#me as I got myself into this mess: pain | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jeoseungsaja · 2 years

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When he hears the sirens, the Black Knight knows his cue to disappear. ANACHRON knows it’s their cue too, slipping back into the shadows, yet again. Dammit, he was so close too! And yet, his first instinct isn’t to run. But rather, when he realizes a certain detective is within the vicinity, ready to fight his way into the circle, the Black Knight's first instinct is to grab that detective’s hand and then run. Never mind the ache building in his leg or the protests on Hyuk’s part, the important part is that he gets Hyuk as far away from both ANACHRON and the police as possible. Hyuk might be familiar with the Gangnam Police, but even he cannot hope to get away without repercussion should they find out he shares a connection, however minuscule the thread is, to the Black Knight.

The Black Knight only stops once they’re in an alleyway. It’s in one of the more rundown parts of Itaewon, which is also where the Black Knight’s base is located ( Rook is not going to be happy- what if the detective starts poking around here too? ) .His leg is aching. And his side stings from a bullet graze. And yet he forces himself to stand tall, sword still unsheathed. The sound of metal dropping against the cobblestone barely registers.

“You really don’t listen, do you? Keep loitering around these spaces and you’ll be lucky to get out in one piece. Is that what your friend would want?”

Letting go of Hyuk’s hand ( they haven’t done that in years ), he turns away to make his escape, only to pause. Why does his vest pocket feel empty- panic floods in. Where is it? He couldn’t have dropped it, that’s never happened before, and- the Black Knight whirls around.

It’s Hyuk, picking up his POCKET WATCH, the one Felicity gave Patrick all those years ago.

Patrick’s stomach drops.

And without thinking, he lunges forward, snatching his watch out of his dear friend’s hands. The watch dangling between the two of them, Patrick stares at Hyuk in bewilderment. And fear. Hands shaky, he shoves it back into his coat pocket. Patrick turns away.

“You’re lucky this time. Next time, I’ll stab you.”

( HI ALEX!! SO THIS PART OF THE INBOX CALL :DDD pls don't mind me flood u with a few unprompted asks sjdkflsj, but also...so hyurick in black knight verse?? I went overboard and basically he was one step forward, two steps back 🙃, but also feel free to ignore this if you think this doesn’t fit!! Have a wonderful day and care you lots!! <3 )

@ofgentleresolve ♚ hyuk didn’t get stabbed but i did...right in the heart--

♔ ———–

Sirens roar and even its incessant bellow is not enough to push him away from the scene. It should, shouldn’t it? After all, he’s been nothing but a menace to the police, who already have sent him away previous times with a warning (as well as with long, tired sighs from the detective currently handling the cases Hyuk would officially and legally take care of, once upon a time). Tickets of caution can only last for so long and one day he’ll face the real danger by being dragged behind bars for obstruction and suspicious activity. No matter how careless Hyuk’s gotten now, he cannot afford to go to jail, for that’s precious time he cannot waste by simply counting the days until a release. All minutes, seconds --- they should be dedicated to find out the truth.

The truth about his best friend’s death.

Still, he takes a step forward, toward the smoke; swirls that seem all too familiar at this point. There are spots of dirt on the detective’s skin, as well as cuts that might heal if he lets them be; a victim of his own heedlessness. The adrenaline in his veins does not let him feel the exhaustion, or the way the open wound on his forehead burns. He steps into the fog and as he tries to adjust his vision, he’s unexpectedly yanked by a gloved hand.

His first instinct is to tug back, but his palm is well-adhered to the other’s fingers, as if knowing he’d fight back. A frown; long legs unwillingly bend toward this uncharted territory whilst trying to see who has him under their grasp.

He’d recognize that top hat anywhere. The all-black attire. The high collar of his coat. The sword shining under the bashful moonlight.

“Yah, let me go! Let me go!”

But the Black Knight won’t relent, will he? Oddly enough, that’s something they both share: Thick stubbornness. While one pushes, the other tugs...but, ironically enough, they keep colliding onto the same paths; onto the same places.

