#patchwork lust

[sososunniest]

yay!!! two others!!! error and swap are next..... :9

i need a new name for lust. maybe luster? i mean, i did make some of his outfit shiny after all

[millionsknives]

I AM GOING INSANE OVER THESE

[onyourowndaisymae]

don't mind me... just thinking about the demon brothers slowly dropping the rest of their roster for you as they fall head over heels...

lucifer // mammon // levi // satan // asmo // beel (you are here) // belphie -- others coming soon, NSFW warning below, gn!reader

beelzebub, who doesn't have the capacity to get to know you in the way he should. it seems that every season of his life comes with heartbreaking turmoil, and he just has to get used to that feeling of emptiness in his stomach. first, with the celestial war, he lost lilith. now, as the exchange program began, he had to say goodbye to his twin brother for an entire year. he hopes you don't take it personally-- he just can't spare the mental or emotional energy to embrace your arrival like he should.

beelzebub, who can't thank you enough for the way you've repaired his family. he never would have suspected that you had been forming the pacts with his brothers to release belphie from the attic. a small, nervous part of him wonders if you had been nice to him just to get his pact, that you didn't mean all those things you said-- but he knows you. even if you had been lying, you did it for the right reasons. and after all, everything worked out, right? you're here, belphie's back, and the months since his twin's return have been nothing but happy. you have single-handedly stitched his patchwork family back together. beel can't find a way to show how important all you've done for his family really means, but he'll keep trying anyways.

beelzebub, who likes you a lot, actually. he's never been too keen romance. most of his interactions had been spurred on by the other party. he's been attracted to people who are kind yet self-assured, seeking him out first. all of his experiences in crushes, in romance, in bed, have all been a game of follow the leader-- not due to a lack of interest on his part, but because of trauma-ridden aloofness that caused him to focus on the things he still had. romance never topped the priority list... at least, not until it came to you. beel saw you as a member of the family for a long time, longer than he maybe should have. but there's something special about you. something about you that makes him love you differently than he does his brothers. he just wants to have you around, always, sharing meals and movies and glances across the dinner table that make his brothers squirm. he's finally found someone special in his life-- someone he's going to give romance a try for.

beelzebub, who has never been good at controlling his appetite. it hits him at the worst of times, constantly, gnawing at his insides until he can't ignore it. that was why he is stuck in this position. a hunger brews in him, all adrenaline from the latter half of the fangol game and lust, and-- fuck, he needs relief. water beats loudly against the tiles, disguising the deep growl in his throat as he tugs impatiently at his aching cock once, twice, listening hard to make sure no one else was still in the locker room. he listens until he couldn't anymore, until his hand began to move impatiently on its own, another growl rumbling in his chest before he relents and begins pleasuring himself. his mind wanders to you, on the railing of the bleachers, screaming your lungs out in support of his team, feet pounding against the metal steps as you jumped about. you were there for him, cheering for him, watching his every move. he imagines you creeping in to reward him after everyone else left, perched on your knees on the locker room floor, wide eyes watching him with so much love as you swallow his cock, plush lips wrapped around his shaft as you take him as far as you can. just the thought makes his cock throb in his hand. he didn't have long to finish himself off and head out, but his mind couldn't help but linger on the image a bit longer...

beelzebub, whose date night just got a whole lot better. the two of you had spent the evening at hell's kitchen eating your fill (or in beel's case, eating them out of stock) then coming back to the house of lamentation for a movie. but your hand began to wander during the movie-- not towards the snacks, which he offered you several times as your gaze began to wander, but to his upper thigh. your fingers creep in further, until you're brushing against the seam of his pants. he hardens at your touch, your gaze, the steady sound of your breathing next to him. he shoots you a curious look. he quietly warns you that yours fingers are touching him in a particular place-- surely you know that already? you nod. he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you onto his lap. his view of the screen may be obstructed, but it's obvious that the movie has fallen to the wayside for now. it's him that takes the initiative to guide your hips into a steady grind against his own, little gasps escaping yours lips as he watches you more intently than he ever did the screen. grinding turns to kissing and kissing turns to grabbing, his big hands grabbing at your sides, your ass, your thighs, spreading you open for him. his fingers slip past the waistline of your pants and begin to toy with your sex through your underwear. you begin to tug at his sweatpants, desperately reaching for his cock while rutting into his hand. his cock springs free-- fuck, he's massive-- and you whine for it. you tugged your pants off in a few hurried movements. he tries to warn you about needing more prep, but his words die in his throat as you whimper for it, tell him how much you need him. his eyes and mind both glaze over with lust as gathers your juices and scissors them inside of your entrance, reaching deeper and deeper as you grip his broad shoulders and moan. when you're ready, he lines you up over his cock and lets your sink onto his length. you're so tight and soft and his head is spinning. fuck. the drag of his cock through your insides makes him groan. he doesn't even realize he's pinned your back against the couch until you look up at him with wide eyes and murmur his name. he starts to pull back, but you repeat his name-- your tone is laced with lust, hands reaching for him to come closer, and he does. he hovers close enough to brush his lips against your ear and apologize. you're a strong human, right? you can handle a little roughness? his hips pull back then thrust roughly into you, making your vision blur for just a moment, before he begins a truly sinful pace. a new sort of appetite brews within him-- and you know he's never been good at resisting his gluttonous urges.

taglist for this series: @the-demonus-aunt // @scienceisfornerds // @hostilemakeover // @snow-fall1 // @kachan890 // @rphantom1 // @respitable

[sugar-coat-it]

Body piercer! Matty

Part 2 , Part 3

May I present my pride and joy (and first AU), body piercer Matty <3, based on the 2020 NOACF mohawk era

Fem! reader

****CW! Needles, pain****

Contains: Matty piercing reader’s nipples*, lustful fantasies, praise, Matty has a tongue piercing, HELLA tension and pining, Matty being a sweetheart through the whole thing

*note, I don’t have nipple piercings lol, apologies if any of this is inaccurate.

Word count: 5313

—------------------------------------------

PART ONE- Fate lands you in Matty Healy’s capable hands when looking to get your nipples pierced. Tension ensues.

—-----------------------------------------

The thought of getting your nipples pierced had been in the back of your mind for what felt like years. It nagged at you every time you saw a pretty girl with barbells poking out under her tank top, you wanted to be her. You’d done all the research, article after article on the healing period, the pain level, and the kinds of jewelry you can get. You also knew fairly well how they enhance sexual encounters, which had a whole draw of its own. You’d done everything except actually make the appointment. That is, up until a few days ago. Fresh off of a breakup and tired of feeling sorry for yourself, you’d called your local tattoo parlor and scheduled a slot with a body piercer named Maddie, then hung up feeling rather pleased with yourself for finally getting it done. The anticipation of the leadup to the appointment had you biting your lips raw. You’d gotten other piercings before, but never in a place so intimate. Never one that required taking your top off, that’s for certain. But friends had been encouraging you nonstop, telling you what a “hot girl” move it was, and who were you to argue? 

Finally, the day comes, and you’re swinging open the parlor door a little too hard, evidently very tense. The bell that jangles when the door opens clanks against the wall, making the man behind the counter startle. Wide-eyed and wincing, you shoot him an apologetic look, embarrassed that you’d practically ripped their front door off the hinge. Great start!

Slowly, after making sure the door is safely shut, you approach the counter, absentmindedly toying with the rings that adorn your fingers, twisting them between your thumb and your forefinger. The man at the counter is exactly who you’d expect to be working at a tattoo and piercing parlor, but an even more stunning rendition if you were being honest. His slightly sleepy-looking eyes brighten a little at the sight of you, a fluffy mohawk of chocolatey waves sitting atop his head. He’s adorned with inked patterns along his skin, a patchwork of symbols across his arms that you restrict yourself to only glancing at for a moment. His eyes crinkle at the edges when he greets you with a warm smile, offering a little wave before you start to explain why you’re here, your voice uncharacteristically high-pitched.

“Hi, I’ve got a 1:00 appointment?” you explain before providing your name, trying your hardest to stop fidgeting.

Your mind is in about 20 places, and it doesn’t help that your heart just fluttered at the eye contact he’s holding with you. The man nods at you, a low hum rumbling in his chest as he picks up the scheduling book, sifting through the pages with black polished nails. When he turns his head, you catch a glimpse of the single silver hoop earring that he’s sporting quite well. Curiosity creeps up like a slinking cat, making you wonder what other modifications he might have. His narrowed eyes scan the book, toffee-colored irises flicking over names until he finds yours penciled in, jabbing his nail against the page.

“Yeah I see you, you’re with me then. And, you did your paperwork and payment stuff, it looks like,” he says, snapping the schedule closed definitively.

“Oh, no I don’t think…” you start to correct, tilting your head at him with confusion until you trail off into quiet.

 That’s when it catches your eye, the nametag on his white tank top reads “Matty”. Then it clicks. Matty. Not Maddie. You’d scheduled your appointment to get your tits pierced with a guy. A very attractive guy that was now going to watch you squirm like a child. Your jaw drops slightly, a sinking feeling in your gut starting to fester as you realize your mistake.

“Everything alright there? Second thoughts, perhaps?” Matty prompts, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at you. 

“No… no second thoughts. To be honest, I thought I had an appointment with a female piercer,” you answer, preemptively grimacing before you’d even finished your sentence.

“Oh, shit. Well, that’s not ideal. Listen, we can get you in here another day then, no problem. Tell me what works for you,” he says, already scrambling for a pencil to put your name elsewhere in the book. 

“Actually, I think it’s fine. I’m already here, right?” you offer, shrugging to try and appear more nonchalant about the whole thing (your palms are sweating).

“Are you sure? Seriously, I don’t want you uncomfortable on my watch. It’s not a big deal to get you a different appointment,” he frowns, absentmindedly twirling the pencil between his fingers. 

His eyes are strangely soft for someone with such an intimidating job, you can only describe the feeling they give you as melting. You can’t quite place why, but his presence alone is somehow quelling your nerves, even if it’s just a bit. Your hands start to still, dropping to rest at your sides as you decide to let him do it anyway. He looks trustworthy, right? 

“Yeah, I’m sure. But thank you, truly,” you say, a soft smile pulling at your lips at how keen he seems on making you comfortable. 

Matty nods slowly, rising from the chair while eyeing you like he’s not sure if you’re going to turn on your heel and run out the door if he looks away. He asks you to follow him to the back, you’re trailing close behind as he pulls his baggy camo pants further up his hips by his belt. The room he leads you to is small and fairly chilly, but only in temperature. The space itself feels homey, plastered with stickers and posters of various punk bands, it doesn’t feel like some sterile hospital room. 

“Stay standin’ for me, just need to get some things,” he instructs, turning to reach for his supplies, including the jewelry you’d selected over the phone, “and, whenever you’re ready you can take your top off, okay?” 

Without the pressure of his eyes on you, it takes a moment before you slowly ease your shirt up and over your shoulders, setting it beside you. You take a slightly uneven breath as you reach to fumble with the clasp of your bra, suddenly forgetting the muscle memory from doing it for so many years. The moment it’s off, the rush of cold air instantly sends a shiver licking up your spine. You lean back against the counter, trying to appear as casual as you can as you eye the piercer. Your eyebrows slope with admiration, softening your expression as you realize that he’s now aimlessly fishing through a drawer, trying to give you time to ease into undressing while he’s still turned around. He stays with his back to you until you clear your throat, signaling that you’ve finished. His expression is unphased as he turns around on the heels of his platformed lace-up boots. God, he really is beyond cool, isn’t he? 

“Right, I’m gonna put these on, and then I’ll mark the placement,” Matty explains, holding up a pair of latex gloves. 

Matty pulls the gloves over his sizeable hands, the bulging veins catching your eye as he flexes his fingers to test that they’re taught. He’s taking a few steps closer to you, now only about an arm's length away as he explains that he’s not going to touch you without the gloves, though of course, your first unfiltered thought is that you wish he would. His eyes hadn’t strayed from your face for even a second this whole time, being remarkably neutral despite the fact that you were topless. Though, you suppose that sort of thing must not phase him since he’s probably pierced tons of nipples. That doesn’t stop the odd tinge of disappointment that he hadn’t even glanced at your body. You swallow the feeling like it’s bile, knowing that it’s totally unreasonable to want him to gaze at you with anything but professionalism. 

“Is it okay if I put my hands on you? Need to clean the area,” he asks, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort, it’s making you slightly weak in the knees, he’s just so fucking gentle. 

You nod, rolling your shoulders back in preparation for him to touch you while he pours solvent on a cotton pad. His disciplined, gloved hands reach out, and only now does he allow his gaze to dip down to your chest. You could swear his breath hitches just a little, the quiet room allowing for the smallest sounds to be heard. Maybe he is just a man after all. The thought makes pride simmer in your chest, but you’re not dwelling on it for long, your mind going blank the moment he starts to swiftly swipe the pad along your nipples, sanitizing your skin and also effectively making them harden from the stimulation. You tense up, standing straighter than before as you bite back any semblance of a reaction. Matty throws you a glance to assess your discomfort, soft brown irises following the slopes of your features. He places the sanitizing supplies to the side, now uncapping a purple skin marker. This was going to be a long process if he kept looking at you that way.

“Nothing's happening yet, okay? Just gonna draw on where they’re gonna go,” he says, holding it up while raising his eyebrows as if to say “Look, it’s harmless”. 

Matty leans in again, his eyes narrowing with concentration, gloved knuckles brushing the side of your breast as he marks a dot on the side of your nipple. Watching Matty stare at your tits with such laser focus has your cheeks flushing just slightly, heat prickling at the bridge of your nose. He runs the tip of the marker from one side of the hardened bud to the other, marking a symmetrical dot. Tingles spread under your skin like wildfire, he’s barely touched you and yet you can feel yourself buzzing at the slightest sensations. His pretty brown eyes meet yours and he just smiles at you sympathetically, knowing how hyperfocused on his every movement you must be.

“You’re not breathing,” he whispers, playfully jabbing the capped end of the pen against your arm. 

Your eyes widen as you realize that he’s absolutely right, you’d been holding your breath this whole time. You release your bated breath, your chest heaving slightly as Matty keeps looking down at you, giving you a moment to regain your senses. You swear the eye contact while being inches away from him is making you more lightheaded than the lack of oxygen. With a satisfied nod, he resumes, repeating the same process of drawing the dots at the peak of your other breast. Then, he takes a step back, biting the cap of the marker between his canines while he evaluates his work. This allows you another moment to admire him as he eyeballs the symmetricalness of his markings. Your mind is wandering, perhaps trying to distract you from how intently this man is studying your breasts. You’re wondering what it would be like if he wasn’t so gentle with you. What if he touched you instead with greed, the need to satiate himself? In your head, you imagine the warm, honey tones of his eyes darkening like tinted glass as he drinks you in not as his client, but as something to desire, to want to feel flush beneath his calloused fingertips. This version of Matty doesn’t try to limit every graze of his working hands, he’s starving; groping, and mapping every part of your skin that he can reach. You’re jumping the gun now, the image flashes through your mind like a ricocheting bullet: Matty’s got you pressed up against the wall, his hands are mean as he grabs a handful of one of your tits, his thigh is hitched between your legs, keeping your thighs parted. His head dips down, his shaggy mohawk tickling at your neck as he tugs on the silver barbell through your nipple with his teeth, pain melding with pleasure till they’re impossible to separate. And, oh, fuck, does he have a tongue piercing? Your eyes flick down to his mouth now, mind reeling as you spot the silver stud on his tongue revealed by the way he’s chewing on the cap of the marker. You are losing yourself, and fast, but he doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Alright, looks just about even. Would you go ahead and lie down there, darlin’?” he asks, cocking his head towards the reclined padded chair next to him. 

Now is where the nerves are starting to kick in, it’s all fun and fantasizing about your body piercer until you actually have to sit in the chair. You were hardly able to mentally fawn over the pet name as you took unsure strides to situate yourself in the cold, plastic parlor recliner. Matty busies himself with preparing various metal objects while you stare up at the ceiling, squinting at the fluorescent lights and wondering why you wanted your tits pierced so badly in the first place. Then, his unreasonably darling face is in your field of vision, peering down at you with a consoling smile.

“Comfy?” he prompts, a needle in one hand and a small pair of forceps in the other.

It’s not a comforting sight, no matter how lovely the man holding them is. 

“Sorta. I’m actually kind of a chicken about these things,” you admit with a wobbly smile in return.

“No… really?” he grins boyishly, clearly being sarcastic with you. 

You shoot him a look for that, but it melts away into a little laugh, you can’t seem to even fake a cold stare around him, it’s sort of pitiful. Standing over you, Matty raises the forceps close to your breasts but doesn’t touch you with them just yet. You bite your lip, lifting your head to get a better look at what’s happening, even though you’re not entirely sure you even want to watch. 

“Now, this is just going to feel like a little pinch, shouldn’t hurt,” he says, his voice lowering a little before he slips in a: “You’re doing really good.”

The praise tears your gaze away from his hands and onto his face, blinking in disbelief at the way he’d caused a fizzling pang of desire inside you so effortlessly. That feeling doesn’t get any weaker the moment you feel the cool metal clamp around your nipple, your lips parting with a soft gasp, hands tensing with the urge to hold onto something, to hold onto him. Matty’s pierced tongue darts out past his lips in concentration, soothing over his bottom lip as he lines the needle up next to the hardened bud. You jolt at the sharp tip of the object against your sensitive skin, your hand shooting out to grab onto Matty’s bicep in a moment of pure reaction. Both of you seem equally shocked that you’d suddenly clutched his arm, your nails slightly biting into his skin amongst the spattering of pretty freckles that mark him. There’s a moment of the loudest silence you’ve ever heard, his stare feels like it’s searing you. You’re about to rush into apologizing, but then he’s placing his tools back down onto his tray of supplies, tentatively reaching to rest his larger hand over yours, enveloping it in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.

“It’s alright, sweetheart, I’m just lining up my shot. I’m gonna tell you when it’s time, okay? Just breathe with me for a moment,” he reassures, his thumb rubbing tenderly over the back of your hand. 

He takes an exaggerated breath, encouraging you to do the same, his chest rising beneath his white tank top. You mirror Matty, taking a deep breath in of, well… him. He smells like a dizzying combination of Marlboros and woody aftershave because of course, he does.

“That’s it, much better. It’ll be a whole fuckin’ ordeal if you pass out on me, so stay with me here. Can you do that?” he questions, raising his eyebrows at you. 

“Yeah… yeah, I can. Thank you,” you say softly, trying to disregard the sparks radiating under Matty’s palm. 

You stay like this for a few breaths longer, Matty doesn’t look away from you and you’re not so sure that it’s only because he doesn’t want you to conk out. His gloved hand gives yours an encouraging squeeze before letting go slowly. The heat still lingers as he retrieves his tools a second time, the flexing of his bicep under your grasp reminds you that you should probably let go of him now. But, the moment you start to retract your hand, he glances at you and speaks in that silky tone of his.

“You don’t have to let go, s’okay. You can use me like a stress toy, or something. I don’t really care,” he shrugs, winking at you. 

You just nod dumbly, your eyes going a little wider as you settle your hand over his bare arm again, right over the top of his Newcastle United seahorse tattoo. You’d like to use him in other ways too, but that’s not very appropriate, now is it? 

You let out a sigh as you come to the same point in the process again, Matty lining up the needle diligently while keeping your nipple clamped with the metal forceps, but this time, you get to cling to his arm. You don’t want to distract him, because it would be your loss in the end, but there is a sense of satisfaction when you feel his bicep flex slightly as you trace your thumb along the symbol inked on his skin, following the curve of the seahorses mane with your nail. 

“Okay, love. Here’s what’s gonna happen, I’m going to do it on three, and when I say three, I need you to take a sharp breath in for me, like this,” he instructs, then shows you what he means with a harsh inhale through his nose. 

You breathe out a weak “okay”, already gripping his arm harder from the anticipation building up to a high. You decide it’s best not to watch, especially since you’d promised you wouldn’t pass out. You let your head rest back against the chair, your nose scrunching as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly. Matty begins to count down, increasing the pressure of the clamp. 1. 2. 3. You inhale sharply through your nose at the same time that an unprecedented amount of burning pain reverberates through your chest, your eyes snapping open. You’re clawing at his arm, a cry ripping past your lips while tears well up and blur your vision. It’s a feeling so intense that it’s seeping through you to your stomach, crawling like the meanest sunburn. Of all the piercings you’ve gotten, you can say without a doubt that this takes first prize for the most painful.

“Oh, fuck!” you sob, the sound being embarrassingly close to a full-bodied moan. 

Matty slides the jewelry through while swiftly retracting the needle, trying to stifle the way the sound you’d made was affecting him, echoing in his skull in a way he knows it shouldn’t. He doesn’t even flinch despite the way your nails are leaving angry, red crescents marred on his skin. He quickly screws the barbell together before completely retracting his hands from you, taking one more glance at his handiwork before consoling you, his heart seemingly aching for the pretty girl in his chair.

“I know, I know. Hurts like a bitch, but you’re halfway done. Doing so good, you’re alright,” he murmurs, reaching the gloved back of his hand to your face to wipe some of the stray tears on your cheeks.

You just whine, the radiating pain only now starting to subside as you keep your hold on his arm, now smoothing over the marks you’d left with your fingertips as if you’re kissing them better. His thumb grazes along your cheek for a little too long for it to be accidental. Matty’s praise while he wipes away your tears is making your mind fuzzy, it’s like he’s numbing the pain; the sweetest morphine. 

Your gasps for breath are slowing, the pain like a dull pulse, easing its grip on you. Mortification is starting to sink in now that you’re not reeling from shooting pain. One of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen just watched you in one of your most vulnerable moments, and there’s still one piercing to go, much to your dismay. 

“Fuck, this is embarrassing,” you admit with a breathy laugh at your own expense. 

“Nah, don’t be embarrassed. You could’ve done much worse, probably,” he says, looking amused as he shakes his head at you.

“Like what?” “I dunno… like, socked me in the face as a fight or flight response.”

