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osarina · 10 months ago

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ᡣ𐭩 HE'S THE SERPENTINE, HE'S MY COLLAR!

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: you're finally back in yokohama after spending three years abroad dealing with mori's foreign business. the last person you want is to see dazai osamu, the wounds of his abrupt betrayal still too fresh for comfort. unfortunately, he decides to take matters into his own hands by showing up at your office in the middle of the night.

(wordcount: 7.1k; ņsfw; fem!reader; port mafia executive!reader, f!receiving oral, gunplay, knife play (ish), spitting, pussy drunk!dazai (as always), light choking, overstim, office sex, semi-public/public sex, unprotected sex, switch!dazai, switch!reader, undertones of angst (happy ending). lmk if anything is missing!)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys. GUYS. i had so much fun writing this, this is finally usurping in paper rings and picture frames as my fav fic that i've written. HAHAHH. i hope you guys like it too!!

You hear the door to your office swing open, and you press your lips together tightly, irritation swimming through your head as your grip tightens on the pen you’re using to fill out your paperwork. It’s already late—you’re tired and your head hurts, but you can’t leave the building until Akutagawa comes to hand you the report for his failed mission so you can pass it up to the boss. And you know that whichever subordinate this is, it’s definitely not Akutagawa because the boy would rather claw his own throat out than walk into your office without knocking.

Which means it’s some upstart new recruit who has no manners and is likely going to make your night worse. You think being away for so long did some real damage to your reputation—three years ago, the lower ranked mafiosos avoided your floor like the plague, they didn’t barge in like they owned the place, but then again, you also had a certain dark-haired executive (ex-executive now, you remind yourself bitterly) lurking around your floor constantly trying to get your attention, and if people weren’t nervous enough about you, they were definitely terrified of him.

“Five seconds to explain why you came into my office without knocking or I’m putting a bullet through your fucking skull,” you say, voice acerbic, not even bothering to look up, the fingers of your free hand closing around the gun you have holstered at your side.

“There’s a few too many cameras in the hall for my liking to stand out there and wait for you to open the door.”

The fact that he manages to dodge the bullet shot in his direction is testament to his skill, but you’ve known Dazai Osamu long enough to know that when he dodges to the side, nine times out of ten, he dodges left, so you drop your pen as soon as you pull the trigger and swipe the knife laying haphazardly on your desk, launching it in his direction. You watch as his eyes widen just a bit when it impales the wall right next to his ear, just barely nicking his skin—both a warning and a threat.

“My, my, bella, you’ve gotten faster the past few years,” Dazai grins, unperturbed, smile as reckless and lazy as the day he left four years ago as he plucks the knife from the wall. “I’ve missed you too.”

“What the hell are you doing here, Dazai?” you ask, voice cold and sharp as your finger rests against the trigger of your gun. “How did you get up here?”

“Security’s gotten lax since I’ve been gone, I guess,” Dazai shrugs, but his eyes dance with mirth as he makes his way over to your desk. “You should probably do something about that.”

“Dazai,” you say, keeping your voice low and trying to reign in your temper. There are no cameras in your office, but the hall leading here is littered with them, hidden ones that were recently installed that he wouldn’t know about, if any one of them caught his face and it’s reported to Mori… “You think I won’t drag your ass to Mori myself? What the fuck are you doing?”

You’d have to, or it would be your head on the line for betraying the Port Mafia—you know better than anyone the treatment that traitors get, considering you were the one that dealt with them up until you were sent abroad three years ago to handle Mori’s foreign politics.

“I don’t know, will you?” Dazai counters, head tilted to the side as he takes a seat on top of your desk next to you, a smile on his face that makes you think he knows something that you don’t.

“Maybe,” you answer, finger twitching on the trigger as you keep your gun pointed in his direction.

Dazai is completely unbothered, leaning down until his nose is nearly brushing yours, lips tugged up in an unbearable smirk.

“Then do it,” he challenges, and you glare at him, jaw tight and eyes hard. He reaches out, fingertips brushing your skin, and you feel like you’re on fire beneath his touch. You hate that your body still betrays you to him. “Don’t look at me like that, bella. I won’t even resist, I promise, as long as you promise to be the one to put a bullet through my skull, so your face can be the last thing I see. Ah, that would be a lovely death, wouldn’t it?”

“You’re a fucking freak, Dazai,” you spit out, but make no move to get up or grab your phone. “What is wrong with you?”

Dazai doesn’t respond, only winking at you. Instead, his gaze shifts to the side and his hand drops from your face to his lap again. You hate even more that you miss his touch immediately.

“You still have my couch,” Dazai notes to himself quietly, an odd tone to his voice as he stares at the dark couch in the far corner of your office, where he’d bundle himself up under blankets to avoid Chuuya, because Chuuya used to avoid your office like the plague when the three of you were younger.

“It’s my couch,” you say tightly, even though you know no one has touched it since Dazai left, and the ugly orange blanket he liked so much is still draped over the back of it, and it probably still smells like him. Your throat feels swollen, and you steel away your emotions and continue with, “I’ve hardly been back here since you left, anyway. What do you want, Dazai?”

“I heard you were finally back in Yokohama,” he says. “I wanted to see you.”

“Fuck off,” you say roughly. “So you decide to break into the main base of the Port Mafia and come all the way up to my office? You know where my apartment is, you could’ve shown up there. What do you really want?”

“It’s the truth,” Dazai says easily, and his dark eyes meet yours—both of them, you note, and wonder when he decided to shed the bandages that covered his right eye. “I was at your apartment for a bit, I got impatient and came here instead.”

He’s telling the truth.

Oh, you realize—the clogged feeling in your throat is coming back, you force it away again and lean back in your chair, looking away from him to turn your gaze to the window. It’s well past midnight already, the moon is high in the sky and the stars are glittering above. In the distance, you can see the Ferris Wheel of Cosmo World glowing a bright purple color and a string of flashing red and blue lights as the police chase after someone.

“Why?” you ask finally, breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the two of you.

“I told you,” Dazai says quietly, and your eyes turn back to him. He looks… happier, you can’t help but note. A sick part of you feels jealous—you’re not sure if you’re jealous because he’s free and you’re still stuck in this place, or if you’re jealous because he’s happier and he’s happier in a life without you. You think it might be the latter. “I miss you.”

“Don’t give me bullshit, Dazai,” you snap, still trying to push away all of the feelings you’ve repressed for so long. “Get out of here before you find yourself killed. I’m not going to turn you in, but I’m not saving you if you get caught.”

“It’s not bullshit,” Dazai tells you, voice sharp in a way that it only ever is when he’s starting to get annoyed. “I-”

A knock at your door cuts Dazai off mid-sentence. Both of you freeze, Dazai looks at you as if waiting to see what you’re going to do, and you can so easily finish this now, let whoever is at your door in and drag Dazai back down to the torture room where he belongs, but instead you find yourself reaching for him. Your hand intertwines with his hair roughly, and you revel a bit in the hiss that escapes his lips as you yank him off the desk and roll your chair backward, kicking the back of his knee so that he crumples to the ground and you can push him beneath your desk.

You lower your gun to your lap so you can keep it pointed at him and then glance down at him—he looks caught off-guard and disgruntled at being manhandled, but you think it's a bit funny how cramped he looks under there.

“Not a single word,” you warn before fixing your chair and raising your voice. “Come in.”

Akutagawa wastes no time stepping into your office, nodding his head in respect as he makes his way over to the chair on the opposite side of your desk, a bundle of papers in hand. He doesn’t hand you the pile right away and he looks uncharacteristically nervous, and you raise your eyebrows, wondering what the issue is.

“I am… unsure how to fill out some of the report,” Akutagawa says, unable to meet your eyes as he stares at the windows behind you. “The operation was… not a failure but not a success. The whole mission was in disarray, I do not know who was doing what at certain points.”

You stare at Akutagawa. “What do you want me to say to that?” you ask him, leaning back in your chair. “It’s your job to know that as the field officer for the mission. If you can’t handle that, Hirotsu will take back the position on the next major operation.”

Akutagawa bristles. “I can handle it,” he says, voice clipped. “This mission was just more chaotic than-”

“Than usual?” you ask idly, watching as he stiffens as your interruption. “This was child’s play, it’s unlike you to make excuses, Akutagawa.’

“I’m not making excuses,” he says immediately, “but…”

Akutagawa continues talking, but your attention is ripped away when you feel Dazai shift beneath the desk. You press your lips together tightly, stiffening as his hands rise to your thighs, spreading them a bit so he can settle between them. You glance down, he’s already peeking up at you, dark eyes glittering in a way that has you on edge.

Don’t you dare, you warn silently, but Dazai only takes it as further encouragement, pressing his lips to your clothed inner thigh, you can feel the warmth and wetness through your slacks. It takes all of your self-control to not inhale sharply when he starts trailing open-mouthed kisses up your thigh until his mouth is hovering right above your cunt.

You press the muzzle of your gun against his temple.

He smiles.

Your jaw clenches as he licks a long stripe between your legs through your slacks, making sure to press his tongue down hard over where your clit is hidden through your clothes. Akutagawa is still talking, oblivious to what’s happening beneath your desk as he airs his complaints about the mission. You could stop Dazai, place your foot on his shoulder and push him off of you, but you don’t, notably—you don’t want to acknowledge that though. You only vaguely hear Akutagawa’s issues, something about interference from a third party—the SDUP? What the hell were they doing there?— and Kajii blowing up an escape route.

“Give me the report,” you say, cutting him off mid-sentence, and holding out your hand. You’re grateful that your voice comes out steadier than you feel with Dazai trying to tongue fuck your through your pants.

As you lean forward to rip the papers from Akutagawa, you tense, feeling something sharp press against your inner thigh. Sitting back in your seat and glancing down, your eyes cut down to Dazai, who still has the knife you’d thrown at him and is using it to cut open your very expensive slacks.

You have half a mind to drive your foot into his face, but you refrain. If only barely.

It’s a miracle that you can keep your breath steady, because as Dazai cuts your pants, he kisses every inch of open skin that’s revealed to him. His lips are warm, wet, familiar—so familiar that your legs are instinctively spreading for him, giving him more room to work.

Your eyes scan the report but the words are just jumbled letters and not making any sense. Every time you try to understand, you feel Dazai’s teeth graze your thigh as he marks up your skin. You tense when you feel him bring the knife much closer to your cunt, to finish cutting off the material—you press the muzzle of your gun harder into the side of his head, warning him to be careful. You glance down only to see a hazy smile on his lips as he winks up at you, as if he’s drunk just off of the idea of what’s about to happen.

He works efficiently as always, freeing your lower body of your slacks and panties as quickly as possible, and he wastes no time burying his face between your legs. Your lashes flutter and the grip you have on your pen tightens dangerously, you think it might snap. Dazai’s tongue slides between your folds, lapping up the slick that had begun to pool—you know that if Akutagawa wasn’t sitting a few feet away, Dazai would be making a snide comment about how he knew you wanted him.

Dazai’s tongue flicks over your clit—you can feel him staring up at you, watching for every little reaction, the way your lip tightens as you bite back moans, the way your eyelids unconsciously start to slide shut, the way your breath is just a bit heavier than it usually is.

This is so dangerous, you think to yourself desperately. If Akutagawa of all people figures out that Dazai is here-

You nearly choke when Dazai shifts a bit underneath the desk to kneel at a better angle, grateful that Akutagawa seems to be too busy wallowing in his own mistakes to notice your struggle. Your gaze snaps down again, his eyes have fluttered shut as he buries his face deep into your cunt, nose pressed to your clit as he pushes his tongue into your hole and you can feel the way he lets out a silent, but shaky breath, barely holding back a moan.

You notice his free hand slide from where it was propped on your thigh down to his beige pants, fingers fumbling with the button as he desperately tries to slip his hand beneath his waistband to touch himself. You kick his wrist hard, using your foot to pin it against the side of your desk, watching him wince and withdraw his hand, looking up at you with those big brown eyes you can never say no to.

God, he’s pathetic, his lashes are wet and his cheeks are flushed, eyes glossed over with pleasure as he looks up at you and you know you’ll let go of his wrist if he looks at you like that any longer, so you turn your gaze back up to Akutagawa, who’s staring at his lap and waiting for you to finish the report.

“Get out,” you tell him, voice sharper than you intended. Akutagawa’s eyes snap up to you, brows furrowed in confusion. “Go, I’ll handle this.”

“But-”

“Your job is to take orders, not question them,” you bite out, watching frustration flash across the boy’s face as he rises to his feet. You’re not usually this harsh with the kid, but you’re not sure how much longer you’re going to last and Akutagawa cannot be in here when you cum. You can feel the heat pooling in your stomach and that familiar hazy feeling clouding your mind. “Out, Akutagawa.”

Akutagawa inhales sharply but nods, turning stiffly on his heel to leave your office. As soon as the door to your office clicks shut, Dazai is pushing the chair backwards until the back of it hits the windows behind you, shifting into a more comfortable position as he resumes fucking you with his tongue in earnest.

He moans into you, wanton and shameless, any restraint he had because of Akutagawa’s presence is long gone. While he was careful to not make noise before, now the sloppy sound of his tongue dragging in and out of your cunt drowns out any other noise in your office, he sucks and slurps, he’s so disgusting, like he can’t get enough of the taste of you, a man who’s been starved for years.

The knife clatters to the ground as he reaches up with both hands to grab your thighs, sliding them over his shoulders so he can push his tongue even deeper inside of you. Only sheer pride drives you to push away the creeping fog as Dazai’s tongue slides back up between your folds to draw figure eights around your clit.

“I should pull the fucking trigger, pulling this shit when he was in here,” you spit out, head falling back as a breathy noise escapes your parted lips when Dazai sucks gently at your clit. He moans again, as if the idea itself turns him on—it probably does, he’s always talked about wanting to die between your thighs. “You’re a fucking freak, Dazai.”

He lets out a puff of air, you can’t tell if it's a laugh or another moan, maybe a mixture of both, but he’s too focused on drowning in your cunt to respond. Four years without him and you’ve forgotten just how good Dazai is with his tongue, working your body as easily as he did when the two of you were eighteen and seeking each other out before meetings and between missions for a quick fuck. You hate it—you hate that he’s treating you as if nothing has changed and you hate even more that your body is this responsive to him.

Betrayal, you think, your own body betrays you for him. Again.

“Fuck,” you gasp the word out when Dazai rolls your clit between his teeth gently, sending a jolt through your body that throws you off just enough for that fog you’ve been fighting off to finally win. You choke over a moan, head pressed back against your desk chair, forearm coming up to press against your forehead as your eyes slide shut. Your free hand finally finds its place in his hair, tightening around his dark locks, he lets out a whimper against you, tongue flicking over your clit. “Like that. Just like that.”

You can hardly keep your head on straight as he traces letters around the sensitive bud, you try to figure out what he’s spelling but you’re too far gone. Your head is light and your chest is heaving. You’re barely able to bite back moans as your thighs tighten around his head, hips rocking against his face. You don’t even know if he can breathe, you don’t think you care, so close to the edge that your entire body is tingling and trembling; you don’t think he cares either from the way he’s moaning into you.

It takes one last suck, one last swirl around your clit, and you’re crying out his name, spots dotting your vision as your grip on his hair tightens, pushing his face impossibly deeper into you as you grind your hips against his face. God, it feels never-ending, a noise too close to a sob nearly escapes your lips as Dazai ardently laps up all of your cum, not letting a single drop go to waste. You can’t remember the last time you’ve cum this hard—with him, probably, you realize bitterly. None of the one-night stands you’ve had over the past few years have ever compared to him.

You’re still reeling even as you force yourself to straighten in your seat, not willing to let him know just how badly you’re thrown off by how intense your orgasm was. Your head is still spinning, vision still blurring, but you lift your leg and press your foot to Dazai’s shoulder, kicking him back and forcing him out from his position between your thighs.

He grunts, looking thoroughly disgruntled as he falls back on his ass, pouting up at you as he tries to catch his breath. He looks debauched, lips swollen and wet, your cum smeared on the lower half of his face. His cock is straining against his beige pants and his eyes are still glazed over; he’s looking up at you with an expression that’s nothing short of reverent.

God, he’s gorgeous.

You hate him.

You’ve missed him.

You shift in your seat and Dazai is lifting himself to his knees, immediately leaning closer, a hazy smile on his lips as he angles his face up and pointedly parts his lips, sticking his tongue out. You know what he wants and the heat that had been slowly dissipating returns with a vengeance, breath catching as you look down at him.

“You’re gross,” you tell him, watching the corner of his lips quirk up even as he keeps his tongue out and waiting.

You don’t deny him. You never can.

You shift forward, rising to your feet and reaching out to grab his chin, angling your face down. Your grip is too tight, it’ll leave bruises behind and you think that’s the least he deserves so you only tighten it a bit more as you lean over him. You don’t give him what he wants, not right away, letting the saliva gather on your tongue as you observe him, the way his pupils are blown wide and his chest is hardly rising and falling, as if he can’t even let himself breathe in anticipation.

Disgusting, you think again, but it’s fond this time, much to your displeasure.

You decide to put him out of his misery, letting the spit dribble from your mouth down to his. His eyes roll back as soon as it hits his tongue, and your hand slides from his chin to curl around his neck—not tight, just firm enough to feel the way his throat bobs as he swallows.

He lets out a shaky breath, eyes fluttering back open as he looks up at you, entirely blissed out. Your hand slides down more, curling around the ugly bolo tie he’s wearing in place of the black one you’re used to. You tug it hard, beckoning him to his feet; he acquiesces, albeit on shaky legs.

Immediately, his hands find your hips as he pushes you against your desk, spinning you around to face it before his hand presses between your shoulder blades, pushing you down to bend you over it. Your eyes widen at the sudden change in demeanor, something you’ll never be able to get used to no matter how many times you fuck him; it always caught you off guard back then, it still catches you off guard now. He pulls off the remnants of your destroyed slacks and immediately is grinding his bulge against your ass, a low moan spilling from his lips.

“How many people have you been with?” he suddenly asks, and you can hear him fumbling to unbutton his own pants. There’s an edge to his voice that you don’t like—something caught between jealousy and possessiveness, and you nearly want to scoff at it.

“What the fuck, Dazai?” you spit out, appalled and not expecting the question. “None of your damn business.”

You turn your head to the side to rest your cheek on the desk, looking back at him from the corner of your eye. His eyes are still a bit hazy but there’s a tight expression on his face, reminiscent of the one that would be directed toward you whenever he stumbled in on you entertaining anyone other than him years ago.

“Humor me,” he says, voice cold and eerily familiar. If you weren’t looking at him and if you couldn’t see the tan coat and bolo tie, you’d think you were talking to Dazai Osamu, Port Mafia Executive, and not Dazai Osamu, Detective.

“A lot,” you finally tell him, feeling the way he stiffens behind you. “I don’t keep count. You?”

You think he has some nerve asking when he’s probably slept around t-

“None.”

“Bullshit,” you snarl immediately. “How many? Don’t fucking lie to me, Dazai.”

“None,” he says again, gaze lifting from your back to meet yours, his eyes are dark—too dark, too still. Maybe he hasn’t changed as much as you assumed, because the way your chest swells with a confusing mixture of fear and arousal is far too familiar. “You’re the only one allowed to touch me.”

His gaze drags back down, with his pants unbuttoned, he lifts his free hand to caress the swell of your ass, a contemplative expression on his face as he stares down at you, his other hand still pinning you down to your desk. If your heart wasn’t thudding in your ears from sheer anticipation, you’d be irate over the fact that you were letting Dazai Osamu fuck you over your own desk in your own office, but you can’t bring yourself to care now.

“They never made you feel like this.” It’s a statement, not a question, and you want to scoff at his arrogance, but you can’t because he’s right. “They don’t know your body like I do.”

This time you do scoff. “You don’t know shit, Dazai. It’s been four years.”

Dazai’s eyes flicker back up to you, the way his lips curve up into a smile is dangerous.

“No?” he questions.

A challenge. You never back down from one, not from him.

“No.”

His smile sharpens.

“I know that after you cum for the first time,” he murmurs, rolling his hips forward. You bite back a moan when you feel the tip of his cock slip between your folds. “The second time comes right after.”

True to his words, your jaw falls slack and your entire body seizes as Dazai thrusts into you, splitting you right open on his cock. The moan he lets out is pornographic, and you wish you could see the way his head falls back and his eyes roll into his skull, but your own vision is white and you’re choking over a sob as you feel the familiar stretch of his cock against your walls.

“There you are.” Dazai has the nerve to let out a breathless laugh and another groan as he stills with his hips flush to your ass, feeling your walls spasm around him as you cum just from the feeling of him pushing inside of you. The hand he has placed between your shoulder blades slides up to curl around your throat. With a firm grip, he pulls you up so only your thighs are pressed against the edge of your desk, back flush to his chest as you gasp, reeling from the suddenness of your second orgasm. You can feel him smile as he nudges his nose against the side of your head, lips pressed to your ear. “The third time takes a bit after the second, but I’ll fuck you through it. Maybe a fourth too.”

“Dazai,” you gasp, eyes blown wide as your head falls back against his shoulder. You don’t know what you’re trying to say, maybe hold on, or wait, because you know you’ll embarrass yourself if he doesn’t give you a second to recover.

He hums in response, and the slow rolls of his hips, the drag of his cock against your walls, it has your head in the clouds, body trembling. Your lips part to speak but no words leave them, and right when you think you can finally force the words out, Dazai draws his hips back and snaps them back against yours hard. Your lips part in a silent moan, only the hand around your throat and the one pressed to your lower belly holds you up as Dazai fucks you at a brutal pace.

His face drops to the crook of your neck, he moans into your skin, teeth scraping hard as he kisses recklessly up and down every available inch. He’s going to leave marks, you realize, and that’s dangerous now that you’re back in Yokohama because you don’t need any of the other executives to get suspicious, but even if you wanted to tell him not to, you don’t think you’d be able to. Whatever little coherency you had left in your thought process does not translate when you try to speak, the only things leaving your lips being shaky moans and gasps of Dazai’s name.

“Made for me,” Dazai groans. His grip on your throat tightens just enough to make the air you breathe in shallow, your head feels light and you’re not sure if it’s because of his grip or if it’s the feeling of his cock bullying so deep into you that you can feel his tip pressing up against your cervix. “Waited so many years for this, feels even better than I remember, pussy’s made for me, isn’t it?”

