#the man is gigantic and so broad-shouldered

[thisvisionofmyspirit]

one of my favorite sensations in the world is seeing someone live for the first time and realizing how fucking tall they are so let's just say my first sleep token ritual, whenever that is, is going to be An Experience™

[b00tyliciousbabe]

munch

bisexualbigboybf! x THICC!male reader

summary: manifesting my future husband

notes: THANKS FOR 1k ppl dem! BEEN IN DRAFTS FOR A WHILE. i think there needs to be some more love + appreciation for bi men and big boys so i amalgamated the two. not a fetish y’all, just a preference, they be taking care of my inner princess and for that i will ALWAYS be grateful. a lot of feminisation in this one so tread carefully. it’s a lil messy (jumps in tenses and stuff like that) but i litch couldn’t focus without getting too excited. ENJOY MY HEARTS.

song rec: normani - big boy (feat. starrah)

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅

your big boy bf didn’t think he had a chance with you at first, nor did he even want one. at first he hated you, watching how all the other men in your life were one flirty conversation away from having a piece of your juicy ass, and how the girls envied and coveted your thick hourglass figure. your sweet personality sickened him ; you made sure to give them your gym routine and your diet, being the beauty guru you were. but what he realised, was not that he hated you, but that he hated not having you. when he realised this, he needed you, more than anything.

you embodied a refreshing style of hyper femininity that made you all the more attractive to your bi man. seeing your body in its thick glory made him love himself more. how your belly added to your voluptuous figure, your plump cheeks, and fleshy muscle surrounding your chest and thighs, he was mesmerised by your form. you were, in his eyes, divine. little did he know that you had fallen first; his broad shoulders, strong biceps and pudgy belly practically had you ovulating. your gigantic teddy bear, standing at a foot taller than you, had a heart of gold and this protective aura around him, enamoured you.

when you debuted your relationship online, you were met with a flurry of mainly positive responses. yeah sure there were the odd few denouncing your femininity and body shaming y’all, but you ignored them because you don’t have to convince the world that you’re THEE baddie b and your man is the sexiest mf to ever exist.

luvagoalz: they are literally the embodiment of the wattpad height difference. I NEED.

user222: y/n getting dicked down DAILY by a giant is so girlboss of him.

sza: bestie got himself a big boy - y/n send me the deets for the wedding.

your bf is a huge gym rat and when you two became exclusive, your already voluptuous figure became all the more defined with his help. you were flawless. you love seeing him in the gym, sweating as the veins in his forearms pop out making him look so attractive. he definitely enjoys your company there, teasingly rubbing his bulge against your ass and face when no one was watching. his exhibitionist kink goes crazy seeing how beautifully your workout clothes hug your butt and cinch your waist. he used to be slightly insecure about his stretch marks but after a cool down session, and you complimenting them like lightning bolts imprinted on his skin, he felt superhuman. you always knew what to say to make him feel better.

he’s so protective of you. always sleeps on the side closest to the door and isn’t afraid to send someone to hospital if they even look at you the wrong way, or in a manner he doesn’t like. in his mind he’s seeded you and you’re literally carrying his kids and thus it’s his responsibility to protect you. it’s almost primal. he isn’t controlling or anything, but finds it incredibly important to remind you that with him you are completely safe.

they say the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and boy was that the case during your talking stage. it was perfect; you love to cook and so he’s more than happy to try your baked goods. your boyfriend loves his sleep on the weekends and so in true house husband fashion you often prepare breakfast in an apron with your thick cheeks hanging out from behind. one day he woke up to the sweet smell of you making his favourite. groggily stumbling into the kitchen, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, long dick swinging out of his briefs as he advanced towards you.

‘good morning love.’ his deep voice sent shivers down your spine as he kissed the words into your neck. he held onto the groove of your hips, caressing your lower back with the tip of his index finger and watched as you writhed beneath him. ‘babe, what are you doing up? you need your sleep, you’ve been working so hard lately.’ you said, breathing haphazardly as he ground himself into you. ‘i missed you. and i want my morning kisses.’ beginning to untie your apron he turned you around, and removed the lace from around your neck. hiking you up on the table top, the heat of your bare ass, that his dick previous massaged into you, was cooled by the granite. you wrapped your legs around him, as your hands stroked his beard. wiping that shit eating grub off of his face, your lips came closer to his own, as you could feel his heartbeat in his throat - this man is so in love with you. the kiss lasted quite a while, precum staining the opening of his boxers and pooling on your thighs. you knew that you were about to be fucked dumb and so you turned of the hob to avoid burning the house down. the fire inside y’all was more than enough to keep you going.

your man doesn’t fully realise his own strength. he was very hesitant to have sex with you for a while and mostly stopped at groping you before his dick got too hard to ignore. so, for your first time, he had to refrain literally ripping your clothes to get to the prize of your nudity. he absolutely loves seeing you (try to) deepthroat. the reason? his size kink goes insane when you attempt to take his gigantic package. this man is LONG and GIRTHY, capable of splitting you in half and abusing all your spots with ease. the veiny sausage he’s packing could do some serious damage but he held back when it came to your first couple times with him.

he always takes time to ensure that your safe and comfortable. initially his size intimidated you, your mannerisms connoting your subtle anxiety. he kissed the fear out of you, reassuringly saying, ‘you know I would never do anything to hurt you.’

your boyfriend is the KING of consent, always ensuring that you want his big cock just as much as he wants to feel the warmth of your boy pussy. one day whilst he was working from home, he noticed you squirming like an omega in heat. he sighed and smirked. ‘d’you want me to fuck you?’ he burst out. already used to his blunt disposition, you nodded. advancing closer towards you, staring down at the desperation in your face, he stroked your hair. ‘use your words y/n, i wanna hear how badly you want it.’ his charisma practically had you high. ‘I need you, please.’ you began to undo the string that held up his joggers, as he removed his tshirt. ‘i can never say no to my baby boy.’ he smiled, pants bunching at his ankles as he slowly railed on the edge of your shared bed.

he encourages you to take him fully each time, praising you because no one else had been able to take him past halfway. ‘i know baby, i know, do it one more time for me.’ he said endearingly, wiping the tears from your face as his dick invaded your throat.‘THERE IT ISSS UGH FUCK! i love your mouth.’ he cooed.

equally, your bf is the only man you’ve been with that’s been able to satisfy you sexually. you steered clear from all the men who were only interested in your body and not your heart and so you had very minimal experience outside of toys and your hands. the few you may or may not have been with were damn near clueless. on the other hand…your man has had plenty of hoe phases. it sly bugged you how he’d been intimate with a greater number you could’ve imagined but all that disappeared when he first made love to you. the best thing about him is that he can handle allat that ass. despite the clear size difference this doesn’t stop you from being a FREAK. He even encourages it. loving your thick globes of ass flesh kiss his lower belly as you push back and twerk all over his dick. his favourite part of your shape are your hips. he wants to breed you full of his children.

whenever he says ‘fuck yeah baby, back that shit up.’ it sends you orbital. it’s well known that the two of you share a huge affinity for doggy. the way you stroke his pudginess while he rails you in that position has become a safety mechanism - one that he has learnt to make the experience all the more enjoyable. with one hand holding you up (realistically struggling to, under the sheer passion of his fucking) and the other one bent behind your back fingering his belly button. his huge dick borderline tears you open and by grabbing onto him makes you feel safe. he usually recognises that it’s getting a bit too much when your moans become screams, and you get tighter. and as much as he loves seeing you overstimulated and fucked out on his cock, he doesn’t wanna break you (completely). so he slows down, soothing your pain with sweet nothings and his large hands massaging your ass cheeks.

for him personally though, he loves to smush you underneath his weight. in prone bone, he has direct access to your ear, whispering words of affirmation but degrading you with the grip of his arms around your neck. his beard hair softly touching your cheek, causing a wave of bliss to hit you, always gets him going. he knows you love hearing him praise you; his grunts are so delectable, a symphony with the percussion of him clapping tf outta your cheeks. as you whine like a lil bitch, they become guttural, like an alpha in his rut. the carnal passion of your heavier and rougher sessions reveal a callous side to his possessive nature. dangerous how much it turns you on.

words can’t really describe how much you love his stomach, happy trail adorning his belly, and riding him offers you the opportunity to see allat that on a platter. his smirk as he tries to contain his excitement that your his and only his.

on the topic of eye contact, you’re favourite mutual position is definitely missionary - your bf adores every inch of you. how your body becomes compliant. your hole crafted to take his big dick. the way it pierces through the walls of your pussy, massaging your gumminess. he sometimes drools from how lost he can be in the experience. ‘take my cock, yhhh baby, fuckkkk.’

slowing down his jack hammering pace, he’d lean forward with his low hanging balls rutting into you agonizingly slow.

‘you like that shit, huh baby? yeah? loving on my dick so well.’ whispering as he begins to mark your collarbone. then moving upwards onto your neck, massaging your previously pummeled throat as you looked up, desperate to kiss him. he exhales into your mouth, breathing life into you that he had taken away with his hard thrusts. his softness escaped as quickly as it arose, thrusting his entire load into you.

‘shit’ you scream as he laughs hoarsely, the rasp in his voice a melting honey.

in the same position, you love his cum face. something about how his eye and nose scrunch as he pants and grunt deeply. his beard ticking your chin. it also allows him to be vulnerable with you. he would hold your head cradling it with an affection rivalled only by how sweetly his tip kisses your prostate with each lengthy thrust. when he first enters, he’s checking to see if your okay, if you want more lube. you say no. legs just above his hips, you bring your hand to stroke his beard as he concentrates on directing his dick in a way that doesn’t make him cum immediately upon re entry.

‘i love you.’ you say getting all emotional from how well he’s treating you. ‘I love you too y/n.’ he leans down for more kisses as your hand now snakes around the back of his head.

he stops, letting you catch your breath, playing with your hair and caressing your face lovingly. your arms drop immediately at the warmth of his touch. he lifts and cradles your head, a delicacy opposing his rough demeanour.

‘I fucking love you,’ your bf grunts, placing forehead kisses, panting, as he starts moving faster. your legs now wrapped tightly around his abdomen like a vice. he plants both hands behind your head, balling his fists at either side of your head to create the perfect foundation to fuck you hard. brings one of his hands to cradle your hair and to bring your head closer to his. your temples meet ensuring that you’re so close and intimate. the man brings his body up, still inside you, collects your legs together, one leg on each shoulder holding onto the thick flesh of your upper thighs, allowing you to adjust, before toppling over onto you again to get deeper inside your pussy. later, moving his hands up to behind your knees, his rugged fingertips grip the flesh of your hamstrings.

your boyfriend brings his fingers up to stroke your cheeks and remove the hair sticking to your face. he’s growling at his need to go ham, but he exercises self-control as a means to take care of you. however, what he doesn’t realise is that his painfully slow strokes transport you to a utopia of bodily ecstasy.

he ABSOLUTELY loves seeing the imprint of his girthy cock in your stomach, pressing down on it to add to your respective pleasures. and when you both reach the top of the mountain, the visual of you being completely fucked out on his huge pole, as it protrudes through your stomach which is now decorated with your own personal release, makes him wanna rail you again. and again. until you pass out or his dick becomes limp. the latter would never happen because wherever you are, that cocks gonna be UP.

aftercare is so underrated with him. in his past relationships, it was usually a hit and quit it situation - his words not mine. thus he didn’t really know what to do at first. he’s so used to hookup culture, that he never bothered. but with you, he knew he had to change; one, because he knew you’d never let him near you again if he didn’t take care of you, but mainly two, because you were his and he had a responsibility to cherish you. considering you literally couldn’t walk and body was limp, your man needed to ensure you were taken care of. though he always reassures you, you make sure to do the same. the first time you spooned him he slept like a baby. BIG BOYS NEED CUDDLES TOO Y’ALL.

he gets really apologetic, constantly asking ‘did I go to rough.’ as he massages the bruises on your hips. sometimes feels guilty that he fucks you too hard. You put his mind at ease telling him that you do like it. your bubble butt and tight hole were made to take his cock.

this still doesn’t stop him from confessing to you; ‘baby, I’m so sorry.’ he kisses your skin. ‘when I see that ass if yours jiggle, it drives me crazy, I just can’t stop.’ it often leads to him overcompensating. as the his cum seeps out of your obliterated cunt. he just wants to make you feel safe. the same safety he feels when he’s with you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅

tag list:

@gayaristocrat

@ghostking4m

@lysanderplume

[wettvagina]

'ON THAT BITCH'

warnings: p in v , creampie , cowgirl , reverse cowgirl , backshots a/n: a short smut on how aot men fuck you, took a break from tumblr cuz I had tests for like 2 weeks but theyre finally over so im back & im readyyyyyy so be prepared for a lot of smut

EREN

noww, first and foremost, we all know eren gives the most toecurling, stomach flipping, pussy clenching backshots known to man, he'll put his foot up on the bed, that way his dick is angled to dig even deeper into your damp pussy. & dont start on the shit he says, you know he's praising you from behind as he watches your ass recoil onto him...on a good day. on a bad day however, he'll slut you out like he fucking owns you, im talking about fucking you like an animal, he'll make you cum so much times you'll literally collapse, but he's still fucking you, he'd slap your ass so much times that it'd turn red.

"Fuckkkk!" you moaned out, "Stop- stop, it's too much." you wailed, hands trembling as you grip onto the white sheets, "Oh stop, Now you want me to stop." he laughs behind you, increasing the pace at which he's thrusting into you, you orgasmed for the third time literally five minutes ago, and this man would not rest. "Fuck- I'm sorry." you cry, "Please just-" you cut off yourself with a choking moan, "-slow down." you whimper as your knees began aching, he had you face down, ass up for one hour straight, his dick plunging in and out of your pussy repeatedly, round after round, the vehement thrusts at the start now turned into rough, sloppy pounding as he punished you for disturbing him while he was on his game. "Shit." Eren moaned behind you, grabbing at one cheek with his left hand and slapping the fuck out of your other cheek with his right hand. You barely processed anything besides the expanding string in your stomach, tightening once again, "Oh shit, I'm gonna-" upon hearing those words, Eren pounded into you relentlessly, driving you towards your climax, for the fourth time tonight. "Yeah, c'mon." Eren groaned as he felt your pussy clamp around his dick, causing his thrusts to stuttuer, he screwed his eyebrows together as he clenched his jaw, "Fuck, fuck, fuck." he muttered as he came inside of you, he felt the moistness of both his come and yours coat his cock. He scoffed as he gave your ass one last slap, watching how your weak knees finally gave out.

ARMIN

armin is a whiny little bitch, duhh, yeah his dick is gigantic but he acts like it's a needle or something, afraid to even be the slightest bit rough with you, sorry to say but he cannot fuck you to save his own life, like he acts like such a virgin you literally have to do the work by yourself, and honestly maybe you kinda enjoy it, he enjoys it more though and you can tell, from the way his eyes were looking up at you, as his fingers dug into the flesh of your waist, he'd moan like a bitch in heat and sometimes even cry when you overstimulate him.

"N-no, not again." he whimpers from below you, "Fuck you mean not again, you make me do all the work so I'm gonna help myself out too." you groan, bouncing on his dick with your feet flat on the ground, Armin had came in you already but you didn't even come once, so of course you were gonna use him until you came. "Shit-- slow down." you hear him whine beneath you as he uses his hands to slow your movements. You halt at your movements and you could feel Armin's breaths slow, your knees dug into the ground and you placed your hands on his broad shoulders, using the strength of your knees, you pushed yourself up and down his length before simply settling yourself on his cock, you looked down at him before you started grinding onto his length, "Shitt." you moaned as your hips traced onto his skin, you heard Armin groan under you as you neared your orgasm, he felt himself near his climax too, and with a final draw of your hips you creamed on his cock, your eyes rolled back into your head as Armin's whines and moans filled the room.

JEAN

lets get one thing straighttt, jean has a horse cock, it's literally massive, like gut tearing, but definitely a pleasure weapon, usually you'd enjoy it when he fucks you in missionary or maybe even in a mating press, you enjoy doggy too. but his alltime favorite was reverse cowgirl, for obvious reasons. he loveddd to watch you bounce on him and enjoyed seeing your ass jump each time you landed, eventually when you were tired he'd thrust up into you to get the job done.

Your back dimples were all that Jean eyed before his gaze lingered down onto your plump ass, he'd watch as you bounced on his cock, your ass slapping onto the skin of his lower stomach, he'd groan beneath you as you rested your chin on your own shoulder to look back at him, once your eyes met he smirked, causing you to pivot your hips, his dick was stretching you and you felt it all in your stomach in this position, your eyelids grew heavy and you started grinding onto his dick, moaning as you held onto his knees to weakly bounce onto his cock, "Tired, ma?" he questioned, holding onto your hips before he fucked up into you, making you whine at his sudden movement in your pussy, he fucked into your hole at a godly pace and you felt yourself tighten around his dick when you felt the vein in his cock pulse, you squirted all over his cock as he slowed his thrusts, his moist cock, drawing out of you.

[jasontoddsdarling]

perihelion

— pairing: red hood x female reader

— words: 2,9k

— tags: smut 18+, naked female clothed male, cunnilingus (jason is a pussy eater and i meant it here), size differences*, size kink, rough sex, vaginal sex, belly bulge, overstimulation, creampie, fluff at the end

*❗content warning: repeated (and i meant repeated) descriptions about their size differences, so proceed with caution! it's going to be excessive lol so if it's not your cup of tea you can skip this one :)

"Red." 

She whimpers pathetically, eyes blurry with unshed tears as she looks down at the man situated in between her wide open thighs.

Red Hood's tongue delves into her pussy, eating her out like a man starving. Maybe he is. Because it's been… what? Thirty minutes? And he hasn't stopped. Not even for stretching his massive body or something. Not for one second, even.

His lips keep making out with her cunt. 

She's overly sensitive. 

But by hearing her mewling his name it spurs him on, for he's sucking her clit hard with a low groan.

Her hips shot high. She will probably reach the ceiling of her room if Red Hood's hands on her hips aren't holding her down.

"Red! Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!"

She sobs, orgasm wrecking her body like a ship against gigantic waves. Tears falling down her face in rivulets, dampening her soft pink pillowcase.

