#spiders crawled on the ceiling and one fell on the floor | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tasteleeknow · 2 years

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spiderweb

pairing: minho x fem!reader genre: smut, angst, roommates to lovers, brothers best friend. content: 18+ minors dni. warnings below cut. word count: 7.4k

summary: he’s spent so long in denial. when he finally realises you’ve trapped him in your web, he panics. mutual pining. minho’s pov.

He startles awake at a high pitched scream before tumbling out of bed and scrambling to his feet. “Minho!” you scream again just as he’s swinging the door open that separates your bedrooms. He rushes into the room, kicking something across the floor as he struggles to locate you in the darkness. “What is it?! What’s wrong?” he asks, the frantic tone of his voice matching his clumsy movements. That’s when he spots you, perched on top of your dresser in the corner of your room.

warnings: profanity. dirty talk. pet names. afab!reader. virgin!reader. unprotected intercourse. oral (f. rec).

“It went under the bed!” you cry, pointing to the single bed pushed up against the wall beside him.

He pauses, sucking in a breath as he gathers himself. “It?”

“Spider…It was huge. It fell from the ceiling.”

He knew you were afraid of spiders but the blood curdling scream that had woken him had sent a chill through his body. You’d made him feel like his world was ending… for a bug.

“Please,” you beg. “Please just kill it.”

He looks between you and the bed again, then turns to leave.

“No! Minho! Min, please. I—” he presses his hands over his ears as the door closes behind him, belly flopping back onto his bed. He groans.

He can still hear your muffled shouts for a few more minutes, pulling his hands from his ears when you finally fall silent. He rolls onto his side, away from the door. He struggles to sleep again, guilt stirring as he battles whether to go in there and kill the fucking spider for you. After a few more minutes, the door creaks open—light filtering from your room to his. He doesn’t move, pretending to be asleep as the door shuts again. The bed dips as you crawl in, pulling the blankets back and pressing yourself as close to him as possible.

He had never agreed to living with you. You were his roommate’s little sister. He’d agreed to live with Chris, not the add on. You were closer than any siblings he’d ever known, spending more time at your brother's apartment than most of his friends. As a result, you were the person he saw most besides his roommate. Chris had suggested turning the small study adjoined to Minho’s room into a room for you. For night’s when you fell asleep on the couch, he’d said. He’d made it sound like a precaution, to be used rarely—if ever. Minho had agreed offhandedly, hardly paying attention. “Sure, whatever,” he’d said, distracted by his phone. When he’d walked into his room with a towel around his waist the next night and found you sprawled out on his bed, he’d nearly hit the ceiling.

“What the fuck!” he’d shouted, gripping his towel.

You’d looked up at him, bursting into laughter before leisurely rolling off his bed and tapping him on the shoulder. “Sorry,” you said with a smile, disappearing into the small study and closing the door. He’d suggested getting a lock on the door and when Chris had pointed out it would lock you in, Minho had nodded. “Yes, that’s the idea,” he’d said. He’d groaned and wandered off when Chris had argued he could not in fact lock his little sister into a room with no way out.

So here he was, his roommate's little sister practically living in his closet. He groans, attempting to shuffle away from the warm body pressed to his back. “Get out,” he mumbles.

“Please, Min. I can’t sleep in there with it running around. What if it… crawls on me?” you whisper, shivering against him. So instead I have you crawling on me, he thinks. You yelp when he suddenly turns, trapping your hands above your head as he hovers over you.

“Can you not be a pain in my ass for one single day?” he snaps.

You’re completely still under him, looking up at him with wide eyes. Your eyes were another thing. The way you’d look at him drove him fucking insane. He knows the only reason he’d been able to walk out of the room and leave you perched on your dresser was because the lights were off. He couldn’t see your eyes. He groans, dropping his head to your neck for a moment and then rolling off you.

“Under the bed?” he asks, staring up at the ceiling. He’d kill the fucking spider and then you’d leave and he could roll over and pretend you weren’t a thin wall away from him.

“Yeah,” you whisper. He climbs over you, grabbing his phone from the bedside table.

He searches everywhere, under the bed, up the walls. He finds it behind the dresser, the one you’d been perched on. By the time he’s caught it and dropped it out your window into the bushes below, you’ve fallen fast asleep—curled up under his covers. He places his phone down on the bedside table gently then crawls over you, settling himself as far away from you as he can. He knows there's a perfectly good bed free in the room he’d just come from but he’s not letting you kick him out. His bed was objectively more comfortable.

He stares at the wall for a while, hyper aware of your soft breathing behind him. When he gives in and rolls over he rolls his eyes at the hair falling over your face. It’s a wonder you’re still breathing. He reaches out slowly, then very carefully, he lifts it from your face—settling the soft strands over your shoulder.

He sits up, grabbing one of the many pillows that sit against the headboard and placing it between your bodies. Then he rolls over again, resuming his staring contest with the wall. When he wakes again he processes two things: it was still dark and there was a body wrapped around him. You were practically draped over him, an arm around his waist and one leg thrown over his hip. You were so warm. He closes his eyes again just as a door slamming somewhere in the apartment jolts you awake. He feels it, the way you tense up and slowly lift your limbs from him—obviously assuming he’s still asleep. He doesn’t move and the bed rocks with your movement just as the bedroom door swings open.

“Chris,” you whisper, “get out.”

“What are you doing in—”

The door shuts, cutting him off. Minho sits up—pushing his hands through his hair. Why the fuck was his roommate awake at this hour? And what was he doing slamming doors? He falls back against the pillows. He can hear them moving around out there, the sound of the water running through the pipes points to one of them being in the kitchen or bathroom. He could get up. He could check whether his roommate saw his little sister crawl out of his bed in the early hours of the morning. Minho turns his head, eyes fixing on the pillow you’d slept on. Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t be a fucking moron. He reaches out, snatching the pillow and pulling it to his face, ignoring his own internal monologue. He inhales deeply. It smells like your shampoo. “Fuck!” he shouts, throwing the pillow across the room, knocking something off his dresser.

It takes less than a minute for the door to open and he sits up to see you poke your head around the door. “You alright? What was that?” you ask.

He trails his eyes up your bare legs, remembering how they felt wrapped around him. “Why is Chris up?” he asks, hoping the darkness disguises where his eyes had been.

You step into the room and take a few hesitant steps towards the bed before stopping—twisting a ring around your finger. “He’s pulling an all-nighter,” you answer.

“Why’d he come in here?”

You walk over to the bedside table, picking up the headphones Minho had borrowed from his roommate the day before. You wave them around, a silent answer. He watches you hesitate, taking a half step backwards towards the door.

“I got rid of it,” he offers. “The spider.”

You look down at your hands, fiddling with the headphones. “Thank you,” you say, your tone making him feel like jumping out of bed and pushing you against the wall. So soft, like he’d bought you a house and not killed a bug. “I’m… sorry for falling asleep. You should have woken me.”

He knows that. He should have kicked you out of his bed the second you crawled in, dragged you out if he had to. His eyes drop the headphones you’re still fiddling with, the ones belonging to his roommate—your brother.

“You’re right,” he says, “I should have.” He rolls over, facing the wall.

“Thank you again,” you whisper. He waits for you to leave the room, door closing gently behind you. Then he gets up, marching over to the pillow on the floor and crawling back into bed with his loot. He wraps himself around it, falling asleep to the scent of you surrounding him.

“I need her out,” he says to Chris the next day, reaching past him to grab a glass from the cupboard. He’d woken up this morning with the pillow still held tight to his body, morning wood pressed up into it. He hadn’t been able to jerk off freely since you’d practically moved into his room, grumbling as he’d stumbled into the shower to relieve himself. He’d made up his mind the second he’d released into his hand, his palm pressed flat against the bathroom wall to steady himself. This was the final straw.

“Why?” his roommate asks, stirring his coffee.

“She’s in my space… and she doesn’t pay rent.”

“You don’t either,” Christ points out, blowing across the surface of his drink. He’s right. He owned the place, letting Minho move in when he had nowhere else to go.

Minho sighs, placing his glass down on the bench a little too hard. “I just don’t want her here, yeah? Please.”

“Chris?” your soft voice pulls both men’s attention to the doorway. Minho’s eyes take in the black t-shirt he’s been missing, then his gaze drops down your legs to your fluffy socks. He sucks in a breath before moving to your face. Your eyes are watery and he wants to die. “I don’t mind, really. I know I spend too much time here…I get it,” you say, voice soft and quiet—like you’re speaking to a stranger and not the two people who knew you best in the world.

His roommate places his mug down quickly. “You don’t need to spend less time here. We’ll just move things around a bit so Minho has his own space, okay?”

“No, I do. I…don’t get along that well with my roommates and…I like it here more, I guess. I shouldn’t have pushed in.” You look up at him, wide watery eyes meeting Minho’s directly. He holds his breath. “I’m sorry,” you say, finishing him off.

“Don’t get along?” Chris asks.

Your eyes drop to your hands, playing with your ring again. “They’re a little louder than me, that’s all. It’s not a big deal.”

His roommate moves past him, taking a few steps towards his sister. “It’s a big deal if it’s making you not wanna be there,” he says.

“I’m just… alone most of the time. They’re always loud and hanging out together and I end up in my room alone. It’s silly. It doesn’t make me uncomfortable.” You take a step back through the door and Minho catches himself as he goes to take a step to follow you. Your brother follows you instead, the way it should be. He looks across the kitchen to the sink and quickly walks over to turn the tap on high, then he walks to the doorway—pressing himself against the wall so he can eavesdrop. You both speak in hushed tones, obviously assuming Minho is minding his own business—like he should.

“Stay, please,” Chris says. He sounds exhausted. Minho has no idea when his friend had slept last. He was always doing this to himself, pushing himself too far. It just adds to his guilt. His friend was letting him live in his place for free and here he was, stirring up problems for him just because he was struggling to keep his dick in his pants.

“Do you…know why he doesn’t like me?” you whisper, unaware Minho was lurking around the corner. He should show himself, he should. He’s always thinking about what he should and shouldn’t do. Never listening to his own advice.

“He likes you. He just wants his own space. It’s not about you, I promise.”

Minho drops his head against the wall, cringing at the small thud it makes. Chris was wrong. It was entirely about you.

“Just stay,” Chris continues, “I’m gonna sleep for a few hours and then we’ll rearrange some things, yeah? It’s fine. Stay.”

“I-”

Minho reveals himself, cutting you off before you can argue again. “Stay. We’ll talk about it when he wakes up.”

Your eyes flick between his, your brows rising at his sudden appearance. Then you nod, arms wrapping around yourself.

“Alright,” your brother says, “I’m going to bed.”

Minho feels like his roommate takes the oxygen from the room with him as he leaves, leaving him alone with his little sister wearing his t-shirt. If you hadn’t just overheard him begging your brother to kick you out, he’d have bugged you about it; made you tell him why you’d stolen one of his favourite shirts. He loved the way you’d get flustered, attempting to explain yourself.

“I have some work to do today, so I’ll just… be in my room,” you say, taking small steps away from him.

Minho opens his mouth, then realising he has no idea what to say, closes it again—offering you a weak nod instead. You turn quickly, practically running from him. It feels a million times worse than when you’re smothering him.

He goes for a walk, attempting to distract himself from the morning’s events. When he finds a bench overlooking a pond, pigeons pecking around in the grass around it, he takes a seat. He attempts to zone out, just…think about nothing. An old woman joins him after a while, pulling a large bag of cut up grapes from her trolley and dropping them around her as the ducks approach from the water. Before he knows it he’s surrounded by birds, his peaceful spot suddenly a hub of activity.

“What are you looking so gloomy for?�� the old woman asks him, dropping a few more grapes on the ground at her feet.

“Oh, I’m just tired,” he offers lazily, an obvious lie.

She’s quiet for a moment, the sounds of the birds around them filling the silence. Then she speaks again. “My grandchildren tell me I’m good at offering advice. Maybe they’re just trying to keep me happy, but I’ll offer it to you for free if you want to tell me the truth.”

He looks up at the woman beside him, her kind eyes cradled by deep creases. He sighs, leaning back. “I-I think I love someone.”

It's the first time he’s admitted it to himself and hearing the words in his own voice startle him a little. Love. He hadn’t even meant to say it. He’d intended to say ‘like’. His brows furrow at his own freudian slip.

“Is that something to be sad about?”

He sighs. “I shouldn’t... feel this way about her.”

“Why not?” she questions, tipping the remainder of her grapes onto the ground.

He presses his fingers to his right temple, attempting to rub his headache away. “She’s…my friend’s sister. He wouldn’t be happy about it. He’s.. done a lot for me.”

“Has he said he disapproves?”

Minho frowns. “No, but I know he wouldn’t like it. I’m not…doing well in life. I’m a burden.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, the sound of the birds feeding filling the silence. “This friend who has done a lot for you… do you think he loves you?”

Did Chris love him? “I…don’t know. He likes me enough.”

They both fall quiet again, the ducks starting to wander away—finished with their meal. Minho had never stopped to consider why Chris let him live with him for free or why he helped him out when he was looking for jobs and getting nowhere. Why he stuck his neck out for him at his company and got him a position there. He was so busy being grateful he never thought about why he’d done it all for him. He supposed he probably did love him. It made sense. That was the type of person his friend was. He’d do anything for the people he loved. He’d seen it first hand with all he did for you.

“If your friend did approve of you… and this girl, if she felt the same way you do… would you tell her?”

He nods, without hesitation.

“Then stop sitting around looking gloomy. You have a chance to add some more joy to your life,” she says, standing up and gathering her belongings. She holds out her hand to him and when he places his palm in hers, she merely squeezes him gently. “Take it. Always take it,” she says. “That is the point of it all.”

When he gets home the door between your rooms is closed. It’s the first time he can remember you closing it yourself. He was always the one to close it on you. He thinks about what you’d said earlier. You’d been feeling closed off and isolated from the people you’d live with. You’d come here to feel closer to someone and one of the first things he’d tried to do was lock you in. He knocks quickly. Two quiet raps, so quiet it makes him feel like a coward. When you swing the door open the first thing he notices is you’ve taken off his t-shirt, replacing it with one of your own long sleeved shirts. This sight alone is upsetting enough but then his eyes move up to yours and he wants to run, turn and run out the door for good. You’ve been crying. There had been a delay before you’d opened the door and he imagines you wiping at your eyes, attempting to hide what he’d done to you.

“Is Chris awake?” you ask, pulling your sleeves down over your hands.

“No.”

Your brows pull together, obviously confused why he would come to you if not to inform you of that. He turns, walking over to his bed and collapsing down onto the edge. He bends over, resting his head in his hands. Your fluffy socks appear at his feet and he looks up, accepting the harsh truth once and for all. He loved you. He should run to his friend now, shake him awake and break the news.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, sitting down next to him.

He turns to look at you, resisting the urge to wipe some of the wetness you’d missed around your eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says instead. “I didn’t mean what I said.”

“You don’t have to take it back now. You wouldn’t have said it if you didn’t mean it.”

He groans, falling onto his back and sucking in a deep breath before sitting up again. He turns, facing you fully. “I want you here. I want you here all the time. I promise.”

“No, you don’t. I’m not stupid.”

He wants to push you onto your back, hold you down like he had last night—make you understand. He could show you with his lips. Show you the things he didn’t know how to say. He shakes his head. “I know, I know you’re not stupid. I’m the fucking moron here,” he groans.

Your soft hand reaches out to cover his, pulling it into your lap. “Don’t say that,” you whisper.

He turns your hands over so he can play with your fingers, comparing the sizes of your hands, twisting the ring you’re always playing with. When his mind drifts to imagining what kind of engagement ring you’d like he pulls back quickly, startled by his own train of thought. He jumps off the bed, dropping his hands to his side—unsure what to do with himself.

You stand, taking a step closer to him. “It’s okay, Min. I’m used…to this kind of thing. I get attached to people and it’s too much for them. I’m your friend’s little sister.”

