#she had to be the one to bring up the fucking spider-

[makutaservaela]

A janitor/scientist bio-engineered a bunch of spiders, unleashed the spiders on an island, the spiders wiped out every living thing on the island, and then the dude renamed the now barren rock of an island after the spiders.

The one survivor of the genocide joined the CIA, was renamed "Survivor", and gets stronger the more pissed off at him you get.

Another janitor/scientist tried to science the Skeleton Orcs, gave them absurdly broken powers, and then got exiled for being a massive fuck-up. His name now means "Failure".

In the Skeleton Orcs species, the females are more aggressive. In the prominent Hobbit species, "female" refers to coding that makes one more passive. The main Skeleton Orc gang, who are males by their species rules, are never considered females to the Hobbit species despite the fact that they should be what the Hobbits define as "female".

Some of the janitor/scientists get flash-banged into blindness when they accidentally see Jesus disintegrate. They overcome this blindness by forcing brainwashed slaves to ride piggy-back on them and use telepathy to see out of the slaves' eyes. Two of the slaves are really into this, and after being unbrainwashed, one of those two throws a fit because she preferred the slave job.

There are multiple characters named after real people. One of those real people was the wife of the author.

There are two characters whose names are one letter apart, one of whom was made out of the other, but the similarities of their names is a coincidence.

There is one race of hobbits capable of being either sex. Despite that, the only blue one in the group is the only female.

The light-hobbits and their kin grow larger when standing in God's heart for no discernible reason. This happens to no one else except for one guy, which is explained in story into him just making himself bigger.

A character is killed and immediately replaced by an exact replica whose only stated name is that he is the replacement of the original guy. He's not a clone. He's a completely different guy who looks the exact same and has the same powers.

A guy repeatedly hypnotized his coworker until his coworker became mentally disabled.

A guy repeatedly lashed out at and physically disabled multiple of his coworkers, and they just kept putting up with his shit. They literally had entire rest of the planet to leave to, or multiple armies to use to gang up against him, and instead they all stayed in one place around him and ignored him.

While there is a system set in place to bring people back to life, one character was mauled so violently by sasquatch that it is impossible to revive him.

The lizard tiddy dominatrixes also have wigs and high-heels. They are capable of wearing masks that give superpowers, but would rather not because they are too vain to hide their faces.

Trying to kill yourself in front of your brainwashed friend is a surprisingly effective way of snapping him out of the brainwashing.

A hobbit broke into the CIA's bosses office and was rewarded with employment and a car with legs.

A guy capable of creating anything and who has the ability to teleport himself, other people, and large objects, had something stolen from his office by his janitor/scientist/bodyguard. He threw a tantrum about it and had the CIA murder everyone who knows where his house is, including their own staff, rather than the guy just building better security or moving his house somewhere else.

Cthulu traded bodies with some dude for a while. The above guy is capable of forcing them to swap back against Cthulu's will, yet somehow he still didn't even both considering a way to protect his own house other than whining the CIA into murdering a bunch of people.

A guy was supposed to be a doctor, but was so awful at it that he kept hiding his traumatized patients, and his home became the word for "hell".

Yaoi-Hands Sword-wielding Nerd Husband has an item that lets him open dimensional portals. He considers using it to drop kaijus on cities amusing.

One of the cities Nerd-Husband dropped a kaiju on was the brain of God. Despite dropping a kaiju on the brain of God, there is no mention of him facing any disciplinary actions for this, although he is punished harshly for selling himself as a bruiser to a gang for sentient drugs.

Nerd Husband later fell into a pool of sentient drugs and tripped out so hard he gained ethereal knowledge.

A hobbit has the ability to teleport by walking in slow-motion (granted the place he teleports to is in walking-access). Despite him and his ability being very prominent in the early story, the author of the books never was able to learn what was intended by this guy's power.

Two video games that introduce more lore fluidly to the story than most other media of that time are retconned out of canon.

Reblog with your favourite piece of Cursed Bionicle Lore.

[tremordusk]

My gay ass decided to rewatch Castlevania and-

Will say significantly different viewing experience when sober,

Especially season 3-

[fangswbenefits]

Tension

𓂅 𓄹 Summary: Miguel walks in on you late at night doing something unexpected, which makes things really awkward afterwards…

𓂅 𓄹 Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

𓂅 𓄹 Warnings: 18+!!!. Dark Miguel. Pining. Increasing sexual tension. Masturbation. Oral sex. Breeding kink. Creampie. Cumplay. Size kink. Fangs. This is very filthy… you’ve been warned.

𓂅 𓄹 Words: 3k

In the dark of night your thoughts were your own.

You had absolute freedom to indulge in your desires and quenching that thirst that had been consuming you as of late.

A deep sigh left your left as one hand slid inside your panties, seeking to offer a much needed comfort. Your eyes were glued shut and in the dark of your mind, you had a blank canvas to paint an erotic scenario that would be effective.

His face came up first as the pad of your fingers began circling your swollen clit.

How you wished it could be his long and slender fingers instead.

Red eyes watching you intently as he slowly but surely built up your orgasm.

Wet sounds began to fill your ears as two fingers entered your soaked pussy. A sudden gasp left your parted lips as your mind tried its best to keep the illusion alive.

Your fingers were promptly replaced with his. Back arched and heat quickly spreading across your entire body almost snapped you out of it, but had become quite accustomed to this late night endeavour.

In your mind, Miguel O’hara was a pleaser when it came to intimacy. All his walls would crumble at the prospect of bringing pleasure to his partner.

There was nothing you could do about this.

You craved him more than anything.

More than anyone.

In your mind, he would go for a third finger, just so he could properly prepare you to take all of him.

“Fuck…” you moaned as you pictured him struggling to make it fit.

Your walls clenched around your fingers wishing it would be his cock instead. That bulge left nothing to the imagination. He had to be well endowed.

Soon enough, your mind had you see a flash of his fangs.

Miguel was a predator.

And, in your mind, he would not shy away from baring them as a clear sign of control.

“Miguel…” his name rolled out of your tongue too easily. “Miguel… please…”

Your other hand came to fondle one breast through your shirt wishing it would be him instead.

“Migueeeel, squad 239 is ready for briefing.”

That voice…

Your eyes snapped open as your senses detected someone else in the room. Before you could fully process what was going on, your instincts kicked in and you grabbed your webshooters from the nightstand, ejecting twin strings of solid web at the tall figure in the dark.

Two thin flashes of red and orange tore through air, effectively tearing the webstrings to pieces.

“I’ll be right there.”

You audibly gasped, removing your soaked hand from your underwear.

Miguel O’Hara.

You let out a shriek, hurrying yourself to pull the covers up to your neck, preserving some of your modesty… or what was left of it.

Lyla’s hologram turned to face you. “Oh? Are you okay?”

You could only nod, not trusting yourself to speak any words.

“What did you do to her, Miguel?”

The eyes on his eyes narrowed. “Lyla…”

She ignored him. “Want me to check your vitals?”

“No!” you immediately panicked.

“Lyla,” Miguel’s stern voice was heard again.

The obnoxious assistant appeared next to you in a heartbeat and you were blinded by her orange beam as she scanned you.

“Pupils fully dilated, heart rate at 123 beats per minute, temperature rising, respiratory rate at 20 breaths per minute…” she tapped her chin pensively. “Did you just run a marathon?”

Before you could come up with a ridiculous lie, Miguel intervened. “Lyla, that’s enough. Inform them I’ll be right there.”

She adjusted her pink glasses. “Ooookay!” she chirped before disappearing.

Miguel was fully covered in his suit, his mask hiding whatever thoughts he might have on what he had just witnessed.

It felt like hours as he stood there in silence, facing you.

Fuck.

He had definitely heard you…

“Miguel…”

You thought you saw him take a step towards you, but maybe your vision was betraying you as he turned around instead, and jumped through the open window.

Flashes of his red webbing tore through the night sky like lightning.

Your travel watch suddenly beeped on your wrist, alerting you to catch some sleep.

Out of sheer frustration you ripped it off and threw it across the room with such force that it hit a wall crumbled into pieces.

“You look absolutely terrible, girl.”

“Thanks, Jess.”

Jessica Drew had been a good mentor to you ever since you first joined eight months ago, so you gave her a pass.

The cafeteria was buzzing with the early morning commotion of a few spiders getting some breakfast.

She kept eyeing you with interest. “Rough night?”

“I guess,” you mumbled, before bringing the spider-man themed glass to your lips and taking a sip.

“Because of Miguel?”

You nearly choked on the orange juice, sending a spray across the table that Jess easily avoided.

“W-what?” you stuttered panic came crashing in like a wave. “Miguel?”

Did she know?

She arched an eyebrow. “I mean… he’s been kinda pushy lately, so it adds to the stress.”

Relief poured down on you and you sank into your chair. “Oh, yeah, yeah…”

“I think it’s time he settles, you know?” she carried on, rubbing and staring at her belly with adoration. “Having a family might help him more than he thinks.”

Last night, this topic might have come in handy as a new unlocked fantasy of yours: having Miguel O’hara’s children.

But today, the mention of him at all had your stomach doing somersaults.

“Heeeeey!”

You jumped in your seat and your heart skipped a couple of beats.

“Lyla, you need to stop popping up like that. You’re gonna scare someone to death one day.”

“I do this all the time witn Miguel just to annoy him,” she beamed happily as she started hovering closer to you. “He wants to see you.”

“Speak of the devil…” Jess drawled out with a yawn, taking a bite off an apple.

“Me? Me?” You felt your life drain from your body in that moment.

Lyla nodded. “He can’t get a hold of you through your comlink.”

Oops… the dimensional travel watch that you had smashed to pieces a couple of hours ago.

“Huh… left it at home,” you quickly said. “I think it’s malfunctioning or… something…”

“You should have that fixed soon,” Jessica chimed in.

“Yeah…”

Lyla was staring at you with with an ear-to-ear smile. “Can I tell him you’re on your way?”

“Oh… now?”

“He’s in a terrible mood, so try to be quick.”

Fuck.

“I have stuff to do… can this wait?”

Lyla’s smile didn’t falter. “I wouldn’t keep him waiting if I were you.”

You felt like throwing up, the events of last night replaying in your head like a broken record. He had surely heard you moan his name multiple times. It was obvious he was now ready to confront you about it and probably send you back home never to return.

“Fine…” you mumbled in defeat.

You parted ways with Jessica and started making your way though the busy streets to reach HQ.

As you landed swiftly onto a nearby bridge that led to the elevator, you threw a look a the tall building in front of you, dreading going inside.

“I’m sorry!” you automatically said as you bumped into someone.

“You look awful,” came Hobie’s voice from behind you.

You waved your hand dismissively, keeping your pace, but Gwen suddenly showed up at your side. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Why?” You tried your best to sound convincing with a forced smile.

Hobie was now in front of you, hands shoved in pockets, guitar hanging from his back and inquisitive eyes on you. “Bad mission?”

“Nah,” you sighed as you entered the elevator nearby that would lead you straight to HQ and your early demise. “Just on my way to see Miguel.”

Gwen offered you an understanding look while Hobie merely shrugged. “Yeah, that explains it. Terrible aura that bloke has.”

You pushed the button that would bring you to the top floor and as the doors were sliding shut you saw Hobie saluting you. “Give him hell, kid!”

Easier said than done, but you were thankful for the brief distraction and gave him a heartfelt smile.

You stepped out and into the long corridor that led to his chamber.

By the time you reached the entrance, Miguel’s platform had already began descending.

In its usual torturing pace.

“Hi, Miguel!” you waved enthusiastically as if you weren’t about to go through the humiliation of your life. “Sleep well?”

You cringed at the ridiculous attempt at small talk.

Deafening silence filled the room until the platform had finally come to a stop.

He turned to face you as the multiple screens behind him flashed with different images and text.

“You look… tense,” you added as he stepped down in your direction.

“This is about last night,” he started, red eyes fixed on yours.

Fuck. This was it. You were backed into a corner. There was no way out now.

“Miguel… I can expl—”

“Where are your mission logs?” he quickly cut you off.

Your eyes widened . “What?”

He now had a finger pointed at you, his face drawing near. “You were supposed to register the logs of your mission with Pavitr last night, remember?”

Oh.

“We came in late and…” you were rubbing the back of your head and chuckling throughout in a miserable attempt to lighten the mood. “You know! Headed back to my place and… huh…” your words faltered momentarily. “… I-I… got distracted.”

“Clearly.”

Your heart clenched at his remark.

Miguel kept eyeing you as if expecting you to go on, but you couldn’t bring yourself to work through the humiliation of having the subject of your innermost desires confronting you about it.

Just as you were about to change the topic, he quickly turned his broad back to you, bringing his hands to move files around in front of him, archiving some and swiping through otheres.

You managed to catch a quick glimpse of a few ones of his daughter that he promptly closed.

“You need to start taking this seriously,” he went on, pulling out footage from all around Nueva York. “Where’s your travel watch?”

At this point, you started to wonder if he had actually heard anything. Maybe you hadn’t been that loud. Maybe he had arrived just as Lyla’s hologram showed up. Maybe all this worry was for nothing.

“Huh… it’s… not working properly,” you managed to say as your mouth went dry.

“You need that fixed.”

“Yeah, I’ll bring it to tech later today.”

Miguel’s head turned to face you. “I created it. I’ll fix it.”

Panic spread inside you like wildfire. “Oh! No-no! It’s fine. Really. Can’t you just give me a new one?”

In a blink of an eye, he was already facing you again, towering dangerously close. “Do you have it with you?”

You shook your head, too scared to breathe.

“Then let’s go to your apartment.”

“Why?”

His face was so close you felt as if he’d swallow you with his red eyes. “Time is valuable. Don’t waste mine.”

This was definitely an overkill. As grateful as you were that he would personally try to fix your watch, you soon realised you had put your foot in your mouth.

And as the two of you made your way out of HQ and to your place, you couldn’t push away the feeling that something was… off.

Miguel seemed on edge.

Maybe it was just your paranoia, but he seemed tense. Well, more than usual, that is.

The rest of the trip — through immense crouds of various spiders to web-swinging — was done in utmost silence until you reached your destination.

“Lyla?” he called out all of a sudden.

The tiny hologram popped up instantaneously. “Yes, boss?”

“Pause your live updates, unless it’s an emergency.”

“You gotta say the magic word first.”

Miguel growled. “What word?”

She had a devious look on her face as her heart-shapped glasses slid down to the tip of her nose.

He sighed. “Please.”

Lyla snapped her fingers with a smile. “Not so hard, was it?”

The hologram vanished just as you were about to unlock the front door with the fingerprint scanner. You walked in first, grateful that you had left the apartment in a presentable state, safe for a few books and shirts scattered all around.

Miguel just stood there.

“Hmm… I’ll go get… it…”

You hurried inside your bedroom, trying to pick all the tiny pieces of the deceased watch that lay on the carpet.

Having Miguel here would have been a delight under much different circumstances, but now you just wished a hole in the ground would swallow you whole.

He was still standing where you’d left it and when you handed him the object, you saw a frown settle on his face. “No wonder it’s not working. What happened?”

“Oh! Yeah! I stepped on it… accidentally!” you quickly added with a chuckle, embarrassed pooling inside you.

“Can I sit down?” he asked point at the couch.

“Of course! Mi casa es tu casa!”

You mentally slapped yourself at the abhorrent accent and winced at Miguel’s unimpressed expresssion.

“How often does it happen?”

That threw you for a loop. “Huh… it was the first time, actually.”

“Are you sure?”

What?

You blinked a couple of times, waiting for him to clarify.

Something dark flashed across his eyes. “Was it the first time you touched yourself thinking about me?”

Nothing could have prepared you for the words that had just left his mouth, and you jaw nearly dropped to the floor.

On Miguel’s end, he seemed unbothered, returning his attention to the object in his hands.

“I… huh… you… you heard that…”

It wasn’t a question. You already had the answer, but he had completely caught you off guard.

“You were being particularly loud.”

Heat rushed to your face and you felt absolutely mortified. “I’m sorry… I didn’t know you were there…”

He shrugged. “I had come by to check in on you after your mission,” he informed, tinkering with some screws. “You had your window open.”

Ah… yes… spiders and windows. Why knock on doors when you can simply swing inside?

But something wasn’t adding up. “Why… would you check on me? Pavitr delivered the report, right?”

Miguel stood up at once and flashed in front of you. “I’ve been watching you lately.”

You swallowed. “What… what do you mean?”

He backed you against the wall behind you and you vaguely wondered if this was some sort of test. Maybe a joke?

“Playing innocent, now?”

He was not making any sense at all. “Miguel… what…”

“I know how you feel about me,” he said in a whisper. “I’m quite good at reading people and their intentions.”

You wanted to disappear right there and then.

“Last night… I took a detour and decided to remind you to be a good girl and do upload your mission logs, but…” he paused, eyes landing on your lips. “I was presented with something that stirred something in me instead.”

You could feel his body nearly touching yours, heart racing at an alarming rate and the urge to arch into him.

“You were so lucky I had to brief that squad…” he went on, lips ghosting your cheek. “I would have ravaged you right there.”

Your knees almost gave up under you. “Miguel… I..”

“What? Do you think it was easy to turn away from that sight? You were so wet I could nearly taste it.”

And just like that, your clit started throbbing and your eyes fluttered shut.

All reason abandoned your mind. Logic would have told you to go slow and easy, but your primal instinct spoke louder.

“Then why didn’t you come back later?” you whispered into his lips, whishing he’d take yours at once.

“I would have broken you.”

Your eyes shot open.

Now you knew why he seemed off.

It wasn’t tension from the overload of work. He wasn’t on edge, because protecting the multiverse was taking a toll on him.

“You’re so willing… so responsive to my touch,” he said, planting the faintest kiss to your lips before breaking it. “Last night I felt an overwhelming need to breed you.”

You vaguely remembered Jessica’s words earlier on.

“So, tell me… what were you thinking about last night?”

“You…”

Miguel pressed his lower half against yours, making you fully unware of how much he wanted you. “Be specific,” he snarled.

Your clit was throbbing so painfully, you considered rubbing yourself on him for some added friction.

You did want to tell him all about your fantasies. How you have been craving him for months. How you’d have wet dreams time and time again. How you’d make up excuses to visit him at HQ. How you wished you could be his.

But no words came out.

“How many fingers were inside you?”

“Two…”

He started rolling his hips slowly, providing much needed satisfaction to your swollen clit. “Can you take more?”

You buncked into his impressive erection, knowing fully well why he wanted to know.

“One more…”

And then Miguel O’hara growled.

He had one hand loosely wrapped around your neck as he finally captured your lips with his. You had been experienced many types of kisses before. Soft, needy, sloppy, hurried… but you had never once experienced this level of hunger.

You let him deep the kiss with his tongue and felt yours brush along his sharp fangs.

He kept you in place with one hand when you heard and felt the sound of fabric being torn. You immediately tensed up, but Miguel reassured you by breaking the kiss to stare down the length of your exposed front, your spider suit now ruined.

The cool air hardened your exposed nipples and you saw more hunger in his eyes.

“I want to breed you.”

You arched your back, offering more of yourself to him, sure that this was just wordplay coming from him to spice things up.

Conveniently enough, Miguel had the ability to make his suit disappear at free will, eliminating the process of having to undress. The moment your eyes landed on him again, he was fully naked and you were left speechless.

He looked so inviting… from his toned torso all the way down to his thick cock pressed between you two, beads of precum sliding down the tip.

“It’s too big…” you mumbled as it dawned on you how much bigger than you he was… in every sense of the word.

Miguel pressed you against the wall, lifted one of your legs to wrap around his waist and allowed his cock to freely slide along your wet folds.

The hand on your neck tightened lightly. “Miguel… it won’t fit…”

“It will.”

You shuddered from the delicious friction against your clit and felt a gush of wetness drip from your pussy. Your body was trying its best to get ready to accommodate him, but you feared it wouldn’t be enough.

He kissed your jawline before sliding down to your shoulder and then you felt his sharp fangs teasing your skin.

“I heard that you can paralise someone with a bite…” you moaned as wet sounds filled your ears.

“Don’t worry, little one,” he chuckled as he applied some pressure teasingly. “I won’t do that to you… for now.”

He removed your leg from around him and brought one hand down to his cock. “Grab it.”

You did as you were told, enjoying the feeling of his hard cock being completely soaked. He set the pace by wrapping his own fingers on top of yours.

“Just like that…” he hissed, baring his set of fangs. “Tighter…”

You did try, but he was too thick to do that properly. Your eyes were glued to the sight of more and more beads of precum sliding down his knuckles. He was deliciously ready to take you.

“If you’re any tighter than this, I won’t last…” he mumbled, biting his lower lip until it drew blood.

He was driving you over the edge with his words and you weren’t sure you’d be able to withstand so much stimulation all at once.

You gave his cock a few more pumps before he hauled you into his arms with little no effort.

“Hey!”

“I want to taste you,” was his response as he lowered you on the couch. “Eyes on me.”

He parted your legs and settled between them, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh, giving you goosebumps. Your back arched again as he tore through the rest of your suit with his retractable claws.

“Look.”

Your eyes landed exactly on what he wanted you to see: your clit was so swollen it was nearly peeking through your folds.

“So pretty…”

His tongue glided along your folds, parting them gently before he started sucking on your clit. You immediately jerked reflexively into him and fell flat on your back, not able to hold back your moans.

Every fantasy and wet dream you had had of this man could never come close to the real deal.

“Miguel…”

He groaned into you, the vibration making you buck your hips, yearning for more.

And be provided. He started with one finger slinding inside your pussy, but soon added a second one.

As he let go of your clit you promted yourseld on your elbows to revel at the sigh of Miguel O’hara having your juices running down his chin.

“Think you can take another one?”

You pouted.

“Please don’t do that… I’ll fill you up with my cock right now if you give me that look again…”

You rode his two fingers slowly, enjoying the stretch, but feeling more and more emboldened by the ego boost he was giving you.

“Miguel…” you moaned, eyes fixed on his. “I… think I’m ovulating.”

Honestly, you had no idea. It wasn’t something you bothered keeping track, but you figured he might enjoy it if you joined his game.

But, as they say, be careful with what you wish for…

He mumbled a string if curses in Spanish, immediately removing his fingers from inside you and flipping you onto your stomach.

“Why would you say that…”

You saw his face from the corner of your eye. He looked utterly unhinged.

“I thought you might want me to play along…”

Miguel placed his hand on your hips and had you arch your back to him, giving him better access to your dripping pussy.

“Oh, you think I’m joking?” He growled and you felt the tip of his cock nudging at your entrance. “I really, really want to breed you.”

Your eyes widened. “Miguel?”

“You’re perfect,” he said. “I want you to carry my child.”

Your pussy clenched around nothing and he seized the opportunity to slide the tip inside, earning a muffled cry from you. You had to bite down on a pillow to keep from screaming at the overwhelming sensation.

“Stop clenching…” pleaded, gripping your hips tighter. “You have to relax… or…”

Miguel bucked his hips and you felt more of his cock stretching you and you couldn’t help but to clench tightly from the pain.

“Miguel… it’s too much… please,” you cried out, squirming under him.

He let out a guttural groan. “You have to stop clenching…” he said. “Can you do that for me?”

You nodded and tried your best to relax.

“Good girl…” he praised you, rubbing your hips gently with his thumbs. “Almost there… look at me.”

You did so.

“Bite down on that pillow.”

Your eyes widened.

“No, no! Don’t clench or I’ll cum… I won’t last longer if you keep doing this,” he seemed desperate at this point.

But you did as he had asked and he took the opportunity to bottom out, letting out an animalistic growl.

Just as your were getting adjusted to his size, Miguel began to set a rhythm that would leave you gasping for air and gripping the fabric of your couch with such force you feared you might pull something.

You suddenly felt two fingers rolling your clit in between, which had you arching your back even deeper, craving more and more.

“I need you to cum first…” he was panting heavily now and you figured it was taking all of his will-power to not blow his load right there and then.

He rubbed your clit in unison with his thrusts and the familiar coil started to grow in your lower abdomen.

“Miguel…. Miguel….” you moaned in between gasps as you reached the point of no return.

By the time you had reached the edge and were hit with an overwhelming wave of orgasm, you noticed he had pulled out, leaving your to clench around nothing and being sent into your peak with just his fingers on your clit.

“Put it back!” you protested, backing into him and nearly crying from the loss of friction. “Fuck you!”

“Go on… that’s it… ride it out,” he said, having to steady your hips with one hand.

Your legs started spasming uncontrollably and then you felt him shove his cock in one go.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck….” you moaned.

Miguel was too far gone and it was obvious he had wanted you to reach your orgasm first so he could feel those rhythmic contractions.

That was what brought him over the edge.

You were now coming out of that haze of unmatched pleasure when he bottomed out once more and spilled inside you.

Miguel was gripped the back of your couch and you saw and heard his claws digging into it as he pumped more and more cum. His growl of pleasure echoed across your apartment and you wondered how many of your fellow spider neighbors had been able to hear it.

You felt broken… exhausted… read to go to sleep and never wake up.

Your breathing was erratic and your heart drummed loudly in your ears. Miguel pulled out slowly and you collapsed on your side, feeling splurts of his cum pouring out.

“Fuck…” he panted, nearly stumbling back.

Out of curiosity, you reach between your legs and gathered a small amount of his cum in your fingers so you could taste him.

“Do I taste good?” he asked as he shoved the rest of the spilling liquid back inside your pussy.

Your tongue darted out to lick your fingers. “Come find out.”

It didn’t surprise you that Miguel’s stamina insanely high and that he had managed to regain his composure.

He slid to the floor and kneeled in front of you, kissing you and, as you parted your lips, you allowed him to taste himself on you.

“I’m going to have so much fun with you,” he grinned, helping you shift on your back. “Now stay still for a couple of minutes.”

“Why?” you mumbled, finally able to get your breath under control.

Miguel O’hara had his suit on once again. “Did you actually think I didn’t mean what I said?”

His mask now covered his face as he leaned to plant a kiss to your forehead through the fabric. “You are going to bear my child.”

[queenimmadolla]

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

next ┊ 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Summary: After a series of unfortunate events in your life, and lonelier than ever, you often turn to a dead guy and his tombstone for comfort. Never in your wildest, fucked up dreams did you imagine he’d turn to you for the same thing, but you find yourself hiding a living corpse, bringing him further to life, reaping some justice, and cutting off a lot of body parts all while trying to fit in and falling in love.

a/n: Part One is here! Just want to say thank you to my friends for hearing me rant and rave about Lisa Frankenstein for weeks now, though I’ve been unbearable with this concept in my head. This will be the longest chapter, just to establish some stuff, but we’ll get to the slaying! Hope you love Undead!Zombie!Eddie as much as I do. Happy reading! (p.s.,there will be some romantic smut in a later part)

Chapter warnings: a bit steve harrington x reader, some eddie munson x other female, death of a family member, brief description of SA (bordered with RED DIVIDERS if you’d like to skip), mistreatment of Reader, suicidal ideation (reader just has dark humor), implied murder, very campy, very cunty.

THEN, 1986.

  “Where you head’n too so in a hurry, boy?” Wayne Munson asked, sat on the couch with a mug of steaming hot coffee in one hand and the television remote in the other as he watched his nephew bounce around the trailer, grabbing all of the the items he let haphazardly around. 

  Wayne always told him to pick up his things, but like the rambunctious boy he was, there was no breaking out of his messy habits.

  “I got people to see, pops. Things to do. Trouble to ‘cause, cops to anger, you know the drill.” Eddie didn’t even need to turn around to know his uncle was scowling but he was proven correct when he turned to throw his father figure a shit eating grin over his shoulder, “Kidding, old man. Mom had me baptized when I was a baby, remember? I can do no wrong, like Achilles.” 

  “Wha’?”

  “Ugh, dad. If I have to explain the joke, it ruins it. I’ll be back by dinner, alright?”

  Wayne fixed him with a pointed look, “You best be on your best behavior, you hear me?”

  “Always.” Eddie gave a mock salute before dipping out the front door, still grinning as he tossed the keys of the van and caught them midair. 

  While he wasn’t necessarily going to cause trouble, he certainly would be providing the fun grass, powder and pills that were often behind it. Eddie knew Wayne was aware of what he did, had implied so when talking about how he knew Eddie was a good kid, just living in the wrong circumstances sometimes. Always said he wanted nothing but the best for his boy and for Eddie to realize he was meant for more than what this particular town forced on him. 

  Made Eddie’s chest tight, but seeing things like the broken patio board—Eddie had accidentally stomped through it after seeing a spider—reinforced Eddie’s belief that he’d much rather help out any way he could than let his uncle bear the financial weight of providing for him. 

  The van roared to life, after sputtering for a good seven seconds, and Eddie revved the engine a little. As he let her warm up, something in the side mirror caught his attention. 

  Someone. 

  Sheila. His neighbor in the trailer across the street. She was hauling a box to a car, looked rather heavy and Eddie would have dropped everything to scramble over and help her, had it not been for Mr.Brawn at her side. 

  Eddie watched as the guy, who stole the girl he was in love with right out of his arms, grabbed the box. The two lovers exchanged words which ended with them laughing at something as she followed him to the car.

