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kafkasmuses · 23 days

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CALIGULA — luke castellan + reader : luke castellan, in all his reign, has a love for sexual pleasure, more importantly with you.

tags: mdni, inspired by ancient roman stories, luke is a pervert, dark!luke, p in v sex, jealousy, possessiveness, assistant!reader, captain!luke, luke is an awful man in this sawry

a/n: ive been binge watching the roman empire show

LONG LIVE THE EMPEROR.

41 AD.

luke castellan can’t deny how harsh of a captain he was on the princess andromeda.

he wanted to be the best captain on the sea, wanted to get his revenge on camp halfblood and the gods, wanted to live the lavish life he had always dreamed of. he thought of a life where he would drink red wine out of chalices, be fed grapes from the hands of beautiful women, or men, he wanted to be treated like a god— because in his mind, he would be the best god to ever exist.

you started out as his assistant, writing papers for him on a simple typewriter that he gave to you, a fucking typewriter. you tried to remind him it was no longer the 1950s, he scoffed like you were stupid. “you know people used them in the 1800s, right?”

your lips press together, looking at him, then the typewriter, then back to him. you offer a small smile, and he doesn’t return it, he never does, and he never will. luke took things very seriously, maybe too seriously, so he never let himself smile, let alone laugh, a bitter scoff was all you’d get from him at most.

you were pliant, luke noticed, and he liked that. you did everything he asked, every time he asked. he’d call your name, and hear your heels clicking against the wooden floorboards no less than a second later. speaking of heels, luke was strict about dress codes, too.

to call him a pervert.. well, you wouldn’t be far off.

he wanted you to wear things like tight pencil skirts, short or long, thin tights, maybe even solely stockings, stiletto heels that he’d purchased for you the second he saw you show up in mary janes, and a simple shirt or blouse. he liked glasses, too, thin, square framed ones, like bayonetta’s.

you had to wear dark red lipstick, regardless.

you hated your boss, more than anything, the way he’d walk into a room and easily command it, the way his body language reeked of cockiness, the way that despite all evilness, he still thought he was doing something for the greater good.

what you hated the most, is how much you fantasized about him.

that’s why you always ran to him so quick when he called out for you, why you endured the loud clacking of the typewriter keys even when you had to do a paper at night and he opened your door to yell at you to ‘shut the fuck up or get thrown off the damn boat.’

he was never a good man, nor a good boss, but he looked good.

you liked when he was angry, when he yelled at you, when he held your jaw so tight you were sure he’d shatter it and spit degrading words at you like you were vile. it should be such a shame that you enjoy it, but you don’t pity yourself one bit. he was meaner with you, he always cracked awful jokes with the rest of the crew, drank beers with them, lit their cigarettes, but you, you were the person he took all his anger out on.

well, at first it was anger.

then he began to ever so slowly show his desires for sexual connections. he was able to hold it in at first, act like he wasn’t missing having sex, like he wasn’t missing the simple touch of a woman or man. masturbating wasn’t keeping him sane for long, not when he didn’t have anything to masturbate to. then he began to focus his attention onto you.

you were attractive, and luke couldn’t hold back how his short glances turned to stares. his jaw ticks, lips parting, “i want you to wear shorter skirts.”

“mini skirts?” you blink at him, he had called you to his office, and his eyes were traveling over your body every second he got.

“yeah,” he pauses, “and lower cut shirts.”

before your lips can even part, he dismisses you, and bluntly stares at your ass when you walk away. it was so ironic, luke used to be such a virgin, a complete loser, but now he was nothing short of the opposite. he was cocky, he knew he was handsome, he knew people were attracted to him easily, mostly sexually.

if luke was lucky, at some stops, he might be able to bring back a few women or men home with him, they always gawked at the ship, told him how cool it is that he has a boat, that he’s a captain, and has a crew, that everyone does everything for him.

they thought it was hot, so they wanted to do things for him to, he’d take them to his quarters, and provide them with red wine before moaning could be heard all throughout the ship.

but his boat was in the middle of the sea, and has been for a month or so now, and he felt like he was going insane.

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🍷

luke was struggling to sleep, insomnia was getting the best of him, he thought that if he drank more and more wine, he would eventually wind down. he never did. he only got slopper, and aroused. the worst mix on nights like these was the bubbling frustration that he didn’t have anything to fuck, and the fact that he wanted to fuck something so bad.

his dick strains in his boxers, and his teeth grit together, mentally cursing himself for continuously offering himself one more drink, after the third glass, knowing he’d have a fourth, and a fifth. he’d drank the whole bottle, and he wasn’t even close to tired.

his body feels warm, so warm. you come to his mind almost immediately, making his his hands draw closer to the hem of his boxers. the way your ass looks in those skirts, the stockings that meet at the middle of your thigh, the sheer shirts that barely showed the color of your bra, the slight cleavage you show when leaning over to place paperwork on his desk.

he recalls the one time he had came into your room in the dead of night in search of a document, but he was immediately met with the floral of your perfume, and the way your blanket barely covered your naked form. he shouldn’t look, really, he should shy away and close the door, but he swallows thick seeing your breast, the slight parting of your legs, the way your cunt barely peeks out the messily moved blanket.

he wouldn’t have actually done it, of course, because he’s a respectable man who puts consent above all else— but he wonders what it would look like if he pushed your legs apart, moved the blanket, and spread your pussy open for him. to be sleeping naked, how scandalous. he’d never know that you purposefully put the document in your room when you knew you wanted it, you purposefully slept naked, you purposefully moved the blanket in those ‘messy’ ways.

he inhales sharply, fingers moving underneath the fabric of his boxers to graze over his cock. it’s so perverted, to think of you like this, to imagine pulling you onto his lap the next time you come into his office, fingers gripping your skin the same way they grip his cock now. you’d probably melt into his touch, so innocent, so pliant, your doe eyes staring at him like he’s the only man who had ever existed, like he’s a god. and that’s what he is, a captain, an emperor, a god.

he thinks of himself, and is immediately reminded of caligula.

the roman emperor in 31 AD, he was described by some as a tyrant, but in the beginning, he was one of the best leaders in ancient rome. he was just like luke, addicted to sexual acts, wanting all the finest things in life, and the worst part— luke was just as paranoid as him.

but that was of no worry now, he was too focused on the pleasure that coursed underneath his flesh, or the simple thought of pushing his dick into your cunt, making your eyes roll back with pleasure you’d only ever dreamed of. luke knew he could make you feel good, and eventually he would. he imagined all the positions he would push you into, on your back, on your stomach with your ass up, having you ride him— gods.

he wondered if whenever you tried to make excuses for being far too late at typing up a paper in time, he could just simply have you on your knees for him, fucking your mouth so you’d shut up. bruising your lips, ruining your lipstick, making you cry, all of those thoughts sends luke over the edge in no less than a minute or two.

his skin is sticky with sweat, fingers coated in his own cum, but all he wants is more.

𝜗𝜚 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🍷

like mentioned before, luke had a madness problem.

ever since he had been cast out, he had this odd paranoia problem, he thought the gods would strike him down at any second, that they were watching his every move, or that percy jackson would find his way to his ship and kill him himself for all the damage he’s caused.

the lack of sex wasn’t the only thing driving luke mad, it was the cage of his own mind. the fact that he’s surrounded by the very thing that the man who’s responsible for percy’s existence owns, the sea. it all makes him sick, often times there will be crashing from his quarters in the late of night, but it always stopped as soon as it started.

this night was different, it just kept going. first something being pushed over, then the breaking of glass, more crashing, more shatters, yelling, some screaming— it was a nightmare. some of the crew woke up, but you were the only one who dared to take a step out onto the deck that night, let alone approach his quarters.

knock. knock. knock.

no response, a deafening silence underneath the crashing waves and the crackling of the candle in your hand.

knock. knock.

the lack of response is worrying. he almost always responds, either it’s to tell you to fuck off, or to come in. but now, nothing. he couldn’t have hurt himself, could he? you test the waters, fingers curling around the doorknob and turning it with the expectation for it to be locked as it always is.

it was unlocked. you push the door open, glancing in to see the mess that he had made of his own room, and him just simply sitting on his bed with his head in his hands. “luke?”

“captain,” he immediately mumbles out, a correction.

“captain,” you repeat, taking a step further inside, he has offered nothing against you being inside of his quarters. you are typically never allowed in here. you move to close the door behind you, placing the candle into the nearest holder that wasn’t completely destroyed.

you turn back to him, his head was raised to look at you, arms now lazily splayed onto his spread legs in his sitting position. he was a chronic manspreader, something you noticed, but seeing him faintly hunched over pathetically like this, tired eyes staring at you, sweat beading at his temple— he was so hot.

“are you okay?” you offer, voice as sweet as ever.

“am i okay?” he scoffs, a chuckle following after, he’s never chuckled in front of you before, “am i okay, am i okay—“ he hums, “what do you think, hm? you think i’m okay?”

his voice is confronting and harsh, like he wants to see you cower down, like he wants to break you like all the other things in his room. your brows furrow together for a second, “no..?”

“no, no, atta girl— you’re catchin’ on,” he smiles at you for the first time, “why don’t you help me feel better, yeah?”

you stare at him for a second, wondering if he meant what you thought he meant, “yeah.”