Dazai babbles into your ear as he fucks you, tongue just as filthy and unbridled as the day he left. Shameless. He’s so shameless. Doesn’t even care that anyone could walk into your office and catch the two of you; doesn’t care that if anyone does, he’ll end up executed. He’s fucking you in a building full of people that want him dead and all he cares about is how your cunt feels wrapped around his cock.

Your breath hitches as Dazai shifts you to bend over just a little more, still keeping your back flush to his chest but fucking you at a new angle—one that nearly sends you spiraling over the edge for a third time.

“Gonna give me your third now?” he pants. His hand on your lower stomach slips down, lithe fingers dipping between your folds to search for your clit—your back arches against him when he finds it, a sob spilling from your lips, vision swimming with tears. Dazai laughs again, this one is strained, catching over a moan as your walls convulse around him. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, you’re so tight.”

Unconsciously, his grip on your throat tightens, cutting off even more air. You can hardly breathe, you can hardly think—each thrust of his hips has your head spinning, ripping the little air you can inhale right out of your lungs. The tip of his cock rubs against that spongy spot inside of you every time he snaps his hips against yours, the quick circles he rubs on your clit are electrifying.

Your cheeks are wet, breath ragged, vision spotty. One last thrust, one last circle, and you’re wrecked, sobbing out his name as your legs give out, only held up by the way he has your thighs pinned to your desk and his hand on your neck. You cum all over his cock so hard that you think you black out for a second, your mind fuzzy and pins and needles pricking all over your body.

Dazai doesn’t stop. He fucks you through your third orgasm, relishing in the way your body twitches and trembles, too sensitive for his touch.

“Your fourth will come quick,” he gasps. His pace is erratic now, chasing his own release. Your ears are ringing, heartbeat thudding in your ears, the wet, sloppy sound of his cock driving in and out of you resounding through your office. “I don’t think I’ll last for five. Shit, shit, I’m close.”

You have to force yourself to move. You want to see him when he finishes. Your hand wraps around his wrist, nails digging into his skin to try to get his attention. It takes all of your will power to push the two words from your lips: “Flip me.”

He does. Without any sort of hesitation, his hand drops from your throat to your waist. His cock slips out of you for a split second and your cunt aches at the loss, but Dazai is immediately pushing himself back into you as he hoists you up by the thighs, sitting you down on your desk and wrapping your legs around his waist.

Even through your blurry vision, Dazai is a fucking sight. His dark hair is matted to his forehead, pink lips swollen and wet, cheeks flushed. His eyes glazed over and half rolled back as he chases his high. God, he’s stunning. You’ve missed him. You’ve missed him.

You’re not thinking as you lift your hand to cup his cheek, sliding around to the back of his head to pull his face down to yours, moving on pure instinct. You drag him down to press your lips against his and Dazai is gone. The moment your lips touch his, he’s moaning into your mouth, hips stuttering against you as he spills his cum deep inside of you, and he’s right, because the moment you feel his cum filling you up, warm and thick, so much of it that you can feel it dribbling around his cock, the stickiness smearing against your thighs and ruining your desk, you’re pushed over the edge for the fourth time.

This one is weaker than the rest, not a single noise escapes you but your jaw goes slack and Dazai whimpers into your mouth when he feels your walls tightening around him again. But he takes advantage of your pliancy, pushing you back gently so that your back is flush to your desk. He follows you down, keeping his chest pressed to yours as he maps out your mouth with his tongue. He rolls his hips against yours, slow and deep, fucking his cum deeper into you as the two of you slowly come down from your highs. He slants his lips against yours to deepen the kiss, hand coming up to cup your cheek, his other sliding up and down one of your thighs.

It’s too intimate. You tell yourself that you only let it happen because you’re reeling from overstimulation but you know it's a lie.

You don’t even know how long you stay in that position with him. It could only be a few seconds, a few minutes, it could’ve been an hour for all you know, laying on your desk with him pressed on top of you, kissing you so passionately that it makes your head spin as much as the orgasms did.

Finally, you press your hand against his shoulder, signaling for him to get off of you. He does, albeit with a reluctant sigh. You stare up at the ceiling as Dazai shakily rebuttons his pants, making his way over to the closet where you still keep your spare clothes from when you have to stay over at the office to work.

What did you do?

You’re hyper aware of how swollen your lips are, of the marks littering your neck, of the cum dribbling out of your cunt, staining your desk.

If anyone finds out about this-

You don’t get to finish the thought, because Dazai comes back over to you. Neither of you speak as he takes a tissue to clean up his cum from your thighs and as it dribbles out of you, nor do you speak when he shifts you into a sitting position, helping you pull on a new pair of panties and a new pair of slacks.

He stands in front of you, dozens of indecipherable emotions rocketing across his face as his dark eyes search your expression for something. You don’t know what, and you don’t even want to look at him but you can’t draw your gaze away from him.

After what feels like forever, he finally speaks.

“I missed you,” he says, voice hoarse as he lifts a hand to cup your cheek.

You turn away from his touch, ignoring the hurt that flashes through his eyes.

“Why don’t you believe me? You think four years has changed how I feel about you? I thought you knew me better than that.”

“It’s been four years,” you say, and you hate that your voice wavers a bit. You blame it on still being hazy after your orgasm but you know it’s a weak excuse. You hate that he still has this effect on you after all these years. You hate that you always give into him, and you hate that you know you’ll never get enough of him. You want to hate him, but you can’t. “Knowing how to fuck me isn’t the same as knowing me as a person. I barely know you anymore. You barely know me. And it’s not like you were open with how you felt four years ago. So, forgive me if it’s a bit hard to believe, Dazai.”

“You wear the same perfume. You still shoot with your non-dominant hand for some god forsaken reason. Your lips still twitch whenever you get annoyed even though you do your best to stop it. You-”

“Stop.”

“You still talk to me like you hate me even though your eyes are all soft and you’re leaning in toward me.” Dazai doesn’t stop, and to your horror, he’s right—you had begun to lean in to him instinctively as he spoke. You try to shift away from him, but he follows, fingers grazing your cheek, chest brushing yours. You don’t pull away this time. “I still wear the same cologne you bought me for Christmas because it reminds me of you—I spent two months trying to figure out where you bought it when it first ran out. I don’t carry a gun around as often, but when I do, I still try to do that stupid flipping trick you tried to teach me when we were seventeen—I still can’t do it, almost shot myself in the knee last time I tried.”

The laugh he lets out at the last sentence is hollow. He hesitates, as if he wants to continue but isn’t sure if he should. You can feel his blunt nails scraping gently against your skin, his palm warm against your cheek. You want to pull away but you’ve missed him, no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, and you find yourself sinking into his touch. You’ve always questioned why Mori sent you away for so long, angry because you figured he thought you were weak when it comes to Dazai and he didn’t want to risk anything.

Only a few days back in Yokohama, and you’re already proving him right.

“I’m not the same person,” you tell him, something desperate edges at your tone. Desperate to convince him, or yourself, you’re not sure.

“I still love you,” he rasps, voice quiet as if he’s scared to admit it even to himself, and your heart is suddenly lodged in your throat as you stare up at him with wide eyes, the words he refused to tell you back when you were teens ringing through your head over and over again. “I’ve always loved you. Thought about you every day. I missed you so much.”

“I should hate you,” you say, swallowing thickly, unshed tears blurring your vision. “You didn’t even say goodbye. When Mori said you defected in the middle of a mission, I laughed in his face. Not because I didn’t think you’d never betray the Port Mafia, but because I didn’t think you’d ever leave me without saying anything.”

“If I said goodbye to you, I never would have left,” Dazai tells you quietly, the admission echoing in your years. “And I had to leave. I had to.”

“I should hate you,” you repeat, voice a bit weaker now, and you feel pathetic for falling apart like this in front of him. But it’s Dazai, he’s always had this effect over you. You suppose some things haven’t changed, because that certainly hasn’t.

“I know,” he murmurs.

You inhale deeply, shaking your head as you push yourself off your desk and straighten out your clothes, trying to get your head back on straight. You should’ve known better than to think you’d be able to come back to Yokohama and pretend that Dazai Osamu didn’t exist, for better or for worse, the two of you would always find your way back to each other. Mori was right to send you away, although you suppose the man is rarely wrong anyway.

Dazai doesn’t say anything, watching you with an unreadable expression as you search through the ruined piles of paper on your desk for the report that Akutagawa had handed you. Your eye twitches when you realize that it’s stained, realizing that you’re going to have to rewrite the whole thing because you can’t submit a cum-stained report to Mori.

Dazai snorts behind you, as if realizing your predicament. The look you give him is lethal, he silences himself quickly.

“Don’t get yourself killed on the way out,” you tell him, grabbing your black jacket off your chair and swinging it over your shoulders as you look back at him. “If you make it out of here alive, I’ll see you at my apartment later. Then we can talk.”

His face twists. “What? Wait, don’t leave me here,” he panics, nearly tripping over his feet and your desk chair to follow after you. “Help me sneak out.”

“You got in here yourself,” you say dismissively. “Get out yourself.”

The noise he lets out is pathetic. “You do hate me,” he accuses.

“No, I could never,” you admit quietly. His expression softens a bit, but you give him a sharp smile. “But I’m definitely not going to make things easy for you. Akutagawa is still out here prowling around. So is Chuuya, actually. Said he’d be at the office all night today. Good luck, you’re gonna need it.”

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai smut #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu smut #dazai osamu x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bsd smut #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs smut #bungo stray dogs x you

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bamgyw · 2 months ago

Text

˖°𖡼.𖤣𖥧 little red riding hood 𖥧𖤣.𖡼°˖

summary: afab!reader x werewolf!beomgyu just as little red riding hood entered the woods, a wolf met her. little red riding hood did not know what a wicked creature he was, and was not at all afraid of him. little red riding hood modern [smut] retelling.

warnings: little plot, lot of smut at the end. fingering, biting, sucking, they fuck in the forest? dub-con. definitely not as pretentious and cheaper than six nights.

word count: 6,5k

rey yaps: rey comeback. yay. as you can see, this is not the six night update. i am so very sorry. if you don't like it, i did it on purpose. it's camp. happy halloween.

once upon a time there was a dear little girl who was loved by everyone who looked at her. whenever the wind whistled she wore a warm, scarlet cloak, so she was always called little red riding hood.

the window’s open just enough for the wind to slip through and moan against the narrow slit. its sighs blend with the creeping chill of autumn nights, making it too easy for her to ignore the other sound—the low, mournful howl of the wolf stalking just beyond the trees. waiting. starving.

but inside—warm, cozy, oblivious—she’s giddy, caught up in the process of getting dolled up. the vanity of the pre-party ritual. halloween night, or the night to honor the ancestors' harvest festival by dressing like an unapologetic slut.

she leans in closer to the mirror, dragging the eyeliner brush across her eyelid. the black ink smudges into a sultry, careless flick.

her reflection stares back—rosy cheeks, fox like eyes, lips twitching into a smirk as she perfects her look. red little riding hood. she’s got that ominous, almost brilliant look of blood on snow; hair like lint, cheeks tinted a synthetic red, lips red like wine.

outside, the darkness gathers thick. that part of town—the forgotten edge where the trees grow too tall, too twisted, their branches clawing at the sky—has a reputation. by day, the leaves rustle with tiny, cheerful birds. but by nightfall the trees bend into shapes that shouldn’t exist, and the black between them isn’t just dark. it’s hungry.

she doesn’t care. not tonight. she’s excited.

she’s got a boyfriend, and she adores him in that hopeless, foolish way. taehyun—so princely, so mature, so different from any other boy she’s ever known. just the thought of him sends a flutter through her stomach.

but her excitement falters, her hand with the eyeliner brush pausing mid-stroke.

for quite some time now, she’s had the gnawing feeling that taehyun doesn’t like her anymore. he's distant. cold. the hunger in his eyes has dulled into something worse than disinterest. he doesn’t kiss her the same, doesn’t touch her like he used to. the golden glint of lust she once saw in his gaze is now replaced by dull apathy.

but not tonight. tonight, she’s going to fix that.

she has gotten herself a ridiculous little dress, so charming and frilly that it would drive any boy insane. a costume meant for a twelve-year-old, that should stretch over her curves and frame her just so. a skirt that's more like a belt made of little ruffles, barely brushing the tops of her thighs. puffed sleeves, and a corset cinched tight enough to steal her breath—she doesn’t care. she’s pulling the hunger back into her boyfriend's eyes.

the cheap red costume lays across the tub, a mess of fabric that’ll turn her into something untouchable. a gift for him, draped in lace and bows. she shrugs off her bathrobe, careful to close the door but leaving the curtains wide open. why bother? what harm could come from the empty wilds?

in a deep red bra and panties that cling like fresh blood to bare skin, the fabric is thin, barely there, a gauze that the cool night air slices through. the chill raises goosebumps, and her nipples harden beneath the lace, two sharp peaks straining against the sheer veil.

somewhere in the woods, the wolf is watching.

she notices her own reflection and pauses, taking in how her body looks under the dim light. the slight tremble of her chest, the rosy peaks beneath the lace. her breath catches in her throat as she runs a hand over her stomach, feeling the curve of her waist.

somewhere in the woods, the wolf starts salivating.

she has drowned in self-loathing lately. the boy she loves has been treating her like she’s nothing. she’s felt like nothing. but tonight —must be the witches, the spirits and the ghosts— she feels pretty.

the wolf thinks she’s pretty too. he has spotted a tender, plump mouthful, and hunger is curling in his belly. he can’t hold back anymore, and his howl cuts through the silence—sharp, hollow, vicious. and the wolfsong is a warning. the sound of death by the window.

she freezes. a chill creeps down her spine, not from the cold, but from something primal. she holds her breath, listening. and then she hears it—a soft, distant inhale. a wet and heavy breathing. not hers. human, but not quite.

her head snaps toward the window, eyes wide. there, in the darkness, something moves. no, someone moves. two glowing yellow lights. embers, burning. they don’t blink. they just… watch.

she pulls the drapes shut, heart racing, forcing a grin. halloween, she thinks. just some asshole playing a prank. a cheap, silly trick.

somewhere in the woods, the wolf smiles.

just as little red riding hood entered the wood, a wolf met her. little red riding hood did not know what a wicked creature he was, and was not at all afraid of him.

"just go from streetlight to streetlight," she tells herself.

focus. one light. two. a quick breath of safety before plunging into the next stretch of black. the cold night air curls around her, prickling her skin like needles.

her little red heels click against the uneven pavement, the sound echoing in the stillness. for a moment, she feels that gnawing, unshakable sense that she's not alone. but she shrugs it off, laughs under her breath, calling it paranoia.

the road ahead glimmers beneath a blanket of fallen leaves, slick and shimmering in the muted glow. on either side, the dense, impenetrable forest looms—a thick monster of dark green and black, framing her path to the party.

above, the moon, full and obscene, watches her like a voyeur. all still. all quiet.

except, that is, for the rustling of leaves beneath the predator’s steps. the wolf moves with ease, slipping behind her unnoticed, eyes on her legs as they sway, hungry.

this is his territory. she just doesn’t know it yet.

tucked inside her little basket—a cute part of the costume she’s rebranded as a purse,—there’s a small pocket knife. mom’s voice echoes in her head: “you never know what's lurking out there, darling.”

however, no amount of steel could cut through the one rule. the rule older than the trees that lined this cursed path. in the history of women walking alone at night—never, ever make eye contact.

so when she sees the shadow up ahead—thin, crooked, leaning against a lamppost with a cigarette hanging lazily from his lips—her heart does what it must. it kicks into overdrive.

head up. eyes forward. don’t let him know you're aware of his existence. her fingers tighten around the basket’s handle, knuckles turning white. it’s fine, she lies to herself. just keep walking.

one meter.

he tilts his head slightly, tracking her as she nears, but doesn’t move. her heels click louder now, faster, echoing hollow.

two meters.

close enough to smell the smoke curling from his cigarette. her skin crawls, but she doesn’t falter. just a few more steps and he’ll be behind her, another shadow, another forgotten threat. she feels a sudden, punctuating cold down her neck, but she barely pays attention to it.

three meters.

she passes him, breath held, heart pounding. it's done, she's safe. her fear was stupid, it always is. then it happens—a hand, cold and solid, lands on her shoulder.

her stomach drops. she spins, ready to scream or run, but the words die on her lips when she sees him.

a beautiful boy, just—beautiful.

dark, untamed. his hair’s a mess, falling over his forehead, deep brown eyes glowing like embers. flannel over a ragged band tee, the faint scent of smoke and damp leaves hangs around him.

“you dropped this.” his voice is low, nearly a growl, as he holds out her little red hood. it must’ve fallen when she rushed past.

“o-oh.” she stammers, half breathless, “thanks. i didn’t even realize.”

as she takes it from him, his gaze lingers for too long, making her hyper-aware of the way the dress clings to her body.

“pretty…” he says, the word half-whispered. a slight and wicked smirk touches his lips, like he knows he can degrade the costume and the girl beneath with just a single look.

a shiver races down her spine, but she forces a smile. “t-thanks.”

his eyes drag up and down her body, slow, making sure she notices. heat blooms in her neck, unbidden, and she tells herself—this dress is for taehyun, not for some stranger who smells like rain-soaked earth and cigarettes. and yet, when he bites his lip, something flutters low in her stomach—dangerous, thrilling.

“little late to be walking around dressed like that, don’t you think?” he sneers, and scorn flickers in his eyes. but the humiliation sends a shiver through her, one she doesn’t quite hate. “you headed to the party?”

“obviously,” she shoots back, spreading her arms, letting him take in the dress—though he’s already noticed, definitely. still, she’s relieved. he knows about the party, and suddenly he feels closer, more familiar. not quite a stranger anymore. “you?”

“yeah,” he shrugs, casual, like it’s nothing. “not really big on parties, though. i prefer the quiet.” his voice dips, eyes lingering on her. “but you gotta socialize… or you get lonely.”

“right.” she quirks a smirk, finally letting herself look him up and down. “but it’s a costume party, you know.”

“oh, i’m in costume. i’m just subtle,” he says, grin spreading wider, darker. “wanna see?”

against her better judgment—against every instinct screaming at her to walk away—she nods. his smirk deepens. he lifts his lip, just enough for a single sharp fang to catch in the dim light.

she laughs, half-relieved. “that barely counts as a costume.”

“oh, but it counts,” he says.

“fine. so, what are you supposed to be?”

he leans in just a little closer, his words coiling around her like smoke. “that’s the game, pet. you have to guess. guess right, and you win something. guess wrong...” his smile widens. “well, i get something.”

naive and pathetically charmed by the boy, she raises an eyebrow. “what do i get?”

he leans back, pretending to think, though his eyes never leave hers. "i mean... i'm a stranger in the woods. you get to walk away... unharmed."

poor thing, she rolls her eyes like he was joking. "and if i don't guess right," she speaks, her voice softer now. "what do you want?"

"a kiss."

her heart stumbles. she'd give it to him, gladly. hell, she'd guess wrong just to get their lips together. but... “i'm really sorry i…” she stammers, smile faltering, “i have a boyfriend.”

and though he doesn't seem fazed, his expression shifts. subtle, but unmistakable. his eyes darken, the playful charm fading away. “you shouldn’t go around teasing strangers when you're all alone like this,” he says softly, “might find yourself in trouble.”

she swallows hard, "i– i'm so sorry, i wasn't trying to—"

“it’s whatever,” he says, stepping back into the shadows, his voice a low warning. “go to your boyfriend, little red. but be careful. there are wolves out here. and not all of them are as friendly as me.” he pauses, a smirk twisting his lips. “name’s beomgyu, by the way.”

and so little red riding hood wanders on, oblivious to the truth: wolves wear many skins, each one crafted to prey on vanity, on longing, on the hollow spaces left unguarded.

they slip through shapes, feeding on weakness and hunger. but it’s in the glow of those predatory eyes that you recognize him. the unmistakable trace of his essence, the constant lurking in every form.

the wolf is as cunning as he is ferocious; once he’s had a taste of flesh then nothing else will do.

the halloween party is but a yearly excuse for yeonjun to show off how filthily rich he is and make a joke out of it. as if by opening the doors of his mansion to the rest of the mortals he lets them in on the punchline. a spectacle for the sake of being one. a big parody of himself.

and tonight, he’s dressed as gatsby, because of course he is. the slick white suit shimmers under the bruised purple lights, like a spotlight trailing him—and it might as well be, because yeonjun is the spotlight, soaking in every second of it.

he carries a champagne glass permanently attached to his hand, always swirling just enough liquid to keep things classy but not sober. every grin he flashes feels rehearsed, and he keeps crooning “old sport!" at anyone close enough to hear.

he's a cartoon. a well-dressed, charming caricature of wealth and tragedy, and everyone in the room knows it. and they love it. and he loves it more than anyone.

the music thumps through the house like a pulse, vibrating underfoot and inside ribcages. it’s too fast, too loud, forcing everyone to keep moving or else be swallowed up by the noise. by the chaos. bodies blend together, creating a messy tangle of limbs and sweat, grinding and swaying under the flickering strobe lights.

a chandelier overhead swings crooked, crystals throwing fractured light around, mimicking a starry sky in a thousand different colors. it's gaudy, too big for the room, and yet perfect for yeonjun’s vision. a crown fit for the king of excess.

she sits on the edge of it all, watching. just watching. taehyun’s next to her, but he might as well be miles away.

his eyes are glued to yeonjun who leans in close, whispering something in his ear, pointing out random people in the room. every now and then, taehyun’s lips twitch into a smirk as he scans the room like he’s calculating everyone's worth, everyone’s weaknesses.

he hasn’t looked at her once. she could have been invisible.

the bitterness stings, but she pushes it down. instead, she reaches out, her fingers grazing his arm, trying to pull him back to her, even if just for a second. “hey… you wanna get out of here? somewhere quieter?”

taehyun doesn’t react at first, not even a flicker of recognition in his eyes. he’s in his own world, lost in whatever game yeonjun’s playing.

dressed as a medieval knight, his armor shines under the lights, making him look even more untouchable. when he finally speaks, it’s almost an afterthought. “yeah, yeah. in a bit.” his words are hollow, thrown over his shoulder like loose change. “just… give us a second.”

and before she can process it, yeonjun’s turning toward them with that same cruel smile he’s been flashing all night. “god, you’re clingy,” he says, “can’t handle not being the center of attention for, what, five minutes?”

her stomach twists, heat flooding her face. “i wasn’t—” she starts, but her soft spoken words quickly fall short.

