#goddamn he is a fucking skyscraper.

[fiapartridge]

"there's no way owen power is 6'6-"

jack quinn is six feet tall.

#owen power #goddamn he is a fucking skyscraper. #i fear i may be the same height as where the 25 is on his jersey. #my god. #buffalo sabres #biosteel snuck something into his drink because there aint no way #there's no way ts is natural

[astroboots]

EVERY YOU EVERY ME #11.5 SPECIAL

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: Let’s start from the beginning one last time.

Word count: 5,800

Warning: Heavy angst and character death. Dead Dove do not eat.

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

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Let’s start from the beginning one last time. 

My name is Miguel O’Hara, and in an experiment gone wrong, my genetic code was partially rewritten with Spider DNA, giving me superpowers.

My home is Earth 928-C where I was the one and only Spiderman... of my home dimension at least.

I invented and built a dimensional travel device that allowed me to jump between universes with the goal of exploring the limits of the multiverse. 

And then I met a woman in this other world who nearly died from a crazy freak accident.

I saved her of course.

Then I saved her again.

And again, and again.

... And again.

We fell in love, and I decided to stay with her in her world.

You know the rest. We got married. We had a life together.

I was happy. Really happy. 

For a while.

[Earth 383-D]

3 YEARS AGO

"Goddamn idiot bird," Miguel mutters under his breath.

Vulture is on the loose again, wreaking havoc on the city. The maniac is flying high above the city grounds, leaving a trail of mayhem in his wake. 

Miguel's been in pursuit for the better half of two hours. In that time, the bird has derailed the High Line, literally hit a traffic light and managed to knock over the spire on the Statue of Liberty as if he was flying under the influence.

Then somehow flew across town through Tribeca, along Lower Manhattan and Greenwich Village and now reached all the way to Midtown Manhattan. 

Dumbass ugly stupid bird. 

Miguel digs his claws into the exterior of the limestone and granite of the Empire State Building to steady himself, using the momentum to leap forward.

The Vulture crashes into a skyscraper 50 feet ahead of Miguel, and in the mad dash, he can see a man tumble out of the building head first to the ground from the 30th floor. 

Swinging forward, Miguel slings out a web from his palm, catching the screaming and sobbing office worker in midair and lands briefly against the windowpane. He ensures the man is secured to the building in a cocoon of webbing until the fire department can get him to safer grounds.

Miguel doesn't even get a second to catch his breath. From afar, he can pick up the sound of another window being crashed into by the unwieldy metal bird. 

Crap. 

It's impossible for Miguel to both chase the Vulture and keep everyone else in his path of destruction safe. One superhero can't be in two places at once (none that he has encountered).

Gritting his teeth, Miguel leaps off the building swinging freely into the air to make up on the lost ground between him and the metallic cuckoo bird.

He needs backup, and the backup is unfortunately running late.

Where is he? Why is he always late?

Does that man not understand that when someone calls for backup because of an emergency, the emergency part indicates that there's some urgency to it?

Flying through the air 100 feet above the ground, from the corner of his eyes, Miguel catches the familiar garish red flowing cape that billows from the cowl of the grand cloak and suit. 

Miguel would know that weird wizard get-up anywhere. 

"Strange!" Miguel calls out, and he can feel irritation rattle in his chest. "You're late! Where the shock were you?"

"The word you're looking for is 'fuck.' Where the fuck was I," the man responds with a sarcastic drawl.

Strange levitates through the air, effortlessly without expending any energy at all as he catches up with Miguel. "You gave me no notice. Be happy I showed up at all."

From a distance he sees the dumb bird soar high up into the sky and towards the all too familiar crowned roof of the Chrysler building. 

No. nononono. 

Why is he there? What is he doing there? Anywhere but there. 

His back flashes cold then burning hot as the Vulture makes a straight beeline for the familiar building.

It’s fine. Maybe he’s not going to fly in there. Maybe he’s just going to fly past it.

Miguel watches as the metallic bird soars up and up and up, past the midpoint of the building, past the 40th floor of your office and up to the 50th floor. The tight squeeze in his chest eases.

Then the vulture stops, mid-flight and looks down below, as if he changed his mind, before he descends again. 

Shit! Shit! SHIT!

He dives into one of the windows between the 40th and 50th floor. The sound of broken glass and shrill screams can be heard even from where Miguel is. 

Blood freezes in his veins and nausea overtakes him. Calm down. Breathe.. Maybe you’re not in. After all, Lyla’s security protocols would’ve been activated by now if you were. He would’ve been alerted. 

Soaring through the skies, Miguel reaches over to his wrist to punch in the dial for Lyla to check in and reassure himself you're safe. But his tracker blinks back in an alarming red, and he darts down his head towards the display.  

Error. 

His heart stops. 

The flying silhouette reappears through the shattered windows and the metallic harness strapped onto the vulture gleams bright against the sun.

It’s only then it hits him. Lyla's been deactivated by the madman's stupid Electro-Magnetic Harness. 

Why hadn't he foreseen that as a technical flaw?

Against the reflective glass panes, Miguel sees you, caught in the Vulture talons like a mouse captured by a large predatory bird. Every hair on his neck stands on end. His vision bleeds into red, blood roaring at the sight of it.

Kill him.

Miguel's gonna murder that freak for touching you. Crush his windpipe so he can't ever squawk again, then rip his throat out with his claws and feed it to the street pigeons for good measure.

Launching himself through the air, Miguel tears up the side of the building. The tempered glass beneath his claws and feet, shatters into sharp jagged pieces as he closes the distance. 

He is almost within reach. Only some 30 feet that still separates you from him. Leaping the final distance he slams hard into the side of the Vulture until metal crunches beneath his feet. 

Miguel roars until his throat burns with it. Palms gripping at the man’s jaw and prying it back to get at his bare throat. His fangs are ready to sink into the jugular. He can see the dark pupil of Vulture's eyes dilate with fear. 

Good. Miguel's anger will be the last thing this freak sees.

"Miguel calm down," Strange shouts at him from behind. "You're gonna knock her off."

Miguel freezes at the warning, forcing himself to hold still as he looks down to where you are dangling precariously from the Vulture's claws.

"Be ready," Strange shouts, and Miguel looks to him, not understanding what the hell he means. 

Strange rests his hand over the shiny blue gem hanging around a chain from his neck.

What does he mean by be ready? What is Strange going to do?

"What'd you mea–"

Miguel doesn't have a chance to finish the rest of his sentence. An unnatural force vibrates through him. A pulsating wave that pervades his senses, punching through his lungs and knocks him back. 

In an instance, you're propelled away from Strange and the Vulture, and you are freefalling towards the ground below.

Miguel leaps mid-air, arms outstretched to catch you as you plummet towards the ground below. His fingers clasps around your wrists, your warm skin against his fingertips.

He's got you!

Taking hold of you by the arm, Miguel pulls you into his chest as he wraps one arm securely around your waist.

Immediate relief fills him from the inside out as the adrenaline and the searing anger is already starting to fade now that he knows you're safe.

"You okay, nena?" he asks.

You nod, arms finding purchase around the back of his neck, and squeeze down tight. He swings you both to the safety of a nearby rooftop.

There's barely time for him to touch the surface, he hears the nearby explosion and sees Vulture crash into the concrete wall of the nearest building. 

Strange is levitating nearby, hands making wild gestures, presumably to perform some hocus pocus ritual. There’s a magical glow as strobes of light manifest out of thin air surrounding the Vulture from all sides and wrapping around him in a restraining bind.

Miguel sets you down. You're a little bit wobbly on your feet, and seeing you stumble the way you do has that protective streak spark anew in his chest.

Stupid Strange. He can't just do shit like that. 

What if Miguel hadn't reacted in time? What if you had fallen? 

This is why Miguel hates working with the guy, even if they’re friends. Always on his moral high horse about Miguel being reckless, then he pulls shit like this.

"Everyone alright?" Strange asks as he levitates through the sky to set feet close to you both on the rooftop.

Miguel grits his teeth with annoyance at the man’s casual demeanor when he nearly threw you out of the sky.

"Shock you, Strange," he spits out.

"Miggy..." you sigh in a reprimanding tone next to him. 

Stephen shakes his head at him. "I told you. It's fuck"

"Fuck you, Strange."

Sanctum Sanctorum is closer than home and Strange has, comfortable sofas in his ridiculously big mansion. Big enough sofas that Miguel can actually lounge in them comfortably without it feeling cramped. It's why, given the choice, he always prefer to regroup there, over your tiny apartment.

Besides, while the man's control over his magical powers can be suspect at times, he used to be a doctor. Supposedly one of the leading brain surgeons in the world, and Miguel is a lot more comfortable at the prospect of Strange giving you a checkover to make sure you don't need further medical attention than trying your luck at one of the local ERs.

"Follow my finger," Strange says as he shines a little flashlight into your eyes and moves his index from side to side. 

Your eyes follow him dutifully, and Strange proceeds with the rest of his medical check, asking you the boring standard questions. "Any symptoms of dizziness, lightheadedness, or a sense of vertigo?"

He fires them out in rapid succession, and a bit too perfunctory for Miguel's liking.

"Noticed any changes in your vision, blurriness or double vision, etcetera etcetera?"

Miguel's jaw tic in irritation at how Strange is putting in minimal effort and just going through the motions.

"Yeah, you're fine." Strange pats your knees, then whisks the flashlight away into nothingness with his cape.

That medical check wasn't anything close to thorough. Miguel crosses his arms over his chest. "Are you sure? Her feet were wobbly before, I wanted to make sure she didn't sprain her ankle."

"A little bit overprotective as always aren't we?" Strange says.

Miguel shoots the man a glare and Stephen sighs, "Her reflexes are fine, I don't think anything's sprained."

"Check again, you seemed sloppy," Miguel accuses.

"You know, I'm doing this as a favor because you’re a friend. Do you have any idea how much a medical examination by one of the leading neurological surgeons in the world would cost you normally?"

"I'll have Lyla transfer the money."

“No, it’s not actually about money just–" Stephen shakes his head, then sighs. "Nevermind.”

He gestures for you to drape your leg across his lap, then he reaches over to gently assess your ankle as requested.

"What is this necklace?" You ask. You lean closer to Strange, inspecting the blue gem where it rests against his chest.

Strange swats at your hand, the way an adult scolds a child with sticky chocolate smeared hands trying to touch the fine china.

"It's a protection amulet. When activated it forms a protective barrier that forcibly repels everything within ten feet of you."

"Huh," you reach back for the amulet undaunted by the earlier reprimand, fascinated and clearly enamored by it. "I'll give you fifty bucks for it."

Strange looks offended. "It's not for sale, and if it was it would certainly be worth a lot more than fifty dollars. It's a genuine magical artifact, not fake costume jewelry from the theater department."

You purse your lips, considering the amulet.

"Forty," you offer.

Miguel has to choke back a snorting laughter in his throat at the way Stephen's eyes goes wide in confused outrage.

"Wait, why is the price going down?"

“We’re in the middle of an economic crisis, Stephen,” you counter.  

Strange's head darts over to where Miguel sits, presumably for backup, but he's knocked on the wrong door. The man must be mad if he thinks that there is ever a world where Miguel would side against you.

"Strange, we both know it’s easier if you just give her the amulet." Miguel says. 

The man sighs, shaking his head in defeat.

"Be careful with it," he says as he drags the chain over his head to place it in your awaiting palms. "And don't lose it like the invisibility amulet with Mysterio. Had to spend a whole month clearing up your mess when that creep used it to get into the women's locker rooms at every local gym in Greenwich!"

"That wasn’t my mess! Miggy lost that one during an aerial fight. You can't blame that on me."

"You married him, so you're responsible for him. I consider you two jointly to blame."

"Now you're just lashing out," you shoot back.

Miguel watches the two of you in patient boredom, his head propped up by an elbow on the arm of the sofa. He expended way too much energy during the fight, and now he needs to refuel. 

If Miguel leaves you two to it, you'll spend an eternity bantering, the way you do. His stomach growls. He wants food. Wants wantons and beef ho fun and a dozen custard salted egg buns for dessert. And the longer you two are at it, the longer it's going to take for him to get it.

"Nena," he calls out, "I'm hungry. Are you two done? I want to go for dinner."

You shoot Miguel a quick smile, pulling out your wallet and take out a wad of green bills then fold it into Strange's hand with a happy grin.

Strange looks down at the crumpled up money in his hand. "Wait, you're only giving me thirty? I thought we said forty."

"You still owe me like ten bucks from mini golf last week."

Strange pockets the money with a grumble. "Unbelievable." 

“C’mon,” Miguel says as he stands up and gestures to the both of you with a curt nod of his head towards the door. “Let’s go. I’ll pay for dinner this time,” Miguel says, and that seems to abate Strange’s outrage somewhat as the man grabs your coat from the sofa cushions and offers it to you.

Life on Earth 383-D is strange.

Life here is borderline primitive. The technology is something out of the stone ages.

Social media is a wasteland. Reality TV is a dystopian concept. And he doesn't understand who Kardashian is or why everyone is obsessed with her and her family. 

He does like fax machines though. They are basically teleportation machines and it boggles him that the people of your dimension do not seem to understand its potential.

The one thing he will give this version of earth credit for is that the food here is nice. Everyone in his home dimension is too health conscious, and fried food has long been banned by the government for the long term damage it does to the cardiovascular system. 

He also likes the life that the two of you have built together here. You have a home in that tiny shoebox apartment. You have friends. Strange friends. Like the Doctor who flies around with the help of a magic cape and now practices the mystic arts after a gap year in Asia. A young girl whose main superpower is the ability to communicate with squirrels. Then there’s that ugly red-masked wise-cracking, katana-wielding maniac who never dies.

Sadly, your friends are not the only thing that is strange about your surroundings.

Miguel perches himself on top of the Chrysler building sitting hunched over on the ledge of the roof. He’s drained and bone-tired, chasing down a helicopter that had gone haywire and was hurtling towards your office building. 

Luckily Strange was able to assist and sent it through a magic portal to crash into the Atlantic without putting any lives at stake. 

"Just had to do some cleaning up," Strange says as he sets his boots back down on the ground. 

Miguel doesn't answer him, staring out at the city view and the setting sun as he takes a well earned breather for a moment or two. New York is a bit of a shit hole, but it does look pretty from a high viewpoint, especially when the sun is setting, Miguel has to give this city that.

It's silent between the two of them. Or at least it is until Strange decides to break it with a harkle of his throat. When Miguel doesn't react the man does it again, coughing discreetly in a clear attempt to get his attention.

Miguel doesn't say anything about the man's sore throat. He ran out of the lemon drops you bought him as snacks hours ago, but he does tilt his head up at the man.

"She's been getting into a lot of these incidents lately. More than usual, more than any normal human for it to be a coincidence" Strange says.

The whole of Miguel's back stiffens.

"Have you noticed the abnormal uptick in strange unexplainable supernatural occurrences lately? Indoor tornadoes. The rain of poisonous frogs outside of whole foods. A sinkhole appearing right next to the cafe your wife frequents."

Miguel doesn't love the insinuations. Even with his lips pressed tightly together, Miguel can feel the small muscle in his jaw flex like a nervous tic at the mention of it. Because yeah, he's noticed, kind of hard to miss when your wife's life is in constant peril at all hours of the day.

Ice storms in July that hit right outside your workplace. An inexplicable solar flare causing a blackout that had every single vehicle within a 5 miles radius go haywire in the dark near your apartment. A swarm of mutated mosquitoes with a venomous bite that chased you down Central Park. 

The incidents are occurring more frequently. They are also getting increasingly bizarre and dangerous.

No one can say it’s just bad luck when the daily occurrences around you are defying the very laws of nature itself. Something isn't right with the universe, and he's not sure what else there is to do except pretend that everything is still ok.

"What are you implying?" Miguel asks through gritted teeth. 

But for the first time in the years that Miguel has known him, Strange's talkativeness is nowhere to be found. He doesn't answer Miguel. He's smart that way, the clever bastard. Knows that if he says one wrong word, Miguel is going to unhinge his jaws like a feral alligator and snap at him. 

Strange has said what he needed for Miguel to know exactly what he's getting at. The man just meets his eyes with an intentional stare, not shying away from Miguel's glare.

It's not like the thought hasn't crossed Miguel's mind. Not like it hasn't been keeping him up at night, every night.

Even though you've always been accident prone and suffered from bad luck, at this point it's a mathematical impossibility that anyone would run into as many near death incidents as you have.

This isn't by chance. It's by design. Miguel's suspected as much for a while now. He just doesn't know whose design and why.

"It's not her fault," Miguel spits out.

"I never said it was."

"Even if what you are saying is true..." Miguel stops, and stares down at his fisted palms with a sinking feeling in his guts. "There's nothing she can do about it to stop it. You can't put that on her."

"Whether she knows about it or not, if it's true, none of this is going to go away.

Strange walks over to where Miguel is, sitting down next to him.

"It’s been escalating in severity," he continues. "There are strange universal energies attached to her. There’s warping of the universal order and space around her. We don't know how bad this can get, if we don’t do anything about this, it could unravel the fabric of reality itself."

Despite the calamity of what Strange is implying, his voice is even and calm as he says it as if he might as well be discussing the weather. That trait has always annoyed the shit out of Miguel.

"What are you planning to do if this continues?" Strange asks.

It's such a silly question. Strange says it as if this is a multiple choice question. But for Miguel there's only one correct answer. 

"Protect her. I have to. She's everything to me."

Miguel is staring into the sunset bu all he sees before him is your face even though you aren’t here. The happy smile that he wants to preserve forever. He tries to fight the ache that's building in him at the thought that it would go away.