“yeah.” his voice is hushed, almost mocking, “c’mere.”

you immediately walk over to him in the ambient lighting, marking out your silhouette, stepping over all the things he’s knocked over. a grin tugs at his lips, cruel and cocky, he loves how easy you do anything he asks. his hand is gentle on your waist, pulling you closer, “so good for me.”

you nod at him, letting his hand guide you down to your knees, pupils dilated up at him so perfectly. his tongue swipes along the backside of his teeth, moving his hand to hold your jaw, tilting your head to properly look up at him. maybe it was wrong to fuck his assistant, someone working for him, but it just felt so right, all of this felt like it was in the prophecy.

his thumb swipes along your bottom lip, smearing the red lipstick there, of course you put that on before coming to his room. “so pretty,” he mumbles under his breath, dipping his finger between your lips and into your mouth. your lips curve up ever so slightly, leaning into his touch, lips closing around his flesh.

he takes it away from your mouth just as quick as it was slotted between your lips, moving to undo his belt, the veins in his hands shifted with each movement of his hands, first it was his belt, then his pants, then his boxers.

you always thought luke would have a big dick, he just has that certain cockiness that makes you think he couldn’t have a small dick and be acting the way he is, but this felt like it would hardly fit in your mouth.

you glance up at him, his amused stare which immediately turns to faux concern when you say, “i don’t think it’ll fit—“

“it will,” he immediately cuts in, prying your mouth open with his thumb whilst his free hand eases your head closer, “i’ll make it fit.”

your tongue runs along the vein at the bottom of his dick, already feeling the heaviness of it against the muscle in your mouth. you had sucked a few dicks before, sure, but this one was the biggest, and the cleanest. his hand holds your jaw when you start taking him into your mouth properly, tongue flat against the bottom of his cock, eyes peering up at him through heavy lids.

his lashes flutter pathetically, mouth falling open with your every movement, the way the saliva from your mouth coats him perfectly— he needed this. it felt like a dream coming right after a nightmare, he was exhausted, sweating from his breakdown, and you were sent to him right when he needed it, an angel on his shoulder.

but you’re going too slow, and luke’s growing restless from sitting so still. he can feel the ache of your jaw, but he wishes to make it worse somehow, as cruel as it sounds. his hand moves to the back of your head, hips ever so slowly bucking into your mouth, it was barely noticeable at first, until the sound of you sputtering and gagging around him fueled him more.

his thrusts quickly turned harsh, bruising, merciless.

he only paused when you slapped at his thigh pathetically, moving off to pant heavily, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his cock. you looked so messy, so pathetic, lipstick smeared, eyes puffy from falling tears. “always wanted this, huh? i notice how you look at me, always running to my office any chance you get, such a slut.”

you nod at him, and that only makes him want to say more, “do you believe in god?”

“yes, yes,” the response is immediate.

“am i your god?”

you pause at him, processing, what would the best answer be?

yes, of course, that would be the best answer. in luke’s own mind, all this misery, all this destruction, all this betrayal, it was only the start of his story to reach the top. when caligula was next in line for the throne and his father was on his deathbed, he killed his own father with hardly any hesitation, then became one of the most memorable roman emperors alongside julius caesar.

luke had been planning the murder of hermes for a long, long time, ever since the first book about caligula he read. killing percy jackson was a failure, all several times, so he had no other choice than to just shoot for the stars.

luke’s eyes refocus onto the situation at hand rather than being stuck in his own mind, he had you pushed on your stomach with your ass up, the position he always wished to put you in, the position he’s put multiple other women and men in.

his hands smooth over your ass, memorizing the canvas that he wants to splatter paint over. there’s something so intimate about this whole ordeal, the dim lighting of sole candles in all the destruction around his room, the crashing of waves on the sides of the boat as it moves through the sea, the red wine that luke drinks from the bottle he had just picked up.

he hums at the taste, rich, perfect. “want some?”

you shake your head, and he tuts in faux disappointment, “no fun, aren’t you? just want me to fuck you? needy, needy.”

albeit his degrations, his tip presses to your entrance, lips pressing together when he pushes in— holy fuck, you were tight. luke’s breathing is ragged, he feels as though your pussy is desperately trying to squeeze an orgasm out of him in seconds. it only worsens when you accidentally glench, making his teeth grit together, he coughs out a bitter chuckle, “you did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“no, nono—“ it was too late for the begging for forgiveness, his thrusts were already brutal, slamming into you without a single regard for how much pain it would leave you in, in the morning. caligula was a possessive lover, a harsh fucker, a man ruled by jealousy and madness— luke castellan was born from the same map of caligula.

his hands grip your hips harshly, punching out sweet moans from your bitten lips with every thrust, “fuck, fuck! luke!”

luke’s tongue prods at the inside of his cheek for a mere second before his hand suddenly moves to the back of your head, harshly tugging your hair back, “captain.”

another correction.

as soon as your back hits his chest, his hand moves from your hair to your neck, gripping the delicate skin there tight. he ignores your attempts to get his attention by placing sloppy, open mouthed kisses to his jaw, leaving his skin stained with your lipstick. his eyes were too focused on the mirror placed in front of him, of course he had one there, it was cracked, but he was still able to make out the way your skin trembled underneath him, the way his thrusts sent shivers up your spine, the way he easily made you cock drunk.

it didn’t take long for him to have you cumming on him as well, in which he followed soon after with a gritted out fuck.

luke’s eyes may be glazed over when he looks back in the mirror, but he doesn’t see himself in his position, he sees caligula.

#luke castellan #luke castellan x you #luke castellan blurb #luke castellan smut #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan oneshot #pjo luke #charlie bushnell imagine #charlie bushnell x reader #charlie bushnell x you #charlie bushnell #charlie bushnell smut

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goingferalforhim · 11 months

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Hey I saw your prompts and that your requests are open? Could I get the “you are just so handsome” prompt with Megumi?

[ 2.56am ]

📂 megumi fushiguro x reader . fluff , reader is called darling , gumi just wants kisses , (characters aged up but not mentioned) . (inspo — prompt 18: “you are just so handsome”)

a/n kinda a rushed writing job , and ive been in a sort of writing block/slump . please like , reblog , comment !

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shoes scuff along the floors of the hall, megumi being too exhausted to bother lifting his feet as he approached your door. with his head hung low, hair falling into his hooded eyes, and sleep threatening to overcome, he gently brings his knuckles against the wood.

your movements are muffled as you bring yourself closer to the door, where you knew your boyfriend would be waiting—exhausted and desperate to be held.

“hey gumi,” you whisper softly. he grunts beneath his breath as he falls into your hold, arms tightly wrapping your waist, bringing your body as flushed against his as possible. he mutters soft greetings into your neck, which become mumbles of nonsense as he presses gentle kisses to the skin. “you’re kinda smelly,” you sigh, one hand ruffling through his hair as the other rubs soothingly along the span of his back.

another mess of indecipherable words are muttered against the skin of your neck, the raven-haired boys grip growing tighter as he stumbles a few feet deeper into your room—the back of your knees hit the edge of your mattress before megumi shoves you down into the comforter. his body immediately falling into the space next to yours, an arm snaking its self around your waist yet again—the boy was desperate for your warmth and comfort.

“gumi, love. go wash up,” your words tickle his lips, your minty breath drawing him closer. “gumi,” you grin as his lips brush yours.

“one kiss and i’ll go,” you sigh. as if you were against the idea of kissing your boyfriend.

“one kiss and then you go clean up,” he nods—eyes slipping shut as he leans in, capturing your lips in his.

his lips are a bit cracked, but you knew the hell he practically just went through, so you’d cut him some slack for his dry kiss. “okay, go on.” he groans as you pull your lips from his. “you promised.”

“I did no such thing,” he pouts.

“no, don’t make that face. you’re hurting my heart,” you lay flat onto your back—hands coming to cover your face, mostly to hide the lovesick look spread across your features.

“a quick shower, that’s it. and then I want to kiss you until i fall asleep,” his weight lifts from the bed and you peak from between your fingers. he’s hovering above you, an eyebrow raised.

“all the kisses you could ever want,” your words send him rushing to the shower, a giggle shaking you as you watch him disappear behind the bathroom door.

while he’s in the shower you search through your closet, finding a pair of sweats and a t-shirt you had stolen from your boyfriend long ago. setting them on the end of the bed, along with a pair of boxers he had left—specifically for moments like this.

as megumi slips from the steamed bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, he’s greeted with your soft, angel-like snores. slipping on the clothes you had set out for him, a simple action that continuously melted his heart—sent the butterflies in his stomach into spirals, he approached his side of the bed. peeling back the covers he crawled in next to you, arms looping around you, pulling you to his chest—where you belonged.

“gumi,” you mutter, fist balling his t-shirt.

“im here, darling.”

“im glad,” he grins down at you. you pull away from his chest slightly, sleepy eyes peering up at him. the corner of your lip twitches, provoking megumi to ask what you wished to say. “nothing,” you sigh. “its just,” nuzzling back into his chest, clinging onto his shirt a little tighter. “you are just so handsome.”

thank goodness the lighting was dim, and thank goodness you were drifting back to sleep—because the shade of red that painted your boyfriend’s cheeks was considered rather embarrassing.

“I love you,” he whispers into your hair. “I love you so much.”