You laugh at that, a bright sound filling the room that makes Matty’s smile grow fonder as he gazes down at you with those pretty, sparkly eyes. The moment lingers on for a few beats, tension blooming between you that almost makes you forget about the throbbing ache of your left breast (almost). 

“You do know I have to do the other one right? Unless you’re a bit odd and like the one-piercing look,” he reminds cautiously over the clinking metallic sound of him picking up his tools. 

“I know,” you sigh, “can you do it fast?” 

“Erm… I’ll do it as quickly as I can without making it cockeyed, but I reckon you’ll be fine. Besides, the second one’s always easier from what I’ve seen.”

He doesn’t seem like the type that would elude you for the sake of false security, so you take his word as gospel, settling in to prepare yourself for what’s hopefully a more tolerable experience. His next words have your heart thrumming against your ribs.

“Can you handle it?” he asks, more of a challenge than a question.

You nod at him quietly, absentmindedly drawing little feather-light swirls on his bicep. The incentive of his praise is becoming all too tempting. You want to handle it, you want to show him that you can do it. There’s a new, honeyed kind of heat seeping into your bones. 

“Good girl. You’re a strong one, love,” he praises, sensing just how eager you are.

The next pulse you feel doesn’t come from your chest. Good girl? He has to be fucking with you. Jesus, does he talk to all of his customers like this? Does he wipe all of their tears too? Something in you wants to believe he doesn’t. He watches as your lips part slowly, your lashes fluttering as you look up at him. You have to know.

“Do you call all your customers that?” you whisper, blinking up at him coyly.

“Not really, no. Only the pretty ones who deserve it.”

Your breath comes out as a shudder, it’s unfair how easily he leaves you stunned. He clicks his tongue casually before getting back to work, all too pleased by the look on your face. You know the routine by now, Matty makes quick work of clamping your nipple and arranging the prodding tip of the needle just so. You’re still clinging to his arm, or your personal stress toy, something you’ve grown very familiar to the feel of throughout your time here. The countdown starts, he’s not giving you as much time to prepare. 1. 2. 3. What was more like a shriek from earlier comes out as a whine this time, a high-pitched, whimpery noise spilling from you. You don’t curse or practically maul his arm this time, but it’s still painful, you can’t say you’re fond of how vividly you can feel the needle go in and out amidst the burning sting. 

“Beautiful, atta girl,” he whispers, screwing the end of the barbell on before leaning back to admire his work, his eyes unabashedly glued to how the jewelry sits prettily on your breasts.

You have no clue if he’s talking about you, your tits, or the job he’d done, but it makes your skin warm all the same. 

Finally, you allow yourself to look at your chest, gently sliding your hand off of his bicep to prop yourself up on your arms and get a good look at the two new adornments. Shit, they look good on you, better than you’d hoped, and perfectly symmetrical thanks to him. He smirks when he notices the way you’re gawking at the piercings, knowing that the pain is barely a thought in your mind now, too distracted by how newly desirable you must feel. Matty likes knowing that one, he’s good at his job, and two, that he’s just helped you feel sexier. He’s really enjoying watching you admire yourself and in turn, his work. There’s a slight stir beneath his baggy pants, which he knows should never happen while he’s with a client, but you might just be the sweetest thing that’s ever been in his chair. He’s allowing himself a pass.

“Shit, Matty, they’re really nice,” you gape, your stomach swooping when you glance up to see the smug look playing on his lips.

“Yeah, they came out mint. Suit you nicely, don’t they?” he says, daring to dance along the line of being unprofessional as he then glances down at your tits and whistles. 

What a boy.

“Thank you… for everything I mean.”

“Don’t mention it, you were great,” Matty smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he waves off your gushing.

Butterflies are rampaging in your stomach, god, why does he have to be so lovely? He looks like he has something he wants to say, but it goes unspoken, rattling around in his head instead. His expression is hard to read, but would you be deluding yourself to say there’s a tinge of longing? A few beats of quiet tick by, and you’re now becoming acutely aware of the fact that you no longer have a reason to be topless, awkwardly crossing your arms. Always so attentive, Matty suddenly straightens up and reaches over your body, his chain dangling in front of your face as he grabs your shirt and bra from the counter. He places them on your lap and politely turns away as if he’s never seen you undressed, clearing his throat like that will clear the thick tension in the air. 

You wince as soon as the cups of your bra meet your immensely tender breasts, sucking in a sharp breath through your teeth as you power through clasping it. The sensitivity is something you’d been warned about, and now you get to joyfully experience it firsthand for the next however many weeks. Your eyes are on Matty’s back as you slip your shirt over your head, taking note of how rigid he seems as he gathers the after-piercing care papers for you. But maybe it’s in your head. You haven’t known him very long at all, it’s a dangerous game to assume any of the tension of this afternoon was real when you were freaking out for more than half of it.

“Right, any questions for me?” he asks, striding over to hand you the pages.

Are you single?Can we go out?Should we make out right now?How are you real?

“No, I think I’m alright.”

“Okay, well, if you’re not woozy, you can go ahead and stand up when you’re ready,” he says, clasping his hands together as if he’s wrapping up his job well done. 

With the care pamphlet in one hand, you start to slowly swing your legs over to the side, noticing the way Matty stands at attention like he’s ready to catch you if your legs give out. But they don’t, you’re able to stand with minimal wobbles, shaking out your hands to try and relax your poor, recovering body. 

The walk back to the front of the parlor is quiet, the both of you trying to grapple with the tension you couldn’t quite leave behind in the chair. There’s not much else to say, is there? You’re both standing next to the door now, and Matty retracts one of his hands from within his pockets to hold it out to you. Nothing says “I just blurred the lines of professionality while piercing your tits and now this is goodbye” like a good old handshake, does it? You try to keep your expression neutral even though this all feels quite bittersweet, grasping his hand with a firm shake. It’s the first time you’ve felt his hand without the latex glove between you, they’re soft, but you can tell he works with his hands, the callouses on his fingertips grazing your skin.

“Lovely to meet you, sorry I wasn’t a chick,” he chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, you too. And don’t worry about that, I’m glad it was you,” you reply, perhaps being a little too sincere, but it feels right to say. 

“... well, listen, get home safe, alright? Take care of yourself, call if you have any problems,” he says, once again seeming like he’s biting his tongue, keeping himself from saying something to you. 

You reach for the handle of the door, but you don’t open it. You look back at him like you’re giving him one more chance to tell you what you’re hoping to hear, but he doesn’t, he just offers a nod with an unreadable expression on his face. Heartache.

“See you, Matty,” you nod in return, opening the door and shutting it behind you.

You evaluate your situation on the walk back to your car. You’ve rid yourself of the urge to get your tits pierced, and they look fantastic, but your new problem is that you have a massive crush on your body piercer that you’re likely never going to see again unless you get another piercing. It’d be a rather expensive hobby to get a piercing just to see his face, so scratch that. Your only option is to be reminded of him every time you take your shirt off, how miserable is that?

Little do you know, the moment the shop door closed behind you, Matty groaned with his face in his hands, mentally kicking himself for not asking you out, or at least getting your number. Sure, you were a client, he had to be careful, but shit, you weren’t just any client, now were you? What was wrong with him? Something about you left the body piercer stiff and tongue-tied, replaying every moment of your encounter back in his mind. Never in his life had Matty Healy felt anything for a customer.

—---One month later—----

After a hellish month of healing, scabbing, and getting your piercings caught on things, you’ve decided that there’s no real point in having nipple piercings if no one gets to see them but you. You’d like to tell yourself that you don’t think about Matty as much anymore, but that would be laughably dishonest. Dating apps are just about one of the most aggravating wastes of time ever, and you’ve had no luck meeting people naturally, so here comes the next best thing: blind dates. Your close friend fancies herself to be somewhat of a matchmaker, she’s been talking up this guy to you for days now, telling you how funny and totally your type he is, and nothing could possibly go wrong if she set you up. You have your doubts, but still, you find yourself in a cafe waiting for your mystery man to sweep you off your feet with his supposed punchy one-liners. What you don’t expect, however, is to watch a very familiar mohawked man stride into the place, the eyes that have patronized your dreams every night scanning across the cafe until they lock onto you. 

—----------------------------------------------

Don’t you worry, I won’t leave you hanging with just tension, ofc there’s going to be a smutty part two <3

Thank you very much for reading, I hope it wasn’t underwhelming! And thank you to any other writers that I reached out to to consult about my ideas, ily, mwah!

[politemenacephd]

Arachnophilia: (Part Thirty)

Drider!Miguel O'Hara x Reader (+18)

Chapter Masterlist 🕷️

Content/CW: Mig is rutting, workplace sex, fear kink, breeding kink, intercrural sex, copious sexual fluids, oral sex, tongue play, hormone scenting, unresolved sexual tension.

Word count: 11,000 Notes: IM BACK BUT ALSO THIS IS A LONG ONE LMAO IM SORRY

Mig stuck to his word as Autumn continued to roll in.

You would be his, no matter what.

The days passed and soon Nueva York was a beautiful patchwork of dull oranges and reds, with the upper city parks creating a gorgeous spread of burnt amber grass beneath the cold sun. Mig’s own universe went much the same way, with his forest home going from a bright evergreen to a spread of dark greens and slowly melting auburn shades as the trees lost their hue. You woke every day in his nest to a new blanket of leaves coating your front door, each load bigger than the last, and soon it was clear that winter was approaching.

You were getting chillier in the mornings, even with Mig’s huge, fluffy body at your side. More and more you were relegated to sleeping beneath his folded form like a baby bird beneath its watchful parent, and at a certain point the bed was so covered in silk blankets it looked almost like a mountain.

More of your stuff from your apartment made its way in too. Your clothes, your toothbrush, your kitchen utensils, your bathroom supplies.

It was a strange mismatch. The nest was rustic, with Mig’s makeshift tools and handspun tapestries, which made all of your modern appliances look out of place. There was nothing more jarring than a portable electric toothbrush sitting next to a hand-carved wooden basin over a bamboo drip, which was your version of a sink, or your phone sitting next to the firepit he used to boil water.

It was strange, yes, but welcome. It really was beginning to feel like home.

It was just that, with home, came pressure.

Time was passing, and it was passing fast. In those sweet early months with Mig it’d felt like you had all the time in the world, but the world was proving that wrong.

You had to find a solution to your universal separation, a way to prove that you and Mig could safely cohabitate forever, and potentially have a family if you desired that in the future. If you couldn’t prove it was safe, the society couldn’t sanction it any further. They couldn’t risk anything that might cause multiverse instability.

That left only two outcomes to this relationship, but in Mig’s mind, there was only one outcome he was willing to accept, and that was success. He was beyond the curious, testing phase of the relationship, the tepid exploration of lust and companionship.

He was in love. He was madly, inescapably in love with you, and he would not let you go.

This left him in a state of feverish devotion to his work, and he spent almost all his free time in Miguel’s labs working out the calculations to a cross-universe serum. At first, he tried to bring you with him, since he missed you far too much, but that ended poorly. He felt too bad making you stay up in Miguel’s office, where you’d inevitably fall asleep from exhaustion and Miguel would have to cover you in a blanket.

So instead he started doing calculations late into the night in the nest while you slept beside him. He even started doing calculations in his sleep. You’d wake to find wall after wall covered in markings you couldn’t comprehend.

The only other hiccup in his way was that he was also totally devoted to helping Micaela and Gabriel. Much of his and Miguel’s previous work had been put to the side to focus on her, using their joint background in genetics to find a cure for her ailment.

Miguel was obviously far more concerned with protecting the existing Micaela than with securing Mig’s future, and while it frustrated you both you couldn’t exactly blame him. Micaela did come first, and he was right to prioritize her, but the uncertainty in your future was becoming a strain.

Mig wanted to start living again, to hope again. He wanted to sleep beside you knowing that you were his, forever and always, and that he wasn’t a doomed abomination. He wanted to know you’d be with him until the end.

No more lonely wailing in the woods. No more singing for a person who would never come.

He wanted to live. He wanted you. He wanted his family.

But the longer their work took, the less certain it felt. Every little re-calculation felt like a punch to the gut, and every mission or postponement felt like a weight on his back.

But you can’t stay in limbo forever.

Closure had to come eventually, one way or another.

…

‘Come on, come on…’

You struggled not to impatiently tap your foot as you peered around the line ahead. You had to crane your neck to see over the 10 or so other spiders all idly waiting for their turn at the counter.

You were waiting in line at the HQ cafeteria to get lunch for you, Miguel and Mig, something you did almost every day now as an unusual little trio. The boys, as you called them, were utterly fixated on their dual projects, and while you weren’t much use scientifically you were the one little lifeline they had left to sanity and stability.

If left to their own devices they’d science themselves into husks. This left you the task of keeping them grounded, keeping them fed, and slapping them back into reality when need be.

It was slightly grating to be around two supergeniuses all the time. Mig was a sweetheart as always, and while he could be a little annoying when he talked to you like a child, he was never condescending or mean. Miguel, on the other hand, was very condescending. He had a need to explain, a need to teach, but he had the patience of a mouse and a tendency to get sassy if you ever got anything wrong.

However, you couldn’t pretend you didn’t enjoy your time with the two. Now Miguel had cooled down he really did seem to be making a difference in his attitude, especially after meeting Gabriel and Micaela. He was short-tempered and stressed, and that would probably never change, but there was an unspoken gentleness to his attitude now. It was almost, protective.

And Mig…

Your face grew warm at the thought of him. His smile. His soft-spoken compliments. His little abdomen wriggles. His big, open, honest eyes, peering down at you as they practically dripped with affection.

Your mind wandered to his breath on your neck in the morning, when he’d blow your hair aside to kiss your forehead. That warmth grew exponentially.

Mig was always perfect. Not literally, but to you… Yes. He was perfect.

‘Hey!’

You jumped in place as someone tapped your shoulder. You spun back and forth only to realize that the line had moved three spaces ahead, and you’d been too lost in your little daydream to notice. The spiders behind you did not look impressed.

‘Sorry! Shit—just a second.’

You stammered an apology and hurried forward, trying to ignore the curious stares you get. The morbid interest in Mig’s lover never seemed to go away.

You stayed hyper-vigilant as you waited to finally reach the front of the cafeteria. You’d replayed asking for your order so many times that it practically tumbled from your lips when you reached the server, making you appear like some kind of empanada-loving robot.

As you made your way back to the office you couldn’t help but pause to admire the new décor.

The whole building was covered in dainty, slightly tacky Halloween objects, coating the walls from top to bottom. It was all in place for the Halloween party tomorrow. There were skrunkly little paper spiders hanging from the high beams, orange cut-outs of cats and pumpkins plastered to the wall.

It was almost painfully twee, but you kind of loved it. It felt authentically true to form for this place. You also knew Miguel had refused to spend any more than the absolute bare minimum on decorations out of spite, since he hated the idea of doing this in the first place. Hosting events and being considerate of members' well-being was one thing, but being drawn out of work to wear costumes was, ironically, not his forte.

Unfortunately, despite being the de-facto leader, he’d been outvoted by the other elites, along with every other Spider in the society. You’d been subjected to his rambling about this for almost a week. Luckily, he didn’t know you’d also voted to have the party.

You prodded a little cheap plastic bat that was hanging from the ceiling as you hopped from the beams into the main corridor before Miguel’s office.

You were quick as you hurried down the same familiar route; passed the Spiders crowding the hall, passed the rudimentary go-home machine, and down the darkened empty corridor filled with Miguel’s old suits and gadgets.

As you approached the door you were hit by the smell of metal and the low hum of a machine. It vibrated through your bones in the most eerie way, causing the walls around you to jitter as if moving.

You instinctively slowed down.

Shit, they were in the middle of running their experiments again.

You crept up to the entrance to Miguel’s office and carefully nudged the door aside, being careful not to dip in any further. You didn’t want to startle them.

‘Pressure at 53%’

Lyla’s voice floated out from beneath the eerie hum as you peeked around the doorway. The office was usually dark, awash with cold navy light and the dull orange glow of Miguel’s monitors, but right now it was alight with an almost supernatural glow emanating from its center. It cast odd shadows across the walls and floors, like hands sneaking up to grasp you.

‘Lyla! Speed it up.’

‘Pressure at 73%. I’m going as fast as I can!’

That was Miguel’s voice, you thought. It was nearly identical to Mig’s but you knew them both well enough now to pick them apart. You peered a little further into the room.

‘Qué chingada… Come on.’

Mig hissed a few more curses under his breath as his abdomen rustled.  

He’d bent his front legs like a horse so he could grasp the computer with both hands, and he was right on the verge of physically shaking it. Every

He was so close, so damn close. He’d gotten the formula down to a predicted 3% success rate, and if he could just get a few more test runs in, he’d have it. He’d have you.

‘Alright! Are you ready?’

Miguel called down to Mig from his floating office. He had to about halfway in the air, allowing him to look down on Mig as he ran some sort of experiment.

You could see the enormous table they were always huddled around, covered in glass jars and holographic screens all flashing with a million numbers at once. As you sank against the door frame, you noticed that the crackling was getting louder.

‘Pressure at 89%. Almost there.’

You could see something starting to spin on the table, creating a whirring noise akin to a helicopter’s blades. The sound was triggering every instinct in your body to run, to hide, and you had to fight yourself just to continue watching.

‘Hold it steady!’

‘I’m holding steady.’

The light expanded until you were forced to squint and pull away, hiding yourself behind the door. The sound was unbearably loud, the whirring grating on your ears as the light grew brighter and brighter.

‘Pressure at 98%...’

‘99%’

‘100%!’

And then—

A crackle filled the room and the light dimmed in a single split second, leaving the room in darkness. You had to wipe your eyes to adjust to the dimness. Everything smelled like hot metal, and you could see smoke drifting up into the rafters of the office.

‘Serum stability at 99%’ Lyla’s voice called out, followed by a sharp bark of a growl.

‘ARGH!’

Mig pulled back and kicked one of the loose chairs right into the wall, almost totally obliterating it with the faintest display of aggression. ‘¡Jueputa! Chingada Madre!’

As the low whirring of the machine dulled, he began to pace, his spider legs scuttling back and forth. His abdomen was shaking dangerously, that much you could see. He had his head in his hands and seemed to be trying his hardest to not lose his temper any further.

You felt your heart sink a little in your chest at the sight.

Miguel was cursing beneath his breath as he put out the fire. ‘God damn it… Lyla, what keeps going wrong?!’

‘It’s just routine checks, Miguel. It’s totally normal.’ 

‘We’ve been stuck at 99% for a week!’ Miguel barked back, ignoring Lyla’s slightly snarky tone.

‘99% is good! That’s better odds than your watch had when you tried it out’ she argued back. You could faintly see her hologram floating in the air beside them, pacing back and forth across the open air. Miguel bitterly waved his hand through her digital form.

‘Yeah, and I was stupid to do so. I can’t approve it until it's 100%.’

‘Maybe the calculations are off’ Mig murmured to himself. You saw him drop back down to the computer again, grasping at its mass like it was a person who he could shake sense into.

‘My calculations aren’t off!’ Miguel snapped back in a slightly harsher tone. ‘I know what I’m doing!’

You could see the tension rising. They’d just keep getting more and more irritable if they remained fixated on their work. You decided now was the time to step in.

With a huff you pushed the office door aside and bellowed towards them. ‘Hey! Come on guys, break time!’

The sound of you voice drew Mig to snap and turn, a motion so inhumanly fast he nearly wrenched the entire computer apart from with his hands. Miguel had to step in and shove him off just to salvage it.

‘¡Tonto! Ah, ten cuidado’ Miguel snapped under his breath, though Mig heard none of it. He didn’t even respond when Miguel elbowed him away.

He was fixed on you, watching you run down the corridor towards him. The way you smiled, the way you bounced as you sped up. He couldn’t stop his abdomen rustling and vibrating with a deep, profound sense of joy. Miguel noticed that too and promptly rolled his eyes.

‘Miggy!’

You squeaked and jumped up into his arms, with the enormous spider catching you with instinctive prowess. He drew you up to his chest and held you like a large cat.

‘Mi tesoro’ he purred. ‘I missed you.’

‘They were gone for 15 minutes’ Miguel sarcastically replied.

‘I know’ Mig replied, his big crimson eyes still fixed on you. He kept tilting his head to get a better angle of your face, deliberately staring until you got flustered and tried to look away. You could feel him nosing at your hands as you covered yourself. Your quiet giggling was almost addictive to him.

‘It was still too long…’ Mig whispered against your fingers. ‘Too long…’

‘Still too long— Alright! Come on, computers finished that round. We can break.’ Miguel grunted and pushed the computer aside as he stood, his hands outstretched. ‘Can I eat, then? Or did you forget about me?’

You pulled back your hands and peered down at Miguel. ‘Forget? What? I wouldn’t forget about you.’

‘Ahuh. What about—’

‘Oh my god—I forgot your lunch order ONE time!’ you cried, cutting him off before he could bring up the same story he always brought up. Despite himself, Miguel’s lips did tilt into a slight smile.

‘Exactly. Once. And you could do it again’ he replied in a slightly snarkier tone. You huffed and threw his box of empanadas at his chest, which he caught mid-air with his webs.

‘You went—you were on a mission twice—’

‘Ahuh, ahuh—’

‘So, I had to remember to NOT get your order—’

‘Yep, keep digging that grave—’

‘I had to remember to NOT get your order the second time, because you sent that memo saying it was wasteful to leave your food, and then the third time you didn’t DIRECTLY tell me you wouldn’t be on a mission, so I didn’t have it there! I am not in the wrong!’

You burnt your throat out while rambling off your excuse. Miguel just kept trying to hide his growing smile of endearment as he webbed his way up to his floating desk, leaving you and Mig to sit beneath him.

‘It’s not my job to babysit you. If you can’t check the schedule that’s something for you to fix, not me. Consider it… character building’ Miguel replied smoothly.

‘Next time I won’t get it deliberately’ you huffed, before reaching into the bag and giving Mig his order. He purred as he took it. ‘At least you’re grateful, Miggy’ you mumbled, which caused him to purr even louder.