  He slid the box into the packed car as she climbed into the passenger seat, and before Eddie knew it, he was watching her drive away, right out of his life forever.

  Eddie hadn’t even realized he was clutching his steering wheel so tight, his knuckles were straining against the skin, hot tears pooling at his waterline but he refused to let them fall. He’d shed more than enough tears over her, over what could have been.

  They started off so promising; throwing flirty waves from their bedroom windows, occasionally at school, before she approached him for weed. After that, came the whirlwind romance and Eddie hadn’t considered himself a romantic before—hadn’t had a whole lot of opportunities to make that discovery but he was so fucking romantic. A big sap. And he wasn’t ashamed of it. 

  Until she’d graduated, and he hadn’t. Again. Turns out, not trying at academics all year and then aiming to ace finals wasn’t enough. 

  Suddenly, all the bullshit naive plans they had to run away somewhere far from Hawkins weren’t possible. At least, Sheila couldn’t with Eddie. 

  He lost her to a guy in another band, had made the mistake of taking a piss after he and Corroded Coffin performed to their tiny ass crowd, and had come back to see her talking to the keyboardist of the band that had gone on before them. She looked entranced, leaning forward to hang on to whatever the fuck he was saying. When Eddie had gone over to ask her if she was ready to head out, fully prepared to tuck her under his arm and way from the keyboardist, she’d insisted and told him to his face, in front of his apparent competition, that she was gonna stick around a little longer and he should head out without her.

  He’d spent the entire night pacing in front of his window, glancing out of it every five minutes and every time he heard a pair of wheels turn onto the dirt road. Eddie got his confirmation when his car happened to be one of them. He’d watched, heart splintering, as the keyboardist got out of the car and walked around to open her door for her before they disappeared into her trailer. Eddie knew her dad worked nights. Knew what she and that musician were doing and he’d thrown up the entire contents of his stomach at the imagery before passing out.

  Eddie woke up to Sheila hovering above him and framed by the glow of the bathroom light like some angel. She’d dumped him right there and left the spare key he’d trusted her with on the table.

  And now, she was living her dream with someone else while Eddie got to stick around this shitty town with these people who could barely stand him for no reason (and yeah, okay, maybe he’d poke their buttons). In truth, while he was a little heartbroken over her, it was the fact that she still got her happy ending that hurt the most.

  The girls around Hawkins might have been interested in maybe hooking up with him, but they weren’t interested in being Eddie’s girl. Weren’t interested in falling stupid in love with him, making plans to start a life together. Didn’t want him in their plans.

  Eddie Munson was lonely. And it sucked.

  With a heavy sigh, he cranked on the radio, fingers twisting the volume dial up to the most obnoxious level before shifting the gear to drive.

  “It’ll get better, Munson. Love ain’t no stranger.” He mumbled, sucking on his teeth and pulling out on the road.

  If he had known then where it would lead him, where the night would take him, he would have at least hugged his uncle. It would be the last time he saw him, and it would be the last time Wayne Munson saw his nephew alive.

  Three days later, he’d be identifying and weeping over his boy’s body in the morgue after reporting Eddie missing when he didn’t come home.

  NOW, 1989

  “Where are you going? It’s almost time for breakfast.” Chrissy called out, head poking out from her bedroom as she watched you race down the hall.

  “Not hungry! I’ll be back soon!” You called over your shoulder, the large sheet of craft paper wrinkling in your hand as you took the stairs two at a time before bounding down the short entryway.

  You’d almost crossed the foyer and then slammed yourself back against the wall as you saw Laura, Chrissy’s mom, fiddling with something at the table. She had the radio on, some garbage self help tape spewing nonsense to her, and that condescending smile on her face.

  Yeah, you’d be avoiding her, lest you wish to be verbally and eloquently belittled. How Chrissy came out of her toxic womb to be such a good person, you’d never understand. 

  When Laura crossed into the kitchen, you sprinted for the door, fumbling a little with the knob in your urgency, but once you got it open, you were out, running across the walkway and the fencing around the house until you were in the woods behind it.

  Only then did you feel safe, the trees a welcome reprieve from your living situation, the magnifying glass this new town had you under, and from the world in general.

  You’d come from a small town before Hawkins, so you were used to small town living. But these people were so judgemental. You hadn’t even grabbed a box from the moving van before your neighbors were casting you snide looks, noses turning up and backs to you as they watered their yard and lounged about.

  Four months later, nothing had changed. If anything, they were more open with their disdain for you, commenting on your demeanor (and you were a cool fucking person), outfits, hair, body. It was annoying. They were annoying. EVERYTHING was annoying. 

  You didn’t even want to be there but you had no real choice. You’d graduated high school a couple of years ago and despite the popular teenage notion that you’d simply pack up your things, go to college and be successful at whatever career you wanted, life did not happen like the movies. The freedom you’d been promised by your own delusions never came. That bitch came with a hefty price tag and you weren’t exactly jumping into a safe of gold coins like Scrooge McDuck with your minimum wage job. 

  You’d gotten into several schools of your choice, but scholarships wouldn’t be nearly enough to cover it, and you’d literally have to sell your entire body to science if you wanted to be able to afford the loans you were being offered, since their interest rates were higher than the standard human beings’ lifespan. 

  So, living with the ‘rents was checked off on your list of things you didn’t want to continue doing past your high school graduation. And hey—you were only 19 years-old! You were still young! Just save up a few years, and maybe one day you’d be able to think about taking a loan. You had time. What could possibly go wrong to throw your plans off?

  Your mother was murdered.

  Yeah, that was a bummer. Could’ve been worse, you supposed. You could have died with her, when your home had been broken into, and sometimes you wish you had. Alas, you were still breathing, albeit extremely traumatized. But only good ol’ mom was six feet in the ground, in an entirely different town, because your father had also moved on a mere few months after her death, with the worst woman to leave flaming footprints on the earth’s crust, and they’d eloped after like six dates before moving you to a town where you knew no one.

  Thinking about it actually made you sick and feel a little delusional. 

  The only real good thing about your entire soap opera of a year was the community college you’d been able to enroll in. You had no real idea what you wanted to do in life, had no real drive for career paths, but you were doing something, and that something kept the she-devil that was your stepmother off your back. Most of the time. Some of the time. She couldn’t say you were a deadbeat yet.

  Chrissy, your sweet to a definitive and insensitive fault step-sister had pushed you into going with her for registration. Convinced you it was the perfect way to make some friends. It was hard to say no to Chrissy, she had a way with people and could make the meekest soul feel like they were capable of anything and everything. She could always see the best in people, and she was outgoing. Your time in Hawkins had been brief, but you’d easily gathered Chrissy was popular, a former cheerleader (and she’d successfully tried out for the community college team) and beloved by all. While part of you felt a little jealous at her confidence, you admired her more. She was never intentionally mean to you, either. She made the occasional comment, but it seemed like Chrissy had more so a filter problem, rather than spitting anything out with sugar coated hostility like her mother. Chrissy was...nice. After everything you've been through, you could use a little nice in your life.

  And sometimes nice was also the woods behind your house, as it led to the Hawkins’ Cemetery. 

  Morbid, sure, but you couldn’t help yourself. After a particularly nasty encounter with Laura the first week of your Hawkins sentence, and feeling lonelier than you’d ever felt before, you’d gone for a walk, tears decorating your face with wet trails as you tried to physically hold yourself together, arms wrapped around yourself. 

  You’d arrived at the cemetery, and because you couldn’t pay your mother a visit, you decided the only decent thing to do was visit other lonely souls.

  You’d stopped to pay your respects to just about every tombstone and plaque, but one in particular caught your attention.

  Tucked away in a corner and separate from the other graves, under a weeping willow, was the most damaged tombstone of them all. Parts of it were broken off, a lot of the information pertaining to the individual underneath it was seemingly grated off. You had no idea who it was, the only remaining legible letters were MUN and you figured it was he simply because you’d taken some paper to the tombstone for etching and ran a black crayon over it. You’d been able to make out the word ‘he’ on the paper and deduced it had once read may he rest in peace. 

  The state of his tombstone surprised you, given how recent the date of death was. While his birth date had also been worn away, the year of death—1986–had been left. It was 1989. No way his grave should’ve looked like that.

  Apparently, even the groundskeeper avoided his part of the cemetery. The grass around his grave was overgrown, and pitiful. So, you’d gone home, grabbed the lawn mower, and pushed it all the way over. You’d ended up disgusting, covered in grass, dirt and sweating like a cheater on a Sunday morning, but his grave was looking better. You’d taken to caring for his grave after that. A bunch of your trinkets and things you'd seen that you immediately thought he’d like surrounded him now and you’d even planted some bluebells. 

  He also made surprisingly good conversation, even though he never talked to you. His presence, while mostly imaginary to you, was comforting. 

  So, during any free time you had, you were sat against his tombstone, chatting about your day, life, whatever you wanted. Felt like he was always listening, no matter the subject and it was really lovely to be heard.

  When you arrived at the cemetery, it was practically vacant, with just the red headed girl you normally saw. You didn’t see her all the time, she was just one of the faces you saw the most, and that was only a handful of occasions. For the most part, Hawkins didn’t seem keen on remembering the dead. 

  “Hope you haven’t been lonely without me,” You greeted as you approached his tombstone, ducking under a few low hanging willow branches that still brushed over you anyways. You’d have to ‘borrow’ Laura’s shears soon, the willow tree was hauntingly beautiful around his grave, but you wanted its branches and leaves to frame his grave, not conceal it, “I missed you.”

  It was a little odd, but you did. 

  When you weren’t at his grave, you were thinking about him, trying to put a face to MUN, wondering what his life had been like. Did he have any loved ones? What had his interests been? How had he died? Had he felt as lonely as you did?

  “I know, I know.” You settled onto the grass in front of his tombstone, securing the craft paper to his tombstone with some masking tape, “I was just here last night.” You imagined he would say.

  “I just can’t stay away from you. You have a very intriguing aura: I can’t see it because you’re dead, and that makes me want to know you more.” You pulled a black crayon from your pocket and went about scribbling on the paper, over where you knew MUN would be etched in stone, “I’ve said it a million times, and you’ve probably turned over in your coffin repeatedly because of it, but you’re the only one who understands me. And you’re the only one here that I care about—probably in the whole world actually, except maybe Chrissy but I know her friends think I’m weird, and I don’t want to drag her down with me.”

  Once the letters appeared on the paper, you sprawled out STER and you dropped the crayon to produce a pretty hot pink marker from your pocket instead, signing your name with a little heart to go with it just above the last name you’d crafted for him.

  The odds of this dude being a Munster were slim to none, but you thought it was fitting for someone who lived in a cemetery.

  You sat back on your haunches to admire it, it was a cute piece. Would look nice on your wall and whenever you missed him and found yourself longing to be near his grave, all you’d have to do is turn on your side and you'd be able to see part of him. 

  You ripped the paper off his tombstone, and weighed it down on the grass with a rock. With that out of the way, you gave him your full attention, shuffling until your head and shoulder were leaning against the stone, “Would you wanna be dragged down with me? Be seen with me? I’m somewhat of a pariah around here. Did you have better luck when you were still kicking?”

  You figured with how fucked up his tombstone had been, probably not. You imagined he’d confirm it, too. Just out right say, ‘Nah, these assholes hated me.’

  “Yeah, looks like we’re two peas in a pod.” Then you glanced down, fingers, twirling the blades of grass over his grave, “Or, you know. Casket.”

  You let silence fall over you, broken only by the chirping of birds in surrounding trees.

  “Goddamit, why do you have to be dead?” Your eyelids fluttered close, and instead of the cold stone, you imagined your head pressed against a warm chest, rising and falling with breaths, and a heartbeat thumping strong below your ear, pushing blood throughout his body. Imagined he was alive, arms slipping around you, firm and strong to hold you together so you didn't have to anymore.

  But he wasn’t, and you were reminded when the groundskeeper shouted, “HEY!”

  You shot up, glancing around until you saw him by the entrance with a leaf blower, “YOU AWAKE?”

  What kind of a dumbass question was that? Sure, it had looked like you were asleep but you were clearly alert now.

  “YEAH!” You shrieked back to be heard, and he went back to not caring. 

  “He can see me leaning against your tombstone, but he can’t see overgrown grass, weeds, rocks, or your grave in general when I’m not here. Men, always so selective, amirite?”

  You glanced at the stone, half expecting it to respond. “Eh, what do you know, you’re just a man, too.” You reached your arm back, knuckles trailing over MUN.

  “Despite you mouthing off to me most of the time, I brought you something.” You reached into your other pocket and pulled out a necklace, lined with black pearls and a cross pendant. It had been your mother’s. While she had a pension for religion, it wasn’t something you thought about. Dying, sure, but whatever afterlife? Not so much. Felt wrong, sometimes, to carry it around with you—felt like you were disrespecting her a little bit to not believe what she did, even though she had no qualms with it when she was alive. So, you figured why not trust it with the other important person in your life?

  “Pretty, huh? It was my mom’s. She’s dead, like you. You wouldn’t happen to have seen her around, would you?” You joked, fingers stroking over the pearls. There was no risk in leaving them with your dead friend, people avoided him and you had a feeling even grave robbers wouldn’t dare step near the willow, so they’d probably be with him for the rest of eternity, “I want you to have them, take care of them for me.”

  You placed the necklace over the peak of his tombstone, smiling when they didn’t fall from their place, “Mm, you look good in them. Better than I do, I’m not big on pearls. More of a silver jewelry kind of girl. I could do gold and diamonds, though, only for a wedding ring.”

  You held your arm out, admiring your ring hand void of any actual rings, “Nothing too gaudy, of course. That’s what my earrings are for.” 

  Your eyes trailed from your outstretched fingers, to your wrist, and the watch decorating it. The time made you heave a heavy sigh, “I gotta go. Chrissy’s dragging me to a party tonight, so I’ve got to mentally prepare for that. You’ll think of me while I’m away, won’t you?”

  Trailing a finger down the stone, you leaned forward to press your lips to it in a sweet kiss. 

  “I’ll be back soon, and this time I won’t forget my book of sonnets. I know how much you love the cynical poems I force on you.”

  And though you announced your departure, you found it hard to leave him, like you always did. It took all you had to gather your crayon, marker, and your new poster (and you kept dropping all three to have an excuse to linger) and leave the cemetery behind, glancing back impulsively every couple of steps until it was no longer in view, and the moment it wasn’t you wanted to drop everything and run back to him.

  You had to remind yourself he was a stranger, who didn’t care for you, rotting in the ground. And it sucked. 

  “I don’t wanna go.” You announced, staring into the bathroom mirror you shared with Chrissy. You’d just finished your makeup, eyes heavily lined, and lashes coated an electric blue that made your eyes pop. You were always a little heavy handed with your makeup, you figured the whole point of it was to use it as you wanted. Your hair had been manipulated to hell and back, but regardless of what you did, you were unsatisfied with the girl staring back at you, “I’ll just stay home.”

  “Not on my watch!” Chrissy declared, reaching in front of you for her pink lipstick. The bathroom counter was littered with your combined beauty products, “This is the first major rager of the year, the perfect social gathering. You need to meet people, sissy.” 

  You scowled at the idea, “I have met people.”

  Chrissy tubed the lipstick bullet, rubbing her lips together as she gave you a concerned side-eye, “People who like you, sissy.”

  Ouch, there’s that brutal honesty.

  “It’s not good for you to be on your own all the time,” She set the lipstick down so she could place a dainty hand on your shoulder, big blue eyes focused on you, “I worry about you. Daddy and mom worry about you. Your doctor worries about you. You need to get out more.” Chrissy stressed, pink lips pulling into a reassuring smile before she went back to focusing on the mirror and her makeup.

  You let out a heavy sigh, mulling her words over. Definitely could have been phrased better, but Chrissy was right. You were currently the town recluse, and occupying your room and the town cemetery wouldn’t change that. 

  “That blush isn’t the right shade for you, sissy.” Chrissy broke you from your thoughts and your eyes drifted back over to your reflection, the girl looking so unsure and right back at you, “You really have to accentuate your features, compliment them, because you’re already beautiful.” 

  Didn’t feel like it.

  Your expression must have given your inner thoughts away because Chrissy turned to you again, practically bouncing, “Wait a minute, you could use my tanning bed!”

  You deadpanned at the mention of the ridiculous full on salon tanning bed that Chrissy owned. There was a dedicated mini garage in the backyard for it, next to the pool, and complete with neon lights, her beauty pageant trophies and sashes as well as her cheer trophies. The PG&E bill was always through the roof for the Tan Shack alone, and you still had no idea how Laura could afford it.

  “No, Chrissy I-I don’t think that would work on me. At all.”

  Chrissy waved off your concerns, “It’s not about the tan, or even if you can tan. It’s the experience. When I lay in that tanning bed, with those little goggles on my eyes and I can hear the buzzing, I feel myself blooming. Regardless of whether or not my skin actually tans,” It didn’t. Chrissy burned but she somehow still looked good, “I feel amazing about myself.”

  “Are you sure that’s not cancer?”

  “You’re so funny!” Chrissy laughed even though you were being serious, “Sissy, every girl deserves to feel beautiful. If I can provide you with an experience that might raise those confidence levels that are dragging across a nail-covered floor right now, why wouldn’t I?”

  Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to decipher if that was a compliment or not, but you didn’t have long to mull it over before Chrissy was framing your face with her hands. 

  “And I can. Please, let me do this.”

  You groaned, long and drawn out and awkward, before squeezing your eyes shut and slowly nodding your head. She squealed, clapped her hands together and dragged you out of the bathroom.

  After explaining how it all worked, Chrissy bid you a cheerful goodbye and left you to your own devices so she could finish getting ready for the night ahead of you both.

  You’d selected your tan level, positive you wouldn’t see any real results but maybe the ‘experience’ would benefit you and shed your fuzzy slippers and robe, leaving you in some boy shorts and a tank top as you tried to settle yourself in the tanning bed. The dip was awkward, and you couldn’t get a good grasp on the top of the tanning bed since it was meant to only open and close rather than stay in position so grasping onto it for balance as you lowered yourself in led to you conking yourself on the head with a noticeable bonk.

  You hissed in pain, rubbing the sore area as you clambered the rest to the way in. Once you’d stretched your legs out, lowered the top, maneuvered the goggles over your face and waited for the magic to happen as you were surrounded by neon blue lights.

  You heard the buzzing as the tanning bed started up. The magic happened alright. The entire tanning bed shocked you, and you shrieked as you felt the intense electric current ripple throughout your body, sparking every single pore in the worst way possible.

“I’m so sorry you got electrocuted, sissy.”

  Chrissy broke the silence as you sulked in the passenger seat, your hair a little bigger than normal and not a result of styling. After getting all five senses shocked out of you, you’d come out with a hairdo that would not usually be up to par with you, and some serious case of static electricity. You’d tried to gently press your hair down and when you saw a literal spark in it, you decided to just leave it alone.

  Your step-sister had been apologizing since.

  “It’s alright. I survived.” And you wanted to forget about it. 

  You could see Chrissy glancing nervously at you from the corner of your eye as she drove you to the party location.

  “So…how are you liking Hawkins Community, so far?” She asked, thankfully changing the subject. 

  “It’s fine. The campus looks relatively the same as the community college I toured in my old town. Classes are decent.” Pitiful. The classes were so boring and straight out of the book, but it cost you a fraction of a fraction of what you’d have to pay to attend a university. 

  Chrissy lips turned up in a mischievous smile and you internally groaned, fully expecting her next question.

  “See any cute boys?” And then, as an afterthought, “Or…girls?” Then she took her eyes off the road again, squinting at you as if she was trying to assess something, “Or…..anyone?” 

  You betrayed yourself, eyes darting to the window before they were back on her and she perked up in the driver’s seat. 

  “Okay, spill.”

  Your heart started thumping wildly in your chest as one particular guy came to mind, but you hadn’t thought about him too much. Hadn’t allowed yourself to entertain the idea of a romance with him. That’s how people got their hopes up and letdown.

  “Sissy! Sissy, come on. You have to tell me. I’m your only friend!” 

  This time, you could tell she was joking, even though she did have merit. You bit your lip as she ribbed you a bit more, the corners of your lips tugging up into a smile. 

  “Okay, okay!” Your hands flew to cover your face, embarrassed, shy and a little giddy all at once to actually be admitting you had a crush. 

  “Steve Harrington.”

  “STEVE HARRINGTON?” She repeated, incredulous and you shushed her even though it was only you two in the car.

  “Sissy, that’s so unexpected! I haven’t really seen him since high school but I didn’t think he’d be your type.” Chrissy admitted with a shrug of her shoulders.

  “He works in the library.” You sighed out, recalling your brief interactions with him when checking out a couple of books. He’d been kind, made a couple of humorous comments about the titles, and always tried to meet your avoidant gaze, which meant he was being nice to you. Coaxing you out of your shell. You actually didn't have much trouble interacting with people, you were more abrasive than you ever were shy, Steve was just a little too easy on the eyes. Made you forget how to talk, and on occasion, walk. It was embarrassing, “Always makes those cute displays with recommendations.”

  “Good for him,” She commented, sounding impressed. “I didn’t really know he was intellectual. Wasn’t, the last I heard. Had a big reputation in high school, seemed kind of mean and everyone called him King Steve.”

  You frowned, feeling the need to protect him, “Didn’t they call you the Queen of Hawkins High?”

  “Yeah, but only to make me seem pretentious.” 

  You raised your eyebrows, glancing away. Chrissy was kind, but sometimes, she could be pretentious.

  “And anyways, I’m not a student at Hawkins High anymore, so they can’t call me that. Maybe Steve really did change. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard much about him since he struck out with a series of girls. Maybe he took a good look at himself and decided a change was needed.” You could feel her eyes on you again. 

  “Does he flirt with you?”

  “No.”

  “See him flirt with any girls?”

  “Nope.”

  “Does he still make his hair all big and poofy?”

  “Looks more voluminous than poofy.”

  Chrissy hummed, “An improvement. Is he all beret wearing and drinking coffee now?”

  You tried to recall ever seeing him in a hat, let alone a beret, “No, I don’t think so. If anything, he’s introspective.”

  “He’s on the spectrum?”

  Your smile waned when you realized she was asking a legitimate question, “Oh. No. That’s—that’s not what that means. I just meant he’s thinking about what he does; how he acts, how he behaves.”

  It got quiet for a few moments.

  ”Well,” Chrissy broke the silence once more, “He might be there tonight. I’m not sure if they’re still friends, but Tommy Hagan is hosting tonight, and once upon a time, they were inseparable.”

  You made a sound of acknowledgment, upper lip twitching in disgust. You knew Tommy, saw him around campus. He was a big jerk, you’d witnessed him throw some guy’s backpack in the trash and pour his drink on it. You wish you’d known it was his party you were going to in advance. Tommy was a nasty piece of work, so his friend group was the same. Out of all of them, though, Carol got on your nerves the most. 

  She didn’t pay you a whole lot of attention, but when you were walking in with Chrissy—and this is Chrissy, so she acknowledged everyone—and she said hi, Carol would just look you up and down before pursing her big mouth like she’d sucked on something sour. One day, you’d like to give her your fist to suck on.

  ”Patrick McKinney is bringing three kegs and I heard Reefer Rick is bringing his whole inventory.”

  “Reefer Rick?”

  “Yeah, he’s the local drug dealer now. I mean, he’s always been but he used to have somebody sell for him while he supplied, but he died.”

  Your eyes widened while your pupils dilated, mind conjuring up some image of a poor dude being murdered for drugs and then the supplier just taking over, not fearful at all of meeting the same fate, “He died?”

  Chrissy nodded her head, looking thoughtful, “Yeah, Eddie Munson.”

  Munson.

  You sat up in your seat, fully alert and invested in the conversation now, “Eddie Munson? Is he buried under the willow tree in the cemetery?”

  You stared at Chrissy, willing her to think faster as she squinted and pursed her lips, “I think Tina mentioned something about someone peeing on a tree over there, so I think so.”

  Your mouth dropped open, expression utterly horrified that someone could do that, “That’s beastly, what the fuck?”

  “I know,” Chrissy sighed with a shake of her head. “I didn't know him all that much, bought some weed off of him a couple of times and he seemed a little scary—appearance and mannerism wise—but he seemed nice when you had to interact with him. He didn’t deserve that.”

  “How did he die?” You asked, voice small and heart shrinking. You didn’t like where this was going. Didn’t like it one bit.

  “Well, the official determination, if I remember right, was like a drug deal gone bad or something, but no one really believes it. He was known to have weed on him, kept the harder stuff somewhere else. Everyone knows he was murdered. They did a number on him, it was all everyone could talk about because Sydney Porter couldn’t even get her dad—he worked at the station—to show her pictures. He told her they messed Eddie up bad. People here really didn’t like him. No one knows who did it though.”

  You sunk back into your seat, mind troubled and stomach turning. This whole time, you'd been tending to and caring for the grave of a murdered guy, taken from this world simply because people didn’t like him. He must have been so lonely. So scared. And they killed him.

  Chrissy was wrong. People in this town knew who killed him, because one of them, or some of them, had to have been his murderers.

  Your fingers curled into tight fists, painted nails digging into the flesh of your palms. Chrissy noticed the change in your demeanor.

  “Oh, sissy. You’re such an empath. Don’t be so sad, I know it’s a horrible story, but he’s resting now. In peace.”

  “No, he’s not. They fucked up his tombstone. He can’t even be dead in peace.” You huffed, furious on his behalf.

  “How do you know?” Chrissy asked, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow. 

  “I go there a lot, it’s nice. Quiet. A little creepy, but that adds to its charm, makes it relatively peaceful. I’ve been visiting all the graves, but I was drawn to him the most. Etched his tombstone. He’s my favorite.”

  Despite the horrors you’d learned, the thought of Mun—Eddie, still brought a wistful smile to your lips. Maybe your presence was enough to settle him, bring him a little bit of peace this town and the people in it refused to give him.

  “H-He’s your favorite…?”

  “Yeah. I feel this….connection with him. From the very first time I visited. Now, I leave him gifts, flowers, pretty stones, poems I wrote, a book of sonnets I stole from the library.”

  “You….should talk to your doctor about this, Sissy. That’s really weird. That’s really weird, sissy.”

  You fought to not roll your eyes. As much as you cared about Chrissy, and knew she cared about you, she didn’t understand you. 

  “Well, since people ruined his grave, I thought it might be nice to clean it up and make sure he’s not forgotten.” You snapped, “It’s not like I call him my boyfriend or anything.”

  Chrissy eyed you skeptically, “Well, then that’s nice of you, I guess. Just don’t go around telling everybody about that, or you’ll be known as the Ghost Whisperer.”

  “He hasn’t talked back to me yet.”

  Chrissy laughed, and freed one hand off the wheel to lightly slap your arm, “See, now that’s funny. If you do tell anyone, end it with that joke. You’ll be a riot.”

  You smirked, staring out the front windshield. You’d let her think it was a joke. For now.

  You made a sound of displeasure as Chrissy pulled into a clear space on the grass and parked. She jumped out to dance over to her friends, some wine coolers cradled in a plastic bag she clutched.

  You allowed yourself a full minute to stew in your misery before getting out of the car and following after her. As you neared her group, you quickly realized that was a bad idea. 

  “Oh my GOD! Vickie, you fixed your teeth! They look so good. I wasn’t gonna say anything because I thought you were happy with the overcrowding, but now that you fixed it, I can’t look away!”

  Yeesh. You beelined away from them and wandered around the crowded front lawn, dodging rowdy friend groups and couples until you spotted a cooler.

  Maybe a drink would calm you down.

  You squatted down and popped the lid, digging around the ice but all you spotted were Pepsi and Squirt cans.

  “The liquid fun is inside.” A guy’s voice came from behind you and you rolled your eyes. You were so not in the mood to be hit on right now. 

  “What?” You asked, tone bored, but you didn’t want to make him seem helpful so you grabbed a Squirt.

  “Alcohol. He keeps it inside.”

  You slammed the cooler shut and popped the tab of the can, rising to your feet, “Yeah, I figured that mu—shhhh.”

  Oh, shit. 

  Steve Harrington was standing before you, eyes alight with mirth as he smirked down at you.

  You swallowed hard, hoping to god your tongue hadn’t gone down with the movement. See? Here you went getting all stupid around him.

  ”Funny seeing you here.”

  You laughed nervously, “Yeah. I—uh, mhm.” You forced yourself to take a drink of your soda to keep from making an even bigger fool of yourself.

  “Sorry if it’s weird of me to just walk up to you. I was chilling on the side of the house and thought I saw you, but I’m a little nearsighted and I didn’t bring my glasses.”

  You pulled the can away from your mouth as your brain registered the lack of metal frames on the bridge of his nose. He looked handsome with and without them, that wasn’t fair. It was still throwing you off. 

  “It’s—It’s okay. Uhm, no harm done.” You shrugged your shoulders, hoping it looked cool and not as stiff as you felt. You even added in a smile with some teeth for a little razzle dazzle.

  “I actually came over here to tell you your books are significantly overdue.” Steve deadpanned, tongue playing with his canine tooth as he scrutinized you and you shrunk, smile falling from your face. You had got to get better at following up on your due dates.

  “Oh.”