She can hear Red Hood shuffling now, by the sound of the fabric of her bedding against his clothes.

"You said you want to take my cock whole and not just half to three quarters," he says, voice hoarse, "I should prepare you thoroughly to make that possible. And multiple orgasms seem to prepare your tiny pretty pussy better indeed."

He proves his point by sweeping his fingers around her pussy opening, gathering her arousal.

"Look at this."

He's showing his shiny fingers to her. 

"Look at you gushing for me. All for me, isn't that true, princess?"

"Yes, Red. All for you."

Red Hood smiles, eyes glittering with wickedness and blown wide with lust behind his mask.

Red Hood quickly works, removing his belt and thigh holsters and dragging his trousers and briefs down above his knees.

He positions his leaking fat cock on her entrance, moving it up and down that at some point the angry red tip catches inside her.

She jerks at that, letting out a gasp. Her body always seems to forget how big he is compared to her.

Red Hood doesn't seem to notice because now he's placing his cock on her entire mound, his tip rests right above her navel. She shudders at the image both of them create. 

He is so massive. It should make her feel wary or something, she thinks, but she just feels that she's being taken care of and protected by this masked vigilante. A man that's capable of eradicating crime without mercy in Gotham streets is also able to worship her body and make her feel safe whenever she's with him, making her feel so wanted.

See, her thoughts have wandered into deeper territory she doesn't wish to visit—at least not right now anyway, when the man above her is about to be balls deep inside of her.

She directs her mind to the present.

Red Hood rubs his cock on her pussy, slathering the underside with her arousal from the orgasms he has drawn from her. 

"I'm not doing my job well if you're able to leave me alone and busy with your thoughts."

"Huh?"

She doesn't think Red Hood realizes that, she's pretty sure she was just lost in her mind for some milliseconds.

Red Hood removes himself from the top of her. She is about to protest but he swiftly sits on his haunches and pumps his cock with his precum and the wet underside of his cock from her arousal, slathering the moistures all over his cock.

Before knowing it, he has positioned himself back above her body.

She knows if hypothetically there's a mirror on her ceiling, she's only able to see his broad shoulders and toned body on the reflection—maybe her thighs if she opened them wide but that's it—because this massive man just simply covers her smaller torso with his. And she likes it more than she ever should.

Red Hood eases his tip inside of her and she feels the relief of having a part of him in her.

She closes her eyes as he keeps feeding her pussy with his cock. 

She can feel the slight pleasant ache that indicates he's working himself deep inside of her. He's probably almost all in now, she thinks.

But when she opens her eyes he's only about halfway inside.

Red Hood's expression indicates that he's holding back, pleasure written all over his face. 

But he is nothing if not relentless, keep pushing hips and drawing back, trying to ease the process. He keeps stuffing her with the rest of his cock centimeter by centimeter.

When he's like four fifths inside her, he groans her name.

"Princess. You're–" he groans, "you're always so tight. But I think this is the tightest you've ever been." 

She preens at his dirty talk. 

"It's you that is so big, Red. Why are you so big, so so big."

Tears gathered in her eyes at the sensation of his fat cock almost fully nestled inside of her. She has never felt like this, so full and whole. And he hasn't even all the way in.

And it's true. He's very considerable, and definitely the biggest one she has ever taken. The first time they're doing this—it was two months after he was wounded in her fire escape and kept visiting her weekly since then, just hanging out and mindlessly talking with her after his patrol—Red Hood was only able to put one third of his cock inside of her because he was afraid he was going to break her, even though she was begging him to just put the rest of it inside. Afterwards he was making it up to her by eating her out until she couldn't feel her thighs because of how he was holding her down so she couldn't squirm away from his ministrations.

Red Hood growls in her ear, cupping her tit and harshly playing with her nipple.

"You're flattering me so much, my sun."

My sun. Her nickname from him after learning the meaning of her name. It makes her feel buzzing that has nothing to do with him currently working his cock to be buried deep inside of her body.

Red Hood swaps his fingers with his hot mouth, his teeth pulling at her peaked brown nipple. 

"Ah!"

Red Hood puts his forehead on hers.

His minty breath fanning her hair as he stuffs the rest of his cock while also keeps distracting her from the stretch by circling her areola with her tongue and sucking on her nipple and globe of tit—leaving hickeys, switching between right to left.

Until he accomplishes the thing that she has wanted since the first time they slept together: the entirety of his fat cock inside of her pussy.

"Redredredredoh."

She feels intense stretch and pleasure she has never felt before, feeling his cock stretch her and the length of it reach a part inside her no one has ever been able to go. 

She feels so incredibly full.

"That's it. It's all in. You take all of my cock. Your tiny cunt is able to swallow all of me."

Red Hood kisses the rivulets that sliding down her cheek away, licking them clean.

She squeezes her inner muscles at the praises and the gesture and he groans, deep rumbles of sound from his chest.

She can feel every ridge of his cock, his veins rubbing deliciously against her walls. 

She has to bite her lips to contain her mewls.

"We're a tight fit. You're so good for me, so perfect."

She moans at his praises. 

Curious, she looks down at the part where they're joined.

A tiny gasp leaves her at the sight. 

Her lower stomach has a bulge from his cock residing inside.

Red Hood touches the indentation on her lower stomach, pressing on where his cock is nestled deep in her. 

"Look where I am inside of you."

He says as he keeps the pressure on her skin.

"You're–you're so deep."

She breathes out, seeing the proof of how different their bodies are—how big, how massive he is compared to her regular size, sending minds into so many directions.

He caresses the bump with his hand like it's the first time he has ever witnessed this. 

"It's the first time I have ever left something like this."

He says as if he knows what she's thinking about. 

"You're so beautiful like this."

She whimpers, her blown wide dark brown eyes seeing his beautiful rugged face above her. Even though he's always with his mask, his beauty has never been able to be obscured by it.

Red Hood kisses her deep, his mask digging on her face. His arms beside her head are strained, holding his body from crushing her smaller one.

His kiss is bruising, his teeth scraping against her upper and lower lips equally. He swipes his tongue, demanding an entrance to her mouth that she immediately grants. His tongue swipes hers, their saliva strings connected and messy between their lips.

Red Hood starts to move his hips, drawing his cock in and out of her in an experimental thrust, his fingers rubbing on her engorged clit. She lets out a pleasurable sigh.

Seeing her body has adjusted to the feel of his entire length intruding her slick walls, he repeats the motion much quicker and she screams at how her throbbing pussy being speared over and over again by his thick cock, always managed to be balls deep and bottoming out inside of her tight cunt everytime.

Her hand tugs on the silky strands of his dark hair.

"You're created for me, made for taking my cock nice and whole."

Red Hood says each word in between each of his deep thrusts. He grunts on her ears, the sounds making her cunt gushing. 

Her eyes roll to the back of her head by the carnal pleasure of his heavy thrusts and his dirty praises. 

She sobs on his shoulder, long black hair wildly fanning on her soft pink pillow and her bed.

But instead of telling him to slow down, she tells him, "Harder, please. Give your all."

Red Hood always obliges her, she doesn't have to ask him twice. That's what he wants as well, but he wanted to build up the pleasure. But her asking him to do so without his initiative, it just spurs him on.

He plows her cunt roughly, the drags of his thick cock and its ridges sets her nerves on fire. She accepts the pleasure borderline on oversensitivity gladly. She takes them all like a champ. Partly because it's a hassle to thrust up her hips against his powerful one but also because she wants this, badly. 

Beads of his sweats rolling down his cheeks, dropping on his light stubble and dropping on her tits. He swipes it away, fondling her tits and squeezing them. He pinches the erect peak and then closes his mouth on one of them, biting it hard. She cries, an orgasm tearing out of her by him, again for the nth time tonight.

"Red, you're so big, so deep. So deep." 

She babbles the only words she can only think of at this time. 

Her mind is completely blank with the way his cock keeps making space inside of her deeper and deeper as if it's still possible. 

"So big, oh God. Big. So thick… my tiny cunt." 

She looks like she's delirious with the height he brings her, the words that will make her hide her face with her hands if she ever remembers she ever speaks of them. 

His chest rumbles at her mindless dirty praises to him, his eyes almost rolling to the back of his head, his sacks drawn tighter, preparing to blow his massive loads. 

If she keeps praising him like this with the cute and ethereal blissed out face of hers, messy but glowing black hair tangling on his fingers, and glistening skin of hers, he isn't sure he's able to hold on longer. He has been holding his orgasm since he was eating her out hours ago.

"Where do you want me, angel?"

Red Hood asks, grunting and panting above her. 

"Inside, please. Please cum inside of me, Red."

Red Hood growls at her consent and then draws his hips for the last time sending a deep, deep harsh thrust—that will send her head knocking against her headboard if he isn't currently clutching her hips to the point of bruising—until he's fully sheathed and bottoming out inside of her, the deepest he has been tonight, both of them sure—then losing himself in the height of his powerful climax.

A bodily shudder goes through her, her teary screams of pleasure are sure audible for her nearest neighbors.

Red Hood chants her name as his hot, thick white cum flows inside of her cunt, flooding her insides.

It's so much, too much. 

The streams of his hot cum is somehow a relief but also making her oversensitive. She doesn't think anyone is able to give that much of cum in one climax, but she thinks—as her mind cleared by her most powerful peak tonight—he must have been holding his orgasm since he ate her out hours ago. 

God knows if she were in his place—giving him blowjob multiple times until he climaxes—she wouldn't be able to hold hers and would probably orgasm alongside him with his cock deep in her throat. She shudders at her imaginative thought, not entirely against it—but Red Hood sure is, he likes the act of giving more than receiving.

She squirms because he hasn't stopped pumping his seed inside of her—balls still half drawn tight—but he shushes her and flicks her clit to calm her down from oversensitivity. 

She's just there, lying blissfully where the broad shouldered man above her cooing at her and praising her for doing so good for him and but she's in between wakefulness and sleep. She feels it when his cock sends the last spurts of his cum inside of her, but he doesn't move until he has softened in her, then carefully pulled out of her.

Red Hood is lying down beside her, hasn't drawn his pants and briefs up. 

He can feel the heavy stare of eyes in between her thighs, so she looks down on her body too.

Their combined fluids are a sticky white mess between her thighs, the blob of it peeking out from between her folds—not to mention the rest of his massive load inside of her cunt that probably will dribble down if she is as much as sitting down, she can't imagine if she tries to stand or walk, if she's able to in the first place, which she thinks she doesn't. 

The man beside her has wrecked her pussy with his cock and taken her ability to stand for at least until this morning, the feeling of it will definitely last for a week though.

As if senses that she needs to clean up but can't, he stands, drawing his pants and briefs up without zipping the former—probably for easy clean up—and walking to her bathroom. He's there for two minutes—she checks her bedside clock—and then comes back with his pants zipped up, hair much tidier, and a wet, warm soft towel on his hand.

He sits on the edge of the bed, cleaning the stickiness on her thighs and the white blob of cum that peeking out from her labia—the latter carefully because he knows she is overstimulated after everything—and then goes back to the bathroom to deposit it in her basket of dirty clothes.

When he's back again, she's slightly moving her body up—still laying down, though—holding her stuffed animal in her naked form in between the shallow valley of her tits, the sight making him smile. He sits at the side of the bed, drawing her blanket up until it covers her navel. 

He reaches for a bottle of water she has on her nightstand. Opening the cap, he offers it to her and because her head is only leveled up by her pillows at the back of her head and neck, some of it spills down her torso and slightly dampened her stuffie. 

"Pengu!"

"Pengu is okay, she's a penguin."

He retorts before drinking the rest of the water. 

She gives him her playful stink eyes, but says nothing and tries to rub the water with her blanket, even though it's obvious has been absorbed by the material of her stuffed animal.

She is still drying Pengu, so it surprises him when she asks, "Are you going to go, soon?"

"Do you want me to?"

He usually goes right after cleaning up, no hard feelings and anything.

But something is different in the air today, and he doesn't want to examine it further, but he knows he wants to stay here at least for some more hours.

"No."

She still hasn't looked at him, holding Pengu to her chest, so he pinches her chin up and kisses her.

"Okay, I will stay. Maybe until you sleep?"

She nods at him, her little smile is everything to him.

He lies down beside her, heads on the stack of her fluffy soft pink pillows that smells so her—peony and lychee scented perfume she wears—clothes intact and all, just without his belt and holster that are lying on her bedroom floor, but that's his problem for later. 

For now, he caresses her hair and holds his head close to his chest until she falls asleep.

mariea's notes: wow, you made it here! technically, this fic is crossposted from my ao3 account, i wrote it in september 2023. slightly modified. and i mind slight. you can head to my account (link on my pinned) if you're curious about the change i made lol. anyway thanks for reading <3

[littlesparklight]

Got the (foolish lol) idea to go through some of the works I know give physical descriptions of at least some Trojan war characters and collate them. They aren't in alphabetic order, sorry, but the works/authors are colour coded, at least!

I'll do this in two parts; this one for Achaean characters, the next one for Trojans. Watch Philostratus fanboy over Palamedes and Protesilaos (why????) and marvel, when compared to basically everyone else's description, across all works!

Helen The Iliad: 'terribly does she seem like the immortal goddesses to look on' (spoken of her, not narration), divine/shining/noble among women In Hesiod and other works she is given the xanthos = blond/auburn/etc epithet Dares: Helen resembled Castor and Pollux. She was beautiful, ingenuous, and charming. Her legs were the best; her mouth the cutest. There was a beauty-mark between her eyebrows. (Castor and Pollux: they were twins, blond haired, large eyed, fair complexioned, and wellbuilt with trim bodies.) Malalas, Chronographia: full-grown, well-dressed, with fine breasts, white as snow, with beautiful eyebrows, a beautiful nose, shapely, curly-haired, blonde-ish, with big eyes, charming, with a beautiful voice, a formidable sight among women. She was 26 years old. Tzetzes, Antehomerica: white, with soft skin and beautiful eyebrows and nose. Her skin was so white and bright as if it was made of snow. She had lovely breasts and a pretty face; she had languishing and large eyes and a melodious charming voice; she had long, curly, blond hair; she was well-behaved and perfect in everything she did; she was a lot more beautiful than all the other women, just like the moon is brighter than all the stars in the sky. At that time she was twenty six years old.

Agamemnon The Iliad: '[…] tell me the name of this gigantic man. […] To be sure there are other men even greater in height, […] handsome, nor so majestic, for he seems a kingly man.' Dares: blond, large, and powerful. He was eloquent, wise, and noble, a man richly endowed. Philostratus, Heroicus: Agamemnon and Menelaos were alike neither in appearance nor strength. […] He looked majestic and magnificent and like the sort of person who offered sacrifice to the Graces. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: white, big, of a wide chin and dark hair. He was well-bearded, well-educated, resembling the blessed ones.

Menelaos The Iliad: xanthos = blond/auburn/bright, 'standing towered with his broad shoulders. Dares: moderate stature, auburn-haired, and handsome. He had a pleasing personality. Philostratus, Heroicus: Agamemnon and Menelaos were alike neither in appearance nor strength. […] [he] wore his hair boyishly long, as was the Spartan custom, and the Achaeans made allowance for him when he was visiting, since they did not mock those who came from Euboea even though their hair was ridiculously long. He says he conversed most easily and very concisely, mixing pleasant speech with his discourse. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: the bodily frame smaller [than Agamemnon]; he had a breadth, though. He had a red skin, dense beard and blond hair.

Odysseus The Iliad: 'lesser in height than Agamemnon […], but he seems broader in the shoulders and chest.' (Also shorter than Menelaos.) Dares: tough, crafty, cheerful, of medium height, eloquent, and wise. Philostratus, Heroicus: extremely skilled in public speaking and clever, but he was a dissembler, a lover of envy, and praised malice. His eyes were always downcast, and he was the sort of person who engages in self-examination. He appeared more noble than he was in military matters; surely he was not well versed in preparing for war, in commanding naval battles and sieges, or in drawing of spear and bows. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: middle-aged, pot-bellied, white, with plain hair, nose looking down and fiercely glaring.

Achilles Dares: a large chest, a fine mouth, and powerfully formed arms and legs. His head was covered with long wavy chestnut-colored hair. Though mild in manner, he was very fierce in battle. His face showed the joy of a man richly endowed. Philostratus, Heroicus: For Achilles' physique appeared startling and divine […] When he became an ephebe, a brightness radiated from his face, and his body was beyond natural size, since he grew more easily than do trees near springs. […] hair is thick, lovelier than gold, and becoming no matter where and how either the wind or he himself may move it. His nose is not quite aquiline, but almost so; his brow is crescent-shaped. The spirit in his eyes, which are bluish-gray, casts off a certain eagerness even when he is still; when he is rushing on, they spring out along with his purpose, and then he seems more lovely than ever to those who cherish him. (long hair until Patroklos dies) Tzetzes, Posthomerica: tall, of a beautiful chest, graceful in everything, white, of blond curly and thick hair. He had a big nose, melodious voice and the eyes of a woman. His glance was terrible, in a race was swift-footed; he had long legs and scanty beard.

Patroklos Dares: handsome and powerfully built. His yes were gray. He was modest, dependable, wise, a man richly endowed. Philostratus, Heroicus: Patroklos, although he was not much older than Achilles, was a divine and sensible man, […] In size and bravery he was between the two Ajaxes. He fell short of the son of Telamon in all things, but he surpassed both the size and bravery of the son of Locris. Patroklos had an olive complexion, black eyes, and sufficiently fine eyebrows, and he commended moderately long hair. His head stood upon his neck as the wrestling schools cultivate. His nose was straight, and he flared his nostrils as eager horses do. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: middle-aged, potbellied and well-bearded. He had blond hair, red skin and lovely face.

Ajax, the son of Telamon The Iliad: 'outstanding among the Argives in height and broad shoulders' ; repeatedly called only second to Achilles in everything but looks. Dares: powerful. His voice was clear, his hair black and curly. He was perfectly single-minded and unrelenting in the onslaught of battle. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: brave, great, quick, with a nice nose and curly hair; He had a dark skin; he was well-bearded and grim-looking. He was more beautiful than everybody, except for Achilles.

