flicker of acknowledgement crossing his face. She wasn’t wrong; surrounding himself with other Spider-People meant that they could understand his life and keep themselves safe if the need arose. He paused for a moment before speaking again, his voice quiet and hesitant. “But it still doesn’t make it easy… to push away the people you care for. The people you want to be with.”

“I can’t even imagine. All that you’ve sacrificed for others, to keep them safe, and you’re vilified for it every day. How do you have the strength to move on?”

Miguel let out a bitter chuckle at her question, the weight of his sacrifices and the daily vilification he received was a constant burden on his shoulders. “The strength to move on… well, sometimes I don’t have it. Some days are harder than others, and the weight of it all threatens to consume me.” He paused for a moment, letting out a shaky breath as he continued in a quieter voice. “But I keep going… for the people who depend on me. For the multiverse. For Spider-Man.”

“The true meaning of a hero...”

Miguel let out a huff of a laugh at her words, a bittersweet smile crossing his face. The mention of the “true meaning of a hero” hit a chord deep within him, stirring up all the conflicting emotions he harbored. He looked at her once again, his gaze roaming over her form before he spoke again, his voice quieter than any time before. "Is that how you see me… as a hero?"

“You’ve always been my hero, ever since I was a teenager.” You admitted shamelessly, memories flooded of all the times he saved your city when you were growing up. Younger you would have never expected that you would have even had the chance to talk to Spider-Man in this capacity.

Miguel’s breath hitched in his throat at her words, his heart stuttering in his chest. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, the fact that she saw him as her hero sat heavy on his heart. He didn’t know what to say, how to react to her admission. The lump in his throat threatened to choke him, the emotions swirling through him too much to handle. His voice came out hoarse and quiet when he finally spoke again.

“Even after all I’ve done… all the mistakes I’ve made… you still see me as your hero?” His voice wavered so slightly from his mean and collected demeanor, it ticked at you softly.

Thinking thoroughly before replying, you tried to read him to know what he needed to hear, but you meant every word of it. “I know at the end of the day, you have to do what’s right. It won’t make everyone happy but it’s what is needed.”

Miguel’s heart swelled at your words, the faith and understanding in him making his chest ache with a mixture of gratitude and desire. He leaned forward in his chair, his gaze locked onto you as he spoke once again. “You have more faith in me than I have in myself... But that’s the thing about heroes, isn’t it? They’re flawed, they make mistakes, but they keep going because they have to do what’s right. Even if it means sacrificing everything they have.”

“Sure, you’re still human at the end of the day. But if there’s a chance to save a family from a sinking car but you could potentially die, you would drown in a heartbeat, if it meant that family could live to see another day. And not everybody could say they would risk their life for a stranger.” This interview was starting to feel more like the therapy sessions he avoided at every chance he got. No need to dredge up things he couldn’t change.

Miguel let out a soft chuckle, the words striking a chord within him. You were so spot-on with the description, understanding him in a way he didn’t think was possible. He leaned back in his chair once again, a hint of a smile on his face. “You’re right… I would do it in a heartbeat. Even if it meant my own death… because that’s what being a hero is all about. Selfless sacrifice. Doing what is right, no matter the personal cost.”

“Let’s shift the topic a bit, Mr. O’Hara. I’ve heard rumors that there’s been a rift in the multiverse because of another dimension’s Spider-man and Dr. Strange. Can you comment on this, or confirm it?” You knew you were pushing your luck with this question, but you had a feeling he trusted you enough to keep it secret.

Miguel’s expression blackened at her mention of the multiversal rift, the memory of the recent event still fresh in his mind. “Yes, the rumors are true. There has been a disturbance in the multiverse due to the actions of the Earth-616 Spider-Man and Doctor Strange.”

He paused for a moment before continuing, his voice more serious and troubled than before.” The two of them interfered with the natural flow of events in a way that threatened the stability of multiple realities. Their actions resulted in the disruption of the canon and the creation of anomalies across multiple universes.”

When you asked him how their actions would affect your universe, Miguel’s expression grew even more serious as he considered her question, the implications of the multiversal disturbance long have been weighing heavily on his mind. “It’s difficult to say for certain how it will affect our universe specifically, but the ripple effects of such a significant disturbance in the multiverse could have far-reaching consequences. It could potentially lead to the destabilization of reality as we know it, leading to more anomalies, disruptions, and possibly even the collapse of entire universes.”

“Oh shit… do you want me to leave that out of my article? I can’t imagine the hysteria it would create.” You leaned in and whispered, putting your hand over the recording microphone.

Miguel let out a weary sigh at the question, the thought of the ultimate chaos it would cause in their universe if this information was leaked making his head spin.

“Yes… please… keep that out of your article. It’s not something that needs to be made public, not yet. We’re still trying to assess the full extent of the damage and figure out what we’re dealing with. The last thing we need is for people to panic.”

“It’s the least I could do, you’ve been so kind to me. Well you didn’t trust me at first, and probably still don’t, but you’ve been… welcoming...” You smirked at the man, jotting at your notes as you crossed out dud questions that made no sense to ask anymore.