“Yeah,” he breathes. Friend’s little sister. Wait, attached? He replays your words through his mind.

“Attached?” he questions.

You look up at him, eyes wide and vulnerable. “I like you, Min,” you say, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like it wasn’t the thing he wanted to hear most. “When I find people I like, I latch on. I know that.”

“I like you, too,” he responds quickly. He hopes it doesn’t come across as desperate.

You huff out a laugh, breaking his heart. He watches you walk around him, taking small steps back towards your room. “It’s alright, Min. I’ll leave you alone, promise.” You don’t believe him. Say something, his brain screams. Do something. He listens to his internal monologue for once, taking two large steps towards you and wrapping an arm around your waist. He presses his hand gently to the side of your face, directing your eyes to his.

“I like you, too,” he repeats, flicking his eyes between yours—begging you to hear him. Your lips part, brows pulling together as you process his words. He brushes his thumb across your cheek, taking the opportunity to feel you like this—your skin soft against his calloused fingertips. Then you take a large step back, his arms dropping to his sides as he releases you.

“I don’t…What do you mean?”

“I like you,” he repeats again.

“Yes, I heard you. I don’t understand what you mean.”

He wants to scream, frustrated with the concept of language. He wishes he could just send you his feelings, show you how his heart races everytime you walk in the front door. How your laugh made him feel like writing music. How he’d stroked himself this morning just to the thought of your soft thigh thrown over his hip. He takes a few steps back, resuming his position at the edge of his mattress. The room is quiet as he gathers his thoughts. He lifts his head as you approach him, sitting between his legs and resting your hands on his knees.

“Tell me what you mean, please,” you ask.

“I didn’t wake you up last night because I didn’t want to,” he confesses quickly, before he can talk himself out of it. “I wanted to crawl into bed with you and pretend it was normal; pretend it was just something we did. Then… you… you were wrapped around me when I woke up and I was angry that Chris woke you. I-I was angry he took you from me,” he finishes, looking down at you. He leaves out the part where he wrapped himself around your pillow, pretending it was you.

“You like me?” you whisper, hands moving from his knees up his thighs a little.

He smiles, a weight lifting off his shoulders. You understood. “Mm, I like you,” he whispers back.

He watches as you lift yourself onto your knees, shuffling a little further between his legs and wrapping your arms around his torso—the side of your face pressed into his stomach. The ways he’d so often imagined you kneeling between his knees weren’t quite so innocent. This version is so… you. His heart swells as he lifts his hand to your head, fingers ghosting over your hair just as you pull back. He’s not prepared at all when you practically dive at him, pushing him down against the mattress. He gazes up at you as you mount him, trying to process the rapid shift of his emotional state. He’s not sure what he’s expecting but when you lie down over him, pressing your body into his—he is not disappointed. Your ear is pressed to his chest, fluffy socks brushing against his bare thighs.

He laughs lightly, folding his arms over you. You lift your head, looking up at him. “Is this okay?” you ask.

“Mm, s’okay.”

You press your head back to his chest, humming in contentment. He feels like he could levitate off the bed and float into space. He can smell your shampoo perfectly from here, reminding him of the pillow he’d slept with. He sighs, indulging in the much warmer reality.

Then the water pipes in the wall by his head come to life, reminding him of the other body in the apartment. He tenses, sitting up quickly—pulling you up with him. He doesn’t have the heart to push you off his lap.

“Min?” you question. “What is it?”

“Your brother.”

“What about him?” you ask, a pretty little line forming between your brows. He reaches to smooth it out.

“You should get off,” he whispers, hoping very much that you don’t.

You drop your arms from his neck. He misses them immediately. “Because of Chris? Did he say something?”

Minho shakes his head. “He wouldn’t like this. I haven’t… I haven’t asked him.”

You’re quiet for a moment and he listens intently to the sound of the pipes, indicating his friend was busy and not about to enter the room and find his little sister in his lap. “Ask him what?” you finally ask.

What would he ask him? He’d been so focused on what he’d say to you on his walk home he hadn’t even had time to consider how he’d approach his friend. “I… don’t know. If he’s okay with this, I guess.”

“This?” you question, forcing him to voice his greatest desire.

“If he’s okay with me…asking if you’ll have me. If he’s okay with us being together.”

You smile, threading your fingers in his hair. He blinks, attempting not to let a satisfied hum slip from his lips. “I don’t need my brother's permission to date you, Min. I’m a grown woman, yeah?” you say, eyes trailing over his face. “You can just ask me.”

“He might…not think I’m enough for you.”

You laugh softly, the sound igniting a burst of light in his chest. Music. “You’re his best friend. I can’t imagine he’d think anyone else in the world deserved me more,” you pause, brushing the hair that flops over his forehead out of his eyes. Your fingers are gentle, like he’s made of porcelain. It makes him want to punch a pillow, or kiss you. Either would do. “Besides, that’s up to me to decide,” you finish.

“I presume by the way you just jumped on me you’ve decided I am… good enough,” he says. His own voice sounds foreign to him, light and breathy.

You smile, leaning forward a little and pressing your soft lips to his. He feels like he could vibrate, his heart beating so hard he wonders if you can hear it. The sounds of the pipes fade away along with the rest of the world. He didn’t give a fuck about any of it. How could he when you were in his lap, your sweet lips against his.

“Would you like…I mean-I…I’d like you to fuck me.”

His head spins, blinking slowly as he processes the words you’d just muttered against his mouth. He hadn’t heard you curse once, not in the years he’d known you. He wants you to curse with the tip of his cock brushing against your lips. He presses his hands to the bed beside him as he squeezes his eyes shut. Chris. His friend. His very good friend who had done so much for him. He should definitely talk to him and not fuck his little sister while he showers.

He feels your lips brushing against his again. He resists pushing forward to connect them properly. “Please?” you whisper.

A low pained sound escapes him, his hands lifting to grip your waist. “I want to,” he whispers. “Your—”

“If you say brother right now I’ll scream. I fuck who I want.” You move your lips to his throat, lips brushing over his skin. “And I want you.”

He stands up quickly, setting you gently on your feet then stumbling backwards—practically crashing into the wall. He looks to the closed door then to the wall where water is still running through the pipes. You approach him like a siren to a sailor, attempting to drown him. He could ignore you. He could run and live to see another day. Or… he could let you take him, drown in utter bliss. Surely it would be worth any consequences. He’s struggling to see past you, right here in front of him—asking him to swim.

“Joy,” he mutters to himself. He surges forward, practically colliding with you in his desperation. You squeak as he crashes his mouth into yours, stumbling backwards a little before he catches you. He lifts you, walking towards the bed and turning at the last second—collapsing back onto the mattress, taking you with him. Your soft giggles into his neck are the final note in your siren song. He wants to lift your head and tell you you’ve won, he’s lured. Instead he brings your lips to his again, luxuriating in the feeling of your body pressed onto his.

“Can you be quiet?” you whisper. “I want you, but you’ll need to be quiet.”

He nods and you climb off him, walking to his door and turning the lock. He reaches down to readjust himself. Oh, fuck. You were…really doing this. When you turn to face him, his eyes fix on where your hands fiddle with the hem of your shirt—teasing him.

“Can you take yours off first?” you ask, approaching him slowly. “I’ve never…”

He stands up quickly. “Never what?” he asks, heart thumping hard in his chest.

“Had sex,” you whisper, crashing him back down to earth. He finds himself up against the wall again, having backed away from you. He can’t escape your web, he knows that. But the solid wall behind him makes him feel more grounded.

“I can’t…take your virginity with your brother in the next room.”

You approach him slowly, like a fly struggling in your trap. “You can,” you insist. “I’ll be quiet.”

“I’ll just go talk to him. I’ll talk to him and tell him I’m taking you on a date,” he says it like he’s trying to convince you to spare him, let him live. “We’ll go on dates and then eventually, if you want… we can try this.”

Your fingers brush over his lips, tracing his mouth like you’re inspecting him before you bite. “I’ve been practically sharing a room with you for months. I don’t need dates,” you whisper. “I know you.”

“You know me,” he repeats to himself, unsure why those words seem louder or why they bounce around his brain.

“Mm,” you confirm. “I know you, Min. And you know me. Right?”

“Yeah,” he breathes.

Your fingers trace down to his collarbone. “And you want me?” you ask.

“Yeah.”

“Then you can have me,” you say, voice breathy. “If you want.”

He lifts his hand, hesitating for a second and then brushing his thumb under your eye—your skin still a little damp from your tears. He traces over your cheek, down to your mouth—pulling your bottom lip down a little. Joy, his inner voice says. He pulls his shirt over his head, pulling you back into him after you step back a little at his sudden movement. “I want your first time to be better than this. Do it properly,” he says.

Your eyes drift to his chest then snap back to his eyes. “Hm?”

“We can…play? Just a little.”

“Play?” you ask, eyes wide. He presses a kiss to your temple as he reaches down to tug at your shirt, prompting you to lift your arms so he can pull it over your head.

“Mm, just play a little,” he says. You have nothing underneath and his thumb brushes over your nipple as he holds his breath, the image of you standing in front of him like this etching into his mind permanently. Then you drop to your knees and his head makes a small thump against the wall as he tips it back, squeezing his eyes shut. “What are you doing?” he asks.

“Hm? Helping you,” you answer, delicately untying his shorts. Then, without hesitation, you pull them down his legs. He sucks in a deep breath before looking down at you, preparing himself. Your fingers trace patterns over his thighs, soft fingertips tickling his skin. He reaches down, pulling you up so he can kiss you again. You hum into his mouth as he walks to you towards the bed, releasing you only so you can crawl up to the pillows. He palms himself over his underwear as you sit back, hooking your thumbs in your little shorts and wiggling them down your thighs—lifting your ass off the bed to pull them off completely.

His eyes drag from your body to the wall as the pipes fall silent. He was in too deep now. He crawls into the bed, settling himself between your legs. He runs his palms over your legs, up to your thighs then back down again. He lifts one of them up so he can press his lips to your calf, watching your face as your hands move down to cover your centre. “Want a kiss?” he asks, smiling as you nod and reach out to him. He watches your eyes widen, arms dropping as he lowers himself to the bed between your legs. Your lips part as he presses a soft kiss to your clothed cunt, thighs attempting to close around him. “Another?” he whispers.

You nod. “Please.”

He listens to your breath catch as he peppers you with kisses, one hand wrapping around your thigh to keep you spread for him. Little noises slip from your throat, prompting him to reach up and press his palm over your mouth. “Shhh, baby,” he soothes, hooking his fingers into the hem of your underwear. “Gonna kiss you properly, yeah?”

You nod and he releases your mouth, directing his attention to wear he pulls the fabric down your thighs—leaving soft kisses down your legs as he goes. By the time he works back up to your centre your hips are lifting off the bed, squirming as you stifle your own noises. He pushes your thighs apart, getting a good look at you for the first time. He traces his index finger from your clit to your entrance then leans forward, pressing a kiss directly to your clit. You squeak as he makes contact, hand pressed firmly over your mouth.

A knock of the door makes you jolt, pressing your cunt into his face. “Minho! We gonna talk about moving things around or what?” Christ shouts, knocking on the door again. Minho looks up at your face, panic evident in your eyes.

“She’s asleep!” he shouts back.

The doorknob rattles. “Let me in.”

Minho sits back on his heels, eyes trailing over you—sprawled out on his sheets. He nods his head in the direction of your room and you sit up, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before scrambling off the bed—collecting your clothes as you go. The second your door closes he walks to his door, pulling it open. His friend's eyes drop down to his underwear. “She must be asleep for you to be walking around like that,” he says, poking his head in to see your closed door. “She can take my room,” he says. “I’ll move into my office.”

“No,” Minho says quickly, cringing a little at the tone of his response. A little too desperate. “I mean it’s fine. We talked about it and I apologised.”

Chris frowns. “You don’t have to live with her if it makes you uncomfortable, mate. It’s your place as much as it is mine, you know that.”

A throb of guilt builds in his chest. He sighs, opening the door fully and walking back to his bed. Chris follows after a moment, sitting at the edge of the mattress beside him. “Why have you done so much for me?” Minho asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Letting me live here, getting me a job.”

Chris frowns, shifting on the bed. He looks uncomfortable. “Why wouldn’t I? You’d do the same for me, right?”

“I… yeah.”

“You two are my family,” Chris says, looking up to your closed door.

Minho follows his gaze, eyes fixing on the door. He wonders if you got dressed again or if you're still naked. “I have to tell you something,” he says, failing to look at the man next to him.

His friend places his hand on his bare thigh, patting him a few times. “I know, mate.”

Minho’s eyes snap to him. “What?”

“You’ve got a thing for my sister. I know,” he says, offering him a small smile. “I assumed it had something to do with what happened today. Did she turn you down?”

Minho blinks, processing the bomb his friend had just dropped on him. “You… know,” he mutters. Then he shakes his head. “No, she didn’t turn me down. I-I mean she feels…similarly.”

Chan looks to the closed door again. “So…?”

“I only…I mean I only found out a few minutes ago. I wanted her gone because I thought she didn’t…thought you’d both…hate me for it.”

Chris stands, backing towards the open door a little before his eyes catch on the pile of clothes on the floor. “Are you… naked because you were…with her?” he says, taking another small step backwards.

Minho presses his palm to the back of his neck, answering with his silence. Chris squeezes his eyes shut. “You good in there?” he shouts, cringing.

The door creaks open and you poke your head out. Minho smiles, recognising his shirt. You’d put it back on. “Could you… leave, please?” you ask, smiling sweetly.

“God. Yeah, I’m going out for a bit,” Chris says, turning and practically sprinting for the door. Minho stands, following him.

“You’re alright with it then?” Minho shouts, watching his friend pull his shoes on. He doesn’t look up from where he’s jumping around in one shoe, waving his hand over his head.

“If you’re both happy, I’m happy. I just don’t wanna be here while you’re being happy, yeah?” he says, grabbing his jacket and pulling the door open. He pauses. “You’re happy?” he asks.

Minho nods. “Very.”

Chris smiles. “Good,” he says, turning and pulling the door closed behind him.

Minho sucks in a deep breath, feeling lighter than he had in years. A door creaks behind him and he spins to find you standing there in his favourite black t-shirt. He smiles, holding his arms open for you. You practically jump at him and he stumbles back a step as he catches his balance. “He was okay?” you ask, legs dangling from where he holds you up against him.

“Mm, he said he wants us to be happy.”

“I’m happy,” you whisper.

Minho smiles. “Me too.”

“You know what would make me even happier?” you say, fingers moving up the back of his head—threading into his hair. “If you continue where you left off.”

“Oh, you want me to finish kissing your pussy?”

You nod. “Yes, please.”

“Okay, since you asked so nicely,” Minho says, carrying you back towards his room. You wrap your legs around his hips, clinging to him. He licks his lips then huffs out a laugh, thinking back to that morning. He’d jerked off to the thought of your leg draped over him and now here he was, the taste of your sweet cunt on his lips.

“Why didn’t you kill the spider for me when I asked nicely,” you ask, grasping a handful of his hair and tugging lightly.

“I did.”

“Only after you left me there.”

“You made me think you were dying.”

You smile, hand loosening in his hair. “Aw, did I worry you?” your tone teasing. He nods and your smile drops, pressing your face to his neck. “Stop, my heart will explode,” you mutter into his skin.

“That would also worry me.”

You press a kiss to his neck. “Catch the spider straight away next time please.”

“Alright,” he agrees, lowering you down to the ground at the side of his bed.

You look up at him, eyes warm and hopeful. He’s never loved them more. “Could we…do it properly now that he’s gone?” you ask, eyes trapping him in place. He brushes your hair over your shoulder.

“Alright.”

You frown. “You’re being very agreeable.”

“Mm, apparently I’m agreeable when I’m happy.”

