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astroboots · 1 year

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Every You Every Me #8

COLLABORATED WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You embark upon 'a Cosmic Masterplan to survive' - Phase one

Word count: 6,600

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

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Ten days have passed since your home was blown to a million pieces.

Ten days since you found out that there are multiple universes.

Ten days since you learned that your universe—the world as you know it—has less than three months left before it implodes unless you can somehow find a way to save it… and yourself.

Despite the fantastical nature of those events, you find yourself returning back to your everyday life, just as mundane and ordinary as ever, cosmic murder attempts notwithstanding.

The helicopter crash was featured across the front page of The Times by morning, and apparently no one was hurt. The pilot had somehow been flung from the helicopter into a nearby window and miraculously survived without even a scratch. The only real casualty was your every worldly possession.

After a personal calamity of that scale, you’d hoped you might be offered an extended leave from work. Unfortunately, corporate America stops for no tragedy.

The only thing you're offered is a very sympathetic email the day after with a gift voucher for Dominos attached. Then Sally from HR had let you know that, given the severity of your situation, the company was generously granting you three whole personal days to sort out your affairs. After that you were requested to return to the office—the second quarter of the financial year was beginning soon after all.

And so you find yourself back at work.

Back to 8+ hours a day spent sitting in your rickety office chair, killing your eyesight in front of your computer screen as you pore over excel sheets. Back to the same old boring one-on-one meetings with your boss, who keeps harping on about Key Performance Indicators, as if they mean anything. You don’t understand what the point is. No matter how key your performance is, it never seems to be enough to net you a raise.

“Our total revenue increased by 15% compared to last year, which is a significant achievement considering the challenges in the market, but I know we can do better if we just–”

You stifle a yawn, as you readjust yourself in your chair. It’s Monday morning, and you find yourself in one of the stale meeting rooms, with staler treats that you’re not even allowed to have because they are for external clients only. Your boss is right next to you, droning on and on about how she wants to see better results in the next fiscal quarter. All the while you’re trying to fight the losing odds of keeping your eyes open and the temptation of gravity that wants your head to lay down on the conference table for an impromptu nap.

“We managed to improve our profit margin by 3% by reducing overhead costs, but we need to focus on further optimizing our operations in order to–”

Out of nowhere, the sound of her shrill nasal voice stops, and for a second you think that perhaps, sweet mercies of mercies, the meeting is finally over. But instead she points out the window and says the last thing you expect.

“Hey, isn’t that Spiderman?”

Huh?

You whip your head around to stare out the window so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash, and the sight that greets you is nearly enough to give you a heart attack on the spot.

Oh, it’s Spiderman alright. Your Spiderman.

Your maybe-vampire-but-maybe-not (he hasn’t combusted in sunlight yet, but then again he wears a full-body spandex suit) Spiderman.

Your Spiderman is right there in front of you in plain sight on the outside of the building, plastered to the wide wall-to-wall meeting room window. That dark blue super suit with the angry red spider emblazoned on his chest like a neon sign screaming: ‘Here I am!’

Your boss skips closer to the window in giddy excitement, until the two of them are only about a feet away from each other separated by a half an inch of glass.

“Look, his suit is different! I wonder if it’s an upgrade?” she exclaims, tilting her head to study him from the window. “He sure is a lot bigger in person, isn’t he?”

You feel the blood drain from your face, and the whole of your back breaks out in cold clammy sweat against your blouse. Doing your best to act normal, you force yourself to stay seated in your chair despite the shrill scream ringing in your head and the way your heart is threatening to leap right out of your throat.

What the hell does he think he’s doing!?

Thank fuck your boss still has her back to you, too enthralled by the unexpected superhero sighting to pay attention to anything else. You take advantage of her distraction to gesture frantically at Miguel, waving him away with as covert of a shooing motion as you can manage and praying that he’ll take the hint.

You know he sees you because the triangular outlines of his eyes narrow into annoyed slits and then he turns his face away as if offended, refusing to look at you. But at least he finally moves, leaping into the air and disappearing out of the sight of the window.

“Oh, shoot! There he goes again,” your boss says, letting out a long, loud sigh as if even she doesn’t want to go back to listening to her own voice for the rest of this meeting. “Well, back to work. Guess that was the excitement for the day.”

Scratch what you were saying before. There are no more completely mundane days. Not now that Miguel O’Hara has entered your life.

Once upon a time, your biggest dilemma with him was that he was avoiding you, refusing all your attempts to force a face-to-face meeting. Now you find yourself in the strange position of having the opposite problem.

True to his promise, Miguel is always there to protect you.

In fact, he’s just plain always there.

Never more than 10 feet away, regardless of where you go. He’s the last thing you see… or rather, hear before you go to sleep, his incessant snoring reverberating off the walls of your shared hotel room. Then, when you wake, it’s to his big 6’9” frame draped across the tiny velvet sofa, his long legs sticking off the end and hanging out into the room.

Miguel hovers over you when you eat, in case you get another piece of toast stuck in your throat and he needs to do the Heimlich maneuver on you again. Or, like that one time last week, in case you developed another hitherto completely undiscovered food allergy and have to be rushed to the ER. He is constantly on alert, eyes glued to you at all times.

Miguel comes with you when you go grocery shopping at the corner bodega. Sticking close to your back in the cramped aisles, lest one of the shelves fall over and bury you under crates of Lucky Charms and Fruit Loops… again. He has a sneaky habit of covertly dropping the most nutritiously questionable grocery items in your basket: jellied donuts, sugar-frosted pop tarts, fun dip and jolly ranchers. He eats like a five year old who has too much pocket money and no understanding of the food pyramid. It’s worrying to watch and you definitely google diabetes risk for spiders at least once, but the internet has nothing helpful to offer on that front.

Even when you’re relaxing in the luxury hotel suite that’s become your home, flipping through Tik Tok-edits on your iPhone (the newest model, which Lyla snagged for you!) or catching up on Netflix, Miguel is always right there. Not two steps away from you, looking over your shoulder.

Being the constant center of Miguel's attention is… disconcerting. You know it’s because he’s watching for the next random disaster to strike, but having his eyes on you nonstop leaves you feeling uncomfortably aware of him all the time. Especially when you’re trying to watch Bridgerton on your new macbook pro (also courtesy Lyla) and an R-rated scene comes on. You’ve resorted to having Lyla order books and magazines for him in an attempt to keep him occupied, but it doesn’t seem to make much difference.

It’s so bad that you can barely go to the bathroom without Miguel guarding the door like a zealous German Shepherd, his back plastered to the nearest wall when you emerge. You try not to let the lack of privacy bother you… or to think about the fact that his spidey-supersenses probably let him hear everything.

The only place Miguel doesn’t come with you is when you go to work, because he doesn’t have the clearance needed to get into the building—tourists and non-personnel aren’t allowed any further than the lobby. It doesn’t stop him from climbing the walls of the building and hanging around outside the 44th floor though. You know he’s there because, you see his shadow blurring at the window whenever you get up to get more coffee or unstick the paper jammed in the printer.

It’s an adjustment, but for all the madness that comes with the package, having Miguel around does make you feel safe.

Time always seems to pass too quickly when there’s a deadline approaching.

The problem is that right now the due it’s not the date of a school assignment or some work project that you’re worrying about. And if you take too long, the consequences will be much worse than a lower grade or a slap on the wrist. If you fail to meet this deadline, it will be the end of the world—not just as you know it, but for everyone in your entire universe.

A week ago you had been dauntless, facing Miguel down across the table at Starbucks and announcing that you intended to fight cosmically impossible odds in order to live. Bold even, when you’d confidently declared that the only thing you needed was three months and his protection from the universe's murder attempts to make that happen.

In retrospect, you might have been less dauntless and more… delusional, because so far the only real progress you've made is drawing up a Master Plan, complete with a bullet point list and no idea if any of it is actually going to accomplish anything.

'A Cosmic Masterplan to survive' - Phase one

Step 1: Personal history:

Identify past wrongdoings

Determine if they could explain cosmic retaliation

Step 2: Analyze incident patterns:

Study recurring near death incidents

Identify commonalities and patterns

Determine strategies to stop or prevent future occurrences

Step 3: Research genealogy:

Explore family history

Investigate any ancestors who may have incurred celestial grudges

Determine if these grudges extend to descendants

Step 4: Examine past life wrongdoings:

Establish if reincarnation is real

Investigate potential past life transgressions

Assess if they correlate with current cosmic retaliation

Step 5: Seek cosmic expert assistance:

Consider approaching Dr. Strange for guidance

Request expertise in understanding cosmic phenomena

Things had started out okay.

You completed Step 1 in less than a day, quickly compiling a list of all the people you’d wronged in your lifetime. Anything that might make the universe want to intervene on their behalf and dole out some karma against you.

So far, your life's most egregious crimes include:

That time when you wet the bed during a sleepover when you were six and blamed it on your friend Sally Jenkins.

The night you bailed out in the middle of a date with a dentist from Tinder who insisted on ordering for you and kept talking about Alpha and Betas. (It was only after a very confusing and awkward conversation that you realized he was not talking about the omegaverse). You’re pretty sure you did both of you a favor when you told him you were going to use the bathroom before dessert and took off without saying goodbye instead.

That summer you brought only chocolate with coconut back to share with your coworkers after your vacation in Canada so that Matt in accounting (who always steals your yogurt out of the office fridge) couldn’t have any because he's allergic to coconut.

Are those the actions of a good person? Probably not.

Are they petty? Oh yeah.

Are they bad enough to justify karmic retaliation from the universe in the form of death? You doubt it.

As for Step 2, despite all the near death experiences you've had recently, there doesn’t seem to be any discernible pattern that could help you predict or prevent future incidents. After all it’s a bit difficult to predict that an impromptu mounted police parade would take place near your office, only for there to be a wild stampede of panicky horses that tried to mow you over.

Step 3 of your plan? Another dud.

Your family line is made up of uncles working blue-collar jobs at warehouses, aunties who pester you about being single, one grandfather who likes to talk about how things were better in the old days and a grandmother who likes to complain that you never call every time you call her (and another grandma you actually like because she feeds you sweets and cakes when you go visit).

There are no skeletons hidden in your family closet. Nothing interesting at all except maybe that one cousin who claims to have hooked up with Leonardo Di Caprio at Coachella (unverifiable and unlikely).

Your mission to try to figure out if all of this is caused by any past life connections in Step 4?

It had seemed like a reasonable thing to look into, but how the heck do you go about doing that? You’ve put it on hold for now.

As for the final step? Your search to seek out cosmic expert assistance is still ongoing.

Contacting another Supe that has a magical expertise in the cosmic should be the most logical avenue. Doctor Strange is the superhero that famously deals with the magical cosmos stuff, so you figured maybe he could help in some way. That it wouldn't be hard for Miguel to reach out to him, one superhero to another.

It’s the one part of your plan you could actually take action on that seems like it might lead somewhere. Problem is, you've run into a big sassy roadblock named Miguel O'Hara.

Miguel flatly refuses to have anything to do with Dr. Strange.

His justification?

"Hate that guy."

Repeatedly pestering him has gotten you nowhere, and it’s not like you, a random normie, can just rock up outside of Dr. Strange’s residence and ask for help because the universe is out to get you. That’s a good way to get yourself hauled away, like that guy from Colorado who was in the news last year for faking a UFO invasion with cheap props on YouTube and then camping out outside of Bruce Banner’s lab. Idiots like that show up from time to time, Superhero fanatics seeking the attention of the Avengers for some fake emergency.

Worst comes to worst, you could probably just stand outside Doctor Strange’s house until something tries to kill you again and hope that he’ll notice, but you’re not sure the universe won’t thwart you on purpose. Probably not the best use of your limited time, especially since you’re out of PTO.