Miguel chuckled softly at your comment, his heart stuttering at the smirk you directed towards him. He couldn’t deny that he hadn’t trusted you at first, your presence being unexpected and unfamiliar. But here he was, willingly engaging in conversation, answering questions he had sworn he wouldn’t ever. “I’ll admit, I had reservations about this interview… and I still don’t trust you completely,” he said, his voice holding a hint of jest. “But… I enjoyed our conversation. More than I care to admit.”

“Can I let you in on a secret, since you told me one?” You whispered as you leaned in.

Miguel’s eyebrows lifted in surprise at the question, his curiosity piqued at the idea of you sharing a secret with him. He leaned back in his chair, his body language conveying his interest. “A secret, huh?” he said, a hint of a smile on his face. “Sure, go ahead. I’m all ears.”

“I’m writing an exposé on J Jonah Jameson. I have my connections at the Bugle, as I told you I work there... of sorts. I’m going to expose him as a fraud and render everything he’s said about you a baseless lie, for his own personal gain. But in that, I wanted to publish to the world who you are, the Spider society, all you do for the world behind closed doors. I know how to get around his approval for publishing, and I intend to blow him so much out of the water, he won’t be able to swim for the rest of the year.”

Miguel’s eyes widened in surprise at her revelation, his heart thudding loudly in his chest. You were going to expose Jameson for the fraud he was and use the opportunity to publish the truth about Spider Society as well. He couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

“You’re going to publish an exposé on Jameson? And reveal the truth about the Spider Society?” he asked, his voice wavering with a mixture of shock and awe. “Are you crazy?”

“A little, but I think it’s necessary. Maybe I can’t fight villains, but I can take him down, without talons or fangs.” You shrugged, sipping the water Miguel had given you. “That is, if you’re okay with it.”

Miguel was silent for a moment, mulling over her words in his mind. The idea of the truth about the Spider Society, and the work they do, being revealed to the world was both exciting and terrifying. Although people were now more aware of them, getting this attention, “You are crazy…” he murmured, a hint of admiration in his voice, “but I suppose I can’t question your courage, or your determination.”

He paused for a moment before continuing, his voice more serious. “But publishing something like this… it could have serious repercussions. You understand that, right?”

“I’ll post it anonymously if I have to. But it doesn’t matter, my sacrifice means nothing to the millions you’ve made.” Your words were nonchalant, you’ve thought about this long before you even showed up at this building.

Miguel fell silent at her words once again, her determination and selflessness stirring up a maelstrom of emotions inside of him. He was used to dealing with heroes, people with the power to change the world, but you were different. You were ordinary in every way, yet you were willing to put your credibility and job on the line to make a difference. He couldn’t help but admire that.

“You’re something else…” he murmured, a hint of awe in his voice, “sacrificing yourself to save others… that’s a trait not many have.”

“Funny… I said the same thing to you.” You giggled, knowing he was giving way too much credit.

Miguel chuckled softly at your response, his heart thudding loudly in his chest at your words. He watched your every move as you made your way around the desk, his gaze following you. The sight of you sitting on the corner of his desk, so close to him, your legs tantalizingly close to his own, was making him feel completely unhinged. He could feel desire coursing through him, his eyes locking onto you, a hint of hunger shining within them.

“Well Miguel, this has been rather riveting, but I think our time is up. I would love to come back another day when I have more questions to ask you.” You had to admit, not wanting this moment to end just yet.

Miguel couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment at your words, the desire to keep you close, to keep talking to you, growing stronger. But he tried to remain composed, despite the raging desire coursing through him. He nodded his head.

“Another day then…” he said, his voice a little hoarse. “You’re welcome to come back whenever you’d like…” He paused for a moment before continuing, his eyes roaming over your form, the desire to touch you almost overwhelming. He couldn't forget the scene that played out a few minutes ago, before you went on work mode.

“I’d like to shadow your day-by-day duties, forgo the dangerous parts.” You weren’t sure he would go for it, but it was worth a shot. What better way to convince people to change their opinions by detailing the good things they do?

Miguel’s eyebrows lifted in surprise at her request, the idea of having her around him, witnessing his daily duties, being both exciting and dangerous. He leaned back in his chair, mulling over her words for a moment before responding.

“You want to shadow me?” he repeated, a hint of incredulity in his voice. “Are you sure you’re not just looking for another reason to annoy me?”

You feigned fake shock, “You think I’m annoying?”

Miguel let out a soft scoff at your mock innocence, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Oh, don’t act coy with me, cariño. You know you’ve been getting under my skin since the moment you walked through that door.”

“And you’ve been trying to get under my clothes since you saw me in the lobby.” You were quick to respond, quirking an eyebrow.

Miguel felt heat rush through him at your bluntness, your words igniting the desire within him even further. He couldn’t deny that he had been thinking of what it would be like to touch you, to kiss you but he couldn’t let her know just how badly you’d gotten under his skin.

“Where did you get that idea, princesa?” he retorted, his voice a touch huskier than before.

“The octave changes in your voice, the shifting in your seat, most definitely what you said to me when you met me downstairs. Just some options.” Your legs were crossed, reading him like a book.

Miguel couldn’t deny your points, your observations being spot on. He felt exposed, like you could read him like an open book. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes roaming over you once again as he spoke.

