#he was a bargain i think😌 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

xbellaxcarolinax · 2 years ago

Text

Futile Devices

Miguel O'Hara x civilian f!reader

Summary: The deal was explicitly no strings attached. You were finding it harder to keep up your end of the bargain.

Word Count: 8.2k (A behemoth of a fic, I'm so sorry guys)

Warnings: FWB, language, angst, reader is totally in love with Miguel, Miguel being a bit of an ass, probably a tad toxic? SMUT, p in v (no protection), cum play, low-key breeding kink? Like super low-key. Oral (f receiving). Miguel climbing through windows. Idk why I'm obsessed with that thought lmfao I make him climb through windows every chance I get. Idiots in love. Probably a rushed ending, sorry!

Thanks to @whatthefishh for beta-reading. Partly inspired by this.

Also, this is mega ultra cliche, we all know they're gonna end up together, so just enjoy the ride! It's not the destination, it's the journey 😌 Hope you guys enjoy, and if you do, pls let me know what you think! I love reading your comments!

MDNI pls.

...

It was always a mission getting to Miguel's office.

Headquarters wasn't built to accommodate civilians, the winding pathways and corridors a danger if one wasn't too careful.

You had to be extra careful.

You hurried toward Miguel's office, heels clicking against clean tiled floors as you dodged a fuck ton of spider people and the inescapable attention of one annoying Peter Parker.

"Come on," Peter Parker number two hundred tried his luck again, "just one date. I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go."

"No." You rolled your eyes, swatting him with the manilla folder in your hands like you would a fly.

“Look, all I’m saying is you should give me a shot. I’m funny.”

“So is every other Peter Parker I’ve encountered.”

“I’m different.”

“I doubt it.”

He deflated, keeping up with your quick steps. “Who doesn’t like funny guys?”

“Me.”

“Sure,” he stretched the word out, unconvinced, "so if not funny guys then what? The ones with sticks up their asses, like Miguel?" He snorted with a shake of his head. You knew it was a sort of rhetorical question but you couldn’t help swallowing thickly, your hands gripping the folder a little too tightly.

Yeah. Something like that.

You felt your heart drop to your stomach when Peter Parker two hundred raised his brows at your silence. So maybe he did want an answer.

"Nah, there's no way. I'll try again tomorrow." He smiled, shooting a web out in some random direction and swinging off toward the floor above.

Fuck. That was close.

You breathed a sigh of relief, loosening your fingers over the folder before quickly hurrying toward your destination.

You pressed your watch against the sensor outside of Miguel's office, waiting for the metal door to slide open. It didn't. You tried again. Still nothing. Again. It wouldn't budge.

"Ugh, come on, Miguel!" You banged the door with a tiny fist as if that would make a difference, "open up!"

Lyla appeared suddenly, her sprite-like form circling your head once before she faced you.

"You probably shouldn't go in there," she warned, "he's in a…mood."

"He’s always in a mood," your hands were on your hips now, the manilla folder crinkling further in your hand, "I need to report a couple of grievances—"

"Mmmmmm, I'm sure that's the last thing he wants to hear right now, Miss HR." God you hated when they called you that. You rolled your eyes, swatting her away with the folder which did nothing, of course, and pressed your watch against the sensor.

"That's not gonna work, honey."

"So let me in."

"Promise to be nice?"

"To who?" You snorted, "You or Miguel?"

"Me," Lyla grinned, adjusting her heart-shaped glasses, "forget Miguel."

You sighed, cracking a smile, "Lyla, would you please let me into Miguel's office?" The Ai made a noise of approval, comically saluting you before granting you access.

"Don't say I didn't warn ya." She sang, disappearing from your sight.

You sighed. Miguel's shifting moods were nothing new to you—not anymore. Back when you both worked at Alchemax, he was passive and less quick to anger. But that seemed a lifetime ago.

Life progresses. People change.

“Mig?” You called out, peering up toward his solitary platform. You could hear the soft hisses of machinery, the yellow glow of Miguel’s holo screens illuminating the area above like a radiant star.

He didn’t answer.

“Miguel,” you tried again, “we have some things to discuss.” You slapped the manilla folder against your hand as if he’d recognize the sound of formal complaints filed within the last week.

The platform began to descend after a moment, and you breathed a sigh of relief as his figure came into view. His shoulders were stiff, his body rigid as he swiped through the yellow screens.

“I told Lyla not to let anyone in.” His voice was cold, frigid even. He didn’t bother to face you, his eyes pinned to his screens as he leaned forward, the muscles of his back flexing through his suit.

You couldn’t see what he was looking at but you could hear it: the soft giggles of a little girl, the cheers of a soccer game, the chuckles of a man now broken. It wasn’t the first time you’d heard the sounds of Miguel’s past. It probably wouldn’t be the last either.

“I-uh, got some reports to share with you.” You felt foolish. Lyla was right. HR complaints were the last thing on Miguel’s mind.

“Reports of the anomaly on Earth 9811?” Your brows pinched in irritation. He knew those weren’t the reports you had. You were fucking HR, not on active duty, let alone a spider person.

"No, you'd have to ask Jess or Gwen about that, but you need to listen—"

“I don’t want to hear it.” He grunted. You saw his hands form fists at his sides, the same hands that’d fisted your sheets in the throes of pleasure just days ago.

You shook your head. It was not the time for that kind of thought.

You carefully opened the crinkled folder, pulling out the paperwork you’d printed from your antique printer to read aloud from it.

“Peter Parker of Earth 5431-02 has formally filed a complaint,” you began, your eyes scanning the black text before releasing an exasperated sigh, “he’s saying you threw a chair at him?” Miguel grunted, the holo screens shutting off at his (Lyla’s) command.

“He’s an idiot.” Miguel snapped, finally turning to face you, his sharp features shadowed by the lack of light. He regarded you carefully, red eyes tracing your figure. You’ve grown used to the way his eyes lingered over you, especially when you were under him, his body pressed against yours, but sometimes you couldn’t help but squirm under his more severe gaze.

“Well, yeah,” you reluctantly agreed with a tilt of your head, “but a chair, Miguel?”

“It’s not like it hurt him...badly.”

“That's not the point."

“The point is that I got my point across.” Miguel snorted.

"It's the principle. You don't go around throwing fucking chairs at the people who work for you!"

"Mhm."

"You're their boss! What kind of behavior is that?"

"Uh-huh."

You were about ready to strangle him but knew your fingers couldn’t even go around his throat properly. You’ve tried before, under very different circumstances. You settled for pinching the bridge of your nose, as he often did, taking a breath to calm yourself before you completely lost your shit. "Listen to me."

"I'm listening, HR."

"Ugh, look," you pointed a finger up toward him, your brows knitted in obvious irritation, "annoying or not, he's still a member of the Spider Society, therefore, he has every right—”

“—to file a grievance under any circumstance as a result of an injustice, discrimination, or harmful behavior, and is to be given the respect to which every spider person is due as a valued member of the society. I know.” Miguel finished the legal jargon for you, hopping off the platform with an ease that’d always surprised you.

He stepped into your space, his large body casting a long shadow over you as he snatched the crinkled paperwork from your hands.

“I’ll speak with him.” He grunted. You pursed your lips, watching as his eyes scanned over the page.

"Make it right, Mig. Apologize. Formally. Or informally. It doesn’t matter— there’s nothing normal about this place anyway.” You placed your hands on your hips as you leaned forward, aware of how he was suddenly gazing down at you. “Just be nice, okay? Compensate him with, I dunno, a minor mission. He always wants to get involved, so let him.”

Miguel rolled his eyes, heaving a great sigh while running his hand through his hair. “Fine.”

“And no more throwing chairs to make a point.”

“Uh-huh, fine, anything else?” God, you wanted to smack him. You opted for snatching back the paperwork from his hand, smoothing out the wrinkles over your skirt-clad thighs before searching for the proper page.

“Yeah," you brought a finger down on the page, "the spiders are getting bored of the cafeteria food.” That was enough for Miguel's face to pinch in displeasure.

“What’s wrong with empanadas and churros?” He scoffed, waving his hand to dismiss the complaint, “And that stupid blue burger with my face on it?” He paused, eyes squinting for a moment, “You know what? That can go. Get rid of it.”

“Fine. Do I have permission to organize a survey?”

“For food?”

“Yes, for food. They want options.”

“Aye, por Dios,” Miguel grunted, waving his hand again, “Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Anything else?”

“Nope.” You organized the documents back into the manila folder before handing it over to him.

“You know you could just send this electronically, right?” He looked down at the folder, his eyes tracing your neat cursive in black ink.

“I’m old-fashioned.” You shrugged, turning on your heels. You heard him snort out a laugh, a tiny thing that made you smile. He has a nice laugh.

“One more thing,” Miguel called out, demandingly. You looked over your shoulder at him as he regarded you with heavy eyes.

“What is it?”

He boarded the platform once again, the machinery coming to life and slowly elevating him back to his preferred height. He tossed the folder somewhere over the desk, to be forgotten. It was the least of his worries at that moment.

You watched Miguel ascend above you like some kind of heavenly being, the yellow light of the holo screens illuminating his tan skin till he glowed molten gold. You waited on him with bated breath, his response sinking straight to your core.

“Keep your window unlocked tonight.”

…

He loves it when you ride him.

His large hands were glued to your hips as you bounced on him expertly, your cunt soaking him in your sticky juices.

Most nights began this way—with Miguel's cock buried deep in your pussy after a long day of enduring his insufferable attitude. You'd fuck the stress out of him—fuck the astronomical weight of the multiverse off his shoulders if only for a few short hours.

"Been thinking about this all day." He groaned under you, throwing his head back over your pillow when he felt your walls grip his length viciously, fighting to keep him in.

"Yeah?" You gasped, your hands firmly planted on his bare chest as you made work of your hips, rotating them in delicious circles—the way he liked—your thighs spread wide to accommodate his massive size. "W-wasn't enough to curb that a-attitude though, huh?"

Even amid the utmost pleasure—of Miguel's length hitting a spot that had you trembling—you found the strength to taunt him, your hazy eyes catching a glimpse of the twitch in his brow. That meant trouble.

Within seconds Miguel had you on your back, his imposing body trapping you against your mattress. His cock slipped out for a moment but he had no problem finding his way back into your slippery channel, snapping his hips strategically to reach as deep as he could.

You cried out, your hands scrambling to find purchase over his shoulders, your pretty manicured nails digging into his perfectly golden skin.

"F-fuck! Miguel!"

"Wanna say that again?" He growled, his face hovering mere centimeters from yours, "Go ahead, say it again." You did nothing but whimper as he pounded into you mercilessly, his cock stretching you open.

"That's what I thought." Miguel chuckled smugly, delighting in your little chokes and stutters, egging him to keep pounding you relentlessly. You tried speaking—tried to articulate your words to him, but you couldn't, too cock drunk to focus on anything else but his gorgeous face twisted up in pleasure and his thick cock kissing the secret place within you.

He had you coming soon after, stars exploding behind your lids as you trembled in his arms. Your cunt squeezed him just right and he came, panting in your ear as he filled you to the brim.

His spend stained your sheets when he pulled out, and as always, he watched it dribble out from your swollen cunt with lidded eyes. He wasted no time in taking his fingers and stuffing the mess back in.

“Keep me in there.” He muttered, swiping through your puffy folds one final time before he ripped himself from you. You immediately soured, keeping your gaze on him as he quickly cleaned himself off with a cloth you left for him on your nightstand.

You admired his figure: the ripple of his muscles as he moved, the broadness of his shoulders, the glow of his skin in the dim lighting of your bedroom.

Miguel was gorgeous. You’ve always thought so.

His suit glitched before coming to life, covering his sculpted body in the usual blue and red you've come to know.

“Did…you want to eat before you go?” Dinner was on the stove, cold but still good. You sat up against your headboard, more of his spend leaking out as you fiddled with your fingers over the soiled sheets.

Miguel shook his head, sighing as he closed his eyes for a moment.

“I have to go.” He said, stepping forward, grabbing your hand, and placing a chaste kiss over your knuckles. It was the only form of affection he’d allowed himself to give you. He’d never kissed you before. Probably never will. It wasn't part of the deal.

Your heart sunk, your skin searing where his lips had lingered.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Most nights ended this way—with your aching cunt full of his seed and your eyes wet with unshed tears as you watched him leave through your window, disappearing into the night.

…

A few days later, Peter B. Parker landed in your office. Quite literally.

He plopped down on the seat in front of yours from seemingly nowhere, a messily packed diaper bag hanging loosely from his shoulder. He had his daughter snuggly pressed against his chest in her carrier, her chubby arms and legs flailing over his pink robe.

You yelped, dropping the pen in your hand, clutching your chest in freight.

“Jesus! Where the hell did you just come from?!”

“Up there.” Peter pointed up. You followed his line of vision, noting the door to the air vent busted open, barely hanging from its hinges. “Sorry about the vent.” He offered sheepishly, taking a large bite of a slice of pizza he'd pulled from a greased-up brown paper bag.

"You could've just taken the elevator!"

"Takes too long to get to the basement.” He said between a mouthful of pizza, “Why'd Miguel give you an office down here anyway?"

"I'm scared of heights." You reminded him, watching Mayday struggle to release herself from her carrier prison. Peter snorted out a laugh, dropping the diaper bag on the floor while simultaneously taking another bite of his pizza.

“Doesn’t make sense to work in a place like this.”

“It was the deal I made when Miguel asked me to work for him. Chew with your mouth closed.”