‘Always, arañita.’

As Mig folded his legs and settled down on the floor you sat at the front of his abdomen, snuggling into his fur with your meal resting on your folded legs. You could hear Miguel grunting with barely suppressed pleasure as he started eating above you.

Mig paused then as his watch buzzed. He glanced down and awkwardly tapped it at with his huge claws until he finally got it to recognize his touch.

‘Mm? It is—Oh!’

Mig’s face lit up into a smile as a hologram flashed up from his watch, revealing a line of text and a blurry picture. You tilted your head out of curiosity.

‘Hm? What's up?’

‘It’s ah- Gabriel. I’ve been re-learning how to text so that we may, converse, more easily, and he has sent me a picture of Micaela.’ Mig sounded so proud as he spoke, and his eyes as they flitted over the picture were deeply endeared. It filled you with joy to see him looking so comfortable.

‘Oh! That’s nice, that’s good. I’m glad you’re properly keeping in touch now. What’d he say?’

‘Mm! Well, last night he was telling me about how bad the hospital food is. I offered to send him some of my deer meat, which he seemed to find humorous, and today he has sent me a picture of his mates cooking and—’

‘They don’t use mate, Mig, that’s his wife’ Miguel added.

‘Wife. Yes. I forget… Ah, his mate- wife¸ gave him food to sneak into the hospital, and he has sent me a picture of him eating it with Micaelita.’

He glanced at the photo for the second time as he spoke, and the sight caused him to purr all over again. He’d only known his baby niece for a few months now, but he truly loved that little girl. He had an outlet at last for all his pent-up paternal instinct, and seeing her happy brought him so much joy.

‘How is the um- I mean I guess, sensitive subject to bring up, but… How is the serum going?’ you asked.

‘Well, Micaela’s stuff is almost fully done’ Miguel replied. Mig was too busy trying to catch an unseemly long bit of cheese now dangling between his mouth and his empanada to speak, so his variant took over with a slightly exasperated sigh.

‘Luckily, we buckled down and, Lyla did a lot of the work. Scanning the multiverse for somewhere with more advanced medicine was pretty easy, unfortunately the place we found with the right equipment does not have a Spider-man in it for easy contact.’

‘Did you need to go there to get it, though?’ you asked. You were trying to listen while also teasingly nipping in to steal from Mig’s string of cheese, something he found both adorable and aggravating.

‘Luckily again for us, uh—no. Not really. We scanned a few computers and managed to replicate it here’ Miguel explained. ‘Micaela should be just fine.’

‘Yes! But, it means we’re behind on the solution for us’ Mig said as he finally swallowed his food. ‘Which, we are trying to resolve, right?’

‘Jess is getting antsy’ Miguel remarked, more to himself than to you or Mig. He was picking at his own empanada bit by bit, taking off little chunks which he then threw into his mouth and slowly chewed between his fangs. He chewed his food like nicotine gum, as if he was in constant deep thought. ‘Everyone is. Especially with the anomalies getting worse.’

‘I mean… that’s not, our fault, right?’ you said.

Miguel didn’t reply for a moment. He stared into the distance before double-taking at you, almost as if taken by surprise. ‘What? No. No, it’s your fault. It’s… we’re not sure. Maybe it’s a coincidence. But, it’s not you.’

‘Oh… Good.’ You weren’t sure you believed him, but you also weren’t willing to press the issue. ‘But, um—I mean regardless it’ll be okay, right? We’re, getting close?’

To your relief, Miguel did nod as he swallowed his last bite of empanada. ‘Mhm. Mm… Yeah. I think it should be finished soon, if we can just complete the last checks.’

‘Checks?’

‘The stabilization test-runs’ Mig said. He’d finally finished his meal as was now paying very close attention to you, ensuring you continued to eat in between asking questions. He’d grab or gently nudge your hand up to your face to ensure you took bites. He was fussy, yes, but very sweet.

‘De-stabilization, huh? Sounds scary’ you added between quick bites of your sandwich.

‘Catastrophic’ Miguel corrected.

‘Not—necessarily’ Mig said as he wiped crumbs from your face. ‘All it means, is that we need to ensure the serum won’t de-stabilize and cause any anomalous activities or holes when used. We’re delicately re-organizing multiverse DNA, but, we are handling it with utmost care.’

‘You don’t need to convince me, Miggy, I believe you’ you snorted back.

Mig opened his mouth to speak again when a low beep drew his attention away. It was Miguel’s watch, most likely a message, and whatever it was had turned his contented expression into a deeply sour one.

‘Ah… Mierda. So stupid.’

He cursed beneath his breath as he dropped from his office back down to the floor, landing with a dull thud.

‘What’s up?’ you called over.

‘It’s Jess. It’s this Halloween party, ah—I didn’t even vote for it! But I’m the leader, apparently, of course I only become leader when it suits them—’

You paused Miguel mid-rant by snapping your fingers. ‘Miguel! Come on, to the point. You’re rambling.’

‘Ay, don’t be rude. What I meant to say, then, is apparently I have to go approve these new decorations. I’ll be back soon, we’ll finish the second test run when I’m done.’

Miguel had begun walking before you could even think to say anything else, so you and Mig just resorted to waving him off with a soft ‘bye!’. He shot you a deflated thumbs up over his shoulder before vanishing out the door.

Silence fell in the wake of his departure, and for the first time you were alone with Miguel. All you could hear in the office was Mig’s thudding heart and his slow, rhythmic breathing against your scalp.

‘Arañita?’

You blinked and leaned back against his abdomen until his face came into view. His eyes were wide, and as they watched you awkwardly blowing his fluff out of your eyes, they dilated. ‘I didn’t get to mention, this morning…’ He paused and swallowed. ‘You look, radiant today, mi amor. You look very, pretty.’

The second those words left his mouth you broke out into a dumb little smile. You tried to look away, but Mig was quick to catch your chin with his claw, forcing you to hold his gaze. His eyes softened.

‘No, no. Don’t deny it. I know you want to.’

‘Miggy…’

‘That is not to say that you don’t always look pleasing. You do. But I wanted to tell you today. I feel I don’t tell you enough.’

‘You make it more than clear how you feel about me, Mig’ you whispered back. His fur was warm and sweet on your cheek, and you couldn’t help but nuzzle deeper into it. ‘You don’t have to say it.’

‘Mm… But I will, mi amor’ he whispered back. God, he loved saying that. He’d say it all day every day if given half the chance. ‘Mi amor, you are such a beautiful creature. I am grateful every second of every day that I have you as my mate.’

You felt the heat in your cheeks growing in tandem with the lightness in your chest. You squealed internally as he smiled down at you, his face filled with open, honest sincerity. ‘Yeah, well… I could say the same about you too, so… you know’ you murmured. His eyes narrowed with barely suppressed joy.

‘Do I know?’

‘You… Yes, but—Okay. You are also, a beautiful creature, and I am extremely grateful every millisecond of every day that I met you’ you replied with a teasing jab. He chuckled, and when you chuckled back, he bent his torso down to meet your own.

‘I missed you’ Mig whispered. You could feel him nosing at your hair as he spoke, taking deep and lingering breaths around the crown of your head.

‘I missed you too, Mig’ you whispered back. The warmth of his fur was nice on your back as you leaned into him, relishing the small moment of peace and quiet. You could hear nothing but a distant beep of some nebulous electronics and the soft, deep breaths Mig was savoring above you. You could tell he was huffing your scent.

‘You, uh… you sure are smelling me a lot, lately’ you said. The break in silence and the bluntness of the question caused Mig’s eyes to shoot open.

‘… I am?’

‘Mhm.’

‘As in, more than usual?’

‘Mhm.’

‘Oh, I—I’m sorry, arañita—’

‘No! No, don’t apologize. I didn’t mean it was an issue. I just…’

You slowly rolled your head back to catch his gaze, only to wind up nose to nose with him. You felt his breath on your lips as you both locked eyes. The warmth, the proximity, it made something familiar in your gut tighten and twist.

Mig purred. ‘Then, how did you mean it, arañita?’ he whispered.

You felt that sweet tightness in your gut twisting tighter, and without even thinking your thighs squished together. Mig’s eyes darted down, catching that tiny act, before sliding back up and narrowing ever so slightly. He let you catch his tongue slipping out to slide along his lower lip.

‘I meant, ah… I meant, I just, noticed it. It—it’s usually a sign that, something else is going on, you know?’ you stammered back.

‘I know what you’re referring to, mi arañita’ he murmured back. ‘Are you implying I might be heading into a rut?’

‘Well… I wouldn’t, dare, assume, but…’

You felt your breath starting to catch as your heart rate sped up, matching the steady rhythm of his own thundering beat. You could see his eyelids drooping, his abdomen gently jerking back and forth like a dog wagging its tail.

The growing heat was physically palpable. It was like the sun on your skin, itchy and hot. ‘We’re in the office’ you whispered softly. You’d both drifted so close now that you could feel his lips on your own. Mig was panting, breathing in you, verging right on the edge of snapping you up and eating you whole.

‘Yes…’

‘Mig… W-We’re in the HQ, we—’

‘We’re in the office…’

Mig pressed one sweet, tender kiss against your lower lip, but he lingered just long enough to let you know that, if he could, he’d have bitten down on that lip in a second. You stammered out a shaky whine in response.

‘Mig, we can’t.’

‘Do you want to go back to the nest?’

‘What if Miguel comes back? We need to—finish the, stupid work—’

‘Then here.’

‘Mig—’

You paused your soft whispering to kiss for the second time. It was almost reflexive, with your lips losing focus and going against your better judgement to press up against his. You’d kiss once and then pause, as you both brushed against the realm of better judgement for a fleeting second, only to kiss each other once more.

Soft then hard, lingering and passionate, tasting him for just a second until it got too painful to not kiss him again.

‘Mm—Mig, mm—’

‘Arañita…’

You felt his tongue slip out and obediently parted your lips, letting your tongues wind between your barely open mouths. You could taste his breath, you could feel the heat brewing in him as he tried to slip into your open maw. At this point your skin was burning, and worst of all, you could feel your clit throbbing like a second heartbeat.

You were a shivering, burning mess. You’d gone too far.

‘Miggy— Mm… Miggy, come on—’

‘Arañita…’

‘If, Miguel comes back—’

As you withdrew from the kiss Mig moved closer, gripping your waist with his thick, heavy claws so you couldn’t pull away. He didn’t kiss you, but he did press his lips to your nose, and there he spoke again.

‘Don’t make me chase you, arañita.’

Those sweet, husky words whispering against your skin made you shudder. It was enough to make your insides clench and quiver, and Mig knew it.

‘F-Fuck, god damn it… hah… mm. Okay. You wanna play like that?’

You stealthily shifted your suit down by just the pants, taking your underwear with it. Not enough to be naked, but enough to get Mig hooked in the sweet scent you knew would drive him crazy. Just as planned, the moment your underwear went past that navel line, his pupils dilated.

‘Mm… arañita… You smell, delicious…’

He lowered his head with a speed and strength you knew you couldn’t match, but he did relinquish his grip on your waist to do so. You let him bury his nose between your thighs, slipping right into the little defined curve where your suit met your pussy lips, and he huffed like a madman.

‘Mmm… qué rico, mi arañita hermoso/a…’

He whined the words directly against your clothed cunt, letting you feel his lips and tongue moving against every ridge and inch he could get. You were sure that if you let him linger any longer he’d rip the fabric with his fangs and have himself a little dessert, and while part of you desperately wanted to let him, that wasn’t the plan.

You grabbed his hair and pulled, letting him get as pussy drunk as you could allow without fully tipping him over the edge.

‘Good boy, good, good boy…’

You held him there just long enough, until his spider legs were tapping that familiar mating rhythm and his abdomen was shaking with feverish intent, and then—

‘Catch me, big boy.’

You whispered those words before webbing yourself out of his grip, flying over his abdomen and landing squarely on the office floor behind him. You saw his claws grasping to try and catch you, but he was too late. You’d escaped.

He spun around just in time to see you hurrying into the dark corners of Miguel’s office. He hungrily growled. ‘Oh, arañita… Okay. We’ll play that game then.’ He licked the little traces of your scent from his upper lip, and he gave chase.

You webbed your way into the darkness and crouched down behind a pile of forgotten electronics, moving stealthily on four legs to avoid being seen. You could faintly see Miguel’s shadow as he moved through the office and toward your location. As he abandoned the light his eyes began to glow, illuminating the shape of his spindly legs with an eerie red outline.

‘Mi tesoro?’

The adrenaline was thick. You knew that it was just your sweet, gentle Mig roaming after you, but that didn’t stop the sweet, controlled dose of fear that you got whenever you played hide and seek with that enormous, skulking spider.

‘Naughty arañita… You like playing at this, don’t you?’

Mig purred softly as he crept around the edge of the lab. His paws were quiet underfoot, carefully padded to keep even his enormous body nearly entirely silent.

‘You like playing at being prey… So cute. You know what’ll happen when I catch you… Does that excite you, arañita? That I will rip those pretty clothes off and mate with you the moment you’re in my paws? Are you thinking about it right now?’

The echo of his voice drove you lower to the floor. You could hear him getting closer, but your cover was running out, and if you raised your head he’d surely see you and pounce. You didn’t want the fun to be over that quickly.

You began to back up instead, shifting along the wall until you found an opening. It felt like a door of some kind, and as you carefully, carefully creaked it open, you realized that you’d found an old, unused closet in the back of Miguel’s space.

‘Arañita…’

Miguel’s hungry, husky groan filled the air, alongside an animalistic rustling. It sounded like a rug being shaken out, or a rattlesnake, but you knew better. That was his abdomen prepping for his mating ritual.

You subdued your own shiver of excitement and slipped into the closet.

In here it was pitch black. You could feel the dust on the floor, betraying just how old this space was, and the trickle of light peaking in through the door wasn’t enough to go more than an inch into the closet’s depths.

You were forced to blindly shuffle until your hands hit a wall, forcing you to turn and shuffle backward until you met the same fate. Eventually, you stopped moving altogether, realizing that it was pointless, and resigned yourself to cowering in the dark like a rabbit.

You couldn’t hear Mig in here. Either that, or he’d stopped taunting completely.

It was terrifying how quiet he was. For something so big his soft paws muffled any sound he might have made, allowing him to move with little to no noise. He was a real predator, a creature at the top of his theoretical food chain, and you often forgot that yourself.

In the dark you waited, listening to your own heart hammering in your chest. You could feel the cold creeping up on you in here, giving you goosebumps on your arms. You felt the strain of the concrete floor on your knees.

But that wasn’t all you felt.

A heavy, overwhelming presence had abruptly settled against your back, and now something hot, warm and wet was sliding up your nape to the base of your skull. Instinctively your body tensed, but then you felt it again, and in a second that primal fear disappeared.

It was Mig’s tongue. He was licking your nape, tasting your scent with your highly adapted senses. He’d move in shyly, lapping once or twice, before nuzzling his nose into the thick of your hair and starting the cycle all over again.

‘I caught you, arañita.’

Your body began to relax. You felt his claws fondling your chest and rear in the darkness, squeezing your ass until his claws left a little imprint. His lips, too continued to grope at your nape, licking and nipping the skin until it bruised.

‘You know what that means.’

You let out a low groan. Between the fear, the heat, and now the dark, cramped space you’d been trapped in, there was no turning back now.

‘Mm… O-Okay, you win. Just… just a little…’

It took very little convincing for you to turn around and smash your lip into his. This time you didn’t hesitate before opening your mouth for him to explore, letting his huge, warm tongue slide into your mouth. He wound his tongue around your own, tasting your scent, your moans, everything he could get.

‘Mm… arañita…’

His hands began creeping up and down your body, squishing lightly at your belly and waist. He loved feeling the way your flesh moved beneath his fingers, how frail your ribs felt under his claws. He deepened the kiss.

‘Mm…’

You could feel that Mig was already getting erect. In the pitch black you could only rely on touch to sense any changes, and you could feel his soft phallus slowly beginning to peek out from the slit in his abdomen. It was twitching against your belly.

The kissing just barely muffled your sounds as you tried to speak. ‘Mm… Mm.. I-I can’t, get fully naked, but—’

‘Why not?’

‘Mmm—’

With a soft moan you broke the kiss, leaving the two of you panting into each other’s mouths. ‘I need to- be able to re-suit quickly if anyone comes in, you beautiful idiot.’

Without another word you shifted your suit pants down to the middle of your thighs, leaving just enough bare room for Miguel to slip himself between your legs. His eyes dilated at the sight.

‘Oh… r-right. Hah. Right…’ Mig purred as he grabbed your body and spun it around, bracing you in a slightly tilted position. He braced himself with his hands on either side of the closet walls, and with the bare minimum delicacy he could muster, he began to buck himself in.

‘C-Careful… just, s-stay still. I’ll be quick.’

He started thrusting, shifting his cock in the darkness as he searched for his prize. You felt that bulbous tip nudged at your back, then your ass, before slowly making its way down to the warm, sweet space beneath.

You bit your lip and braced yourself, internally prepping for the pressure. He paused, angled, and thrust.

However, he missed.

‘Ah! F-Fuck—’

In his haste, he slid right past your cunt. His cock was so big that it slid right between your thighs, settling between your pussy lips with a full handful of member poking out the other side. It almost made you dizzy, remembering that you so frequently let such a beast of a shaft inside you.

Mig groaned at your back and began slowly humping at your clenched thighs, shifting his plush phallus back and forth.

‘Mm… S-So, warm…’

You were quickly coated in thick, sticky pre-cum and your own slick as he began to thrust faster and faster, riding out his frustration. He was too eager to even stop and try to enter you properly. This would have to do.

With one hand over your mouth and the other bracing your body to the wall, you let Miguel rut his cock between your thighs, eagerly fucking them and your clit raw.

There was only one thought in your heads:

More. More…

You coyly grabbed the little bit of shaft slipping out the other side of your thighs and began to manually pump it with your fist, relishing in the warmth and the slipperiness against your palm.

‘A-Ah, arañita…’

Mig moaned your nickname into your hair as he continued rutting against your back, the double stimulation driving him absolutely mad. You were beside yourself as he continued grinding that soft, plush, velvety shaft up against your clit, using your slick as lubricant to slide a little easier.

MORE. MORE.

You bent forward and down, contorting yourself so that you could hungrily lap at your member. Mig barely stifled his predatory groans.

‘A-Arañita, ah—c-careful—!’

You slurped at his member until you could just about get a little of it between your lips, and while he continued furiously pumping between your thighs you began sucking on the tip. It was weirdly sweet, as always, though not in a sickly way. It was thick and slightly earthy, like raw, natural honey, and it soon coated your tongue in that sticky white fluid.

Mig, at this point, was losing his mind. He dug his claws into your hips to hold you steady as he began bucking without rhythm, driving himself into every crevice of your body he could.

‘Hah- o-okay, good arañita. G-Good. That’s it, lick it up.’

You allowed him to thrust between your parted lips and groaned. Mig was left breathlessly humping, with one hand still dug into your side and the other tenderly petting your hip as he rode out his frustrations into your mouth and between your legs.

‘Good, there you go. There you go. Mm… Así así, arañita, estás haciendo un buen trabajo.’

His sweet praise helped to ease the pain in your jaw as you took more of him in. The plush, squishiness of his cock made it easier to mouth and suck, but there was just so much of it. You were choking on the tip.

Luckily, Mig could only handle so much. He was utterly overstimulated, between the beautiful sensation of your lips and tongue on his member and the warmth and wetness of your thighs, topped off with the sight of you bent over and taking him from all angles—

‘Ah! Bájale, bájale, arañita.’

He pulled back and began patting your hip for clemency as your lips nearly drew him to a violent impromptu orgasm. You gasped as he withdrew. You were panting hard, slightly dazed from the pleasure and the blood rush to the head, your lips now a mess of saliva and pre-cum. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel the little trail of fluid hanging between your lips and Miguel’s twitching member.

‘Ah… h-huh?’ you mumbled. ‘W-What?’

Mig had to tilt you back to an upright position himself, and there he hugged you close while still slowly pumping between your thighs.

‘Shh, that’s it arañita. You did so good. Just rest now, treasure, let me do the work.’

‘Mm… But—’

‘Let me do the work.’

He repeated those words in a sweet, cooing manner, drawing you to relax in his grip. It was easy to give in, especially with his shaft still gently massaging your swollen clit.

He wanted to focus on you now.

He drew back and began carefully thrusting at just the right angle, probing his hot and now very wet member was pressed right up to your clit. The sensation was hard to describe. All you knew is that you weren’t going to last long like this.

‘Ah… M-Mig, fuck…’

He kept you stabilized with his arms, allowing you to focus on just the pleasure of his movement.

‘You smell so good’ he moaned directly into your ear. ‘So good, arañita. I’d eat you up if I could. My beautiful, beautiful little spider. So—f-fucking, soft—’

He groaned out loud as he started to speed up, frantically squishing and grinding every inch of his cock between your lips. You could hear the manic, wet squelching of your own slick being papped back and forth by his movements, a soft ‘thwap’ that was getting louder and louder.

‘M-Mig—’

‘Mm, so soft, want you—covered in seed—’

‘Mig!’

‘Stuffed, s-stuffed with it. Stuff with my cum. Pretty little spider, full of my babies, full of my e-eggs—’

You tried to warn him, but Mig was too wrapped up in his own manic, heat-induced fantasy to notice. He was dizzy with the thought of web-knotting you, imagining his cock sliding right up to your cervix and then being webbed into place so none of his seed would spill. He was imagining you swollen with his offspring and resting in his silk den, his perfect little mate for life, fulfilling all of his desires.

You had no chance of stopping him, so you did the only thing you could do: you shuddered and orgasmed all over his shaft.

It was your barely muffled scream of pleasure that finally jolted him back to reality, and back to the gorgeous sight of your body trembling and spasming as it throbbed all over his member. He audibly gasped and twitched, letting his cock throb right back as he milked you for all the slick you would offer.