“You’re quite observant, aren’t you?” he said, a hint of irritation in his voice. “It’s really infuriating, if I’m being honest.” Miguel let out a soft scoff, a mix of annoyance and desire coursing through him. The fact that you were so casually flirting with him, so effortlessly getting under his skin, was both maddening and alluring. “Oh, you’re enjoying this too much, aren’t you?” he retorted, his tone dripping with both irritation and a hint of admiration.

“First time I met you, I was a timid fangirl and today I’m the bold reporter... What can I say? Your confidence is contagious.” You nodded,

Miguel couldn’t help but feel a rush of pride at your words, even though he desperately tried to fight it. “My confidence, huh?” he said, a hint of a smile on his lips, “You say that like it’s a good thing. I thought you said I was arrogant?”

“Also egotistical, cold, shut off- to name a few.” Miguel let out a scoff at your brutal honesty, his heart fluttering at the list of his flaws… all of which were true, he couldn’t deny that.

“Gee, thanks for the list of my charming qualities,” he retorted sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “I appreciate that.”

“Personally, I find it attractive. It shows me you only act differently with me. The jealousy radiating from your female employees tells me that too.” The sole of your shoe clicking was the only sound filling the room as he formulated a response for you.

Miguel couldn’t deny the sense of satisfaction he got from her words. The idea that he acted differently towards you than he did others to the point that you noticed, it sent a thrill through him. And the fact that his female employees were apparently jealous of your presence only made him feel more possessive.

“You’re observant, I’ll give you that,” he said, his voice a little huskier than before, “But I act differently around you for a reason, cariño.”

“And why is that?” A smirk was on your face, as you chewed your cheek.

Miguel couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle at the question, his heart pounding loudly in his chest as he spoke. “Why do you think, mi querida?” he said, his voice lowered. “You’ve gotten to me in a way no one ever has. You make me feel… unhinged, out of control.”

Your eyes flickered between his eyes and his lips, allowing yourself to lean into and accept the kiss he was flirting with in front of you, the passion and butterflies exploding in your stomach on the spot.

Miguel exulted in your consent, and it fueled his desire for you further. His hands moved from the edge of the desk to your hips, grabbing you roughly and pulling your body flush against his. He deepened the kiss, his lips moving hungrily against yours. He could feel the heat and passion in himself flow like whiskey on a bad day. It was intoxicating, the way your body felt against his, small and delicate, but fiery and wanting even more.

Your hands cupped his stubbly jaw as you parted your mouth for him, your dress starting to bunch up your smooth legs from the friction of his chinos against your body. Miguel groaned into your mouth as she held his face in your soft hands, while his hands migrated from your hips to the spot where your dress was riding up your legs. As you pressed against him so tensely, he couldn’t help but slide his hands down, his fingers trailing along the bare skin of your thighs.

You and Miguel continued to devour each other atop his desk without a care in the world, your bodies pressed against each other in the small space. Miguel's hands curiously wandered around your body, exploring and caressing the soft skin, until he felt the cotton of your underwear. Heat radiated from you, and a small whimper slipped past your lips as his touch was unexpected but the perfect gift. The heat and passion between them were tangible, the only thing left was to follow the natural course of their desire.

He couldn’t fight the urge this time, giving into his urge to make you a moaning mess underneath him. His head retracted slightly so he could watch you intently, as his fingertips lightly dragged against the sensitive spot that so many other men obviously miss. You threw your head back in reaction, your hips bucking up to meet his fingers again.

He watched you contort in pleasure, his own pleasure coming solely from watching you get off on his fingers. That timid girl was melting in his palm, sprawled across his desk, and he didn’t have to do much to satisfy her due to the two-week long foreplay he put you through.

A knock at Miguel’s door suddenly sounded, someone checking in after hearing all the sound they were making. He groaned in frustration as you two were interrupted by the knock at the door. He reluctantly pulled away, his eyes still darkened with lust and desire and his voice hoarse as he called out. "What do you want?"

“Is everything okay in there? We heard there was some weird fangirl downstairs trying to see you, but she disappeared.” A feminine voice replied, his eyes immediately rolling as he resumed his actions with his hands under your skirt.

You giggled quietly, muffling yourself with your hand, watching how Miguel reacted only to have to actually muffle the filthy noise that threatened to spill past your lips. Miguel's eyes flickered to you, giving a warning look with his eyes to be quiet. Your orgasm was impending only seconds later under the care of his skillful touches.

Miguel chuckled softly, a low, rough sound. "Everything’s fine. I’ll be out in a few minutes." He paused for a moment, watching your face contorted in pleasure as he chased your high, the worry of the door opening while you were vulnerable excited you more than you ever thought it would. Licking his lips as he intently watched you recover from your orgasm, he continued talking to the employee in a cold, authoritative tone. "And no one else is to bother me in here for the rest of the night."

“You got it, sir.” The voice called back and left, her footsteps scurrying off pretty quickly, surely to gossip with her desk mates about the noises she heard coming from the boss’ office.

You just looked at Miguel, catching your breath as you held onto his bicep for support. A few moments passed and you felt self-conscious again, wanting to shrink away from him before someone barged in for real.

He let out a low chuckle as you attempted to slip out from under him, but he wasn’t about to let you get away that easily. He wanted to make you cum again and again, but he knew he couldn't watch for much longer. Grabbing your hips, he stopped you from moving away as he pulled her flush against his body again.