Growls of protest echo through, gaze registering the surroundings. What is this place? It looks dilapidated, with paint peeling off the walls and buildings resembling an ancient world long forgotten. A rundown neighborhood, a side of town not many would care to look at. It seems the Black Knight is aware of desolated spots, for he walks as if he’s utterly familiar with the surroundings. Not even him, who’s well-versed in pinpointing several streets due to years of patrolling and case-chasing, would think about heading to this place.

Why did he take them there? Is it a simple detour, or should it mean something? Hyuk cannot allow any details to slip away.

“I’ll break your arm if I have to, is that what you want? Because I will break---”

Finally, fingers get harshly unlatched from the strange warmth of cloaked hand when the Black Knight loosens his grip. Hand turns into a fist, nostrils flare at the unwanted scolding, jaw tensing at the mention of his friend.

“What do you care, huh? Who do you think you are? Stop using my friend as an excuse to make me reconsider. He’s not here anymore. The one who used to think things over isn’t here either.”

Pieces of him decayed when Patrick passed away, like a sunflower that no longer has the sun by its side, or a shrub of forsythias losing its color because the healthy Earth has open cracks of dryness; wounds that remain and never really close. Parts of Hyuk died when his best friend did, or perhaps they’re deeply buried somewhere he blocked from memory so he’d never find them. After all, the one who could retrieve them is no longer living, so why would Hyuk want them?

“You don’t listen either. I told you to never come back again with your warnings and needless advice, remember? So why do you keep---”

He, indeed, does not let any details slip. His ears take note of a sound; a descent. Metal colliding upon cobblestone. Once shy, the moonlight becomes stronger in that alleyway. It guides him, lets him know there’s something on the floor. A watch.

Silence. The detective bends down; catches watch’s circular body with his palm and thumb; chain feeling heavy between his fingers. He stands up and some of his steps falter when keeping his gaze glued at the item --- not because he’s not watching where he’s going, but because he knows this watch. The details on the tightly shut cover, they look worn, as if fingers kept rubbing and grazing to the point of getting edges blurry, but they’re still there, staring back at him.

Patrick’s watch. The one Felicity gave him years ago. This one and his dear friend’s look exactly the same. The only difference is that the one on his hand has suffered due to the hands of time...but the same thing would’ve happened to Patrick’s watch if he was still alive, wouldn’t it? All items, no matter how precious, start to show signs of wear after years of usage. Much like the mandarin duck plush he still keeps somewhere in his apartment.

Eyes lifting, he sees the Black Knight’s back. His hand tightens around the watch. And he remembers, he remembers he couldn’t find Patrick’s pocket watch under all the rubble when he went to London to see the chaos himself. He remembers that the evidence never showed any pictures of that watch, not even signs or traces of charred metal or clock’s hands and numbers bent by the merciless waves of fire. He also remembers that this was one of the factors Suki considered suspicious when Hyuk commented about it.

And if this is, indeed, Patrick’s watch, how did it end up here? In South Korea. Under the Black Knight’s shadow.

Speechless, he witnesses the vigilante suddenly whirling around. He’s forgotten something, hasn’t he? The watch is still on Hyuk’s hand, but he’s too stunned to react quickly; his own fingers trembling as palm shows the other what he’s found.

“How?”

But he gets no answer. Not a verbal one, at least. The watch sternly departs from his grasp; gazes locking. Is the confident brown of those eyes hesitating? Is the smug Black Knight scared? The detective is trying to learn as much as he can, even if the high collar of the other’s coat doesn’t let him see if lips are twitching or not, even if the mask might cover a widened expression. His eyes. Hyuk’s slowly learning to decipher them.

And the Black Knight’s hands. They seem unstable.

“Where did you get that watch?”

Hyuk reaches out, tries to stop the vigilante from leaving, but his hand only catches air.

“No, no, you have to---where did you get it?!”

The detective starts to run after him, but it seems the vision of the watch causes him to have a million and one thoughts; a trigger of a lack of balance. His hand lands on a brick wall; jog halts.

He starts to get flashbacks of Patrick showing him the watch for the first time. His face of happiness when he says that Felicity gave it to him. The love of his life. He remembers the times Patrick takes the watch out of his pocket, just to fondly stare at it. A precious memory of someone he unfairly lost. He takes note of the echoes of his voice, and they seem so near, yet so far. Like he’s watching all of this through the grainy screen of a television.