You laugh. “Stay happy, please.”

He smiles. “Alright.”

You latch onto him, pulling him down onto the bed with you. He moves you up the mattress, dropping you against the pillows. “You’re wearing my shirt,” he says, hand slipping under the hem until he finds one of your breasts.

“Mm, I like sleeping in it.”

“Yeah?”

“Especially after you’ve worn it.”

He hums, pulling his hand free. “Think we should leave it on,” he mutters, eyes trailing up and down your body before he moves down between your legs. “Just the shirt,” he breathes, pushing your thighs apart. Your pretty cunt is still wet and while he’s tempted to continue where he left off with small kisses but he wants more. Your hips rise off the bed as he presses his tongue to your slit, leaving small kitten licks until you reach down and grasp a handful of his hair—tugging his head.

“Min,” you gasp. “Can’t.”

“Want you to cum…will make it easier for me to fill you…get you relaxed.”

You whine, releasing his head and gripping the sheets instead. He resumes his mission, alternating between kisses and licks until your hips are rolling against him—seeking more friction. He looks up at you as he licks a long stripe up to your clit then sucks—a pretty whine escaping your lips as you squirm against him. He grips your thighs as you rock against him, taking in the feeling of the girl he loved cumming against his face. Once you’ve come down from your high, he crawls over you—smiling at your fucked out expression. You look totally limp, relaxed and ready for him to feed you his cock.

“You want me, baby? Tell me.”

Your eyes flutter open, a soft smile pulling the corner of your lips up. “Want you, Min. Just you,” you sigh.

He reaches down, pulling his cock from his underwear and wrapping his hand around the base. He leans on his elbow, palm cradling the side of your head as he keeps your attention on his face. “Look at me,” he says. “Keep your eyes on me.”

You nod and he leans down, your soft lips pulling a low moan from him. He fucking loved you and now he was going to fill you. He huffs out a small laugh into your mouth then lifts his head, watching your eyes as he presses his tip to your entrance. He can feel how relaxed you are, making it easier for him to press in and out a few times—just the tip. He wants to say the words. Tell you he loves you as he presses into you for the first time. He doesn’t want to ruin it, freak you out. He can’t—

“Love you,” you whisper.

He stops, his tip kissing your slippery entrance. “Wha-What?” he breathes.

Your eyes drop from his. “Sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t…I wasn’t thinking.”

“Look at me,” he says. You hesitate then meet his eyes again. He pushes forward, your tight walls pressing around him as he watches your expression. He pauses halfway. “I fucking love you,” he says, watching your eyes widen just as he pushes forward more, bottoming out. You whine, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down hard—forcing his face down into your shoulder.

“Alright?” he asks, struggling to control his own breathing. You were so warm, and so fucking tight around him. He could stay like this forever. He wishes he would stay like this for fucking ever. You clench around him and he resists biting into your shoulder, an embarrassingly high moan escaping his throat instead.

“Say it again,” you gasp, arms tightening around him. He smiles. Joy.

please reblog and share your thoughts. caption, tags, replies, or ask box, i read it all. feedback is what motivates me to write more!

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bittenbyyou · 1 year

Text

Pampered

Boyfriend!Peter Parker x Reader

genre: fluff

description: You pamper your boyfriend with skincare after a long day.

word count: 1.8k

warnings: Peter knows absolutely nothing about skincare and is so endearing. Fluffy fluff.

a/n: I’m not a skincare expert, but I do love learning about it. And I thought the idea of Peter getting pampered was adorable because he deserves to be taken care of. Please reblog if you enjoyed! :)

You checked the time on your phone, tapping your foot on the floor anxiously. Peter’s nighttime patrols have been getting longer and longer to where he sometimes wouldn’t come home until 2 A.M. Even you, who was a night owl, had your limits.

A subtle squeak soon caught your attention as you whipped your head to look at the window. Sure enough, you saw a red gloved hand slide the window open before the famous Spider-Man crawled through upside-down.

“Hi beautiful,” your boyfriend said from the ceiling. You got up from the bed, hands on your hips.

“You had me worried,” you said, though your light-hearted tone let Peter know you weren’t really upset. With a gentle, muffled thud, he touched down on the floor and swiftly removed his mask.

“I know, I’m sorry. I got caught up with a bank robbery and then there was a fire—”

“A fire?!”

“—and then these thugs tried to rob an old lady. Can you imagine that? But she beat them with her cane like bam! Bam! Bam!” he continued, reenacting the scene for you. “I barely had to do anything. You should’ve seen it!”

The way he talked about crime fighting was incredibly endearing. He was always so passionate and upbeat, like it was his favorite thing in the world because… it was. Along with you of course. And that’s why you fell in love with him. He truly loved what he did. Not many would go through such lengths to protect their city the way Peter did. You could tell by the glint in his eyes that he was meant for this.

“Sounds hilarious,” you said, letting out a giggle. You cupped his face with both hands, inspecting for any blemishes or scars. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“I’m good. Really.” He grabbed your hands and placed a warm kiss on one of them. “Now let’s go to bed. I’m beat.”

“No. You have to brush your teeth and floss.”

He slumped his shoulders. “I’m really tired.”

“Babe, hygiene is important. Plus we gotta do your skincare.”

“It’s too many steps,” he whined.

“I’ll do your skincare for you. But go brush first,” you ordered, pointing to the bathroom. He pressed the black spider emblem on his suit where his chest was, making it expand and fall off his body like a deflated balloon.

“Yes ma’am…” He walked away from you in a sulking, slouching position and you laughed.

“Quit being dramatic.”

“It’s so~ far~.”

“Don’t make me tickle you.”

“I’m going, I’m going!” he exclaimed, running away from you as fast as possible.

Peter took longer than expected because he felt the need to shower once he realized how sweaty he was. The water relaxed him but also made him feel more awake. It was already late in the night (or early in the day), so he didn’t care anymore about sleep.

You waited patiently and patted the mattress when you saw him come back in nothing but his boxers.

“Come on, lie down.” He obeyed and rested his head on the pillow, closing his eyes. “Put this on first.”

Peter opened his eyes to see you dangling the pink headband with a large bow in front of his face. He gave you a “are you serious?” look but put it on anyway, being careful to push all the hair out of his face with it. You tried to refrain from laughing, but failed once he shot you a glare.

“I feel ridiculous.”

“No~, you’re adorable.”

“You’re laughing.”

You pressed your lips together and shook your head. “No, I’m not.”

Peter chuckled and closed his eyes. “Alright. Make me beautiful.”

Deep down, he loved being pampered by you even if he didn’t want to admit it. With everything going on in his life, taking care of his skin was the least of his worries. But you were adamant about it, passionate even, that he had to take care of his skin everyday. You even created a skincare routine for him, which he felt had too many steps (it was three). How you did this for yourself everyday, he had no clue. But he loved how you cared so much for him and these little acts of love made his heart feel warm and fuzzy.

"Did you remember to put on sunscreen this morning?" you asked, your voice carrying a hint of playfulness as if you were teasing him.

“Yes,” he answered quite proudly.

“Did you reapply every two hours?”

“... I’m supposed to reapply?”

You grabbed the bottle of micellar water, shaking the bottle before drenching a reusable cotton pad with it. Leaning over, you swiped the pad gently all over Peter’s face. He smiled with his eyes at the cooling sensation.

“Yeah. The SPF doesn’t last all day unless you reapply.”

“But I wear my suit and that shields me from the sun all day,” he said, every word enunciated with the pout of his lips. God, he didn’t understand how cute he was. It took everything in you not to kiss him right now.

“You take off your mask a lot and if you don’t protect your skin, the sun can damage it. Open your eyes.” He obeyed. “Look at how dirty this pad is. The grime and sweat and oils from your day.”

Peter’s eyes widened a bit at the gray pad, still not used to how much dirt he could accumulate in a day. “Wow, that came from my face?”

“Mmhmm.”

“What’s the thing you used?” he asked, pointing to the bottle in your hand.

“Micellar water. It’s like a makeup remover.”

“I’m not wearing makeup.”

“I know. But it takes off the dirt on your face. And the one layer of sunscreen you had,” you said, emphasizing the word “one”. He gave you a cheeky grin.

“Okay, I’ll put on more sunscreen. I promise.” He held out his pinky and you did the same, locking him in on his promise.

“Good. Time for a cleanser.”

“What’s that again?”

You pumped some cleanser into your hands and then added enough water from the bowl you had prepared earlier to lather it. You rubbed your hands together until bubbles had formed.

“It’s like soap but specifically for your face. Close your eyes.”

You rubbed the cleanser over Peter’s face, careful not to touch his eyes or lips. This was one of your favorite parts because you got to admire your handsome boyfriend up close, appreciating every feature.

“So like bar soap?”

“... Please don’t tell me you’ve been using bar soap on your face.”

“I use it everywhere.”

“Everywhere…? So like… your balls?”

“Um… uh… no? That’d be ridiculous,” he said, letting out a nervous laugh. The loud sigh that left your lips let him know he was in for it now.

“Peter, you can’t use the same soap bar for your dick and face!”

“But it’s soap!”

“I… I don’t even know what to say. You’re supposed to be the genius here.”

“... It’s soap.”

“Okay, I’m tabling this. At least you were cleaning your face. From now on, use the cleanser I bought you for your face. It’s a hydrating one because you have dry skin.”

Peter gasped and clutched his chest dramatically like you had just insulted him. “I do not.”

“You don’t even know what that means.”

“I thought you said I have beautiful skin.”

“You do, you donut. You’re lucky it’s so nice even though you don’t take care of it.”

You grabbed the towel you prepared and wiped the suds away, revealing your adorable Peter, who was smiling from your touch.

“Where’s that thing that smells like oranges?”

“Hmm? The cleansing balm? It’s harder to rinse it off if you’re in bed. That’s why I used micellar water today.”

“Aw… but I like the orange one.”

“Then you can do it yourself.”

“No, I’m good,” he said, shaking his head. You rolled your eyes at how childish he could be sometimes, yet you still found him endearing.

“Okay, two more steps.”

“Two?!”

“Babe, I have like six steps in mine. You’re fine.”

“How do you do this everyday?”

“I don’t know. I find it relaxing. Besides, I want to look my age and not age faster because I didn’t take care of myself. Plus skin cancer is scary.”

Peter nodded because that was the first thing you’ve said tonight that he fully comprehended. “What are the last two steps?”

“I’m putting on a serum treatment for you and then a moisturizer to seal everything in.”

“That sounds fancy.”

You grabbed the bottle of serum for his skin needs, taking the dropper it came with and placing a couple drops on the back of your hand. Then you used your ring finger, the gentlest finger, to dab the product all over Peter’s face. He giggled when you touched his neck, the tickling sensation making him squirm.

“Babe,” you scolded playfully. “Stay still.”

“Sorry, I can’t help it.” His eyes fluttered open and he watched you work your magic, loving your concentrated expression. To him, you were the most beautiful girl in the world and the way you cared for him made him feel special.

You pumped out a couple squirts of your fancy moisturizer, making sure to tell him it was a fancy moisturizer and he laughed, thanking you for your sacrifice.

“Seriously, this cost me a lot. And I’m using it on your face so… you’re welcome.”

“Thanks. The villains in this city must be so jealous right now,” he teased.

“They should be.” You leaned back and grinned, satisfied with your work. Peter’s face was glowing, the lamp in his room illuminating his face even more. “You look gorgeous.”

Peter took off the pink headband, placing it on his nightstand before pulling you on top of him. “You’re gorgeous.”

You got into a more comfortable position as you straddled him, pecking his lips, cheek, and nose. “I love you.”

“I love you too. But…”

“But?”

“You messed up my skincare. You just transferred so much bacteria onto my clean face.”

“Oh my god.”

“I’m serious. This is unprofessional. I want a refund.”

“You’re so ridiculous sometimes, you know that?”

He broke out into another cheeky grin. “You love me though.”

“I don’t know… you don’t want my kisses.” You got off him and laid on your side, pulling the covers over your body.

“No, no, I want them.”

“Good night.”

Peter forced you to turn around, planting a big smooch on your lips. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, holding onto his soft curls as you pulled him closer. As your lips parted from his, you both looked into each other's eyes with a loving gaze, unable to pull away.

“[Y/N]... I have a question.”

“Yeah?”

“Can you eat the cleansing balm?”

“Babe, no.”

“But it smells so good.”

“I’m going to bed.”

#peter parker blurb #peter parker #mcu peter parker #peter parker x you #peter parker fluff #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman x reader #mcu spiderman #peter parker x reader #peter parker fic #peter parker x oc #tom holland peter parker #my writing #pampered

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palomahasenteredthechat · 2 months

Text

Burn

Seems like everyone is getting in on the Geta action.

Including Caracalla's wife.

Warnings: Minors DNI, m/f het intercourse.

The ceremony was brief, due to the heat. Fulvia stood, her delicate hand held in Caracalla’s clammy one and listened to the priests intone blessings on their union. Behind them, their families stood in a tight circle. Her father Plautinanus was smiling; Septimius Severus, Rome’s Emperor and Caracalla’s father, held a stern countenance.

Fulvia resisted the urge to wiggle, for her wool tunica was itchy, and the heavy flammeum veil made it hard to hear. Caracalla’s toga was swimming on him. He had not sprouted up like his younger brother, and Fulvia almost surpassed him in height. But no matter; he was technically the eldest by a few minutes, and hence the heir to Rome’s empire. The one that every girl in Rome would be thrilled to have as her husband. Until they saw Geta.

Out of the corner of her eye, Fulvia stole a glance at the taller twin. He appeared bored, slouching in his toga as much as he could get away with. His long fingers twiddled with an errant gold thread.

Turning her head back to the priest, Fulvia wondered if Geta would also be married soon. Though not currently in line to supplant his father, he was still a prince and would undoubtedly hold power at the imperial palace. He would be considered a grand prize for a wealthy family or provincial governor with a daughter to marry off. Yet he frightened Fulvia even more than her soon to be wed husband. Geta’s tiger eyes saw much but revealed little. His soft voice was rarely heard above a whisper. Fulvia wondered if his hands were cold, if his alabaster skin ever felt the heat of the sun.

Just then, Caracalla’s hand slithered out of Fulvia’s as he fumbled to untie the knotted cingulum around her waist, symbolizing their union. Normally, this would occur in their bedchamber, but the families were eager to have this moment witnessed out in the open, almost as if they were worried it would not occur otherwise. Once the cord fell to the floor, Caracalla smiled, and Fulvia smelled his rank breath.

—--

The deed was quick and painful. Fulvia stared at the ornate tiles on the ceiling, imagining a spider crawling between the brightly colored paint. Caracalla finished quickly, and signaled to his servants to carry his toga as he rolled off the bed toward his bath. Fulvia did not conceive on that night, nor on the few nights afterward. After a mere fortnight, Caracalla seemed to lose interest, retreating to his own chambers. While feeling shame, Fulvia was relieved that her husband did not care to visit their marriage bed for the foreseeable future. She would have taken her pleasures elsewhere, but her father had arranged for only eunuchs to be her servants, and she had little contact with the city outside the imperial gates.

Months passed, then a year. The emperor traveled to far provinces, dealing with various conflicts. His sons accompanied him. Occasionally they would return, but Caracalla did not call upon her.

One night, the imperial chariot returned, and a lone figure emerged. Fulvia had been unable to sleep and had spied the figure from her portico. The glint of his gold armor reflected in the moonlight. On the chance that Caracalla would seek her out, she hurried to her cubicula and pinched her cheeks as best she could before arranging herself in a presentable fashion for her husband. She strained to catch the sound of approaching footsteps, but heard nothing.

Fulvia sagged against the bolster, humiliated yet again, and resisted the urge to sob. From somewhere in the palace, the sound of male laughter reverberated. As if struck by a thunderbolt, Fulvia sat up, throwing the quilt off her legs. Snatching her shawl, she burst through the door of her bedchamber, startling her slaves.