When your knees began to shake, he held you in place. Your weight was nothing to him. No matter what you weighed, with his size, he could have carried you like a kitten.

‘Mi amor’ he cooed into your hair. ‘Mi amor, mi amor… So beautiful. What a beautiful sight.’

‘Hah… f-fuck, uh… I-I can, barely feel my legs’ you panted back.

‘Shh. I’m here. You did so good, arañita.’

‘I-I didn’t, do anything, mi amor, I just… came’ you said, letting out a breathy laugh.

‘You did more than enough’ Mig purred sweetly. He took the chance to slide two fingers down between your lips and around your clit, letting your slick accumulate on his claws. Your body jerked at the sudden rush of stimulation.

‘Ah—’

‘More than enough. I’d pay to watch you do that again.’ Mig kissed your forehead as he slid his fingers back up and pressed them to his lips. You heard him licking them clean.

‘But I’ll take my payment another way, I think.’

You let out a shaky groan as he moved your body back into position. He was lining himself up again, and this time, he wasn’t going to miss.

You could feel his thick member pulsing at your entrance, teasing the sensitive skin before its final penetration. He’d rock himself a few times, shifting just an inch in before pulling back out, just enough to make that sweet squelching pop ring out. He could picture it now: the sweet feeling of your cunt enveloping every inch of him, welcoming him in, squeezing the life out of him as you moaned his name.

His name. His mate. His.

‘That’s it, arañita, are you ready for me?’

‘Y-Yes, yes—fuck, please Mig—’

‘You want it?’

He bucked closer, preparing to push in. You cried out.

‘Yes, fuck, please!’

‘You want it?’

‘Yes!’

‘You want—’

‘Hey! Mig?’

Miguel’s voice echoing through the halls drew you both to an abrupt and awkward halt. God damn it.

Mig tried to force himself to push through it, with the animal half of his brain wanting to just ignore the call of his variant, but he couldn’t bring himself to it. He slowly rocked to a stop and, with great reluctance, yanked his cock out from between your thighs.

‘Ah, my mistake… We got carried away again, didn’t we? Come here, mi amor. Let’s calm you down.’

He whispered those soft words into your hair as he yanked your body up and into his arms. He began applying as much desperate aftercare as he could; stroking your hair, kissing your neck and cheeks, stroking over and gently rubbing your muscles until the weakness in them subsided.

He held you with the utmost care while you struggled to recover from your orgasm. It was a big ask to compartmentalize all of the sweet arousal you’d just barely tasted.

‘Mig, you… b-but you didn’t fini—’

‘I’ll be fine, arañita’ Mig whispered. He was already carefully concealing his erection, letting it subside back into the little slot in which it was usually hidden. He was sweating from the strain, yes, but he had some control.

‘Mig, the rut—’

‘I have your slick covering my phallus with your scent’ he very bluntly murmured into the curve of your ear, causing you to shiver. ‘I wreak of you, arañita. That is enough for me right now. At least… It will tide me over, until I can get you home properly.’

You managed a small, slightly breathy giggle. ‘And then I’ll be your little cum dumpster, huh?’ you teased back. Mig purred.

‘You will be a good mate’ he whispered, ‘and you will do your duty by me, I’m sure.’

‘And that duty is?’

He leaned closer, gently nipping your earlobe. ‘Being, as you so brazenly put it, my little cum dumpster.’

You may have given in and fucked him right there in the closet space if Miguel hadn’t called out once more, drawing you back to the present.

‘Hey! Mig?’

You both gave a slightly similar sigh. You knew this was your own doing, and you couldn’t exactly be mad at Miguel. You just couldn’t wait for this stupid serum to be done.

‘Alright, come on. Let’s go get back to work’ you whispered. Without another word you began frantically pulling your suit back into place, and once you were both relatively dressed and presentable you silently crept back out into the main officer together.

‘Mig?! Ay! Are you—Oh. Oh… ¡Ey, que la chingada!’

Miguel raised both hands to his face as you both sheepishly appeared from behind the loose paneling. He didn’t need to ask what you were doing.

‘In my office!’ he snapped. ‘My office— Dios Mio… It’s going to smell, in here, for- hours, if not days!’

‘No, it’s not’ you called back as you hurried over. ‘Calm down.’

‘DON’T—Don’t, tell me to calm down, YOU did this!’ he seethed.

‘We’re—it’s, stressful, with the heat, and- we are very sorry, I swear’ you hissed as you finally caught up to him. Mig remained sheepishly stone-faced at your back.

‘I’m stressed too!’ Miguel replied just as sharply. ‘¿Y que hay de mi? Eh? Nobodies around to relieve my stress, but you don’t see me complaining!’

You and Mig both blinked and glanced at each other before turning back to Miguel in near unison, all while he continued to heave his chest in righteous indignation. You allowed the silence to continue just long enough to make his eyes dart a little.

‘… What? Why are you staring at me like that?’ he hissed.

‘… I mean, are you asking to be involved?’ you replied bluntly. You just barely managed to suppress the urge to giggle as he blanked. The way his eyes widened, the way his lips drew back to flash his fangs in a mixture of intrigue, disgust and confusion. You knew your response would create that exact reaction, but it was funnier to fix him with a neutral expression as he scoffed.

‘You- no!’ he snapped back. ‘No, I wasn’t- no! No!’

‘Are you sure?’ you asked. As you spoke you coyly leaned forward, noting the way his eyes darted over your body. He was forced to physically turn his back on you to avoid being accused of anything unseemly.

‘Tienes una mente bien cochambrosa’ he grumbled under his breath. ‘Look, whatever traits me and him might share, there is one big goddamn difference, and that’s that I’m not a massive pervert.’

‘Aw, but you’re stressed, like you said! Come on, lemme help.’ You continued your teasing as you took a few steps closer. He glanced over his shoulder, catching your little tiptoe motion, and like a frightened deer he stumbled away.

‘What- no!’

‘Yeah, come on! I’ll help you out’ you cooed, your hands stretching out to grab him. He took another step back.

‘What are you- has the heat melted your brain or something?’

Miguel was getting more and more heated as you crept towards him, his irritation betraying the little auburn glow in his eyes and cheeks. Your eyes crinkled with joy; you could practically smell his inner thoughts, and he could definitely smell you.

‘Come ‘ere, Miggy’ you cooed again. 

‘No! I will- I will subdue you! I’m warning you!’ he hissed, which only made you giggle more. You continued forward, and with each step you took Miguel scurried in the opposite direction. It was almost absurd to see that enormous, terrifying hybrid of a man fleeing from you in circles around his office, like a kitten chasing a guard dog.

‘I’m serious! If you don’t stop—’

‘Come on, come here!’

‘YOU- Hey, pendejo! Control your- mate!’

Miguel made a desperate plea to Mig as you both sped around his body, but Mig was enjoying himself at this point. ‘They are correct. You did say you were stressed’ he purred back, which caused Miguel to sneer at him.

‘MIG!’

With a grunt of exasperation Miguel sank his claws into the wall and began frantically climbing, forgetting that you could use your webs to follow. You pursued him up into the rafters and back down again, all while Mig watched with a smile on his face and his hands clasped in his lap.

You knew Miguel could have genuinely ended the chase immediately. He could have used a light cage, a web, anything really, but he didn’t. He let you chase him until you were exhausted, too tired to even finish swinging from the web you’d slung, and only then did he grab you by the nape and carry you back down himself.

He handed you over to Miguel like a stray cat, unceremoniously dumping you into his lap.

‘You are both a strain on my existence, and if I could I would have you both exiled to a barren universe where nobody would ever hear from you again’ he said in a totally deadpan voice, which only drove you into another fit of breathless giggling. Mig, too, chuckled a little in response.

‘No, come on. You love us’ you cooed back.

‘I hate you both. Sincerely. With absolute determination, in every universe.’

‘No, don’t lie! You love us!’

‘Dios mio— Alright. You, you—’ Miguel said, pausing just to point his claw in your face. ‘Yes, you, go help Jess with the Halloween party.’

‘What?! But—’

‘You are distracting my co-worker’ Miguel slowly repeated, cutting off any excuse you might have made. ‘You can mess around after our work is done. So, you know what? You’re taking over my Halloween duties. Got that?’

You instinctively shot Mig a look, expecting him to argue on your behalf, but the moment you locked eyes you realized he was technically right. Mig wanted you, badly, but he wanted to finish his work too. After a moment of silent conversation, you relented.

‘Alright’ you sighed, ‘alright, fine. I’ll go do the stupid party work.’

‘Good. Thank you’ Miguel said, though he clearly tacked the apology onto the end at the last minute. You took it regardless.

‘Actually, that means I can go get my costume’ you mused as you grabbed up your bags. ‘I’ll come show it to you later, you’re gonna LOVE it!’

‘I’m sure I will, arañita. Be careful’ Mig hummed back.

You reluctantly bumped foreheads with him, giving each other a very quick kiss to avoid starting up any more unwanted urges, and with that you hurried out of the room to go find Jess.

Mig watched you go with a slightly melancholic expression. He was doing a good job of hiding how badly he wanted you, how painful the rut was as it went unfulfilled, but he was less adept at hiding how much he missed you in general. He pined openly as he stared at the empty space where you’d been.

‘Come on, back to work’ Miguel snapped over his shoulder. He tossed him a pair of safety glasses to snap him back to reality, and after watching the enormous spider struggle to catch them he slipped on his own.

Mig paused and glanced between the glasses and the empty doorway, but he only allowed himself a moment to disassociate. After a few seconds of thought he obediently slipped the glasses on and got back into position at the desk.

‘Yes, sir.’

The two managed to work in silence for about a half hour, but there was a strange tension in the air that was hard to place. They were struggling to focus on their calculations or on the prep required to run the next test. Despite their attempts to hunker down and focus, it seemed inevitable that one of them would break the silence.

‘… You okay?’

It was Miguel who spoke first. Mig paused on his calculations and turned to glance at his counterpart, carefully shifting his glasses down so he could see him better.

‘Me?’

‘Yep. You’re the only one here, bud.’

‘… Yes. I am, fine’ Mig replied cautiously. ‘Are you, okay?’

‘Mhm.’

‘… Why do you ask?’

Miguel grunted and withdrew after soldering a single piece of metal together. He, too, raised his glasses, and fixed Mig with a veiled glare. ‘… I mean you were, copulating in my office’ he said bluntly.

‘… Ah. Right. Yes. I—Should apologize for that, I suppose’ Mig mumbled. He didn’t drop his eyes the same way you did, but he looked bashful enough to seem sincere. ‘I swear it was not personal, this time, I wasn’t trying to—’

‘Yeah, I know’ Miguel sighed. ‘You’re just two stupid rabbits. I got it.’

Mig didn’t reply. He held onto that silence for a minute or so more before Miguel spoke again.

‘… Three, stupid rabbits. I know I can’t keep discounting myself.’

‘Mm. I do not, blame you for discounting yourself. I know our nature is frowned upon’ Mig replied in a kinder tone, one that irritated Miguel. He couldn’t stand Mig’s gentle nature. He knew, deep down, he didn’t deserve it.

‘Let’s just… focus on the experiment’ he grunted. Mig gave a curt nod, and he turned back to the table.

But they both knew that they couldn’t actually stay silent.

‘I think… if we try it this way, we might be able to get over that final 1% hurdle’ Miguel said after a minute's silence.

‘Mm. I hope so. I have high hopes for these next few trials’ Mig purred, giving his abdomen a happy little wiggle. ‘It has been a hard wait, but, I will be grateful to have it finished. I will be grateful for the help you offered. To finally be with mi arañita…’

‘Yep. You’ll get everything’ Miguel murmured. ‘If this works… You’ll get everything we both wanted.’

Mig’s purring dulled as he gazed over at his counterpart. ‘… You, make it sounds as if you are jealous of that fact.’

‘Do I? I hadn’t noticed.’

Miguel’s sudden, sarcastic tone caught Mig off guard. Miguel’s face hardened as he tried to maintain that cold façade, but even that quickly fell apart. He couldn’t stay mad at his big, stupid variant anymore, not now.

‘… Yeah, I’m jealous’ he murmured.

‘But, why?’

‘You know why.’

‘I’m aware we had our troubles, yes. But I don’t understand why you would still be envious of me now.’

Miguel scoffed a little, which only urged Mig to get closer. He bent his front legs to peer at Miguel with earnest eyes.

‘Is it still mi arañita? Do you—’

‘No! Not—’ Miguel paused and instinctively raised his hand. ‘Sorry, that sounds defensive. Ah.’

He ran that same hand down his face with a sigh. ‘It’s not. At least not… I mean I’m not, envious of your relationship to them, but… Perhaps, maybe I am envious that you have someone.’

‘Right. I see.’

‘It all, just… works for you. It works out for you’ Miguel grumbled, his hand slowly sliding back down to his side. ‘And I don’t know why.’

‘That seems an unfair assessment’ Mig replied quietly. ‘You are, implying that my life has somehow been notably easier than yours.’

Miguel opened his mouth to speak but quickly shut it.

‘I used to think you were the better of us all’ Mig said when Miguel failed to speak for himself. ‘You were the most human. The most adjusted. You had friends, co-workers, your… your, Dana was still alive, even if now gone.’

‘I’m sorry’ Miguel grumbled reluctantly. He couldn’t look Mig in the eye as he said it, but he managed to force it out. ‘I am. I didn’t—mean to imply that.’

‘It’s okay’ Mig purred. ‘In that mandatory therapy you made us go to, I… Came to understand a lot about my perception of you. You were everything that I wasn’t. A hybrid who passed for human, surrounded by people. And I hated you for it, but, I didn’t hate you—’

‘Well, you did. You hated me. For, justified reasons, I will add.’

Mig purred a mild chuckle in response. ‘Yes, I hated you after you tried to interfere. But I know why you did, perhaps better than anybody else. I liked rubbing it in your face, that I had achieved something unique and beautiful, because I put all of my misgivings onto you.’

In almost near synchronicity their smiles faded.

‘… Yeah’ Miguel murmured back. ‘Yeah. I see what you’re getting at.’

For a few minutes the two were silent. Miguel continued running logistics while Mig watched the screen, keeping track of the numbers as they flew past. For a while Miguel wanted desperately to pretend that he could leave the conversation there, but, that was a fools hope.

After testing a few logistics he paused the screen and gripped his desk for stability. Mig watched him with unblinking focus.

‘I tried to have a family. Even a, tiny little piece of a family, for myself… and I failed’ Miguel murmured. The cold blue light of the screen danced across his expression, filling in the hardened trauma lines in his face. The shadows in his brow and nose were sharpened under that dead light.

‘I failed. There was only one universe where I was happy, and I lost it, because—’

Miguel paused, unable to continue with that line of thought. Mig just purred.

‘Did you never wonder why?’ Miguel said, his voice barely a whisper. He sounded like a child re-calling their nightmare to their parent.

‘Why?’

‘Why we suffer?’ Miguel hissed. ‘Did you never wonder why? Why every O’Hara has to suffer, alone? Why there was only one universe where one of us was happy, and even there he… even he… and I…’

Miguel bit his tongue and went totally still, his eyes wild. Mig allowed him a few more moments of silence before speaking again.

‘… I pondered that thought all the time’ Mig murmured back. He turned to gaze at the screen, seeing the little snippets of video flashing in the corner. He could see you, making your way down the beams, and it made his heart ache.

‘I pondered it before I came here. Why did I have to turn, why did my loved ones have to go, why did I have to be left alone? I’d ponder it every night as I looked at the stars, playing my silk strings, wondering why I didn’t deserve better.’

‘I always said, I created interdimensional travel to try and keep things on the straight and narrow. To, fix everyone’s stupid little mistakes’ Miguel said, more to himself than to Mig. ‘But I don’t think that was true. I don’t think that’s very honest.’

He caught a glimpse of the same video Mig was watching then, and he froze up. He saw that little girl tossing the football around, beaming and smiling at the camera with mud on her face. His little girl.

His expression darkened, and he swiped the video away.

‘I did it to fix my existence. To find somewhere better.’

‘And you did, did you not?’ Mig replied.

Miguel scowled until the red light of his eyes was reflected onto his cheeks like tear stains. ‘… I did something, that’s for sure’ he replied. He ran another hand down his face as he mulled over the choices he’d made, and the choices he was about to make.

‘If this serum works…. We are going against fate by doing this’ Miguel said slowly. ‘We are, testing the very limits of what fate allows.’

‘You talk of fate as if it’s a real thing’ Mig replied. Miguel’s scowl deepened.

‘… What if it is?’

The two men glanced at each other in unison. The two were now barely a few inches apart, with the monitor light perfectly highlighting their differences. Mig’s soft, hopeful eyes against Miguel’s dark, narrowed hopelessness. Red like blood, and red like the sunset, fixed on each other in the silence.

‘There is no such thing as fate’ Mig said directly to Miguel’s face. ‘There is no fate. There is a universal series of likelihoods, that are numerically inescapable. They must exist, in a world with infinite possibilities. In every universe, for us to exist as we are, as hybrids, as monsters, there must be suffering. It’s not fate. It’s just the same, sad event, playing over and over again. But after that event… There are a million choices to make.’

Miguel narrowed his eyes further as Mig spoke. He clenched his fists and let the squeak of leather stretching fill the silence.

‘Then why does it still all go wrong?’ Miguel hissed.

‘Because bad things happen’ Mig replied matter-of-factly.

‘Bullshit. This is more than just- regular bad things. You can tell me what happened to us is just, regular bad!’

‘No. Some people, have it worse, I admit—’

‘Much, worse. Much worse!’

‘Okay. Much worse. Yes. I concede that.’

The two fell into a slightly awkward silence as Miguel tried to soothe his temper. It was his only coping mechanism

‘All I meant, is… Bad things will always happen. But the good still happened too. No matter what happens from here… I will be grateful for the time I had’ Mig said softly.

‘Do you really think, you could lose this, and still be happy?’ Miguel argued back, though his tone had also softened. ‘Really?’

That thought drew Mig to pause. He tapped his little fluffy paws on the floor of the office, as he tried to decide how to respond. In the end, he did what he always did: he spoke the painful truth.

‘No’ he whispered. ‘No. I could never be happy again if I lost them.’

Miguel didn’t reply with words. He just gave his own somber nod of agreement. Despite the nice platitudes, despite wanting to altruistically believe they could be calm and composed enough to accept their fates with grace, both of them knew what loss could do.

In the end, there was only one thing Miguel could think to offer.

‘Okay. Come on, I’ll handle the last of this. I can run the last few tests by myself with Lyla. The Halloween party should be starting in a few hours, just um- just, you go and help them out. They probably got themselves lost. Tonto.’

‘But, Miguel, I want to help—’

‘That’s an order’ Miguel said, sharply cutting off Mig’s retort.

The two stared at each other for a moment longer, almost as if they could speak without saying a word. Their eyes were locked.

Part of Mig wanted to say no. He didn’t want to leave his work, he didn’t want to wait. He also, deep, deep down, didn’t necessarily trust Miguel fully yet. What if it was a trick? What if Miguel used this as leverage to sabotage the test? After all, it’s what he’d have done in the past.

But the more he looked at Miguel, the more he doubted those fears. He looked so irritated, the stubborn fool, but he looked so open too. So genuine in his annoyance that he was allowing himself to do this kindness. There was no quiet pride, or any façade of politeness to hide his intentions. He really wanted to do something nice, and he hated himself for it.

Eventually, just as you’d done, Mig relented. He bowed his head and agreed to go, but not before giving Miguel an awkward clap on the shoulder.

‘Thank you, amigo.’

Miguel flinched at the new nickname. It caught him so off guard he nearly snorted out loud.

‘You, wh… Shut up! Jesus, you tried to fuck in my office behind my back, don’t start with that. Get out. Go on.’

To save face Miguel quickly snapped and pushed Mig’s hand aside, though there was no genuine fire in his words. Even Mig could pick that up. ‘Very well. I shall see you later, then. Take care’ Mig added, before turning and padding his way out of the office in hot pursuit of wherever you’d gotten off to.

Miguel was left alone, hands clasped to his desk, trying to hide the bemused and confused expression on his face. He hadn’t even noticed his claws had sunk into the desk.

Amigo…

‘Tonto’ he hissed beneath his breath, and with cheeks now burnt a soft shade of auburn red he returned to his work.

Link to next part!

[sky-kiss]

R/T, H/T: I’m not a villain, I’m just a sucker for a bleeding heart.

Tav whimpers. 

Tav moans. 

Tav makes many lovely little noises, no less lovely for their frequency. The devil lifts his head and listens. A symphony of sound accompanies the ghosts of pleasing licking across his skin. He hears the steady beat of Haarlep’s wings, the slap of sweat-slick skin. If he focuses, turning himself over to his Infernal heritage more fully, he will hear the riotous thunder of the once hero’s heartbeat. 

He basks in this note, inhaling deeply: sweat, sin, lust. Trifling temptations, beneath a devil of his stature, but undeniably effective. Raphael crosses from his office to the adjoining suite, watching his toys play. Haarlep sees him, a lascivious smirk tugging at their lovely features. The incubus shifts just enough to bow the adventurer up beneath them, fingers curling around her throat to tip her head up. 

“Ah, we must consider ourselves flattered, pretty bird. Our song summoned the cat.” 

Tav’s eyes flutter open just long enough to fix on him, lovely mouth falling out in a wordless cry. Such a sight, this prize of his—her once lovely skin is a patchwork of bruises and scrapes. She no longer heals them—the silly dear wears them like badges of honor. 

She’s survived them again, she says, and there is something sweetly naive, quite precious, in her defiance. Haarlep rocks into her, languid, a pace designed to build and build but never break. They’ve been at this for hours, teetering on the edge of oblivion. 

“Show me more of her, won’t you?” 

Haarlep snickers. The incubus rolls onto their back, dragging the little hero on top of them. Tav tosses her head to clear the hair from her eyes, flushed, sweaty, and darkly lovely. 

“There—my favorite client. Still enjoying yourself?” 

She opens her mouth to speak and screams instead, Haarlep thrusting up hard enough to leave her sagging in their grip. Tav manages a shaky nod. 