A groan; dizziness kicks in. He presses one side of his body to the wall, breathing in and out. This isn’t the time to disconnect from the world, Lee Hyuk. Everything around him looks blurry; the wound on his forehead starts to remind him of pain. He slowly slides down in an attempt to sit down, gather his senses so he can at least return to the office without a hassle.

Jae-Hwan and Suki must not know about this. They might suspect something is going on already, though. He up and left without saying anything, like he usually does. That doesn’t mean they don’t worry...they always do.

The fire. The charred wood; the strong scent of burnt. Whoever started it knew what they were doing. Nakamura’s voice invades his head now. They wanted you to think the fire was accidental.

I couldn’t find any signs of his watch. Why? He kept that watch with him at all times.

All the models of watches in existence, and the Black Knight had to have that one. A pocket watch, nonetheless. Something that a lot of people don’t use frequently these days.

God, he has to stop thinking. He closes his eyes.

The last thing he sees is the distant and distorted view of a battered clock tower.

———– ♔

#ofgentleresolve #♔ || verse three (arc two).#♔ || i'm in it with you (patrick | black knight au).#EXCUSE ME AS I HECKIN' SCREAM OVER THIS IWEUHIWUEDHIWEUHDIEH #JUST IMAGINE ME RUNNING IN CIRCLES AND YELLIN' AS SOON AS I READ IT AND SAW THE WATCH BEING REVEALED TO HYUK---#against Patrick's wishes bUT Y'KNOW WHAT SOME THINGS DON'T GO AS PLANNED MY DEAR PROFESSOR--WIEUDHIUEWDHIUWEDH #THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SENDING THIS IN FERRE :D NEEDLESS TO SAY I GOT VERY EXCITED --- EVEN IF THIS VERSE IS PURE PAIN IT'S SO INTERESTING TO #SEE THIS SIDE OF THEM / THE WAY THEY'D REACT AS THE TRUTH SLOOOOWLY UNCOVERS #HYUK IS SUCH A CONFUSED MESS HE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO THINK WIEUDHWIUEDHWDH #I also hope Hyuk's reaction isn't exaggerated or anything of the sort #sometimes this happens where reality gets warped #and he doesn't know where he is for a moment in time #he gets overwhelmed and since there's the ongoing repression of emotions -- wELL --#bUT YEAH IF IT'S?????? TOO MUCH OR ANYTHING DO LET ME KNOW AND I CAN TOTALLY CHANGE THINGS #I did mention it was going to be a long post 👀#iwudehiweudhUIHWEID COULDN'T HELP MYSELF / HYURICK MAKES ME SPILL ALL THE PARAGRAPHS---#I HOPE WHAT I WROTE MADE SENSE AND IT'S SOMETHING TO WORK WITH DEVELOPMENT-WISE ;WWWWWWWW;#Sorry Rook you are perhaps going to be upset because....now that Hyuk has seen the area...he's probably going to stick his nose around IWUHE #he leaves no stone unturned (wHEEZE)#Also Hyuk acting all tough when saying 'stop using my friend as an excuse.../he's no longer here...' when I know he's breaking inside C:#IUHWEIUDHWEDI #ALSO I HOPE IT'S OKAY THAT I MENTIONED SUKI HERE????#I took those lines from what you told me on Discord ;W; BUT IF??? YOU'D LIKE ME TO CHANGE THIS I WILL JUST LMK <3 #ONCE AGAIN THANK YOU HEAPS FOR SENDING THIS IN / LOVED REPLYING TO THIS WIHDIWUEDHUH #AND THANK YOU FOR LETTING HYUK BE PART OF THIS WONDERFUL (BUT SUPER PAINFUL) VERSE UwU #Also watch him arriving to his apartment just to take a shower and put on other clothes #since the other outfit he was wearing got full of dirt due to him sitting on the ground for a while until his dizziness subsided #and after that going straight to the office to refresh his mind about the watch IUWHEDIWUEHDIH #PLS HAVE A NICE DAY FERRE!!! CARE YOU HEAPS ;W;!!!#♔ || queue.

