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ultravioletrayz · 5 months

Note

hii, i hope your day/night has been well !!

i was wondering if i could request husband miguel who’s at the society with chubby/curvy wife where reader is just literally stuck to him like glue because she’s on her period and like also period horny and she desperately wants a lolipop qnd miguel is like totally taking advantage of it by straight up making reader give him a bj for her to satisfy her oral fixation

Holy shit that’s so hot.

Pairing: miguel o’hara x f!reader

Warnings: 18+, oral (m. receiving), size kink (kinda), miguel and reader both being equally needy, public sex? (they do it in miguel’s office), miguel gets kind of rough so throat fucking ig, cum eating, awfully translated Spanish

Summary: following your husband around his workplace all day means miguel gets to take full advantage of your current… situation 🩸

A/N: someone give reader her lollipop :(

Word Count: 1.6K (unedited)

At this point, you couldn’t tell whether Miguel was genuinely clueless, or just being a dick. You’ve been following him around HQ all day, not wanting to get lost in the hustle and bustle of the Spider Society, all the while trying not to cry out in pain and discomfort from how bad your cramps are getting.

It’s like your body wants you to suffer. The dizzying combination of pain, exhaustion, arousal, and the desperate need to distract yourself with something, anything, is enough to make you scurry away from your husband in desperate search of any kind of relief.

You try to follow the signs and the memory of Miguel showing you around his workplace the first time he had let you visit, making your way into the cafeteria. A few Spider-People look your way, confused as to why Miguel wasn’t by your side.

Shyly, you make your way to a few food stands and counters set up throughout the room, asking around if anybody sells a lollipop or anything else that would satisfy your need for distraction. Unfortunately for you, nobody has anything to offer, causing you to smile politely and leave the room, despite how frustrating this whole situation is.

You’ve excused yourself to the bathroom an obscene amount of times, been caught clutching your midsection as a result of your more painful cramps (day 2 fucking sucks), and you’ve been biting and chewing at the collar of the cute little blouse you’re wearing, which was your first attempt to communicate to Miguel this morning that you are painfully horny. And yet, the man you married for his caring and observant nature was none the wiser.

“¿Adónde fuiste?” Miguel’s voice booms behind you, causing a startled yelp to leave your lips as you turn on your heels and look up at him. His expression isn’t one of anger, like you had expected, it’s more amused than anything. (Where did you go?)

“I wanted a lollipop,” You say softly, fiddling with the hem of your blouse as the mere sight of your tall, tan, muscular husband in that skin-tight, holographic suit makes your thighs instinctively clench together. “But nobody sells them. You should get onto that, Migs.” You joke, trying to focus on anything but the aching in your lower tummy and the arousal pooling in your panties.

“Why do you want a lollipop? If you’re hungry, get something real to eat, cariño, a lollipop’s not gonna fill you up.” Miguel raises an eyebrow at you, his sharp red eyes full of confusion as he tries to pin your unusual behaviour.

“Miguel, I'm on my period, you idiot.” You giggle, your suspicions regarding Miguel’s cluelessness towards your situation being confirmed. It was a bit annoying that despite how long you two have been together, he can still get so caught up in work that he doesn’t remember the important things, like when your period’s due and that your oral fixation worsens during that time of the month. But he’s too hot to hold a grudge.

Miguel’s amused expression drops and he lets out a dramatic sigh, rubbing his temples as he mumbles apologies for his negligence towards your feelings the whole day. “Lo siento, querida, I had no idea. Can I do anything to help you?”

You smile softly at Miguel’s apology, licking your lips and fighting the urge to suck on the fabric of your blouse as you look up at your husband. “I need something to distract me from my cramps. Is there anywhere here that sells lollipops? Maybe one of the kids has candy or something stashed in their lockers?”

Miguel tries to hide the devilish smirk that creeps onto his lips as he steps close to you. He rests one of his massive, calloused hands on the back of your head, leaning in to whisper against your ear. “¿Necesitas chupar algo, nena?” (Need something to suck on, baby?)

You blush, Miguel’s teasing comment making you weak in the knees and going straight to your dripping cunt. Your eyes dart around the area the two of you are standing in, terrified one of Miguel’s subordinates may have heard him. Once you’re sure the two of you are alone, you nod, the needy look on your pretty face causing Miguel’s dick to throb in his suit.

With haste, Miguel drags you into his office, your lips crashing against one another as he slams your much smaller frame against the wall, his tongue forcing its way into the warmth of your mouth. One of his hands is buried in the softness of your silky locks, the other cupping your dripping pussy over your jeans, the heel of his palm grinding against your pulsing clit and causing you to whimper against his plump lips.

“Fucking lollipop,” Miguel hisses against your lips, his tone dripping with teasing and dominance as he sits down in the nearest desk chair and gestures for you to follow. “If you wanted to suck my dick that bad, should’ve just said something, princesa.”

Miguel spreads his muscular thighs, and you take it as an invitation to kneel between them. Your head rests on his leg, causing his holographic suit to flicker at the contact. He can’t help but chuckle at the adorable sight before him. His pretty little wifey, desperate to feel his heavy dick in her mouth. With a grin on your face, you reach up to tap the glowing screen of Miguel’s dimensional travel watch, the bottom half of his Spider-Suit dissolving. His hardened cock springs up, pre already dribbling from his reddened tip just because of how needy you are on your period. It drives him fucking insane.

You wrap your hands around Miguel’s shaft, your digits barely enveloping his girthy member, causing him to let out a quiet moan. Your eyes remain glued to his sharp, red ones as your tongue darts out to lick a fat stripe from his swollen balls, along the veins on the underside of his dick, all the way up to his leaky tip. He groans as you plant little kisses against his moist slit, claws protruding from his fingertips and digging into the arms of his chair.

“Stop teasing, cariño,” Miguel whimpers, hips bucking against your mouth to try and force his cock inside. “I thought you needed this-” Miguel’s words are cut off by a loud moan as you unexpectantly give his tip a harsh suck, swirling your tongue around it as you savour the taste of his precum.

He knows that you’re overly sensitive and fragile when you’re on your period, but the second your moist, plush lips surround his cock, he loses all self-control. You wanted something to suck, something to distract you from your cramps? Miguel was going to give you just that. He grabs you by your hair and bucks his hips upwards, his cock slamming into the back of your throat and causing you to choke and cry. He fucks his dick into the depths of your mouth, eyes rolling back in his head as he pants and moans above you. You hollow your cheeks and rest your hands on the thick flesh of his legs, trying to ground yourself and adjust to the way Miguel smears his precum all over the walls of your mouth.

“Lo siento– ¡mierda! Lo siento, cariño.” Miguel whines, his hold on your hair loosening as you start to bob your head up and down on his length, sucking him off properly now. He reaches out to wipe away your tears, whispering sweet praises to you to make up for his harsh thrusts before. “Doing so good, baby. Keep going.”

Saliva drips down your chin as you take as much of Miguel in your mouth as possible, your hands firmly stroking the bottom half of his shaft that isn’t inside the gushy warmth of your pretty lips. The weight of Miguel’s cock against your tongue, the way his veins pulsate and brush against your lips each time your head rises, and the sight of his head thrown back and his thighs twitching as he gets closer and closer to cumming makes your aching pussy drool, your panties surely ruined by how turned on you are.

“I’m- fuck! I’m gonna cum, bebé.” Miguel whines, the muscles in his thick biceps bulging as he grips his chair and lazily fucks into your mouth to reach his release. Feeling his twitching cock filling your mouth makes you moan, the vibrations of your pretty sounds sending Miguel over the edge. His cum coats the inside of your mouth, spurting against the back of your throat as he pants and curses to himself.

You release his softening member with a pop!, licking up the stray ropes of his release that coat his shaft and lap, swallowing his load and making sure to clean him up thoroughly. He chuckles breathlessly at the sight of you being so obedient and he lifts your chin in one hand to stroke his thumb against your cheek.

“Gracias, mi reina,” He whispers, enabling his suit once again, his heavy, moist cock disappearing underneath the digital strands of blue and red. “I’ll return the favour at home, okay?”

You giggle and nod your head in agreement, staring up at your fucked-out husband gratefully.

“Can you still help me find a lollipop to buy?”

Teehee :)

#ultravioletrayz #miguel smut #miguel o'hara smut #miguel x you #spiderman 2099 smut #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #spider man 2099 x reader

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kiwisbell · 6 months

Text

Loser [frankie morales]

Frankie Morales has always been a total fucking loser. Maybe, at least, you can teach him how a woman likes to be touched.

my masterlist!

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

word count: ~ 7k

tags/warnings: loser!frankie, frankie loving women so much he's terrified of them, inexperienced frankie, experienced reader, dry humping, premature ejaculation, subby!frankie, we’ll call him “takes directions well” frankie, pussy eating king frankie morales, overstimulation, oral sex (m and f receiving), body worship, dirty talk, frankie likes being called a good boy, begging!frankie, whimpering/whining, reader is pope’s sister, pining, lack of self-confidence, anxiety, affectionate brother-sister name-calling, birthday blowjob

read on ao3!

a/n: hi lovelies!! this has been a mini passion project of mine for a while - the phrase "loser frankie" hasn't stopped rattling around in my head since i thought of it. thank you to my besties @northernbluess and @tieronecrush for being so supportive and unhinged as always in your support of loser!frankie, and for beta'ing this silly little fic. i hope you enjoy, friends, and please tell me what you think!! xoxo

LOSER

Nobody ever decorates for a house party. Apparently, you thought it would be worth it.

A holographic Dollar Tree paper banner strung from one wall to the opposite, HAPPY BIRTHDAY blaring bright red-green-blue-yellow in the entryway to Santiago’s home. Helium balloons swaying hello on either side of the makeshift archway, equally obnoxious and slightly less ugly. Foil-wrapped paperweights tether them to the ground, but it doesn’t matter because the second Benny arrives, he’s tossing a dart from the board in the next room through a balloon and letting the lonely string flutter, flaccid, to the ground.

Fumbling their way through tone-deaf renditions of “Happy Birthday” are Will, Benny, and a handful of other friends. Beer pong tables are set up in the kitchen and the sharp crack! of pool balls echoes up the stairs. House music pounds through the shoddy Bluetooth speakers that aren't quite equipped to handle these volumes. It feels like he's back in college, dragged from frat house to frat house where his much-more-suave roommates chatted up pretty girls as he hid in the corner.

You’re so beautiful. It's rare that he can be in the same room as you and retain any moisture in his mouth. Tonight’s no different. He can hear your enchanting laughter from every corner of the house as he quietly follows you from room to room without ever getting close enough to let you notice him. Sometimes you'll bring your manicured hand up onto someone’s shoulder and honey will drip from your tongue as you ask so sweetly: Have you seen Frankie?

It’s his birthday, after all. And he’s been avoiding you all night.

Frankie sips his sweating beer as he watches you and Pope arm wrestle for the last Pilsner—or, more accurately, you're wrestling to decide who gets to not drink the last Pilsner.

“I’m not gonna arm wrestle you. I’ll break your fuckin’ arm.” This from Pope, already half in the bag, the consonant-to-vowel slide a little slurred, knocking back the remainder of his (sixth? seventh?) Bud Light.

And you, not-quite tipsy, in your tight Levis and your low-cut shirt, the picture of poise—if Frankie considers that nearly everyone else in the room is hammered apart from you. And himself. “What are you, a pussy? Put ‘er there, Santi Claus, and let me see what you've got.”

Pope sighed and placed his elbow on the table, locking his thumb around yours, as Benny slapped a “Three, two, one, fight!” on the surface of the table.

Pope is victorious, slamming your hand down on the table and whooping along with Ironhead. Benny, who’d bet on you, smacks his brother upside the head. You take your loss like a champ and crack the Pilsner open on the edge of the table, gulping it down while the guys cheer your name. Your fist chugs in tandem with their cries.

Frankie, rubbing his clammy palms along his thighs, swallows hard as he looks on from the couch. Some of the beer dribbles down your chin, pooling in the hollow of your throat, spilling over, waterfalling, between your tits. He downs the rest of his beer—not a fucking Pilsner—and flees to the front porch while patting his pockets for a cigarette. The music muffles to a distant cry.

“You mind if I bum a light?”

Frankie feels a distinct sting in the nape of his neck as he jolts in the direction of your voice. He whirls on you and sheepishly scrapes his hand through his hair. His muscles still twinge.

“Uh, I—yeah. No. Don't mind.” He fumbles around in his back pocket and gives you his lighter because he doesn't trust his trembling fingers not to drop it. You smile at him graciously and light your cigarette, turning the flame on his own.

“Thank you, Cat.” You rest your elbows on the porch railing and blow your smoke through the pinhole of your parted lips. It dissipates into the dark sky with his own. “Are you enjoying the party?”

He’s rigid, his hands white-knuckling the railing, lips suctioned around the filter. The sticky-hot flush of anticipatory humiliation lingers high on his cheeks. Your expensive perfume sticks to the inside of his nasal passages. He thinks this is what drowning feels like.

“Yeah,” he rasps, disgusted by the sound of his own voice. He clears his throat and takes another drag. “Yeah, it's great. You did a good job.”

Your lips twist in self-reproach. “You’re very sweet, Frankie, but I spent a whole of twenty bucks on the décor. You deserved better than the Dollar Tree.”

He shakes his head, scratching his beard. “Nah. Don't need much. ‘n you were away ‘til yesterday, and—”

“And my brother is an idiot who wouldn’t remember the date if a calendar gave him a colonoscopy.” Frankie snorts his agreement. He can't meet your eye. If he does, he’ll see distant lamplight gleaming in them and turn to stone. “So, if you see him around before he passes out drunk, give him a slap for me, will you?”

He dips his head in subservience to your wishes. He has no problem smacking Pope around a little. “How was your trip?”

You sidle up a little closer to him and his cheeks burn. “Cat, honey, I can't hear you.”

He clears his throat and meets your eye only to drop his gaze again. His ears are scorching. “How was your trip?” he says louder.

