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unadulteratedsoulsweets · 5 months

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A DC X DP IDEA #25

New Year, New Me?

Imagine dis…

We all know that when Danny died, he changed. From his black hair and blue-eyed kid to a white-haired and green-eyed ghost kid. We also know that ghosts were once humans just misunderstood, had unfinished business, or were just out for the injustice they have faced in the face of death.

But what if Danny is just a baby ghost in every sense and now, he is getting more powerful and more tuned in with his ghostly side that he began to change?

…

Danny knew that there was something wrong with him, not just the fact that he had died and came back alive and well that’s a whole other story. The fact that there is something wrong with his ghostly side, that to the point it began affecting his human side. His jaw began to ache and when he looked into the mirror he saw some of his teeth beginning to sharpen like a canine would, his hair looked like it wasn’t held by gravity as his parents had chalked it up with him using a different type of conditioner to make it more fluffy, his skin began having these weird spams in the middle of the day as well his uncanny need to stay in a cold room Mr. Lancer swore 10 book titles under his breath when he saw him taking a nap inside the cafeteria fridge.

But the worst of it came when he fought Skulker, it was another normal Thursday for the Halfa but as he was fighting off Skulker who was already spewing out his usual rant about mounting his pelt he saw another figure. Behind Skulker is another figure that looked like him more shadowy yet bloodied, covered in rusty metal that he swore he heard it creaking as if two metals were grinding to each other, with each move that Skulker made. Seeing he was distracted Skulker made a lucky hit to him as if he was back in his first year as a ghost. Danny shook his head and immediately souped the ghost and tried to forget the more horrific and unsettling version of Shulker.

Danny tried to hide it but when his friends and sister began noticing his changes, they made him visit the Far Frozen.

Frostbite was confused and worried at his changes and explained to Danny in great detail that what he was going through was a ghostly equivalent to puberty.

Since he had recently died his ghostly side had registered him being a baby despite being in his teens in his human. Normally ghost children would not transition after 5 centuries as they have not only been deemed absorbed enough ectoplasm but also have been mature enough a good example would be Box Lunch who was barely 146 years old while Youngblood was nearing his transition.

Frostbite offered a conclusion that it may be a fact that he slept on top of the active portal which leaks massive ectoplasm radiation and when he fought off ghosts who are centuries older and more experienced than him made his ghostly side mature faster, like how children were forced to mature faster when incompetent parents are around. Now that he has not only become more attuned or in one with his ghostly side, but his ghostly side is also slowly forming his eldritch abomination kinda like human symptoms of puberty like broadening of shoulder, pitch voice…etc, Frostbite explained.

Danny asked about his sight when Skulker visited him as well he felt that time. Danny was still distraught when he went home but when he had the time to process what he saw, instead of feeling scared or deep panic at what he saw instead felt a deep relief at the image.

Frostbite told Danny since he is transitioning to becoming a young adult, what he is seeing is the true form of ghosts.

The citizens of the Infinite Realms are naturally terrifying, gruesome, ghastly, ghoulish…etc for years there had been no problem with their appearance but when the first Ancients went to visit a mortal plane for an official Realm duty, they were horrified to see that not only humans scream with pure unaltered fear but also went brain dead the moment they laid their eyes on the said Ancients as their minds cannot comprehend the sheer true form of the said Ancients. As the said Ancients felt guilty for what they had caused the humans went in a vegetable state and began practicing into shifting into a more humane form, something more modest as to when they visit another mortal world in case of another duty. As the practice was only practiced in a small island that the Ancients ruled it soon spread out to the entire Realms. It spread so far that even other Ancients began copying it and it didn’t take too long for it to become a norm.

So when the Fenton portal as well as Vlad’s portal opened it became instinctive for the ghosts to pass through to where their more “humane” side and only show their real appearance in their haunt or when they have a mate or to their respective fight mates.

Frostbite gave him something for the pain and offered to help Danny with his transition, which Danny gratefully thanked the yeti and flew off.