“it’s fine,” taehyun cuts in, still not looking at her, “just… chill, okay? we’ll leave soon.”

it feels like a slap. not hard, not violent. just… cold. her chest tightens. and it’s so clear now—he doesn’t care. he’s tolerating her, only and barely. her fingers clench into fists on her lap. she swallows hard, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill over.

"i’m… i’m going to the bathroom," she says, voice barely audible over the pounding music. but it doesn’t matter. taehyun doesn’t hear her.

she drifts through the crowd like smoke, unseen, slipping between the life and color all around her, barely there.

she finds her way out to the porch, cold air cutting into her skin, sharp as the bitter edge of disappointment still lingering in her chest. she hugs her arms, the night heavy and indifferent, pressing in on her as if to make her smaller.

yeonjun’s yard sprawls below, made-up like a graveyard—plastic tombstones lurch from the soil, skeletons claw out of dirt, grinning skulls leer up at her from the fog.

her breath puffs into the night, fading just as she feels she has, every inch of her dressed up for someone who never even noticed. ridiculous fucking slut.

but then, the air thickens, a chill going down her spine. she senses him before she sees him. a crackle in the dark, the slow burn of a cigarette lighting up.

“you look… sad, little red,” barely a purr. low, smooth, a murmur from the dark that curls around her like a trap.

she startles, spinning, heart slamming up to her throat. it’s him. beomgyu. the boy from the woods.

he's lounging against a stone grave, cigarette dangling from his fingers. his face is a smirk made of shadow, his eyes glinting, almost like he’s playing at something, watching her to see if she’ll play along.

“why aren’t you inside?” she asks.

“i told you," he says, snuffing out the cigarette against the stone, his gaze never leaving her face. "i like the quiet. besides...” his smirk stretches, razor-sharp. “can’t say i’m exactly welcome in there.”

then he stands. he steps closer. that lazy, stalking pace that narrows the distance between them, each footfall a reminder of who’s in control. the night presses her back against the railing.

“you’ll freeze out here, pet,” he says, words tipped with a cruel sort of sweetness.

he’s looking at her the way a wolf might look at a lamb. like he could devour her whole, and god help her, a spark of thrill runs down her spine, sharp as a nail.

she stares, heart skittering in her chest, searching his face for something human—but his eyes are restless, ravenous. and yet they see her, see through her. why couldn’t taehyun ever look at her like that? why couldn’t he see her like beomgyu did?

“i… i want to take that bet.” she asks, trying to keep her voice steady.

his eyes spark, the faintest flicker, and she feels like she’s opened a door she can’t close. he leans in, his smirk curling wider. “what about the boyfriend?”

she holds his gaze, refuses to look away, “the boyfriend doesn't give a fuck about me.”

one of his hands is already sliding around her waist like a snake coiling around prey. the other lifts to the neckline of her dress, fingers sliding up to tug gently at the red ribbon there, toying with it.

“then guess, little red,” he murmurs, lips curling into a pout that pretends innocence, “what am i?”

and from the bottom of her being, she knows what he is. but she doesn’t dare put it into words. she decides to guess wrong.

“a kitten, maybe?” her voice comes out playful, teasing, such a pretty little fool, “with those cute fangs?”

he laughs, sharp and cocky, and she watches his tongue glide over his canines. “wrong,” he murmurs, leaning down, his grin widening. “you owe me something now, don't you?”

she smiles, heart racing as she tiptoes to reach him and his arm tightens around her waist, providing a steady anchor. her lips brush his just barely, the peck of a little bunny.

but he’s already got her, pulling her in harder, his mouth a claim, his kiss a taking. his lips are cold, but the kiss is hot, burning. his jaw tightens and loosens wide and heavy, lips pressing against hers with a force that feels like he's taking something from her—something she didn't agree to give.

she allows him to do as he pleases, giving herself to him like she's under a spell. she clings to his frame, hands gripping his shoulders, body caught up in the press of him.

her breath becomes shallow, her mind a blur. his touch, his heat, too much all at once, too intense, too—

she dares to open her eyes. just to look at him. just for a second.

and she's terrified to discover that his once brown gaze is now molten, liquid yellow, something feral staring back at her. her pulse jumps, fear clawing its way up.

she pulls back, gasping, but he’s already there, leaning in again, his mouth hovering like he wants to bite, to consume. she raises her hands, warding him off. “i… i think i should go back inside.”

"why?" he purrs, and his breath impatient and almost manic against her cheek. "scared, little red?"

her throat tightens, "i don’t really… know you, and…" she tries to step away, but his hands close around her waist like iron. trapping her.

"you don’t need to." his fingers dig into her, reminding her that her body is his to command. he draws her close, “let’s play one last game, pet. just one. what do you say?”

“what… kind of game?” she asks.

and just like that he lets go. he steps back. a twisted offering of freedom she knows can't be trusted.

“we race,” he says, voice low, almost playful. “you run. back to your house. if you make it—” his eyes gleam, hungry “—i leave you alone.”

“and if i don’t?”

beomgyu never replies. he stays silent, shadows pooling in his amber eyes.

the full moon hangs ivory, casting a ghostly glare across his face. he glances up at it, bathing in it's glow like it's medicine. then his gaze drifts back to her, that twisted, merciless smile twisting his face.

and he just starts counting down.

ten... nine... eight...

she doesn't wait for seven.

she bolts. she flies down the steps, heart pounding, her feet barely grazing the ground as she breaks into the night. gravel scrapes beneath her heels.

six.

she ditches her shoes mid-sprint, stumbling onto the cold, wet ground. the fake cemetery looms around her, fog twisting between the tombstones as adrenaline pushes her forward.

five.

the sound of him shifts, something subtle at first—a dark, guttural growl building low in his throat. her heart stutters. it’s happening.

four.

a crackle of bone, a sickening pop, a snarl splitting the quiet night. something breaking, reshaping. she hears his breath deepen, his bones stretching, snapping.

three.

a howl cuts through the night, piercing, shuddering through her bones, her skin, her soul. the sound belongs to something that is no longer human.

two.

she dares to glance over her shoulder, just once, and what she sees makes her blood run cold. a massive, shadowed figure, fur gleaming silver under the moonlight, teeth bared in a snarl that sends ice through her veins.

his eyes, the same molten yellow as before, are locked on her, brimming with a hunger that borders on savage.

she never hears the one. she just runs and runs, as fast as she can. but the wolf is faster.

carnivore incarnate, only immaculate flesh appeases him.

the trees claw at the sky. gnarled limbs jutted out, crooked talons waiting to snatch her, tear her apart, make her one with the dark.

she doesn’t run but hurtles through the blackness, branches snapping beneath her feet like brittle bones. the forest isn't just there anymore—it's aware, watching her, toying with her. she can’t stop. can’t even breathe.

he's after her. and he's close.

“guess right, and you get to walk away unharmed.” how she regrets what she's done. she should've guessed right. should've kept her life instead of trading it for a kiss. stupid mistake. stupid choice by a foolish girl.

but just when she's about to give up she sees—between the curtain of twisted trees, the faintest flicker of light. her house. it's almost a visual illusion. something so desired it seems unreal. so near. almost there. her heart skips with hope.

she never makes it.

something cold as death clamps around her wrist, yanking her back. her body slams against a thick, gnarled oak tree, the bark biting into her back. it’s like the forest itself is starving for her, clawing at her, pulling her deeper into its hunger.

she feels red-hot, searing pain. then the wet warmth of his breath on her face. human again, if you can even call him that. all ragged, scraped and scratched. but human.

"run, run, run," he purrs, voice slick with amusement, "did you really think you could get away?"

it was never about catching her—it was always about the chase. the thrill of letting her think she could escape, just to tear that illusion apart in the final, hopeless moment.

she’s not escaping. not now. not ever.

"little red," he says with a sultry pout, his index finger tracing her jawline, “you seem so scared…”

“w-what are you going to do to me?” she asks.

she tries to wrestle, always avoiding his eyes. but each movement affects her physically, making her more aware of his body against hers, of his hands upon her.

he lowers himself, bringing his face close to her neck and breathes her in. his nose grazes her skin in a barely-there caress that makes her insides tighten. he nuzzles his head against her throat, his body stirring as if comforted by the scent.

“you smell even better up close,” he says, his lips parting as they hover over her neck. he lets his tongue brush her skin, savoring the faint saltiness. “taste even better than i imagined."

he sends a shiver through her, a crackling thrill that races under her skin. her heart beats so swiftly that she feels as though this were the moment she had expected for years. she almost stands up on her toes to hear the rest of his words.

"you’re so beautiful, little red.” he continues. “boyfriend never noticed, but i did. i’ve been waiting for this… for so long.”

and she knows it's true. she would’ve known even if he hadn’t said a word—could’ve felt it in the way his arms cage her against the rough bark of that oak, the trembling eagerness in his body.

he wants her, not gently, but raw and feral. and when she meets his gaze, those amber eyes glowing in the half-light, starvation licking at the edges, she feels something inside her shift. the want for this monster—this creature with fire burning in his stare, diabolically phosphorescent.

in quiet awe, she says, “what big eyes you have.”

“all the better to see you with.”

he does see her. exactly how she wants to be seen. and she wants to let him see more.

she pulls off her scarlet shawl—a flash of poppies, the bloody bloom of sacrifice. and since fear is of no use to her now, she sheds it like old skin, too. next, the blouse—soft, almost apologetic in the way it slides over her head—leaving her breasts bare, kissed by the cold silver of moonlight.

his arms find her without thinking, tight, firm, an embrace that feels like iron bands. in that grip, something stirs inside her, something she hasn't felt in so long it almost frightens her—it’s not just being wanted, but being claimed, protected, as though she belongs to him entirely.

“what big arms you have,” she breathes, her fingers tracing the hard ridges of his bicep, brute strength beneath her palms.

“all the better to hold you with,” he grins, his lips parting just enough for her to catch the white of teeth. the daggers of fangs.

her voice drops to a whisper, “what big teeth you have.”

“all the better to eat you with...”

his words slither out just before his mouth crashes onto hers, devouring. his lips, firm and greedy, drink from her, swallowing her breath, tongue invading with a force that leaves her dizzy.

his hands grip her body with the same ruthless intensity, fingers mauling her flesh like claws, leaving painful bruises blooming under his touch.

his mouth drifts lower, down to her jaw, down to her neck, teeth grazing her skin in teasing bites, until he finds the soft skin of her chest. the hardened, sensitive nipple. he sucks hard enough to leave a bruise. a mark of ownership. meant to hurt. to claim.

his tongue grazes the sensitive peak again, teasing her with the cruelty of it, dragging it out. her breath falters, and before she can choke it back, a broken whimper slips out.

“good girl,” he purrs against her skin, “such a good little pup.”

his hands aren’t far behind. they drift lower, fingers tracing the curve of her body, abandoning her chest like it’s no longer enough. they slide down her sides lingering over her stomach before slipping between her thighs. his fingers brush the garters, barely caressing the lace straps holding them tight against her legs.

“too tight, don’t you think?” his voice is quieter now, almost thoughtful. he traces the garter’s edge again, pressing into the skin where it’s biting in. “let’s see if it left a mark.”

he lifts her skirt, letting her feel every inch of skin being exposed, every second of her body laid bare to his gaze. her leg lifts instinctively, just a small movement, but enough for him to slide the garter down, peeling it away from her thigh.

and there, above the edge of her stocking, her skin gleams, reddened, damaged by the strap. he stares for a second too long, then up at her, asking for permission, knowing very well he has it already.

of course, she lets him.

his fingers skim the inside of her thigh, higher, until they’re at the edge of her panties, toying with the fabric like it’s something fragile. he grins, teasing. and she sees in his eyes, in his invigorated breath, that something violent is coming.

his fingers press against her cunt, once, cold and firm, right against the damp fabric clinging to her skin. then comes a ruthless slap, quick, and she bites down on her lip hard enough to taste blood. then a second slap, harder, leaving her moaning, and her hips jerking toward him.

without a word, his finger slips past the soaked fabric, and makes its way inside her, slow but firm, pushing through the heat of her skin like he’s sinking into something molten, something desperate.

her back arches hard against him, her head falling onto his shoulder. the surrender comes easily—she doesn’t fight it. she opens for him, lets him push deeper, lets him take.

he stops when he’s knuckle-deep, breath hot against her ear. "you like that, little red?”

her heart slams against her chest, and the wet heat grows, slick and throbbing. she can only nod and let out a pathetic “hmph”.

she’s already soaked, but the need—the ache—builds with every passing second, with every subtle shift of his breath, his body looming over hers like a shadow.

another finger slips in, just as slow, until he curls them inside her, pressing deep enough that she feels every inch. her entire body trembles, a soft moan slipping from her mouth.

he pulls out his fingers, but only for a second before he plunges them back in, harder this time, deeper. forcing her body to open for him. her breath hitches, and her cunt clenches around him, her walls spasming as he presses further.

“such a tiny little hole…” he says, almost to himself, a wicked grin curling his lips.

when he withdraws, he drags it out, agonizingly slow, like he wants her to feel every ridge of his knuckles as they pull back. the emptiness is immediate, the loss of him, the loss of that pressure, unbearable.

he holds his hand up, and her eyes widen. she can see the evidence of her need painted across his skin, shining under the dim light.

the dampness between her thighs coats his fingers in a thick sheen. it glistens, dripping down toward his palm, the slick strings of her arousal hanging between his fingers. “so fucking wet for me,” he growls, his voice rough, edged with a sharp, dark amusement. “dripping like a little slut.”

his hand moves again, back down, fingers sliding over her trembling cunt, tracing along the wet, swollen folds. when his fingers find her clit, they barely press—just enough to make her shiver, just enough to make her whimper. the wet bud throbs under his touch, every nerve in her body firing at once.

"beomgyu p-please," she whispers, barely recognizing the sound of her own voice.

the grin that spreads across his face is demonic, a depraved satisfaction settling in the lines of his jaw. every second that passes is his to control. in one fluid motion, his hands are at the waistband of his jeans, undoing them with a pull.

the pants slide down, peeling off like skin, and then he’s free. the hard line of him, thick, swollen, standing rigid in the faint light. it gleams, slick at the tip with precum, and her breath stumbles over itself, catching, holding, as her eyes latch onto the sight.

his hand wraps around his cock and he strokes himself, the rhythm heavy. his size makes her breath hitch—the way she knows he’s going to stretch her, fill her completely.

the thought of him fucking into her becomes all-consuming. her thighs tremble, and she can feel the clenching heat between her legs, aching, desperate.

he moves corruptly slow, dragging the swollen tip of his cock down, sliding it through the soaked mess of her folds. it’s a tease, the wet heat of her slick coating him, and the pressure of him right there—right at her entrance—makes her head spin.

a moan escapes, soft, helpless, her lips parting as he toys with her, his cock gliding up and down, never giving her enough, always holding back just a little longer.

his eyes lock with hers, and they’re glowing, that eerie golden glow, something unholy in them, “beg for me.”

“p-please,” she chokes out, the haze of lust clouding every rational thought. “please, beomgyu… i need you. please.”

the second the words spill from her mouth, he moves. he thrusts into her, forcing her open, the thick length of his cock splitting her apart. the stretch is instant, a burn that radiates through her core, and she gasps, her back arching as he fills her.

the tightness of her cunt clamps around him, a desperate attempt to take him all in, and she can feel every inch of him, every ridge, every vein as he pushes deeper, harder, until he’s buried to the hilt, his cock seated deep inside her.

he grips her hips with ruthless strength, his fingers digging into her skin, sure to leave marks, bruises that will linger. he holds her there, buried deep inside her, savoring the way her body shakes, the way her walls flutter around him.

“ah, fuck…” he groans, his voice rough and guttural like he’s barely holding back from wrecking her completely.

a tremble runs through her like a live wire, raw nerves, everything sparking at once. she adjusts to the size of him inside her, body bending, flexing around the thick intrusion. she feels like she's being split open, the sharp line between pleasure and pain blurring until it’s just sensation—hot, pulsing, overwhelming.

he starts to move, each thrust like a shock to her system. his hips grind into her with almost cruel force, ricocheting pleasure up her spine, waves crashing in her chest.

"look at you," he growls, voice thick with satisfaction, "taking me so well. fuck, my little pet, keep making those noises for me,”

she whimpers in response as the coil of pleasure in her belly winds tighter, tighter, pulling her in. he slides in and out of her, their bodies tangled, twisting, rolling together. her cries now mount in endless spirals, loud as if he was murdering her.

beomgyu answers each cry with a deeper thrust, pushing into her harder, his hips slamming against hers with a brutal sound. he’s lost in it, in her, in the need to possess her to annihilation. she belongs to him now, her body molded to fit his touch, pliable under his hands.

his fingers tangle in her hair, yanking her head back, exposing the vulnerable curve of her neck, and his lips find her there, hot and hungry, biting, sucking, the sharp edge of his teeth sinking into her skin between breathless kisses.

his grip tightens as his thrusts become frantic, erratic, the control slipping from his grasp. “s-so fucking close,” he groans, his voice raw, trembling, every word a struggle against the rising tide of his release.

and with one final, savage thrust, she's the first one to shatter.

the orgasm crashes into her with a force that steals her breath, her vision blurring, her walls clamping down around him as her climax takes over.

he escapes a low, animalistic sound. a howl that vibrates through her chest. he fucks her through her oversensitivity and his thrusts grow rougher, less controlled, his hips slamming into hers. the obscene slap of their bodies colliding fills the air, the noise of flesh on flesh, sweat-slick and raw.

he curses under his breath, his hips stuttering, his cock buried deep inside her as he finally comes, his release spilling into her, thick and hot, filling her completely, warmth flooding through her as her body trembles uncontrollably under the onslaught of pleasure.

beomgyu’s teeth sink deep into her flesh. biting hard enough to leave marks, her skin yielding under his canines, and she whimpers, too far gone to feel the pain, her body burning with pleasure, every nerve on fire, every sensation magnified as the aftershocks ripple through her, wave after wave of white-hot bliss.

his cock twitches inside her, pulsing, pumping more of his release into her, and she sobs, her body shaking as the pleasure rips through her, the intensity of it almost too much to bear. her vision blurs, white-hot flashes behind her eyes, and all she can feel is him—filling her, marking her, owning her.

with a snarl, he finally pulls back, releasing her neck, and a soft moan slips from her lips as his tongue flicks over the small wound he’s left behind, licking away the blood, soothing the sting with gentle kisses. there’s a tenderness to his touch now, strange and foreign after the brutality.

slowly, he shifts his hips, easing his cock out of her, and she whimpers at the sensation, her body so sensitive that every movement reignites the sparks of arousal beneath her skin. she feels him drag against her, the last of his release leaking out of her, warm and thick, a reminder of how thoroughly he’s claimed her.

she lies there, spent, panting, her body soft and malleable under his hands, no longer her own but something broken, something he’s molded, possessed. his slave, his ownership, growing soft under his fingers.

for a moment, everything is still.

the only sound is their ragged breathing, their chests rising and falling in sync. his body stays pressed against hers, his warmth seeping into her, grounding her in the moment. his lips brush her ear, “you’re mine now, little red. all mine.”

she doesn’t even have the strength to respond. she’s spent, hollowed out, drained of everything, her body limp, barely held together by the weight of him, by the grip of his hands still clutching her as if she might slip away. everything feels far away, like she’s underwater.

the world fades—blurry sounds, dim lights—and then she’s weightless, cradled in his arms as he carries her like something fragile.

there’s nothing but moonlit quiet and deathly cold in the woods. only the soft fall of his steps, paw prints in the ground.

and little red sleeps, forever nestled in the arms of the tender wolf.

taglist 𖥧𖤣.𖡼°˖ @beomiracles @yoseicour @fairfootedflekk @bubbly-moon @izzyy-stuff and i know more people asked to be on the general taglist but i'm an idiot and i never kept track so. yeah. sorry. just ask again.

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the-s1lly-corner · 10 months ago

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Various Creepypastas x Reader who sleeps in weird spaces

3/5 of the prizes for @reivelmin !!

Post contains: Eyeless Jack, Laughing Jack, Hoodie, Masky, Ticci Toby, Liu, and Bloody Painter!

I actually dont think I've written for Helen before?? I know I havent written for Liu yet so heres to hoping my takes and hcs are accurate!