Raphael crosses to the pair. He kisses her with the gentility of a groom’s first taste of his bride—sweetly searching and light. She clutches at his doublet. He tuts, prying her hands off him. 

“Tsk. So slow to learn: you may not touch the Master’s things without permission. Greedy thieves must play with Haarlep till the lesson sticks.” 

He nods to the incubus, and the game begins again.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Third Party.

Pairing: YandereLoid x Reader x Yandere!Yor (Spy x Family).

Word Count: 1.5k.

TW: Post-Reveal AU, Reader Is Sketchy, Implied Murder/Violence, Mentions of Blood, and Cheating (?).

“Are you sure you have to leave?”

You let the words ebb into a lazy drawl, dragging your fingertips down the length of his spine as you nuzzled into his back. Loid’s skin was a patchwork of scars, no more pleasant to run your hands over than dulled sea glass or sandpaper, but you did your best to savor it, to let your lips ghost over a blossoming field of discolored bruises before your attention rose higher – to the rows of fresh nail-marks that’d been carved from his shoulder to the middle of his back. Most of his injuries had been left by his patients, permanent testaments to his dedication to his work, but those scratches had been your doing. A little present for the kindhearted wife he was going home to, sooner or later.

The thought filled you with a smoldering sort of zeal, quick to gnaw at your better judgment and infest the empty void where your guilt should’ve been. You swallowed down your excitement, taking instead to slotting yourself against him as if you weren't praying for him to leave, as if you didn't have anything better to do than press your cheek against the nape of his neck, string your arms over his shoulders, and beg him to stay. “We never get to see each other, anymore. I miss you so much when we’re not together – it feels like someone’s trying to carve my heart out of my chest.”

Sappy, overly sentimental, almost embarrassingly aggrandizing towards the object of your affection. The type of praise that’d only appeal to a man who thought himself enough deserve not just his wife to confide in during the day, but a lover who would spend their nights at his side in faded hotel rooms, between sheets that’d seen better days. This one was nicer than most – the sheets unstained, the lights pleasantly dim, the furniture not completely saturated with stale cigarette smoke and cheap perfume. You had to assume it was supposed to be a gift. Loid wasn’t the type to flaunt an affair, but he’d gone out of his way not to bring you to another seedy, by-the-hour motel. If nothing else, you could appreciate a man willing to open his wallet.

There was a moment of quiet hesitation, then an airy laugh. You let go of him just in time for one of his arms to wrap around your waist, hauling you off of the mattress and into his lap, where he could bury his face in the crook of your neck without intervention. He held you like that for a long, agonizing second before pulling back, allowing just enough space between your body and his to press his lips against your temple, then into your own. The kiss was gentle, lingering, and you let yourself melt into it, into him. Genuine shows of adoration were rare, in your line of work. While you doubted Loid felt anything more towards you than lust-tinged fondness, he was a good enough actor to pull off the role of ‘Lovestruck Idiot’ with little to no breaks in his character. “You don’t know how much I want to,” he started, with a smile as hollow as the man who wore it. “But Yor’s at home with our daughter, tonight. It’d be cruel to leave her on her own.”

A slight pout, quickly traded for something more aloof. As if you were trying to hide your disappointment and doing a poor job of it. “Anya must really be a handful if you’re too worried to leave your wife alone with her.”

He was grinning, now, his expression tinted with something you didn’t quite recognize. He opened his mouth, but a knock on the hotel room’s door interrupted your hushed conversation. You frowned, but Loid didn’t seem bothered. “Why don’t you get that?”

“It’s probably just some drunk tourist. They’ll go away if we ignore them.” You brought a hand to his face, cupping his cheek. “I’d rather give my attention to—”

Another knock, this one a little more forecful than the last. Loid squeezed your side, almost playfully. “Answer the door.”

It wasn’t a question, this time.

Hesitantly, you pried yourself away from him, pushing yourself to your feet. Your clothes had been torn off and discarded hours ago, but you snagged Loid’s button-up off of the floor and shrugged it on as you approached the door, pausing once you reached the entryway. You cast a nervous glance towards Loid, who responded with an encouraging nod and a slight wave, gestures that would’ve been more suited for an anxious child, afraid to leave their parent’s side for the very first time. Biting into your bottom lip, you slowly undid the rusted latch and slid the deadbolt out of place, resting your shoulder against the cool wood as your hand found the knob.

Yor was on you as soon as you opened the door.

Her hands in your hair, her knee between your thighs, her mouth crashing into yours with enough force to bruise. She slammed your back against the nearest wall, knocking the air from your lungs and pinning you underneath her strength as her tongue invaded your mouth, as teeth clashed against teeth and pointed nails scrape against your scalp. It was a desperate connection, frenzied and feral, driven by something you couldn’t define and only broken by your mutual need for air – her breath coming in shallow, panted gasps when she finally pulled away from you.

Her attire was the first thing you noticed, her evening gown dark enough to blend into the shadows of the entryway and maimed brutally. A long gash ran from her hip to the hem of her skirt, another bisecting her midriff, revealing a slit of pale skin and sculpted muscle. There were a thousand more nicks in the fabric, a thousand more reasons for you to panic, but your stare was quickly drawn upward, to her face.

To the dots of blood splattered across her cheeks, still fresh enough to shine crimson in the dim light.

You opened your mouth, but didn’t have time to spit anything out before Yor snapped toward Loid, her disposition going from one of mindless desire to frantic apologeticness in the blink of an eye. “I’m sorry I’m late!” It seemed to come out louder than she intended it to, the words hasty enough to blend together as she stumbled through her crowded. "The governer wasn’t at home, and he had more guards than he was supposed to, and it took ages for—”

“As long as you’re not hurt, you have nothing to apologize for.” While you were stunned beyond words, Loid remained unaffected – indifferent to both his wife’s sudden appearance and your confusion. “Try to call next time, though. I was about to go out and see if you needed a hand.”

“Oh, I couldn't do that. Your job is already so much more stressful than mine - I can't ask you to do my work, too.” And just like that, she was brightening, any concerns she might've held about being late or injured or covered in blood dissipating in a matter of seconds. She turned to you, her hands falling to your own as she tugged you forward, towards the bed. You tried to pull yourself out of her hold, but her grip was vice-like, impossible to escape. She didn’t even seem to notice your futile efforts. If anything, she almost seemed shy, a pale blush creeping across her cheeks as she asked, “I… I didn’t keep you waiting for too long, did I?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer. Loid had been part of the job - seek out the target that the dark-haired man had identified, lure him into an affair, and keep up the act just long enough for his wife to catch and initiate a messy divorce. Sleeping with the aforementioned wife in addition to the mark you’d been paid to seduce had been a complimentary service, a creative touch to liven up an otherwise dull assignment, but you’d been careful, made sure neither of them had ever seen you with the other, never used the same shade of lipstick to stain Loid’s collar as you did to kiss Yor’s neck. You weren’t an amateur. You didn’t make mistakes like that. Neither of them should’ve known their partner knew about you, not unless they were both insane enough to come out and tell the other who they were going to see when they disappeared into cheap motels and empty offices. No married couple would be so honest about something so detrimental to their relationship. No normal married couple, at least.

But, you were starting to think that Yor and Loid didn’t fit into that category as neatly as you’d hoped they would.

“The poor thing must still be a little startled,” Loid chuckled, finally pushing himself to his feet. Yor perked up, and with an airy sigh, Loid nodded, the exchange as silent as it was coordinated. With no further permission needed, you were thrown onto the mattress, barely allowed to land before Yor was on top of you, latching onto your throat, pointed teeth burying themselves into the curve of your neck. The pain was immediate, searing, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care about how much it hurt when Yor’s attention had already fallen to your collarbone, then your chest, her focus drifting lower while her affection remained just as hostile. Loid, as stoic and as sociopathic as always, positioned himself next to your head, watching his wife work with an expression that only betrayed the slightest trace of fondness – a pleasure so diluted, it might've just been a trick of the light. “You can relax. Yor’s been looking forward to this for months. I haven’t been much better, to be honest. Yuri's never sent anyone so...” He trailed off, letting his head lull to the side. “So tempting our way before., I suppose.”

He was cupping your face, as if to mimic your own dramatized mannerisms, running the pad of his thumb over your cheek. Yor groaned against your skin, a noise that you could only guess was meant to signal agreement, and Loid broke into a small grin.

For once, you thought his smile might actually be genuine.

[holybibly]

I hope your requests are still open and I wanted to thank you for everything you write!

Can we please talk about Wooyoung, who likes to fuck hips? I think he would have liked curvy hips, squeezing them until they bruise and leaving marks on them. he would like anything that accentuates the beauty of the hips: short skirts and stockings. any clothing with free access, giving him a beautiful view of the hips. He'd get turned on by the sight of it at the snap of his fingers. I'm sure he could even film the process on camera, he would like the look of thighs covered with his cum. he could be so whiny, turned on just by the sight of you walking around the house in just his t-shirt, he would beg you to let him fuck your hips whenever possible (maybe outside the home too)

Wooyoung fucking your thighs? God, yes, it's definitely his thing. He simply can't keep his hands and dick away from your thighs. Absolutely take the opportunity if he sees it.

Oh, and yes, bunnies. The unholy hours have returned! Now requests are open all the time, as closing them is pointless 🤭 I have spoiled you to the point where the flow of your filthy and depraved thoughts can no longer be stopped, but I like it all, continue.

To all the new bunnies, welcome. It's hellishly hot in here. You have been warned.

"Baby, keep those pretty legs together for me, ok?" Wooyoung purred sultrily in your ear, his hot breath fanning down your neck and sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. "You have no control, do you? You're a horny bastard." You giggled as you lay on your side as Wooyoung pressed his hard cock against your naked ass. You moaned a little as you tilted your head to the side and allowed Wooyoung to lick the back of your neck, his tongue poking out from his parted, plump lips to taste your skin. He was loving it so much. Everything about you was driving him crazy. As his teeth sank into your shoulder, he slowly slid his thick cock between your plush thighs, his mouth watering. "God, Woo. That feels so good."

Wooyoung laughed, vibrating up and down your spine as he pressed his chest against your back and his cock nestled tightly against your soft, warm thighs.

"How could I possibly resist such a beautiful sight to behold? It's all your own fault." Wooyoung remarked, leaving another hickey on your neck. Your skin looked like a patchwork quilt made by Wooyoung from bites and hickeys. But that still wasn't enough for him. He would always say the same thing: "Just a little bit more—I want everyone to know that you belong to me."

As you slept peacefully, curled up in his warm embrace, the soft rays of the morning sun kissing your bare skin, you were irresistible in his eyes. Woo gently coaxed you awake with a husky, soft whisper in your ear. The urge to fuck you at this very moment was completely and utterly unbearable. He massaged your soft, supple flesh with his strong, warm hands. His voice, his look, his amazing body, his touch, his kisses, his dick—everything about Wooyoung was extremely hot.

As he slid his warm, velvety length between your thighs and pressed his pelvis against your plump buttocks, you could still feel that heat.

With every slow movement of his gorgeous hips, you moaned as you felt his cock brush against your wet labia. On the best of nights, you could allow yourself to bite down on those meaty, thick thighs until they were bleeding before you mounted one of them and rode on it. You usually cum embarrassingly quickly, but that only added spice to the sex that followed. You were sensitive, and Wooyoung was always insatiable. The two of you fucked like bunnies, rolling all over the bed until you started to cry from the overstimulation. 

Pre-cum dripped from the swollen, dark pink head of his dick, smearing over your trembling thighs as his hot, ragged breath tickled your delicate ear. His desperate cheekbones and the sound of your name, mixed with lingering groans, filled your body with an unbearable surge of lust and heat. Your pussy throbbed, causing your legs to tense and forcing you to squeeze his cock harder. He was almost on the verge of orgasm. A lewd, loud moan escaped from Wooyoung's sensual mouth, his fingers digging into your hips and buttocks as he pulled you even closer to him, the bed creaking with his sudden movements. His teeth brushed along your neck, a satisfied purr rumbling in his chest as he lazily stroked your thigh.

"Just like this, I can never stop fucking your thighs. God, baby, that feels so fucking good." He moaned into your ear.

He cupped your breast with his other hand, squeezing and kneading it until his fingers began to play with your two pert nipples. You let out a loud moan as Wooyoung squeezed and rolled the sensitive nipple between his nimble fingers. The sound of his cock sliding between your wet thighs was utterly obscene in the stillness of the morning, and you could feel your swollen, sensitive clit yearning for attention; the warmth was slowly building up in your lower abdomen. Enjoying the sight of his thick cock sliding between your thighs, Woo leaned his head against your shoulder. Damn.

"You like it, huh? My sweet girl loves it when I fuck her thighs, huh?" He purred. "I want to know how good it feels."

You moaned loudly, your free hand slipping behind you to grab the back of his head. You ran your fingers through his soft, crimson locks, your nails digging into his scalp as you pulled at the long strands of hair. A deep, hoarse moan escaped from his throat as he trailed sloppy, wet kisses down the length of your neck. Your heart felt like it was stuck in the back of your throat, and you could hear it pounding in your ears in desperation.

"Wooyoung, baby..." You whimpered as you tugged at his hair. "Please touch me. I want you badly."

He hummed in acknowledgement, his hips thrusting harder and his cock twitching in excitement between your curvaceous thighs as you whimpered for him so shamelessly and so pathetically. His smile was mischievous.

"As you wish, sweetheart." He whispered in a sultry voice.

You shivered noticeably in his arms as his thumb rubbed relentlessly against your clit, the sound of it mixed with a moan and a cry of his name getting stuck in your throat. Wooyoung massaged your sensitive nub in hard, tight circles, causing the knot in the pit of your stomach to tighten and tighten. Pleasure coursed through every sensitive nerve in your body as your toes curled and you moaned. You turned your head, your lips desperately searching for his, as your hips bucked in response to his confident, hot touch. His breath was rough and ragged on your lips as his tongue plunged into your open mouth, fucking it sensually and licking it from the inside out. Your teeth collided as you both came to an orgasm together.

You moan and breathe heavily into each other's mouths, your bodies shaking and trembling with euphoria as his cum sprays inside your thighs, the viscous liquid leaving milky white streaks. Your pussy is clenching against nothing, your juices flowing between your thighs and mixing with Wooyoung's cum to form a sticky, wet mess that makes the skin on the inside of your thighs slippery. When you rub them together, you can feel it. Wooyoung moans from your kiss on his swollen, soft lips, his cock still throbbing as you squeeze your legs tightly together to prolong his pleasure. Saliva glistens on his plump lips and his cock slides gently out of the crevice between your thighs as the kiss ends and he turns away from you.

You felt incredibly warm and satisfied, your body feeling boneless and flushed with euphoria as you tried to re-control your breathing. Wooyoung's arms slipped possessively around your waist as you gently ran your fingers through his crimson, sweat-soaked hair, humming softly as he kissed the back of your neck sweetly, leaving another hickey in his wake. God, this guy's a real leech. His hands massaged your thighs soothingly as he held you incredibly close, not wanting to part from your warmth for a second.

"You've messed up quite a bit, baby."

Wooyoung looked over your shoulder as he spread your soft thighs apart, his fingers gliding over the wet mess that he had left behind. He smiled cheekily against your skin, nipping at the lobe of your ear with his teeth and purring like a contented cat.

"Shall I clean it? With my tongue…

[cheolism]

stranger

➳ lee seokmin x fem!reader

➳ summary: when a mysterious stranger in the club offers to take you to his hotel for the night you're powerless to protest.

➳ 5.9k words

➳ tags: oooh boy ok. stranger roleplay, failed roleplay. dom! seokmin, service top! seokmin, failed hard!dom seokmin. married sex, harsh and gentle sex, the duality of lee seokmin. humorous sex, seokmin is extremely sensitive. oral (reader receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, frotage in public. seokmin likes praising reader. overstimulation. puppy seokmin tries to be a wolf and fails and succeeds at the same time. some exhibitionism but not. like. a lot. a married couple tries to spice things up and instead end up dropping the roleplay because of their inability to keep it together.

➳ warnings: fem pet names (good girl, princess), reader wears a bra. seokmin's pecs are called breasts bc i think the term pec is ridiculous and hate it. his abs are mentioned!!!

➳ note: inspired by the photo above!! i have many, many thoughts abt this picture.

When the stranger beckoned you to him, you were powerless to disobey. Like a fish on a line you went to him, the grin on his face never wavering as you crossed the room.

You had been watching him all night, enough to know he had been doing the same with you. He wore a patchwork suit that was ugly in a way only expensive clothes could be. The pants clung to his muscular thighs, which he parted tauntingly, as if he was trying to convince you to sit in his lap. His blazer hung loosely around him, the neck deep and showing off his collarbones and the valley between his breasts.

As you neared you were able to discern the little details about him. The noble climb of his nose, the strength in his jaw, the severe cut of it. The silver chain that rested perfectly on his collar, drawing your attention to it with every shift.

You wondered what it would be like to run your lips along it, to feel the cold metal in your mouth as you kiss his chest.

"Have a seat," the man said once you were near, a soft little smirk on his lips. He reached out with large hands, fingers slim and nimble, settling on your hips. You followed his lead, pressing your hands to his shoulders and lowering yourself onto his thighs. He let out a little groan once you settled, his hands smoothing over your back to guide you closer and closer until you were pressed against him, noses brushing, your cunt resting directly over his dick with only your clothes separating you.

"What a good girl you are," he murmured, nose nudging yours. One of his hands slipped underneath your shirt, fingertips pressing against your skin. His other hand grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand off of his shoulder and tangling his fingers with yours. "Good girls shouldn't be left unattended in places like this, should they?"

You hummed, watching his fingers as they played with yours. They were elegant and long, far longer than your own. You couldn't help but wonder what they would feel like wrapped around your throat or deep inside your cunt, working against your walls.

He shifted, the hand underneath your shirt holding you still as he adjusted himself. You could feel the shape of his cock beneath your ass, could feel how large it seemed. You wondered if he was just as eager for you as you were him, if he had been lusting after you as soon as his eyes caught yours, just as you had him.

It was horrible, you had realized, how it took just one little smirk from a stranger for your panties to become soaked.

"Tell me princess," he hummed, fingers untangling from yours to tug at your hair. He took a lock in his fingers, rubbing his thumb over the strands. "Such a sweet thing like you should have some big boyfriend standing guard over her in a place like this."

You shook your head, your lock of hair slipping from his fingers. He then tucked it behind your ear, the pads of his fingers trailing over the shell of your ear, tracing the cartilage. His touch was so gentle, but while you could find comfort in it, could liken it to the touch you would give a sleeping kitten, his hands did anything but calm you.

His touch was kind, but instead of soothing you he lit your nerves on fire with it. He touched you softly, sensually, dragging the pads of his fingers against your skin, coaxing goosebumps into rising. The stranger's touch was light, but no less noticeable than if he had been demanding with it.

"No boyfriend," you said. You laced your hands around his neck, fingers pressing into the short strands at the back of his head and petting. He hummed in approval. "I'm here by myself."

He sighed, shaking his head. "Sweet little things shouldn't be visiting clubs and bars without someone to protect them."

"Maybe you could be my boyfriend," you volunteered, eyes lowering to his mouth. His lips seemed to shine and glimmer, and you wanted to trace them with your tongue and taste to see if he had put any gloss on them. "Just for the night."

He laughed, his hand locking behind your back underneath your shirt. "Yeah?"

You nodded, bumping your nose against his. "Yeah. And you could do what boyfriends do."

"And what's that, princess?"

"You know." You bit your lip, glancing up to see his heavy gaze on your mouth. You released your lip from your teeth, smoothing over it with your tongue. "Like you said. Could protect me."

He hummed in thought. The music of the club, the clamor and chat of the crowd, seemed all so far away from the two of you. "And what would I get? For protecting you?"

"Well, boyfriends don't just protect their partners." You sunk your fingers fully into his hair, sliding through the strands and smoothing them. "They often do other things too."

The stranger hissed, his hands flattening against your back. He slid them against your skin, bunching up your shirt before gripping your hips. He squeezed your love handles before pulling your hips down and onto him, guiding you into a rocking motion.

"And what other things are there, sweet girl?" You could feel his length as it protested against his pants, pressing against your core. Nearly subconsciously you splayed your thighs further apart, baring down on him.

You gasped, eyes fluttering shut. He was hard against you, from his cock to his thighs to his chest. You angled your hips to grind your clit down on him, and even through all the layers of clothes the drag felt delicious, had you curling your toes in your shoes and digging your nails into his hair.

"Come on, princess," he chuckled, pressing his nose into your cheek. "What other things can boyfriends do?"

He pressed his mouth against the curve of your jaw, not quite kissing. You breathed shakily as his mouth traced your jaw. "They can -- you know."

You could feel his lips turn into a smile against your skin. "Hm, I don't know, princess. Gotta put that pretty mouth of yours to use and tell me."

"Boy -- boyfriends can fuck their girls," you sighed, turning your face towards him. He cursed, voice low and guttural, and then his hand was wrapping around your neck and bringing your mouth to his.

He kissed you eagerly, as if he was intent on devouring you. His mouth was a raging fire against yours, swallowing everything you gave him, your soft sighs and shifts against him fuel. When he shoved his tongue in your mouth it was as if he was shoving the flame inside of you, too, and you felt it travel through your body and settle deep in your gut.

Just as you thought: he tasted like the strawberry lip gloss you always tucked into your purse.

When he pulled away the two of you were connected by a thick string of saliva, your harsh breaths joining him in the small space between the two of you. He laughed, lips quirking up and illuminating his face in brightness that seemed to come from the sun itself.

"If that's the case," he breathed, leaning forward once again and pressing his mouth against the corner of your lips. His lips trailed down to your chin, leaving a blazing path behind. "Then I guess I'll accept your little proposition, princess."

You rolled your hips against him, bringing a little groan from him. His hands clenched down on your hips, stilling you, branding you with his strength.