Since then he slowly yet surely became accustomed to the changes to himself as he felt more him. His friends and sister tried to hide it from the Fenton couple despite being oblivious that they would surely notice the changes. Fake teeth and make-up did their thing as Sam may not enjoy the pinkish/feminine side of her make-up collection courtesy of her parents but sure damn well those foundations are of good quality.

His ghostly companions that came for their weekly brawl began noticing the large shadow behind their local halfa, some were horrified as they thought they were fighting a baby all this time and were just in their transition but others had congratulated Danny for basically growing up. Maturing? Transitioning? They don’t know the right word but hell yeah they are proud.

Add to the fact that he just became the Ghost King, which means that his ghostly side will be more horrific, gory, and ghastly than a usual ghost as their real form reflects their strength.

…

Danny didn’t know but for some reason, Amnity’s CPS launched an investigation into the Fenton couple. Had found out that having a house? Structure? Home? Full of weapons is not a viable home for a teenage boy like himself and was promptly removed from their custody and the premises. Of course, the Fenton couple tried to fight off the verdict, heck even Vlad tried to help the two for the sake of Maddie and even tried to have Danny placed with him.

In the end, Danny is relocated to a far place away from his parents as well as his godfather one of the CPS workers pointed out that Danny has bruises every time, he visits Vlad which puts him under the scrutiny of a different kind of investigation as well.

Jazz was considered out of the hostile environment as she had just moved from their home to her dorm and had just been given a protection order that said that her parents including Vlad were to stay away from her as well as have no contact with the said individuals as it may affect the proceedings.

Danny bounced from one foster to another up until he ended up with the foster parent who had the greatest record, Bruce Wayne himself.

At first, Danny tries every trick he can think of in the book to be removed as well as isolating himself within his room in the manor to be transferred as the moment he went ghost to look at his surroundings and saw the secret basement as well the Wayne family being the glorified furry brigade he wants out! He is not sharing a roof with a fruit loop thank you very much, but as the days went by he began getting used to the Waynes and thought that he may have grown to the Waynes.

Though how come Duke smiled too tight whenever he saw him?

…

Duke knew there was something wrong with the new kid. Don’t get him wrong black hair, and blue eyes alongside a so, so situation with his parents made him the prime adoption bait for the family. They were just waiting for him to discover the cave on his own to be officially introduced to the family. But there is something so wrong with Danny.

Sure, his diet tends to have his meat lean more on the medium rare side or even to the bloody side, and chalked it up to growing up not learning how to properly cook and brushing it off.

Sure he is too quiet to the point he is scaring and surprising highly trained vigilantes which has multiple people being trained by the best in the world.

Sure he tends to go to places which is cold, too cold for his liking, Alfred nearly had a heart attack seeing Danny sleeping in the large freezer which contained the meat and other perishable items that needed to be frozen to preserve.

But the biggest thing that made Duke uneasy was the shadow looming over Danny. It was huge to the point it reached the manor ceilings. Its very green toxic eyes seemed to lock on him every time he entered the room. Duke accidentally made eye contact when he is hanging out with Dick, Tim, and Danny. It practically swallowed him whole with the way it looked at him, it made all of his hair straighten up. Dick who noticed him froze up and asked him what was wrong, he excised himself and ran to the farthest corner of the manor and proceeded to throw up his lunch due to the unspeakable things that things showed to him.

(In reality, Danny’s ghostly side is trying to show Duke what would he do to his enemies as well as to whomever harmed them)

Duke is now contemplating what to tell the rest of the Batclan how Danny is cursed. Haunted? and have them call Zatanna or Constantine to get rid of whatever it is.

…

PS: If someone out there wanted to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

PPS: As you can see I cannot write horror to save my life so please pardon me, I tried my best…:-P

#dc x dp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #dp #danny fenton #ghost king danny

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gutsby · 6 months

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Playing Dangerous

Pairing: Detective Dixon x Reader

Summary: Working undercover in a seedy part of town, homicide detective Daryl sees you in your skimpy club attire and mistakes you for a hooker. A wrongful arrest makes for a funny way to foreplay, but you’re still game.