"Strange, don't tell her. Please. She doesn't need that burden."

He fists his palms into his side.

Miguel never liked asking for help, but even he knows that if what Strange is saying is true. That if the universe for some unfathomable reason wants you dead, then he's going to need all the help he can get.

If Strange has figured it out. Then it's only a matter of time before others do as well.

Soon enough, you won't just have the universe coming after you but every superhero and villain combined in a united front to take out the common threat that you pose to this entire universe.

Even Miguel knows he can't do this alone and as much as that helplessness tastes like failure and bile in his throat, he can swallow his pride if it helps keep you safe.

"Stephen, you have to help me save her."

From behind, Strange rests one hand on the corner of his shoulder. The weight of it feels like a promise being made. For the first time in a long time, Miguel feels like he can breathe just a little bit easier.

"I will do what I can, my friend."

Weeks go by. There are more incidents. Runaway vehicles that go haywire. Electrical storm fires. Rain of poisonous locusts. 

Somehow he manages to protect you from it all. 

It just means that he has to be more vigilant, that's all. The universe doesn't rest and neither does Miguel now. Lyla has been set on constant alert to wake him up whenever he's napping at any small signs of abnormal occurrences happening near you, with an electric shock to make sure he wakes. Something the A.I. is taking a worryingly amount of glee in (which probably means he needs to retune her programming when he has time).

And today, today Miguel was meant to have a Sunday lie in. Universe be willing, his goal was to sleep all the way into the late afternoon and then you had promised to take him to IHOP and get him all the pancakes he could eat for late breakfast.

But right now he's not asleep. He's trying to. But there are hushed words and whispered murmurs, buzzing in his ear that keeps trying to drag him away from sleep.

It's you and Strange.

Judging from the distance of the noises, you're both standing outside in the hall. The fact that you two are trying to be quiet makes it worse. If you'd spoken in normal volume he could tune it out as white noise, but the conspiratorial quietness of it all makes the hair on the back of his neck tingle with alertness.

Fuck's sake. He swears to god if you two are gossiping and making fun of Hercules’ costume (or the lack of it) again.

It's too early for this crap. Don't you two know that people are trying to sleep? He was up all night chasing crazy Kraven worshippers releasing animals from the Brooklyn zoo. Miguel had to gather wild zebras and crocodiles all the way down East Village til 4am.

With a groan, he drags himself halfway up along the mattress, about to go and growl at you both to be quiet, when the cluttered noises register as words and the fuzziness of sleep clears momentarily.

"He'd destroy this world for you."

Huh? What are you two talking about?

Miguel's too groggy to make sense of the context of what's being said. Even with his super hearing he has to focus to make out the words.

"You can't let him."

Irritated, he gets out of bed and walks to the front door to swing it open. The first thing he sees is you standing with Strange in the hallway. You jump at the suddenness and look up at him with wide eyes.

You have the worst poker face of anyone he's ever seen in his life.

"What are you two jabbering on about this damn early?" he asks.

He'd expected the two of you to act coy, maybe a clever 'wouldn't you like to know' retort back from the Mystic. Instead, Strange's face is entirely inscrutable, tone serious as he responds.

"We were just catching up. Nothing important. I need to head back," Strange says, then he turns to you with a meaningful tilt to his head. "Think about what I said."

"What was that about?" Miguel asks you as he watches Strange step through a portal and disappear.

You don't say anything. There's a worried frown etched between your eyebrows as you bite down on your lip.

Something crawls under Miguel's skin at the whole interaction.

You're oddly quiet the whole afternoon. Deep in thought and walking around as if in a daze, which unsettles him.

It's not difficult for him to guess what's wrong. He might have been half asleep when you and Strange were whispering in the corridors, but Miguel can put one and one together. Having two PHDs and a lifetime's experience of working in theoretical physics gives you that leg up.

In a last ditch effort to get you out of the uncharacteristic blues, he orders a dozen of your favorite cupcakes from that tiny shop in New Jersey. It costs an arm and a leg to have it couriered, but it'll be worth it if it makes you smile. 

Then he sits down next to you on the bed and places the pink pastry box down on the mattress. It's your favorite place to eat cakes and it’s why you two always end up with crumbs and frosting all over the sheets.

You happily cram half a cupcake into your mouth in one bite as you eat, and he watches you contently. If there was any fairness in the world, this quiet idyllic moment could last forever. In a good world, Miguel wouldn’t have to burst this perfect bubble. 

Sadly, this world is neither fair nor good sometimes. 

"Strange said something to you right?" Miguel asks. 

You still next to him, clearly torn between whether or not to share what was said to you, probably in secret with the very intention of being kept away from him. 

“Nena,” Miguel tries again, and you close your eyes taking a deep breath, caving into his prodding. 

"Strange thinks that my incidents might be correlated with the strange natural occurrences lately."

That fucking asshole. He knew it. Irritation pings across his jaw, and Miguel bites it down. He tries to reel it, forcing back the rant that wants to surface. Instead he tries to focus on you instead of his own anger. 

"We don't know that. It could just be a series of coincidences," Miguel tells you. 

You nod, but Miguel's not an idiot and neither are you. He can see the worry creasing your eyes as you look down to your lap. 

Putting down the cupcake, he reaches over and links his right hand with yours. 

"Nena, don't worry.” He cups his free hand over your cheek to drag you up to meet his eyes.

“I'll fight the whole universe to keep you safe if I have to. Nothing's ever going to harm you so long as I'm here. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. You're the most important thing to me."

You smile at him at the words, but there's a wistfulness to it that embeds a dull ache in his chest that he wants to physically rub away to make it stop.

You lean into his touch, until your forehead presses up against his and the physical touch blunts the ache in him for a moment, putting it on pause. 

"You’re the most important to me too," you say.

The sky itself cracks open not long after. 

It doesn’t take the combined forces and intellect of the entire world too long to hone in on you being the root cause. Soon enough every superhero, mutant, villain and alien starts coming after you. Because hero or villain alike, no one truly wants their world to end, not if it’s not on their terms. 

Mysterio tries to kidnap you by the elevator in your apartment building. The Human Torch even tries to burn the whole building down. The Punisher tries to murder you point blank outside your office.

Miguel can’t remember the last time he slept. He’s running on fumes. Day after day, he feels like he’s getting by on borrowed time. 

The friends and allies you have thin out fast as the threats to the world increase in severity. Miguel never imagined having Deadpool standing outside his door stating that the life of one single person cannot outweigh the universe itself. 

It’s all so stupid. None of them know what they’re talking about. A lynching mob with their torches and pitchforks. Never stopping to think whether harming you could trigger something much worse.

If Strange is right and you are the knot at the center of the fabric of reality that is coming apart, then ripping that out leaves a hole. Miguel gave up on explaining that fairly quickly because he realized that theoretical consequences doesn’t matter to an angry mob scared of facing the reality of extinction. 

It all becomes a blur. 

Exhaustion eats into his bones, until he can no longer tell the days apart. No matter how many times he saves you, disaster is always waiting just around the corner. 

And now he’s chasing down the Green Goblin to the top of the Chrysler building from the 61st floor, where the green freak has cornered you to the edge of the rooftop.

Miguel is already out of breath, running away from the coalition of superheroes and villains that are hot on his heels, trying to stop him from saving you. 

Adrenaline beats fast in his veins as he keeps running. Miguel is only able to make out those in pursuit in brief glimpses. The bright blue spandex suit of Reed Richards as his freakishly long elastic limbs stretch towards him. The blocks of metal hurtling towards Miguel, missing by inches and crashes into the side of a building as Magneto’s form hovers nearby. 

He ignores them all, not sparing a glance behind him. He just has to keep moving. It doesn't matter that his muscles scream and burn in exhaustion. Doesn't matter that his head dulls with a heavy ache from lack of sleep. He has to keep going for you. Has to save you.

He's so close, he's almost there.

From the corner of his eyes, he makes out the familiar garish red flowing cape fluttering against the blue sky.

Strange.

Miguel marginally relaxes, at the sight of the sole ally he has left in this universe. He leaps across the rooftop, into the temporary safety of the observatory deck.

His feet doesn't even reach the ground. Something restrains him from behind. Bright lights materialize out of thin air. It wraps around Miguel's limb with the strength of unbreakable manacles, hugging him so tight it restricts the flow of blood to his fingers. Then he’s brought down to his knees. 

Miguel whips his head back and Strange stands there, hands formed in a holding gesture.

“What are you–”

"I'm sorry," Strange says.

Miguel snarls at his restraints, wrenching and twisting in every direction he is able to even with the limited range of motion, but it's to no avail. The harder he struggles the more forceful the restraints seem to close in on him, mirroring his strength.

"I'm sorry it had to come to this. I really hoped there was another way but every life in the whole of the universe is at stake, Miguel."

Hot burning anger spears through him, and if he could he would raze it all to the ground with it. This place, this world and this fucking traitor standing there can all fucking burn. Miguel is gonna kill him. He's gonna kill this fucking bastard. He can't believe he trusted him.

“Strange, fucking let me… Stephen!”

He hears your pained shout and snaps his head towards the sound.

Miguel is only ten feet away from you. Ten measly feet from where the Green Goblin is holding you by the ledge of the rooftop. He can still reach you, if he can get free he can still save you. 

Tearing through the magical binds, there’s a bone-cracking sound in his shoulder. Searing pain spreads through his arm. For all his struggles, he doesn't know if he’s even an inch closer towards you. 

He watches you drop from the ledge. 

It's a pin drop moment where everything stops. His heart is no longer beating. 

No. This can't be how it ends.

He's moving forward, even as the sharp restraints digs into his limbs and flesh and burrows in with an excruciating ache. But the pain doesn't matter. All that matters is you.

It claws into him, and digs and tears, until he is sure that his entire limbs are going to be torn off, but he doesn't stop, keeps pulling against the resisting strength that surrounds him, rips against the hindrance embracing every ounce of the pain until finally, the pressure gives.

There's a cacophony of sound that's left behind him as he leaps through the air. He slingshots downwards, cutting through air as he tries to reach you.

Miguel catches your hand and relief fills his chest.

"I got you. I got you," he murmurs. He's not sure if those words are to calm you or himself.

Pulling you up in defiance of the pull of gravity, he tries to haul you up towards him. Your hand squirms in his, and if you keep going you're going to slip out of his grasp.

"Nena, don't move," he shouts in alarm, but you don't stop, twisting in all directions, making it harder for him to get a better grip.

What're you– You're resisting against his strength, why would you...

It hits him with a sickening realization.

You don' want him to save you.

"Stop!" he shouts. “Stop!”

You shake your head, tears filling the corner of your eyes that flow upwards and everything is upside down to him. 

"We’re out of time. You have to let me go,” you say. 

His fingers squeeze down even harder at your words, refusing to hear it. 

“There's still time. There are still other options. I can still save you!” 

Your hand reaches for the amulet pressed against your collarbone. Dread floods every nerve in his body as he sees your fingers squeeze around it.

"No!" He shouts. Screams it so loud it burns in his lungs. But deep down he knows it's not going to make any difference. "Nena, don't!"

The wind whips too loudly against his face. The sound of your heart pounding so painfully hard in his ear that it's deafening and he knows that sound will haunt him forever. 

You're scared.

He sees your lips move, but he can't hear what you're saying.

But he's heard these words so many times before from your lips that he knows them by heart. 

''I love you.''

An invisible force blasts away at him, it shatters through him through his limbs and torso into the very soft tissue of his stomach and makes his teeth shake. He's propelled upwards, unable to control his movements or defy the gravity that he's learned to navigate after all these years mid-air.

He holds on as hard as he can to your hand, but it doesn't matter. His fingers slip, his grip is lost.

You're falling through the sky.

Miguel doesn't remember much after that.

Somehow he makes it back onto the ground.

Somehow he finds you amongst the cracked dirty concrete. 

Somehow, despite falling from over a 100 feet your body is still intact where it lies lifeless on the ground.

Your bones are broken though. Body limp and soft in his arms in a way that has never felt more wrong to him. His only consolation is that you're still warm in his arms, and he thinks that maybe if he just doesn't let go, if he holds you tightly pressed to him the way he is doing now, it'll remain that way forever.

The sky has cleared above. There are no cracks in the azure blue canvas.

This world is saved. 

His world has ended. 

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: To @thirstworldproblemss who has been with me on this journey since chapter one without her enthusiasm and her companionship and friendship and listening to my wild ramblings about this story, I would never have set out to write this thing. She gave me so much joy in the process, she also gave me her time and her skills and brainy talent to help me process and brainstorm this into a shape that I was excited to share with you all! You also have her to thank for that devastating last line.

@guruan who has been a constant well of inspiration with her amazing art, her bright sense of humor and her sharing of theories of what's going to happen! You've made writing this story so much fun!

Author's note: Here we go guys, we've officially entered the final arc now. With only three chapters to go! I am so excited to share the remaining puzzle pieces with you all!

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderverse #oscar isaac #across the spiderverse #marvel #marvel mcu #spiderverse fanfiction #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - Part 7

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: I think a lot of you have been waiting on this one…and stick around after the end for something special!

Song Inspo: For this chapter it’s “Can’t Wait” by Foreigner (if you listen to it, you’ll see why).

Word Count: 5,000 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut and feels. That is all.

Part 7: Until Midnight

Two weeks later, you could admit that Ben was frustrating you in a different way than usual. 

You didn’t want to like him, or be indebted to him. But he was different lately whenever the two of you were alone. Especially at night, when the two of you often met in the kitchen. 

It was the one time where he truly seemed to relax, without his men around him. Without the Soldier Boy persona he wore like a fine tailored suit. 

One night, the two of you were once again sitting together in the kitchen after a marathon of all three Hangover movies. Now you each had a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, of which you’d convinced him to try the “Chunky Monkey” so you could have your “Half Baked” brownie pieces and cookie dough to yourself. 

Ben had all but inhaled his, while you were still chipping away at half the pint.

“You still hate me?” he asked.

You paused in delving into a thick piece of brownie to look up at his bearded face, which was deceptively nonchalant. If he was asking you that, then he really did want to know.

Yet it was a harder question to answer than you would’ve thought a couple of weeks ago. You decided to level him with the truth this time.

“Like I said before, I don’t have a personal vendetta against you or anything,” you admitted. 

Ben rose a brow at you. “But you hate me.” 

You sighed. He could be so childish sometimes.

“Have you forgotten that you’re still holding me against my will?” you pointed out. “Presumably until my team can find me, and you can pick them off one by one.”

“You fuckers came at me first,” he countered. “And I haven’t touched you. Hell, I saved you.”

Yes, he had. You couldn’t ignore that fact.

But there were other reasons that he needed to be put in check.

“You’ve killed a lot of fucking people, Ben,” you said. “I can’t imagine how many of them didn’t deserve it. And before you start, collateral damage is not an excuse. It’s murder. You haven’t seemed to care about that, or much of anyone other than yourself and your own amusement.” 

There. Cards on the table.

Ben set down his ice cream on the counter with enough force to rattle his spoon. He crossed his arms at you.

“You’re pretty fucking high and mighty for someone who probably spent the last few years up Vought’s shithole,” he pointed out, shaking his head. “Doing their dirty work. Whatever I did back then, it didn’t end with me. You were part of it too.”

You frowned in annoyance. A hot retort was poised on your tongue.

Whatever he did back then? He’d crashed a skyscraper and killed nineteen people last year! He’d taken out nearly the entire cast of Payback, his old team. However justified he felt about the latter, taking a life was taking a goddamn life!

You wanted to say all that and more…but you paused.

Because he wasn’t exactly wrong, about you at least. You knew you’d done your fair share of shit. And you had taken people out, when you’d needed to.

For self-defense, to stop a criminal, to protect someone…and yes, sometimes, you’d been part of the cleanup crew. Disposing bodies and extracting supes from “unfortunate situations.”

Those times made you feel less than human for being a part of it. And it was the main reason why you’d gotten the courage to quit Vought and join Supe Affairs in the first place…

You frowned at the trail of your thoughts, but his voice soon jolted you out of them.

“Ain’t this a bitch,” said Ben. “If you could, you’d want me dead. Even though I saved you.” 

Your lips pursed. “Dead is a strong word.” 

His angry gaze on you was unrelenting.

“Asleep is as good as dead for me.”

You stared back at him in resignation. Fair enough.

You couldn’t refute that, but you also didn’t know what he wanted from you. He was implying that he wanted you not to hate him, but he wasn’t willing to let you go either.

You got up to put your spoon in the sink, mostly so you wouldn’t have to look at him anymore.

Ben rose from his seat. You felt him approach from behind. You still tensed up as his arm reached around your form to drop in his own spoon. His arm withdrew, but he stood just behind you, at your side. His hand curled around the edge of the counter.

Letting out a discreet, steadying breath, you turned towards him and met his assessing gaze…but you soon looked away.

It was too much. He was too much. Even his musky cologne was invading your senses, threatening to cloud your judgment.  

Before you could back away, Ben grasped your chin, tilting your face up to him so you couldn’t hide. He heard your pulse picking up with his sensitive ears.

“Well, well. Your heart’s just racing away, baby doll,” he said.

He smirked at the blush rising in your cheeks, despite your defiant gaze. You might’ve said you wanted to put him to sleep, but you definitely didn’t seem to hate him. 

“You know, that offer’s still on the table,” he said. Your brow quirked, and you crossed your arms.

“What offer?”

Ben’s hand slid along to frame your jawline, his thumb sweeping across your reddened cheek.

“I can help you end that little dry spell of yours,” he drawled. “Calm that pretty head and have you sleeping soundly tonight.”