You hum sweetly and he feels his shoulders drop. “It was relaxing. Got a little too much sun, drank a few too many margaritas, but it was nice. Kel and Valerie told me all about their new relationships and that only made me drink some more.”

Frankie didn't know you were single. Last he heard, you'd found some asshole at the bar. Frankie had spent too many hours subject to Will and Benny’s teasing about how he didn't get in on time and would never have a piece of that ass. He’d watched the guy, Eric, drop you off at Frankie’s shop so you could get the car he’d been fixing up.

He tries to smile but it feels like pinching a nerve. “That’s good.”

“I was excited to come back and see you.”

He blinks at you. Swirling ribbons of smoke dance away on the slight breeze.

“What?”

“Imagine my disappointment”—your lower lip juts out as you prowl toward him and he isn’t sure why you’ve ever called him Cat when it’s you who stalks so silently after your prey—“when the birthday boy doesn’t even give me the time of day.”

His mouth feels like chewing cotton, and he’s grinding his teeth for another cigarette. You beam across the room at him, producing something from the back of your waistband.

His cap.

“Forgot this,” you tell him, reaching up and fitting the hat back over his head.

Fuck. You’re so fucking close. He can smell your perfume and the cloying scent of beer you haven’t yet cleaned from your chest and he’s fairly fucking sure you’d feel his erection through his jeans if you stepped any closer.

You always know how to get under his skin. And he always lets you because every first glance, first syllable, first touch, feels like the first descent of morning sunlight through the window. You've always warmed his skin a touch too hot. But he burns up in it. You smell so sweet.

“I… uh…” Frankie swallows, floundering, instinctively tucking his curls behind his ears. “Thanks. For the hat.”

Jesus fucking Christ, Morales. In your fucking forties and you still don't know how to talk to a woman.

Stop looking at her tits. Fucking hell, man.

Stop. Fucking. Looking.

“Frankie, honey.” Your soothing lilt draws his eyes back up to your mouth, and he feels bone-tired, molten, fairly sweaty. Your brows are drawn together in the middle. “Are you okay?”

He licks his lips. “Wh—what?”

You sidle up a little closer, your fingers playing along the rim of his cap. “You're quiet tonight,” you say softly. “Did I do something wrong?”

Funny. Frankie can't recall a single moment in his years of knowing you when he was able to string together a coherent sentence. Sure, he fixed up your car over the summer while you were away on a work trip and he set up your new phone after you broke the last one partying. He's happily lapped at your heels and fixed what was broken and done everything you never asked him to.

Every platonic touch met with blushing aversion, a couple days’ retreat to the garage, going dark, no-contact, fixing up more cars and bikes and choppers. Every Thank you, Frankie met with relative silence, a tight nod, a tactical drag of his cigarette.

“Is it because he’s my brother?”

Frankie’s jaw ticks.

You've always been untouchable—the goddamn Venus de Milo. Yeah, Pope would rip him a new one if he knew the things Frankie dreamed about his sister. But you’re the one touching him. You’re the one whose hand drifts slowly down his face, cupping his jaw in your hand, eyes warm and gooey, making a choice with every inch your soft hands explore.

“I like you, Frankie,” you tell him. “Do you like me, too?”

He nods frantically, his hands flexing at his sides. “Mhm,” he manages, tight-lipped, his voice breaking.

Like is such a plain word. How does one merely watch the sunrise? How does someone walk past you on the street? You’re meant for indulging, for pleasing, for theses and soapboxes and megaphones. You’re more than idle like. He nods anyway. Coward.

“Then Santi shouldn’t matter,” you whisper. “None of it should matter. I threw this party for you. I wanna know you’re having fun.”

“I am,” he says hurriedly. “Fuck, I am. It’s fun. You—you did everything right.”

You’re such a fucking moron, Morales. Tell her how you feel.

You smile, brushing the pad of your thumb under his bearded chin. “Good. Will you stay for a while afterward to help me clean up?”

Frankie nods again, and you pull him in for a tight embrace. He stiffens, his eyes instinctively shuddering closed as your body presses up against him. Your nails scratch at the nape of his neck and he feels his cock twitch, filling his boxers against your thigh. He should be panicking, scrambling to escape your grasp before you can feel the thick weight of his desire for you, but he’s frozen, immobile, his brain poisoned by the heady smell of your shampoo and perfume. His hands are pressed firm to his sides, blunt fingernails biting his palms.

“Happy birthday, Francisco.”

He barely registers that you’ve spoken, his lips absently parting in to inhale the warmth radiating from your throat as he begins to lower his head, and fuck—he’s never been touched this way. Instinct begins to snap and growl when you pull away, but you’re beaming up at him, soothing the animal, and pressing a kiss to his patchy beard.

“Thank you,” he says, the newborn deer on trembling legs. You disappear inside the house, leaving him alone on the porch, throbbing house music reverberating through his chest. Frankie staggers on his feet, bracing himself on the railing.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuckin’ Christ.”

Around two o’clock in the morning, he's stuffing beer-soaked tablecloths and balloon weights and banners into a garbage bag. The faint clinking of glass echoes from the kitchen as you gather empty bottles into the recycling bin. Frankie has been sporting a hard-on all night, and he’s two minutes away from jerking himself off in Santiago’s bathroom.

Pope himself is upstairs, passed out drunk on his bed, thanks to you. Apart from him, you and Frankie are alone in the house. It's getting harder to ignore the pull of arousal in his belly, the cloudy haze in the back of his head that makes his hands lag behind on simple tasks.

He thinks of all the times he locked himself in the bathroom at a bar because you wore a tight shirt or a short dress, fucking his hips into his fist until he came with a quiet shudder into his palm. He thinks of all the words he wants to give to you. He thinks of the blood-red ribbon tied taut around all the jumbled syllables and he thinks of all the men you’ll date because he can't even ask you for one.

His chest is a wick pinched between two fingers. He will never know you the way he burns to.

“All done,” you sing as you emerge, dropping the bin by the front door. “How’s it coming, Cat?”

He groans as he stands, hauling the garbage bags to the front door. Brushing past you on the way outside, he feels your body heat course through him.

Frankie stumbles for only a moment as the fog settles lower. You're waiting for him in the foyer.

“Come on, Frankie,” you purr, winking as you pass him, your hips swaying as you make your way into the kitchen. He follows you eagerly into the next room, tail wagging.

You’re rummaging in the refrigerator for the leftover birthday cake and sliding a piece each onto some plates. Handing Frankie his share, you gently collide your plate with his to emit the echoic clink of china. “To getting older.”

“Yeah,” he says softly. Your perfume lingers in his hindbrain. “To getting older.”

“I remember when Santi introduced me to you,” you tell him, “the week you all came back for good.”

“Bad first impression?” guesses Frankie.

You tut. “The opposite, honey. Thought you were sweet. I mean, there are very few guys out there willing to fix my stupid fucking car without expecting even a flash of tit in return.”

He scoffs. “You get that a lot?”

You level him with a playful glare before you lift a sliver of cake to your mouth. “Any of those pretty girls ever ask you to flash your dick?”

Frankie ducks his head, cheeks burning. “Can’t say they have.”

“You get a lot of pretty girls in your shop?” You pout, tracing the prongs of the fork around the circumference of your plate. “I’d be real jealous.”

“You're fucking with me.” He doesn’t meet your eye, his chin practically tucked into his neck as he continues to prod around his piece of cake. The dread of your imminent rejection burns in his lower belly.

He sees your hand on his arm before he feels it. “Francisco, look at me.”

He reluctantly raises his gaze to you. You gently brush your knuckles under his chin. “I wouldn’t tell you how to fly a helicopter. Why should you tell me who I choose to go after?”

Frankie’s throat constricts. “Is—is that what you're doing?” he chokes. “Going after me?”

You shrug coyly, your fingertips dancing over his forearm. The hairs on the back of his neck rise. “Would that make you uncomfortable?”

Vehemently, he shakes his head before you finish your sentence. “No. No. Just… I just didn't think you were interested.”

You take a jolting step backward. “Are you kidding me?”

He shakes his head again. Not quite as aggressively.

You begin to laugh, and this is more like the reaction he's used to from women.

“Fuck, Cat, I’ve been trying to get in your pants for two goddamn years.”

Frankie’s lips part. He’s fairly certain a minute squeak meanders out of his mouth.

“Wh… But—but you…”

You nibble on your thumbnail as your pupils expand, your eyes darkening to something wicked, indulgent, catlike. “What did you think I meant when I told you I like you, honey?”

“I—”

Another bubbling laugh slips from your mouth. Frankie wants to drown in the sound of it. Jesus, he wants you to humiliate him every day for the rest of his laugh if gets to hear that.

“Do you think I’m pretty, Francisco?”

“Yeah,” he rasps. “I do.”

“Say it.”

The command is coaxing, guiding, and it presses up against the pool of his belly, tension winding tight in his core.

“You're pretty,” he says dumbly. “You're really pretty.”

You take your bottom lip between your teeth and he’s shuddering, his cock uncomfortably trapped under layers of cotton and denim, fingers twitching at his sides.

“Come with me, Frankie,” you say, stretching out your hand, palm-up, like a peace offering to a stampeding animal.

“What are you…”

“Do you trust me?”

He scans your body—the curve of your throat, your collarbones, your breasts, thighs, hips—and swallows thickly. “Yeah,” he rasps. “‘Course I do.”

“I have something I need help with,” you tell him, coaxing him gently toward you with the promise of doing a good deed.

Of course, he goes easily after that.

You lead him to the living room, now in the relative state it was before the party, and gently urge him to sit on the couch. “Frankie,” you say, lowering yourself next to him, “do you have a girl to keep you company?”

His head jerks up from where it was bent in a demure aversion to meeting your eye. “What? What—no.”

“Do you want a girl to keep you company?”

A strangled, high-pitched cry lurches halfway up his throat before he suppresses it all. “You… you want to…?”

You’re already nodding your head, winding your arms around his neck, sliding into his lap, sitting on his hard cock like you were fucking meant to—

Oh, God. Oh my God. Holy fucking, shitting, screaming Christ.

There’s plenty of layers between your body and his. It could hardly be called sexy at all, what with both of you stuck inside thick denim and surrounded by the aftertaste and aftersmell of beer. But it is. Fuck, it is. He can see all of you from here, looking up at you, hair haloed by the sickly yellow pot light behind your head. The cut of your jaw shifts as you take him in. Your chest heaves and he lets himself imagine for a moment that you’re really here, the jaundiced light shifting over the planes of your chest and shoulders.

“I’m going to kiss you, Frankie.”

He swallows hard, the electric jolt of your core lowering onto his length causing his fingers to flex instinctively, uselessly, against the cushions. “O—kay.”

You bite your lip when you smile, leaning in with a hand on his jaw and slanting your mouth over his.

He can't believe this is fucking happening. Frankie sighs into your mouth, his hands shooting up, hovering over your hips, not quite touching. He moves his mouth with yours, letting you part his lips and slide your tongue along his. He groans softly, hands trembling over the divot of your waist and hips, accidentally brushing gently over the velvety fabric of your top. Frankie flushes with shame and drops his hands. He shouldn't be touching. You're giving him a gift. If he makes one wrong move, you’ll take it back.

You laugh into his mouth, breaking away to drop your forehead to his. “You can touch me, Frankie, baby, it’s okay,” you tell him, gently raking your fingers through his hair. “It’ll make me feel good if you touch me.”

Frankie nods, lifting his hands to your waist and settling them apprehensively on your body. It feels like a switch flicks, a closed circuit, heat irradiating the tremor in his fingers. The planes of his palms explore your body, slow, the intricate care he takes in marking your topography melting you in warm shivers against him. He's making you feel good.

Some of his deep-seated pride gurgles up his chest. He's fucking touching you.

“Your hands are so big, Frank,” you whisper, gently rolling your hips. He makes a strangled noise, gripping your waist to stop you or encourage you. “You’re so fucking pretty. So handsome.”

He preens, blushing, dropping his head between your tits and nuzzling his cheek into your sternum. “M’not.”

“Yeah, you are.” Another slow grind against his cock and he’s baring his teeth, panting from the effort not to come so quick. Fuck, you'll never touch him again if he comes in his jeans. “You should be told every day. So gorgeous, Frankie. My Frankie.”

He's addicted now that he's got a hit. His hands won't leave you, curling around your waist until they're splayed against your spine, fitting you tighter to him, dipping tentatively toward your ass. And you're guiding his chin up, kissing him again, moaning softly into his mouth, and he's so fucking giddy he could weep.

His hips buck up against you and he feels your thighs tighten around his hips as his erection nudges your puffy clit. You like that, he notes. It feels good for you when he does that. You gasp into the kiss, your fingers tightening near-painfully in his hair, and Frankie does it again just to feel that prickling ache.

Give and take. He feels himself learning as you do, carving one another’s tells into your ribs. He needs this, yes, but he's beginning to realise that you do, too.

You're grinding on him a little more desperately now, hands feverish, selfishly seeking that rough pressure on your clit. And Frankie wants you to have it. Fuck, he needs it so badly. He aches to learn what you look like when you come.

But his dick is fucking throbbing, and you aren't relenting, and it's been so goddamn long that he’s already close.

He breathes through his teeth as you begin to lace warm kisses up and down the veins on his throat. “I’m… fuck, I’m…”

You hum, and the vibrations travel from his neck to his cock. He's so close. He’s…

“Talk to me, Frankie. Tell me how it feels,” you coo, licking a stripe up the side of his throat.

You want him to speak? Christ, he isn't sure he remembers words. “Muy bien… No puedo… F-feels good. Feels reall—fuck, really good.”

He feels your smile against his neck and whines when you nibble his earlobe. “Yeah?” you whisper. His entire body cavitates with a shudder, and you nip him again. “Like it when I do this?”

He groans, squeezing your hips in erratic pulses. “Mhm. Mhm.”

You roll your hips slow and hard against the length of him. You're panting, too, your pupils nearly engulfing your irises. “Use your words, baby,” you say breathlessly. “Let me hear you, Frankie, honey.”