Warnings: NSFW. Thigh riding. Brat taming. Daddy kink. Dubcon elements vis-à-vis power imbalance and forceful facefucking, plus some dark-ish dirty talk, face slapping, overstimulation where Daryl keeps making you cum after you say that you’re finished (all meant to be consensual).

Notes: Big big thank you to @dilfsandmartinis for this filthy lil idea!! 🫣🩷 Requests are always welcome :-)

Shitty was an understatement.

This was a full-blown, top-notch terror of an evening, rivaled only in its sheer lethality by the time you once broke your nose and got arrested twice in the same day.

Tonight was likely to be a close second, though.

You’d spent all of ten minutes in the center of that hot and sweaty club, fighting madly not to drop your drinks or lose your purse, when suddenly, simultaneously, it seemed every guy around you had lost the power of self-control. You were prodded and groped like a shiny slab of meat ripe for any man’s hands—and no matter how hard you elbowed each offender, you couldn’t find reprieve. You were constantly being grabbed.

You’d grumbled as much to your friends, and they’d told you to ‘lighten up’ and ‘not be so surprised when you were wearing something like that.’

Something like what? A super mini skirt and a bustier?

You promptly informed each member of your party they could kiss your ass, and left.

That had been almost half an hour ago, and you were still currently stuck outside the club waiting for a lift. In the snow. With no jacket, or adequate covering.

Every time a taxi passed, you’d wobble over to the street corner and wave your hand, but on each endeavor, without fail, its driver would shoot you a dirty look and speed right off. Like you had, ‘I’M GONNA ROB YOU’ written on your forehead or else smelled of rotting flesh.

You were mystified, distraught, and supremely pissed off. You didn’t know what you were doing wrong.

The second you saw a semi-reputable looking Dodge Charger pull up to the curb, you decided you’d had enough. Uber or not, you needed a fucking ride.

You stalked over to the vehicle, already seeing its passenger side window creeping down on your approach. Your arms were quick to fold over your chest as you bent down and scowled,

“Could you please take me home?”

The man you saw inside looked polished. Well-groomed.

You hardly had more than a second or two to inspect his appearance, though, because in an instant, he was leaning over the center console to shoot you a smile.

“How much, hon?”

You heaved a sigh of relief. Finally, someone was taking you seriously.

You reached for the door handle and tumbled right in.

“Any price, just name it,” you groaned. You rubbed your face with both hands and leaned back in the seat. Almost unable to believe your stroke of good fortune after so many failed attempts, you let out a shaky, but grateful, breath and spread your legs just a little to get comfy.

“Good,” the man to your left said, calmly, evenly...then, “Now put your hands where I can see them.”

You lowered your hands from your face and gave the stranger a puzzled look.

“What?”

“Hands, show me hands,” he said, voice raising ever slightly in volume.

What the fuck was he on? Staring you down with that stupid, self-righteous face, lip curled in a melodramatic snarl like he could’ve been one of those lousy fuckin’—

“Police,” he barked. Louder, this time. Flashing a badge before your panic-stricken eyes and clenching his jaw.

Your hands flew up instinctively.

Was it illegal to hail a cab now?!

You didn’t have time to think, or blink, or do much else besides breathe when the well-dressed man got out of the car and instructed you to do the same. Your hands and feet seemed to move of their own accord as you gingerly slipped out from the front seat of the car to the cold wintry night outside. You were pushed to your knees on the concrete sidewalk and made to kneel.

To your right, you saw a gaggle of college kids strolling by—some pointing, others laughing, but all watching in muted awe as the undercover cop circled to your back.

“You have the right to remain silent—” he started, reaching for the handcuffs on his belt.

“Excuse me?!” you hissed.

“—anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law—” he continued. A couple gentle clinks and suddenly your wrists were in chains.

“What’d I do? What the fuck did I do?”