Oh, he’d help you fucking sleep, he thought.

He’d help you not be able to sit on that perfect ass for a week. He’d gladly work you up with fingers, lips, and tongue until you threatened to fucking drown him. Until you were writhing at his touch and singing just for him. Until you begged him to fuck you.

But you just rolled your eyes at his offer with a huff. Maybe you didn’t believe he was serious. Oh, but he fucking was.

Overall, you were a pain in his ass. And you had been from the beginning.

You had a dangerously smart mouth for a woman. Along with a stubborn streak to rival his, and a strangely self-righteous attitude for someone who’d mucked through the bowels of Vought and played a part in that world, just like him. You weren’t so fucking innocent either.

But he could also see that you were trying to be different. You had a conscience. A family and friends and a lot of other things that Ben didn’t have anymore. And maybe never had to begin with…

You claimed to want to bring him down, but you cooked for him, hung out with him, and he could start to believe that you actually enjoyed his company, rather than pretended for self-preservation’s sake.

You were a fucking conundrum that he couldn’t totally figure out. And all the while, you didn’t seem to realize how much of a temptation you were. 

It didn’t matter if it was that sexy red dress at the club or these plain-ass jeans you were wearing. His hands itched to mold to your curves, squeeze and tease and familiarize himself until he could find out how glorious it would be to damn near suffocate between your thighs.

Your pretty blush, however, was spreading down your neck. Ben wondered how far he could make it go as he glanced down your V-neck top. His smile edged into a grin.

“I’ll admit, maybe I haven’t been the best host,” he said, injecting some charm. “You gotta be bored as all hell by now.”

You swallowed as his hand moved down the side of your neck. His fingers slid into your hair, but he kept the smooth pad of his thumb brushing across your cheek. You didn’t want to admit that it felt nice—and electrifying at the same time.

His touch was raising goosebumps down the back of your neck, tingling down your spine.

“You might be projecting,” you managed to quip. “Is the conveyor belt of prostitutes and drugs finally losing its appeal?”

You studied his face, his smirk, and you had a feeling you had deduced correctly: he was bored too. But now you knew why he didn’t want you to hate him.

He just wanted to fuck you.

That thought wasn’t so surprising. It seemed this man could jump into bed with just about anything with a pulse. But it still made a tendril of heat lick up your spine and your face flush.

You should’ve just pushed him away already…but his nearness was mucking up your good sense.

The truth was, you weren’t afraid of him. Not anymore. And maybe you didn’t hate him.

Maybe…

“Well, what’s it gonna be?” he asked you.

Your lips parted, halting on a reply.

Ben smirked. His hand tightened in your hair, and he finally began to lean down.

But your breath hitched. You instinctively pressed your hands against his chest before he could kiss you, a firm push.

“Ben,” you uttered.

He stopped, looking down at you with knitted brows. He just thought you were being stubborn now, a fucking tease even…

Until he saw the frisson of fear in your eyes.

He quirked a resigned smile. Stroking your cheek one last time, he let you go.

“All right,” he said. “Maybe next time.”

Your heart was hammering like a Phil Collins drum solo inside your chest as you made your way back to your room.

What the hell, what the hell.

He’d teased and flirted with you before, but not like this. It wasn’t totally obnoxious or disgusting, like he’d genuinely been trying to persuade you. He’d even looked disappointed when you stopped him. And he’d allowed you to stop him.

(And you resisted a shudder at the contrasting memory of Antonio.)

When you were back in your room, you released a relieved sigh. Your hands trembled on the doorknob.

But it wasn’t fear that’d made you nervous with Ben. Not exactly. It was the insane part of you that actually wanted to take him up on his offer.

Fuck, you thought, raising a palm to your still-warm forehead. I really must be crazy. Or sick. Sick in the head.

Or it had been a stupidly long time since you’d gotten laid.

“Seriously, tell me,” he’d said once, still with a deceptively light grip on your chin. The pad of his thumb brushed your full lower lip, making your breath hitch. He glanced down at your mouth, then back into your eyes.

“How fucking long’s it been since that pretty pussy’s been touched? ‘Cause in my opinion, that’s a damn shame.”

The memory caused a delicate tingle in your lower belly, pulsing between your legs. You took in a deep, calming breath through your nose.

That’s it, you thought. I’m done with this.

So you tried for a cold shower first. For the record, you locked the bathroom door before you undressed and hopped into the shower. As the water beat against your back and you dutifully lathered soap on your skin, you couldn’t help imagining his heavy hands running over your body.

Fuck. You frowned and quickly dragged yourself out of the shower.

For a few minutes, you were too antsy to get dressed. You paced your small room wearing only a towel, not even thinking really. Just frustrated beyond belief (sexually or otherwise). The truth was, you needed something, or you were going to implode. 

With a heavy sigh, you laid in bed on your side, still wrapped in your towel. You wrapped your hair up in a loose bun and closed your eyes, just taking a few moments to breathe evenly.

Your knees were folded up, almost to your chest. But you relaxed and let your thighs fall open. With a tentative hand, you decided to slide up between your thighs, just teasing the seam of your pussy.

Then with a sigh, you delved between your folds and teased yourself, to start with. Warmth grew in your lower belly, and you sighed louder when you slid a finger inside. You were wet already just with this, and your sighs turned to shallow breaths, and even a moan once heat flooded through your core, and you were getting close…

But a knock at the door just had to startle you.

“Hey, sweetheart. You there?”

Your eyes widened with a gasp, and you moved your hand back to your thigh. Oh shit.

It was Ben. Of course it was fucking Ben.

“Ah, w-wait a minute,” you replied. You scrambled out of bed to lock the door before he tried to come in.

But just your luck, he cracked it open just as you got there. You were met with his handsome face.

His brows rose, his lips then curving when he looked down at you. Or more specifically, you clad in only a towel. You tightened it up on reflex, with a hand on the twisted part at your chest.

“Excuse me,” you said in annoyance. “I don’t remember inviting you in.”

His mouth twitched at a deeper grin.

“It’s nothing major. I just had to ask you something,” he said, with an air of nonchalance that only made you suspicious.

Your lips pressed together as you rose an expectant brow.

“Okay, ask,” you said.

Ben reached for your hand, the one holding your towel together.

“Can I see this hand?”

You yelped and secured the towel with your other hand while he examined the one he held.

“What’s your problem?” you asked, with real irritation now. Ben ignored you in favor of staring at your hand, specifically the pads of your fingers. Then his gaze cut to you slyly.

He held your middle and index finger up to his nose, with an obscene inhale.

Your eyes grew wide as your heart stuttered. He did not just…

And Ben smirked.

“I think you’re the one with the fucking problem,” he said knowingly. He took a step forward, but you stepped back. Unfortunately, that just brought your back against the doorframe. Your mouth went dry when you again looked up at him.

“I don’t know what—”

He stopped you before you could deny it further.

“You think I couldn’t fucking hear you?” he asked.

You bit your lip. Oh God.

His brows ran even higher, his smirk ever deeper. His lust-ridden eyes raked over you, but they soon met yours again. His thumb ran down the inside of your wrist, over your quickening pulse point.

“I know you’re frustrated. It’s been a while, huh?” he said. “Believe me, I know the fucking feeling. But I can take care of that little problem for you. Take care of you.”

You took in a tremulous breath. His heady voice was a curse, reverberating through your chest and running straight down between your legs, warm and pulsing. He raised your chin to make you look up at him.

“You don’t have to like me for that, do you?” he asked.

It was as honest an offer as you were ever going to get. You had to give it to him though, in this, he was a good goddamn actor. He seemed to have figured out exactly what it would take to soften your resolve.

In fact, he fucking crumbled it.

You released a shuddering breath, and tugged him into your room by his shirt. With a hand behind his neck, you pulled him down into your hungry lips.

That kiss was warm and heady, fueled with a passion that only waiting and wanting could create.

Ben took the invitation to heart, grabbing your hips and already bunching the fabric of your towel. It was thin, and he felt the soft give of your curves underneath. He hoisted you up into his arms.

While a normal man might’ve struggled, you knew it was effortless for him. You willingly wrapped your legs around his waist and held his face with both hands. You broke the kiss for a second so you could brush his hair back and made sure he looked into your eyes this time.

“I don’t hate you,” you told him between panting breaths. “I should, but I don’t.”

And that was the God’s honest truth.

Ben paused at that. He roamed your face, maybe judging if he believed you or not.

Then, his mouth curved, and with one hand he reached back to slam your bedroom door shut. It shook on its hinges, but he didn’t wait for it to settle as he walked you to the bed and laid you there beneath him. Your hair fell out of its messy bun and fanned out on the pillow.

Ben gazed down at you, enjoying the sight of you all laid out for him. You were already breathing shallowly, your beautiful eyes bright with anticipation and wild desire. They were honest, and he liked that he finally knew what you were thinking.

He claimed a tight grip on your smooth thighs, parting them so he could find his way in between. He moved his way up to claim your lips next. They were plush and pliant under his.

You sighed against his mouth, diving a hand into his soft hair and running a hand down to the buttons of his shirt. He stopped you and all but tore it off himself.

You blinked in surprise, and then giggled a little at his impatience. But it allowed you to explore the new expanse of golden tan skin, down his neck, over his firm chest and muscular arms.

He relished in it for a moment—your touch. Your hands were soft and warm, and you looked to be genuinely enjoying yourself.

He smirked at that, but he grabbed your wrists before they could venture too much farther than the trail of hair leading below his belt. He trapped them against the bed on either side of your head, and you raised your brows at him with an annoyed little frown. Ben had to chuckle.

“Did I say you could touch me yet?” he said. You met him with a challenging tilt of your chin.

“Who says you get to make all the rules?” you asked. Your calf slid up between his legs, brushing insistently against his already rock-hard length. Ben let out something between a grunt and a moan, and didn’t realize that his grip on your arms was starting to get more than bruising.

You winced, with a pained sound caught in your throat. “Ben, you’re gonna break me.”

He amended his grip immediately, frowning at himself. He knew how to control his goddamn strength, even in moments like this (usually). Maybe he was too fucking excited to finally have you beneath him.

But he soothed his thumbs over your wrists and heeded the tug of your hands down to your waiting kiss. He braced an arm above your head and all but devoured you, slipping his tongue past your lips.

He kissed you like a man starving. Like you’d never been kissed in your life, and it was all you could to keep up with his demands.

Eventually he burned a wet trail from your lips to your jaw, down the column of your neck. He inhaled your floral soap, a scent that had been driving him crazy for days.

He sucked hard behind your ear, and you gasped, thought you were going to see stars.

Unconsciously you gripped at his hair, tugging more harshly than you meant to. But by the pleased sound he made against your skin, you figured he didn’t mind.

Ben soothed a heavy hand up your side and reached between you to untie your flimsy towel. And you let out a slightly shaky breath when he took in your fully naked form for the first time.

“Hmm,” his lips slipped into a grin. “I knew it. Fucking beautiful.”

You couldn’t help but blush, but you didn’t quite know what to say. Ben noticed; it wasn’t too often that he had you speechless.

Amused, he thumbed at your lower lip once more, making you smile almost shyly. (He kind of liked that too.)

And he finally touched you, brushing a hand between the valley of your breasts before palming at one of them. You sighed in appreciation, then moaned as his lips found the other one, his tongue swirling languidly around your nipple.

You arched into his touch, gripped into every groove and dip of muscle in his arms, especially when his fingers rolled and pinched just hard enough on the other nipple.

Your thighs pressed together between the cage of his legs, trying to find friction.

Ben noticed. He let one hand sooth down your belly, half pinning you down as he continued his relentless exploration. You wanted to touch him too, but right now he wasn’t letting up. Everywhere he touched and kissed and sucked set your skin on fire, and enhanced the flood between your legs.

“Ben,” you panted into his ear. If you weren’t allowed to find out what he liked yet (though you had several ideas), then you wanted him to touch you. 

“Be fucking patient,” he said with a chuckle. “I know what the fuck I’m doing.”

You had no doubt of that. But you were becoming impatient.

“Yeah? Am I gonna be as old as you before we get to it?” you teased. Ben glanced up at you, but seeing your smirk, his own grew.

“All right you little shit,” he muttered. He moved up to claim your smart-ass lips, swallowing your giggle as he took a firm grip of your hair.

His other hand, meanwhile, slid up the back of your thigh to grip a nice handful of your ass. He ground his clothed dick into your core and made you both moan.

He slipped a hand up the inside of your thigh and brushed between your legs, making you quiver with anticipation.

He smiled and glanced down.

“Finally, something I recognize in this century,” he remarked. “A nice bush.”

Your brows raised high, both in surprise and slight embarrassment. No one had ever given you that particular compliment before. But you did pride yourself on being neatly trimmed.

“What?” you still uttered.

“Women are so damn waxed nowadays. Feels like I’m fucking a mannequin,” he said.

“Oh, yeah.” You giggled as something occurred to you. “I’m assuming you encountered some bare landing strips on your tour of Brazil.”

He snorted in response. “One girl actually tried to get me on the waxing table. Something about a ‘manzilian.’”

You couldn’t help it. You pictured how confused he must’ve been at that particular offer. How damn near offended (and possibly intrigued).

And you laughed genuinely so hard that you covered your eyes as they teared up.

It made Ben smirk on reflex, feeling pleased that he achieved that kind of reaction out of you. 

“You tapped out on that one, huh?” you asked, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye.

Ben shrugged. “Wasn’t so bad, actually.”

At that, you laughed even harder. Oh, how you wished you could’ve seen that. 

Ben quirked an amused brow at you.

“You laughin’ at me, sweetheart?” he warned. He reached between your legs while you were distracted, and thick fingers slipped between your wet folds. You yelped in surprise, but then moaned in pleasure as his thumb found your already sensitive clit.

But he, in fact, knew how to take care of you. His thick digits explored your channel and rubbed persistently against that spongey part near the back, slipping in and out with ease, and circling deliberately around your clit until your inner walls squeezed around his hand.

All the while, you held on tight to his shoulders and shuddered at the warmth cresting deep inside you.

“That’s it, baby,” he said, with a clenching hand in your hair. “Squeeze the shit out of me. Come all over my fucking hand, and then I’ll consider filling you up to the fucking brim.”

With a long and keening moan, you came apart, hot and wet over his fingers. 

“Shit. That’s a good girl,” he praised with a nod. He stroked inside you a couple more times before he withdrew his glistening hand.

You held onto his other one as you panted for breath. “Fuck.”

“Fucking right,” he said smugly.

You rolled your eyes, but you still smiled as you sat up and went for his belt. You were surprised he hadn’t fully undressed himself sooner, but he sat up and let you do it.

The two of you knelt on the bed as the belt came free, followed by his pants and underwear and socks (he’d long ago kicked off the shoes). His smug smirk came back now that he was in his full glory, so to speak.

Another blush heated your face. You’d seen him like this once before, but there had been…a lot going on that time.

This time you had him all to yourself. Your canvas to explore. You started with kisses down his neck, like he’d done to you, biting and sucking though you couldn’t leave any marks on his skin.

Not fair, you thought in disappointment, but at least you were eliciting some pleased and guttural sounds the further down you went. And then you took his hard, velvety cock in your hands.

He was big enough that you were maybe a little concerned, but not enough to deter you as you teased him with your soft hands, then squeezed and caressed experimentally. He gripped your hips tight.

“Now who’s taking a fucking eternity,” he gritted out. He encouraged you to lie back and raised your hips. You found purchase on his shoulders as your eyes met with his, and after a beat, you smiled and gave a short nod.

Ben aligned himself at your entrance and, slowly as he could manage, pushed inside you. You cried out as he stretched you, filled you deep and bottoming out with mangled moans from both of you.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “You feel so fucking good already.”

You managed to smile and run a hand down his chest. “Uh, you didn’t ask, but I am on birth control.”

His brows furrowed in realization. “What, the fucking pill?”

His team certainly hadn’t supplied you with that for the past month.

You shook your head. “No. An IUD. It’s fine.”

You couldn’t believe you two were having this conversation when he was literally inside you already.

“What? Thought those died out in the 70s,” he said.

“Well, they came back,” you said impatiently. “Just fuck me, Ben!”

Not one to be told twice, Ben continued by slowly pulling out of you, nearly the entire length of his cock, before pushing back in. It was torturous for him, but he knew you needed the time to adjust. By the third stroke, however, he snapped back into you more forcefully.

It elicited a gasp and pleased shudder out of you. Grinning, he picked up the pace from there and pounded into you at a relentless clip. You held onto his arms for dear life, your nails clawing fruitlessly into his skin. You grabbed his hand when he reached a particularly good angle, moaning his name.

“That’s right, crooner. Soon enough I’ll have you singing my fucking name,” he growled. “Knew I was gonna have you just like this, fucking you raw.”

You moaned in response. His words, his voice, his touch, it was all breaking you down and taking you apart, piece by piece.

Meanwhile, your voice only spurred him on. Letting go of your hand, his reached for your cheek. Then it slid down to your neck.

“You got a safe word, baby girl?” he asked, closing a firm, but playful hand around your throat.

But before he could put much pressure, your eyes flew open. Not in arousal, but in panic. Your hands flew to grasp at his wrist.

“Don’t! Please, don’t.” 

Ben looked down at you, surprised enough to pause in all his movements. He released his hand.

He’d very rarely seen wide-eyed panic in your eyes and in your voice. And you’d never said please. 

But then, even more strange, you got embarrassed.

You looked away from him as you caught your breath. Ben called to you uncertainly, perhaps for the first time using your actual name.

You took in a deep breath and sat up. But instead of pushing him away, like he half-expected, you moved so that you were both on your knees and you were straddling his lap.