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loganlermanstanaccount · 1 year

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Show me where it hurts (part 2)

Miguel O'Hara x spiderwoman!reader

GIF by aenhanse

(AO3 Mirror), Part 1, Main Masterlist

summary: You confront Miguel.

warnings: breeding kink, cum play, animalistic behaviour (not quite ABO), mutual masturbation, dirty talk, praise and degradation, Miguel eats ass like a fucking champ, general filth etc etc. very very 18+, minors dni (and i will b blocking!)

a/n: thank you for all the support for part 1! I will say, all the comments about relationship building and stuff do make me laugh a little bc this part is literally just p0rn with a teensy tiny bit of feelings.. but if you follow me this should be pretty standard by now.

wc: 4k ish

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

You let yourself in again, but not until after pounding on the door.

You think he's home, the scent of something in the air. At first glance, his place is empty, but a mess : cushions ripped off the couch, kitchen ransacked of its contents, floor covered in blankets and clothes. It makes you worry: Miguel is so clean it's scary . He would never leave his place like this. You hear something from his bedroom and rush towards it.

He's there, back turned on the bed. But something's wrong. In sweats and a tank top, he's breathing heavily, clutching at the sheets.

"You shouldn't be here." He strains.

Eyes wide, you step closer. Is he in pain? Is he hurt? "Miguel. I just want to help. Did something happen?"

All he does is shake his head, unable to make eye contact with you. "I c-can't let you… please, bichita. It's not safe for you."

Your heart breaks at his helplessness, you get closer, and perch on the bed next to him. He jumps at the hand you place in his shoulder. Fuck. He's drenched in sweat.

"Miguel, please. Let me in… I'd do anything. Just let me help."

He groans with his head in his hands. "I know, bichita. That's the problem. I can't let you…"

You look at him properly now. He's writhing on the sheets, tense and unable to sit still. Guiltily, all you can think is how good he looks; pretty even when his hair sticks to the nape of his neck, when he groans lowly at your presence. Your eyes rake down his body, looking for a secret wound, or something he's hiding. When you spot it, you gasp.

Miguel is rock hard under his sweats. And he is massive.

It clicks. Ashamed, he makes hesitant eye contact with you. "It's not usually this bad. And it gets worse if I'm near someone I'm…" He breathes. "Someone I'm attracted to."

You can't help but laugh at the absurdity of the statement; of the situation. "I think that's just what erections do, Miggy."

He rolls his eyes, too annoyed to be as uneasy for a moment. " No , God, I meant my DNA. There's something wrong with me, something animalistic , that makes it ten times worse. I'm going crazy. Smell, taste, touch… and it doesn't just go away. "

You hum. "And what's your hypothesis?"

He looks at you, a little crazed, but he gets it. If you talk to him like it's one of your status reports, like it's another mission, maybe he can stop thinking about pounding you into the sheets and filling you up with his cum.

He clears his throat. " You . Gets worse when I t-think about you, or you're near."

You've got a hand on his thigh, rubbing circles that go straight to his head.

"What makes it feel better?"

Deep breath. "Touching myself. But I haven't… and I won't-"

"Why?" You smile like a Cheshire cat. Are you… enjoying this?

"I can't. You're a friend and it's a violation of your trust."

"It hurts. You're in pain. I give you full permission to give yourself some relief. You can touch yourself, for me. I want you to feel good."

His hips buck up involuntarily. Just thinking about it is driving him crazy. " Mierda. Stop talking like that-"

"Like what?" You bat your eyelashes.

"Like that ." He hisses. "Like you want to get fucked."

He squeezes his eyes shut, even more guilty. "I'm sorry. That's not appropriate at all. I shouldn't have… snapped like that."

You rub your legs together: you're fucking soaked. Like this, with his senses going crazy, you don't know if he can smell it, taste it in the air. The thought makes you even wetter.

You mumble. "Meant it, Miguel. I just want to watch."

Agonisingly slow, you sink to your knees in front of him. He watches, eyes wide, trying not to lean into it.

"Do you want me to beg? Because I will, if it makes you feel better."