Ajax, the son of Oileus The Iliad: lesser [than Ajax the great] by far, for he was a small man […] Dares: stocky, powerfully built, swarthy, a pleasant person, and brave. Philostratus, Heroicus: appeared less intelligent [than Diomedes and Sthenelus] […] looking fierce, and throwing his long hair back Malalas, Chronographia: tall, strong, tawny, squinting, good nose, curly hair, black hair, thick beard, long face, daring warrior, magnanimous, a womanizer. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: tall and had bright eyes. He was nice, had long face and dark curly hair.

Diomedes Dares: stocky, brave, dignified, and austere. No one was fiercer in battle. He was loud at the war-cry, hot-tempered, impatient, and daring. Philostratus, Heroicus: steadfast and having eyes that are blue-gray and not black at all and a straight nose; his hair was woolly and dirty. […] modest upon rebuke, checked the eruption of his anger, and refused to insult the troops or to be disheartened. He himself considered it appropriate for an army to appear unwashed, and he commended sleeping in any opportune place; his provisions consisted of what was available, and he did not take pleasure in wine unless troubles came upon him. Diomedes and Sthenelos were the same age. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: [he had a] body that was worth of four young men. He was in good shape with a flat nose, narrow neck and blond hair.

Sthenelos Philostratus, Heroicus: a good size and towering, gray-eyed, with an aquiline nose, fairly long-haired, ruddy, and hot-blooded. […] lacked Diomedes' insight, his power of speech, and his patient endurance which belong to both soul and body. He gave way to anger, was contemptuous of the throng of battle, was savage upon being rebuked, and was prepared for a more delicate lifestyle than was needed for a military camp.

Nestor Dares: large, broad and fair. His nose was long and hooked. He was a wise adviser. Philostratus, Heroicus: (statue, but also the real man?) with a beard that is majestic and well-proportioned; his ears display what he went through at wrestling school, and his neck is restored to its strength. In truth, Nestor stands upright, not defeated by old age, with black eyes and without a drooping nose. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: big, had a nose looking downwards and a fiercely glaring. He had a long face, flame-coloured skin, blond hair and he was wise.

Antilochos The Iliad: Younger than the rest. Philostratus, Heroicus: Because Antilokhos was still young and not mature enough for war when they assembled at Aulis, his father did not agree to his wish to serve as a soldier. (he arrives in the fifth year.) For Achilles' physique appeared startling and divine, but that of Antilokhos seemed to all to be pleasant and gentle. […] Antilokhos resembled Nestor, but that he was swifter, trim in physique, and paid no attention to his hair. He gave me the following details about Antilokhos: He was most fond of horses and hunting with dogs. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: younger than the other Achaeans. Almost a boy, he was white, with a beautiful neck and a big nose. He was storm-footed, provoked fear with his eyes and a beard just sprouting. He was blond with beautiful hair and grey eyes.

Neoptolemus Dares: large, robust, and easily irritated. He lisped slightly, and was good-looking, with hooked nose, round eyes, and shaggy eyebrows. Philostratus, Heroicus: he was good-looking and resembled his father, but was inferior to him in the same way that beautiful people are inferior to their statues. Malalas, Chronographia: of good stature, good chest, thin, white, good nose, ruddy hair, wooly hair, light-eyed, big-eyed, blond eyebrows, blond beginnings of a beard, round-faced, precipitate, daring, agile, a fierce fighter. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: red hair, that's why many had called him Pyrrhus. He was of young age, white or somewhat grey, the colour of the milk; He had beautiful nose and chest, hair curly and was daring; He hadn't ever been hurt, embittered, reckless and of a too wild temper; Thin tiny hair was growing from his beard.

Palamedes Dares: tall and slender, wise, magnanimous, and charming. Philostratus, Herocius: So then in height he was the same as the greater Ajax; in beauty, Protesilaos says, he vied with Achilles, Antilokhos, Protesilaos himself, and with the Trojan Euphorbus. His soft beard was springing up and with the promise of curls; his hair was cut close to his skin; his eyebrows were noble, straight, and came together above the nose, which was perfect as a square and stately. The resolve of his eyes appeared unshaken and fierce in battles, but when he was at rest their gaze was full of comradely affection and affable; he also is said to have possessed the most marvelous eyes among mortals. And in truth, Protesilaos also says that when he was naked, Palamedes weighed halfway between an athlete and a lithe person, and that he had a toughness about his face that was much more pleasant than the golden locks of Euphorbus. Tzetzes, Antehomerica: He was tall, white, with his hair blond and filthy; he was slim and had a long face; he was a servant of wisdom and of Ares. His hair was blond and visibly dirty, because he didn't trouble himself with stupidities like his hair.

Podalirius Dares: sturdy, strong, haughty, and moody.

Nireus The Iliad: the most beautiful man to come beneath Ilion of all the Danaans, after blameless Achilles. Iphigenia in Aulis: repeats the 'most beautiful after Achilles' description.

Machaon Dares: large and brave, dependable, prudent, patient, and merciful.

Idomeneus The Iliad: Older than most of the rest, gray-haired. Malalas, Chronographia: above average height, dark-skinned, good eyes, well set, strong, good nose, thick beard, good head, curly hair, a berserker when fighting. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: quick, had a dark skin, of middle age. He had a short curly hair, wide chin and beautiful nose.

Meriones Dares: auburn-haired, of moderate height, with a well-proportioned body. He was robust, swift, unmerciful, and easily angered. Malalas, Chronographia: shortish, wide, white, good beard, big eyes, black hair, curly hair, flat face, bent nose, quick-moving, magnanimous, a warrior. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: short; he had wide shoulders and beautiful curly hair. He was white; he had crooked nose, nice chin, wide face.

Philoctetes Philostratus, Heroicus: his hair was gray because of age (he was about sixty years old), he was more vigorous than many of the young men, his gaze was most fearsome among mortals, his words most brief Malalas, Chronographia: a good height, well set, dark skinned, eyebrows meeting, brave, good eyes, good nose, black hair, hairy, sensible, accurate archer, magnanimous. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: tall, beautiful, of dark skin and with meeting eyebrows

Protesilaos Dares: fair-skinned, and dignified. He was swift, self-confident, even rash. Philostratus, Heroicus: He is about twenty years old at most. Because he sailed to Troy at such a young age, he has a full, splendid beard and smells sweeter than autumn myrtles. Cheerful eyebrows frame his eyes, which gives him a pleasant, friendly manner. When he exerts himself, he looks intense and determined. But if we meet him at ease, ah, how lovely and friendly his eyes appear! He has blond hair of moderate length. It hangs a little over his forehead rather than covering it. The shape of his nose is perfect, like the statue's. His voice is more sonorous than trumpets and comes from a small mouth. It is most enjoyable to meet him naked, since he is well built and nimble, just like the herms set up in race courses. His height is easily ten cubits, and it seems to me that he would have exceeded this had he not died in his early twenties. Tzetzes, Antehomerica: a lovely face and courage in his eyes; his hair was blond and long; his skin was smooth and dark; he was bold, graceful, with beautiful body and beard; he was vigorous, although much younger than Antilochus.

Calchas Malalas, Chronographia: short, white, all grey, including the beard, hairy, a very fine seer and omen-reader. Tzetzes, Posthomerica: small, white, thin and shaggy-haired. He had his hair grey in the front and white the rest of it.

[coltishcaterpillar]

Unmasked / Platonic!Father Alastor x Teen!Daughter Reader

Chapter I: Introduction

Summary:

Two days after the Extermination, a bored Emily reads through private records of Heavenly residents and sinners alike.

During her mindless scrolling, she comes across a vintage diary smelling of old paper, from the late 20s-early 30s. It details the life of the teenage adopted daughter of the Radio Demon; up until her death at aged 16 on January 11th, 1934.

WARNINGS: Mentions of Racism

April 4th, 1932

Have you ever seen a top hat, what one really looks like on a person?

Neither have I, until today. At the end of Merritt Street, there’s a small accessories store that sells jewellery and clothing alike.

I used to frequent there, but I’ve never been a fashionable girl. I’m a larger fan of browsing; just admiring the beauty of art from afar, rather than acquiring it.

I never realized how much I missed the little establishment until I saw my favourite businessperson; Anne Brewster. A short, tout woman she was. Her skin had a grey tinge to it, a pointy nose that popped out her features; bright brown eyes and hair as white as pearls, short and thin as straw.

I greeted her with my usual demeanour. Quiet and curt, a straight wave and a superficial smile. The woman has a tendency to chatter; most of the time I don’t have time to interject, so I just listen.

I went in the shop with Elbert Graves; a fellow classmate of mine in mathematics. He’s not my ideal source of company, I’ll admit. I get along much better with other girls, but this helpless boy is always on my tail, and I can’t bare to tell him to get lost.

We came across a jet-black top hat with a golden ribbon wrapped around its rim. It was on display, but there was no glass so we assumed we could sample it. Elbert looked utterly ridiculous in it; far too flashy, and way too gigantic for his pea-sized head.

I managed a small laugh, as that’s the reaction he would’ve wanted from me. Ever the jokester…

I took a seat on the cushioned chair in front of the store’s entrance. Whilst Elbert was fooling around with other gadgets, Anne took to speaking with me.

She spoke a great deal about her grandchildren, and then inquired me about Papa.

Pa doesn’t usually wander about these places, but he knows Anne from university; they attended the same one in Shreveport, in September of 1908. Pa wanted to become a broadcaster post-secondary (to which he achieved) and Anne wanted to edit the local newspaper part-time; she was getting old, but didn’t want to stop working. She didn’t end up pursuing it, however, she dropped out her third year to take care of Rachel (her eldest grandchild who was 5 at the time.) Then, she inherited this business when Mr. Brewster, her father, died. He owned the shop.

She asked about his job was working out for him. Pa never speaks about work when he arrives home; usually he’s more interested in my daily activities. I don’t listen to Pa’s radio channel anyways, because the subjects he covers doesn’t appeal to me.

I just told her he was thriving; because in a way, he was. Pa was rarely in a sour mood. Of course, he gets moody when I do something out of line from time to time, but his attitude is always uplifting.

Elbert excused himself to the restroom at the back of the desk; that’s when she started talking about adolescent things. Boys…..

“Elbert is a such a handsome boy, don’t you agree?”

“Not particularly.”

“Oh? Why do you say that?”

“His chin is too long, and his head is too small for his broad shoulders. Not to mention his personality isn’t to my tastes. He’s far too extroverted and cheeky.”

“Oh, come now, my lovely. Surely, we can’t all be picky! What ever will you do when you grow into a young woman? Who will be around to take care of you?”

“Pa will, no doubt.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. Your father will be far too senile to care for you when you’re in your prime! You need a strong man!”

“Too senile?! Surely, you jest. Pa may be lanky, but he’s very capable. He was only twenty-five when he adopted me, he’ll only be middle-aged by the time I’m an adult.”

“You say Elbert is cheeky, but I see a lot more cockiness coming from you than I ever have with him.”

“Only an outside observer can properly assess my personality. Perhaps you just see my persona differently than I.”

“Is that so?”

The bell hanging from the door rang; in came a man, dressed in a business suit, a large briefcase held in his right hand. He had been more wrinkly than I had last seen him: Anne’s partner, Mr. Devereaux.

He has a very thick Yorkshire accent; Anne and him met while she was on vacation in London; Mr. Devereaux was studying photography. When they first met in late 1864, they weren’t sure whether or not they could ever be together. Anne is a very brown woman, you see. Very. Mr. Devereaux is about as white as a sheet. People often look down on….colourful couples…? More harshly. They aren’t allowed to be married, so they had to improvise.

Forgive me for not mentioning this sooner, but Anne is actually good friends with my Grandma. Pa is half-Creole, you see, and my Grandma’s roots come from there. So, the Brewsters are actually well-acquainted with my family.

Mr. Devereaux sat his briefcase beside the door, across from where I was seated. He flashed me a toothless smile; quite literally, since they all rotted out of his mouth due to age.

I gave him a curious look back.

“Back from business, old man?” I tease.

He chuckled; giving me an affectionate pat on the head.

“Oh, well, look at you! Already at it with the nosy interrogation, I see! I’ve missed you, sweet girl.” He smiled.

I narrowed my eyes. He didn’t answer the question….

He turned his attention to Anne quite quickly. Leaning over the desk, he planted a kiss on her forehead.

“The trip went smoothly,” He told Anne, “Janice sent you a letter. It should be in the mail soon, my darling.”

Janice was their daughter.

“Lovely.”

He turned his entire body so it faced me, with an inquisitive look on his face. He then turned and whispered to Anne,

“Al is out late again?”

“I don’t know, my sweet. I’ve seen her out and about all day with Elbert, he must be. It’s nearly nine.”

“I thought his radio shows were done by four?”

“Perhaps the schedule’s changed, dearest. Let’s not be nosy, it’s not our business.”

I let out a deep breath through my nose, standing up. Pa likes to hang around a few stores after work, so I tried my best not to let their observations get to me. Perhaps he was already home!

Anne leaned over from behind Mr. Devereaux.

“Could you go check on Elbert, hun? He’s been in the restroom for quite a while.”

I sigh. Without a response, I head toward the back desk, into the small hallway that had the restrooms.

I knocked on the door, firmly.

“El?” I addressed him by nickname.

“Mhm?” His hun echoed off the door.

I raised an eyebrow. “What have you been doing in there these past fifteen minutes? It was eight-forty when you went in, it’s five to nine already!”

Within seconds, he came out of the door, an awkward smile plastered on his face. A blush dusted his cheeks as well; I narrowed my eyes at him. Did he have the runs?

“Finished?” I asked him without judgment.

“Yes.” He said, curt.

I lead him back to the entrance of the store, passing Anne a smile. I turn my gaze back to Elbert.

“I’m going to be leaving now. I hadn’t realize how late it was. Will you be alright on your own?” I asked, a tint of concern in my voice.

“Of course. See you later?” His tone was hopeful.

Without a pause, I said, “Yes, I’ll see you later.”

I said my goodbyes to Anne and Mr. Devereaux, and sent my regards to Janice.

When I exited the store, it wasn’t as dark and drab as I thought it would be; I still heard birds chirping, and I could see my way almost perfectly. Just another perk of springtime, I suppose.

When I arrived home, Pa was indeed on the couch, his legs crossed, with a newspaper in hand; black coffee was situated on the side table.

“Home at long last, my dear!” He put his newspaper down; and I ran over, kissing him on the cheek.

“Sorry, Papa. How long did you have to wait?”

“Oh, not long at all!” He chuckled heartily.

I turn over to the rounded wooden table in the dining room; a large cloth bag sat on it; my eyes lit up in curiosity.

“Now, now,” Pa waved his finger, “I know that dangerous gaze. Don’t go peeking around my things, dear.”

I put on a thinned-lipped smile, leaning on the armrest.

“What, do you have something to hide, Papa~?” I leaned in, teasingly.

It was meant to be a joke. A rhetorical question. Yet, I couldn’t help but notice his fist clench up, if only for a moment. His body language was saying something different than what his mouth was.

“Is it really too much to ask to keep yourself out of my business?” He bit his lower lip.

When Pa took that tone with me, I knew it was time to pipe down. I decided to change the subject, sitting next to him on the couch.

“Elbert and I took a stroll around the avenue.” I said, tracing along the armrest.

I could FEEL Pa’s eye roll without even looking.

“Out with that wretched boy again, are we?” He took a casual tone as he sipped his coffee, but I knew the mere thought of Elbert irked him.

Pa has never interacted much with my friends, so I thought El would be another drop in the ocean. I think his hatred of him has something to do with that one time he came over here.

Everything was alright until dinner time.

The few hours earlier, Grandma treated us with a generous amount of Jambalaya. She always makes the best, after all.

Elbert made an….observation? While we were eating and it made Pa freeze.

“This is some slave food! Who made it, a peasant?”

All I remember was Pa’s grip tightening so much on the fork. I leaned over to where he was sitting and rubbed his arm a little.

I disliked the comment too. That was my Grandma he was speaking about….

After El left, I noticed Pa staring at the wooden spoon on the shelf. I know that blasted piece of cutlery all too well….

Pa is good at discipline. Even when my other friends came over, he’d always make an effort to chastise them if they didn’t say please or thank you.

Long story short, I think Pa wanted to beat El. That’s probably why he was showing such immaculate restraint at the table. I can’t imagine another person disciplining somebody else’s child would go…smoothly, anyway.

He had valid reason to hate him, I suppose. I’m not fond of Elbert either, but…how do you find it in your heart to say no? I suppose I’ve never really had a backbone, but…it seems that he’s really fond of me.

“How was work?” I asked with a smile.

“It held all of its classic theatrics! You should find it in your soul to listen to my shows, my dear.” He beamed.

I was deep in thought.

“Don’t I hear enough of your voice already?”

Pa chuckled his little chuckle that always made my chest warm.

“You can never have too much of your father!”

Time went on as usual; a few moments later I decided to pack up for bed; Pa went upstairs to get his radio ready to listen to. He always does before he sleeps.

I took that as an opportunity to ponder; I turned my gaze back to the bag on the table. Pa notoriously hunts, but it was far too late for food, so it made me wonder.

I slid toward it with my socks against the hardwood. I breathed in deeply; perhaps there was a certain scent? All I could smell was the dusty fabric; nothing more.

With a sigh, I decided to leave it for now. Maybe it’s….best that I don’t.

Y/N

——————

Emily blinked once. She recognized the background; that this child of one of the hotel staff in Hell.

Taking the historical piece of literature to St. Peter, she inquired,

“St. Peter, hi! I was just wondering if there is a girl here in Heaven named Y/N L/N?”

St. Peter smiled in delight, getting out his holy book, scanning through all the people with your name; going roughly by last name. His face fell as they came to an end.

“Unfortunately not, Em! It’s…strange, considering the circumstances. Sixteen is very young for a person to end up in Hell…but she isn’t in Heaven.”

Emily frowned, eyeing the diary in her hands. Perhaps she’d find the answer in there….