  He scoffed, face breaking out into a grin as his shoulders shook with his chuckles “I’m kidding.”

  OH, THANK FUCK. 

  “Oh,” And then, because every god probably hates you, you started snorting with laughter. You cut that shit quick, clearing your throat as you took another sip of your beverage.

  “So,” Steve took a step closer to you, “Are you enjoying─”

  “Hey!” Carol stepped right up to Steve, practically leaning all over him as her ruby red lips spread into a seductive smile, eyes lidded and no doubt a few drinks in with a drink for Steve in her hand. For the billionth time that night, you rolled your eyes, trying not to gag at how desperate she was. You knew Tommy had recently dumped her, the entire town knew and now she was clearly trying to get into Steve’s pants, “I found the keg.”

  She could eat shit, his pants were yours.

  “Oh, Thank you.” Came Steve’s bleak reply and part of you thought he might have actually wanted to talk to just you. Now, you were really annoyed she’d interrupted.

  “Hey, Carol.”

  Carol looked surprised that you’d even dare speak to her, raising her eyebrows, “Hey. Hi— sorry, how do we know each other?”

  “You’re my lab partner.” You were unimpressed, you expected her to be a better mean girl. 

  “Yay me.” The smile she directed at you was anything but friendly, reminding you of the one Laura would make after you did something in public she didn’t like, but she couldn’t yell at you until you were home. Carol swirled the liquid in her cup around, head tilting as she offered it to you, “You wanna sip, partner?”

  “Carol.” Steve warned and she tutted, flicking her wrist.

  “You’re right, I don’t know why I assumed she partied.”

  “I’ll take a beer,” You could handle alcohol, had cleared your mother’s wine cabinet after she was murdered, so this would be no big deal.

  Carol looked annoyed but handed you the cup, and to make sure you wouldn’t gag and vomit, you threw it back, throat opening as you swallowed the liquid as fast as you could to refuse it as much time on your taste buds as possible.

  When you lowered the cup, you realized you’d made a mistake and glanced into it at the small amount left behind, watching as the ground in your peripheral view began to shift.

  Steve seemed to realize something was wrong, quickly taking your cup and ingesting what was left. His suspicions were confirmed and he spat it out on the grass before scowling at Carol, “PCP? Really, Carol? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the hell would you give that to her!?”

  “Oopsie.”

  But it was too late for you. You dropped the soda can in your other hand and lifted your hands to your face, watching the lines around your palms and fingers begin to move, swirling around and you backed away from them, watching as everything around you began to come undone.

  “Hey!” You heard a voice next to you and someone started rubbing your back, you hadn’t even realized you were crouching. You craned your head up to see Chrissy and you frowned. Her voice was so different, distorted. She sounded more like your dad than Chrissy. 

  Her face was both far away and right in front of you, you reached a hand out to test the theory, see if it really was close. Chrissy caught your wrist, frowning at the state you were falling into.

  Chrissy started asking you questions, about what you’d taken, what you drank but her voice was too loud for you, and the purple behind her head was distracting. Still, you nodded your head.

  At your confirmation, Chrissy’s frown intensified and she helped you to the ground before darting over to chew Steve and Carol out.

  You couldn’t stay on the grass for long, the blades of it stabbing you and sending pain shooting up your palms and into your bones so you crawled some distance away before you managed to push yourself up and stumble towards the house. It was hard.

  Everything was moving. You heard a loud sound and glanced around wildly until you were staring up at the sky, mouth dropping open to see green clouds and lightning. 

  You had to get away, the need to escape, be safe was urgent but it felt like the closer you got to the front door, the farther away it went. Your breathing was heavy and panicked as you kept stumbling forward, arm outstretched and finally you reached it.

  You yanked it open and nearly fell inside, tripping over your feet until you hit the back of the couch and used it to sink to the floor.

  You heard your name being called and lifted your head, eyes crazed as you tried to find the source. Fred Benson approached you, the skinny boy squatting to be eye level with you.

  “You okay?” He asked and you reached forward, grasping his face in your hand and squeezing to make sure he was a real person.

  “You.” Was all you said, booping his nose but still suspicious of him. Was he real?

  “Uh, yeah. It’s me. It’s Fred, we sit next to each other in ASL class.”

  He looked like Fred. You still didn’t believe he was human, squinting as your hands grasped at the back of the couch.

  “You don’t look so good,” Fred pushed the frame of his glasses up his nose, brows furrowed in concern, “Let's find somewhere for you to sit down for a minute. Or maybe a while. Man, what did you drink?”

  He stood up, offering you a hand and you took it but didn’t pull yourself up. Fred heaved with all his might and managed to get you on your feet but he realized just walking you wouldn’t be enough, and so did you because you draped yourself over him, one arm over his scrawny shoulders.

  Fred cursed under his breath but held your weight, leading you out of the populated living room and you watched a couple furiously make out on the couch cushions as you passed.

  “I hate parties. I don’t know why I came—well, actually I do. I never got invited to these in high school, so I guess I’m living out my fantasy now. In all honesty, I’d much rather be watching Weird Science. So far tonight, I’ve seen three cheerleaders throw up and a baby being conceived.”

  “Uh huh,” Was all you could get out, watching people swirl past you like shooting stars.

  “Would you count that as escaping the teen pregnancy statistic? I know they’re out of high school, but we’re all still pretty young.” He commented as he led you up the stairs. You tripped several times and almost sent him flying down them but the two of you managed to make it. 

  Fred was heaving by the time you'd shouldered him into the hallway wall, his face and hands clammy.

  ”Good god, how did I pass P.E.?” The two of you paused there until he regained his breath while you plastered yourself against the wall, cheek pressed to it and hands stroking over the wallpaper. Eventually, Fred peeled you off of it and kept moving until he could find a place to put you.

  “You like movies right? Got any favorite directors? Or favorite films?”

  “Wall.”

  “Huh? Oh, you’re just admiring the wallpaper.”

  “Great Wall of China.”

  Fred positioned you against the wall, looking a little annoyed. You didn’t care, could only focus on the framed photo of the Great Wall of China directly across from you.

  “Oh.” Was all he said when he spotted it. “Stay right here.”

  Then he disappeared and you watched as the painting came to life, and the stones of the wall began moving, rippling. You didn’t even know stones could move like that but now it made so much more sense. 

  Fred appeared again, tugging you along into an empty room. You spotted a trash can and nearly threw Fred into the bedroom wall as you dove for it, retching everything out of your stomach. You could hear Fred gagging, but he was decent enough to make sure your hair stayed out of your way. When you were done, he helped sit you up on the bed, and nearly collapsed next to you.

  ”We did it,” he cheered with no real gusto. And you sat there, still feeling the earth orbiting. It was the most odd sensation, you could feel a spot on your brain pulsing, like a migraine but it felt so euphoric to close your eyes.

  “Here,” They snapped right back open and you glanced to your side to see Fred offering you a handkerchief. Of course Fred Benson carried around a handkerchief. How amusing. 

  “Thank you,” You gave the three versions of him you could see right then a smile and used the handkerchief to wipe your mouth, eyelids fluttering close just as the sound of thunder filled the room, and a flashing of lightning accompanied it.

  “Huh, a rainless thunderstorm, looks like the angels are bowling.” You heard him muse next to you.

  And it brought another smile to your face, “My mom used to say that.”

  At the mention of her, your brain conjured up all the happy feelings and memories of her, huddled on your couch, in your old home watching black and white horror films. They didn’t scare her, so she could tolerate them. You missed her. She made you feel so light, so seen, so—no.

  Something was wrong. Something felt very, very wrong.

  Your smile faded and you felt your belly sink as you opened your eyes.

  “Does that feel good?”

  You didn’t want to, but you looked down to see Fred’s hand on your breast. Your breathing picked up and Fred let go of you to grab your wrist and force you to touch his crotch, “Well don’t just sit there, help me out. Finish what you started.” 

  Anger filled you and you yanked your hand away, “No.”

  Fred opened his mouth as you got up, rushing away from him and stumbling back out the way you remembered while he yelled at you.

  You had to get out, had to get away. Had to be safe, feel safe. You banged against walls as you went, desperate to get out of the house, away from Fred, from everyone, and to safety. That was your only concern as the drug really hit you.

  All you could remember was seeing colors, hearing and feeling the wind against your sweaty skin, leaves blowing with it and gusting around you.

  You had no idea how you escaped the mad house, how long you’d even been walking or how you actually got there, but you found yourself in front of the cemetery, a flash of lightning illuminating the gate.

  To anyone else, a cemetery would have been the worst place to find themselves on a night like this, but you’d already been to hell so you trudged forward, feet taking you to him. Even in your drugged state, you were able to find your way to Eddie. Always would be.

  Your knees dug into the grass as you collapsed in front of his tombstone, fingers reaching forward to trace over MUN and 1986 before your body curled around the large stone, hugging yourself to it. Electric blue tears slipped down your cheeks, staining them with your mascara.

  “I wish I was with you.” You whispered, hating everything, hating this town, hating the people, hating Fred Benson, hating Carol, hating Laura Cunningham, hating how your mom wasn’t alive, hating how the one person you’d unknowingly sought for comfort was someone you’d never met before who was six feet under the ground. And you hated how you weren’t down there.

  You laid there, hugging his tombstone for hours under the thunder and lightning as the PCP slowly left your system.

  When you were able to stand up on your own, you gave the tombstone another kiss, rested your forehead against it and quietly thanked him for helping you find your way home before you left, following the path you’d made during all of your visits.

  The house was quiet when you got in, and Chrissy’s car hadn’t been parked in the driveway when you’d walked up so you figured she was still at the party. Sluggishly, you made your way up the stairs, falling into your shared bathroom. Your hand searched the wall, struggling to find the switch. Once your fingertips made contact with it, you flipped it and squinted as the room was flooded with the warm light. It was still too much for your eyes but you kept it on and walked towards the mirror

  The girl looking back at you was not the same one you’d last seen in it. This girl had blue smudged all around her eyes, faint trails of it over her cheeks and a rats nest for hair. Her eyes burned, not from the light, but from a fury within. 

  She was stuck in a life she didn’t want to live and couldn’t do anything about. As a large strike of lightning flashed from the window positioned at the back of the bathroom, towards the back of the house, you decided to put her out of her misery, picking up a blow dryer and smashing it against your reflection with a yell.

  You stood there, chest heaving as you stared at the broken reflection. Then you tossed the blow dryer onto the counter, and went to bed.

  Your dreams were much more pleasant than your reality, eyelids fluttering open to the ceiling of your old bedroom. A glance to your side confirmed your mother’s photo was at your bedside, next to your alarm clock on your old bedside table.

  “Well?” Her photo asked, shooting you that gorgeous smile of hers, “What are you waiting for? Go get him.”

  Your confusion was momentary, your mother raised her chin in a direction and you knew what would happen, you were giddy for it as you looked down to see yourself wrapped in the most beautiful wedding gown you’d ever seen.

  You rose from the bed into a sitting position, picking up the bouquet on the pillow next to you. Your dresser mirror was directly across from your bed and you took a moment to admire the beautiful girl staring back at you. Where you last remember seeing trails of tears were diamonds, glittering against your skin. Her eyes sparkled with a joy you’d never known. You bid her one last smile as you turned your head to the figure sitting on the edge of your bed, dark curls cascading down his neck, past broad shoulders with his back to you. 

  His right arm was out, palm up.

  He was waiting for you.

  You shifted until you were on the edge of your bed next to him, staring straight forward just as he was.

  Without looking, you knew exactly where his hand was, and you placed your left one over it, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. Slowly, the two of you leaned towards each other, until your head was on his shoulder and his cheek was pressed against the top of your head, his fingers curling around your hand to ground you. You sighed, all the tension and weight of the world leaving you.

  “Sissy. . .”

  “Sissy…”

  “SISSY!”

  You groaned as Chrissy shook you awake, eyes prying through all the mascara that had crusted over your eyes. It took a couple of blinks until you regained your clear vision, gaze locking on Chrissy leaning over you. Her face was clean of any makeup, skin glowing and hair wrapped up in rollers.

  She’d gotten home later than you and had still been able to look perfect. 

  What the hell?

  “You better get up, sissy. My mom’s losing it over the bathroom mirror.”

  You were confused for a second until you remembered smashing it with a blow dryer last night—or this morning. Well, it definitely would have broken at the sight of you now, anyways. 

  You frowned but made no move to get up so Chrissy tugged your blanket off of you, giggling when the both of you realized you had your hand in your underwear. Hastily, you yanked it out, and threw the blankets back over yourself.

  “It’s okay, Sissy. Everyone does it. It’s natural.”

  “Oh my god…”

  “So, what happened last night to bring this on?” She wiggled her eyebrows and you stared at her for a second. Part of you wanted to yell at her, berate her for letting you stumble around while high on a drug you’d never taken before, the other half knew in Chrissy’s World, it was all rainbows and sunshine—at least, it had been since she’d forced her mother to respect her boundaries. Chrissy didn’t expect the worst in anyone, didn't expect anyone to take advantage of you and certainly didn't expect you to wind up walking to the cemetery and then home on a bad trip. No, in Chrissy’s World, you’d probably spent the night flirting with someone, probably Steve, maybe fooled around in his car before he drove you home.

  You didn’t see it necessary to shatter her world so you groaned instead, the full force of your migraine hitting you now that you were out of sleep’s clutches, and covered your hands with your face.

  “Ooh, your knees…”

  You glanced down to see what she was staring at and sure enough, your knees were scratched up from kneeling at Eddie’s grave, but in Chrissy’s World…

  “I fell.” Was the only excuse you could come up with and Chrissy smirked.

  “Me, too.” Her eyelid dropped in a wink just as Laura yelled upstairs for you, so, begrudgingly, you wrapped yourself in your robe and headed downstairs to receive your punishment.

  Just as you suspected, Laura had attacked you with allegations—that were true for once, you had smashed the bathroom mirror—and your dad looked like he could care less.

  “You know,” She stated, fixing you with those unnaturally blue eyes of hers, “Your dad wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. See the good in you, but I knew. I’m an Intuitive Person, you know. An IP. They’ve got seminars for people like me.”

  Your mind flashed to How to Handle a Narcissist. 

  “Laura…” Your dad warned and Laura inhaled sharply, displeased that your dad was sticking up for you. For once. 

  “Did you know there was a tornado last night? It hailed. Wind blew the fence over. The yard is covered in debris, and now I have to focus on repairing the bathroom, too. I don’t think that’s fair.” She huffed and Chrissy spoke up from her place on the couch.

  “It was a tornado watch, mom. Not a real tornado.”

  “Actually, Chris, the weather was downright crazy last night. I mean, it was really something, I saw green lightning. Big balls of it in the sky.”

  You and Chrissy shared secret smiles at hearing your dad talk about big balls.

  “Love muffin, could you swap out being a weatherman for being a father, right now?” Laura gritted out through her chemically whitened teeth.

  “It’s a Meteorologist,” You mumbled and her head snapped over to glare at you before she was speaking to your father again.

  “Honey, your daughter is a vandal. She’s got a taste for vandalism, and she is deliberately vandalizing and destroying property. First, it was my collection of Precious Moments figurines─”

  “That was an accident, you didn’t wrap them in bubble wrap and I dropped the box when I tripped over the front steps.”

  “Mother,” Chrissy chided, hands crossing over her robe. “Be. Nice.”

  “I am being nice,” Laura hissed, glare never leaving you, “But I refuse to coddle her. She’s headed straight to the nut house with this behavior.”

  You frowned, wiping away some of the dried mascara under your eye, “Can you say that if you’re a Psych Nurse?”

  Laura had the decency to look embarrassed before whacking your father’s arm. He sighed, putting his newspaper down, “Sweetheart─”

  You clocked the twitch in Laura’s eyelid at the affectionate name your father used to refer to you.

  “─You’re gonna clean your bathroom, alright? Sweep up all that glass.”

  ”And?” Laura pushed, still staring at you.

  “And…..um. Pay for the mirror, I guess.” Laura turned her nose up, hurmphing. 

  “That’s fine, can I get ready for work now?”

  Your dad nodded and Laura looked like she wanted to protest but you turned your back to her and made your way upstairs, hesitating at the top when your fathered turned the volume of the TV back on and you heard the news reporter reporting from the cemetery, talking about a grave, under a tree, that had been struck by lightning. 

  You wondered if it had been Eddie’s. There’s no way you’d be able to check today, you’d get home from work too late, so you’d have to check tomorrow.

  You tried to stay busy during your shift at the local tailor’s. You didn’t really have a passion for it, but you were relatively good with a needle and thread. With the magnifier headlamp, you were practically unstoppable, altering coats, dresses, blouses, shirts, all with minimal finger injuries—though luminol on some of these clothing items would no doubt reveal traces of your blood.

  But hey—you now knew what it meant to work so hard you put your blood into something and you always had band-aids on you, in case anyone needed one.

  You were so invested in your work, you hadn’t heard the bell above the door chime when it was pushed open, and didn’t notice Steve leaning against the counter, watching you work until he cleared his throat.

  You jumped, head swinging around to see your crush smiling at you and you raised the magnifying glass portion of the head lamp off your face, feeling embarrassed that he’d seen you with the headgear on in the first place.

  “Hey! I didn’t know you worked here.”

  You let out some nervous laughter, mind racing for ways to make this seem cool but you came up short. “Yeah, I—employed.”

  “I can see that,” He chuckled, amused by your lack of verbal sparring.

  You didn’t know what to say after that so you stared, fingers twisting and pulling the thread you’d been working with, desperate for him to say something or get out.

  “Oh! Uh, I heard you guys also get rid of stains? I��ve got this one on my pan─”

  “THAT WE DO!” 

  You sighed, eyes slipping shut as your moron of a boss came bursting out of the office.

  “What can we do for you, Harrington?” Murray asked, leaning against the counter, causing Steve to lean back, smile now less than thrilled.

  “Murray…I forgot you worked here.” Steve said it in a voice that made you think he would have avoided the shop had he known who it was that was currently in charge of running it.

  “Yup, got me this sweet little gig. And no radios.” He gestured around to the shop, void of any technology save for the cash register—and he made sure it was never him operating it, “Would like to see the government try to control me now.”

  “Right, I just came here to drop off my pants, spilled something on—well, it doesn’t really matter, I just spilled something on them.” Steve placed the folded pair of pants on the counter and Murray immediately unfolded them, searching through the fabric until he found the stain by his crotch. To both your horror and Steve’s, he lifted the strained fabric to his nose, sniffing deep.

  “Mm. White wine?”

  It took Steve a moment to find his voice and close his jaw, “Crush. The soda.”

  “Same thing. We’ll get this right out, my man.”

  You and Steve shared one more look of disbelief before he slowly backed away, the bell above the door sounding as he left.

  “He’s a nice guy,” Murray commented and you shrugged your shoulders, wanting this conversation to be over, “I’m surprised you know him, little loser.”

  You shot him a glare.

  “Oh, c’mon, lets not pretend you’ve got an active social life—if I call you in for a shift, you’re available. Nothing wrong with being a loser. I was one throughout high school and look at me now. Who got the last laugh?”

  You were positive the look of pain on your face should have told Murray that anyone other than him got the last laugh. He was a forty something year old, afraid of technology, convinced the government was watching him, who tried to befriend teenagers. 

  You’d have to kill yourself if you were anything like him.

  When he disappeared back into the office, because of course you’d have to get rid of that stain for Steve, you snatched the pair of pants off the counter. Glancing around to make sure there weren’t any eyes on you, you pressed them to the side of your face, imagining yourself hugging Steve instead of the pants. They smelled like him. It was bliss.

  Then your eyes snapped open.

  Oh, god. You were a loser.

  After your shift, you’d gone straight home. Normally, you’d stop to grab a bite or something, you still had to pay for the mirror you broke so fast food was off the table for a couple of weeks, but on your dining room table when you walked into the house.

  A pizza box. Your stomach growled as you imagined the slice of cheese waiting for you.

  “Is there any left?” You asked, already making a beeline for it.

  “Should be a slice left,” Your dad mused and as you tossed the top of it open, all you wanted to do was maybe beat him with it.

  There, on the parchment liner of the pizza box, was the skinniest and tiniest slice of pizza to ever be cut. Not even the width of two of your fingers.

  “Want me to order another one, sweetheart?” Your dad asked and Laura immediately inserted herself into the conversation. 

  “She can eat it, love muffin. Besides, we’ve got vegetables in the fridge if she’s still not full.”

  “I said we should have ordered two, but my mom had a coupon she wanted to use.” Chrissy didn’t sound impressed.

  “Yes, we got a free soda!”

  Chrissy ignored her mom, “Sissy, we’re going to the movies! You could get something there, they sell pizza and nachos, right?”

  You knew she was trying to find a solution for you, but your bullshit meter for the day had already been capped. You didn’t want movie theater pizza or concessions, you wanted a  reasonable slice of this pizza, not some scrap your step-mother had saved you. It was obvious she was implying that she, your dad and Chrissy were the perfect sized family and you were simply an afterthought. Unwelcome.

  “Yeah, I’m passing on the movie.”

  Before you could stomp upstairs, Chrissy caught your hand.

  “Sissy, please? We’ve got to bond as a family, it’s crucial. If it takes two, how can I do it as one?” She pulled you into her side.

  “Really, Chrissy, I’m super tired.”

  “You’re tired?” Laura asked, incredulous. Here we go again.

  “All you do is work with a sewing machine for hours like some old spinster, I can hardly imagine that being tiring, but my Chrissy just got back from a five hour long cheer practice. They were throwing her around like raggedy ann and she stuck every landing.” 

  “Mom, stop.” Chrissy blushed, but you could see how proud she was of herself, “I’m sure Sissy pokes herself with those needles all the time, and it hurts, I’ve been prodded myself during all of my custom fittings.”

  “I have finger calluses so I don’t even bleed anymore,” You begrudgingly admitted, “I can take it.”

  “I bet you can.”

  After they’d left for the movies, you’d gone upstairs, showered, put on your comfiest pajamas and fuzziest slippers, you grabbed a bowl of chips and set yourself up in front of the TV to watch Dawn of the Dead. You had to give props to all these zombie actors, you couldn’t imagine having to act out being one of the walking undead, imagined it felt pretty stupid but the paycheck and experience must have been cool.

  You popped another chip into your mouth just as someone knocked on the front door. As you placed the bowl of chips on the table to get up, the knocking got louder, more aggressive and you hesitated, fear beginning to swell up inside of you.

  Maybe if you ignored it, they’d go away.

  You turned your attention back to the tv, picking up the remote to lower the volume and hopefully hide your presence in the house. 

  Then, much to your horror, you heard the distinct sound of a pained, gurgling groan. It sounded very similar to the ones you’d heard the zombies making on your tv, but this one was louder. 

  And it was coming from outside your front door.

  You crouched, duckwalking to the foyer where one of the house phones was placed. You’d just picked it up from the receiver when a shadow from the living room window caught your eye. You barely had time to turn your head when something came crashing through it, breaking the glass and yanking the curtains from the rod.

  Shocked, the phone slipped from your hands, banging against the hardwood floor of the foyer and you let out a scream at the same time as the person on your TV, running away from the figure invading your home. 

  You made it to the dinning room. Literally scrambling across the table to put an obstacle between you and the stranger—no, creature. Tall, caked in mud, leaves and stems, it resembled the Swamp Thing. It grunted, groans low and reverberating off the walls.

  “Uuuhhhnng…”

  This couldn’t be happening to you, you couldn’t die like this!!!! It was supposed to be by your hand or nothing!

  ”STAY AWAY FROM ME!” You shrieked, picking up the decorative plates from the table to throw at the creature. You nailed it a couple of times, watching it stumble as the fine china shattered against it. When you ran out of plates, you bolted from the dinning room, screaming as you scrambled up the stairs, and lost one of your slippers in the process but to hell with it! You had to get out of there. Hopefully, one of your neighbors heard your shrieks of terror and called the police.

  You peaked over the railing at the top of the stairs, to see the creature analyzing your slipper. While it was distracted, you locked yourself in your room and made your way to your bedroom window, pulling it open.

  “Okay, okay. I can do this, no big deal. Stunt actors do it all the time.” You climbed outside of your window, body nearly convulsing as you almost slipped down the roof, “Nonononono.”

  You tried to grip onto a couple of shingles but they gave away, slipping right off the house to shatter against the concrete walkway and you realized Laura had no fucking idea what she was doing when it came to house repairs, the dumb bitch had just laid the shingles out without securing them.

  “OH MY GOD-I’M GONNA DIE! HELP!”

  Your body slipped further down the roofing, until you were forced to grab the gutter, gagging when your fingers squelched against whatever was in it. You dangled a good six feet off the ground, and while it wasn’t exactly a ten story fall, with your luck, you’d land on your head and break your neck.

  Whimpering, you tried to pull yourself back up the roof, but it was no use. You had nothing stable to grab onto as you yanked yet another shingle clean off. You glared at it and muttered a goddammit before tossing it somewhere behind you as you went back to hanging on for dear life. 

  “Oh, no.” You mumbled, terrified as your fingertips began to lose their grip, wet with the mystery sludge from the gutter. “No, NO!” 

  You lost your grip, plummeting down but you didn’t meet the concrete. No, the Creature broke your fall and you were now face to face with it. The pressure of you landing on it, made it spit up into your face, green sludge, and you gasped before breaking out into screams again.

  Pushing yourself up and off of it as you ran around your front yard, nearly blind. You were not opening your eyes to let that bacteria infested swamp slime, water, whatever the hell it was, into your eyeballs. 

  You could hear the Creature stomping around behind you as you bobbed and weaved, could feel his presence and you could not believe you were actually gonna die fighting off a swamp monster in your front yard while blinded—in clear and plain view for your neighbors to see, by the way, and unbeknownst to you, an elderly couple was watching you, not even a little concerned about your well being or the creature chasing you around.

  “Stop it!”

  “Leave me alone!”

  “Go away, I’m just a girl!”

  The timed sprinklers went off and you were soon assaulted with them as well. With just about all your senses done for, and the sprinklers washing the guck away from your face, you made a run for the house, slamming your back against the door and locking it behind you.

  Your chest was heaving, wet body pumping with adrenaline as the back of your head thumped against the door. You weren’t done yet. That creature was still out there!!!

  You dove for the phone on the ground, hanging by its springy cord and shouted out hopefully loud enough for it to hear, “I’m calling the police, so if you don’t want your ass riddled with bullets, I’d suggest you leave! They shoot before asking questions!”

  You frantically dialed 911 but there was no ringing, instead, you could still hear buttons being pressed on the other line.

  Bleak, and accepting your fate, you put the phone back on the receiver, and turned towards the living room, where the other phone was located. 

  On the chair, next to where the table the phone normaly rested on, was The Creature. 

  You grabbed one of the lamps, ready to use it as a weapon but it didn’t attack you, just turned the phone receiver this way and that, as if admiring it. 

  Despite your fear, you took a reluctant step forward, casting the creature in the glow of the lamp you clutched and for like the billionth time that night, you gasped.

  The sprinklers had washed some of the filth off of it, too. Before, its head had been caked in a mud helmet, but now, you could actually see it’s head. It had long, disgustingly dirty curls, and wore a leather jacket, jeans and tennis shoes, all covered in grime.

  When it craned its head up to look at you, you readied the lamp, poised to throw it at it—him. It was a guy. Big brown eyes, stared up at you and he made no move to attack.

  Slowly, you lowered the lamp, and crouched down a few feet away.

  His attention returned to the phone—shoe shaped—in his hands and shakily, with stiff limbs, he put it back on the receiver.

  “It’s…It’s cool looking, right? The-The shoe phone.” 

  He glanced over at you and then the phone again as you mumbled out an explanation, 

“Our neighbor in our old town cheated on his wife and she threw all his stuff out the window at him and my dad snatched the phone.”

  “Merrrruhhhhh.” He moaned out, picking up your slipper and offering it to you. When you just stared, he dropped it and you moved the lamp to the side, crossing your legs.

  “I’ve never seen a zombie before.” You marveled, then squinted, “You are a zombie, right? An undead?”

  It took him an entire minute to choppily raise his shoulders, you realized he was shrugging. Or trying to. Every movement he made was choppy. Reminded you of how stop motion was made, except his scenes weren’t being played fast enough to have fluid movements.

  He tried to get up and promptly slipped, accidentally elbowing the mini sound system at his side. It turned on, Sinead O’Connor’s Drink Before the War playing. You’d been the last to use it.

  You watched as his head tilted in interest as Sinead began to croon out lyrics.

  “Do you like music? This is Sinead O’Connor. She makes music that heals souls.”

  He raised his wrist to his chest and you inhaled sharply as you realized he was missing the hand on it.

  “Uhm, no—I don’t think she healed your soul. I meant like, figuratively. Her music makes people feel.” You placed your hands on your own chest, trying to convey your meaning, “She’s one of my favorites.”

  A surprisingly comforting silence fell over the two of you—though he sometimes made his quiet dead guy gross sounds—as you stared at him, taking in the green-gray tint of his skin beneath the dirt all over him, cheeks sunken in. You had a feeling if you touched his skin, it’d be hard, maybe waxy and it was a bit unnerving how human his eyes were, but duh! Of course they were, he was a human. Just. A dead one. At least he wasn’t a skeleton.