“Where is he?” she demanded, chest heaving. “Where is that brat of a prince?”

The women stared at her, uncomprehending. Finally one of them timidly spoke.

“He is in the great hall, Principissa,” she said, bowing her head.

Fulvia nodded and stomped past them barefoot, hair in disarray as her tunic flounced in the cool night air. When she approached the hall, the sounds of laughter grew louder. Silently, she crept forward next to the fountain, seeing the laurel crown upon a ginger head from behind. Propelled by her anger, Fulvia silently picked up a cup of wine and approached stealthily. One of the servants saw her and his eyes widened but it was too late. Fulvia flung the wine over the back of the chair, soaking the occupant, before flouncing to confront him.

“That’s what you get for ignoring me! I am no mere servant girl or one of your filthy whores. I am your w-”

The word died on Fulvia’s tongue as she came face to face with Geta, whose own mouth was open in shock.

“-ife,” she finished faintly.

Geta stared at her, his kohl-lined eyes wide in anger, before suddenly throwing his head back and bursting into laughter. Fulvia looked away, humiliated, and pulled her shawl around herself more tightly. She flung the cup at Geta’s feet and marched off, attempting to salvage what little dignity she had left.

She was moving through the main courtyard almost at a run when he caught up with her. Geta’s hand snaked forward, grabbing her wrist and spinning her around. Caught off-balance, Fulvia slammed into his chest as Geta grabbed her by her arms.

“Well, I don’t have to ask if my brother is satisfying you,” he said softly. “For it is clear for all to see that he is not.”

All of the pent-up emotion that had been buried in Fulvia’s chest came forth in that moment, and she burst into tears, burying her face in her hands. Geta watched her with fascination. Eventually, Fulvia wiped her eyes with her shawl and looked up at him. “I am sorry, Caesar, for my impetuous behavior. I was not myself. I trust-that you will not speak to my husband of it.”

“What would it matter if I did,” Geta whispered, his fingers rising to lift her chin. “He hates you.”

Fulvia sighed. She knew the truth of this but his words still stung. “You are too cruel, Geta,” she said quietly. “Have pity. I am so tired of this gilded cage.”

“Are you now,” Geta purred, leaning forward to whisper in her ear. “Are you indeed.” Fulvia’s eyes fluttered. What was he doing? She pulled back, taking in the smug expression on his face.

Geta smiled before leaning forward and nibbling her bottom lip with his teeth. Fulvia gasped at the sensation as his soft lips pressed against hers and his tongue probed her mouth. Closing her eyes, she gave into the kiss, feeling the press of his body against her breasts. He smelled like cheap wine and musk.

Coming to her senses, she pushed him away. “We cannot do this,” she murmured, but her beating heart betrayed her. With one motion, Geta reached down and lifted her into his arms.

“Watch me,” he said.

—--

His quarters were on the far side of the imperial palace. Fulvia had never seen his chambers, never felt a mattress so soft. Geta’s fingers gave her goosebumps as his soft hands ghosted over her shoulders, tracing her breasts with his fingertips. His gold rings grew warm against her skin. Fulvia found it hard to breathe as he studied her nude figure intently, lightly tracing every curve and crevice, until he slowly spread her legs before him.

“Let me see you,” she whispered, and Geta looked up, startled from his reverie. Slowly, he shed the caracallus he was wearing onto the bed behind him, allowing his shoulders to become visible. Fulvia reached forward to push the heavy fabric of his tunic further down his arms until his chest was revealed. She leaned forward and began to kiss his nipples, lightly tracing her fingers against the freckles on his chest.

Geta stilled, breathing heavily, as Fulvia licked the delicious valley between his pectorals. She gripped his shoulders with her hands as he pushed her back against his pillows once again.

“You deserve more than you have been given,” he whispered, shedding his tunic and crawling over her, his manhood in his hands. “You deserve to carry an heir of the Severan dynasty, as my father intended.”

Fulvia bit her lip as he entered her, bracing his hands against the bedpost. She curled her fingers around the gold cuffs on his wrists. Geta began to thrust in a slow but steady rhythm, allowing the heat to crescendo between their bodies. Fulvia arched her back against the bolster, reveling in the sensation of him filling her so completely. She felt flushed and dizzy, not knowing what to do with the intense feelings growing in the pit of her belly.

Opening her eyes, she met Geta’s gaze. They stared at each other as he began to speed up. Fulvia slid her fingers up the muscles of his arms and wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him closer. Geta fell forward, pulling her flush against him as he began to pummel her in earnest. The bed creaked and Fulvia gasped, feeling pleasure from coupling for the first time in her life. Geta’s hand found her face and he cupped her chin roughly in his hand. “Look at me. Look at me, Fulvia.”

She watched as he grimaced and thrust savagely one more time, his eyes dark with lust, never leaving hers.

Fulvia bit her lip as Geta continued to gaze upon her, his chest red from the exertion. Slowly, he pulled himself out and lay down. Fulvia curled up next to him. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you, Geta.”

Geta nodded, staring at the ceiling. He pulled her close to his chest and stroked her hair. “Such a pretty creature,” he said softly. “Such a pity my brother wastes the opportunity to have you at his leisure.” He turned and drank deeply from a goblet placed next to the bed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“And what will you do with yours?” Fulvia asked quietly. Geta smiled in the darkness.

“Is that an invitation?”

Fulvia closed her eyes, knowing she was risking her life with her answer. But she felt a sense of freedom she hadn’t felt in years. “Yes,” she breathed.

#joseph quinn #geta #gladiator 2 #geta x fulvia #make way for the emperor

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harlowsbby · 1 year

Note

jack is alone in his studio and sees a spider; he is freaking out since he knows he is alone. but then y/n walks in and he turns on his manly bravado and tries to act like he wasn’t just screaming and freaking out

Scared Much?

“That doesn’t even sound right dammit.” Jack groaned as he erased all of the lyrics he had just written down on the paper.

Jack has been beating himself up none-stop on making sure his next album was perfect he’d spend a lot of his day trapped in his studio, the only time you were able to see him was when it was bed time and even then it was rare.

Jack huffed but nonetheless kept writing down and jotting down different lyrics trying his best to catch some type of flow.

As he started getting a hang of everything that’s when he noticed something small and black out of the corner of his eye, at first he assumed it was some sort of fluff until it started moving as if it was crawling.

He glanced up and froze at the sight of the spider that was a few feet away from his hands. He wouldn’t mind if it was a small house spider but it was a black widow and he wasn’t ready to turn into no Spider-Man anytime soon.

“Fuck no.” He whispered to himself and immediately stood up but as soon as he stood up the spider started crawling towards him.

“Stay back!!” Jack yelled as he glanced around the room trying to find something to throw at it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!!” He yelled in panic.

You on the other hand had just gotten back home from picking up a few groceries. You tried calling Jack so he’d be able to help you bring everything inside but frowned seeing he didn’t pick up the phone.

“Where is this man.” You whispered to yourself as you placed all the groceries on the kitchen table before making your way to the studio.

“Get off my phone!!” Jack yelled to the spider that sat on his phone with no intentions to move at all. It was as if the spider new Jack was afraid of it so it resulted in taunting him.

The spider ended up crawling over to the wall Jack shivered as it slow crawled on the wall. He hadn’t spiders with his entire well-being, he absolutely despised the way they crawled so slow and how they had so many legs, it just wasn’t normal in his opinion.

“You know what you’ve gotta go man you don’t pay rent here so to heaven you go.” Jack tried sounding bold but who was he kidding he knew he couldn’t kill this spider.

After watching a few videos on how to kill a spider he decided to stick with one that seemed the easiest.

He grabbed the book that laid on the desk and slowly crept his way to the wall but made sure he kept a good distance from the spider.

When he felt confident enough to where he knew he’d successfully hit the spider he quickly threw the book and screamed once again as the spider fell to the ground.

You on the other hand stood outside the door with your eyebrows furrowed together trying to figure out what was going on.

“Jack?” You questioned as you opened the studio door. Upon entering there stood Jack on the couch with a terrified expression written all over his face.

“Uh.. what’s going on? And do I even wanna know.” You slowly asked.

You watched as he jumped down from the couch but not without inspecting the floor first.

“Nothing happened I was just you know inspecting the ceiling.” You raised your eyebrow at him, not believing him for a second.

“Is that right?” You said with your arms crossed over your chest he nodded his head quickly and wrapped his right arm around your shoulder.

“That is right baby, I promise it wasn’t like I was killing a bug or anything.” You smirked, now you knew messing with him was wrong but you just loved doing it.

“I mean if you were trying to kill a bug you didn’t really do that well considering there’s a spider on your shoulder.”

You doubled over in laughter as Jack shrieked and jumped around like a mad man, trying his best to remove his hoodie.

“Jack, I’m just messing with you! There isn’t a spider on your shoulder I’m pretty sure it’s dead.” He glared at you and walked passed you.

“Oh come on you can’t seriously be mad?” You laughed as he huffed.

“Don’t be asking me for any kisses or cuddles tonight babe.” He stated. “I guess I’ll just go cuddle with the spider.” You giggled.

“Haha you’re so fucking funny.” You grinned. “I know I am.” You stated proudly.

(This was fun to write 😭💘 I love doing fluff but ima have some angst out sometime this week.. hehe)

#jack harlow #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x y/n #jack harlow x you

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musamora · 1 year

Text

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖘𝖊𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖉 𝖘𝖕𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 「𝔬𝔰𝔞𝔪𝔲 𝔡𝔞𝔷𝔞𝔦」 ༉‧₊˚

content. f!reader. unexpected first dates, bored osamu dazai is a menace, flirting, hand holding, fluff, coffee shops, café uzumaki, silly goofy dazai behavior. not proofread. 1.6k+ words.

author's note. this actually originated from a request that i accidentally mixed-up, but i only noticed when i completed writing the oneshot. so here are the results of that one! (i'm also scheduling this post for while i'm at uni, and also for the same day as the last episode of season five. how's the last episode, future me?)

would you like to see more? join the taglist or comment under this post!

The breeze whispered throughout every nook and cranny of the port city, hailing from the misty waters of its many rivers before permeating into the air. It blanketed pedestrians in cool afternoon gails, blessing them with the blissful beginnings of a new season as the leaves fell before them like rain. (Name) thrummed her fingers against the keys of her laptop, peering down at the passers-by through the agency office's window before tuning back into her work.

It had been a sluggish day for the agency — a hidden miracle in their busy schedules. For the past few weeks, they had been trampled with incidents that spanned the city, along with their usual run-ins with the infamous Port Mafia. However, the consequences of monotony were paperwork and lots of it. Each of her co-workers had been assigned an allotted amount of work, though some were better at getting through it than others.

Kunikida had to be the most diligent of them all, rapidly typing away at his desk with his sole focus on the articles he ciphered through — not that anyone was surprised. The week had especially rattled his routine, so he seemed most pleased to return to an orderly schedule. Atsushi tried to follow in his footsteps, though he struggled to keep up with the blonde's brisk pace. Kyoka was perched at the weretiger's side, staring in a daze at his work before mindlessly clicking at her laptop without rhyme or reason.

Naomi and Junichiro canoodled in an isolated corner, which everyone purposefully ignored like always. Loud crunches could be heard like clockwork as they echoed across the room, crumbs scattered onto the floor as Ranpo ran through his weekly snack stash, disregarding the heaps of investigation requests on his desk. Yosano hummed from the other room, polishing her metal utensils with such enthusiasm that (Name) tried not to think about it too much. Instead, she tried to focus on her work, a pep in each stroke of her pen as she raced to conclude her second stack.

However, the resident suicidal maniac did not seem as content as the rest of his co-workers, dramatically sighing from his desk. He twisted around in accelerating revolutions; his entire body crammed onto the seat with his eyes glued to the ceiling.

"I'm so bored," he muttered, strumming his bandaged hands against the arms of his chair. His fingers wandered across the desk like brittle spiders, jumping onto Kunikida's arm and crawling up towards his neck. Everyone could see the way his shoulders tensed, counting down their internal clocks until he exploded.

"This sucks! I'm so bored."

And just as Kunikida was about to crack, pivoting his head with a sneer on his lips—

"How about I take you somewhere, then?"

Dazai's attention immediately snapped towards (Name), mimicking the same attentiveness as a dog that heard the word 'treat.' He flew over with exceeding velocity, the wheels of his chair scraping against the floor as he clasped their hands together, gawking at her as if she were a goddess incarnate.

"What are we waiting for? Let's go!"

Kunikida interjected before Dazai could practically fling himself out the window, giving (Name) a pointed look. "Are you sure you can handle him? And make sure he does his work?"

She nodded, waving him off with a smile. "I'm sure."

Plopping two separate stacks of paperwork into her arms, she balanced them both in one and grabbed Dazai with the other, leading him out the door. He practically frolicked at her side, a skip in his steps as she steered him downstairs.

"Sooooo, where are we going? A bridge to stare into the shimmering sea? A sky-scraper to gaze into the setting sun? I can hardly take the anticipation!"

She smacked him with her blank stare. "Why do I feel like you'd only take the opportunity to jump rather than do some sightseeing?"

"With you there?" he beamed. "The only sight I need before my untimely demise is you, my dear."

She scoffed, hiding the quirk of her lips as she turned away from him. "Pft—yeah, okay."

His eyes shimmered as they exited the building, only for her to drag him into a very familiar doorway, the scent of coffee striking his nostrils. He crossed his arms, a boyish pout on his face.

"The café. Really?"

She only grinned from ear to ear, hiding the shake in her shoulders. "You complained about being bored. Here's your change of scenery."

"How unfair," he groaned as he dragged himself over to their usual table, catching the attention of the café owner and his wife, the latter of which strolled over, a smile settled on her face.

"What can I get you two?"

"Hmmm." (Name) pondered as she glanced over the drink menu. She was momentarily tempted to streamline towards adventurous today, dabbling into something she never had before, but instead decided to go with her usual. "I'll have a cortado."

The owner's wife nodded before she turned to Dazai, who was completely uninterested in the entire exchange. "I guess I'll have an espresso."

The woman took their order, though her happy expression had narrowed into a frown. She bent over, careful not to disturb the brunette who slumped down in his seat and fixated on the sights outside.

"Is he okay? He's not acting like his usual, charming self."

(Name) nodded, if only to reassure the sweet lady, but couldn't help her own confusion over his withdrawal and disinterest. He never missed an opportunity to flirt with women, even in the worst of moods. Her eyes traced over his uncharacteristic stillness, scrutinizing him.

"You okay, Dazai?"

He glanced up, resting his head against the table. "Hmm? Yeah, why?"

"You're just not acting like yourself."

He raised a brow. "How so?"

She refrained from responding, not quite sure how to, messing with her fingers as her mind racked for a coherent reply. For some reason, she felt herself struggling despite her usual witt, unable to pinpoint her confusion.

"Well, you didn't flirt with the waitress."

He stared into her eyes for an uncomfortable amount of time, an unreadable gleam reflected in his own as his spine straightened, taking her hand into his own. She stiffed as his fingers worked through the aching muscles of her palm, his diligence a stark contrast to his sloth-like behavior.

"Did you want me to flirt with the waitress?"

"I-I," she stuttered, not expecting to be caught off-guard by such a random question — she should've seen that coming; bamboozling her was one of Dazai's favorite pastimes. She attempted to scramble through her thoughts, becoming mildly frustrated as his laughter peaked through her mutters, giving up with a groan.

"Just do your work."

The café became quiet as she returned to the monotony of sorting through papers; only the mellow clinks of the owner's painstaking coffee creation process and the gentle hum of the occasional cars could be heard. She continued to write, heartened by the stunning scenery of the season and setting, able to sign a couple of papers before she began to recognize a tapping sound. It started soft at first, almost unnoticeable. However, it grew in rhythm and volume, shaking the table like sticks on a snare drum. Then, the humming began, followed quickly by grating, off-pitch singing.