“Have you tried the cafeteria pizza?" He asked suddenly, ignoring your demand and speaking with another mouth full of the greasy treat, "It's the new thing. Everyone's going crazy."

You smiled smugly. "I know. You’re welcome."

“Ah, I should've known Miss HR was behind this!” You rolled your eyes at the nickname, rummaging through your drawer before tossing him a few napkins.

“What can I do for you, Peter?”

Mayday whined, crawling out of the carrier and over her father’s thighs. She hopped on your desk, scattering some of your paperwork. You quickly caught her before she tumbled off the edge, cooing at her before placing her in your lap. You squeezed her in your arms and she let out a scream of delight before squirming, reaching out in wonder at the different knick-knacks on your desk.

“Right, almost forgot." Peter took the last bite of his pizza, wiping his face and fingers with the napkins you provided before his face morphed into something serious. "Is this guy bothering you?” He pulled out a yellow holo pad, one presumably given to him by Miguel, revealing a video of you and Peter Parker two hundred from the other day.

You blinked, your eyes tracing the moving image carefully.

”Oh. Not really,” you finally said, ripping your gaze away from the screen, “Nothing I can't handle. Why?”

“Miguel asked me to investigate the situation discreetly.”

"Asked?"

"Well, demanded, you know Miguel," Peter shrugged, reaching down into the diaper bag and procuring a lollipop when Mayday began to whine, “he’s concerned. I figured it’d be easier to just ask you about it.”

You frowned, grasping the sweet when he handed it over to you, pulling off the wrapper and placing it in Mayday's chubby hand, “That’s hardly discreet.”

“I didn’t wanna follow the guy around!”

“He's making you do that?”

“‘Of course he is. Doesn't like the guy. He barely tolerates me!”

You snorted. “Why does Miguel even care?”

"You know him better than any of us do. If anyone would know, it’s you."

Well, that was true.

You knew Miguel before he created the Spider Society, before he was ever Spider-Man. You knew him before his addiction to Rapture, before he experienced fatherhood, before he lost Gabriella.

Back when, to the world, he was just some guy in a white lab coat.

But he was never just some guy to you.

You’ve loved Miguel for years. You’d loved him in your early days at Alchemax, when he was fresh out of college and eager to begin his shaky career, back when you were hanging on to the corporation by a measly thread of an unpaid internship. You were a pair, stuck to each other like glue.

A few years later, when you both decided to take it a step further and mess around, well, that only ignited your feelings further. Miguel was an attentive lover. He knew your needs and fulfilled them, taking you to the heights of pleasure before humbling you just as smoothly with his strict rules about your agreement.

He didn’t have time to cater to someone's feelings—didn’t have time for a romantic relationship when he had too much on his plate. But his sexual appetite demanded attention—and why not with someone he’s called a friend for years?

You were just a friend. And that’s all you’d ever be.

It was just sex. That's all it'd ever be.

“You okay?” Peter ripped you away from your thoughts, his brows furrowed in concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You answered with a sigh, gently resting your chin over Mayday’s soft curls. “Is Miguel worried?”

“You’re the closest thing he has to a friend, of course he’s worried about you. Those were his words, not mine.” Peter shrugged, putting his holo pad away, “so is there a cause for concern?” The thought alone almost made you smile. Almost. Instead, you scoffed, shaking your head.

“I’m usually the one that handles these situations, you know.”

“And who’s supposed to help you?”

“I don’t need help.”

“Right.” He didn’t seem convinced. “Miguel doesn't seem to think so. You sure?”

“Very.”

“Alright, I did my part!” He clapped his hands as if he’d successfully completed a mission, “Time to go, Mayday!” He stood, grabbing the babbling baby from you and placing her back in the carrier.

"She's precious." You said, gently pinching Mayday's drool-covered cheek as she teethed over her lollipop.

"Takes after her dad." Peter grinned, snatching up the diaper bag, "Listen, if you ever need any help—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, get outta here, Parker." You shooed him away, quickly organizing your wrinkled paperwork together. You could still feel his eyes on you as you kept your hands busy, and when you finally looked at him he had a silly smile on his face.

"What?"

“You guys are idiots." He was still grinning.

"What?"

"Nothin'," he said, pressing a kiss to Mayday's red curls, "Just do me a favor. Don't mention any of this to Miguel, alright?"

You crossed your arms, leaning back against your swivel chair. "Sure."

...

"So you think I need help?"

Miguel's hands immediately stilled on your hips as you stirred the boiling pasta over your electric stove.

You didn't hear him come in, but you had a feeling he’d show up. It had been a couple of days since he’d fucked you, and there were many stressful days between then and now.

So you’d left your window unlocked just in case.

"What are you talking about?" He muttered, his fingers lightly dancing on your waist before pulling away completely.

"Nothing." You huffed to yourself, cutting off the heat and getting on your toes to reach for the pasta strainer on the shelf above. After a second of watching you struggle, Miguel put a hand on your shoulder to stop you, reaching forward to grab it for you.

"Doesn’t sound like ‘nothing’.” He finally said, observing you strain the pasta over the sink, the steam from the hot water engulfing you both in what felt like a thick cloud of tension. You peered over your shoulder at him, your eyes raking over his solid form.

“You know, Peter Parker two hundred?” You asked, witnessing his face contort from passive to extreme annoyance.

He sucked his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. He leaned back against your counter, looking so out of place in your tiny kitchen, his broad shoulders almost the entire width of your cupboard. “I told Peter to be discreet.”

“He said you’re worried about your only friend.” You continued to tease him, emphasizing the word as you lifted the lid to a pot where a homemade Pomodoro sauce was bubbling.

“I said that?” Miguel muttered, feigning innocence, watching you take a spoon and scoop some of the red sauce for a quick taste. You could feel his gaze on you, his eyes tracing the way your tongue licked off the remnants of sauce.

You hummed in approval before scooping up some more and turning to offer Miguel a taste. You lifted the spoon toward him, and after a moment of contemplation, he hunched forward with arms crossed over his toned chest, mouth opening slightly to allow you to press the spoon past his lips.

His eyes fluttered as he savored the rich taste, humming his own tune of approval.

"Is it good?"

“Mhm.”

You beamed, eyeing how he licked his lips like a satisfied cat, his fangs protruding slightly when he ran his tongue over them. The same fangs you’ve felt over your delicate skin from time to time.

Miguel was a biter. You didn’t mind.

Miguel grunted, using his thumb to wipe off a bit of sauce that lingered near the corner of your lips. You inhaled a shaky breath, your eyes fluttering from the heat of his touch.

"What else did he say?" He murmured, looming over you, his hand now gently cradling the back of your neck, thumb caressing your skin.

"T-that you're worried about me?" You breathed. Miguel pulled you closer suddenly, the faintest noise of surprise escaping you. His suit always felt strange under your fingers, the digitized fabric almost slippery, like fine silk. It was ridiculous how perfect you felt wrapped up in his arms. You sometimes wished he'd show up in civilian clothes. You missed his lazy outfits when he'd throw on an old t-shirt and a pair of sweats.

You couldn't remember the last time you'd seen him in anything other than his suit (and his naked form, of course). It meant he was always on the clock, devoting all his precious time to the multiverse.

It meant that whenever he was alone with you, he considered it work.

And yet, the suit made you feel secure and safe—like nothing in the world could harm you. And there was truth to that, though the only thing harming you these days was Miguel himself. But that was your fault too.

The deal was explicitly no strings attached. You were finding it harder to keep up your end of the bargain.

You gazed at his full lips. You desperately wanted to taste them, to know how soft and warm they would feel molded against yours. If you were brave enough you might have stolen a taste, might have felt those sharp canines for yourself on your tongue.

Miguel’s thick fingers trailed into your hair, gripping the roots with just a hint of pressure, his lidded eyes taking in every part of your face: your brows, your eyes, the bridge of your nose, and your supple lips—wet and swollen from biting them so damn much.

"Maybe just a little," he finally answered, his shoulders shifting in a slight shrug. You could feel his length press against your hip, hot and throbbing, demanding attention.

It filled you with pride knowing your proximity was enough to get him excited. It shouldn't though. It was only arousal. Basic primal instincts.

You shouldn’t be feeling pride for any of this. You had to remind yourself of that.

You closed your eyes, willing your heartbeat to slow down just a bit. Could you really be this love-sick? So hung up on a man who was emotionally unavailable? If you hadn’t fallen before, then you knew you were plummeting now, so far gone that you’d let Miguel do anything to you.

So when he whisked you away to your bedroom, dinner long forgotten, you didn’t put up a fight.

He fucked you from behind.

It was a tight stretch, your wet cunt fighting him as he tried pressing his swollen tip in with little luck.

"Gotta let me in," he grunted, spreading your cheeks wide to gaze down at your twitching holes, "you're too tight. Let me in."

"I'm trying," you panted, tears in your eyes as you buried your face into the sheets, "i-it's been a while."

"It's okay," his large hands caressed the globes of your ass in comfort, "it's my fault. Haven't been fucking you enough, hm? S'my fault." Miguel rubbed his cock through your soaked folds a few times, the obscene noises of your sopping cunt causing him to grunt.

"Goddamn, so fuckin' wet." He muttered before lining himself up and carefully pushing in again. You cried out, fisting the sheets when he successfully got the tip in. He groaned, the guttural sound masking your tiny mewls as he pushed on, your wet cunt coating him entirely in your sticky essence, easing his entry just a bit.

"Fuck, Miguel, it h-hurts." You whined, the stretch of him both painful and pleasurable as he bullied his way in, his girthy cock plunging through your fluttering walls.

"Shh, I know." He rarely cooed as he did now, reassuring you with gentle noises and tender touches as he eased into you, balls deep in your core, “Look how good you’re doing for me. S’good.” A fresh wave of arousal dripped from you at his praise, your fluttering cunt allowing him to push and pull as he pleased.

He began a steady rhythm, holding your hips tightly to work you over his length, muttering to himself all the while as he watched how your creamy juices clung to his cock and covered his skin.

The pain quickly subsided into blinding pleasure. Miguel had you mewling into your mattress, your eyes rolling and drool slipping past your lips, your back impossibly arched, and your swollen cunt wetter than it’s ever been. The slapslapslap of his hips against your ass was loud in the quiet of your bedroom, your moans even louder when he skillfully hit something inside you that made you see stars every single time.

You loved the feel of him, loved the stretch of his cock, loved how your cunt would ache for days after as if to remember him.

“Coño,” Miguel growled, keeping a large hand on your lower back to keep you steady in your arched position, “you sound so pretty when I fuck you.” He suddenly gripped your hair, pulling you up as he curved over you, continuing to spill filth into your ears.

It was too much.

“M-Miguel, I’m g-gonna—”

“Cum for me.”

That was it. The dam burst within you, your eyes rolling back as you cried out, cunt spasming and gushing all over him.

“That’s it,” he muttered, sloppily thrusting into your tightening core, “good girl.”

“Miguel,” you continued to whine, grinding against him, “Fuuuck, I love you.”

You didn’t even realize what you said until it was too late, so wrapped up in the bliss of it all that your mouth worked faster than your brain could think.

You froze when you felt him still above you. He released your hair, bringing his hand back to your hips before gripping them viciously, chasing his own release. He rammed into you faster, slamming his hips against your ass one final time before letting out a guttural groan deep from within the confines of his chest. You could only imagine how he looked: tan skin glistening, chocolate hair plastered against his brow and head tossed back in pleasure.

Miguel said nothing as he gently removed his cock from your aching sex, letting his seed dribble out from you and soak into the sheets.

As soon as you turned around he was already in his suit, pushing a few buttons on his watch before he brought his wine-colored eyes to you.

"I have to go."

“Mig?” You whispered his name softly, your naked body burning with embarrassment, “I-I’m sorry I—”

"I’ll see you tomorrow.” It was the same thing he always said, but it hurt twice as much. It was as if he were on autopilot, disconnected from what just happened.

You felt your heart plummet into your stomach as you watched Miguel leave through your window with a speed he usually reserved for missions.

His spend caked your thighs. There was so much of it coming out of you, more so than usual, his cum ruining your sheets enough that you’d need to change them before bed.

You sniffled, eyes watering, tears threatening to fall. He didn’t even kiss your hand goodbye.

You ripped yourself away from the soiled sheets, stomping over to your window as his cum leaked down your inner thighs before slamming it closed, locking it for good.

...

“You made this?” Miles exclaimed with a mouth full of spaghetti, clumsily twirling another forkful over his paper plate. You were handing out some of the spiders' leftover Pomodoro pasta from the previous night. You’d lost your appetite. It’d be a shame if you let it all go to waste.

“Yeah, eat up, there’s enough for everyone.” You scooped out more pasta from a Tupperware and onto a paper plate for Gwen. The younger girl’s eyes sparkled as she grabbed the plate, immediately slurping up a bite.

“Oh my god,” she muttered, lips covered in red sauce, “why are you working at the Spider Society when you could be a chef?”

“It’s because Miguel begged her to work here,” Miles quipped, a lone spaghetti hanging from his mouth.

“And who told you that?” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Uhh,” his eyes flew over to Peter B., who was waiting patiently for his own plate of pasta to be served. You turned and narrowed your eyes at Peter, who chuckled nervously.

“Listen,” he began, hands thrown up in surrender, “the kid got curious, okay? He was convincing, I mean, look at those eyes.” You huffed, snatching Peter’s plate and loading it up with pasta.