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stararch4ngelqueen · 6 months

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domestic jason hcs? >:)

(this ask feels self-indulgent but i was VERY inspired by this one buff dude i saw on insta reels baking in a not-so-sexual way but like women in the comments are down bad and i cant really describe it im so sorry 😭)

imagine waking up to jason baking something (doesnt have to be anything could just be bread). you wanna help but the only instructions he gives you is to sit pretty, wearing his shirt and all. everytime he moves around the kitchen, he give u a lil peck on the lips if hes close enough to you. youre just sitting pretty like he asked, watching this man work and looking a little love struck cuz all you wanna do is pull him down and give him the fattest kiss for being so husband material

(dude, im yearning so much. thank u for writing a lot for jason 💞 ALSO ive seen u around in the cod tag so another thanks for ur fics there too 💞)

I’m sticking with the prompt cause I had unholy thoughts. An thank you! I appreciate your appreciation for my works ✨

This may be the tiniest bit suggestive 🌝

Time Written - 5:51 a.m

Baking at an early hour was somewhat new for Jason.

Baking at an early hour after an intense ending to an incredible date night was incredibly new for Jason.

His hands were occupied with an intriguing scene of soft dough and hard, rich yellow butter on a marble countertop. His muscles at work folding in the pockets of butter into the dough, pressing it with the heels of his palms.

“Morning, mama.” His morning voice held that early rasp in his tone that tickled you just right. You reciprocated his greeting as you walk into the kitchen, dressed in one of his shirts he aggressively yanked off the night before.

There he stood in grey sweatpants. Baking something delectable for seemingly no reason.

“What’s the occasion?” You question as you approach the counter, admiring his bed rugged hair adding onto his every attractive appearance.

“Cloudy outside, which means baking time.”

“Baking time?” The slightest glance at your cheeky little grin made him amusingly scoff.

“Baked goods,” he clarified with a head gesture behind him. “Coffee’s ready for ya, babe.”

Soon, the kitchen will flood with the warm aroma of browning butter and cooking sugar, invading throughout your home for a very long evening. Neighbors will get jealous over the smell of bakery air, hopefully helping them ignore the noises prior to the other night.

It was quite a sight to watch, his muscles flexing with a focused flare along his brow. You almost didn’t hear his insistence the second time towards the cinnamon coffee waiting in the pot for you.

“Gonna stick around? You’ll get first glance at what I’m making.”

“Which is?” You pry, watching him approach the sink to wash his hands.

“Crossiants,” he admits after drying his hands, giving the tip of your nose a peck. “With chocolate.”

“Look at you, my man’s a baker.” You smile while leaning against the counter, feeling your heart throb romantically from his chaste kisses.

“Not what you expected, huh?”

“What, my Red Hood busting skulls and baking? So many single moms would chase after you if they could.”

That comment has him unexpectedly laugh. Not the worst thing he’s been told, so he’ll take it. Poor single mothers, too bad he’s already taken.

“I thought you meant the chocolate would be inside?” You ask after peeking at the dough he wrapped up in cling wrap.

“No,” He shakes his head. “See, I thought that, but I like the idea of dipping them into melted chocolate a whole lot better.”

“Where’d you get the inspiration?”

“France,” he amusingly huffs with a shrug after approaching to take the packet you handed to him. “Thanks baby. Where else?”

He slips the packet of buttered dough into the fridge before turning towards the stove, almost running into you as you beat him to it, peering into a saucepan full of melted chocolate.

“Hey, hey.” Cool, clean hands gently grasped hold of your shoulders, gently nudging you away from his little workspace. “Easy on those eyes, almost knocked you into an accident.”

“Need some help with anything?” You offer, reminding him of when he used to ask his mother the same question. Happy little memories that brought embers of warmth in his heart.

“You can be of huge help,” He begins, calloused hands grazing down along your fingerprint shaped bruised hips before hoisting you up in his arms like a little doll.

“By sitting pretty, an’ letting me work.”

He plops you down on a stool he pulled out from the island counter, giving you a perfect little spot to watch him work. You slouch after he turns away, watching him return to his little objective on the stove.

“You just melt chocolate in the pan like that?”

“Sorta,” Jason tilts his head after grabbing a spoon, stirring the smooth, ganache-like chocolate concoction around. “France’s version of hot chocolate. Some milk, cream, a little sugar.”

You hum as a response, watching the muscles along the back of his left shoulder move as he enacts upon such a simple, minor task. Jason probably said something else, along the lines of not wanting such a beautiful body of chocolate boil on the stove, but it wasn’t much of your concern as it was his.

Maybe your main concern was how exactly did the scratches you left along his back didn’t break skin, clinging onto him for dear life as they flexed along your greedy palms.

He probably knew that, he was hiding a smile for all you could tell if you paid any attention.

“My girl want a taste?” He offers, his real gaze snapping your mind back into reality. You nod, anxiously sitting up in your seat.

He spoons warm, melted chocolate on the top of your tongue, watching it dribble down your bottom lip. The pink of your little tongue swiped up the remnants, all for Jason’s adoring gaze to witness.

Your reaction varies upon the subtle lack of sweetness from the chocolate.

“It’s not that sweet. Is it dark—?”

Your words are stolen when he kisses you, cradling your face within his two warm hands after carelessly setting down the spoon.

His heavy lidded gaze meets yours after breaking off the kiss, his cheeks flushed with affectionate warmth.

“Don’t know,” his glistening lips curve upwards after licking his lips. “Tastes pretty sweet to me.”

He turns away, as if he hadn’t committed such a crime in the first place.

You’re left watching once again, anxious nerves preventing you from sitting still. Fidgety fingers lingering in your lap, grasping along the lower hem of your shirt.

“Also coffee,” Jason pitches as if he forgot. “Added a little espresso to enhance the taste. You, uh… never got your coffee, babe.”

Oh. Right. The first thing he told you when you came in.

“Sorry,” you sheepishly admit, slightly shifting your hips whilst on the stool. “Got a little distracted.”

He chuckles, not even needing a detective’s mindset to understand fully why. “Did you now?”

Not giving you a chance to answer, Jason sets the saucepan off the burner before turning full attention towards you. Swooping you off the stool you sat, hoisting you ontop of a warm, clean counter.

His torso pressed against yours, keeping you comfortably confined between a marble surface and a hard place. His hands caress along your torso, thumbs trickling over your stiff nipples through your shirt, still sore from his teeth marks.

“Took you long enough,” he grumbles against the shell of your ear. His lips press against your neck as you swallow, kissing down along your collarbone. “Figured you’d have stayed sleeping in ‘till I was done here. Guessin’ last night wasn’t enough for you?”

“Your fault for putting on a show.” You whisper, hooking your legs the best you could around his broad waist.

He chuckles against your neck, his excitement as palpable as his pearly smile expressed. “Your fault for watchin’, mama.”

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x fem!reader #dc jason todd #jason todd x y/n #there’s no unique reason I chose crossiants #just sounded fun 🌝#when the post nut clarity so strong you gotta bake your girl some goods #gotham knights jason todd #jason todd x #jason todd dc #don’t hate me

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florencemtrash · 8 months

Text

Hummingbird: Chapter Six

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

What if the Earth-1610 (Miles’s universe) version of Miguel’s wife was actually Miles’s AP Art teacher?

Masterlist

Warnings: Mention of violence and injuries

“Why didn’t you call me? Esto nunca debería haber sucedido.”

“Hey, it’s alright. Keep your eyes open ok?”

“Mantén los ojos abiertos. Stay awake, Y/n. Mantente despierto por mí.”

“Is she going to be ok?”

“What’s going on? What happened?!”

You forced your eyes open, blinking the sleep and time from them as your mind slowly worked to clear out the fog. Voices had murmured to you throughout your sleep, whispering words that sounded kind and gentle, but you couldn’t hold onto the specifics of what they said.

Pain shot through uncooperative arms when you tried to sit up in bed, grimacing at the gross taste in your mouth. How long had you been asleep for? The soreness in your back told you it had been a long time.

“Hey, kiddo. Might not want to try that.” Peter said as you struggled. His hand was strong against your back as you shifted restlessly. The sheets smelled of laundry detergent and lemons. Overhead the lights of the Spidey med bay hummed softly.

“Peter?” You muttered groggily. Your vocal cords were tight and gruff like a car engine that had been left idle for too long.

“The one and only!”

You finished clearing out your eyes and your voice. It was good to see a familiar face.

“How long have I been out? I feel like shit.”

“You look like shit too.” He said with a forced grin like he hadn’t just lost one of his best friends, “Do you remember what happened?”

You accepted the water he handed you, downing it in five seconds with a groan. Your hands and arms were wrapped like a mummy’s and you could feel the soft gauze rub against the sensitive skin beneath whenever you moved.

“Yeah… Yeah I think I do.” The IV drip, drip, dripped saline steadily into your arm, “How long have I been out, Peter? You never answered.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, still wearing his pink bathrobe and matching slippers when Mayday was nowhere to be found. At this point fatherhood had become a new superhero role for him, so it made sense he should dress accordingly at work.

“Ten days?”

“Ten days?!” You sat up with a grimace, “Joder.”

Did someone call me out of work? God, I’m hungry. Isn’t Miles’s reference letter due soon? I need a shower. Fuck.

Peter held you down gently when you tried to roll out of bed. If Miguel discovered you’d gotten up on his watch, he’d never hear the end-

“You’re awake.”

Miguel’s frame filled the doorway, a small tray of food held within white-knuckled hands.

You were here. You were safe. He had to keep reminding himself of that.

Shit. Peter B. spun around on his heels, letting you go and spreading his arms open wide like he’d just unveiled a marble statue at a ceremony.

“Surprise!” He sang, your irritated face appearing in Miguel’s vision from around Peter’s back.

You may have been the one to nearly die, but Miguel looked like he’d been put through the ringer. His red eyes were bloodshot and bruised, curls tousled, and shoulders slumped over like a deflated balloon.

“She’s awake! A real fighter, this one.”