[diejager]

If you might be taking requests at all, I was wondering if you'd be up for the idea of a fic with sleazy König or Ghost in an arranged marriage to the reader. Reader isn't quite happy with the marriage, but they are. It could be dark or cute, but I'd love to read a fic about an arranged marriage where reader is completely against it meanwhile their new husband is not. They've been hoping to marry reader for a while and now that they have, reader is all theirs in more ways than one. Scares off any men reader tries to date on the side and is hell bent on showing their lovely spouse that this marriage is perfect and that they truly do belong together.

Sleazy husband!König Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, sleazy!König, arranged marriage, age difference/gap, scent kink, crusty balls, hairy König, tell me if I missed any.

König was a family friend, someone you’d seen a few times in your life, but had heard of many, many times that he was a commodity in your life, a subject you became familiar with without actually knowing the man. You’d caught glimpses of the giant when you accompanied your father to the military base for a quick visit, how he towered over you as a child and even more so now that you were an adult in your early 20s. You thought him an acquaintance, a trusted friend of your father, but you’d never thought of him in any other light. You saw him as someone dedicated to his duty, prideful and hungry for power and money, unbeatable and strong with his broad shoulders and gigantic stature. You wouldn’t have anything to do with him in your life, seeing how he barely glanced your way when you crossed path, he dutifully ignored you every time as if you were a plague.

And yet, you found yourself married to him; an arranged marriage. The colonel who avoided you and never seemed to like you had a private marriage with only your immediate family and a few men and women from the Company assisting to watch him embrace and take you home. A home you had no recollection of and were a stranger to. It wasn’t his flat, or the studio apartment you went to with your father. This big house was new and old, a newly bought house in with fresh paint and untouched furniture, in an old Austrian land with a beautiful and lush forest surrounding it. You didn’t even know the man, but you were married to him so quickly - in a month’s worth - that you were still too shell shocked to do anything about it. 

How could your mother and father agree to it so easily? To marry you off to someone you didn’t know. Then you remembered how close your father and he was, life companions that had fought battles together, bled for one another and would die to save the other. That was the reason you were promised without your consent or knowledge until it was too late. 

“Mein Herzchen,” he rasps, peering down at you, cold blues glowing under the darkness of his hood, “Come.”

König - your husband - was a man of few words, but wouldn’t stop talking if he found the right topic to touch, speaking your ears off about it. There were a lot you didn’t know about him, a mystery you didn’t dare try figuring out, but were forced to. You learned he was a dirty and immoral man, to have you marry him despite him being almost twice your age. He could’ve been your uncle, a man who’s age was near your fathers. You learned that he liked jerking himself to the sight of your open pantie drawers, an unwashed and stolen lace pressed into his face, the soft gusset pressed into his mouth and nose as he huffed and growled. You were repulsed by it, finally understanding why some of your underwearswere slightly crusty. 

You learned that he never shaved after your first night, consummating your marriage in the bed you later slept on. You were shocked to find that his chest and arms were as hairy as the tuff around his cock, wild and unruly, a messy bush crawling up his abdomen and spiraling around his chest and covering his paler tint in auburn brown. You learned that he never showered after a sweaty and stinky work out, his musk stinking up the house wherever he went and that he loved pressing you against his naked and sticky chest, smothering you in his thick smell that nearly had you gagging and choking. You couldn’t find the words to describe a man like König, as big and burly as he was hairy and smelly, he was unmoving in his resolve and liked to touch you whenever he wanted to, whether you liked it or not, his word was law.

Your husband was a sleazy man and you couldn’t do anything about it, the golden bound diamond ring on your finger was more so a chain than a wonderful promise.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry

[earthmoonz]

WIFEY. | EPISODE TEN (10.0) [ACT ONE]

start / previous / next

a/n: welcome to the part 1 finale of wifey! I’m so glad you’re here! there’s so much to share in this chapter and I needed to close out this section of the story on a round number so i’m going to split it into acts! hope you enjoy ❤️

When Luis was young, his father seemed gigantic to him. He was broad shouldered, statuesque and seemed to absorb every space he was in. At the time, Winston often assured his son that one day, he too would get his 6 '4 height but instead he grew to an unremarkable 5' 10. It was as though the universe was forcing him to know his place, like the firmness of his father’s hand wasn’t enough. Years later, when Winston keeled over on a cliffside in Selvadorada, Luis finally saw his father for who he was. Not a giant, but a man. One so deeply afraid of what he might lose, that he could never fully accept what he had gained. It was down to Luis to play his father’s role, and keep his family from disintegration. But though he knew the lines, his performance always fell short. The costume was ill fitting and the ghost of his father loomed in every corner, casting a large shadow over his first and only son.  It was almost predictable then, when in the quiet of late night drives or the still dark of his bedroom before sleep, images of a life beyond his current circumstance started to flash through his mind. What was surprising, is that in a rare act of benevolence, the universe appeared to gift it to him.

(transcript below)

[NINE MONTHS EARLIER]

(LUIS): Why come to me?

(ROY): Enemy of my enemy. God saw fit to deal with your father. It’s up to me to handle the rest.

(LUIS): I see…and you’re sure this will work?

(ROY): I’m certain. You help me, I help you. We both get what we want.

(LUIS): Alright…I’m in.

[SEVEN MONTHS EARLIER]

(LOURDES): Have you lost your entire mind?!

(LUIS): Lourdes-

(LOURDES): Dad hasn’t even been dead a year and now you want to break Mami’s heart all over again? You want me to lie to my only sister?

(LUIS): Lourdes please. What I’m doing will save our family. It will make us better!

(LOURDES): You don’t know that! I feel like you’re not telling me the whole story. I don’t get why we just can’t go to Lena and Mami-

(LUIS): Because they won’t understand! Do you honestly think I’d ask you to help me if I wasn’t desperate? You’re the only person I trust in this world! I need you by my side on this. And you’re right, I’m not telling you everything, but it’s because you don’t need to know. You have to let me protect you, just like I'm trying to protect Mami…[off Lourdes’ look] and Lena too.

(LOURDES): …Okay. …I’m with you.

[callsign-datura]

dude would u ever write 4 price 😋

WOULD I? IS THAT EVEN A QUESTION? if you want smut... ask, i gotchu. John Price is the epitome of a strong, capable man. He's not gigantic, but he's big enough to make you second guess fucking with him. He has a face that's unreadable, stony eyes and an alluring accent that makes him all the more attractive. The worst part? He knows it. He knows he's attractive, he knows that he's hot. So he takes advantage of that fact. When you, a pretty girl, somehow ends up on his Task Force? An elite team with spots reserved for only the best? He doesn't treat you any differently. He's hard on you just like he's hard on the guys. But he does expect more from you. And you impress, every single time. Whether that's being agile and quick, or being good with a sniper rifle, his eyebrows arch upward every time you make your skill known. He likes that. He likes the way you look at him, too. The way your eyes linger on the span of his shoulders, his broad chest and the way he sits in his desk chair... he takes note of it. He takes note of the way you seem dizzy every time you're in his office. Whether that's the near-caustic cigar smoke that invades your senses or the way his imposing presence fills the entire room and leaves no room for argument when he makes a decision. If only he knew, though. If only he knew that you felt this overwhelming heat every time he was manspreading in that damn chair, if only he knew that you got immensely horny just from seeing him in action? He'd have your ass for insubordination. At least, that's what you thought. You thought he was an incredibly professional man, and, well, he is, but he decided to exceed your expectations. On a particularly difficult day, where you had to take part in some hard drills and difficult training and sparring, your entire body was tired. You were tired. Emotionally and physically. Your room was down the same hall his office was, so every time you went to your room you'd pass his office. This time when you passed, you noticed that the door was open. You took a quick look inside, and there he was. Price was leaning against the wall, cigar between his lips as he stared at the window with a faraway look. In his other hand was a crystal glass filled half-way with an amber liquid, and he swirled the liquid inside before setting the glass down on the windowsill with a soft thud. He turned his head, and his gaze immediately landed on you. His deep blue eyes penetrated every fiber of your being and ran a shiver up the center of your spine. His lips quirked up into a faint smile when he saw your form shrink in on itself. He pulled the cigar from between his lips. "Sergeant." He said, lowly, gruffly; British accent lacing the word and sending heat straight to your cunt. He put the smoldering cigar in the ashtray in the windowsill, and crossed his arms over his chest, the manner making him look even broader than he already was. His gaze flickered down to your legs as you scuffed your heel against the floor. "Need somethin'?" He inquired, finding it slightly amusing you hadn't responded yet. "Um," you said quietly, trying to straighten your form. You were a soldier, not some blushing schoolgirl in the same room as her crush. A soldier. "No, sir. I was passing by and your door was open." He chuckled. A low chuckle that made his chest heave, and your pussy flutter on nothing. He took a few lithe steps over to his desk as he drew the chair out, and settled into it. The chair creaked under the addition of his weight, and he leaned back, his knees drifting apart as both hands rested on the arms. "So you decided to have yourself a peek, hm?" He said. No, he cooed it. He might as well have been purring at you. "I didn't mean to invade your privacy, Captain, I was just curious." You said quickly, trying to cover your ass. He chuckled again. Your cunt pulsed. "Come," he reached up and gestured with two fingers, a beckoning motion that made the tendons in his forearm flex. "Let's have a chat."

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

Fit for a King - WIP - "You are tiny"

Fit for a King - Masterlist

König fanfiction scenes and chapters that do not yet have a coherent plot

planned content/TW: rivals to lovers, König x fem!character (not too descriptive to make it accessible for more readers), social anxiety killing machine König, badass friendly FMC, dual POV, secret relationship, switch energy, NSFW, adult themes, strong language, violence (more details are still unclear, gonna update as I go), authentic austrian german

a/n: well, my brain isn't letting go of this newest obsession of mine, so I will appease it and write some scenes/chapters that come to mind. i have written more original work and less fanfictions and our boy (and KorTac) is hard to research, but I'll try my best to stay some-what cannon to the lore. it'll also probably get darker down the road.

if your character doesn't have a tragic backstory, why not give him one?

A not so meetcute

(CW: some mature language)

I strut along the hallway, I'm already late to report for duty and turn the corner abruptly. I collide with somebody else at full walking force and almost get pushed to the floor, if the big figure blocking the light shining from above wouldn't have caught me. "Ouch.", I yelp, more surprised than hurt, even though I feel like ran over by a truck.

I steady myself to look at the "truck". I look up and I keep looking up and up. At first there's just this chest, a huge chest, in a simple compression shirt, but oh boy. The weapon holster is what I see next, sitting snug at the side of his torso. Shoulders, big broad shoulders, and normally you would expect to have a head sitting on top of them and a face looking back at you. I guess, he has one as well, even though I don't see one bit of it. I strain my neck to finally meet his eyes.

But all I see is the dark black of a… sniperhood? A T-shirt? I mean, it looks like a t-shirt, that somebody cut holes in to fashion themselves a kind of mask. The front is stained with bleach, two streaks coming down from the eyeholes... My eyes widen as it sinks in who this is. König. KorTac operator, field combatant and one of my superiors. Shit. I've heard some rumors about him. And it seems like at least some of them ring true.

"You are tiny.", he states matter-of-factly, his Austrian accents shining through the uttered words. It's the first thing he says to me. "And you are... not.", I retort. I can't make out his expression as it so obviously is hidden by his mask. He nods, turns around and heads down the hallway where he came from. I shake my head. What the hell was that?

I stretch myself, feeling the impact of the collision already. My god, that was like being hit by a battering ram. I heard that his specialty is breaking down doors with brute force. I thought this to be ridiculous, but now as I watch the gigantic muscled man strut down the hallway, quickly disappearing, I do believe it. 6'10" killing machine. Ridiculous.

I shake my head again and make my way to the meeting room. Ridgeback is already waiting for me.

______________________________________________________________

Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Verdammt. Ah, des hast du ganz super g'macht.* I tell myself sarcastically in my head as I basically run down the hallway. She must be one of the new hires. Must be. And you almost turned her to mush. Mus. Brei. Human remains splattered against the wall. I curse myself again. I didn't even apologize. "You are tiny." No shit, Sherlock, everybody is tiny compared to you. I continue to mock myself. Fuck, Shit, Fuck.

"Ridge, since when do we hire children?", I ask him as soon as I enter the room. He doesn't even look up. "We don't." He keeps reading. "Then why did I just almost run over a recruit that didn't even reach my waist?" – “Because compared to you, everybody seems tiny.” He sighs and looks up at me. “None of our personnel are under 6’, not even the women.”

“Even the new recruits?”, I ask him again. He furrows his brow. “What did you do, König?”, he wants to now. “I may or may not have almost trampled one of them.”, I say, kleinlaut***. He sighs again. “I think that was Müller, she’s actually on her way here.”, Ridgeback says. “Müller? Is she german?”, I ask in surprise. I didn’t hear such an accent on her, but to be fair, she only said like three words… and I wasn’t really paying attention to her words anyway.

On cue, the door opens and I fall silent. “Permission to enter, Sir?”, she says with a clear voice. Not at all seeming like I almost turned her into pulp. I take two steps back to stand in the back, trying to blend into the wall behind me – which I already know from experience is not going to work. “Come in.”, Ridge says. “Müller, right?” She nods and approaches. My focus is fully on her, all the small bits I noticed about her before are still there. She’s not wearing a mask because it’s not necessary off mission. You know, like you normally would. She has laugh lines. Around her eyes and mouth. Fucking laugh lines. She doesn’t look like she belongs here.

The two of them are talking, but I catch every single time when her gaze lands on me, even if it’s just from the corner of her eyes. I fight against the urge to turn away every time she looks at me, when I hear Ridgeback drop the old s-word. Sniper.

My ears perk up and I finally pay attention to what they’re saying again. “Your track record is almost immaculate, Müller. You’re gonna be an asset to the team on the next missions.”, he says to her. I can see that she tries to hold back a proud expression or smile on her face, but she doesn't really succeed at that. God damn it, a sniper. I groan and make my way to the door which doesn’t go unnoticed. “König.”, Ridgeback pipes up. “You wanna show Müller the way to the dorms?” as I already have my hand on the doorknob.

I still for just a moment and the roaring sensation of anxiety seeps at my feet and crawls up my body until it’s nested at the back of my head. I can’t talk to her. Not after embarrassing myself before. “Nein.”, is all I say before I’m out the door.

*God damnit. You did a really bang up job. ** two different words for pulp/mash *** meekly (word for word: 'smallloud')

[dadbodbuck]

i wanted to post something and its tuesday

snippet from my ecologist!buck au:

Eddie’s fresh off a 24 when he sees him for the first time. He’s clocked out, picked Christopher up, and stopped by the bank to drop off a check. He’s dead on his feet, and Chris is always hangry and overtired after school, so Eddie is also, to put it politely, at his fucking limit.

He turns into his driveway and sees it. “It” being two positively massive piles of wood chips spilling out from his neighbor’s yard onto his own. It’s completely overtaken a good chunk of Eddie’s yard, including part of Christopher’s ramp, which pushes up against the border between the properties.

And, okay, it’s not like Christopher can’t just move around the wood chips, but it’s a principle of the thing. If his neighbor thinks it’s okay to block part of the ramp, they might think it’s okay to block the whole ramp, that Christopher might not need the ramp, or they might think it’s okay to block Christopher’s concrete path to his ramp. It’s a slippery slope, and most people don’t understand accommodations. He can’t just explain to everyone that his barely-in-code steps are too steep for an eight-year-old with balance issues, but some stairs and some obstacles are okay. That’s at least a five minute conversation if he’s lucky. 

When he was first learning to make accommodations for Christopher, there were a few over thirty minute, endless back and forth conversations that Eddie had with a particularly nosy “HOA board member” who was convinced Eddie was building a meth lab instead of an accessible shower.

So, Eddie unlocks the door and tells Christopher to go on inside and get himself changed and started on his homework, and he goes over to his neighbor’s house to assert himself. Assertively. He can do that. He was in the army.

Assertive and polite, Eddie reminds himself, steeling himself to knock on the door. Right when he goes to knock, though, the door opens and Eddie’s hand winds up swinging forward—

Right into someone’s face.

“Ow! Fuck!” The person says, dropping some cardboard and cradling their face in their hands, “What was that for?”

And Eddie should reply, but the only thing he can really take note of is that the person in front of him is fucking hot. He’s a few inches taller than Eddie, with broad shoulders and biceps that look like they’re about to pop out of his stained t-shirt. He’s in plain shorts that stop above the knee—where his absolutely gigantic thighs peek out—and tennis shoes that look like they’re falling apart.

“Sorry,” Eddie says, through the driest mouth he’s probably ever had, “I was trying to knock.”

Eddie prays that the man’s face is ugly, or that he’s going to be a dick, but when he moves his hand, Eddie can see baby blue (albeit watery) eyes, soft, curly blond hair, plush lips, and a birthmark just above his eye. This guy is a fucking smoke show from head to toe, and instead of looking pissed off, he relaxes and huffs out a laugh. “Were you trying to break my door down or something?”

“You got woodchips on my son’s ramp,” Eddie says, instead of answering.

“I did?” The man blinks, “Sorry! Oh God, sorry, I didn’t notice, I’ve been so busy with the shipment. I promise I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” Eddie says, sighing and feeling all the fight leave him. Of course his new neighbor wasn’t trying to be an ableist asshole, it was just an accident, and Eddie assumed the worst. 

“Sorry, uh, can I squeeze past you?” The man asks, and that’s when Eddie realizes he’s gone somewhere and come back with a broom. Eddie follows him back over to the ramp, where he starts sweeping off the wood.

“This is a little uneven,” The man mentions, “Does your son use a wheelchair? I could redo this for you.”

Eddie bristles at that—the familiar urge rises in the back of his throat. He’s just about to bite back something harsher than his neighbor probably deserves, something about how he doesn’t need help, when Christopher pops his head out the front door.

“Daddy?” Chris asks, “Who’s that?”

“Hey, buddy,” Buck says, before Eddie can introduce him, “I’m Evan Buckley, your new neighbor. Everyone calls me Buck.”

Buck sticks his hand out for Christopher to shake, and if Eddie weren’t so busy trying to give this guy the chance he deserved, he’d be pissed at Buck for ignoring him. Or maybe embarrassed that he forgot to ask Buck for his name. Or that he forgot to introduce himself when he knocked on his door.