He grabs his crotch, rocking into his palm. You're breaking him down, bit by bit.

"I think you like punishing yourself, Miggy. You think you deserve it. How long have you been like this? Weeks, I bet. When all you needed to do was ask me. I would've helped you over the phone if you wanted it. Told you how to stroke your cock, where to put pressure, asked you if it felt good. Think about how good it would feel. The relief. "

You rock on your heel and it doesn't go unnoticed. You light him on fire, and the thought of you getting off only pushes him closer to the edge. "Can I tell you a secret?" You whisper. He nods fervently. "I've always wanted you in my mouth. Just wanted to know what it would feel like; how pretty you'd look when you cum."

It's too much. His back arches, and he groans, spilling into his sweats. Astounded, you look up. So. Much. Cum. You didn't think a person could physically produce so much, but here he is, coating the inside of his boxers with it. Miguel, however, looks embarrassed: his first orgasm in a week and it's spilling into his trousers in front of a pretty girl like a teenager. He groans, covering his flushed face.

"Can I…?" Your eyes are wide in amazement. Shakily, he nods.

Is it bad for you to say he looks just like you imagined? Tan, long and with a bit of girth, and under all the cum he seems well-groomed. He's still half hard, which is impressive considering the sheer amount of cum splattered everywhere. Probably, he has the prettiest cock you've ever seen. As you pull down his boxers, your very obvious glee makes him pause.

"...you like this?" He seems genuinely confused, and it makes you giggle. You've flustered him, yet again.

Resting a head on his thigh, you look up at him through innocent lashes. Your other hand swipes cum off his tip, making his cock jump. "Could ask you the same. You're still hard."

"I can't believe…" He mutters. "You're gonna kill me."

"What do you want, Miguel?" You put a hand on his length, rubbing up and down ever so slightly. "You want to get off?"

"I want…" It makes him grunt all the same. He goes from wayward glances to looking you straight in the eyes. " You . I want you."

"How do you want me?" Deceptively innocent, you coax his length back to full mast with your hand.

How do you want me? There are a thousand thoughts flying through his head, and his brows tense with the weight of them. Head back, he leans into your touch. He doesn't want to scare you, with the way he's been thinking about that question long before you asked: weeks, months, years before now. You see him hesitate, and bite his lip.

Your hands still and he cries out, cursing the loss of warmth. "M'not asking again." A little softer now. "No judgement, Miggy. I just want to help."

Deep breath. "Anyway I can. Wanna fill you up with my cum. On top. U-Underneath. Mierda. I want your mouth. I want your sweet cunt. I-"

You silence him with a moan when you envelope his cock with your mouth. You close your eyes in bliss as you bob up and down. Just the tip, teasing , and he's already addicted. With a pop, you separate, pressing sticky kisses and kitten-licks to his shaft and torso. He can't take his eyes off of you: peeking up at him through wispy lashes, licking up his cum.

Pretty, plump lips smack at his tip obscenely. He can't help but think about how well it suits you; mouth around his cock like something holy. Precum pours from his slit and you lap it up, chasing his moans. Your own moans vibrate deliciously around him and he wraps a hand in your hair. Finally. You want him to enjoy this, to lean into your head-bobbing, and force your head down onto his dick. You want to feel him in the back of your throat, bullying into the warmth of your mouth and moulding you into the shape of him.

It starts with a little pressure at the back of your neck, deceptively subtle as he rocks his hips into your face. Making eye contact, you look up and feel your pussy clench around nothing. His eyes are lidded, gorgeous, mouth slightly parted and tongue darting out to wet rosy lips.

"You want it, hermosa ?" His voice has a different texture to it: deep and wanting and needy.

As best you can, you nod, humming affirmations around his cock. Oh God, of course you do. You want him; anyway you can, anyway he'll let you, more than he'll ever know.

He pushes you down, hard, cock hitting the back of your throat like a piston. You gurgle and choke around him, throat tightening in a way that makes him melt. You force yourself deeper, hot tears welling up at the corners of your eyes. Your hands claw at his thighs, nails digging so tight into the fabric you think he might bleed. Winding a hand down to your heat, you press your palm into that sweet spot at your clit and Miguel watches, hungry.