Miguel stalked forward, sinking into the seat next to your bed that Peter had abandoned and sliding the tray of food in front of you. Everything about him spoke of exhaustion, but he hid it well as he pressed a hand to your forehead, feeling for a fever. His palm was warm, chasing away some of the pulsing pain in your head.

“How are you feeling?”

Peter B. pouted from behind Miguel. Hey, I’m here too! His expression said, drawing a small smile from you.

“Pretty terrible, I won’t lie. But at least I’m not dead.”

Miguel winced and fell silent. You regretted saying anything.

Peter fluttered around the room like a honey bee, chatting your ear off and taking the edge off of the tension that radiated from Miguel as he dutifully checked over your wounds. He barely said anything, only asking you to open your mouth so he could take your temperature or lift your arm so he could wrap the blood pressure cuff around your bicep.

Everyone had been worried about you, taking turns to sit at your bedside and wait for you to awaken (although the rotation was also made so that Miguel would be forced to take time to rest… He didn’t).

Even some of the Spiders you weren’t familiar with left behind cards and small stuffed bears - a consistent get well gift across universes, although Spider Cat did bring you a packet of catnip. They formed a small mountain of trinkets on the coffee table.

“We’ll leave you alone to rest.” Miguel said bluntly, stopping Peter’s rant in his tracks after seeing your eyes begin to glaze over and flutter shut.

“Oooof, sorry. I didn’t mean to talk your ear off. Hey! If you need anything, just call. I’m sure Miles will stop by later, but I told him you’d be upset if he skipped school. Oh! And I’ll bring Mayday with me next time I visit. She always makes people feel better. Doesn’t she, Miguel?”

Miguel’s neutral expression didn’t budge when Peter nudged him with an elbow. He only continued to herd Peter closer and closer out the door.

“Anyway, I’ll see you later!” Peter said, finally disappearing around the corner. Miguel huffed. Took him long enough.

“Wait!” You called out before Miguel could escape back to his office to brood. “Could-could you stay?” The words tumbled out before you could stop them and you cringed. You didn’t like to ask him for things but… considering the circumstances…

He walked back to you, rigidly sinking back into his seat and pushing the tray closer to you.

“You should eat. Build up your strength.” He said, clasping his hands tightly against his stomach as you hesitated and then began to eat ravenously.

He’d been in your position before - exhausted and confused and reeling from a near-death experience. A pit of shame formed in his stomach. He hadn’t been able to protect you from it. He’d been on edge ever since you’d joined Spider Society and he thought - he’d hoped - that by keeping you from the more dangerous corners of the multiverse, you’d never experience what you’d just gone through. First the incident with the Spot and now this...

“How bad was it?” You asked tentatively, poking at the leftover fries on your plate. You obeyed the comfortable stretch of your stomach, cautious of getting sick after not eating solid food for over a week. “How bad was I?”

“Pretty bad.” Miguel said gruffly and honestly, staring at a blank spot on the wall, “We didn’t think you’d make it for a while.”

You nodded. You remembered bits and pieces of the moment between sending the anomaly back to his dimension and passing out. The electricity flowing through your body had made your skin feel like it was being peeled off the bone, every nerve screaming out in pain until your brain had short circuited and shut itself off. You were lucky that the burns on your arms were all that remained.

“But I did.” You said, gently reminding him. He closed his eyes and dropped his head into his hands. He didn’t think… he couldn’t.

“Migs-”

The nickname threw him off guard. No one had called him that since his wife died.

He stood up so quickly the chair squeaked in protest.

“Get some rest, Y/n.” He said without looking at you, “Call if you need anything.” He tapped the touchscreen device he left on the table - his universe’s version of a cell phone - before striding out the door without another word.

You clenched your jaw and sank back into the pillows, part of you wishing you’d stayed asleep for a little while longer.

It took time for your body to feel like your own again. Most days you shouted at deaf limbs to move smoothly and carry things properly. Miguel had already written to Brooklyn Visions Academy about your medical leave of absence and had even gone so far as to visit your apartment to clean your kitchen and fridge while you remained bedridden at Spidey HQ. But for all the big and small ways he showed you that he cared, he neglected to do one thing - actually talk to you.

You shoved the sketchbook off the table, colored pens and pencils scattering on the floor as you dropped your head into your arms and silently screamed. Nearly a month after your injury and you still couldn’t quite hold things properly.

Your fine motor skills should return over time. Was what Dr. Parker had told you and the words should and time had been rattling around in your brain ever since.

Should or will? And how much time would it take?

“Fingers still not quite working right?” Hobie asked, leaning so far back in his seat with his legs propped up that he was nearly parallel with the floor. He held a tattered book in his hands, shifting colors with every page flip like the world’s worst chameleon.

“No.” You said, smoothing back your hair. You’d lost the bandages, but your skin was still tender to the touch in places and numb in others. Lichtenberg figure scars trailed up from your hands all the way to your collarbone, growing there like lichen on a tree. “It’s gotten better. A lot better. But it’s still not the same.”

“You’ll get there eventually.” Hobie said. He knelt on the floor and started to clean up the mess you had made, “Then you’ll be good as new.”

“How do you know?” You sighed, joining him.

He shrugged, “I don’t. But I was right before about you being able to send someone back to their own dimension without a watch. I’ve got a good feeling I’ll be right about this too.”

He offered you a small smile and a helping hand, both of which you accepted.

You spent the rest of the day together, joined by Peter, Gwen, and Miles who cheered you through your daily exercises. You were getting strong again, albeit slowly.

“I want to see you kiss the ground!”

“Show that stress ball who’s BOSS!”

“Yeah, THROW THAT DONGLE!”

“What did you just call-”

Miguel hovered by the door, never stepping foot into the training room with you in it. Never speaking to you, although he desperately wanted to. When you caught his eye, blinking in surprise as you kneeled in the training ring sweaty and tired, he bolted.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.” He muttered to himself as he strode to the office you’d affectionately coined his “vampire lair.” Although he’d kept his distance, he’d never left you alone. When you asked Peter about getting things from your apartment, he was the one who visited your dimension. When you initially had trouble walking after your injury, he was the one who tracked down the best physicians and physical therapist variants he could find. He was breaking protocol left and right to make sure you were ok and he knew it. But...

“Lyla, could you pull up the video?” She didn’t need to ask for clarification on which video. It was always the same one. Always the same happy memory, followed by a terrible and harsh reality.

Gabriella’s smiling face flashed on the screen, her bubbly laughter rising high above Miguel’s own baritone chuckle as she threw her arms around his shoulders and slapped that silly blue bow on his head. He’d taken that video to send to you after she scored the winning goal. You never made it to the game.

It was a painful reminder of everything that was at stake. He’d taken too many liberties, allowed himself to get too close to you. If he lost you like he’d lost Gabriella. He-

“Is that her?”

Miguel’s heart dropped into the pit of his stomach.

“Is that Gabriella?” You asked, swallowing thickly as Miguel turned around, leaving the video paused on two smiling faces. He wasn’t smiling now.

“Yes.” He answered softly, guilt heavy on his voice as you moved closer and inspected the girl on screen.

Your breath caught in your throat, coming out as a strangled gasp.

She looked like Miguel… She looked like you…

“She’s got your smile.” You said softly, brushing away the unexpected dampness that had collected in your eyes.

You’d been frustrated all day. Frustrated at yourself for your slow healing and your uncooperative body. When you had come to Miguel’s lair it was with the purpose of yelling at him for not visiting, and part of you still wanted to do that. But seeing him vulnerable and tired in front of his daughter your daughter Gabriella had taken some of the fight out of you.

“I always thought she had yours. Well, the other-”

“I understand, Miguel.”

Silence stretched between you, tense and thin and waiting to be sliced through. You made the move.

“Why haven’t you visited me?” The words came out sharper, more accusatory than you’d expected them to.

Although Miguel flinched on the inside, he forced himself to take that pain and longing and shove it back into the little box he’d crafted for those feelings in the corner of his heart. The little box that you’d been steadily hacking away at from the very moment he met you.

“It wouldn’t have been appropriate.”

“Appropriate? What the hell is that supposed to mean? It’s not appropriate for you to visit a friend?”

His jaw clenched at the word friend. It was a flimsy word, too weak to hold up all the feelings you held for each other. He ignored your question and barrelled through his next words, words that he’d been contemplating over the last month you’d been stuck in the med bay.

“Peter J. says you’re well enough to go back home and back to work if you feel ready. He wants you here every Wednesday at 7pm for the next six weeks-”

“You’re not answering my question-”

“I’ve got a write up for you to bring to any physician in your dimension-”

“Miguel, stop ignoring-”

“If you need documentation. In the meantime-”

“Y ni siquiera me estás escuchando-”

“I’m taking you off the team.”

You took a step back, the realization of what he’d just said hitting you like a slap. “What did you say?”

Miguel gritted his teeth, eyes sliding down to the floor so he wouldn’t have to see that quiet look of devastation on your face. You were having none of it, immediately getting close to him and pressing your hands against his chest. The pads of your fingers were delicate but forceful as they tilted his chin up, forcing him to look into your eyes.

“Miguel, look at me.” Quiet. Desperate.

“I’m taking you off the team.” He repeated, clenching his jaw so tightly he could feel the grinding of his teeth.

“What-why would-why?”

“You almost died, Y/n. That stunt of yours could’ve gotten you killed.”

“Stunt? Is that really what you’re calling it?”

“You’re not cut out for this.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

It was bullshit and he did know it.