  Man, Hollywood wasn’t too far off with their interpretation.

  “C’mon,” You stood up, eyes taking in the state of your home and all the dirt the two of you had dragged in, “I gotta hide you, new dead friend.”

[st4rymoon]

𝘉𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘦

˚ ༘ *⭐︎ Miguel x afab reader

Warnings - 18+. smut. Some Angst. Enemy’s to lovers, sex with a plot, unprotected sex, breeding kink, breath play, arguing, both get physical (get in a fight but nothing too serious), other variants mentioned and Dr. Strange (why not bring him up), after care, teasing, possessive Miguel, biting, messy sex, semi-mean Miguel, pet names (doll, muñeca, princesa, chula), Spanish (translations added)

[pt.2 is out! → better than me pt. 2]

Miguel was obnoxious and self-absorbed, you knew that by now.

You were living your life as the Spider-Woman of your universe with no worries at all until a blonde-haired ghost-looking spider appeared.

You had somewhat of an idea of what she was talking about, after all, you had a Dr. Strange in your universe and he would never stop talking about the multi-verse.

He never mentioned that these variants would come looking for each other but hey, what did you know?

The blonde-haired girl begged for you to meet the others, calming you weren’t alone and had a group of others to bond with. But you had no problem being alone with such powers, matter of fact you enjoyed it.

There was no one to boss you around or scold you which was always a plus as a superhero. That carefree life you had turned sour as you agreed with the blonde-haired girl and went to meet the others.

“By the way my boss, OUR boss doesn’t know you exist… he’s practically found every spider in the universe. But I guess he forgot one, and by the way, I’m Gwen”

You smiled “Well Gwen, YOUR boss will be pleased to hear that it’s almost impossible to find every Spider-Man. There are millions of universes” you shrugged.

Gwen was taken aback by your words, she wasn’t aware you knew about these universes since a majority of the others didn’t. “How do you know?” She questioned with her arms crossed.

“Do you not have a Dr. Strange in your universe? A tall annoying brown-haired man? Middle-aged? No sense of humor? Come one you don’t have one!?” You gasped.

“Never heard of a strange before”

-

Both of you walked into a giant laboratory-like room, you heard chatter all around you as you looked above and saw dozens of spider variants on the ceilings and walls.

“GWEN! Gwen! May has been getting into trouble have you see- who are you?” A tired-looking brown-haired man looked at you in confusion. “I’m a rouge-killing monster called Spider-Man” you replied.

Both of their faces turned pale at your words “Gosh you guys have no sense of humor! I’m joking” you sigh. “Im a spider variant like all of you, now why’d you drag me here”

“Miguel isn’t going to like this… I’m Peter” the brown-haired man smiled. “And I presume Miguel is the big scary boss man right?”

“Thank you for the kind words” a loud voice boomed from behind. “Miguel! I found another!” Gwen smiles awkwardly.

“Mmh”

You turned to see an attractive middle-aged man with glowing red eyes “She knows about the multi-verse she was talking about some dude called Strange” Gwen nodded.

Miguel tensed at her words, his eyes glued to you as he made his way towards you. “What do you know about strange?” He hummed, circling you like his prey.

“Nothing that’s your business that’s for sure” you chuckle “Well I had fun, I’ll be heading out now” You rolled your eyes.

“I’m talking to you” Miguel yells “No your yelling, have a nice day” you wave as you shoot a web out and swing. Halfway through the swing, your web was cut, causing you to drop to the ground “WHAT THE FUCK!” You yell.

Miguel stood tall with a cocky smile on his face “We aren’t done talking” he shakes his head.

You knew very little about Dr. Strange, sure you’re well acquainted with the universally famous sorcerer but he was a private man. He called you when he needed help and that was it.

To your disbelief, you had no clue other spiders could be so damn annoying. “Well I am, I’m not going to say it again. I AM LEAVING.” You yell.

“She’s just like him” you hear a spider whisper “I AM NOT” you point a finger up at one of them “How could you hear that” they muttered. “Don’t you all have great hearing?”

“Not all of us” Peter shrugged. “What did they say?” Gwen asked. You ignored everyone and walked out of the room. Already halfway through the door, you felt a hand grip your arm.

Turning, you see Miguel’s ruby eyes staring at you. “I suggest you let go of me” you say calmly. It was a shame he was an ass, he was too good-looking to be acting the way he was.

“Threats don’t work on m-“You cut him off mid-sentence, kicking his ankle and making him fall back. You pinned him onto the ground, your leg on his chest and heel pressed onto his chin.

The look in his eyes was a mix of anger and shock.

The other spiders started yelling, Gwen yelling at Peter to stop this and during the chaos for some odd reason you saw a talking spider cat yelling “A cat?” You chuckled causing you to lose focus.

Within seconds you were now in Miguel’s position. His hand on your throat as he pressed his weight onto you “CALM THE FUCK DOWN!” He seethes.

Just as you were about to kick him where it hurts, his hand held your knee in place “Have to be quicker than that muñeca” he whispered into your ear. [t: doll]

Your eyes widened at the pet name. You swear you could feel your cheeks burn red and telling by the smile on his face you knew they were. “This is fun but can we have a normal conversation? Like civilized people?” He replied.

He got off you, holding a hand out for you to stand. You got up on your own, pushing past him as you heard a few whistles and ‘Miguel is flushed look at him’ from behind you.

“Fine. You have 5 minutes”

Miguel led you to his office, one hand on your lower back leading you. “Brave for a newcomer” the annoyingly attractive man smiled down at you “It’s obvious no one stands up to you, I’ll happily be the one to do so” you cooed.

“Sit” he commands while pointing at the chair in front of his desk. You nod and sit patiently for him to start “What do you know about Dr. Strange?” He questioned.

“He’s Dr. Strange what is there to know? He’s a private man for god sake. You surely have one in this universe, don’t you? He’s usually in every universe” you sighed.

“He’s never been in any I’ve visited”

“Or maybe you didn’t look well enough” you chuckle. “I have one in my universe and trust me you aren’t missing out. He only calls when he needs a helping hand and that’s about it” you shrugged.

“How do you know about the multi-verses?” He questioned. “Strange explained to me the importance of leaving it alone, we’ve seen universes almost disappear due to it. People have to learn you cannot change the past, present, or future without losing something so it’s best to just deal with it. In another universe, another life we are happy just think of that”

Miguel clears his throat at your words “Let me guess you lost something as well? By messing with this fucked up world? Who was it? A wife, mother, father, daughter?”

His hands slammed onto the desk in anger “NOT YOUR BUSINESS.” He seethed while he threw his papers on the ground. You knew he was hurting, That’s why he was acting like this.

“You know, I can tell this whole I’m mean and bad act is because your hurt. It’s not healthy to live in the past, we will just rot ourselves from within Miguel. Whatever you lost trust me you have it in another universe” You smile as you stand up, patting him on the shoulder as he doesn’t move a muscle.

“You don’t understand” he growled. “Trust me I do. Why do you think I’m friends with strange huh? I lost someone too you know. But instead of making everyone suffer with me, I decided to tr-“ you couldn’t finished your sentence before his lips crashed onto yours.

You were taken aback by the kiss but couldn’t help but moan into it. You pushed him back slightly “I don’t even know you Miguel” you smiled onto his lips “I know we can change that” he hummed as he lifted you onto his desk.

You were taken back by his actions, was a conversation all he needed to get this riled up?

“You know, out of all the spiders, no one’s said anything like that to me? Not one of them genuinely has a conversation with me” he sighs while pulling back. “Well, you don’t exactly let them say a word without screaming” you chuckle.

“That’s because they all pull away once I raise my voice. It was a surprise when a pretty thing like you came in acting like you own the place” Miguel cooed, his hands trailing up your hips as he pressed himself onto you.

“And I can tell you haven’t gotten laid in a while, you really gonna fuck a girl you just met huh?” You teased. “And are you really going to fuck a man you just met?”

“Maybe, If he can make me want it that bad” you winked, your hands ran down his chest, the spandex-like material of his suit outlining his chest and muscles in the most perfect way.

He chuckled at your response and wrapped your legs around his waist, lifting you before sitting down on his chair. You straddled him as he rocked onto you softly.

You’ve never done anything like this before, you were shocked by your compliance with his actions but you couldn’t help it. You told yourself everyone needed a one-time thing right?

“You sound so fucking pretty” he mumbled onto your neck, your soft sounds making him lose every bit of patience while you tangled your fingers into his hair.

You could tell he was wondering how to remove your suit, you were trying to hide your laugh but it came out either way.

“What’s so funny huh?”

“If you want to remove my suit you press this” You smiled as you grabbed his hand and lifted it behind your neck. His hand instinctively started massaging the nape of your neck as he pulled you into a kiss.

Completely off task with what you were showing him; each of you lost in the other's taste. “Ok, so how do I remove it?” He panted “Like this” You guided him as his fingers went on the hem of your neckline.

You pressed a button from the inside of your suit with his fingers “Like that” you whispered into his ear as you licked his cheek before kissing him.

Your suit was in his hands in a matter of seconds, tossing it somewhere behind him as his eyes admired your curves.

“Can’t believe I missed you out of all of the others” Miguel groaned. His hands not missing an inch of your body as you could feel his painfully hard bulge through his suit. “Take it off” you whined say you tugged at his. He chuckled at your neediness, and complying he tossed it along with yours.

You couldn’t believe other spiders like him existed. You’ve met a few but never ones that were this irritating and gorgeous, to say the least. “Like what you see princesa?” He mocked. [t: princess]

You rolled your eyes and pressed yourself onto him “I do”, you could feel his cock pressing onto your panties. His breathing was ragged and uneven as you nuzzled into his neck.

Sucking and kissing purple bruises onto his neck, your hands tangling into his hair. You felt his fingers tugging at your panties as a way to tell you to lift yourself a bit.

You did as told and let him toss your panties onto the pile of mess on the ground. “Although I love this pretty lace, it has to come off” he pouts as he pulls at your bra “Who knew you’d have this under the suit” he mumbled as he tossed your bra.

“Off” you demand as you tug at his boxers, he smiles in surprise as he sees you so needy “Alguien esta ansiosa”. “Oh shut up” you hiss as he leans onto the chair and brings your hands to his waistband. [t: someone is eager]

“If you want it so bad, take them off yourself” he cockily smiles. Your eyes narrow in annoyance but you were too needy to argue about it. Still on top of him, you tug his boxers down.

You clenched around nothing as his cock hit his stomach. You thought the whisper you let you wasn’t audible but your eyes shot up to his as he watches you with his hands behind his head.

“Love it that much already?”

You don’t bother responding as you go back to kissing him. His hands were back to their previous position, holding you tightly as you felt him rubbing between your folds.

“Shit..” you seethed. You felt his teeth sink into your skin, a loud moan coming from you causing you to slap your hands onto your mouth.

Miguel’s eyes shot up at your actions, his hands pulling them away as he pinned them onto your stomach “I don’t care who hears, hands on my shoulders”

As he ends his sentence he slams into you, your eyes rolling back while a shaky moan leaves you. He holds you onto him for a few seconds, taking in your soaked gummy walls before thrusting into you.

You could hear the wet pornographic sounds coming from the both of you as he fucked into you. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as he wrapped one arm around your waist the other hugging you onto him.

“Love it so much doll, fu- fuck you feel so good”

It was much more intimate than you thought it would be, the way he never broke eye contact even when you squeezed your eyes shut and muttered incoherent sentences into his chest he watched you intensely.

Miguel wondered if this would go anywhere, he hoped it did. He had no reason why he acted on his needs so quickly with you, he hadn’t slept with anyone in a long time and had no problem with it, but the moment he saw you sitting in his office it was like a switch flipped.

“Look at the mess you make muñeca, shit. This pussy was made for me” he huffed. You couldn’t even say a word, the way he felt slamming into you was euphoric.

You could feel every inch of him inside you, the way he curved perfectly in you with each of his thrusts was intoxicating.

You were making a mess, you could feel the cum dripping down your thighs as you bounced on him. “Migu- fuck all for you, only you” you whined. The words spilling from you caused him to fuck you deeper “Nadie más te va ver como te miras orita, eres mía muñeca. Solo para mi” [t: nobody else is going to see you the way you look right now, you’re mine doll. Only for me] 

His tone was adoring, he loved seeing the way you clawed at his chest whenever he picked up his pace. Miguel couldn’t help but wrap a hand around your throat when you started to slump on him; lifting you he held you to his lips as he squeezed your throat.

“Feels good huh baby? Your eyes say it all” he groans onto your cheek, his hand still squeezing your neck. You can feel your vision getting hazy, your hand wrapped around his wrist as he smiled up at you.

He let go of your neck, a loud pant leaving you as you caught your breath. But before you could even think your mouth pressed onto his, you couldn’t help but kiss his saliva-covered lips.

His pornographic moans made you dizzy, his fingers piercing your hips as he fucked you senseless while you looked down at him with needy eyes.

You could feel the knot form inside your stomach as his pace picked up, each of his thrusts causing a shaky whimper to leave you as he watched you getting closer.

“O- oh- Migu- M-“ you were crying out words as the feeling of his cock slamming into you and the slight rubbing on your clit from his pubic bone was driving you to the edge.

“I know baby I know, let it out princesa. Gonna fill you full so they all know what happened in here” he chuckled. With that you let go, the thought of his cum spilling out of you made you drunk on him. [t: princess]

You were loud but he didn’t care to quiet you down, he loved hearing how good he was fucking you. “No one’s going to fuck you better than me, I just met you and you look like you’ve been doing this for a while” he cooed.

“You’ve fucked other guys like this huh? The first day you meet them you fuck them?” He questioned. You shook your head weakly, his cock still ramming into you as he watched you bounce along with his thrust.

“No? Don’t lie how many?”

“J- you only” you cried. You couldn’t take the overstimulation, tears streamed down your face as you felt yourself about to cum again. “Only me? How lucky am I huh?” He hummed.

You scratched at his chest, pushing him slightly as his finger moved between your legs and circled your clit. “N- oh m-“ you begged, you buried yourself into his neck as he whispered praise into your ear.

“Doing so good for me chula, feel s- so fucking good” he praised. You felt the mess between your legs run down your thigh, you hugged him as you felt yourself about to cum again. [t: pretty]

“I- Mig-“

“I know baby let it out, I’m f- go on” he seethed. You could tell he was close. His pace was sloppy and his grip on you was getting tighter. You cried out his name in pleasure, the 2nd orgasm hitting you harder than the first as tears streamed down your face.

Miguel’s loud moans filled your ears as he coated your walls. You could feel his cum dripping down to his lap as he messily fucked you onto him. His pace came to a halt, his grip on you was tighter than ever while he took in your warmth.

“Fuck…” he whispered as he kissed your jaw, peppering kisses up to your mouth and sloppily kissing you. Saliva was all over your mouths, the sounds of both of you sloppily kissing each other made Miguel groan.

“You still wanna leave?” He chuckles. Miguel fixes your hair, adjusting it back to normal as he whipped your tears and saliva with his hand. You shook your head, completely drained of energy as you buried yourself into his chest.

You were questioning why he was being so nice. He was just acting like a complete ass a few minutes ago and suddenly he’s treating you like you’ve been together all your lives.

“Do you know what’ll happen if a variant from different verses gets pregnant?” He hums. You shake your head, you’d deal with those thoughts later. All you wanted was to stay in his arms.

“Descansa, I’ll clean us up” he reassured. [t: rest]

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

Hi! I hope you doing well! Could one of Earth 42 Miles Morales x Female Reader where reader in his universe dead and he and her was dating before he become the prowler (I don't know if I write his name right English it's not my first language) and she go to earth 42 whit miles and he sees her again alive, and Miles is also dating Female Reader and is like "what do you mean "she's alive"?"

(Hello! I hope this fits and I hope you enjoy! So sorry if it sucks as this is my first spider-verse thing but I hope you enjoy!)

Taglist

Second Chance

You knew the moment you got here that something was wrong.

You were not home.

Home was 1610, not whatever the hell this was. You guys were supposed to be sent home, the DNA detected was supposed to send you home.

But you realized too late the Spider, the one that caused all of this, wasn't from home.

Everything was wrong.

Very wrong.

Especially when Miles' Uncle Aaron came through the door. Really wrong when he leads you up to the roof.

And really, fucking, wrong when you stared at a mural of your face, painted on a brick wall in front of you along with Miles' father.

You were dead here.

Home was where you were alive. This…this was not home.

"...(Name)..." You could hear Miles whisper in your ear, you couldn't answer back.

Too scared to look away from your smiling face painted into the brick.

You could tell Uncle Aaron was standing right beside you and Miles, both staring at the graffiti mural.

Miles looked to you, his hand gripping onto yours to try and bring you back from your own stare at your own mural.

Uncle Aaron flipped on a light, Miles hesitated to look, but when he did he could see his supposed Uncles stare.

You finally tore your eyes from the mural, gripping back onto Miles' hand almost as if it would take you away from this nightmare.

Uncle Aaron merely stared at you two as you both backed up, trying to get away.

But you didn't.

You could feel a stare on the back of your head, too late to turn around, but catching a glimpse along with Miles as someone jumped from a rooftop, knocking Miles senseless and into the ground unconscious.

"Shit- Miles!" You panicked, trying to grab him before he hit the ground but you didn't get the chance.

You noted how the one who punched your boyfriend out stared at you, never looking away as he slowly got closer.

He stepped over Miles' unconscious body, you tried to back away but had nowhere to go as Uncle Aaron wrapped his arm around your neck from behind.

"Hey! No- let me go!" You tried to fight back, clawing at his hand before a sting in your neck caused you to yell in pain.

The one in the purple suit stood closer as your body tried to keep fighting, but soon fell limp, your eyes rolled into the back of your head.

Uncle Aaron let you go, about to let you fall into the ground with your Miles. You were fully content with that.

Until the one in front of you caught you just as you closed your eyes to oblivion.

You still had some senses left until you were left completely out. So you could feel the way the boy caught you, carefully moving you in his arms.

Your eyes flickered open and closed, fighting to stay awake as he stared down at you before your eyelids dropped, and you couldn't help but fall asleep into nothing.

Uncle Aaron saw the way his nephew looked down at you, noting how close he held you and how he stared, his movements slow but gentle.

He could see the way he was careful with you, letting you rest in his arms and never letting you fall to the ground.

Something he had done before.

"Stop staring like they're yours. They're not." Uncle Aaron simply put, walking past his Nephew, Miles Morales, to throw the unconscious one over his shoulder.

"...I know. They're just…alive." Miles muttered, can't help but to stare down at your peaceful face in his arms.

You looked like you always did. Content and happy, peaceful to be in his arms.

Like you did before he lost you.

Seeing you alive and just as beautiful as he sat from afar stunned him for a moment, but relieved him as thoughts popped up in his head.

Maybe he got a second chance.

But as he looked over at your Miles, resentment grew.

How come he got to have everything he lost, when everything could've been avoided for him, and get to keep you?

His grip on you couldn't help but to strengthen, the thought of losing you again didn't sit well with him, especially to that Miles.

Not when he had a second chance.

So as he looked down at your sleeping face, one he used to wake up to and one he used to take pictures of just to tease you in the morning with,

He knew something.

He wasn't losing you again.

[twizzie-lairs]

My Darling, My Honey

Alastor X Fem!Reader (Part 13)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 |

Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13

Part 13:

After practically being dragged by Vaggie back into the main lobby of the hotel with Alastor quietly humming behind the two of you, you were basically swarmed by Charlie, Angel, Husk and Nifty.

"WHERE WERE YOU? I was so scared!" Charlie barely manages to get out past the blubbering tears streaming down her face as she hugs you.

Angel examined your body with all of his arms, checking to make sure you were okay, "Geeze, toots, how'd you manage to survive that long against Smiles over there? I was sure you'd be dead meat!"

Husk gave you a glance up and down, "Glad you're alright. I'd hate to miss out on getting to know another drinking buddy." Husk glances over to Angel and grumbles under his breath, "You owe me $50."

"You were betting on if (y/n) was alive???" Vaggie groans, hands rubbing her face in exasperation.

Nifty is basically hyperventilating in your face, sniffing and examining your hair strand by strand, "Yup- still gross- EW!" Before she launches off your shoulders to go and do god knows what somewhere in some far corner of the hotel...

You let out a breathy chuckle, "I appreciate the concern... and the vote of confidence... Angel..." You give a sarcastic glare over in the spider's direction, earning a sheepish smile from Angel.

Taking Charlie's hands in your's, you take one of your hands to dry the tears from her eyes and say, "Charlie, you don't need to cry. You're such a sweet girl. I honestly can't thank you- and Vaggie-" you smile in Vaggie's direction before continuing, "- for saving my life and bringing me here to the Hazbin Hotel. I came here to find the love of my life- back from when I was alive. It's only been a few hours, yet you've already helped me fulfill the goal I've been trying to achieve for decades!"

Your words brought surprised looks upon Charlie, Angel, and Husk's faces.

Husk nearly dropped the glasses he was cleaning, "Uh.. Say what now?"

"Excuse me, but did you just say you found the love of your life... from when you were alive?? Who the hell-" Angel started to say before Alastor walked over put his hand on your shoulder,.

"Oh, you gotta be fuckin' kidding me." Husk interrupted Angel's sentence with the most deadpan yet exasperated voice he could muster.

"Wait... you mean... Freaky face has a fuckin' WIFE???" Angel yelled out in disbelief. "What the actual FUCK? I didn't think that guy was capable of love!"

"Ahem." Static noises became louder as Alastor glared in Angel's direction.

"Alright, alright, jesus, sorry! Husk, I need a drink."

"Already on it."

Meanwhile, Charlie just stood there as still as a statue from the shock. Until she suddenly started chuckling slowly, "Ah ha... hahaha... wait... really?" She brought her hands up to her mouth, trying to hide the huge grin that was slowly forming on her face.

You nodded, "Well, not quite wife haha... I was killed before he could propose..."

"Geeze, talk about grim.."

"Why, I do say that is quite enough from the peanut gallery!" Alastor piped up, menacingly twisting his head towards the bar where Angel and Husk were.

Charlie turned to Alastor, "How come you never mentioned you had someone special before?"

"Well my dear Charlie, I am a very private person, I do not often willingly divulge personal information about myself or my life back when I was alive."

"Oh." Charlie looked down at the ground dejectedly, thinking she was closer to Alastor than to be kept at such length still.

You patted Charlie's head, "Don't worry- I'll be happy to chat with you anytime! Though I don't know if you'll have fun hearing how I killed my husband- er- before Alastor. Maybe I'll have to settle for stories about my art career!" You chuckle smiling at her.

"Jesus, she IS crazy after all."

"Takes crazy to know crazy"

"Oh, shut up."

Charlie gasps, suddenly perking up, "Oh.. MY... GOSH!! Does this mean we get to host the very first wedding at our hotel??" She squeals and gives both you and Alastor the puppy-eye look.

You link your arm through Alastor's and look up at him with an inquisitive look.

"Ahaha! Why, if it is what my dear (y/n) desires, then that is what we shall do!"

You grin and bring your left hand up and hold it out to Charlie, "We already have the rings!"

Charlie blinks blankly and her mouth hangs open holding your hand to examine the ring on your hand. Vaggie leans over to look as well, "I honestly don't know I missed that..."

After staring at the ring for a while, Charlie smacks Vaggie's arm a bunch before squeezing her in a big embrace- the sounds of her squealing excitedly filled the room.

"WE HAVE A WEDDING TO PLAN!!!!!"

-> Part 14 - Final

Tag List:

@mysticwitchcraftco @lil-bexie @lonely-burger @cherry-cola-100 @angelxx7 @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 @avitute @justhellacesome @mcrtrashfan @spookysisters @galaxywing-has-adhd @ggyalruu @trashbin-nie @fudosl @night-shadowblood-writes2 @memospacexx @yuraaahs @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf @ghostdoodlen @moschinski @cannibalcoyote @missam @reader3 @yourworstgf @justaproudslytherpuff @milkspong3 @xdolls-crownx @1potato2rulethemall @1rxsemary1 @xxcrispxx @zardward @robin-the-enby @mylenapony11 @silvermoondarksky @bootylimpics @amarokofficial @euphoricaphrodite @blueyobsessedgirly @need-a-therapist @knifukiller @huayan @hwrimonsjer @no1sillybilly @kimmikreates @icarus-has-falllen @watchinthestarz @lady-lik3r @yunxi-11085 @luzzbuzz @tsukilover11 @plntmxrss @houmi @demoarah @papas-ghoulette @trashbin-nie @d-darlingyourbleeding @hallothankmas

[luveline]

If you’re still up for requests — could you maybe do one where peter or remus comes home after a visibly bad day and the reader misinterprets his behavior and assumes he’s upset with her instead ?? like she’s walking on eggshells, silently fussing around trying to figure out what she did, meanwhile all he wants to do is hold her and decompress 🥺☹️

absolutely no pressure! <33

“Oh my god.” Peter lets out a pained groan at the door, followed by the plastic crinkle of shopping bags hitting the floor. “My back. Jesus.” 

You look up in surprise from your book at the table. “I thought we were going together?” 

“I couldn’t face coming home and going out again.” He drags the bags to the fridge and pauses. “I figured you’d be okay with not having to go?” 

“Sure,” you agree immediately. He has a black cranky fog around him, you can practically feel it as you get up to help him unpack the bags. He doesn’t seem best pleased with you.

He rubs his eyes, rubs his mouth, and turns to the sink. He runs the faucet, pulling one of the glasses back off of the draining board to fill, and wincing at the harsh sound when he turns it too fast. Peter forgets his own strength every now and then —usually when he’s not feeling well. 

Peter gives you a funny look as you step into his space. You quickly step out of it and start to load groceries into the fridge and cabinets, pleased to find he’s bought the things you would’ve gotten yourself and even some things you’d have wanted but not allowed yourself. Maybe he’s not that mad after all—

“God damn,” he says, rolling an empty bag into a ball in his hand, “I forgot the fucking laundry detergent again.” 

“That’s okay–”

“It’s not okay, you’ve asked me to get it three times this week.” 

“I was just reminding you,” you say, fingers tingling with the potential of an impending argument. “It’s fine. We haven’t run out yet, we can squeeze another wash out of it. I’ll get some tomorrow.” 

He sits down in the chair you’d been sitting in and moves your book and plate of snacks aside, neither gentle nor rough about it. “Damn,” he says again, dropping his face into his hands.

“Pete…” 

His eyes must be sore by now he’s rubbing them so much, hands held to his eyes and fingers scratching into his hair. He tips his face toward the table and lets himself sit with whatever it is that’s getting him down. Me, you think worriedly. I shouldn’t have asked him to get groceries today. You knew he had a longer shift than usual, and that he’d want to do some Spidering afterward. 

You’ve sorry on the tip of your tongue when he lays his face heavily in one hand, elbow on the table barely keeping him up, and holds the other out toward you. Rejecting him doesn’t even cross your mind. 

“Fuck, I missed you today,” he says, taking your hand as soon as you offer it and dragging you toward him. You peer down at him with wide eyes as he wraps his arm around you, his nose quick to hide in the linen of your shirt. His voice tickles, “I just wanted to be with you. I knew this would make me feel better.” 

There’s a little dry barb at the back of your throat you can’t speak past. Peter doesn’t notice, rubbing his cheek in your side as he repositions you for optimal hugging. He lets out a self-pitying whine, second arm joining the first in a lock behind your back. “You smell amazing.” 

“I do?” you ask finally. 

“I think you’re just made for me, angel,” he says, voice dragging with fatigue. “You always smell good.” 

You squint with lips pursed, blinking in confusion as you bring your hand up to his hair. “Thanks for going to the store.”

“You’re welcome. I can’t function without groceries either, anyways.” He sighs with the particular Parker brand of lovelorn contentedness, a familiar sound. He makes the same noise when you’re tucked up in bed together on the weekends with nowhere to go, or holding hands on the subway travelling home, knee to knee or intertwined. “Can’t believe how quickly you make me feel better,” he murmurs. 

“I kinda thought you were mad at me,” you confess, matching his tone.

“You have some strange wires crossed in your brain,” he says. His sympathy and affection for you is palpable; his hand tracks a soft line down the curve of your back. 

“Yeah, I know. Do you want me to rub your shoulders?” you ask, pressing your face to the mop of his thick hair. 

He hugs you tightly. “You’re my dream girl.” 

[igotanidea]

Too hot to handle: Jason Todd x reader

SMUT MDNI!

As usual sorry for all the typos, grammar mistakes etc. I really had to post it XD

***

Y/N was fuming.

For no reason at all, falling down the internet hole, she found herself on some stupid forum for stupid horny women who couldn't keep it in their pants.

Clearly those bitches were getting hot and bothered for Red Hood, shamelessly sharing their dirty thoughts and comments on some parts of his body and the things he'd let him do if--

Fuck.

She could have Tim or Babs trace their IP addresses in a second and could pay them a visit of a very possessive, angered and super jealous girlfriend.

Her hands were almost itching to write a few spicy comments herself, spilling the beans of whose body Red Hood was touching almost every night. Whose lips he was devouring. Whose most sensitive parts he was tasting with his tongue, begging for as much as a drop of sweetness. Whose moans and gasps he got to hear, whose voice was his drug, whose curves he was worshiping on his knees.