“You have a right to an attorney,” he droned on, heedless of your cries as he read your Miranda rights, “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”

You felt tears spring to your eyes as both cuffs locked into place and you were being hauled back onto your feet, sniveling and sobbing before throngs of amused onlookers. Your face burned with embarrassment.

“I didn’t know it was a crime, officer— I didn’t know, I swear— I-I-I’m so fucking drunk!” you blubbered as he guided you swiftly to the rear of his car. You practically bawled when he opened the back door.

“I just really needed a taxi!” you wailed, legs shaking as he started to lower you into the vehicle.

At that, he stopped.

He tugged you back on your feet and spun you around.

“A what?” he asked.

“A taxi,” you cried, “All the other drivers kept— kept driving away, I thought, I-I don’t know, I thought you might be another Uber driver or something.”

The man’s expression betrayed a change, though you couldn’t decipher just what that was through your tears. You sniffled and tried to wipe your cheek with your shoulder but ended up smearing more makeup in your line of sight. You whimpered at a pathetic pitch.

“Taxi,” the police officer repeated, seeming to mull over the word in his mind like it was the latest addition to the English language. He frowned.

Through your tear-streaked vision, you could just then detect the faintest trace of affliction…even remorse? His eyes wavered between your face, your ensemble, and the ground below, making a couple quick circuits before finally settling on your wet, bleary gaze.

His voice sounded strained to you now.

“You weren’t…trying to have sex with me?”

Your breath caught in your throat. You coughed, blinked, looked the man up and down and hardly knew to even shake your head with how blind-sided you felt.

“W-What? What?”

“You’re not…a prostitute?” the man said, almost pained.

That query threw you for a loop just the same. You pressed your weight on the car and sensed a strange unsteadinesses seize your limbs. This undercover cop thought you were a hooker—and a cheap one at that, game for any price the man was offering—and presently, you felt queasy. You looked down at your outfit.

It surely wasn’t that revealing, was it? He couldn’t have been so easily convinced of your profession by a...pair of glossy go-go boots, latex skirt, and lacy top, right?

Okay, you looked a little bit like a hooker.

Worse yet, you noticed a wad of cash stuffed between your left tit and armpit, from the time you tried to bribe the bouncer for a ride while leaving the bar. A loose cigarette stuck behind your ear, two hickeys suckled into the skin of your neck, and a teensy bag of blow to boot, tucked haphazardly between an assortment of Trojans and Magnums strewn lazily throughout your purse.

Alright, you could’ve been cast in the next Pretty Woman remake, but who cares? Half the girls in the club were dressed just as scantily, if not more so.

You somehow mustered the strength to squeeze your hands into frozen little fists behind your back and gave the officer a brazen look.

“Think I don’t have anyone better to fuck?” you scoffed.

The detective’s expression went from inscrutable to uncomfortable in fewer than two seconds. He seemed hardly able to look you in the eye any longer, casting sidelong stares at the crowd growing larger on the sidewalk. Collective curiosity piqued at the sight of a cop and a would-be streetwalker making small talk outside of the club, he knew he had to get out of this. Quick.

“I’ll, uh, take ya home, ma’am,” he said under his breath.

Before you could either accept or reject his offer, he had your cuffs undone—discreetly—and your body shuffled hastily inside his car. You heard the door slam shut and saw the officer make quick strides toward the driver’s side. You raised both brows as soon as he re-entered.

“That’s it?” you quipped.

“What?” he returned as he started the engine.

“You make that hot-shot unlawful arrest in front of all those people, and you’re not even gonna say sorry?”

The man made every effort not to shoot you a look in the rearview mirror. Slowly, he pulled into the street.

“Well...y’know, you do look the part. But I’m sorry.” Proffering one of the most pitiful apologies you’d heard in your life, the detective fixed his gaze on the road.

You knew he was bluffing. The man was humiliated as shit, too coy to come clean with the fact that he’d just made an egregious error, and now offering you a ride all to make himself out to be the good guy—and quite possibly avoid a wrongful arrest lawsuit.