“You guys are annoying,” you muttered with no bite, shifting your gaze toward Hobie, who sat quietly with his legs thrown up on the table, “Hobie, fuck the government and all that, but you need to get your dirty boots off the table if you want some food.”

Hobie sighed dramatically, letting his boots drop to the ground.

“Fine, boss lady.”

Satisfied, you handed him a plate.

“So, let’s talk about you being a chef?” Gwen tried again, scrapping the remaining bits off her plate.

“It’s just pasta,” you shrugged, pulling out a chair and taking a seat, “anyone can make a Pomodoro.”

“My dad can’t.”

“…why?”

“He’s Irish.”

“And a bloody cop,” Hobie interjected, twirling his pasta with a plastic fork, “hate those.”

“Here we go,” Gwen huffed, the beginnings of an argument forming. You chose to ignore them, letting Gwen, Miles, and Hobie bicker between themselves.

You squirmed in your seat, crossing your legs to cure the throbbing within. You could still feel Miguel, the stretch of his cock, and the inevitable ache that lingered afterward. You were still full of him, your cunt wet even hours later, plaguing you with the thought of never feeling him again.

You drummed your fingers over the messy table littered with paper plates and napkins, your body hunched forward, lost in thought.

“So…” Peter began, adjusting the collar of his pink robe, “you gonna tell me what’s going on or am I gonna have to force it outta you?” You whipped your head to look at him, brows furrowed as you regarded him.

“What makes you think something’s going on?” You whispered, hoping the cafeteria was loud enough so the rest of the table wouldn’t hear.

“Something’s going on or you wouldn’t be whispering,” Peter whispered back, his blue eyes pinned to yours as he searched for answers.

“It’s nothing.” You answered quickly, continuing to squirm in your seat, fighting to ignore your achy cunt.

“Did you guys finally smooch?” You froze, your hands gripping the edge of the table with a force that made your knuckles go white.

“Peter, what the fuck are you talking about?” You hissed, watching him happily eat his Pomodoro.

“You think I don’t know?” He challenged, “It might not be obvious to everyone else but I know what’s going on.” He winked at you, dabbing a napkin messily over his mouth.

Your heart was pounding, ready to beat out your chest, but you schooled your features as best you could. You swallowed thickly, crossing your arms over your chest as if to make yourself smaller.

“Okay, fine, you know. What of it?”

“Miguel’s being mopey.”

“Mopey?” You snorted, shaking your head, “He’s always mopey, isn’t he?”

“This is a different kind of mopey,” Peter raised a brow, “it’s actually kind of… frightening.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s got nothing to do with us, for once. Usually one of us pisses him off enough to throw things but he’s on a mission. Said he needed to clear his head. So what happened?” You sighed, shoulders sagging.

“I might have said something I wasn’t supposed to last night.”

“What?”

“We made a deal,” you explained in a whisper, “no feelings, just…you know,” you wiggled your fingers, hoping it would be enough of an explanation. Peter nodded, urging you to continue, “Well, I messed up.”

“How?”

“ItoldhimIlovehim.” You blurted out, your hands flying over your mouth. Peter blinked with a subtle tilt of his head, before a grin stretched over his lips. You groaned, now covering your eyes, “W-what is that, why are you smiling? Stop it.”

“I mean, one of you had to say it first.”

“Peter, you’re killing me here.” He rolled his eyes, inching close enough till your knees brushed against his.

“You don’t think the big guy feels the same way?”

“No!” You squeaked incredulously, “There’s no way. You should’ve seen him yesterday. He could barely look at me!”

“You caught him off guard.”

“I know that, but he still could’ve said something. Anything.”

“He’s a guy. Guys are stupid.” You groaned, pushing your hair out of your face. You turned to look at the other spiders. You knew they’d been listening given the way they all turned away immediately.

“Someone is stupid,” you muttered to Peter, feeling dejected, “and it’s definitely not him.”

...

You took a deep breath before placing your watch over the sensor.

The door to Miguel’s office didn’t budge, not to your surprise. Lyla must have blocked the systems again.

What were you even doing there?

You hadn’t seen Miguel in about a week. That was ample time to inform you he wanted nothing to do with you. You couldn't blame him but still, it was…unprofessional. He was your boss at the end of the day.

Maybe you shouldn’t have started fucking the head of the Spider Society. Your weak heart wouldn’t be in shambles if you didn’t.

It was a stupid move, you knew, telling someone you love them in the throes of passion when they clearly weren’t on the same page, unprovoked or not. He probably hates you. He must.

You’d given yourself enough time to think it through and given yourself so many pep talks before deciding a professional relationship with Miguel was for the best. No more friends with benefits.

No more keeping your window unlocked.

You took a breath and tried again. No luck.

Did he fire you? That couldn’t be right. You were still in the system and able to enter HQ with your keycard just fine.

“You’re always catching him at a bad time,” Lyla sighed beside you, whipping out her tiny little holographic phone, “he didn’t even want to take a photo! Unbelievable!” The small image on her screen revealed a snarling Miguel, clearly unamused by the bunny filter plastered over his face. It was cute, even if he looked a bit terrifying baring his fangs.

Lyla shifted to face you, hands on her little hips as she looked you up and down.

“You look niiice,” she quickly snapped a photo of you, “no cute filter needed.”

“Uhh, thanks?”

“Now it’s your turn to say something nice to me.” The Ai grinned when you rolled your eyes.

“You look…extra yellow today, Lyla.”

“Thank you! I’m in default mode.”

“Okay, so I’ll just come back later then?” You rushed to leave but Lyla stopped you, zapping in front of you suddenly.

“Nah, I’ll let you in.” You could hear the door to Miguel’s office opening, “Fix him.”

“What? How am I supposed to do that?”

Lyla shrugged, “I dunno, I just know you’re the only one that can.” She waved farewell, disappearing in a glimmer of gold.

You groaned, dropping your head in your hands for a moment to collect your thoughts. Your palms began to sweat—they always did when you were nervous—so you quickly wiped them over your black pencil skirt before facing the office entryway.

It was dark as usual, the only light illuminating the area was Miguel’s bright yellow screens. They hung above him as he sat slouched in his chair, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. His head turned lazily to regard you.

“I heard you’ve been mopey.” You began, cracking a smile when he snorted. He shook his head, watching you slowly approach him like one would a wounded animal. He didn’t confirm nor deny the accusation.

“What do you need?”

“To talk to you.” You said, finding the courage to step into his space, leaning back against his desk and blocking one of the yellow screens.

“About?”

“Us.” Miguel hummed, running a hand through his messy hair. He sat up in his chair but said nothing else, allowing you the space to speak freely.

“I-I wanted to apologize if I made you feel uncomfortable,” you began to fumble with your fingers, unable to keep eye contact with him for very long, “I know that what I said was…crossing the line—”

“Did you mean it?” He asked abruptly, the question forcing your eyes away from your fingernails and toward his chiseled face. He looked exhausted, eyes heavy but swimming with curiosity.

“W-well, I mean, it was a moment of—”

“Did you mean it?” He repeated, his tone stern as he awaited a proper answer from you. You bit your lip, slowly nodding your head.

“Yeah. I did. Still do.”

The silence that stretched wasn’t very long but it felt like an eternity. Miguel only stared at you, his jaw tight as he sat forward, his elbows resting on his toned thighs.

You wished you could read his thoughts, take a peek at what ran through his mind. He was always so good at hiding his emotions, never showing an ounce of what he felt. That wasn’t always the case but after Gabriella, he didn’t show much of anything.

“I think it’s best we don’t see each other anymore,” you finally concluded, crossing your arms, “we should stop.”

“What?” Miguel’s eyes narrowed, “What do you mean stop?” He was towering over you in a matter of seconds, forcing you to crane your neck to look up at him. Your heart was pounding, your hands flying to grip the edge of his desk.

“Mig, we can’t keep doing this.”

“Yes, we can.” He caged you in his arms, bringing his face just a few inches away from yours. He never had much of a problem with eye contact, but you did. You chose to look at his collarbones and the large swoop of his shoulders. It was intimidating and arousing all at once and you weren’t getting anywhere with this speech, were you?

“We can’t. Not when we’re not on the same page.”

“Who says we’re not?” You felt his fingers graze the side of your face, pushing a lock of your hair behind your ear. You turned away, squeezing your eyes shut, feeling the familiar prick of tears behind your lids.

“Stop playing with me.” You said, pushing him away with little luck. Miguel shifted slightly at your touch, watching you rub at your eyes.

“I’m not.”

“Then why have you not said anything for a week?” You hissed, the frustration threatening to boil over, “You’ve left me agonizing over this for a week, Miguel!” You wiped furiously at your cheeks, catching a few stray tears. “I’m such an idiot.”

Miguel grabbed your wrists in his hands, yanking them away from your face. His concerned eyes met your wet ones, a frown tugging at his lips.

“Stop.” He demanded, taking your flushed face in his hands and wiping the wet streaks away with his thumbs. “Don’t say that about yourself.” You glared, cheeks puffed and swollen from the pressure of fighting away tears.

“Fine,” you snapped, ignoring the way he stroked your cheeks, “you’re the fucking idiot.”

“I am,” Miguel agreed with a sigh, refusing to release you, “I didn’t know what to say. Thought you might have been lying—don’t look at me like that.”

“You’re pissing me off.”

“I know, beba.” The endearment startled you for a moment, your glossy eyes peering up at him as a rush of excitement settled in your stomach. He’d never used endearing words with you before. It had you stumped for a second before you remembered yourself, your brows furrowing in irritation

“Why would you think I was lying? Mig, I’ve loved you for years, you buffoon!” Miguel loomed closer with every word before he kissed you, silencing you effectively. Your eyes fluttered, your lips unresponsive at first until he coaxed you into a gentle rhythm.

Kissing Miguel was so much softer than you imagined.

You thought he’d be all tongue and teeth, desperate to devour his victim. His kisses were syrupy and deliberate, steady and reassuring. He was taking his time learning the shape of your lips, the plumpness, how perfect they felt molded against his.

“I’m sorry, beba,” he said between kisses, letting you snake your arms around his neck to pull him closer, “perdoname. I’m an idiot.” You hummed in agreement, continuing to assault his lips sweetly. You couldn’t stop kissing him if you wanted to, sneaking your tongue past the seam of his lips to taste more of him.

He growled, tightening his hold on you, allowing you to taste at your leisure. He tasted fresh, like the spearmint gum he always had on hand.

“Perdoname,” he repeated, wanting so desperately for you to forgive his transgressions, slotting himself between your legs.

“Yeah? You’re sorry?” you teased, feeling the familiar ache of arousal blooming in your core, “show me how sorry you are.” Another growl ripped from him, animalistic and provoked. He wasted no time, pushing you down so that your back was flat against his desk and your legs were wrapped around his hips.

He pressed a button beside you and suddenly, the platform began to elevate.

“Mig,” you sat up in a panic, but Miguel only pushed you back down, lifting your skirt up till it pooled over your waist, “w-why are we moving up?”

“Privacy,” he grunted, spreading your legs, running his thumb over the soaked patch of your panties. Your hands scrambled to find purchase on something over the desk, your heart hammering in your chest as the ceiling seemed to loom closer.

“Y-you know I’m scared of heights!” You squealed when the platform came to a jutting halt, squeezing your eyes shut. You didn’t even want to think about how high up you were.

“It’s okay,” Miguel purred, gently rubbing your clit through the fabric, “you’re safe, you’re with me, beba, no tengas miedo.”

“M-Mig, please,” you didn’t even know what you were begging for at that point, you just needed something, and whatever that was, he gave to you. You felt him push aside your panties, and you finally spared him a glance, almost choking at the sight of him mesmerized by the sweetness between your legs.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he muttered, slipping a finger through your folds, “you dripping all over my desk.”

“Y-yeah?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, easily ripping your panties apart before getting on his knees, “smell s’good.” He muttered, licking a stripe up with his fat tongue, scooping whatever mess you made. He moaned at the taste before completely diving in, eyes closed and large hands keeping your trembling thighs spread for him.

As always, you were a whimpering mess for him, mewling with every precise stroke of his tongue. It was the first time he’d done something like this, and god, it was nothing you could have ever dreamed of.

He moaned into your cunt, the gentle vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. You trembled and whined with every loud slurp of his mouth over your clit, his tongue swiping over your precious bud before working his way down to dip inside your hole.

“Fuck, Miguel,” your hands flew to his hair, your fingers weaving through the thick strands to keep his head in place. He skillfully nipped and licked the surface, lifting his face away slightly to spit into your cunt, watching it run through your puffy folds with lidded eyes before devouring you again.

“You taste fucking amazing,” he groaned, sucking your clit between his lips.

You threw your head back, letting out the prettiest moans for him. You forgot about everything, about where you were and how high up you were from the ground. You couldn’t care less as long as Miguel continued to eat from you like a madman.

You could feel the tension in your abdomen, the clear sign that you were close. Miguel continued to drink from you, slurping obscenely at the fresh arousal that dripped into his mouth.

“Close?” He asked, giving you kitten licks, his hands squeezing your thighs encouragingly.

“God y-yes, so close.” You could feel him smiling against your folds before starting up a vicious rhythm again with his eyes closed.

With a loud cry, you came into his waiting mouth, your back arching and body withering over the table from the overstimulation. Miguel licked and sucked every inch of you, determined to catch every drop of your orgasm.