EYELESS JACK

When he first catches you in the closet sleeping nearly standing straight up he nearly yelps. You made the stoic eyeless Jack, the man who rarely flinches or jumps at anything, jolt. Naturally he wakes you up and asks why you're in there, but no answer really satisfies him. He tries to drag you to bed and for the night everything is.. normal. But this will be far from the last time he finds you sleeping in an odd place, seemingly unbothered. He eventually asks if theres something going on with you, even dumbly asking if theres something wrong with the bed.. but alas, nothing. You just.. sleep like that.. he often drags you into bed so you dont get sore or fall over

LAUGHING JACK

He thinks you're pranking him, and of course he starts cracking up. He commends you for getting him good, only for his laughter to die down when he realizes that you are in fact asleep while curled in a cabinet. For a moment he thinks you.. died.. or worse was murdered and stuffed into the odd place. He nearly rips you out of the space before you finally crack an eye open. Please dont scare him like that again, he does not take abandonment well even if the scenario is someone possibly dying. Once the shock is over with and he grows more used to it, the humor he originally found in it returns.. it almost turns into a game of where hes going to find you next and what position you're going to be in.. he does not bother to take you to bed and if theres room hes going to squeeze in with you wherever you are

MASKY

Hes probably done that at least once, he sometimes watches you in your sleep on the occasion that you actually fall asleep in a normal place (bed, couch, ect) and he kind of slumps into the corner he was sulking in. Though you... certainly one up him when he catches you sleeping on top of the fridge! If you're in a hard to reach place or really deep into it he leaves you be without attempting to get you out. Eventually he kind of just accepts that this is something you do and completely leaves you alone unless you're in the way of something. More likely to wake you up than moving you out of the way, though... you've probably gotten jumpscared by him simply standing there waiting for you to wake up

HOODIE

Very similar to Masky but I do think Hoodie would take you to bed so you dont get sick (floors are cold, people!) Or getting a knot somewhere in your muscles. Partly because he will likely be too busy with his work to tend to you, partly also because he can be stern when it comes to your health. Theres no ifs ands or buts, hes taking you to bed and hes going to keep you there! Hes a big dude too, he'll hold you in place next to him if he has to

TICCI TOBY

He gets it, honestly. If it's like a security or a comfort thing or just out of impulse he gets it. You might find him sleeping in ungodly positions when he crashes at your place, or sleeping under the bed. He has used a chair as a blanket before. He might feel inclined to try to one up you, actually. All fun and games of course! He also does not carry you to bed, and similar to LJ he might just join you if theres room! Just be warned when sleeping around him he might draw on your face or something.. definitely takes your phone so he can take pictures of you to make fun of you later

LIU

For a minute he doesnt realize exactly what's going on. He might actually pick your stuffed animal up and give it back to you and shut the door of the closet before ripping it open as he stares at you. Gently shakes your shoulder to wake you up, and while he might have to get a little harsh to actually get you awake hes apologizing for waking you up. So so so many questions. Why are you doing that? Why dont you come to bed? Will not take no for an answer. He wants answers, if there are any. After you offer an explanation hes a lot more understanding about it although still very.. confused. Are you not worried about falling over in your sleep? Or even just waking up uncomfortable...? That aside how do you even.. sleep standing up like that, and how long were you like that..? He just.. accepts it

BLOODY PAINTER

Very neutral about it, but he does entertain you with questions when he catches you awake in the morning. It doesnt matter where you sleep, hes not going to disturb you unless you get in his way. But considering hes claimed a corner in your home for himself and his belongings, you don't have to worry about that! Despite claiming to not mind all that much you still seem to wake up in bed despite falling asleep under it. He'll never admit to moving you, but theres no other person who could have done it.. he also wont ever say it but he does sometimes want you to lay next to him

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slasherstories123 · 5 months ago

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Hello!! Can I please get some period comfort fluff with Jason, Thomas, RZ micheal and Art (whoever else you'd like to add) thank you xoxo

Slashers helping their S/O on their period

Pairing: Jason Voorhees, RZ! Michael Myers, Thomas Hewitt, and Art the Clown x GN! Reader

Tags list: @dootys @callmemeelah @fluffy-little-demon @mehidktbh @the-anxious-youth @beanbagbitch @mrs-heelshire @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better @oneofvincentscandles @sleepypersonblog @alexxavicry @vexeliers-breakroom @l0sercat @naxxsstuff @beel-mcburger @pink-apollo @charliedawn @emychan @slasherscrybaby @callsignwidow @endomishy

Jason Voorhees

Jason will do anything you ask just to help out, he hates seeing you in pain. Especially from cramps and will grab the biggest pain killer bottle he can find just to give to you.

He doesn’t understand the concept so it’s best to sit him down and talk about it just before the time comes just so he could help out.

Sadly. He isn’t a walking heating pad, if he were to place his hand on your stomach to try and soothe your cramps you’ll feel a cold sensation, ice cold to be exact.

He’ll put you in you a warm bath if he sees that your cramps are getting worse

He’s trying his best just to make sure you’re okay and will give you space if you need it.

He’ll cuddle you as long as you want if you want to given his cold body, if you don’t mind it, he’s never letting you go unless you say so just to be there as company and support.

RZ!Michael Myers

Michael doesn’t know much about periods, but he did have an older sister, even then, that wasn’t enough for him, all he knew was that it was a monthly thing women go through.

He knew you were going through it when he saw you curled up in a ball in bed from the excruciating cramps, he doesn’t know what to do until you tell him want your needs were.

He’s trying…for you at least, the best he can do is provide you medicine. All the while staring at your pained figure. If you want him to stay he will.

Michaels hands are warm, he always have something in his hands and will squeeze relentlessly. He’ll even let you place his hand on your stomach as your own heating pad just to help you (after your slight begging of course).

He’ll steal candy from the critters houses to give to you too, you’ll sometimes find them by your night stand or right by your pillow whenever you wake up from a nap.

Thomas Hewitt

He gets help from Luda Mae mostly. He’s clueless and ran straight to her when he saw you curled up in bed.

She’ll tell him everything you might need just so he can be a better help for you.

Thomas will find a way to cool you down since being hot AND on your period isn’t a good mix. He’ll do the smallest things, even if it’s a massage he’ll do it.

Even if you protest he’ll make you rest and will do any small tasks that were assigned for you.

In the night he’ll meekness you to take medicine before bed just so you won’t be in pain throughout the nights

Thomas skin is hot from the Texas heat. His hand makes the perfect heating pad for you too. Whatever cuddling position you’re in his hand will be on your stomach through the night.

Art the Clown

Art is definitely trying his best, and since his actions are different, he’ll go through extreme measures just to get the products you need for your period.

He’ll still pull rather weird tricks just to get a laugh out of you or to distract you from the pain in your stomach.

Most tricks involve weird tactics or disturbing ones, which are in his nature that you’ve gotten used to and you yourself even got to laugh at a few of them

Art is an affectionate guy who will squeeze you tight while cuddling if you ask him to. If it’s a small hug he’ll take it to the next level just to squeeze you in his arms like a stress toy.

Art will also govern you small twinkles he stole or found just to give to you to cheer you up if you’re having your period mood swings. Sometimes he’ll play along if you’re upset and cross his arms with a fake angry expression just to try and mock you.

It’s all harmless in the end.

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fawnhunter · 6 months ago

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natural instincts…

sick and laying in my bed which also means i can’t stop thinking about cregan and the stark baby making gene that definitely runs in the family. cw: dis is mostly smut with a side of fluff, no angst at all. talk of breeding and imprégnation, as well as some talk of family life.

so it’s no secret to any of the beautiful brains on tumblr that the stark men have a certain habit of tripping and falling and maybe putting a baby in their pretty lady wives. and well i believe that cregan stark is no different. it’s so fucking cold in the north, and even though he is a man grown that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy a nice warm cunt to settle into at the end of the night. he works so hard :/ constantly walking around and performing his duty as lord of the north.

i can imagine how insufferable he’d be before you are wed. the thought of building a family with you always on him mind. sneaking into ur chambers before the sun is y over the hills, just to slide into bed with his hand on your stomach and dream about the life he can’t wait to have with you. talking over ir shoulder until you go to sleep and slipping back into his own chambers. it gets even worse once u finally belong to him under the eyes of the seven. on ur first official night together, during the bedding ceremony, he was incredibly gentle with you. so grateful to have you as his wife that he could even think to push you abt heirs. no he’s never allow those old fuck in the room to watch as he takes you over and over again, he allows them to listen to ur cries through the walls, opening the chamber doors and tossing the sheets at them after splitting u open on his cock for the first time that night. happiest man on the planet once he gets you back in his arm and under one of his favorite pelts.

i can imagine one day he sees you talking one of the young lords who had gotten lost and was search for his mother. stumbled upon you coddling him and wiping his tears until another his morhwr is found again. the whole ordeal has him feeling some kind of way, he can’t even find it in himself to approach you over the feeling of him stiffening between his thighs. he thinks about it for the rest of the day, the thought of making you a mother. just lalala scatter brained cregan stumbling around the training grounds things about stirring up ur guts the second you get back to ur shared chambers and keeping you on ur back until ur sure to be taken with his seed.

nsfw!!!!

baby making time! cregan is my man with a plan. he has been planting little seeds in ur brain for weeks now. talking about how cute having someone who looks just like you would be. or how much he would love to see ur belly get rounder with ever passing moon. wrapping his hands around ur stomach and pressing down right where ur womb would be, rocking you back and forth while pressing his slowly gardening cock into ur backside. his plan is going so well that it’s only be a matter of time before he has ur body crowded against the sheets of his bed. face down with tears wetting his sheets while his pillow sits comfortably underneath ur hips. sliding his cock in the space between ur thighs before finally oushing past the tight space of ur cunt. his front pressed against ur back while he lifts his hips and slams back into you at a toe curling pace. one hand keeping ur hips pressed against his while the other wraps around ur front, groping at whatever he can feel to lift you back into him, swallowing ur whines with a kiss. when all is said and done he likes to pull out and admire his work, the mess he’s made of you. rolling you over and sliding the pillow back under ur hips so you’ll be sure to bless him with a mini stark sometime soon.

he also is not the kind of man who refrains form touch you while you are with his child. it’s hard to ignore the way ur chest starts to swell along with your stomach, spilling out of the lovely dresses you wear. or the way ur body starts to beings softer.. more plush. completing him to dig his fingers into ur hips and revel in the marks he leave behind. so head over heels for his pregnant lady wife that he might wanna start keep her that way. swollen and sweet with his child.

this was typed during a fever dream so sorry for any mistakes. hotd requests are open!

#hotd #hotd imagine #house of the dragon #cregan fanfiction #cregan x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #hotd smut #hotd headcanons #i’d give this man so many kid it’s not even funny #chatterboxclaire #cregan x you #cregan stark fanfic #hotd fanfic

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solarmorrigan · 3 months ago

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Lucky

For the @steddie-spooktober day 13 prompt: Superstition Rated: T | Words: 1096 | CW: None | Tags: established relationship, furthering my Steve Harrington is a cat person agenda, Eddie tries to be the reasonable one, fluff Divider credit: @steddiecameraroll-graphics

Surprising Steve Harrington fact: the man is superstitious.

It’s not obvious at first. It actually takes Eddie a little while to notice, but the details pile up: the way he tosses a pinch of salt over his shoulder when the shaker tips over, the way he absently knocks on wood any time someone says something even remotely jinxable, the way he had insisted on carrying their bedroom mirror himself when they’d finally gotten around to buying one because he refused to risk breaking it (to be fair, that last one could go either way in terms of evidence, Eddie has been known to get distracted while carrying things, but he maintains that Steve had handled it with a disproportionate amount of care and concern as they hung it on the wall).

The final nail in the coffin had been when he’d thrown a fit at Eddie for opening an umbrella inside the apartment – not just because it’s bad luck, but because he apparently doesn’t trust Eddie not to take out the picture frames on the wall with it (which is fair enough, Eddie guesses).

In any case, it’s because of this that the most surprising thing about coming home to find Steve cuddling a kitten Eddie’s never seen before isn’t the fact that he’s cuddling a kitten Eddie’s never seen before, it’s that the kitten’s fur is jet black.

Steve, who steps around cracks on the sidewalk and won’t go under ladders and thinks Friday the thirteenth is an unlucky day, is cuddling a tiny black cat.

“Am I interrupting something?” Eddie asks, watching as the kitten rubs its cheek clumsily against the edge of Steve’s jaw, purring so loudly that he can hear it from where he stands by the door.

“Eddie!” Steve grins over at him from the couch, beckoning to him with the hand that isn’t currently full of feline. “C’mere, I want you to meet someone.”

“Oh, boy,” Eddie mutters under his breath; sounds like Steve’s already attached. Louder, he asks, “So who’s this?”

“I found him outside, just sitting in the road. I couldn’t leave him out there,” Steve says, gently unhooking the kitten’s claws from the collar of his shirt before presenting it to Eddie.

The thing is absolutely tiny – a ball of black fluff that fits in the palm of just one of Steve’s hands (though Steve is carefully holding it with both) and it stares up at Eddie with enormous eyes that are still baby blue.

“So… you found a random animal outside and just decided to bring it in?” Eddie asks, and he can practically hear Uncle Wayne in his tone.

“It’s cold out, and he was all wet. I couldn’t just leave him,” Steve says again, pulling the kitten back against his chest; the kitten, for its part, goes happily, rubbing its cheek against Steve’s shirt and settling in.

“But what if it has fleas, or something?” Eddie asks (he’s definitely pulling from Wayne’s playbook now; Eddie had tried to bring home so many lost pets and wild animals as a kid, ones they wouldn’t have been able to afford or that they shouldn’t have had inside at all, and Wayne had gotten pretty good at deterring him).

Steve scoffs at him. “I checked him over when I gave him a bath, he doesn’t have fleas.”

Eddie stares back. “You gave a kitten a bath?”

“I told you, he was all wet and muddy. I figured the bath would warm him up and get him clean. Two birds, one stone. He barely even scratched me!” Steve holds one hand out for Eddie to see, apparently quite proud that there’s only a handful of angry red lines there, before petting back over the kitten’s tiny head with two fingers. “He’s really well-behaved.”

Christ, it’s worse than Eddie had thought; if Steve had willingly put something wet and muddy in his car, he isn’t just attached, he’s probably already in love with the thing.

“Aren’t black cats supposed to be bad luck?” Eddie tries – a last-ditch effort.

The look Steve shoots him is pure affront. “He isn’t bad luck,” he snaps out. “I nearly hit him with my car. The fact that I managed to see him, when it was dark out, and stop in time is crazy. I think we should call him ‘Lucky,’ make it official.”

Eddie bites the inside of his lip, holding in a noise of frustration. “Baby,” he finally manages, gently as he can, “don’t you think that if he’s this affectionate and this well-behaved, it might mean that he’s already someone’s pet?”

Steve frowns, looking down at the kitten. He strokes its tiny ears with the tip of one finger and the thing purrs up a storm. “He doesn’t have any tags, or anything…”

“He’s pretty small, still, Steve. His owners just might not have gotten around to it yet,” Eddie says, reaching out and placing a hand on Steve’s leg, giving him a consoling squeeze.

Steve sighs and the kitten mirrors it, hunkering down in Steve’s hold for a nap. Steve looks back up at Eddie, and fucking hell, if the kitten’s big blue gaze hadn’t been bad enough, Steve’s puppy dog eyes are going to kill him.

Eddie hadn’t been the only one who’d wanted a pet as a kid; Steve had begged his mom and dad for a dog or a cat or a hamster or anything when he’d been younger, something to keep him company in the lonely stretches spent with disinterested babysitters and then with no one at all. He’d always been denied, told that animals were too messy and too much work, but now–

Well, now, Eddie has no idea if anyone is missing this cat, or if their apartment actually allows pets, or if they’ll even be good at taking care of an animal, but he does know that he’s always been terrible at saying no to Steve.

“How about this?” Eddie finally says. “We’ll take him to the vet, and we’ll ask around, and we’ll do the whole posters thing, and if no one calls and claims him…”

“Yeah?” A smile dawns slow and delighted across Steve’s face.

Eddie sighs, letting his head fall back in a show of put-upon defeat. “Then we’ll keep the damn cat.”

The kiss Steve gives Eddie is just as delighted as his smile, and lasts as long as it takes for the kitten to start peeping, jostled between the two of them.

(And it’s just their luck that no one ever does call to claim him.

Lucky stays.)

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie-spooktober #imagine Steve cuddling a tiny kitten and remain unaffected #you can't do it #and neither can Eddie #solar wrote #eddiesteve

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girlgenius1111 · 1 year ago

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don't doubt us.

ingrid x mapi x reader

r gets sick. mapi and ingrid get overprotective. r pushes herself too hard, but her girlfriends know what she needs better than she does

18+ smut!

-----

It started with a rain game; everyone had gotten a bit of a cold from it, but it spiraled into something worse for you. Maybe because, at first, your girlfriends were sicker than you, so you'd ignored your own, milder symptoms, in favor of waiting on them hand and foot. As they got better, you got worse.

You'd gone to bed the night before with a slight fever, a dry cough, and a stuffy nose you were definitely playing down to Ingrid and Mapi. You woke up, however, to a hazy darkness around you, and one of your girlfriend's soft voices in your ear. You couldn't really focus on what she was saying, or really who was talking; all you could think was that you were too hot.

Ingrid had shaken Mapi awake a few minutes before, after waking up herself to the sound of you wheezing in your sleep. They'd listened carefully for a minute, before rolling you onto your back to try to improve your airflow. When you kept wheezing, Ingrid gently tried to rouse you.

"Elskling, wake up for me please," she said, watching as your eyes fluttered open and shut. You only groaned in response, turning on your side to roll into Mapi's chest. It was comfortable there, soft. Mapi smelled like... Mapi, like trees and fresh air, a scent you deeply related to feeling safe, and you weren't very interested in leaving that feeling behind.

"No, princesa, you need to wake up," the Spaniard said easing you again onto your back.

"Nooo," you whined pitifully, voice a raspy whisper, eyes tightly shut again.

"Sí, amor, venga," Mapi murmured, running a finger lightly over the creases in your forehead, wincing at the heat radiating off your skin. You cracked an eye open, about to tell your girlfriends to leave you alone, but instead, you broke into a violent coughing fit. The other girls hauled you up into a sitting position, hovering anxiously as you coughed, wheezing on every sharp inhale.

"Breathe, love," Ingrid said, rubbing her hand up and down your back. You could only shake your head at her. Your expression was one of panic as you realized you couldn't stop coughing. A hand on you cheek coaxed you to look away from Ingrid, and towards Mapi.

"Relax, mi niña, do not panic," Mapi encouraged, holding your face to keep your eyes on her. She over-exaggerated her own breaths, and your coughing slowly stopped. It took you a while to catch your breath, and your girlfriends seemed to be having a silent conversation around you. Ingrid handed you a glass of water, which you drank carefully. When you were done, you handed it back to Ingrid, leaning heavily into Mapi. Her tattooed arms wrapped around you, pulling you into her, and she couldn't help but notice the way your body shook, or the sound your chest made every time you breathed in. The Norwegian scooted closer to the both of you until you were squished in between them. You'd relaxed slightly, but you tensed back up at the words Ingrid spoke into your ear.

"We need to go to the doctor, love," she stated delicately. You opened your mouth to argue, but Mapi was talking before you could.

"No, no arguments. Your breathing sounds awful, you could have pneumonia."

You rolled your eyes. "I don't have pneumonia, don't be ridicu-" you were cut off by another coughing fit. Once you'd stopped coughing, you looked between the girls next to you. It was dark, and you couldn't make out much of their expressions, but both of them seemed to be looking at you expectantly.

"Fine."

-----

You did have pneumonia, it turned out. How you were so sick was beyond you, but you couldn't argue much about the fuss Ingrid and Mapi were making over you, laid in a hospital bed with an oxygen mask pulled over your face. You thought it was overkill, and you'd tried to take it off, but Ingrid had looked like she might tape it to your face if you removed it, so you left it.

You were sleepy, but not quite comfortable enough to sleep. The IV pulled at your skin, and your lungs felt like they weren't expanding all the way. Mapi was dead asleep in a chair on your other side, her face resting next to where her hand held yours. Ingrid sat in a chair next to the bed, her fingers tracing patterns over your forehead. Your eyes kept fluttering shut, and you would start to drift off, but something would wake you; a pinch of pain from the needle in your hand, a beep from the monitor you were connected to, a loud voice from down the hall. You had startled back awake multiple times, and Ingrid sighed, knowing you needed to rest.

"Can I do something to make you more comfortable?" she whispered, minding the Spaniard's sleeping form on your other side. You briefly pulled the mask away from your face to answer her.

"You could get me out of here." You whispered back, ignoring the way Ingrid's expression tightened. Your inability to admit you weren't well was something that came up often in your relationship; it annoyed Ingrid and Mapi to no end, but they couldn't be mad at you, not really.

"Not gonna happen, elskling." Ingrid responds, kissing your cheek as you pout slightly. Struck with an idea, though, a smirk finds its way onto your face.

"Watch," you instruct Ingrid, before turning to Mapi.

"OW!" you cry, jerking your hand away from Mapi's. She jerks awake, sitting up in her chair, looking around frantically.

"What? What is it? What hurts?" she demands, eyes scanning you. You laugh, and Ingrid scolds you lightly. Mapi's eyes narrow, and she leans back in her chair, glaring at you. Ingrid pulls the mask back over your face, allowing it to snap into your skin just slightly. You're still laughing, and Ingrid shakes her head.

"Is that what I get for making you come to the hospital?" Mapi questions. You pull the mask away again, ignoring Ingrid's annoyed huff.

"No, that's what you get for sleeping when I'm the sick one, and I can't fall asleep." You're kind of joking, but Mapi's expression softens entirely, and she stands, gesturing for you to make room on the bed. With a confused look, you do, scooting over to the edge. The defender slips onto the bed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you until you're nestled against her.

"Better?" She asks. You turn to look at her, and melt a little at how adoringly she looks back at you. You nod in response, and she smiles, satisfied, kissing your forehead lightly. "Good. Rest now."

You nod again, resting your head against her chest. Your eyes find Ingrid, who is watching the 2 of you with a loving smile on her face. You reach your hand out, and she takes it, lacing her fingers with yours. You let out a long sigh, allowing your eyes to drift shut. They don't snap open this time, and you're sure it's because your girls have done everything possible to make you comfortable, and feel safe.

-----

Your hospital stay is short lived, and your sent home with antibiotics after a day. Ingrid and Mapi take the following days off of training, insisting on staying home to take care of you. This, you get used to. They return to training a full week before you're even allowed back in the gym, and you quickly miss their doting care, kind touches.

By the time a week has passed, you're desperate to get back to normal with them, feeling heavily left out when they return from training together, even though they're always ecstatic to see you.

You think that returning to training would make things better, but you spend your days in the gym, while they are out on the pitch with the rest of the team. They got to spend all day together, while you were alone inside. You'd been so exhausted from being sick that you'd been sleeping more than usual, meaning you had even less time to spend with them. Combined with the fact that they'd been together before you'd gotten with them, you couldn't help but feel insecure.

You know you're being ridiculous, really. It's your job, and they're doing nothing, absolutely nothing, to warrant you feeling so neglected. Obviously, their care and concern for you had faded since you'd gotten better. You weren't really sure why you felt so distanced from them, but you're extremely tired of the feeling.

So, when the team doctor tells you that, technically, you can return to team training that afternoon, although another few days of light work wouldn't hurt, you jump at the chance. You expect your girlfriends to be excited for you, but when you tell them the news, making your way outside during a water break, you're met with frowns. They both think you should give it a few days, and your chest burns with hurt and embarrassment. Again, you know, in your brain, that they really are just concerned for your health. It still feels like rejection, though, and you replied harshly to them, storming off to the outdoor gym for the second session of the day, this time with the team.