Maybe it was the residual amounts of alcohol still coursing through your veins or else the cocaine, but you couldn’t let the dipshit get off that easy. You scrambled your way up to the front of the car.

It was at that moment Detective Dixon sincerely wished he’d driven the squad car—complete with a cage, of sorts, to keep inmates locked away in the back seat—rather than his unmarked vehicle, to be making arrests that night. He stifled a groan when you plopped down in the passenger seat next to him.

“What do you mean, ‘looked the part,’ hm?” you quizzed, burning a hole through the side of his head with how intently you were watching him.

“Put yer seatbelt on,” the man rolled his eyes, attention never straying from the long line of cars ahead of him, “And where do you live?”

“Over on ‘Fuck 12’ Avenue, Officer...Dixon?” you answered sarcastically, scanning his chest for a nametag.

“Detective,” he corrected, “Friends call me Daryl.”

“Detective Dixon, I am not your friend.” You smirked, and for the first time, you thought your discomfited front-seat companion might be tempted to crack one too. You watched him fight his base instincts, however, and force a frown instead. Still not tearing his gaze from the road, he reached over, blindly, for your seatbelt.

“C’mon now, buckle up,” he urged, echoing the words of a concerned father but somehow making it sound far more sexy when he said it. You swallowed a giggle and swatted his hand away.

“Detective!” you feigned an offended gasp.

“Ah, hush up, will ya?” Daryl muttered as his broad, veiny hand continued fumbling for the seatbelt, “You know it’s against the law to— shit!”

The two of you simultaneously leapt in your seats with near-identical sounds of...shock. You, feeling his fingers accidentally graze that tender spot between your legs and him, in turn, finding it unclothed. And soaked.

Detective Dixon retracted his hand just as fast as he’d sunk it in place, only holding it up in the air for an instant—but that was all either of you needed to see that his digits were glistening. You clamped your legs tight together and sucked in a breath.

Under any normal set of circumstances, you would’ve been much more in tune with the way your body was reacting to external stimuli. With all the commotion of your almost-arrest and the subsequent desire to exact revenge on the undercover detective, you hadn’t even realized how physically aroused you were.

Still reeling from his touch, you sank back in your seat. Suddenly more conscious of your bodily fluids than ever before, and embarrassed.

“I’m so sorry,” Daryl blurted out in a hurry. Gripping the steering wheel and pretending not to notice the slight wet slip of his right hand.

You couldn’t speak. He wouldn’t dare to venture a look to see if you might.

Now this would make for one hell of a career-ending lawsuit, Detective Dixon thought with a grimace. Wrongful arrest, soliciting sex on the clock, making unwanted advances on a woman who was technically, in a sense, being detained in his car while he—

Jumped, again, the second he felt your hand on his own.

You were pulling his arm over to your side of the car.

When Daryl turned his head, he paled the instant he saw you bring his hand to your mouth. Watched you pucker your lips and move them over his still-damp fingertips. Then suck them inside your mouth, three at a time.

He nearly swerved off the road and took out six civilians.

“Eyes...on the road, detective,” you murmured quietly, words garbled by the obstruction of his fingers.

Daryl swallowed thickly, and then, reluctantly, turned his attention to the street. He didn’t see much of what was in front of him.

“13 Peachtree Place.” You plucked his fingers out of your mouth just long enough to tell him your address. Then you went right back to suckling down the skin, letting your tongue glide gently over the tender, slick digits.

Daryl stifled a groan. There was no fucking way this was happening.

Guided by the faintest idea of where your neighborhood was located, he pulled off onto a side road and tried hard not to let out a sound when you sucked his three fingers to the back of your mouth—and felt your throat seize just a little at the sudden intrusion.

You pulled him out of your mouth with a wet pop and started over his lap.

You, yourself, were hardly more aware of what you were doing than why you were doing it, a slave to your sensory impulses and a sucker for a man in brown slacks. You crawled across the lap of the plainclothes officer who’d accused you of ‘selling yourself’ just minutes ago, only to show him what you were happy to do, free of charge.