“Oh my god,” you moaned, releasing your grip from his hair and draping an arm over your eyes. Miguel stood, removing your arm and leaning over your fatigued body. He looked down at you with intense red eyes, his mouth and chin completely covered in your slick. You bit your lip when a smile curved at the edges of his lips before he swooped down to kiss you.

You moaned, completely aroused all over again from your own musky taste on his lips. He slipped his tongue in your mouth, allowing you a proper taste.

“Perdoname.” He begged again over your lips before gently brushing the tip of his nose against yours. You giggled, pushing him away slightly so that you could sit up on your elbows.

“Mm, I don’t know,” you teased, “you’re gonna have to try again.” Miguel shook his head, tapping a button on his watch, and allowing his suit to vanish. You gasped at his sudden nakedness, your eyes glued to his throbbing erection. Miguel grinned, fangs bared, tapping his cock over your sensitive cunt.

You closed your eyes as he immediately pushed in, moaning as he worked himself into your tight channel.

In your euphoric state, you barely registered him grabbing your hand and placing a chaste kiss over your knuckles, whispering over your skin. Your ears picked up a few words, some naughty and some sweet, but your heart fluttered and your chest tightened when you caught the last two words before he began pounding into you.

“Te amo.”

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #spider man 2099 #atsv #across the spiderverse #spider verse #spiderman across the spiderverse

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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 9 months ago

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"Save a horse, ride a cowboy" - Tex "Oatmeal" Johnson asking for his.. "breakfast" and some exercise to wake them both up 😌

Spooky, here’s your breakfast. Tex Johnson x Fem Reader. Gif by @cristinaricci. TW: somnophilia, dub-con, Tex, spanking, anal play, really nsfw

You should really know better by now; sleeping in Tex’s big flannel and that little thong (or, as he likes to muse, a scrap of cotton on elastic) he loves… just to get him riled up? Tsk.

That’s how you end up with him kissing and nibbling your cheeks while he knuckles over your pussy.

You’re all weak and jello, unable to protest properly when he slaps the band of stinging elastic against you, pulls it aside and flicks your little asshole with his tongue.

“Nah, nuh-uh,” you growl, hands going back to stop him, but not before he catches your wrists and holds them flat against your back with one unfairly big grip—your own personal pair of handcuffs.

“You don’t like that?” He asks, grinning a kiss into your plump left cheek, only letting his teeth graze just a little bit.

You giggle, and it’s stupid that you honestly think you can get out of this by saying, “go away.”

“Oh yeah?” He muses, nuzzling his beard into your pussy lips, sucking and slobbering. The underwear does little to deter his sneaking, slippery, silver tongue.

You try a different bargain. “Tex, I can’t -“

He gives your butt a wicked little slap. “You’re gonna.”

You groan and bury your face into the pillow while he eats the cum out of you.

“Fuckin sleeping in these cute little panties to get me hard first thing in the damn morning. You just wanted to tease me, huh, little girl?”

The generous bastard gifts you two thick fingers curled perfectly.

“Answer me or I’m gonna edge ya til you cry.”

“No no no please. Okay okay yeah. Nah ah ahn oh fu-uh-uck.”

You clench on three fingers without warning, soaking right through those aforementioned cute panties. Fuck, you really liked those.

“Already?” He asks, shaking his head. “Talk about jumpin the gun.”

“Shut uppp Texx—“

“Tell me what I wanna hear.”

“Mmm.”

“Oh, you better fuckin do it.”

“M’ your pretty girl.”

“What honey?” He purposefully ups the force of his fingers to get you louder: “m-mmmmah yuh-ur pretty girlll.”

This is what you get for insulting yourself in front of him that one goddamn time. He had grabbed your cheeks, smushing them between his fingers. “What was that?”

“What?” You challenged, defiance ruined by the comical distortion of your voice.

“Naw, you know exactly watcha said, and if you ever talk like that about my pretty little honey again, you ain’t gonna like me very much.”

You rolled your eyes and batted him away, but he threaded his fingers through your belt loops before you could run. “You hearing me? Only person that gets to be mean to you is me and my cock. Are we clear, pumpkin?” He tugged you chest to chest, usual playful smile turned down into something stern and menacing.

“Crystal.”

And, ever since that moment, he has been making you say it—that you’re his pretty girl. Even in public, around people you know, if he asks, you supply with a bright blush and eyes downcast and pussy clenching.

As he’s stated before, he really likes making you gush around his fingers and then licking it up with his tongue—overstimulate your “poor little kitty kat”. Loves it when you’re swollen and spent, cum dribbling from both holes when he and John decide to make a sandwich out of you. Sure, he can threaten all he wants with edging games, but you know that, if you play cards with this wicked devil just right, he’s going to make you cum many times over, until it fucking hurts—leaves you screaming and crying and kicking your feet, actually missing Wick’s week long edging sessions…as awful as they are.

You’re already sore when he makes you sit on his cock.

“I’m tired,” you whine, draped over his torso so his fat tip isn’t bruising your cervix quite so much.

“Baby,” he murmurs, kissing your hair. “You’re always tired. Nappin like an house cat every time I see you.”

“I’m sleepy,” you protest, huffing into his chest. And it’s probably because we fuck like rabbits every six or seven minutes, you think to yourself.

“Aw, poor sleepin beauty.” He gives your ass a sharp smack. “You better start workin on this cock before I do it for you.”

#tex johnson imagine #tex johnson x reader #fuk u tex #john wick x reader #keanuverse #keanuverse fic #IV Drabbles #tex johnson x you

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minnielvrr · 7 months ago

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hello my darlinnnn'!! I heard you were sick !! :(( and my heart hurts for you ahhh, I hope you're feeling better and make a swift + peaceful recovery to full health and happiness ! 🫂🫶🏽🩵🌞☁️

in the meantime, have some seungmongie tickle/lee hcs that I came up with, just now, just for you 🤗:

🐶 i feel like a definite catalyst for him getting tickled to full-blown wrecked is to see his lovely smile — when I tell you I was SO SAD during that period when he hid his smile from the camera each time bcuz of antis I was DEVASTATED like STAKE TO THE HEART hopeless , but also pissed ASF because his smile is literally the sun and he is the sky like..... it's in the name? 🤨 literally !

🐶 the members/his ler will call out to him , "Sky~" , while teasing & cooing at him in order to get his cherry-blossom pink blush. he's a whole sky-scape! 😍🌸 so purty.

nah but I made myself sad js now imagining him being really down and out about his smile , believing that it's the opposite of beautiful (i almost had a stroke writing that out ☠️) but he tried to hide it from his members , & ofc they find out anyway :')) who wouldn't be able to notice their sweet lil puppy tryna hide his smile when they tickle him ??

🐶 it takes a loooot of reassurance and sweet cuddles and kisses , both the little things and the big things , & it's all worth it because eventually he comes back into himself , letting his smile & laugh overtake the atmosphere freely !! shining light and cloud-soft love everywhere it reaches. 😍🥰 (AS HE SHOULD 🗣️)

🐶 i imagine he has the cuuuutest squeaky/gasping bouts of laughter when they do the grab-and-shake/digging fingertips tickle method 🫠 he tries to curl up into himself but his ler's body is preventing him from doing so , and his hands are like little paws against his chest , head thrown back , eyes becoming pretty crescents and , most importantly , his smile is wide and unrestrained as he gasps through squealy laughter.

🐶 hermit crabs often because of one sly little fox , who's always going for the junction where behind his ears meets his nape (maybe it's js me but that area is so ticklish for me !! 😭 nowhere else on my neck !! sickening !!)

🐶 really likes to sprawl out on his ler / have them sprawl out on top of him , like a comforting weighted blanket , after a particularly adventurous session. he'll fall asleep w/ a smile that eventually morphs into his cute lil pout and aaaughghhh 😩🤲🏽 u just can't resist some smooches here and there.

🐶 hides his face in his ler's neck when he's particularly shy & because he's a menace thru and thru , no matter what situation he's in , he will straight up grapple them into a hug even as they dig into his sides , even as he howls with laughter into their shoulder. only way to untangle him is to go for the feeties — scribble on the bottom of the puppy's paws and he's springing open like a lock with a shriek. & the punishment is even MOREEE tickles than previously bargained for !! (maybe it was his plan all along...? 🙂‍↕️)

🐶 he's got a mole on his upper back / right below his neck line , a little to the right , and it's a common target during tickle seshes ; he's so used to getting a beginning - during - and ending kiss pressed to that very mole so when he's in a lee mood , he subconsciously reaches back and strokes over it. when the members caught on , he was forced into submission a loooot more often 😌 & he didn't catch on at first !! he was probably thinking everybody became Aware and Alive all of a sudden because how could they tell he wanted to be tickled in that moment?? hm hm suspish suspish & that's what made that little window of time so delicious~ 😝🫠

🐶 if he's hungry/thirsty after being tickled , he likes to sit and lean back against his ler's tummy + torso with them laying on their side as they rub his back in a soothing manner while he's munching/sipping on his snacks :(( he really likes chips and his guilty pleasure are the cute pop culture themed fizzy & fruity drinks.

🐶 pleaseeee give him back and head scratches/rubs to lull him to sleep :(( rub at his tummy like u would a puppy :(( gently stroke his nose bridge or rub his cheekbones :(( he sleeps very wonderfully after a rough tickle session !!

gosh, writing these out made me realize how much I actually love this guy :']

omgg I love you so much zizi, this made me feel so special ml, i'm feeling a little bit better now, not all the way there but yea💖

thank you so much zizi, these made me so happy today🥺🫂

baby you should really consider writing these as fics if you feel up to that cuz omg these are so flustering sgjhdak🫠

esp the sky and sun comparison? gosh that's soo cute🤭🤗

omg same every time he hides his smile it hurts so much because he's just so beautiful and his smile is my fav ever i cried a couple of times seeing him hide his face🥺😣

omgg yess neck tickles are so bad on the sides if the neck like it's just unfairly ticklish🫠🫣

omg yesss thinking of lee Minnie who drapes himself over his ler of choice and just lets them run their fingers over his torso as he clutches onto their shoulders and giggles his pretty head off or vise versa, just drags them to the floor or sofa or bed and hugs them as they tickle him, no words, just the sweetest laughter🫠😖

gosh shy lee seungmin is my roman empire, he's so cute when he's shy, just hopping and hiding his eyes and so giggly and with a super teasy ler? he's bound to see stars🫣🤭 (you have flustered me so much with this it's insane😖💖) his feet are so sensitive too, ahh thinking about that one live where Lix got him there and just pulled his foot right back and the way he was smiling so sweetly? how can they ever stop?

holy shit i never even thought of subconscious cues!! ahh just thinking about everyone else knowing but Seungmin never figuring it out and no one tells him either and he gets wrecked so much more now esp when he accidentally scratches near that area when he gets itchy🤭🥺

treats after a good wrecking is soo rewarding and what if Minnie doesn't eat or drink particular snacks and drinks and keeps them reserved form after getting tickled?😖 that would earn him so much teasing from Minho or Han cuz they're SO smug about it🤭🫠

EEE puppy aftercare, he'll get all the head pats and tummy rubs his little heart desires!! I love Minnie so much omg i love you so much for this zizi

Thank you so much for these darling!! I had a lot of fun reading them🥺🫂🤗🩷💖💞

#minnielvrr asks 🤗#avy talks

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aclowntiny · 2 years ago

Text

🦉 Seventeen as Hogwarts Students 🏰

This picture filled me with so much serotonin 🥹 y’all can refer to these headcanons as the basis for all the Hogwarts AU fics I’m going to be writing 😌👀 get ready I can’t believe I held out this long 😂

S.Coups

☆ When the sorting hat was placed on his head, it paused in thought for a moment as it decided between Slytherin and Gryffindor. In the end, though… “Must be Gryffindor!” His caring heart won out the ambitious houses’ battle! At least, that’s what the hat said, and Seungcheol is determined to prove it right!

☆ Seungcheol is a Half-Blood, but both of his parents are wizards, so he grows up pretty chill on all the purity stuff but not knowing much about how people with no powers live. It’s definitely a curiosity for him, though.

☆ His favorite subjects are Defense Against the Dark Arts because he likes the idea of being able to protect others from harm and Charms because he likes small, quick, useful spells.

☆ He signs up for Ancient Runes because it sounds cool then highkey regrets it. It just kind of goes over his head.

☆ Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team right here 😌 Athletic and a great leader, Seungcheol is honored to receive this role even though it’s so obviously well-suited.

☆ Intimidating AND adorable. Seungcheol’s Patronus can do it all! His guardian takes the form of a Rottweiler dog: brave, loyal, protective, sweet to those who it cares for 😌

Jeonghan

☆ When the Sorting Hat hits his head, it immediately rumples in confusion. “Oh, you’re an interesting one, aren’t you?” It waffles between Hufflepuff and Slytherin before finally declaring… “Can you hear him trying to bargain? Must be a Slytherin!” Jeonghan, for his part, just laughs.

☆ The Yoons are an old wizarding family and their son knows next to nothing about the Muggle world. Thusly Jeonghan makes up a bunch of bullshit at school about Muggle life to convince everyone he totally does. It works every time…so long as no Muggleborns are present at least.

☆ Jeonghan adores Charms class because it paves the way for so many useful spells and gives him a whole arsenal of things to use. He also loves Divination aka bullshitting class because he thrives, duh 😌 the professor loves him, too, because he participates so much and knows what to say, but somehow it escapes his notice how often his predictions are actually accurate.

☆ History of Magic is a lot to remember and not an interesting enough class to give him the drive to study hard, so it’s his hardest subject.