Your frustration fuels you, and you fly through the workout. Ingrid and Mapi are watching you so carefully, which should make you feel better, but doesn't. You only push yourself harder, like you have something to prove. By the end, your girlfriends are staring daggers at you from across the gym, and you are sweating heavily, chest heaving as you catch your breath. Your teammates catch the tension between the 3 of you, and leave you all alone to deal with it.

You ignore Ingrid and Mapi completely as they try to check in with you, marching right past them into the locker room. You barely speak to them on the car ride home, at which point you can tell Ingrid is holding her anger back by a thread. You expect the slamming of the car door to be the last straw, as Ingrid has never been a fan of brattiness. You're right; Ingrid is whirling you around the second you get into the house, Mapi sighing and leaning back, a mere spectator for now. You go back and forth with Ingrid in circles, until you're both shouting, and not really listening to a word the other is saying.

-----

"Because, elskling, you are supposed to be taking it easy," Ingrid yelled, not doing well to hide her frustration. Mapi sighed from where she stood against the wall, arms crossed, watching your guys' argument.

"I was cleared by the doctor, Ingrid, I don't need you hovering over me every second of everyday," you shouted back.

"Y/n-," Mapi started.

"- Do not speak to me like that, y/n. We are only looking out for you. I do not understand why you are being so reckless with your health, throwing yourself back into training like that."

"Jesus Ingrid, the physio said it was fine."

"The physio also said it wouldn't hurt to wait another week!"

"I couldn't wait any longer! If you just want to spend time alone together the 2 of you, you can just tell me that, instead of trying to force me into staying out another week," you cry, tears beginning to fall from your eyes.

"Y/n, what are you talking about? Of course we want to spend time with you," Mapi cut in, stepping inconspicuously next to Ingrid, and laying a hand on her arm. Ingrid looked stunned into silence.

"Well it doesn't feel like that. Both of you can just fuck off, and leave me alone, I don't need your permission to start training again, and I don't need you guys monitoring my every move," you snap, marching off towards the bedroom.

"Y/n!" Ingrid grabs your wrist as you pass by her, but you don't turn to face her. "We are not done here. You know what happens when you speak to us like that. We have rules for a reason, elskling, and you have broken several of them today." The Norwegian reminds you, speaking dangerously softly.

Instead of answering, you pull away from your girlfriend, stomping into the bedroom and slamming the door. You head right into the bathroom, turning the shower on, before sinking to the ground.

You know you're in for it when you leave the bathroom. You'd been rude and dismissive of your girlfriends all day, even though you knew, rationally, that they were just acting overprotective because they cared for you.

When both girls suggested you take another week to heal, and really give your lungs a rest, it felt like they just didn't want you at training with them. You hadn't even really heard them out before snapping at them to mind their own business, in front of most of the team. This, they probably could have let slide, but you kept up the attitude all the way home, culminating in a shouting match between you and Ingrid.

Your frustration also had another factor- your girlfriends hadn't touched you since you'd gotten sick, and you were aching for them. So, you used your frustration with them to fuel an argument, and acted in a way which you knew would mean a punishment. A punishment was what you thought you wanted. So, you shower quickly, trying to wipe your tears away before they stain your cheeks, preparing yourself for whatever Ingrid and Mapi have in store for you.

-----

When you leave the bathroom you are met with your girlfriends waiting for you on the bed, speaking quietly to each other. They stop talking as soon as you walk in, and they don't miss how your eyes drop to the ground, or the way you're dressed in an assortment of their clothes. They hadn't realized, until your outburst, how neglected you'd been feeling. They were wrought with guilt over it, and determined to make it better, make you feel better. They weren't sure that a punishment was what you needed though.

Silently, you walked into the room, hesitating before opting to stand by the bed, instead of taking a seat next to them. You honestly didn't know how mad they were, but you expected them to be pretty upset at your behavior. Ingrid surprises you, though.

"Y/n, come here, darling," she says, and it's not what you're expecting. Ingrid's kind, gentle voice, not the voice she uses when she's about to punish you. Normally, that voice fills you with arousal, but today, this soft voice has the same effect. This is perhaps your first hint that you need something gentler than you are expecting to get.

You walk over to Ingrid, standing in between her legs. Even sitting down, she's almost eye level with you. You look at her, meeting her eyes for the first time that day, and once again don't find what you are expecting to. Her hands flutter over your cheeks, fingertips dancing around the dried tear tracks. Instead of saying anything, she pulls you in for a kiss, her lips meeting yours. It's sensual and heavy, her hands threading through your hair as she tries to put her love for you behind the kiss. Her lips work against yours steadily, tongue slipping in to press against yours, and Mapi watches as you melt against your girlfriend, almost boneless at her touch.

The Spaniard moves to stand behind you, pressing herself up against your body, sweeping your hair to the side and beginning to suck light marks into your neck. You moan into Ingrid's mouth, a sound she swallows, one hand dropping back to hold Mapi against you. You're breathless already, and Ingrid moves her lips from yours down to your neck, her and Mapi working hickeys into your skin from either side of you.

"Don't understand," you get out, trying to determine what their game is. This isn't normally how a punishment goes, especially not when you've broken multiple rules.

"What don't you understand, bonita?" Mapi whispers into your ear, and you suck in a breath at the feeling of her warm exhales on you.

"You're supposed to be punishing me," you say, tilting your chin down in accordance with Ingrid's suddenly insistent hand on your face.

"Do you think that's what you need, elskling? To be punished?" she husks. If they're trying to distract you, it's working. You can barely focus on anything either of them are saying, especially when the other's mouth is hot on your skin.

"Doesn't matter. I broke the rules, I should be punished," you say, not really understanding what they're getting at. Ingrid reattaches her lips to your skin as Mapi speaks again into your ear.

"I don't think you need to be punished. I think you need us to remind you how much we love you."

At this, you step back, sliding out from between them. They look at you searchingly, the panicked look on your face.

"I can take my punishment, I can be good," you say, and their faces melt into understanding.

"We know you can, bonita. You are so good for us."

"We haven't been paying you enough attention, that's why you broke the rules. We want to make that up to you, okay?"

"But the punishment,"

"Forget about the punishment. We only care about making you feel good, reminding you how much we need you."

You look between them, surprised. They are rarely on the same side in the bedroom, one preferring to be rough while the other prefers to be soft. They switch off in these rolls, letting the other take control when they want to. Today, though, they seem to be on the same side, convinced you need them to remind you that they love you. Which, you suppose, you do. You've felt the opposite this week, something they've figured out.

"Okay" you whisper, stepping back towards them. They both smile at you, allowing you to slip back between them. You're leaning down, intent on resuming your kiss with Ingrid, but she stops you.

"Is this what you want, darling? We don't have to do anything, we can just cuddle and talk, if that's what you need." she says, stroking your cheek gently with the pads of her fingers.

"No," you say, breathless at the thought of them stopping. "No, I want you both, please,"

"You have us, niña bonita, always." Mapi promises, lips pressing lightly against your ear as she speaks. You shudder at the feeling. Ingrid's lips meet yours again, and she kisses you harder this time, teeth nipping at your bottom lip, tongue sliding aggressively into your mouth. She takes full control, running her hands up and down your sides. You pull away, reaching back for Mapi, and guiding them towards each other. They comply, lips finding each other in a hot and messy kiss. This is about you, yes, and there’s nothing more that you love than watching your girlfriends together. Watching them take each other apart. Unlike with you, Ingrid does not immediately dominate the kiss. Mapi's hand wraps lightly around Ingrid's throat, other arm possessively holding you against her, and Ingrid shudders, allowing Mapi to deepen the kiss.

You watch them for a couple minutes before you can't help the needy whimper slipping past your lips. They break away from the kiss at the sound of it, both turning to you, cheeks swollen and pupils dilated.

"Don't worry, beautiful girl, we haven't forgotten about you," Ingrid assures, voice deep and filled with arousal. "Let us take care of you, yes? You just relax, let us fuck that pretty pussy," she continues, tugging your pants down your legs. You nod, unable to form words. They both smirk at you, before Ingrid is tugging your top off, leaving you completely naked, and Mapi is darting off to the drawer where you keep the toys.

The Norwegian doesn't waste any time, guiding you onto your back on the bed, and settling in between your legs. Ingrid sighs at the sight of you, already wet and ready for her. She lazily strokes a finger up and down your center, smiling up at you. Mapi returns to the bed, in just a sports bra and shorts, strap and dildo in hand. She sets them on the bed, sitting down next to you. She spreads your legs farther for Ingrid.

"How does she look, princesa?" She asks Ingrid, hand stroking across your chest.

"So wet for us." Ingrid replies, before diving in, mouth attaching itself to your cunt. You let out a keening wine, back arching at first contact.

"Already making such pretty sounds for Ingrid, hmm?" Mapi hums, fingers moving to tweak your nipples. "You must have needed us so badly, bebé." Mapi say sympathetically.

"So bad, need you so bad," you reply, barely coherent as Ingrid's mouth works against you. Her tongue is dipping inside, pressing in and out of your entrance, nose rubbing just slightly against your clit. Your hands find their way into Ingrid's black hair, intertwining with the thick strands. Ingrid increases her pace, encouraged, and you're close embarrassingly fast. She moves her mouth, focusing her tongue on your clit, before taking it into her mouth and sucking.

"Fuck, Ingrid," you try to warn her, but your words are cut off as the waves of pleasure begin to increase in intensity.

"Are you gonna come already?" Mapi whispers in your ear, just a hint of teasing detectable in her voice. You can only nod, as Ingrid sucks harder on your clit, pushing you over the edge. Your legs clamp down on her head, and your whole body shudders as she works you through it. Mapi has attached her lips to your nipple, suckling lightly as you come down from your orgasm. You blink your eyes open after a minute, looking down to see Ingrid resting her face on your thigh, face smeared with your slick, lips upturned as she watches Mapi work at your chest.

Your orgasm has done very little to satisfy you, and you reach for Mapi almost desperately. She looks up as your hand tugs on her face insistently.

"Sí?" she asks, pretending to be exasperated at being taken away from one of her favorite activities.

"I need you," you whine, and Mapi takes pity on you, pulling away from your chest. She nods at Ingrid, and you are amazed at their ability to communicate, without words. Ingrid stands, tugging her clothes off, before climbing back to settle against the pillows. You're busy staring at her, at the way her fingers move down to lightly play with her own pussy, when Mapi pulls your legs, until they're hanging off the edge of the bed. She's strapped up, and she's peeling her bra off. Her breasts sit perkily, nipples pebbled, on her chest as she looks down at you hungrily. Ingrid has a perfect view of you both, you realize.

"You want my fingers first?" she asks, knowing that sometimes you enjoy the stretch of her cock in you, loving when she fucks you open, slow and steady. This is one of those times.

"No, please, your cock," you beg, gazing up at her with desire written clear across your face. Mapi smiles, before flipping you onto your stomach. Your legs hold you up, and your eyes meet Ingrid's, who is settled on the bed just a couple feet away from you. Her eyes are dark, trained on your ass pressing back into Mapi.

Mapi quickly covers the dildo in lube, before running it up and down your core teasingly. She presses into your hole achingly slowly, centimeter by centimeter. The stretch burns perfectly, and you grip the sheets in your hands, letting out a low groan at the feeling.

"How does she feel?" Ingrid husks, carefully watching Mapi as she teases her own entrance with one finger.

"So tight, so fucking perfect," Mapi grunts, pushing in further and further.

"And you elskling? How does María feel inside of you?" The Norwegian questions. Ingrid loves this, really loves this. Watching Mapi fuck you, making you both tell her how good the other feels.

"Perfect, she's perfect," you manage to stutter. Mapi speeds up then, bottoming out inside of you. Normally, this position is one in which Mapi rails you. It doesn't seem like that's her goal today, though, as she keeps her strokes deep and hard. She's hitting your spot with every stroke, hips audibly smacking into your ass.

"I want you to come with me, elskling, understand?" Ingrid questions, and you force your eyelids open. Ingrid is working two fingers in and out of herself, other hand playing with her clit. You nod, and Mapi speeds up, just slightly. Her hand is on your ass, then, and she's spreading your cheeks, finger stroking over your second hole. You've played around with anal before, but never spontaneously like this, and Mapi pauses, finger pressed lightly over your asshole, waiting for the go ahead.

"Yes?" she asks, leaning down to leave a kiss on your shoulder blade.

"Yes, jesus, yes Mapi," you moan, and she presses her finger into you, knuckle by knuckle. She moves it slowly, and you're tight enough that one finger is perfect. You feel her in your ass and in your pussy, and you feel yourself hurtling towards the edge. You're looking at Ingrid, who's fingers are fucking into herself fast, and you can tell she's close. She's letting out little moans, inhaling deep breaths. Behind you, Mapi is apparently close too, as she's now grinding the strap into you slightly, something you know she does when she's trying to get off.

"I'm close," you cry, "please, please can I come," you beg, and Ingrid bites her lip, watching as pleasure takes over your face, eyes shutting, mouth falling open as Mapi fucks you.

"Come." Ingrid says, and you do, walls tightening around Mapi's cock until she can barely move inside of you, finger in your ass stilling as well. Mapi presses in one final time, holding you tight against her as she comes too, with a long moan of your name. Ingrid finishes on her fingers, body jerking as she works herself through the aftershocks.

You're exhausted, whole body tingly, and you go limp on the mattress, breath stuttering. You whimper as Mapi pulls out and disappears into the bathroom. Ingrid pulls you up the bed, waiting until you come back down a little to hand you water. Mapi returns, 2 washcloths in hand to clean you both up, which she does with soft care, leaving light, loving kisses to each of your thighs and stomachs, finishing with a light peck to your lips.

Your head is empty, laying on your stomach on the bed, face turned towards Ingrid. You feel Mapi settle on your other side, and she presses up against you, nuzzling her nose into your neck. Ingrid slides down on your other side, hand cupping your cheek.

"You feel better?" she asks, and you know she doesn't mean physically.

"Yes." They'd successfully made you forget what you were upset about It seems ridiculous, suddenly, that you worried that either of them didn't want you around. "I love you both."

Both girls murmur the words back to you, and Ingrid tugs the covers up over your bodies. Your limbs are all tangled with each others and you don't know where you end, and they begin. It's always like this, after sex. You feel so connected to them, as they've reminded you that they know your body better than you do. It was exactly what you needed today, and you're even more reassured. They knew you didn't need to be punished, even though you were acting as you you were. They've made their care for you evident. You promise yourself that you'll never doubt it again.

-----

i’ve been writing this for so long you don’t know how happy i am for it to be done

#woso #woso imagine #woso x reader #mapi leon x reader #ingrid engen x reader #mapi leon x ingrid engen #mapi leon x ingrid engen x reader

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muntitled · 1 year ago

Text

𝙃𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙚𝙬𝙞𝙛𝙚'𝙨 𝙇𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩

Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

Summary: Pregnancy definitely sucks but you take your complaints too far, and soon, you're left with the laborious task of making it up to Satoru

Warnings: Domestic Fluff, Petty!Satoru, Tantrums, God Complex (It's Satoru), Humor, Smut (+18) Minors DNI, Praise Kink, Make up sex, Pregnant sex, Office Sex, Touch starved!reader, DDLG, Daddy Kink, Corruption Kink, Eye Contact, Dirty Talk, Cervix fucking, Lactation kink, Dom/Sub undertones, Subspace, Overstimulation

♡ please excuse me, I'm ovulating

"Is there any way I could park closer? So that your journey might be a quicker one?" Despite his voice dripping with nothing but kindness, you find your eyes narrowing at the taxi driver and his close cropped, black hair.

"I may look fat but my limbs are in perfect working conditions, Sir, I assure you," Admittedly, a low blow. The driver reels back, muttering his profuse apologies which immediately softens your resolve.

It is wholeheartedly unfair. The driver could not anticipate the way in which his words would grate at your wavering kindness. He is essentially blameless and perhaps even considerate in his line of questioning. He didn't have any intentions of insulting you.

After all, It was not his fault that you were currently sporting a nasty bump because Satoru decided to inject you with his release until finally he succeeded and you were burdened with the weight of his spawned and this baby, you feel, is a heavy one. One that has your steel emotions melting into guilt, like the deserted tar under the bright summer sun.

"Just here, should be fine," The taxi driver had gotten an impressive tip to make up for your rudeness and you scooted your way out. Soon, you were on the pavement that led into the forest framed by an impressively maintained torii. The driver eyed the gateway solemnly as you shrugged your backpack on, subconsciously grateful for the sundress combatting the summer heat.

"Have a nice day!" You attempt to soften your voice, as soft as you can make it given your current condition.

Condition.

The thought - that word- has you flinching as you make your way up the mountain. The very reason for this journey playing off in your mind's eye with a freshness.

'Condition?' Satoru, had said when you let the word slip the previous evening. The taxi driver had not been the only one affected by your foul mood but last night you were particularly nasty. Gojo's spawn was on a mission to drain you of all your energy, leeching off your nutrients but expecting you to eat at every hour. The Little Monster was testing your patience and it wasn't even born yet.

'You're having my baby,' Gojo had said, 'Not suffering from a disease.' As you both prepared for bed, Gojo, exchanging his black blindfold for the fluffy pink sleep mask which he had invariably stolen from you, while you wobbled your heaviness into bed.

"Trust me, Satoru, when I say that you honestly could have fooled me.' You scoffed, "This baby is making me sick." It had been more and more difficult to disguise the true nature of pregnancy, especially while everyone around lived their lives so carefree and un-pregnant- but you still should not have said what you said. And Satoru was 100% justified in assuming a tantrum.

You were forced to go to bed, with an ice cold, Satoru, refusing to curl up beside you like he usually did. Instead of brushing up behind you, ready to allay that constant state of need that you were haunted by, Gojo stole his warmth away from you. You went to bed without the sensation of his cock grinding into your ass and his long slender fingers seeking to touch anything and everything until he riled himself up enough to fuck you to sleep. When you thought it couldn't possibly get any worse, Satoru had already disappeared in the morning. He had already gone off to Jujutsu Tech, vehemently ignoring any text message you sent.

And here you were, lumbering your way through the thicket of evergreens that seemed to be growing on top of each other. You would not be surprised if these trees ended up being cursed as well. They invariably seemed to swallow the horizon, doing a stellar job at concealing the beauty of the institution inside.

"Your father hates me," The tiny human incubating inside of you is your only bit of company, and so, you decide to entertain the Little Monster, the closer you get to Jujutsu High. "You're a little demon, but he is too." Your heavy breathing fills the quiet air, "But I still love him and his demonic ways so that really means that I love you too," Unknowingly, your hand had begun to cup the underside of your swollen belly and staying there for the duration of the walk, until the very first towers began to peek from within the evergreens and the sound of jovial laughter reaches your ears.

"Woah-" Itadori is the first person you see once you emerge from the thicket, huffing and puffing with the Wright of your guilt carrying you forward. "Are you... supposed to be here?"

"I'm pregnant, Yuuji, not handicapped-" You began, steadily approaching the temple steps where he and a silent Megumi sat idly. "Gojo, where is he?"

"In his office by now." Replied Itadori, "Hey… did you seriously walk up the mountain just to get some from Gojo-" his crass statement is cut short by Megumi's elbow buried in Yuuji's side and you silently thank the dark haired boy as you drift into the temple.

Despite it all, Itadori's statement may have held a sliver of truth. The walk up the mountain had been a perilous one, admittedly one of your less than thorough ideas, but it also got you the opportunity to see Jujutsu High after 6 difficult months of house arrest. Your innate need to teach and help young sorcerers grow and develop their talents was being made dormant, yet somehow, just being in this place, breathing its air, was revitalising you. You could even swear the Little Monster made a happy little kick against your abdomen. You begin to wonder with shocking excitement what cursed technique this baby would be born with - it's a thought that occupies your mind as you maneuver the relaxing halls of the temple.

The positive energy coursing through your bloodstream only doubles once his door reveals itself at the end of the hall. Your nerves are immediately electrified with a violent current as you pull back the door, enough to slip inside. You could not go 24 hours without Satoru annoying you, and that was apparent. If that made you weak, then so be it.

"Satoru." Your voice comes out quieter than expected as you pull the door shut and turn to face the man seated behind his desk. His seat is reclined towards an open window casting an enchanting breeze, enough to lightly ruffle his pale, white locks. Arms support the back of his head, and his legs are perched on the desk. You can not see his eyes behind his rimless blue tinted shades. Your arrival announces rouses him, and immediately, you can tell you've disturbed him from a nap. Perhaps he did not get much sleep last night either…

"Hmm," Is the only sound he is able to make in the stretched silence, readjusting his position, striving to appear disinterested, "Didn't know they allowed murderers into Jujutsu Tech-"

"'Toru, you've probably killed more people than me,'' You say with a small smile as you venture to close the distance between you too. "And how am I a murderer?"

"You forcing yourself up this mountain makes me think you're trying to kill my baby." You can tell that he is still vehemently angry at you but his head ticks slightly to the side as you make your way behind his desk, pushing his feet off before easing onto it so you can sit opposite him.

"I brought salami sticks and a chicken sandwich," You ease the backpack off your shoulders, ignoring Satoru's head lazily draped on his hand. "You didn't eat breakfast this morning and I know your skinny ass is dying of hunger. You may not look like you eat alot but you and our baby are trying to kill me-"

To that, he had obviously chosen to respond with a crude and petty, 'That'd be my baby, you're referring to. Last I checked, to you, it's a cancer.'

"Satoru, I don't know what you want me to say-"

"I've got a pretty good idea of what I don't want you to say."

Your gaze lowers to your lap as your legs swing above the ground. It is always difficult seeing someone as jovial as Gojo, assume such a cold exterior, especially when it's not in his inherent nature.

"I really wish I can say I didn't mean it, 'Toru but I'm fucking drained," You laugh darkly, "I'm fat and ugly and I can't exercise because this baby hates when I move in a way it doesn't like - even getting up here fucking sucked, but the thought of seeing you kinda helped. Not to mention that fucking housewife next door and her perky tits and her tiny waist, and her non-fat ass-"

"Hey," Throughout the course of your hormonal rant, Satoru has felt himself slide his chair closer to you, until your mnees were directly in front of him. His arms fence you in, while he sat on the edge of his seat, "I love your fat ass, please don't ever diss her again."