It wasn’t your most gloriously feminist moment, to be sure, but then again, when were you going to get another chance to fuck the police and get off scot-free like this?

You palmed Detective Dixon through his pants and smiled when he whined just a little.

“Bet you wish I was selling, huh? Wish I was some pretty little thing for you to use at your convenience?” you purred, stroking over him gently.

Daryl gritted his teeth but said nothing in return. He brought the car to a stop under a red light.

You didn’t like the quiet types. You squeezed him harder in your hand, felt his erection grow even larger between your fingers, and moved up to press a kiss on his neck, tasting tiny beads of sweat there.

“How badly did you wish I was a whore, detective?”

When you leaned in for another couple light kisses, you were startled to feel a hand at your own throat, jerking your face up to his.

“Already knew you were the second I saw you.” he returned, deadpan, before your wide and unsuspecting eyes.

When the light turned green, he released your neck and reached for the back of your head. You let out a muffled whimper as he shoved you down against his crotch, stiff as a rock underneath your cheek.

“Why? Does a whore wanna suck it?” he asked, pressing his foot on the gas.

At a moment’s notice, you were robbed of your slight dominant edge and made to grovel under his touch like a bitch in heat. Daryl rubbed your plush lips over the mound in his pants like he was proud to make you feel it. And you, yielding as ever, made no attempt to keep from being manhandled because, if you were honest with yourself, you knew that you wanted it that way. You smiled against the cotton blend of his trousers and made a soft moan along the fabric, letting him drag you by the hair any way that he pleased.

When he yanked your head up and the car came to another stop, you weren’t surprised in the least by the trail of saliva that followed your lips. You locked eyes with his steel blue set and grinned again, quite stupidly.

“Well?” Daryl pressed, giving your hair a sharp tug.

You thought the sight of your watering mouth and blissed-out expression would have sufficed for an answer, but clearly, he wanted more. You worked gracelessly over the belt buckle and zip beneath your chin, and had his cock freed in seconds.

The car sped up again. Detective Dixon’s grip tightened on your scalp.

The second your lips latched onto the head of his dick, you knew you’d be in for a bumpy ride. He hissed as soon as the warmth of your mouth enveloped him, gripped the wheel like a vice, and made sure to spare your throat no expense the second he came to a sloppy halt.

Either your car was in bumper-to-bumper traffic, or the man couldn’t drive for shit while getting road head. You’d put a large sum of cash on the latter if you had it.

Regardless, you bobbed your head up and down and tried your best to suppress the urge to gag when you could. It was tough work, flattening your tongue down his length, gripping his cock at the base, sucking hard until your cheeks hollowed out, and then bump went the whole fucking car, and suddenly your throat was forced to take four more inches in the span of a second.

You lifted your head to protest but were swiftly met with a firm hand holding it down. Keeping it down.

“You’re done sucking this cock when I say you’re done,” Daryl informed you sternly, sucking a breath through his teeth when you gagged around him once more.

He pulled you off just long enough to breathe—and answer a question.

“You live over by McGinty’s? Or MacManus’?”

“McVeigh’s,” you supplied in a shaky voice. No one ever got the Irish pubs around you right.

Daryl hummed and shoved you right back onto his dick, pretending to take no notice of the way you gripped his thigh or tried to groan, ‘Fucker’ against his shaft. Your oral cavity was presently flooded with cock, pre-cum, and saliva, and the longer you sucked, the harsher he got to pushing your head up and down. Your eyes stung with tears.

“In through yer nose, darlin’, almost there,” he hummed, smug as ever. Whether he meant you were close to your house or he was about to cum down your throat, you couldn’t be sure. Your mouth slipped and squelched gently over the man’s throbbing member and made tiny whimpers when you felt you might climax any minute.