Using his shoulders as leverage, you resumed the pace of dipping his still hard cock inside you, making you both groan in relief.

Ben helped you, gripping your hips to bounce you on top of him.

Soon enough, he grunted as that familiar tightening and heat of pleasure started to make his upward thrusts wild. He knew he was close…

And he snaked a hand between you to roll over your clit, making sure you were going to get there with him.

A deep tremble went through your lower belly, tightening your inner walls around him impossibly tight as you started to come. Then he followed, finally spilling up and into you.

His arms came around your waist like steel bands as you relaxed on top of him, panting for breath and holding onto his shoulders for dear life.

You gazed down into his eyes, and then his growing, triumphant smirk. It triggered your own wry smile.

And you had to wonder, What the hell did I just do?

AN: Was it as good for you as it was for me? 😏

But ok, seriously, I'm a bit self-conscious when it comes to writing smut, so I genuinely hope you enjoyed the ride lol.

(@waynes-multiverse You probably won't see this for a while, but our convo about the Brazilian wax made it into this chapter. 🤣)

Special Feature:

Check out this lovely moodboard created by @chernayawidow — specifically for this story!

I am obsessed:

She also takes requests, so just message her!

Next time:

You called his name again and took his face with both hands.

“Wherever you are in your mind right now, you’re here with me. Stay with me!” you raised your voice. His skin was getting really hot.

You gasped and had to let go of him when it threatened to burn you. His chest started to glow and hum. Your eyes widened, and finally, so did his.

Keep Reading: PART 8

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#until midnight #soldier boy #the boys #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #the boys season 3 #soldier boy/ben x reader #the boys au #enemies to lovers #frenemies to lovers #private investigator!reader #the boys amazon #soldier boy fic #soldier boy smut #break me down #Part 7 #zepskies writes

[sehtoast]

Envy (AU Homelander Meets Depowered Homelander x OC)

18+ | 3.9k. Kidnapping, stalking, domestic fluff, two Homelanders, depowered Homelander, Homelander on Homelander violence, smut if you squint, Benlander | Fic Directory

“I will look for you in every lifetime and love you there.” In another universe, he has everything he could ever want. Yet, there is always something missing. Something he's always wanted.

Inspired by this. Special thank you to @reactornumber04 for pitching it as a Benlander idea, and to whoever is behind that darling anon for sending @blindmagdalena such an awesome concept <3

The world is his throne.

An amalgamation of blood and ash, built atop a mountain of bones of the unworthy.

He is more than a king. He is a god.

He is god.

So why does he feel so goddamn alone?

Why do the hundreds who throw themselves at his feet, begging him to use them to his heart’s content, do nothing to alleviate his pain? Shouldn’t the void be filled?

Shouldn’t the ache have subsided long ago?

He basks in their love, but it isn’t the love he needs. In fact, it only makes him ache more. It reminds him how empty he really is. Reminds him of what he’ll never truly have. Reminds him of each time it ever slipped through his fingers.

He lingers above the clouds to hide his tears. Lets the sun’s warmth wash over him, eyes shut as he lets go. His mind wanders beyond the bounds of his norm. Somehow there is tranquility here despite what goes on below. Despite all that he’s done.

He could get lost up here. Forget everything and everyone and just…

Be.

He lets himself fall.

Further and further…

He feels strange, but he lets it pass.

Further…

The sounds of the world warp, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

Further…

When he opens his eyes in preparation to halt himself, he’s… somewhere else. The air doesn’t stink of decay. The skyline of the city is intact. The occasional body floating down the Hudson isn’t there. Vought Tower peeks proudly through the jungle of skyscrapers, and he’s disoriented.

His head pounds as he takes in the sounds. The honking of horns, the hum of machinery and the roar of the subway. All the things he’d done away with in his world flood back into his senses. When the overstimulation fades enough to focus, he finds himself drawn in another direction entirely. It’s as if something calls out for him and only him. It grasps him with an overpowering familiarity around his body and pulls.

He doesn’t even notice the mix of confusion and elation in the faces below.

Homelander floats leisurely, letting the feeling guide him until he’s on the roof of a little home in Queens. The last specks of gold cast from the setting sun graces him as he peers inside. He scans the boxes in the attic first. Each one seems to hold nothing of importance. Old clothes, worthless keepsakes, photo albums, and then…

One catches his eye. Inside rests… his suit?

Homelander blinks in confusion. He’s certainly never gifted one, so how..?

Unless it was a copy, in which case it would be a very good knockoff.

He shakes his head and continues observing, peering through to the next floor. The scent of citrus touches his nose as he scans over the bathroom. Clean and well kept, aside from the chaos of products on the sink countertop. Water droplets coat the inside of the shower.

He moves onto a spare room. Its only purpose seems to be serving as a staging ground for tech work and a few hobbies.

The sight in the next room makes him stop breathing.

There, on the bed, lies a man reading a book. One hand adjusts his glasses. A mop of unruly brown hair rests on his arm, and he can hear the soft snores. Normally, he wouldn’t give a single fuck about something so mundane if not for the fact the man in that bed looked exactly fucking like him.

Some things were different. The knockoff’s hair was fully brown, and certainly wasn’t being kept after the same way his own was. His eyes were an identical blue, but why were they so… soft? Scruff covered his jaw and neck, and there was a tiny, pink scar at his cheekbone, but it was undeniable that this man looked exactly fucking like him, even with other subtle differences.

Homelander watches with wide, focused eyes. Stares at this alternate version of himself in disbelief and fascination.

“Mm,” he hears the other person mumble. “Time is it?”

"It’s uh…” his alternate self speaks. Homelander’s lips part. “About eight.”

They have the same voice.

He looks through the layers of blankets and clothing to check the man’s left hip. He’s stunned at the sight of a birthmark identical to his own.

It’s unmistakable.

The too-real suit. The resemblance. The mark…

That’s him.

But why the fuck is he…

Homelander watches that mop of brown hair finally lift to reveal a young man with the most striking brown eyes he’s ever seen. Something in his gut drops when he sees how the boy looks at this strange version of himself. There’s such warmth, such gentleness in his eyes. He finds that ache renewing in his chest when the pair kiss.

Homelander has had many people try to give him such a look, but their anatomy always betrayed them. Their cortisone was too high, or they would reek of fear. Their hearts would race and their brains would stink of deception.

But not this one…

Whoever this was, he looked at this version of himself with an affection that rang true through his entire body. Heart beat just right, not a waft of fear. Even his other self was reciprocating genuinely.

What the hell is this?

He watches the younger man grumble something about ‘it being time,’ and attempt to roll out of bed before he’s snagged by the arm.

“Absolutely not,” chides his other self. “You’ve been running around since before the sun came up. An hour is not enough sleep.”

“But I gotta–”

“Benjamin.”

So that was his name.

“Two hours,” the boy says before shooting a web and yanking a red, white, and blue suit off the corner of the floor. Interesting power… “I’ll bring home dinner?”

“We already ate.”

“Oh,” Ben chuckles. “Right...”

Homelander watches him take the suit from Benjamin’s hands and toss it to the end of the bed.

“C’mere,” he lifts his arm, offering himself as a pillow. The boy returned to his embrace eagerly. “You gotta make time for yourself, babe. Sleepyheads don’t make for good heroes.”

Homelander spent days watching the pair. He found a way into the attic and lingered there when he wasn’t following the bug around the city. He decided that the web-head was insufferable. Noble to a fault, altruistic, kind, and painfully lenient on even the worst of the criminals he apprehended. Worse than that, he was the leader of The Seven. The completely reformed Seven, at that.

And the way he treated him– or, well, his other self…

He wanted him.

He wanted what they had. Every fucking minute of seeing them together, seeing their love, was a torture in and of itself.

This is what he needs.

Watching them make their stupid little grocery trip before cooking their stupid little dinner. Seeing himself cut and saute vegetables, actively assisting in the process…

Guess this version of himself was only good for domestic work, given he was without his powers.

This, above all else, disgusted him. Benjamin deserves a partner who can keep up with him, if not exceed his limitations. He deserves someone who can make things fun. Throw him around a little, fly him above the clouds and take him anywhere. But, instead, the bug settled on sticking around with this useless excuse of a man.

Why?

Why does he smile at him? Dance with him in the kitchen to no sounds beside the sizzles from the stove? Why does he let this pathetic nobody dip him back and kiss him?

How is it that he’s not faking a single ounce of pleasure when this human ruts into him?

”J-Johnny!”

The sound sends a jolt straight to his cock every time, and he touches himself as he watches, despite his ire.

Why does Benjamin look up at that disgusting, scar covered, sweaty fool and proclaim his love? Kiss his forehead and tell him that finishing early didn’t disappoint him? What makes it so fun to share a bubble bath with him and scoop suds atop his head?

And why the fuck does his alternate self love it so goddamn much?

Homelander, for as much as it confused him, wanted so badly for all of this to be his. They could be happy together, too, right? All he would have to do is dispose of this lesser man, and he could swoop in and show Benjamin just how perfect their lives could be.

By the third week, he snaps.

He nabs his sniveling, weak self out of the kitchen with ease. His mirror image was too stunned at the sight of him to even speak.

“What’s wrong, ‘Johnny?’” He snarls as they whip through the air. “Forget how to fly?”

He drops him a few times for good measure, really solidifying the fear that he’s at the mercy of, well… himself.

Somehow, he can’t bring himself to kill the loser. Homelander tells himself it’s for insurance in case Ben catches on, but even he knows that’s not quite true. He monologues endlessly about how interesting this world is. Tells the tale of how he brought his Earth to its knees in under three days’ time, slaughtering world leaders and eviscerating military ordinance left and right. He and his loyal fans– followers, now, took care of the unworthy. By bathing in blood, he cast a new light across the whole world. It was meant to be paradise, except for that one tiny little detail.

That thing he was missing.

“So, I’ll be borrowing your little bug boy.” He explains with a grin, staring down at his tied up self. “Sure you won’t mind, right? You gotta know this isn’t the life he deserves.”

He can see that jab hit home. Sees his body shake with anger and fear, hears the chain and shackle keeping him in place rattle just the tiniest bit.

“What kinda fuckin’ pussy do you gotta be to lose your powers, anyway? You were bigger than god himself and you just, what? Pissed it all away?”

His other self clenches his eyes shut and bites down on the gag.

“Ah, well…” Homelander grins, quirking his brow. “Hey, whaddaya think’s for dinner tonight, anyway? I bet I can get him to make steak… And, heh, when we finish up, I could probably show him an even bigger piece of meat. If you know what I’m sayin’,”

He leaves after a few more taunts, eagerly barreling back to that quaint little home before Benjamin can return. His suit gets stashed under the bed, and on goes some of his other self’s clothing. He hates to admit that they’re comfortable.

The only thing preventing him from looking totally the part was his hair, but that is quickly explained by a trip to a stylist once Ben arrives home. Finally saying he wants to take care of himself properly. Look nice and handsome again.

He greets the bug with a kiss that no amount of restraint can disguise as anything but starved.

“Woah, there, tiger.” Ben giggles, thumbing at his right cheekbone. Homelander spots a flicker of curiosity. “What’s got into you?”

“Same thing that wants to get into you,” he remarks with a smirk. Ben’s laughter is warmth in his very soul, even if the bug told him he’d rather wait till later in the night.

He could do that.

He could wait.

He bullshits his way perfectly through their banter. After so long observing, he knows just how to play the part. Expert actor that he is, he even makes sure to nibble on his lower lip just like his alternate self does when he’s thinking to himself.

It’s perfect.

The way they curl up on the couch together, the way Benjamin runs a hand through his hair. He can tell the bug doesn’t suspect a thing. Heart beat is in check, adrenaline isn’t spiked, and there’s not a lick of fear emanating from that cute little body of his. He’s in heaven.

That void in his chest feels full, and he has the last piece of the puzzle.

Everything’s perfect… until Ben tries to leave.

“I gotta go out tonight, pumpkin.” The web-head explains. He’s already dressed in that silly spandex suit of his. “Personal responsibility aside, it is part of my contract to keep Vought off your ass, y’know.”

He rolls his eyes, and grabs Ben’s arm.

“I said, no!”

It all went so smoothly until this. Why did he have to ruin everything? Why couldn’t he just fucking stay here?

Homelander grips Ben’s arm, and he sees the moment when the illusion fades.

Too hard.

Too strong for a human.

Ben looks at him for a moment with narrowed eyes.

Homelander stays completely still, hoping that not reacting at all will dispel the realization and everything could go back to normal. He should force him to sit the fuck down and snuggle. Have him run those fingers through his hair some more, spread his legs later and be the perfect partner Homelander knows he can be.

But it’s too late.

Those hands land on either side of his upper arms and he’s being walked to sit on the bed. Benjamin takes a seat beside him and takes him by the hand.

“Man, I’m not even going to pretend this isn’t totally crazy, but…” The bug strokes the back of his hand as he speaks. “How did you get here?”

His eyes flicker red for a moment, ready to blow clean through his head and end his failure before it can get even worse. But, it is precisely this action which earns him a soft smile and a kiss to his knuckles. The crimson heat withers away almost instantly.

“M’not gonna hurt you. I promise.” Ben tells him. Admittedly, he caught on to the difference fairly fast. His sixth sense, combined with the fact Homelander was missing the scar on his cheek were the dead giveaways. Benjamin had to keep himself in check until he was absolutely sure, and, even then, he had to wait for the right moment to slip out and search for John. “I just have questions, y’know?”

Some way, somehow, those gentle eyes pulled every word from him with ease. Even as he tells his tale of conquest, he finds more understanding than horror looking back at him. Seemingly against his will, he devolves into a tirade about how fucking alone he really is. How miserable and sad his life is, despite having everything.

“But then I saw you two, and I…”

Benjamin nods, chin resting atop Homelander’s head. His heart hurts for him, despite the disgust at his deeds. He wonders if this would’ve been Johnny’s fate had things not gone the way they did. If, perhaps, he never did join The Seven. If his love never lost his powers. The immaturity and fury in this man rages hotter than it ever did in Johnny– even back when he was still Homelander.

He lets this one weep. Encourages it, even. Shushes him and weathers the ache of his impossibly strong grip. He wonders if Homelander has ever been allowed to let go. If anyone's ever held him together. Ever wanted to.

“All I’ve ever wanted was to be loved…” Homelander sniffles.

By the time he settles down, Benjamin has missed his window to go out on his patrol. He hums while Homelander catches his breath. One hand strokes up and down his back while the other thumbs at his cheek.

“You’ll find your way, pumpkin.” Ben tells him. “Life makes us wait, and it especially makes us work. Johnny and I took a lot of both, especially work, but it turned out in the end.”

Homelander scowls, but no burning fury rises to his tongue.

“Even though I’m pretty sure our worlds are super different, I think you’ll find your person.”

It’s the kindest rejection he’s ever faced in his entire life. They sat there for a time, allowing a sense of calm to return. He could’ve almost forgotten everything that happened.

“Hate to break the moment, but uhm… I do kinda need my husband back, y’know?”

Homelander scoffs, but stands regardless. He pulls his suit out from under the bed and begins undressing. To his surprise, Ben helps him zip back into it and figure out the cape clasps.

As they flew to the dock warehouse, Ben giggled about the nostalgia of flying.

It was cute.

The mess they’d found his other half in was, however, quite the opposite. Heaving breaths and sputtered cries shook him, and his vitals indicated a full blown panic attack. It’s laughable. He’d only been there for a few hours, what–

“Oh, baby…” Ben coos, kneeling beside him to untie the gag and release his wrists from their binds. “Shh… S’okay now. Look at me.”

John’s hands moved to protect his face as soon as they were free, and Homelander watched with curiosity as Ben walked his other self through various methods of grounding. In a way, he almost felt… wrong for having done it. A disgusting, foreign feeling, and he wasn’t quite sure why he felt it. He certainly felt nothing of the sort massacring half of his Earth.

“I’m not there,” John gasps, a chill creeping through his body as the adrenaline and fear began to subside. “Not there, not there, not there…”

“That’s right, pumpkin.” Ben affirms. “You’re with me. You know that means you’re safe, right?”

John nodded vigorously, sitting up to embrace Benjamin, burying his face in the bug's neck.

He's so fucking pathetic, but…

God, Homelander wishes someone would hold him like that. Maybe if someone would've wiped his snotty little face, kissed his brow, loved him enough…

He shakes his head to rid himself of the thoughts.

He’s met with a piercing stare from his other self. It’s almost laughable. Like a house cat threatening a lion.

Homelander watches the pair stand. Sees how Benjamin frets over possible injuries, pats him down despite all the reassurances there were none. It’s endearing, almost.

He trails after the pair as Ben swings them home. Watches how his other self relaxes his hold around Benjamin’s neck, completely and utterly trusting that he won’t get dropped for the umpteenth time in one day. He can tell that the nighttime air chills him, and he can hear Ben apologize and promise a hot bath.

Something in him feels wrong when they arrive back at the house.

Benjamin invites him in, but something isn’t right.

He isn’t right.

His body tingles and his head feels like it’s floating away from his body. He pretends to feel fine as they all take a seat in the living room to discuss everything.

He stifles a breathy laugh at the way his counterpart sits away from him. Yet, somehow, there’s an ounce of guilt.

Ben explains the fine details to John, but he doesn’t excuse the behavior. Makes sure to motion to Homelander when he tells John just how sorry his superpowered self was for such an act.

Homelander grumbles out his apology– yet another thing he’s never done before now. At least, not with any real sincerity. But the look in Ben’s eyes makes him want to mean it. So he says it again.