Obviously, she couldn't do that, but the thought of Jason's muscled body on top of her, his hands tracing her skin and joining her in the intimate dance had a side effect seeping through her panties. 

She needed him. 

With the need that could not be satisfied with her fingers or even the toys she had stacked safely in the locked bottom drawer.

Jason ...

Come home...

Can't you sense how much I want you now...

She almost prayed to the moon on the sky to bring her lover back to her. 

***

That little tingling on his skin was something new and as much as he hated to put the thought into words, it was like a spider-sense. The one of Y/N’s second favorite self-appointed hero – spiderman.

Y/n…

Was that feeling because she was in danger?

Did someone hurt her? Did anyone dare lay a finger on his precious girl?

Jason gritted his teeth, clenching fists, anger at a purely potential enemy flooded his brain.

It was a quiet night either way, giving him a perfect opportunity to take a quick detour and check on his angel. Just a look and assurance that she was safe, to help him keep going and push him through all the shit and doubts.

Y/n….

***

He did not expect her to sit in front of Netflix at 2 am. She had work in the morning so why on earth was she watching the series?

“Hey!” he called, probably a little bit too loud, causing her to jump on the couch and almost drop the mug. “Sorry…”

“Next time give me a heads up, will you?” she muttered with a pout.

“Um- okay. What’s with the attitude?”

“Nothing.” Y/N scoffed angrily, turning back to the TV.

“Can I please get my girlfriend back? You know, the other one? Nice and caring? The one who would ask me if I’m hurt or maybe need patching or a post-patrol kiss?” Jason teased moving in front of the screen, successfully blocking it from her view. “Wait… Y/N, are you watching “Too hot to handle?" His laugh filled the room, because honestly that might have been the funniest thing in the whole week. His serious, a bit reserved, goody-two-shoes girl had her eyes on the show about horny singles.

“Shut up…”

“Oh, I will most definitely not shut up about it. Are you hinting at something, here? Cause you know, you don’t need a show like this if—” he switched a little, coming closer and leaning over her silhouette on the couch

“Shut up, Jason!”

“Whoa!” his hands raised in feigned surrender “someone’s feisty today, aren’t you?”

“I’m not feisty. I’m furious!”

“At what?”

“Girls!”

“Wait, what?” Jason frowned “I am confused.

“Girls! Women! The ones who are trying to bang and –”

“I thought you liked banging?” he sent her a knowing smirk

“Jason!”

 “Come on, sunshine, you cannot hide that blush.” He pointed out, brushing fingers over her reddened cheeks, raising her head so she had to look into his eyes “What’s gotten into you? Tell me the truth.”

“Stupid internet.”

“Mhm. Okay. Care to elaborate?”

“Did you know the girls are getting hot for the Red Hood on some stupid forum?”

“Nope. Did not. But… did it make you jealous?” he smirked, expecting her to deny and squirm in embarrassment that he accused her of such low feelings.

“Yeah…” Much to his surprise, she decided to be honest. It truly was a strange night. “Yeah, I was. Jealous and furious. Hence the “Too hot to handle” marathon.”

“Hm? Can’t see the correlation.”

“It’s so shallow and selfish and mean, but – the show is so silly and most possibly fabricated. I may, or may not have been trying to diminish women who are openly horny….?” Her voice became barely audible at the end, as if she was ashamed to admit her own .

“Oh, you silly little one.” Jason laughed, pulling her onto his lap and brushing hair out of her forehead. “You could have led with that.” His lips brushed over her forehead

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“You should have told me, that coming across girls leching over me-“

“Over Red Hood!” she interrupted and he only laughed again.

“Over me” he underlined  “- got your knickers in a twist.”

“It did not!”

Great, now she was trying to deny it. Too bad it was too late and he was in the mood for the games anymore. He felt the need to assure her that she was the one, though also expressing appreciation for said open horniness and for a little bit of jealousy. It made his ego soar.

“Didn’t it?” he teased, grabbing onto her waist and laying her on her back, hovering over her, moving fingers up her leg, until it reached the hem of her sleeping shorts. “Maybe I should check myself then?”

His hand brushed over the inside of her thigh, causing her to let out a sharp exhale.

“Oh, right… My little minx is not wearing panties at all. So it seems like you have been telling the truth after all. You did not get them in a twist…”

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to her, a sudden sweet distraction allowing him to yank those silly little shorts down, exposing her want without any care in the world. Opening her legs and wrapping them on his waist, without breaking the kiss for even a second, Jason pressed his weight on her, distributing it evenly on his forearms, to not crash her.

“Mmm. Tease.”

“And you love every second of it.” He smirked, grinding against her core, sacrificing his favorite tactical pants to her warmth and wetness. Not much of an exorbitant price for what was waiting at the finish line.

And even though it was just the beginning of the marathon, they were already gasping heavily, grasping onto each other, pulling each other closer and closer. She was so needy and he loved it. The more bothered she was, the easier it got for him to end on the winner’s podium. His cock was hardening by a second, making it almost painful to be kept in the pants, but he was holding back.

“Jason…” she moaned, reaching down his torso, sneaking hand under the waistband.

“Not yet, baby.” All she got in return was her hands pinned above her head in a very vulnerable position, completely at his mercy. And to add to it all, Jason lips attached to her pulse point, sucking the sensitive skin, making sure to leave a dark purple hickey. The one she wouldn’t be able to cover easily. “Not yet…” the grip on her wrists faltered for a second, but not enough to allow her to break free.

Jason was skillful and knew exactly what he was doing.  Feeding her with the false hope of freedom only for a second, only to grab her hands in one hand, using the other to roll her sleeping shirt up, exposing her breasts, but not taking it off fully.

“Hello, lovelies…” he muttered, before diving between her tits, getting the arching back and multiple sounds of pleasure in return. “Yeah… keep those sounds coming, baby…”

His lips traced a scorching path down her cleavage, making her want skyrocket, smirking upon the feeling of her legs tightening on his waist and her hips grinding against her jeans.

“Not yet.” He commanded again, pressing her back flat onto the couch. “Not yet…” his eyes flashed with something primal and animalistic. There was something devilishly turning on with having her naked under him, while he didn’t shed a single piece of clothing. And he was going to exploit that opportunity to the maximum.

With a quiet laugh that sounded almost sinful, Jason bent down and traced tongue over the flesh of her soft, warm breast, purposefully avoiding the little pink button that was begging for his attention. Yes, his ego was skyrocketing upon hearing her cries of pleasure and broken gasps of his name on her swollen lips, followed by the flexing of her body against his touch.

Yes, he might have been acting a little dominant, but they both knew it was not going to go on forever. 

Deep inside Jason was sweet and romantic, definitely putting soft, tender lovemaking over hard and rough sex.

And really, it didn’t take him long to give in to her pleadings and entreaties, moving lips to her nipple, sucking and biting on it gently.

“Oh yes!” she cried out, closing her eyes and from that moment things started taking on the pace. Jason groaned from the sensation of her breast in his mouth, letting go of her wrists, allowing her hands to tangle in his hair, only adding to the feelings burning inside his chest and groin. Abandoning lavishing attention on her chest, he guided her hands to the hem of his shirt and with  interlaced fingers and eyes never faltering from each other’s face they pulled it over his head, exposing his toned upper body, covered with fresh bruises and cuts.

“So you are hurt…” she whispered, touching the pads of her fingers to the newest purple mark on his pec.

“I didn’t notice…” his voice was deep, calming and full of adoration “All I notice right now is you…” he grabbed her hand pressing it to his lips, kissing all over her knuckles.

“Then come feel me too…” she moved upwards, pressing her lips to his, wanting to feel that chapped warmth on hers. And once their mouths met it was a sensation incomparable with anything else. Ironically (or not) making out like this, with their entwined bodies, separated only by the material of his pants, slowly, tenderly, focused only on each other, leaving the whole world behind was turning her on more than actual penetration.

Which did not mean she didn’t want to go all the way.

“Is it time yet?” she whispered, with a little bit of teasing in her voice, breaking the kiss only for a second.

“You are ruining the moment, sunshine.” He chuckled, tracing kisses up her cheek, all the way to her ear, softly biting on her earlobe, causing more tickling than actual pain. Y/N responded with a little chuckle as well, cupping his cheek, bringing his lips back to hers once more. Without breaking the making out for even one second, Y/N removed his belt and undid the button on his pants. Then, with a few kicks and swings of legs, they managed to set him free from his confines, finally feeling each other from head to toe.

“How’s your jealousy doing now…?” he teased, guiding himself to her entrance, grabbing onto her waist, rolling his fingers in tiny circles on her sensitive skin.

“Who’s ruining the moment now?”

“No idea. Who?” he chuckled. It was so good being with her like this. In the moment of intimacy, that was meaningful but deprived of the seriousness that could ruin the tenderness. Perfect mix of softness and love, seasoned with a bit of well balanced humor and  sarcasm that bonded them in the first place. “You ready for me, baby?”

“So ready.” She smiled, shifting and squirming to allow him to slide inside better and maximize the pleasure of unity for them both.

“Mh. Hello there…” he smirked and without missing a bit started to move inside her. Slowly, but intensely. Building up and drawing the tension. Moving hands on her body in time with the thrusts, fueling the fire that was meant to warm but not burn. “Is this what you wanted?” he looked at her face searching for the answers behind those e/c eyes, filled with longing and devotion.  

“Yeah… Good thing you helped me realize what it was that I wanted…” she started matching his movements, kissing him again.

The tension between their bodies was building slowly and steadily. There was no rush. They had all the time in the world, that suddenly shrunk to only them two.

Jason and Y/n.

Y/n and Jason.

Together.

Connecting seamlessly, with bodies joined and heart beating only for one another. Creating their own bubble of beauty and wonder in the darkness and danger of Gotham.

“I love you…” he muttered, leaning forehead on hers, needing to say those words before everything turn into the blur and haze due to the slowly approaching tidal wave of climax.

“I love you…” she responded, feeling the exact same need, knowing well enough that those three little words exchanged before the post-bliss was far more meaningful and far more true.

***

“How’s the hate on horny women doing now?” he muttered against her hair, some time later. It could have been minutes as well as hours cause once they busted the pleasure door open time suddenly became relative and meaningless.

“Hm? What women? Wait a second. Are you really trying to tell me there are other women somewhere?’ she looked at him with a tease, raising an eyebrow playfully. “I am fairly convinced there are only you and me. No other men or women anywhere.”

“Hm… What I’m hearing is that I’m the only guy in the world for you?”

“It depends on—”

“Because sure as hell you are the only woman for me.” He added quickly, knowing what her condition was. “And no silly internet forum or contestant of so-called hot, naughty Netflix show could change it.”

“You got soft, Red Hood.” She smiled, nuzzling into his chest and placing a little kiss on his chest, close to his heart

“I can be hard when it counts, though.” His heart picked up the pace as her lips touched his skin “Honestly I can be anything you may need from me.”

“How about we both stay ourselves?”

“Works for me.”

Jason's arms wrapped around her pulling her to his chest for more and more aftercare and cuddles. It was a quiet night after all and he could indulge in some time with his beloved Y/N.

[yannawayne]

iv. what's up danger?

SYNOPSIS: "Alright, let's do this one last time. My name is Y/N Kyle. I was bitten by a radioactive spider, And I've been the one and only Spidey in Gotham. I’m pretty sure you know the rest." PAIRING: Older! Damian Wayne/Fem! Reader TAGS: Established Relationship, Wounds, Violence, Surgical procedures, Panic Attacks, Arguments AO3: yenwayne SERIES LINK: gotham's only spidey

<- PREVIOUS | NEXT ->

 ༻⊰───⋅

The room falls into a stunned silence, every gaze drawn to your disheveled, bloodied appearance.

You attempt a casual wave, but it comes off as weak and awkward. Blood drips from your bruised knuckles, each drop splattering with a muted plop onto the polished floor. “Hey, everyone. Sorry, I’m late.”

Jason’s eyes flare with a dangerous glint of green as he barks, “What the fuck happened, kid?”

A typical dinner at the Waynes.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Wednesday, 6:54 PM - Catwoman’s Apartment, Gotham City. 

Three Days Later

THE ROOM IS QUIET except for the occasional rustle of clothing as you pack your things. You carefully fold your favorite hoodie, tucking it neatly into the suitcase. Next, you grab a few pairs of jeans, some t-shirts, and your worn-out sneakers. 

You pause, your fingers lingering on a framed photo resting on the edge of the dresser. It's a snapshot of you and Damian at a carnival, his arm slung over your shoulder, his lips gently pressed against your head. 

It’s been three days of radio silence between you and Damian. Three days of not speaking, which is practically a record for your relationship. And just when you were starting to get used to the peace and quiet, Bruce had to go and invite you and Selina to a celebratory dinner tonight. A gourmet guilt trip.

With a sigh, you place the photo gently on top of your clothes. Then you move to your desk, gathering a stack of notebooks crammed with sketches and half-finished plans scribbled on napkins and crumpled scraps of paper. You tuck them into the side pocket of your bag, carefully arranging the chaotic collection so that it all fits.

The door creaks open, and Selina steps into the room, her arms crossed with a proud smile playing on her lips.

“Packing up for your big adventure?” she asks.

You look up from your suitcase, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah. It’s only for a month, but it feels like I’m leaving for a year.”

“A month isn’t so long.” Selina walks over, her feet thudding softly on the floor. She picks up a small figurine from your desk, examining it with a thoughtful expression. “Think of it as a chance to stretch your wings and maybe learn a thing or two.”

“Thanks.” You smile and turn back to your packing, reaching for your suit. The sleek, black material glistens under the soft light filtering through the window. You run your fingers over the spider emblem stitched into the back, feeling the familiar texture beneath your fingertips.

“You’re not seriously thinking of bringing the suit, are you?” she asks.

You hesitate, feeling the weight of the suit in your hands. “I thought I might need it. Just in case.”

“Well, you’re not planning on fighting crime in Stark Tower, are you?” she snarks, hands finding her hips as she gives you a look that clearly says she’s not buying your excuse. “This internship is a chance for you to have a life outside the vigilante shtick. It’s good for your future. A chance to live a normal life.”

“Normal? Mom, I stopped being normal the day I got these powers. There's no going back to that.”

“Maybe not,” Selina concedes, running gentle fingers through your hair. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have something close to it. You deserve to have options, to see what else is out there for you.”

You meet her gaze, your resolve unwavering. “I hear you. But I think I need to bring it. Just in case something goes wrong.”

Selina sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly. “God. You are just as stubborn as me,” she says, rising to her feet with a resigned smile. “Just promise me you’ll keep an open mind about this internship. Give it a real shot, okay?”

“Promise,” you hum, feeling a small sense of relief. As you reach for the suit to tuck it into your bag, your phone buzzes insistently.

Quickly, you glance at the screen.

Morgana:

Busy tonight? There’s a shipment near the docks. Tech equipment from what I see.

You could infiltrate. They have valuable info.

It's… Black Mask.

For a while, you stare at the phone, your thumb hovering over the screen, itching to swipe through the new messages. But Selina is still standing nearby. With a soft cough and a resigned exhale, you place the phone face down on the floor, deliberately ignoring the message for now.

You turn your attention back to your suitcase, refocusing on the task at hand. Selina watches you with a knowing look but doesn’t press further. The silence in the room is filled with the subtle rustle of fabric and the soft clink of zippers as you continue packing.

“Ready for tonight?” Selina asks.

You nod, though a knot tightens in your stomach. Bruce’s congratulatory dinner feels less like a celebration and more like an impending test, especially with the unresolved tension between you and Damian hanging heavy.

“Ready as I'll ever be,” you reply, attempting to sound confident.

You zip up the suitcase, taking a moment to glance around the room. Everything seems to be in place, but you double-check, making sure you haven’t forgotten anything essential. 

Selina nods approvingly, then steps closer, bending to pull you into a hug. “I’ll go get dressed. You do too, alright?”

Selina leaves the room, her footsteps fading into the distance. Turning back to your suitcase, you rummage through the clothes, pulling out a pair of well-worn jeans and a red jacket. After slipping on some socks and sneakers, you reach for a black shirt. But as your hand hovers over the fabric, your gaze is drawn to your suit laid out on the bed.

The spider logo on its back glares at you, its eight-legged emblem almost seeming to reach out with an imperceptible pull, as if urging you to embrace your other self.

After a moment of inner conflict, you give in. You carefully pull on the suit beneath your clothes, the snug material wrapping around you like a second skin. With the suit in place, you slip on your black shirt, followed by the jacket and jeans. You tuck your mask into the pocket of your jacket.

Wearing a superhero suit under your clothes for a fancy dinner—definitely not a sign of insanity. Totally normal behavior. Call it creative paranoia.

With everything packed and ready, you head downstairs. Selina is still in her room, and you catch sight of her as she steps into view, looking a touch more formal than you in a sleek, off-shoulder black dress that hugs her curves. It’s short, tight, and elegant.

“Done already?” she hums, moving to her vanity and starting on her hair and makeup.

You nod, leaning against the doorframe and giving your hair a casual tousle. “Yeah, figured I’d keep it simple. Not sure I’m in the mood for fancy.”

Selina glances at you through the mirror, a small, reassuring smile curling her lips. “You look great. And don’t worry too much about tonight. It’ll be fine.”

“I hope so,” you murmur, more to yourself than to her.

The clock on the wall reads 7:00. You have three hours before the dinner, and Selina, always the early planner, will be occupied with her preparations for a while.

Pulling out your phone, you check Morgan’s message again. If you played your cards right, you could handle the shipment bust quickly and still make it to the dinner on time.

Clearing your throat, you push yourself off the doorframe and tug your hood back on. You head downstairs, making sure to keep your movements casual and unhurried, as if nothing out of the ordinary is about to happen.

“I’ll be heading out for a bit. I want to get some flowers for Alfred,” you call out, your voice carrying through the house.

Selina glances up from her vanity, an eyebrow arching in curiosity. “Alright, but don’t be too long. We need to leave once the driver arrives.”

“Got it,” you reply with a quick nod, turning and heading out of the room. You make your way downstairs, slipping out the front door and into the crisp evening air.

Once you’re in the privacy of a nearby alleyway, you waste no time. Tugging off your shirt, you shove it into the pocket of your jacket, feeling a rush of adrenaline. You slip on your mask, adjusting it carefully until it fits snugly, the familiar material settling comfortably against your skin. Your jeans, jacket, and sneakers stay on for practicality, and you plan to put the black shirt back on later.

With everything in place, you secure your earpiece and gadgets, pressing the earpiece into position and activating it. The familiar hum of your tech springs to life, and you’re ready to move. 

The city’s sounds fade as you slip into the shadows.

“Morgz? You there?” you call out, already scaling up the side of a building.

A crackle of static precedes Morgan’s voice. “Yeah, I’m here. You on your way?”

“Just about to leave,” you reply, grabbing onto a ledge and pulling yourself up. “Any updates on the shipment?”

“It’s scheduled to arrive in about 30 minutes. The tech equipment is being unloaded from a truck into a warehouse. Security’s decent, but nothing you can’t handle. You’re only 15 minutes away from your spot right now.”

“Got it,” you confirm, reaching the rooftop and taking a moment to scan the area below. “I’ll keep you posted. Thanks for the heads-up.”

You launch into action, web-slinging towards the docks with a focus on speed. Normally, you’d be showboating and performing flips, but tonight, every second counts. The journey takes a bit longer than expected—20 minutes instead of 15.

As you approach the docks, you spot a boat pulling up to the edge, its silhouette cutting through the darkness.

“Surprised you even took this up,” Morgan’s voice murmurs through your earpiece. “Thought you weren't allowed to patrol on school nights.”

“Technically… I’m not,” you reply, weaving between buildings and adjusting your trajectory for a swift descent.

“Yeesh. Going rebellious already?”

“Teenage angst, remember?” you quip, a grin forming beneath your mask as you prepare to intercept the shipment

Landing on a rooftop adjacent to the warehouse, you take a moment to plan your entry. The warehouse is a large, industrial building with a few tall windows and a side door that looks like it’s used for deliveries.

Security cameras are mounted on the corners of the building, rotating every now and then. You quickly survey the area, noting the guards' position.

There are a couple of guards patrolling the perimeter, walking in predictable patterns. One guard is stationed near the side door, checking his watch occasionally. The other two are more mobile, taking turns walking around the exterior and scanning the area.

Beyond the security, you see five workers moving boxes from the boat to the warehouse. The open doors at the far end reveal crates of tech equipment being unloaded.

You activate your earpiece. "Update. Three guards outside. Five active workers. They've got cameras. Can you get those down for me?"

Morgan's voice crackles through your earpiece. "On it. Give me a sec."

You watch the cameras, waiting for them to go offline. The guard near the side door looks at his watch again, oblivious to what's about to happen. 

After a tense moment, Morgan's voice comes back. "Cameras are down. You've got about an hour before the system kicks in again. Oh. That and there are about 5 more guards inside."

"Perfect," you hum.

You time your movements with the guards' patrols, slipping through the shadows. You approach the side door, keeping low and quiet.

Inside, the warehouse is dimly lit, with stacks of crates creating narrow pathways. The workers are busy unloading the truck, their focus on the task at hand. You crawl up the walls swiftly and silently.

You spot a terminal near the back of the warehouse, its blinking lights indicating it’s connected to the inventory system.

Time to get to work.

“I'm at the terminal. What’s next?” you whisper into the earpiece.

Morgan’s voice comes through with a steady tone. “Plug in the flash drive to copy the inventory data. While that’s running, find the main control panel for the security system and plant the tracker. This will help us monitor future shipments.”

You nod, even though she can't see you. "Got it. Flash drive first, then tracker."

You slip to the terminal and plug in the flash drive, which hums softly as it starts copying data. Glancing around to make sure no one is watching, you head to the security control panel hidden behind some crates and quickly plant the tracker.

"The tracker is set," you inform Morgan.

"Great job. The data copy should be done soon. Once it’s finished, you can pull the flash drive and get out of there."

You head back to the terminal, keeping an eye on the workers and guards. The flash drive's light blinks, signaling it's almost finished. After a few tense moments, the light turns solid.

"Data copied," Morgan confirms. "You’re clear to go."

You pull out the flash drive, tuck it into your pocket, and start heading toward the exit, blending into the shadows. Just as you reach the door, you hear voices nearby.

“Hey, did you hear something?”

Your heart stops as the guard’s flashlight beam sweeps dangerously close to your hiding spot. You freeze, pressing yourself against the cold metal wall, barely breathing.

“Probably just a rat. Let's check it out just in case.”

You curse silently under your breath, watching as the guards start moving in your direction.

The first guard steps closer, his flashlight scanning the area. You silently crawl up the wall, positioning yourself above him. With a swift flick of your wrist, you shoot a web at the flashlight, yanking it out of his hand and into the darkness.

“What the—” the guard starts, but you quickly web his mouth shut and pull him up towards the ceiling, wrapping him tightly in webbing and securing him to the roof. You knock his head against the metal, and he passes out.

The second guard, alarmed by the sudden commotion, turns his back to you as he draws his weapon. The rifle fires, but your spider sense helps you dodge the shots. 

Cursing, you shoot a web at his feet, yanking his legs out from under him and sending him crashing to the ground. Before he can react, you web his hands to the floor and sling his weapon away.

Dropping from the ceiling, you slow your landing with a web and slam your foot down onto his head, knocking him out.

Despite the quiet disposal of the two guards, the earlier rifle shot already alerted the other workers and guards in the warehouse. You hear shouts and hurried footsteps approaching.

“Someone’s here! Find them!”

Guards scramble, their flashlights slicing through the darkness, casting erratic beams that dance across the warehouse walls. You sprint away, weaving between crates and machinery, but a new threat emerges from the shadows—a massive, burly man, easily twice your size. He’s built like a brick wall, his muscles straining against his uniform, and his face looks like it’s been chiseled out of stone, etched with a permanent scowl.

“Who’s messing around in 'ere?” the giant roars, his voice reverberating through the cavernous space. He brandishes a rifle, and from the looks of it, he seems to be their leader.

You glance at your watch—damn, it’s been two hours already. 

Only an hour left.

Still… you could probably get one fight in before leaving.

…

Swinging out of the shadows, you land in front of the giant, hands on your hips.

“Hi, Mr. Villain!” you call out, catching a punch he throws and giving his hand a playful shake. “I’m Spidey, your friendly neighborhood nuisance. Always nice to meet someone with such a ‘heavy’ presence. Looks like you’ve got a bit of a security problem here—totally my bad.”

The giant snarls at you. He fires his rifle, but you deftly dodge the bullets. With a swift move, you fire a web at his feet and arms, pinning him momentarily to the ground. The rifle is knocked from his hands, clattering out of reach.

The guards scramble to regroup, and you spring into action. Flipping back into the air, you disarm the remaining guards—quick web blasts here, a roundhouse kick there, an uppercut thrown. Each guard crumples under the assault, slamming against the walls one by one, webbed together in a tangled heap.

There’s a snap as the leader breaks free, roaring in fury and charging at you. You duck under his swinging arm and fire a web at a stack of crates. The crates topple and crash into his path, heavy wood and metal smashing together. He stumbles, cursing and flailing wildly.

“Careful there! You might just crush your own merchandise,” you taunt, sidestepping his erratic swings.

In that moment of distraction, you snatch his gun away with a quick webshot. But as you turn to face him again, a jolt of pure adrenaline slams through your veins, sharp and unrelenting, like an electric shock.

The world sharpens into hyperfocus. 

DANGER!

Your instincts scream at you to move. You leap to the side, but it’s already too late. A shadowy figure springs from the darkness, their knife catching a deadly glint in the harsh warehouse lights.

The blade slices through your suit, leaving a searing, agonizing wound. You stagger, clutching your side as blood seeps through the torn fabric and pools on the cold concrete. With a pained grimace, you muster the strength to shoot a web at the attacker, slamming them against the wall with a forceful swing.

“Spidey?! Come in. Shit. What happened to staying stealthy?” Morgan's voice crackles through the earpiece. “PEPPER, run back their vitals on me.”

A mechanical voice responds through your earpiece. “Vitals are stable. The wound is a deep six-inch laceration on the left side, with moderate blood loss, but the suit's padding has helped. The injury missed major organs and arteries. Immediate first aid and stitches are recommended.”

“Looks like I’ve got a new scar to show for tonight,” you heave, trying to ignore the throbbing pain as the giant stalks toward you. “But I’m not done yet.”

The man's roar shakes the warehouse.

“You think you can take me, you puny spider?!”

You lift your chin, tilting your head with a smirk. “Puny? That’s funny. I’ve taken down bigger.”

The giant lunges, brandishing a scrap of metal like a battering ram. You barely dodge, feeling the whoosh of air as it swings past. You retaliate with a web shot to his face, but he roars and swats it away, his massive arms tearing through your webbing.

“Careful there, big guy,” you quip, “I’m not into heavy metal, but thanks for the offer!”

His hand clamps onto your chest, lifting you off your feet with an alarming strength. He hurls you against a stack of crates, the impact slamming you into the wall. You slide down to the floor, dazed and with blood trickling from a split lip.

While you're down, the giant strides toward you, his heavy footsteps shaking the ground like a mini earthquake. You struggle to rise, just as he launches a flying knee. Your senses scream, a blaring alarm urging you to move.

!!!

With a yelp, you roll to the side, narrowly avoiding the crushing blow that hits where you had been seconds before.

“Hey, watch it! I’ve got places to be after this!” you yell.

Before you can react, a powerful punch slams into your face, sending you spiraling backward.

“Owie. That one’s definitely gonna leave a mark,” you groan, pain radiating through your skull. Desperately, you shoot a web at his legs, hoping to slow him down. The webbing holds for a moment before he rips through it with sheer brute force.

Groaning, you shake off the dizziness, rolling your shoulders to loosen them before pushing yourself back to your feet.

“Alright,” you mutter, taking a deep breath. “Clearly, the webs aren’t working. Guess we’re sticking to fists. Put ’em up, big guy.”

Laughing with a guttural, mocking tone, the giant charges at you. As he lunges, you brace yourself and bring your fist up to guard your face. With a burst of power, you jab forward. Your knuckles connect with his face with a sickening crunch, the sound of bone shattering and flesh splitting echoing through the warehouse like a thunderclap.

JAB!

The man staggers back, his head snapping violently to the side, blood spraying from his jaw. Before he can recover, you launch into a spinning kick. Your leg connects with explosive force, slamming him into the wall with a resounding thud.

You follow up with a powerful jump, driving a kick into his ribs. The impact echoes with a sickening crack. He roars in pain and collapses, slumped against the wall.

With quick reflexes, you shoot a web at a high pipe, coiling it tightly. You yank the pipe down with all your strength. It crashes onto the giant with a resounding clang, the impact knocking him out cold.

You take a couple of deep breaths, blood and sweat mingling on your clothes and face as you survey the wreckage. The giant groans weakly—alive, but definitely out of commission for the moment.

“Looks like the big guy’s all out of steam,” you murmur, wiping the blood from your brow with a grim smile. “Now, time to find that exit before my own steam runs out.”