For now, you’re hoping to change Miguel’s mind through sheer persistence, but given how stubborn the man is, that might be more of a lost cause than trying to thwart the universe itself.

It’s payday today, and you’ve decided to take Miguel to dinner in Chinatown as thanks for the man’s continuous efforts in saving your life.

As touristy as that area can be, there are some good, cheap diners owned by grumpy Cantonese families that serve large enough portions to feed this horse of a man.

It’s not entirely selfless. You’re tired of being cooped up in the hotel room as soon as you get off work, and you want to stretch your legs. You’re also hoping that stuffing Miguel full of food will make him more receptive to the next round of your arguments in favor of Step 5 of your Cosmic Masterplan.

But you’ve been here for two hours now, and you’re not sure Miguel knows the meaning of the word full.

He’s ordered egg tarts by the dozen. Crispy fried seafood noodles drenched in sweet cornstarch slurry. Deep fried turnip cakes soaked in sweet soy sauce. Beef Ho Fun. Every other dish is deep fried and slathered in XO sauce, and you are starting to be genuinely concerned about his cardiovascular health as you watch him shovel it down his maw, barely pausing to chew as he goes.

At least he looks happy while eating? Endearingly so. It’s the only time you’ve seen him relaxed and finally drop his guard a little bit, though you’re sure he’s still aware of every minute detail in his surroundings. You decide it’s better not to say anything since scolding him about being a glutton would be like the pot name calling the kettle. Your wolfish food habits is a shared hobby you have with Miguel at this point.

“What’s wrong with the egg tarts?” you ask, eyeing the plate that lies still untouched on the table, the only food to have escaped Miguel’s massacre. Given how sweet they are, you would have expected him to inhale them within seconds.

“I ordered them for you,” he says, not slowing down as he spears more food onto his plate. “Your favorite, right?”

You nod slowly and reach for one, touched by the gesture but not sure what to say.

There’s a fleck of sauce smudged on his cheek, a stray rice grain on his nose. He looks like any other civilian as he scarfs down the food in quick succession.

Out of his super suit, he looks different. He’s partial to oversized clothes that makes him look oddly gangly even with his build. You’ve caught him with glasses on more than once, even though you’re pretty sure he’s mentioned that supersight is one of the things he’s gifted with. You can’t help but wonder if he wears them out of a sense of habit or if it’s a conscious fashion choice. Probably the former, given what you’ve seen him wear so far—fashion doesn’t seem to be one of his fortes. All in all, it makes him look like a much homelier person with a slightly nerdy vibe than the handsome superhero when he’s on the job.

He’s softer without the supersuit. Still scowling, but it’s less intimidating when he’s doing it wearing a big hoodie with dumb logos printed across his chest.

It’s still odd seeing Rude Spiderman in these domestic settings, but you think you prefer him like this.

“How’s your plan coming along?” he asks, mouth full of fried rice as he’s already reaching for a piece of char siu.

Of course, he has to ask you a question just as you bite into sweet and creamy egg custard.

“I’m kind of stuck,” you admit, the words muffled slightly by the pastry in your mouth. “I think we need to talk about reaching out to Dr. Strange.”

“No.” He doesn’t even bother to stop eating, still chewing with a gusto as the word emerges.

Nothing more than that. No reasons or explanation given, just ‘No.’

Irritation brews in your chest at his unhelpfulness. He’s throwing a monkey wrench into your cosmic survival masterplan, and he won’t even tell you why.

Too busy stuffing his face with crispy wontons.

“But why? He’s the only Avenger with an expertise in cosmic magic!”

“Expertise, my ass,” he retorts.

“Why do you hate him so much?” You slide the plate of roasted duck across the table, away from him, and that finally makes him pay proper attention.

Miguel is doing that scowling thing again, first at you and then dropping his gaze to glaring down at his rice and chopstick like he’s about to stab it.

“Because he’s an idiot. “Doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking about. Gives terrible advice.”

“He was one of the world’s leading brain surgeons,” you huff. “I don’t think he’s an idiot, Miguel.”

Miguel leans over the table, sliding the plate back closer to where he’s seated.

“Being handy with a scalpel isn’t a transferable skill to the supernatural. And he wears a cape. Only idiots wear capes.”

“Wait, what? You don’t like him because he wears a cape!?” you spit out incredulously. You don’t understand this man’s logic sometimes.

“Capes are impractical. Get snagged everywhere. No superhero worth the name would wear one,” he explain as if this alone perfectly justifies hating someone. He stabs a piece of meat with his chopstick and brings it to his mouth. “I will never ask that man for help again.”

Then he inhales the rest of the plate of roasted duck.

You leave the restaurant frustrated.

Miguel’s stubbornness remains as immovable as stone, and this big red and blue boulder has left you stuck at a dead end roadblock in the middle of a street, one you don’t know how to get around. He won't agree to talk to Strange, and you don’t know what else to do.

You need divine inspiration, or failing that maybe just… a hint. Something to tell you what direction to go in. Some kind of a sign.

Deep in thought, you turn round a corner, barely noticing how the alley narrows as you keep walking forward. It’s not until a pile of crates in front blocks your path, forcing you to stop dead in your tracks that you lift your head to survey your surroundings.

You and Miguel are at a small alley that you don’t recognize, which is weird because you know this area like the back of your hand. Somewhere along the way you must’ve taken a wrong turn.

Just ahead of you, there's a red stall set up on the sidewalk surrounding a small rickety table with red cloth draped over it, a couple of folding chairs set up in front.

Above it is… a giant sign. Fortune Teller, it says.

Not quite the metaphorical sign you were asking for a few minutes ago, but maybe the universe has given up on subtlety for today. Hey, at least it’s not trying to kill you… unless fortune teller assassins are a thing. Shit, is the universe resorting to baiting traps now? You really hope it doesn’t start setting out poisoned cookies on window sills, because then it will be game over for you and Miguel both.

You look the stall over, noticing that there are no crystal balls. No tarot cards. No trinkets or ancient scrolls like the ones you see in the movies.

There’s just an old lady. Her head is cleanly shaven, shining slick under the sole street lamp in the alley. She’s wearing a thick robe with a blue shawl draped over her shoulders that seems much too warm for the current weather, and cheap oversized sunglasses perch on her small nose despite it being evening. That outfit is certainly a choice.

Maybe you should be more cautious, but what harm can it do at this point?

The fortune teller certainly looks harmless and frail with her big round cheeks, sitting on a small stool. Even though she looks nothing like her, she makes you think of your grandmother—the one you actually like to call. The grandma who always has cookies stashed away for you when you come to visit.

Maybe she can give you a reading of who you were in your past life.

Maybe she can give you a protection amulet to make the universe chill the fuck out for a while.

Maybe she can burn some incense that will make you relax and get rid of the migraine you've gotten since the universe decided to murder you.

"Miguel." You tug at the lapel of his jacket, and point in the direction of the sign.

He turns around, scanning the space and then his eyes narrow disapprovingly.

"Fortune… teller,” Miguel reads off the sign in a slow skeptic drawl. He doesn't need to say more to express his complete and utter disdain, but that doesn’t stop him.

"You know it's all a scam right? People like this can't actually tell the future. They have no supernatural powers. What they do is cold reading."

It’s entirely unsurprising Miguel doesn't like the idea. There are a lot of things Miguel doesn’t like.

"What else do you propose we do?"

"Ask someone with actual skills who can help us?"

"You were the one who shot down the idea of asking Doctor Strange for help," you remind him.

"I don’t want his help," Miguel shoots back, grimacing as though the mere mention of the name is enough to leave a bad taste in his mouth.

"Yeah, so you keep telling me." You continue on to the stall, despite your companion's strong protests.

The sweet old lady greets you as you sit down at the table. She looks even weirder from up close, her bald head abnormally large for her small body. You try not to stare, not wanting to make her self-conscious, but you can’t help but wonder how gravity keeps her head upright.

“Fifty dollars,” she announces the moment you take a seat.

Fifty bucks to get your fortune read!? Talk about highway robbery! You could get seven overpriced Spiderman cookies for that.

“That’s too much.” You shake your head, rising from your seat.

“Okay, okay. I can do cheaper,” the woman immediately concedes, looking nervous at your sudden outburst, and you have to bite back a smile.

That was easy.

“How much cheaper?” you ask. You know how this game is played.

“Twenty?”

If she’s willing to drop the price from fifty to twenty that easily, you can definitely get her to go lower.

“Ten.” You cross your arms where you stand, making no move to sit down.

“Are you really haggling over this? You were the one who wanted to do this, and now you’re going to cheap out over ten bucks!?” Miguel says from behind you, but you ignore him. It’s enough to have him there looming over the lady as you stare her down, taking a note out of his intimidation tactic book.

“Some of us aren’t made out of money, Miguel–”

“Fine! Ten, I’ll do it for ten,” the lady says over the top of your arguing.

She’s skittish in the sudden silence that follows, looking over her shoulder to her left and right, as if she’s checking if your loud outbursts have attracted any attention.

Seemingly reassured that there’s only the three of you here, she gestures for you to sit back down and then tilts her head towards you.

From behind her sunglasses, you can see that her eyes are clouded white from glaucoma, but when she raises her gaze to give Miguel an appraising look from head to toe, it’s obvious that she’s still able to see.

“Your husband is tall.”

You see Miguel go rigid out the corner of your eye and chance a quick glance up at him. His sour expression hasn’t changed but you can tell he’s uncomfortable from the way his fingers are gripping the fabric of his hoodie where the chain holding his ring is hiding underneath the layers of clothing.

"Can you do a past life reading?" you ask instead, trying to steer the conversation away from anything that might inflict further painful reminders upon him. "I want to know if I could have attracted bad karma in my past lives."

“No such thing,” she says bluntly, shaking her head, "You have no past life. Reincarnation is not real."

That’s step 4 taken care of, you think to yourself, and you think you hear Miguel choke back a laugh behind you. You’re not thrilled that he’s having fun at your expense, but at least he’s not sad anymore.

"Uh… okay…" You try to think of what else was on your list. "Then can I buy a protection amulet or something? I've had really bad luck lately."

The old granny looks you over appraisingly, eyes traveling from the top of your head as far down as she can see before the table top gets in the way, and her benign and friendly smile fades as she does.

"No," she says, eyes wrinkling with worry. "An amulet is of no use to you. Just a waste of money."

Oh wow, grandma is really dissing you right now.

She gestures her hand in a come hither motion to get you to lean down, and then pulls out a paper and pen and starts to draw an uneven circle with thick, crude lines.

"See here?" she says as she loops the circle closed, "This is all of us, our world"

Miguel is suddenly right next to you, hunching down and bent over the small table. You don’t know when he managed to sneak up on you, but he’s right there, so close his shoulder is brushing up against yours.

The fortune teller moves her pen inside the circle to draw a much smaller one, then a forked line sticking out of it, and another line across the center of that one. It’s so crudely drawn it takes you a second to realize it’s a stick figure.

"This is you," she points at it with a pen, seeming to admire her own creation.

Next to you, Miguel is staring down at the childish drawing with his hands crossed against his chest in irritation, his right eyelid is twitching. He looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm.

Even though he’s not saying a word, you swear you can almost hear his inner monologue, protesting the lady’s poor handmanship and drawing skills. He doesn’t need to say it but even $10 is too much of a price to pay, even for a man with infinity dollars.

Seemingly oblivious to Miguel’s irritation, the fortune teller proceeds to draw angry darts from inside the circle aimed at the poor you stick figure. Pressing so hard with her pen that the ink bleeds into the paper and the darts are starting to look like daggers. You almost wince when you see a couple of them pierce through your stick figure. “Outside interference has brought bad luck to you. It will never go away; it will follow you forever.”

You peer down at the paper with a sense of unease. Aren’t scam fortune tellers supposed to tell you what you want to hear? Where are the reassuring lies? Shouldn’t she be telling you that you’re going to meet a tall, dark, handsome stranger? Or that you were a princess in a past life? Since when do they tell you that you’re doomed to die over and over?