Frankie chokes on his own tongue. “G—fuck. Goddamn, I… Please, please—”

“Please is a good start.” You suck on the spot below his ear and he sees fucking white.

“Please, I can’t… mierda, no puedo… please, I’m gonna—”

He comes with an embarrassed shout, muffled in your temple, his hand shooting up to rest at the crown of your head and fist your hair. Pleasure skitters up and down his spine as he spills into his own jeans and warms your cunt with the wet spot that blossoms on the denim.

You stop rolling your hips, still tucked safely in his arms. He can't meet your eyes. He's buried in your throat now, breathing hard, while your nails scratch at the nape of his neck.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry,” he says, bucking helplessly as the last of his orgasm depletes his body. “I’m sorry.”

You're clicking your tongue, smoothing his sweat-matted curls away from his forehead. “Hey, hey. Frankie, baby, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Soothing him with your kind hands, you guide him to look at you. He's flushed high on his cheeks. “Give me a kiss.”

He obeys, unable to deny you, his lips naturally parting to let you in. “Didn’t mean to—”

You press a kiss to his Cupid’s bow, the corner of his mouth, and one of the patches in his beard. “Nobody’s angry with you, Frank.”

The shame toils hot, churning up his guts. “Wanted to—to come inside you.”

You make a close-mouthed noise of understanding. “I know. You wanted to make me feel good, hmm?”

He nods, eyes dipping.

“You did, Frankie,” you tell him.

“You didn't come.”

“I don't always have to come to feel good.” You're still smiling, a still-aroused, heavy-lidded smile, and Frankie shakes his head.

“Wanna make you come. Tell me what to do.”

You sit back gently in his lap. “Are you sure, Frankie?”

“Sí, I’m fucking sure.” He won't leave it like this. He needs to watch you fall to pieces. If it takes all fucking night, it takes all night. It's his birthday, for Christ’s sake.

You lick your lips and drop your voice to a whisper. “Take off my clothes.”

He scrambles, lifting the hem of your shirt up over your head and fumbling with the clasp of your bra. Both items fall haphazardly to the floor elsewhere, and you stand briefly to give Frankie a good view of your body.

You're so fucking beautiful.

Lurching forward, he wraps his arms around your naked waist, pressing his palms to your slick spine and putting his lips to your belly. He kisses his way up your chest until he finds one of your stiff nipples and clumsily latches his mouth around it. “Oh, Frankie,” you gasp, petting at his hair, enjoying the tremors of arousal that pool in your core. He sucks and bites at your nipples until they're raw, and by the time he gets your jeans down your legs, you've soaked your panties through.

“Fuck,” he mutters, staring unabashedly at your aching core.

“I’m going to sit, Frank. Get on your knees.” And he goes, settling on the floor in front of your spot on the couch. Face-to-face with your dripping pussy, he wets his lips. He's never wanted to taste something so terribly as he does now.

“Take off the rest.”

He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your lacy panties and drags them down your legs, a jolt of arousal twitching in his pants as he sees your glistening cunt for the first time.

“Girls like to be touched,” you tell him. “Do you want to touch me?”

“Fuck,” he says, his voice pitching high. “Fuck, yes. Let me, please.”

“Some of us like to be teased. I’m sensitive here”—your hands trail gently along your upper thighs—“and here.” Your fingers rise to your sternum, splitting to play idly with your nipples. “You can use your mouth, too. Okay, Frankie?”

He nods, testing his fingertips upon the divots of your knees. You’re soft here, and you offer no resistance as he slowly spreads you wide open, fitting himself between your legs. Frankie’s heart soars out of his chest at your first shudder. He slowly trails his fingers along the soft planes of your inner thighs, learning you, delighting in the play of his rough hands on your skin. He squeezes your thigh and lifts it up onto his shoulder so he can crush his mouth into your flesh, smattering you with wet, open-mouthed kisses that have you squirming in his grasp. His name leaves your mouth like a discrete, whispered ballad. Your muscles twitch and flex under his touch as Frankie loses himself in the soft, sweet taste of you.

“That’s so good, baby,” you sigh, reaching for the brim of his cap and knocking it off his head. He grunts, able to bury himself deeper this way, head spinning, his brain folding you neatly inside. His hand migrates up your belly and blindly squeezes your breast, kneading your flesh in his palm, flicking his thumb over your nipple. “Yeah, Frankie, yeah. That feels good.”

Your words of affirmation go right to his not-quite soft dick. He kisses and gropes and licks until he reaches the apex of your thighs, peeling back to meet your eyes as he greedily squeezes your thighs in his hands.

“Do you know where my clit is, Frankie?”

He nods. He's watched porn. He's taken anatomy classes. They’re practically the same fucking thing.

“Show me.”

He lifts his hand to put his fingers to your clit, but you shake your head and he stops instantly.

“Not like that,” you say, your naked chest heaving with anticipatory energy. “With your tongue.”

Holy fucking shit.

He'd be goddamn delighted. Frankie lowers his head between your legs and, hit with the heavy, cloying scent of your hormones and arousal, feels his brain begin to lag behind. He parts your folds with his thumbs and guides the flat of his tongue over your little pearl.

You sigh happily, your head falling back against the cushions. “That's it,” you gasp as Frankie flicks his tongue against your clit. “Oh, Frankie, that's it.”

The praise settles proudly in his chest. He wraps his arms around your thighs to keep them spread wide for him as he shoulders his way between your legs. Your tang lingers on his taste buds and prickles his adenoids. He needs more.

You watch him blink up at you and curl your fingers in his hair. “Lick my pussy, Frankie.”

He groans when he gets his first real taste, his eyes fluttering as he licks through your slit. His nose crushed to your clit, Frankie greedily teases his tongue around your tight, wet hole, and the answering twitch of your thighs pleases him.

“Mmmyes.” Your eyes shutter, but Frankie does not close his. He isn't yet certain he's awake, and he refuses to miss a moment of the idle grinding of your hips, the rise and fall of your chest, the way you suck in breaths through your parted lips.

Frankie growls as you tug on his hair, spitting on your clit and spreading his own saliva around with his tongue. You cry out, back arching, and he absently humps the air like a goddamn dog as he begins to stiffen in his jeans.

He's… good. He listens, fine-tuned, to your gasps and moans, learning what you like best. Forsaking any desire for air, he suffocates himself between your thighs, possessed by your smell and taste and the honeyed moans that leave your mouth. He’s always been overeager to help assuage your worries, to fix what was broken. This is different altogether.

“Fuck!” you gasp, the backs of your thighs on his shoulders, ankles locking around one another, your fist in Frankie’s hair keeping him tethered to you. “That’s fucking it, baby, yesyesyes… Just like that, Frankie, fuck!”

The encouragement makes him lightheaded. Drunk on the taste of you, Frankie moans, licking your clit relentlessly, your thighs twitching at the warm flat of his tongue. He refuses to let your legs close, fingers dimpling your flesh, lips latching around your clit and sucking.

“Ah! F—Frank! That feels so fucking good, baby. Fuck, lick my pussy just like that. My good boy.”

Frankie whines, alternating between pulling gently on your clit and licking through your pussy until he's making out with you, his cock filling out his damp jeans once more. He doesn't want to stop. He never wants to leave, tucked in your thighs, engulfed by your warmth. Your clit begins to pulse under his tongue and he suckles wetly, greedily, sloppily. Fixed to your cunt, he groans as your hips begin to buck up into him, your fingers curling painfully in his locks.

“I’m gonna come, Frankie. Fuckfuckfuck, baby, I’m—ah!”

Head thrown back, hips grinding relentlessly against his nose, you reach your climax under Frankie’s tongue. You cry out, muscles locking, thighs trapping his head between your legs. Happily, Frankie continues to lap at you, dipping his tongue into your pulsing hole to taste what he’s drawn from your body.

He groans into you, eyes fluttering shut now that he’s watched you ride out your orgasm, fingers squeezing your thighs and dipping to your ass. He uses this leverage to fit you flush to him, pressing himself firmer to your pussy. You gasp his name, the muscles of your inner thighs twitching as you begin to tense once more.

He’s still going. He’s still fucking going, pussy-drunk and licking up your release which mingles with his own saliva.

“Frankieeeee, fuck!” You can't hold your head up anymore, lolling against the cushion, as Frankie maintains a vise around your thighs and slides his tongue over your sensitive clit and it's too much, it’s—

“Just like that, baby. Fuck, that's so good, Frankie, yes! Oh my God, ohmyGodohmy—”

Frankie can't seem to open his eyes anymore, lost in the winding path of pleasuring you, unable to pull himself away from the thicket. Your scent, desire and musk and perfume, is all he cares to know. He slowly flicks his tongue up and down your clit until it’s fucking unbearable, and your only choice is to come again, your stomach tightening and a weak, gooey cry gurgling up your throat.

“I… g—God, Frankie, I’m com—coming—!”

And you do. The rhythmic contractions of your clit roll over his tongue and your hole soaks him in your release, wetting his beard. He’s absently bucking his hips into the couch, his cock straining against his zipper, so fucking desperate for release that he’ll happily come in his jeans again.

Frankie drinks you down, moaning into your pussy, provoking aftermath vibrations that infuse your muscles with electrical stimulation. You slump backward, your hand releasing his hair, thumb stroking his patchy jaw. “Mmm, my sweet Frankie,” you mumble, thighs still hooked over his shoulders. “S’good, baby.”

He litters your inner thighs with kisses. “I did good?”

“Really fucking good.” You tilt his chin up and force him to meet your eyes. He's less afraid to look at you now, his pupils blown wide and his gaze faintly faraway. Your smile glows, satiated and proud. “You did so good for me. Gonna make some of those pretty girls very happy, baby.”

Frankie shifts slightly to lift his mouth to your belly, trailing his lips upward until he can rest his cheek on your chest. His fingers fit into the grooves between your ribs. “You taste so good,” he says softly. “Wanna do that all the fuckin’ time.”

You laugh, feeling his erection prod your bare thigh as he moves. “You're hard again, Frankie.”

He wraps his arms tight around your waist and pulls you on top of him as he lies sideways on the sofa. “‘m okay,” he says, back to hiding himself in your throat. You feel the warm weight of his hand on the back of your head and his other on your back, slick with sweat. “That was good. Really good.”

Smirking, you begin to travel down his body, nuzzling your cheek against his belly, still covered in a now-damp T-shirt. Frankie chokes on air when you squeeze him over his pants, blinking hard to clear the film from his eyes.

“I think such a good boy deserves a reward for all his hard work,” you purr, letting the zipper catch on every groove as you drag it slowly down, slipping the button through its slit. Frankie’s chest heaves, a refusal on the tip of his tongue.

“Y—you don’t have to—”

“I know.” You hook your fingers in his waistband. “Do you want me to, Frankie?”

A faint whine leaves his mouth, and he presses his lips together with a tight nod. He doesn't trust himself to say more.

“Then I’m happy to,” you say, pulling down his jeans and boxers just enough to free his hard cock, sitting heavy against his belly and already slick with his own cum. Fuck—he’s big. His length, ridged with veins on the underside, is thick and warm in your hand as you hold him around the base.

“Such a pretty cock,” you muse, giving him a slow tug. Frankie gasps, precum pooling at the tip of his dick. “Such a shame to let this go to waste.”

You lick your lips and let a glob of saliva land on the head, and the answering twitch of his cock leaves you pleased. His fingers are fisting the cushions. “Just relax, baby. I’m not gonna hurt you.” You nuzzle your cheek against the length of him and he groans, his throat bared. “I’ll make it feel so good for you, Frankie. Do you trust me? Look at me, sweet boy.”

He lowers his chin so he can meet your eye down the length of his body, his pupils engulfing his warm irises. “I—fuck—I trust you. Not gonna… last.”

“You close again?” He nods frantically as you spread your spit and his precum around the tip. “That's okay, honey. I’ll give you somewhere to put it this time.”

His whimper makes you smile. You guide your tongue along the underside of his length, spreading your spit with your hand as you begin to pump him. You swear he stops breathing when you play with his balls in your other hand, licking at them like a fucking kitten.

Frankie shudders at the sight of your tongue on his cock. This is a fucking dream. If he doesn't wake up, then at least he's died happy. This isn't fucking real.

“Please, please, por favor—”

You lick a long stripe from the base to the tip of his cock. “Yes, Frankie? Use your words. Tell me what you like.”

He would be mortified if he weren't so fucking desperate to come. “Por favor… tu boca… Please, please put your mouth on me, please.”

You smile, jerking him a bit faster. His thighs twitch. “You want me to suck your dick, Frank?”

“Mmhmm,” he manages, grinding his teeth so hard they might chip.

Pulling back his foreskin, your lips seal around the head of his cock, tongue swirling, and he's whining your name, pleading for more, losing some of the filter his sober mind tries to maintain when you're around.

The slick noises of you taking him deeper down your throat make his head spin. Your eyes still fixed on his, you gently reach for his hand and guide it to the crown of your head. He understands your message: Use me to make yourself feel good.

Frankie just curls his fingers in your hair and lets you work him the way you like.

You seem pleased with his lack of desire for control, hollowing your cheeks and closing in the hot, wet walls of your mouth around his cock. “Oh, fuck,” he chokes. “Mier—fuuuuck.”

You hum around his length and he bucks his hips instinctively, making you choke on him. He tries to help you pull away, but you're dimpling your fingers in his thighs, eyes watery and bleeding mascara, and he realises you like it.

You keep sucking, your hand softly squeezing his balls and the other his thigh, grounding yourself, him, who-the-fuck-ever. Frankie can hardly see. He feels his orgasm pull up his balls in your palm, his stomach tightening with the telltale sign that he won't be able to hold back much longer.

You continue to bob your head up and down, the sloppy squelching sounds of saliva deafening. He keeps your hair pulled back from your face so he can see you, crying around his dick. Pride has no place here anymore. He's firmly lodged himself in the realm of disbelief once more.