"Oh no, baby. You’re not going anywhere." He smirked as he held you against him, his clean hand gripping your thighs harder. "We’re not done here."

You wanted more, to do for him what he did for you but not here. “Would you like to walk me to my car?”

Miguel felt his heart skip at your words, a wave of desire coursing through him once again at the thought of spending even more time with you. He stood up from his position over you, smoothing down his suit jacket, his eyes locking onto you.

“Lead the way,” he said, gesturing for you to exit the office. Walking out of his office, they were met with multiple pairs of eyes, especially from the women you mentioned earlier.

As they walked through the office, leaving the sanctuary of his office, Miguel could feel the eyes of his employees on them. Some of the female employees in particular were giving you hostile looks, their jealousy and anger clearly visible in their gazes.

Miguel smirked slightly at their glares, the possessive pride flaring within him as he walked with you by his side. He felt his jaw clench as he saw the male employees checking you out as they passed by the bullpen. He could feel a possessive anger flaring up within him, a wave of jealousy crashing over him at the sight of their gazes. He resisted the urge to pull you closer to him, to make it clear that you were his. Miguel couldn’t bear watching the men ogling you any longer. He felt a sudden surge of possessiveness, a primal need to assert his dominance. Without a second thought, he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to his side as they walked through the hallway.

You gushed at his actions, stepping into the elevator and resting into his arms as they rode the elevator down to ground level. Miguel felt you press into his side in the elevator, your body molding against his own, and he held you tighter, pulling you closer. He could feel the heat radiating off your body, the intoxicating scent of her enveloping his senses. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction at the sight of the other men on the elevator, the clear message of possession and claim in his hold on you.

You grabbed his hand as you led him to your car, glancing around them to make sure no one was in the parking garage before pulling him close, inviting him to fulfill his desires.

Miguel was taken aback by your sudden action, his heart pounding loudly in his chest as she pulled him close to her. The parking garage was deserted, the area almost completely silent except for the sound of their ragged breathing and the sound of the gentle hum of the overhead lights. His desire overwhelmed any hesitations he might have had. He leaned in closer, his body pressing against you, his breath hot on your neck as he spoke. "You're driving me insane, cariño..."

“Then do something about it... don’t let me leave.” Miguel's restraint snapped at your blunt permission, the primal desire that had been building within him finally breaking free. He grabbed your wrists, pinning you against the hood of her car, his eyes dark with hunger and need as he looked down at you.

"You're mine," he growled softly, his body pressed intimately against yours, "And I'm not letting you go anywhere."

“I’m yours...” You hummed into his lips, content, the world around them disappearing under his touch. The sound of your surrender, your words claiming yourself as his, set Miguel's senses ablaze. He crushed his lips to you in a possessive kiss, his hands roaming over your body, desperate to feel you, claiming you as his own. The world around them faded into the background, the only thing that mattered was the feel of your body under his touch, the sound of your soft sighs and moans, the taste of you on his lips.

You're relaxed under his touch, grabbing his jacket lapels to pull him closer, melting into the kiss. “Miguel…” Whimpering, yearning for more, she knew she wouldn’t get that here.

The sound of her whimper sent a wave of desire through Miguel, his body growing taut with need. The way you were melting into him, yearning for more, was driving him wild. But he knew they couldn't do this here, not in the public parking garage.

With a groan of effort, he forced himself to pull back from you, his breathing ragged as he looked down at you. "Not here," he growled, "Come back to my place with me."

“But the thing you said about relationships-” You whispered, chewing her lip. His departure made you suddenly cold, aching for him to come back.

Miguel felt a pang of guilt at her words, reminded of the restrictions he had put on himself… on them. He had told himself that he couldn’t allow himself to get involved with someone outside the Spider Society, that his duties would always take priority. But as he looked down at you, the desire and need in your eyes, he found it increasingly difficult to cling to those restrictions. He pulled you closer, his voice a soft whisper.

"I know what I said... but I can't stay away from you, cariño. Come with me..." Miguel's heart leapt at her nod of agreement, a wave of relief and desire washing over him. The idea of having you alone and in his space was both thrilling and terrifying. Without another word, he took your hand and led her out of the parking garage and to the nearest alleyway.

As they stood in the shadows of the alley, he turned to you, his body aching with the need to touch you, to mark you as his own.

"We're taking a portal," he said, his voice a low growl, and you gave him a confused look as your brain was filled with lust and confusion. Miguel nodded, taking a step closer to you. The desire was thick in the air between them, the need to touch you was nearly suffocating him as you stood there innocent and inviting.

"To my dimension," he said, his voice a rough whisper. "We can't go through the entrance in this universe… I don’t live in this universe like you do." He gently took you by the hand, his touch possessive as he led you further into the darkness. He pulled a small device from his pocket, fiddling with the controls until a portal shimmered into existence nearby.

You hesitated, chewing your lip nervously as Miguel was ready to introduce you to a whole new unexplored world. “And is this safe for normal people?”