This time, he gives it meaning.

“I’m sorry for what I did to you.” His throat burns with each word. “For hurting you and trying to take him away from you.”

The tingling feeling returns tenfold.

Something must be happening, because the other two look at him with wide eyes. A glance down at his hands, and he appears to be dematerializing.

“W-What the fuck?” He stands abruptly, swatting at his body as flakes of light float from him. He rubs his arms, wrings his hands, he panics. “What’s happening to me?!”

Arms wrapping around his body startle him. Tears well up in his eyes when he realizes it’s not only Benjamin, but his other self as well.

“Think you’re goin’ home, pumpkin. You got this.” Ben murmurs against his neck.

The ache settles into his heart once more, but it feels different this time. He’s going to lose this.

“I don’t wanna go…” He sniffles, staring down at that head of unruly brown hair. “I– I wanna stay!” It’s warm here. Even when it’s hard to find, there’s still a degree of peace. And Ben– Ben’s so nice to him.

“I wanna stay!” He repeats desperately. “Don’t make me go…”

Hands rest at his face to make him focus.

“Look at me,” his other self says. “You’ll find what you need. Just gotta let it come to you.”

He shakes his head.

“Time and work, Homelander.” Ben reminds him. “I believe in you.”

Just as the tingling feeling becomes a full body vibration, his other self redirects his gaze. Blue meets blue, and he feels Ben hug him tighter.

“I forgive you.”

The feeling explodes, and he feels his body fade in and out of nothingness. He’s unsure what’s left of him, but he imagines some of those glowing particles still linger. Maybe Benjamin will miss him..?

He aches in the void. Sobs and screams, pulls at his hair.

He’s a wreck for an endless amount of time, floating through nothing until he blinks and he’s somehow back.

Back in the halls of Vought Tower, repurposed to serve as his worldly throne. Homelander meanders aimlessly. His followers salute him as he passes by, but his gaze remains fixed on the ground.

Why does everything look so gray?

Everything’s so… quiet.

Why is it so cold here?

He floats up flights of stairs to avoid people. Makes his way to the conference room with an idle mind.

Something just told him that’s where he should go.

He watches the city from his glass palace. The skyline doesn’t fill him with a sense of power as it once did. The crumbling decay only serves to remind him of how dismal it all really is here.

He stares. Contemplates. Loses himself for perhaps an hour or so.

He even ignores the sound of timid footsteps approaching him.

“Mister Homelander, sir?” asks a familiar voice.

Couldn’t be…

Their heart beats like a jackhammer, and their adrenaline is sky high. They smell so familiar, even covered in the stink of this world.

He turns around, stunned.

“I uhm… Sorry, sir,” outstretched is a hand to shake his. A spinneret rests at the base of his wrist. Soft brown eyes dart back and forth between meeting his gaze and looking away.

He’s nervous, but… he’s not afraid.

“I’m your new uhm…” The boy trailed off, chuckling nervously. “My name’s Benjamin– er, Ben is fine, too. Your choice, of course. I guess I’m your new whatever-you-want-me-to-be. T-They didn’t really specify, y’know?”

Homelander’s eyes soften, and he fights the bite of tears.

Time and work.

“I’m so happy to finally meet you, Benjamin.” He smiles down at the boy fondly. “Welcome home.”

note: this may become its own series depending on how badly it gives me brain worms

#homelander #homelander x oc #depowered homelander #homelander au #the boys au #homelander fanfiction #homelander smut #antony starr #the benlander agenda #benlander being the standard across multiple universes is hehehe so good #au convergence

[dameronscopilot]

selfish

Rhett Abbott x f!reader

summary: In which you return to Wyoming, and Rhett finally lets himself be selfish with you for once.

word count: 2k+

rating: 18+ explicit

content: NSFW, smut, fingering, oral sex, unprotected p in v, creampie, best friends to lovers

SENSORY DRABBLES SERIES -> prompt: Rhett Abbott + cologne + forest green

“I’m no fuckin’ good for you.”

His voice is rough and pained—he bites the words out like each one burns as it hits his tongue. But there’s an edge of desperation to them as well, one that you can feel in the way his warm palms slide up under your shirt, callused fingers pressing into the smooth skin of your back. He holds you there, anchored in his lap, breath heaving in his chest as he looks up at you. You run your thumb over the cut on his bottom lip, and his eyes fall shut, a nearly imperceptible shudder coursing through his body. 

“You’re wrong, Rhett,” you murmur, hand trailing over the frayed collar of his t-shirt.

It’s a deep shade of forest green, and as you take the soft material between your fingers, you’re seventeen again.

You’re seventeen and you’re lying in the bed of Rhett’s pick up truck, parked in the middle of the woods and staring up at a thick, lush, dark green canopy of trees blocking out the bright blue sky above. Sunlight lazily filters in through the cracks as the leaves rustle and sway with the occasional breeze. 

Rhett’s beside you, eyes narrowed in concentration as he fiddles with a knotted piece of rope. He’s trying to act like he doesn’t care that Maria’s got a new boyfriend, and you’re pretending like you’re not at all bothered by the fact that you broke up with your own mere hours ago. 

Which is why you nudge your best friend with the toe of your boot, laughing as you say, “We both have shit luck, Abbott. Might as well just marry each other some day.”

Despite the humor in your voice, a part of you doesn’t want it to be a joke. 

And it’s why your heart sinks when Rhett finally glances over at you with the same sentiment he offers you now—”Me? Hell, I’m no good for you. We both know that. You’ll be off writing your books in some big city while I’m still here chasing cattle.”

You let it go back then.

You let Rhett go. 

You graduated high school and packed your bags, trading in Wyoming’s lush, rolling landscape for crowded streets and skyscrapers. 

But now you’re back in Wabang. You’re back, and Rhett’s still here, just like he promised. 

And your heart still fucking aches with longing every goddamn time you look at him.

You’ve been dancing around something since you strolled back into town, something that makes Rhett stare at you like he still can’t quite believe that you’re here. The weight of his gaze throws you off-kilter, because now, he’s too tired to hide it—the longing he’s always acted like he’s not allowed to feel. 

But even so, he’s still digging his heels into the dirt, his self-deprecating mouth contradicting the way his fingers are idly tracing the curve of your spine. 

“You deserve better than me. This town.” He can’t look at you as he says it, gaze focused on the room beyond, over your shoulder.

“The city’s too loud,” you quietly reply. 

Rhett’s breath hitches in his throat as you let your fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck; it’s longer now than when you saw him last, watching his figure fade through a rearview mirror, dust kicking up from the truck’s tires in the wake of your departure. Something flashes across the blue of his eyes when you tug at the dark strands.

His voice is strained. “Keep lookin’ at me like that ‘n I won’t let you leave again this time. You make me wanna be so goddamn selfish.”

You lean your forehead against his, your noses brushing, and you inhale the rich, earthy notes of his cologne. Of course he’d still be wearing the same one, even after all these years. It’s a scent that lingers starkly in your memories, one that clung to his sweatshirts when you borrowed them and greeted you every morning as you sat in the passenger seat of his pickup truck on the way to school. 

“Make me stay,” you whisper, feeling the warmth of his breath curling against your lips.

He cups the side of your face, thumb stroking your cheek. “I ruin just about everything I touch, sweetheart.”

“I’ve been ruined for anyone else since the day I met you, Rhett Abbott.”

Silence hangs in the space between you for a beat, and then the buzzing current of desperation in the air seems to ignite as his lips finally come crashing into yours. 

You’ve imagined this far too many times, kissing Rhett. 

But your hazy, teenage fantasies are a far cry from this, from reality—the tangible, searing touch of his mouth against your own. The body heat radiating off of him. The rapid beating of your heart as he grasps your hip with one hand, cradling the back of your head with the other. The press of his tongue against the seam of your lips, and the heady rush to your head as he deepens the kiss. The groan that rumbles in his throat as you press your body into his while he nips at your lower lip. 

You break for air, but Rhett doesn’t stop. His lips trail across your jaw, leaving a searing trail as he makes his way down your throat, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your pulse point.

And if this were any other guy that you were kissing for the first time, you might think about climbing out of his lap right about now. You’d wink, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek before grabbing your purse and heading for the door—something to be continued. 

But this is Rhett.

Rhett, who you’ve been more than a little bit in love with for over half of your life. 

Rhett, who’s made it damn near fucking impossible for you to care about anyone else. 

Rhett, who’s kissing you like he might feel the same, like—

“I love you.” He sounds wrecked as he says it, holding your face in both of his hands, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

It feels natural, the way the words echo on your own lips, the final knot in your chest loosening as they finally clear your throat. 

This is Rhett. And it’s why, when you shift out of his lap, your feet don’t hit the carpeted floor in pursuit of the exit. Rather, you lay horizontally across the vacant couch cushions instead, pulling him down on top of you for another heated kiss.

His hair brushes across your face as he slots his lips against yours, and when you wrap your legs around him, Rhett doesn’t hesitate to press down into you, hard and straining in his jeans. Fingers grasping the hem of his shirt, you tug it over his head, lifting yourself up to press a kiss to his chest.

Your shirt follows suit, and Rhett makes quick work of your bra. His eyes meet yours as he leans down, tracing a circle with his tongue around one of your pert nipples before taking it into his mouth. A needy, wanton sound escapes you as he sucks at your breast, your fingers scrambling for purchase against the cool metal of his belt buckle. His mouth is at your throat again, a warning tone in his voice as he gasps your name. 

Ignoring him, you tug off his belt, tossing it aside and unbuttoning his jeans, prompting Rhett to bite at the junction between your neck and shoulder as you grasp his hard cock through the fabric of his boxers, already damp with precum. “Yeah, Rhett?”

“Fuck,” he rasps as you slip your fingers past his waistband, the soft skin of your palm wrapping around the throbbing heat of his shaft.

You’ve only just begun to stroke his length before he’s hastily tugging your pants and underwear off. Rhett spreads your thighs apart, and all notions of embarrassment at the wet trail of arousal already dripping between your legs quickly fade when he runs a finger through your folds and moans appreciatively. 

Fingers tightly gripping the couch cushions, you can’t help but gasp when he slips a digit inside of you, his other hand grasping the top of your thigh as he meets your gaze. And then he’s stretching you open with another, his fingers wetly pumping in and out of your slick channel. You’re nearly disappointed when he pulls both of them out, only to cry out as he buries his head between your thighs, back arching off of the couch in pleasure as he laps firm, broad strokes against your weeping cunt.

“God you fuckin’ taste like heaven,” he rasps, tongue probing into your tight channel.

And you could come like this, whimpering and crying out Rhett’s name as he tongue fucks your pussy like his life depends on it. Because Jesus fucking Christ, he’s good at it. Part of you wants to shift positions, taking his heavy cock between your kiss-swollen lips as he eats you out, bobbing on his shaft until his cum hits the back of your throat in thick spurts.

But right now—

Fingers tightly threading into his hair, you tug as you whine, “Need you inside of me, Rhett.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice as he kicks off his pants. But rather than lining himself with your slick, waiting entrance, he sits and pulls you back toward his lap instead, staring up at you intently as you slowly sink down onto his cock.

And it’s so fucking intimate, the way his arms wrap tightly around you as he bottoms out inside of you, face buried into the crook of your neck. Rhett rocks up into you as you begin to ride him, lips slotting against yours, fingers skating across your naked skin.

“Don’t leave me again,” he gasps out between kisses.

You won’t.

You can’t.

“Be selfish with me, Rhett.”

The rhythm of his thrusts falters as he begins to slam up into you, electricity pulsing through your veins at each push and drag of his thick cock through your slick inner walls. 

Rhett can take his time with you later. 

He can take you apart again and again with the press of his fingers, the touch of his tongue, the stretch of his cock as it disappears inside of you. 

He can have his way with you any way he wants, till you’re both too sated and fucked out to do anything but lie tangled in the sheets, boneless in the aftermath.

But right now, you can’t wait. You can’t hold back the roiling wave of pleasure curling in your gut, burning white-hot through your nerve endings each and every time his shaft plunges back inside of you. Rhett’s struggling, too, rutting into you sloppily as he palms at your breasts and licks his way into your mouth. 

When he brings a hand between your bodies to stroke at your swollen clit, the dam inside of you bursts, your body trembling as you reach your climax. Rhett fucks you through each echoing pulse of pleasure, your cunt greedily quivering as he continues to ravage your sensitive hole. 

You can feel it when he’s about to come, and you gasp, “Inside,” as he reaches down to pull his shaft out of you. 

The moan that leaves Rhett is feral as he grasps your hips, slamming back into your cunt to the hilt just as ropes of cum begin spurt from his cock, filling you with his hot seed. 

Even when you’ve milked every last drop from him, neither of you move, content to feel the warmth of his softening shaft nestled inside of the wet heat between your thighs.

You run a hand through Rhett’s sweaty hair, pushing it back out of his face, and the unabashed affection in his eyes has your heart racing all over again. 

He tentatively runs his fingers along your jaw. Careful, slow. Like you’re not completely naked in his lap. Like he didn’t just fuck you so hard you saw goddamn stars. Like his cum isn’t leaking out of you right now.

Like he’s still worried you’re going to leave.

His lips hover over yours, eyes falling shut. “Stay with me.”

And you thread your fingers with his, holding his hand against your heart as you whisper, “I’m home now. I’m not leaving again.”

—

Comments, reblogs, and/or asks are always appreciated!

» RHETT ABBOTT MASTERLIST

#rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #outer range #lewis pullman fanfiction #outer range fanfiction #rhett abbott smut #dameronscopilot 2k

[bzar-bzar]

EndHawks

Okay but like. Imagine you're a kid in an abusive household and your shitbag mother tries to comfort you with a discount hero plushie of this world-renowned record-breaking superhero who everyone thinks is a douchebag, and you don’t believe in heroes, have never felt their presence in your life, but then the hero you have a plushie of ends up arresting your shitbag father, freeing you from that life, but you’re also a fucking grade-A gifted child so you get scooped up by some government hero agency that turns you into a fucked up dark ops hero and you still somehow climb to the highest ranks of superhero society and likeability at an unprecedented, breakneck speed, butting right up against your hero in rank, proving yourself as his equal, and in the process of being said black ops (but also beloved) superhero you're charged with going on an undercover mission to infiltrate a villain group, and you use it as an excuse to get close to that record-breaking superhero (hereafter referred to as the love of your life) and you use him as bait in your ward to both get close to him and the villains, showing off at break-neck speed under the excuse of creating said bait (and also because you want to show off for the love of your life of course), and in the middle of your romantic skyscraper lunch date he calls you a glutton and you tell him that when you want something you get it, but then the fucker the villains send to test their strength in a stunt you helped orchestrate ends up almost killing the love of your life, leaving his face irreparably scarred, and you save him in the midst of the battle by literally giving him your wings, facilitating his rebirth, because oh right, he has a fucked up past just like you, and he wants to change just like you, so he literally has a phoenix from the ashes moment with YOUR wings and he fucking wins, therefore proving himself to Japan as the number one hero people can fucking lean on, and then you visit him in the hospital and he gives you a fucking look like he knows you're shady as fuck, but him alive and scowling under his bandages is the best thing you've ever fucking seen, and then you go deeper undercover, but you can't tell him, so you have to send him cryptic as fuck messages in a goddamn villain-anarchist cookbook, but he figures it out because he's smart and he fucking knows you, and in the midst of a full-out battle you both instigated together, his eldest son (villain) who he thought was dead, thoroughly traumatized by the love of your life's ambition to become number #1 on his own merit, tries to melt you to death, but you survive, and after everything you fucking visit him in the hospital, so damaged by his son you can hardly speak, wanting to lean on him and rely on his help still after everything that has happened, and he just gives you this look like you're the second coming, because no matter what the fuck is in his past, you believe in him, have always watched him, because he's your fucking hero.

#endhawks #enho #the most canonically supported and underappreciated mha ship #I'm definitely very normal about them #and haven't watched the hood fight over thirty times #todoroki enji #Hawks #Takami Keigo #sorry this is one sentence #mha spoilers #mha #bnha #bnha spoilers #endeavor x hawks #mha episode 130

[weebsinstash]

y'all gettin fancy with all this y/n story stuff. personally i'd just be happy to have miguel chase me down through some seedy city alleys, corner me in an abandoned building, rough me up a little, and finally pin me down and bite the back of my neck to keep me still while he's Busy. ya know, standard stuff

But like, as much as I need to practice cranking out more fics that just kind of jump into it, I also like DETAILS. I like my drama to have some MEAT on its bones.

Is he chasing you like, the day you meet? Is it an ON SIGHT kind of attraction? Is he yandere or just a possessive boyfriend? Has he known you for some time and you've finally got him all figured out and are scared of him and trying to get away? Has he been stalking you for a while and you have no idea who he is? Are you a Spider? Are you even aware of him or is he haunting you like a ghost? How crazy is this man? Does he just want sex or does he want a wife? Or are you just a pretty thing with a nice scent and like he's basically got weird side effects of his nanomachine whatevers that make him go into heat or that's Just A Spider Thing or it's ABO, who really gives a fuck idk.