“We couldn’t call you.” You prodded him with a finger, “We couldn’t trap him using the usual methods. We could barely hold him off long enough for anyone to come help. If I hadn’t done what I did, who the hell knows what would have happened? To Miles. To Gwen. To the millions of people living in New York. You need me Miguel, and not just for the superhero crap.”

What hadn’t occurred to you was that he knew exactly how much he needed you… and that was what terrified him so much.

“The decision’s been made, Y/n.”

“By you. So change it.”

“I’m not changing my decision.” Miguel growled, grabbing the hand that you’d been jabbing him with.

So this was the Miguel that everyone had told you about. Not the soft, brooding, sarcastic man you’d come to know. Not the Spider-Man whose humor revolved around making quippy comments. Not the Spider-Man who claimed to be the roughest and straight-laced of them all while still letting the cooks put his face on their signature burger. Not the smiling, laughing Miguel from the video with a blue bow in his hair.

No. This Miguel was short-tempered and hammered from steel.

So why did he still hold your hand so gently, clutching it to his chest like he wanted to keep you there?

He shrugged you off, finally closing the screen on the video of him and Gabriella. Something about that made your blood boil.

“So what now?” You seethed, refusing to let this go. Not even as his fingers started to fly over the keyboard and his mind struggled to go elsewhere.

“You can go home. You can go back to the med bay.”

You can stay here with me. You can help me get through all of this.

Miguel’s heart screamed at him. His brain screamed back so loudly he felt his hold on his emotions stretch to its breaking point.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Your voices had been steadily rising throughout the argument. So when his broad shoulders rose and fell with a heavy sigh, one hand coming up to rub at his temples, you thought you’d finally gotten to him.

“¡Dime la verdad, Miguel! Why are you taking me off the team?”

“I told you the truth earlier. You’re not cut out for this.”

“BULLSHIT!”

He slammed his hand down on the keyboard, cracking it in two and sending keys clattering to the floor.

“I’M NOT LOSING YOU!” He roared, eyes alight and burning like the sun itself. “Not again!” His eyes squeezed shut like he couldn’t stand the sight of you, chest rising and falling with desperate gulps of air.

You stood there, lightly swaying on your feet like a boat caught in an unexpected storm.

“I am not your fucking wife.” Your voice cracked, “You didn’t lose me before and unless you tell me to walk out that door right now, you will never lose me. Ok? I will stay here - with you - if you just fucking ask me to.”

You expected something, anything, from Miguel. But after a minute of silence passed with him standing like a statue in front of you, you swallowed your tears before they could fall and blinked away.

It wasn’t your intention to go home. You’d planned to go back to the med bay, curl up, and sleep away your troubles before stealing a watch in the morning. But like a broken dam can’t hold back water, your emotions and powers couldn’t be contained.

When you looked around at your cleaned apartment, the faintest smell of Miguel’s cologne still stuck to the couch pillows, you sank to your knees and started to cry.

<- Previous chapter Next chapter ->

_________

Author's note:

Autumn is here! And the colder, somber atmosphere in the coffee shop today helped inspire this chapter. I had a plan for this fic... I abandoned it long ago. But, that being said, I hope to have things wrapped up in the next 2-3 chapters and to bring some closure to the first multi-chapter fic I will have ever truly completed.

As always, I hope you're all taking care of yourselves and that your Autumn drinks are tasting ✨delicious✨

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @geraskier-thots @howabouticallyou @sweetheartlizzie07 @dont-mind-me27 @omg-edzia-stuff @sarcastically-defensive17 @trouble-sistar @saltyluminaryvoid @lunablue001 @sadslasher13 @yas-v @thel0v3hashira143 @trishuh8 @vague-flying-shape. @tiana76 @dinuxia-bhm @mxtokko @devilsrose666 @natbratty @zettoaizawa-shusband @dorck26 @notasadgirlipromise @niyanispunk @thecraziestcrayon @athenxt @imnotyourbcbe @jannajuju @lunamoonbby @elle-19 @aces148 @sseleniaa @elaineiswithyou-blog @summerli-u @rattlethemskulls @sunseekerlove @bubbabobabubbles @loonalockley @aleombre @littlelilies @07-bilin @nerdalicios @insanely-creative-things @enby-rising @nataliahemsworth @coralineyouareinterribledanger @louderfortheback @damnzelsoul @enheduannasposts @bontensbabygirl @mynameiswilliamblake @hyperfixationwho @corpsebridenightamare @mikeys-thighs

#miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #atsv x reader #miguel o'hara x wife reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x spiderwoman!reader #miguel x spidersona #miles morales #gwen stacy #spider verse #atsv #hobie brown #peter b parker #angst

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aliaology · 6 months

Text

NOW THAT WE DONT TALK

summary: yn makes it to michigan with her friend sabrina, shockingly, reconnecting with old friends and also bumping into bad memories.

series masterlist

you felt weird, the stares of others pouring heavily onto your body. you didn’t like it, the feeling, whatsoever. the crowd parted as you walked into the house. the memories from this house flooded through your mind, from running to your room away from jack, to even skinny dipping with him in the lake.

you watched cole leap up and made his way to you, leaving a very uncomfortable jack and trevor behind. "bells! you made it" he grinned.

the shorter boy threw his arms around you in happiness. "hey coley, i told you i'd be here" you smiled, hugging him back.

"i know but it's just, unreal! i haven't seen you in forever!" he smiled.

you frowned. "im sorry cole, ive been really busy in toronto and it doesn't help that i feel so out of place in michigan now.." you trailed off.

"dont sweat it, bells. im just glad you're here" he smiled at you. "how long are you staying here for?" he asked.

"well— sab leaves tomorrow, im staying to get my dorm situated back at umich" you told. cole nodded.

"get lunch with me tomorrow then? i want to catch up" you just nodded before hearing your name get called. looking behind you, you see some of jack's teammates.

jack's teammates, john marino and nico hischier always liked you. hell, you still talked to them to ask how games went and just how they were.

"ill talk to you later coley" you grinned.

cole nodded and went back to trevor and jack. trevor held a sour look on his face while jack looked pissed. you grabbed sab’s arm and brought her with you to john and nico.

"hi johnny, hi nico" you smiled at them, giving them each hugs once you got to them. "its been awhile." you added.

"seriously, a long time. have you been in toronto the entire time?" john asked.

you nodded. "yeah, i moved in with my brother. im with him for just two more weeks until i move into my new apartment." you smiled.

"really? where you moving to?" nico asked.

"new york, actually." you grinned. "maybe ill drive over to nj and pop in."

nico grinned, "i'd be careful with that one, y/n. i cant lie, jacks been in a little bit of a twist since your song came out." he spoke.

john nodded. "more standoff-ish, but he had it coming.”

you heard sab snort from behind you, causing you to grin along. "sorry its just— one of my songs ends with ‘he had it coming’ and it reminded me of that.” sabrina spoke.

"its okay— how have you both been?” nico asked. you looked at sabrina with a hesitation glint in your eyes. she just sent you a nod.

“ive been— okay? uhm, just a lot going on currently. very stressed i dont know— i just cant wait to get back to umich.” you explained.

“and i have to go back to LA tomorrow so i have to soak my time up with my girl.” sabrina grinned, tossing an arm around your neck.

"uh oh— warning, trevor is on his way over.” john said, bringing his cup to his mouth to quiet his words before taking a sip of whatever alcoholic drink he had.

you tensed up slightly, not turning your head, you kept close to sabrina.

"what up guys, how you enjoying the party? cole's wondering." trevor faked a smile.

"oh, very fun if i do say so myself." sabrina sarcastically spoke.

you nudged her slightly, elbowing her in the side. she sent you a glare, basically stating ‘cut the shit.’

trevor sarcastically smiled. "well isn't that just peachy? anyone here finding someone to go home with tonight? i know it shouldn't be too hard for some of you."

you grab nico's drink, sipping it yourself. "maybe— i heard that dixie girl is single, might ask her to go home with me.” you shrugged.

the four guys went completely silent. you coughed, "anyone up for another drink? i think i need to get drunk tonight." and you walked away.

“oh my god” sabrina laughed, immediately going after you.

“fucking bitch”

trevor scoffed, walking away in anger. john and nico looked at each other, wide eyes. "holy shit."

lol hey... this sucked but hey! tags: @honethatty12 , @slaythehousebootsdown13 , @lovinbarzal , @outrunangelss , @absolutelyhugh3s , @hockeyboysarehot , @shadowsndaisies @lxnceclercs

#hockey #jack hughes #nhl imagine #nhl #nhl hockey #new jersey #quinn hughes #new jersey devils #jack hughes x reader #luke hughes #jack hughes x you #jack hughes x y/n #trevor zegras #mitch marner #auston matthews #toronto maple leafs #now that we don't talk

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nekokoaa · 10 months

Text

The Agreement - Miguel O'Hara x Therapist!Reader (III)

Summary: It was simple. No kissing. No sex. Hugs and hand-holding only. The goal was to help Miguel feel a little less lonely sometimes. That was your job as one of the therapists at HQ, to mentally stabilize everyone’s mind, including the boss’s.

In other words, you and Miguel make a deal.

Rated Explicit, fluff, smut

4K words | (3/5) chapters

Chapters:

(I) (II) (III) (IV) (V)

Author's notes: I work as a freelance copywriter so I had to prioritize my projects but I still managed to get this done! Enjoy! :) Let me know if you want to be a part of the tag list.

Also on AO3

III.