His words have you laughing despite the thunderous emotions that had overtaken you just a moment ago. That may have been one of Satoru's many superpowers- allaying the darkened clouds with unexpected sunshine.

"Not to mention my feet hurt constantly, I'm horny all the time and I just wanna feel normal in my own skin. But I neglected your happiness in my own self pity and that's wrong and I'm sorry."

'Please fuck me and never, ever be mad at me again,' is what you would have liked to tack on at the end of that apology but you already felt as if you got enough words out. Truthfully, you really were sitting with a well of need between your legs- the warmth between your stomach only compounding given Gojo's proximity, which only becomes worse as he rises from his seat and slots himself between your legs. You shiver at the feeling of just having him near you.

"Does 'horny all the time' include' right now?" Another violent shiver wracked through your spine as Satoru eases a finger underneath your chin, raising your hooded eyes to his concealed ones. All you can do is nod as your fingers curl around the edge of the desk while your breathing picks up its pace.

"And you're never going to be a mean brat ever again," you're utterly mesmerised by Satoru's pillowy, pink lips crafting every word, so much so that you're unaware of his other hand rubbing along your exposed thigh.

"I'm going to have to hear words, baby." He teases lightly,"I'm going to have to hear that you were wrong," You're not sure what it is about the sing-song voice that has you slipping deep into subspace- perhaps it's the slight condescension sprinkled in with the tone one would use to scold a child. It completely breaks you every time.

Your lips curl downward into an involuntary pout as you say "I'll never be a mean brat to you ever again, Satoru-" a gasp races through your throat as his fingers brush against the damp fabric of your clothed, needy cunt. He is rubbing lightly, almost diabolically slow. Your eyebrows curve into needy crescents as you strive to open your legs wider, hoping his fingers might venture deeper.

"I might forgive you," his broad shoulders are hunched so his lips can reach your ears, "If you stop calling me Satoru and say what you really wanna say,"

He was baiting you for his own rush of pleasure shooting all his blood straight to his hardened cock. Satoru's pants were straining as you realised he needed you to slip into subspace as much as you did. His hand was brushing lightly at the fabric against your clit, but that is as far as he was willing to go. Your breathing is erratic as you attempt to thrust your hips into his hand but your stomach stops you from achieving a lot.

"I need you to fuck me, Daddy," The words drenched with the neediness in your voice is borderline pornopgraphic and it rips a wavering groan from within Gojo's chest.

"You're such a needy little slut, aren't you?" Satoru says now swimming in domspace, while he removes his hand from between your legs to quickly rid you of your sweat-drenched sundress.

"I need you so bad," you admit with an aching whimper as the soft wind rushes over your sensitive nipples. The second he sees them, Gojo's hands are clamped around your pillowy; swollen breasts, squeezing and prodding like a virgin who's never seen tits before.

"Fuck, baby, look at what you do to me," He releases a hoarse laugh as he clamps his other hand around your wrist, forcing your palm around his hard cock straining his pants. "Look at what the fuck you do to me," The both of you release a chorus of moans into the air- you, because his fingers were playing a dangerous game with your leaking nipples and Satoru, because he cannot refrain from grinding into your hand.

His glasses fog as he bends his head to watch beads of milk grow on the tips of your nipple before sliding down your torso with every squeeze.

"When did this start happening?" he asks through clenched teeth before rushing to exclaim, "You're so fucking hot- Fuck!"

"Last night- I wanted to tell you but-" You're immediately silenced by Satoru's lips crashing onto yours while he crowds you, pushing you down onto your back while the sound of his belt buckle echoes in the room. His mouth is absolutely restless as his tongue forces its way inside; eager to push itself against your tongue until you both are kissing each other with a tangle of spit. Your hands immediately find his hair and you pull at the strands as Satoru pulls you to the edge of his desk, pressing the tip of his cock against your entrance.

"You're such a soaked little girl, baby," his voice still condescending and airy, but it riles you up further until you push your hips towards him. "Does Daddy get you this worked up?"

"Yes! Only Daddy can make me feel this way-Just- Please!" Your cries are slotted in the base of your throat as the head of his cock begins to stretch your tense and tight walls. Without thinking, Satoru eases himself deeper, his hips unable to move at a steady pace now that he feels how wet and ready you are for him.

"You're taking your Daddy's cock like a good little girl, baby," his words have you arching off his desk while your eyes fight to stay open. You don't close them because Satoru likes to look at you when he fucks you and so, you fight your way back, until your eyes are pouring into his behind those dazzling shades. It takes everything in him not to cum on the spot, and his cock twitches inside you as he begins to set the pace.

"Oh fuck- Just look at you, Princess." You were fucking magnificent - skin glistening with sweat with a belly swollen with his seed. The image alone affects him more than he initially thought it would. Satoru had strived to get you pregnant because he knew he wanted you to birth his legacy, but the sight of your body naturally shifting to incubate his seed scarmbles the very workings of his brain If you weren't careful, you were going to stay pregnant, every other term.

"You're doing such a good job, Princess. Do you know how fucking beautiful you look?" you are utterly deranged with need, feeling all your sensibilities slip out of you as you're fighting to take even more of him impossibly deeper. His shades hide the true nature of his hooded, fucked out eyes. He's not sure what it is about it, but your eyes on him, watching him pound his cock into your slippery, tight pussy, has him rutting into you with desperation. He loves holding your attention in your most depraved moments - watching you stare up at him like he's a God while he's corrupting every sliver of your cute disposition.

He's pounding against your cervix now and it has your moans bleeding into whorish screams. All the while, Satoru does not silence you. He does not clamp his hand around your mouth, instead he affirms quite the opposite. "If you keep squeezing my cock like that I'm going to make you take my cum." That sentence alone has you slipping into your orgasm. Your back arches off the table and Satoru leans over and latches his lips onto your breasts. He moans around your nipple, as his hand rubs your clit with immense rapidity, in tandem with his stuttering hips.

"I'm gonna fucking cum inside you, baby, Tell me you want me to cum inside you," his voice cracks into a desperate whimper, "P-please," Your limbs are shivering as Satoru fucks you quicker, the sensation bleeding into overstimulation as you watch him fall apart over you. He looks utterly gorgeous. The shades may hide his eyes, but his slacked jaw reveals how utterly destroyed he is, with a trail of spit and milk running down his chin. "Fucking tell me!"

"Please cum inside me, Daddy." You pant, looking at him dead in the eyes, "I need your cum inside me," his grip on the desk fumbles and his movements immediately melt into sloppy thrusts and heavy pants.

"Oh fuck- I'm cumming, baby. Fuck, M'gonna fucking breed you-" just as you're forced to endure another orgasm, Satoru's cum explodes inside of you, ripping groan from your hoarse throat.

Gojo is absolutely spent as he eases his cock out of you, rubbing light circles on your thighs, utterly transfixed with the sight of his milky cum slipping out of your cunt.

"I hope I get you pregnant with twins, next time,"

"Get the fuck off of me Satoru." You say feigning anger, which is attested by the smile threatening to blossom over your face. Despite your lightened mood, you still feel monumentally terrible for making him feel bad about your impending parenthood.

"I'm sorry I've been complaining about my house arrest."

"Maternity leave," He corrects with a sigh.

"Same difference," you roll your eyes before noticing his unimpressed and stoic visage. "Only kidding, only kidding."

Thx for reading ♡

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #jjk gojo #jjk smut #jjk x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x black!reader #gojo x black reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #gojo satoru fanfic

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nagichi-boop · 2 years ago

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SHADOW IS WRITTEN SO WELL IN THE MURDER OF SONIC THE HEDGEHOG!!

First of all, just him showing up to Amy’s party is a step up from his recent “I will do everything myself, I hate everyone, imma fight you” attitude that we have seen. Secondly, and idk if it was intentional, but him attending shows he cares about Amy. He’s always had a special place for her after the events of SA2, so it’s nice to see him showing up for something that maybe isn’t his style for her sake. (Parties aren’t really his thing, after all.)

SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT

It’s also really sweet of him to go through so many lengths to try and get Amy’s present. I definitely don’t think he forgot to get her a present, he genuinely just didn’t seem to know that it was a social norm to bring presents to a birthday. If he really didn’t care, he either wouldn’t have gotten her anything or he would’ve given her a rushed gift. But no, he went through a lot of effort, basically foregoing the game, just to stall Amy so he could get her a present she would enjoy.

And not just any present - he remembered her mentioning a specific band she liked and that she hadn’t seen them live. This not only suggests he listens to her and remembers what she tells him, but also implies that he has had multiple conversations with her. Clearly he must have also done some research too since he knew that the tickets were going live soon. He thought this through, even if it was a bit last minute, and did his best to get the tickets (even though he admits to not being the best with computers, which is also nice because usually Shadow just insists he’s the best at everything). I also think it was sweet that he didn’t heavily protest Amy’s suggestion to see the band together. He hesitated, but then yielded. This…for a character who recently has been written to be quite selfish.

He seemed upset that he couldn’t keep this a surprise, but he also didn’t become enraged or lash out at Tails and MC/Barry. In fact, he didn’t really lash out at anyone at any point which is refreshing, since in most Sonic media that’s his go-to emotion.

Most of his expressions throughout the game are fairly gentle in fact. Sure, he doesn’t smile, but he also isn’t actively angry. And the one expression where he does seem a bit negative just seems like his resting expression, or at absolute worse just a little annoyed. He’s very mellow throughout the game and it’s refreshing.

Even after he has finished talking to Amy, Tails and MC/Barry, he offers to stay with them and help them with the investigation. Normally in Sonic media, Shadow has no interest in helping others and only really cooperates if there’s a mutual goal/interest. And even then, he tends try to do things on his own. But in this game? He actually cooperates, and what’s more, he goes out of his way to offer his help.

So far I’ve mostly talked about his attitude towards Amy. But what’s his attitude towards Sonic? People debate back and forth on whether Shadow hates Sonic and the recent games and media have made it seem like he does hate Sonic. But in this game? I wouldn’t say so. I mean, he’s literally hanging out with him and his friends and instead of having beef with Sonic, he just focused on making Amy happy. And even when the situation gets more dire and Sonic is found to be knocked out, he doesn’t make any snarky comments or anything. In fact, he actually helps to tend to Sonic’s condition, even if it was just checking his pulse. If he rly didn’t care, he would’ve left it to everyone else.

Man, I could talk for hours about Shadow in this game. I can’t believe this April Fools prank game is actually the best characterisation for Shadow we’ve had recently. He’s not overly aggressive, he isn’t selfish, he isn’t super edgy. He is still sorta cold, but he’s not rude or mean. He’s actually really kind (in his own way), putting his needs and desires on hold to make Amy’s birthday fun and to help everyone out. I seriously hope that Shadow is written more like this in the future and not like he has been. Maybe Sega wasn’t joking about taking on board the complaints of the fandom.

#welcome to Nagi rambles way too seriously about an April Fools day prank #sorry I’m not the best at explaining what I mean but I love how he is in this game #I love this game way more than I thought I would #shadow #shadow the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog #the murder of sonic the hedgehog #tmosth #character analysis #analysis #nagichi talks #posts that popped off #long post

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m0llygunn · 1 year ago

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deathbed confessions (eddie munson x fem!reader one-shot)

summary: cold and flu season hits you hard but luckily you have your best friend eddie to take care of you. If the cold medicine makes you admit a few things... eddie sure isn't complaining.

contents: 18+, best friends to lovers, r is dramatically sick with a cold (talks about dying but it's just drama), fluff idk a/n: guys i am so sick help me i had to lay on the bathroom floor after braving a shower because i thought i was gonna die (but also i wrote this so maybe im ok) wc: 4.4k+

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Holy shit, did Halloween come early?” Eddie snickers from the door of your room.

All you can muster up is a low groan and that alone makes you feel like your head is on the brink of explosion.

“Jesus, you’re really sick, huh?” he says with the huff of a laugh.

You answer with another groan. Yes. You are 'really sick'.

“Can I do something to help?” he replies, the first hint of empathy appearing in his voice.

“Put me out—” you interrupt yourself with a sniffle followed by a phlegmy cough. “—out of my misery.”

You were supposed to be seeing some double feature with Eddie tonight but yesterday, right before bed, you felt the slightest of tickles in your throat. By morning you were the living dead with everything from your big toe to your forehead aching in one way or another. You called Eddie and before you could even mention that you were sick, he knew from your stuffed up voice.

No matter how many times you told him you’d be fine he was strangely insistent in checking on you at the very least. By the end of the call he’d quickly worn you down and you told him that he has the spare key and he can do whatever he wants but if he gets sick that's his fault— a little mean but arguing was the last thing you felt like doing.

From the time you hung up to now— which has only been a handful of hours, you’ve gotten substantially worse. Earth shatteringly worse. So terribly worse that the simple task of opening your eyes has been too much effort. Your whole body feels like it’s on fire, and your lungs are just begging for salvation. That’s why when Eddie called twenty minutes ago letting you know he was on his way you told him no. It would have been wise if he listened to you but instead he replied ‘too bad’ and abruptly hung up the phone.

Cut to twenty minutes later he was at your door, letting himself in. He was willingly walking into his very own death sentence. He clearly thought it was more of a joke than anything.

You hear Eddie’s tell-tale gait as he walks further into your room. You assume that he’s standing over your bed, maybe a hand on the back of his neck, maybe a hand on his hip. Mustering the efforts to confirm your suspicions would take too much of your very limited energy so you continuing laying in your bed, not doing as much as opening an eye.

You hear the ruffle of his hair and he definitely is rubbing the back of his neck as he gauges what to do.

“So…do you want, like, medicine then?” he asks.

“A gun,” you croak, earning a deep belly laugh from Eddie.

“At least your humour’s still intact, that’s good to know,” he says, sitting down on the edge of your bed.

You try to shuffle over to make room for him, but that effort alone makes you wince.

“Call an ambulance,” you whine, sniffling pathetically.

“Really?” he asks, a genuine nervousness creeping into his voice. You feel his hand tug at the blanket you’ve cocooned yourself in, revealing your face for him to see. If you were more cognizant maybe you’d care about Eddie seeing you like this, but you’re too far gone to think about that.

“No,” you answer, nodding your head up and down in contrast to your answer, earning a huff of relief from Eddie.

The blanket slackens from his pull and the bed dips deeper as he leans in further to get a better look at you. Once again, if you were more cognizant you’d probably rather he didn’t, but you wouldn’t have the will to fight it anyways.

“Did you take anything?” he asks.

“It’s been a few hours.”

“Did you eat?”

“Yeah, whipped up a quick 4 course meal earlier, michelin approved of course,” you mumble. You contemplate cracking an eye open to see his reaction but you don’t.

“Right, so no food.”

“No, surprisingly not that hungry when you’re on your deathbed,” you say, sniffling.

“Tell me you’ve at least had water,” he says and from his tone you know that he already knows the answer.

“I had water until the bottle was empty, then I decided I’d rather succumb to death than get out of bed,”

“Funny, funny girl,” he says dryly, obviously not impressed by your answers.

“Tombstone quote,” you say weakly, hoping that Eddie gets what you mean. He laughs softly and you consider that enough of a success.

You hear the slightest bit of shuffling, not Eddie getting up but more like he’s looking around your room. Whatever state it’s in, you couldn’t even work up the courage to care.

“Do you want a movie on or something?” he asks, breaking the lull in conversation.

“Would you do that?” you ask, tilting your face towards him despite not opening your eyes.

“Oh yeah. I’m giving you the mortally ill special— the deathbed works, if you will,” he says, and you can tell he’s smiling. You do your best to smile back but it’s weak and probably looks more like a grimace.

You feel shuffling before the bed rises from Eddie standing.

“Okay, so I’m gonna get you medicine first. Then movie, food, and whatever else, deal?”

Your lower lip pouts out appreciatively for the boy you’ve called your best friend for forever now. If you weren’t deathly ill, you’d kiss him.

“Thank you, Eddie,” you whisper, voice getting caught in your throat for an entirely different reason than your cold this time.

He mumbles back some version of ‘don’t worry about it’ before he’s off, leaving you in the quiet of your room with only your breathing, coughing, and sniffling breaking the silence. It’s barely a few minutes before you hear his footsteps and the edge of your bed dips again.

“This is what you took right? The cold and flu medicine?”

“Mhm” you hum.

“You have nasal congestion?”

You sniffle loudly and nod.

“Right. Nasal pain, sinus congestion, and sinus pain?”

You hum again, catching onto the fact that he’s reading the symptoms off of the box.

“Chest congestion?”

Weakly you swat your hand out trying to find Eddie. When you do, you give him the weakest of taps. “Too many questions,” you muster.

“Well, I know you’re joking about dying but I don’t want to actually kill you,” he says. You hum again.

You hear him fumbling with the cardboard before fumbling with the plastic pill packaging.

“Do you wanna sit up?” he asks.

“I want to die,”

“Well you can’t do that so I’m gonna help you sit up, okay?”

Eddie starts tugging at the blanket and you let your weakened limbs go limp, undoubtedly making the task much harder for him but he doesn’t say anything. Eventually, he pulls you up by your underarms, propping you up against your headboard.

When you feel his cool hands on your forehead, pushing your hair back and out of your face, you open your eyes for the first time since Eddie got here.

“There she is,” he laughs lightly, still pushing back the disheveled mess that is your hair.

“Your hands feel nice,” you whisper, focusing on the coolness on your skin. Before you have a chance to really absorb the relief of his hands on your skin, he pulls away, grabbing for the water he had set down on your bedside table.

“Yeah, you’re really hot,” he replies, passing the water to you.

“Tombstone quote,” you say, catching his eye, making him laugh again. With a shaky hand, you take the water.

“Funny and hot, that’s a killer deal.” He hands you the little cold and flu pill and you place it in your mouth, swallowing it down with small sips of the cold water that feels like ice going down your throat.

You redirect your gaze to Eddie, “you’re gonna get sick, that’s the real killer here,” you say.

“I’ll be fine,”

“You don’t want this cold, trust me,” you say, taking another sip of water before holding it out to Eddie.

“I’ll be fine,” he repeats as he takes the water, putting it back on your bedside table.

You nod. You appreciate Eddie’s help more than anything. Fending for yourself wasn’t exactly going so well— clearly.

“You had this with your other stuff, do you want it?” he asks, holding up the vicks vapor rub.

When you felt the cold coming on you went to the pharmacy and picked up a few things just in case. The vapor rub was on sale and you bought it on a whim but haven’t tried it yet.

“Do you think it really works?”

“Wayne used to put it on me, I guess it does?”

“Where do you put it?”

“On your chest or back,” he answers, looking at the fine print of the packaging. “Yeah, it says chest, throat, and back.”

You open your mouth to reply but instead feel the creeping up of the tickling in your throat. Turning the other way, you do your best to not cough all over Eddie. Sucking in a deep breath, you only trigger another cough that divulges into one of many coughing attacks that you’ve had today. When you’re finally done, you drop your head to the back of the headboard in defeat.

“C’mon, let’s try it on your back for now,” he says, putting a hand on your shoulder encouraging you to lean forward. You move how he wants you without protest.

“I’m just gonna lift up your shirt a bit, okay?” he says, you nod but he pauses, fingers just barely slipping under the hem of your shirt.

“Eddie, with the way I’m feeling, you could see me butt ass naked right now and I could not care less,” you say.

He snorts a laugh before his cool fingers trail up your spine giving you tingles that make you shiver. “Sorry,” he hums but you shake your head. His hand makes contact with your upper back, rubbing the ointment on your skin and it honestly feels incredibly soothing. Whether it’s the rub or the physical contact, you’re not sure, but you’re not questioning it either.

The noise that comes out of you could have been a moan had you not been congested. Instead it comes out like a low, stuffed up groan— not unlike a movie zombie.

Eddie rubs a few more circles on your back before his hand travels back down your spine.

“How’s that feel?” he asks, helping you sit back up straight.

“So fucking good and like I need you to rub my back like that again,” you say, resting your head back against the headboard. Maybe you put a little too much conviction in your words but that truly felt amazing.

The room is silent and you blink open your eyes to see Eddie holding the tub of rub in his hands, paused halfway through closing it. It takes a moment for him to look up at you but when he does, he smiles softly.

“What movie do you wanna watch?”

Had you not been distracted by your sickness, you might have noticed the faintness of a blush spreading across the tops of Eddie’s cheeks. Coughing and forcing air back into your lungs takes up every ounce of your consciousness though, so you don’t notice.

You shrug your shoulder taking a deep breath, “anything, I’ll probably pass out from the medicine anyways,” you reply, turning away again to cough.

Eddie hums before he’s moving to your dresser opposite your bed, angling the TV for you to see it better.

“Sixteen Candles, Children of the Corn, Gremlins, Teen Wolf?” he says, listing off the titles of the different tapes you have sprawled next to the vcr.

“Any.”

“Gremlins seems kind of relevant,” he says, pulling open the clamshell box.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask. Eddie turns to you, smirk spreading across his lips.

“Nothing,” he sings lightly. He turns away from you, pushing the tape into the player and then pressing the combination of buttons to get it working.

“You better not be implying that I look like a gremlin because—” you interrupt yourself with another cough that quickly divulges into yet another coughing fit— worse than the last.

With each cough being so strong it makes your head pound. You don’t notice Eddie crossing your room or him settling back on the edge of your bed. You only notice his presence when he’s encouraging you forward, hand rubbing your back again.

When your coughing finally calms down enough for you to take a good breath, Eddie brings the glass of water up for you to take a sip. You take the cup in your hands, guiding it to your mouth. At the same time, Eddie never fully lets go of the cup, making sure it doesn’t spill. You take a drink, nodding when you’re done and he sets it back down, hand still running up and down your back.

“It’s probably just the rub working, getting all that nasty stuff out,” he says softly.

You nod again, letting your head fall to rest on Eddie’s shoulder. It’s probably not the smartest idea to be so close to him because you're pretty much sentencing him to his demise, but with how terrible you feel you’re desperate for anything to make it better— and right now the only thing making anything better is Eddie.

“The medicine’ll kick in any minute and you’ll feel much better, okay? I’ll go get you something to eat and then I can rub your back some more. How’s that sound?” he says softly, brushing the edge of your face with his chin as he tilts his face downwards towards yours.