But like goddamn is the, choreography? For the chase scenes and swinging through the cities so fucking good in this film, it really is an art watching how frantic things can get when you've got people who are like agile with super strength and also crazy flexibility, invulnerability, etc all running around and like, parkouring off of buildings and swinging by cars and defying gravity like some Naruto Chakra control shit like. It really does open up some real pred/prey opportunities, whether you're a Spider or an unlucky civilian

But ughhhhh 😩❤️ the helplessness of being completely paralyzed, maybe only able to talk or make grunts while he explores your body and you're helpless to stop him. Having to watch as he peels off your clothes, exposing your bare flesh to him for the first time. Anything he wants to see, anywhere he wants to touch, anything he wants to do, nothing is stopping him, and he's probably gleefully purring to you as such, either to try and be sexy as a devoted "partner" or to intimidate and scare you into being a good little hole for him and not resist. Would he enjoy a little bit of a struggle because it unlocks a dominance in him, or would it pain him because he loves you and obviously you're just a little confused but 'hes gotta do what hes gotta do' 🥺

I dunno why but I was just hit with the inspiration of "youre coworkers or whatever and Miguel designs you a suit with like nanotechnology and bullshit like his own and obviously this means he can hack the 'removal/bathroom compartment' feature to just expose you and fuck you whenever he wants". I'm picturing he's literally got you up on a skyscraper or like a construction crane or you're in some crazy place and suddenly he's pinning you down and opening your suit to shove his fingers or tongue or whatever he pleases in between your legs and like, there's not exactly a risk of falling but you're flustered by like, the time and place and URGENCY of how bad he seems to need it, and especially if it's up on a building in the city you're squirming and whimpering to him that he has no idea if anyone can actually see you two or not, but he almost doesn't even care, too preoccupied (obsessed?) with taking you right then and there. Spiderwoman, more like HIS woman, Spiderman, more like, spied on by this man, Miguel, more like..... get me pregnant 😩❤️

#yandere stuff #sinprompts #yandere miguel o'hara #yandere spiderverse

[rocketnottheraccon]

A ShinBaku one shot I wrote bc this random ass crack ship happens to give me life

Art by: Horikoshi

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Let’s get one thing straight.

Hitoshi Shinsou was not.

But he also adored Mitsuki.

So, you can probably imagine his favorite song to listen to when his life went to shit.

“Toss your dirty shoes in my washing machine heart~” He mindlessly sang, spinning around in Aizawa’s office chair at… say… 4:30 in the morning?

He was currently running on 16 cans of Monster energy, 17 now, 3 bowls of cereal, and this week's dose of testosterone. He could take on the world- better yet: end the world!

“YES!” He shouted to himself, still spinning aimlessly. He would take over the world! Reinstate quirk management laws, maybe just get rid of heroes all together! That way he wouldn’t have to deal with this shit-show known as the hero course.

On second thought, that seems like way too much work.

Yeah, way too much work.

“Queen!” He exclaimed as the next song came on. He jumped from his seat, sliding into the common room to sing. No one was watching him, and with the amount of caffeine in his veins right now, he wouldn’t care if there was.

Actually, he didn’t want to sing.

Yeah, no thank you.

He collapsed onto the couch, still holding a can of Monster. I’m definitely addicted. He thought.

Fuck it, he didn’t care.

He was healthy enough to be a hero. Degrading that ever so slightly wouldn’t hurt anything but his mental health, but come now.

Were any of them really ever good in that department?

No, he didn’t think so.

“I’d like you and I to romancing~” He mumbled, taking a sip. His brain was currently going 150 miles per hour, as well as three miles per hour.

Is this what it’s like to be high? He questioned, thinking about how Aizawa would act when he came back from the After-PTA-Parties. Now, his dad was no light weight. He’s seen the man chug an entire bottle of beer and merely walk out and go to school like it was his morning coffee, which was also usually spiked. Now, imagine how much Aizawa had to drink to end up slurring, throwing up, and almost blackout drunk.

Yeah, that's how Hitoshi felt right now.

Thank god today's Saturday.

“Harry!” He exclaimed, as Harry Styles was the next artist to start playing. “You're a wizard, Harry!”

Was he high? If he wasn’t, he had to be pretty goddamn close to it.

“Oi?” He hears very distantly.

Hitoshi looks up and around for the source, until he’s met with his blond Pomeranian. “My love!” He says, slinging himself over the others shoulders.

Katsuki raised a brow. “When was the last time you slept?”

“Who cares? Kiss me!” Hitoshi showered the others neck in kisses, and Katsuki shoved him off promptly after.

“Your fucking high,” He deadpanned.

“No I’m not!” Hitoshi said, “I’m underage, that’d be illegal!”

Katsuki rolled his eyes, somehow managing to lift the other taller boy's body weight like he was a baby. “I’m taking you to bed, you fucking dumbass.”

“You’ll go with me?” Hitoshi asked with puppy dog eyes.

“Never do that again,” Commanded Katsuki, and Hitoshi's mouth was promptly shut.

“You need to stop doing this Toshi.” He started, making their way to the elevator, “I didn’t sign up for fucking baby sitting.”

“Love you too!” Hitoshi said, kissing the others neck.

“You're six foot!” Katsuki exclaimed, “I hate to admit it, but I should not be the one carrying you!”

“You admit I’m taller than you?”

“Fucking- How could I not?!? You’re like a fucking skyscraper, Hitoshi!”

“Aww.”

Katsuki scowls as they make it to their hallway. “You interrupted my morning workout routine.”

“Eww, you work out?” Hitoshi drawled, pursuing his lips.

“I’m in the hero course- and so are you for that matter! You cannot keep pulling caffeine induced all-nighters and expect to be a famous hero-“

“Who said I wanted to be famous?” Hitoshi interrupted.

“Right, right. Daddy’s boy,” Katsuki sighed, opening Hitoshis door with his foot.

“Goddamn!” Hitoshi exclaimed, “Hella flexibly!”

“Mhm,” Katsuki replied tiredly. He nudged open the door. “Stand up.”

“You were doing such a good job though!” Hitoshi whined.

“Hitoshi Shinsou, I will count to five-“

“Fine, fine,” Hitoshi rolled his eyes stepping down from around Katsuki, yet still being miles above him. “Hehe.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Katsuki said, “Good night. And I swear to God, Hitoshi, if I see you downstairs before 1:30-“

“I know!” Hitoshi said, rolling into bed. “I love you, Kat.”

“Fuck off!” He yelled, walking out, and slamming the door behind him.

Seconds later, Hitoshi received a text.

BoomBastic: Love you too dumbass

#my hero academia #mha fluff #shinbaku #rarepair #first post

[ichorai]

hatred ; lloyd hansen. (m)

pairing ; lloyd hansen x mission partner!reader (afab / gn pronouns)

synopsis ; you wanted lloyd hansen. but god, did you hate him.

words ; 2.1k

themes ; smut </3 literally nothing else i hate myself

warnings / includes ; lots of swearing, hate sex, lloyd being mean and awful and violent, lloyd getting off on pain, mentions of fighting/death/murder/guns/injury, lloyd calls you a plethora of pet names, overstim and creampie, biting/scratching/hair-pulling, a tiny bit of dacryphilia and begging

main masterlist.

The silk sheets crumpled beneath your grip as you tightened your fists around the fabric, a low hiss spilling from your lips. You leaned back gingerly and tugged your shirt off with a groan, prodding the tender bruise on your side, grimacing at the blotchy, dark purple hue. The blurry memory of CIA’s top asset—Six, was what he was known as—roundhouse-kicking you into oblivion flashed into your mind, and you pushed it away just as quickly as it came. 

“Knockity knock, sweet cheeks,” your wretched mission partner, Lloyd, announced as he swung the door to your room open, ironically not bothering to knock at all. He strode in with a stupid grin etched across his features, kicking the door shut with the back of his heel. 

You scowled. “Get out, Lloyd.”

The way his eyes slowly slid down your body didn’t go unnoticed by you. 

“Not gonna do that, honey,” he quipped condescendingly, gaze trained on your chest, much to your dismay. “See, we had one goddamn mission to finish tonight—and you blew it. You should be fucking glad you don’t have a bullet in your head right now.”

Abruptly, you swept yourself off the bed and onto your feet, drawing yourself to your full height. “You think I don’t know that? Maybe if your pea-sized brain could remember to radio your location, then I wouldn’t have dropped the bomb. How about you jump down from that skyscraper ego of yours for a second and consider that we both fucked up?”

Lloyd stalked forward a couple paces until he was practically nose-to-nose with you. He was practically bristling, lips curled into a snarl and eyebrows knitted together. 

“I wish I never had to work with you,” he spat. “You’re a famous li’l bastard, you know that? Everyone you’ve worked with is now six feet under—and now I can see why.”

Before you could steel yourself, your palm came striking down his cheek, the slap ricocheting loudly across the room. His head pivoted to the side and his mouth dropped open, partly in disbelief, and partly from growing fury. Growing… arousal. The skin beneath where you had hit him immediately grew an angry shade of red, and he slowly turned to look back at you, eyes narrowed. 

“I hate you,” you said, so close to him that his chest brushed against yours.

Your eyes darted to his lips. 

He noticed.

“The feeling’s mutual, sweetheart,” Lloyd husked out.

And with that, he kissed you. 

There was not an ounce of affection in the exchange, all tongue and teeth, growls and grunts, bites and scratches. One of your hands pressed flush against his chest, bunching his ridiculously tight shirt into your fist, while the other snaked around his neck to yank at his short-cropped hair mercilessly. Lloyd seemed to like the pain, groaning into your mouth before kissing you harder, forehead knocking into yours. He shoved you with no care whatsoever, maneuvering you until your back slammed against the wall. 

A strained, involuntary noise of pleasure fell from your lungs as he shoved his knee between your legs, the hard muscle pressed right against your sex—practically dripping with need. 

“Look at you,” he purred, pulling away for a second to slot his fingers beneath your chin, tilting your head up with a teasing smile. “You need something, sunshine?”

Before you could answer, he jolted his leg up, hitting your clit in just the right place. A strike of pleasure curled within your abdomen and you stifled a moan by biting down on your tongue, shoving a fist against his shoulder in a fruitless attempt to punch him. 

“Aw,” Lloyd cooed, “that’s not very nice.”

He was man-handling you again—this time, tossing you onto the bed as if you were a ragdoll. His hands clamped around your ankles, dragging you down the sheets until your ass was right at the edge of the mattress. 

His shirt was discarded somewhere to the side of the room, and whilst he began working on ridding himself of his belt, he looked down at you, sprawled out over the bed and chest heaving and lips kiss-swollen—fuck, his cock throbbed painfully just looking at you. With hooded eyes, you arched your back slightly to rip off the rest of your clothes, core pulsating with intense want.

You wanted Lloyd Hansen. 

But God, did you hate him.

Him and his stupid pet names for you. Him and his carelessness—his unbridled anger. Him and that horrible pornstache that he sported. 

You hated every bit of him.

As soon as his pants were off, you yanked him down, kissing him with wild abandon. Your nails scratched down his chest, leaving angry crimson marks in its wake. To your amusement, Lloyd only growled at that, moving away from your lips to lick a hot line down the curve of your jaw, and biting into your neck—hard enough to the point where you had to slap his shoulders with a hiss. He drew back with a smirk, a hard glint to his deep blue eyes, before dipping back down to press kisses into your collarbones. His hands gripped your hips, rocking you back and forth against his tented boxers. 

When he got to your breasts, biting into your warm flesh with a low, chesty hum, you slipped your hand down his chest, and snuck your fingers into his boxers, wrapping them around his thick girth, pumping slowly.

He groaned loudly, spitting out a long string of curses and grabbing your wrist, shoving your hand away with a pointed glare. 

Before you could register much else, his boxers were off and his dick was bouncing against his toned abdomen. You gulped audibly, inching away from him as you suddenly realized what you were doing—or, more accurately, who you were doing. A shiver spidered up your spine and you watched him with wide, cautious eyes.

“Nuh uh, honey,” he whispered scathingly, yanking you back to him and easily flipping you onto your stomach, despite your half-assed struggling. “You’re not going anywhere.”

He roped you back up until your back was flush against his chest, one hand wrapping around your throat and the other pinching one of your pebbled nipples, before crawling further down to your sopping cunt. 

“Oh, sweetie,” he crooned into your ear as his fingers ran through your slickened folds, hot breath fanning out over your neck. “All for me? Fuckin’ slut.”

Without warning, three of his fingers suddenly thrust into your pussy, and a loud groan left you as you struggled in his grasp, simultaneously trying to push him away and draw him closer. His thumb pressed against your clit and you lost all control, hands reaching behind you to claw at his neck and his scalp. 

“Beg for it,” he whispered, clearly enjoying every second of this. “Beg for me.”

As you squirmed, you managed to find a single thread of self-preservation within you. “Fuck you.”

Lloyd bit into your shoulder, as if warning you. “I won’t ask again, baby.”

When his thumb softly drew a circle around your clit, you could feel yourself giving in, melting into putty in his arms. 

A litany of pleads fell from you, and you hated yourself for it, but you couldn’t stop. You needed him. 

“Please, Lloyd, please—” A gasp cut off your words when he flicked your clit, dripping fingers drawing out ever so slightly before shoving themselves right back in. “Please fuck me. Please, I’ll do anything, Lloyd, I… please—oh—”

Seemingly satisfied enough, Lloyd began pumping his fingers into you rapidly, your wanton moans only fueling him further. Memory fuzzy with pleasure, you hadn’t even realized when your head lolled back onto his shoulder, his lips meeting yours in a frenzy as he fingered you. 

Your first orgasm came crashing down onto you like a tidal wave against shore, and you shook violently in his muscular arms, jerking away from his fingers desperately as the beginnings of overstimulation began creeping into you. He only stopped his movements when you roughly bit into his lip mid-kiss, hard enough to break the skin and draw blood. 

“Fuck!” he growled, glaring at you with genuine anger, tongue sweeping over the cut, copper hitting the back of his throat. His cock twitched, growing impossibly harder, and he ripped his fingers out of you. “Fuckin’ bitch.”

His fingers, creamy with your arousal, were suddenly shoved into your mouth and he watched with hungry eyes as your tongue swiped across the digits, taking them in deeper until you gagged. He bit back another groan. 

“You’re such a whore,” he murmured into your ear, slipping his fingers out of your mouth, biting your lobe roughly. “My fuckin’ whore.”

A silent scream left your mouth hanging open when he swiftly sank you down onto his cock, so thick that you could feel him throbbing inside you, feel every veiny inch of him as he bottomed out, one hand gripping your thigh and pulling your legs further apart so he’d sink deeper into you, and the other pawing wildly at your breasts. 

He cursed as you clenched around him, hoarsely moaning out his name.

“Say it again,” he whispered, pulling out halfway before sinking back into you. “Say my name again, honey.”

“I hate you,” you practically sobbed as he began thrusting into you in a near feral manner. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”

This seemed to rile him up further, and the hand that was once at your breast found its way back to your throat, squeezing tight until black spots danced around your vision. Lightheaded, you let out a pornographic moan, hands scratching down his thighs framing yours. 

His hand inched higher up your own thigh, and he flicked over your clit as his dick pounded into you. 

“FUCK!” you yelled, reaching back to pull at his hair. Almost without realizing, you came around him for the second time, twitching in his hold. Overstimulated, you croaked out, “Lloyd—stop. Fuck, stop—” 

Lloyd merely chuckled against your sweaty neck, only spreading your legs further apart and driving his dick into you harder. “Take it, baby. Fuckin’ take it. I know you like this—you’re soaking me, honey.”

A moan twisted out of your dry throat. As overstimulated as you were, his words were only turning you on more. The filthy sounds of his hips snapping into yours made your head spin. 

“I hate you,” you sobbed again, knowing this would only drive him on, and you crumpled back into him, letting him use you like a sex doll. 

A stray tear slipped down your cheek and his hand left your throat to grab at your jaw. “Aw, are you crying, sweetheart? Fuck, that’s fucking hot as fuck.” 

Panting, you rocked back against him, eyebrows drawing together as your third—and hopefully last—climax rolled over you. This time, you stiffened against him as more fat tears rolled down your cheeks, clenching around him so hard he shouted out a creative line of swears before shifting into a different angle to hammer into you harder.

His dick twitched inside you—he was close.

“Fuck,” you muttered, slapping his sweaty shoulder, panicked. “Don’t you dare cum inside, Lloyd, oh—” You broke off into a groan and he swooped down to capture your lips in one last messy kiss, nose slotting roughly against yours. 

He grunted into your mouth, forehead resting over yours as his seed painted your insides, much to your frustration. Much softer this time, he slowly pushed his softening dick in and out of your abused cunt, nearly laughing when you started slapping him again.

“Fuck you. I fucking hate you,” you spat. He shut you up by enveloping your parted lips with his—you could taste the blood in his mouth. 

Eventually, he slipped out of you, peering down with a satisfied hum to see his cum spill out of your puffy folds. 

“I hate you,” you whispered one last time, throat scratchy with thirst. 

He patted your ass with a sickeningly condescending smile. “The feeling’s mutual, sweetheart,” he replied, an echo of what he said before. “Though—I don’t need to like someone to fuck them. Who knows… maybe I’ll even come back for sloppy seconds.”

With that, he unceremoniously let go of you, making you face-plant into the pillows. You twisted with a hateful snarl just in time to watch him stride out of your room stark naked, whistling a merry tune as if he hadn’t just fucked your brains out, not even bothering to pick up his clothes strewn across your floor. 

Pompous, arrogant, motherfucker.

You really fuckin’ hated him.

#lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen smut #lloyd hansen fanfiction #the gray man fanfiction #lloyd hansen drabbles #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen imagines #lloyd hansen angst #the gray man fanfic #lloyd hansen fanfic #chris evans x reader #chris evans smut #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans characters #chris evans x you

[a-ladyman-in-waiting]

Randos on the street

A little prompt.

In a time that Madeline’s image has started to circulate around the web, people started looking for answers.

Although, the Dragonkin to be is certainly unhappy with the amount of eyes prying outside their windows and on top of rooftops.