“So what am I supposed to do?” you ask.

“Keep moving,” she says with an unfaltering smile as if she hasn’t given you the most grim fortune telling of all time.

You lean back in your seat deflated. Scam or not, the prognosis isn’t looking good for you right now.

The lady ducks under her desk, and is sorting through a pile of junk paper, before she pops back up again. She shoves something into your hands, and leans over to you with a piercing gaze in her milky-white eyes. “The man who will help you lives here.”

Hope sparks bright in your chest at her words. Finally, a lead! Someone who can help you! You can’t believe your random decision to stop has given you the first clue that might actually lead somewhere!

You look down at what she’s given you. It's a pamphlet map of New York. Yellow and bright, the title reads: ‘Star Maps of Celebrity Homes.’ One of those cheap plastic ones they hand out with the tour buses.

The hope that had been building in your chest deflates, popping like a cheap balloon.

You make yourself scan the tacky star map for any clues as to who she means, but you you don’t see anything to lift you out of your disappointment. As much as you love Robert De Niro and Whoopi Goldberg and would love to get their autographs, you don’t think any of the people on this map are in any position to help you.

You sigh.

Ok, maybe Miguel was right. The fortune teller was a bust. What a waste of money.

From behind you, you can already hear the rustle of movement from him, as he’s stepping away.

“Come on, Cielito,” he says as he nods his head in the direction towards the exit of the alley.

The fortune teller grabs your hands in hers, as she leans in closer to your ear and whispers, as if trying to be out of earshot of Miguel. “Be careful with that one. He’s not from around here.”

Back at the hotel, you plop down on the ridiculously wide and fluffy bed, but not even the luxury of your surroundings can lift your spirits. You’re still uncomfortably full from dinner. The overload of delicious egg tarts sit like lead in your stomach, weighing you down.

Wasn’t there a Swedish king at some point who ate too many sweet buns and died of a burst stomach? Wouldn’t it be ironic if, after all the calamity and disasters you’ve escaped, your gluttony was the thing that ended you? You don’t think anyone who knows you would be surprised to read ‘died from eating too many egg tarts’ in your obituary. It’s perfect. A stupid and meaningless death to match your stupid and meaningless life.

From the corner of your eye, you see Miguel drag off his hoodie over his head. You squint your eyes, pretending not to look as the tan skin of his firm muscled back is revealed to you before he pulls on a tight-fitting white t-shirt that pulls taut against his chest.

The free peep show usually makes excitement and heat thrill through your spine, but tonight it does nothing. You feel… oddly numb.

The lights go off with a gentle click, and then you are left by yourself in darkness with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company.

You don’t know what to do. The fortune teller had been as stupid and pointless as every other idea you’ve had.

You grit your teeth, sighing as you turn restlessly onto your side in the bed, stretching out your leg to make yourself more comfortable, hoping sleep will claim you so that you can stop these thoughts from running on a constant loop on your brain like the world’s shittiest radio channel.

God, you can’t believe you spent $10 dollars on that fortune teller, and got nothing to show for it except a crappy map meant for gullible tourists.

What are you going to do if you’re too stupid to think of any other ideas? Your skin crawls at the thought, a tangle of worry sitting in the pit of your stomach, climbing upwards and trying to burst out of your chest. You roll over, but it only seems to get worse.

Are you just going to wait out your time like a sitting duck?

You twist your body, squeezing your eyes shut. The thoughts won’t stop.

Are you just going to sit here doing nothing?

Are you going to di–

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeech.

The loud noise startles you, and you freeze, suddenly aware of just how vulnerable you are with only the sheets and comforter for protection.

Oh god, what is trying to kill you this time?

Your eyes are wide open with a strain, staring off into the darkness like a deer in the headlights as you listen to the sound of something sharp scraping against the wooden floor.

It’s coming closer.

Fuck. Is it an assassin? Some kind of otherworldly monster that’s come to drag you to hell with it?

And where is Miguel? Why isn’t he stopping it!?

Maybe he’s gone, a cruel voice whispers in your head. Maybe he’s had enough. Maybe he sees what you don’t want to—the futility of what you’re trying to do. Running around like a headless chicken trying to find a way out of the grand cosmic slaughterhouse that is set on ending your life. Maybe he’s given up on you.

Maybe you need to give up too.

You’re too scared to risk making noise, but you can’t not do anything. You turn as soundlessly as you can in bed, rolling towards Miguel—hoping with all your might that he’ll still be there to save you—only to be greeted by the sight of his back closer than you expect, hunched over the lounge chair as he drags it towards the bed, the metal legs scraping against the floor, making the very sound that had just scared you half to death.

You dart upright in the bed, outraged.

“What are you doing!?”

Miguel looks back at you, then down at the chair he’s moving, and then back up at you with that blank expression on his face.

“Moving this?” He sits down on the lounge chair that’s now next to your bed, “I heard you tossing and turning. Thought you couldn’t sleep.”

There’s a pause as he peers at you in the darkness, then he rubs his hand at the back of his neck.

“Shit, did the noise scare you? Sorry, Cielito.”

There’s that nickname again. You don’t remember when it started or where it came from, but it’s something he’s been calling you more and more often. He’s wearing a wrinkly oversized t-shirt and a sheepish expression as he’s eyeing you, making sure you’re okay. It’s almost, nearly endearing.

“Why do you keep calling me Cielito?” you ask. “Is that what you used to call other me?”

“No, I didn’t call her that.” He shakes his head, the same aching longing in his eyes that’s always there at the mention of your other self. “I called her Nena.”

“Then why Cielito?”

He tilts his head down at you as if the answer is obvious, and then he breaks out into a small smile. “Because you keep falling through the sky.”

You stare at him in silence for a second, at the goofy looking grin he’s wearing. He looks so proud of himself and his silly dad joke that you can’t help but smile back, laughter bubbling up and out of your chest. His smile just gets bigger.

What a dork.

You lay back down in bed, still tittering with laughter, and there’s a comforting weight that rests on top of your head for a brief moment. It’s his hand. The touch is pleasant, his palm warm against your skin, and the comfort of it erases the last trace of residual alarm in your body.

“Just go to sleep already." The words are impatient, but his voice is gentle, and it makes your chest warm as he continues, “It’s okay. You don't have to worry. I won't let anything happen to you.”

He hasn’t given up on you.

His words drip through your insides and warms you from inside out. It’s comforting, the way a blanket feels wrapped around you in the winter when your heating is out. He sounds so confident when he says them. Like there’s no doubt in his mind that you’ll survive this, because he will personally see to it. The anxious chatter in your mind finally quiets, and you close your eyes, knowing he’s only an arm’s length away.

Somehow, with Miguel here, the impossible odds you’re up against don’t seem quite so impossible, and hope buzzes pleasantly in your chest as you drift off to sleep. It's the best sleep you've had in a long time.

~ Next Issue

Credits & Dedication: Love a thousand and million years for @thirstworldproblemss who had to finely comb over and beta-read and edit this chapter over and over and rubber duck i with me while I was fixing up the details. I hope that I get to write with her til I go old and grey and senile, because it is the most wonderful joy and experience and I love her so.

This chapter is also dedicated to the wonderful and talented @forwantofwill who was endlessly kind in doing this amazing, beautiful piece of art of Miguel eating cookies in the windowsill Thank you so so much for making this and gifting me not just with your immense talent but also your time!

For those of you who haven't yet please follow her! She's amazingly talented and have such a wonderful blog filled with gorgeous and amazing fanart!

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow astroboots-writes and turn on notifs.

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderverse #oscar isaac #across the spiderverse #marvel #spiderverse fanfiction #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you #marvel mcu

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melodygatesauthor · 1 year

Text

The Fractured Moon - Part 1

Yandere! Marc Spector - Jake Lockley - Steven Grant X f!Reader

PLEASE READ TAGS/DISCLAIMERS/WARNINGS BEFORE READING THIS FIC. THERE ARE DARK THEMES!

Moodboard - Series Masterlist - AO3 Link

Summary:

Marc Spector always knew he wasn't right in the head. Jake and Steven were a perfect example of that. He'd managed to figure that part of his life out though, learning how to live with his alters in a way that left everyone happy, including Khonshu.

That all changed when Steven spotted you during a tour at the museum. There was no explanation for the way his heart stopped in his chest, or the way he knew he had to have you, but they all felt it, and it left their minds fractured beyond repair.

Disclaimer:

I created this fic for the sole purpose of exploring the yandere thing as a fanfiction "kink" in a safe way and in a safe space. I in no way would want this to happen to myself or someone else. This fic is not a reflection of my moral beliefs. - Further, this fic is not an accurate representation of people with DID (dissociative identity disorder). These men happen to have DID and I'm putting them in a situation where they would have an unhealthy obsession with the reader character.

Tags/Warnings:

NSFW, Stalking, non-con, somnophilia, rape, mentions of murder, drugged sex, kidnapping, manipulation, dacryphilia, voyeurism, threats of physical harm, copious amounts of sex, copious amounts of unprotected sex, blood, unrealistic refractory period, biting, slapping, hitting, reader is smol, choking. This is a Dead Dove Do Not Eat situation.

Word Count: 13.7k (I...I was inspired)

Spanish Terms:

Estoy de acuerdo = I agree

hijo de puta = motherfucker

Quiero tocar = I want to touch

buena niña = good girl

Steven was the first one to notice you, standing by the sarcophagus the museum had on display. He could see you through the archway that separated the museum floor and the giftshop. There was no explaining what it was that captivated him. It could’ve been the way your eyes lit up so full of excitement while the tour guide spoke; it also could’ve been the way your smile seemed to make the entire world come to a screeching halt; regardless, something about you took his breath away and left him clutching his chest behind the gift shop counter. Donna snapped at him, and for once, he didn’t care. He’d just found his reason for living…his purpose…it was you.

It started with a simple conversation. He walked up behind you while you were listening to the tour guide and put a daring hand on your back. You spun around to face him, eyes full of confusion, unsure as to why someone would just walk up to you and touch you like that. You were wearing something low-cut, Steven’s eyes quickly took inventory of your appearance. So much more beautiful than he had the capacity to fully grasp.

You felt a moment of discomfort under his traveling gaze. He was looking at you with his mouth partially open, lips quirked in a sideways smirk while his eyes crawled over every inch of you. You stepped back and pulled your blazer over yourself, feeling a little uncomfortable with the way he was staring.

“Can I help you?” You asked, trying not to sound too rude. It was possible he was just awkward and bad at talking to people.

Now that Steven had your attention, he wasn’t sure what to say. Did he just randomly ask you on a date? No, surely you’d think that was insane. Did he tell you how beautiful you were? No, that might be creepy.

“Just tell her you’re sorry pendejo, you’re creeping her out.” Jake muttered from within Steven’s mind.

“S-sorry, thought you were someone else.” He said to you, taking a step back.

“Oh, it’s okay.” You gave him a courteous smile before returning to the tour.

You thought about that interaction for a few minutes while the tour guide droned on, wondering who he’d mistaken you for, and why he would’ve looked at her like that.

“Something’s not right, Steven,” Marc said from the headspace while Steven stood there, hand still pressed to his sternum.

“Si, something about her is so…”

“Tantalizing.”

The other two agreed in unison. Steven sauntered back to the gift shop, trying to go about his business, but no matter what, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. He was in a daze, going through the motions of his job, but not mentally present. Donna approached, and he didn’t even notice her right away. She had to say his name a minimum of three times to get his attention.

He looked up at her, aggravated by her seemingly incessant need to make him feel like a nuisance. She was smacking her jaw together while chewing her gum.

“Stevie, we’re out of the hippo plushies, I’m gonna need you to go downstairs and bring a case up here.”