"Oh fuck , you feel so good. I'm gonna– m-mierda – m'gonna cum."

With a final tug, he pushes you down so your nose brushes at the curly hairs leading down to his cock, spilling into you with vigour. It pours down your throat and you drink it up with pleasure.

"All gone?" He asks, panting with exertion. In response, you open up your mouth, sticking out your pink tongue so he can inspect it. He stirs when he realises just how cock drunk you are: nary a trace of him left on your tongue.

Slowly, he brings a thumb to your mouth, and watches intently as you swirl it around, and suck on it keenly. The pressure makes him light headed, other hand reaching for your waist to pull you up. And pull you up he does, turning you around so he can take off your suit and have you seated on his lap, where you belong.

You let him, shrugging off the top half of the suit as he pulls down your zipper. Surprisingly gentle, he traces the slope of your shoulders, and down to your bare ass. He groans. No underwear, because of course , you want to kill him. You want him to die, pussy-whipped and half-hard. He pushes you towards the wall, back pressed flush against him. He drags his fangs across your neck and whispers into the shell of your ear, making your whole body shiver.

"Once I start," He kneads your ass, grinding his cock against you. You gasp. He's still hard. "M'not gonna be able to stop. And it's not going to be sweet, bichita . You leave now and I won't be angry . I–I'll give you space, whatever you want."

" Miguel," Head back, you moan into his touch, dragging his hand towards your slit, hoping he’ll relieve the pressure at your pussy. "I want it to hurt. I want to feel it tomorrow– fuck– f-feel it when I walk and know it was you . Need it. Need you , please-"

He bites into your shoulder, and you moan wantonly, back arching into his length. He places your hand on the wall, palms flat. Like the chaser after a burning shot, he soothes haphazard squeezes down your back with his mouth. Hot, messy kisses, as he sinks to his knees. He forces you to hinge at the hip. Breasts pushed against the cool wall, you gasp when you feel him spread the globes of your ass as he presses his tongue to your hole. He licks the length of your slit, and like a slut, you lean into it.

"Prettiest cunt I've ever seen, hermosa." He brings his hand to your clit, giving you a wet slap as he watches you shudder. Again, and again, until you cry out.

" Miguel, fuuuck."

How has he gone his whole life without hearing you say his name like that? Yet again, he almost cums in his pants, loosely shoved over his aching length. All he can do is watch as your holes flutter and clench around nothing, mesmerised.

"You'd look even prettier filled with my cum, hmm?" He presses a sticky kiss to your puckered asshole, before easing his tongue inside. One hand holding you open, the other comes to play with your pussy, swirling your wetness around your throbbing clit.

He tongue-fucks you with fervour, like a man starved: only coming up for air to babble obscenities.

"Tan bonita, bichita." Slowly, he eases his fingers into your cunt, scissoring them open and shut. He wants to break you apart with only his hands, if you'd let him. "So pretty– fuck. So soft, baby. Beautiful."

You're close and he knows it, fucking yourself on his fingers and face like a bitch in heat. Undeterred, he brings a thumb to your clit pressing down with juust the right amount of pressure.

"Wanna feel it, hermosa . Can you cum for me? All over my fingers like a good girl, just like that, así de simple."

With the way he paws at your pussy, all you can do is clench around his fingers. He guides you through a shaking, biting orgasm, licking up your cum with a flourish. Even with shaky legs you manage to turn around and pull Miguel up, and he follows eagerly. He looks fucked out already, eyes low and lips swollen with your slick. He motions to strip, stretching his tank top across the expanse of his chest and letting his cock spring free from his sweats. When you move to help him, he stops you, moving your hand from his tank to his solid torso beneath. He wants you to touch him; to feel your soft palm run across his skin, and sink into the warmth of your body.

One hand at your waist, he presses you against the wall, grinding his cock to your clit. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and they fit like they belong there. Close, impossibly close, and his pupils are blown, wide. It's like he can't decide what he wants to do to you, sharp red eyes darting over your lips, your neck, down to the juncture where you both meet. A paralysis of choice, and all he can do is drink you up in the low light.