With a final glance at the chaos you've left behind, you swing toward the exit. The cut on your side throbs with each movement—though it's slowly healing, the pain and blood are still very much present.

"Spidey? You alright? What the fuck, you just beat that guy within an inch of his life."

“He’ll live,” you huff as you swing through the streets. After fumbling around for a while, you pull your phone from your jacket and curse at the time. 

Only ten minutes before the car arrives. 

“Uh, Morgz, do me a favor. Where’s the nearest flower shop?”

"Christ. You just busted down an illegal tech deal and now you're out for flowers?" Morgan’s response comes through the earpiece before you hear some typing. “There’s a florist two blocks from your current location. I’m sending you the address. But—You really need to take care of that wound.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you reply. There's a ping as the location pops up on your phone. “Just need to pick up some flowers. Trust me, it’s important.”

You adjust your swing to head toward the florist, landing quietly in the alley outside. With quick movements, you slip off your mask and start changing. You discard your jacket, revealing the bloodied suit underneath. The suit’s dark color masks most of the stains, but it's still a grim sight.

Pulling on your shirt over the suit, you try to conceal the worst of the mess. The sticky, wet feeling of blood against your skin is unpleasant, and you grimace as you adjust the shirt. Finally, you slip the jacket back on, hoping it will help you blend in and give you a semblance of normalcy.

Taking a deep breath, you straighten up and glance at your reflection in the nearby puddle. The image staring back at you is a disheveled mess: hair tousled, face bruised and bloodied, jeans stained with grime and blood, and a jacket barely concealing it all.

“Not my best look,” you bite your lip. “But it’ll have to do.”

With a sigh, you step into the flower shop. The bell above the door jingles softly, and the warm, floral scent is a welcome relief from the warehouse’s stench.

The florist looks up from behind the counter with a curious glance. His eyes narrow slightly as he takes in your disheveled appearance but he doesn’t seem particularly fazed.

In Gotham, a bloodied teenager is probably just another Wednesday.

“Evening,” the florist says, his voice carrying the neutrality of someone accustomed to the oddities of city life. “What can I do for you?”

You give a quick nod, trying to keep your tone casual despite the blood still seeping through your shirt. “Need something nice. Simple. No need for anything flashy.”

The florist nods and starts arranging a bouquet of flowers. You drift over to a corner and find yourself looking at some daisies, their bright, cheerful colors a stark contrast to your current state.

“Spidey? How’s it going?” 

“Alright,” you shrug, though she can’t see it. “Can I get a rundown on my vitals again?”

Morgan’s voice hums and there’s the sound of clicking keys. “Vitals are stable. The cut is slowly healing, but you’ll need to properly bandage and get some of that stitched later Happy to say you're not going to die bleeding out.” 

She pauses, and then adds, “You’ve got a couple of broken ribs though.”

You blink in surprise and pat at your sides, feeling nothing. “Really? Guess that’s my pain tolerance working overtime. Didn’t even notice.”

“Please tell me you’re getting that treated first,” Morgan says, a hint of concern in her voice.

“Nope,” you reply, moving to pay for the flowers. “Already running late. Mom will kill me if she finds out.”

Morgan’s voice is laced with skepticism. “She’s going to find out anyway.”

You sigh, trying to ignore the twinge in your side. “I’ll just say it was a mugging.”

“Do you really think she’ll believe that?” Morgan asks, her tone dry.

You let out a small, pained chuckle. “In Gotham, maybe. But realistically…no. I’m just hoping to buy myself a little time before it all catches up to me.”

With the bouquet in hand, you head back out into the night. You tuck the flowers into your free pocket and swing off into the darkness. As you soar through the city, you reach for your earpiece and say a quick, “Goodnight, Morgz,” before shoving it into the pocket of your jeans.

Just as you near the bridge, your phone rings. You glance at the screen and curse under your breath—Selina’s calling, and from the look of it, she’s been trying to reach you multiple times over the past hour.

Yeah, you’re fucked.

You answer the call, forcing a casual tone. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”

Selina’s voice comes through, clearly agitated. You can hear her huffing as she closes the apartment door, the background noise of a car engine rumbling outside. “Where the hell are you? I’ve been waiting forever. We’re all set to head out.”

You quickly scan the streets below as you swing past, trying to gauge your location. “Uh, I’m on 2nd Broadway… actually, make that 3rd Broadway. And… 4th of Broadway! I’ll be there in… twenty minutes tops. Almost there, Mom!”

There’s a pause.

“... Are you swinging?”

“Nope,” you lie smoothly, narrowly dodging a pigeon that flaps angrily past your face. “Just a bit of a detour. You know how it is.”

“Honey. I can hear the wind. Are you really swinging around? It’s a school night. You know the rules—”

You wince, knowing you’ve been caught. “Just… had a few things to take care of. I’m on my way. Promise. Actually, why don’t I meet you at Wayne Manor instead? I’m near the bridge. Ya know, the one by the docks.”

There’s another pause on her end. 

“Why are you near the docks?!”

You avoid the question, trying to keep the conversation moving. “Long story. Look, I’m running late. Can we just meet at Wayne Manor? I’ll explain everything after dinner.”

Selina’s frustration doesn’t ease, but she sighs. “Fine. Wayne Manor it is. But don’t think for a second you’re off the hook, young lady.”

You nod, even though she can’t see it. “Understood. See you soon. Love you, Mom!”

༻⊰───⋅

BEEP.

Selina scowls as she ends the call and heads down to meet Alfred. The gritty streets of Gotham greet her, the cacophony of sirens and street chatter providing a harsh backdrop to her mood.

Alfred, noticing her irritated state, opens the door for her with a raised eyebrow. "Good to see you Miss Kyle. May I ask where the young miss is?"

Selina forces a smile, trying to mask her frustration. “She’s… handling something that came up last minute. She’ll meet us at the manor.”

"Very well. I trust she’ll be punctual." Alfred says, a hint of concern in his eyes, but he says nothing more. He closes the door behind her as she slips into the car, adjusting her coat and glancing at her reflection in the rearview mirror.

The engine starts, the low hum blending with the city’s background noise. As the vehicle pulls away, Selina leans back against the cool leather seat, her fingers drumming lightly on the armrest, her mind already racing through the conversation she knows is coming.

You were dead meat.

༻⊰───⋅

After nearly an hour of high-speed swings through Gotham, you finally touch down in a secluded area near Wayne Manor. You're breathless and disheveled, your earlier efforts to look presentable having fallen short. You quickly scan the area, making sure the security cameras don’t catch your arrival.

Taking a moment to compose yourself, you adjust your clothes and press the doorbell. The chime rings through the grand entrance. You glance at your phone and wince—you're an hour and thirty minutes late.

The swinging took longer than expected, and to make matters worse, you had to intervene when this ginger reporter was being robbed. You couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.

Now, as you wait by the gate, you hear footsteps approaching from inside. The door swings open to reveal Alfred, who freezes for a moment, his eyes widening at the sight of you—bruised, bloodied, and clearly worse for wear. You lean against the gate, your fingers curling around the metal.

“H—Hey, Al.”

“Goodness me!” Alfred exclaims, hurrying over to the gate and pulling it open wide.  He rushes over, opening the gate wider and pulling you inside with a practiced ease. His gaze sweeps over your injuries, concern etched deeply into his features. “Miss Kyle, you’re in quite a state!”

You manage a tired smile, carefully pulling the bouquet from your jacket. It’s in rough shape—torn petals, crushed blooms, and snapped stems. It looks like it’s on the verge of dying.

“Sorry I’m late,” you say, wincing as you hold up the sad arrangement. “These… are for you. I, uh, ran all the way here. I hope I’m not too late for dinner.”

Alfred takes the flowers with a gentle smile, his concern momentarily overshadowed by a touch of warmth. “Thank you, Miss Kyle. However, I assure you it’s fine. The others have already started eating. They won’t mind if you—”

“It’s fine! This is just…,” you pause, pursing your lips as you scramble for a plausible excuse. You force a smile, shaking your head and pulling your jacket hood further over your face to hide the swelling bruise around one of your eyes. “Hah, you know how Gotham can be.”

Alfred gives you a sympathetic glance but says nothing more. “Very well. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to the dining room.”

He guides you through the grand hallways, your footsteps echoing in the vast space and mingling with the soft murmur of conversation. As you reach the dining room, the door swings open, revealing a table set with care and already abuzz with activity. Selina, Bruce, and the others are seated, their animated conversations abruptly halting as they turn to look at you.

The room falls into a stunned silence, every gaze drawn to your disheveled, bloodied appearance.

Selina’s eyes narrow into slits, her irritation barely concealed behind a strained, tight-lipped smile. Bruce’s complexion drains to an ashen hue, his eyes are wide as saucers, looking like he’s about to pass out from shock. He casts Selina a panicked glance, which she meets with a weary sigh, her hands momentarily covering her face as if trying to shield herself from the mess. She looks utterly drained.

You attempt a casual wave, but it comes off as weak and awkward. Blood drips from your bruised knuckles, each drop splattering with a muted plop onto the polished floor. “Hey, everyone. Sorry, I’m late.”

Jason’s eyes flare with a dangerous glint of green as he barks, “What the fuck happened, kid?”

Next to him, Cassandra’s face is blank. Her fingers fidget with her utensils as she shifts her gaze rapidly between you and Selina, trying to piece together the fractured narrative from your battered appearance and Selina’s body language.

Bruce, who had been quietly observing, stands up and approaches you with slow, measured steps.

“You’re hurt,” he says, his voice a deep, resonant murmur. His hands, surprisingly gentle for their strength, settle on your shoulders. His eyes, usually as inscrutable as the dark depths of a stormy sea, now soften with the tenderness of a lighthouse guiding you through a night. “What happened, kiddo?”

There’s a strange, twisting sensation in your gut, flaring just beneath your ribs. A lump rises in your throat, and despite your best efforts to stay composed, your eyes begin to well up.

“I—” you begin, but the words falter. Your gaze drifts across the room and locks onto Damian’s eyes. They’re like emeralds, gleaming with a ferocity that seems to pierce through the walls you’ve built. Though he remains silent, his piercing look conveys a thousand unspoken thoughts and emotions.

A wave of shame is crashing into you, pushing your words back down. “Just… a rough night. Got into a fight.” 

Bruce’s eyes narrow, and a wave of seething anger ripples through him. You try to ignore it. 

“And who was this?” he demands, his voice a controlled, simmering growl.

“It’s okay. It ended up alright,” you try to shrug it off, forcing a casual tone. “Really, it’s not as bad as it looks. Just a run-in with some rando on the street.”

Everyone’s reactions vary, but it’s the look in Selina’s eyes that strikes you the hardest. Selina’s weary gaze peeks out from behind her hands, and the sight makes your face crumple.

“Pull off your hood,” Selina commands, icy and devoid of warmth. As she straightens in her chair, her blood-red nails dig into the mahogany table, turning her knuckles as pale as frost.

You keep your gaze fixed on the polished marble floor, scuffing the dried mud across its pristine surface. The silence in the room grows heavier with each passing second.

“Take off the damn hood and show me your face!”

Scowling and clenching your jaw, you yank the hood off. As it falls away, the full extent of your injuries is laid bare. Selina’s eyes widen as they take in the black eye, the bruises, and the cuts that mar your face. Her shock quickly morphs into a deepening scowl, her lips trembling as she fights to control her rising anger.

Everyone waiting for the outburst that is sure to follow.

Instead, Selina’s hands fly to cover her face, and she looks as though she might fall apart at any moment.

Bruce stares at you with something akin to horror.

Before anyone can react further, Damian abruptly stands, his chair scraping against the floor. Without a word, he strides over to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and guiding you out of the room. 

His muttered words are barely audible, “I’ll take care of their injuries.”

Bruce moves back to Selina’s side, gently wrapping an arm around her shoulder as he tries to offer comfort. 

You can hear his soft, reassuring whisper as you walk away, “You can stay for the night. It’s too late to head out now. Give her some time.”

Selina, her face still pale and troubled, nods gratefully, her gaze tracking Damian as he helps you toward the manor’s second floor.

Damian ushers you into his room, the door closing behind you with a decisive click. He motions to the bed, and you sink onto it with a heavy sigh, the weight of the day dragging at your limbs.

You watch Damian retreat to the bathroom, your gaze lingering on the raw, bloodied skin of your knuckles, tinged with a gnawing sense of guilt.

Moments later, he returns with a first aid kit in hand. He kneels before you, reaching out to tug off your jacket, but you quickly shake your head, not wanting him to discover the suit beneath.

“I’m going to change in the bathroom,” you rasp. Damian silently nods, moving to his closet and pulling out one of his cotton shirts and boxers. He hands them to you with a resigned sigh and leans against the wall beside the bathroom door, giving you the privacy you need.

You take the clothes from Damian and head to the bathroom. As you push open the door, the dim light casts long shadows across the tiled floor. You deliberately avoid meeting your reflection in the mirror, not wanting to confront the full extent of the mess you’re in.

Once inside, you drop Damian’s shirt and boxers onto the floor, followed by your jacket, shirt, and pants. The fabric makes a soft rustling sound as it lands. With a deep, steadying breath, you begin peeling off your suit, slow and painstaking.

As the suit peels away from your skin, the blood and sweat that have soaked into it reveal the severity of your injuries. You wince as the cut on your side comes fully into view, a raw, angry red line that stretches from just below your rib cage to the middle of your side. It looks even worse up close—jagged and still oozing a bit despite the healing process.

You quickly change into Damian’s boxers, opting to keep the shirt off for now. You carefully bundle your suit and hide it under your jacket and pants, folding it as neatly as you can manage. With a deep breath, you step back into the room.

Damian’s eyes narrow as he assesses the cut on your side, now reduced to a four-inch scar due to your enhanced healing abilities. His gaze is hard, and you can almost see the weight of the lecture that would have come if he’d seen the injury in its original, more severe state. 

“Sit down,” Damian finally speaks, his voice firm. He begins to open the first aid kit, movements slow. You drop your ruined clothes in a far corner and plop back down on his bed, rubbing your hands together nervously.

A beat passes as Damian finishes cleaning the wound and reaches for the anesthesia, preparing to start stitching you up. You shake your head and push his hand away. “I can take it.”

“No,” Damian scowls and continues his work. He applies the anesthesia despite your protests, injecting it around the wound to numb the area. The needle pierces your skin with a sharp sting, followed by a dull, throbbing sensation as the anesthetic begins to take effect.

He sets the syringe aside and picks up a pair of sterilized tweezers and needle and thread. You watch as he carefully makes the first stitch, his hands steady and precise. The thread pulls tight, closing the wound with a series of tight, even stitches.

His long lashes flutter over his hooded eyes with each focused blink, his emerald gaze intense and filled with concern. The warm ambient light of the room casts a gentle glow on his deep tan skin, accentuating the chiseled contours of his face in a soft, almost ethereal light.

The beam of light highlights the light almost invisible scar that stretches from his cheekbone to his crooked nose, tracing the elegant curve of his cheekbone and the strong, defined line of his jaw. Your gaze drifts to his full lips, noting the perfect cupid’s bow of his upper lip.

His hair is meticulously styled, with longer strands on top falling in inky, sleek waves across his forehead, remnants of gel catching the light. Damian’s thick, well-kept hair frames his face like brush strokes, adding to his strikingly handsome appearance.

Unable to hold yourself back, you raise a hand to cup his cheek. Damian hums, a low, soothing sound that rumbles in his chest. He keeps his eyes focused on your wound but tilts his head slightly to press a soft, tender kiss to your wrist.

With the stitches complete, Damian shifts his attention to bandaging the wound. He secures the bandage, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary as he smooths out the edges. Finally, he raises his head and meets your gaze, eyes conveying everything he can’t say aloud.

Exhausted and overwhelmed, you slump into Damian’s embrace, dropping your hands onto his shoulders. He responds instinctively, taking your hands in his. Large, calloused fingers gently lift yours, pressing a tender kiss to each of them before moving to softly kiss your bruised knuckles.

With a whisper of your name, Damian draws your hands over his shoulders. You smile, sinking deeper into his embrace, arms draped over his strong back. Damian holds you close, lifting you off the bed as he pulls you into a hug. His arms wound up around your waist, pulling you tighter against him.

“You know, trying to keep secrets from me is pointless,” Damian murmurs, a thinly veiled threat in his words peppering kisses up the side of your neck. “I am the son of the greatest detective in the world. I will find out what happened.”

You chuckle softly, feeling the tension ease a bit. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Just let me hold you, you insufferable know-it-all.”

Damian’s grip tightens slightly. His forehead rests against yours, hearts swimming in his emerald eyes. “You’re lucky I tolerate your nonsense. But seriously, you need to start talking.”

“Maybe later,” you reply, smiling against his shoulder. “Right now, I just need you.”

༻⊰───⋅

An hour later, it’s already 1 AM, but you and Damian are still awake, watching a show on his television. You’re curled up together on his bed, the flickering light from the screen painting the room in shifting hues of blue and gray, casting gentle shadows that dance across the walls.

You rest your head against Damian’s chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. His arm is wrapped around your shoulders, holding you close. Despite the late hour, the warmth and comfort of his embrace keep you from drifting off.

“This show is surprisingly bearable,” Damian murmurs.

You smile, nuzzling closer. “Told you it was worth a watch. Thanks for staying up with me.”

Damian’s fingers gently stroke your hair, each touch a soothing rhythm against your scalp. “Of course I’d do it, even if it means enduring your rather questionable taste in television.”

You scoff, pretending to be wounded. “Questionable taste? This show is a gem. You just don’t want to admit I’ve expanded your horizons.”

Damian raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes as he gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Expanded my horizons? More like subjected me to a marathon of pedestrian entertainment.”

You roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips despite his words. The episode continues, the soft hum of the TV blending with the comforting rhythm of Damian’s breathing. The earlier tension and worry seem to dissolve into the background, replaced by a quiet intimacy.

Damian’s hand moves slowly, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. His thumb begins to trace gentle, deliberate patterns on your back. You shiver slightly at the unexpected sensation, a delicate ripple of warmth spreading through you. His touch is soft yet firm, spelling out something with careful precision.

Though you don’t fully grasp the intent behind his touch, Damian’s fingers trace a delicate script across your skin, inscribing the words of Talia’s favorite Arabic love poem onto your back.

“My life shall be sacrificed for her beauty,” his thumb whispers across your skin, “my blood shall be spilled freely for her, and though I burn for her painfully, like a candle, none of my days shall ever be free of this pain. Let me love, oh my God, love for love’s sake, and make my love a hundred times as great as it was and is.”

The gentle pressure of his touch, the rhythmic way his thumb moves, slowly eases you into sleep. As each verse of the poem is imprinted on your skin, you find yourself drifting off, nestled against his chest. Damian tenderly presses his lips to your temple, wishing you sweet dreams.

༻⊰───⋅

Thursday, 3:02 AM - Damian's Room, Wayne Manor.

Dick moves stealthily down the moonlit hallway, his footsteps muffled against the plush carpet. He reaches Damian’s door and pushes it open with a gentle nudge. Despite his careful approach, the old hinges protest with a loud, protesting creak, shattering the quiet of the night and immediately stirring Damian from his sleep.

The sudden noise jolts Damian awake, his reflexes kicking in. His eyes snap open, and in a heartbeat, his muscles tense as he instinctively tightens his protective embrace around you. The world outside fades as his focus zeroes in on the intruder.

Damian’s gaze narrows into a steely glare as he locks onto Dick. In a seamless, fluid motion, he throws aside the blankets and reaches beneath the bed, his hand closing around the hilt of a gleaming katana.

Without hesitation, he draws the blade with a swift, practiced flick, sending the katana arcing through the air toward Dick. 

SHINK!

Dick stumbles back, raising his hands in a defensive gesture. The katana thuds harmlessly into the wall beside him, its sharp edge embedded in the wood just inches from his head. 

"Such a dramatic wake-up call… Good morning to you too," Dick grins, clearly used to this routine. “Alright. I know it’s late, but Selina is still up. I think she wants to talk to Y/N.”

Damian’s snarl is a low, dangerous rumble. “If you wake her, I will cut your hands off.”

Dick raises an eyebrow, clearly unfazed by the threat. “Come on, baby bird. It’s not that big of a deal. Just let her know she’s needed.”

Damian’s eyes remain locked on Dick, a burning intensity that could have melted steel. Yet, after a long, tense moment, he grudgingly nods, the anger in his posture easing ever so slightly. With careful precision, he unwinds himself from the cocoon of blankets that envelops you, making sure not to jostle you awake.

!!!

But as Damian shifts, your senses stir, your eyes fluttering open to the dim light of the room. Your hand moves instinctively, reaching out to grasp Damian’s wrist, your fingers curling around him with a surprising strength. The sudden contact startles Damian, and he pauses, his gaze softening as he looks down at you.

Confusion and concern flash across your face as you murmur, “Dames?”

He pauses, his gaze softening as he looks down at you, his eyes reflecting a tender regret. “It’s okay. I apologize for waking you, but Miss Kyle is calling for you.”

You tense immediately, and Damian feels a pang of guilt unfurl in his gut for disrupting your rest.

You sigh softly and rise slowly, wincing slightly as though the wound still bothers you. Although your injury has healed, you  keep up the act, unwilling to make it too obvious that you’re fine. You know you’re on thin ice, and the last thing you want is to make things more suspicious.

Damian instinctively moves to support you, his hand steadying your back with a reassuring touch as you rise. Dick, lingering at the doorway, casts an apologetic glance your way.

Damian helps you to your feet, his touch steady and reassuring. He retrieves his soccer jacket from a nearby chair and drapes it around your shoulders with a gentle, almost reverent touch. The jacket, well-worn and carrying the faint scent of his cologne, envelops you in its soft, reassuring warmth. 

As you and Damian approach the door to his room, you hesitate and turn to him.

“I think I need to handle this alone,” you say quietly. “Can you wait here?”

Damian's eyes narrow slightly, and he hesitates, his protective instincts flaring.

“Are you sure?” he asks, running a hand up your back.

You give him a reassuring smile. “Yes, it’s better this way. I’ll be fine.”

Damian’s expression softens reluctantly. “Alright. I will be right here if you need me, beloved.”

You watch as Damian retreats to his room, his hand sliding around the katana lodged in the doorframe. With a smooth, deliberate motion, he withdraws the blade, the metal glinting momentarily before the door closes softly behind him. Dick, meanwhile, falls into step beside you and guides you down the corridor. His presence is steady and reassuring, a calming force in the tense atmosphere.

As you walk, Dick leans in slightly, his voice a low murmur. “Your mom’s been on edge all night. I’m… not sure what’s going on, but she made it clear she wanted to talk to you immediately.”

You nod, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in your stomach. “I figured as much,” you reply, trying to keep your tone steady.

Dick’s expression turns serious, but a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You really gave us a scare,” he says, his tone softening. “Just remember, as a future Mrs. Wayne, we’ve got your back, no matter what.”

You chuckle softly, the warmth of his words offering a small measure of comfort. Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself for the conversation ahead as you reach the door to Selina’s room.

You turn the knob and push the door open.

Tall windows, framed by heavy drapes, stand slightly ajar, allowing the Gotham breeze to drift through the room. The curtains flutter rhythmically, whispering softly against the glass panes. Selina stands by the window, her silhouette etched sharply against the city’s glittering skyline. Her back is to you, tense and rod-straight.

The door clicks shut behind you, and she turns her head slightly, her gaze meeting yours with a cool, unreadable intensity.

"Are you going to start talking, or am I going to have to drag it out of you?”

“I was just—” you stammer, struggling to find the right words. “I passed by, okay? I saw the situation and I had to intervene—”

Selina cuts you off with a sharp twist of her head. “I have eyes. I know what happened. I was informed about a tech shipment—an underground tech shipment by the docks. It was infiltrated. They found all the men webbed. Webbed. To the walls and floors. Don’t lie to me, honey.”

You sigh, the weight of the truth settling heavily on your shoulders. “Yeah. Okay,” you admit, your voice trembling despite your efforts to stay composed. “It… was planned.”

Selina’s eyes narrow dangerously as she strides towards you, heels clicking sharply against the floors. Her silhouette, framed by the soft, muted glow of the city lights filtering through the window, looms larger than life.

“Did you have a single clue as to whose men those were?” she demands, her voice slicing through the silence like a whip crack.

“I knew,” you say quietly, “I knew they were connected to Black Mask. It was a tip-off, and I thought if I could just—”

“You thought? You thought what? That you could handle it alone?” Selina’s eyes flash. “This isn’t some playground for you to experiment with your powers. You’re dealing with dangerous people—people who won’t hesitate to kill. And if you get yourself hurt—or worse—what good are you to anyone?”

You lower your eyes, feeling the sting of her words as if each one were a reprimand meant to cut deeper. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“Sorry isn’t going to undo this mess!” she snaps, her hands gripping the edge of a table.

A hand tangles itself into her hair, strands of hair failing over her gaze. “Do you have any idea what you’ve put us through? What you’ve risked by acting recklessly? I’m not just scolding you because I’m angry. I’m scared. You’re my responsibility”

Your anger surges, and you shout, “I know, Mom! I know!” The words escape before you can stop them.

Selina’s expression shifts from anger to hurt, her eyes momentarily softening before hardening again. “Don’t take that tone with me."

“Excuse me?” you snap, stepping closer. “You think you’re the only one who’s ever lost something? Every time I bring up my mother, you just give me the bare minimum! I was going to start digging eventually.”

Selina’s eyes widen, a mix of hurt and frustration flashing across her face. “You think I’m holding back information from you? I’m trying to protect you! When your mother died, I promised myself I wouldn’t let anyone else I cared about get hurt."

“We’re so past that! I’m already knee-deep in this world,” you say desperately, your voice rising. “Mom, look at me! Just look! I have Spider DNA in my veins. My boyfriend is a vigilante. I’ve faced kidnappings and attempts on my life ever since I was born! You can’t keep treating me like a child who needs to be sheltered from reality.”

“I raised you! ” Selina screams, raw and primal, the words tearing from her throat with a force that leaves you momentarily stunned. “I gave up everything to keep you safe, to try and shield you from the worst parts of this life because I couldn’t bear to lose you too!” 

Her voice shatters mid-sentence, the tears slipping from her eyes despite her best efforts to hold them back. But she doesn’t stop, pushing through, her words tumbling out in a frantic, desperate rush. “Every time you put yourself at risk, it’s like ripping open a wound that never heals! Don’t you get that? I can’t—I won’t—lose you, too!”

The raw emotion in her voice shatters your anger, melting it away like ice under a warm sun. You step forward, your movements gentle as you grab onto her shoulders, guiding her down into a chair. 

“I know, Ma,” you murmur, your voice softening as you try to soothe her. “I know it’s okay. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. I’m sorry.”

Selina breathes heavily, her anger still simmering just beneath the surface. “I know. I know you’ve been through so much. It’s just—I don’t want you to be a target for Black Mask. He’s a fucking monster, and I didn’t want you to be in his crosshairs.”

“I’m already in his crosshairs,” you whisper, bending down and reaching into your sock, where you’ve hidden the flash drive containing the information you retrieved from the warehouse. You had tucked it in earlier while changing in the bathroom.

“This,” you continue, holding up the small device, “is information on all his future activities. This was the mission I had earlier.”

Selina’s eyes widen in alarm, her fear quickly reigniting into fury. “Have you put no thought into the rules I set? Putting yourself in that kind of danger—” 

“Danger I’m already in,” you cut her off. “Danger I’m about to face.”

"Y/N," Selina hisses out in warning, her eyes flashing dangerously, fangs glinting in the moonlight like a cornered cat.

“What? You think you can stop me?” you scowl as she stands. “I’m done playing by your rules. And if you get in my way, I won’t hesitate to take you down.”

Selina’s eyes narrow, and a scornful smile twists on her lips.

"Prove it."

“What?” you manage to choke out.

Without a word, she launches herself toward you. Her foot whips out in a sharp, hard kick, sending you reeling backward. You hit the small balcony with a heavy thud, the harsh chill of the metal biting into your skin.

A pained grunt escapes you as you scramble to regain your footing, the cold air wrapping around you like a bitter embrace. 

"Prove it, honey," Selina taunts, her voice dripping with contempt as she saunters toward you. She draws her claws with a slow, deliberate motion, the metal gleaming ominously in the dim light. “Show me you’ve got some fight.”

Before you can fully recover, Selina is on you again. You barely evade her claws, landing heavily on the cold metal railings. The chill bites into your feet, but you push off the railing with a powerful leap, ready to re-engage.

Selina's leg sweeps toward you with brutal intent, aiming to knock you off balance. Reacting quickly, you shoot a web to the railing, swinging yourself back into position and avoiding her strike.

You retaliate with a hard kick to her chest. The impact sends Selina sprawling, her body slamming into the ground. She rolls to absorb the blow, springing back up.

Her eyes flash with anger as she leaps from the balcony’s ledge, executing a high-spinning kick. You twist in mid-air, grabbing the edge of the balcony to dodge her attack and pulling yourself back onto solid ground.

“If you try to stop me, if you try to control me, you’ll only push me further away,” you shout, breath coming in sharp bursts. “And I promise, I’ll fight back with everything I’ve got.”

"Then fight!" 