"Not here, baby." He pulled away. His dark eyes were sparked with lust, his mouth red from the ferocity of your kisses. "There's a hotel on the corner. Think you can hold it in long enough for us to make it?"

You shot him a little look that brought out another laugh. Then he was using his large hands to guide you off of him. When you stood you couldn't help but stumble, your knees weak from him.

"Careful, princess," he lightly scolded you, standing and giving you his arm. You accepted it, tangling your arm around his.

The spring air was cool against your skin when the two of you stepped out of the club, leaving behind the bright LEDs and music. Couples and groups were milling about in front of the club, the night still young.

He removed his arm from yours, wrapping it around you instead to bring you close. He ducked his head down next to your ear, murmuring just loud enough for you to hear. "Better to a good job of being your boyfriend, I think, and protect you from all the riffraff."

You laughed, throwing your head back. He giggled, a cute thing that had your heart swelling. "You're just as bad as them," you reminded, "picking up some stranger from a club and taking them to a hotel."

"Maybe you're right," he agreed. His eyes seemed to sparkle, the dim light of the yellow street lamps doing nothing to lessen his beauty. "Do you feel like it's the Big Bad Wolf taking you away?"

You hummed, letting him guide you to the building at the end of the block. He stuck his hand into the pocket of his patchwork pants, taking out a keycard and swiping it. "I don't know . . ."

"You don't know?" His eyes crinkled at the corners, his hand on your shoulder sliding down to the middle of your back as he guided you inside the hotel. "What'll help you make up your mind?"

The hotel was nice. The floors were clean, the woman behind the counter giving the two of you a friendly smile. You grinned back at her before answering the stranger at your shoulder. "Maybe you could bite me. You know. Like a wolf does."

His gasp was loud in the quiet of the lobby. Then the stranger's hands were on your hips and he was steering you towards the elevator, slapping down on the button as soon as he neared it.

You giggled, falling back into his chest. You snuck your hand up underneath his blazer, fingers dipping into the band of his pants. His skin was so warm against your hand that it almost felt as if you were touching a heater instead of a human.

The elevator doors opened with a ding, and then he was pressing you inside. The man slapped down on his floor button, jammed the button to close the doors, and then he was spinning on you.

His cologne seemed to devour you as he pressed you against the elevator wall, towering over you. His bangs hung in his eyes as he trapped you, voice low and settling deep in your gut. "What a fucking tease my princess is."

"Camera," you stuttered out, eyes flicking up. "Elevators have cameras."

The stranger growled as he spoke, as if he really was the Wolf come to consume you. "Fuck the cameras, princess. You didn't care about cameras when you were sticking your hand down my pants in the lobby."

The elevator doors pinged open, and then his hands were on your hips and driving you out. His hands were squeezing your sides so tightly that you thought they would leave marks.

He didn't stop talking as he took you down the hall, his voice low in his throat. "Acting like a good girl, acting like some little princess. Batting your eyes and whining and acting all innocent. You're just a little desperate slut, aren't you? Just a whore disguised as an angel."

He stopped in front of his door, bringing back out his keycard. He thrusted it against the keypad and as soon as it unlocked he was shoving the door open, urging you inside.

You turned just in time to watch him swing the door shut and lock it. His fingers, his long, lovely fingers that seemed to taunt you with every passing moment, went to his blazer. He hurriedly slipped the buttons out of their holes, every release revealing more and more of his smooth, golden skin.

He tossed his blazer onto a chair, baring his torso for your eyes. You eagerly drank him in. His golden skin glowed in the faint lights of the hotel room, casting shadows on his abs. His torso was decorated with moles, just like the rest of him, and your eyes focused on the one on his right breast, wanting nothing more than to press your lips against it.

But then he was against you, his quick fingers on the button of your pants. He popped it out of the hole, finger hooking onto your zipper and sliding it. He pressed his face into your neck, mouth attaching to the skin there and sucking kisses into it. You could feel the tip of his nose against your skin, the warmth of his breath as he spoke. 

He hooked his finger into your pants, tugging them down the curve of your ass. “God. Can’t believe you’re taunting me like this. Always love these pants on you, you know? How they hug your ass, your pretty thighs. Always want to wrap my hands around them and leave my marks when you wear them. Everyone’s always staring at you when you wear them, staring at my girl.”

You gasped, arching into his touch as his hands slid underneath your underwear and cupped your ass, his teeth skimming along your neck. Your hands sought out him, grabbing at his arms, squeezing at his thick biceps and feeling the muscles flex as he kneaded at the fat of your ass. 

“Please,” you begged, nails digging into his skin. “Please.”

He grinned against your skin. Then he pressed one last kiss to your neck. He moved away, long fingers grabbing onto the waistband of your underwear and tugging it down. He got to his knees as he pulled your underwear and pants. “On the bed, princess.”

You perched yourself on the edge of the bed, leaning back on your hands. His long, elegant, nimble fingers made quick work of the buckle to your shoes, guiding them off of your feet and gingerly setting them against the wall. Then he began tugging at your pants and underwear, throwing them next to your shoes. 

Heat immediately gushed into your cheeks as his hands wrapped around your feet, thumbs running along the arches. Then he bent and pressed his mouth to the top of each of your feet, making your toes curl and a little squeal escape you. 

He laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners and nose wrinkling cutely. “Sorry, I’m sorry.” He stood up, his hands going to his own button and zipper. When his pants dropped and you got a good look at the outline of his dick through his underwear you couldn’t help the little moan that left you. Heat flushed through your body, your cunt clenching. 

He laughed again. “What? Does your little cunt like something, princess?”

He palmed his dick through his underwear as he came to you, your eyes caught on the action. He was big. He was huge. You should’ve expected it from the size of his hands alone, but even through his underwear you could see the shape of him and see how large it was. 

You wondered, fleetingly, how it’ll fit.

His hands went to your thighs, squeezing. You let him guide you up onto the bed properly, the stranger coming to the edge. His hands went to the hem of your shirt, tugging on it. “Wanna take this off too, sweetheart? I’d like to see all of you.”

Feeling heat return to your cheeks, you pulled your shirt off and dropped it to the side of the bed. When your hands went to your bra his hands prevented you. 

He lowered his face next to yours, voice low. “I’ll take care of this, if you don’t mind.”

Then he was skimming his hands over your breasts, mapping them out. You gasped as he squeezed at your breasts through the fabric of your bra, playing with them and feeling their weight in his palms. 

After he toyed with your breasts for a few moments, drawing gentle little puffs of air from you, hips grinding down on the bed in an exceedingly feeble effort to get some sort of relief, he went to work undoing your bra. His hands fumbled with the hooks for a few seconds, the silence between the two of you lengthening. 

A loud giggle escaped you, causing him to freeze against you. You shook your head, hands shooting out and looping around his neck. “Ignore me,” you urged, “I’m just being silly.”

He huffed, the air against your cheek making your lashes flutter. “I can do it.” He shifted, using his height to peer over your shoulder. “I’ve taken off bras hundreds of times before.”

“Of course, of course,” you hurriedly agreed, sinking your hand into his hair. You combed through the strands lazily. You felt it as soon as he successfully unhooked your bra, the relief shooting through you. 

“See?” He said, pulling away. You lifted your arms out to him, letting him tug the bra off. “I can take bras off.”

“I never doubted you, sweetheart,” you bit down on your smile, trying to contain the affection that was threatening to pour out. You cleared your throat, tossing your hair over your shoulder. “It’s a task most boyfriends are rather adept at, I hear. Taking bras off their girls.”

He smothered his own smile, nodding at your words. “Yes. And as you saw, I’m a good bra remover.”

“The best I’ve ever seen,” you sympathized. 

He snorted, a loud noise that made you startle and then laugh in turn. He pressed towards you, putting his body back between your legs and wrapping his arms around you. “I’m supposed to be seducing you.”

“I’m seduced!” You protested into his chest. You pressed your face further, placing kisses against his skin. He was warm, as he always was, like a space heater. “I’m so seduced. Really.”

“You promise?” 

You giggled into his skin. He began to pull away, a whine on his lips. But you hurriedly wrapped your arms around his middle, keeping him from going too far. “I promise! I promise, really, sincerely.”

Your husband sighed, digging his face into your hair. “I messed this all up.”

“You didn’t!” You kissed the mole on his left breast before retreating, peering up at him. “You didn’t mess it up, Seokmin. Promise.”

“It’s the bra’s fault,” he mumbled, pouting. 

You laughed, nodding in agreement. “You’re right, you’re right. It’s not as if we’ve been together for six years and you’ve had at least five and a half years of experience with taking off my bra specifically.”

He whined, pulling away and pouting at you. Seokmin slid his fingers through your hair, pushing it back behind your ear. “You’re such a bully.”

You caught his hand with yours, pressing your lips to his palm and kissing it. He softly exhaled, and you could feel the weight of his eyes on you as you began kissing his boney wrist, his forearm. You skimmed your lips over his skin, going as far as you could reach without moving from your spot on the bed.

“I’m a bully, am I?” You lowered your hands over his back, running your fingertips over the waistband of his underwear, causing Seokmin to shiver into you. “Why don’t you do something about it, stranger?”

He huffed a laugh. Seokmin bent over and pressed his lips to your hairline. “Okay. Okay.”

Then Seokmin separated from you completely, clearing his throat. “Climb up the bed, princess.”

You tried to stifle your smile but to not avail. You turned and began crawling up the bed, making sure to wiggle your ass as you did. Seokmin’s answering giggle was enough to make you laugh, burying your face into the pillows of the hotel bed. 

His hands smoothed over your bare ass, squeezing. You began rising again to turn, but Seokmin pressed down on your middle, keeping you flat on the bed. “Stay still, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.”

You nodded, turning your head so you could watch him out of the corner of your eye. You watched as he took off his underwear, baring his entire body to you. You drank him in greedily. 

Seokmin was gorgeous. He was beautiful. He always was. But his dick -- his dick stole your breath away even though you had seen it a thousand times before. You couldn’t help but watch as one of his hands smoothed over it. His dick was long and thick, and you knew from experience how well it could fill you. You knew how it felt when he was hammering his hips into you, how it felt like you could feel his dick deep in your gut. How it would make you feel impossibly full and whole, as if you were a puzzle missing half of itself and he held the piece.

“Like what you see, baby?”

His words had you flushing, abruptly turning on him to bury your face back into the pillow. Seokmin laughed again, and then you could feel the mattress shift as he began to climb up after you.

Seokmin’s hands, large and heavy, grazed over your thighs. He mapped them out, as if he hadn’t spent the last five years memorizing them. His touch had your eyes fluttered shut, your hips rising to try and meet his hands. 

“You’re so beautiful, princess.” Seokmin’s breath was warm as he lowered his face to your back, speaking sweet-nothings against your skin. As he spoke his hands began manipulating your thighs, spreading them out, making room for him to lay between them. “I’m so lucky. I’m the luckiest man in the world, princess. You’re so beautiful.”

“What happened to being the Big Bad Wolf?” You asked, face half against the pillow. 

Seokmin kissed the lowermost part of your back. One of his hands held a thigh in place, allowing him to skim his fingertips along your cunt. “Are you telling me you’re not feeling like a wolf’s prey, darling?”

Two of his fingers brushed against your hole, not quite entering. You whined a little, burrowing into the pillow. When you tried to lift your hips in an attempt to guide his fingers into your cunt he moved the hand that was propping your thigh up to return to your back, pressing you down on the bed. “Keep still, princess. That’s a good girl. Gotta be a good girl for me. I know you can, you’re always so good. Always so good and pretty, so good and sweet.”

Seokmin hooked his fingers into your hole, intruding to the first knuckle. Immediately you were trying to back up into him, trying to shove them in all the way. But then Seokmin sighed; you could feel the warmth of his breath against your ass. “Told you to be a good girl, sweetheart.”

“I am!” You argued weakly, pouting against the pillow even though he couldn’t see. “Just want your fingers in me, Seokmin. Want to feel you.”

He kissed the globe of your ass, causing you to clench. “My girl’s so needy. You act like I didn’t just fuck you the night before last.”

Slowly, as if this was your first time and not closer to the thousandth, Seokmin guided his fingers inside of your cunt. You could feel every centimeter, your entire body focusing on the glide of them, how they slid against your walls and forced them to expand. You didn’t even realize you were moaning into the pillow until he said something. 

“Love the way you sound, sweetheart.” He kissed you again, the gentleness of his lips coinciding with the tender way he fingered you. His fingers seemed never-ending, so long and crooking inside of you, brushing against your walls. “You always sound so pretty for me, baby.”

Then his fingers found the sponge inside of you that had you crooning, wiggling against his hold. Seokmin draped his weight against you, holding you to the bed. He massaged that sponge for a moment, dragging sweet whines and moans from your lips. 

“Perfect,” he mumbled. Seokmin dragged his fingers out of your cunt, slowly as to allow you to feel every single millimeter. Your cunt protested, clenching and squeezing around him, trying to keep his fingers inside. “Look at how eager your pretty little cunt is for me, princess. You’re always so eager for me. Always so desperate for my fingers.”

Swiftly Seokmin slid them back in, his fingertips hitting your core directly. You couldn’t help the loud groan that escaped you in response. 

“Let me hear you, darling.” He kissed your ass again, scissoring out his fingers. “Wanna hear everything you got to say.”

Seokmin fingered you gently and quickly, though no less effectively. Every single drag of his fingers had your walls clenching around him, every single brush of his fingers against your core had you moaning and bucking back into him. You wanted him, wanted him so badly. 

He withdrew his fingers entirely to reposition himself, changing the angle of his hand. This time three of his fingers pressed against your hole and your entire body tensed in response. 

When his thumb brushed against your clit you couldn’t help but moan, driving your hips back and onto his fingers. They entered you, the three of them impaling you. Seokmin cursed, his other hand flying to your ass in an attempt to steady you. “Careful, princess, gotta be --”

“Fuck me,” you begged, grinding your hips back and onto his fingers further, driving the three digits deeper. “Fuck me, Seokmin, please.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, baby,” he murmured, hand squeezing your ass soothingly. “I don’t want you to be hurt.”

“Seokmin.” He didn’t move as you rocked your hips back and forth, guiding them in and out. “Just fuck me, Seokmin. I want you to fuck me, I want you to fill me up with your cock, want you to stuff my cunt.”

Your husband cursed, and then his fingers were leaving you entirely. You gasped, a protest on your lips. 

Then his hands were on your hips, turning you over. Seokmin hooked his arms around your legs, dragging them up and baring your cunt for him. He released his hold on one of your thighs to pull at his dick, a soft little curse escaping him. 

Leaning over you, he was like a god. His bangs were stuck to his head by a sheen of sweat, his eyes dark and piercing. He seemed so wide, caging you in like this. His shoulders were broad and golden, Seokmin’s abs glistening from the sweat brought on by your activities. The little silver chain around his neck dangled as he hovered, seemingly taunting you. 

When the head of his cock brushed against your hole you couldn’t help but groan, squeezing your eyes shut. You knew the head of his dick was thick, knew how it always took a moment for your body to accept it. 

Seokmin lowered his face, pressing his forehead against yours. You dragged your eyes from his dick to his face, watching his face contort as he tried to control himself, tried to keep from plunging into you. His pretty lips were twisted, eyes squeezed shut. 

He jostled the two of you, moving his hand from his dick. Seokmin brushed his fingers against your clit before he focused on it, rubbing at it. Each rub, each drag of his digits against your clit had you arching into him, mouth falling open at the pleasure that began pooling in your gut. 

“There’s a good girl,” he murmured, and then he was pressing into you. Seokmin guided himself in gently, feeding you slowly, your cunt still so tight around him despite having prepared you. 

“Tell me --” You gasped out, hands moving to squeeze at his biceps. “Tell me when.”

Seokmin nodded, his nose brushing against yours. You knew you couldn’t take all of him, couldn’t fit all of his dick inside of you if you were expected to be able to walk out of the hotel tomorrow. 

“You’re so fucking tight, princess,” he huffed, mouth hot against your cheek. “Always so fucking tight around my dick, always squeezing around me so perfectly. You were made for me, princess, fuck.”

Seokmin settled against you, the hand that was on your clit moving instead to brace beside you on the bed. He was completely still, his gentle pants warming your body and causing you to shiver. 

“Seokmin,” you breathed, clenching around his cock and drawing out a low groan. He was so thick and long and even though he wasn’t entirely inside of you, you felt so completely full. It stung a little, the stretch, but you couldn’t help but grind your hips up into him, searching eagerly. 

“Stop,” he gasped out, eyes flying open. His eyes were wide, his fingers digging into your skin and surely leaving little crescents. “Sweetheart, don’t move.”

You tensed in his hold, your hands stilling against him. “Seokmin? Seokmin, are you okay? Fuck, Seokmin, I swear if you’re hurt --”

“No --” Seokmin ducked his head, burying his face into your sweaty neck. “Fuck. Princess, I’m gonna cum.”

You blinked, uncomprehending. “You -- Seokmin, we haven’t even done anything!”

“I know!” He cried out, unwilling to face you. “I know! I’ve just -- I’ve been hard since I dropped you off at the club and nearly came in my pants when you were grinding on me there, and I wanted to fuck you rough and hard but I’m going to fucking spill right now.”

“Oh my God,” you whispered. “Seokmin. We’ve been married for a whole fucking year. We’ve been having sex for nearly six years.”

“You’re so mean,” he mumbled. “So fucking mean to me.”

You laughed, moving a hand to bury in his hair. You stroked his hair, messing with it, pulling. “I love you, Lee Seokmin,” you giggled. “Even if you cum really easily.”

He sighed, and then Seokmin was lifting himself off of you. He guided one of your legs to wrap around his hips before he braced himself against the bed, leaning over you. “Okay. Okay. I’m good.”

Then Seokmin was pulling out, the drag bringing out a whine from both of your mouths. You couldn’t help but toss your head back, eyes fluttering shut.

The whole world seemed to stop as the head of his dick caught on your hole, as he paused. You didn’t even dare breathe, didn’t dare move. Your entire being was zeroed in on him and you, and the spot where the two of you would join.

Seokmin snapped his hips, burying himself to the hilt inside of you. You cried out, hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. You tossed your other leg around him, crossing at the ankles. 

“That’s a good girl,” he murmured, and then he was pulling back out again. 

Seokmin set a furious pace, jackhammering inside of you as if he could make up for the pause earlier by slamming into your cunt. His balls slapped against your pussy as he plunged inside, the slapping of his skin against yours filling the room alongside the squelching of your cunt as he impaled you over and over, his cockhead thick and ramming against your core relentlessly, never sparing it, abusing it. 

Your husband fucked you stupid, refusing any mercy for your cunt. You knew he would leave bruises from the brutal hit of him against your cunt, knew you wouldn’t be able to sit down without feeling him for a week, but all you could do was moan and cry out, pussy accepting him eagerly, yearning for his dick. 

You clenched down on him and then Seokmin was gasping, voice catching in his throat. He thrusted a handful more before he was spilling inside of you, his cum flooding into your cunt and painting it white. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, eyebrows furrowing. “Fucking -- so fucking good -- filling you up, gonna fucking fill you until your little cunt can’t take it --”

Seokmin continued to drive into you as he came, babbling nothing. Once he was done he stilled, ducking his head against your collar and gasping. 

Then he was pushing off of your body, throwing your legs open. Seokmin wedged himself between your thighs, his hands flying to your cunt. He pressed himself against the bed, attaching his mouth to your cunt, tongue plunging in alongside his cum and eagering cleaning you out. 

He ate you just as he fucked you -- furiously. Seokmin ate you out as if it were his last meal, as if he desired nothing more in the world. He ate his cum and your cunt juices eagerly, and it only took three rubs of your clit in tandem with his tongue plunging inside before you were cumming, spasming around him. 

Seokmin continued to eat you out as you came, unrelenting in his task. Your hips grinded up into his mouth until you couldn’t, overstimulation flooding through your senses. You hissed, your thighs coming down on either side of his face. 

“Seok --” You gasped out, hands flying to his hair. 

He pulled away, his face completely a mess. Seokmin glanced over you, taking in your heaving chest, your wide eyes. Then he was smirking a little, ducking his head back between your thighs. “I think you can be a good girl and take another, don’t you think?”

The yes was barely out of your mouth before his mouth was reattaching to your cunt.  Your cunt squeezed around his tongue, protesting the intrusion, screaming in sensitivity. But your body practically sang for him, hips grinding up into his mouth, constant pleas of more and more streaming from your lips. 

It wasn’t until you came again did Seokmin move from between your thighs, his lower face a mess with your juices and his cum. He rubbed at his face though it didn’t really do anything, instead spreading the mix around even more. 

Seokmin climbed up your body and, despite the mess, when he pressed his mouth to yours you couldn’t help but accept him, tongues meeting and tangling. He kissed you like he ate your cunt, tongue clever as it moved inside your mouth. 

He broke apart from you with a click of your mouths, his lips catching on the underside of your jaw and sucking. You gasped, arching into his touch, hands delving into his hair. “Seok -- Seokmin -- I saw the tub before -- let’s -- let’s take a bath --”

Seokmin pulled away, eyebrows furrowed. He looked ridiculously adorable despite the mess on his lower half, his lips in a pout. “You want to be done? Already?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, hands latching together behind his head and bringing him back down for another kiss. You spoke against his mouth as you kissed him, words muffled against his lips. “I said -- I said there’s a bath, Seokie. Baths don’t always mean the night is over.”

Your husband stilled against you. He abruptly pulled away, eyes wide and mouth opening in a wide grin, his pearly white teeth flashing. Seokmin dropped a kiss to your breast before he jumped off of the bed, nearly tripping over his discarded underwear. 

“I’ll start the bath!” 

[palesweetscherryblossom]

Forest (Platonic Yandere Shigadabi x reader)

It was a warm summer day as you happily left your house with a basket in hand. Izuku had given you permission to venture into the forest to pick some flowers and stuff.

“Bye Izuku!” You happily called out to your older brother who was getting ready for a hunting expedition with his mentor.

“Remember to be back by dark!” He called out. “I will!” You happily walked into the woods and were ready to start your day.