Steven didn’t want to miss the chance of seeing you, he had to see you again. Surely your tour would be ending soon. If he wasn’t in the gift shop when it ended, he might not see you. He couldn’t take that risk.

“The plushies can wait. I’ve got something more pressing to worry about right now.” He protested, looking out toward the museum entry to see if he could spot you among the other patrons.

“Oh yeah, like what? You’ve got something better to do than your job? While you’re at work?” She said, continuing to chew her gum obnoxiously between her teeth.

“Fine,” Steven conceded, knowing that he didn’t really have a good reason to stand there and wait for you, not one that he could give his boss anyway.

Steven walked out to the entry hall, where you would be walking by to get to the giftshop once your tour concluded. He stopped before turning down the hall toward the stock closets. He spotted you, coming toward him with your group and felt his breath catch suddenly. He thought he might collapse.

As you walked toward the gift shop, you saw the man again, and noticed he was staring once more. You furrowed your brow at him while you passed before averting your gaze awkwardly. He was looking at you so…so…it was like you were the only thing in existence. It made every nerve ending in your body stand up, screaming at you to leave, but you didn’t. You didn’t want to seem weird. Plus, you were in a public space. There was nothing to be afraid of…right?

Donna was shouting Steven’s name incorrectly, pulling him out of his trance. She tapped his shoulder roughly. Steven gulped down a breath of air and within a split second, it wasn’t Steven anymore.

“Shut it, puta, I quit.” Jake said walking out of the museum doors.

“Jake, we can’t just quit my job, how are we gonna��”

“Your job isn’t necessary, compadre.”

It was true, as much as Steven hated to admit when Jake was right. His job was a good way for them, as Moon Knight, to keep themselves under cover. No one would suspect a timidly mannered man that worked as a gift shop clerk to be an avatar for the Egyptian moon god.

Jake blinked in the harsh sunlight, looking to see where you could’ve gone. Since it was a nice day out, you were probably walking, which meant you would be easier to find.

“Let me out, I can find her,” Marc said.

And find you he did. He followed you after seeing a glimpse of your blazer blowing in the wind as you turned a corner down the street. He tried not to get too excited, careful not to break into a jog or a run after you. Marc had to find a balance between getting too close, thus alerting you to their presence, and being too far away that he might lose you altogether. He followed you a few blocks when he watched you walk into the library.

“She…she likes to read,” Steven observed.

Marc could feel how excited Steven was by that prospect alone. You had something in common with one of them. There was potential there. Maybe this would go better than they thought. He stopped before going inside though, feeling unsure about what it was they were actually doing there. He’d seen how uncomfortable his alter made you when he first spoke to you during your tour.

“Marc, what are you doing? Go inside, now.” He’d never heard Steven sound so demanding, or dark, and something about it compelled Marc to move forward.

He walked into the library and nodded awkwardly at the librarian. Marc didn’t know where you were yet, and he still wasn’t sure what he would do once he did find you. He couldn’t very well walk over and strike up a conversation with you. You’d notice the out of place American accent immediately and think they were crazy. He started idly walking, staying behind shelves in case they did find you. He didn’t want you to notice their presence.

When he finally found you, Marc’s guilty conscience caught up to him. You were so cute, grabbing a book off the shelf in the aisle across the way before walking to sit down in one of the big bean chairs. You smiled as you opened the book. The cover read, La Belle et la Bête. An unmistakable smirk snuck over Marc’s lips at the sight of you.

Someone walked by the aisle, cutting off his gaze and forcing him to shake his head from the fog you’d unknowingly placed him under. What in the hell were they doing? Marc wasn’t a psycho stalker, neither were the other two, and yet they’d followed you all the way there, and they stood watching you. That wasn’t like them at all. They were the good guys. They were the guys that stopped creeps like that.

Marc walked down the aisle and exited the library as quickly as he could.

“Where are you goin’?” Steven asked, almost frantically as Marc started his way down the street.

“We aren’t crazy, we aren’t going to stalk this poor girl.” He said, as they walked away. It didn’t stop him from thinking about you though.

----

When they reached their apartment, a dark and dingy place that was mostly occupied by Steven, they were all flustered from the events of the day. Marc was still fronting, but his alters were muttering wildly in his head. Jake was going on in Spanish about how beautiful you were, and Steven was in full agreement. Marc was still trying to understand this new feeling, the urge he had that he’d never felt before. He felt this huge need, like if he never saw your face again, he might just die.

“We have to go back, we have to see her,” Steven said, excitement brewing in his tone. If he had control of the body, Marc imagined he would be pacing and hyperventilating. “Never seen anyone like that, so gorgeous, so…so damn pretty. Wasn’t she so pretty Marc?”

“We just need to calm down.” Marc said, breathing heavily himself and leaned himself against the couch tiredly. “Maybe if we just sleep it off we can-”

“Did you see the way she looked at us, Marc? I think she likes us.” Steven said. “The way she smiled…”

“She wasn’t into us, we startled her.” Marc protested. “You creeped her out.”

“Did not. She smiled at me, I bet if we had asked her out she woulda said yes.”

“Did you notice how soft her skin looked?” Jake asked, and there was silence, as though all three of them were recalling your appearance. “We don’t need to talk to her, but what I wouldn’t do just to look at her again.”

Marc’s thoughts consumed him. He remembered seeing your lips while you sat there in the library, for that brief moment. You did look so beautiful. Your eyes lit up at whatever was on your page, not noticing the man who was watching you intently while he just tried to figure out a way to actually approach you.

Your lips looked so soft, and he couldn’t help imagining them against his. He wanted to devour you in the best way. No one had ever made Marc feel so shaken, he could normally keep himself together. His cock was nagging incessantly against the zipper of his pants, begging for stimulation. He shifted, trying to ignore it, but what he wanted to ignore, the other two wanted him to deal with.

“If you’re not going to do anything about it, amigo, let Steven or me take care of it. I’d love to spend the night thinking about our little princesa.”

Marc grumbled, but gave in to his more primal urges and pulled his pants and underwear down around his thighs. When he looked down at his cock, he was ashamed that it was already leaking just from thinking about you so much. Not to mention that he was so fucking hard. He shifted himself, leaning back a little, grabbing it firmly in his caged fingers. Marc pooled some spit in his mouth and dropped it over the head, letting the saliva trickle down his thick shaft. All he could picture was you, so sweet and innocent while you got into your book. A heavy sigh left him while he brought his hand up in an even stroke.

“She was so pretty, wasn’t she Marc?” Steven urged, “I’ll need a turn with the body when you’re done, yeah?”

“Quiet, Steven.” Marc said firmly.

“Sorry, can’t help myself. I just keep thinkin’ about how good her breasts looked, pushed together like that…I just wanna feel them, hold them in my hands. I bet she has pretty little nipples, too, don’t you?”

Marc groaned at the thought of having one of your tits in his mouth. He assumed that you had cute little nipples, and he imagined that you would gasp when he sucked on each one. He then thought about how sweet your little cries would be while he took hold of your body and thrust into you. You had such a nice voice, you’d probably make the best noises.

“I bet she has a tight little cunt,” Jake sounded rough. Marc knew he only had a little time before his alter took over to satisfy his own needs.

“Bet you’re right.” Marc said, not bothering to attempt pushing them out anymore. They were fueling his thoughts of you.

“Oh, I’d love to feel it, bet it’s all wet.” Steven sighed heavily.

“F-fuck.” Marc started jerking faster, but he didn’t get to finish.

Jake couldn’t stand it anymore, the thoughts of you brought him out into the open, forcing Marc into the headspace where he would remain for the evening, begrudgingly. Deep down though, Marc still felt riddled with guilt, so didn’t protest much to his alter taking over. Jake bit his bottom lip, adjusting his position to one he liked better, a looser grip, and shoulders more relaxed. He worked faster than Marc, at first anyway, letting out a sharp exhale while he jerked himself. There wasn’t enough slick beneath his fingers, so he globbed more spit down his length.

“See, I think Jake’s onto something. I wonder if she’d like us taking her slow, or if she’d like us to take her fast, real fast.”

“She wouldn’t like any of it Steven, we’re not…doing any of that.” Marc’s guilt for thinking about you so much was becoming more apparent, but he still couldn’t stop himself. “She would look good though, wouldn’t she?”

“Gotta know what she feels like, gotta know how tight…mm” Jake put his arm up on the back of the couch and leaned back, spreading his legs wider. “Little princesa.”

Jake slowed down, moving along the length of his shaft and enjoying the way it pulsated beneath his fingers. He knew if he ever got the chance to show you how it felt, you’d like it, too. Just when he couldn’t stand it, so close to spilling hot white ropes all over Steven’s shirt, he stopped, bringing his hand to the couch cushion and letting it rest there.

His cock bobbed, having been so close to climax. Jake was panting heavily, sweat started beading on his brow. His cock was aching, so swollen it might burst. He looked down at it, watching the way his precum beaded at the slit, piling so much that it trickled over the side. Steven was practically screaming from the headspace to be let out so he could finish them off.

“Be patient, Steven,” Jake said as a warning, waiting a little longer before wrapping his fingers back around his thick cock.

He churned his hips upward into his palm, letting out a soft exhale at the feeling. His mind kept going back to how tight and wet he hoped your pussy was; how soft he hoped it was. It wasn’t like Jake to give into obsession like this, but something about you had flipped a switch in their minds, fracturing the line between order and chaos. He imagined himself fucking you until you screamed his name. He thought about how good you would look so cock drunk you could hardly open your eyes.

“I keep thinkin’, she was smilin’. I think she’d like anything we did to her.” Steven said, furthering the delusion in his mind that you were as into them as they were you.

“Like…like what?” Jake grunted, increasing his pace and encouraging Steven to keep muttering the filthy thoughts in his mind.

“Oh anything, I think she’d love if we kissed her, told her how pretty she is, filled her with everything we’ve got.”

“Yeah she would, she’d like that…hmm…”

Just as he was there, with his abdomen tightened in preparation for his release, Jake let go of his cock once again, letting it sit there, twitching as it was denied further friction. He let out a sigh of longing, but he knew waiting would make it all the more explosive. It didn’t matter though, the other alter was chomping at the bit, and couldn’t wait any longer.

Steven came out to the feeling of painful throbbing between his legs, desperate for more attention. He gathered another huge glob of spit together and dropped it down over his length. He moaned deeply the moment he started moving his palm over the slick and veiny surface. He was anything but quiet, whimpering and whining while he got to work. It felt so good, and thinking about the way your slick cunt would feel if…when he finally got the chance to have it just pushed him so much closer.

“We’ve got to feel it, we’ve got to…oh shit.” Steven bit his bottom lip so hard he thought it might bleed.

“Estoy de acuerdo.” Jake muttered, “I want to taste.”

Marc was staying silent now. Steven presumed he was feeling the guilt of this obsession that was brewing, but Steven couldn’t care less, he was so enraptured by you. He grabbed the couch tightly, squeezing the cushion with all his strength. He was stroking himself fast, thinking about how wet you would be if only they had the chance to show you how good they could make you feel.

“That’s it, Steven, bet she’d like to feel us filling her up. Who do you think she’ll like best?”

It wasn’t lost on Marc that Jake and Steven were speaking as though they were actually going to have you some day. Steven couldn’t take it anymore, he felt his climax build, pooling in his groin and then shooting in hot spurts against his patterned button-down. He was groaning deeply, bucking upward even after the last shot, just loving the feeling of emptying himself to the thought of you. They all were loving the thought of emptying themselves into you…

----

It was their hope, Marc’s especially, that their obsession had been curbed with the evening of self-love, but it hadn’t. Over the next few weeks, they each found themselves going from casually walking by places they hoped they might find you, to full on following you from one destination to the next. On Fridays, you could be found in the library, on the beanbag chair, reading a book that you would take home for the week. Steven thought it was cute what a fast reader you were.