"You can't do a double suicide~"

She was about to intrude upon his solo concert when the owner's wife interrupted them, setting their drinks on the table with a curt smile. (Name) returned it with relieved earnestness, letting out a small 'thank you' before she brought the drink to her lips. She released a pleased hum, the soothing taste of steamed milk sliding down her throat and easing her muscles. When she looked up from it at Dazai, she had, for some reason, expected him to do the same.

However, the sight she was met with was unholy. The man had resorted to filtering several packets of sugar and sweetener into the drink, effectively ruining it as it soaked up like a sponge, like a monstrous coffee-cereal concoction.

"Why aren't you doing your paperwork?" she whined.

He took a spoonful of the drink, shoving it into his mouth as he swallowed with wide eyes, vibrating in his seat as the disgusting notes trampled on his tongue. His scrunched face honestly reminded her of a pissed-off cat, and she had to physically refrain from laughing at him as he slowly settled down.

"Cause we're on a date." It was his turn to hold back the laughter as she gaped at him. "Doing work on a date is an absolute no-no."

"A-A date—?" She shot up from her seat, slamming her hands against the table and almost spilling their drinks, narrowly avoiding so as they circled in their cups. "What do you mean a date?"

He merely shrugged. "You're a stunning young woman. I'm an absolutely drop-dead bachelor. We're alone together in a coffee shop. It's a date."

"T-That doesn't mean—"

"Do you not want it to be a date?" he pouted before taking a sip of his drink, pointedly ignoring her sputtered rebuttal with only an inattentive hum.

"You know what—fine. It's a date," she relented, plopping over in his seat.

He chuckled, setting his drink down as he took her hands. "Well, if this is a date, then I have a better idea of what we should do."

It was now his turn to take her by the arm, already slinging her out the door with a devilish look that told her everything she needed to know — he had planned this all from the beginning. She yelled out her apologies to the café manager, promising to come back and pay for their drinks as she was shoved out the door. The manager only scoffed with a softened smile, his wife leaning against his arm as she sighed.

"Ahhh, to be young again."

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @sillyspookycat @imhandicapableofmath @seisitive @solandiss @ruru-kiss @ishqani

#muse's anthology ‧₊˚ ⋅#f!reader #꒰ა ⎼ [dazai]#bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #osamu dazai x reader #dazai x reader #osamu dazai #dazai bsd

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girlwithwolftatoo · 1 year

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I see red (and blue) -Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader

Words: 2471

Summary: Miguel got intoxicated by a failed serum, and has created a containment breach. His doctor in charge is now his target...

Warnings: Dub? Talons, spider venom, blood, light physical violence, dirty talking, cunnilingus, P in V, rough but smooth, Miguel speaking Spanish.

The alarm systems had been activated with a delay of just five seconds, enough time for what they feared most to happen.

Emergency lighting painted the corridors red, over the siren shots rang out, and Dr. (L/N) exclaimed:

"Don't shoot, you'll make him angrier!"

But no one was there to heed her command, the gunfire continued, only to be silenced moments later... and then, there were screams, screams that lasted even less time, but were imprinted with the most intense terror.

From her monitor, (Y/N) (L/N) couldn't see much of anything, the corridor was engulfed in smoke, sparks from a gun flew from time to time, and then, a huge talon destroyed one of the cameras. The doctor gasped.

Her superiors at Alchemax had explained it to her tersely, the serum that "Subject 0" had received was contaminated. His body had benefited from unique powers, but in turn, he had developed unmeasured violence and a murderous desire that only increased with confinement. She had tried everything to give him respite, talking to him, offering him food and small privileges, hoping that they would manage to create an antidote to his evil soon.

None of that mattered anymore. The Alchemax people warned them: if there was a containment breach, if Miguel O'Hara managed to get out of his cell... then humanity was doomed.

"Doctor!" the door creaked open, a guard staggered in with a bleeding arm. (Y/N) rushed to his aid.

"What happened outside?" she wanted to know as she helped him sit up.

"Doctor... you have to go, you have to... leave..." shivered the man. The young woman ignored him as she got hold of the first aid kit.

"Take a deep breath, I'm going to help you" she whispered as she opened the first aid kit with trembling fingers. The light flickered and, for a few seconds, they were both in semi-darkness. And, when it came back...

"Aaaaaaaaahhhhh!"

The guard's scream was the only warning (Y/N) had before she fell backwards, just as something leapt from the ceiling to attack the man. A blue and red suit, torn and damaged, matched the large, muscular body of the dreaded Subject 0, whose eyes went to her once, with a swipe of his talons, the guard was silenced for good.

The eyes were filled with rage, and a grimace exposed two pairs of venomous fangs.

"Doctora..." whispered Miguel, as if in greeting. (Y/N) trembled, her chest rising and falling in time with her anxious breathing as Miguel descended from on top of the guard, moving slowly on all fours, his body stained with other people's blood.

(Y/N) threw the first aid kit at Miguel's face, to give herself a few seconds' head start. She ran down the stairs in such a hurry that she was surprised she hadn't tripped, and as she turned down the hallway she heard talons clawing at the metal and walls. O'Hara was chasing her.

She ran and slid across the floor, through the only hallway that still had working lights, at the bottom, the security door was still locked, if she could reach it - she thought after kicking off her shoes to run better - and get through it before Miguel got to her, she would be safe.

An animal growl behind her back alerted her that her plan would fail, and then something rammed her, making her fall face first to the ground. The pain of the blow stunned her, but worse was to discover that something was crawling over her, cornering her.

Talons grabbed her lab coat, yanking it off with a jerk. (Y/N) shrieked in shock, but as she felt Miguel's hand on her back, now protected only by her shirt, she froze.

"O... O'Hara..." she stammered, still hoping to reason with him "Please..."

"Please, doctor?" repeated Miguel with a chuckle, leaning over her "You're going to beg? Really? After all you did..."

"Y-you know that I... that I didn't... do anything... I've t-tried... to help him..."

Miguel's lips were almost next to her ear, (Y/N) could feel his breathing.

"You didn't try hard enough!"

(Y/N) screamed. Miguel's talons had cut through her shirt until they reached her back, and dug deep enough to rip open her skin and make her bleed, four wounds that started at her right shoulder and ended almost to her waist. The young doctor arched her back and her eyes filled with tears, Miguel looked like he was going to play with her before killing her.

"Stop it!" she pleaded "Please!"

Another hand grabbed her by the head, pushing her to the floor. Miguel looked at his talons, dripping fresh blood, and leaned with some curiosity over the wounds that were beginning to stain (Y/N)'s torn shirt; there were beads of sweat running down her neck, her body trembling from fear and pain, and her blood... He loved the smell of blood, it inflamed him like few things, but that mixture....

"No... don't kill me...!" sobbed (Y/N), one cheek pressed to the floor.

"Be still" ordered Miguel coldly. He sniffed her neck, he could notice under the sweat the now almost extinct scent of a soft floral perfume, and the sweetish iron in her blood. Yes, why not? The poor doctor was already sentenced, he would do her no wrong if he.....

He extended his tongue and licked the longest scratch. (Y/N) hissed.

"Ouch! What the-" Unable to move her head, she tried to look away.

A few drops of blood sufficed, a few drops of blood on the tip of his tongue, and Miguel felt something new coursing through his body to the very core. A new desire he was ready to fulfill.

"No!" cried (Y/N) as the tips of the talons grazed her skin, but then, a tug and a tearing sound informed her that Miguel was tearing her clothes to shreds, for what purpose? Nothing good, she thought immediately, so she was reduced to standing still until, again, a tongue caressed her shoulders, not far from the wounds. It made her think the worst, as if she were at the mercy of an animal tasting its prey before it began to feed, only... she knew of no species that would spend so much time licking the flesh of its victim.

And then, she felt a shiver when Miguel licked the hollow between her neck and shoulder. He had touched a sensitive spot, and (Y/N) let out a gasp that was more of surprise at the unexpected caress. She swallowed saliva, the warm tongue still exploring her shoulders and back, and each time the sensation was more and more pleasurable.

"No" she thought, afraid of herself, her body no longer actively fighting for survival, Miguel was on top of her, collecting drops of blood and sweat with his mouth and then, sealing his lips over the doctor's bare shoulder and leaving a light playful nibble.

"What... what are you doing?" asked (Y/N). The man didn't answer, leaving a trail of kisses down her back until his talons fastened on her hip, the talons went through the fabric of her skirt and grazed her thighs, but he didn't hurt her again; Miguel was just making sure she wasn't going to get away, kneeling with her legs in between his.

"Doctor..." he purred, flushed. Her body emitted an inciting, stupefying scent, and he was the only one in that world who could smell it, and for once, he felt that his unhappy misunderstanding with Alchemax brought him something positive. His teeth dug in again, near the waistband of her skirt, and (Y/N)'s shriek of fear aroused him.

He tugged at the skirt until it was torn, which took him mere seconds, the doctor was almost naked and under his control. His eyes examined her body, fascinated and hungry in more ways than one, and he smiled amused and mischievous at the black stockings she wore, tight above her hips.

"Do you know something, doctor...?" he said to her as he pulled (Y/N) to place her thighs over his "Actually... your visits made me so happy back in the cell. You were always so cordial, so kind... You were the only one here who didn't treat me like an animal" he added with a low growl, his fingers brushing (Y/N)'s legs with a certain tenderness. "Do you know what your mistake was? To think that, after everything I went through... there wouldn't be something beastly inside me."

The nylon ripped with barely a gesture of his hands, and Miguel watched, ecstatic, as the stockings opened, like little holes, revealing the firm, voluptuous flesh underneath. (Y/N) gasped and turned her head, still frightened.

"No, no, doctora, don't make that face" he repeated, smiling "I haven't decided to kill you yet... Why would I, now that I have this delicious..." he lifted (Y/N)'s hips towards his face "...hot..." the talons tore apart what was left of the stockings, uncovering the panties beneath "...and helpless body to satisfy me?"

He didn't bother to undress her, he thought it lovely to leave some at her disposal, and instead pulled the panties down enough to give his mouth access to the vagina that was already throbbing eagerly before he began to penetrate her with his tongue.

"Oh my God!" (Y/N) hid her face in her arms, moaning. Miguel was absorbed in his work, he slid his tongue between the lips, which received his caresses with their exquisite wetness that only ended up inflaming him, he used his knuckle to rub the clitoris and not cut her with his talon, and he even filled her ass and the hole in it with the same attentions, moved only by an instinct that dictated what he should do.

"Doctor, I sincerely hope you are under birth control" Miguel commented almost mockingly. (Y/N) tried to sit up, but there was no need, he was already turning her around, one hand on her waist and the other under her back, careful not to touch the scratches. The young woman's eyes were full of tears, but her flushed face and gasps indicated that she was enjoying it too.

"O'Hara..."

"Miguel, please."

"Miguel..." she murmured, and dared to reach out a hand to caress his cheek. It was an innocent touch, and the man found it so sweet that he chose to pounce and kiss her, all to keep the hunger his body felt from going out for mercy. (Y/N) wrapped her arms around him, riding his hardened member to rub herself against him, her moans dying between their intertwining tongues as Miguel took hold of her bra and unclasped it just to feel her lover's breasts against his chest.

"Lo siento, muñeca” he said, and before (Y/N) could ask him what was wrong, he bit her on the neck. This time it wasn't a friendly bite, and the young woman screamed in pain, two fangs sinking into her skin, Miguel held her to restrain her spasms and, a few seconds later, looked her in the eyes, a little chagrined "Easy, it was a low dose."

"Low... dose... of what...?"

Her tongue went numb, her head spun and she felt her body become like that of a rag doll, she was still conscious, but that was like sleep paralysis. Only the nightmare was... it wasn't exactly a nightmare.

"It's better this way, believe me."

Miguel placed her face down again, grabbed her by the legs and tugged at her panties. Without much parsimony he released his cock with a gasp of relief, and brushed the tip between (Y/N)'s pussy lips before thrusting into her, inch by inch. (Y/N) couldn't move on her own, but faint moans escaped her lips as her brain processed the bodily sensations with an intensity that seemed exaggerated; her inner walls struggling to make room for O'Hara's monstrous manhood, her swollen clit begging to be touched, the talons gently clawing at her ass and thighs as Miguel, seething, rammed her rhythmically, as if with each thrust he sought to go deeper.

"Carajo... doctora..." he growled, his hands falling to (Y/N)'s sides, bending over her head. Miguel had no prejudice, he gasped and moaned shamelessly in his lover's ear and devoted her a string of obscene words mixed with affectionate phrases "Your pussy is so hot, so soft... you are so beautiful... I wanted so much to fuck you since I saw you the first time... bite your pussy and suck your tits... fuck, I'll do it, I'll do it..."

He turned her on her back and continued to penetrate her as his mouth covered her breasts with kisses, sucks and licks, focusing especially on her nipples which he squeezed between his fingers just to hear her squeal.

"Like this… just like this, preciosa, keep it up..." he growled, and went faster and faster and more erratic "Shit!" he pulled out of her with a jerk, in time to ejaculate on her stomach. But that wasn't the end, Miguel went back on the attack and satisfied her with his mouth, watching her out of the corner of his eye to make sure he was on the right track. "Mine... mine... mine... this pussy is mine... (Y/N)" he spat "Cum... cum, preciosa, don't be afraid... please..."

It was like carrying out an order, (Y/N) was slowly coming out of the trance of the venom, just enough to be able to say a few words.

"T... there... I... am... going... to... I... am... gonna...!"

She screamed, unable to externalize her feeling in any other way, as her body was still partially paralyzed. It was like a small explosion, and the shockwave was such that her eyes filled with tears again during the seconds, which felt endless, before the orgasm finally died down.

Miguel's face reappeared from between her thighs, snickering. She flashed him a smile, the first good smile she'd ever seen on him.

"Don't be afraid, your body will get rid of the poison in a while more..." he cradled her in his arms, pleased with himself "I didn't mean to be so abrupt, I mean before this... you really are a good doctor, (Y/N)... You know, I don't feel angry anymore, not even a little bit..."

Even though she was still in a dazed mind, (Y/N) took note of that statement. Adrenaline, she thought, adrenaline was the key to O'Hara's aggressiveness...was it possible that a high-demand physical release could help him through the crises? And if that was true, then... it turned out that she had just found a delicious cure, she concluded, and her lips drew into a small smile.

#across the spiderverse #spiderman #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut

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storiesbyrhi · 10 months

Text

Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, spiders/bugs, grief/mourning; warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: It's time to wake up. 2292 words.

1986

Eddie remained still as he watched over your spell-induced sleep. Your eyes were darting back and forth behind your eyelids and your lips parted to allow fast shallow breaths to pull in and out. After twenty minutes, Eddie moved from under you so he could scoop you up and take you to the bed. He laid you upon it like a knight with a princess, then crawled in next to you.

He remained vigilant. Vigilant and hopeful.

Precisely one hour after you drank the rosemary potion, your eyes fluttered open. He didn’t know what he had expected exactly, but it was not nothing. You said nothing. Did nothing. Just stared up at the peeling paint of the trailer’s ceiling.

As softly as he could, Eddie said your name but gained no response. A second attempt, cooing, “My little witch? Are you there?”

You blinked hard a few times. Slowly you pushed yourself into a sitting position, the movements so heavy it looked like it hurt. With some hesitation, your gaze settled on Eddie.

He took one of your hands in his and while it was grounding, it wasn’t enough. He watched as you crumpled, face twisting with sadness and body curling in on itself. You sobbed so hard your body shook as if it was the epicenter of an earthquake.

Between the cries and the hyperventilating, you couldn’t catch your breath. You pushed away from Eddie and tried to stand, but fell to the floor. Eddie was immediately at your side, but you forced him away again and stayed where you were on all fours.