Your lower lip pouts out again and you feel your eyes water behind your closed lids. Maybe you were already hyper emotional from feeling so sick, but Eddie being so sweet is also doing a number on you.

“Sounds really nice,” you whisper, sucking in a breath.

“You’ll be okay,” Eddie whispers, hand switching from rubbing up and down your back to rubbing circles at the top of your back. “I’ll take care of you, I got you.”

Before the tears in your eyes have a chance to breach your waterline, Eddie’s shifting beside you, leaning you back against the headboard with the promise of being quick while he gets you food. Only once he’s gone and you’re left alone in your room do you notice Gremlins has already started playing. Opening your eyes, you spare a few glances at the screen that distract you from your teary eyed state.

As Eddie promised, he was pretty quick in his return. You could hear him the whole time, kitchen utensils clanking and cupboard doors closing. Maybe all concept of time is lost on you right now, but it seemed like barely any time had passed before he was taking slow, careful steps back towards your room.

“Alright— got that soup you like, got crackers, and got you some juice,” Eddie announces as he situates the dishware on your bedside table. “I even made sure not to warm the soup too much so you can eat it right away,” he says.

Eyes closed again, you don’t know what you expected him to do but him manhandling you took you by surprise. A hand slid behind your back and another under your upper thighs, he was sliding you right over on the mattress.

“Just giving myself some space here,” he says absentmindedly as he fixes your blanket around you. He quickly settles in next to you before grabbing the sleeve of crackers and settling them in front of you and grabbing the bowl of soup.

Sitting with his legs stretched out next to yours, you let your head dip to his shoulder again, this time like a silent thank you where you cozy your head against him, not unlike a cat.

“For the record, you’re more like Gizmo,” he says, a tease intruding in his voice.

“Hm?” you hum questioningly.

“You don’t look like a gremlin, you’re cute like Gizmo,” he says.

You sink your face further into the crook of Eddie's shoulder, lip jetting out once more. He’s done nothing more than call you a cute gremlin rather than an evil gremlin, yet you feel yourself turning misty eyed yet again. This time you squeeze your eyes shut, closing them on purpose, hiding your sickness induced emotions.

“Soups gonna get cold,” Eddie says, twisting his neck to look at you again. “C’mon, it’ll be better for you if you eat it warm,” he says, using his free arm to move you.

Once you’re finally propped up again in an appropriate position to eat, you feel Eddie’s hand on your cheek— no doubt becoming aware of your tears.

“You okay?” he asks softly, thumb rubbing under your cheek.

“You’re being so nice to me,” you explain, sniffling back your need to cry.

“Just taking care of you. Want you to feel better,” he replies, keeping his voice quiet.

“Thank you, Eddie.”

“You don’t gotta thank me, just gotta eat your soup, okay Gizmo?” Eddie says, making you snort out a snotty laugh before sucking it all back in with an apology that he quickly dismisses.

You take a few breaths, getting your tears under control. Shifting your focus to the soup, Eddie holds the bowl close to you while you slowly feed yourself spoonful after spoonful.

“Crackers?” Eddie offers.

“Maybe one.”

“How ‘bout two?” he replies, peeling back the plastic and pulling two out for you. You nod softly before taking them from him.

You feel yourself running out of energy and it’s exasperating that all it took was lifting a spoon to your lips a measly few times. When you let the crackers sit in your lap for too long, Eddie turns to look at you, resting the bowl of soup down in his lap.

“Y’okay?” he asks.

“Tired,” you answer.

“Just finish those and you can be done, okay?” he says, meeting your gaze. You shake your head.

“Can’t,” you reply.

“You can,” he says, turning his torso to put the bowl of soup on the table. He turns back around, reaching for the crackers in your hand. “Know you can,” he repeats, bringing the crackers to your lips.

“Eddie—” you try to protest.

“Bite,” he says, cutting you off and nudging the cracker into your mouth.

You bite, giving into him. It feels weird being hand fed. It’s probably even weirder when two bites in you close your eyes in an effort to conserve your energy. Regardless, Eddie doesn’t say anything besides positive affirmations about how good you’re doing which you really, really appreciate.

“How about you drink some of this,” he says, reaching for the glass of juice as you chew the last bite of cracker. “Then I’ll help you lay down and I can rub your back s’more?”

“You don’t have to if you wanna go home, you've been here a long time,” you say, swallowing the dryness of the cracker down.

Eddie lifts the cup of juice to your lips, tipping it back for you to sip at. When you take more than a few drinks, you lift a hand lightly pushing the cup away. Blinking your eyes open you look at Eddie as he returns the cup to sit with the other dishware on your bedside table.

“I’m serious, Eddie. You can go home if you want,”

“Don’t want to,”

“You’re gonna be— you interrupt yourself with a yawn this time. “—gonna be so sick,” you say groggily.

“Just let me cuddle you, you know you want it,” he says, a teasing tone hinting in his voice. You blink open your eyes again to see a genuine smile as he looks at you—one that shouldn’t be there considering how gross you feel and are sure you look. Despite that, it’s there and you do want cuddles so you nod softly, making a weak, sad attempt at getting closer to Eddie.

Eddie meets your attempt by gently pulling you down the mattress. He maneuvers you to have your head resting on his chest while his arm snakes around you, rubbing circles on your back. With the sleepiness settling in and your cold symptoms dialing back due to the medicine, you can’t help but hum happily.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he says quietly.

It feels beyond good. Good is an understatement. Having him take care of you like this is making you feel mushy and only highlights your feelings for Eddie. In combination with your partially delusionally, sleepy state the only thing on your mind is expressing your feelings, all of them true no matter how far out of it you are at this point.

“Eddie, if I die, just know that I love you,” you mutter into the fabric of his shirt.

“That’s just the cold medicine talking,” Eddie laughs softly. You find the energy to shake your head.

“Nuh-uh, love you,” you repeat. “Love you so much.”

It’s faint, maybe he whispered it or maybe it’s the fact that you were slipping into sleep but you heard it.

“I love you too,” he says quietly.

As if those words gave you a short lived second life, it had you perking up, desperately needing to clarify just in case he didn’t understand.

“But Eddie I love you as my best friend but also more than that— I love you so much.”

He leaves you in silence but you don’t have the clear consciousness to overthink it, you just keep talking.

“I don’t even care if you don’t like me like that, I love you Eddie.”

“I love you too. Love you a lot, but I think we should talk about this when you’re not tired and on cold medicine, okay?” he whispers softly.

As your thoughts start to drift, you focus on the first half of Eddie's sentiment. He loves you— and he loves you a lot. With that on your mind, intermixed with the comforting friction of his hand on your back, you fall into the deepest and most comfortable sleep of your life despite being so sick. Eddie loves you.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Arguably, the best thing that came out of your cold was your confession. It was bound to happen eventually and although it did sort of seem like a deathbed confession at the time, it was genuine— that of which you clarified for Eddie. To your fortune, he also clarified that his reply was true as well. Beyond that, you were still sick and neither of you had done much more than just sharing those little words that one night. So yes, arguably, that's the best thing that came out of your sickly state; however, in your opinion, you think the best thing that happened was that you got Eddie sick too.

It was less than a day after you started feeling normal again that Eddie was running a fever. He ended up staying at your place for the majority of your sickness but he had left once to get some things for himself. Since he had his stuff here already, you offered for him to stay over at yours while you returned the favor of playing doctor.

Eddie took on a much different position as a sick person than you did. Undeniably, you both were on the dramatic end of things but while your cynical humour came out during your time being sick, Eddie was much different in how expressed himself.

Normally, a very touchy feely person, his affectionate side heightened tenfold while he was sick. He was all grabby hands, wanting you closer to him. Maybe it was because the two of you had broken the touch barrier while you were sick or maybe Eddie just turned into a touch deprived baby when he was sick, you’ll never know, but you didn’t deny him of the cuddles that you so dearly appreciated while you were under the weather.

The most interesting part— which shouldn't have came as a surprise, was that not only did he appreciate holding you, but he intensely appreciated you holding him, whether that be hands scratching his head as he rested it on your stomach, or your arms wrapped around him from behind making him the little spoon. Additionally, he was also incredibly affectionate with his words, constantly telling you how grateful he was for you and how much he appreciated you.

Your favourite confession came late one night, probably at the peak of his sickness. Fairly similar to your deathbed confession, but a moment to remember regardless.

You had just finished helping him eat, similar to how he had done for you, and were cuddling with him, smoothing your hands over his side as he rested his head on your chest.

The medicine was kicking in, making him drowsy, eyes fluttering shut as he let sleep take him over. He had kept babbling random thoughts but as he got more and more tired he was eventually reduced to heavy breaths. That was, until he titled his face up to yours. You looked down at him, meeting his sleepy eyes.

“I love you,” he said. “Love you so much.”

“Love you too, Eddie,” you replied, smiling.

“But I love you so much,” he said, voice returning to its babbling cadence. “Love you so much I wanna kiss you and love you and—” his babbling started to slowly fade as his head got heavier on your chest. You couldn’t help but laugh softly as your heart swelled.

You smoothed a hand over his face, brushing back his hair as you stared at him with nothing but love for your very, very sick boy. Like you had given him a second wind, his babbling started up again.

“Wanna marry you. Love you so much wanna marry you,” he said, words slurring.

“Think you’ll have to ask me on a date first, cutie,” you replied quietly, partially under the impression that he was already asleep.

“I will. Love you so much, I will,” he mumbled and with that, he was out like a light.

From there, the rest was history. If curious minds were to inquire, you would say that Eddie’s always been very good at keeping his promises, and mindless babbling or not, he meant every word that he confessed in his sickly, drowsy state.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

thank you! <3

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #bestfriend!eddie munson #eddie munson friends to lovers

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futureplayboibunnie · 1 year ago

Text

Aphrodesiacs Pt.10 (Finale)

Miguel O’Hara x fem! spidey! reader

You and Miguel were bitten by the same spider…what could possibly happen?

okay grand finale for y’all. I REALLY BUST MY ASS TO MAKE THIS A LONG JUICY ONE. i was listening to once more to see you by mitski writing this soooo.

NSFW AS ALWAYS 18+

You kicked Miguel out that night.

Yes, it was petty. Yes, it was bitchy. But you really couldn't be around him, not when you had to go to HQ tomorrow. You got a taste of his lifestyle and you found that it was enough.

You didn't want to be a secret side fling but you didn't want to be in a relationship either, you were confused, and being near Miguel never made you clear-headed anyway so you found it very easy to kick him out. He wasn't saying the right things to you and to be honest, you didn't care if it was petty. You wouldn't settle, even if it was Miguel. But then again, it was Miguel- the man that makes you bend to his will, the man that makes your pussy sore and your body ache, the man that can make you cum over and over again until you're biting into the bedsheets. Your mouth went slack at the mere thought. You had to put your foot down, although it felt so fucking good, you wouldn't reduce yourself as someone he fucks from time to time.

You really weren't looking forward to Monday.

Monday morning was hell.

But as it approached nightfall, everything became worse.

Miguel was pacing in his office, his trembling fingers rubbing the skin of his forehead. He couldn't work properly, not when you so casually said 'leave' and shut the door in his face. He couldn't lie, it definitely stung, almost like he was being rejected by the popular girl in high school, reducing him to an awkward, idiotic mess in front of a pretty girl. The thought made his eye twitch, embarrassment twinging at his chest. The issue that was heavier than the embarrassment was the frustration and regret, he couldn't help but feel sad about it- but he would much rather die than show it. After all these years of keeping himself hidden, keeping busy with his work, with his role as a leader...he really didn't know how to open up to anyone. The only person he had ever gotten properly close with was you, and that was just sex. He hadn't had an intimate conversation about his true feelings with a woman he wanted before. It was always just about the sex. But with you, it had always felt like it was something more, maybe it was the spider, maybe it wasn't- he just wanted to be...near you. Lyla had heard him humbling to himself, cursing in Spanish. She was looming over him trying to see what was up with him but he just waved her away.

What if you were already fucking someone else? Did you hate him? What if you never spoke to him again? His jealousy over hypothetical scenarios was messing with his head. He frowned. Miguel felt a surge of anxiety and insecurity flow through him.

Miguel won't cost his dignity to approach you first though, it was always a challenge between you two, this cruel dance of death, the constant miscommunication, the back and forth. You were both just as stubborn and as unrelenting as each other.

Maybe if he just gave an excuse to see you, maybe if he had you in front of him he could actually talk about it instead of being a cold, unfeeling monster everyone saw him as. Miguel's face dropped as soon as he thought that, his brows furrowed in misplaced anger. The truth is... he was afraid. Miguel hasn't been afraid since Gabriella disappeared in his arms. Now he was about to lose you too.

He didn't want to risk it, he needed to do something.

Miguel pressed a few buttons on his watch, scrolling down to your name and alerting your watch to come see him. He didn't want to make excuses anymore, he just felt lost and you were the only one to find him, you were the only one to save him from eternal damnation. You were his sin, his haven, it felt...it felt like you were his everything at this point. This weekend gave him a glimpse of heaven and now he was aching for it back, yearning for it like a clawing dog at a closed door.

When you saw the notification on your watch, your lips curled downwards and your face shifted into a grimace. You let out a deep sigh, your face softening a little. Okay, another chance. Another chance to see him. You hated that you wanted to see him, but you just had to. Although you stood by your decision, you still felt a fraction of guilt just kicking him out like that. All you wanted from him was to tell you how he felt, not just about this tension between you but his feelings, your chemistry. If there was a future outside of this, if his heart was ready for it, to be open to love. You were scared to admit it, you didn't want to but you had to....you were falling in love with him. That weekend taught you so much about yourself, but it barely told you anything about him. He was unreadable, unknowable. All he was able to show was anger or frustration. You wanted to know if you were important enough for him to let you in. You just wanted to know him. Not just as Spiderman 2099. Not just as the spider that happened to bite both of you. Just Miguel. The heart he loved from, the brain he thought from. You wanted to love him, but he was so hellbent on pushing you away and you didn't want to force him to want you.

You knew this was a necessity. One last time, one last chance before you decided what you wanted.

Anxiety coursed through your bloodstream but you didn't show it as you finally walked into his office and Miguel felt your presence immediately, like your scent was his sustenance. You walked in confident but it always felt like Miguel saw through you, but you didn't know that, again, he was unreadable.

His eyes pierced through yours, a sad and frustrated look carving into his face, he couldn't tear his eyes away from you, he never did. Miguel threw his head back, signaling for you to hop up on his platform. You huffed reluctantly and swung up swiftly. when you landed on your feet next to him, his presence already formed goosebumps on the back of your neck but you were still defensive so you crossed your arms with an intent look.

"You wanted to see me." You say flatly.

“We left things...abruptly.” His voice was low but unconfident, he didn't know how to start, he needed you to take the lead for him.

“Think that was best.” It felt like the words were getting lost in your mouth, you still weren't looking at him and it made Miguel frown. His hand raised to grab your chin softly for you to look up at him and when you did you were met with sad, insecure, guileless eyes.

“Please just...look at me.” His voice was just above a whisper, a plea for something he wasn't sure of. Your mouth opened to speak but your brows just tensed, a moment passing between you as he touched you softly, almost affectionately.

You grabbed his wrist and let his hand fall off of your skin. “What do you want from me, Miguel?” You breathed impatiently.

“Just talk to me cariño.” The softness of his voice contrasted against the frustration on his 1 face, harsh lines of uncertainty and anger played on the softest parts of him, your cold words twisting the knife even further- but he still won't give you the power to hurt him. Miguel wasn't sure if he was capable of letting anyone in, let alone you. The thought slashed through the forefront of his mind and it made his heart hit his gut. He was scrambling for something, his mouth went dry and his hands went numb.

If only he stopped being so self-righteous, so bent on sabotaging everything good in his life. You sighed.

“I don't wanna be some...casual fuck buddy that's of momentary use to you.” A grimace plastered your face as you said it, you didn't want to be reduced to a hole that he fucks from time to time, you wanted him but you're not stupid, you still had your dignity.

Maybe Miguel pried it out of you before, but now you were just irritated. Your hands went to cradle his face, desperate eyes meeting his, searching for an answer but he didn't say anything, his face wasn't giving anything away. “I need more, I want more...” You lean in, lips parting into sullen apprehension, pleading with him to see you. Your fingers rubbed his neck, but this time it was him that was prying your hands off of him.

“What you're asking of me is not something I know.” His utterances were gruff and stern but it was clear he wasn't actively seeking to hurt you, he just never liked articulating how he was feeling, but he wanted to change that- but people don't change overnight.

The sad look on your face just turned into one of surprise defeat.

“Am I not worth trying for?” You breathed and Miguel didn't like the way such a question caught him off guard, it was like his ears were ringing with it, with anxiety...with fear. It's not something he's prepared to deal with, he watched your eyes dim, and your brows raise in disbelief in front of him in real-time and it made him feel even more guilty.

“You're enough for me now.” Miguel lied through his perfect teeth and his answer was making you even more upset, slivers of sadness echoed through him. You let him lie though.

“Then why are you trying to change me?” Your voice faltered a little, and it sent shockwaves down Miguel's spine. He watched as your nose pinched pink like you were about to sniffle in sadness but you kept your guard up, you definitely wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

“I'm not.” He said matter of factly, his face softening for a moment when his fingers brushed a few strands of hair behind your piping hot ear. “Don’t you see? It's you who's changing me.” You felt the depths of his voice scream in sincerity, soft-spoken. His gaze will always be as haunting as it is captivating, the one that makes you feel that you can finally see through him, but it was a beautiful illusion of the bliss he could bring you but never actually could.

“What am I to you, Miguel?” Miguel felt that you were actually withholding your anger from that and even then it still stung, you were still venomous yet harbored a tragic sadness that he couldn't help but feel guilty for. He was making you this miserable and you weren't even in a relationship. The passing thought struck him like lightning. “I know I'm not being fair or rational right now but I want more... need more from you.”

Miguel breathed out in frustration, placing his hands on your shoulders as if to shake some sense into you. “I want to. I want to give you more. I just-“ He forced the words out of him, manning up for the first time other than putting his fists in other people's faces.

He wanted to be good. He wanted to do good for you. But like he told you, he was never a good man to begin with. His lip quivered for a second but he didn't want to be weak in front of you...but you were breaking down his walls, at his door yelling to come in no matter the consequence. It would get you killed. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“Why? I'm not this fragile, breakable object that needs to be kept behind glass at all times. You recruited me, you know I can take care of myself, so why is all that changing now?” You were tired and angry and you just wanted him to want you, to fight for you.

"I'm the one that needs to protect you, no one else can do that but me.” He gritted out, his teeth clenching together.

'”What about me? What if I want to protect you? What if I want to take care of you for once?” That was all you were trying to get across, that you wanted to love him, that you wanted to care for him.

“No.” He said simply.

“So, you can want me but I can't want you? That's such backward logic, Miguel. I just..I want you to know that I care for you, I want you. Not just Spiderman or the aphrodisiacs we've become - you. I want to know you, I just want you to let me in. Why won't you let me do that for you?”

“Because you're mine now!”Miguel's grip on your shoulders tightened. He was practically yelling at this point, he couldn't do this.

As much as he wanted to tell you, the words just died in his mouth. Miguel wanted to cry, he hadn't let a tear shed in so long, and now he was this pent-up ball of emotion that he couldn't even fathom let alone differentiate. He hung his head in between you, his head now facing the floor as his breaths started to turn into heavy pants. “Because you're mine now...I’m the only one that can protect you. But what is that worth when I’m so capable of hurting you. I don’t… I don’t want to hurt you.” He repeated gently, almost solemnly and all you could do was stare at him wide-eyed, stilling at his unexpected outburst. A tear dripped from his eye, he couldn't face you looking this weak. “I'm supposed to hold it all together, to protect everyone, to keep everyone safe, To keep you safe. I can't be weak, I can't be weak- I have to hold everything together.” He choked out, spluttering and then it all just clenched at his heart:he started quietly sobbing, his head still downcast but his hands softening on your shoulders. Your lips parted in pure unbridled shock, gaping down at him as he fell apart. You really couldn't fathom this, it was all happening so fast.

“I've failed.” Miguel stifled. “I've failed as a leader, a father, a lover. And it's all my fault...I can't hurt anyone else.” Miguel couldn't stop the tears streaming down his face, and then he felt it- your warm touch softly trailing the outside of his face, lifting it up seeing he connected with your sad, eager eyes. That look could make a man fall to his knees, and Miguel honestly felt like it, his knees went limp. Your hand gripped his face as you leaned into his body, he blinked his tears away as his gaze fell on you. Your beautiful face was ashen with sadness and he hated that he was the reason for it. But you were holding him like he was water in your hands. Your soft fingers smoothed away his tears and it was like he was at the altar begging for your forgiveness.

Miguel looked so beautiful. His heart was opening and breaking at the same time and you felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

Miguel O'Hara was crying out in front of you, red eyes now a subdued hazel that you could fall in forever and never look back. All you wanted was to take care of him like he has for everyone else, to show him that he's worthy of love.

“Look at me...” You tipped his chin up and his lip quivered. “You are not a monster. You are not just Spiderman. You are not what you think you are, I've seen you up close and observed you from afar and this weekend has taught me so much about myself and what I want. All I want is to take care of you, to want you.” You had never been this honest about anything. The sincerity coursing through your body oozed out of every pore, radiating your need to want him. Miguel felt his heart stutter and his face freeze, he clenched his jaw to stop tears from pricking at his eyes as your words hit him like a brick. “Don't be the mask, let it out.” You added quietly. You gripped the back of his neck and placed it on your shoulder, your arms wrapping around him as if you would die if you ever let go.

Miguel stilled and then he melted into your embrace, feeling your warmth, he felt like Icarus being dragged into the relentless flames. Your acceptance of him was almost enthralling. You grasped his head into your hands, your eyes flitting from feature to feature as you felt him quite literally freeze in place-your fingertips were the salve to all wounds, the medicine to all sickness and Miguel was as damaged as can be. The walls he manufactured were nothing but dust between his fingertips, your unshakable will to not let him go, to love him as he is, guilt ridden and desperate, made him feel limp. Miguel's underbite clamped in an attempt to stop crying in front of you like this, to be so vulnerable in front of a woman was as foreign to him as being happy. He hasn't been happy in a long time and now you were here wanting to make him all better.