Sometimes you wish you were mindless—just a rusty cog of a machine in a 9 to 5 corporate job. Simply, a taciturn sheep led by a shepherd, waiting for the day a butcher’s knife is pressed against its neck. It was easier to handle life in such a way. Regrets can never be born when allied with carelessness.

But it was something beyond you. Clearly. The throes of passion had tempted you that night. His hand on your hip firmly held you in place, fingers pressed into your suit. Covetous crimson eyes searched between your eyes and lips long enough that the sweat of your skin gathered at your clavicles. But you managed to resist his heat, disappointing, yes, but at least you still had your dignity—your morals. If it wasn’t for that, you might’ve been in his bed that night, rocking your hips against his without a single care in the world.

Three weeks had passed by and you haven’t had a session with him since that night. You were canceling them in hopes that the fire between you fizzles. With distance, desire usually fades so you only hoped that night was just your hormones acting up and there wasn’t a deeper meaning to how you felt.

Between that time, you had the opportunity to meet Gwen Stacy from 65. She was a nice girl, cool, and very much like all of you. Burdened with the sense of justice with a side of wittiness.

She was popular, especially among the Peters who had lost their Gwens. They looked at her like she was a what-if moment and were impressed by her, but you knew you’ll be seeing them on your office couch soon enough.

Hobie was practically best friends with her now. The late night sessions with Hobie were a rare occurrence these days. Like a stray, he found a new person to feed his interests.

Jess favored her the most. Reminded her of her younger days, and how impressive she was at that age—still is, as she’s been carrying a baby in her stomach while doing her missions flawlessly.

Miguel was indifferent. At least that’s how he acted. But as long as work was getting done, you were leveling up the relationship bar with him.

Out of everyone, Peter B was home to her. To see a familiar face amongst like-minded strangers had helped her settle in faster than you expected. Seeing them together made them look like family.

Because of the great reputation she had around the society, today you allowed Gwen to pull you away from the safety of your office straight to Miguel’s for what she called emotional support. There was something she wanted to ask him—a request. And she had the idea that your presence would soften him up somehow.

“Why do you think that?” When you asked, Gwen looked back at you with a knowing smile. Her hand still latched onto your wrist like a snake squeezing its prey. She guided you through the cavernous hall of tech that led to Miguel’s office, the pathway seemed to grow darker the closer you got.

“I see how you two look at each other during meetings.” She said effortlessly like it was a fact. You let out a cough like you choked on air, already shaking your head to her conclusion.

“You know he’s always leading them—what? Do you expect me to look at the ceiling or something?” Gwen laughed at this, but it didn’t look like she was convinced.

Walking in, you had expected Miguel’s office to be darker than the hall leading towards it, but it was instead imbued with a ruddy tint, and streaks of sliver threads surrounded the area Miguel was standing in. He was in the middle of briefing a few Spider-Men for a mission on Gaia-3000. Miguel always made sure to remind his agents of the canon events before going on a mission to prevent the loss of the universe. It was more important than the mission itself.

The briefing didn’t last long as Miguel noticed you enter with Gwen. His gaze could’ve riveted you to the floor, the look on his face was neither soft nor austere—perhaps aloof would best describe how he looked at you. Yet you wanted to believe there was something behind those eyes of his because not once did they leave you since you entered.

It was until the Spider-Men walked into their portals that Miguel’s attention moved to the floating projections. The silver webs of fate orbited around him as if he were a sun. He would’ve looked occupied if it weren’t for his eyes moving between you and the projections.

“Doc.” He greeted you once you were in front of him, looking down at you through the hologram of a canon event that floated in between you two. There was a moment—just a moment where his eyes looked soft… but it could’ve been the trick of the hologram.

“Miguel.” You had to suck your lips in to stop yourself from smiling. You hated to admit it, but you were happy to speak to him after so long. Staying away from him was a selfish decision, one that you regretted now that you stood in front of him.

Your heart thumped in bliss, the warmth from that night revisiting you like an old friend. How inane of you to think that distance would’ve settled this emotion. It was already being stitched onto your soul from the moment this agreement started—the very needle sunken in when his hand stretched out of that portal into your apartment many months ago. You couldn’t pretend anymore.

You fell for him. Regardless of whether he felt the same or not.

“Uh, I’m here too…” Gwen had a slight smile on her face, bending forward with a small wave to Miguel.

“Gwen,” you could tell Miguel forced a smile, fangs appearing while none of the light reached his eyes. It lasted a moment before it dropped to his usual scowl. Miguel then turned around to face his floating platform that started its slow descent to the ground. “I’m sure you already had a tour of the place unless you’re just here to say hello.”

“I wanted to talk to you about something!”

“If a universe isn’t collapsing, or an anomaly hasn’t appeared, then Jess can handle it.”

“But it’s important! I just figure it would make our jobs easier. You know, making sure the universes are in order?”

The rumble of the descending platform had filled in for Miguel’s silence. He peeked behind his shoulder, his eyes looking past Gwen’s and into yours before they lowered to the ground. He then folded his arms against his chest, sighing. “I’m listening.”

Gwen immediately beamed, light filling her eyes. “Okay!” You could tell her entire energy ignited. Her arms flailed with every word that left her lips. She was animated—excited, glowing like a sun rising from the horizon, its rays brighter as the seconds go by. If anyone were to watch her, they too would feel elated by her presence alone.

But as the sun rises in one part of the world, it sets in the other. Her idea was nothing but grave to you, the dread in your face impossible to hide as she spoke with an open mind—naivety in her words. You couldn’t blame her because it’s possible no one told her yet, not Jess and surprisingly not Peter B. If she had told you of her idea prior, you wouldn’t have come here to support her. Just the thought of her idea could be considered mutiny to the entire cause… to Miguel.

You cast your eyes down, afraid to even lift them towards Miguel. You didn’t have to. You could already feel it brewing, simmering like water on a stovetop. A part of you internally begged for Gwen to shut up, or wished the sound of the descending platform was loud enough to overtake her voice. Miguel wasn’t facing either of you but you could still feel a weight on top of your shoulders, drilling you into the floors, your limbs heavier than sacks of sand.

Gwen went on and on until she was rambling, probably because she was excited or nervous. You couldn’t exactly tell. It was until the platform finally reached the ground that Gwen ended her request with a “pretty please” and a large smile on her face.

That smile didn’t last long.

“No,” Miguel spoke softly.

“Wha…” she faltered, physically her shoulders dropped. “What? Wait—why? I mean—he would be such a great asset to our group and—Probably one of the best Spider-mans I’ve met. The things he can do— He’s amazing , Miguel.”

“I said, no.” And it was final. Gwen knew that but she still pushed, making her argument, excuses, anything. Miguel silenced her with a heavy sigh, fingers moving to pinch the bridge of his nose. You expected anger when he turned to face her but no, there was nothing but sympathy in his eyes. Sympathy for what he had to reveal to her. He towered over her and with a heavy hand on her shoulder, said:

“That Miles Morales… was never supposed to be a Spider-Man. He’s not one of us. He’s an anomaly , Gwen, the original anomaly.”

At those words, it was like a string was pulled, released and an arrow soared and struck her chest. Gwen was trying to make sense of it all but nothing made sense no matter how long she thought about it.

Miguel continued regardless. With the command of his hands, the projections swirled around you three, depicting the moment when Spider-42 fell into Earth-1610, bit the wrong Miles Morales and in turn, the Spider-man from his universe died. Your real comrade.

Gwen didn’t want to believe it. Shaking her head as she stared at each projection. The truth floated around her. Thoughts ran a mile a minute. It would’ve been better if Peter B. told her instead of Miguel. Maybe if she heard it from a trusted friend, it would’ve been easier to believe. But Gwen knew there was no reason for Miguel to lie about this. What motive could Miguel have to not let Miles join the Spider Society?

“Miles Morales-1610 as Spider-man was a mistake.” His words to her were the final nail to a coffin. With the skidding sound coming from her shoes, she turned around and bolted out of Miguel’s office.

“Gwen!” You were about to chase after her until Miguel’s voice cut through the air.

“You think I’m done here?”

You physically jumped at how loud he sounded like thunder had rolled and rumbled the floor under your feet. You turned towards him and immediately you regretted it. What was brewing before was most certainly his anger, saved solely for you while Gwen was spared because of her naivety. But you—you knew better than to associate yourself with the anomaly. If only Miguel could give you a chance to explain yourself.

“Miguel, I—”

He didn’t let you finish. His hand latched onto your wrist, pulling you deeper into his office and into a room beyond the shadows. It was more like a traditional office than the one outside with a desk, a bookcase, a soft couch and some cabinets. There was even a bed that Miguel probably slept in whenever he didn't want to return home. The sheets were ruffled so you could tell he often used it but never had enough time to make it because he was usually always on the go.

However, it was the last thing on your mind when you had a fuming Miguel in front of you. He didn’t even wait for the door to close before he grabbed you a little too rough by the shoulders, shaking you lightly. Red eyes lasered down on you.

Undoubtedly, you knew he was angry, but there was something else in there.

“What were you thinking? You know what Miles-1610 is to us, Doc! You know what an anomaly could do to a universe and you still supported her idea? Did you really think that was okay? Letting an anomaly join and ruin everything —!”

“I didn’t know! I didn’t know that’s what she wanted to ask! All she told me was that it would support the society and she needed me here for emotional support! If I knew it was about the anomaly, I wouldn’t have come here!”