Especially after the ruckus two days ago…

—

Brendon (daytime form) was in a rush to catch the train to get home quickly for personal reasons.

Running through the crowds, he accidentally bumped into a woman carrying groceries.

“Sorry!” He exclaimed while looking back, doing his best to avoid anyone else.

As he ran up the stairs, he overheard curse words and perhaps a slur in his direction. As much as it frightened him, he continued to run through the turn-tables with the swift train card access.

And then he scampered to the platform, ready to board the train.

But it didn’t arrive yet.

In fact, he walked around the platform to look for the next scheduled train, only to find that it would be 5 more minutes.

He looked around again, anxious to see if anyone had followed him.

Just then, he caught the glimpse of the same woman that he bumped into earlier, accompanied by a large man.

Thanks to his enhanced vision, he could see the scowl on his face.

Brendon began to hide behind the stairs.

Fearing the worst, he used an ability to pinpoint the soul of the angry man to avoid a confrontation.

But as he thought the worst, he accidentally bumped into another person.

As he turned to apologize, they immediately shouted, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?”

“FUCKING [BEEP] ALWAYS FUCKING BUMPING INTO ME.”

An angry woman started berating Brendon, terrifying him inside.

All that Brendon wanted to do is just slowly back away, so they took slow subtle steps as the woman continued berating him.

Suddenly, Brendon felt the aura of the angry man.

He was close behind him.

With only a few seconds to react, he did what he could only do:

He made an illusion of himself while disappearing simultaneously.

He quickly sneaked around the staircase using his quiet footwork.

He went up the stairs to ran across the station the other staircase, where he entered the train from there.

After that, he tried listening to music to calm himself down, all the while shaking.

—

Brendon, now as Madeline, was still shaken up from the whole thing.

So they stayed in their room for an hour before deciding to fly out for the night.

Once the clock struck 1 AM, they leapt out of the window and flew around the city to joyride around the skyscrapers.

Madeline took a long dive to gain speed, where they loop-de-looped, they barrel rolled, and they flew upside down for a brief moment.

Until it was time to take a small cruise towards a rooftop to have lunch, they packed a sandwich, a bag of chips and a bottle of soda in a pocket dimension earlier.

After some time had passed, they slowed down and perched on a ledge, placing Light Discs under their feet once they sat down.

Now it was time to prepare their lunch experience;

They pulled their meal from the pocket dimension, gave their prayers, then dug in to the California Chicken sandwich. Then they took a swig of their soda and opened their small bag of Dorito chips, just before they begin enjoying the view.

It didn’t take long for Madeline to disassociate from her surroundings, their legs bouncing around, their tail wagging around, and her mind drifting around the clouds.

It was a good time.

—

Several minutes had gone by when they started eating and they were in the middle of an imaginary scenario.

However, a familiar looking figure had begun to walk up the staircase, angrily muttering to themselves.

“Dumbass internet, breaking every goddamn time.”

Then as they stormed to the top of the staircase and opened the door, she spotted Madeline, who jolted and looked back.

Madeline’s heart sank, it was the woman from 2 days ago. The angry one that she bumped into, when she locked eyes with him.

They both locked eyes again, the terrible habit that often got Brendon into a trouble.

“Oh my god, there’s a crazy ass bitch sitting on the rooftop. They have a fuckin costume and everything.”

Madeline began to shove the sandwich into her mouth, placing the trash into the plastic bag with the bag of chips and the soda.

“Hey, HEY! Who said you could leave?”

The woman pulled out her smartphone to record Madeline and started running.

Madeline shoved the bag into the pocked dimension and prepared to jump.

”Oh no you don’t!!”

The woman had ran halfway into the rooftop when Madeline leapt from the ledge and spread her wings.

She managed to capture Madeline gliding around the streets before flying back up a few stories.

“Holy fuck, I just found the crazy ass girl flying around the city.”

She stopped recording and went to fix their internet.

—

Madeline, shaken up even more, took solace in the Lake of Tears, where they cried.

to be continued.

#story stuff #short story #story fiction #madeline rivera oc #dragon girl

[hrodvitnon]

(yeah I can understand needing a palate cleanser... so ask and ye shall receive! 3 goofy shenanigan asks messing with the goofy as hell idea of the Titans bsing their way into space to kick Gigan in the nuts or something. One slightly more serious one being this one... because I can't help myself.)

*Abraxas flew up towards the upper atmosphere. They had been launched by an Apex device to send her into space. Once she breaks atmosphere, she would use her electricity to propel herself through the cosmos.*

San: You didn't want them to come...

Vivienne: That obvious, huh? Would *you*?? They're my friends, my family. You know what Gigan's capable of. The memories you showed me... If something- anything- happened to any of them up there...

San: And what about what might happen to us?

Vivienne: So be it. Gigan is a monster of Ghidorah's creation. Our burden to bear. Another one of his sins we must fix. Plus, having Godzilla in arms reach of the same person that infected his brother...

San: You're scared for him.

Vivienne: He has been through enough.

San: And you haven't?

*She doesn't have a good answer for that- intending to wait in silence as the rushing air slowly begins to vanish- and the skies around them start to darken. But- they're replaced by another noise. It sounds like- something rushing behind her?*

Vivienne: Oh for the love of-

San: Sister! Look!

*Vivienne turns to see possibly the most ridiculous sight she's seen since becoming a Titan. It's a giant multi-colored ice crystal shooting into the sky like a goddamn comet. Behind, she sees two bright red beams of light firing out from the back like a thruster. She sees a hand emerge from the side, of the Primate variety.*

Vivienne: WHAT IN THE?-

Kong: TAKE MY HAND ABRAXAS!

Vivienne: Uhhhh

*San makes the decision for her, grabbing Kong's hand in his mouth. He yanks her through the window and onto the icy floor- Shimo sealing the opening behind her as the stars come into view. The- 'ship' is not large at all and sorta cramped. She fell incidentally into the lap of Barb.*

Barb: Uhhh- surprise hun?

Vivienne: This should not have worked. No laws of physics support this plan working. The vacuum of space will kill us.

Rodan: That's what the tanks are for!

*He takes an inhale from a Titan-sized breathing apparatus that is connected to a skyscraper-sized oxygen tank in the middle of the ship that all the other Titans are sitting around.*

Vivienne: How-

Kong: Maia was halfway through a plan for a Titan-sized spacecraft when she realized it wouldn't work. She did, however, have the plans for a giant tank finished! Shimo built it around the tank.

Vivienne: And the propulsion?? How did you get this thing off the ground??

Godzilla: Say it with me Mothra...

Mothra: CIRCULAR-

Godzilla: HEAT-

Mothra: RAY!

*The two of them come up from a hole beneath the tank, along with Shimo. They settle around the tank.*

Vivienne: Fuckingexcuseyouwhat.

Godzilla: The thrusting power behind mine and Mothra's Heat Ray was enough to send a vessel of this size into space! Dagon's picking up the slack and propelling us to Mars with his Photon Scream as we speak! We'll be there in 2~ hours.

Vivienne: ...

Vivienne: You shot-

Godzilla: Mhm.

Vivienne: -your breath-

Godzilla: Yeah.

Vivienne: -downwards.

Godzilla: Yes ma'am!

Vivienne: -And it made this *thing* go up.

Shimo: Uh- this 'thing' is a very eloquently crafted spacecraft that will help us save Ozymandias and destroy Gigan.

Vivienne: Science is a fucking lie. Why do I even try.

Mothra: No idea!

*Vivienne takes a sudden vested interest in the ground, staring at it for a second.*

Vivienne: This is not going to be easy.

Godzilla: -and?

Vivienne: You don't know what he's capable of.

Godzilla: It doesn't matter. What matters is what we need from him. We'll all get through this- and so will Ozzy. As long as we follow the plan and look out for each other.

*Vivienne still can't get the images out of her head- of Gigan's horrifying torture machines and the poor souls San witnessed be torn apart by them. She can't imagine anyone here being subject to that or worse.*

Mothra: Did you really think we were gonna let you go alone?

Vivienne: I could've handled it.

Mothra: Not saying you couldn't; but what kind of friends would we be then? To force you into the den of a demon like Gigan alone? We're with you, Vivienne, and you may as well get used to it- because we always will be.

Vivienne: I-

Mothra: Plus- Goji and Rodey were worried sick about you.

Godzilla & Rodan: WAS NOT.

Mothra: Oooh yeah. Pacing, fidgeting- whole nine yards. They would've died of an anxiety attack before you got back.

Slightly more serious is right, I'm only surprised that they're not all pancaked at the back of that ice box death trap if they're going to reach Mars in two hours!

#frostbite814 #abraxasverse #monarch shenanigans

[winterhawkkisses]

Bucky tracks him down in Bedford-Stuyvesant, in an old building that’s falling apart but slower than it ought to be. Clint looks up with wide eyes when Bucky hauls himself through the window, and he’s already packing, like he’d meant to be gone by the time Bucky made it here.

“Well this is awkward,” Clint says, and drops the axolotl boxers in his hands into the duffle on the bed.

“What.” Not enough intonation to really be called a question, and hey, look at that, he’s angry. Good to know.

“What else was I gonna do?” Clint asks, but it looks like it’s rhetorical, ‘cos he keeps on talking right away. “I’ve lost my nerve. Can’t take the risks. If ever there was a time to retire -”

“What,” Bucky says again, just as flat, but this time he doesn’t swallow back the rest of it. “What in the fuck -”

Clint shrugs, crosses the room to grab socks that’re balled up so tight it’s gonna wreck the elastic, and why the hell is it that Bucky most clearly remembers his mom’s voice when he’s rolling his eyes at Clint? 

“You jumped off a fuckin’ skyscraper without a line, Barton, nearly gave me a goddamned heart attack, what the hell are you -”

“They had a gun to your head,” Clint says, flat enough to smother anything else Bucky was gonna say. “What else was I gonna do?”

Bucky blinks and take a second, ‘cos he’s somehow strayed into the weeds here and there are big things rustling through the grass, things he’s not sure he knows the shape of.

“What?”

“Sorry,” Clint says, rueful, an apology in every rumpled line of him. “Lost my objectivity.” He fishes a purple sweater out from under the bed and wraps a gun in it, careful and neat, and stows it in his bag. “Nearly got Tony killed ‘cos I wasn’t in position. If I can’t take the risk -”

“Of death from five hundred feet?”

“- to you, if I can’t cope with you risking yourself, what the hell use am I to the team?”

#winterhawk #idk man #this should have been longer

[vvatchword]

YOU get a lighthouse. And YOU get a lighthouse. And YOU

I was researching deep-sea diving rigs, historical and otherwise, trying to figure out ways of getting my man Johnny Topside down on the seafloor in full diving gear without smushing him like a bug. Turns out that this is physically impossible. Deep-sea diving in a suit is only doable down to about 120 feet. However, the skyscrapers appear to be many times that size, with enough water overhead to obscure and shield them.

Creative Director Ken Levine is a notorious perfectionist, so the fact that he ignored water pressure is notable. Rapture is just too deep for anybody to be walking around down there.

Easy answer: Rapture is not a real place. It's all symbolism. I would consider BioShock "magical realism." There's plenty of support for this--not only that main characters are allegorical figures, but that BioShock is unquestionably a gnostic allegory, something I missed for years.

I began considering the idea that BioShock is actually a mystical journey, it's just subdued. If you can miss the gnostic foundations, you can miss the mystical traits.

Magical realism in-game includes (spoilers follow):

When the plane crashes, you don't see any other passengers. There were other passengers, and you can hear them, but you don't see them--just signs of them. When I first played the game, I didn't think anything about it; I figured it was an issue of resources and story design. You don't want to flood the level with a bunch of resource-eating, attention-grabbing NPCs. You want to start the story as it should be started: based on you, the individual player.

When you step into the lighthouse, the door shuts behind you and the lights come on. If you are roleplaying as a plane crash victim, that's a little weird. If you are player-in-a-video-game, not so much.

When Atlas reveals himself in the Smuggler Bay level, it's absolutely bizarre once you get past the twist. Why would Fontaine expose himself to danger like that? Well... once you take a step back, it's to realize how goddamn theatrical everything is. You are often required to watch cutscenes past windows--little shows, shall we say?

Speaking of "theatrical," why do you see so many theaters? And note the kind of theaters. We're not talking about movie theaters: we're talking about the theaters upon which one stages plays. When you are introduced to Big Daddies and Little Sisters, it's on a stage. The game is The Truman Show, and you're Truman.

Speaking of theatrical, the Fort Frolic level gives everything away. Constant theaters, but few to no theater screens (you are a real person wandering the false world constructed to teach you); the film reel marked "Irrational Games" in Sander Cohen's private box; pamphlets and posters for "Patrick and Moira." Jack Wynand was not conceived with what was real--the real Eve, Diane McClintock, who represents Rapture's citizens--but with the Shadow Eve, Jasmine Jolene, a fascinating (and false) fabrication reflecting misdirected desires. Listen to Sander Cohen's dialogue and you'll realize he's clearly laying out the entire idea behind the game--he's like its prophet. (I feel like I could write about Fort Frolic for about ten years.)

Eventually all of these elements bring the rest of the story into line: every part of the game experience is tailored to the player's most immediate needs. It becomes a story about ascendence: first accepting one's state, then transcending it. What is campy and goofy about it only ends up bringing attention to what is serious and "real." By bringing attention to its breaks with realism, BioShock hints at its true intent: to be much fucking smarter than it has any right being.

Anyway

Consider this: do you think that all the people on the airplane that Jack crashed went to different versions of the Lighthouse? Perhaps each one experienced a different and manufactured spiritual experience meant to bring them to a higher plane.

It's equally possible that they were nonentities--their unnecessary sacrifices symbolic of the selfish world below where the many are made to serve the one--but then I thought about BioShock Infinite. How equally possible is it that every individual is undergoing the struggle to transcend the false into the true?

That means everyone has a lighthouse... and that includes you and me.

#bioshock #bioshock infinite #jack wynand #vvatchword #vv zootin #this piece ain't great--brain v spongey--but I must speak it into the world

[theraccoonsinyourbackyard]

There's a get-together at my house, and im lounging in the living room with two of my friends. And one of them decided she could totally carry me upstairs, "you're very light," she said. Reasonable, as shes also easily one of the strongest people i know. So this shitass esfp hangs me on her shoulder and carries this squealing, screaming me up the entire flight of stairs while i hold onto her like a lifeline. Then we get up there and she FLINGS me onto the couch. Then she begins to rant about how fucking badass she is and her older brother, naturally, wanted to prove himself better than her. So, he walked towards a shaking me and PICKS ME THE FUCK UP LIKE A GODDAMN POTATO BAG AND WALKS DOWNSTAIRS AND UPSTAIRS. At the point he drops me back on the couch upstairs ive completely given up on my life, ive become the subject of a competition between two siblings. They then start carrying my other friend downstairs since, they say, "it's too easy to carry raccoon".

At some point, i make the terrible mistake of going downstairs with him again, so, naturally, he carried me up again.

Anyway, at some point before this, the boys started playing infinite craft on my computer, and im just watching them as they successfully unite skyscraper and osama binladen to get 9/11.

#raccoon's stories

[scriveyner]

chase forever down 2/31

chase forever down | 2/31 | bungou stray dogs | 👿🐯 | #smarch 🔞| ~3100 words

It took almost a full week for the bruise to fade on its own, which in normal circumstances would have allowed Atsushi all sorts of time to sort through everything that had happened. Of course, he had to turn up to work on Monday only to find out that Dazai had fucked off to parts unknown again, attempt to track him down, get shot at by a bounty (?) hunter (??) who apparently wanted Atsushi’s pelt (???) for some goddamn unknowable reason; and then Dazai had the straight nerve to show back up to work on Friday all perky like Atsushi hadn’t been put through the wringer this week by him, specifically.

Continue on AO3 or:

“I think, perhaps, it would be best if you laid low for a few days, Atsushi,” Kunikida said as he stood by his desk, glancing over Atsushi’s report. His other hand currently had all his weight on it, pinning Dazai’s head to the desk. “Although the bounty hunter is in custody now, and we’ve cleared everything with the government, these things have a way of escalating out of nowhere.”

“Lay low?” Atsushi repeated, because he never thought he could be considered to have a high profile in the first place, pictures of him in the paper notwithstanding.

“He means don’t tear up the streets causing a scene and fighting anyone in particular,” Dazai sang, face smooshed.

Well, laying low would give him time to do a little research in peace, although as far as he could tell there wasn’t any sort of handbook for the situation he was in. To be fair, he hadn’t checked the library to see if “So Your Mortal Enemy/Occasional Partner is a Secret Vampire” had a waiting list.

Anyway, he was fairly certain that vampires weren’t real in the first place, but that made the fact that Akutagawa-goddamn-Ryuunosuke sucked a hickey into his neck even more bizarre.

Atsushi was tempted to ask Dazai about vampires, but still remembered the absolute roasting he got about Godzilla, and kept his mouth shut.

Hey, he’d been in a giant flying whale and been witness to a member of the Port Mafia clocking an entire ability dragon full-on in the face with a skyscraper; a giant radioactive lizard popping up out of the ocean seemed like a fairly ordinary Thursday.

He’d also jerked off in front of Akutagawa-The-Possible-Vampire, and why the fuck did that just pop into his brain out of nowhere. Atsushi adjusted his courier bag, focused gamely on a cold shower, and started on his way home.