Miguel paused at her question, his eyes scanning over her as if assessing you for any potential dangers. He knew that the portal technology wasn’t completely reliable, but he couldn’t ignore the intense need he had to have you. He took a step closer to you, his hand reaching up to gently cup your cheek, his voice soft but firm. "It’s safe... it might make you dizzy, but it won’t hurt you. Trust me, cariño."

“I trust you to keep me safe…” The words of her faith in him sent a wave of heat through Miguel, his body reacting instantly to your words. The need to keep you safe, to protect you, flared within him with an intensity he couldn’t ignore.

He gently took your hand, holding it firmly as he led you towards the shimmering portal. "I won’t let anything happen to you," he said, his voice rough with possessiveness. "Promise me you won’t let go of my hand.”

Miguel felt a rush of satisfaction at your promise to keep hold of his hand. The idea of having her close, his hand gripping yours tightly as they stepped through the portal… it made his heart pound with anticipation.

"Good," he murmured, his voice low and possessive. He stepped forward, pulling her into the portal with him.

The world around them dissolved into a dizzying array of colors and shapes, a brief moment of disorientation as they traveled through the void. But Miguel kept a firm hold on your hand, anchoring her to him as they moved through the wormhole.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, squeezing your eyes shut while the world around you practically vibrated, depending on Miguel for safety and comfort. He could feel your arms wrapped around his waist, your body pressing close to his as they traveled through the portal. The feeling of you clinging to him, completely reliant on him for safety, sent a primal wave of satisfaction through him. He held you tight, his free hand wrapping around you, pulling you closer.

He could feel your tremble, the vertigo of the portal travel taking a toll on you. He held you close, his voice a low whisper against your ear. "We’re almost there, cariño. Just a few more seconds.”

The world around them solidified once again, and they emerged from the portal into Miguel's New York City dimension. They were in an alleyway, surrounded by the towering buildings and the familiar sights of the city but they were different. More futuristic?

Miguel took a moment to steady you as you adjusted to the sudden change in their surroundings, his hands gentle yet firm on your hips. Once he was sure you were okay, he led you out of the alleyway and towards the entrance of his apartment building.

“Well, I can say I’ll never be able to find this place again.” You spoke quietly, looking around you in awe.

Miguel chuckled quietly at your statement, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as they entered the lobby of his apartment building. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of possessiveness, knowing that you were in his territory now, under his watch.

He laughed softly, his voice low as he led you toward the elevators. “I like the idea of you not being able to find your way out of here.”

“That’s a little creepy, but good thing you’re hot enough to pull it off.”

Miguel chuckled again at your comment, the possessiveness within him thrumming with approval. The elevator doors opened, and they both stepped inside, his hand resting on the small of your back as the doors slid shut behind them.

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult,” he said, his voice a low growl. “But good to know I’m hot enough to keep you here against your will.”

“It wouldn’t be against my will...” You whispered, staring up at the large man.

Miguel felt a wave of desire shoot through his stature at your words, your voice barely more than a whisper. The way you were looking up at him, the hint of submission in your eyes… It was intoxicating.

He took a step closer to you, cornering you against the wall of the elevator. His body was enveloping your space, his voice a deep murmur. “That’s also good to know… I wouldn’t hesitate to keep you here, cariño. All mine to enjoy and keep safe.”

Miguel led you down the hallway, their footsteps echoing softly in the empty corridor. He kept a firm grip on your hand as they walked, his fingers intertwined as he navigated the path to his apartment. When you reached his door, he paused, turning to look down at you. His eyes scanned over you, taking in your every feature, the desire and possessiveness within him flaring hot.

“This is me,” he said, his voice low as he unlocked the door and pushed it open. He didn’t give you much time to process the gorgeous skyline unit, minimally decorated like nobody lived there, but still small hints of his existence.

Miguel’s kiss was dominant and demanding, his tongue claiming your mouth as he pressed you against the wall. His hands roamed your body, exploring your curves, his touch needy and possessive. The need to claim you as his own was overwhelming, and he knew he couldn’t stop himself.

He pulled back from the kiss, his breathing ragged, his voice a growl. “Bedroom, now.”

As his eyes glowed maroon and his fangs flashed through his lustful smile, the excitement pooled in your stomach at the sight. The memory of his fingers under your dress, bringing you to your sweet release was fresh on your mind.

Slowly stalking towards you, he pushed you to fall back on his bed, the cushion making your body bounce slightly. Pushing yourself up to watch him, leaning on your elbows, you sat in silence, waiting for his next move.

His eyes were no longer focused on you, at least not your face. Kneeling in front of you, both of his hands pushed the fabric of your dress up, antagonizing slowly. Your head rolled back in response to the cotton tingling your skin with friction. Once your dress was to your hips with your underwear peeking out, he took the liberty to swipe his hands underneath your legs, not wanting you to do any work as he ravished you the way he wanted to all day.

“Oh…” He mumbled, fingertip dragging up the length of your slit, the shape defined by the wetness in your panties. “All for me?” Humming in happiness, you felt his curls tickling your thighs making your hips involuntarily buck. As a result, your slit bumped into his nose, you both moaned in unison.

He pried your thong from your pussy, watching as the secretions stuck to your flesh, clinging to where they came from. Without warning, his middle finger petted at your entrance then plunged in deep. The words that left your mouth at this sudden attack weren’t real words, but he enjoyed watching you fall apart under his touch.