Chris introduces himself as, “Christopher Diaz, but everyone calls me Chris,” and gleefully shakes Buck’s hand, jerking it up and down so hard Eddie’s worried he might dislodge it from the socket. And then he’d have to give his sort-of asshole neighbor medical treatment. Whatever.

“What do you even need all these wood chips for, anyway?” Eddie asks, trying not to sound bitter or sarcastic. He’s only mostly sure it works.

“Oh, I’m redoing the lawn,” Buck says, “I’m working to create a few different microfarms in LA. This one’s kind of my first big project. I’m going to be doing an herb garden out here in front, and then in the back I plan on doing some compost and raising some chickens. Maybe some ducks, rabbits—”

“Oh,” Eddie says, because it’s—okay. He understands that his food has to come from somewhere, but he’s hesitant about all this. It sounds like a lot. “So, what, your yard is just gonna be covered in wood chips?”

“Only for the first season,” Buck explains, “To kill the grass.”

“Why would you kill the grass?” Eddie blinks, taken aback.

Buck smiles in a way that, quite frankly, makes Eddie feel condescended to. (If he weren’t so irritated, he might notice the way Buck’s eyes light up and his hands do half the talking for him, adorably excited.) “Lawn grass isn’t actually native to the United States. It was a status symbol in Europe, because only royalty could afford to have their lawns tended to. And here in California, it’s actually detrimental to the local environment to have one. Non-native grass takes a lot of water to maintain, and we just don’t have those resources here. I’m culling the grass in the front yard and the backyard, and doing some water retention gardening to save on the rain that happens our way.”

Eddie’s head hurts. Unfortunately, when he opens his eyes, he sees Christopher’s own, wide and bright with stars.

Oh no.

“That’s so cool!” Chris gasps, “How do you reten—retent?—the water?”

“Chris, why don’t we go inside and stop bothering Buck?” Eddie urges, because if Chris ends up actually liking this man Eddie will move again. He’ll go to Alaska. He’ll take Chris to fucking Mexico if it means never seeing Evan Buckley, his neighbor who he punched and immediately developed a low-simmering irritation for, ever again.

[fangweaver2099]

A Minor Slip-Up - Chapter 1

Miguel O'Hara X Reader 18+

You've been working for Dr. Miguel O'Hara in Alchemax' R&D department for 2 years. For those two years, your crush on the gigantic, handsome man that just happens to be your superior has only gotten worse with time.

When you notice him alone at Alchemax' Christmas Gala, you take your chance. A one night stand.

You two agree it was just once, but it seems life has other plans.

This fic takes place in an alternate canon of the Spiderman 2099 comics. While the entire plot uses the lore of the 2099 comics, the aesthetic of Nueva York is based on Across the Spiderverse.

Miguel is based also on his ATSV character in personality and appearance & his tech. He's a bit more of an asshole and less traumatized tho.

He has not discovered portal technology and is technically not the ATSV Miguel we see in the movie – but a variant. While I use his backstory up to before Dana and him go to Valhalla is pretty similar - instead of being constant crazy stuff it cuts off there. The comic backstory ends and diverges with a much slower plot where Miguel has to grapple with being Spiderman and occasionally handling crazy stuff and trying to stop Alchemax. Also, he has ATSV Lyla bc she’s objectively the funnier version.

It was totally normal to have a crush as a grown woman, right ?

That’s what you had tried to convince yourself of anyway. Dr. Miguel O’Hara was technically your boss. You were a senior in your position, but he was the lead scientist – you submitted reports and updates to him and followed his instruction and advice. Any project had his name first, regardless of how much work he actually did.

Dr. O’Hara was attractive. There was no way the towering, chiseled man built like a Greek god didn’t know he was drop dead gorgeous . Tall, smart – handsome. The only downside was his personality had gone from a slightly egotistical lead who treated everyone like they were stupid, to barely talking to anyone, and brooding in his office. He seemed almost… depressed .

You had chalked it up to the explosion that happened in Miguel’s personal lab almost 5 months ago. Apparently, a late-night experiment had gone wrong. The accident had killed Mr. Delgato and Miguel was apparently there when he died. You couldn’t imagine how traumatic it was. So, you were quick to give your boss some serious slack.

You didn’t know Miguel that well anyway; he was your boss – personal life was not exactly something folks discussed over petri dishes. It’s not like he spent any time in the break room on the main R&D floor. He usually didn’t spend time in any break room, really.

Right now, the massive Miguel O’Hara was at the head of the table his team usually had lunch at. He looked like he was nursing a hangover and holding a coffee cup that was too little for his gigantic, tanned hands. His shirt was too tight, and it put emphasis on his massive shoulders and broad chest.

You were doing everything you could not to stare.

 You knew the dress code well, no wearing your hair down in the lab, so your neck was still chilly and ears pink. You felt like you were freezing even in your thick turtleneck sweater, dark slacks and company-issued lab coat. The massive glass windows of the break room did little to stave off the December cold in Nueva York. The entire room was bustling with a few dozen scientists and other employees, but your team always hung out together. It was nice that you all actually liked one another.

You made your coffee sweet, more cream than coffee, eyes on the approaching Dr. Amara Monroe. The bubbly blonde with bright green eyes had to crane her head back to look at you – but it didn’t stop the both of you from becoming good friends over the past two years.

Dr. Monroe had her hands on a plastic box – likely some sort of food container that had long been cleaned. She sat it down before her seat, one hand on the rim.

“Okay. Write your name on the slip, and then put it in the jar.” Dr. Monroe’s other hand motioned to the scattering of cut-up printer paper on the table.

Apparently, it was an old tradition from the early 2000’s – Secret Santa. Dr. Monroe explained it as a bonding experiment, her family had been doing it as long as she remembered. It seemed that the woman was intent on continuing it in her workplace. You couldn’t help but grin, the idea exciting you, reaching over to grab a piece of paper. It meant you didn’t buy gifts for everyone, and even with your excessive budget, it was a relief on your wallet. 

“So, what if you get someone you don’t know?” Dr. Kline asked, one red brow raising. The ginger woman took a piece of paper anyway as Dr. Monroe passed her a pencil.

“That’s the fun part, you get to bother them and figure out what they like – but you can’t reveal you’re the one buying them their gift. Ask around! Plus, we’re all like…” She moved her hand in a waving motion. “Nerds.”

At that, a few of their coworkers snickered. You noticed even Miguel smiled a touch, rare. You forced yourself to peel your eyes away with a long sip of your coffee and reached over, picking up a piece of paper.

“It sounds fun, any other rules?” you asked as Dr. Kline passed the pencil over to Dr. Schneider. The tall blonde male scribbled his name in his nigh unreadable writing. You plucked the pen from his hand and wrote your own name down in the neatest handwriting you could muster, folding it with a flourish and using your finger to press down the seal.

“Hmmm… No gag gifts. My family usually does a price limit too - how does 30 sound?,” Dr. Monroe mused, tapping a finger to her freckled face.

You could hear a murmur in agreement from everyone as you returned to sipping on your coffee, letting the blonde scientist pick up your paper and toss it in the jug.

Miguel didn’t make a move, sitting back and watching, like he usually did during the company mandated lunch break, as everyone wrote their names. You quickly concluded that Miguel had no plans on participating, there was a little piece of you that was disappointed. He deserved to feel included, big grouch he may be.

It seemed Dr. Monroe noticed, her green eyes narrowed as she motioned the jug over the table, sticking it in Miguel’s face. He leaned back, looking at the small woman over his dark sunglasses.

“I’m not interested.” His smooth voice replied, raising one hand, telling her to back off.

“You’re our boss, you gotta.” Dr. Monroe retorted, too sweet for her own good. The woman was no pushover. A few voices spoke up in agreement. Miguel visibly simmered, slouching more in his chair as his massive hand pushed the box away. Amara frowned but Miguel placed down his own coffee, picking up the pen and writing his name, the script hurried and scribbled.

“Thank yooou-“ She took the paper from Dr. O’Hara before he could stop her, tossing it into the box. She plugged the hole with one of her hands before shaking it vigorously. Watching the tiny blonde woman bouncing the box around like it owed her money made you break out into a smile, hiding your snicker behind the mug you clutched in your cold hands.

Despite the seriousness of your job and Alchemax as a whole (along with your scrooge of a boss), you adored your direct team, they were all nice and reasonably friendly. Your team was one of the more accomplished teams in R&D – at least, as far as the reports your boss provided showed.

You couldn’t help but feel a bit proud. You took your job rather seriously – your last review had you noted as ‘careful and meticulous’.

You could hear a small, casual discussion going on as the team began discussing interests. Apparently, Dr. Yoshida loved something called Warhammer – Dr. Kline was a chronic chocolate addict and Dr. Monroe collected vintage stuffed animals from the 2030’s. It was a good bonding exercise, but you couldn’t exactly reflect on what you wanted.

You were not about to explain your weird love of horror, or your pile of shitty romance books downloaded on your holopad, a dirty secret you would take to the grave if it were up to you. You preferred being the awkward workaholic type anyways, instead of the dreamy weirdo you were in college. 

Your eyes drifted to Miguel.

Maybe you’d get lucky and get him – figure out something he’d like and put a smile on his stupid handsome face. You didn’t notice Miguel’s head turn to you quick enough, your gazes meeting, the hints of his hooded eyes under his sunglasses had you move to down your coffee like nothing had happened.

Miguel’s brow raised, but he said nothing as you turned to Dr. Yoshida.

“So – what about you? Worst gift you’ve ever gotten,” Dr. Yoshida asked, his dark eyes narrowing as he turned to face you.

“Uhhh…” You had to think about it. 

“Do my student loans count?,” you attempted to quip, forcing a smile. Dr. Yoshida laughed.

Dr. Monroe paused her container’s torture as she placed it on the middle of the table.

“Okay. Pick one. You get yourself – toss it back and take another. Got it?,” she said, moving to pluck one of the strips and unfolding it. Amara grinned deviously before shoving it into the pocket of her lab coat.

You waited until about halfway through, forced to lean across the table. You weren’t often thankful for your height – nearing six feet was often a pain - but now it had its advantage. You plucked a slip from the bowl without ease, and then sat back down with a small ‘oof’. 

Your fingers made quick work of unfolding the paper. 

‘Hiro’ was written in clear handwriting – Dr. Yoshida. Okay, that made it easy. You’d search up what the hell Warhammer was later, maybe a new tie or something. You glanced over at Dr. Yoshida; he always wore a dark blue tie with some sort of geometric pattern on it. Didn’t matter the color of his shirt. Sometimes it was fine, but he was wearing a deep mossy green recently. It looked awful.

You noticed Miguel’s hand dip into the jug, before flipping open the paper without…any reaction. He didn’t sit back down.

“I’m heading back.” He said without hesitation, mug still in hand as he strode away, leaving his team alone. You wondered who Miguel got – did he get you ? Your cheeks burned as you realized how pathetic you were being, and you had to resist the urge to slap your cheeks to wake yourself up.

The rest of lunch went just fine – small discussion as you and Dr. Monroe discussed your current round of tests. You always got assigned the boring work – and now it was antibiotic creation for a new disease affecting what was left of the cattle population across the US. Printer meat was already commonplace for most of the population, but it didn’t stop those wealthy enough to want something real. So, you got to figure out how to keep the animals alive. 

When you had just graduated college, bright eyed and stupid, you had thought you’d be doing important things like curing cancer. Alchemax had other plans.

Lab work after lunch was the same as ever- boring and filled mostly with reviewing code and notes. The amount of calibrating that every machine needed was practically mind numbing. Still, you were thankful for the busy work.

You headed back to your own office at the end of the day. The room was clean and organized as your lab bench. A few personal touches just like your apartment – a rose gold pen caddy that had your pens organized by color, a gray cushion on your chair to make it more comfortable. Nothing too casual, nothing too personal, all workplace appropriate.

You shrugged your lab coat off and packed your bag with your laptop. You gave into the chill and even let your hair out of its messy bun. Your fingers raked through your locks and fluffed it free. You tossed on your gray jacket and put your bag across your shoulders.

You tossed on your pink scarf and seemed prepared enough to brace the open-air parking garage. You tapped the frosted glass of your private office door as it slid open and closed behind you, lights shutting off with no one within. Your expensive non-slip shoes were silent as you made your way to the open hall of your floor. 

And there, looming before the elevator, was that massive figure. Miguel.

He wasn’t in his usual white lab coat, replaced with a dark, long overcoat. His hands were in his pockets, and he seemed to be leaning over slightly, putting emphasis on his broad shoulders and small waist. Awfully, you were reminded of one of the junior scientists calling him a Dorito. You tried not to crack a smile at the memory, walking forward as you attempted to calm your own expression.

You tried to keep your distance, moving to check if the button was pressed as the counters pinged down. Miguel seemed to notice your presence, glancing down at you from behind his sunglasses. You met his gaze for a moment from the corner of your eye and swore his eyes looked… red? It was probably just the light.

You glanced away and shifted in place, suddenly all too cognizant of the silence. 

You could keep quiet and say nothing, but you should make small talk, right? Be normal .You’d been in this type of situation before, this wasn’t alien. You could feel the warmth on your cheeks. As you opened your mouth to speak, the elevator dinged and saved you from further embarrassment.

You both entered together, taking your places on opposite sides of the small elevator. You were both tall and now you could see why Miguel leaned just a bit – if he was standing straight, he might have hit his head on the elevator door.

He was standing straight now, having almost a foot over your own height.

You were not used to people being larger than you, especially most men. At the most they were eye level. Before you’d met Miguel, you couldn’t understand why some of your college friends found men intimidating.

But Miguel was intimidating.

For the first time, you felt small . His hands were massive. He was massive . He made you feel all too cognizant of what it meant to feel like prey. Like he was strong enough to snap your neck if he was angry enough – not that you’d ever thought he would. He could probably pick you up – the primal desire to be manhandled had you shift in place, trying to ignore your own thoughts. He was your boss for God’s sake.

Miguel beat you to pressing the same button – floor ten’s light flicked on as the door closed. You did your best to take a step back and look anywhere but Miguel.

You were sure that Miguel was cognizant of the effect he had on women. You’d heard people jokingly call him ‘tall, dark and handsome’ more than once, though he always seemed too caught up in his work to notice the looks he got. 

It was a harmless crush, Miguel had never as much as reciprocated anything. He was so serious , especially in the last few months. You would have thought that after working under Dr. O’Hara for nearly two years, that you’d get over it, but it got worse whenever the two of you were forced into proximity.

You had nearly 40 floors before the parking garage. You cleared your throat – anything was better than pings as you descended.

“Have you ever done a secret Santa?,” you asked Miguel, head tilting to look up at the massive geneticist.

“No,” he replied, tone blank, not sparing you even a glance. You leaned against the wall of the elevator, biting your cheek.

“Me neither. I think it’s fun. I already know what I’m going to get mine.” You’d tried to sound relaxed, but the inclination of your voice came out nervous. 

Miguel raised a brow at you.

“I’m not telling,” you replied, guessing at the wordless question. Miguel crossed his arms; head still pointed in your direction.

 “I-It would spoil the surprise. I- wait. I didn’t get – I didn’t get you! I-” Your hands pulled from your pockets and motioned in the air. 

“I figured,” Miguel interrupted with the ghost of a grin. You went quiet before letting out a long sigh.

“Sorry. It’s been a long day.” Your voice was back to calm. Brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, you could feel the warmth on your cheeks as you scolded yourself, stop being pathetic – you’re a grown woman. You’re a fucking doctor . You’re-

“Mhm.” Miguel mumbled as the elevator finally stopped and clicked open. You didn’t wait as you were greeted by cold winter air.

You practically ran out of the elevator.

Desperate to get away, you didn’t notice when your foot met ice – melted snow had turned to ice in the garage. You let out a surprised shriek as the concrete ceiling came into view. 

Rather than cracking your head open on the concrete like an idiot , you felt hands grab at your armpit and waist, and the back of your head hit something warm and hard as you scrambled for purchase.

“You need to be more careful, chica.” Miguel’s deep voice broke your stuttering train of thought as you relaxed into his grip. Your knees pulled in as you finally stopped stumbling, head lifted back as you saw Miguel staring down at you – smirking .

“ Uh-huh ,” you replied dumbly, eyes wide and a single curl falling across your gentle features. He hoisted you back onto your feet proper and let go. Awkwardly, you swayed and patted your coat.

“T-thanks. I thought I was going to crack my head open.” you remarked with a nervous grin.

“I’d hate that. You’re a good member of the team, doctor. I don’t think I’m too good at making that clear,” Miguel remarked with a sincerity in his voice that had your eyes widening in confusion.

“…Thanks. You’re a good lead. Better than my previous boss. He didn’t like me very much. First job and all that.” You reached out and awkwardly patted Miguel’s arm. Miguel glanced down and raised a brow.

You pulled back. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Just don’t forget about the compiled review you and Dr. Monroe are supposed to finish tomorrow.” He kept the conversation casual and work focused. 

You were thankful for that.

“Will do, boss.” You grinned, hands crossing over yourself as you ignored the heat on your cheeks. It was cold enough that you both could see your breath. You hoped Miguel didn’t notice the way your face burned.

After a moment Miguel waved and went on his way with large strides. For a moment, you stood there, staring at the back of his head as he walked to his own car like a love struck puppy.

Your hands reached up, pinching your red cheeks as you groaned in embarrassment, knowing you were going to spend the next two years laying awake at night screaming at yourself for this. Eventually you made your way to the metro - deciding that you’d get Dr. Yoshida’s gift tonight. Might as well get something productive today.

[thebrickinbrick]

The Man Recruited in the Rue des Billettes

NIGHT was fully come, nothing made its appearance. All that they heard was confused noises, and at intervals, fusillades; but these were rare, badly sustained and distant. This respite, which was thus prolonged, was a sign that the Government was taking its time, and collecting its forces. These fifty men were waiting for sixty thousand. Enjolras felt attacked by that impatience which seizes on strong souls on the threshold of redoubtable events. He went in search of Gavroche, who had set to making cartridges in the tap-room, by the dubious light of two candles placed on the counter by way of precaution, on account of the powder which was scattered on the tables. These two candles cast no gleam outside. The insurgents had, moreover, taken pains not to have any light in the upper stories.