Marc would see you at work sometimes on the other days of the week. That was how they learned that you were a waitress at a local diner. You probably didn’t even realize that you handed Marc coffee, and that he eerily resembled the guy from the museum some time ago. They’d considered asking you out on a few occasions, but they kept reverting back to the one problem they faced…the fear of rejection. What if you said no? They’d be forced to take drastic measures, and they didn’t want to scare you away. They couldn’t imagine anything worse.

Jake would watch you in the night. Most nights, after you were finished with work, you would go home to your little first floor apartment in the crappy part of town; but on the weekends, he’d see you go out with your friends, laughing and drinking. One weekend was different though, you changed your routine, he saw you out with someone else.

There was a man, roughly their age, and they all felt an immediate cold feeling wash over the body. You were sitting with him in a nice restaurant. You were wearing something pretty, a tight little red dress that hugged your curves beautifully. It was clear you’d styled your hair specifically for this outing, and your makeup was done in a way that they hadn’t seen before. You liked this guy. Jake’s hands clenched into balled fists at his sides.

“Who’s that man?” Steven asked, aggravation apparent in his tone. “Don’t like the way he’s lookin’ at her mate.”

“Looks like she’s on a date,” Marc said, feeling a mixture of pain and relief. Maybe this was how they moved on.

Jake tsked, shaking his head slowly, “hijo de puta.”

“You don’t think he’s gonna…that he’s gonna touch her, do you?” Steven sounded worried, like if the man touched you, you might disintegrate into thin air.

“Not a chance,” Jake said in a gruff tone.

They watched quietly, save for Steven who whined through the majority of your date. He was so worried about the man tainting you, as he put it. And if Jake was being honest, he agreed. The thought of someone else burying their filthy disgusting cock in your perfect little cunt made them all enraged. They were relieved when the man brought you home and then left without even coming close to doing what they’d feared. They each appreciated what a good girl you were.

You’d never hear from that man again, and you’d always think it was because he ghosted you, when in reality it was much darker than that. Despite Marc’s protests, Jake couldn’t stand by and let someone else touch you. The thought of it had driven him to near madness. You were their little princess, not someone else’s to do with as they wished.

“I don’t think this is what Khonshu intended we use the suit for,” Steven said, despite being in agreement that the man needed to go somehow.

Jake snapped back, “that fucking bird needs us, he doesn’t care what we use the suit for.”

On a night not long after that, Jake found himself smirking while standing outside of your window, watching you while you readied yourself for bed. Your skin looked ridiculously soft. He wondered for a moment if you knew you were being watched. Surely you must’ve, it was apparent in the way you removed your bra and turned toward the window. Why else would you have left your curtain open like that? If you didn’t want to be seen, you would’ve closed your blinds, right?

Steven burst out to the front when that happened, seeing your erected nipples on display made him feral. He did all he could to not open your window right there and take you where you stood. Some drool dribbled down his chin and he wiped it quickly on the sleeve of Jake’s jacket.

“Oh come on, pendejo, that’s disgusting.”

Steven ignored him. His eyes burned when he didn’t blink, not wanting to miss even a millisecond of time with you. In just moments, you were covering your blinds, and they weren’t able to see anything else. They still stood there, hoping that you would give them just one last peek before they left for the night, but they’d be left disappointed.

The next morning, Marc knew you were at work, having passed by the diner on his way to your apartment. He had a plan…a thought to hopefully end this insanity once and for all.

“Marc, what are you thinkin’?” Steven asked cautiously as Marc shimmied open your window.

“You’ll like it…trust me.” He grunted, pulling the window open completely so they could slide through.

Marc still felt guilty for all the things they did; watching you, following you, jerking their cock to you almost every single night since they’d first seen you, but he knew there was no stopping it. He couldn’t get you out of his head, in the same way he couldn’t get Jake and Steven out. You were as much a necessity to him as the air he breathed.

“Maybe if we just…get ourselves a little something, we can stop this nonsense. Maybe just a little taste will be enough.” He hoped that they could find some way to move on from the mess, and everyone could get back to their normal lives.

The bedroom of your apartment was cluttered, but not dirty. They appreciated beyond words that you’d left what Marc had in mind right on the floor for them. A nice, silky pair of black panties just laying there. He leaned down, grabbing the thin fabric in his hands. He was tempted to press them to his face right then and there, but knew that doing so would lead to a longer visit than intended. He wouldn’t be able to resist the lingering ache that came with it. Even thinking about it at that moment made him start to feel a need growing inside his jeans.

“Look, there’s her hamper,” Steven pointed out the basket in the corner of the room, “maybe we could grab two more pairs, one for each of us.”

“No, we don’t want her to notice.” Marc protested, slipping back out the window without a trace, save for the missing pair of panties he hoped you’d never notice.

----

It was later that night, after they’d spent the day with you, watching you work and seeing to it that you went to bed, that Marc was in his own bed with your panties in one hand, and his cock in the other. He’d stripped down naked the moment he got home, eager to finally get a look at their prize. They were soft, beautiful, and just knowing you’d had them touching the most delicate part of your body made his cock ache with need.

“Smell it, Marc, what’s it smell like?”

Marc obeyed his alter’s request, already being curious himself, and brought the part that had been closest to your cunt up to his nose. He inhaled deeply while making an upward stroke. He shuddered on his exhale. You smelled…delicious. It was too good to be real. You smelled indescribable.

“Marc, please let me out, let me try,” Steven started from the headspace. He was the neediest of the three, and Marc knew he had to work quickly to make sure he got this time for himself.

Marc ignored both of his alters now, wanting to revel in the silence of his thoughts, imagining that he was burying his face in your delicious pussy lips instead of just inhaling the remnants of it on your panties. He felt his cock throb, just imagining how your core would feel on his tongue if he shoved it in there. Your walls would contract a little while he slurped your sweet juices.

He tossed his head back, biting his bottom lip while he ran his palm over his precum slick shaft. You had such an effect on them, he’d never leaked that much before. He worried that thinking about you was starting to make him feel insane. Then he thought…what if he actually got to touch you?

Marc would have to continue those thoughts from the headspace, because Jake couldn’t take it anymore. Marc protested briefly, fighting to keep control, but the smell of your pussy was too intoxicating to his alter, and Jake needed to have it first hand. He dragged the crotch of the panties up his nostril with a deep sniff and then he nearly collapsed. The scent was unbearably arousing.

“Jake, please let me have the body, please. I need it,” Steven said. “Give it to me now.”

Steven’s thoughts had taken a darker turn since the first time he’d seen you, but Jake was too enraptured at that moment to bother listening to him. He switched the silky undergarment to his dominant hand and wrapped it around his cock. Just touching it to his body sent an unbearable tingling through each nerve ending. Jake had never whined like that, it surprised even him. The same thing that touched your cunt, was now touching his cock. It was the closest they had been to feeling you like that.

“You’re gonna ruin it before I can get a shot,” Steven was getting even more antsy, “please bruv, I need it.”

Jake didn’t give a shit if he ruined the panties. In fact, he fully intended to coat your silky underwear in his hot sticky cum. He had no intention of handing the body to Steven. The other alter could sit in the headspace and suffer for all he cared. Just the thought alone was driving Jake mad. He wanted to make sure he could give it his all, so he waited, like before, pausing just before his release.

He sat there for a moment, breathing heavily through his nostrils, allowing his cock to settle before starting again. He was still hearing Steven shouting, nearly breaking down the walls that separated them. Steven had never been so eager to front, and Jake had to admit it was a struggle to keep him at bay. This wasn’t typical Steven behavior, but you’d changed their dynamic ever since you came into their lives.

Jake was painfully hard again. Precum was trickling over the sides and sticking to the satin fabric. Jake stroked the cloth over himself slowly, sucking in a breath and wrinkling the sheets in his fist. It was slick now, sliding easier. He wondered what you’d done in those panties.

Did you touch yourself? Of course you did. You had to have. He imagined you, arching your back with your fingers plunged deep inside of yourself, squelching your arousal around your digits with every deep drag. You were probably masterful with your hands, knowing exactly how to fuck yourself in a way that made you a panting mess while you came all over your little hands.

“Fuck…mm-princesa…” he was close, so close. “Right there…gonna…ah…”

“Oh, God,” Steven said, taking a deep breath now that he finally had control. He finally felt the sensation of your panties against his cock in full. His entire body rattled the bed frame. “So sweet, oh my…”

Steven clutched the undergarments in both of his shaky hands and brought them to his nostrils, depositing some of his own precum on his lips. He took a deep breath. He wasn’t even worried about grabbing his cock yet, he was so focused on inhaling every bit of you that he could get. It felt like the times Marc drank too much, intoxicating, and leaving Steven’s eyes unable to open beyond halfway.

“So good, never smelled-anything-oh fu-.” Steven’s body quivered. His chest was heaving, each exhale accompanied with a high-pitched whine, “s-so fuckin’…mm-oh.”

Steven thrust his hips hungrily. He stuck out his tongue and dragged it over the crotch of the panties, right where your hole would’ve gone. He whimpered and moaned, feeling his cock pulsate harshly, bobbing against his abdomen. He was coming, covering himself in his hot spend and filling the room with his heavy groans. Steven continued churning his hips upward into nothing, like he was fucking the air.

By the time he came down from his orgasm, the body was spent, tired, and unable to continue after that. Steven fell asleep with your silky black panties on his face.

----

Marc was relieved at first when he thought his solution worked. There was no need to keep stalking you when they had such a perfect piece of you in hand. It was a good solution, until he started losing time again. Marc didn’t realize at first that one of his alters was using the body to take pictures of you while you undressed, showered, and slept. He found the pictures, a couple weeks after they’d stolen your panties, printed out and stuffed in a box under the bed.

“You weren’t supposed to see those,” Steven muttered from the headspace. “Those were just a little thing for Jake and me. Put them back.”

“You guys, what the hell?” Marc’s brow remained furrowed, but his heart rate betrayed him as he shuffled from one photo to the next. “We aren’t supposed to be doing this. This was all supposed to…stop.”

You were simply fucking breathtaking though.

Marc shut his mouth after his breathing turned ragged and suddenly felt so foolish. He stuffed the pictures back in the box and slid it under the bed. He went to the bathroom and got into the shower, desperate to wash away the filthy thoughts coursing through his mind. Jake must’ve been the one to take the pictures, being sneaky as he was. Surely he’d done it behind Marc’s back so he wouldn’t have to hear the scolding.

Marc was right. Jake had gone to your apartment two weeks after they got their first souvenir, after they’d sufficiently caked it in so many layers of cum that it had lost your scent, to get more. When he got there, and snapped the first picture, he wondered to himself why they hadn’t snagged any photos of you before. Surely a picture or two would help them curb this growing desire, right?

Twenty-seven. Jake Lockley took twenty-seven photos of you.

He hid them in the shoebox under the bed, in hopes that he and Steven could enjoy them and keep it from Marc. It wasn’t that he wanted to keep them from Marc, but Jake knew that when he found out, he wouldn’t be happy. He knew what Marc was trying to do, get back to some sense of normalcy for the three of them, and while Jake commended him on his valiant efforts, he couldn’t shake the urges inside.

Marc was still trying to convince himself that they could come back from how far they’d gone. He was letting the hot water run down over his body and trying to tell himself that despite following you for weeks, stealing your underwear, taking pictures of you naked, and killing your date, they could move on, and pretend none of it had happened. No matter how hard he tried though, he kept thinking about you, all the times they’d watched you, and now he had photos.

He could stare at you whenever he wanted; your perfect body, lips, and eyes, all of it was right there for him to look at. He should’ve been scolding his alters for using the body to get them, but he was so enamored by those little treasures they’d gathered now that he was almost grateful they’d done it. He was painfully erect by the time he got out of the shower, resisting every urge to relieve himself to thoughts of you, but he didn’t have the willpower. When it came to you, he never did.