It was brilliantly sunny, the sky that perfect shade of blue with the occasional thin cloud on the horizon. It was the sort of afternoon that chased away all thoughts of despair and darkness, and it lifted his mood immensely. He decided to stop by the local shop and get some fresh vegetables, make a nice big meal, and maybe catch up on some of that sleep he’d been missing after the chaos of the past week. No more thoughts about the weirdness in his life, or the fact that thinking about Akutagawa’s eyes made him hornier than shit.

God dammit, he did it again.

Atsushi sighed, added alone time in the bathroom before Kyouka got home to the mental checklist, and headed to the grocer.

=====

Atsushi was deciding between two packages of meat when he saw a flash of red out of the corner of his eye that drew his attention. He glanced over to see a Rashomon head pluck a similar package out of the cooler beside him and withdraw back. Atsushi followed the Rashomon tendril to its origin, staring at Akutagawa dressed in his usual civilian clothes, dark shades and all, as he walked right past Atsushi without acknowledging him once, shopping basket in hand.

His stomach did a little flip and he snarled mentally at certain body parts to fucking behave as he left his basket on the floor and hurried after Akutagawa. “Hey!”

Akutagawa paused and glanced back over his shoulder at Atsushi, eyes shadowed completely by the glasses. “You,” Atsushi jabbed his finger at Akutagawa. “You’re a vampire!”

There was a long, long pause.

Atsushi became increasingly aware that they were in the middle of a crowded supermarket, and other customers were giving them both a significant side-eye as they passed. Akutagawa turned fully around, staring down Atsushi all the while.

“You’re an idiot,” Akutagawa said and turned to leave.

Honestly, Atsushi had expected this reveal to be a little more melodramatic than it was. It was the middle of the day, they were now outside the supermarket that was several blocks away from his place of work, and he had been the exact opposite of geared up for this confrontation.

He’d been buying dinner, for god’s sake.

Akutagawa stood in the shadow of the building, leaned back against the alley wall and arms folded as he watched Atsushi pace in front of him. He’d been remarkably accommodating in allowing Atsushi to drag him out of the building, he’d fully expected a fight, but Akutagawa simply loudly expressed his opinion of Atsushi’s mental prowess to anyone in shouting distance.

So, Akutagawa in daylight. This was already a point against the Vampire Theory, as it was still broad fucking daylight—lurking in the shadows of the building notwithstanding, as Akutagawa was a lurker by nature—and he had yet to even sizzle, never mind burst into flames.

Atsushi rubbed the spot on his neck where the mostly faded bruise still sat. “You’re a vampire,” he reiterated, with less dramatic flair, and once again Akutagawa made a noise of derision, staring at Atsushi over the rims of the dark, not-quite-sunglasses he usually wore in a small attempt to mask his identity.

A point for the “Definitely a Vampire” column, those mysterious dark glasses. He only wore them during the day, too, that Atsushi had seen…protection against the sunlight? But he was out in the sun. And he’d seen Akutagawa in daylight many, many times, all without the benefit of the dark glasses. Well. Point still sitting in the Vampire column, pending approval.

“Idiot,” Akutagawa sniffed. “Remind me why I’m entertaining your nonsense again today?”

“You are a vampire,” Atsushi insisted again, stopping in his tracks, arms folded. “You attacked me out of the blue! Don’t laugh. And you bit me.”

“Do you actually believe vampires are real, weretiger? You pulled me from my errands to make me listen to you ramble like a madman about fiction.”

“I’m not rambling!”

Akutagawa arched a brow, and Atsushi turned on his heel to pace again. “You bit me and sucked my blood!”

“Are you certain you didn’t just hit your head?”

“I have a bruise!”

Akutagawa appeared unimpressed, as Atsushi turned and yanked his collar down, displaying the now-faded, yellowish splotch on his neck. “I have no interest in your sexual conquests as such, weretiger. Are we through?”

“No, we are not through. Explain to me why your eyes turned red, and why you bit me, if you’re not a vampire.”

Akutagawa tilted his head. Looking over his glasses at Atsushi, Atsushi could see his eyes glimmering slightly in the shadows, that same reddish hue. Then Akutagawa said in that same tone that had haunted his dreams for the past week, “we are through here.”

Atsushi stared at him in response, and Akutagawa pushed his glasses back up his nose, straightening as if preparing to leave. “And where do you think you’re going?” Atsushi asked, angrily, and Akutagawa paused, a clear look of confusion crossing his features. “Did you not hear me? We aren’t done.”

The weird, vocal modulation in Akutagawa’s voice sent a frisson of electricity down Atsushi’s spine, pulling something tight in his gut again, but he suppressed the shiver. Akutagawa stared at him strangely, and said, “we’re done.”

“And that,” Atsushi waved his hand at Akutagawa. “That weird voice thing. That’s a vampire thing too, isn’t it? Some kind of,” he wobbled his hand slightly, “Jedi mind trick type thing? I can tell what you’re doing now, so it doesn’t work. And you are,” holy shit, Akutagawa really was, he wasn’t making this up in his head, “a vampire!”

Akutagawa was flat-out staring at him now, like he was a puzzle that Akutagawa couldn’t solve. “Why doesn’t it work on you?”

Atsushi took two large steps back, suddenly struck by the fact that Akutagawa was a goddamn real vampire and he didn’t know what he was supposed to do now, because they were out in daylight and vampires were supposed to catch on fire.

Well, at least this meant he didn’t have to worry about pulling his punches going forward.

Akutagawa seemed to realize what his reaction meant all at once. “I am not—” he began, a snarl in his voice, but Atsushi’s voice overrode his.

“I can’t believe you’re a goddamn shit-sucking vampire.” He’d made it to the other wall of the alley, his back flush to the brick, and was eying his exit route. “How long has this been going on? Does anyone else know? Have you killed anyone? Okay, that was a stupid question, but have you killed anyone as a vampire—?”

“SHUT UP,” Akutagawa roared, his voice crackling with energy.

Atsushi winced at the volume but was otherwise undeterred. “I will not—!”

Well, he still moved faster than Rashomon.

Atsushi bounced off the side of the building, kicking the Rashomon tendril away. Akutagawa seemed to move faster than his own ability again, catching Atsushi by the shoulder in mid-air and turning him, landing on top of him hard enough that the concrete beneath them cracked. Atsushi hurled him off, twisting, and Rashomon caught up, wrapping around his leg before he could properly defend and then they were both airborne, Atsushi winged around like a fish on a line and was unable to gain any real purchase.

He dangled by his ankle, five stories up, while Akutagawa stood crouched on the concrete lip that ringed the building just below the roof. “If I were a vampire, idiot weretiger, do you really think I would be wandering around in broad daylight?”

Oh, he better not be able to read minds, too. Atsushi bent double, trying to get at the single tendril of Rashomon around his ankle with his claws. “Maybe if you didn’t try to mess with my mind!”

The tendril shook him violently enough that he lost progress and hung for a second, head spinning. “You keep coming to the most ridiculous conclusions.”

“I wouldn’t have to come to ridiculous conclusions if you didn’t fucking lie to me!”

Akutagawa hauled him up enough so that they were eye to eye, although Atsushi was well out of swiping range for the moment. “When have I lied to you?”

Atsushi stared at him, then pointed with one tiger claw. “You. Are. A. VAMPIRE.”

He doubled up and got both his hands around the Rashomon tendril, shredding the ability in his claws. Before Atsushi could even begin to consider how he was going to handle the five-story drop, several more Rashomon tendrils shot out at him and Atsushi swung around, caught on a broad one with the pad of his foot, and used it to launch himself at Akutagawa.

Akutagawa stood up to face him, eyes a brilliant, glowing red behind his glasses. “STOP,” he roared, and Atsushi felt the word vibrate in his muscles and bone but didn’t even hesitate, spring-boarding off a Rashomon tendril and catching Akutagawa by the front of his dark coat, flipping them both up over and onto the roof properly.

Akutagawa landed on his feed, sliding on the rough pitch, and Atsushi landed in a crouch with bared teeth. “I’m going to bite you, see how much you like it!”

They stared at each other, chests heaving in near unison, the unearthly red glow finally starting to fade from Akutagawa’s eyes. “No, really, why the fuck doesn’t that work on you, anymore?”

“Your weird voice thing?” Atsushi swiped the back of his hand over his cheek, smearing the blood from where Rashomon just nicked him coming up over the edge of the roof. Akutagawa’s expression froze, eyes locked on Atsushi’s face, and Atsushi pointed at him, victorious. “Ha! Vampire!”

Akutagawa tilted his head back and stared at the sky for a second, while dragging his hand down his face, and then he finally gave up. “Fine,” he said, sounding thoroughly harassed.

Atsushi rose from his crouch, giving Akutagawa a wary look. “Fine?”

“You win, weretiger. I am a vampire. Are you happy?”

Atsushi blinked at him, not expecting capitulation in any form. “Uh.”

“No one was meant to know. Especially not you.” Akutagawa stalked forward, eyes glimmering like they were going to change colors but stayed that nebulous shade of gray. Atsushi took a step back and realized suddenly he had nowhere else to go when the back of his leg hit the edge of the roof and he stopped dead, eyes wide.

“What’s the matter?” Akutagawa asked, stopping just in front of him. “Now you’re scared of me?”

“I’m not scared of you,” Atsushi said because he wasn’t, but his body seemed to think otherwise. Akutagawa’s hand darted out, catching his chin, and turned Atsushi’s head.

“Since you’re in the know, now,” he breathed and licked the blood from Atsushi’s cheek.

Atsushi froze in place. Akutagawa’s tongue felt like lightning, warm and sharp, and he gulped air, limbs trembling. Just like that, he was hard. No, no no no no no, he thought desperately, as Akutagawa swiped his thumb over the area of the cut, but by now the flesh had already sealed over the wound.

“I hate how fucking good you taste,” Akutagawa rumbled, face still too close. “It’s not normal.”

There was something about his voice now that was resonating to Atsushi’s core. It didn’t sound any different than normal, and it certainly wasn’t that weird tone he had been trying on him earlier, but Atsushi’s breath went short and his head went fuzzy.

The corner of Akutagawa’s mouth turned up into a smirk. “Ah. There it is.”

Atsushi swallowed hard and shook his head free of Akutagawa’s hand, and Akutagawa drew back. He pushed the palm of his hand over his cheek but it came away dry, and he looked back at Akutagawa, who was now, once again, at a safe distance. “Is that it?”

The question seemed to perplex Akutagawa. “What?”

“So, you’re a vampire and you’re going to, what, lick my cheek? What the fuck did you do to me?” Atsushi shifted his stance angrily, resisting the urge to shove his hands down his pants this time. “Don’t start what you can’t fucking finish.” He tilted his jaw back and bared his throat challengingly, and Akutagawa’s eyes glimmered again.

“You don’t know what you’re offering,” he said, softly, and Atsushi spread his hands.

“How many people have you killed like this?”

The question seemed to amuse him. Rashomon rippled across his shoulders, a faint red glimmer in the sunlight, and Akutagawa tilted his head, looking at Atsushi again through his dark shades. “Fear not, weretiger. I have kept true to our accords. Yours is the only blood I intend to spill…if I feel often enough, I never have to take a life.”

Akutagawa on him, teeth bared under the moonlight flitted through Atsushi’s mind unbidden. “And what happens if you don’t feed often enough?”

The look on Akutagawa’s face told him enough, and he jerked his chin again. “Fine. Don’t feed on anyone else. Don’t harm anyone else. You have me, you want to spill my blood? You can have it.”

Akutagawa looked away, hand clenched over his mouth and breathing hard. “What’s the matter?” Atsushi challenged. “I thought you said my blood tasted good—?”

He wasn’t fast enough to see Akutagawa move, but there was suddenly a hand on his shoulder and the other on his face, tilting his head away as Akutagawa’s fangs sank into his neck, atop the previous, yellowed bruise. Atsushi gasped and staggered, but Akutagawa caught him as he collapsed, lowering him far gentler, sitting him back against the concrete lip that bordered the edge of the roof.

Akutagawa’s mouth was still on his skin, and he shifted, knee pressed between Atsushi’s spread legs. There was no way he couldn’t feel how hard Atsushi was, or the wet spot that was beginning to appear on the front of his pants and Atsushi panted, everything gone in a haze of pleasure. He was so warm, and light-headed, and when Akutagawa finally, finally lifted his mouth his breath felt like fire on Atsushi’s skin.

“You’ll be mine,” he breathed, tongue brushing over the torn flesh, Atsushi’s skin knitting whole, “and only mine?”

“Oh, fuck,” Atsushi whimpered, so hard he could think of nothing but touch. Akutagawa rumbled and pressed his knee into Atsushi’s crotch, watching him choke. Then he seemed to take pity on him, shifting enough that he was kneeling between Atsushi’s spread legs, fingers pulling at the waist of his trousers. Atsushi gazed at him blearily, and Akutagawa slipped his hand down the front of Atsushi’s pants.

Oh. Oh, Akutagawa’s hand was on his cock right now.

Atsushi’s head went back, eyes unfocused as Akutagawa palmed his trapped erection, fingers curling around his girth. He rubbed his thumb over its leaking head but made no effort to free him from his pants to bother with stroking him properly. “Just a little taste,” he murmured. “Don’t want to reward you too handsomely for being a stubborn little shit, weretiger.”

Panting aloud, Atsushi clung to his coat, held tilted back, and came anyway.

Akutagawa yanked his hand out of Atsushi’s messed pants and stared at him as Atsushi slumped back against the concrete, breathing hard. He ended up wiping his hand clean on Atsushi’s untucked shirt, and then plucked Atsushi’s phone out of his pocket while Atsushi lay, blissed out, in place.

“If I text you,” Akutagawa said, typing something into Atsushi’s phone, “you will show up.”

He was doing the weird voice thing again, it sank into Atsushi’s bones and simmered there. Atsushi moaned, and Akutagawa dropped his phone in his lap. Then he stood, dusted off his knees, and inclined his head in a small bow. “Thank you for the meal.”

That said, Akutagawa stepped up over the lip of the roof, next to Atsushi’s head, and vanished over the side. Atsushi exhaled a small laugh, pushed his hand back through his hair, and looked down at his mess, all over his clothing.

Fuck, what had he just gotten himself into?

<< Chapter 1 || Chapter 3 >>

#bungou stray dogs #smarch #shin soukoku #sskk #vampire fic #lemony fresh

[yeehawbvby]

More Apple Spider lore that nobody asked for!!

- Her web shooters are organic!! Ignoring any physics etc. that might make it impossible for her to not be able to shoot through clothing uwu

- She grew fangs after getting bitten, but she grinds her teeth in her sleep, so they quickly became blunted again. She’s technically venomous but has no real way of implementing it

- Before moving full-time to the spidey HQ, she was an entomologist (studied and cared for bugs for a living) at the Central Park Zoo from her dimension. Rather than being a zookeeper she worked “behind the scenes” in a lab.

- One of her favorite little spiders was the one that wound up biting her and making her a spider woman. She forgave it, thinking it was cooler than it was scary, and snuck the lil fella out one day as a pet (so as to stop it from biting and mutating anybody else)

- Named the spider Pine (Pine + Apple………)

- Apple took up aerial silk classes after becoming a spider person because she wants to look cool and graceful and whatever with her webs. Surprisingly, it works

- This is still only a maybe, but I think she is from Earth-0609, because of fucking course she would be

- Btw she eventually does move to HQ permanently because she accidentally stopped her canon event (still TBD)

- She was brought into the spider society when this happened by Miguel. He was notified of her world collapsing and had already been observing her in secret as a possible recruit

- When he showed up, she was sitting on the roof to one of her favorite skyscrapers, eating falafel that she stole from her favorite food stand and crying while watching the chaos unfold around her lmao. She knew she couldn’t stop it so she just let it be

- Miguel was all “you need to come with me if you want to live querida” and Apple was all 😏 at him calling her that, but didn’t reveal yet that she speaks Spanish

- (He helped her stand up and she almost fell over because she’s tiny and he’s strong, so while still holding his hand Apple was like, “do you always sweep spider women off their feet or am I just special?” to which he was basically like “damn I should’ve let you die”)

- She’s a polyglot (well-versed/fluent in several languages) but hides it at first to try and get The Tea from Miguel/other various spiders to make her new home more entertaining and palletable

- Gets on well with Hobie because of the chaos she accidentally causes by being a hopeless flirt and a little shit. Gets on well with Peter B, Lyla and Jess even better because they love the playful bickering that they get to see when Apple and Miguel are in a room together

- Her suit, like Miguel’s, can fabricate itself on and off. It’s not a hologram exactly, though — think of it like Danny Fenton -> Phantom’s transformation. Like she presses a button on a bracelet or something, and her suit replaces her clothes

- Rather than being all pixelly etc., the suit looks like it’s someone peeling/unpeeling an apple, with a wavy/uneven cutoff at the edges when the suit is only partially on/off

- Gets chastised a bit because plenty of spider people think her big comfy scarf is inefficient

- Valid! Because it does get her stuck in certain spots she’d rather not be in, such as being yanked back by it or getting caught on things

- BUT Apple finds uses for it to spite them (I.e. ziplining with it, using it on citizens as a partial safety net while they’re falling, or a blanket in cold weather or whatev, stuff like that)

- Another reason Hobie likes and respects Apple is bc of her commitment to the goddamn scarf against all odds lmao

- Probably in her early-mid 30s but can be a bit childish at times

- AuDHD because of what somewhat-self-insert OC would she be if she wasn’t ND???

#sorry if this is messy or seems like it’s in a weird order.. I got excited lol #oc apple spider #spiderman oc #spiderverse #spider sona #spidersona oc #spidersona #spidersona atsv #atsv oc #atsv spidersona #spider man oc #spiderverse oc #shut up crisa #long post