☆ He plays on the Quidditch team because his friend convince him to, but man does it turn out he’s a skilled Beater. This man is a menace with a Bludger.

☆ Thinking of his happiest memory, Jeonghan exclaims “Expecto Patronum!”, unsure what to expect until he sees the burst of light come flying out, taking the shape of a little crow that lands on his shoulder. Not what he was expecting, but the bird charms him immediately with the way it playfully tries to get his attention.

Joshua

☆ “Oh, aren’t you a fun one?” Joshua, frankly, isn’t sure how to take that. Try and be more fun? “What are you planning?” The hat chides, bringing a slight flush of embarrassment to his face. “Lot of crafty ones this year, eh? We have another Slytherin!”

☆ Joshua’s a Muggleborn, so sometimes he feels like a fish out of water, but man is he liking the air. He wants to see it all, understand all that’s moving around him, and use magic to his advantage and enjoyment as much as possible!

☆ Being skilled at languages, Joshua takes up Ancient Runes as an elective and actually really likes it. Decoding is fun and it could prove useful if he decides to become a Curse-Breaker. He also likes Potions because it’s a nice, calm class.

☆ Transfiguration lowkey stresses him out, like what if he goes to transform his stuff and it never comes back??? Or a person?

☆ Slytherin’s Keeper. Good luck trying to score when Joshua is on the pitch 😌

☆ A bunch of other students ooh and ah at Joshua’s stag Patronus because that’s the one famous people get. Or something like that. The tall, antlered figure is elegant, imposing, and yet with a gentle side as it bows its head to its caster regally.

Jun

☆ “You spend a lot of time thinking about others.” Junhui’s eyes widen- he wasn’t expecting to have so much revealed through the hat. “I- I try to,” he replied modestly, at which the hat chuckles. “An innocent mind. Hufflepuff it is!” He’s still trying to wrap his head around how the hat read him and what it meant as they help him off the stool.

☆ He’s a Half-Blood, his mother being a witch and his father a Muggle. He got more experience with Muggle culture than his brother did, so he ended up getting to bond over showing him non-magical inventions 🥹

☆ Care of Magical Creatures is absolutely his favorite class, like Jun gets so excited every day they meet wondering what amazing being he’ll interact with next. The day they had a kneazle cat was pretty much his favorite day at school ever. He also enjoys Muggle Studies because it gives him lots of materials for letters home to his lil bro 🫶🏻

☆ Doesn’t really have a class he hates, but Arithmancy takes the most work so 🤷🏻‍♀️

☆ He tries out to be a Hufflepuff Chaser, but doesn’t make the cut 💀 avid fan and watcher of Hogwarts matches who sometimes tries to follow the commentator up to his post.

☆ Can’t suppress a grin in Defense Against the Dark Arts when a cute little striped cat bursts from his wand, turning around to rub against his legs.

Hoshi

☆ “Bravery aplenty!” Exclaims the Sorting Hat, which makes Soonyoung grin even wider, his excitement growing, “Eager too. A hard worker, sure, but this one’s too daring for Hufflepuff. Better be Gryffindor!” “Yes!” Soonyoung knew he’d be happy anywhere, but he wanted to be sorted with the lions and it looks like he got his wish!

☆ Soonyoung is a Half-Blood. Pretty much all of the Kwons are wizards, but somewhere up the family tree are some Muggleborns, maybe even a Muggle or two. All are welcome in Soonyoung’s family, so he grows up with little understanding how anyone could care about things like that!

☆ Loves to fly! It’s his favorite thing ever, like good luck getting him out of the sky. He also likes Defense Against the Dark Arts because it’s an active class, one where he can move, duel, and practice being in a real-life situation.

☆ Feels like History of Magic is all in one ear, out the other 🤕 that class is a cram before the test vibe for sure.

☆ One of Gryffindor’s Beaters. A little too excited about it, so some accidents have nearly happened but hey, it makes for an exciting game 🤷🏻‍♀️

☆ When that time comes in Defense Against the Dark Arts, a bunch of his friends tease him that he’ll have a small Patronus like a hamster or something, but he insists it’s going to be a powerful tiger, and he’s right 😌 is too overjoyed at the sight of the glowing tiger to rub it in their faces, though 🐅 big memories and emotions = big Patronus??? Not guaranteed, but in Soonyoung’s case certainly!

Wonwoo

☆ “Smart kid,” the Sorting Hat comments when it’s set upon Wonwoo, “sure, you’ve got a bravery about you, you’re kind, but you’re a Ravenclaw!” Wonwoo just nods, thanking the hat- he agrees with the verdict, happily joining his table.

☆ Being a Muggleborn, Wonwoo has a drive to learn about how magic works. Why do some people have it? Why don’t witches and wizards seem to know this or care, especially if they care about bloodlines so much? He also wants to be one of the best just to put the people who doubt him in their place.

☆ One of the few Hogwarts students who actually enjoys Arithmancy and History of Magic. To him, they’re just calm subjects he can focus on and pore over, which is kinda his study method anyway tbh. It kinda works out though because then they go to him for tutoring.

☆ Boy is good at everything, none of the classes are really a struggle for him. Divination seems like the biggest waste of time, though, once he gets in there.

☆ Joins Quidditch as one of Ravenclaw’s chasers. He isn’t sure how much he’s going to like it, but he loves being part of the team! Quite an adept scorer.

☆ People all assume it’s going to be a cat, but Wonwoo casts a polecat Patronus. So, you know, he gets it in the name even though it’s more rodent. Polecats are crafty, comfortable in their home groups, and probably more similar to their caster than everyone might have originally suspected.

Woozi

☆ “Someone’s a hard worker,” comes the Sorting Hat’s teasing comment upon touching Jihoon’s head, “you’ll study well, won’t you? But that dedication…that’s Hufflepuff for you!” Jihoon is a bit surprised, his mouth forming an ‘o’ shape at the news, but he likes to think the hat is right: he’s dedicated to his dreams, hardworking. Maybe that is his home.

☆ Being a Muggleborn, Jihoon has a bit of a tough time adjusting to magic. In some ways, he’s almost a bit resistant simply because he doesn’t want to rely on waving a wand for every little thing he could handle himself.

☆ There’s something so inspiring to him about looking at the stars, so he looks forward to Astronomy class. He also enjoys Transfiguration, the ability to make something new totally amazing him. He wonders what it feels like to transform like that.

☆ Defense Against the Dark Arts is kind of a boisterous, stressful class in his mind. All the running around and fighting isn’t really his style.

☆ Has enough other extracurricular stuff going on that he passes on Quidditch tryouts, but enough good friends play that he tries to make it to every game he can!

☆ At first, he isn’t sure why a bat Patronus would suit him, especially when everyone thought he was going to get a cat, but bats are known for using their voices to guide their way. They rely on their music and take time to trust, and Jihoon sees that as he bonds with his little guardian. Both of them take time to themselves, but thrive best in their circles when they come out of their shells.

☆ “Bad thoughts don’t often cross your mind, do they?” The voice of the hat muses upon its placement atop Seokmin’s head. “And you’ve a big heart, yes, indeed… most definitely a Hufflepuff!” Seokmin claps, happy to be in a house with some friendly-looking people and a bit shy to hear the hat say such nice things.

☆ Seokmin is a Muggleborn, both of his parents so proud to have magical children. He thinks it’s super cool too and always says he knew all along his family was magical 🥲 all the magical stuff absolutely amazes him, even the most tedious things are things he wants to experience!

☆ He loves Care of Magical Creatures because omg look! A unicorn! A real-life hippogryph!!! Bowtruckles! It’s all so unbelievable, yet so real, like dreams have been laid out before him. That’s the same reason he looks forward to Herbology, like where else can you see sentient plants?

☆ Loves every class! They are all exciting! *Ancient Runes has entered the chat* Ok, maybe classes can be stressful.

☆ He wants to get over his nerves on a broomstick, so to do that he tried out for Quidditch and makes Seeker. He likes that position because it’s a little removed from the pandemonium of the game and he can think like a Snitch 😌

☆ He’s honestly expecting a small animal, not feeling very brave as he shouts “Expecto Patronum!” but well aware he’ll just be ecstatic if he gets any animal form. Imagine his surprise when he gets a magical creature, a beautiful unicorn leaping from his wand! “I- I made that???” He grins, immediately reaching up to try to stroke its mane, awestruck at the beautiful, pure creature even if he doesn’t realize how perfectly it suits his heart.

Mingyu

☆ “You’re a bit bold, aren’t you?” Mingyu nods, thinking he’s supposed to answer the hat. “Not exactly the most courageous…” “Hey!” “Confident, confident certainly…” “M-hm,” he nods again. “You believe you have skills to offer Hogwarts.” “Yes,” Mingyu agrees. “Send this one to Slytherin!” The hat chuckles.

☆ The Kims are an long line of wizards, Mingyu one of many Pure-Blood sons. He doesn’t know much about Muggle culture, frankly, but has more privilege in lifestyle than he does prejudice against people with different blood.

☆ Potions ace. So good at it sometimes the other students are salty at him, but he just shrugs. It comes naturally for him, whether it’s preparing the ingredients or knowing just how much to add. He also likes Divination just because it’s fun. What do his tea leaves say? He legitimately wants to know.

☆ He does have a fear of flying, so broom lessons are not his favorite 😅 he’ll stay on the ground, thank you.

☆ Obviously does not join the Quidditch team, but is on the stands cheering super loud at every game!

☆ Everyone can’t help but tell Mingyu how perfect his husky Patronus is once it manifests, the goofy, vocal, affectionate dog running around practically looking like his twin!

The8

☆ As if drawn in by his aura, the hat muses as it rests upon Minghao’s head. “An artist, eh? Kind, forgiving, wise, and very calm too. A bright one. Ravenclaw, certainly Ravenclaw!” Between what he felt was a suitable sorting despite telling himself he’d be happy with anything and all the attention, Minghao practically glows at the hat’s words.

☆ The Xus are a Pure-Blood family, but Minghao’s parents are both avid Muggle Studies enthusiasts, so their son grew up with lots of knowledge and no prejudice. They all see magic as a chance to help others with less.

☆ Nature is important to this boy here, so Herbology is where his gifts lie. He’s so gentle with the plants and genuinely appreciative of them all, it’s a rewarding class to be able to track their lives. Following the movement of the stars is another joy of his as well as sketching the sky and making star charts, so Minghao does great in Astronomy too.

☆ There’s no class he really hates, but his magic isn’t as Charms-suited as it is focused on creative magic, so those quick spells actually take him more time.

☆ Because he likes flying, he tries out to be Ravenclaw’s new Seeker when the position opens up and earns it 😌 he’s so calm yet fast as he flies, it looks like he always knows exactly where his little gold friend is!

☆ People make jokes about his Patronus being a frog or something of the like, but they’re sure proven wrong by the beautiful swan that slides out, skating gracefully on the air around Minghao.

Seungkwan

☆ The moment the Sorting Hat hits Seungkwan’s head, it shouts out “Oh, we have a loyal one here. This one is a Hufflepuff!” A very decided ceremony for Mr. Boo 😌 he’s both shook at how little time it takes and happy the hat thinks he’s loyal.

☆ A Half-Blood! His mom is actually Pure-Blood, his father a Muggleborn. He loves magic, but also really enjoys learning about the Muggle world. Totally open to differences. Would even consider marrying a Muggle.

☆ LOVES Care of Magical Creatures. One of the students who almost always volunteers for demonstrations because he wants to touch all the animals! Unless they’re, like, giant bugs or something that’ll try to kill him, of course. Muggle Studies is really fun because it’s a way to connect with a part of his heritage and understand others. It gives him social ground with Muggleborns and even non-magical people he’ll interact with in life.

☆ Who made Arithmancy a class??? It stresses him out just to look at 💀 You’re allowed to drop electives, so he straight-up nopes out of Arithmancy and signs up for Divination instead.

☆ He enjoys flying, but being up that high and being chased by sporting goods that want to break your bones? Nah, he’s good, thanks. It’s much more fun to watch and offer comment, so Seungkwan becomes the school Quidditch commentator…and often gets chastised by professors for sassing rival times and whining about missed shots that were so easy, come on.

☆ Really really hopes his Patronus is strong enough to take an animal form, so when it comes out looking big he’s kind of proud yet shook. The light forms a dolphin that bobs back over to his owner, leaping in circles in the air around him and bringing a smile to his face.

Vernon

☆ “Interesting mind on this one, eh?” Those are the first words the hat speaks when it’s set on Vernon’s head. “A perfect fit for Ravenclaw, this one!” He’s proud. His mother was a Ravenclaw during her Hogwarts days, part of the most artful and creative-minded house. He can’t stop smiling all night!

☆ He’s a Pure-Blood wizard, his maternal grandmother having actually attended Beauxbatons before settling down in England. His father’s side always attended Hogwarts, so the school is really what joined his family. People tend to assume Vernon’s a Muggleborn, though, just because he looks so spaced out or amazed sometimes.

☆ Yet another lover of magical creatures right here! They love him right back too 😌 other students get jealous of how much they approach Vernon. He’s also quite good at Arithmancy, there’s just something about it that clicks in his head.

☆ Accidentally set something on fire in Potions class once. Enough said.

☆ Enjoys playing Quidditch for fun with his friends, but doesn’t try out for the formal team. He’s happy to support Ravenclaw alongside his classmates.