“Marc, you stay away from the one of her lips, that one’s mine,” Steven said firmly.

Marc was too ashamed to even admit to the voices in his head that he was about to jerk off to pictures of you, but he suspected that they knew full well what he intended to do. For once, they were quiet, each waiting to have their turn. Marc used lotion this time, desperate to feel the slick glide of his fingers over his length. He wanted to stroke himself and imagine it was you, soft and wet.

He chose three photos in particular. One of you standing in front of your window, arching your back in profile view. Your perfect breasts had him whining while he dragged over his cock, relishing in the delicious sensation. He knew it probably paled in comparison to how you really felt, but this was as close as he was ever going to get.

The other photo was one of your legs. They must’ve been so close to you to get that picture. Your blankets were off of your body, hanging lazily over the side of the bed. You had worn just underwear and a shirt to sleep. Was that what you normally wore? He hoped so. Your skin looked so soft, so perfect. There was a small peek of your asscheeks sticking out under the hem of the panties. Marc could only think about how badly he wanted to touch you. He let out a choked whine at the thought.

The final image he’d chosen was one of you just out of the shower. He started wondering if you knew you were being watched. Why else would you stand in front of your window like that…

That’s when Marc realized that wasn’t a photo taken from outside…it was taken from inside your apartment. A chill ran over his spine, Jake had been inside your apartment while you were awake, likely tucked away in your closet.

“You guys…” He paused his movements, “you were in her apartment while she was awake?”

“Had to get the perfect angle, pendejo, enjoy it or give up the body so one of us can take over,” Jake said harshly.

No way Marc was letting that happen. He needed that sweet release. All too often Jake or Steven would come in at the last second and take it from him. He felt his cock twitching against his abdomen, demanding his attention. Marc looked down at it, precum leaking over the sides. The lotion left white streaks all over the shaft.

He started his smooth motion again, sliding vigorously over the veiny surface. Oh you were so pretty. So perfect in the way you posed for them. Marc tried to tell himself that what they were doing was wrong, but your expressions and posture confused him, almost like you wanted to be seen; like you wanted them to want you, to take those pictures of you. Whether it was true or not, it was working.

They wanted you, more than anything.

Marc had the pictures spread over the top of the dresser. He grabbed the edge of the stained wood while he continued working on himself, filling the apartment with squelching wet noises. He lurched forward when the heat pooled in his abdomen, gasping a sharp breath while he felt his cock stiffen in his smooth palm. In a mad rush, he grabbed some tissues out of the box on the dresser and spilled into them with a flurry of deep groans.

Jake followed suit, once their short refractory period ran its course, grabbing his images of choice to chase his own release. He loved looking at you too, every curve of your body spoke to his deepest desires. He wanted to feel your skin grow hot from his gloved hand, striking you in an effort to make you more pliant. Your rear could take it, so round and soft, he could imagine the feeling of it under his firm grip.

When Jake was finished his turn, Steven came out like an animal in heat, scrambling with shaky hands for a picture they took of your lips. You’d been sound asleep when they took that photo. He didn’t want to admit it, but Steven did all he could not to thrust himself down your throat while you slept. He was sure you would’ve liked it, the way they tasted, but he also thought it may be a little too bold. If they were going to have some time with you, he was going to have to be more clever than that.

Steven’s precum was lubricating enough for him to run his cock along the glossy sheen of the photo, right against your lips. He imagined how it would feel, seeing them, stretched out around his girth. He thought even more about how good it would feel to have your throat contract when you gagged on his length. It took no time at all for him to turn into a mess of crying moans while coating the photo in his spend.

----

“S’not enough Marc, we need more,” Steven muttered while they stood outside of your apartment window once again.

You’d just gone to bed, this time leaving your blinds open like you did on occasion when the nights were warm. The soft rise and fall of your chest could be seen even at a distance. Marc felt his brow begin to sweat in anticipation. He didn’t want to do what Jake and Steven had done to get those pictures, sneak into your apartment with you inside, but he’d started to think that maybe if they achieved that delicious release in such close proximity to your body, they could move on. There was still a small part of him that believed they could move on, despite everything they’d done.

“This is so fucked up,” Marc said, taking a step closer to your window.

“Need me to do it?” Jake asked, itching to get out.

“Stop, I can do it…I just…” Marc growled, feeling the frustration of conflict inside his mind.

He paused, gulping and staring at you while you slept. His feet were frozen before finally he…

Marc blacked out, and hours later he was in their own house with a balled up and sticky pair of your panties in his hand, unable to recall what had happened. Marc hadn’t been to the house in a long time. Usually they stayed in Steven’s apartment. It was so close to his job, before he’d quit, and even closer to the crimes and villains that they had put off fighting since finding you.

Steven would remember how the night was spent though, he’d remember it for the rest of his life.

He had snuck in through your window with Jake’s encouraging words, and found himself standing at your bedside. They’d learned your sleeping patterns so well by then, knowing exactly when you were fast asleep based on the way you breathed. Steven wiped some excess saliva that had dribbled down his chin. Since it was warm that night you’d worn a tanktop and shorts to bed. He could see the roundness of your asscheeks peeking out from the hem of your bottoms.

“Quiero tocar,” Jake said in a dark tone from inside the headspace.

“We can’t touch…not yet,” Steven said in a low whisper.

He fumbled with his belt, careful not to let it clank too loudly as he undid it and then worked on his zipper. You shifted a little, but he knew you were still dreaming. He wondered if you were dreaming about him, or one of the other two. He still remembered how you looked at them that day at the museum, and he still felt like something in your eyes spelled love to him.

Putting the excess spit that had once again accumulated in his mouth to good use, Steven dropped a glob down onto his cock. You continued breathing quietly, your sweet little voice falling over his ears like honey. He wanted you, he wanted you so bad. He could be quick, he knew he could, sliding into the bed with you, fucking you while you slept. If they were careful, surely you wouldn’t wake, right? Or, even better, you might wake up and find that you enjoyed it just as much as they did.

“I wanna fuck her.” Steven whispered suddenly, surprising even himself with the crass statement.

“Can’t risk it Steven, just leave her a little present on her legs compadre.”

“Yeah, yeah on her legs. Aces.” He agreed, excited by the prospect of their cum being on you.

He had to stroke fairly slow, trying not to fill your apartment with the loud wet slaps of him jerking off to your sleeping form. He focused on the apex of your thighs, right where he knew your tight little pussy was hiding. He imagined how wet you would be if only you let him have you. You’d be a mess, soaking and dripping down the sides of his cock.

“She’s such a pretty little princesa; bet that cunt is like heaven, I’d love a little taste.” Jake was getting more and more restless as Steven approached his climax.

“Jake, please, let me…”

He couldn’t resist, needing to feel the high that came with shooting spurts of cum all over the backs of your thighs. Jake came to the front, just in time to feel that mind-numbing euphoria that Steven worked so hard to achieve. He tried to make it up to Steven by bringing home a fresh and silky souvenir, the same one that Marc fronted with now in his hands, after Steven got to them first of course.

When you woke up in the morning, you would be puzzled trying to figure out what the sticky substance was on your bedding and thighs, but you wouldn’t ever know for sure.

----

“I told you, Jake, I’m not okay with this. We can’t do it. This is wrong!” Marc was shouting from the headspace.

“Shut the fuck up, pendejo. We’ve tried it your way, now we do it my way.” Jake pried open your window slowly. “Sick of not being able to think straight.”

“Jake please, please, please let me out. Please.” Steven begged.

Jake was trying to keep Steven at bay, but he knew the other alter was going to get himself to the front one way or another.

“At least let me get us inside, then you can have the body.” Jake stopped before climbing indoors, “if you fuck this up for us…”

“Don’t worry bruv, m’not going to mess it up, promise.” Steven assured him.

Jake was inside within seconds, and the moment his feet touched the ground, Steven forced his way to the front. He was more than ready to finally show you the love they’d kept pent up all that time. He quickly, and silently, toed off Jake’s shoes, and pulled off the gloves too. If Jake wanted those, he could put them back on later. It was going to be a long night, and they intended to stay a while.

He took off the jacket as well and placed it on the floor. Steven loosened up the tie, allowing the fabric to hang lazily around his neck. You were so sound asleep, breathing deeply while you dreamt. Steven’s cock was already leaking a small spot into the seam of Jake’s pants in anticipation of feeling your pussy walls surrounding his cock. He took them off quickly, stepping out of them silently.

You turned in your sleep, but your eyes stayed closed. You were so pretty, so precious just laying there without a clue. Steven clutched his chest, finding it difficult to breathe properly. Despite the nearly painful ache of his erection, he took a moment just to revel in your beauty, taking in the breathtaking way the sheets hugged your curves. Your lips were pursed, brow furrowed while you dreamt.

So fucking pretty, he thought.

“Steven, if you’re gonna do it, then just get it over with,” Marc said in a grumble. While the original was deeply bothered by their actions, he knew stopping him was impossible.

Steven walked around to the other side of the bed, and grabbed the sheet. Cautiously, he got under the covers, careful not to shift the weight too much and startle you. If he alerted you too soon, it would all be over. Steven was, once again, grateful you were such a heavy sleeper. It had proven to be helpful for them each time they’d needed to traverse your apartment in the night.

He hooked a finger in the waist of your shorts and dragged them down to your thigh. There was a small shift in your body, but your breathing remained the same, steady pace. Your skin was softer than he’d imagined. Just the light drag of his finger over the surface made his body spark with excitement. He felt himself salivating. Steven wanted nothing more than to lick and kiss your exposed shoulder, but he held back for now.

Steven brought a mess of spit down to slick his cock. He bit his lip while he ran his fingers over the length of it. The thought that he was about to finally feel you from the inside almost made him want to scream. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this alive. He brought an arm to hover over your side carefully, and started sneaking the other under your head. He was ready to move quickly if you resisted, though he hoped you wouldn’t; he hoped that you would wake and realize how good Steven was fucking you and that you’d lean into it a little.

As Steven’s large hand closed over your lips, and his other arm caged your body against his, squeezing tightly, you stirred awake.

“Sh sh sh, love. Shhh.” He urged, holding on tight as your little body squirmed against his chest.

You immediately started to whimper, fighting and breathing heavily, trying desperately to break free, but Steven was too strong. You screamed uselessly into his fingers. You wiggled your rear against him, feeling the jab of his cock against you. It was hard to believe this was happening, this couldn’t be real. Someone had snuck into your apartment and was about to-

Steven pushed his cock between your thighs, rutting hungrily until he found your entrance. He stopped there, feeling the wet slick of your heat coating his throbbing girth.

“You ready, love? Been waiting for this a long time, been waiting to feel you.” His voice was low against your ear.

You shook your head as best as you could and tried screaming again, but no one would hear you. The feeling of his cock against your folds alone was enough to drive him crazy. The fact that you were so wet let Steven know just how eager you were for this too, you just didn’t realize it yet.

“Oh God, love, you feel so good already.” He felt your warm tears hitting his fingers. “Yeah, I’m excited too, just one…second…”

He let out a deep groaning sigh as he stretched you out, gliding his cock into your tight cunt.

“Oh that’s it, love, oh this is better than I dreamed. Can’t wait to finally fill you up darling, you’re going to like it so much. Gonna-you’re gonna-ohh-want to give you all of it.” He was pumping in and out of you slowly, struggling to form a coherent sentence in the process.

To say it felt good to him was an understatement. Steven’s hips stuttered as he pushed full to the hilt once more. He felt your walls flutter around him. He knew you liked it, too. He wondered why they hadn’t done it sooner.