And so, you make a choice for him, lips crashing against his, hand snaking around to guide his cock into your hole. He sinks into you - finally - and you swallow his moans in the aftermath. He's slow to start, eyes screwed shut as he gets used to how tight you are around him. Slowly, he rocks into you, the heat of his palm steady at the crook of your back.

Miguel opens his eyes, caging you in with his other arm. He's testing the waters, angling his hips to find the spot that makes you tick.

"I didn't-" He breathes. "Didn't think it would be like this."

You look at him in your haze, brows knitted.

"I thought that when I finally fucked you, it would be more romantic." He gives you a strained chuckle and warm smile. "This is better in some ways, though."

"Better , Miggy?"

"Real." Your cunt flutters around him, and his pace stutters. Not once does he break eye contact, something swirling beneath the surface. "Not in my head. God , that sounds pathetic."

You giggle into the crook of his shoulder. It shouldn't be possible, but his eyes soften even more. And then, his expression changes into something dangerous.

"I can't do this just once, bichita. You can't give me a taste and then take it away. Es cruel, mi vida."

As if to punctuate his point, you feel his tip slam into that spongy spot in your walls. His strokes become more calculated, punishing and exact, sending waves of pleasure radiating throughout your body.

"Miguel – fuck– that's not fair- "

"Can't keep humping my hand como un perro , like a dumb dog, anymore." He brings both his palms to your ass, spreading you apart, and pulling you up onto his dick so your toes barely touch the floor. The slap of your ass against his thighs and heavy balls fill the room, pornographic in nature.

"Let-" Smack. " Me-" Smack. " Fill-" Smack. " This-" Smack. " Cunt. " Smack.

You babble into his ears, affirmations and praise that makes his heart and cock swell.

'So pretty, Miguel. Yours. All yours." You rake your hands through his hair, harshly tugging him closer in a way that makes him burn up. Clenching around his length, you wrap your legs around his waist. He barely falters, pulling away from the wall and slamming into you regardless. You've seen him like this before; fiery determination that flares up on a tough mission. Tunnel vision: a razor-sharp resolve that has manifested itself in a man hellbent on your pleasure.

"Miguel. Miguel, I-" I love you, I love you, I love you, I- " -wan' you to cum with me. Deep, please."

Now, his pace gets sloppy, hips stilling to drive himself as deep as you asked; so you can feel him long after you separate. Hot, sticky cum pumps into you and his balls strain with the effort of it. You claw your hand against his back, trailing delicious marks with your nails. When you clamp around him, you swear you see his eyes roll back - lost in the bliss of your cunt. Together, you come down from the high, bare chests panting against one another.

"Don't look at me like that." His lips graze yours, soft and plush. You stretch your chin upwards, chasing the trace of a kiss he refuses to give to you. Eventually he relents, leaning into a sweet kiss, arm wrapped around your waist.

He pulls himself off of you with a wet smack, gently carrying you to his bed. He places you in his sheets and you look beautiful, blissful, and fucked out. Cum drips onto your thighs and he feels a pang of possessiveness. His cum. His baby.

Clambering in to spoon you, he can't help but paw at your pussy, using his fingers to stuff his cum back into you, tracing lazy circles on your thigh with his other hand.

"I'm on birth control, Miggy. So no need to worry." You snuggle into his touch, bare skin against one another.

"Wasn't worried." He grunts, sounding almost disappointed. You catch his tone, intrigued.

"No harm in trying," You lilt, turning around to place your palms flat on the wide span of his chest. "You wanna fuck a baby into me?"

Nodding, he groans, head back into the pillow, and you push him onto his back. Pussy throbbing, you straddle his hips; thighs tight around his middle. You can feel him growing harder in the slick of your slit.