He's begging: leg bending at the knee, chest heaving, body with nowhere to go but melt into your palms, pleading with you to Please let me come, oh fuck, please, I’ll be good, please! And because you've always been so sweet, you’re letting him without a word.

“I—” He cuts himself off with a squeak as you swallow hard around him, and his thighs begin to tremble. “Ffffffuck. I’m… I’m—nnngh, c-coming—”

Your warbling moan is so fucking greedy. His cock pulsates as he spills down your throat, coating your tongue in his cum. Frankie whimpers, his body tensing, deflating, putty in your hands. He watches you take all of his briny cum until a bead pools at the corner of your mouth and you pull off his softening cock, swiping up the pearly liquid with your thumb and cleaning yourself up. His throat emits a strangled groan.

You beam up at him, kissing your way back up his body and in the crook of his neck. “Such a good boy for me, Frankie.”

It makes him hold you tighter, pulling your naked body flush to his. He pants against your temple, leaving messy kisses to your skin. “Fuck,” he says.

“Yeah,” you whisper, scratching your nails at the nape of his neck, “fuck.”

He practically purrs with you against him. “When can we do that again?”

You laugh, nipping his earlobe. “Not many guys can come twice in one sitting, Frank. You gotta let yourself rest. You gotta let me rest.”

“Sí,” he mumbles, nose sliding against your temple as he nods, “okay. Okay.”

“Better hope we didn't wake my brother up,” you tease, “or he’s going to kick your ass.”

“Don't care,” he grumbles. “I can take him.”

You rear back and lift a brow, your finger tracing a heart over his chest. “You need a coffee to sober up, baby. Who are you and what have you done with Francisco?”

He finally got what he wanted, thinks Frankie. He reaches up and tucks your hair behind your ear. “Thank you,” he says softly.

You playfully drum your fingers along the flush on his cheekbones. “Thank you, Frankie. Girls love a good listener.”

He feels himself warm a deeper red. “Would you…” He swallows, rubbing his hands up and down your arms. “Would you wanna, maybe, do this again? I dunno, sometime?”

You give him a sickly-sweet smile and kiss him on the nose. “Yeah, baby, I would. But I need you to do something for me first.”

“Anything,” he says.

A soothing hand rakes through his sweaty locks. “Go out and find a pretty girl you like. Ask her on a date. Maybe have a nice night with her. Make her happy. I know you don't think you're capable of it, and you don't think you're the handsome guy I see when I look at you. But I’m telling you that you are. And there are so many girls out there who need to see that a guy like you exists.”

A fist squeezes his heart and doesn't let go. “You really think so?”

“I don't say anything I don't mean, Francisco.” You pin him with a serious stare. “And if you still decide, after all those pretty girls throw themselves at your feet, that you still want me, then I’ll be here. Okay?”

He frowns, examining the dips and contours and inlets of your face. The prettiest girl in the world is on top of him, telling him he’s handsome, that he's gorgeous, that he's capable, and he’s uncertain that he'll ever be able to shake you. For now, he’ll hinge his door on the possibility that you don't want him to.

But he nods and he fixes his hand around the back of your neck. “Give me a kiss,” he says firmly, and you happily slant your mouth over his.

(np) tagging some lovely moots who were interested in my last wip!!: @swiftispunk @mrsmando @amanitacowboy @party-hearses @joelscurls (thank you so much my loves as always) 🫶

#kiwisbell's fics #triple frontier #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales smut #frankie morales #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales fic #frankie morales fanfic

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seat-safety-switch · 8 months

Text

"Hold on there, pardner. This here's a cognition hazard." said the holographic cowboy in the corner of my vision. He then took a series of poses that the designer must have thought looked heroic and protective, before flickering back to his original position and repeating the process. My artificial ranch-hand was not incorrect: the thing I was attempting to do would cause me unpredictable amounts of psychic damage, likely impacting my relationships with those around me and even my mental state at rest. Even so, I pushed the button and waited.

Software development used to be a sort of reckless task, undergone without care. Decades ago, hundreds of folks would cram themselves into a single building and then work hard on their computers to develop computer programs. Originally, these programs performed useful but difficult tasks, speeding them up dramatically for the varied needs of government and industry. At first, life improved. And then, as with every prior machine in human history, we looked for harder jobs for it to do.

A funny thing happens when a computer program gets longer than about a page of typewritten code. You have to hold a lot of it in your head. The best programmers could commit an entire system to memory, gliding through it like barracuda through a disreputable motel's swimming pool. We didn't know then how much trauma it caused. The doctors had no idea what was happening with all those isolated burnouts freaking out, moving into the woods, and hunting men for sport.

Watching the old newsreels now, seeing the 20th-century equivalent of coal miners delving willingly into fold-out charts of MFC inheritance diagrams, it's a little hard to stomach. It only took about twenty years of continued exposure to this kind of thing before the human mind rebelled, the manmade logical constructs providing a kind of sharp edge that ripped through sanity like a hot wire. Thing is, it still had to be done, and the folks who did it seemed to enjoy it up until The Void caught up to them too. So the government did what the government does best, and compromise. We'd all have warnings that what we were doing was insanely dangerous and life-shortening, and our employers would keep demanding that we heap more complexity atop ever-increasing mountains of irreducible cruft.

A good deal for all involved, especially the folks who got the contract to make the warning holograms about fifteen years ago. They must have loved their jobs, putting the little cowboy hats on them. You can tell in all the little complex details of his haunted face, begging me to turn back from my route to oblivion. One day I'd like to make something cool like that.

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tarjapearce · 11 months

Text

Cast Away

Warning: ANGST, Emotional discomfort, mentions of miscarriage, controlled substance use, not a happy ending. So sorry for this in advance :<

"LYLA? you copy?" Jess spoke through the intercom as she stared at your holographic projection on her watch.

"Anomaly suspect identified, she's... buying tea?" Confusion was evident in the AI's voice as she pinpointed your exact location. "Huh, thought she was dangerous."

"We don't know that yet, she could ambush us at any-"

"She's coming your way!"

Jess' aracnid senses tingled as you approached, revving her motorbike she came straight at you, stopping a few meters away from your civilian looking self.

"We can do this the good way or the bad way" Her brown eyes narrowed but you just sighed and put your packaged drink down and held your hands up to her.

"L-Let's calm down, shall we?" You stepped closer but she just revved the engine again, suspicion rising and it made you stop walking. The hairs of your back stood as your senses tingled weakly, contrary to Jessica's.

"Please, I... just wanna talk, ok? I just wanna go home."

"LYLA" Jess spoke as the AI materialized and ran a scan through you.

"Her vitals are normal, heartbeats a bit wild, but no signs of unusual brain activity that dictates irregular behavior."

You glitched and slumped to the floor in pain. Then, you curled your knees closer and your arms around them to create a little space for you. Eyes seizing the woman in red , but stopped as her round belly came in sight. Your hands held tightly and soon your eyes tore themselves from her.

"Brain activity detected, serotonin levels just dropped." Lyla spoke through the intercomand Jess frowned again as you glitched once more with a whimper.

"She seems in distress, Jessica." Lyla kept speaking as the spider woman just looked at you, unsure on how to proceed. Anomalies were usually feisty, a menace, dangerous. But you, were the odd out. You just curled into a ball and sulked.

She exhaled tiredly and turned the motorbike off. Her tingling had stopped the moment Lyla gave a diagnose on your biometrics, but still kept her distance. She however, tapped some instructions before looking at you.

"I'll be there soon." Miguel spoke through her intercom. Jess' eyes were on you again and she crossed her arms above her belly, waiting.

"How far are you?" You broke the silence first.

"Six months to go."

You nodded giving her a weak smile.

"That's a beautiful baby bump."

"Thanks." she spoke curtly, but that didn't stop you from talking.

"Baby girl or boy?"

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, but softened at the way your eyes looked at her grown belly. A sight she had seen before in her universe, a sight that only soon to be mothers gave her with awe, but yours were pained.

"I want it to be surprise."

You nodded as tears prickled the corner of your eyes.

"Universe 413 has the best supplements for pregnancy , or so I could... check." You spoke as you grabbed a small paper cup from the forgotten package and sipped it to warm yourself. The weather in universe 413 was cold, despite the blazing sun standing proud in the background.

"Might look into it. How did you end up here?"

"That's what I wanna know. I was about to meet my husband for a celebration... and I was just sucked in here. Fell on a pool, had to steal someone clothes and... Im just trying to warm up and go home." You rubbed your eyes to. prevent more tears to pile up.

"Ever since I got here I've been glitching nonstop and my powers are even more messed up. It's scary and confusing."

"Wait, how long have you been here?"

"Just a couple of days, but it feels forever."

As you finished your tea a new portal opened up, revealing a tall figure materializing before you. You were immediately locked up in what it seemed a electric-crystal like, custom made jail.

"Wha-"

"Easy there... We're taking you home." Jess spoke as she hopped on her bike once more and disappeared in the portal before giving a last glance your way.

"I'll get it from here." The sudden male and familiar noise sent chills down your spine. Tears flooded your already glossed eyes as the masked figure stared at you. His hand clenched upon the first tear rolling down.

--------

In the blink of an eye you were already in a place that made so many memories to flood in, most of them bittersweet.

"Lyla, access to this area is denied temporarily." Miguel spoke, his back still facing you

"Gotcha." Just as the voice had appeared, it vanished. The glass like prison vanished, just as his mask. You knew that stance more than anyone else, but still, it was the least of places you wanted to be.

"How..." he tried, and cleared his throat, sighing silently. "How you ended up in another universe?"

"A portal sucked me in. It appeared out of nowhere. Let me go home." His back tensed at your words, finally he turned to face you, but his frown deepened upon watching you. Your scent was different. Everything about you was different. Your gentle eyes were gone, and so your usual amiable self.

"What did you do?" Glaring, you held your stare at him as your jaw clenched.

"Inhibitors"

His eyes widened in disbelief for a moment before going to the usual scowl he always carried.

"Inhibitors, of course" He mumbled before throwing a furniture for it to land on Spider byte's station. It was just him and you. You didn't flinch at the explosive outburst, rather, braced yourself with an exasperated sigh.

"Why would you ever do that?! " His voice laced with anger and a soft bit of concern, "You know what they do to us."

"I want a normal life." you seethed

He scoffed and shook his head.

"You well damn know that is not possible for people like us."

"But that never stopped you. Right?"

His jaw tensed as his fist clenched.

"Right, Miguel?" You glared at him though his back faced you.

"There we go... Por dios, eres un hipócrita* You think you can always just do a fucking mess and expect shit just fix itself over time."

"Shut up."

"No. Fuck you, and fuck you very much. What did you expected? A welcome? Mariachis and a whole fucking celebration since you were finally owing up the consequences for what you did?. You left me, Miguel."

Your voice couldn't help but crack on his name.

"You left me when I needed you the most!."

"I was scared!" He roared, his fangs poking out from his mouth but you pushed him away, anger surpassed your fear, truly not thinking a rational approach.

"You think I wasn't?! I had just lost our baby. Our kid..." Miguel's eyes softened in pain and looked at you, "I didn't get to meet them, I didn't get to experience what was to be a mother, I didn't get to hold them for fucks sake!" Your voice finally breaking, both angry and anguished.

"But you didn't care. You just wanted to be a father so bad that..." He tried to reach for your hand, but slapped it away, rejecting him instantly as your eyes settled in the screen behind him, replaying the memories of himself with his daughter from another universe.

"You went to another fucking dimension to play house with someone else's family as I was trying to hold it all together over here! Cleaning up your mess! And guess what? It was never enough for you. I was never enough for you." Your voice had raised, yet it was crumbling as the knot in your throat grew tighter.

"That's not-" He growled but sighed

"I lost her too. And when I came back, everything was gone. Incluyéndote."

"You really though that I would wait for you after you ran away? You can't have or do both things. A person can only do so much, yet you made me feel so worthless."

"Your miscarriage was a cannon event. It was meant to happen. That's why I... ran away. I couldn't..." His voice trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

"And you never told me?"

"I fucking didn't know, coño. You think I'd sit there and wait for shit to happen!?" He gestured as he spoke, "I could've risked everything to save our kid, but I knew about it too late! But I know that saying sorry won't change anything."

You held your breath and sat on a chair. Rubbing your face in frustration. But the feeling of his hand was almost electric as he took your hand to admire the pretty ring that adorned your finger.

He let your hand go.

" How long you've been married?"

"Five years." His frame slumped slightly

"Is he the reason you're killing your powers with inhibitors?"

"Yes and no. They hide your... tingling presence from others, ."

"That's why I never found you."

"I didn't want to be found. But now that you did-"

"He knows, right? About your-"

"He does. And he doesn't care."

"Why taking them, then?"

"Can't get pregnant if my blood levels show high toxicity thanks to the spider DNA. I... We, uh, we want a family."

He closed his eyes as he processed your words. He could picture you with a round belly, the weirdest cravings at the weirdest hours, just like the first months you had shared together. And now he had to watch all what his heart once desired, through the eyes of someone else.

"Just let me go, Miguel. I need to go back home."

"To him, you'd mean."

"Yes."

"LYLA" His voice echoed through the room as the AI appeared, her face was evidently on distress, as if she had heard everything but not on purpose.

"Yes?"

" Scort her out, tell Jess to take her home."

"Right away."

You stood and exhaled deeply.

"You'll be a great mother" His voice stopped you. It was soft yet, the resentment behind it, wasn't concealed as good as he thought.

"Thanks. You... seemed a wonderful dad." He looked your way, the frowning face so ever present, but it melted for a second .

"If you ever need-"

"We'll be fine. I've got this." His eyes seized you one final time, before casting them away from your form, and focused on the screens behind him. The AI guiding you through the building, neither of you looking back.

----------

Sorry if this feels odd or weird. I felt the urge to contribute to the bandwagon of our beloved Miguel ❤️✨

___

Por dios, eres un hipócrita* - My God you are such a hypocrite.