“Oh my…shit…” He thrusted, splitting your hole wide over and over. “Those pretty little sounds you make, been think–oh fuck…been thinkin’ ‘bout them. Never thought they’d sound so-”

It hurt, being stretched out like that, never having felt anyone that big before. You were so afraid, unable to move your arms. The more you shifted against him, the harder he squeezed. It got to a point where you worried he might crush you if you continued. His lips pressed against your neck in sloppy wet kisses, and he kept groaning about how much he loved you in your ear.

“Feel you gettin’ so wet.” He let out a sharp exhale, “knew you’d like me darling, knew you’d be good f’me.”

Steven kissed your shoulder, nipping at the skin and savoring the way it tasted on his tongue. You were delicious in every sense of the word. He could feel you stop fighting him, and he took that as a sign of compliance, of submission. Steven knew deep down that you’d liked them, he knew it.

“Won’t hurt much longer, not once you’re used t’me. God you’re so pretty, feel so good. Can’t believe I’m finally touching you.” He started thrusting his hips harder, dragging the head along your walls. “Thank you love, thank you for being such a good girl f’me.”

You were hiccuping from sobbing so hard. Your cries only encouraged Steven though, he thought you sounded so sweet like that, so innocent and precious. When you felt the unmistakable wave taking over your body, the one that contradicted your emotional feelings, you gasped, pressing your spine against his chest. It felt good, so good that you thought you might cry harder should he stop.

“Doesn’t that feel good, love? You’re squeezing me so tight I…oh shit…not gonna last much longer if you keep that up, yeah?” Steven felt your walls contracting over him harder now, telling him you must be close. “Are you going to let yourself go for me?”

Steven’s movements were relentless. Your bed scraped against the floor a little as he fucked even harder. He started thinking about how much he wanted to keep you, have you around to pleasure himself with any time he started to feel the need. Surely you’d like that too, of course you’d love when Steven made you feel good…right? He would always make sure you got your release too, every time, so long as he could help it.

“I’m gonna make sure you feel good darling, want you to feel good.” He was getting close, pulling your body closer as his orgasm approached, “and you know when I’m done, Jake is gonna come in here and mark you up, yeah? Make sure you remember that you’re ours now.”

You panicked, realizing what that meant…he had a friend there too, also intent on taking you for himself. Your breathing became short, and you squirmed again. Steven’s cock thrust into you harder when you did.

“Sh, sh, love, shh, stop.” He didn’t want to hurt you. In fact, Steven wouldn’t hurt you, but he couldn’t speak for Jake. “I don’t want you to get hurt, yeah? Better stop that now.”

You let yourself fall limp, accepting your fate finally as his assault on your cunt continued. You really were wet now, pussy squelching every time the man rutted into you, hips pressing flush against your rear. Steven felt himself overwhelmed with pleasure as his orgasm approached.

He was talking so fast, "I'm not going to pull out love, want to make sure I show you how much I love you. Wanna get you nice and full of me–so full. Would you like that?” He groaned into your shoulder, “yeah, ‘course you would. Oh here we go–here we go love–ahhh!” His hips stopped suddenly, pressed up against your body while his cock pulsated hot ropes inside of you. “Thankyou--thankyou--thankyou love, oh God thank you.”

You couldn’t stop the wave that came over you, pooling heat in your center and forcing your body to tremble against him.

“That’s it love, can feel you coming, too. Oh you’re squeezing me so hard.”

You couldn’t believe you’d started coming so violently at the hands of your assailant, despite your best efforts not to. You couldn’t help the physical response your body had to him though. He made you so wet, made your body spark with need. He felt so good, he was so intent on making sure you felt something too.

The switch happened without your realizing, and suddenly Jake lay there while his cock grew soft inside of you. Steven was sated, finished with you for the time being. He knew that he had to get you into a different position, or you’d try to run. Being crafty as he was, Jake planned for that, and brought something along to keep you silent. A cloth doused in chloroform, pulled from his breast pocket, sure to keep you pliant. He covered your face in the cloth, and you tried to struggle again, but this time fell limp against your will.

It was an hour before you woke up again. Jake was standing in front of you. He had his arms crossed over his chest, shirt open with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and gloves on. He was naked otherwise though. Your eyes seemed to sparkle as they opened slowly, meeting his hooded gaze. You tried to move, but your hands were tied to your bedpost. You opened your mouth to yell, but the man in front of you held up a finger.

“Here’s how this is going to go princesa...” He spoke just above a whisper.

Jake had a gun he’d placed on your dresser. He picked it up and cocked it in his hand. Of course it wasn’t loaded, he would never hurt you, but he needed you to behave. He smirked at the little hiccup you made at the sound of his weapon readying for fire. You noticed now, the distinct difference in his accent, this was someone else. The guy from before really did bring a friend with him.

“P-please I–”

“Sh.” Jake put a gloved finger to his lips once more. “I’m going to let you suck my cock sweetheart, and I know you’re going to do a great job. As long as you’re a good little girl for me, I won’t hurt you too bad when I’m done, alright? Maybe I’ll even let you come.”

“Why are you–why are you…” You sobbed, unable to speak the words on the tip of your tongue.

“Come on, no more talking,” He said in a low tone, “remember, if you’re good to me, I’ll be good to you, bebita.” Jake’s cock was leaking at the head, dripping onto the floor as he approached you. “If you want to misbehave, I’ll have to get rough, and I don’t wanna do that to you.”

You were so small, a petite little thing. You looked at his cock wide-eyed, fearing you wouldn’t be able to fit the whole thing in your mouth. It was big, thick and long. You gulped harshly, feeling terror wash over you even more. He’d said he didn’t want to hurt you, but what exactly did that mean? You were sure you didn’t want to find out.

Seeing you struggle to stretch your lips over his thick cock brought him more pleasure than he imagined it would. He couldn’t even get it all the way in your throat, but he didn’t need to, it felt so good without needing to go deeper. Your tongue splayed against the underside of his length made him thrust forward from the sensation, gagging you in the process. Your teeth grazed the shaft.

“Ay!” The cold barrel of the gun pressed against your temple forcing a gasping sob from you, “watch it, cariño.”

You did your best to get your lips over your teeth, even if only a little. Jake’s free hand rested on the back of your neck while he forced himself deeper. The feeling of your throat contracting over his cock made his head fall back. He groaned, voice sounding wrecked and feral with each plunge further into your throat.

It hurt, the way his girth threatened to stretch open your esophagus beyond its threshold. You whined, willing your lips to keep your mouth smooth for him, but you felt them struggling. For the second time, you touched his cock with your teeth, and for a second time, he winced and pressed his gun against your head even harder.

“Oh, I really don’t want to hurt you sweetheart, but I will.” His tone was dark and threatening.

“You better not hurt her Jake.” Steven said from the headspace.

You were a sobbing mess, so much that you pulled your head back off his thick and throbbing shaft. Saliva connected his cock to your glossy lips, and forced a sneer over his face. He knelt down on both knees, leaning in to meet your eye.

“Oh, princesa, you’re not very good at following directions, are you?” His smirk never faded, as though he were taunting you.

If you weren’t so cute with your swollen, glistening lips, and tear stained cheeks, he might feel less merciful. He was ready to see you come undone, after so much time spent waiting, only admiring you from a distance. Jake wanted to fuck you so hard your throat was bleeding from the shrill screams escaping your mouth.

“Don’t worry, we’ll teach you…another time.”

He grabbed your hip in his left hand and shifted your ass to rest between his thighs. The gun was still in his other hand, pressing against your waist, leaving an indent in your flesh. He could see how clearly afraid you were. Nothing looked more attractive to him than you being absolutely terrified of what he might do to you.

“Fight me, and you know what will happen, princesa. Don’t make me out to be the bad guy when all I’ve asked is for you to behave. Can you be good for me now?” He lined the head of his cock up with your entrance. “Hm?”

You nodded, “y-yes.”

You were too afraid to say no.

He thrust into you, and once again, the same body was fucking you open. Jake nearly fell forward, feeling you for the first time. It was like his cock was coated in smooth, silky velvet. This wasn’t the first time he’d been with a woman, but this was better than anything he’d ever felt before, because it was you.

“Fuck, princesa, you’re so tight.” He grunted through gritted teeth as he pulled back and then thrust forward again. He moved the gun to your chin, pressing it against your jaw harshly, “I want you to tell me how sorry you are for not following my very-simple-instructions.”

“Oh! No, please!” You rattled the bed, struggling against the silken tie Jake had used to bind your hands. “Please, no!”

Jake lost concentration when your cunt fluttered around him. It was almost as though you were enjoying his threats. He fucked into you harder, groaning out a slur of feral moans. He brought the barrel of the weapon down your abdomen and touched it over your clit. A sharp gasp escaped you at the icy sensation. You whimpered, feeling even more fresh tears trickling over your cheeks.

“I wanna hear you tell me how–fuck–how sorry you are, now!” His brows were knitted together tightly, eyes dark and forceful.

An unmistakable, and to you shameful, moan left your lips. The way he moved the metal barrel against your cunt sparked pleasure through your core. He heard it, clear as day. He knew he’d break you, one way or another. There was still a long way to go before you were fully theirs, but this was a good first lesson. You were already starting to learn that he was capable of giving you what you needed, if only you did what he asked.

“S-sorry! I’m sor–oh god–so sorry!” You squeezed your eyes shut, “please don’t kill me, I’m sorry please.”

“Mm, buena niña.” He cooed, voice sounding wrecked with his growing arousal.

He reveled in the way your walls squeezed over him when he swirled the gun around your clit. He let out a snicker, lips curling at the sides. You felt your arms becoming sore from the pressure of the tie around your wrists, but the ache was dulled by the pleasure traveling all over your body.

“I want you to look at me, and say, ‘I’m sorry Jake,’ now.”

He looked down and spit harshly on the gun, letting the saliva trickle down over your clit, allowing the weapon to slide around it easier. Seeing you squirm under the feeling of his gun while it teased that swollen little nub made his cock throb inside of you. When he looked back up at you, you were looking back. He loved to see your bottom lip quivering while you tried to talk but fell short of the words.

“Come on, I know you can do it for me.” He urged gently.

You were ashamed to find yourself a stuttering mess trying to talk to him, not out of fear or for being upset, but because you felt so fucking good. Your mind was screaming, telling you to fight, to do anything other than lay there and take it, but your body was doing quite the opposite.

He knew the effect he was having on you. Jake could see the way your eyes fought not to roll back into your skull while pleasure overcame you; He could see the way your lips stammered over themselves trying to get the words he demanded out; Most of all, he felt the way the soft walls of your pussy moved in waves over his cock, reacting every time he slid the barrel of his gun over your clit.

“I-I…”

You didn’t want to say it, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“Go on princesa…you don’t want me to pull this trigger now, do you?”

“I’m s-so sorry J-Jake!” You managed to choke out.

His cock unmistakably twitched inside of you at the sound of hearing you say those words.

“Mm, now was that so hard? You sound so good, bebita. I knew you could behave yourself for me.” He churned forward faster, the hand on your hip was nearly bruising. “Now you’re going to relax, and you’re gonna come for me, si? No fighting back now…”

“Please let me go!” You sobbed more, filling your apartment with more desperate cries.

Unfortunately for you, the sound of your whimpers only seemed to encourage him further. Jake looked down. Beneath the gun he could see the way your pussy looked splitting over his girth. It was so slick and puffy from the way he and Steven had fucked and resized you.

“I’m almost done sweetheart, and when I’m done, Marc is gonna come in and you’re gonna be a good girl for him too, right?”

No, not another one, you thought.

Out of fear that he might threaten you again though if you didn’t comply, you nodded. As you felt your orgasm threatening to wash over you, out of your control, you felt shame mix like a poisonous cocktail with the pleasure. You turned your head away, tucking it into your arm, trying to hide your humiliation.