“That’s right, let me hear those pretty sounds of yours.” He whispered, rubbing his nose at your clit which he knew you loved. The thought of you sitting on his face, using the ridges in nose to pleasure yourself came to mind, as he palmed himself through his pants to slow down his own excitement.

He tested you, stretched you, figured out the depth of your walls to the size of his fingers. With his middle finger buried in you, he added his ring finger too, and his tongue darting out to lap up your lubrication. So sweet, so perfect for him, so healthy, so delicious, his mind reeling as his slow and steady movement affected you so deeply but effectively.

You began to squirm more under his grasp, his free hand pressing against your pelvis to keep you in place but also to apply pressure to your lower abdomen. He had experience in pleasuring women, and he was so happy to apply his skills to help you.

You were needy, so pent up, so innocent, and he was going to break you for his personal gain. You knew this with the way he expertly fingered your pussy, knowing that no one would ever be able to replicate what he was doing for you.

“Mi princesa, I want you to coat my fingers in your liquids. Can you do that for me?” His voice was a low rumble, vibrating into your core directly. You were a whimpering mess, held in place by his strong hand, coming undone at the seams. But you had to relax, you were so tense to control yourself, but he was giving you a direct order, and what good girl didn’t listen?

Your moans became louder by the second, as his fingers penetrated you harsher but still controlled, begging you to release. His chuckles and moans against your clit had your eyes rolling to the back of your head, your back arching as he drained you, devouring every last drop of liquid that flowed out of you.

After coming down from your high, a moment you never wanted to leave, you picked your head up to look at him again, his mouth glossy as he sucked on each of his drenched fingers while keeping eye contact with you.

You wanted to thank him, but no sound left your mouth besides squeaks, still recovering with flustered breathing. He nodded his head, no thanks were needed, licking his lips as he admired your tired form underneath his. Pobrecita…

He stood to his full height, removing his belt in one deft swipe, removing his pants smoothly. You shifted your body to kneel in front of him, ready to pleasure him in return, but he caught the look in your eyes and shook his head. “No, I don’t want to cum in your mouth, I want to cum inside that pretty cunt.”

“Okay, whatever you want...” You nodded, putting your hands back at your side while awaiting further instructions, his filthy words making you hyper aware of the pulsing you felt in your core.

He sat down next to you with his cock in his grip, it being almost three times the size of his large hand, leaning up against his headboard. Swallowing your saliva at the sight, your lashes fluttered open to look at him, not sure what he wanted you to do. He noticed this immediately, and he spoke again, “I’m sure a good girl like you loves missionary, but tonight you’re going to sit in my lap and ride me until I’m drained of every last drop. Do you understand me?”

He was commanding and you scrambled to hover over his muscular thighs. With your hands on his shoulders, he lined himself up at your entrance, giving you a look to ask if you were sure. When you nodded your head, he made no hesitation to slam your hips down onto his.

A garbled scream spilled from your lips, moving your hands into the curls on the nape of his neck as you held onto something for support. He didn’t want you to lift a pretty finger, he wanted to do all the work so he’s hauling your pussy up and down his thick shaft, using you like a toy. “Take off your clothes, mami.” He moaned out, licking his lips in anticipation.

You did as he asked with no questions, peeling the fabric over your head and letting it fall to the ground, followed suit by your bra. As your breasts flopped free in freedom, he groaned, leaning his face in to grab your left nipple with his teeth. You winced at this, but your eyes fluttered shut again, and he continued his attack on your busty features.

The overwhelming sensation of your boobs in his face, strangulating his air intake and your pussy squeezing him tightly had Miguel moaning underneath you non-stop. His hands gripped your ass, squeezing the flesh as tight as he could without truly hurting you, but the pressure was still stimulating for you.

“I’m going to fill you up, princesa. Is that okay?” Your vocal response wasn’t needed, you just nodded as you forced yourself to relax again, so you would both be coming at the same time. The sound that left Miguel’s mouth was intoxicating, his grunts were loud as he let go of his control, his brain temporarily forgetting English as he spewed Spanish vulgarities as he released himself deep into you.

He held you close, panting as he recovered from the weeks-long foreplay, looking at you with such fondness and desire. The remnants of your sex spilled out once he picked up off of him, telling you to stay in place so he could get something to clean you both up.

He was quiet as he recovered, but it didn’t take long with his abilities, but he sensed you needed more time to recover than he would, so he was comfortingly silent, wiping you gently with a wipe. Your fucked-out smile was evident, and he found it so captivating. He laid you down next to him and pulled you into his chest, knowing there was no better aftercare than affection.

Miguel’s bedroom was now quiet and still, the only sound was the soft, ragged breathing of the two occupants. He lay on his back, one arm wrapped around your waist as you lay sleeping next to him, your body snuggled close to his. He watched you slowly drift to sleep, his heart swelling within him as he held you tight, the satisfaction of having you under his care was distinct. But he had to say one more thing before you could sleep.