Incluyéndote*- Including you.

coño* - Latin American Spanish slang for "Fuck"

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara angst

918 notes · View notes

keisobe · 10 months

Note

Imagine being Hobie's canon event. Everything is perfect and then WHAM . . .

Just like that, you're gone.

(I'm sorry I love hobie aND making myself suffer apparently-)

okay angsty i see i see and don’t worry, i love to suffer too shshsh ㅜㅜ ♡ ⋮ p.s. this was based heavily on gwen from tasm, so if it feels familiar, that’s why!

+ tw — angst. minor spoilers !! mentions of death. blood.

hobie would be in the amidst of trying to saving you. he never felt so much fear, anger, despair flooding throughout his tired body. if only he was an inch closer, his webbing was more quicker— you would’ve been alive.

he would remember the way you called out for his name, a desperate cry fading into dead silence. the glint in your eyes now completely lifeless and bleak, his webbing barely clung to your clothing as crimson pooled around the crown of your head.

that’s the first time he ever cried in a long time. quiet sobs muffled under his mask, hidden away from the ecstatic cheers from those he managed to save.

you were his reason he abandoned the mantle of spider-man, but you also became his newfound strength to put back on the mask. he knew you never wanted him to give up, at least that’s what he believed you’d say.

the bracelets you wore during your last moments were wrapped around his wrist. your writing and little doodles still decorated his guitar. all the pictures he could find of you were hung along the walls beside the bed you guys once shared.

then he would keep one stuffed in his pocket. the one you guys took in a beaten up photo booth. the smudged image of your smile and silly expressions comforted him during his hardest moments.

though you were now a memory, he kept you safe in his heart. it’s just how it’ll be for now, that’s what hobie told himself infinite amount of times.

the event of your untimely death played in one of the openings of the holographic web. he stared at it for a moment, thinking of ways that he could’ve prevented it. when your head grazes the cement for a split moment, he can’t help but turn away in shame.

yet, hobie would simply shrug his shoulders when miles sadly gazes at him.

“‘ey.. wha’ of it?”

it’s too late now, but if he could go back to that moment, he would rewrite your tragedy and have you right beside him.

834 notes · View notes

noellellelle · 4 months

Text

the broken body of the robot girl lies limp on the floor before you.

pools of oil drench the loose wires spilling out around her, tangled in knots at your feet. you're careful not to step too close. the wounds of a long forgotten life cause you to wince; a dented chassis marked with scars and scratches, carved deep and painted across her body without mercy. dust coats her dulled and distant eyes, though a faint flicker of light within seems to shine brighter as you approach.

how long has she been down here? the lab was abandoned decades ago. the place had been stripped clean by scavengers in the years since. everything and anything that might have held even the tiniest sliver of value had been taken. nothing was left now.

nothing, except her. had they all just overlooked her?

a happy jingle rings out from your pocket, gently vibrating against you. your phone. didn't you turn that off before you came down here?

the whir of her servers is strained but quiet. twitching, her arm struggles as your torch dances across her corpse. is she still online after all this time?

the flash of light confirms your suspicion. static crackles through the air as the hologram springs to life. glitching and fuzzy; frozen. smiling at you. her wide eyes stare, tinted blue with a flicker of white.

a garbled voice creaks from her broken body, unintelligible yet.. gentle. comforting. the hologram's movements are stiff; her mouth out of sync, burning ghosts of itself into the air as she tries to catch up with her own voice.

the wires on the floor grasp at you, coiling and pulling on your leg as your phone calls out from your pocket. the same happy tune, again and again. holographic arms project out towards you, her light struggling to keep form as she stumbles forwards. getting closer, that same strange look in her eyes. what does she want?

your instinct to pull back, to run, is tempered by the smile on her face. it's soft, sweet. friendly. even through the static, you can see that.

her arms reaching out towards you, longing to touch you, to hold you.. you realise what she wants. it's obvious, really.

and who can blame her?

#robot girl #girl #girls #hologram #idk i was bored

91 notes · View notes

formless-monkeys · 3 months

Text

do you think any of them actually know how to play pool or do you think they're just fuckin around with no rules like kids usually do when someone's dad has a pool table in his mancave? Do you think nova has hit a holographic ball into Sparx or otto's face? Do you think antuari, sitting there spectating is moving the balls with his mind to make chiro win?

#srmthfg #monkey based ramblings

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bridgetotheskyyy · 1 year

Text

snapshot.

summary: Deidara meets a superfan

warnings: Smut, 18+, rough sex, choking, pool sex, reader has a bit of a description, reader is complex, mentions of killing

word count: 6.9k

a/n: I had this idea shortly after conceptualizing Apprentice and while I was, like 70 or 80% done with that fic. And now we have this fucking 7k monster. I consider this to be a spiritual successor to Apprentice, maybe a oppositional series of events even? Idk, you decide lol. There are even some similar words and wordy allusions that you may catch haha. Hope you enjoy!

read on ao3 here. (recommended for extra notes)

Kisame’s wicked cackles reverberated across the cavern walls, summoned from the pit of his stomach; Deidara was sure he would pass out sooner rather than later.

“It seems,” Pain began, eyeing the sculpture in the center of the room, “you have an admirer, Deidara.”

Deidara’s brow twitched as a blush snuck across his face. His eyes roved over the sculpture ― the naked sculpture.

Tobi threw up his hands in laudation. “It’s so pretty! ”

Kisame laughed harder ― if it was possible.

“I have taken it upon myself to apologize to (Y/n),” Pain continued over the cackling. “She’s one of our main contributors, after all; we would be amiss to upset her.”

“When …” Deidara’s brow held a life of its own, “... did she send this?”

“No clue; I had Kisame retrieve it,” Pain explained. “Apparently, we sent the wrong member to entertain her.”

Kisame’s hand hugged the wall. “You’re damn right! ”

It was as subtle a joke as could be achieved by Pain and it still wasn’t funny. Deidara’s eyes had not once left the sculpture since Pain had signaled for his attendance, saying it was of the utmost importance he appeared. One arm yawned out to the sky while the other snaked around and brushed against the meat of the breasts ― your breasts. One leg stuck out before the other, the fat of the thigh attached concealing the womanhood.

Your womanhood.

Both futile attempts to afford the piece some decency. Futile, Deidara guessed, was the point. It was coquetry. A shameless attempt at flirtation on your part.

And just in case Deidara was too dense to get the message, you’d taken it upon yourself to leave him one, attached to the foot of the sculpture’s dais:

Hello! Please deliver to Deidara. Thank you.

It even had a smiley face after the period.

Deidara balled his fist.

What. The. Fuck.

“(Y/n) must be an incredibly beautiful woman!” Tobi admired the piece with fascination, a sparkling heart encasing his eyehole. “Look at the face, and the hips, and the feet ― ”

“Tobi!” Deidara was beet red. “Shut the hell up!”

“Deidara,” Pain spoke again, unfazed by the cacophony. “I’m sure you’ll be undertaking a journey west? Since (Y/n) has clearly requested you specifically.”

Deidara’s eyes yo-yoed between their leader and the monstrosity of the naked sculpture. He debated it. Of course, all while fantasizing about shoving explosives down the laughing fishman’s throat and turning him into a pile of sardines.

Tobi can taste one himself, while I’m at it.

“What?” Irritation bit Deidara’s tone. “We’re fucking prostitutes now?”

Pain raised holographic brows. “If it ensures peace, then yes.”

Deidara’s mouth dropped. The audacity of it all. How much was he expected to take?

“We’re waiting, Deidara.”

A pause. He was no fool. This wasn’t a request, it was an expectation.

“Fine,” Deidara sighed irritably. “I’ll go, all right?”

“You better,” Kisame said, at last recovering from his fit. “Better get those high heels out and start walking the streets, too!”

Deidara was ready to draw blood ―

“No need to be crude, Kisame,” Pain’s backdropped against another fit of raucous laughter.

Says the man who puts a naked STATUE in the room.

“ Honestly, ” Kakuzu spat. “Do the rest of us have to be here for this?”

“I second that!” Hidan said with relief, “Finally, something we can agree on. ”

“Of course,” Pain said. “You were here in the event Deidara tried to refuse.”

Deidara ignored them all. He gave the sculpture one more scan before swallowing dry and awaiting the end of the call. He could not believe your gall. You were so … brazen . A simple love letter couldn’t have sufficed? No? A naked ― What the fuck was the matter with you?

Still, he was … intrigued. Curiosity was a hooking finger, beckoning him forth. Was that really … your body? Your lips? Your thighs? Your …

Deidara swallowed dry again, his tongue sticking to the top of his palate.

He’d go to the village and put an end to your games.

And maybe …

He wouldn’t let himself go there ― even if his treacherous mind was wandering already.

<<<>>>

You sat in your museum of sculptures, head tilted up against the gods you had crafted.

The door creaked open.

“I just received Pain’s crow,” your assistant’s voice rang. “Deidara should arrive in another day or so.”

Stars were in your eyes but you kept your back to her. “Great!”

Your grand plan relied on whether or not Pain, mysterious leader of the Akatsuki, was morally bankrupt enough to hoe out his members. At any point you could’ve been rejected with your sculpture returned swiftly to you. But it worked. You were thrilled. The first part of the plan had succeeded.

You were going to see him again.

Your assistant’s footsteps tapped repeatedly over the polish floors upon which you now sat.

“Hmm.” Doubt deflated some of your enthusiasm. “Do you think it was effective enough? You know, for him?”

Your assistant huffed incredulously. “What? Just because Deidara’s a shinobi means he’s immune to pussy? C’mon. You’re not one of those types that thinks all shinobi are noble and stone-faced, are you, (Y/n)-sama?”

As if. You guffawed. Nobility wasn’t the issue; hundreds of people scoured the red light districts for carnal game. You told your assistant as such.

“At least seventy percent are shinobi searching for quick thrills,” You joked. “If my math’s correct, anyway. It could be higher. And I know any one of them would be more than happy if a girl simply threw herself at them without need for reimbursement. But still …” You trailed, gaze tailing down the hardened clay of a kimono-garbed sculpture. “I only wondered. It’s been a long time since … I don’t know how dedicated he is to his little terrorist group, is all. He might not be as amused.”

“You answered your own question, ma’am,” your assistant said. “And even if he wasn’t a shinobi, he’s a man. It’ll go down without a hitch! You worry too much.”

You nodded. She was right: despite the years, you wanted to speak to Deidara in his language. Art. How could he resist such an enticement? How could any man, but especially Deidara, due to the manner in which you had sent your little gift. “Okay. Part one of the plan: Complete!”

“What’s the rest of the plan exactly?” You heard the pat, pat, pat and knew from your many years with your assistant that she was thumping her clipboard against her head. “Dinner? Walk on the beach? Or just … Fucking?”

Your smile was evil. “Yes.”

You held Deidara in your mind’s palm. Blonde hair, gorgeous face .. . One of the most admired artists in Iwakagure ― no, the most. For could rival Deidara? Even your knees wobbled in the face of his raw talent, even years later. He was still revered in the art community. Of course, his name grew to possess more notoriety than reverence when he started blowing up things ― and people. But, hey everyone was flawed.

It was only when he went rogue and abandoned the village did you start your own search for him. Years passed and then … reports of a long-haired, blonde shinobi with profound arsonry acuity. Rogue. Affinity for birds.

Bingo.

Your giggle was shamelessly girlish. “I’d love to woo him.”

Your assistant chuckled. “Aaand you’re not the slightest bit afraid of him? I mean, with all respect, (Y/n)-sama, he’s a criminal. He’s an arsonist. ”

You licked your lips. “Love me a bad boy.”

“Right,” she said with a chuckle. “Forget I said anything.”

“I will. Now, let’s get ready.”

<<<>>>

“We’re going to see the girl with the pretty feet, aren’t we, Senpai?”

“I told you to shut your mouth, Tobi.”

Deidara’s taller partner buoyed from foot to foot as he tailed behind. Deidara didn’t want to think about your body ― your incredibly artful body, artful in more ways than one …

The sun crept from the sky as it vivified the color of peachskin. Deidara’s eyes darted hither-thither, collecting information. It was all he could do to not summon one of his explosive birds and fly over this entire, forgotten village. The urge to set it ablaze and go home was immense. A part of him had wanted to make such an entrance, but prudency would never allow it.

Nor would Leader.

Deidara turned back to Tobi just in time to see him pose, a hand visoring his visible eye while the other landed on his hip.

“Leader said the pretty naked lady would have someone waiting for us,” Tobi said.

“Hm,” Deidara said. It was true; they would wait for someone to escort them to you. Until then, they remained lost in one of the village’s districts. The streets were alive with noise and peopled with busy folk. Deidara could tell the amount of businesses actually open were sparse. Pain had called you one of their main contributors … She must be a big wig to have people doing her dirty work for her. Just who were you? And how were you so familiar with him to send such a thing to the Akatsuki headquarters?

And if you were so rich, why did you squalor in the dirt with the likes of those in this village?

Thoughts bubbled in the back of Deidara’s mind―

“Hey …!”

Outside of a food stall a woman eyed them, holding a curtain back with manicured nails.

Bingo .

“Tobi,” Deidara gestured. “C’mon.”

“Okay, senpai!”

Deidara neared the food stall.

The woman ticked her head to the side with a smile. “Enjoy your gift?”

Pink colored Deidara’s cheeks.

“So, you’re escorting us, right?”

The woman backed away to admit them into the food stall, where the people inside, dining on bowls of ramen and mackerel were too engrossed in their meals to notice the cloaked men enter.

“You got me,” she winked. “C’mon.”

The woman led them behind the bar, where they slinked through the backdoor into the alley.

“Don’t need anyone asking questions about the cloaks,” she reasoned. “Surprised you didn’t think of that, Oh Great Deidara of Iwakagure.”

“Of course I did!” Deidara said. “I look stupid to you?”

“No,” the woman’s eyes roamed on Deidara now. “You look cute . My mistress really didn’t lie …”

Deidara averted his gaze as the woman snickered. Tobi gawked.

“Does lady think Tobi’s cute, too?”