As she swings at you again, you snatch her wrist, twisting it with a sharp, decisive motion. With a sudden push, you force her own claws against her, the cold metal slicing into her shoulder.

Selina hisses in pain, her body recoiling as she shoves you away. The razor edges of her claws carve a deep, angry line across her shoulder, a vivid stripe of crimson blooming against her skin and staining her outfit.

The sight of it catches you off guard, a sharp pang of guilt gripping you as her pain registers. You stand frozen, eyes locked on the streaks of red that disrupt the perfection of her skin. 

“Mom—” your throat tightens. “I’m so—”

Selina starts to smile, a small, almost reluctant grin that slowly grows wider. The sight is so unexpected that it momentarily takes you aback. Then, much to your surprise, she begins to laugh—a rich, genuine sound filled with a mix of relief, amusement, and something deeper you can’t quite place.

“You think this is funny?!” you exclaim, bewildered and on the verge of anger.

Selina looks at you with a bitter smile, her laughter fading. She clutches her bleeding shoulder, her expression softening as she lets out a long sigh.

“You really are my daughter,” she murmurs.

You slowly ease from your defensive stance, confusion furrowing your brows.

“Alright, fine. Point proven,” she continues, voice gentler now. “Trying to cage you would only make you fight harder to claw your way out. Literally. I should know better than anyone how that feels.”

“O… kay?” you mutter, still grappling with the sudden shift in her demeanor. “So, I guess we’ve proven my point. What now?”

“Now,” she says slowly, “we talk. Like sane adults. No more clawing each other’s faces off.”

༻⊰───⋅

An hour later, both of you sit on the edge of the bed, cradling cups of warm jasmine tea from the tea set provided in your room—because, of course, each guest room in the Wayne Manor has one.

The steam rises gently from the cups, warming your fingers and offering a soothing contrast to the cool air. Selina sits across from you, her shoulder wrapped in bandages.

As you sit on the edge of the bed, you fill Selina in on everything that’s happened: the mugging with Morgan, the shooting when you saved her, and the whole "guy in the chair" thing. You’re honest about all the other stuff and the support you’ve received, but you leave out the fact that Tony Stark knows your secret identity, keeping that bit to yourself for now.

Selina stares at her cup of tea, her eyes wide with disbelief. The steady ticking of a clock fills the room, punctuating the silence as she processes what you've just shared.

“So, you’ve been pulling all the strings?” she asks. "Orchestrating all of this?"

You lick your lips, choosing your words carefully. Orchestrating is a strong word. More like everything is falling into place. But that does sound better.

“Something like that,” you say, nodding.

Selina blinks, taking a slow, contemplative sip of her tea. “Trying to rein you in would be a lost cause at this point,” she says, setting her cup down. “So, what exactly is the plan from here?”

You place your cup back onto its saucer with a soft clink, the porcelain’s gentle chime briefly breaking the quiet. “I need to dig deeper into Black Mask’s operations. With Morgan’s help, I’ve got the tech and the intel, but there’s still a lot we don’t know.”

Selina nods, tracing a finger along the rim of her cup, her gaze distant. “Batman will notice. The moment you step out into the city proper, you’re going to be a target. And once you’re on his radar, a contingency plan will be set.”

You stay silent, fiddling with your fingers.

Selina’s gaze hardens. “And that’s what worries me. Bruce is just a man—no powers, no special DNA. But if he sets his mind to something, he can take anyone down. I don’t want you caught in that crossfire.”

You open your mouth, but Selina cuts you off.

“That’s why I’ve had my own contingency plan in case Gotham ever fell apart.”

You glance at her, a thread of dread weaving itself into your thoughts. “Contingency plan?”

Selina nods, her tone heavy. “When I first took you in, my plan was to leave Gotham as soon as possible. But then the Catwoman thing happened, and I got… sentimental. I couldn’t bring myself to leave. Still, I made sure we had a backup.”

“Backup? What do you mean?”

Selina’s expression softens slightly. “I bought an apartment in Metropolis. It was supposed to be a safehouse—somewhere to go if things got too dangerous here. I even set up fake identities for us, just in case we needed to disappear fast.”

“Metropolis?” you ask, your disbelief coming through with a half-smile. “Seriously?”

Selina winces, her expression sours. “Yes, it was meant to be a last resort. If things ever got too out of control, or if our secrets got out, it was our escape plan. I didn’t want us to be hunted down. I wanted us to have a safe place to go.” 

She cracks her knuckles, releasing some of the tension in her hands.

“It’s still an option if things get too messy. But for now, I’ll help you as much as I can here."

༻⊰───⋅

Damian walks up the stairs, his steps muted against the polished wood. In his hand, he clutches a thick blanket he’s taken from the storeroom. The absence of your presence has made his room feel uncomfortably cold, and he refuses to go back to sleep without you there.

As he nears the guest room where you and Selina are deep in conversation, he slows his pace, the soft hum of your voices drifting through the slightly ajar door. 

He knows he should respect your privacy—a lesson he’s learned the hard way after being caught tailing you during patrols more than once. But his curiosity tugs at him. 

He lingers outside the room, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, straining to catch snippets of the conversation drifting through the slightly ajar door.

“That’s why I’ve had my own contingency plan in case Gotham ever fell apart.”

The voices are muffled, but Damian can detect the guilt in Selina’s tone.

“Contingency plan?”

There was a pause.

“When I first took you in, my plan was to leave Gotham as soon as possible. But then the Catwoman thing happened, and I got… sentimental. I couldn’t bring myself to leave. Still, I made sure we had a backup.”

“Backup? What do you mean?”

“I bought an apartment in Metropolis. It was supposed to be a safehouse—somewhere to go if things got too dangerous here. I even set up fake identities for us, just in case we needed to disappear fast.”

Damian freezes.

"Metropolis? Really?"

Selina’s voice carries a note of sorrow. “Yes, it was meant to be a last resort. If things ever got too out of control, or if our secrets got out, it was our escape plan. I didn’t want us to be hunted down. I wanted us to have a safe place to go.” 

Damian remains frozen in place.

Hunt? Who was hunting you down that made Selina think it was necessary to move rather than seek help from his father? Did she not trust Batman's abilities? Did she not trust his?

His grip on the blanket tightens until his knuckles turn white, the rough fabric digging into his palms like a searing brand. A bitter, acrid taste rises in his throat, mingling with the bile of frustration and helplessness.

Had he not proven his devotion enough? Each time he threw himself into the fray, each time he fought with everything he had, did she still doubt his ability to protect you? His every act of defiance, every sacrifice, should have been proof—shouldn’t it? 

Did she think that running away was the answer? Did she believe that abandoning Gotham and leaving him and Bruce out of the fight was a better choice? Her secretive plans, her carefully crafted illusions of safety, were they really a solution?

Panic starts to claw at him, twisting his insides into a tight knot. Or maybe it was because of him? 

Gods, he knew you were too good for him, but was he so inadequate that she thought hiding you away was the only option? The thoughts gnaw at him like ravenous insects, feasting on his insecurities. He can almost feel the raw, hot sting of failure as it eats away at him from within. 

He remembers the first day he was left with Bruce, the way his own father looked at him, the way his brothers looked at him—like something about him was inherently wrong. 

He was the outsider, the boy who had to claw and tear and rip his way into their world, proving his worth to a family he barely understood, a family that barely understood him.

Every mistake he made, every bout of uncontrollable rage, felt like blood on his hands—dark, sticky, and impossible to wash away. Another mark on his name. 

And now, Selina’s confession feels like another blow to his fragile sense of self-worth. If even she doesn’t trust him, if even she thinks he’s not enough to protect you, what does that say about him?

His legs grow numb, his head spins with disorientation. The edges of his vision blur, and each breath comes in shallow, frantic bursts. He stumbles forward, driven by an overwhelming need to escape. His body moves on its own, carrying him towards his room.

Was he what Selina was protecting you from?

The thought strikes him like a physical blow, leaving him reeling. The blood, the violence, the cold efficiency with which he was taught to kill—it all comes rushing back. Damian was trained to be an assassin, raised by the League of Shadows to be a weapon, a tool of destruction.

He feels numb as he stumbles into his room, the familiar surroundings doing little to comfort him. He collapses onto the floor, his legs giving way as he sinks to his knees. Clutching the blanket to his chest, he tries to draw some warmth from its fabric, but it feels like an inadequate shield against the cold, hollow emptiness that gnaws at him from within.

The voices of doubt and self-loathing grow louder, echoing in his mind. Damian doesn't know how long he's been sitting on the floor, trying to control his breathing. Time seems to blur, each second stretching into an eternity. His thoughts spiral, a maelstrom of fear and insecurity, until he hears the soft creak of the door opening.

You stumble in, and he freezes.

Your eyes widen as you take in his disheveled state, the blanket clutched tightly in his hands, his face pale and eyes wide with panic. You rush to his side, dropping to your knees beside him.

"Dames," you whisper. "What happened? Are you okay?"

He tries to speak, but the words catch in his throat. Instead, he shakes his head, unable to meet your gaze. He doesn't deserve to.

You hush gently, raising your hands to his face. "Can I touch you? You’re having a panic attack, baby."

He nods, his breath still coming in shallow gasps. Your hands are warm and steady as you cup his face, your thumbs brushing lightly against his cheeks.

"Look at me," you murmur softly. "Focus on me. Breathe with me."

He struggles to follow your instructions, his eyes locking onto yours. You take a deep breath in, exaggerating the motion, and slowly exhale. He tries to mimic you, his breaths hitching but gradually evening out.

"That's it," you encourage. "In and out, nice and slow. You're doing great."

Damian's grip on the blanket loosens slightly as he continues to focus on your breathing, finding a semblance of calm in the steady rhythm. Your presence anchors him, drawing him away from the chaotic storm in his mind.

"You’re safe," you whisper. "I’m here with you. Just keep breathing."

Gradually, the tension in his body begins to ease. He leans into your touch, his forehead resting against yours. The panic that had gripped him so fiercely started to ebb away, replaced by a fragile sense of security.

He sits there, the silence heavy around him, before his voice breaks through it, rough and raw. "Are you scared of me?" he asks.

The question hangs in the air. He doesn’t mention what he overheard, but the question reveals the depth of his doubt.

You gently brush a strand of hair from his face, your eyes soft with understanding. "Scared of you? Damian, I’m not scared of you."

He clenches his fists, the blanket still wrapped around his hands. "I… I can’t seem to do anything right. It’s like I’m always falling short."

"You’re not falling short," you reassure him softly. "You’re human, and you’re trying your best."

You lean in, your lips pressing against his in a tender, reassuring kiss. As you pull back, your eyes are filled with a deep sorrow.

"Can I ask what brought this on?" you whisper.

Damian takes a deep breath, his gaze shifting to the floor as he gathers his thoughts.

“I overheard part of a conversation between you and Selina,” Damian begins, his voice sharp and dripping with bitter resentment. “She spoke of a contingency plan involving an apartment in Metropolis and expressed concerns about someone hunting you down. If… If she felt the need to protect you from something by leaving, does that mean that I’m not enough? That I’m not capable of keeping you safe?”

His words come out with an edge. He meets your gaze with eyes darkened by hurt and anger. “I wanted to be someone you could rely on, someone who could safeguard you, not merely another liability. But now it seems I’m just… inadequate. As if my dedication and efforts amount to nothing.”

You start to speak, but Damian interrupts. “Who’s hunting you down? What’s going on? Beloved, I’ve let you into my life—please, let me into yours.”

“I know, baby,” you say softly, running a hand through your tousled hair as you try to gather your thoughts. “Alright, okay, I need to tell you about something important. It’s about the spider vigilante, alright? There’s something you need to understand.”

“Again with this?” Damian scoffs, his hurt evident as he starts to rise from the floor. The movement makes you panic, and you grab his arm, pulling him back down.

“Nonono, wait,” you say urgently, trying to steady your voice. “Forget that for now. There’s something else I need to talk about—something personal. It’s about me, and I need you to listen.”

You take a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “Okay. There’s a lot more going on than you realize. I’m investigating Black Mask. He’s got some operation threatening Gotham, and it’s connected to everything that’s been happening lately. I’m trying to figure out what he’s up to, and…”

You pause, struggling to find the right words. “And I might have something to do with that vigilante spider you’ve seen around.”

Damian’s eyes widen in surprise, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. He stands there, his mind racing as he pieces together the implications of your confession.

The increased absences, the unexplained injuries—suddenly, everything starts to make sense. He can’t believe he didn’t see it sooner. How did he not connect the dots? The vigilance, the secrecy—it all makes sense now.

You’re the one being hunted.

Brows threaded together, Damian steps closer, taking your hands in his. His fingers brush over your skin, gently massaging small circles.

“I understand,” he says with a grave tone. “I suspected as much. You don’t need to explain yourself, beloved.”

You smile in relief, misinterpreting his seriousness for support of your dual life as Spidey.

“I was going to tell you,” you say, your tone warm and reassuring. “Just… couldn’t find the right moment.”

Damian’s eyes soften, but a steely resolve glimmers within them as he presses a kiss to your knuckles, his lips lingering.

If the spider is the threat, then it’s the spider he’ll take down.

༻⊰───⋅

Thursday, 7:53 AM - Stark Industries, Gotham City.

Hours later, Damian pulls up to the sleek, glass-fronted Stark Industries building. The structure towers above, its façade a mesmerizing expanse of reflective glass panels that catch and scatter the sunlight, creating a dazzling play of colors. A polished steel entrance welcomes visitors, a bustling crowd already walking in and out.

As the car comes to a smooth stop, he turns to you with a soft, reassuring smile. You reach over, pressing an affectionate kiss to his lips.

His fingers gently brush your cheek as he murmurs against your lips, “Be careful.”

“I will,” you beam, pulling back to meet his eyes. “Promise.”

With one last lingering look, Damian reaches over to unlock the car door. You open it and step out onto the curb, unloading your bags. Damian gives you a final wave as he shifts the car into gear, gliding smoothly down the street and disappearing into the city’s bustling flow.

You clutch your bags tightly in your hands. Exhaustion pulls at your every muscle—patrol, the fight, and the travel have left you feeling like you're on the edge of collapse. After everything that went down last night, you can’t help but feel a bit relieved about the month off from school, courtesy of your internship.

Bags under your eyes betray the sleepless night, while the oversized shirt and sweatpants you’ve borrowed from Damian make you look more like you’ve just rolled out of bed than a professional intern.

Technically, you did roll out of bed, having snagged only about three hours of sleep.

How the hell did Batman and the Robins manage to juggle this kind of life week in and week out? Right now, you feel like death is just a breath away, waiting to claim you.

“Hey, kiddo!” Tony Stark’s voice calls out from a distance, cutting through your fog of exhaustion. “You planning to stand there and stare at the building all day?”

He steps out of his sleek convertible, tossing his keys to the valet with a flick of his wrist that’s more showmanship than necessity. As he strides towards you, his eyes do a quick sweep over your state.

“I offer you the top spot in my program, and this is how you show up?” Tony says, giving you a light shove on the shoulder.

You give a weary sigh and shuffle alongside him into the building. “Good to see you too, Mr. Stark.”

Tony continues with a smirk, “Don’t worry, you’re not the first intern to look like they’ve been dragged through a war zone.”

He leads you into the sleek, glass-walled elevator, pressing the button for the upper floors. The elevator hums softly as it ascends.

You turn to him, trying to muster the energy to keep up with his banter. “So, where’s Morgan?”

“Working on your new tech stuff,” Tony replies. “She’s buried under a mountain of circuits and cables. If you’re lucky, you might get to see her emerge from her tech fortress.”

The elevator doors slide open, revealing the upper floors of Stark Tower. Tony leads you down a pristine, modern hallway where glossy surfaces catch the ambient light, enhancing the tower’s futuristic vibe. He stops in front of a door adorned with a sleek plaque bearing your name.

You gawk at it, your sleep-deprived brain barely processing the sight. “Damn.”

Tony pushes open the door, revealing a spacious, elegantly furnished room. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the cityscape, and the room is equipped with a large, comfortable bed, a sleek desk, and a cozy seating area.

“Welcome to your new digs,” Tony says, gesturing grandly. “I’d say it’s a bit of a step up from your old place. Given your current state, though, I’d suggest you take it easy for now. Rest up, and maybe try to look less like you’ve just walked off a horror set, okay?”

Despite your exhaustion, a small but genuine smile tugs at your lips as you take in the surroundings. “Thanks, Mr. Stark. It’s really… nice.”

With a casual salute, Tony heads towards the door. “Anytime. Now, go on and get some rest. I’ll let Morgan know you’re here. If she manages to claw her way out from under her tech mountain, she might swing by to say hi.”

༻⊰───⋅

A few hours later, you’re well-rested and dressed in a much more presentable outfit: a crisp white button-up shirt with the first few buttons undone, tucked neatly into flared slacks, and paired with white sneakers.

After one last check in the mirror, you give your appearance a satisfied nod, then rub the last remnants of sleep from your eyes. You head out of your room and make your way toward the elevator.

Pressing the button, the elevator doors slide open with a smooth, hydraulic hiss. You step inside and swipe your ID card against the scanner. The elevator's high-tech screen lights up, displaying a seemingly endless list of floor options. You whistle as you scan the array, finally selecting the tech room.

Just as the elevator begins its ascent, a voice suddenly speaks up, making you jump with a startled yelp.

“Good morning!” the voice says cheerfully. “Welcome to Stark Tower. How can I assist you today?”

You quickly recognize the voice as FRIDAY, the building’s AI system. You’ve read about it in papers and seen it on TV before. The holographic interface on the screen activates, displaying a friendly, animated avatar of FRIDAY. The AI greets you with a warm, digital smile and a cheerful tone.

“Oh. Hi!” you respond, a bit thrown off. “I’m, uh, just heading to the tech room.”

“Understood,” FRIDAY replies smoothly. “I’ve already noted your arrival. The tech room is on your left once you exit the elevator. Please let me know if there’s anything else I can help with, sexiest vigilante.”

You blink at the nickname.

“That’s definitely Morgan’s touch,” you mutter.

The elevator doors slide open, revealing a workshop that looks like it’s been hit by a tornado of technology. Equipment is strewn everywhere, and tangled wires snake across the floor. In the center of the chaos, a few remains of a fire extinguisher lie scattered. Morgan is crouched in the middle of the mess, her hair a wild tangle and her face streaked with grease and soot. She’s working intently, completely absorbed in her task despite the disorder around her.

You clear your throat, and Morgan looks up, freezing mid-action. Part of her shirt is charred, and a small flame flickers from one of the devices she’s holding.

“Let’s be honest,” she says, waving a wrench at you, “you’ve seen me in worse shape.”

Shaking your head, you step into the room.

“Looks like you’ve been busy,” you remark, your eyes scanning the cluttered area.

Morgan quickly puts out the fire and brushes a few stray wires out of her path before standing up and stretching with a groan. “You wouldn’t believe the morning I’ve had. Between the latest tech malfunction and the mini-explosion, it’s been one chaotic circus.”

“Should I even ask what set off the explosion?”

Morgan chuckles dryly, wiping her hands on a grease-stained rag. “Oh, just a little experiment gone wrong. Nothing major. Just some excitement to kick off the day.” She steps over to you, grabs a case from a nearby workbench, and hands it to you with a grin.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued, as you take the case from her. With a click, you open it to reveal a pair of sleek, high-tech glasses.

Morgan plucks them from the case and holds them up with a grin. “For you. They’re packed with all sorts of features—real-time data, targeting assistance, and even advanced communication options. Basically, they’re your new best friend in the field.”

You slip the glasses on, adjusting them to fit comfortably. The world immediately sharpens, and a translucent display overlays your vision, showing various readouts and notifications. You gasp in awe, your amazement reflected in Morgan’s fond smile as she watches your reaction.

She then moves to grab another device—a metal-looking belt that covers your entire stomach. At its center is a spider emblem. She clasps the belt around your waist and gives it a reassuring pat.

“Tell it to go on,” Morgan instructs.

Confused, you turn to her. “Huh?”

“Just think of a suit wrapping around you and command it to do so.”

You give her a skeptical look but decide to give it a try. Closing your eyes for a moment, you focus on the idea of your suit materializing.

“Activate?”

Immediately, you feel a tingling sensation as nanoparticles begin to stream from the belt, enveloping your body. The sensation is oddly comforting, like being wrapped in a warm, secure embrace. The suit materializes in shimmering panels, stretching and shaping itself around your form. The glasses transform into a sleek helmet, molding to fit your head with a satisfying click.

The entire process takes mere seconds, and when you open your eyes, you’re fully suited up. 

The suit fits perfectly. The color is a deep, vibrant red that covers the majority of the suit. Black accents trace intricate web patterns that start from the center of your chest and radiate outwards.

The chest emblem is a bold, black spider, its legs extending across your torso and seamlessly merging with the web patterns. The helmet, now a sleek, black mask with a smooth, glossy finish, features white eye lenses that glow faintly. The same high-tech display you saw in your glasses is now visible in the helmet.

Morgan grins, clearly pleased with the result. “Not too shabby, right?"

"What. The. Fuck."

 ༻⊰───⋅

[celuere]

Parent!Arlecchino HCs because those literally own me AND my soul.

+including wife!reader

LORD AND FUCKING BEHOLD. She would handle your daughter with such tenderness, nails always neatly filed down, never wearing more than your wedding ring on her finger in case the accessories could hurt her babygirl

Always making sure you‘re cared for after bringing your bundle of joy into the world, which means you’re on strict bedrest during your recovery, only taking walks outside the manor when she is present and absolutely NO labor. I‘m so serious I think she would go into cardiac arrest if she sees the mother of her child doing anything besides resting and focusing on recovery, like you just give birth wth do you think you are to try and cook dinner for the two of you???

Always gets up in the middle of the night and manages whatever need her daughter has, that is only until she is hungry ofc, otherwise she doesn’t even let you get up. You carried her for nine months in your body and had to go through labor, it‘s her turn to take care of her and lift the weight off of your shoulders

Insecure about stretch marks and gained weight? Not with her. She‘d make sure to ease your mind and worries every chance she gets. Wether it be by getting you some new dresses for your wardrobe, caress your belly and tell you how stunning and beautiful she finds you in front of a mirror. More weight means more for her to touch and kiss anyways. In her opinion, the changes on your body are only a beautiful reminder for the biggest gift you could’ve ever given her. Your daughter.

I can imagine her to be actually so besotted with her, but of course she would never let the kids of the Hearth be neglected. In fact, she‘d encourage them to interact with her, one day it‘s Lynette trying to feed her dinner, the next it‘s Lyney wanting her to spell out his name (she always gets it wrong and he ends up being at the verge of tears)

Also, all Fatui work would be OFF her table for quite the long time. No negotiations. No businesstrips. At most maybe some paperwork every Sunday but other than that she made it clear that she wants to fully focus on the new addition to her life

It took actually all her willpower to not tear up when the word „Papa“ rolled over her lips for the first time. It was a Wednesday Night, and the little terror just didn’t want to drive off into sleep, but Arle isn’t known for her impatience, so she sits down in the living room by the fire place and decides to entertain her a little. Smooching her cute little baby cheeks, letting those oh so small fingers wrap around hers, tickling her neck with soft kisses. (Authors note: baby fever is real rn. I’m not kidding chat.) Until in all her active brabbling she finally says it. Maybe it was just a coincidence but something died inside of Arle at that very moment. Save to say that she was in a BRILLIANT mood for the next weeks.

But don’t make the mistake to think that Arlecchino would loose her cold and indifferent demeanor once she‘s back to work. It‘s like nothing changed for her. Just don’t. She’s still the same when it comes to her Harbinger work

It actually pains her every time she has to go on a businesstrip for a longer period of time. What if something happens? What if she happens to take her first steps in her absence? She couldn’t bear the thought of it but you reassured her as much as you could, even telling her to pull herself together a little. You will be fine.

Now in the future, if your daughter happens to take an interest in various insects just like her father… their daddy-daughter bond is unbreakable. Always taking her little girl in forest walks, thumb gently stroking over her small hand as they both rant about the various animals they come across. Growing up, Arle never had someone to share her interest in spiders, bugs, etc. so having a smaller version of herself be as interested in them as her - it heals something inside of her.

Has such a soft spot for doing her hair. No matter the occasion, she always makes sure her daughters hair looks beautiful. Either adorned by a ribbon, hairclips or a ponytail. She loves doing her hair, spending always extra time before bed brushing the comb through the soft strands, pressing a kiss to her head when she is done. God somebody help this woman.

And I think the most wonderful and perfect sight to her is coming home to the both of you after falling asleep on the sofa. Your girl clinging to you with her face nuzzled into the crook of your neck as your arms were wrapped around her small body so there is absolutely ZERO chance of her accidentally slipping off of you. She debates bringing up the idea of a second child whenever she looks at you, so full of love it actually makes her heart ache. She just loves the two of you that much.

Genuinely can’t stay mad at her for longer than a few minutes. Of course she gets disciplined from time to time by you and her, she is still a child after all and children do sometimes stupid things so the first time she sticks out her tongue to you because she didn’t want to take a bath… Arle sat her down and had a talk with her. A long one. It was also the first and last time she ever disrespected you in any form or manner.

I literally cannot put into words how MUCH I love arlecchino as a parent and everyone saying that it wouldn’t fit her character: YOU DONT GET HER LIKE WE DO!!!!😭🙏🏼

[exhaslo]

Day 19- Miguel x Reader (Sex Pollen)

       

*Requested by several readers ;) *

Another day, another mission. You had joined Miguel and Jessica on an anomaly hunt in a new dimension. All sounded simple at first, Jessica was in charge of finding the Spiderman or woman of that world and attempting to recruit them; you were going to hunt the anomaly; and Miguel was going to survey the new world. That was the original plan, but once the three of you actually arrived at said world, everything changed.

        Staring at the vast jungle before you, you rubbed your eyes to make sure it was true. There were no buildings in sight. They had already recruited some odd animal Spiders, was this going to be another one. Miguel was getting a diagnosis done by Lyla. In the meantime, you and Jessica observed your surroundings.

"Wow, I don't think I'll be able to leaf this alone for a while," You hummed, poking a large leaf.

"I'll pretend you didn't make such a horrible pun." Jessica crossed her arms as she looked up at the fifty foot trees, "Yeah, I'm calling this one off. Let me know how it goes," With a wave, Jessica returned to the Spider Society.

"Shocking," Miguel hissed, "Humanity went extinct in this world. So let's grab our anomaly before he messes with nature."

"Coolio. I'm sure the wildlife will think of us as giant Spiders." You chuckled.

        Miguel did not find it amusing as he led the way. You complained to him, wanting Miguel to cheer up. The man was the pinnacle of stressed out. You could feel his tension whenever you entered a room with him. Hell, his muscles showed it too. Speaking of muscles, you were staring at his for far too long now. Looking away, you huffed as you now stared at his ass. How was there a Spiderman this fucking fine? You couldn't help but want the man! 

"There," Miguel pointed towards the anomaly.

        You stood behind Miguel, staring at a very confused Shocker. Miguel was whispering a plan to you, but you were not focusing. His cologne smelled so nice. Flinching as Miguel dashed forward, you panicked and followed him. It wasn't your fault you were head over heels with him! 

"(Y/N)!"

"Oof!" You felt your spider senses tingle as you dodged an attack from Shocker, "Ah! The hell!?" You gasped as you fell into a cluster of veins.

"Ay dios mío. (Oh my god.)" Miguel spat as he went after Shocker. You hurried after the two,

"Sorry! I dozed off for the second!"

        Miguel ignored you as he easily caught the rouge Shocker. He tied Shocker up and threw him into the dimensional portal. You were about to join Miguel, but felt your spider senses warn you again. You webbed Miguel, bringing him towards you as a large bird attacked. The two of you fell towards the ground. For a brief second, Miguel wrapped his arms around you, protecting you from the fall. Luckily, you both landed on a large flower bud. Yellow pollen floating in the air.

        You sighed in relief and tried asking Miguel if he was okay, but felt him hold your head. His grip was tight as he kept your head pressed against his chest. It was almost hard to breathe.

"Miguel, I can't breathe." You muttered. Not that this was a bad thing.

"Fuck, just wait..." He groaned, "Something isn't....right."

        That was odd. Miguel sounded like he was in pain. You touched his chest to try and move but noticed him flinch. Suddenly, you felt something hard press against your stomach. Your eyes widen as your senses went off. Miguel was protecting you from this strange pollen. Trying to get his attention again, Miguel let out a low cry. This was defiantly bad! Forcing yourself away, you grabbed Miguel's face and pressed it against your chest while you held your breathe.

        The pollen was almost gone. You just had to hold on. You glanced down at Miguel and noticed that he removed his mask. Your fingers were now coiling with his soft hair. Miguel groaned again then moved his hands up your back. You shivered as his groans sent a vibration between your breasts.

"(Y/N), fuck...I need you," His tone was so needy.

"What?!" You gasped in shock.

        Your eyes widen as you inhaled some of the pollen. Suddenly, your body started to burn. You whimpered as you leaned back, rubbing your legs together as your pussy started to drip. Miguel hovered over you, his hands gently touching your sensitive bud. Your eyes widen as you let out a loud moan from just a simple touch. Miguel's suit disappeared and he used his talons to rip yours.