Body convulsing, brain short-circuiting, you were a mess quickly deteriorating into something worse. Once well-trodden neural pathways that had been gated away were suddenly walked. Old emotions were raw and new. Knowledge that felt dangerous when only a hypothesis was now proven and true, and it was like poison in your veins.

You threw up on the carpet, then backed away, scurrying into a corner and hugging your legs to your chest. As you began a self-soothing rock, everything got louder and louder until you could no longer process any of it. The cup was running over. The volume could not be turned higher. There were too many colours and now all you could see and feel was white hot white.

When you went still in the corner, Eddie was relieved for only a moment before the fear set in that you’d not recover from this. He stood and got to work cleaning the puke from the floor as a distraction. You didn’t watch him, your eyes glazed over and unfocused. Dead, almost.

The glass of water Eddie brought to you did nothing to stir you. When he took your hand, trying to get you to at least hold the thing, he found your body was limp and pliable, like a sad ragdoll.

With one of your mixtapes on, Eddie sat by your side and held your hand. A human would have given up earlier, not out of a lack of will, but by the demand of their body. Sitting still for hours on end was not natural. Eddie, though, could play statue well.

…

The day had been long – grieving teens in the morning and spellcasting in the afternoon. Now, a little before midnight, Eddie was swallowing the feeling of panic. You’d been catatonic for a little over five hours.

With no words spilling from your mouth to tell him how you felt, Eddie had to make do with other hints. He could hear your heartbeat. It was steady, calm. At least you were not in the fits of a panic. However, the rhythmic pulse was an uneasy thing – too normal in an entirely abnormal situation.

Your skin did not feel any hotter than usual. No fever setting in. Similarly, you weren’t shaking anymore. No trembling hands.

It was your scent that told him the most. Almost overpowering your baseline of sweetpea and black birch was the smell of fear. It was a sad kind of fear. Nectar from a melancholy flower. Then, the sharp smell of urine. Any power you had over your own body was gone.

Eddie clenched his jaw and swallowed a whining sound of misery. “I’ll run you a bath, my love,” he whispered to you before leaving you alone.

Out in the night, Eddie picked wildflowers and collected leaves from a sassafras tree. He returned in minutes, filling the tub with hot water for you as you once had for him. He brewed a bath of petals and Epsom salt.

Although it came as no surprise, it still hurt to find you exactly how he’d left you. There was no resistance as he began to undress you, but Eddie still asked for permission and told you what was happening. He didn’t know if you were conscious, if you were there behind those unfocused eyes. So, he narrated it all.

“I’m sorry. We are almost done,” he said. “I’m going to take these off then we’ll put you in the bath. Does that sound good?”

Eddie peeled your underwear off with a clinical sort of tenderness. He picked you up like a bride and brought you to the bath. Before lowering you into the water, he checked the temperature again. If it was too hot, you would probably boil before crying out.

He watched your face for micro expressions and checked your skin for heat. When he was sure you were okay, Eddie began to talk.

“I believe you would be proud of me,” he started. “Salt and yarrow to help you heal. You had those stocked in your little apothecary. The flowers are all fresh. Both the woundwort and vervain are healers too. You once told me that plants have many names, but often their use finds its way into the names too. Heal-all is another name for woundwort, and vervain is the holy herb. Lastly, the leaves. I forget the name of the tree, the one that smells nice. You said it was good that it grows easily, for its usefulness is endless.”

Eddie was struck by his ability to remember these details. He felt as though he could hear your voice, your lessons, come through his own as he recalled knowledge of the natural world.

“I left them whole,” he said, picking up one of the sassafras leaves and twirling it by its stem. “They’re a nice shape. And, if they do nothing to help, at the very least they have provided some coverage.” Eddie glanced down at the water where your body was mostly hidden beneath the green.

After some time in silence, Eddie carefully pulled your body back up from where you had slipped into the water a little too much. The water was lukewarm, and he considered what he would do next.

“I wish I was powerful like you. I wish I could recite a spell and bring you back.”

When the water lost its heat, Eddie took you back to the bedroom. He gently dried you with the softest towel he could find, then dressed you in what he had observed you wearing to bed. Under the covers, Eddie pulled you close to him, holding your back to his chest and keeping you safe.

At 3:00 am, the witching hour, your eyes closed and you fell into an exhausted sleep.

…

The light was blinding. You instinctively closed your eyes, raising a hand to shield yourself from the brightness. Someone said your name, but it sounded like all the names you’d ever had. From the first – to Amabel – to the one you wore now. Then, the light was blocked by a figure standing before you.

When you dropped your hand and looked at them, they looked like every witch that had met a fate riding a white horse. The Witches Who Came Before. All of them, all at once.

“You cannot stay here,” they said. It was strange to hear their voice. Voices. A chorus of women singing a singular note.

“It hurts,” you told them.

“Of course it hurts. Still, you cannot stay here.”

You looked around. Where was here? You could focus on any one thing, your gaze fuzzy and the light obscuring your view of your surroundings.

“This changes everything,” you tried to explain. “I didn’t know there could be this kind of… betrayal.” If a witch did something bad it was usually brutal but simple. Black magic. Conspiring. It changed the fabric of your understanding of the world to know a witch could do to their sister what had happened to you.

“Are you to abstain yourself from guilt and agency?”

“I… I never meant…” but your argument trailed off. No, you had not intended to hurt anyone by spending time with Eddie in 1836. Yet, had you been wrong about him, your coven and the humans would have been put at an even greater risk than they were already at. Regardless of your intentions, you did lie to your coven.

“And they only meant to protect, as is a witch’s calling,”

“If I had gone to them from the beginning. If I had told them there was a vampire who was not like the others. That he could love and be loved. That, in the war, he could be an ally… Do you think they would have listened?”

“We are not to know what may have come to pass. It is done. History will not-”

“Repeat itself. I know. You’ve said,” you interrupted them. “And lore will be rewritten,”

“And so, you must leave. You cannot stay here.”

For a moment, you gazed in awe at the ever-changing face. Monstrous and magnificent. Then, it slowed and stilled to a recognisable image. “Penelope?”

“Amabel.”

You genuinely didn’t know what you wanted to do more – throw a punch or a hug.

Like she could see the internal fight written all over you, she smiled and said, “I know, child. We are not to know what may have come to pass. But in our duty to learn from history, we concede error. The Witches were not consulted in 1836. This was an error.”

Before you could say anything, Penelope was just another face in the mix. You figured that was as close to an apology as you were ever going to get.

“I miss you,” you told her. “I miss you all so, so much,”

“You cannot stay here,” they said again. “There are loose ends to thread.”

In a split second, the bright had gone dark and you were left in the cold.

…

The first thing you sensed was a heaviness holding you in place. Eddie. You were in a vampire cage, enclosed in his arms as he held onto you for dear life. Then, the bedroom, as you had left it. Everything seemed normal. As if you had simply woken up on a normal morning with your normal boyfriend in a normal life.

You took a sharp breath in, deliberate and controlled. It propelled Eddie to action. He said your name once, twice, then a third time as he let you go and flipped you to face him. His eyes darted across your features, searching for signs of recognition.

It was an uncanny feeling, laced with malaise. There was a part of you that naturally went to react as you would have before you recovered your memories. You were just a witch who came to Hawkins to help. He was just a lost vampire you saved. The other part of you though, the one who could feel herself becoming whole again, she wanted to react very differently.

You didn’t act on either impulse though. Instead, you let Eddie hold your face and pat your hair and make that big wet eyed look at you. He said your name for the fourth time.

“Are you there?” he asked. “Are you with me?”

You nodded.

His worried expression broke out into a grin then he kissed your forehead. “Yes? Yes. I… You…” He didn’t know where to start. Couldn’t work out what was vital information. What were the easy questions?

Your throat was scratchy, your mouth dry. Although you felt a small headache coming on and some achy muscles, a calmness washed over you.

Finally. Finally, you were where you ought to be.

“My sweet, lonely vampire.”

Eddie whimpered and pulled you into another tight embrace. “Little witch? My little witch? Are you-”

“I’m here,”

“You’re here?”

“I’m here.”

It happened so differently from how you would have guessed. How you would have written it, if your life had been a story in a book about witches and vampires. There would have been a deep and passionate kiss. You would find yourself in the taste of Eddie’s lips. Maybe, he’d bite down and speak the binding words, blood of my blood, into your red mouth. And, if the story was for adults rather than children, which you certainly hoped it would be, you would curl naked limbs around each other. You would find equilibrium in the space between fucking and making love.

But it wasn’t like that.

With your foreheads pressed together, you both closed your eyes. Eddie had one arm wrapped under you. His free hand found yours, threaded fingers together, and held them between the two of you. That’s how you stayed for a long time, nuzzling against each other, quiet and happy.

There would be time for words and sex and action. Supernaturally sweeping lifespans and eons to spend together. In the wake of the newly understood 1836, all you wanted to do was simply exist with him. With Eddie, your uncursed creature of the night. Your soulful vampire. Your star-crossed lover. Your blood. Your heart. Your home.

End Note: Thank you to @jo-harrington and @munson-blurbs for helping with this chapter. So.... THOUGHTS? FEELINGS? What do you think she wants to say to her coven now? What would you want to do, if you were in her position?

Fic Taglist: @paranoidmunson @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog @goth-cowgirl-03

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16

#Burning Yarrow #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson Reader Insert #Eddie Munson/Reader #Eddie Munson/You #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson x You #Vampire!Eddie Munson #Witch!Reader

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hehe-hoho-ohno · 5 months

Text

Happy WIP Wednesday! Spoilers for chapter 7 of Misfits under the cut.

That was fine. Ingo could do what he wanted. Emmet skived off patrol all the time, it was fine.

----

Ingo hadn’t come to patrol. Emmet had waited for him. He’d waited for ages and then decided to start on his own. He’d ended up doing the entire thing by himself and Ingo never showed up.

It was just uncharacteristic of him, that was all.

(It wasn’t like Emmet had been looking forward to it or anything. It wasn’t like he’d waited for hours like an abandoned puppy. If he’d known Ingo wasn’t going to show up he wouldn’t have wasted his time.)

(It was his own fault for getting his hopes up.)

He returned to the barracks and froze in the open doorway.

It looked like a war zone.

A few of the lockers were blown open, doors swinging in their hinges. One of the benches was tipped over. The door to the office was open as well, the drawers were ransacked and all the papers that had been neatly piled on the desk were strewn on the floor. The garbage bin had also been knocked over. His spiders were agitated and crawling along the walls and ceiling.

“…Hello?” He called and it echoed back. “…Ingo?”

A few spiders chirped in response but there wasn’t a word from Ingo. A cold feeling settled like a stone in his stomach. He called again. If Ingo wasn’t here then…

He hesitantly stepped forwards into the ruined barracks.

Something crunched under his foot and he hastily stepped back. He’d crushed something into hard red and white shards. A candy cane? Only a small part of one, judging by how little there was on the floor.

How had this happened? Emmet always locked the entrance. He was even doing it right now, closing the door and locking it behind him out of sheer habit.

(Ingo had a key. Emmet had given it to him.)

Gear Barracks had always been a safe place for Emmet. The only safe place. When Emmet returned home it always felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, like he could finally relax. Here, he had been untouchable.

That feeling was gone now. He didn’t think he would be getting it back.

(Ingo hadn’t shown up for patrol.)

It was a shitty, barren, uniform place, but it had been Emmet’s. And someone had broken in and torn it up.

(Was it really breaking in if Emmet had invited him inside?)

No! Emmet shook himself. He shouldn’t make assumptions when he didn’t have all the facts. There was no proof that had happened. Ingo wouldn’t…

(Emmet was still an easily suckered fool who had learnt nothing. Ingo had betrayed him and Emmet had made it so easy.)

Ingo was his friend. He trusted Ingo. Ingo was shy, earnest, and sweet. He said things like, “lonely together” and he meant it, Emmet knew he did!

(Or maybe Emmet wasn’t as good at spotting liars as he thought he was.)

A clicking whistle snapped him out of his spiralling thoughts. Emmet dropped to his knees and reached towards his fuzzy babies. “Is everyone alright? Is anyone hurt?”

Emmet was appalled by his own behaviour, getting wrapped up in his own doubts when his focus should have been on the creatures under his care. Poor little things, they had needed to endure whatever had happened without Emmet there to protect them.

They chirped and squeaked and scuttled away from him, towards a locker all the spiders were converging on. Dread crawled up this throat. He rose to his feet and followed them.

The door was cold when he laid a hand on it. “…Here?”

They squeaked and moved back, a fluffy multicoloured halo surrounding the locker. The dread only worsened.

It was locked.

He blinked. He never locked this one. He never locked any of the spider lockers out of fear he might trap them in there. Hesitantly, he filled in the default code and hoped that was correct. Emmet had never changed any of them, but he clearly wasn’t the only person who would have had the opportunity to do so.

He hesitantly tried the handle, and it swung open.

A body fell out.

#wip wednesday #misfits #my writing #submas #subway boss emmet #....it feels like cheating to tag Ingo considering he's only in this snippet on a technicality #subway boss ingo #submas angst #<- not as bad as last chapter but its still there #he's still not dead btw!!!#for the record: not dead!#hes fine!

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happy74827 · 2 years

Text

Heaven’s Creation

[Castiel x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve had abnormal dreams before and it wasn’t uncommon for you to stumble about odd situations in them. But, this time, it was different. He was different.

WC: 1,149

Category: Would you call this hurt/comfort?

This was more of a random plot that I created during my daily “stare at the ceiling at 3am” moments but uh… I finished it and it’s Castiel so… enjoy :)

You’ve always loved the rain at night. The way soft droplets tapped your windowsill, drifting into the infinite amount of puddles that lay about the grass. The bright flash that would gloss over your dark abyss of a room, following rumbles from above.

During your younger days, you’d pretend that it was God sending an Angel to watch over you. To help you sleep through the sleepless nights and through the heavy storms with thunder that would shake the house.

At times, you were scared of it, scared of what would follow in the dark, but you overcame it with the belief that a higher power — one with wings — was watching over you. Protecting you from danger.

Even when you grew older, wiser with age, you still believed it, despite others. You believed it because you wanted it to be true.

And so, it began. The night that changed everything.

It was a similar night as this one. The rain that poured out of the sky wasn’t heavy but it wasn’t silent either. It was prominent enough to bring drowsiness to your eyes. To take you to your haven, away from the stress of the real world.

Usually, you had dreamt of the beach. The bright blue sky matches the color of the water. The sun reflects itself into the sand, mimicking the same happiness as a child. The fish swam peacefully as people gathered around to play beach volleyball.

This time, however, was inconsistent. You woke up in a strange place. A dark place. The flooring and the walls were all wood, with mold within the cracks. Spider webs were in every corner with dust on every shelf. The place brought you unease as you silently explored with your eyes, not daring to move an inch.

Just as you turned your glance toward a fogged-out window, you heard a name. Your name. It was soft, like a whisper, but the urgency in its tone made goosebumps crawl over your skin.

When you sought out the whisper, turning in confusion, you were met with eyes that were as blue as the southern sea. Eyes that sparkled like sapphires in the sunlight, despite being in such a dull environment.

They belonged to a man, a man you’d never seen in your dreams before. He was tall, taller than you at least, with dark fluffy hair that complimented his eyes. He was well-dressed, sporting a suit and tie with a trench coat that stopped just below the knees. The looseness of the coat on his shoulders gave him a more scrawny appearance, but something told you he was stronger than he appeared.

Your name fell from his lips again, as he stopped a few paces in front of you. His eyes were fixated on yours, causing an awkward smile to etch on your lips as you run your brain for a response.

However, the man didn’t give any opportunity for you to speak. “I apologize for the invasion of privacy.” He whispered, “I didn’t have many options given the amount of time I have.“

You looked at him blankly, only blinking at his words. Invasion of privacy? You were dreaming about someone invading your mind? What in the Inception is this?!