Jake wasn’t going to have that though. He wanted to look at your beautiful face while he made your mind go numb and body tense around him. He wanted to see you as you became so fucked out you could hardly keep your body upright anymore. You were seconds from unraveling at his hand, and he wasn’t going to miss a single expression on your pretty face.

“Come on, princesa, don’t hide that from me now, gotta see how precious you look when I make you come undone.” He cooed, changing the way he rotated the barrel over you ever so slightly. “You know the stakes.”

You bit your bottom lip to stop it from shaking as you turned your head back to meet his gaze. His eyes were so dark, brows so tightly stuck together. He looked down to watch your hole swallow him again and again before turning back up to see your eyes.

It was happening to you again, you were coming over the cock of your second assailant that night. You did as you were told, keeping your eyes on his while you bit your lip a little too hard and clenched your walls around him. His lids dropped and his brows relaxed just before you felt the searing hot spurts of his spend filling you to the brim.

He fucked you through it, pushing it all into you, mixing it with what still remained of Steven inside you. Once he felt he was fully finished, having stretched and fucked you to his satisfaction, he pulled out. You felt empty, finally, but your cunt was gaping, letting his cum dribble out onto the hardwood floor beneath you.

“Now princesa…I want you to say ‘thank you, Jake’.” He wiped the glossy spit that had accumulated on his lips.

“T-thank you, J-Jake.” You sniffled, and closed your legs together as he sat back from you.

“You’re learning so well already. My smart bebita.” He looked genuinely proud of you, a spark lit in your gut against your will. You ignored it. “Marc is going to be here soon, and when he comes in, heh, he’s going to spoil you rotten. Just always remember that I’ve got my eye on you. Don’t turn into a little brat, okay?”

You nodded in understanding.

“Good.” He tossed the gun aside, forcing you to flinch. “I’m never going to do anything to really hurt you princesa, okay?”

You gulped and nodded, “yes.”

“Okay, just need you to sleep for a while, I’ll see you again soon.” He pressed his lips into a hard line while he wrapped his gloved hands around your petite throat.

“N-no what…!”

You squirmed while he choked you, feeling the desperation in your body while you struggled to get air in your lungs. Jake’s hands were so big around your delicate throat. Steven and Marc both were hollering at him to go easy on you, but they both knew that Jake knew what he was doing. That didn’t stop Marc from taking over and letting go of you immediately. You had already fainted, but that was ok, he needed time to get himself prepared to have you himself.

----

When your eyes finally fluttered open again, you were shocked to see the same man from before staring back at you. You were sure he’d mentioned a third person coming in to have their way with you, but here he was, still staring back.

“You’re awake, good.” Marc said, brows drawn together tightly with concern.

“I thought…I thought there was someone–s-someone else.” You were still fatigued from tears, and speaking was proving to be difficult.

“That was my…” He didn’t want to tell you about his condition just yet, “brother.”

You were sucking your bottom lip in with your sobbing. You turned your head into your arm which hurt beyond belief. Having your shoulders in that position for an extended period of time had proved excruciating.

Marc couldn’t believe they’d come this far. Steven and Jake had both had their turn, and now it was his, but he intended to do things a little differently. He wasn’t going to take from you, not yet anyway, but he was going to give you something. Marc wanted to make you love him, from deep within yourself, to make you feel the same way about him that he felt for you.

He knelt down at your side, you instinctively pulled your knees up to your chest, looking at him pleadingly. Your eyes darted behind him. The gun the other man had used was shining in the moonlight. You closed your eyes tightly, sending a couple of stray tears shooting down your cheeks. Marc reached over and swiped a tear away with his thumb, letting his hand rest on your face softly.

“If you’re good for me, I’ll be able to help you, okay baby?” He looked into your eyes with nothing but love and adoration.

You didn’t understand why they were doing this still, but something about this one made you feel more safe than the other two. You didn’t say a word, you didn’t even nod, you just wanted to be alone now, you felt so tired, so weak.

Marc thought he could see you soften, so he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours, but you didn’t return the gesture. He put his lips together tightly as he pulled back, resting his forehead on yours. He was trying so hard not to feel frustrated. It was going to take time to get you to understand what an asset he was going to be for you. Marc brushed your cheek as he looked between your glistening eyes.

“I can’t help you if you don’t behave.” He spoke firmly.

Marc could tell you still weren’t going to return his affections, but knew you’d learn with time. He thought that maybe if he could make you softer, more pliant in his hands, you might come around. His hand left your face, brushing over the soft skin of your neck - to which you winced from Jake’s earlier assault - tracing down your breasts and peaked nipple, and finally resting over the tightly closed apex of your thighs. You squeezed your legs together even more.

“Come on honey, let me in.” He said just over a whisper.

“P-please don’t.” You begged, hiccuping again as more sobs forced their way through you.

“I just want to find a way to make you feel good, will you let me do that? Please?”

You were prolonging the inevitable. He was going to find his way to your cunt whether you let him or not, so you decided to slowly open your legs. A sigh of relief escaped his lips, and an unmistakable grin crept over his face. You were opening up for him, letting him bring his fingers down to rest between your lips. A small breath of arousal slipped out of you.

“How’s that?” He had a mildly arrogant tone. “That feel good?”

You groaned despite yourself, hating that they’d all managed to find a way to make you feel so fucking good. You felt nothing but shame for the way you arched up into his touch. The pads on his fingers spread out, splitting your slick folds. He touched your entrance, forcing a pained wince from you.

“Oh no baby, I’m sorry, they really stretched you out, didn’t they? Don’t worry, I’ll give your little hole a break alright?” Marc reached his free hand up to cup your cheek and keep your forehead on his. “I know you’ll make it up to me.”

Your clit was coated in your juices and theirs, making it easy for him to slide his digits in small, rhythmic circles over it. He could tell from the way you were squirming that he was doing it right. Your sobs stopped and instead you were just moaning quietly now. Your eyes closed, but he wanted to see them.

“Open your eyes for me, baby.”

You kept them closed tight.

“Please don’t make me beg, I need you to listen to what I tell you. I can give you what you need, and I can protect you, but I need you to be good for me, please.” He leaned in and tried kissing you again, but once more you denied him. “Come on, let me kiss you, don’t fight me.”

You were shocked at the juxtaposition between his demeanor and his brother’s. He was so gentle in the way he touched you, like his only goal was to make you feel good, as if his own pleasure was secondary to yours.

And for Marc it was. He knew that if all three of them were rough with you, they'd never get you to feel the same way about them as they did about you.

“Tell me how that feels baby, come on, use your words for me.”

“It f-feels-” You groaned deeply, angling your hips upward into his touch. “No, I don’t want this.” You shook your head, tucking your face into your arm opposite his face.

"Don't make this more difficult, I can make your time with us like a dream if you just give in to me." He continued to hope you would loosen a little, let yourself feel how he touched you. “Let me try something, okay?”

Marc kissed your cheek, slowly brushed his lips down your tender neck, left another on your collarbone, before cupping the swell of your breast and bringing your nipple to his mouth. His lips pursed around it. A small shudder quaked through your body, letting him know that what he did was working.

He couldn’t handle the ache any longer between his own legs. His cock was leaking profusely, and he needed to satisfy his own urges. He was going to keep his word though, he had no intention of penetrating you that night. Marc was able to brush his length along the soft skin of your thigh, making it slick with his precum and allowing it to slide easier.

He moaned over your nipple before flicking it with his tongue. You were churning your hips upward in rhythm with the repetitive swirl of his fingers. Marc couldn’t begin to express with words the way it made him feel to know you were using him to please yourself. He couldn’t have asked for a better outcome after their actions that night.

“Now tell me how it feels, please baby, tell me how well I take care of you.”

Marc didn’t stop dragging his cock over your leg, moaning incessantly while he did. You were crying again, feeling nothing but shame and fatigue while your third orgasm of the night approached. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of telling him how good he felt, but he wasn’t going to stop asking.

Marc looked up at you, brows raised and drawn together, pleading for you to tell him how he made you feel. Why was this one so different than the other two? The first one was so hungry, desperate and needy. The second was plain cruel. This one was so focused on you, wanting nothing more than to make sure you were okay; it was more confusing than anything.

“Let me go, please.” You begged, “p-please.”

“Can’t do that, don’t ask me that again, baby. I wish I could, but we’ve come too far now.” Marc brought himself back up to you, his hard cock rested against your abdomen now. It felt so heavy. “That’s why I’m trying to meet you halfway. I’ll take good care of you, but you have to be good for me, too.”

His face was close to yours again. You felt him churning against you, sliding his cock against your waist faster as his climax closed in. You could tell by the way it got harder, and swelled against you that he was desperately close. For the third time that night, you were close too, his fingers worked against you, forcing soft gasps from your lips.

“I’m gonna come for you honey, gonna cover you in it. You gonna cover me, too? Soak my hand in your-f-fuck.”

You felt something pool in your stomach, while he touched you. You couldn’t tell him that he made you feel good, but you could show him in the way he wanted. The thought of kissing him was repulsive, but if he was going to be your sole protector, then you needed to give him what he asked for. He was being so kind now, but you feared for what he might do if you didn’t give him his way.

You leaned in and slotted your mouth over his. Marc couldn’t believe you were actually kissing him. He could hear the other two muttering around in the headspace excitedly. Your lips were soft, delicious, and Marc wanted more. He slipped his tongue over your bottom lip before entangling it with yours in your mouth. His fingers worked faster, flicking over your clit while you were feeding him desperate cries.

He could tell immediately when you were coming because your entire body arched toward him, as though you wanted him to devour you whole. Your moans of deep pleasure were enough to inspire his own orgasm. His hips bucked forward harshly, rubbing over your skin while he coated your stomach and tits in his cum. He groaned with every thrust, and his body trembled when he slowed, eventually stilling altogether. His lips broke apart from yours with a soft smack. Marc’s eyes were deep and hooded while he looked into yours.

“Thank you for being so good for me, baby.” He pecked your forehead softly.

Marc knew they needed to knock you out again, and so he got up and started looking for the towel. The chloroform laced cloth would still work just fine. He would talk to Jake later about leaving such harsh bruises on you needlessly when he had the chance.

“What’s going to happen now?” You asked with a choked whimper, looking up at Marc.

“We’re going to take you home.” Marc said, kneeling down with the towel in hand. “Just take a deep breath, you’ll be alright, I promise.”

The last thing you saw before everything went black was his dark eyes on yours.

----

You felt your eyes burn with the sun piercing through your window. You took in a deep breath through your nostrils trying desperately to open them, wondering if everything that had happened last night was just a dream. It felt like you were in bed, warm blankets pulled up to your chin. Finally, your eyes came into focus and you took in your surroundings.

You sat up fast, realizing immediately that you weren’t home at all. In fact, you had no idea where you were. The room you found yourself in was clean with stark white walls and bedding, but the bars on the windows let you know that it wasn’t as nice as it first appeared. The door on the far end of the room buzzed before you heard an electronic latch open it.

He walked in, one of the three men who had had their way with you the night before. He gave you a soft and toothy grin. He put a hand up to greet you, he didn’t look as though he dared to come near the bed.

“Hi there, we haven’t met properly.” You noticed now that he looked nervous, though you couldn’t imagine why, he clearly had all the power in that moment. “I’m Steven. I thought I should introduce m’self. Figured since…well…since I came in behind you and all, you hadn’t really seen me yet.”

Except you had seen his face before. You’d seen it two other times that night. Once on Jake, and once more with the one named Marc. So this one was Steven. You’d been kidnapped by three brothers.

“Where am I?” You asked timidly, realizing that your throat still ached from the choking and stretching you’d endured earlier.

He walked toward you slowly. Already, you could see the nagging press of his cock against the seam of his pants. He looked at you like he was ready to devour you the moment he got his hands on you. Steven bit his lip.

“Darling…you’re home.”

----

Next Part (Coming Soon)

----

Thank you for the request @burnincrown!

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