☆ Can’t help but laugh when his Patronus comes out as a small turtle. It’s cute, though, he and others defend it, a good embodiment of happy memories.

Dino

☆ Another pretty fast sort. “You’d make it in Gryffindor, sure,” the hat mutters, “but I believe your place is in Slytherin!” And with that, Chan is off to his table! He’s a bit surprised, having expected Gryffindor, but hey, Slytherins are ambitious, so the hat’s probably right. He’ll do anything to succeed.

☆ The Lees have a whole-ass family tree on display- they’re Pure-Bloods. A little proud of it, but frankly Chan himself doesn’t care, almost feeling that much more like being the one to break the line just to shut them all up about it.

☆ Defense Against the Dark Arts star! That one kid that always gets called up to show everyone how to do it right 😤 such a natural dueler and just really good at dispelling negative vibes 😌 he also enjoys flying a lot, it just helps him feel free to soar into the air!

☆ Conversely, he has a lot of difficulty in Potions class, which makes him want to double down on it so he’s no longer stressing about it!

☆ Slytherin’s Seeker 😌 he’s such a nimble flyer with great control, Chan was born to play this role!

☆ He lowkey wants something big and intimidating like a dragon or a rhino, so when a small burst of light appears he fears he’ll be disappointed. The moment the otter slides into view, though, all he can do is smile and reach for it, taking its hand to run after it and play, too.

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c-e-d-dreamer · 2 years ago

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A/N: Listen, was I meant to spend the evening finally finishing my Elucien Week fic? Yes. Yes, I was. Did I instead spend it writing this 1k drabble to prove a point? Yes. Yes, I did. This fic is dedicated to @moodymelanist, @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk, and @talkfantasytome who agree with me, but it is especially dedicated to @dustjacketmusings because THIS is the correct take. Thank you and goodnight 😌

Nesta sighs softly as the tips of Cassian’s fingers skirt down her arm and then back up again. She practically melts against him, curling tighter into his side. She shoves her toes deeper beneath his thigh, leaching as much warmth as she can, and she can practically feel Cassian’s chuckle as it rumbles through his chest. His hair tickles her cheek as he turns his head, and she doesn’t even bother biting back her smile when she feels him press a kiss to her forehead.

“Comfy, sweetheart?”

Nesta hums her assent, earning another soft laugh from Cassian. She keeps her eyes on the television screen, on the movie playing there. She tries to pay attention to the characters, the dialogue they’re speaking, but already, she feels so relaxed, so comfortable. She can feel every muscle unwind, her eyes starting to flutter, but she’s determined, holding out until the end credits start to roll.

Cassian grabs the remote and turns off the television, the screen fading to black with a soft click. Nesta tosses the blanket off her legs and stands up, stretching her arms high above her head until she feels that satisfying pull in her back. Cassian’s hands settle on her hips, sliding around her waist and tugging her back into him.

“Don’t,” Cassian whispers, burying his face against her neck.

Nesta snorts softly, even as she presses back against him. “I didn’t even do anything.”

“But I know what you’re going to say, that you need to go home.”

“I do. It’s late.”

“Stay.” Nesta doesn’t say anything, her bottom lip finding home between her teeth, but that just seems to encourage Cassian more, his arms tightening around her. “Stay, Nes.” At her continued silence, she can feel his smile against her skin. “Neither of us have work in the morning. I can give you something to sleep in. So stay.”

Nesta turns around in his arms, using all her willpower to keep her face neutral. “I usually like to shower before bed.”

“I know it might sound crazy, but my apartment does in fact have one of those.”

“I hate you.”

Cassian’s hands reach up and frame her face. “No, you don’t. Besides, I’ll make us breakfast in the morning.”

Nesta hums, pretending to think about it. “French toast?”

“You drive a hard bargain, but it’s a deal.”

Nesta smiles and presses up onto her toes, sealing their deal with a kiss. It’s sweet, a simple press of lips as they both smile into it, but happiness takes root between Nesta’s ribs and leaves butterflies fluttering in her chest.

When they pull apart, Cassian leads the way down the hall and to his bedroom. He roots around in his drawer until he produces a soft looking, oversized tee. He steps back over to Nesta, holding it out for her to take.

“Towels are in the closet in the hall, and you know where the bathroom is.” With a nod, Nesta tries to take the shirt from his hands, but Cassian holds firm, using their shared grip to pull Nesta close again and steal another kiss. When he pulls away, that infuriating smirk of his takes over his face, his voice dipping low and suggestive as he says, “let me know if you need any help.”

Nesta rolls her eyes fondly, but she takes the shirt finally and steps out of his bedroom. She finds the closet Cassian mentioned and tugs the door open. She’s surprised to find so much on the shelves inside. Wash cloths. Small towels that seem to have buttons on them. She spies a neat stack of regular towels and grabs one, heading into the bathroom and closing the door behind her.

She sets the towel and Cassian’s shirt aside. She reaches into the shower and turns the knob, letting the water warm up while she peels her own clothes off and neatly folds them. When steam starts to fill the bathroom, she yanks back the shower curtain, but she pauses before she steps inside. She has to blink a few times, making sure what she’s seeing isn’t some trick of her imagination. For a moment, she feels like she’s suddenly transported to Elain and Lucien’s home.

Lined neatly along the shelves in the shower are bottles. Multiple bottles. A large, bright green bottle labeled sulfate free shampoo. A small, pink bottle next to it labeled co-wash shampoo. Deep conditioner. Leave-in conditioner. A small jar of hair mask.

Nesta has certainly always appreciated Cassian’s hair. The way those curls look so gorgeous when they hang around his face and shoulders. The way the strands feel so soft when she runs her fingers through them. She supposes she should have known his luscious hair wasn’t all natural and took some work. Should have known he’d take his haircare routine so seriously.

She has to bite her lip around a laugh, but she finally steps into the shower and under the spray. The heat of the water against her shoulders pulls a sigh from her lips and she tips her head back, letting the water soak her hair. She eyes the different hair supplies Cassian has before deciding to grab the sulfate free shampoo and work that through her hair. She uses some of the deep conditioner next, surprised at how soft her hair already feels when she rinses it out.

Nesta shuts off the shower and steps out, wrapping the towel around her and squeezing out the excess water from her hair. She pulls open Cassian’s medicine cabinet in hopes of finding a comb and is greeted with the sight of even more hair products. Creams, mousse, and gels. She shakes her head fondly and grabs the comb stored in there beside the various products, carefully running it through her wet hair.

She tugs Cassian’s shirt over her head, the fabric soft where it hangs off her and smelling just like Cassian’s cologne. She takes a moment to savor the feeling of it before grabbing the towel again, bending forward and rubbing her hair through it before wrapping the towel around her head. She straightens back up and adjusts the towel slightly so it doesn’t fall.

She decides to leave her clothes for the morning, padding back down the hall and into Cassian’s bedroom. He’s already lounging on his bed, stripped down to just a pair of boxers and casually scrolling through his phone. He looks up with a smile when Nesta steps inside, but then his eyes widen, that smile slowly slipping away. He almost looks… horrified.

“What?” Nesta asks, tilting her head in confusion and tugging almost nervously at the hem of the shirt she’s wearing.

“Did you use a normal towel on your hair?”

“What.”

“Didn’t you see the hair towels in the closet?” Cassian asks, setting his phone down on the bedside table and clambering off the bed.

“What are you talking about?” Nesta shoots back, feeling almost bewildered as Cassian steps around her and into the hall.

“Your hair is going to get frizzy if you use a normal towel like that,” Cassian calls out, and Nesta can hear rustling before he steps back into view, one of the smaller towels with a button on it in his hands. “These are microfiber. These are what you want.”

Without another word, Cassian pulls the towel off Nesta’s head, tossing it toward the hamper near his dresser. He guides Nesta to bend forward so that all her hair hangs down then carefully wraps the microfiber hair towel until all the strands are gathered and tucked inside. When Nesta stands back up, his hands work with practiced ease, securing the towel with the button at the front.

“See?” Cassian asks, his hands sliding from Nesta’s head down to her shoulders. “Much better, right?”

“You’re crazy,” Nesta tells him, but there’s no hiding the fondness from her tone, no stopping the smile that tugs up her lips.

“You love me anyways.”

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @unlikelypersonalknight1 @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nesta x cassian #Cassian has a 10 step hair routine #and you cannot convince me otherwise #he is a curly girl method believer #and if I hear any more of that 5 in 1 shit #catch me outside #my fic

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hanafubukki · 2 months ago

Note

The man next to you lets out a huffed laugh, wrapping an arm around your waist as he pulls you closer to his body. And because Lilia likes to be, well, Lilia, he pulls the covers over you for fun, no reason whatsoever.

"You're all so impatient, the youth of today," his voice is low, but you can hear the smile in it—can almost see those dangerously pointed fangs showing. "Can't say I dislike the attention, though. Now I am half–tempted to keep my look away for a while longer just to get that cuddle from you... unless you drive a better bargain if I reveal it. What do you say, Hana, hm?"

—🦇

ANAKSKKDKDJDD

ANONIE ANKSKDKDKDD

I THINK YOU SHOT MY HEART RATE THROUGH THE ROOF ANAKKSKDD

ILL GIVE YOU ALL THE CUDDLES LILIA SINCE YOU STOPPED BEING A TEASE AJNSKDKFF

my other bargain was kisses 🥰😌💞💞💞 happy that worked far better mwah 💞💞💞💚💚💚💚😘😘😘😘

PULLING US UNDER THE COVERS AHJSKDKDD STOP. THATS CUTE

IM GIGGLING AHSJDKDD

#answered #Anonie ask #🌷lovely messages🌷

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keter-kannot · 4 months ago

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AAAAAA it's been awhile, I know 😭 BUT the world's loveliest anon gave me a kick in the ass by commissioning this absolutley banger piece of f!TavxMizora. I hope you freaks enjoy 😌

Coms are still open btw!! Prices pinned :)

Word Count: 6.5k

tw: noncon, dubcon, Resisting, implied abuse, blood, breath play, gagging, basically just s*x slavery lmao DDNE you've been warned !!!

Mizora’s words rang through your skull as you mulled over any and every possible option she’d be throwing your way once you made it back to camp.

You see, she'd purred, Gortash has had Wyll's father… relocated.

No matter how hard you thought, you couldn’t think of any ways to combat her. It was useless; this wasn’t your first time fighting a devil, a demon, the utterance of the very word unholy… You knew it wouldn’t be as easy as a counter-plan. She must truly want something from Wyll–from you–to be playing such a game.

You were so damn tired of all their games. Your blood ran hot through your veins, the anger rising up within you making you scowl, muttering under your breath as the small group of you marched back to camp beneath the watching eyes of Lathander’s setting sun.

These were games created with the sole purpose of making sure the other players couldn’t win, yet you kept finding yourself falling into one after another. Between Raphael’s constant pop-ups and requests, and all of Mizora’s other demands, it truly made you wonder whether or not you had any free will left in you.

That was a little wrong of you to think, though, considering Wyll’s plight and Karlach’s… well, Karlach. And, for what it’s worth, you’d managed to wiggle your way out of making any deals with them so far. For all the anxious nerves bouncing around inside you, you still tried to calm yourself.

How bad could it be?

—

You paced the hard ground of your camp, waiting. Wyll watched from the corner he sat in, while the rest of the camp made themselves busy with some miscellaneous task or another. When you met Wyll’s gaze, you sighed, shaking your head and looking away as you continued your relentless steps across the trodden soil.

“If… we have to do everything we can to save my father,” Wyll muttered, standing to join you in your pacing.

You nodded, rolling your eyes. “Obviously, Wyll,” you shrugged, “but what is it that you think she’ll ask for in return?”

There was a sudden shift in the atmosphere of the darkened room, the warm light of the flickering candles suddenly turning to the cold of smoking ash. Sweat beaded at your brow as you all turned to face the inky black circle forming itself in front of you, its gentle ring of searing flame lighting the room with a devious glow. The air buzzed with electricity, Mizora's dark form emerging from the entrance to the hells. You watched as the oozing black facade receded, revealing the wide smirk adorning her pronounced lips.

The theatrics of her entrance had you rolling your eyes, but then you heard the uncouth words falling from her lips with bold purpose. They weren’t in any language that you could understand, her breath hot as she boasted her arms forward, beckoning two more small black portals to grow from the ground behind them.

“Come, Sisters, be my testament!” she called, more dark words of mysterious meaning falling from her tongue, her sharp teeth on display as she smiled into the darkening night sky. Two forms began their ascent from the depths of the world, their figures matching Mizora’s in the way they demanded your gaze to drink in their entire presence.

You’ve heard of such devils; Sisters of Justice. Adjudicators of devious contracts and bargains. You thought of all you knew of them as you watched their winged forms spread themselves out before you, their eyes meeting yours with a fierce, raging hunger that you couldn’t quite stomach.

Wyll let out a ragged breath as he looked from one demon woman to another, his chest heaving with fear as he took in the supposed severity of a deal he was dreading to make. “Holy Hells,” he breathed, clenching his jaw as he took a step back, taking in the image laid before him.

“Interesting,” you quipped, “I didn’t remember sending out an invitation to the Sisters of Justice.”

Mizora’s smirk only grew at the playful tone in your voice, her eyes shining bright with newfound vigor and curiosity. “Oh, you curious little pup,” she tuted, clicking her tongue as she shook her head and crossed her arms, “We’ll be making an important bargain. It’s only right the Sisters bear witness.”