You yelled back louder. Miguel’s talon-less fingers buried themselves in your upper arms, squeezing them. His eyes were wide, shaky red irises searching within your own for any hint of honesty. The grip on you wasn’t as firm as it looked. Like a crane holding a prize, the slightest nudge would’ve shaken his hands off. Despite how he looked, Miguel made sure he wasn’t hurting you.

“This is exactly why I told Jess I didn’t want her to join! She’s—She’s too close with the anomaly. She can jeopardize our entire cause all because of him !” He froze after, an idea appearing in his head. He wasn’t thinking rationally anymore. He released you, turning around like he wanted to leave. “She has to go home.”

“Wait! You can’t—Let’s think about this, Miguel.”

He was quick to face you again, his hands returning to your upper arms. He bent forward until his face was at your level. “I can’t have her risk all that I built—that we built.”

There it was. It wasn’t just anger he was feeling. The signs were all there; His trembling breath, the sweat that made his forehead glossy, the weakness in his hold.

Miguel was panicking.

It was fear that buried itself within his fury from the moment Gwen had asked for Miles-1610’s recruitment and when he thought you supported her idea. It was like he saw it again. His daughter disappearing in his arms, the weight of her so heavy… until he felt nothing—until nothing around him existed except for what remained of the universe: white light and empty space. He had the blood of that universe on his hands and no matter how many times he tried to wash them away, it was now embedded in his soul. All that existed ended because he was the anomaly of that world disrupting the canon events.

Months after months of research couldn’t bring him the exact reason for that universe ending, but he was sure of one thing. If everything went how it was planned, nothing like that would happen ever again.

And that’s why it was his job to put things back to how it was. It was the only thing he could do to atone.

So yes, Miguel was reliving his trauma yet again.

And it was your job to relieve him of it.

“That doesn’t mean we should make rash decisions,” you told him, gently. “She’s one of our best and letting her go would slow down our efforts. You and I both know that.”

Miguel’s energy was being sapped out of him, visibly his shoulders dropped and those red eyes were no longer on you as he hung his head low. He released you and retreated to sit on his bed. For a moment, he looked like a toy that ran out of batteries, burying his face in his hands before he ran them through his curly locks.

It was so different seeing him like this—like he was moping. You followed him and stood between his legs.

“Besides, Gwen's a smart girl. She wouldn’t do anything that would put the universes at risk.” He didn’t respond or even look at you. It made you run a hand against his cheek as your thumb brushed under his eye. “When’s the last time you slept? You look tired.”

“I don’t have time to be tired. Not when there’s a Galaxy-size mess I have to clean up. With every anomaly we restore, 10,000 more just take its place. It’s never-ending, Doc. I’m like a janitor mopping up a shoreline.”

“We all took an oath. A spider-person’s job never ends. Which is why we need to rest as much as we can to fight another day.”

“I didn’t ask for this, Doc.” He sighed, leaning his head against your hand until his cheek pushed up against it. “And I won’t be able to sleep.”

“None of us did…” you lightly smiled, “And I’ll help you.”

You pulled your hand away from his cheek, but you didn’t miss when he leaned more against it for his lips to press into your palm. The brief feel of them jolted something within you like a warm shiver struck your lower stomach. Gosh, it made you curious—too curious about how they would feel against other parts of your body.

And you didn’t miss those eyes that looked up at you, red like cherries, sweet like them too. It was hard to turn away, somewhat thankful you managed to because you didn’t want to be under their spell. You still felt the heat of them on you even as you approached his bookcase. Your palm still tingling from the feel of his lips as you pulled a book off one of the shelves. You returned to him grinning.

He was disappointed when he glanced at your book choice in your hand. “Charlotte’s web? Am I a kid to you?”

“No, but… you act like one sometimes. Lay down for me.”

You pushed against his shoulder leaving him no choice but to oblige. What he didn’t expect was you to climb in after him, settling on your side next to him while you opened the book to page one and started to read.

Miguel still couldn’t sleep. His eyes remained open, watching the top of your head as you read. A lovely smile on your face as you tried (and failed) to give each character their own distinctive voice. When you weren’t busy turning the page, the hand that he kissed was together with his, fingers interlocked. You were so used to holding his hand by now that you thought nothing of it and ignored the warmth that spread throughout your body because of it.

“Are you finally resuming our sessions?” Miguel interrupted you, pulling your eyes away from the book and into his own.

“Only if you need it.”

You knew Miguel would never admit he needed it, especially how adamant he was about them in the beginning.

“I need it.”

Oh.

“I definitely need it.”

“Then… I’ll put you back on my calendar.”

“ Muy Bien. ”

His sonorous whisper had heat searing your cheeks, not to mention, that smile that flashed your way made his fangs look bigger—so mischievous it had you biting your lip. Immediately after, Miguel’s mask materialized around his head. Much to your disappointment.

“Do you really need your mask on while you sleep?” You asked.

“You never know when the job needs you. Have to always be on the ready.”

“Words from a true workaholic… you said you wanted a family but how exactly were you going to make time for them when you’re working all these hours?”

“Oh, I always made time for mi hija . Always went to her soccer practice. Always was there to read her a bedtime story. Take her clothes shopping. I was made to be a dad but… it just isn’t in my fate to be one.”

You couldn’t see his face, but you heard his pain. You squeezed his hand, regretful.

“I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, no, no, no—It’s okay… It’s a valid question.”

Not knowing what else to say, you continued to read. Seconds, minutes, time ticked away. Miguel’s hand was still tight in yours, but his voice came out heavy whenever he commented about the book. His head was against the pillows, turned in your direction.

Your voice must’ve been soothing him because his hand would grow weak in yours and then he would suddenly squeeze it, throwing a random comment out about the main character, Wilbur, and then trying to convince you he didn’t fall asleep. Sometimes the heat where your hands came together would make him doze off and the coolness that grew when they were briefly apart would stir him awake.

“Maybe we should’ve recruited Charlotte. She really saved that pig’s ass,” he mumbled, looking like he had sunk deeper into his bed, the pillows swallowed his head.

“Yeah, she dedicated her life to saving him. All the way to the very end. She never gave up, spending hours weaving her web, trying to convince the humans no matter how tough it got. I’m sure she may have felt like she was… mopping up a shoreline too but her actions paid off in the end… the difference is, you’re not alone, Miguel. You have us—all of us to rely on, to help shoulder the burden. Please don’t forget that—that we’re here for you.”

You expected something, anything from him, but you received nothing but silence. “Miguel…? Oh…” it was then you noticed his hand was weak in yours and when you pulled your hand away, he stayed asleep.

Finally. You couldn’t help but smile, softly closing the book before sitting up.

You watched his chest rise and fall as he lay supine against his bed. You should’ve left his office but you stayed there watching him sleep, taking in the rare sight of Miguel completely defenseless. You wished you could’ve seen his face. It would’ve been the topping on the cake.

Your fingers brushed against his arm, suddenly craving the warmth of his body.

You couldn’t deny your feelings for him any longer, but you wondered if Miguel felt anything for you. You knew how lonely men acted. As long as the body was warm and could keep them company, it didn’t matter to them.

Some part of you wondered if you were just as lonely as Miguel—that these feelings were just because you craved for someone. Maybe it was even the reason why you sprung up this agreement in the first place. After your divorce, you became married to your work, the only thing that mattered was your patients as a therapist and the people you saved as a superhero. You abandoned yourself, shutting yourself off from the world within your white-walled apartment. It was why you looked up to Miguel as much as you did because he was the one who pulled you out of your darkness. So you were hoping you could do the same thing for him.

But you knew your heart beat too strongly for it to be just feelings of loneliness. It longed for him even when you were this close to him, wanting to be surrounded by the warmth that emanated from him, wanting to be touched, kissed, and held only by the man who saved you, your guiding light while you were lost at sea.

Your hand moved to caress his cheek, feeling the fibers of his mask under your fingertips. You were leaning closer to him, unable to resist like a moth to a flame. God, you were completely enamored by him. Looks like he didn’t need to look at you to be under his spell.

For the first time, you didn’t think about the consequences. For the first time, you were mindless.

You pressed your lips against his lips, closing your eyes. It was softer than you expected; light, feathery and warm. Too warm . It was brief but it was enough to light a flame within you that burned when you pulled away. Your breath shuddered as you inhaled, the warmth lasting only a second.

Your eyes opened, but you found yourself stilling. Miguel’s eyes were still closed, though half of his mask was dematerialized to the tip of his nose. His lips were out, free from the fibers.

Your mouth hung open. Miguel had removed half of his mask when kissed him and you hadn't a clue if he was asleep all this time or not.

The remainder of his mask dematerialized and you were face to face with those eyes of his. Your heart skipped a beat, knocking the air from your lungs as your palms grew sweaty.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

You felt so much pressure under his gaze, his face not quite readable. You flicked your wrist towards the ceiling and a web shot out, preparing yourself to run away until a glowing red web wrapped around your wrist and riveted you in place.

“Not this time, Doc.”

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

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#miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara x you #marvel #sony #spider man: across the spider verse #spider man: into the spider verse #fanfiction #fluff #angst #smut #the agreement

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leezlelatch · 6 months

Note

This has been on my mind since yesterday... How do you think mornings with Copia would look like? Cause I can imagine it either being the fluffiest shit on this planet or straight up nsfw.

How about both?

18+ MDNI. Copia x GN! Reader. Fluff, intercourse, aftercare.

The shrill ring of Copia's hundred year old alarm clock swiftly pulls you from sweet dreams, and you groan softly as you turn in the warm, well-used sheets, pressing your nose into the pillows. A low grunt, and the dip of the mattress betrays your partner's wakefulness as well, and the sudden silence of the alarm makes you sigh in relief. You bounce a little as Copia falls back flat on the bed, and you both settle into a silence, trying to hold on to those last few minutes of rest before the work day.