The sun was shining, a pleasant breeze swept over the land as you innocently picked flowers and occasionally ate some fruit that grew in some bushes. You played in the nearby creek, chased down squirrels and unfortunately lost your way.

Night fell like a blanket over the land and you were utterly terrified and lost. You were hungry and no fruit grew in the area you were in, you whimpered weakly at seeing all the bones strewn around in the trees and floor. “Zuku..” You muttered your brother’s name weakly.

He was probably worried right now, he was extremely overprotective ever since your mother and father passed away. You clutched your stomach as it grumbled for food. You had no choice but to simply lay down in a bush and hope no creature ate you. It didn’t help that you heard stories of half man, half snake like creatures roaming around in the forest.

Some were merciful while others were not. You fell into a slumber, unaware of the creatures lurking around in the dark. Shigaraki flicked out his tongue as he attempted to sniff out any potential prey or trespassers.

“Is this really necessary Shigaraki? It’s too fucking late for this.” His mate, Dabi grumbled. “Hush, I’m hungry and I heard really juicy rabbits roam around these places at night.” Shigaraki argued, eagerly licking his lips in anticipation. The blue haired naga froze when smelling something.

“What is it?” Dabi asked when seeing his mate’s sudden change in demeanor. “Human.” Shigaraki hissed lowly, his rattle immediately coming to life and shaking. Dabi gave a lazy smirk as he joined his lover in on the hunt.

The two slinked around and searched until they got close to the bush you were sleeping in. They were utterly shocked to find a little human, all alone and vulnerable. Shigaraki’s blood lust died the minute he laid eyes on you. Dabi cocked an eyebrow and searched the area only to find that it was just you, alone.

“Poor little hatchling.” Shigaraki mused, gently picking you up in his arms. You stirred slightly as Shigaraki gave a smirk at his mate.

“You can’t say no patchwork, look at that sweet face!” Shigaraki hissed at his mate. Dabi ran his fingers through your hair as he felt a fatherly warmth swell in his heart.

“Guess they have a new family now.” Shigaraki let out a noise similar to a purr as they descended into their home.

You eventually woke up in what was not your bed. It was dark and oddly warm, you got quite a scare when realizing that two large snake tails were piled on your body like a blanket.

You squeaked when realizing that you were sandwiched between two deadly nagas, one who had penchant for murder. The blue haired one stirred in his sleep, nuzzling his mate’s neck and holding you close.

You couldn’t help but begin to cry, these creatures wanted to eat you didn’t they? Cook you in a stew and share you with their gross naga friends!

Shigaraki was awakened by your cries and soft whimpers, he was honestly surprised. “Hey, shh, it’s okay.” He cooed assuringly.

“L-let me go!” You sobbed. Dabi was also awakened and your cries broke his heart. His sweet baby! “Hey squeakers, don’t be scared. It’s just me and papa.” He said assuredly.

Their voices utterly terrified you as you weakly squirmed in their hold. Shigaraki’s tail coiled around your body, acting as some sort of comfort blanket. “Just relax fawn.” Shigaraki purred.

“We’re your family now.”

[slashers-and-rats]

how dare you?

priest!billy x fem!reader | nsfw | choking

rat chat: i said i would write something for that priest!au. I’m delivering!! eat up!!

you had said his name. you said his actual fucking name.

how dare you?

for you to have come over during a sermon of all things, sitting down next to him as if you were on the same level as he was, and then to so easily say, in a hushed tone right near his ear, “it’s so good to see you, billy”… it was brave. he had to give you that. but at the same time, it was disgusting, it was wrong, it had to be.

billy and you weren’t the same. you weren’t allowed to utter his name. you were lustful, a succubus in human clothes, you must’ve been. all those nights he spent talking to you over the phone, all those nights he spent listening to you lead him by his very own collar and make him spout sins he’d never say to anyone else, had proved to him you weren’t of this world. you couldn’t be. it couldn’t be his fault that he wanted to bend you over the pews and stuff you full of his cock. it couldn’t be his own overwhelming need that made him want to make you worship his dick the same way he saw you pray during services. it couldn’t be. it had to be the work of the devil, you had to be some kind of demon, this had to be a trick…

otherwise, how did you know it was him? he couldn’t have given it away, could he have? he was so careful to make sure you didn’t recognize his voice over the phone, or at least the one he used in public around his peers. he made sure what he told you was patchwork, different voices jumping into the fray every few seconds. he made sure he only used the name billy. you had said billy, just now. not micheal. he was micheal now, you were supposed to know him as micheal, how had you figured him out, how, how, how-

“thank you all for coming to evening mass. god bless you, and have a lovely night.” the words of the pastor pulled him back down to earth. it felt like he was an asteroid; he had divided up in the atmosphere, and by the time he hit the ground he was nothing but a pebble. a small, weak little thing. he felt small in your presence. he liked it better when you didn’t sit beside him, when you just whimpered quiet over the phone, pretending that you weren’t getting off to those things he said.

he couldn’t look at you. he knew you were beside him, you hadn’t moved when the priest started talking. he had been stuck with you. you just sat there like nothing was wrong, like you hadn’t ripped into his entire being and forced him to bare himself. how dare you?

billy felt the air beside him shift as you stood. it was the end, after all, why would you stay? only as you began to walk off did he look up at you. there he saw you glance down at him, give a small smile, and then retreat through the doors towards the dormitories.

how dare you?

that smile… it made billy’s skin hot. it made the liquid in his stomach into crashing waves against his insides. it made him feel like he would break out into a sweat. it made him nervous. it was a knowing grin, so subtle yet so obvious. you knew too much already. it’s like you had looked into his very soul.

maybe you were the devil?

without thinking, billy pushed himself up from the bench. he stood for a moment, gathering himself. he had to look normal. he couldn’t look like the mess you had turned him into on the inside. to these people, the other priests and pastors and nuns; they all knew him as kind. kind, but troubled. trying. he tried so very hard to seem put together, to hide that deep inner turmoil, and yet…

and yet he was near running out of the main hall. he didn’t bother to stop at the nuns as they asked why he was in such a rush, he didn’t sit in on the other priests’ conversations as they waved him over to his usual spots, he didn’t thank the pastor for his sermon like he always did- he had a mission. he weaved his way through the group, not even bothering to wipe the bit of drool that was beginning to pool on his lips, or hold back the intense stare he had. he was hunting, he couldn’t be bothered to focus on such silly things.

he slipped out of the main hall, following the path he saw you take. you were a bit ahead of him, walking with no purpose, simply making your way back to your dorm room without a thought in the world. no one else was in these corridors with you, everyone was still revelling in the good word.

all except you. all except billy.

you didn’t even look back. he knew you could hear his footsteps fast approaching, he knew you could feel his presence. his was the aura of a holy man, and yours was the vixen trying to poison him with sin. the air between you two swirled with the opposing forces. why didn’t you look back at him then? why did you keep just far enough ahead that he felt like a dog chasing a squirrel? you were just out of reach, and yet if he got any closer, he felt as though you two would repel each other like magnets. or maybe…

you stopped in front of your door, keeping your eyes ahead as you unlocked it with your keys. you had had them ready. for a moment, billy thought you were scared, that the reason you hadn’t looked at him as he pursued you through these halls was fear, but when he zoned in on your face, that warm smile was still there. it made his blood boil.

you walked into your room, closing the door behind you. billy closed the gap between him and your room within a few more strides, and for a moment, simply stood outside of it.

he was panting, out of breath from a one-sided chase. he had to wipe his chin of the drool that had settled there from the excitement of it all. anticipation swirled in his chest, and made him feel suffocated. it felt so good, but he’d never admit it, not even in a confessional.

his feelings only heightened when he reached out to your doorknob, pushing your door open with ease. you hadn’t locked it. if he was able to think straight, it would’ve been something of note, but there wasn’t enough room in his head for common sense.

his eyes locked onto where you sat on your bed, staring up at him expectantly. knowingly. you knew something he didn’t, he could feel it. he shut the door behind him, going over to you and crowding against your body, grabbing you by your shoulders. your head was at his stomach in height, and you looked up at him as he loomed over you. how dare you look so innocent? so sweet? he knew what you were, and yet you still pretended to be something pure.

“are you okay, billy?” you asked, your lips perfectly forming the letters in his name. it nearly knocked the wind out of him.

“d-don’t say that,” was all he could hiss out of a clenched jaw. your eyebrows lowered a bit, your gaze turning into something that sent shivers down his spine. it didn’t feel like lust, it felt like amusement. “if you- if you say my name a-again i’ll… i’ll…”

“you’ll what, billy?”

billy blinked, and suddenly his hands were around your throat, and you were pinned down to the bed. his thighs caged you in, his back arched over you; he had leaned down as far as he could without toppling over. you didn’t move. your hands rested beside his knees, your head tilted back into the bed, and you just let him squeeze your throat. your gasps and little whimpers sounded even better in person. he could feel himself getting hard from it all. he ached- he was yearning. he wanted- no, he needed you. he nearly humped against your stomach; the only thing holding him back being that he couldn’t stain these robes.

drool dripped down his chin, his mouth hanging open slightly to allow him to pant like a rabid dog. he swallowed hard, using his thumbs to tilt your head down so that he could stare properly into your eyes. he wanted to see the fear. he wanted to see how he could make you scared, how he was in control.

all he saw glints of amusement underneath a cloud of lust. you were being entertained. you were allowing him to do this. he wasn’t in control…

this was a trap.

billy’s eyes widened, and he pushed himself off of you and up to his feet. you sat up slow, eyelashes fluttering as you dragged your gaze over him. he was a mess. you knew he was a mess. he had fallen into your succubus tricks. the fae knew his name, and now he couldn’t escape.

he wiped the drool from his lips, straightened out his priestly collar, and smoothed out the wrinkles in the front of his top. he didn’t look at you. if he did, he’d just get pulled in again. he wasn’t prepared for this fight, not yet.

“do not say my name out there. i am micheal out there.” his voice had turned stern.

“and in here?” you tilted your head to the side a bit, smirking at him.

billy hesitated, looking up at you for just a moment. in those few seconds he saw the way you looked through him. he swore you could see his very soul. he couldn’t even answer the question, but did he really have to? you knew. you knew he wanted you to keep saying his name, you knew he craved for you to scream it as loud as you could, you knew he wanted to swallow those same screams so that he could keep them all to himself, you knew he wanted you-

billy pulled his gaze away, turning to the door and rushing out, back into the hallway. he tried to pull himself together as he walked through the church, barely thinking about where he was going. he’d have to pray again. he’d have to confess tomorrow, at least for some of this.

he’d have to call you again soon so he could listen to you toy with his name in privacy.

he’d have to have you.

[thekillingmoonmoon]

Please note!

all will be Fem!Reader (afab)

ALL of them will have a happy ending, promise

If you wanna know more about each idea, keep reading!!!

Bodyguard! Fushiguro Toji x Naoya’s Fiancé!Reader CW: NSFW; Smut; “infidelity”; arranged marriage; misogyny; Naoya; discussion of abuse, grief, neglect; descriptions of violence, blood, death (canon-typical); more misogyny; the very fucked up Zen’in Clan dynamics; age gap Tags: 75% angst; slow burn; strangers to lovers, “If Toji Lived” AU; sorcerer reader; canon setting TLDR: Toji is tasked with protecting Naoya’s Fiancé as she prepares for her arranged marriage into the Zen’in clan.

Guitarist!Tsukomo Yuki x Singer! Reader x Bassist!Kamo Choso CW: NSFW; smut; polyamorous relationship dynamics; a lot of bisexual confusion and pansexual panic Tags: 60% fluff; childhood friends to lovers; miscommunication; band/tattoo artist/record store AU; modern setting TLDR: You return to your homecity only to fall head over heels in love with you childhood bestie, Yuki – only to find that Yuki is already dating Choso, who is, coincidently, ridiculously gorgeous and just your “type” (YES I know I’ve already written a Choso Band AU, sue me)

1930s! Bartender!Fushiguro Toji x Heiress!Reader x Detective!Kong Shiu CW: NSFW; smut; infidelity; kinda arranged marriage; descriptions of war, mental illness, violence, criminal activity; classicism; misogyny; polyamorous relationship dynamics Tags: 70% angst; strangers to lovers; western/eurocentric setting; set in the 1930s TLDR: you find yourself embroiled in a web of lust, lies, and love as you work with Toji and Shiu to bring your criminal husband to justice.

Kitsune!Nanami Kento x Priestess!Reader CW: NSFW; smut; a veritable patchwork of all my favourite Ayakashi x Human manga; brief descriptions of violence, blood, death; age gap (he’s immortal help) Tags: 75% fluff; very slow burn; slice of life; rivals to lovers (kinda); traditional Japanese setting TLDR: Kamisama Kiss retelling with elements from other manga such as xxxholic, demon prince of momochi house, natsume's book of friends – Yokai/Ayakashi AU

[greetingfromthedead]

2024 Trigun x Reader Holiday Collection!

Since the holidays are at full swing, I will leave you with all the goodies I can. Here is every holiday scented story I have written so far to be curled up with when the family dinner gets a bit too much or you need a Trigun man to keep you company!

We have Vash, we have Wolfwood, and we even have Knives! Whether you're naughty or nice, I have something for everyone, since every story I've listed can be enjoyed as a STANDALONE, even if it is connected to something else. So don't worry about a thing and just pick any of these!

VASH

Festivities (GN!Reader) - Delusional bliss on an unfamiliar planet with weird traditions, ice skating and sweet Vash. On the winter solstice your community has its own traditions and this year you spend them with Vash. Also Vash has cuteness aggression.

Gingerbread (GN!Reader) - You join Vash in a visit to Karsted City. To keep you being there a secret, Lina and Grandma Sheryl mingle with the townsfolk, leaving you and Vash to bake cookies to be decorated later together with Lina.

🔞 Tender Passion (F!Reader) - With the gingerbread cookies cooling, you cuddle with Vash on the couch, waiting for Lina and Sheryl to return for dinner, but the warm embrace and heavy blanket threaten to lull you to sleep so Vash does what he has to to keep you from passing out.

WOLFWOOD

Patchwork Holiday (GN!Reader) - You lend a hand in getting Hopeland's community center ready for the annual holiday celebration. It is a crock pot of old and new traditions and Wolfwood has dragged something horrendous down from the attic to be lovingly decorated.

🔞 In the Glow of Lights (F!Reader) - After decorating the tree for the holiday party and sharing a kiss under the mistletoe, Wolfwood can't take his hands off of you, drawn in by the longing he feels until it turns into sharing in your lust and passion in the colorful light of the tree.

KNIVES

🔞 Hunger (GN!Reader) - You spend the longest night of the year with Knives in a quaint little town where the darkness is lit up with thousands of lights and things get more intimate as the festive spirit overtakes you, making everything feel like a dream.

* Knives's non-horny holiday special was part of the series Apple Blossoms, I apologize for not having something that can be a standalone for that category.

🎀 But what in the Blue's Clues is this? Could it possibly be a teaser for something still to come? Perhaps an end-of-year sheBANG? Well, keep your eyes peeled for mission UN-WRAPPING, coming soon!

For even more of my writing, check out my MASTERLIST.

[starqueensthings]

Colder Weather: Part One

Summary: a two-chapter (nice try, Holly! It’s three) ficlet that follows Post-Stassis/Pirate Kix as he navigates the see-saw of an unexpected love that he doesn't think he deserves, and the trauma of his past.

Pairing: Kix x Fem!Reader

POV/WC/Rating: 2nd, 4570, Teen + up

Warnings: extensive references of survivors guilt, grief, and mentions of previous character death. Seggsy time is implied but not described. This is emotional (it needs to be, so I'm not sorry)

A/N: the context of this ficlet won’t make much sense unless you’re decently familiar with the legends version of Kix’s life post-war (it might even be canon now? Not sure…). If you haven't listened to the song that inspired this little ficlet, I highly recommend you give it a listen; it's truly a lyrical masterpiece.

Chapter One | Chapter 1.5 | Chapter Two | ao3

“I want to see you again, but I’m stuck in colder weather. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Can I call you then? [...] Well, it’s a winding road when you’re in the lost-and-found. You’re a lover, I’m a runner, and we go round and round. I love you, but I leave you. I don’t want to, but I need you.” Colder Weather by Zac Brown Band

You’d long since memorized his movements; long since perfected this dance, having performed the passionate choreography of this duet with him countless times.

It always began with the sound of his speeder bike nearing your quiet cottage; the roaring of the engine muffled only partially by the towering hedges surrounding your acre of secluded paradise. That rumble so artificial amongst the constant tittering of nature that it took a mere fraction of a second to recognize it, and even less time to send a fervor coursing through your veins so rigorously that your hands simply abandoned whatever task that had been keeping them occupied.

Triggered by the sound of his approach, your feet took you earnestly through the front door and out into the gravel drive. A small smile, often concealed by the expanse of a thick, dark beard, tugged his handsome features upwards as he swung a leg over the seat of his bike, helmet clutched absently in one hand and arms stretched wide in a motion so welcoming, even the sheer power of the Force couldn’t have kept you from leaping into them.

He never failed to match your enthusiasm, scooping you clean off your slippered feet and into the familiar tight embrace that you’d spent weeks longing to be secured in. Hushed coos of “Mesh’la” amongst other breathy salutations were words that never needed voicing; the way his eyes danced reverently across your features spoke more volumes than any muttered term of endearment, any hushed apology for his absence. Watching the crease between his brows soften at the soft brush of your thumb against his cheek was a feeling that could have sustained life for all eternity; every caress of your fingers atop his skin powered by an ineffable desire to remind yourself of him, to remind him of you.  

But there was nothing that consumed you as entirely as the dance itself… nothing that quite melted your mind like the way he laid you down on the soft cotton of that old patchwork quilt; the way that he stripped himself of his rigid encasement; the way his eyes locked on yours, twinkling with an unspoken promise that he was about to make up for his repeated extended absences… all the transmissions that he’d failed to respond to… the commitment that he continuously denied you.  

And while even the ghost of his touch still set your very nerves alight, time had seen the unpredictability of his visits robbed of their spontaneity; lust replaced with a devastating love; passion diminished by the anticipation of his impending departure. The dance had become less of a dance, and more of a contemptuous game: how many seconds would lapse in the forlorn quiet between when the heat of his skin departed yours, and the door swung closed behind him? How many shaky breaths would leave your lungs in the too-short span of time that it took for the shadow of the unseen monster, forever-perched atop his shoulders, to rob his eyes of the twinkle only freshly illuminated by the return of your embrace?

The answer: always too few.

He would only ever grant himself a dozen-or-so deep breaths to dwell in the lingering serenity once the cresting waves of pleasure had subsided, the heaving of his chest eventually stilling to match the motionlessness of the incipient dawn.

Unable to withstand the suffocating languor, a poignant sigh would trigger the initiation of his exodus, body following the command from his anguished mind to climb from the bed and methodically redress himself in that disguising, blue plastoid kit. A tender, whiskery kiss was always your parting gift. Lips void of the passion that had seen them so ravenously devour yours only minutes prior, now gently atop your forehead in a wordless goodbye-for-now; the roar of the engine echoing amongst the whispering pines the perfect soundtrack to the disappointment that pulled shameful tears from your eyes.    

Yet… sometimes… on nights like tonight, an inexplicable force inside of him would demand that he dawdle, and if the urge to flee stalled on its way from brain to body for long enough, he’d roll toward you, fold his arm underneath his head, and trail a gentle fingertip along all his favourite parts of your body: the fleshy space between neck and shoulder where he often sought the comforting fragrance of your skin; the shallow dimples on your lower back, perched just above the rolling swells of muscle that he could barely keep his hands off of; the gaps between your fingers that so-perfectly housed his, as if they were ten adjacent pieces of a puzzle crafted by divine artistry.

Time had yet to reveal any explanation for the mystifying tenderness of his touch… it didn’t seem possible that such rough hands could trail so gently against your skin, yet his calloused fingers could have been draped in velvet for how softly they graced your most sensitive areas. And his pillow talk? It was poetry. His honeyed voice would utter whispered stories of glorious mountain ranges on far away planets while the delicate strokes of his fingertips ghosted atop the swells of your hips. He’d speak of the freckles smattered across your cheeks, and how they almost perfectly mirrored the night sky in Wild Space where the stars were so many, that astronomy had become an obsolete science, the citizens opting to merely look upon them for their unrivalled celestial magnificence. And when he would speak of the vibrant array of wild flowers that adorned the meadows of Felucia, he’d scoop your hand into his and kiss each individual knuckle, as if the immense power to blossom such beauty dwelled inside the fingers interlaced with his.  

But they were rare, those quiet moments, their emergence so ephemeral that even the span of a somnolent blink would have seen them escape your awareness and vanish into the past, and they were as devastating as they were infrequent. Laced not with the dread of his imminent departure, those near silent moments of deep connection were saturated in a hope so ensnaring that its warmth momentarily overshadowed the pain of his repeated abandonment, and you became enraptured by the could-be’s… the if-only’s… the maybe’s.   

Maybe… maybe tonight would be the night that the orange glow emerging atop the horizon did not trigger his departure. Perhaps this would be the time that he’d stay and spend the morning with you, his muscular arms locked around your chest as you ceased to fight the blissful drowsiness engulfing your bodies, dozing together in the first rays of the ambient light. Perhaps he’d be so comfortable, there in your arms, that the ever-present impulse to run, forever-clenched like an iron fist around his soul, would be finally suffocated by the sheer power of your love for him.

Those optimistic moments often saw you rambling, thoughts slipping easily from mind to mouth in a desperate attempt to keep him connected to you; resolute in keeping him both physically and mentally present; urgently trying to protect him from the monster on his shoulders long enough for him to realize that everything he could ever want was lying peacefully beside him. Periodically, if your chosen topic was one he found particularly amusing, his eyes would crinkle under the embrace of a smile, and — if the universe deemed you worthy that night — a hoarse chuckle would pour from his lips. Despite your continued pleas to the stars, it was a sound that graced your ears with a tragic infrequence, yet the way its radiance illuminated your soul had you shamelessly begging the universe that it continue to spill from his lips for all eternity.