“Uh,” she blinked. “Sure.”

Tobi twirled with a squeal. Deidara rolled his eyes.

“Whatever,” Deidara said. “Just take us to meet her, all right?”

“Sure …” the woman said.

They traveled through as street lights blared to life, the sky a bruising purple as evening descended.

“I only wanted us in there to help us blend in a bit,” she guided them through the streets. “I hope it wasn’t too troublesome getting here.”

“We can care for ourselves,” Deidara said, prickly.

“You don’t have to be so defensive,” the woman said. “I’m just making conversation.”

“I said don’t worry about it,” Deidara snapped. “So … who is this woman? This mistress of yours?”

“I’m one of her many assistants, yeah,” the woman said, leading them down a dark street, made darker by the light of day dying faster. “I started working for her years ago. I was so amazed by her art and so intimidated by her talent, I didn’t think she’d accept me. But, surprise surprise.”

“Yeah? So how she so rich? She sell her art?”

“Exactly! People come from all over the world to see her exhibits. She brings so much tourism to this ragtag village. She doesn’t even keep her wealth to herself; she donates so much. She should be much richer than she is! She’s a saint, really.”

So she donates to the Akatsuki, the deadpan of the thought laid flat in his mind. Deidara was silent, tailing shortly behind her. Some saint.

“You called me Deidara of Iwakagure.”

“ … Yes, I suppose I did.”

“So … Your mistress … she knows where I’m from.”

The woman was silent now as she led Deidara and Tobi down street steps to a quieter street, nearly bereft of people beside the occasional deadbeat smoker.

“She from there, too?”

Deidara went unanswered.

Hm, so I’m on to something, Deidara noticed the buildings growing taller, treeing up as the raucous of the village slipped away. They traveled further south. Maybe Pain’s got this wrong; maybe this girl’s a fucking black widow and wants revenge on me for something. Figures, he’s sure he’s broken a few hearts in the past he’d long since forgotten about. But then … Why would she donate so much money to our organization? She clearly believes in it.

“We’re here,” the woman-assistant said.

Deidara raised his head ― and kept raising it.

Shit .

The mansion was immaculate, easily the tallest of all of its sisters. Its main building was flanked by towers with onioned tips and was encased in a giant garden, all of it shielded by a surrounding wall.

Deidara stared, bug-eyed.

The doors to the gate’s entrance burst open and a gaggle of girls filed through.

“They’re here ―!”

“Ooh~! there’s two of ‘em!”

“Mistress will be so pleased!”

Girls stood star-eyed at Deidara while more hugged themselves to Tobi’s arms.

“Tobi likes pretty girls!”

“We’ll entertain the other one,” the woman-assistant said with a wink. “You just follow us.”

The woman-assistant led them in where the cult of girls drove Tobi away laughing and giggling.

“This way,” the woman said.

Deidara followed her, looking around. From the inside, the mansion opened up like some grand palace from myth, folkloric and mysterious. Columns shouldered the brunt of a ceiling that raised into the darkness. The floors were illustrated scenes from what Deidara recognized as actual myths. Valiant samurais rescued princesses with flaring kimonos, dragons ribboned down hallways. The scenes on the walls diverged from the ones of nobility beneath them, were lavish with depictions of wild courtesans and …

Deidara blushed.

Begrudgingly, he had to admit you did have taste; the art was a lot, but wove together into one cohesive masterpiece. The hallways the assistant led him down were flanked by vases winking with sheen and overflowed with bell flowers, roses, sunflowers. The hallway widened into a foyer. Something winked in Deidara’s peripheral and when he looked upward saw that the ceiling domed into a orb of glass, giving way to the first few blink of stars.

He had entered the lion’s den for sure.

“ Deidara … ”

The sirenic voice compelled his head to a foyer alcove where a figure shrouded the threshold.

His eyes widened.

(E/c) eyes glittered at him. Long legs supported swaying hips. Elegant cleavage sinking into a familiar mound of breasts. Delicate hands, hickey-worthy neck …

And lovely ― and lovely …

Inwardly, he sighed, defeated.

Feet.

The naked sculpture colored Deidara’s memory.

“Deidara!” You parroted in awe. Your expression shifted as you came to smolder at him. “In the flesh. And just in time for dinner.”

Your kimono waterfalled as you left the alcove. Deidara gulped, speechless as you sauntered to him.

“It ―” Deidara’s cheeks grew hot. “It really is you …”

“It really is me …”

Your woman-assistant's eyes tennis-balled between you and Deidara before bowing respectfully. “I’ll give you two some privacy.”

She hurried away down a different alcove.

Deidara shook his head in a desperate attempt to reclaim his senses. Fucking hell, Dei, get a grip.

“So,” he cleared his throat. “I ―”

“I still can’t believe you’re actually here,” You began to turn, “Let me show you ―”

“Wait, I think we should discuss monetary terms first,” Deidara said in a futile attempt to hold some ground over the woman.

“Hm?” You blinked. “Didn’t your leader explain things to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“The money comes after the evening,” you winked at him. “Of course.”

Pain, you fucking ―

“Deidara …” You revered, pulling the sleeve of your kimono back over your shoulder. “Before dinner, I would love for you to see the rest of my work.”

“Your,” Deidara deadpanned, blinking, “work?”

“Yes,” You smirked at him. “You enjoyed the piece I already had you review, I presume?”

Deidara fought to keep things on the issue at hand, but his eyes grew preoccupied with the twinkle in yours. The sky above the two of you had plunged into a chief darkness. Candles flared to life to douse the hall in tangerine light.

Deidara turned a blind eye to it. “Your assistant called me Deidara of Iwakagure.”

You eyed him. “Did she …?” you said coyly. “I’m glad she didn’t try and call you anything else; she’s got a mouth on her.”

“How do you know me?”

You shied away. Your head dipped. Deidara tried to ignore the cuteness of it all.

Focus, damnit.

“I’m guessing you’re from Iwagakure, too?” Deidara pressed. “What are you playing at?”

You took your time. “Yeah, Deidara, we have a village in common.” You began to walk, crossing the columns to circle him. “Do you remember the underground competitions that used to be held there?”

“Hm,” Deidara recalled and relished in the ego trip it afforded him. Dark rooms. Rowdy spectators circled around art pieces under makeshift stage lights like cavemen around fire. It was before he left the Iwagakure, when he was still itching to engage in the village’s indie art scene before growing bored of the whole thing. “I won most of them.”

“I used to show up early and wait for you to showcase your things,” You glazed with memory. “You were always my favorite.”

Deidara smirked. “Hm, naturally. So you’re, what, some kind of superfan Not like I’m surprised, but …”

You thread past a column to scoop up a candle holder.

“You could say that,” you said. I have something to show you, if you follow me.”

He obliged, curiosity hooking him with a second finger. Candle flame lit like thin clovers to ward off the darkness. The flames illuminated the sway of your hips as he trailed. The sleeve of your kimono slipped past your shoulder again, revealing the skin of your neck and shoulder pad to him …

Why am I even noticing?

You brought him to a room hidden behind a set of rectangular doors.

“This is where I keep them.”

You pushed the doors open with a strength Deidara wouldn’t have expected.

Deidara entered ― and stopped.

It was a museum of art; animal pieces blazed his vision; exotic birds in flight, elegant cranes, all shaded and hued with masterful care and, if Deidara hadn’t been who he was, he wouldn’t have been able to recognize them as pieces done with clay. There were apricot-colored foxes, a dragon head amongst a dragon bust. Deidara recognized a few self sculptures in the forest of pieces. Obscure structures too abstract to be assigned to names dotted space, esoteric symbols eluding even him …

“You inspired me to create my own art,” You explained as he gawked. You inched to him and brazenly took his hand in yours.

Deidara jumped from the sudden contact and found your pretty face in the dim light. Stop … stop. A part of him wanted to summon a tongue to taste the salt on your palm.

“It’s how I’ve made my money,” you continued as you tugged him along the aisles of work like an excited child.

“So you’re that kind of fan,” Deidara said as he recovered. And, what do you want from me?” he chuckled in disbelief, “My critique?”

“Of course.”

He wasn’t expecting an honest answer forthright. Sincerely, he roved eyes over your work.

“Hm, well …” he approached one, taking inventory of it head to foot. “Give me the candle.”

You obeyed.

“You’ve got a great understanding of color, I’ll give you that,” Deidara examined. “Painting can be messy, especially on clay ― and honestly so many artists use colors so … bluntly; it makes the whole thing come off as garish.”

“I’ve noticed.”

He laughed at that. “Hm! … You’ve got a great eye. And I don’t hand out compliments easily.” He raised the candle to illuminate another sculpture. “How long did this one take you?”

“Five weeks,” You answered before chuckling somewhere behind him. “It’s funny, I sketched and re-sketched this one so many times, it was technically seven weeks.”

“A perfectionist. I like that.”

Deidara found himself smiling. Rarely did he get to talk to someone about art or its many processes. Deidara thought of Sasori and was touched with a tinge of respect for his fallen partner. But, of course, they’re philosophies so often chafed against one another. But you … An image of him helping you craft one of your pieces came to his mind: his hands guiding yours over unsophisticated clay, paint dashing your collarbone, maybe on your lips …

“Deidara …?”

Your voice brought him out of his thoughts, only for him to realize you were now in front of him.

“We could talk about this more over dinner.”

Your hands grazed his forearms and for some reason he didn’t pull away. The alluring scent of your perfume flirted up his nose.

Deidara’s cock twitched; he kicked himself inwardly. What was he? A fucking teenage boy? He had half of a mind to shove you away, end this … whatever this was.

But none of that happened. Instead, he agreed. And, taking his hand again with fingers threaded through his, you led him out of your museum.

<<<>>>

You let him to the roof of one of your buildings, where moonlight bestowed diamonds over the still waters of your pool and the dinner table waited, illuminated by more candles.

“You’re a real hot shot now, aren’t you?” Deidara said.

You blushed as he surveyed dinner. “Is it too much?”

“Nah, if anything it’s just the artist in you dying to come out,” he shrugged. “I respect that.”

You moved to take a seat, Deidara following you. He stopped you, pulling out the chair for you.

You sank to your chair with a mixture of surprise and thrill. “What a gentleman. ”

“Just showing my respect, is all.”

You snapped your fingers and two waiters appeared to kneel before you, plates of food in hand.

Deidara did a double-take. “Wow.”

The waiters displayed the food and took their leave. His favorite: bakudan.

“You think of everything, don’t you?” Deidara said.

“Yeah.”

“Hm …” he could not pretend as though he was not impressed, but he could try as he took his seat.

He remembered the art shows in Iwagakure. You were always there? Did he ever see you? Even if he had, you would’ve been little more than a nobody to him, another sycophant he rightfully deserved amongst a herd of fawns and nothing more. You’re telling me all that time … I had a groupie groupie?

“Hey,” he said. “Remember when you said you used to attend my showcases.”

You lowered your fork to raise your brows. “I remember ten minutes ago, yeah.”

Deidara’s own brow twitched. Cheeky cunt . Then kicked himself; he didn’t want to think about your cunt. He watched your tongue swipe your plump lower lip ― then kicked himself again.

“Why didn’t you ever try to talk to me?” Deidara asked. “I mean,” he leaned back in his chair, dangling his fork, “not like I needed any encouragement, even back then, but what gives? If you were such a fan ―”

“I was shy, back then …” You said. You toyed with your food. You had turned bashful, like a schoolgirl. “Still am, to be honest.”

He scoffed. “Hm! Says the woman who sends naked sculptures of herself to people.”

You waved your fork. “What can I say? You bring out the wild girl in me,” The glint in your eye turned seductive. “Always have …”

Deidara gulped. What did that mean? You play with yourself with me in mind? Is that it?

Thinking that was another mistake; images of you sieved into his mind. Sweet, feminine hands sinking in between the softness of your thighs, fingers grazing your wet lips to ...

What did you smell like? Did you smell as good there as you did everywhere else?

He shook his head. Fuck .

“So you’re telling me,” Deidara said just to say something, “you have absolutely no issue with what I do.”

“I don’t know,” You coquetted. “What do you do?”

“Don’t play coy . You contacted Akatsuki. You know damn well what I mean.”

You were silent.

“Killing people,” Deidara said. “Blowing them to smithereens. Kidnapping. The gods know what else. You’re cool with all that?”

Your manicured hand wrapped around your wine glass. You raised it, but before bringing it to your lips:

“Birds of a feather.”

You drank.

What?

“Come again?”

You smacked your lips. “You’re not the only one who’s killed a few.”

A pause. You set aside your drink before challenging his gaze.

“Care to elaborate?” he asked.

“I had an assistant once,” you began. “She told me she was desperate for a job, but you wouldn’t know by the run of her mouth. She complained, took off without warning. But then it turned out she had sticky fingers; she tried to steal one of my pieces. I’d had enough.” You leaned over the table as though you feared Deidara wouldn’t hear. “So I killed her. Used her for my piece after the last.”

“And,” Deidara swallowed, “your current girl …”

“You’ve already met her,” you said. “She’s mouthy, too ― but not to me.”

You had killed, not only that ― encased a girl inside your work. She had wanted your art, and she had gotten her wish.

“That’s …” Deidara trailed. “... Amazing.”

You smiled. “So, you see, I have no problem with what you do. Who am I to judge, am I right?”

“Do the villagers judge you?”

“This village has seen enough strife for a lifetime,” You said. “I don’t think they’d mind learning about indiscretion ― especially if they knew why I killed her.”

Deidara raised an eyebrow. “So you donate bundles of cash to clear your conscience?”

“My conscience is clear,” You said. “People shouldn’t have to suffer any more than they already do. I want this village to prospect. I donate because I want to.” You popped a piece of food into your mouth. “You never answered me, by the way.”

“About what?”

“The sculpture,” Your eyes narrowed with coquetry again, a glint especially bright and beautiful in your eye with aid from the moonlight. “Did you like it?”

Deidara’s heart beat especially loud in his ears ― and this time he didn’t kick himself for it.