There was a tug deep within your core as she spoke, anger fueling you as you clenched your fists and looked from Wyll back to Mizora, then watching as the Sisters of Justice hovered above the ground.

Mizora continued to speak in a language only she and the Sisters understood, beckoning the despairingly frail parchment of Wyll’s contract to her perfectly manicured hands, relishing in the feeling of power as she held it before them.

“Your contract, Wyll,” her velvet voice wrapped itself against you, “signed in blood, forged in fire, bound in bone–”

There was a brief silence, the Sisters’ wing’s flinging open as they revealed themselves to the chill night air. Mizora’s words sent shivers down your spine as you looked to Wyll, who was trying to hold himself firm where he stood.

“–But not unbreakable.”

You glanced at Wyll and watched him stutter, his mouth opening and closing as he looked up at Mizora, then over at you.

“What are you proposing?” You asked, eyes growing dim as they met Mizora’s, trying to fight the flames in her own as she stalked you while she spoke.

“No contract is ended without sacrifice,” she lulled, flashing a smile at you both as you seemed to grovel below her. “A cost must be paid.”

Ah, and here it is.

You held your breath as she ascended with a heavy flutter of her wings, the tension in the room thick enough to cut making you feel claustrophobic under the she-devil’s gaze.

“Wyll Ravengard,” her voice boomed, a foreboding ethereal light capturing her essence as it rose around her. “A choice is before you.”

For as much as she spoke to Wyll, you knew she was addressing you in this choice to be made; she understood who’s decisions would matter most, who had the most at stake left to lose. While rebuilding a city without a Grand Duke seemed all but impossible–stopping the Grand Design even more so–Wyll was already in Mizora’s grip, presented as the perfect plaything to run her errands. There wasn’t much more she could get from him, besides enjoying his pain and suffering for eternity.

“Option one. I show you the way to your father. I guarantee him no harm except that from you and your allies. With this, you pledge your soul to me and the archdevil Zariel in a pact eternal.”

You could hear Wyll’s heavy heart sink deep within his chest, a stark resolve trying to mask the fear raging through him. It seemed he’d already made his decision, all but pulling you deeper into the rage you felt for Mizora and her brethren. You turned towards the Sisters of Justice, their smiles otherworldly in their lack of grace.

“Option two,” she said, watching him quiver and you broil, “I break your pact, and you are freed from your duty. Your father dies by his enemy's hand, and Baldur’s Gate loses its greatest champion.”

A murmur graced itself throughout the camp, everyone taking in the demands of the she-devil, waiting to hear her final option, her final offer.

But none came.

“Mizora, you arsehole,” Wyll muttered under his breath, hating himself for contemplating what held more value to him.

Karlach’s engine roared as her chest flamed. “Bloody Zariel, I won’t let her take Wyll!” She swore, stomping herself over to where Mizora had the two of you surrounded between herself and her Sisters.

Her wicked grin only grew as she watched you almost break under the pressure of it all. “Oh, my dearest pup,” she said, her voice like thick honey as she spoke to Wyll, but directed her gaze at you, “Choose your sacrifice.”

The anger grew and grew, the sensation of the electricity running through you with a current you didn’t recognize and a ferocity nothing has ever matched before. Wyll’s choice seemed to be clear to him as his brows furrowed even more, a deep breath taken at the expense of his composure.

“Choose,” Mizora said again, the irking pull of her voice causing the hair on your arms to stand on end. You watched as the fire upon the rings of the portal entrances seemed to grow more furious with life, licking up the suspended legs of the three women, waiting to consume them.

Wyll straightened himself where he stood, looking towards the rest of his companions with a small, sad smile. Shadowheart shook her head with a frown, stepping closer as Karlach started to plead with Wyll to think about himself–his eternal soul–forever indebted to Zariel and her demon’s war. Even Astarion, who’d seemed unfazed by the idea of an all-powerful demon woman, had peeked out from his tent to watch the drama unfold.

Mizora’s lip twitched as she watched you.

You felt the words leave your mouth before you’d thought of saying them. “No. I know that’s not what you want.”

The flames roared further as the colors of their tongues changed and grew, feeding off of your deliberate deference. Mizora’s brow rose, her eyes finally seeming to burst with her inner flames as her tongue licked across her lips, nodding slowly and with intent.

She clicked her tongue again, relaxing the hulking mass of her wings behind her as she allowed her feet to finally touch the trodden ground. Shadowheart took a step back as she started her approach towards the group of you, Wyll flinching with each step she took and Karlach gripping the handle of her ax with battle-worn knowledge.

Mizora stood before you, her visage bringing a sense of dread that seated itself so deeply in your core that you could all but taste the souls she reaped, the deals she’s made and those she’s damned to an eternal strife.

She continued her slow nod, her supple skin seeming to suck in the unnatural light of the portals around you. She leaned her cold lips near your ear, the sound of your teeth grating together meant to steady your mind but only bringing you closer to that violent edge.

“And what, my dear pup, is it that you think I want?”

There was a sudden shift to the tone of the room, a harsh darkness consuming you as you felt the last bits of heat left in the air being sucked away. The stark stillness of the space around you–the feeling of life between you and your companions all but missing as you wished yourself to look towards them, but couldn’t. The feel of Mizora’s lips against the skin of your ear had left you breathless, completely left in the mercy of a power you didn't understand.

Your words caught in your throat as you struggled to answer, knowing exactly what it was that she wanting, but not daring to admit it. You couldn’t help it, though; there was no way you could settle for less, for Wyll’s sake.

“Me.”

Her throaty laugh veiled your thoughts like a thick snowfall, drowning out the world around you as she took a step back, allowing your eyes to track over her body and think of every possible way you knew she’d make you suffer. The bounce of her chest as she hummed her low laugh made your hands twitch as you fought to restrain yourself from killing her, knowing it’d do no use in your predicament.

Karlach’s pleas got louder as Shadowheart continued to back away from the scene, Wyll’s mouth agape as he watched the two of you converse before him, unsure if sacrificing himself would be worth the horrors to come.

“Very good,” she nodded, her smile settling upon her face once again as she rocked back and forth on either foot with excited anticipation. “It seems you’re rather… observant,” she mumbled, snapping her fingers and keeping her eyes glued to yours as she flicked her wrist and sent Wyll’s contract away, a new one manifesting in its place.

Mizora’s fingers twirled around the smoke ridden air beside you, the deep red ink of this new contract glowing amidst the darkness.

“A third, and final, more… experimental choice, perhaps, but you couldn’t help but to pull my deepest desires right out of me, Tav.”

The Sisters of Justice seemed to stir where they hovered, their fangs glinting in the dim light of the dark red ink as they fought against seemingly invisible restraints.

Your heart thumped heavily in your chest, the sound of it ringing in your ears as you heard Wyll’s gentle pleading. “No, no, Tav, you can’t–”

“This contract I’ve so graciously written has a viable end date,” she started, a soft lilt in her voice as she paced with ease amongst you, “whereas Wyll’s does not, you understand,” she flicked the terrified man a wink, “so I feel as though when it comes to your fate, I’ve been countless times more generous.”

You lifted your chin, bringing your face to meet that of the written contract. Your eyes scanned over words you didn’t understand, jumbles of text becoming sentences that made no sense to you until Mizora spoke them.

“For the next hundred years, you remain obligated to…” she seemed to falter, if only for a second, the deep glare in her eyes telling of her intentions being purely her own desire. “Well, to me. To serving me.” She gestured at the contract as it wafted its way towards you, and she continued.

“In body, mind and soul, but only temporarily, mind you,” she tutted, letting a hand fall gracefully upon her hip as she looked towards you again. “And you’d be under my sworn protection. No harm will come to you, and I’d be an alliance in your cause.”

“You’re hiding something from me,” you stated, shaking your head. “What? How will I be serving you? Through blood? Battle? I’d be useless in Zariel’s war.”

She chuckled, a soft and arduous laugh meeting your ears as her smile seemed to grow. “Sexually, dear pup, however I’d dream it to be.”

What?

The silence was just as heavy as the tension, blanketing the camp like a nervous fog. Everyone’s ears seemed to perk, brows furrowing as it took a moment for them to fully understand what Mizora had proposed.

After a moment, it was Astarion’s heinous cackle that finally broke through it all. All eyes snapped towards where he stood outside his tent, all but doubling over in tears from hysteria. You felt your cheeks flame red with embarrassment, grinding your jaw as your eyes flicked from one of your companions to the next, willing yourself to think of something to say as Mizora continued her chortling.

She clicked her tongue again, shaking her head with the slow sort of seductiveness that only she had. “You don’t have much time to make a decision, hun,” she all but hissed.

You and Wyll locked eyes, unsure of how to feel. It’s as if he was begging himself to choke back his wordless pleas, wanting to be free of his pact and save his father, but never daring to ask you to condemn yourself to such a fate.

“Oh, Gods,” Astarion quipped, catching his breath as he leaned against the small stool beside his tent. “Absolutely priceless…” he laughed to himself.

Karlach shook her head and stood beside you as Jaheira finally made a hungover appearance from her own quarters, seemingly interested in the active display of power, wanting to see how it’d all play out. Shadowheart stood with a solid frown about her face, shoving Wyll with her boot as she urged him to say something. He remained silent, eyes wandering as if they were searching for something they would never find.

“Priceless for Wyll, mayhaps,” Mizora chortled, “Is that not what you were asking for?” she continued, gesturing to you in your stupor. She wafted the contract over to you yet again, letting it gently flutter into your hands.

“Consider yourself a lucky one, pup,” she hummed, lifting a nail to the tip of her lips, “So many would find this sort of proposition as a gift.”

You slowly began to shake your head, going over all the possible pros and cons of the different choices, barely able to understand the thoughts flying through your mind. Astarioin’s voice snapped your gaze back towards him.

“If it were my choice,” he started, strutting towards you, “It’d be an easy one. The idea is to destroy the would-be Illithid empire, rebuild Baldur’s Gate, and keep us all alive to see the end, is it not?”

You scowled at him, the rest of the camp all listening to his protests with adept ears. “Besides,” he continued, “What’s a short century of fun sex compared to Wyll’s eternal enslavement in the Blood Wars?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You’d condemn the Hero of the Sword Coast to such a fate?”

You could all but taste the sarcasm in his voice as he fell into another fit of laughter, but he wasn’t wrong. You looked back towards Mizora with a mix of embarrassment and rage, still unable to trust her, but understanding that, at the end of the day, this truly would be the best of the worst–the most viable option, for Wyll’s sake.

You cleared your throat, trying your best to ignore the glaring eyes of your companions around you. There was a slowness as the nod approached you, a deep chill running through you as you dared to finally meet Mizora’s eyes with a new understanding within your own.

“If I sign,” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, “Wyll’s pact is done? And his father saved?”

Mizora held her hand to her chest, mocking the gesturr of clutching a necklace of pearls as she looked sarcastically shocked. “My dearest pup,” she gasped, fanning herself as she smiled, “My word–these contracts–are the only form of respectable currency left,” she chortled, summoning a deep red quill to match the ink of the contact now glowing with deep desire as it sat amidst your palms. She gestured to the Sisters of Justice, your gaze following her hand as their feet met the ground, their wings stretching wide as they urged you to sign.

You looked up at her, heat rising in your cheeks as her gaze burned into you. Her smirk grew with each uneven breath you took, eyes flicking back towards Wyll, who’s eyes were full of tears as he watched you sign away the next hundred years to keep him–and the city at large–safe.

The quill seemed light in your hand, as if it held no physical form, willing itself to move the way your fingers told it without any thought. The longer you hesitated the faster the quill seemed to move, sensing the fear flowing through you as it scrawled itself across the page, the blood-red ink seeping deep into the parchment with a beautiful flourish of your name.

Your breath caught in your throat, the heavy sound of flames licking flesh overcoming your senses as Mizora’s smile widened, the newly sealed contract vanishing to mist with a quick snap of her fingers.

The Sisters of Justice nodded their heads in reverence before raising them to meet your eyes, the devious grin of a devil’s game well-played and won clear on their lips.

A new sort of heaviness hung over the camp. Your companions watched Mizora quietly, waiting with a breath held in their chests as she approached you.

You jumped as she clapped her hands together, a quick jolt of fear running through your spine as you felt something within you change; something within your very being had been altered, a connection created where there wasn’t one before. Mizora’s smirk spoke clearly.

“Now!” she yelped, her own excitement building as she lifted a gentle hand and laid it on your arm, trailing her perfectly kept claws over your skin, your shoulder, collarbone, neck…

“My sweet, sweet pup,” she cooed, giggling at the trance you tried to resist, “I’m not known for my patience.”

There was a sudden piercing cold in your core as stiff fabric was torn from unseen flesh, the dank air of the tragic night hitting the bare skin of your exposed body, shivers rising on your skin as you looked down at yourself with shock written clear in your expression.

You raised your shaking hands to wrap your arms around your exposed and hardening nipples, holding your breath without intent as you struggled to maintain some sense of composure.

You faltered over your protests, feet glued to the ground as the words struggled to fall from your mouth. “This isn’t… you never said–”

There was the hard feeling of heated metal clapped on either wrist. As you looked down and struggled against your newfound restraints, the Sisters of Justice only hardened their grip, already leaving a deep red mark of a bruise as they gripped tighter with each tug.

Mizora stood before you, sauntering back and forth as she watched you struggle against the strength of two ancient devils, delighting in the sureness she saw on your face that this was a fight you could win. They couldn’t be more wrong, she thought, the maniacal laugh of a lust-driven force emanating deep from within her as she continued to feast upon you with her eyes.