“So... what is your father going to think about you sleeping with the enemy?” He asked lowly, you just rolled your eyes and directed him to be quiet, just delicately laughing at each other.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel x you #atsv miguel #xodeity's writings ♡

25 notes · View notes

ladytauria · 1 year ago

Note

44 with timdami? if the muse strikes~

the muse struck and struck hard. this ended up about 2k words XD

my brain went "terminal illness? oh! hanahaki 😌" so i hope that's okay <3

there is also not really a... resolution to this. i debated between happy and sad, but, as the words kept coming... i ultimately ended up going open instead <3

thank you for the prompt!

Tim coughs up the first petals on a Sunday afternoon.

He’s sitting outside—Dr Thompkins says he needs more vitamin D, and despite what the others might think, Tim does try to stay on top of his health. Damian is sitting outside too; though not on the porch where Tim is. Instead, he’s sitting under a tree, sketchbook balanced on his knees and Titus lying by his side.

Dappled sunlight dances on his skin, and Tim’s fingers itch for his camera.

Then his throat itches too; diaphragm spasming as he coughs into his arm. Something flutters in his throat; on his tongue. He worries for a moment he’s coughing up phlegm—and then he tastes something… sweet. Floral.

He thinks. He might have preferred the phlegm.

After a quick glance to make sure no one sees, he spits the petals into a napkin. They were likely a bright, vibrant white before they sat in his mouth. A few speckles of blood dot them; vivid even with the darkening of their color.

Tim crumples the napkin, crushing them within.

Then he tucks it into his pocket, takes the rest of his tea, and heads inside.

The petals don’t stop coming.

Of course they don’t. Once they start— It’s hard to get rid of them. Tim knows that.

It’s inconvenient anyway.

Even more inconvenient is the way that suddenly, Damian is everywhere, just when Tim wants to avoid him most. Or doesn’t, he supposes, because… he never seems to excuse himself. Not until the coughing starts, anyway, and then he finds a way to leave without calling too much attention to himself.

It’s only a matter of time before one of the others notices something is wrong. They’re all too damn nosy and observant by far—something Tim appreciates when it comes to solving a case, not so much when it comes to butting in his personal life.

It’s also harder to lie to them. Not impossible. Tim’s done it enough that he knows just how to do it best; what each of them needs to hear to make them believe it. He’s practically an expert.

This, though.

It’s harder to conceal.

Especially as the tickle in his throat grows more frequent, his chest growing tighter. The petals get larger, too. It won’t be long before flowers form. As soon as that happens—

Tim will have to disappear.

Oh—sure. He could confess. The flowers in him will wither and die without that built-up longing to cling to. But—

He would have to leave anyway, wouldn’t he? He doesn’t think he could stand it, working day in and day out with him after a rejection. Doesn’t want that cloud hanging over any of them—or to put Damian in that position in the first place. Sure; rejection won’t kill him, that’s a myth, but. For Damian to know that Tim’s feelings ran deep enough that they had taken root and bloomed within him—?

Tim can think of many ways to describe Damian, not all of them flattering, but— Cruel isn’t one of them. Not anymore.

He might accept Tim’s confession in some misplaced kindness—out of pity, and that— Would be worse than any rejection could be, actually.

So no. Either way, Tim has to disappear. At least this way his dignity will be intact.

He always figured he’d have a short life. Granted, the method of death he pictured was different, but— well. Actually. With Ivy around, asphyxiation by flower isn’t really that different from something he could have faced as Red Robin.

There is also the surgical option, too—but Tim would rather die than become unfeeling. While some claimed that the surgery caused only dulled feelings, especially with modern technology, there isn’t enough information for him to be willing to take the risk.

Leaving is best, then. For everyone.

Tim does not have as many contingency plans as Bruce—but he comes a close second. Among them, there are many plans for disappearing and starting over somewhere new.

Picking one is the hardest part.

From there? Smooth sailing.

He quietly divides his cases between the others. Some, he offers outright. Others, those less pertinent, he quietly slips onto their systems, as if they had always been there. He does the same with his patrol route.

Tim works with Babs fairly often these days—especially with the blooms growing larger; the coughs more frequent. He blames it on the changing weather, and Oracle is happy enough to have an additional pair of hands. Tim exploits access to her system to make subtle tweaks to everyone’s patrols until his is virtually non-existent.

He also packs. Lightly, of course; just a few things to look at, to reminisce about the past in his dying days.

He has a will, and some pre-recorded messages. He shortens the period of inactivity which will automatically send them; tweaks the messages a bit; and moves on.

Tim allows himself a few indulgences, too—spending more time with the others, not skipping group meals, taking more time off of work. He knows it raises a few eyebrows, but— Tim is practiced at explaining his oddities away.

All in all, it’s quite easy.

And when the time comes—

He disappears, quietly; into the dawning light, when everyone else is tucked into bed. When the city—never truly sleeping—is beginning to bustle again.

Tim burst into their lives with a bang.

He steps out of them without even a whimper.

Damian is the first to realize that Drake is missing.

He wishes he could say it was because he noticed—but he cannot. He discovers it when he pays a visit to Drake’s theater penthouse, and finds it empty and cold. Devoid of life.

His home has always been somewhat austere… but this is different.

Damian knows that something is wrong. He is—afraid. He texts the others immediately, asking them when the last time they heard from Drake was. It does not take them long to realize that Drake’s disappearance is unrelated to their vigilante lives; that, for all intents and purposes, it seems to be willing. Which meant— there must have been signs. Damian turns through his memories with a growing sense of desperation.