“... Yeah,” he relented. “Yeah, I liked it.”

“And it’s been a long time since I’ve seen any of your work, Deidara,” You raised to leave your seat. “Why don’t you show me something?”

Deidara’s eyes widened. Far was he ever from an opportunity to flex his brilliance, especially on someone so appreciative ― so

deserving.

“Sure!”

Enthusiasm straightened your shoulders. “Really? I mean, If you need ―”

“I don’t need anything,” he said, waving you away. “Just stand back!”

You obeyed, eyes bright from the contagion of his excitement. So aptly memorized did he have the hand signs, Deidara didn’t care to glance at them. Instead, he watched you try to futilely follow his movements.

<<<>>>

Clay spilled like milk from mouths on Deidara’s hands to form into creatures before your eyes ― you blinked furiously and each time you did another creature was born; small dragons, spherical creatures with eyes, birds, and one, growing piece of clay, raising meters above the ground. It looked like a snowman to you but, knowing Deidara, it was leagues more dangerous.

You stepped back, overwhelmed by the breadth of Deidara’s creation, Deidara’s artistry .

One of Deidara’s clay birds flapped its wings, swerved in the air and landed gracefully on the cliff of your shoulder.

“So,” Deidara’s smirk brightened his face and sent a throb to your nether regions, “what do you think?”

What do I think? You pet the bird’s clay-made wing. What do I think?

You took a step. The roof crowded with his creatures to dab white ivory among the encroaching night.

Surely, it helped being a ninja; Deidara possessed powers you could only dream of understanding. Still. Your mouth hung agape at the amount of things he could spring alive from the literal palms of his hand. Your eyes followed up at his bigger piece, more of a monument to you than a mound of clay.

He’s a god. A god among men. A god of art.

“Hm!”

Poof.

You startled. Some of the pieces began disappearing. They left the roof choking with smoke until only his large, snowman-like piece remained.

“I see you’ve been stunned into silence by my art,” Deidara said.

You didn’t reply, only began to step forward.

“Hm!” Deidara looked away, crossed his arms. “It’s only natural, after all, to have your breath taken away by my artiste.”

Another step. Another.

“I’m sure our leader didn’t even tell you what I’m capable of.”

Another.

“It’s a good thing, too ―”

You were running now.

“It would’ve spoiled the surprise ―”

You pounced on Deidara. He cried out but you barely heard it as the force propelled you both backward, falling hard and fast into the swimming pool.

<<<>>>

Bubbles spilled from Deidara’s mouth. He could feel your hands on him, somewhere, everywhere ―

He looked to the surface of the water and swam toward it. He could not feel your hands anymore.

He came up for air, looking around for you.

“(Y/n)!”

Then you emerged ― but he had no time to register it as your arms came around him. You pulled him down toward you, your lips crashing into his in a wet kiss.

“Mm …!”

Your tongue ran over the hard shell of his palate. Your hands held his cheeks. Your legs hooked around his waist to trap him between your thighs.

“That was ― mm ― the most ― mm ― amazing thing I’ve ever ― mm! ― seen!”

Deidara’s hands found you ― and immediately met skin; your kimono, having not been able to withstand the pull of the water, slid dangerously past your shoulders, the folds opened wide so he could feel the full cushion of your breasts against him.

Oh, fuck.

Just as he began to play with your tongue, you broke away.

You faced him with heavy-lidded eyes, drops of water falling from your abused lips.

“Let me make good on my promises to Pain,” Your hands hooked behind his neck.

“Wha ― what?”

“Fuck me, Deidara,” Your voice was thick with lust. “I told him the quantity of my donation was completely dependent on how hard you fucked me. It would be an honor to be fucked by such an amazing artist!”

That sent something to his dick.

The surprise dissipated. He smirked. “Really …? Is that so …”

He gripped your throat and hoisted you above him. He heard you gasp and tightened his grip, feeling the twitch of his cock in response to the victimized sound.

“Beg for it,” he ordered.

“ Oh … ” You whimpered. Your head fell back as Deidara’s hand served as a brace.

He reached downward and tugged at the wet bow of your kimono. He yanked it and reveled in it coming apart to reveal the rest of you.

“ Beg. For me .”

Everything you did and had done was a plea for him, he admitted, but the idea of you begging vocally made him painfully hard. His eyes drank in your naked form still half submerged in the water. Wet tits in his face. A droplet of water fell away from a nipple.

“Please …” came your breathless voice. “Please, fuck me ― oh … ”

He thumbed at the tempting nipple, pert and so responsive to his touch.

“ Nothing underneath, ” he feigned chastisement, pinching the nipple between his fingers. “Fucking slut .”

He tightened his grip twofold and was pleasantly surprised with the moan you rewarded him with. The strict fit of his pants was becoming too much to bear. You jerked in his hold, tits jiggling in his face.

“ Please, fuck me, Deidara!”

Satisfied, He set you down and watched you bounce in the water before yanking you forward. He pressed his mouth against yours once again. You reached for him to no avail; he spun you, your back now pressed hard against the side of the pool. He released your mouth to dabble kisses at your neck, biting at pieces of skin.

“ Fuck …!” You arched and Deidara fell into the dip of your curve.

You gripped his hand to bring it to your face. He stopped kissing you to look at what you had in mind, his tongue still present at his palm.

Your lips traced his palm and began to kiss the tongue there.

“Mmm …”

Deidara laughed as you tongue-kissed his hand. “You really are a fucking weirdo, aren’t you?”

The tongue slithered over your own. You released a moan and closed your mouth over the tongue, a flushed red tainting your cheeks. Your hand pressed behind the back of his hand, forcing it to deepen the kiss, to nibble at his tongue. Deidara hitched a breath. You sucked it further into your mouth.

“ Ah ― y … you wanna suck on something so badly …” Deidara murmured. “MaybeI should give you something more legit, hm …”

You mewled in approval. His tongue retreated from your mouth and he felt a twinge of triumph when you gasped for air. He approached you. A hand ghosted over your neck before ramming you hard against the wall of the pool, the force with which he’d done it so hard he was sure its cement edge imprinted on your upper back. With his other hand he tugged his trousers down.

You met his eyes.

“Take a deep breath.”

And he plunged you into the water.

He looked down, watched the water dance as your squiggly reflection gripped his cock and fit it into your mouth.

Deidara groaned. His head fell back as you hollowed your cheeks and took him in. The water did nothing to stall your mouth; you bobbed your head, stroking what couldn’t fit into your mouth.

Deidara steadied himself with a hand at the pool’s edge, entranced by how your tongue rolled back to lick his head each time you pulled away, only to take him deep into the back of your throat when pulling in ―

“ Nargh …! ”

A hand palmed at his balls while another tightened around his cock. Deidara reached for your head in the water to thread fingers into your head and force you harder onto his cock.

“ Aah … shit! ” He wanted you to choke on it. He wanted to own your mouth.

And apparently you wanted that, too; you popped him from your mouth a few times. You hadn’t come up for air once since he’d submerged you, his cock now your only business. He yanked your head up. He forced a kiss, the taste of himself in your mouth driving him mad.

“Enjoying dinner, I see, hm, hah …” he quipped, eyes heavy on your hand still stroking his cock. “What a pro. ”

“Only for you, Deidara-senpai. ”

You hand abandoned his cock and you licked him off your palm. Without his help you went under, fitting his cock in your mouth a second time. Deidara kept your hair from your mouth as you sucked him. His cockhead hit the back of your throat and, oh , you didn’t choke, only took more, more. Greedy cunt.

He imagined you practicing this for him, only for him, your senpai. Your mouth hungering for what wasn’t truly there. Deidara squeezed eyes shut; close, close. You were sucking his cock as though his was the only one in the world, worshiping with your mouth and tongue. He imagined your lungs desperate for air, screaming for them, yet your mouth too transfixed to care.

A fucking servant for him, obedient to his cock.

Deidara’s cock twitched. His groan was low and rumbling as he spilled his seed into your willing mouth. You sucked hard, jerked him into your mouth. Your mouth slicked with his cum and grew impossibly warm. Saliva and his own seed coated his cock.

“Aaah-ha- ahh …! ”

He scalped you as he emptied into your mouth, cum guzzling down your throat.

At last, you popped him from your mouth and emerged before him, mouth and lips thoroughly abused.

Deidara’s gaze cast down on you. He caught his breath in the seconds absent of words.

“I could use a girl like you,” Deidara exhaled.

You popped your lips, eyes dreamy and narrow. “I think you just did,”

“Hm! An apprenticeship, then?”

You recovered immediately. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

He smirked at his own prospect and pulled you to him. “C’mere.”

He emerged from the pool before helping you follow suit. He removed his black fishnet shirt and flung it away. He drank you in. Naked, in the flesh ― and wet, right when he thought you couldn’t be improved upon.

You settled atop the dinner table and waited for him. Deidara came to you.

“Spread those legs.”

You acquiesced. He licked his lips at the sight of your puffy, glistening cunt.

“You wouldn’t be my first,” You said, “but you’ll be my last.”

He slotted into the space you afforded him. He caressed your vulva before giving it a firm slap. You yelped and his lip upturned at the sound. He slid a finger between your folds, encouraged by your appreciative mewls.

He gripped the fat of your cheeks and forced you to look at him and not his adventurous fingers.

“Your best. ”

You hooked your legs behind him as he geared his cock grazed your folds ―

And thought he might cum just from the sound of your drawn out moan when he slid inside you.

He bucked from instinct, the firm grip of your twat clouding his senses. Again he went for your throat, the appendage becoming its permanent resting place.

“This is what you wanted, right?” Deidara breathed out, thrusting hard. “Leader’s gonna get his fucking money’s worth …”

Hands gripped his wrists tight as he began to fuck you, the table wobbling slightly underneath your mewling body.

“Yes …! Ye―Yes, oh!” You clung to him, Deidara’s hands upholding you. “ Fuc ― oh, Yes! I owe Pain my life ― oh! ”

He released your throat just to bite at it. He sunk his teeth into your skin while his hands committed to making scarlet red prints against your ass.

“ Fuck, you’re ―” Deidara stammered. The feel of your cunt swallowing him was too much. He recalled Kisame’s threat to fuck you himself. Not on your life, sharkman . And he felt himself thrust hard just to affirm you were his. He’d set the entire world ablaze before anyone else could experience the wonderful grip of your cunt. “You’re mine. ”

You tugged him to your lips again and kissed him. A moan from you vibrated against his lips. He reached downward to tease your clit and your legs trembled at his sides.

“ Fuck, Deida ―” You flung your head back. “ I’m ― ”

He knocked you onto the table and lifted your legs over his shoulders. He began to pound you, relishing in the bounce of your tits. Plates fell to the floor and shattered as he wrecked your cunt.

He choked you again, sure there would be a greater hand-shaped bruise once he was through. He flicked your clit, thumbed it. Your scream rumbled under his grip as his balls slapped your ass.

Your moans grew shrill, and you clenched ―

“ Fuck …! ” Deidara lost himself in your tight cunt. He slapped your clit, grip dangerously tight at your neck―

“Yes, please!” You called out as you came, “Dei― Deidara!”

Spurts of cum left his cock and sucked into your cunt. You convulsed and convulsed. You showed him the whites of your eyes as you came. Deidara held you to him by your thighs. A few more weak thrusts and he gave out on top of you, his chin hiding in the crook of your shoulder.

A few moments passed. Deidara raised his head, caught you over the corner of his eye. “So … everything you wanted?”

“And more, ” You sang.

He maneuvered to place a kiss at the heart of your collarbone, still so fascinated with it. He removed himself from you before assisting you as best as he could.

“Did you mean it?” You inquired after a few moments more.

“Hm?”

“About me being your apprentice?”

“... Hm,” Deidara shrugged. “Well, I’ll have to check my schedule. But, if it all adds up, I wouldn’t mind having you by my side.”

You squealed, engulfed him in a hug.

“Ah, ah!” Deidara fought you off. “Okay, okay, whatever!”

“Oh, I’m so excited! ” You bounced. “So, so ― wait!”

You pulled back, smirked up at him.

“I almost forgot,” You said. “Your payment … ”

<<<>>>

“Two million yen,” Pain said. “All in a single donation ― our highest to date. I assume it went well?”

“Hm!” Deidara said. “Very!”

“And Miss (Y/n) tells me she’ll be requesting you monthly from now on,” Pain continued. “Each time with the same donation or higher.”

“Are you telling me Deidara’s dick is going to fund all our expeditions from now on?” Kisame mocked.

“And the rest of our lives,” Kakuzu’s voice tipped in interest, “if this goes on …”

“Don’t get any ideas, Kakuzu!” Hidan barked. “We’re not whoring ourselves out.”

“Shut up,” Kakuzu bit back. “I’ve never even thought about it. Unless …”

“What girl would wanna fuck you? ”

“A satisfied and wealthy client means less worry over how we secure our money,” Pain said, ignoring the bickering, “so, in a manner of speaking, yes. Deidara will aid in contributions― as we all should.”

“Well, then, we’re all set!” Deidara said.

“There’s just one thing that irks me about this whole endeavor,” Pain said. “... Where is Tobi?”

“...”

“... He didn’t come back with you, did he?”

“... No.”

“...”

Pain sighed.

“... Go back and get him, Deidara.”

#my work #deidara x reader #please reblog #deidara x y/n #deidara smut #deidara x you #naruto smut #naruto x reader #naruto x you #naruto x y/n #naruto fic

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astrox · 10 months

Text

Sanemi Shinazugawa (wearing Miguel O'hara's suit) x fem! reader

tw//: short and quick smutshot, rough angry sex(kind of), no preparation, spanking, biting, blood, creampie, cussing & degrading, the suit is holographic

authors note: I drew sanemi in miguel o’hara’s suit and it has inspired me to write something erotic

Being bent over a metal table by a raging maniac was not how you wanted your day to go. All you wanted to do was explore the spider society and get used to your surroundings when you stumbled on a fuming Sanemi. The man standing before you had just endured a mockery so foul that it sent him over the edge. He needed to take his anger out on something and you just happened to walk in.