But despite the prophetic bond that kept him returning to your side, only once had the bliss of your union softened his guard enough to let something… slip. Only once had he mentioned a brother: Jesse, a man spoken of thoughtlessly as Kix snickered through the recollection of a frantic speeder ride across the plains of Saleucami. But the music of his laughter utterly vanished upon voicing the name that he never meant to speak, the silence that filled its wake so polluted in unexpressed grief, that even the hushed sounds of your breath felt inappropriate, and despite having watched the light leave his eyes so often in the past, you’d never seen it replaced with a darkness as deep and as sorrowful as then.

“Tell me about him,” you probed instantly, hopeful that the delicate touch of your hand on his shoulder would be enough to ground him there in the bed with you; hopeful that the soft caress of your fingers would prevent him from conceding to his anguish, tossing the sheet aside and leaving you with nothing but the familiar sight of his retreating back and the bittersweet smell of him lingering on your pillow.

A ringing silence encompassed the room, broken only by the occasional chirp of an uninterested cricket nestled in the tall tufts of grass just outside the window, and the soft brush of dry leaves twirling amongst themselves in the warm gusts of midsummer’s breeze.

Speaking his brother’s name had rendered Kix momentarily muted and seemingly paralyzed, his eyes wide and affixed on an image that cruel memory had imprinted upon the ceiling above him. His breaths quickened, shoulder rising and falling rhythmically against your palm while his nostrils flared against the same onslaught of turmoil also knitting his brows together.

“Kix?” you probed in a soft whisper, fingers raising from the swell of his shoulder to gently stroke his hair. Those waves of black, sparsely peppered with the beginnings of grey, almost entirely concealed the remnants of a tattoo… letters… pieces of a phrase that he’d consistently evaded divulging. The ink, seemingly unblemished by time, looked as if it had only recently been embedded into his olive skin, yet his repeated, vague explanation of ‘I was a dumb kid’, suggested it was a choice made long ago; a decision made deep in a past he refused to speak of.

“Tell me about Jesse, my love…” you implored to his continued silence, watching with bated breath as the muscles in his jaw contracted in near perfect cadence with the bounding pulse in his neck.

“My brother…” Kix muttered, wrenching his eyes away from the ghost hovering over top of him, his solemn gaze dancing around the room in every direction but yours. “He… he died a long time ago. They all did.”

Your fingers faltered in their gentle strokes only for a breath, the impact of his words sending a crippling wave of aghast sadness throughout your body. “Who did?” It left your lips in barely more than a whisper, the unexpressed heartbreak lingering in the air robbing your tone of the intense curiosity that he so often shirked from and dissuaded, but despite the feigned composure precariously wrapped around your words, he offered no response. “Babe?” you pressed, your fingers abandoning their soothing dance along his temple to trail under his chin and weave themselves into the dark bristles of his beard. Hyperaware of the fragility of that moment, you gently cupped his jaw and turned his hagridden face toward you. “Who is ‘they’?”

His eyes finally met yours, darkened by apprehension and a deep sorrow that had yet to be explained. “My family.” 

It was like nothing you’d ever heard before, the tension in his voice. Those two choked words constricted by a heavy lump in his throat, immediately transformed the gruff and callous pirate that you knew into a man so momentarily fragile that even the soft cotton sheets draped atop your bodies felt too abrasive. Even more unexpected was the mist gathering earnestly in his eyes, reflecting the moonlight beaming in the window as if suddenly encased in a dome of sparkling crystal.

Whatever was left of the feeble breath housed in your lungs escaped your parted lips in a devastated huff, your stomach torquing uncomfortably as your thoughts began to whirr frantically around your mind. Resisting the transcendent urge to lock him in an embrace, you merely swallowed the lump forming in your own throat and hastily blinked the wetness from your eyes. Like the quiet moment that he’d gifted you tonight, you were all-too aware that his vulnerability was fleeting; at risk of dismantling completely should you misstep. But this was the knowledge that you’d be aching to know your months… years; this was the monster on his shoulders that tore him from your bed… from your home so devastatingly often. You were desperate to know it all… desperate to know him.

“Your… your family?” Two stammering words were all that you could force from your parted lips as he wrenched his jaw from your grasp and turned his gaze back toward the ceiling, grinding his knuckles aggressively into his eyes.

A heavy sigh was his only response, teeth clicking from how tightly he ground them as he seemingly tried to rub the image of his dead family from his sight. You swallowed heavily again and perched yourself up on an elbow, leaning in to him with every intention of planting a protective kiss to his temple.  

It might have been the shift of your posture that triggered it, or more likely, his patience diminished by your continued probes for information that he wasn’t willing to share, but a sudden banishment of lassitude saw him instantly tossing the sheet from his naked form and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Horrified and disappointed, you hurried to mirror his movements, kicking away the bunched cotton from your knees and pushing yourself to a kneeling position on the mattress directly behind him. Your lids narrowed to near-closed against the sudden ignition of the lamp on the nightstand, but neither the pain nor the spots now floating in your vision were enough to stop you from firmly wrapping your arms around his waist and holding him firmly against your chest. It wasn’t until you pressed your lips softly against his back, did he seem to notice your touch, and even then, his only acknowledgement was to peer, frowning, over his shoulder in your direction.

“Please, love,” you breathed against his skin. “Don’t run. Just talk to me.”

A soft sigh forced his shoulders into a defeated slump, and the tender drape of his hand atop his navel where yours were tightly clasped, lacked much of the warmth and intention that typically swaddled his touch.

“They were… tortured.” His head drooped sadly toward his chest, the previously urgent mission of collecting his clothes from their scattered placement on the floor, momentarily deferred.  

It was the initial shock that he’d even answered you that forced your lips to still against his skin, forgoing the ever-present urge to pepper him with chaste kisses for the sake of listening to the response that he’d previously deemed you unworthy of getting, but it was the horrifying implications of his explanation that forced your eyes open and the pain that drenched his words as they left his scowling lips that sent an all-consuming chill down your spine.

“All of them,” he continued quietly to his lap, absently drumming his fingers against the back of your hand. “Just— just stripped of their will, their identities… and made to carry out the commands of a sick, sick man. They never stood a chance. No one could survive that.”

He permitted himself one last, poignant sigh, the emptying of his lungs pulling his posture away from your still poised kiss, and it wasn’t until his palm departed yours, fracturing the wreath of your arms around his waist, that you returned to some semblance of awareness. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, beating against his back where the diffused glow of the lamp failed to soften the appearance of several misshapen scars along his shoulder; scars that you’d seen countless times previously, and had paid only little attention to.

Robbed of coherent thought by the repulsion surging through your veins, and rendered utterly speechless by the knowledge that you’d so desperately craved, you dropped your gaze to your knees, unmoving eyes watching them thrown intermittently into shadow as Kix moved about beside the bed, redressing himself in a suit of black compression, and the rigid, scuffed armament.

It was the soft scrape of plastoid against wood that broke you from your revolted torpor, his lean frame now completely encompassed in the blue suit that you despised, his helmet retrieved from the nightstand and hanging slackly from a gloved hand at his side. The sight of his impending departure returned you to a jarring cognizance and sent you frantically scrambling from the bed, bare feet ignoring the bite of the cold floor as you dashed toward the chair beside the window and collected the robe that you’d unceremoniously tossed onto it hours previously.

“Wait, Kix!”

You clumsily thrust your fists into the arms of the silk garment, your entire body laced with an exigent need to reach the doorway before he did. He couldn’t leave this time, not now… not now that he was finally opening up, finally sharing something other than trivial grievances about his crew members. He needed to know what you thought… how you felt. You had to tell him that none of it mattered to you… none of it made any difference. Except it did. It made all the difference. You thought you loved him then. That was nothing compared to now. And there was nothing that would stop you from loving him; not a past full of trauma, not tears leaking from his eyes, not the whispers that he denied hearing when the room got too quiet. None of it made a difference to you except that it did, and you would willingly spend the rest of your life banishing the ghosts that haunted his every move if he would just let you.

 “Can’t— can’t you stay this time?” you pleaded from your perch in the doorway, hastily tying a knot in the sash of your robe. “Even just a little longer?”

The snort that left his nose at the sight of your position, arms wide and clutching each side of the door frame in some pitiful semblance of a barricade, was anything but genuine, betrayed by the failure of the smile on his lips to crinkle his eyes. “Come on, Mesh’la,” he cooed, absently shifting the armoured belt around his waist. “You know I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” you argued, refusing to let the softness of his gaze weaken any of your resolve. “You just don’t. There’s a difference and you know that.”

The desperate sadness that encompassed your words surprised both sets of ears; you hadn’t intended for the sentiment to leave your lips drenched in such disappointment, yet his departure tonight felt more like a robbery than it ever had; stealing a fractured piece of you and leaving nothing but a shadow behind to replace it.

That small smile slipped from his features and he froze, upturned helmet held slackly at his side as he hung his head to his chest again. Your heart drummed heavily in your ears, the lump in your throat threatening to all but suffocate you as he stepped slowly forward, the old wood floor beneath you creaking and shifting under the weight of his heavy boots.

“Please don’t start this again, Mesh’la,” he begged in a whisper, tenderly tucking a displaced lock of hair behind your ear as his eyes flickered back and forth between yours. “We’ve been over this. I… I don’t want this for you. You deserve a better life than what I ca—”  

“I want this life,” you choked, chin threatening to quiver under the intense duress of your welling disappointment. “I promise— no, listen!—  I promise, Kix. I love you more than everything that you’ve been through. In spite of it all… because of it all. Just trust me. Stay with me this time. Let me— let me prove it to you. Let me sho—”  

“I know you love me, Mesh’la,” he interrupted, gently cupping your trembling chin and guiding your jaw upwards to look directly into your eyes. “I have never doubted it for a second. In another time… another life, I’d be able to give you back the love you deserve, but… I’m too sad of a man, now. I’m too angry… too volatile… too restless. No matter where I go or what I do, I can’t stomach my past, and I love you enough to not let you suf—”

 “I’ll suffer if I choose to!” you blurted, voice thickening in earnest. “I’ll suffer with you. It’s my choice, and I choose you, so just choose m—”

“Why?” he interjected, releasing your jaw and perching his hand on his hip. “Hmm? Why am I your choice? Why do you waste your time with a pirate like me when there are decent men lining up around the planet for your hand? Men that will shower you with gifts and affection? Men that won’t selfishly come and go as they please, like I do?”

“My time with you isn’t wasted, Kix,” you spluttered, eyelids unable to contain the flood of tears blurring your vision, banishing them to the heat of your flushed cheeks. “You don’t listen. I want every minute to be a minute with you. Every hour, every day. Stop running away from what happened to you; stop running from me. We— we can have a real life together.”

The aversion of his gaze to the floor did not stop you. You were too resolute in your convictions; too certain that if he just listened to you, he would finally understand. “I’ll make you caf every morning,” you continued, pulling your hands from the doorframe to hold his.  “And… we can shower together every day if we want to. You can make the water as hot as you want, and I won’t complain… I promise. We— we can grow berries in the field out back, on the other side of the tree line. You know, in that clearing where the flowers grow? The spot that gets all the afternoon sun? And… and we can brew our own wine. We—”

“Please stop.”

He was pleading with you in more ways than just the despondent words that left his lips; his dark eyes watching in something near agony as the tears abandoned your cheeks for the draped silk of your robe, but you were deaf to the desperation in his voice and blind to the anguish in his eyes as vivid images of what could-be erupted like a tragic film in your mind. 

“We can climb onto the roof and look at the stars on clear nights,” you persisted, releasing his palm and guiding your trembling hands onto the rough and worn plastoid of his shoulder bells. “And when it’s not, we’ll snuggle on the couch and listen to music. We’ll get drunk… and giggle about stupid shit… and make love in every room… an—”

“Please, Mesh’la.” He clamped his eyes closed, cowering beneath your watery gaze and gently tugging your hands from his shoulders, pausing to hold them weakly in his own for a breath before dropping them completely. “You have to sto—”

“No, Kix!” you refused, stomping your cold, bare foot on the floor below you. “You stop! Stop saying you don’t want this life for us, because you do!”

“OF COURSE I DO!”  

Your hands flew back to brace yourself in the doorway, shoulders jerking with fright, choked breaths freezing in your lungs. He’d never shouted like that before… and if he had, it certainly hadn’t been in your presence. Never once had you seen his eyes shrink behind lids so narrowed that the even the bridge of his nose scrunched to assist in their efforts. You’d never seen his thick, expressive brows contract so tightly and shoot toward the messy curls of his hairline in such earnest, and you’d never seen a look quite like that in his eyes… the frenzied look of a man desperate to be understood.

“Of— of course I want all of that,” he continued, his tone softening slightly as the ghost of his outburst rang back at him from the quiet corners. “But it’s not that simple. You don’t understand. I want it, Mesh’la, but I shouldn’t have it. I can’t have it. Why… why do I deserve the promise of a quiet life, when they never even had a chance at one? Why should I be the only one gifted with a happy ending, when they were robbed of theirs? If they can’t have it, then I ca—”

His voice cracked… fractured under the duress of the emotion simmering too near the surface, and it echoed more poignantly around the room than the hoarse shout which preceded it. That quiet moment, as you watched his shoulders sag in complete and utter dejection, with his head slowly shaking against a myriad of thoughts that he refused to speak, you would have withstood nearly anything to ensure the music of his voice never cracked like that again. You would have agreed to stand near-naked in the doorway for all eternity, willing to shoulder any amount of shouting, any verbal reprovement… anything if it promised him true peace from the sorrow that robbed him of his voice… of his life.

The threat of a sob forced your face into your clammy palms, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes until tiny, glimmering phosphenes erupted in your vision. Why couldn’t it all be as beautiful as those silly little dancing lights, brought to life with just a slight pressure from a small hand? Why could people not be free to dance about in darkness, as they are? Why must our darkness diminish our light? Why are those pretty dancing lights, free from the plague of guilt and sorrow, forever permitted to slumber until external pressure brings them to life, an occasion in which they shine so marvelously?  

The thunk of his boots and the creak of the floor signaled his slow approach. “I have to go, Cyare,” he mumbled into the space beside your ear, his free hand dusting soft strokes up and down your forearm.

You exposed your tear-streaked face and stared blankly across the room, unwilling to nod and acknowledge the disappointment. So this wasn’t going to be the time that he stayed.

“You know I love you,” he muttered into your hairline before planting a soft kiss on your temple, but the disillusionment had numbed you almost entirely, and you felt nothing of his lips on your skin, nor the brush of his body slipping past you through the door… you heard none of his footsteps fading down the hallway… nothing of the door closing behind him as he disappeared into the diminishing darkness outside… nor did you hear the roar of his speeder engine reverberating around the corners of your secluded paradise, all too eager and willing to rob you of him again.  

tags: @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @dystopicjumpsuit @523rdrebel

[no-gram]

For other music assigned to prisoners (To future me, please draw)

I don't know the English title, so I got it from Wiki.

all

Patchwork Staccato

...then right, ok, then from the beginning... the one who was in love was only me..

Isn't it "A"

What is right to you Is so suffocating to me

001＆006 Escape

Wobbly, wobbly, wobbly, wobbly floating Ah, I'm such a bad child. An inferior student Is that okay? Is that really okay? I can't laugh well today, is that okay? Are you ready? Hey! I said "are you ready?" Let's just doze off into the warm corners of the night

001,004,006 Solitary Hide & Seek Envy

To you, and even you To be blunt, I'm not really needed In this world, right? That festival seems pretty fun Taking a trembling step forward, Alone, I say; “Bye bye”

001 Coral

The future drifts ashore onto the sandy beach, I gather it up and link it together. It sparkles and casts a shadow here. I reached out my hand to the bottom of the sea, since someone told me that I can find what it is I lack there.

002 You're a Useless Child

I’ll be the one to save you Even so, that child is a leery child And ran away from my side

GEDO

Those who play the victim are so simple-minded I said that was the best of them all I’m on the lowest level of them all I see, this is my war against you Let us celebrate our crazy youth!

003 Hyper Reality Show

So that her love might be fulfilled, she plagiarizes Honeyed phrases from past works. To what extent is that a screenplay, and to what extent what you truly think? And if you knew which is which, what would come of it?

003,005,006 Bug

Good girl, good girl - the one flooding the chat with "good job" is the administrator…Ahh!

004 Vague Lust Lover

I don't really like fawning over those worried eyes, The eyes hiding that dried-out feeling of love, y'know? I always end up forgiving you, Infected by a strong, irritating, illness.

004 ＆ Altair Dependent Fritters

Let’s bare it all, let’s bare it all It’s not good to hide things Look, now, look, now They’re unraveling–one, two, three, all of them If you’re going to proudly show off that fake that you bargained so hard for I’m sure you’re going to put an incredible dress on it Let’s end it, let’s end it Though it only lasts a moment, it leaves a wound that lasts forever

005 The Peachy Key

Casually, I turn my head. It's getting harder to see it. This crossroad is just like a memory that's been preserved in a photo frame. I'm hoping that the stars in the eyes that your eyes gazed into as you walked with me won't dim.

No Logic

Can You hear this song, God? Even if this isn't what You're hoping for, I'm wanting to laugh. And I want to cry when I feel like crying I always want to remain natural no matter the situation Nobody can go back in time, so regrets will happen sometimes I've kept moving forward carefree with these feelings, and that's just fine

006 Weekly Shounen Bye Bye

To grab everyone's hearts, I use psychic powers For questionnaire postcards, I battle desperately I train, I fall in love, I join hands with my rival, But the end in a few days' time seems already a certainty...

[synthy-sizer]

The three of you take your seats on rusty, dingy folding chairs and workshop stools. Lust steps up in front of you and clears her throat. “OK, so the rocket we've been working on is almost completely repaired. Once it is, we'll need to quickly load up necessary supplies and launch. We've gotta be snappy.” “How's the launchpad looking,” Violence asks? “Perfectly functional. It took a lot of patching up and clearing out, but we should be good to go without a disaster. The channels for the smoke probably took more work than the rocket itself.” You think back to the launchpad on Luna. There were huge tunnels pointing out in all directions. So those were to redirect the smoke?

“Is the hull going to hold?” Jordan's voice rings out, too. “She's definitely a patchwork job, but she'll hold. At least all we need is to get her into orbit. If she was going into reentry too, she might not last.”

It's not going into orbit? “Why isn't the rocket going to Luna,” you ask? Lust points at you. “Excellent question. You're a smart one, Sofia.” She picks up a folder, flips through a few pages and hands one to you. It's a diagram of some kind of ship encased in something else. “This is the shuttle we'll actually be taking. The rocket is just going to get us out of the atmosphere. Back in the day, the larger ship would get launched into orbit and hang there, act like a train station or a hub. Shuttles would come in and out and it would patch them up and refuel them. It could land and launch again too, but she's in too rough of shape to handle that now.”

You study the paper a bit more, then pass it back. “Is that why there's so much debris in orbit?” Lust nods. “Yep, that's why you see shooting stars sometimes. It's debris burning up in-atmosphere.”

Violence gently holds your shoulder. “That's all well and good, but what exactly are we doing once we land?” Lust smiles a bit sheepishly. “Right, sorry. Well, we've covered some of this between ourselves, but let's make sure Sofia knows too. We're going to attempt to land on launchpad 1, aka, the one you took off from.” She looks at you, making sure you're following along. “There should still be usable vehicles in the garage, which will let us move quickly. If our estimations are correct, we'll want to be on Luna for as short a time as possible, so that'll help. Next, we're going to the armory. I've crafted and repaired a few weapons myself, but the ones in the armory should be better-maintained and built than what I can make here.”

Now, you're getting confused. And nervous. “I thought you said we weren't going to kill anyone on Luna?” Violence's grip on your shoulder tightens a bit as he answers. “We aren't. But there's a threat there. Or, that we think is there. And it won't be asking questions.” “What threat?” You look around the room. Violence and Jordan dodge your gaze, but Lust looks right at you. “They're called drones. We don't actually know exactly what they are, or what they're capable of. But if our digging into Apollo is correct, they're extremely dangerous. Maybe even stronger than we are.” You suddenly feel a bit faint. “Why? Why did it happen?” The room is silent. “It’s because I left, isn't it? It's my fault that everyone is in danger?”

“It's not your fault.” You turn and look at the owner of the voice. Jordan looks out into space as she continues proselytizing. “Things were always going to go the way they are. It's fate. Sometimes it hurts and feels cruel, but it's all part of the plan. The way things are supposed to be. The way we all find redemption.” The room is silent. Tension hangs in the air. “Sure.” Violence sighs. “Sure. Or, you could argue that it was just inevitable because we were always going to go there, and that if anything bringing you here at least spared you.” You shake your head. “Just move on, please.”

Lust clears her throat. “OK, so we don't know much about drones, but we do know that they're summoned or controlled through a signal. So after we arm ourselves we’re going to the broadcasting station to shut that down. After that, we need a ship.” You frown. “Why? We have the shuttle?” She smiles at you. “Because technology has improved since the shuttle was built. We need access to a warp drive.” You start to ask what that means, but Violence interrupts. “You've told us that before, but I'm still not sure how exactly we're supposed to get access to a ship with a warp drive. Wasn't the ARK the only one that ever had a complete one?” Lust nods. “Yes, it was the only complete one. But how do you think they built it? Why choose Luna to launch from?” This time you finally have a guess.

“The incubators.” Lust nods in satisfaction. “Exactly. Care to elaborate?” You turn and face Violence and Jordan, who are looking at you with curiosity. “When a machine was too complicated to make by hand, or if you had a machine that couldn't be fixed, you would use an incubator. You threw scrap into it and it would build things for you.” Violence tilts his head. “What exactly did this incubator look like?” “It was like a big clump of coiled cables with a hole in the middle. You would throw things in, and they would disappear. And then they would re-emerge in a new shape.” Violence suddenly looks very tense. “Son of a bitch. You want to use the megastructure, don't you?”

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