You could hardly concentrate on the mutter of the voices of your companions shooting through your mind as you continued your fighting, huffing hot breaths of anger as the embarrassment and shame started to work its way between it, another cold breeze swirling around your naked body. Mizora’s gaping, toothy smile was all but revealing a small bit of hungry, primal, animalistic drool.

The chattering turned to screams and pleas as your companions began their full protest, yet none were able to reach you to help. You couldn’t bear to meet their eyes as you continued your reeling, their shrill cries all but building up that pit of shame and rage in your core. The harder the Sisters gripped, the more willed you were to fight. Yet, no matter how hard you pulled, your feet remained planted firmly to their place in the ground.

The tips of your fingers started to go numb as the red bruising of the Sisters’ grip on your wrists tightened yet again, a grunt of pain falling from your lips as you pleaded, “This isn’t what I agreed to!”

Mizora’s laugh echoed throughout your flooding skull, mingling with Wyll’s desperate chokes of a once damned soul.

“You bitch!” he raved, fighting against Karlach’s gentle hold as she shook her head, doing her best to hold him back from what would be an assured death if he threw himself upon such an exalted she-demon. She pulled her eyes away from the scene, averting her gaze to the ground as she tried to calm Wyll amongst his screams, unsure of what she could possibly say or do to fix it.

With another wave of her wrist, Mizora had a rough gag woven around your neck, between your lips. You choked at the texture against your teeth, gagging as your tongue was pushed against it.

“Oh, my pup,” she muttered, the same hand she summoned the gag with now running gently through your hair, across your chin, down your chest, finding herself one of your nipples to play with.

You mumbled hard against the restraint, unable to keep yourself from biting against the hard rope and grating your teeth against it. Your throat was going raw as you screamed against it, unable to spit out anymore words.

“You are so beautiful when you’ve been shut up,” Mizora smiled, continuing to let her hand trail down your body; across your waist, against your supple skin. She left shivers in her fingers wake while you continued to thrash against your restraints.

Jaheira approached the devil with purpose, her eyes slitted and brows furrowed as her voice boomed. “This has gone far enough!” she announced, unsheathing her sword from where it sat against her back.

Mizora paid her no mind, merely rolling her eyes and gesturing in her direction. Your eyes followed in perfect time, watching as Jaheira’s weapon was flung from her hand and she was brought to her knees with the same force that kept your feet planted on the ground.

Shadowheart ran to her side, falling to the ground beside her as she tried with everything she had to lift her up, but failed. Jaheira’s screaming became incoherent swears as her eyes were trained on Mizora’s fingers, ever so slowly making their way to find themselves between your legs.

Your eyes shot wide as you felt the sensation of her hot skin against your own, bucking your hips in time with the gentle touch of her fingers in protest. You whined and yelped against your gag with no relief, your words lost amongst it.

As your companions watched you devolve upon Mizora’s hand, the final realization of just how much you’d given up to her had set in.

Wyll’s screams and protests became throaty sobs as curses were thrown at a devil who wouldn’t hear them, Shadowheart finally devolving to leaving Jaheira where she sat amongst the mud and dirt to hide her own tears of fear alone. Eyes averted from your pleading gaze, seeing them all finally turn away as it was all too much to bear, bringing shame to your own eyes as a hot tear found its way down your cheek.

Astarion had stayed where he was as the scene began to unfold, but this had become something even he wouldn’t witness. Somehow, though, he couldn't look away. The searing heat of rage in his chest drove him deep into his own memories, unable to find the motivation to fight for you as he succumbed to the feeling.

The taught muscles of your legs shook as three fingers were plunged deep within your folds, a screech of pain eminating from behind your gag as she stretched your walls apart between them.

“Ahh,” she hummed, leaning her face down in front of your own, taking a moment to revel in your relentless fighting and rage before letting her tongue flick across your cheek, licking away the tear trail before another started to fall. “Who thought a whore like you could have a cunt so tight, hmm?” she purred.

As you devolved further and further into knowing you wouldn’t escape until Mizora saw fit, the fear welled up further within you. Your breath raced, matching the unrhythmic beat of your heart, unable to staunch your flow of tears as you understood all you’d lost. You heard Shadowheart’s quiet cries from her tent ruminating behind Wyll and Jaheira’s pointless screams, Astarion lost in watching.

Mizora’s wicked smile only grew as she watched you making peace with your fate through your raging, tear-filled eyes, her own hunger growing stronger within her.

“The sniveling of your companions is rather distracting, dearest,” she muttered, leaning her lips right up against your own as she pulled her fingers from your aching cunt, “Let me move us to someplace a bit more private.”

The open expanse of a camp under the night sky became a void of dark, inky black. You felt the hard earth turn to cold stone beneath you, a pedastool keeping you risen above the void. Mizora’s eyes glowed with the same fireceness as the solid red ring of hellfire around the stone slab you stood upon, keeeping you and your three captors perfect sat in the middle of it.

She sighed, pushing a strand of hair that had fallen in front of your face back behind your ear with a seemingly gentle touch as she let her other hand find its way back to your cunt.

“Let’s put that quick tongue of yours to use, hmm?” she sang, pinching your clit between her sharp claws before taking a step back.

You yelped out against the gag yet again, helpeless against the pain.

“Sisters,” she purred, laying her orders out with the slick sweetness of her words as she snapped her fingers, her intricatae gown disappearing into mist the same way your contract had. “Let’s make sure this first round is a perfect example of what our dear pup has in store for the next century, shall we?”

There was a shift in the pressures against you as your body was laid upon the hard stone with force, your ears ringing from the impact. You choked another pained sobbed from behind the gag, squeezing your eyes shut as more hot tears made their way to the cold stone beneath you. There was a hard tightness as your wrists were bound together yet again by ties you couldn’t see, your legs held apart by another restraint.

There was the warm sensation of Mizora’s hand lifting your shuddering chin, the soft feel of her thighs pressing themselves against either side of your head. Your gag suddenly vanished, causing you to suck in a hot breath, tasting the scent of Mizora’s cunt on your swollen tongue.

“P-please!” you choked out between a gasp for breath, “It hurts–”

She breathed out a hot laugh, stroking your hair as you tried to pull your head away from her wet sex and failed.

“Tsk, tsk,” she tutted, her gentle stroking of your hair becoming a tight grip, yanking your head as far back as it would go. “Enough with the protests, dear. Lets get to my pleasure now, shall we?”

As she took her handful of your hair and pushed your mouth hard against her throbbing cunt, you felt the sudden pressure of a searing hot tip rubbing quickly between your folds from behind. You struggled against Mizora’s hand as you felt the ribbed cock throb against your abused folds, sobbing into her cunt as you thrashed, barely able to move.

As the one Sister wasted no time in pushing her length deep into your cunt, the other climbed atop you, straddling your back as she quickly shoved her own cock into your ass with enough force to give you a small tear.

You gritted your teeth and continued your useless thrashing against the sudden pain, your eyes wide with shock as Mizora shoved your face harder into her cunt, cooing about how perfect you looked while being broken. You felt a small, hot trail of blood work its way from between your legs amidst the relentless pounding you were struggling against. You screamed against Mizora’s dripping sex, begging for air with your pleading, tear-filled gaze as you saw her smile down at you.

You were completley at their mercy; your will stripped from you in the most pirmal form. The growls and grunts of the Sisters of Justice seemed to mingle with your thoughts of desperate prayers to Gods that wouldn’t listen, the broken feeling of your very sould falling apart around two ribbed cocks and bewtween Mizora’s searing cunt. You felt yourself succumbing to the chains in which you’d been placed, merely wishing for a quick end and hating yourself for not wanting to keep fighting.

The Sister’s moans mingled throughout the empty void, the sound of their cocks smacking against your bruising skin creating an unholy rhythm that seemed to harmonize with your sobs. The more you resisted, the further you felt yourself approaching your own orgasm. The constant pain of the ribbed cambion dicks pushing against each other through your walls had you squeezing your legs together, your sharp restraints the only thing keeping them apart.

“Eat, pup,” Mizora demanded, snapping her fngers again with a dark glint in her eyes. Your mouth seemed to open on its own volition, her slick quickly seeping into your mouth, against your tongue, down your throat.

She rocked her hips against your mouth, pressing your head against her harder with the grip she had on your hair. Your body trembled and shook as the Sisters continued to slam into you, their own moans and grunts of pleasure mixing between their soft giggles and laughs.

When you gagged at the slick building in your mouth, Mizora tugged your head back and delivered a swift smack to your cheek. You shrieked with your raw throat before she pushed you down yet again. The Sisters seemed to find great pleasure in your plight, their paces quickening with the more frustrated Mizora seemed to get.

“I said, eat.”

Your tears mixed with the wet slick of her cunt, your tongue working circles between her folds until it found its way to her buzzing clit. You swallowed, closing your eyes as another broken sob fell from your lips. You were pulled back and forth against the hard cold slab which each thrust from the Sister’s behind you, your skin starting to chaffe and blister the more they chased their own highs. They pulled your skin with a harsh vigor, sinking their claws deep into your soft skin to get a better grip as they pulled and pushed you across the floor.

“Perfect, my dear,” Mizora purred, sighing as she leaned herself back and letting out a deep moan of pleasure, “Just like that,” she said, giving your hair another tug.

Your body was starting to burn and go numb all at once, the nerve you’d been giving all but being sucked from your body as you ran out of energy from fighting for so long. You gasped against Mizora with each painful thrust, diziness starting to set in with the lack of breath. You heaved, your weak fingers gripping at smooth stone, nails pulling against it as you lazily racked your fingers acrossed it in a final attempt to fight against the building pleasure in your core.

You squeezed your eyes shut with the last bit of strength you had left, a solitary tear hitting the cold stone as it dripped between Mizora’s thighs. There was a numbing heat that threw you higher than you’d ever been, the weightlessness of it all leaving you breathless and twitching. You felt yourself float against the grating roughness of the stone, a pool of your own pleasure spilling between your legs as the Sister’s started pounding you harder.

“Oh, how sweet,” Mizora praised you, “cumming with your face between my legs.” She laughed softly, guiding your head back and forth as your tongue pushed harder against her clit. With each tug, she groaned, her toes curling with each little whine and plea that left your lips sending a jolt into her. Your eyes rolled deep to the back of your skull, your mind pounding with blank bliss as they all continued to fuck you through the high.

“Keep cumming, my sweet,” she hummed, rubbing her cunt against your chin, “so perfectly pathetic as your body shakes for me.”

She writhed against your crying lips as one Sister of Justice began to falter with her pace, her rhythm becoming sloppy as the tip of her engorged, ribbed cock throbbed hard against your cervix. You barely felt her load coating your insides, consdiering they wouldn’t let up relentlessly fucking you through your forced orgasm.

Your body twitched with each quick thrust of the second Sister beneath you as the first stilled her movements, shoving her length deep inside as to not waste a drop of her spend on the cold, hard stone.

Mizora gripped your hair tighter as she watched the second Sister approaching her own climax, gently praising her as she filled your second hole. Her cum mixed well with the trickle of blood running down your thighs. You hated yourself for loving the feeling, for having gotten off on the ruthless abuse of your holes.

She wasn’t far off from her finish herself, but Mizora couldn’t help but relishing in the way you looked all fucked-out and useless beneath her.

You felt the hot spend of thick cum dripping down your legs, blending with your own pool of pleasure you were laying in.

“Bathed in filth,” Mizora quipped, hissing as she sucked in a hot breath. “my disgusting little pet,”

Her coos of detrimental praise began mix with her own sounds of pleasure. She pulled you tighter against her cunt, your tongue finding its way deep inside of her sopping entrance. She held your head in place, riding your face and grinding her cunt against you while your tongue swirled, her clit pushing up against your nose as you gasped for air, all but unable to breathe.

“That’s it, my pup,” she huffed, throwing her head back behind her as she came undone within your mouth. Her wanton moans of pleasure filled your head as you lost yourself, the gentle black haze of losing consciousness finally claiming you as you blacked out.

—

You don’t remember coming back to yourself, only the feeling of the hard earth against your cheek as your vision began to swim again. You could just barley make out the first rays of the rising sun peeking over the horizon.

There was a soft mumble of paniced voices rushing closer, vague shapes appearing in your vision as everything slowly started to come to you.

As you came back to yourself, so did all the hurt. You were painfully aware of the sharp restraints still gripping you together, sharp barbs digging deep into shredded, bloody skin. Your entire body throbbed with bruises, skin marked red and yellow and blue and purple from the constant beating and pounding. You gagged as you swallowed, choking on your spit as you raged to catch a breath.

You fought against the first touch of a soft hand on your back, shrieking and thrashing as Shadowheart spoke with firmness to try to calm you. She gently worked at the bonds holding you restrained, hands shaking as she mumbled about rusted wire in an open wound.

You choked on your breaths, sucking in the air as your chest heaved. As she worked your wrists and feet free, the rest of your companions slowly made their way over to where you’d been dropped, gasping and shaking their heads as they worked in tandem to silently tend to your broken body.

You could feel the hot stains of tear trails still fresh on your cheeks, the dirt of the stone slab and the hard ground sticking to where they’d fallen from your face. You could focus on nothing but the numbing sensation ruminating through your brain, Shadowhearts gentle healing words barely enough to soothe the searing pain.

A hundred years, you thought, another tear making its way to the cold ground beneath you.

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