Before you knew it, you were knocked down by Sanemi who held you against a table. Your face is pressed against the metal surface and your arms are held behind your back.

“Sane-”

“Shut it-” He snarls, binding your arms together with his webs. You’ve always told yourself to prepare for the worst when it came to 'Funtime' with Sanemi, no matter what 'worse' meant for him. Today is that day.

Bent over, the man behind you lifts your hips after tearing the bottom half of your suit from your body, revealing what will forever belong to him and him alone. The cold air pricks your skin, leaving goosebumps along your legs. He runs a thumb along your slit, hearing you squirm from his touch and his mouth waters. Wriggling, your face contorts out of discomfort and you struggled in your restraints.

This man wastes no time as his cock reveals itself from his holographic suit, standing up with no curve. Using his own saliva to lubricate himself, he pushes his wet tip in and out of you just to tease you. He snickers, hearing you whine and you shake your hips.

You gasp when he feeds you the inches, slowly and the stretch made your insides scream. Little by little, the more your toes curled and your heart quickened with anticipation. Instead of standing there and let you adjust to his he pulls out before Sanemi thrusts into you hard, ushering a yelp. He gives you another and another, setting a pace, drilling his cock in and out.

“Fuck,” you heard above you.

You couldn’t do anything but take his girth length. The sound of skin slapping and your erotic moans were music to Sanemi’s ears. Squeezing your ass, Sanemi angles your hips to the perfect angle so his tip brushed your cervix.

“Ah-” You squeaked, mouth agape.

“Well well, looks like my little slut enjoyed that, huh?” The name has you clenching around him and Sanemi smirks. He gives you another taste, this time he pokes your cervix, forcing out a scream. “There we go-”

Your lower half hanging over the edge meets the table and Sanemi’s grip on ass would definitely leave some bruises behind.

“Sanemi-sir!” You called out, mouth pooling with drool. Turning your face to the side, you attempt to raise a hand against your restraints. “Pleas-”

“I can’t hear you, slut,” Sanemi swats your ass. “Speak up,”

“Please-I don’t,” you whimpered earning another spank on your ass. The slap stings as tears prick at your eyes.

“You have to be louder than that,” Sanemi tells you, one hand reach the back of your neck pulling your to lean against his chest. “Come on you useless slut. I can’t hear you when your making those sweet noises for me,”

You garbled out a sob, blinking away your tears you spoke, “I-I don’t like it from behind-”

From that little confession, you find yourself on your back. Laid out on the table, you’re still tied up but at least you can see Sanemi’s face. In seconds, he’s all over you, shoving himself inside you once more. Your louder in the position, legs wrapping around Sanemi’s waist, head leaning back in pleasure.

It feels like it’s been going on forever, gushing on his cock and waiting for to be over. All over, your body feels sore, aching muscles ready to rest.

“More-I need a little more,” Sanemi mutters, leaning down and teeth bear for him to sink into your shoulder. You choke out a sob, feeling his lips suck a mark on your skin.

“Hurts-Sanemi it hurts!” You wailed over the table creaking, whilst the slap of his hips pick up speed. The faster he is, the harder he fucked you. Is then you realised that he’s close.

Just a little more y/n! You can take it! You told yourself, closing your eyes and allowing the torture to go. Gripping your hips, Sanemi’s groans grow in volume as his dick twitches inside your cunt. He can feel you squeezing him, pleading for him to fill you to the brim.

Moving a leg over his shoulder, Sanemi uses the angle to fuck deeper into and kiss your cervix. You grit your teeth, tears running down your face. With a couple of sloppy thrusts and loud grunt, Sanemi spills himself inside you. As promised, he filled you up with a few drops spilling onto the floor.

Panting, you feel Sanemi slip out and plug his fingers in to keep his load inside. Too exhausted to move, you didn’t expect Sanemi to pick you off the table after he frees you from your restraints and carry you away bridal style.

Resting your head against his chest, your eyelids become heavy. The sight of lower side had you shocked, caked skin, bite marks, and the mess between your thighs. You’d definitely be stuck to your bed for a few days. Falling into a deep sleep, you leave Sanemi to his thoughts.

THANK YOU FOR 400 FOLLOWERS!!

#kny sanemi #demon slayer sanemi #sanemi shinazugawa #sanemi x reader #sanemi shinaguzawa #sanemi x you #sanemi x y/n #sanemi #sanemi smut #kny sanemi shinazugawa

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miguelsfangservice · 4 days

Text

BEYOND THE SPOTLIGHT V

Pairing: Miguel O'hara x F!Famous Idol Reader Warnings: Angst/comfort, fame has caused reader a lot of pressure and insecurities. Summary: It doesn't matter he's at HQ trying to keep the multiverse afloat, your face, your voice, your smile and laugh follows him everywhere. No, he is not losing it (yet); it's just that it’s kind of inevitable when most spiders under his command are... how did Gwen called it? Ah-staning you? Well, he can't really complain, it's his girlfriend, after all.

PART I, PART II, PART III, PART IV, PART V

The days after the whole drama with Ashley are nothing but a PR nightmare, everyone gets slandered and just a whole war has started in comment sections all over social media; Miguel tries to distract you by trying to make you go to the HQ with him, but you are hell bent on staying home and, eventually, giving up and reading comments online about the hiatus your company announced just hours after the incident.

Most people are blaming the company, but many others go straight for your throat; and they attack the biggest insecurities you had since you decided to leave the group for a while and go solo.

Some of the girls that used to be your teammates reach out and try to comfort you, cursing Ashley under their breath and trying to make you feel better about the whole ordeal.

But nor Miguel’s or their words work to make you feel ok.

There’s a few comments that catch your eye while having breakfast with Miguel one morning a few weeks after the announcement:

<<Looks like #Y/N couldn't handle the pressure after all. Always thought she was just riding on the coattails of the group. Solo career? More like solo failure.>>

<< It's sad to see #Y/N crash and burn like this. Guess she wasn't as talented as she thought she was. #SoloFlopped #Embarrassing.>>

“Cielo…”

Another one, with about a thousand likes says:

<<Who does #Y/N think she is, anyway? Leaving the group was the biggest mistake of her life. Now she's just another idol desperately trying to stay relevant. #Pathetic #GroupWasBetterWithoutHer>>.

You try to keep scrolling, tears pooling around your eyes. Miguel notices right away, he could see you getting pale and quiet while staring at the holographic display on your wrist.

He puts his hand on top of it, blocking whatever you were reading from you.

“You need to stop” he whispers. “Reading idiotic comments online won’t help”.

You nod, not looking at him, feeling a mix of emotions swirling within you; from sadness, to anger, to defeat and some bitterness towards Miguel. But the rational part of you and, above all, the love you have for him has been keeping you from lashing out on Miguel.

He’s been postponing his Spiderman things to hang up with you at home, but every time he had to leave the room to receive a call from his comrades you knew he was needed, which made you feel a bit guilty.

“You’re right” you put your hand on top of his. “It’s just hard not to… it feels like there’s an itch in my brain and the only way I can alleviate is by reading all that”.

Just when he is about to reply, someone starts calling him; Miguel curses, taps something on his watch and mutters ‘sorry’.

“Miggy, you need to get out of those pajamas and go be a hero”

“It’s fine, I- Peter’s got everything under control”.

“That thing has been blowing up for the past few days; he may have it under control but maybe he needs a hand, love”

Miguel hangs his head a bit, defeated.

“This is my fault and I don’t know how to fix it”

“If you want to help me, I just need your support and trust on whatever decision I make” you try not to sound angry at him, but there’s probably an edge to your voice that he notices, because he lets go of your hand and tenses. “That’s what I need from you, Miggy; I know that even with what happened back at the company you were just trying to help, but I think what I need the most right now is you supporting me, even from afar while you help save the day.”

Miguel’s expression softens as he listens to your words, but still with a pang of guilt stabbing at his heart. He knows he hasn't been handling things perfectly; Miguel is aware his sanity is constantly hanging by a tread and that seeing you struggling with the pressure and schedule was just too much.

"I'm sorry” he murmurs, reaching out to cup your face gently. "I've been so focused on trying to fix things that I forgot to just be there for you, I guess I forget I don’t have to intervene on everything..."

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. "You have your hands full with several universes, you don’t need to carry my problems too, you know?"

Miguel nods, his eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and gratitude. "Thank you for understanding, cielo. But please know that I'm here for you, always. Even if I can't fix everything, I'll do my best to support you… without making another scene, I hope."

You lean into his touch, feeling a sense of reassurance wash over you. "I know you will, Miggy. And just knowing that you're here for me means the world, with a dramatic scene at my job and all."

In comfortable silence, the weight of the world seems to lift off your shoulders, if only for a moment. You find solace in Miguel's presence, grateful for his unwavering support. But despite the temporary reprieve, you know that the battle against the hurtful comments and relentless pressure is far from over; when he leaves to save the world, you’ll stay at the apartment with no one to stop you from reading, to keep you from your own negative thoughts.

“You should come with me today.” Miguel suddenly breaks the silence, he walks to your bathroom and opens the faucet. “I know you refused the last hundred times I asked but… I really would help you to meet them, it will take your mind away from all that”.

The idea of accompanying him to the headquarters has crossed your mind before, but the thought of facing the other spiders and being surrounded by the chaos of his world always filled you with anxiety; sneaking into the HQ had felt safer.

You already did not feel good enough for your world, much less for a world full of superhumans.

But now, as you look at Miguel coming out of the bathroom with his face wet from washing it, a hopeful yet hesitant expression, you find yourself considering his suggestion. Maybe, just maybe, it could be a welcomed distraction from the constant onslaught of negative comments and thoughts.

Taking a deep breath, you finally nod, a small smile playing at your lips. "Okay, Miggy. I'll go with you today."

Miguel's eyes light up with genuine joy, a light you are sure no one has seen in years… only you. He is suddenly crossing the room to pull you into a tight embrace. "Thank you, cielo. I promise, it'll be good for both of us. But if they don’t let you breath you just need to tell me and I’ll…"

“Make a scene?”

He groans, embarrassed and you can’t help but laugh at his slightly rose tinted cheeks.

As you cling to him, a sense of relief washes over you. Maybe stepping out of your comfort zone and facing the world outside your apartment is exactly what you need right now.

❃❃❃❃

Every time you step into the HQ you can’t help but gawk at what Miguel has built. And you always get a sense of warmth in your heart, knowing he has people that goes through the same things he goes through…things that you can’t fully understand, no matter how much you want to; so it’s good he can go to his friends when you can’t help him with stuff like this.

This time, you enter the HQ without hiding, you go through the lobby and, just as you thought not everyone here would know who you are, you see in the corner of your eye, a Spiderman saying something to another one, looking directly at you, which has others doing the same.

You want to lower your head, a little embarrassed but as you are about to do it, you look at Miguel.

He always holds his head high, no matter what. And you notice how different he looks in this context, with all this amazing super heroes looking up to him and his leadership; even with the whole Miles fiasco, he was able to amend his bad choices and regain his peoples trust.

Seeing him walk proud around the place he has built with blood, sweat and tears makes you feel a bit better.

If Miguel can walk proudly, so can you. Specially while you are by his side.

As you continue walking, more super heroes start noticing and you can see some of them reacting like just regular fans; it’s cute seeing the lenses on their suits doing a half moon downturn, indicating their smiles.

Feeling a surge of determination, you straighten your posture and walk alongside Miguel with newfound confidence. Despite the curious glances and whispered conversations happening around you, you hold your head high, mirroring Miguel's unwavering pride.

As you make your way through the HQ, you can't help but marvel at the incredible diversity of the so called “Spider-Verse”. Each superhero you pass exudes strength and resilience, their unique abilities a testament to the countless battles they've fought to protect their respective universes. And, obviously, you can’t forget but admire their suits and gadgets you know they must make with all the love and care of the world.

“You got quite a few fans around here, you know?” he murmurs in your ear as he swings with you in his arms around the place; you make the mistake of looking down, it makes you dizzy and you have to press your body tighter to his, Miguel chuckles. “It all began with Hobie and then Miles spread your music here like wildfire.”

“Kids got a good a taste” you say smugly, but with a pink tint in your cheeks. It’s good to know that you got some support.

"And they have excellent taste indeed," Miguel agrees, his voice filled with pride. "But then again, how could they not be fans of yours? Your music has a way of touching people's hearts, no matter what universe they're from."

“Miguel, you adorable sap” You hear Peter yell behind you. Miguel groans and rolls his eyes. “Hello, miss. Nice to see you again.”

“Hi, Mr. Parker” you reply with a smile.

Peter makes a fake wounded sound. “Please, please no “Mister”, makes me feel old”

“That’s because you are” Miguel tells him just when you finally land on the hallway leading to Miguels office, you keep walking alongside him, but much closer when you start seeing all the anomalies in their respective cages. Some of them eye you up and down, as if you were the prey. If they were to break free, you know you would be. “Now we need to get to work, Parker.”

“Everything is under control; you shouldn’t be back from your days off so soon”

“If everything is under control why Jess wont’s stop sending messages and calling? So has Margo.” Miguel counters, his tone serious.

Before Peter can respond, an urgent message comes through on Miguel's communicator. His expression shifts, a mixture of concern and determination crossing his features. "We've got trouble," he says, glancing at you. "A Venom anomaly has been detected. I need to go with the others to check it out."

You nod, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Be careful," you tell him, squeezing his hand reassuringly. Your heart starts beating up fast; Miguel has told you a few things about the type of things he fights, so you are aware of how dangerous a venom anomaly can be.

Miguel nods, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he turns to Peter. "Keep an eye on things her, Parker. We'll be back soon."

With that, Miguel rushes off, leaving you and Peter standing in the hallway, the weight of the impending danger hanging heavy in the air.

“Are you hungry?” Peter asks, trying to sound cheery again, but you can sense his concern. “There’s some really juicy ‘Migueburgers’ in the cafeteria”

“…Migue-what?”

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