Drake is—

Complicated.

Their initial relationship was fraught. Damian will take the larger share of blame for that. When he did, eventually, somewhat reluctantly, get to know Drake—it. Changed. He gravitated towards the older man, and his perspective; often unique from either his Father or Richard. He found him a good listener, too, and while he could be dismissive—Damian’s words usually held weight to him.

It—

Was nice.

Up until Drake’s presence started to make his insides squirm. Until he found himself with ears pricked for compliments from Drake. Until he found himself gravitating to Drake’s presence—choosing to take patrols with him even when Richard was in town.

Until he spoke to Jon and realized he had all the symptoms of a schoolboy crush.

He placed distance between them, then. It wasn’t hard, though it hurt when Drake did not appear to notice beyond a few things. But it was better than facing heartbreak.

And then—

Drake drew closer.

Damian kept his distance.

Now… Regret coats his tongue in ash. If he had not pulled away… might he have noticed sooner? Might he have been able to stop whatever caused Drake to disappear?

There is no sense in ruminating on it.

The important thing is to find Drake.

With Oracle in his ear, Damian makes his way to Tim’s Perch. Logging into his computer, even with Oracle’s aid, is generally a tedious affair.

This time it is not.

He can tell by the way Gordon quiets that she likes this no more than he does.

Drake’s face appears on the screen. He looks paler. The circles around his eyes are darker. He sits in the same chair Damian sits in now, wearing civilian clothes. Something comfortable—a t-shirt that should have been thrown out years ago, a pair of leggings that conform beautifully to the curves of his legs.

“If you’re watching this,” he says, “you’ve noticed I’m gone.”

Damian’s fingers itch to pause the recording.

He does not.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s…” Drake’s face scrunches. “...shitty of me to disappear without notice like this. I promise you it was for the best.” He pauses. He looks—almost hesitant.

Damian does not want to hear what he has to say next.

He keeps listening anyway.

“I’m dying.”

Damian’s heart falls to his feet. He thinks he hears it shatter there—a silly, poetic notion brought on by reading too many of Todd’s recommendations, he’s sure, but nonetheless. Blood roars in his ears. He hears little of what Drake says next. Something about pre-recorded messages, spaced out by time, and easily accessed by Gordon.

When Gordon directs him, Damian lets her instructions carry him through.

He sends the messages; all sent to personal devices, save for a few directly to the Batcomputer. And then he makes his way back to the manor. The trip is a blur. He realizes, only when he is seated on the couch, strange looks sent his way, that he has taken a blanket from Drake’s apartment. It is a fluffy purple abomination—a gift from Brown, he’s sure. Rather than explain himself, or tuck it away, Damian unfolds it over his lap; stroking it the same way he does Alfred, when he deigns Damian’s lap a better place to sit than a patch of sun or soft cushion.

Richard’s arm settles around his shoulders, tucking him into his side as if Damian is still small. Normally he would bristle; especially since he is half a head taller than Richard himself. Today he settles without argument, letting the solid presence of his older brother be a comfort.

Brown leans against the back of the couch. Her fingers comb through his hair. He does not fight this either.

Instead he listens.

Gordon has accessed his medical records; a liberty she normally does not take. He has been diagnosed with no terminal illnesses across most of his aliases.

“Most?” Richard asks.

Gordon’s mouth pinches. “There is one. I don’t think Tim knows I know about it—though I wouldn’t rule it out. He went to a clinic in Boston, and was diagnosed with Hanahaki. He picked up medicine, then bought a bus ticket. After that, I believe he shed that identity. I haven’t been able to pick his trail back up… yet.” Gordon says ‘yet’ with such certainty, Damian believes her.

“Hanahaki…” Jason repeats. He swipes a hand down his face. “Fucking figures. One of us would be too emotionally constipated to just get over it and confess, wouldn’t we?”

Damian frowns. He pulls away from Richard’s side, Brown’s fingers slipping from his hair. “Drake left— because he was a coward?”

The words are vile and bitter on his tongue. It is an unpleasant feeling that does not even come close to touching the fire in his chest. There are two cures for the disease of love—

The first, to confess. Face rejection, or reciprocation. Allow yourself, your feelings, to be known.

The second, to have the blooms removed, and risk dulling or losing the ability to feel forever.

To choose death—

“Damian, that’s not—”

“Quiet,” he snaps. He stands, thrusting the blanket at Richard, who takes it with startled eyes. “I am going to find him, and then I am going to wring his neck.” He spins on his heel and stalks out of the room.

How dare he. How dare he.

Damian does not think he has ever been angrier. Drake, who has more audacity and daring and stubbornness than anyone Damian has ever met—who’s passion and conviction and love has held this pseudo-family together even when they were separated by the eons of time—would rather disappear, leave them all to mourn instead of swallow his foolish pride and let someone—someone with whom he has fallen in love—to see the truth of him.

Damian will find him, and his object of affection, and he will tear the words from Drake’s throat if need be.

He does not get to die.

Not like this.

#asks and answers #felinemotif #damitim #timdami #dcu #tauriawritesfanfic #thank u for the prompt!! this was fun :)

112 notes · View notes