Gavroche was deeply preoccupied at that moment, but not precisely with his cartridges. The man of the Rue des Billettes had just entered the tap-room and had seated himself at the table which was the least lighted. A musket of large model had fallen to his share, and he held it between his legs. Gavroche, who had been, up to that moment, distracted by a hundred "amusing" things, had not even seen this man.

When he entered, Gavroche followed him mechanically with his eyes, admiring his gun; then, all at once, when the man was seated, the street urchin sprang to his feet. Any one who had spied upon that man up to that moment, would have seen that he was observing everything in the barricade and in the band of insurgents, with singular attention; but, from the moment when he had entered this room, he had fallen into a sort of brown study, and no longer seemed to see anything that was going on.

The gamin approached this pensive personage, and began to step around him on tiptoe, as one walks in the vicinity of a person whom one is afraid of waking. At the same time, over his childish countenance, which was, at once so impudent and so serious, so giddy and so profound, so gay and so heart-breaking, passed all those grimaces of an old mar which signify: Ah bah! impossible! My sight is bad! I am dreaming! can this be? no, it is not! but yes! why, no! etc. Gavroche balanced on his heels, clenched both fists in his pockets, moved his neck around like a bird, expended in gigantic pout all the sagacity of his lower lip. He was astounded, uncertain, incredulous, convinced, dazzled. He had the mien of the chief of the eunuchs in the slave mart, discovering a Venus among the blowsy females, and the air of an amateur recognizing a Raphael in a heap of daubs. His whole being was at work, the instinct which scents out, and the intelligence which combines. It was evident that a great event had happened in Gavroche's life.

It was at the most intense point of this preoccupation that Enjolras accosted him.

“You are small," said Enjolras, "you will not be seen. Go out of the barricade, slip along close to the houses, skirmish about a bit in the streets, and come back and tell me what is going on."

Gavroche raised himself on his haunches. "So the little chaps are good for something! that's very lucky! I'll go! In the meanwhile, trust to the little fellows, and distrust the big ones." And Gavroche, raising his head and lowering his voice, added, as he indicated the man of the Rue des Billettes:

"Do you see that big fellow there?"

"Well?"

"He's a police spy."

"Are you sure of it?"

"It isn't two weeks since he pulled me off the cornice of the Pont Royal, where I was taking the air, by my ear.”

Enjolras hastily quitted the urchin and murmured a few words in a very low tone to a longshoreman from the winedocks who chanced to be at hand.

The man left the room, and returned almost immediately, accompanied by three others. The four men, four porters with broad shoulders, went and placed themselves without doing anything to attract his attention, behind the table on which the man of the Rue des Billettes was leaning with his elbows. They were evidently ready to hurl themselves upon him.

Then Enjolras approached the man and demanded of him: "Who are you?”

“At this abrupt query, the man started. He plunged his gaze deep into Enjolras' clear eyes and appeared to grasp the latter's meaning. He smiled with a smile than which nothing more disdainful, more energetic, and more resolute could be seen in the world, and replied with haughty gravity:

"I see what it is. Well, yes!"

"You are a police spy?"

"I am an agent of the authorities."

"And your name?"

"Javert."

Enjolras made a sign to the four men.

In the twinkling of an eye, before Javert had time to turn round, he was collared, thrown down, pinioned and searched.

They found on him a little round card pasted between two pieces of glass, and bearing on one side the arms of France, engraved, and with this motto: Supervision and vigilance, and on the other this note: "JAVERT, inspector of police, aged fifty-two," and the signature of the Prefect of Police of that day, M. Gisquet.

Besides this, he had his watch and his purse, which contained several gold pieces. They left him his purse and his watch. Under the watch, at the bottom of his fob, they felt and seized a paper in an envelope, which Enjolras unfolded, and on which. he read these five lines, written in the very hand of the Prefect of Police:

"As soon as his political mission is accomplished, Inspector Javert will make sure, by special supervision, whether it is true that the malefactors have instituted intrigues on the right bank of the Seine, near the Jena bridge."

The search ended, they lifted Javert to his feet, bound his arms behind his back, and fastened him to that celebrated post in the middle of the room which had formerly given the wineshop its name. Gavroche, who had looked on at the whole of this scene and had approved of everything with a silent toss of his head, stepped up to Javert and said to him:

"It's the mouse who has caught the cat."

All this was so rapidly executed, that it was all over when those about the wine-shop noticed it.

Javert had not uttered a single cry.

At the sight of Javert bound to the post, Courfeyrac, Bossuet, Joly, Combeferre, and the men scattered over the two barricades came running up.

Javert, with his back to the post, and so surrounded with ropes that he could not make a movement, raised his head with the intrepid serenity of the man who has never lied.

"He is a police spy," said Enjolras.

And turning to Javert: "You will be shot ten minutes before the barricade is taken."

Javert replied in his most imperious tone: "Why not at once?"

"We are saving our powder."

"Then finish the business with a blow from a knife."

"Spy," said the handsome Enjolras, "we are judges and not assassins."

Then he called Gavroche: "Here you, go about your business! Do what I told you!"

"I'm going!" cried Gavroche.

And halting as he was on the point of setting out:

"By the way, you will give me his gun!" and he added: "I leave you the musician, but I want the clarinet."

The gamin made the military salute and passed gayly through the opening in the large barricade.

[glaciertea]

Masterlist here

Tales the Songs Weave

Ch.16<< >>Ch.18

Notes: Miguel isn't taking things very well.

CW: Rough sex, markings, oral sex (both giving/receiving), PinV, overstimulation

If anyone can tell me the name of this artist, please alert me so I can give credit where credit is fully due.

Chapter 17: I Can't Do Anything...

Word count: 7.5K

Things have certainly been off as of late. 

You picked up on it when Miguel suddenly showed up to your place around two in the morning after not hearing from him regarding the other relationships in the multitude of dimensions. You probed at him, curious to know about his search and discoveries, as he only slipped into your bed, wrapped his arms around your waist, and held you close.

Not many words were spoken that night, as Miguel only mumbled praises in Spanish against your shoulder, kissing the puncture wound, and refused to loosen his grasp.

You were lost, but you allowed him to continue as you gave admiration and affection back. 

And that's when you also noticed the regression in Miguel. 

Whenever you throw a compliment at him, he immediately dodges it or completely denies it with the most sincerest of despondency, proclaiming he isn't anything positive that you commend him for.

You would knit your brows and counterattack his negative views on himself, which only rifted him farther.

He's been hanging around your job, nearly from opening until it closed, for the past few days, doing tasks here and there that even Ronnie couldn't help but comment on. She was joking around about it first, that her underuse was finally understanding his potential as a true employee for her, but it started to slowly freak her out.

It then took a sharp turn when Ronnie arrived one hour early to work, when a gigantic, broad brooding figure loomed by the shop's door. 

Customers don't usually line up for anything here. Especially before the crack of dawn.

“What the hell?” She slowed her steps, hand in her bag, ready to mace whoever was lurking near her place of business. 

Each tread seemed heavier than the last, her eyes squinting when the sturdy physique intensely wheeled its body towards Ronnie as a pair of glowing scarlet iris sharply stared into her soul. Yanking the small bottle out, she held it up and got into a defensive stance.

“I’m not afraid to spray! So I suggest you back away, and this is my only warning!”

The character shuffled around a bit, forcing her to lift the bottle higher. “Alright, you dumbass idiot, you asked for it!”

“Sé que no tienes ninguna duda. Watch where you're pointing that thing.” A familiar voice grunted out before pushing himself off the wall.

“Miguel? What the hell, man? Why are you here so early? And why are you ominously in front of my store like some creepy stalker?” Ronnie huffed out, stuffing her weapon away and pulling out her keys.

“I'm here to surprise her before she comes in.” He slogged in after Ronnie went inside.

“By being here an hour early before her shift? If that’s the case, you could come—oh, I don’t know—five minutes in advance?” She snided, settling her things behind the counter. “So why are you really here at this forsaken hour of the morning?”

Miguel placed his sunglasses on when Ronnie strolled over and turned on all of the lights. He didn’t have a clear-cut reason as to why exactly he was here before she even clocked in. He knew he should be spending these last several moments with you, taking in any time that is left before the sand trickles to the last drops of the glass. Maybe it was for the reminiscence that would ensue once that end struck, leaving only those memories of laughter and enjoyment from this cozy premise. 

“I also wanted to do some of her tasks as well. I can help out with some organization or cleaning. I want to show my gratitude for all she’s done and... and will continue to do.”

Ronnie couldn’t help but scrunch her nose up. She was highly aware of how ridiculously cordial and fond you two were of each other, but there was something about that particular answer that set flaring alarms off in her head, and she did not enjoy it one bit. But she decided not to dawdle on it too much, for her sanity and potentially yours and his. 

“Alright then. But as this is my place and my business, you are the lowly worker who will follow and do everything I say. Got it, peasant?”

“Ay, ¿en qué me he metido?” Miguel muttered under his breath, rubbing his scalp roughly.

“You got yourself into a load of hell, that’s what.” Ronnie retorted back, making him roll his eyes. He certainly would miss this banter.

The two spent the time going through materials and antiques, with Ronnie directing Miguel on what to do and where to exactly place certain items. There were moments when they began to clash, asserting their points in a very tolerant yet quarrelsome manner.

You tiptoed in, catching the middle of the mayhem, troubled by who Ronnie could exactly be disgruntled with already. Neither of the other two employees should be in this early, so you chalked it up to Ronnie oddly squabbling with herself until you caught wind of the second voice.

“Miggy? Miggy!” You squeaked, jogging up to him and wrapping your arms around his waist.

He returned it, but to you, it felt unfamiliar. The hugs that used to be toasty like freshly baked cookies near a warming fire on a lightly snowing winter night were polar stiffness. Numbness of distance that you haven't seen since your first encounter. And this coldness seemingly won’t melt away.

“Mi Estrella, is everything okay? Have you been feeling under the weather as of late?”

Those eyes. Those earnest and patient eyes that you give to him whenever there is something wrong. He didn’t deserve it; he never did in the first place. But he knew it was coming; he would receive the well-deserved punishment he corroded on you and the ones that surrounded you. 

“Ah, no, mi… Luna. I’m okay. I have a migraine at the moment, so that's making me a bit sluggish.” He brushed the side of your face; your unsullied, delicate skin being touched by his horrendous, murderous claw seemed as if it were a  privilege for him. 

He will make this wrong… right.

You gave him a slight smile, kissed his arm, and knocked your head on his solid biceps. From the morning until the afternoon, Miguel barely moved away from your side. He would only leave you when you used the restroom, merely to be right back over you. 

As in the previous days, he assisted by doing heavy lifting, restocking and rearranging objects, cleaning, or whatever ridiculous projects Ronnie had him do. You couldn’t understand where this sudden altar of behavior occurred, and frankly, it was throwing you for a loop.

He trudged around, picking up the vintage items, ignoring the other customers when they would come in. Lost in his own subconscious, you wearily peered in his direction, outwardly dazed just as he was.

“Yeah, you're not the only one.” Ronnie placed her tablet away and situated her elbows on the counter. “He's fighting something; I don't know what, but whatever it is, it's kicking his behind.”

A waft of air exhales from your nostrils. What could you do? There was only so much that he allowed himself to say, but now he's been virtually distant. Yes, he's been visiting more than before, and even so, something made it appear disingenuous in a way you wouldn't be able to unravel.

“I wonder if it's something I did. I mean, I know he will usually tell me when he's upset with something, but it's that internal instinct, you know?”

“Nah, I can definitely clarify that it isn't you. It has to be a job thing or a random slump; he is a very broody and moody one.” 

“Ronnie.” You shot her a weighty caution not to continue.

“I'm just saying.” She threw her hands up in a defensive stance.

“I'm sorry, I'm utterly stressed out. I don't know what to do.” You rang up a customer and wished them a great day.

“Hey, don't be sorry; not good timing on my end.” Ronnie slouched on a wooden stool and crossed her arms. “I'm having a weird feeling. A hunch. I want to say that this doesn't concern me. I should only express so much, but I have a million and one opinions that are eager to yap and scream about this situation.”

Ronnie eyed your miserable and despairing state, taking the hint. “However, for your sake, I won't say anything. I'm sure things will be okay; maybe it's just that entire ‘bump in the road’ thing. Gotta do the whole, ‘be there for him,’ ‘time will heal and prevail,’ yadda, yadda, all that crap.”

She was trying to form that reassurance, the persuasion you acknowledged, but nonetheless, it fell completely flat on its face. 

“Look, know I'm here for you. Things like this happen, and even with my involuntary comments, you guys will push through. And besides, I don't like my favorite being down in the dumps. I can whack his senses back for you if you want.”

Ronnie alluded to a certain bat, and you couldn't help but chuckle as your boss joined in, nudging you a few times. 

“Nah, I don't think that's necessary. But, I'll let you know. Thanks, Ronnie, I appreciate it.”

“Of course, I have your back.” She gave you a side hug when Miguel meandered his way back up to the front, his eyes landing directly on you.

“I hate to go, but they need me at the HQ, mi… mi Luna. I will pick you up later on tonight, and I'll order in for us at your place, alright?”

“Yeah, that'll be good. And mi Estrella?”

Miguel forced himself to not snatch his hands away from yours when you stroked his knuckles with your thumbs. He hated this. He hated that you still give him these fragile touches, as if he's some glass waiting to break at the seams from the lightest of blows. 

Because he knew he would fracture any second.

He swallowed thickly and stared into your eyes with his cowardly, shaded ones. “Ye-yes, m-mi Luna?”

“I love you. Remember, I will be here until those lavenders and marigolds are there, and all you do and continue to do will always be enough.”

Miguel's unrelaxed mannerisms weren't subtle. You carried on that set of sparkling kindness, not allowing it to fade, and he detested it. He gripped onto that animosity; you shouldn’t merit him with that patience. That tenderness. That smile. That beautiful smile. 

“Thank you, mi luna. I will always treasure you.” Miguel pecked your forehead as his watch went off. “Tonight, see you later. And have a good day, Ronnie.”

“Yeah, thanks. Miguel.” There was a twinge of malice as she barely tilted her head in return, pretending to be busy with her tablet. Miguel scowled but immediately deadpanned. He didn’t need to cause you more pain.

You knotted at the sudden uncertainty and traction weaving through the air. You simply gave a faint simper and a courteous nod to try and falter the situation. “Miguel. Tonight, mi Estrella, tonight...”

The minute he stepped out, you groaned and reprimanded Ronnie, questioning if that was necessary, to which she responded, unapologetic, that it wholeheartedly was. 

Miguel soberly trailed back to the HQ, his sight on the piles of buildings, businesses, and citizens marching along as if all was okay. 

He was hindering this. Putting it off for as long as time will allow. The paranoia made a cozy nest; he had no plans on retiring off his brain anytime. More thoughts, more unsettling concerns, and more problems. His psyche races, speeding along to that oasis, until he hits it, only to reveal that the mirage was a cartoonishly painted brick wall of inevitability. 

He pauses in front of a certain entrance. The twists and twines of ivy, the plethora of colors burning brightly into his gaze. The low-hanging flowers were beckoning him to remember how it used to be. 

He took a singular step forward. 

Then he drew back and faced the other way, proceeding to the HQ.

Several new strings roped themselves around him.

Teeming as usual, Miguel made his way to his domain, dismissing any others who scrambled their way to him and babbling on about mindless stories or questions. Passing the many anomalies that stockpiled because of him, because of you.

That tingle was not leaving until he had to fulfill that consequence. He leered up at the monitors encapsulating the glorious hell of the multiverse. The trillions he must protect are the ones he must sacrifice his time and days for to keep everything as it should be. Climbing onto the platform, he pressed a button, eyeing the screens as he gradually ascended.

Getting back to work, disapproving of any distractions, Jess’s voice snuck up to his ears.

“Did you do it?” 

“No.” He carried on with his work, paying her no attention.

Her lips tugged into a frown, her hands in a prayer as she brought them up to her face. “Miguel, I understand this is hard for you; trust me, I do, but if we’re essentially on a timeframe, you will have to get this done.”

“I’m working on it.”

“And I get that. This must not be easy for you, and as a friend, I am truly sorry and sympathize with your pain.”

Nothing from his end, as she released an exasperated sigh. “Miguel, you have to do this. If I could, I would have helped in a way to ease the blow, but this is all on you, Miguel-”

“I know.” The pot began to bubble.

“And if what you said about your world is slowly collapsing, you have to work fast to undo this.”

“I. Know.” The water is rising.

“As much as Peter and I want to intervene, we can’t handle third parties like this. We’re trusting you. You can't dwindle.”

“I. Know!” It spilled over as he punched a hole right in his desk.

Jess closed her eyelids and fluttered them back open. “Peter and I are worried, Miguel. We are putting this faith in you. It's hard to hold onto confidential evidence as heavy as this. So, please, not as a boss but as a friend, we understand your pain, and we will be here. We just want you to make the right decisions, not wholly for us but for you as well.”

The right decision. The one he doesn't want to let go of but has to. Why? Why did this have to happen? 

Miguel dug his talons right into the bed of his hair and into his scalp. Jess only studied the broken man. She saw the signs of him drifting, but she recognized this was the only way if it was to save them all.

“You could explain why it has to happen. I don't personally know her or how much you talked to her about this, but if she's been sticking around you for a good minute, she has to be understanding.”

Jess deduced that no matter what advice she utilized, it wouldn't change anything. She originally needed to discuss Gwen's insistence on visiting the boy, but figured another day would have to suffice.

“Take it easy and ease her in. We know you can handle it.” Jess strived for that upfront attitude, a conflict swelling, but she entrusted that blind eye to him, hoping he would do the right thing.

He didn't bother to dismiss her, as she took the cue and left without another sound. He snagged the other video out from the corner, despondent by it. 

He was happy. He was loved. It was his fault for wanting to relive it. He was the fool in his own court.

Strings bounded more on his body, tightening their hold.

The room is nearly back in the lone void with that flicker of a dying light.