“So, you’re an invader of minds?” You finally replied, not sure what else there was to say.

He stared at you blankly, giving a little head tilt in response as if he were comprehending what you just said.

“I… uh, n-no.” He fumbled his words, “I’m an angel, Castiel, and I came to warn you.”

“Oh, okay… now I see why I’m—“

“You’re in danger.” He interrupted, causing you to halt in response. Your confused look made him sigh in response.

The man — Castiel as he named himself — looked over his shoulder in worry, glancing towards the bolted-up wooden doors, before turning back to you. “We don’t have much time.”

His eyes kept glancing at the doors like they were bound to swing open at any moment. The man made you nervous no doubt.

Could you die in dreams? It was a question he made you ponder. Still, you decided to entertain him with his claims. “Time for what?”

Then, as the apparent ‘angel’ suspected, the doors did open. They opened but nothing was there. You heard noises and conversations, but none of which were clear enough to comprehend.

When you turned back to Castiel, he promptly took you by your shoulders. Worry and panic were evident on his face as he hovered two fingers over your forehead. His eyes were staring into yours as he spoke to you. Well, more like ordered.

“Find Dean and Sam! Tell them I sent you, they’ll protect you.”

You were enchanted by the piercing blue in his eyes. For a dream, they seemed so surreal and inhuman. Yet, so natural. It felt… almost real.

You hadn’t realized he mentioned your name again. His fingers had lowered from you while his other hand was still firm on your shoulder, adding pressure that forced you to blink back into the present.

“We’ll meet again, most likely in a similar way.”

Finally, after what seemed like ages of staring into this man with nothing but confusion, you asked him a question. A simple, yet elaborate question.

“Is this actually real?”

He slowly nods, glancing behind him once more. “Very.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“You’re a future prophet of the lord and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at his words. “Prophet of the Lord? You mean, God?”

“I’ll answer all your questions soon, but you have to go, now!” Castiel rose his fingers once more, hovering them over you. “Once you’re awake, leave your apartment. And remember, find the Winchesters. They’ll protect you while I’m away.”

You were going to respond to him, to ask how he knew about the apartment, but the dream was over in a snap. His fingers touched your forehead, making you feel tingly and lightheaded. Then you were home.

You were laying down, eyes facing the popcorn ceiling of your room. The rain was still active, lighter and calmer now but it was still there.

A part of you still believed it to be a dream, a wacky one at that, but the sincerity in the man’s tone… It made you get up in your pajamas, search for your car keys, and drive off.

And fortunately for your sake, you made the right call. You found your apartment in the news when you arrived at some diner for food. The building had crumbled beneath the seams, leaving nothing but debris and dust.

The shock and the terror that flowed through your body only turned into the repetition of what the man from your dream had told you.

“Find the Winchesters…” your mind replayed, “they’ll protect you while I’m away.”

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leviathansshadycorner · 7 months

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You’re spiderman?! Peter parker/ Spiderman x Venom! Reader pt.2

A/n: I did write more lol

part one here.

Rain fell on your face as you ran through the alleyways that were all too familiar to you. Once again you were bait to catch Venom’s food. You were wearing an outfit not suitable for the rain at all- Venom’s idea- and as you walked around waiting for some creep to show up you failed to see the muggers on the other side. They’d just finished killing some dude when you caught their attention.

“FUCK THIS VENOM I HATE THIS PART.” You gasped as you turned a corner to catch your breath.

“STOP WHINING (Y/N) THIS IS THE FUN PART.” He called out as he took over your body, black tendrils wrapping around your arms and legs as your body became his. You were taller now, Venom flexing your body as you waited for the criminals. You’ve gotten used to your brain shutting off when Venom was in his feeding frenzy, only influencing him when you didn’t want him to go too far.

As the criminals rounded the corner their faces morphed into terrified ones. “What the hell is that..” One of them let out as he shifted to run. Before the two criminals could get away, Venom let out a roar, flaring his sharp teeth as he picked them up with his claw. He didn’t hesitate to bite his head off, the blood spurting out. You weren’t sure why he liked the taste of brains. He chewed off the other guy’s head as well- dropping both of their lifeless bodies onto the floor.

“HEY! Finish your food!” You scolded. You were trying to get Venom to be less wasteful. He only needed the brains, but you were teaching him to not be a picky eater, plus it helped in the long run since it didn’t leave much evidence.

“I DON’T LIKE THE OTHER BITS THEY’RE TOO CHEWY.” He protested.

“You eat literal BRAINS, now clean up after yourself.” With a groan the symbiote finished off the criminals, the only thing left behind were blood splatters. “See that wasn’t too bad.”

When the two of you were done feeding, you walked back to your home, still in Venom’s body. The night was surprisingly tame! Only a few cop cars here and there trying to run you over. Venom retracted back once you reached the safety of your home. As you crawled into your window you were stopped when you spotted a certain spider latched onto your building.

“What are you doing here?” You called out.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He crawled down to meet you.

“I live here.”

“Right- well I was just visiting.” He replied through the mask.

“How do you know where I live?” God you couldn’t believe this guy had your address.

“Followed you home yesterday.” He said casually as the rain drops slid off his suit and onto your forehead. “Can I come in?” He raised his brows which made his mask look interrogative.

“STALKERRRRR.” Venom called out. “Yeah fine whatever just- be quiet ok?” Your parents were already suspicious enough of venom, you didn’t need to give them a reason to believe they were right about you sneaking boys in the room.

Stepping backward you allowed Peter to climb his way into your room, his hands sticking to the ceiling as he crawled into the center. “So are you just going to stay up there?”

“Yeah- don’t want to get too close in case you bite.” He commented playfully.

“WE DO BITE.” Venom’s face covered yours as he licked his teeth.

“Yeah see him- he’s the reason I’m up here.” He said cautiously.

“Venom stop that. He’s our fri- classmate.” Venom groaned, licking Peter’s masked face before retracting back into you. “DAMN YOU FOR PROHIBITING THIS DELICIOUS MIDNIGHT SNACK.”

“You just ate.” You rolled your eyes.

“Aww so we’re not friends? Cold (Y/n)- harsh, even after I helped you with chemistry.” He acted hurt, placing a hand on his chest, still sticking to the ceiling.

“So why are you here?” You asked again, taking a towel off your door’s hangers, using it to pat yourself dry.

Peter took his masks off, revealing his own wet hair. You envied how long his lashes were, plotting to rip them out in his sleep and attach them to your own. Even through you hated to admit it- Peter Parker looked fucking hot in his hero suit. The red and blue- webbed suit hugged him in all the right places. You only wished he’d turn around. “Can we talk?”

“About?” You grew self conscious realizing you were still in that stupid outfit Venom had picked out for you. “Wait- I’m gonna change first.” You said. “Can you by chance like- wait outside orrr…” “AND YOU SAY I’M RUDE. (Y/N) IT’S RAINING! WE CAN’T LET OUR POOR GUEST GET SOAKED. WHAT IF HE CATCHES A COLD? HE WON’T TASTE AS GOOD THEN.” The alien protested.

“Yeah no problem- I’ll wait outside.” Peter said, throwing a web out the window and catching himself with it.

Taking a breath of relief you let out a tiny fart, one you’ve been holding in the whole time. You then raided your dressers for some comfortable clothes, but not ones you were too attached with since you’d shower after Peter was gone. You landed on some basketball shorts and an oversized shirt. You then tidied up a bit, hoping he hadn’t seen all the dirty clothes sprawled around your room. Venom helped discard the trash that lingered, leaving your room presentable.

“Alright, you can come in.” You whisper shouted to Peter, sticking your head out the window.

At the sound of your voice the boy had already been pummling towards you, assuming you wouldn’t be standing directly in front of the window. He landed into you knocking the wind out of you. Venom lent a hand, catching you both before you could make a loud thud on the floor and wake your parents. He shook you around, hoping to help you catch your breath.

“Oh my god (Y/n) I’m sorry!” He rushed to your side, his gloved hands taking hold of your arm as he tried to help. You didn’t say anything since you were wheezing. Just stuck your thumb out for him.

“I thought you were out of the way- I would’ve just crawled in, I'm so sorry.” He continued to freak out.

“FOOLISH BOY LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID TO MY DARLING!” Venom’s face was close to Peter's, his eyes angry.

“I’m.. wheeze fine wheeze cough.” You protested.

As you caught your breath Peter helped you to your bed where you took a seat. Waving your hand you signaled for him to start talking. His kind expression returned as he stood in front of you, unsure if he could sit.

“Right well I thought we’d get to know each other.” He smiled, “You know, get well-acquainted.

“HE’S SCARED YOU’RE GOING TO SPILL HIS SECRET. I CAN SMELL THE FEAR.” Venom let out a guttural noise, his figure once again sizing up Peter.

Trusting his judgment you let out a groan. “Is that why you’ve been following me? I’m not gonna snitch on you Peter. I made a promise. Plus- you know my secret.” His expression fell, you could tell he was feeling a bit ashamed.

“Sorry it’s just… this is the first time this has happened. I mean my own Aunt May doesn’t know about this.” He explained.

“Yeah I get you,.. It’s hard trying to keep something so big a secret. How are you even managing?” He had to be tired if not annoyed. How could someone keep up a double life as Spider-man? Only a few weeks ago you saw him on the news get flung from the sky and crashing into a building. Days before that he was on fire as a result of a bank robbery gone destructive.

His thin lips curved into a smile. You two sat in silence before he spoke up again. “By the way- I wanted to have a chat about your eating habits.”

“Eating habits?” You rolled your eyes. “Look- I already told you. I don’t eat brains.” You paused. “Venom does.”

He shot you a look.

“He needs them to survive. I’m not gonna deprive an organism that makes me into a superior version of myself of food.” Shrugging off his remarks you turned to the other side.

“(Y/n) I can’t have you going around killing innocent people. There’s already a number of people who think that Venom is Spiderman turned evil.” Peter decided to take a seat next to you but stood up when you looked at him weirdly.

“First of all, they’re not innocent people ok? I made that very clear with Venom when we got into this relationship. Second of all, we are way cooler than you.” You scoffed.

“Still. It’s unethical to kill people, that practically puts you in the rank with murders and the bad guys I help lock up.” Ok, that struck a chord with you.

“WHAT DID YOU CALL US?!” He took over your body once again. “WE DO NOT NEED TO HEAR YOUR LECTURE MORSEL. AT LEAST WE CAUSE MINIMAL DESTRUCTION.”

Peter stepped back. It was so trippy to see his classmate get overrun by an Alien. He stood away, still not comfortable enough with venom to predict his unpredictability. His boots squeaked on the floor as he looked up at you.

“YOU’RE FORTUNATE THAT MY PET HAS PUT YOU OFF LIMITS.” He continued, stepping closer to the boy who was breathing shallowly now. As Venom’s temperament came to a high, the door swung open. As fast as light- both Venom and Peter hid. Peter hiding in a corner that so happened to be shielded by your closet wall, Venom retracting into you, leaving you on the floor.

“(Y/n)? What in the goddamned hell are you doing up?” Your mother asked, her tired face wrinkled with anger.

“I was uh practicing lines for a play.” The lie you had gone with to distract your Parent’s from the fact that there was an Alien living inside of you was that you were in Drama- playing a character that so happened to use a monster voice. Peter stifled a laugh as he heard your voice go from Venom’s baritone to your soft one.

“Do you see what time it is?” She began.

“It’s..”

“Do you see what time it is (y/n)?” She raised an angry brow.

“!1:30…” Reluctantly you responded,

“Exactly go to- what the!” Her eyes landed on your open window. Your room smelled like rain. “Why the hell is the window open? You’re gonna get sick!” She grumbled as she went over to close it.

Your asshole clenched as you prayed that she didn’t see Peter on your ceiling. Luckily for you he maneuvered his way across quietly, escaping from her field of vision, repeating the process when your mother turned back to leave your room. “You better be in bed by 12.” She warned.

“But I still have to shower still.”

“12! (y/n).”

When the coast was clear Peter detached himself from the ceiling.

“Well she’s pleasant.” He said putting his mask back on. He took her intrusion as a sign to leave, not wanting to risk you getting in trouble. “We can talk about morals and ethics another day.” He said as he opened your window to leave.

“That’s it? You’re leaving?”

He nodded. “Night (y/n), see you in chem tomorrow.” He jumped off, his webs shooting onto a building.

With an annoyed expression you watched from your window.

“WHAT A PRICK.”

#fanfic #xreader #reader insert #marvel #spider man #peter parker #the amazing spider man #spiderman x reader #peter parker x reader #mary jane watson #harry osborn #venom symbiote #venom x reader #venom spiderman #marvel spiderman #marvel venom

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coffeeandmagicaltales · 1 month

Text

The Auror & the Devil part 23

AesopSharpXadultMC

DISCLAIMER: idication of a foreplay, fluff

Once again, he found himself aboard the ship in Scarborough.

The rhythmic lapping of waves against the hull and the groaning of the wooden boards underfoot echoed around him. For a moment, the line between reality and memory blurred, his mind drifting as if caught in a tangled net, unable to free itself from the overwhelming flood of sounds and images. But this time, instead of the familiar ending—where a trap awaited behind a door at the end of the ship's corridor—he was suddenly standing atop a towering cliff and frost-biting fogg. Disoriented, he scanned his surroundings and spotted a familiar figure amidst the turmoil of stormy skies.

Morana was running toward the cliff’s edge, her path illuminated by a silvery creature... a Patronus? His heart raced as he shouted, "Watch out!" But she neither slowed nor hesitated, leaping into the arms of the dark clouds, transforming mid-air into a raven that soared higher and higher. Where was she going?

In an instant, the storm had vanished, the threatening skies chased away by the gentle embrace of a blissful, sunny morning. Morana now stood bathed in the first beams of dawn’s light.

"I'm home," she whispered, her gaze fixed on the distant castle.

Hogwarts.

He suddenly opened his eyes, waking from a restless sleep, his body was completely limp.

Thoughts swirled in his head, shadows crawling on the dimly lit ceiling above him. He heard a buzzing in his ears, sounds he couldn't identify... flowing water? He squinted, blinked several times, feeling how his eyelids were terribly heavy, resisting as they tried to retreat back into sleep. He fought this feeling for a moment, moving the muscles of his face, which finally woke up, and gradually, he regained sensation in the rest of his body.

He tilted his head to see where he was.

An enchanted tent? Yes, most likely. He lay in a small bed covered with a blanket, surrounded by books, suitcases, scattered women's clothes, herbs... With difficulty, he turned his head in the other direction, seeking the source of the sound of flowing liquid.

His heart leapt to his throat.

Opposite him, near a makeshift stove, Morana sat on a small stool, washing her hair in a small basin, pouring beer over her head, rubbing it into her scalp, and rinsing it with water from a bucket. Shielded by the curtain of wet strands falling onto her dark dress, she was completely unaware that he had woken up.

"So that's why she always smells like malt..." he smiled blissfully, as if solving this mystery was some extraordinary discovery. Only after a few seconds did it hit him that nothing he was seeing made sense. How did she get here? She was supposed to be in Durmstrang! What was she doing in this cursed forest? What did all this mean? Confused, he began to scrutinize the room.

Behind her, in a corner, a large portrait stood propped against a pile of books, empty. Next to it, on a clothes rack, hung a fur and a mask made from a deer's skull, empty potion vials scattered on the floor... The place was in disarray, as if it was more of a... temporary hideout? He started to worry more. Was Morana hiding something? Had she done something wrong... Merlin, those Aurors hit by the Unforgivable Curse... Morana surely knew this spell from Mr Sallow... Did she use it?

Suddenly, a shadow in the corner of the room moved and approached Aesop quickly, as a giant acromantula the size of a dog jumped onto his stomach, its hundreds of eyes dangerously close to his face.

"Alive, but weak. Can eat?"

The spider spoke in a hoarse voice, making Sharp's eyes widen in fear and fascination. He had read that acromantulas could speak, but he had never encountered one...