You open an eye, peeking at your bedmate, and you smile, soft and sleepy. Copia in the morning is precious. His hair is always such a mess, sticking in every direction and plastered to his forehead. His face is quiet from sleep, those worry lines and signs of age carefully nestled and soft between warm skin. You know his brow will furrow deeply as the day passes, his bottom lip chewed to bits because of a budget issue, or the Ghost project, or whichever other nonsense that falls into the lap of Papa Emeritus IV. But you've always told him to wear his face proud. He's earned it.

You reach up to smooth the hair back from his forehead, and Copia catches your hand, bringing it to his lips to press little kisses to the tips of each of your fingers. "Good morning, amore," he murmurs, voice thick with sleep. He turns, his hand falling just behind your thigh to drag you toward him across the mattress. He hikes your leg over his hip, sliding his leg beneath to hook around your other. Copia tucks you against his chest, dropping more kisses onto your forehead. "I dreamt of you."

"Good dreams?" You ask softly, nuzzling into the soft skin of his neck, and pressing your own kiss to his throat.

"Oh, sì," he responds, his hand working under your sleep shirt to knead the flesh of your side, dropping lower to curl beneath your waistband. "My dreams are always good when you are there. But I will tell you something even better, eh?"

He pulls back just a little to look into your eyes with that familiar crooked smile. His thumb finds your cheek, drawing gently over it. "Reality," he finishes.

Your lips meet as the final word slips from his mouth, tender and sweet, the last vestiges of sleep hanging on just a little beneath the embers of passion. You're obsessed with his taste, even when neither of you have brushed your teeth, and it appears that Copia agrees as he licks into your mouth with abandon, swiftly taking dominance and curling his tongue around yours. Your hand slides from his chest to his stomach, finding purchase in the soft skin to pull yourself closer. You can feel him, ready for you, and you wonder how long he's been standing at attention with the way it pulses insistently against the material of his shorts.

Copia captures your chin in his hand, tilting your head in the way he wants it best to further plunder your mouth. "You can take me, hmm?" He murmurs against your lips. "You can take your Papa?"

You nod, desperately, and he's pulling at your clothes, lazy and unhurried, adjusting you both until he's deep, filling you, loving you, no barriers between you. He cradles your face, never breaking eye contact, and his other hand falls to your hip, pulling you against him again and again and again.

"Ti amo, oh, amore mio, oh, my baby," he breathes, pressing his forehead against yours as he catches each of your moans with one of his own. "So good, so good for me. You feel me, sì? You feel me so deep."

His words alone are enough to take you over, your trembling body held so protectively by the man you love, and he follows you swiftly, hips grinding achingly slow against you as if trying to prolong your connection in such a state of bliss.

You lie together, a heap of tangled limbs in the sheets, the morning light shining so gently upon your bodies. It would be so easy to go back to sleep, lulled into peace by your shared passion, but the alarm rings once more.

Muscles loose, and unable to part, you join Copia in the shower, taking your time to run a warm, soaped cloth across every beautiful inch of his body, and in turn, he holds you under the warm stream, gazing into your face with adoration. A perfect morning.

#the band ghost #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus iv x reader #papa emeritus iv fanfiction #the band ghost fanfiction #copia x reader #copia fanfiction #mdni #short smut #ask #leezlelatch

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h0e4jongho · 3 months

Text

Good Girl

Seonghwa X Reader

WC : 1.3K

TW : Brat reader, Daddy Hwa, Daddy kink, name calling (good girl, whore, slut) Punishment (spanking) Unprotected ( dont be silly wrap it up ) Cream pie

Based on my head cannon - Ateez; who's a dom, sub or switch?

"I don't know who's worse you or Woo" Seonghwa seethe's as he pulls you through the door of your shared apartment. You cant help but giggle at him, even though you knew it was a bad idea. Just like you knew it was a bad idea to tease him through San's birthday dinner but you couldn't help it. You and Wooyoung made a bet who could get Seonghwa the most flustered and mad and its safe to say that when you slipped your hand up his thigh to his crotch you won.

Seonghwa figured out what was going on fairly quickly, after you gripped his semi hard cock through his pants making his leg jerk and hit the table, Woo called you out for not playing fair, to which you just laughed. "Oh you think it's funny" He asked you now, stopping in the middle of the living room. "No Hwa, not funny" you said with a shit eating smile on your face. His large hand coming up to grip your chin "Its not at all" he says in a very stern tone. His eyes quickly shift to your mouth still held in a small smirk between his fingers. "I think you need to be taught a lesson"

Before you can protest you are being picked up, Seonghwa has you over his shoulder as he makes his way to the couch. "Hwa put me down!" you beat on his back gently not putting up much of a real fight. He eventually puts you down before he sits down on the couch. You barley have a moment to get your legs under you before you are pulled down onto his lap on your stomach. "Hwa please, I'll be good" you try and plead as he is pushing your dress up over your ass. You are internally cursing yourself for wearing a thong tonight. Your ass on full display to him.

"You should have thought of that before you wanted to grab my cock in the middle of dinner" he says, his hand absentmindedly running across your pale skin, sending shivers up your spine. "Its going to be a week before I'm able to look Joong in the face" You scoffed at this, you knew dang well they all bragged to each other about the crazy shit that happened in their bedrooms. Before you could make a comment stating so you felt the crack of his hand meeting your bare skin. The sound coming out of your mouth a mix of a yell and a whimper. Not long after the first came a second and a third. You could feel the welts forming on your skin. Tears sprang to your eyes on the third slap.

"You think it's so fun to be a brat. Being a little whore, had to grab my cock at dinner couldn't even wait till be got in the car" a fourth slap meets your skin. At this point he has his other hand holding your lower back to keep you in place as you cry out in pain at each slap. Your face streaked with tears. "Please Haw pleaseee ow Stop please" you cry as the 5th smack came down. "Good girls take their punishment, are you my good girl or no?" He asks gently rubbing your skin now, soothing a bit of the sting he caused. "Yes" you let out in a sob. "Yes what" he asks as he lifts his hand again. "Yes Daddy" you cry out as another slap is delivered "That's my girl" his hands coming down now to massage your tender skin.

Before you know it you feel his fingers dip low between your legs, gliding along the your cloth covered slit. You know your panties are soaked, his punishments always turning you on. You hear the low groan he releases from deep in his throat. "You were such a good girl for me" he says as one hand grips the band of your underwear pulling it to the side, exposing you to the cool air. His other hand coming up to cup your dripping core. His finger sliding back and forth over your entrance teasing you.

"Please Hwa, Iv been good" you plead, trying to push your hips back onto his hand. Before you can give any real effort your being handled again. He's pulled you up and has you straddling his waist. His hands coming up to cup your tear stained face. "My precious baby girl" he coos at you while he swipes away your tears. "You took your punishment so well. Such a good girl. You learned your lesson right?"

You shake your head up and down yes. The smile that spreads across his face at this warms your heart. He leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips "I think you deserve a reward my love, you did so good for me" again you shake your head yes enthusiastically. His hands sliding down to your hips, as his mouth attaches to your neck. Your hands find purchase on his shoulder as he begins to drag your body over the bulge in his pants. The only sounds filling the room are your needy whines and the sound of Seonghwa's mouth on your skin.

"Hwa please" you begin to plead. "That's not how we ask for things is it princess" he mumbles against your skin. "Please Daddy" you whine, looking down at the large wet spot you have left on his grey sweats. "Just cause you asked so sweetly" he smiles again, his hands going to the waistband of his pants and pulling them down just enough to free his hard cock. The sight of which makes your mouth water. Before you know it he has one hand on your hip the other pulling your panties to the side as he positions you over his leaking tip.

Ever so slowly you sink down on him, the burn of the stretch elating a moan from you. It takes a minute before you can fully take him, your clit snug against his pelvis. You cant help but let out little whimpers as you adjust. "Shhh its okay pretty baby, Daddies right here" he says as he brushes the hair back from your neck, one hand gently gripping the back of your neck. Before long he has you grinding against him, your clit dragging against his skin, the tip of his cock hitting that sweet spot deep inside you only he could. It's not long before your first release crashes over you. Your walls contracting around him, making him moan out.

"That's a good girl" he kisses your mouth "Daddies going to fuck you now baby" he mumbles against your lips. His hands coming to a bruising grip on your waist as he starts to hoist you up before bringing you back down on his cock. Your head is thrown back as the dirtiest sounds escape your parted mouth. Before long he is using his legs to help thrust up into your core. The wet sounds, mixed with both of your moaning the only thing to be heard. "Cum one more time for me baby" he coo's at you while he hammers away "Give daddy one more" One of his hands snakes down and his skilled fingers quickly find your clit, rubbing small circles into your throbbing nerve.

You're quickly thrown over the edge again, walls forming a vice grip on his cock as he hurried it deep inside of you. A few seconds later he lets out the pretties moan you have heard as you feel the tip of his cock twitch inside you, paining your walls white. You collapse forward, your head nuzzling into the side of Seonghwa's neck as you pant out. You feel his hands running along your back, pushing your hair out of your face "That's my girl" he says as he kisses the top of your head "That's my good girl"

#ateez hard thoughts #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez #ateez fanfic #park seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut #seonghwa ateez #seonghwa hard thoughts #seonghwa hard hours #seonghwa headcanons

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