You and Miguel slouched on your couch, carelessly watching a random bad action film you threw on. The flashing glows from the screen were the only thing casting any light in the living room.

Half-eaten pancakes sat in two clear containers as you decided on breakfast for dinner, but you both couldn't digest them due to how hard they were on the stomach and the discomfort cramming in the air.

You did your best to bring in some enthusiasm, but ultimately stopped trying. Your energy was depleted, yet you still gave him space and warmth. Not much was exchanged during the duration of the film, and when he held you, that glacial contact wouldn't unfreeze at all.

“Miggy?”

“Yeah?” He barely looked downward to face you.

“Talk to me. I noticed things have been running through your mind as of late. Hell, even Ronnie detects something is up. I'm wondering if everything is okay. Is your job giving you crap again?”

Just as the first night you hung out, that pang of perturbation surged through him; you could feel it. You suspected it dealt with his work, and that reaction proved that you were on the right track. You tested to see how far you could stick yourself into the compacted cage he's in.

“After all this time, still? You are allowed to do what you have to do.”

“It's partially my job.” Lies.

“So they're not giving you a hard time?” You glide your fingertips up and down his arm, trying to subdue whatever was stirring in him.

“No, they are, fortunately not as much.” He hated this.

“That's good; that's good. I want to make sure you're okay. I've been worrying about you. After you crawled into my bed that night, it seems things have taken a turn.” You kissed his forearm. 

“If you're in a slump, know I'm here, alright? We will work through this. Days like these happen, but we will go at your pace. Life is taking that unexpected turn, but we will find a way to that destination.” Your giggles flowed in his ears, nearly creating a knee-jerk reaction to move you from this position.

He hates this. He despises it so much. You don't deserve this, but he keeps giving in every time. Your comforting comments have him crawling back; your gentle nature. He needs to let go; he has to for this world. 

But what has this world done for him? He gives, gives, and gives, and all it does is take, take, and take. 

Yet, that's the harsh reality. It's a give-and-give with zero receiving. Not one.

He refused to open his mouth, burying his face in the crown of your hair. The room was still chilly, but you noticed the tenacious grasp had loosened some, so it was a good start. You remained this way for several minutes when you were smacked with a thought.

“Hey, mi Estrella?”

“Mhm?”

“Can you peek in your drawer? When I did some washing the other day, I think one of your shirts shrank down a bit. Can you double-check for me?”

He only nodded and untangled himself, scooting off the sofa. You waited until he was nearly in the room and leaned against the doorframe. Miguel didn't think too much of it. Kneeling down, he opened his personal drawer, ready to see the shirt on top, when his eyes suddenly cast a blank gaze.

Records. Music that he enjoyed from his childhood, in general, and ones he learned from you, and an empty picture frame with marigolds embedded in the molding.

“Surprise! I had to hunt down some of these in the shop; it was crazy. And the other week, we got a bunch more but never looked through them. But I deliberately and thoroughly took extra time, and this batch was a really good one.”

You shifted from leg to leg. “And the framework was so pretty when I spotted it as well. It reminded me of you, as corny as it sounds. You can put whatever you like in it! Maybe a stock image of empanadas.” 

Your joke didn't even gain a smidge of a smirk as you ungainly crossed your arms.

He removed them one by one when another item rolled on the side, tucking itself into a corner. It was a dark violet bottle with lavenders decorating the paper wrapped around it.

“It helps ease the mind. A single spritz or two, and it should help with the aches in your brain. I tested it out when I woke up feeling off one night, and it made me feel so comfy, it startled me,” you chuckled. “Felt like I was having an out-of-body experience.”

Crouching next to him, you placed your head on his shoulder. “I hope you enjoy these. I thought maybe a few presents can be a pick-me-up, even if it's just for a few minutes.” 

Those soft eyes. That smile. That patient smile. Why? Why were you so gentle? Why were you so kind to him? He did damn all to deserve these moments of clarity. 

He held the items in his destructive claws and only dazed off. Why were you making this harder? Why did you have to be the one to find him that night? Why did he have to abandon his realm for this new one?

Burning blood-red eyes that have witnessed so much hatred, pain, and grief peering into ones that hold compassion. That admiring charm. That relentless amount of love.

Only for it to be gone.

A troubled look made its way onto your face. You did have second guesses about the gifts, believing it was too early to purchase things such as this when he's not in the best mindset.

“Do… do you not like them? I was thinking that it might have been bad timing, but I wanted to make sure things were oka-”

His lips were on yours. His claws energetically roam your curves and softness. Your unruly tongues collided as you enfolded your arms over his shoulders, locking your hands in place. 

Miguel pulled you both to your feet, hoisted your legs up, and forced them around his waist. He easily steadied you up and onto the creaky bed, still connected in that fierce duel. You do all of this for him. So much for a disgusting creature who is greedy and unmindful of others. 

It's only fair.

It was only fair to give you the last bout of tenderness, lust, and passion. To give any final positive emotions he had clinging onto the edge. To give it all away before it becomes another cautious tale for others to heed and understand.

It's only fair that you are granted one last act of affection from him.

You were sweet; you smelled so divine. The sugary syrup was still fresh on your lips, and your soft moans grew as Miguel grinded against you, his length growing under the fabric of his suit. He wanted to take his time. He has to; this is for you; you both will never have this again.

You pull away, sucking in an abundance of air. Your lips were puffy and red, while Miguel only watched. You started to speak until Miguel took your back in, nibbling your bottom lip, his tongue down your throat, and whirling it madly. 

Miguel has never acted this way before. You would joke around about how he's a predator who is delightful and soft to his prey, but now he evidently might have stripped away that title to be a full-blown predator. You were frightened, though highly aroused. Your hands massaged his shoulders, but it was nearly impossible to get rid of any tension in them. Finally, you managed to pry away from the starved kiss and gulp down some more air.

“Miggy, are you stressed out? If this is your way of saying you want to take out some frustration on me, all you had to do was ask.” You laughed, nudging your forehead into his.

The joyous sounds began to die down when Miguel didn't make a single peep. Those intense irises were all you mainly focused on. You were seriously fucking worried. 

“Is... Miguel, is everything okay? You haven't said much, and I want to help, but I don't know how much I'm allowed in for this-”

“I want to make love to you. Will you allow me?” He said it in an unsettling tone.

That caught you off-guard. You gaped, your mouth opening and closing like a fish on dry land. “I-I, I mean you can. You are allowed, yes.”

“Will you allow me to fuck you?” He commanded, but he also sounded distressed.

That severely caught you off-guard. There is something going on. Miguel is a straightforward man, but not excessively concrete when it comes to intimate moments. You primarily decide to discuss whatever was going on after; even though now would have been better, there was a desperation in his eyes.

“Yes, mi Estrella, you can, but please know we should tal- mmph!”

Once again, you were cut off by the lip lock, as it somehow amplified. His conscience was growing berserk; he had to please you. He needed to. He had to.

He ripped off your tank top. You wanted to protest, impishly pretending to be displeased, but stayed hushed. Your back arched when he harshly groped your breasts, tweaking and squeezing the nipples. He tugged and pulled them, his unsheathed claws carefully dragging against the smooth mounds, taking in your faint moans. 

Circling the areola, he bent downward, taking a hardened bud in his mouth, sucking and greedily gnawing at it. Your fingers stroke his hair, releasing a comforting sigh. 

Maybe it was the mass of stress from work catching up to him. It explains the haziness and absence in his eyes whenever you observe him in his current condition. Tapping his head, you pulled Miguel out of his trance of mindlessly moving back and forth between your breasts.

“Miggy?”

“Yes?” He popped the right nipple out of his mouth and scanned your face to see if something was wrong.

“I was thinking… When was the last time I’ve gone down on you?”

He froze. No, this isn’t what was supposed to happen. He was going to only take care of you because you needed this. He shouldn’t receive any treatment from you. 

Yet, when he stares into those tempting eyes, he wanders in, adoring the feeling of becoming lost in them.

“I-I can’t remember. Maybe a week or two ago? I–I don’t know.” He was being selfish. This is for you, not him. He fought and shoved those malicious thoughts of your lips around him. 

How your pretty little lips will engulf each inch for him. 

He mentally shook them aside.

“I want to care for you. Will you allow me to, mi Estrella?”

Internally, he's shouting, dismissing any variety of pleasure that he shouldn't rightfully have. But, to make you happy, he will do whatever pleases you because you're the one who is truly deserving.

“Ay, si, mi… mi Luna.” With no hesitation, he swaps positions, mounting you on his stomach. 

“Suit, mister, I feel you poking me with that stick.” You grinned, eyebrows wagging flirtatiously. A rising quiver of a smile nearly trailed his lips until he dropped it. 

“Don't worry, mi Estrella, I'll make sure you feel extra, extra good.” You rubbed his unseen chest, igniting that excitement in you. “Now, the suit, Miggy.”

This was your rule, and he must follow through no matter what. Removing the gear entirely, he powered down, detached his communication watch, and tossed it on your nightstand. Nothing will deflect him from this.

“There we go. Let me value and dedicate my devotion to you.” Your fingers drifted across his pecs, the curves and indents of his muscles, your mouth watering at this marbled bronze beauty of a man who lay underneath. 

You wondered if you had unknowingly sealed a deal with the devil. A contract you'll never break.

“What did I do to get you?” You tried to knead any strain from him, “Tell me what I did to get an amazing, gorgeous man like yourself on my bed, lying beneath me?”

You left feather-light kisses anywhere you could on his scarred, tanned skin, your tongue occasionally dipping into the nicks of his rough skin and creeping up to his neck, nibbling the brawny flesh. Your warm breath sends prickles down his spine, gaining a ragged grunt.

Miguel caught the rebuttals that were ready to tumble out. He’s not entitled to spoil this for you. His brain was a broken record; he replayed one thing over and over, skipping over the other lines that got lost in the track: ‘For her. This is for her. All of this is for her.’

His shaft ached for you; he tried to keep the begs in, but they taunted him. “Mi… Ah- mi Luna... por favor, necesito que me toques—I need you to—”

“Shh, yes, mi Estrella. I will take care of you.” You whispered against his chest, edging yourself down tantalizingly slowly.

He had to prevent himself from bucking and compulsively rushing you down with his hands. He could only observe your engaging lips making their way down until you finally made it to his pulsating, raging erection.

“Whoa, Miggy, I don't think I've ever seen it this prominent. Everything about you is so beefy.” You snickered, eyeing the phallus. His tip was red-hot; thick heaps of transparent fluids smothered most of the firm length, veins webbing from nearly all sides. 

“Let's see.” You tapped the glans a couple times before brushing your fingertip over the body to the base and back up. You were the paintbrush, and Miguel was the canvas. 

Sucking in air through his teeth, he keenly watched you stroking him, adding finger after finger until you wrapped around him. “You're so big, mi Estrella. I love this cock so much.”

You hummed, leaving random peppered kisses, before pumping in a steady manner. He groaned, his head writhing on the pillow. 

“There it is. Don't hold back, okay, mi Estrella?” Your hand held that rhythmic motion as the other crept its way up his meaty thigh and began to palm at his balls. 

Miguel pursed his lips as your wispy digits generated electrifying jolts. He was unfit to be touched by you. The twisting on his cock and the cupping on his sack sent his brain into a fever. 

He couldn't control his moans when your tongue found his balls, flicking and twirling between the two. He gripped the linen at the vibrations when you purred and lifted your head back up.

“Joder, Luna mía, por favor, por favor no, necesito poder cuidar de ti—Aah!”

You enveloped a quarter of him, noisily slobbering as many fluids drooled down your chin and on his trimmed pubic hair. Bobbing up and down, you cautiously squeezed his scrotum, moaning to send exhilarating thrills to him. 

“I- fuck me, I-I need, I can't-” Miguel gasped when you swallowed more until he reached the back of your throat.

You were on a mission to have him submit and relax. Placing both hands on his thighs, you sped up. Your hooded eyes peering up into his hypnotic, mesmerizing iridescent ones. Your tongue glided and swirled in spirals as you sucked in your cheeks to have it rub against them.

Miguel groaned at the warmth of your mouth, tangling his fingers into your hair, and bucked his hips. Tears rushed down as you deep-throated him like your life depended on it. 

He was so big, but you didn't care; it was just you and him, no one else. You were determined as you moved quicker, gagging yourself as the suction got louder.

He was prepared to burst; your muffled moans and his were harsh in his eardrums. Your nails pricked his tough skin, imprinting markings on them. Pushing your tongue out, you uncontrollably bobbed your head, tasting the delectable saltiness from his pre-ejaculation.

Your palms caressed his abs and proud V-line, not lessening your immediacy and craving for him to spill over, when you were hastily moved away from his cock and twisted on your back. 

His eyes were glowering, a darkened red, as he took in your disordered, foggy state. Drool and his filth were running down the sides of your mouth. 

“Mig- mi Estrella, you didn't get to—wait, wait! Miggy, let me- Miguel!”

He tore your pajama bottoms and panties off in one fell swoop and stared. It was perfect. Your murky juices shimmered on the sheets, seeping out, as you clenched at nothing. The pride that usually swarms through his veins was blocked out. He couldn't be proud of that anymore.

He moved himself between your legs, spreading them all the way, and bound them to the bed. You fidgeted, poking at the silky netting, before he took your wrists and pushed them over your head. 

“I will make you feel a way you never felt.” He snarled on your neck, forming goosebumps all over.

“O-okay.” Was all you could squeak out.

He traced phantom lines and circles against the inner thighs and outer folds, concentrating on memorizing your delicate skin and listening to your sharp breaths and drawn-out moans. He alternated between light touches and firm pressure, letting your wetness soak his fingers.

“Mi-Miggy.” Your eyelids waned in anticipation, his darkened gaze having you timidly shiver.

He brought himself to his knees and dipped his head, the air dense with temptation. Nipping and biting the soft flesh, he worked his way up and reached your heated sex as streams of wind came from his nose onto your sensitive, swollen clit. The need in your loins and stomach was heady in temperature.

“Mi–Mi Estrella!” You blurted that out louder than you thought. 

“Sé que sé.” Licking the outline of your pussy with his tongue and along the slit. Your chest heaved, hands running through his curly locks, whimpering out from the lazed movements. 

You were enjoying yourself; that’s what he wanted. What he wanted? The mental feud began to sink in.

No longer taking his time, he dove in, lapping up your sweet nectar. He slurped and flitted at every tender spot he found on your folds and labia. 

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head at the sudden change of mood. He is a sheer predator at this moment.

“Oh, Miggy, this pussy is all yours–mmn! 

You squeezed around his tongue as Miguel switched between rolling your clitoris with his teeth and fingers, operating in an uneven pattern. 

He melted into your sopping pussy, swashing the juices as he buried his head, wagging it fanatically. His claws penetrate your skin, generating his own engravings.

His grunts sent sparks shooting up your spine. You were in space; you could see the whole infinite universe. Your raspy pants picked up when he devoured your vagina, trembling over every sloppy taste and lap. 

“Miguel, I'm close!” You slurred in that drunken blur. Your walls tighten around the invasive, ravaging appendage.

Increasing the intensity, he sucked harder, your nails clawing his shoulders as your back curled off the bed when he pushed three of his sheathed, long digits into your hole, pumping wildly.

“Mi-Miguel, OH SHIT-”

“Mmph! Mmmn!” 

His tongue wriggled over the throbbing nub, his fingers spraying out your creaminess over his palms whenever they came into contact with your folds.

White was the only thing you saw as a powerful climax washed over. Your figure trembled as your muscles quivered and pulsated.

Hoarse cries escaped, your body shimmering in sweat, mouth open, and eyes glazed over. You are an angel to him.

“Holy- holy shit... Miggy, that was... You were an animal, I-”

You were disrupted when he intrusively gave you a rough kiss, tasting the tang on his tongue. The mesh was removed, and his sheathed hands clumsily roamed, pinched, and grasped any part of your body, wanting to savor these last moments.

“Miggy, everything will be okay. Whatever is going on, know I'm here.” You pecked his check, leaving even more on his neck.

He nearly strangled out a sob. You were so generous. Unselfish. He needed you. He wanted you one final time. 

Why was he so inconsiderate? 

“I need… I need you; please let me…”

“You can have me, mi Estrella. You always can, because I trust you.”

Several strings snapped in place.

Grabbing your leg, he bent it up to your chest, and wrapped some web around your ankle. He shot the silk to the ceiling, tugging it a couple of times to make sure it was in place. You trembled, looking up at Miguel. The fervid stare wouldn't disappear; your vision was hazy. You were displayed as he raked his eyes over your panting lips and the sweat dribbling from every gland. 

A glistering art piece in the infinite night's heavens. Art that is being defaced by his corruptive hands.

Squeezing your grappled thigh, he positioned himself once more, taking the other leg around his waist and shoving himself in one go. He rutted into you, and the bed impacted into the wall repeatedly as it clashed with your cries and shouts of pleasure.

“Mi-Miguel! Slo-slow down! Slow–ah!”

His cock was rubbing up your walls, taking in every squelch, every squish, and every drenched slapping as you constricted, squeezing the thick, veiny shaft as he thrust with his crazy speeds.

Your wetness sloshed out on his lower abdomen and thighs with every bullish lurch. The sheets were defiled with murky blotches as Miguel dug his talons into your outer thigh, a few trickles of blood seeping out. Your screams could be heard from the whole apartment floor.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

That hammering pace never lets up, his length throbbing as he remembers every part of your velvety pussy fluttering and tightening. Every cry you made, every euphoric moan because of his cock molding and overwhelming your loving, yearning sex.

The bedframe cried alongside you. Shocking jolts coursed through your veins, and drops of tears ran down your cheeks, nose, and mouth as you tasted the salty water. Miguel grunted close, nipping your earlobe and feeling his fangs graze against it.

He heard his and your hearts beating irregularly, his hip bones buckling into yours, which would surely leave bruises in the morning. The engorged cock bulging you with each fill. He needed to remember all the senseless garbles and whimpers.

This beautiful face.

Enclosing your arms around his taut, damp neck, you croaked and gasped out vulnerable and cherishing remarks.

“I love you, mi Estrella! Oh–mmn, you are wonderful to me!”