"What!? Absolutely not!" Morana shouted, and she pushed her hair back so violently that she fell off the stool, spilling the bucket of water. She clumsily stood up, using a staff for support, and with a tap of its end on the ground, made the puddle disappear and her hair dry. She then addressed the spider in a sharp tone, which was still sitting on Aesop, probably pondering which part of the man to start its meal with. "Tertius, no. Use your three legs and kindly go back to your nest, NOW."

Only now did Aesop notice that the spider was missing some of its legs: some had sad stumps, others were completely gone. The insect grumbled in anger and, insulted, crawled back to the tangle of webs in the corner, indicated by Morana's finger.

She has changed so much.

How long had it been since they'd last seen each other? A few months, maybe a year, or even longer? He had no idea; he’d lost track of time lately… It felt to him like at least a few decades had passed…

Long black curls tumbled uncontrollably down her back, looking as if Mora had combed them with branches rather than a brush; tangled, streaked with glistening silver strands that looked like decorative threads woven into them... Stress, changes, or genetics—any of these could have caused premature graying… Her body had taken on beautiful curves, a few wrinkles had appeared on her delicate, freckled face, her neck and hands were marked with hundreds of runic symbols, and she was dressed in black. He had to admit, she made quite an intimidating impression… She intrigued and fascinated him more than ever.

She stood still, barefoot, uncertain, her gaze fixed on the floor as if ashamed to come closer, nervously clutching the fabric of her dress in her hand, unsure of what to say...

“That gas…” Aesop began in a hoarse voice. “Now I know why I couldn’t recognize it… The elixir that induces anxiety takes on the consistency of a thick fog… and a distinct scent… citrus… You must have added something to mask it… I’m guessing Graphorn urine. Very clever.”

With difficulty, he sat on the edge of the bed and reached for his wand lying on the small table beside him. With a tap on his uniform, he transfigured it into his everyday, more comfortable clothes. “Krampus, that was also a smart move…” he continued in a somewhat stern tone. “I once received a card from Torq from Austria for Christmas when he was on assignment with other goblins. I was surprised to see a devil whipping children with a stick, and the caption: Gruß vom Krampus…” He stood and grimaced in pain as his injured leg moved after a prolonged period of stillness, then hobbled closer to her, glaring at her menacingly. “Everything about this clearly points to the fact that, as I suspected, you’re trying to scare others away from the Forbidden Forest… My question is: what is going on here, Morana? What the hell does all of this mean?”

“If he comes closer, I’ll eat him…” growled Tertius warningly from the corner, but Morana calmed him with a wave of her hand. She still couldn’t bring herself to look Aesop in the eye.

Aesop grimaced in frustration and quickly grabbed her chin, lifting it upwards. His unfriendly expression softened slightly when he saw those familiar large, watery blue, kind eyes of the woman, which immediately filled with tears. He trembled, feeling a pang in his heart, which began to race. “Say something, please.” he pleaded with a breaking voice, not knowing what to do, certain that without an answer, he would simply go mad. “People have died, and you’re involved in this… I want to know why…”

Morana bit her lip and confessed with pain, “I lied to you.”

Aesop stepped back, surprised, with even more questions swirling in his mind.

“I’ve been here for several months…” she explained hastily, Sharp stood motionless, listening to her intently, his face marked with surprise. “I lied in the letters so you wouldn’t suspect anything… I hated Durmstrang, it's politics, I missed y... ehm... I decided I could be more useful here, protecting magical creatures… I quickly devised a plan to scare off the Dark Wizard who’s been lurking around here, to somehow track him and cut off the Forest from others… I came up with the idea of Krampus because I was afraid of him as a child; he used to come to the orphanage each Christmas… When I arrived, I encountered Aurors who were fighting an acromantula struck by the same magic as Mr. Moon, the hippogriff, the thestrals… Tertius can talk; he defended himself, begged them to stop… They… When they cast Crucio, I intervened… You see, by lifting curses from others… I’ve become saturated with Dark Magic and am, well, ‘immune’ to it… I warned the Aurors, but they didn’t listen to me, two of them were hit by Avada Kedavra when… it simply bounced off me… I didn’t know what to do, I scared the rest away and immediately cut the Forest off from the World… Things are bad here, Aesop, I’ve had nightmares again… I didn’t tell you about them either… I didn’t want to worry you… I just…” she swallowed her tears and continued. “Isidora helped me make that potion and, yes, I added Graphorn piss to it… I haven’t been able to wash the smell out of my hair for a week… I wouldn’t have come up with that myself, I’m hopeless at potions, you know that well… All the animals are living with me in the tent; I enlarged it, I’m healing those attacked by that scoundrel, I don’t know why he’s so fixated on the Forbidden Forest…”

Morana burst into tears, covering her face with her hands. “I didn’t know you would be here…” she sobbed. “The feather I gave you was a Portkey; it would take you to ‘The Three Broomsticks’ in case of danger… only Sirona knew about it, she wrote to me about Ammit… He’s fine…”

“Well, maybe none of this would have happened if I had been honest with you, if I had admitted that I had been called back to duty… I didn’t want to worry you either.” Aesop sighed deeply, feeling a sense of relief as he realized that Morana hadn’t changed at all and had acted in good faith. A weight lifted from his heart. “I have to admit, you gave me quite a scare… A very clever idea… Now, now… don’t cry.” He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and was about to hand it to her, but Morana stepped back and lowered her gaze to the ground again. Her fists clenched. Aesop looked at her questioningly.

“There’s… something else…” she confessed, trembling. “Something that has been bothering me for a long time… and that I’ve started thinking about again recently…” Aesop frowned, not knowing what she was referring to, watching with concern as Morana struggled to confess what was on her mind. Finally, she took a deep breath and spoke:

“When I returned, I went with Isidora to talk to the Keepers… I burned the canvas down, so they could never manipulate anyone again, but before I did…” she swallowed hard, and Aesop felt his legs start to tremble with stress. Unfortunately, he slowly began to realize what Morana might be getting at, and his heart pounded in his chest with fear. “I found out that you went to them right after I left Hogwarts…”

“Morana, I…” he interrupted hastily, trying to defuse the situation, but when Morana lifted her gaze and looked him straight in the eyes, he lost his train of thought, seeing the turmoil in her soul, on the brink of madness. He couldn’t read any emotions in her, except desperation.

“Is it true what you confessed to them back then?... That you fell in love with me?”

Aesop felt as if he’d been doused with boiling water, barely able to stay on his feet as his knees buckled.

This was the end, she knew the truth, there was no point in lying.

He stepped back to sit on the bed, knowing he couldn’t hold back, that he was about to cry. He collapsed onto the cot, staring blankly ahead, trembling with fear.

“I’m so sorry, Morana…” he whispered with a heart full of sorrow, feeling the weight of his guilt. “I-I never wanted to hurt you. Never. I’m and old fool… I meant no harm, forgive me. I’m so very sorry…”

Morana stepped closer, piercing him with her gaze.

“D-Do you love me?” she asked again with a firm tone, impatient, demanding a clear answer. Aesop looked at her pleadingly, hoping she wouldn’t make him humiliate himself further, and quickly wiped away the tears that had begun to stream down his thin cheeks, nodding.

“Yes, with all my heart,” he confessed with sadness, and just as he was about to offer her a detailed explanation and assure her that he would never tarnish her honor, she whispered, “Oh, just come to me!” and suddenly found herself on his lap, clinging to his chest, and burst into tears of joy repeating: "Aesop, Aesop, my Silly Aesop..."

He held his breath, surprised, confused, as a pair of small hands cupped his face, wiping his wet skin.

She alternated between smiling and crying, and in her eyes, thousands of sparks flickered as if the entire sky had found a home in her pupils. In them was his entire world, his heart, his soul…

“I had lost hope of seeing you again…” he whispered, completely stunned by the heavenly sight that made everything else meaningless to him. His age, principles, disability… All of it vanished, lost its hold on him. “I wasted so many chances to tell you how much you mean to me and how much I care about you… I was so afraid you’d reject me…” His voice broke. “I never thought that despite everything, fate would give me another chance… To confess my love to you...” he sighed, admiring her beauty, enchanted by some divine magic that Morana seemed to emanate.

She listened to him intently, blushing as she brushed his hair aside, then, finding his ears, she smiled at him as if to say, "Here they are!" She touched his beard, traced the wrinkles by his cheeks, and let her fingers glide along the arch of his brows, until finally, she tenderly touched his scar with one hand. With her free hand, she took his and guided it to her cheek. As Aesop felt her delicate yet marked skin, he instinctively caressed it with gentle strokes of his thumb.

"Oh... Mora," He let out a soft murmur of pleasure and closed his eyes, savoring the moment, feeling the weight of Morana on his lap, the warmth of her body that had never been so close to him before. His heart fluttered, his breathing quickened as a tingling pleasure flowed through his veins, and for a moment he doubted that what was happening was real.

Morana leaned closer, moving even nearer to him. He tenderly wiped away the tears that had slipped from her eyes. He saw she wanted to say something but lacked the courage. He smiled softly, stroking her face and hair, patient.

“Aesop…” she whispered, and the man shuddered at the sound of his name on her lips. “Back at the ball, when I saw you with Miss Flint... And then one of the owls brought me her letter... I followed you, I trailed behind, and when I saw you together in the snow... I startled the Diricawls... They must have caught the werewolf's attention... I didn't mean to... Ugh, I could've harmed you... I'm so sorry.”

Aesop blinked, his mind foggy from Morana’s intoxicating scent. Only after a moment did he recall that "date," which he had gladly erased from memory, and he had to muster all his strength not to burst into laughter. Oh, Mora...

“Silly bird,” he whispered, looking at her kindly. “Were you really that... jealous of me?”

It was probably the least clever question he had ever asked in his entire detective career, considering that the most wonderful woman in the world was sitting on his lap, her hands loosening his tie, unbuttoning his shirt, and exploring his Adam's apple, moving lower down his neck, sending blissful tingles and waves of warmth through him.

He wanted to hear it from her lips. He needed to know. He wanted to be sure…

“Yes,” Morana said softly, the last sentence nearly inaudible. “I saw you kissing... I couldn’t bear to watch, because you see, I wanted to be in her place…”

She blushed deeply.

“Hmm... It wasn’t a pleasant experience at all, and one could say the werewolf was a bit of a relief... Because, you see... I only want to kiss you,” she said quietly, with a slightly mischievous tone, feeling as if he was slowly talking nonsense, smiling gently as she caressed his cheek, trying to stifle the shout of delight that filled her chest like air inflating a balloon. He was on the verge of bursting, of dancing with joy, of pure madness...

Morana’s eyes lit up and she said:

“I came back only because... I learned the truth, that everything good in life seems to lead back to you, every single time, so I ran to you, because when I'm beside you I...” LINK TO AURORA's SONG

Aesop trembled, enchanted by her words, and he stared at her lips, longing to kiss them... to taste them. He moved closer, hesitantly wrapped his arms around her, but as her body yielded to his touch, he pulled her even closer, feeling her thighs glide against his, burning his skin even through the thick fabric of his trousers... She was in his arms, only his. He didn’t want any other woman in them, only her. The person with whom he felt like himself, with whom he was safe, and whom he wanted to protect.

“I feel like I exist for your love…” Morana confessed, their breaths mingling together. “Only for your love.”

Aesop placed the gentlest kiss on her soft lips and felt a wave of elation blossom within him, the same elation that made Morana wrap her arms around his neck, basking in the warmth of his body, her heart pounding in her chest. They held each other so tightly, as if they feared they might lose one another, that this moment might evaporate, their hands clutching at each other’s clothes... Mora took a deep breath, brushing her lips against his chin; the tickling of his soft, scruffy beard, with its intoxicating scent, made her head spin, her stomach twist, and her thoughts drift aimlessly, presenting her with new ideas that she immediately acted upon: touching the hair on his chest, brushing her lips against his neck, stroking his belly and hips... She was amazed that he allowed her to do all of this, and every touch of hers was reciprocated; his fingers slid the strap of her dress down and caressed her shoulders, then her back, gently massaging her nape, creeping toward her waist, stroking and encircling it... She melted under his every touch, moving like blades of grass swayed by the breeze...

Aesop licked his lips slightly, fearing they were dry, and kissed her again, and again, pressing her tighter to his chest... She yielded to him with a blissful smile, knowing he was shy, that he was uncertain, returning even the briefest kisses...

Aesop felt a growing warmth, a rising excitement that began to cloud his mind, like a strong drink... He brushed Morana’s lower lip with his tongue and gently caught it with his teeth, sucking for a fraction of a second. The soft moan of pleasure that escaped her lips made him feel a bit bolder... He did it again...

Morana giggled and unexpectedly parted her lips, and their tongues intertwined in a kiss. He let out a deep groan, feeling a bolt of pleasure surge through his body, awakening his masculinity... Morana, too, felt the growing excitement, and each time he plunged into her mouth, a pleasant tingling coursed through her body, from her tongue through her chest, ending in delightful sensations in her nether regions. She felt herself growing wetter, longing to shed her dress... But this was their first moment of such closeness; it was too soon for something more... At least for him. He was still afraid of intimacy... It had been so many years. She sensed that despite the hardness in his groin, he avoided her touch, moved his hips away... When he could no longer shift away, and Morana felt the steady, strong throbs against her thighs through the fabric of his trousers, she broke the kiss, gently stroking his cheek, watching him closely. She knew his fears. She understood, though she was herself aroused to the point of madness, longing to sink her hand into his pants, from which heat radiated against her body. But she restrained herself, wanting him to feel safe with her.

Confused by his body’s reaction, he shifted in place, and the movement made his knee suddenly ache. He hissed in pain. Morana immediately got off his lap and, concerned, sat beside him on the edge of the bed.

He took her hand, caressing and kissing it apologetically, then took a deep breath and confessed, bewildered, “I definitely wasn’t prepared for you to return my feelings... The way you look at me, the way you touch me, Merlin, it makes me want you more and more…” He shifted and, with a quick, almost imperceptible movement, adjusted his trousers as if trying to hide the obvious bulge. “I need to learn that wanting to make love with you isn’t something to be ashamed of… Oh, Merlin, I fell a bit pathetic...”

Morana felt a pang of disappointment that today they won't be more intimate, but only for a fraction of a second... Seeing how embarrassed and distressed he was getting, she quickly said, “That gas must have really worn you out.... You slept for several hours, Isidora said you might still feel unwell and anxious...”

“Hmmm, good work,” Sharp acknowledged and swallowed tears, nodding in approval of Morana’s potion. “I’ll have to contact the Ministry tomorrow. report everything and, oh, Merlin, lie a bit, but first… Can we just cuddle for a while? And then... Would you have dinner with me and tell me everything that’s been happening with you during this time? I’ve missed you so much...”

Morana smiled broadly and helped him take off his jacket and tie, and settled him comfortably in bed, then lay down on his chest, which lifted her a few centimeters as he inhaled... She listened to his heart, his breathing, relishing the melody they created as they blended together. Aesop grabbed her by the waist and pulled her higher as if she weighed nothing, placing her head on his shoulder, then covered them both with a blanket and gazed deeply into her eyes, holding her close like the most precious treasure.

Though the excitement that had coursed through their veins a moment ago had cooled, the warmth that kindled their chests from within continued to grow.

After a dinner eaten sitting up in bed (Merlin, neither of them had eaten much lately, and the mushroom soup tasted like a gourmet dish), they lay together for several hours, talking about their feelings, their current affairs, about what they had been doing while they were apart, cuddling until sweet kisses lulled them to sleep.

They were overcome by a strange sensation, as if they had been together for many years already, for the caresses came as naturally to them as the shared sleep.

#aesop sharp #hogwarts legacy #professor sharp #professor aesop sharp #hogwarts legacy oc #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy meme #aesop sharp x mc #aesop sharp smut

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