You arch into him, tender hand around his throat. It's a sight he won't forget easily: you on top of him, the gloom of the night tracing the swell of your tits. An angel, all the same. You whisper something into his ear that gives him goosebumps; a full body chill that goes straight to his cock. "My turn, bichito."

~~~

"You never called." Miguel says, laying his head next to yours, after wiping you down with a clean towel. He hands you a spare shirt of his, and you put it on, self-conscious.

The two of you had fucked well into the night, making good on your promises. His stamina was relentless, pumping load after load into you, pussy-drunk and babbling. There was an intensity there that couldn't be explained: one that made both of you crazy for one another, burning you out between the silky sheets of his bed. Something you had initially attributed to his rut, whatever he had called it, but desperately hoped it was something more. How could this be just sex? After everything you had said and done, it would crush you: to taste the forbidden fruit and have it snatched away just as easily.

You had both laid there for a bit, afterwards, cock softening in you. Plugging up his cum, he had said, but it felt more intimate in the quiet calm of his bedroom.

"You didn't either." You throw back at him.

"That's not th-"

"I know, I know. It just felt weird, s'all." You turn from him, looking up at the ceiling. Counting the mottles and marks in your head, suddenly shy. After all the filthy things you've said and done to him, he still makes you shy. "I thought I did something wrong."

His heart breaks. "No, no , it wasn't-"

"Not just today. Last time…a-and the time before that, honestly. We see each other less. You're always busy with something. Felt like you were avoiding me." Rubbing your temples, you sigh. "S'why I cut some corners on the mission. Made mistakes. I thought if I did well, and we had something to talk about…"

"Mierda." You can't bring yourself to look at him, to see the disappointment in his scarlet eyes. But it isn't disappointment, and it’s not directed at you.

"I wanted to call, but I didn't. Because I didn't think you would answer." Finally, you turn to see his brows knitted: swirling with shame, guilt, sadness. Quickly you add, "I mean, I know why now. I think. And it's really on me, I should've said something or-"

"I just… I didn't know what to do with it." He takes your hand in his, squeezing tight.

"...I don't understand."

"All this love I have for you." He says, impossibly soft. "I didn't know what to do with it."

You know him like the back of your hand and you've heard it all: angry, snarky, giddy, beautiful Miguel O'Hara. But this? Confirmation of the feelings you've held for years at this point, dismissed during late nights and pored over during lonely ones - this?

"And I didn't think you felt the same way, how could you? You're beautiful, and smart, and you have this… way of making people burn as bright as you. So I poured myself into work. That's all I know how to do, bichita. Work. Suffocate under everything. You don't deserve it."

With the way he says it; resigned, matter-of-fact; you want to cry. Still, he hangs on to the notion that he must earn it : that his claws are too sharp and fangs too bloody for redemption. For love, for life, for good things. Miguel O'Hara; doing what needs to be done. Alone, always.

You come closer to cup his chin, to make sure he's looking at you. There can be no ambiguity, no gray area when you say what you want to say.

"You don't tell me what to do, O'Hara . " You press a kiss to his cheek, and another to trembling lips. "I decide what I deserve. No-one else does, not even you."

"It's not like you listen to me, anyway." He says with a shaky smile.

Sitting up slightly on your forearms, you place your head up on his chest. Listening to the steady thump-thump of his heart. You don't need your super senses to know that he's alive, that he's here. The look in his eyes; you couldn't explain it if you wanted to.

"Bichita." You say, out of the blue. No doubt due to your poor pronunciation, he winces. "What does it mean?"

Clicking his tongue, he waves it off. " Very vulgar, you don't want to know. I mean, I shouldn't really-"

"Hmm." Shaking your head, you feign ignorance. "It's just that Lyla said it meant sweetheart, or little bug... terms of endearment, I think was the phrase."

"She said that?" He frowns. "Lyla's filling your head with nonsense, m'afraid. It's sarcastic. Post-ironic, metatextual… it comes across completely different in Spanish, mi vida."

"Post-ironic? That's not even the second most pretentious thing you've said today…" Giggling, you bury your head into his chest.

"Of course not. I reserve my best stuff for you."

"Real classy, O'Hara. Bet you say that to all the poor women that end up in your bed."

"Nope." He hums. "Just the ones I've been in love with for the past two years."

He pulls you closer, smiling into light kisses on your shoulder, the fat of your stomach, your thighs, on your cheek. Kisses everywhere, anywhere he can reach.

"Just you, bichita." He breathes into your skin. "Only you ."

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