He clenched up, his hips involuntary picking up more momentum.

Don't say that.

“You deserve the world; you deserve this! You deserve it!” Your whines chimed louder.

He growled out, leaning down, and rolled his pelvis into yours uncoordinatedly and immoderately. The floorboards groan with each jolt as the bed legs scrape against the wood.

No, I'm a monster. Don't say that.

His arms crash down to each side of your head, his razor-edged fingertips slashing up the fabrics underneath. Your fluids covered both lower regions as they dripped down to your bottom and splattered on your stomach and his abs.

With foggy vision and a heavy head, you couldn't handle the overstimulation. Your brain was so far gone that you could hardly continue the enchanting praises. Eyes flickering in the back, you sink your nails in his skin, your bounded leg losing its feeling, but the battering from Miguel overwrites it as his bulbous tip abused your cervix, refusing to hold back.

“So- so good—so, so, amazing.” You slurred as he found the right spot once more. “Ah! Don't stop! Oh, Miguel, I love you!”

Why?! Don't say that! Why do you make this so damn difficult?!

A guttural, animalistic noise reverberated from his chest and throat. He tore right into your blankets and mattress. He yanked one claw out of the tattered furniture, slicing the web, as you yelped at your limb suddenly collapsing back on the bed.

“Miggy!”

He picked you up by the sides, propping himself on his knees and lodging his clawed feet in the bed. He hooked your legs around his waist and lower hip. You didn't loosen your hold on his neck, as his robust arms kept your back sturdy, his chest against yours.

He pressed a kiss against the puncture wound, erupting back into his beastly action.

His balls striking against your ass, your melodious moans and raw whines, his low groans and husky rasping, and the crashing collisions of your sticky, soaked bodies resounded all over the rooms.

You would put any orchestral symphony to shame.

You took every inch. You were able to be molded by him. He will look back on your beautiful expressions from every passionate session. He will think back on how he was the one to make you float and feel these incredible sensations.

“Miguel! Mi Estrella! I-I can't keep–Aah!”

“Fuck—mmn- fuck, fuck, fuck-”

Those screams, those dilated pupils, the dribbles of spit, tears, and sweat raining down on your face and body.

This body. He will never forget your body.

A carnal, maniac tempo set further, his cock ramming into your insides. He will recall how you perfectly squeezed for him or how he rubbed your g-spot so nicely to elicit more raspy wails for the Gods above.

“I love you! Oh Miguel!”

I'm so sorry.

He will never forget your love. He will never disregard these tender and compassionate moments with you.

He captured your lips. Your tongues in a slow, mellow waltz, despite the contrast of the barbaric movements. Placing his forehead on yours, he choked back another sob. He will miss this display of affection.

“I'm close! I'm close! I'm–I'm- Miguel!”

You screeched out, shockwaves convulsing from head to toe. Goosebumps took over as you shivered and clamped around Miguel, whose thrusts were irregular as he neared his release.

He will miss you taking every drop of him. He will miss how you devoted a part of your life to him.

He will never forget the kids that ran through his head. In that ever-growing garden of beauty and goods, with your smile and his eyes.

Miguel shuddered and roared out, shooting thick webs of white deep into your core. He didn't stop until he was empty, and every vile string painted and coated every part of your walls.

You whined when his fangs pricked your neck, essentially stabbing at it. He didn't let up either. He remained this way for a few moments as blood ran down your shoulder. You were fully immobilized.

Pulling out, he licked and cleaned the wound, slowly laying you down. Streams of his essence spilled out until he forcibly gathered a satisfying amount and shoved it back into you.

“Mi... Mig... I love... you... you are a... laven…”

You couldn't move a single thing, not even your eyes. He inserted a good amount. You listened to your heart palpitate in your eardrums. In the morning, things can be discussed and disputed.

He only stared at your spent and limp body, covered in bruises, marks, scratches, and hickies. He skimmed over at the shredded covers and mattress, and dents now left on your wall. The floor must be damaged and streaked.

There was no clarity. There are no remedies for this tormenting misery. Only disgust, bile hatred, and disdain for the cardinal sin he imposed on you.

Strings covered his legs and lower torso.

The intoxicating aroma lingered in the atmosphere, his nose picking up every scent of your lovely fragrance and his putrid stench.

He slid off the bed and into the bathroom, coming out with freshly dry and damp rags and a tube of pain ointment. He intensively wiped and cleansed your body, applying the cream over the scars he caused.

You evidently appeared relaxed. Your chest was rising in a gradual, even sequence, as you were fast asleep. You're at peace. You've been tainted for the last time. 

Miguel snared, then went vacant. That itch was heightening, or was that guilt? He imposed an act so heinous, an act so atrocious for his true motives. He couldn't keep doing this to you. Disturbing you with his recklessness in a falsified manner that he disguised as devotion, fondness, and appreciation…

I'm so sorry, mi Luna…

He stroked your cheek, hot teardrops streaming down from the tip of his nose onto your beauty. He took in every feature, from every lash to every perfection you found imperfect. This is what he wanted to retain the most of. Being able to gaze upon this gentle, compassionate, and divine soul one last time. 

Especially after such an undignified exploitation.

He leaned his forehead on yours and let a tortured cry out. 

“I'm so sorry, Mi Luna. For all the burdens I have borne. You won't have to bear them any more.”

He didn’t get any sleep that night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@ella-janehaven @prozacgooble @sanguwuxyoonbummy

[merlinssassybeard]

|| 𝐀 𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐄𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 ||

✦𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭✦

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬:- 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨, 𝐀𝐔 1100𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 (the dark Ages), 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐝. 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆✦𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 & 𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐞✦ (𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐝 🤷‍♀️)

𝐀/𝐍: 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 for the feels || 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

|| 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐠𝐨 - 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 ||

They believed that the gods lived high above in the bright blue skies, but little do they know that it could be true. As a young man with hair as dark as coal and dressed in a loosely fitted cloth draping over both of his broad shoulders kneeled on the grounds. Drawing unknown symbols on the land and stood up and in a flash turned into a dark crow and flew straight up into the blue skies. Heading towards what looked like a portal or gate opening to the other dimension the crow entered from the land of the living to the land where the angels live...

The crow flew over the cities that sparkled like gold and silver. The city is one sight to see. With high towers everywhere that glittered under the golden sky and water and trees that glimmered and swayed with the sweet warm breeze as angels living here went on about there day. Everything has a glow and shine of itself here.

As for the flying crow, it had to reach The Golden Castle that stood high above all the cities, the castle where the God lives.

The Golden Castle is the residence of the balance of all living beings that is the almighty God. It is the enormous and gigantic castle that is all white in color ,unlike the name suggests, with large spacious halls, a Royal Court and a garden thats beauty is incomparable.

The flying raven had finally reached its destination as it entered the large illustrious hall of the Royal Court. The raven just as it had turned into one, turned back into the brunette man again and knelt down infront of the God.

"Your highness, the duty assigned to me has been fulfilled", the man in black said kneeling and with his head down.

"Ah! If it isn't Suguru Geto! Well what can i expect from you! Brilliant work child." The God appreciated.

"It was my pleasure serving you, your highness" the man continued, head bowed down.

The Royal Court's assembly had been dismissed already but the God insisted on staying as the news of the angel Geto coming back had reached. The God preferred Geto a lot, so much so, that he informally calls him his son.

"Hmm. If only my son was this obedient. Humph!" The God sighed

"Are you talking about me, Old man", a voice with a mocking tone came from the Royal Court's entrance gates. Angel Geto turned to take a look at the source of the voice. It was him..

"And there he is..." the God sighed again, "Geto, child you are dismissed. Have some rest for now and we'll talk later about your assignment." God declared and walked out with Royal guards following him.

"Old man has lost his marbles", the voice from earlier said again rolling his eyes. "Oi what about you Suguru! How has it been down there? Among those pesky humans"

Geto stood up from kneeling and turned around, "well Satoru, it is not nice to talk bad about your elders like that"

"Heh. Being righteous are we? You know i don't like that stuff"

Satoru Gojo, the son the God, Angel of war and the most powerful angel in the whole land next to none but the God. He stands slightly taller than Geto at 6'4, with hair as white as snow and skin as pale as pure milk, eyes as blue as the sky and his charisma and charm as bright as a diamond. His playful nature never fails to charm both men and women, making them fall to their knees, his knowledge over any topic expands over horizons. That is Satoru Gojo.

Satoru and Suguru had been friends from a younger age as Suguru belonged from the servant class of angels that served in the God's household. They have been bestfriends for as long as they can remember. One could also call them brothers to an extent. And among their friendship, if one could describe them simply, it would be that Suguru is the brain while Satoru is the brawl.

"Well I'm simply too exhausted to argue, i wish to rest now, if you'll allow me", Geto sighed and turned away from Satoru. "Eh? Ah! You're ignoring me! Suguru come back! I was just joking!"

The night had fallen and the city glowed like a cave of gold. Nights here are jovial just like in the land of living, crowded streets, overfilled taverns and songs in the street. Whereas in the Golden Castle it was same as everyday. Loud drinking parties, room filled with the Court Officials and rulers, various dishes in abundance, half naked women dancing and seducing, bickering among drunk men and what not.

But there was one Court Official who had been missing the events rather restless, Royal Court Official Ijichi.

Royal Court Official Ijichi is private assistant of the angel of war, Satoru Gojo. His father had and forefathers have served the previous throne holders as well and he is assigned to Satoru because the next in line for the throne, among all God's children, is Satoru Gojo.

Its not like Ijichi wanted to miss the event but it is so that he had discovered something really grave, something so bad that this news should be directly reached to the God himself and no intermediary.

Ijichi started walking through the large empty and quiet hallways lit by candles, as the whole castle had been assembled at the place where the party is taking place. Ijichi couldn't believe at what he had discovered. This is something which cannot be taken lightly as it can cause disruption in the whole balance of life itself.

He hurried down towards the room and just as he was about to enter, a sudden cold wind filled the halls which gave Ijichi chills all over his body.

"Um is it you ijichi san?" A voice startled the poor man so he turned

"G-Geto san!? W-whatre yo-" ijichi scaredely enough was about to ask before Geto stabbed him in the guts. "Hmm, so as i had speculated, you did found out, hence the stuttering."

Geto sighed and slid back out the knife while the wounded man gurgled out blood slowly from his mouth and fell onto the floor, "well well ijichi san, you're a kind man but only if you had kept this business to yourself..."

At that very moment, the friction from Ijichi falling had slightly opened the large gates of the event room and it so happened among one of the drunk officials caught a glimpse of what just happened.

The whole hall went into a state of panic as everyone present started yawping about geto stabbing ijichi.

"What in the heaven's name!", one drunk official shouted. "Was that Geto sama? Stabbing?", another yelped.

Satoru, on the other hand, was in his private room, resting as the whole palace went about panicking.

Laying alone on the large bed with silk sheets over his bare chiseled abdomen, he was lost in his thoughts over inheriting the throne.

Satoru Gojo may look like a fool on the outside, always making fun out of anything and himself in the process but no one can doubt his intellect, wisdom and seriousness that he possess on the inside.

It is his knowledge, strategy and sheer strength that lead to the victory of his battalion in the battlefields a many countless times, which relayed him the title of 'Angel of War'.

Lost in his own world while looking at the limitless Universes above that he heard a loud knocking on his door.

He gave a loud sigh thinking that he couldn't even rest peacefully, he called out tiredly, "I know its you ijichi, come in already, I am alone." putting emphasis on the last three words, letting the person on the other side know that Satoru doesn't have any partners for the night.

A woman with a frail body and light yellow dress entered the room and bowed, "My apologies your royal highness for interrupting you in your resting hours"

Satoru just rolled his eyes and made a motion with his hands indicating to get over the formality and to speak about the matter already.

"Your royal highness, Royal Court Official Ijichi sama was attacked this evening leaving him fatally injured"

The woman servant went on to explain about how the whole palace is in chaos and that God has been poisoned by none other than "...Geto Suguru sama has been named as a dangerous fugitive..."

Satoru quickly sprung up on his bed and for a brief moment it was as if though the whole world went silent as his ears started ringing, his bright blue orbs opened wide in shock. He was left speechless.

His childhood bestfriend? Geto suguru poisoning the God? Is it real? Or is this just a prank? What is happening?

A never before seen look of terror was in his face as couldn't comprehend the fact that his bestfriend almost compared as his own brother would betray like this?

Satoru hurriedly got off the bed and took his robe of gold and his sword that had given him victory in battles and walked past the servant who came to inform him.

"Gojo sama! Wait!" The frail woman shouted at the top of her lungs, "Ijichi had revealed something that you should hear! Please"

Satoru was just half the way in the hall and turned to the servant running towards him to tell him.

"..ijichi sama said Geto ###...." she went on to tell him the secret that ijichi was going to deliver straight to God.

The news sent shiver down Satoru's spine not of fear but out of realization of how he didn't knew well enough his own, one and only, best friend. Was their friend ship even real?

Satoru, filled with an anger incomparable, marched into the God's private chambers where he laid paralyzed, surrounded by his wives and daughters, sons and ministers.

"Where is he?" Satoru demanded

One of the ministers understanding his fit, tried to calm him down, "boy you shouldn't now-"

"WHERE THE HELL IS HE?" Nobody has EVER seen an angry Satoru Gojo.

"He's escaped to the forests or so the soldiers say", his older half brother replied as he sat beside his father.

Without wasting time, Satoru teleported himself outside the palace and spread large wings and went on to fly towards the forests.

He landed into the thick foliage and started wandering to look for Geto's energy and quickly turned to encounter...

"I know you've come for me" the tall figure with long raven hair said with his head bowed, unable to meet the gaze of his friend.

Satoru felt all his anger wash away just by Geto's presence, "How....how could you do this"

"I do not need to explain my myself to you... you can either come along or stay where you are"

Satoru still was speechless because all of this was feeling like a scene out of a nightmare and just too unrealistic to be true.

"Then i guess you'll stay......Satoru... don't come after me", geto mumbled and turned to walk off.

Only to draw out his sword because Satoru drew his.

Both of their swords clashed with each other. "I cannot let you escape. You're not the Suguru i knew....", "how...how could you...", he mumbled under his breath his own head slightly bowed in sorrow.

Suguru drew his shot at Satoru and at that very moment he knew no matter how much he'd strike, the victory will be of The Great Satoru Gojo and that Suguru's death is inevitable.

But what he didn't knew was that The Great Satoru Gojo didn't had the strength to hit his only friend, his brother in arms, he had.

Nevertheless, the two men went on to strike blows after blows onto each other. Suguru being the one receiving most of the hits.

One of Satoru's strikes hit Suguru's shoulder to which Suguru had no choice but to do it...

Suguru released one of his most powerful magiks, the rainbow dragon, to distract Satoru while he opened a portal to another realm on air.

Satoru felt his legs being sucked down into the portal which lead to a different realm so he started flying upwards by using his large pristine white wings of gold dust to prevent being sucked down but when he looked down and saw Suguru jumping into it willingly, he followed his suit to stop him.

Satoru and Suguru, once little boys who played together, couldn't get enough space through the portal to fight so they both kept trying to catch while the other dodged respectively.

Among these dodging of hits Suguru spotted a spot of white light at the end of the ever moving portal of realms and quickly changed his position from flying standing straight with his dark colored feathered wings to flipping himself upside down to face the opening and fly off.

Satoru couldn't let him run off easy so he followed Suguru the same way by changing his posture and now facing the dark winged man, he went on to land a strike with his blessed gold sword.

Suguru saw and quickly increased his speed to leave the portal and just as he was about to fly-

A blow from Satoru's sword hit the raven haired man's wings which sent him flailing into the blue skies of this new realm.

Satoru quickly escaped the closing tunnel of the portal and went on to hit him again before he saw Suguru disappeared-

"I don't want to do this... Satoru..." a voice whispered in his ears

Satoru eyes shot wide open and in a reflex he turned to strike again only to have Suguru succeed in striking him first.

Suguru Geto striked his brother in arm's bright ivory-gold wing off of his shoulder resulting in sending the Angel of War bleeding and down in this unknown realm...

Suguru although injured stood floating atop and looked down as his former life long friend fell down to his demise in a densely forested area.

He knew that killing the Angel of War, the next balance of life himself isn't this easy and that a fall from this mere height is going to barely land a few scratches but still for now its over so he mumbled to himself...

"Welcome to the realm of humans, Satoru..."

New chapter will be releasing soon

Thank you for reading!♡

[therealmofamorus]

Type: Prompt.

AU: Alpha male stud AU, Misogony AU, Stepford AU

Summary: Initially Ruby was mad at Jaune's suggestion, quitting from being a huntress and "assume her rightful place as a woman and being a housewife". But, after using his charming words, and fucking her for hours, he convinced her that she didn't needed to be a strong huntress, but just her submissive little wife.

Kink: Mind Break, Stepfordization, 2-koma loss.

Jaune: How about you quiet being a huntress and assume your natural, rightful place as a woman and housewife to real man like myself.

Ruby Rose frowned, narrowing her large silver eyes at the smiling face of Jaune Arc, the infamous leader of Team JNPR who was looking at her with mirthful expression that did little to hide the darkness in his dark blue eyes.

Ruby: Listen here and listen carefully butthole. I am not going to give up my dream of being huntress so I can be some sexist, misogynistic butthole--

X—xx—X

SMACK~! CLAP~! SMACK~! CLAP~! SMACK~! CLAP~! SMACK~! CLAP~!

Jaune and Ruby was fucking on Weiss bed, with the later fucking the former into hardcore mating press, his thick throbbing cock made quick work in resizing the inside of former cunt to fit his gigantic manhood.

Ruby: *Hearts in eyes, screaming* FUCK~! FUCK~! FUCK~! FUCK~! FUCK~! FUCK ME HUSBAND~!!!!

SMACK~! CLAP~! SMACK~! CLAP~! SMACK~! CLAP~! SMACK~! CLAP~!

Jaune: *Grunting* Take it you slut! Take my cock like the worhtless slut you are!

The broad-shouldered hulk of a man let out loud caveman like roar as he came inside the broken stepford wife-slut, filling her twat with his thick seed.