"You have no idea how much you mean to me.” Your grip on his face tightened as if to show him how serious you were. Miguel sniffled and melted into your warm hands, turning his head slightly to kiss your palm. Silence whipped through the air, the crackling of nothing but each other's breaths keeping you both steady as you tried to find the words to say, and this time you were hellbent on being clear. “The moral ambiguity of your actions doesn't scare me, I feel like you don't understand that. The mistakes you made in your past don't define you. Bad people don't care if they're bad...and I know you're good. In your heart, I know you're good...It's why I love you.”

Miguel's eyes widened a fraction and glazed over twice. He felt his mind turn to white noise but he heard you clear as day, the words falling like scripture. Like you were meant to say it. The words felt so sweet and liberating in your mouth but your heart was plunging further and further down, afraid of his reaction. You loved him. The silence that settled between you was palpable, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from yours.

Miguel didn't say anything, he just grabbed you by the waist with his right arm, pulled you close, and smashed his lips against yours. The tears smeared his face and then dried into his skin. Your kisses were always passionate, but this was like wildfire spreading onto the ocean. A fire in December. Warmth in the darkness. Miguel's tongue seeked to find yours, a soft tangle of lust and tenderness- something that he thought he would never be able to have. He sucked the sadness out of your lips and it felt beautiful.

“Let me take care of you..” You whispered sensually in between kisses and Miguel groaned, his fingers pinching gently into your skin. “Let me love you.” Your soft tender sighs were the glue that seemed to hold him together, he paused, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Are you sure?” He was hesitant, unsure if you were willing to see past all of his mistakes, to love him as he is, to be intimate.

Instead of answering, you pressed your fingers against your watch to form a portal to Miguel's place, to show him that you don't care about anything other than him at this moment, that you were willing to accept him as he is. You weren't afraid of proving it, if you had to you would, and right now you were desperate to prove just how much you wanted him, Miguel's eyes widened when he felt the portal beam right beside you, giving you a soft hazy look as you extended your hand, offering him to take it

“Let me prove it to you.” You whispered and that was enough to do Miguel in.

You were his calling, a siren guiding him through muddy waters. He intertwined his fingers through yours and you felt like your soul was being bound to his with every second your soft touch traced against his. Whenever Miguel's hands were on you, they were calloused and rough, his talons protruding from his fingertips aggressively but this time...it was tender, it felt meaningful- his touch was gentle, the way he was holding your hand and letting you guide him to a fate he wasn't even sure of felt surreal. He just can't leave you alone.

You lead him into the portal as your grasp on him is firm, a warning for him to show that you weren't letting go, not this time. As you both stepped out of the portal into his living room, it sealed behind him and left you both blinking at each other compressed by the thick tension. Thank God for this watch, honestly, it could take anyone anywhere.

“Wait...” He muttered hesitantly as he stopped you in your tracks. Turning around, your gleaming eyes were lasered on him and you shivered into his touch as he put his hands on your waist as a means to stop you from going to the bedroom. His free hand went to cradle your face as his thumb caught on your lip. “Did I hurt you at all? When we fucked did I hurt you?” He murmured sensually and it sent a permanent smattering of goosebumps to dimple all over your heated skin. Miguel's eyes were dim with curiosity and most importantly seriousness.

“No. Never. You never hurt me.” You confirmed and it settled the pace of his beating heart a fraction, but it was always racing when he had his hands on you. “We've fucked but...You’ve never made love to me.” Your voice was honeyed and low, the words slipping from your tongue as you suggested it.

Make love?

Oh, baby, you don’t know what you’re talking about. He doesn’t make love.

All he knew was to fuck. Hard and animalistic. But that wanton scorching look in your eyes, so desperate for him to be gentle, to make you feel wanted. And fuck, he wanted you to feel cherished by him.

He hadn't been so intimate with another woman like this, even with the mother of his own child.

Your eyes were wide, lips wet and eager but not eager in the way that he always knew you to be, you were desperate to show him something new, you were taking control and he was following along. It was refreshing.

His thumb was brushing over those perfect lips, plush and pink with heat and blush. You were so damn beautiful it was haunting.

Your eyes fluttered closed and your sweet mouth pressed against his softly, pecking kisses at his lips as you slung your hands around his neck and rubbed his scalp tenderly. “Let me make love to you…” You breathed low and thick and Miguel felt his cock harden already, he whimpered into your mouth and your brain committed the once-in-a-lifetime sound to memory. You made Miguel O'Hara whimper, you felt like the luckiest girl in the world. Miguel melted into you, his atoms jumping within his body to the point where he leaned into you so eagerly. You opened your mouth to deepen the passionate kiss, he was going so fast but you placed your hands on his chest. “Go slow baby...Need you to go slow.”

Your low voice shot straight down to the tip of his cock and it pulsated within his suit. Miguel listened to you and his mouth moved slowly, his tongue massaged against yours gently, tasting the mouth he adored. You tasted even sweeter like this- this slow waltz of passion allowed him to savor every second of it. The fact that you were on your tiptoes wanton for his lips made him realize how sincere of a moment this was.

"You're so beautiful it hurts.” He pulled away and breathed raggedly. His words were making you so malleable, so bendy under his will and you wanted nothing more than to please him. It was at this moment that you grabbed his hands laced it between your fingers once again and led him to the bedroom. “On the right.” He said huskily.

You opened the door and Miguel trailed behind you like a lost puppy, eager to follow your every move like he was in a trance. He closed the door behind him and that's when you realized it was going to be a long night. Your hands slipped from his and you took a few steps forward so you were near the foot of his bed: You reached out and quickly turned on his bedside light. You wanted to see his face. Miguel just leaned against the door, watching intently to every microdose, to every fraction of a move you made- waiting for your next move. At this point, you wanted to test him. You let out a soft breath with the part of your lips and felt the zipper of your suit. Miguel tore through your clothes like a knife through hot butter just with the sharpness of his talons, this time you wanted to make this slow and less immediate. Miguel's eyes were fixed on you, eyebrows tensing with a strive he hadn't felt before. The tips of your fingers toyed with your zipper and you pulled it down hesitantly. You hear Miguel let out a short breath when you slide out of your suit, slivers of skin piercing his peripheral with your shimmering glow. The fabric pooled at your feet and you stepped out of it, only left in your pretty underwear and bra set. Even subconsciously you were dressing up for Miguel.

He sighed and his eyes fluttered closed when he saw how you looked under the golden glow of his bedside lamp, he saw you perfectly. Your frame was even more beautiful than the last time he gawked at you. His jaw clenched and his teeth gritted when his eyes wandered to your lips. You were biting it and small marks indenting the soft flesh. “Come here..”

Miguel stalked up to you slowly, playing along with you, feeling the gorgeous reality set over him.

You wanted to make love to him, and he wanted to make love to you. To feel you intimately, slowly, passionately. He wanted to take the time to memorize the way you react as he makes you feel good. When he fucked you, he only got flashes, now he wants the whole thing. He was hungry for it.

He was in front of you now, your breath mingling with his, and your eyes flitted from gorgeous feature to feature. Miguel's hand traced up your thigh in barely there touches and you hung your head to watch his ministrations and it felt like you were spellbound by his mysticism. His finger hooked onto the side of your underwear and twirled it gently. “Hmm.” He hummed in a clipped tone and his eyes met yours in a powerful connection. He watched the black of your eyes burst widely, you clearly liked what he was doing.

He was being so gentle with you, so slow. It felt so damn sexy. This waiting. This tension. It felt like the beginning of all of this but…better.

“Tell me, Cariño...What do you want me to do for you?” Miguel whispered as his fingers hooked under your chin to tilt your head back up, he noticed that your lips were already swollen by a few kisses. You were so gorgeous like this, it was inhumane.

“Undress me..” You murmured sweetly but the force of your words seemed more like a diverted beg. Miguel was savoring every second of this torturous process, watching the little twitches of that perfect body of yours under a magnifying glass.

“Hmmm. That what you want?”

"Mhmmm.”

With that, Miguel placed his palms on your back, feeling the straps of your bra as he traced his fingertips over the hooks, teasing you, watching the way your face and body reacted to his barely-there touches. You reveled in it, the uncertainty of the touches he put on you. He finally unhooked your bra, the snaps liberating you as the tension is being relieved bit by bit. You stifled a moan and that sound was so much hotter than a usual moan, you were suppressing it making it clear that you were already getting aroused.

And fucking hell, it was arousing. He wasn't even in you yet. See, before when you and Miguel were yearning for each other, neither of you was thinking straight. All you both needed was to fill each other, Now after that, there was something missing.

This feeling of emotional need was what was missing. This emotional connection and chemistry.

Miguel watched with creased intent eyes as he tugged the pretty bra off you, your breasts bouncing out of its confines. His eyes flicked to yours, one soft palm caressing your chest, that telltale squirm told him everything he needed to know.

“Such a beautiful body, such a pretty face. Like you were made for me Carino.”

“Miguel...” You whimper out slightly.

“What is it, baby?” His voice was gruff and smooth all at once, a velvety mixture of husky and sensuality. It was like he was cooing down at you. “Hmm?” You darted your head down as an indication to strip you of your underwear.

Miguel's lips parted as he understood immediately, his eyes didn't rip away from yours as he slowly bent down to his knees. He hooked his arms around the back of your legs and kept eye contact with you, a surge of arousal washing between you. He planted a few trailing kisses up your thighs and you squirmed into him lime clockwork. His fingers shimmied down your underwear delicately and you stepped out of the flimsy fabric.

“Kiss me.” You say under your breath in such a sweet voice. How could he ever say no to that? The last time he couldn't really remember it, he was so taken over by his primitive instincts that it was all over in flashes-relish every last bit of you.

Miguel let out a sharp breath as his fingers kneaded the soft flesh of the back of your thighs before he cupped the globes of your ass, he was taking his time to feel you, to memorize it all and commit it to memory. Every time he touched your skin, it felt like he was touching God or angel matter. As his mouth placed teasing kisses on your lower stomach his aind was beginning to reel. You were arching into him, your fingers sinking deeper into his hair. He gave you one last look as a confirmation and all he got back was a pretty blushing face with a slack jaw and parted lips. “Need you…” You muttered and that's when his mouth started to suckle on your pussy, his lithe tongue moving up and down and in and out, he was keeping you guessing and it made you all the more frustrated and wet. His nose nudged your swollen clit and it made your body jolt from the aftershock.

“You always taste like heaven incarnate...” he mumbled between licks and all you could do was moan. You were caught off guard when he started to suckle on your clit, his pace was torturous, so slow and you were becoming more and more needy.

“Miguel...Please I-“ You tried to protest but you weren't even sure what you were protesting for and before you could even get off he rose from his knees and wrapped his arms around you, his mouth shutting you up.

Miguel's hands were placed firmly on your ass, squeezing tightly whenever you moaned into his desperate mouth. Your lips were melting into each other and blurring into a slow, wickedly passionate make-out. “It was like my name was supposed to come out of your mouth.” He felt like a teenager about to lose his virginity he was that excited. Your arms hung around his neck and your tongue was so sweet in his mouth, exploring unhurriedly but he knew you were at your threshold- even though he got a taste, you were still reeling from the fact he wouldn't let you finish.

Your mouth unsheathed from his and you both took a beat to gawk at each other. A dark look fell onto Miguel's eyes as he saw your cheeks pink and red with arousal. His hands cradled your pretty face and you looked like a doll in his palms.

“Want me to make love to you, yeah? Make you feel just how deeply I need you?” His voice was strained and low, seduction scraping at his vocal chords and it sent waves of neediness course through your body. The connection your gazes held was a simmering fire that was beating with passion. It was impossible to look away

“Yes." You breathed out sensually, an angelic hazy daze clouding your brain as the word just fell from your lips.

“You're so beautiful, querida.”He kissed your forehead tenderly and your breaths became even more rapid when you felt your legs go limp. He was holding your face like you were a jewel, you leaned your head forward to kiss him on the lips and Miguel just held you back with just the might of his palms. “Easy ángel...” He murmured. “Be patient f’me. You wanted me to make love to you, let me take my time with you then mi amor. Let me feel you.” His easy words just made soft moans roll from your tongue, he was doing a damn good job at making you feel not just wanted but cherished.

Miguel planted a kiss on your temple, you were squirming in his touch, rolling your body onto his. “You know, I haven't been doing well without you...Even after a day, you make me lose my wind with just how badly I need you.” he planted a kiss on your cheek and whispered hotly in your ear. “I got you baby, stay still f’me." He then kissed the corner of your mouth and then fully engulfed your lips with his. You were red hot with anticipation, your senses skyrocketing with every second but the reality was slow and agonizing- it was perfect. You decided to take the lead now, you got Miguel on the bed and he leaned up on the headboard, your head was in between his clothed thighs and you pouted. Miguel quickly rid of the holographic suit and his rock-hard cock sprung free in front of your face. The look on your face was priceless, a mixture of eagerness and seduction- it was a brain fuck.

“Let me taste you too.” Your tone was doused in pure lust and before Miguel's eyes could widen, your tongue stuck out and licked the head of his leaking cock. It wasn't like the first time you gave him head though, this was solely focused on him, no challenges, no teasing, no games. Just making him feel good. You gave kitten licks to his sensitive slit, those barely-there touches already driving him to the sharp edge. Your warm, wet mouth finally covered his tip, suckling gently and swirling him with your tongue, the salty taste of him you craved was already filling up your senses, he tasted so good.

“Mmm..fuck.. you're too good to me, so good f'me.” He let out a strained groan as his head tipped back slightly. You lapped him tenderly, sliding him down your throat, little by little. It felt...loving.

Miguel felt himself still in place when your warm mouth left him hanging, it was you who was prepping him this time. You crawled onto his lap with this innocent glimmer in your eyes, a look that was of mere longing and yearning, a face so eager to please. You settled between his thighs and Miguel's face was steely and serious, he really wanted to show you exactly the kind of love he harbored for you but you had other ideas and Miguel was uncharacteristically allowing you to do whatever you pleased.

“Wanna ride you...” You say softly as your hands massaged at his shoulders and Miguel is already letting out small groans at the slightest bit of contact. You placed your hands on his and guided them to your face, the pads of his fingers traced over your skin and you tilted your head to kiss his palm, then you caught one of his fingers in your mouth, suckling and twirling your tongue around the tip of it softly. Miguel sighed deeply at the pretty sight before you let it go with a pop. “Can I do that for you?” You breathed out.

This all felt so...personal.

Like you were reaching to the darkest depths of who he was and loving him anyway.

It made him burn for you. Miguel's cock was slapping against your stomach, your eyes darted from his face to his length and it made you wet your lips. “Mhmm.” He rasped, his big palms landed on the dip of your waist, helping you guide yourself on him. Before he could though, you leaned in and chastely kissed the tip of his nose, the bridge of his nose, and his forehead. Jesus Christ, it was like you knew exactly how to make him putty in your hands. You gave him a lazy smile as you rose up and eased yourself down on his cock, your pretty pussy swallowed him up entirely like always- even after he's fucked you so many times, he still never got used to how wet and tight your pussy was. Your eyes never broke from his as your tits pressed into his chest, you whined in his ear and his hands burrowed in your soft sweet hair, the strands falling down like a waterfall. "Ah...Mig-“

"Always taking me so well. Do you have any idea just how good you feel, mm?” He grunted out, his big arms wrapping around you entirely, trapping you in him. He was always balls deep inside you, there was no space left between you and that was just how you liked it. “My pretty girl. My beautiful girl. I need you.” He cooed.

You moaned when your hips started subconsciously moving, grinding down on him and making discernable shapes on his cock. Miguel watched you with awe equated to being starstruck, you were bouncing on him and rutting your greedy cunt on him trying to get yourself off on him. “You always- Fuck. Fill me up so good.” You moaned out, your mind all hazy from his brute strength alone, he was forcing you to stay put on his thighs, spending whatever time you needed to please him. Miguel slowed you down as he caught your supple lips with his, it was a desperate kiss that was bursting with flames and then your pace got slower, savoring the kiss. You broke away with a moan and sunk your teeth into his shoulder blades, Miguel's mouth was on the crook of your neck peppering you with the sweet kisses you were aching for, and you felt him inhale the scent of you deeply. His hands apathetically palmed your tits, he rolled the nipples between his nimble fingers, pulling and nipping on them with his teeth and smoothing them with a suckle.

Hm.

He's not known for being kind.

But feeling you like this made him thaw.

Lord, he just wanted to please you, make you feel good and you were just as inclined to do the same thing-bursting each other up with the flames of passion.

“Mmm. Slow yeah? Slow for me. Take your time for me, baby.” He mumbled out through strained pants, you were jerking on him steadily and his eyes tore away from yours to stare at the bulge of your stomach- he was so fucking deep in you it bulged out of your tummy. Miguel's ego skyrocketed at the sight. Fuck, that perfect body of yours would be the death of him. "Look how fuckin deep I am- He pressed the bulge on your stomach and it made your body twitch wildly, you quite literally felt him pulsate inside of you and it made you clench even harder around him. He felt an orgasm approach him, teetering off that blissful edge that tipped between sweet heaven and damning hell.

God, he felt too good, stretching you and bottoming out into you.

When you pressed your forehead against his and whispered “I love you” to him, that was it.

Miguel moaned and rolled you over so that he was on top of you, his legs trapped you in place and his cock was still aching inside you, craving your friction. He weaved his fingers with yours as he pushed in and out of you, Miguel's knuckles turned white as your palm flatted from bliss into the mattress.

He had never done this during sex before, the simple intimacy of hand-holding turned into something so much more consuming. Miguel's figure loomed over you, his eyes piercing and moody, a whirlwind of passion and emotion making his eyes crystal clear than before.

You stared at Miguel.

Miguel stared at you.

Watching each fraction of your body intently, the way your face moved with every thrust, the plush of your cheeks pillowing whenever you whined, the crease of your eyebrows when he hit that spongy spot so deep inside you. The eye contact was driving both of you insane.

“This what you wanted? Me to look after you? Me to take care of you?” He questioned lowly, the strained words coming out in a deep husk. He was deadly serious, it was easy to see when he was glaring at you. That steely resolve melted slightly when you rolled your body against his, your bodies slid together so closely that not even a sheet of paper could fit through.

“Yes, fuck, yes.” You whispered against his lips, your soft breaths were being knocked out of you with a very torturous slow thrust. It made your collision all the more beautiful. Miguel had fucked you so many times during that weekend but this, was otherworldly, this was the true connection, this was lovemaking. He was cherishing you, treating you like pearls and gold in his hands and it made you feel lucky to be alive, The electricity was hot, the gaze you both shared was simmering heat encased with something other than just chemistry.

“I'm not hurting you am I?” He asked inquisitively, his voice cool and suave.

“No, no, no, no, no....No, fuck, you're perfect.” You responded in pleading tandem, your eyes widening with a worrythat he would stop

“I love you, you know that? God, I love you.” He babbled and that's when you felt his thrusts falter and your nerve endings singe, it was like he was taking your beating heart and meddling with it to go faster, to give in.

“I love y-“ Miguel cut off your words with a scorching kiss, his fangs nipped at your lower lip and his teeth bit the supple flesh and pulled back, it snapped back into place and a shaky moan fell from your swollen lips and hs grip on your hands tightened.

You were so close.

This sizzling passion was eating you up alive.

Miguel watched your body react to him and it was a sight created in heaven.

“Miggy...Mig...I'm g'na cum...Just wanna cum for you.” You moaned drunkenly. Miguel's lips captured around your nipple, suckling it and grazing it with his teeth before his eyes latched onto yours again.

“Cum for me baby. Wanna watch you cum for me.” He breathed out raggedly, his gaze dimming and hair in disarray.

Your pussy was so drenched for him as always, but this time you were leaking, the slow pace offering a new and rare kind of satisfaction. When his cock nudged and ground on your clit, you knew you couldn't hold it in anymore. Hot euphoria washed over you in waves, and a new kind of electricity coursed down your thighs anf you soaked his dick in your wetness. “Thaaat's it...I'm right here, I got you.” Miguel fucked you through your mind-altering orgasm.

It was so different. So surreal. When that list final whine fell from your pretty lips, he was already cumming before he could even stop himself. He spread your insides a thick stringy white, spurting out how much you meant to him. His strained pants were soaking your glowing skin, and a thin layer of sweat coated your body in the dim room.

“Shit...”He muttered before your lips collided with his. Your tongue delved into his mouth, taking what he would give you like you were a cat chasing after a mouse. Miguel rolled off of you to your side but his arms were still wrapped around you, your lips still connected in that heady unforgettable kiss. Your hands nestled in his hair, your gentle fingers raking through the strands as you broke away from his mouth and when you looked back into his eyes Miguel's gaze was just as piercing as before.

Miguel stared at you.

You stared back at him.

Your cheeks stained pink as you gave him a lazy fucked out smile. Miguel had the urge to fuck you like that again now. He loved what he had just experienced though. Missionary was so much better like this. It was so much better when he looked into the eyes of the woman he loved. When you kissed him on the forehead and told him you loved him, he knew that this was different.

A sudden wash of defensiveness tightened at his chest. You should've walked away from him. He should've walked away from you...but you didn't and that was a risk in itself, no one knew how it would unfold.

Miguel had his temper.

You were stubborn.

What if- What it-?

Miguel watched you like a lovesick fool, your pretty face warming his cheeks and dimming his eyes. He contemplated you for a moment, your presence, your smile, your warmth.

Was it worth it?

Yes.

He wanted to wake up to you every day, he wanted to take you out to dinner, make you feel special, make you his.

You both just gawked at each other blankly, sweet words filling the sweet atmosphere. All this yearning, all this pining lead up to this.

You were flustered. He was flustered.

You felt so fulfilled, so wanted, so needed by him- it had never been like this with anyone.

Miguel was facing his fears head-on with you by his side. His anxieties were quelled with every moment he spent here with you, he found that your soft breathing and guileless eyes were what was keeping him afloat.

Y’ALL I HOPE U LIKED THIS SERIES!!! the amount of support is unbelieveable ilysm! i will be writing an extra bonus chapter for u ;)) iknow i def need to do a masterlist and i will get on it soon i promise (tumblr deleted my old one smh)

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