"M-Miguel, we...we shouldn't." You tried to tell him, but your body was burning up. Miguel kissed you feverishly,

"No, we shouldn't."

        His fingers started to pump inside your pussy as he kept kissing you. Your moans were being swallowed by him as you felt him satisfy the burning sensation. His fingers getting coated by a waterfall of your juices, desperate for more. Miguel broke the kiss, a small trail of saliva connecting the two of you. Unable to wait much longer, you reached for him, grinding yourself against his hand.

        Miguel hissed lowly and removed his fingers, needing his own burning pain to go away. He used your juices to stroke his dick as a lube. Without much warning, he easily slid his dick inside of you, thrusting away his lust. Your mind went hazy as you wrapped your legs around his waist. Miguel's dick pounding your every so hungry pussy. Whatever this pollen was made you both so horny that you weren't thinking straight. All you wanted was his dick.

        Miguel held your waist, slapping himself into you like a madman. The lewd sounds of your bodies hitting each other echoed throughout the forest. Your moans growing louder with each thrust. A mixture of his cum and your juices pooling onto the forest floor. Miguel didn't even realize he had cummed inside of you. The immense pleasure you both were feeling was overpowering your own orgasms. All the two of wanted was to keep feeling each other.

        You weren't sure how long the two of you were fucking each other dumb for. One moment you were on your back, the next you were riding him, and so on. Your body kept moving on its own as your pussy kept sucking Miguel's dick. Each thrust of his tip against your cervix sent shivers down your spine. Miguel had you back against your back, needing to go deeper. Needing to have you scream his name out.

"M-Mig-" Your words were caught off as you arched your back in pleasure.

"Fuck, look at you. Always wanted to taste this pussy," Miguel started to babble, watching his dick form a white ring from your juices, "Make you mine. What a good girl you are, taking my dick so well,"

"Ah~ M-Mig...hah...R-Right....t-there."

        Your eyes rolled back as the burning sensation started to fade away. Now you were starting to feel your orgasm. You felt your body grow weak as you cam once more. Your vision blurred slightly as you tried to call out to Miguel. His grip was on your waist was so tight. The daze you were in went away, but was now being washed over by his dick bullying your pussy. You felt so full. His dick was pushing all of his cum deeper inside you. You brain was starting to get cock drunk as you moved your hips again,

"M-Miggy~"

"That's right, say my name." Miguel panted lowly. He thumb trailing over your clit to steal another orgasm from you, "Dime que tu estrecho coño me pertenece. Que te voy a joder tonto. (Tell me that your tight pussy belongs to me. That I'm going to fuck you dumb.)" He groaned.

        Miguel started to come back to his senses as he filled you once more. He took a moment to catch his breathe, hovering over you. He slowly pulled out, watching a river of his cum spill out of your bullied cunt. Another groan escaped his lips as his suit reappeared. You were still a panting mess, trembling from the overstimulation. Miguel reached out to you, pulling you into his chest,

"Are you alright?" He asked softly. You buried your head into his shoulder,

"Fucked out." You barely whispered.

"Yeah," He agreed and looked at his watch, "¡¿Qué carajo, llevamos más de una hora follando?! (What the fuck, we've been fucking for over an hour?!)" He nearly yelled out. Your eyes widen,

"W-What?! I only came to my senses in those last few minutes!" You coughed. Miguel held your head, glancing at the nearby pollen,

"Let's get out of here."

--------------

        Miguel took you straight to his place afterwards. He gave you some water and helped give you a proper bath. The two of you were embarrassed to say the least. Once you were washed and rested, Miguel sat against the edge of his bed.

"Ahem," He cleared his throat, "I suppose it's too late to say that I have feelings for you." He muttered lowly. You chuckled, scooting closer to him,

"I don't think that sex pollen would have worked if you didn't," You teased him. Miguel flinched,

"Is that what you're calling it?"

"That what Lyla explained it as. Pollen that acts out of the desire to mate with one's chosen interest." You continued to tease Miguel. Miguel's ears turned red as he cussed quietly about his AI, "I like you too. Also, you owe me a new suit."

"Ya estoy trabajando en ello. Asegurándome de que desapareciera como el mío. (I'm already working on it. Making sure it came disappear like mine.)" He said, hiding his smirk.

        You grew flustered and quickly asked him about where your old suit was. Miguel brought it out, keeping it in a sealed bag. You huffed your cheeks out, telling him that it has been hours and should be fine. Opening the bag, you flatted your suit out to see the damage. As you did, yellow pollen came out of the suit, causing Miguel to give you a slight glare.

"I'm sorry!" You coughed, inhaling the pollen. Miguel threw your suit to the side, the pollen already affecting him,

"No puedo explicar lo tonto que te voy a follar ahora. Especialmente porque no recordaremos la primera puta hora. (Can't explain how much dumber I'm going to fuck you now. Especially since we won't remember the first fucking hour of it.)" He spat, his body shaking as his dick started to harden. You had your legs spread out already,

"I promise it won't happen again!"

You fucking liar

[delirious-donna]

There’s A Girl In My Tub [Part Two]

story summary: Your best friend lets you crash at her place over the spring break since you have nowhere else to go. Little did you know that it isn't actually her place. Instead, it belongs to a tall (grumpy) hot guy who finds you in his apartment–her brother.

chapter summary: Kento walks in on a woman he doesn't know neck-deep in his bath. What is he meant to do now?

pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

warnings: reader described as having hair that can be put in a ponytail, SFW

Part One | Series Masterlist | Part Three

The mistake was clear from the second he lunged inside the bathroom. Where he had presumed to find his younger sister submerged in his tub, sat a woman he did not know splashing and spluttering from both the shock of being jump scared and the bubbles that shot up your nose.

Kento wasn’t sure what his predominant emotion was, whether it be complete mortification for interrupting someone bathing or indignant anger at the complete stranger using his apartment like some kind of luxury hotel.

“Who the fuck are you?” The stranger half yelled, half spluttered.

Realisation dawned on him like icy dread spider walking up his spine. What had meant to be a practical joke was no longer looking so funny.

“You’re not Karin…” He said matter-of-factly.

At this point, he was simply stating the obvious. What he found interesting was the comprehension that he could see illuminated in your eyes. You might not be Karin, but you knew who she was. The connection between the two of you was what he needed to establish next, or well… after he found out your name.

“I’m Nanami Kento, and you’re in my bath. Who are you?”

His eyebrow cocked in a mixture of continued annoyance and the first hint of curiosity. Given that you were familiar with his sister meant you weren’t some crazy intruder, not that he thought that in the first place given your luggage in his room and the fact that you couldn’t have gained access without a keycard and code.

You offered your name in no more than a timid squeak, and he didn’t recognise it. He huffed a tired exhale and turned towards the door to give you a modicum of privacy. His mouth opened to speak, but you beat him to the punch, silencing him effectively with your more confident tone.

“Look, can we not hash this out whilst I am naked in your bath? Give me ten minutes, and I’ll meet you in the living area,” you enthused, hands gesticulating wildly. It sent a flurry of bubbles into the air which Kento watched before giving a curt nod of agreement and stalking out without uttering another word.

He needed a drink in the worst possible way, even if it was only early afternoon. It was going to be entirely necessary to indulge in his top-shelf liquor to help with his current predicament.

Once more, he glanced at the haphazardly packed case open on his bed. This time studying the contents a little more closely. Perhaps he should have considered doing this earlier, as one glance was enough to confirm that even the style of clothing was so unlike his sister, not to mention the stuffed animal, which he guessed resembled a bunny rabbit despite its ragged appearance. Karin hadn’t been one for stuffed toys, preferring dolls and the pretty furniture to fill ornate dollhouses growing up.

Speaking of his dearly beloved sibling, Kento fished his phone from his pocket as he made his way back to the kitchen. He cradled it between his ear and shoulder whilst selecting a crystal tumbler and a bottle of scotch. The ringing went to voicemail. Of course, it did.

“Karin, call me. I don’t appreciate surprises, and you owe me an explanation.” He kept it short and sweet, his specialty. He pushed the phone across the kitchen island and turned to lean his back against the pantry door.

What the hell was going on? He mused silently, swirling the dark amber contents of his glass before bringing it to his lips and swallowing a healthy mouthful. The liquor coated his teeth and burned his throat as it slid into his mostly empty stomach.

Everything had happened in such a rush that he couldn’t even picture your face as he waited. He hadn’t thought to get a good look at you, not when the circumstances were so intimate–vulnerable even. Not for the first time today, his palm scrubbed down his face. What must you think of him? You were this–he floundered for a moment in thinking of how to accurately describe you–young woman, naked and trapped in a room with one exit. An exit that he had blocked with his body.

He groaned, pressing the cool crystal tumbler to his temple and rolling it across his forehead. This was exactly the type of situation you saw in horror movies, except he wasn’t some crazed killer on the hunt for young virgins or any young women for that matter, but he would understand if you were fearful of him. It would only be logical.

As if summoned by thought alone, the soft pad of your socks alerted Kento that you had finished with the bath. He glanced sideways, eyeing the simple black leggings and an oversized sweater emblazoned with the logo of Karin’s college, and some pieces of the puzzle fell neatly into place.

Your hair was mostly dry except for the ends that had been splashed by the unexpected dunking they had received, the strands tied loosely into a ponytail that softened the stern expression plastered across your features.

Standing with the kitchen island between you as if it afforded you some semblance of protection, Kento tried not to smile when you folded your arms across your chest and tilted your chin in his direction. The sleeves of your sweater engulfed your arms so completely that only the tips of your fingers showed. He admired your courage in the face of a stranger, a male one at that, and one that could likely impose his height and weight against you if he so inclined. Sure, he admired it, but it was also incredibly dumb.

“Did you enjoy your soak?” He asked, taking another sip of scotch to hide the quirk of his lips.

Your eyes narrowed. Damn, he hadn’t felt amusement like this in the longest time. Some would claim that he didn’t have a funny bone in his body, but they were wrong. Kento simply didn’t entertain cheap humour, and this situation was far from bargain basement.

“I was. That is until this massive oaf leapt inside screaming like a maniac and scaring the life out of me.”

That was enough to wipe the smile from his face. Kento straightened and set his tumbler down. He ran a hand through his hair and endeavoured to end this charade right here and now. To hell with the fact that you amused him, he didn’t know you from Adam.

“How do you know Karin? And I am not an oaf, for the record,” he added with what sounded even to him as a touch of petulance.

You rolled your eyes. “She’s my friend, maybe even best friend, actually. We go to the same college, different majors though. How do you know her? Are you her dad or something?”

It was Kento’s turn to narrow his eyes. He could see it for what it was, a direct jab at him, but you didn’t truly believe he could possibly be her father, or at least he hoped not!

You picked at your nails whilst the silence lingered on. He debated whether to rise above your petty attempts at riling him, but something stopped him. Kento was the level-headed one, always reasonable, however, something about you crept beneath his skin.

“Can’t be that much of a best friend if you don’t even know that she has a brother… that would be me, by the way. Hi. I’m the brother, and this is my apartment. I do hope this is some kind of elaborate joke.”

Sure enough, his aim was true. Your face crumpled at the truth he laid out so cruelly. Instead of feeling some sense of triumph for gaining the upper hand, he resigned to the guilt settling heavily in his chest. He almost rubbed at his heart but stopped at the last second.

Why did he care? That’s what he really wanted to know. Yes, you were cute. He was a man after all, he could appreciate your soft feminine features, but he was hardly known as a man who sought out the company of the opposite sex often.

Kento pinched the bridge of the nose. It was upsetting to watch you fold in upon yourself like this, your shoulders hunched inward and your head bowed low. He cared, and that was surprising. He wished for that spark of confidence to ignite again, longing to kick himself for being the one to douse it in the first place.

“I’m… I’m sorry. That was cruel of me, but you did call me her dad!” He tried to rationalise his outburst, and he was glad when your head snapped up to scrutinise him. “We’ve started on the wrong foot. Can you blame me for acting a little irrational? I’ve never found an intruder in my home before, let alone a naked one in my bath. Why are you here?”

Without a word, you stretched out a hand for his near-empty glass, swallowing down the remnants in one gulp. You hissed through your teeth, dancing on the spot whilst the potent alcohol slid into your belly to warm you. Kento cocked his eyebrow but chose to remain silent.

He had so many questions. Why you were here in his home was curiously not at the top of the pile, but it seemed inappropriate to be querying your age and probing your interests at this point in the conversation. Not to mention, you were his sister’s friend, nothing more.

Nothing more, Kento.

“Well, your darling sister told me this was her place, and that it was empty right now. Clearly, neither part was true, and I will be taking that up with her as soon as she answers her damn phone!”

“Hm, so Karin is avoiding your calls too. Curious.”

You blew out a long breath, the strands of hair framing your face dancing around and… Kento glanced away, refusing to acknowledge the desire to fix them behind your ear.

“Aren’t you on spring break? Why aren’t you shacked up in some overly loud and raucous resort? I’m certain that’s where Karin will be right about now.” Kento rolled his eyes at even thinking about it. He well remembered his years in college and how he loathed this time of year. It was his idea of hell.

Scrunching your nose in distaste, you walked around the edge of the kitchen island and hopped up to sit yourself closer to him. Again, he cursed your trust. He could be lying to you. He could have nefarious intent. So why did it make him want to protect you all the more?

“No thanks. I’d rather catch up on some classes and prepare for the new semester, but…” You trailed off, eyes lowering to your fingers which continued to fidget incessantly–an annoying habit he noted.

“But what?” Kento got the sense that he wasn’t going to like your answer much. He braced for it, both palms flush on the marble countertop and coaxing you into maintaining his steady eye contact.

“I don’t have anywhere else I can go. My parents are renovating, and I can’t afford to rent a place for two weeks, at least not somewhere actually habitable.”

Kento froze as the weight of your words washed over him. There was a chance that Karin was truly being a good friend since she had been aware of the business trip he was meant to be on right now. It would be so like her to help out a friend in need.

Was he meant to toss you out on your ass? He was within his rights, of course, but could his conscience allow it? It was obvious you weren’t lying or exaggerating to gain his favour, you looked just as uncomfortable telling him the truth as he did hearing it. This whole situation was a mess, and he didn’t see a clear way out of it.

Well, shit…

[mommypieck]

𑄽୧ glory hole with eren & jean𔓘 ᰍ

kinktober day 31: who's pussy is this!!!

✿ eren yeager x reader x jean kirstein

✿ warnings: sex clubs, p in v, glory hole, eren & jean treat u like a pocket pussy

The music in the club is loud, and you have to talk loudly to even hear one another. Eren and Jean laugh in their booth, watching a new dancer struggle on the stage.

She's cute, her small body moving in adorable ways, but they both know she's inexperienced. They have seen all of the good dancers in this club, bending their bodies in a way they didn't think was possible.

"What are my regulars doing here?" a familiar voice interrupts their entertainment. They notice Connie, the owner, standing by their boot with a sly smile. They both fist-bump him, just like they used to do in high school. Connie has always wanted to own a club, and he knew that once he had it, his friends would be coming in every week.

"We installed something new last week," Connie tells both of the men. Jean's eyebrows shoot up while Eren asks Connie what's the new thing. Their friend just smiles, telling them to go look into the basement.

"No way, man. I don't wanna get murdered." Jean huffs, he's scared of the basement. Connie once took him in, and it was the scariest experience in his life, talking about the amount of spider webs.

"If you go, you're not going to regret it," Connie says. Some girl comes up to him, wrapping herself around Connie's body. He smiles at her, kissing the top of her breast.

"I'm busy." he mouths at them before letting himself be taken to the side by the foreign girl.

"Man, I really wanna see the basement," Eren says, drowning the rest of his whiskey. Connie is a smart man when it comes to sex stuff, and he wants to know what he came up with. Maybe he installed some toys that fuck girls in front of people.

Jean groans in disapproval but decides to give it a shot. He quickly swallows his glass, the burning liquor always bringing tears to his eyes.

They both stand up, and Eren leads the way to the basement. It's a lot tidier than before, and there are even posters on the way down. There's only one door unlocked, probably the door the surprise is in.

They stare with wide eyes at a hole in the wall. There's a sign next to it saying 'fuck here'.

"He's not normal," Jean exclaims. They both know what it is. Connie installed a glory hole just for the two of them.

"Is anyone inside?" Eren calls out, making Jean punch him in the arm. Eren chuckles at his joke, it was a good one, wasn't it?

"You're a dumbass." Jean scolds him, coming closer to examine the hole.

The first thing he notices is a pussy peeking through the hole. It's a pretty pussy, all pink with a cute clit between juice pussy lips. It seems like it's already wet. He brushes his fingers against the folds, noting that it's already wet.

You jump when someone touches your pussy. You heard what seemed like two men come into the room. Connie promised that they were his friends and they needed some fun. You volunteer to work in his club, loving sex too much.

Another hand caresses your slit, this hand is rougher than the first one. The first one was rough but delicate at the same time. He was being gentle with you, but on the other hand, had one goal - to make you fall apart.

"Who's gonna fuck her first?" you hear one voice ask, you aren't sure about which hand belongs to that owner.

"You really wanna fuck her?" the other voice asks, the other person is more hesitant. Maybe he doesn't wanna fuck you, even though you want to be fucked.

"Yes, I do, jean. It's a free pussy." you hear one of them chuckle. You hear the guy unbuckle his belt, and you almost shake him in anticipation.

You're nervous, this is something you wanted for so long. sweat rises on your forehead as you finally see a dick poking through the hole. It's so close, but still so far.

His tip rubs against your opening, carefully pushing inside of you.

"Shit, she's too tight." Eren moans, sinking the rest of his cock inside of your pussy. He never had a pussy this tight in his entire life. You're sucking him right in. He feels bad that he can't see the owner of this delicious pussy. His arms brace on the wall separating you from him and Jean. Sweet little moans leave your mouth with every thrust he makes, making Eren laugh.

"She's a moaner." he mocks you, deepening his thrusts. He's pretty sure you can take a lot more than what he has to give you, but he's trying to be generous with you.

"Fuck, I won't be able to last long." he moans, speeding his thrusts so he can catch his orgasm. He doesn't care that you won't cum, you're only a hole for him.

You know he's about to cum, and you try to clench down on his cock even more. He has a nice cock, big enough to satisfy you. You yelp when his hot cum fills your body. You just wish you could see how much leaks out.

"You stretched her out too much for me." Jean rolls his eyes, showing Eren to the side so he can take his place. A slutty moan rips through him when he pushes himself all the way in. It's tight, unbelievably tight. You just took a big cock, but your pussy feels like a virgin's.

"She's good, isn't she?" Eren smirks, his cock hardening again as he watches his best friend pump his cock inside of you. Jean can only nod, your pussy left him speechless.

Connie is a dumbass, but something he has fucking good ideas.

Your body moves up and down with every stroke of his cock. This one is different, he's slower, but he makes sure to hit your insides as deep as possible. He's also a bit fatter than the first cock. You just wish it's the "gentle hands' s" dick.

You feel yourself being slowly tipped over the edge of your high. You cum around his cock, squeezing even tighter. It catches him off guard, and he can do nothing else then cum right inside of you.

"What was that?" he breathes as he tries to get over the orgasm he just had. Eren laughs next to him, "Seems like you made our fuck doll cum."

Both men dress themselves up again, fixing their appearance before going upstairs to the club.

Connie is already waiting for them with a girl wrapped around his body. He wears a cheeky smile.

"You look like you enjoyed it," he says, making you stand in front of him before wrapping his arms around your middle and putting his chin on your shoulder, "Y/n here sure had a lot of fun with you too."

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[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Hiiii!!! Babes wow I’m so IN LOVE with the way you write soft Miguel!!! It’s the cutest effing shiz 🥹 I go very weak in the knees for a big grumpy indifferent man that is so dang painfully soft for their girl it’s such a huge turn on for my heart 😩 I also came to share that I’ve been imagining Miguel overhearing reader talk about how she’s never had a secret admirer and then a few days later she finds a red rose w/a lil note addressed to her. From a distance Miguel & Jess watch as she parades her lil rose around the others all smiley and Jess asks if he’s gonna tell her and he murmurs “let her have her little admirer” Like that mans got it baaad 😮‍💨

hiii!! omg stop it, that’s so fucking sweet!! thank you! and me too!! I love mean cold grumpy men that have a soft spot for their girl, like embarrassing soft and mushy for her!! it’s my weakness😩 that is the cutest idea. thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

secret admirer

miguel o’hara x f reader

wc: 722

part 2 -> here

You were never usually one to receive spontaneous gifts from others, rarely one to have a secret admirer, so when you walk into your office and see a singular red rose with a small envelope attached, your stomach immediately somersaulted. 

A few days prior, you and Peter were talking about gifts and what he should get MJ for their upcoming anniversary, and then the subject of secret admirers arose. You mentioned how you've never been on the receiving end of those small romantic gestures and how you wished and hoped you could be at some point. To you, it was a simple flyaway comment, but based on Peter's solemn reaction, you couldn't help but think that he felt guilty.

You did ponder if Peter left it for you as a sympathy gift, but the red rose was a tell-tell sign that he didn't. So now, you couldn't help but wonder who gave you the flower. Who knew the passcode for your door? Who knew about your whereabouts? All these questions span in your mind as you walk into your office.

You reach for the rose, bringing the flower to your nose, softly breathing in its fragrant scent as you pick up the envelope. You place the flower down and glance around your office, looking through the windows to see if anyone's watching. Once you know it's clear, you open the paper and pull out the small note. 

' I heard you've never had a secret admirer before,

I'm glad to be your first. 

Spider-Man '

Even though it's tagged Spider-Man, it could be anyone. Literally anybody. Hundreds, if not thousands, of possibilities. But the one spider that first came to mind was Peter. You wanted to tell him about the strange coincidence and share your happiness about the situation. So you flag him down, rose and note in your hand as you search through HQ for him.

You finally spot him in the cafeteria with Jess and Miguel, talking over food and coffee. You hesitantly make your way over with a smile as you subtly wave over to him. 

"Sorry- sorry, do you mind if I borrow Peter real quick?" you ask, glancing between them all.

"Sure," Miguel softly smiles as he looks you up and down, noticing the rose in your hand. 

"Thank you, we won't be long. Hurry- come on," you say, tugging Peter's arm. 

"Alright, alright," he huffs, taking a final bite of his burger before placing it down. "What's so urgent anyway?" he grumbles, trudging after you as he adjusts Mayday in the Björn.

"You know how I mentioned the other day- about the secret admirer thing...?" you start, looking at him eagerly. "Well, look what I just found," you smile, showing off your rose and note. "I went into my office, and- and it was just sitting there, for me. A rose for me!" you excitedly gush, smiling widely. 

"No way?" he says, his joyful tone matching yours. "Let me see the note,"

As he reads through the letter, you glance around the cafeteria, your gaze honing in on Jess and Miguel, who were not so subtly staring at you. Suspicions rise when you notice them whisper to each other, heads together as if they're in cahoots.

"Hey Peter, can you do me a favour?" you ask, slyly leaning forward.

"Sure, what's up?"

"This might be really wrong, but I need you to do something for me. I need you to eavesdrop, please?" you say sweetly, hoping to mask the morally wrong favour you were asking.

"Seriously?" 

"Yes, please. And do it quick. Miguel and Jess- hurry,"

"Shut up then, so I can listen," he shushes you, chuckling.

He's quiet for a few moments, a slow smile creeping on his face as he listens in on their conversation. 

"What are they saying? Tell me," you ask, eyes keen as they dart around the room.

"I can't tell you..." he grins, shaking his head. 

"Why? Why not?" you playfully hound, gesturing with your hands. "Come on, please?"

"God, he's gonna kill me," he mutters. "All I heard was the end part... Jess said, 'Are you gonna tell her about the rose?' and then Miguel said, 'Let her have her little admirer. She needs it,' okay? That's all I heard,"

Your smile widens. 

The rose, it was from Miguel?

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Miguel’s Reaction to You Calling Him a DILF

Warnings: Implied Smut, Dominant Miguel, Profanity, Use of ‘Daddy’, Lyla Trying Her Best <3, Fem Reader.

Despite spending every day with Lyla, an absolutely chronically online AI, Miguel knows little in the way of internet jargon.

Thus, this term - DILF - is one he’s never come across before. Namely because Lyla has never seen it fit to implement it into a conversation.

But, when Miguel overheard you calling him your “Favourite DILF; just a gorgeous, scrumptious specimen,” he had to ask Lyla to translate for him.

Miguel swore he could see her eyes widen, her brow stiffen and crease.

“It’s…it’s — uh — well…”

Lyla scratched the back of her head, her stare sloping off to the side — away from Miguel’s cattish stare. Her teeth gritted, a gateway, a preventative measure to ensure your safety and wellbeing. The only barrier between your open secret and miguel’s discovery of it.

“Oh, come on, Lyla,” Miguel crossed his arms over his chest, as if to inhibit the anxiety starting to bloom there. He doubted that you’d ever bad-mouth him, especially given how close the two of you were, but Lyla’s apprehension was starting to spark some doubts. Regardless, he persevered, kept his stare hard and neutral. “It can’t be that bad.”

“It..it means…” Lyla sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose beneath her glasses. She didn’t look up at Miguel, instead finding you in her mind’s eye and cursing you. And wishing the best for your safety.

“Dad I’d like to fuck.”

She came out with it, the words almost poisonous and sour on her tongue as they passed through. And the fact that she’d had to say them to Miguel of all people didn’t help.

At first, Miguel didn’t think he’d heard Lyla correctly, his posture and face remaining unchanged in the fallout of his discovery.

It was only after three seconds passed, four, five, that he truly heard — understood — what Lyla had said.

“Oh.”

A warmth bled across Miguel’s face, a creeping blush hidden only by the console’s yellow hue. Without another word, Mifuel turned tail, unfurling his arms, unravelling to his broadest potential. He began his descent, his destination clear as day in his mind’s eye.

Lyla’s’s eyes widened further, almost bulging from her head. She called, stammering: “(Y-Y/N) probably didn’t mean it! Not like that! So-so don’t go too hard on ‘er, okay?”

Miguel searched the entire facility for you, his face a concoction of emotions nobody (save for yourself) had ever seen before, thus making his mood indecipherable to all that were not you.

He eventually found you, isolated, in a room. Practically begging for what was to come next. He slipped inside, closed the door behind him.

You turned and smiled, sensing Miguel’s presence; the impression of authority.

“Hey, Miggy!” you chimed, eyes crescents. You turned back to checking off your stock list, paying little heed to the shadow advancing on you.

“Playing innocent, I see,” Miguel’s voice swooped and glided as the greatest bird of prey does, coming to stand mere centimetres behind you, his warmth at your back; a dark sun.

“I thought you’d be at home, caring for our child.” His hands came to sit on your shoulders, heavy and large. For a second, you were befuddled, believing Miguel to be spinning you a riddle. Then, realisation. Your heart dropped; you knew Miguel could feel it. Oh my God, Lyla.

“We…don’t have a child, Miguel,” you laughed, humourless and breathy. You knew you had to play your cards right. Carefully. Miguel gave a heavy, brief chuckle.

“Not yet,” he squeezed your shoulders, hands slipping down the length of your arms, the feeling of spiders creeping along your skin. “But seeing as you’re so keen on calling me daddy, I see no harm in pretending.”

His lips came to your neck, pressing deceptively soft kisses there. 

You were frozen, though a fire stoked within you. One you couldn’t bring yourself to put out.

“After all, I am your DILF, aren’t I?”

You bit your lip, eyes squeezing shut as Miguel’s hands slid to your waist, pulling your back to his front where you felt something thick and large and bulging against your tailbone.

“A baseless accusation, don’t you think ?”

Your breath shuttered. “I didn’t mean it as a bad thing—“

“It doesn’t matter how you meant it. What matters is it’s inaccurate,” Miguel spoke with a stoic logic you’d seen one too many times. He pulled you to him, tighter, closer, his heart pounding against your back.

“But, luckily for you, I’m in a giving mood. I’m not going to punish you for your little transgression. Instead, I’m going to give you an out.” He descended upon your skin again, nipping it between his blunted teeth, the threat of his fangs in your periphery.

“What…what’s that?” You almost didn’t want to ask, your heart creeping up your throat as if to muffle your words.

Miguel’s hand slipped from your waist, sliding sharp fingers down the expanse of your back, leaving trails of goosebumps. You felt his hand come between where the most prominent part of himself and you connected, his knuckles digging into the small of your back. He ran a hand over himself through his suit, palmed himself. His eye twitched. “You just have to be a good girl and lay down and take whatever I give you until I say we’re done.”

His grip on you tightened. You could feel how dark his gaze had become, weighing heavy on you like a robe.

You said nothing – could say nothing.

“Now, you wanna say that again,” his voice was muffled by your skin, his kisses becoming wetter, languid. He pushed himself against you, taking you by the hips and pulling you so he caught you just right. You spied his eye twitch in the reflection of the filing cabinet across from you as you cracked an eye open, a steady redness overtaking Miguel’s stare, his lips turning up at the corners, revealing his fangs.

“Or are you gonna keep that pretty little mouth shut and make me into a real daddy ?”

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