In a clandestine act, you moved one hand down your body while you continued blowing Daryl’s brains out. You were half-cockdrunk and hardly more sentient than a sex doll, it seemed, but you could’ve sworn you were quite discreet about the endeavor between your legs. You had just grazed the slick wet seam of your slit, about to press two fingers to your clit, when a hand jerked at a clump of your hair. Hard.

As soon as your mouth was disconnected from his shaft, Daryl landed a tart slap on your cheek.

“My baby need something?” he said, almost tauntingly.

You blinked up at him, failing to understand, until he reached down and pried your hand away from your heat.

“If tha’ wet, greedy cunt needs sum’n, ya better tell me.”

You were amazed how deftly he appeared to maneuver the car now, just pinching your face between forefinger and thumb as he veered down winding streets. When you paused a second or two to answer, you were punished with another slap.

“Just wanted a touch,” you whined, trying to rub the cheek that was stinging and finding yourself outmatched by Daryl’s grip. He squeezed you even tighter.

“Then you say that next time. With your big girl words,” Detective Dixon grunted, bringing the car to a sudden halt and hauling you into his arms.

You looked small splayed across his lap. Perhaps even tinier just straddling one leg, as you were, body writhing beneath his touch and moans and whimpers bubbling up your throat one at a time.

When you looked around, you realized you were home.

Part of you wanted to bolt, for a second. Go sprinting up the lawn toward the safety of your home and jump straight under the covers, a place where you would be free to touch yourself as you pleased—no smug homicide detective breathing down your throat.

But, as you straddled his wide, beefy thigh and felt one gentle pulse of the muscle underneath, you knew you were done for. He saw just as clearly as you that your body was in need of release. Not from your fingers, not from his tongue, perhaps not even from the fat, throbbing cock that had been fucking your mouth the whole way home.

In this moment, all you needed was for him to bounce you on his thigh, let you ride, and make you cum.

Your expression must have looked exceptionally pathetic when you tried stirring your hips and felt two hands stop you cold in your tracks.

“What did daddy just say about big girl words, hm?” Daryl’s voice took on a tender lilt so unlike anything he’d said or done before that you almost didn’t hear the word ‘daddy,’ or think it strange at all. It seemed so natural playing off of his tongue.

“I need you, daddy,” you whimpered.

To say you were putty in his hands was still something short of the truth. You were damn near liquified underneath his touch, half-limp and wholly yearning as the man steadied you in place and began his delicate ministrations like you’d never experienced before.

The once callous, largely cruel law enforcement figure took on something of a gentle affect as he ran his hands up and down your body and let you ease yourself into his touch. There were kisses, caresses, and all sorts of soft little touches on your skin that made you feel pampered and prized, even precious in his eyes. Was this really the same man whose cock had been choking you to the point of tears just minutes ago?

Daryl hiked your skirt up your hips until the sight of your bare, needy cunt was all he could see. Still, he stayed cool and trained his eyes up to yours.

“How’s that feel, honey?”

Even as still as a stone, you felt sparks of hot energy fly up from your center. Remembering your big girl words, you replied, ‘So good, daddy, I just need some more.’

Daryl seemed happy to oblige his good little girl and made sure to shift his knee a little to the right. At the slightest bit of friction, you moaned.

“Oh, daddy,” you whined, leaning in to that praise-heavy dynamic Daryl seemed keen to play out. When he bounced his foot once or twice, shaking your whole body as he did, you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth and grabbed hold of his thigh. Even rolled your hips right back to his movements.

As light, tender sounds tumbled past your lips with increasing frequency, so too did Daryl’s mouth impart more gentle kisses and dirtier words for your ears to hear:

“Such a pretty little thing, ridin’ daddy’s thigh like tha’.”

“Grindin’ tha’ needy wet pussy all over my leg.”

“Gonna make a mess fer daddy? Show me how much my sweet girl’s been needin’ a good fuck?”

You loved every last filthy syllable. You braced hard against his leg and rutted up and down, in circles all around until you thought you could’ve soaked his whole pant leg. Meanwhile, he was bouncing his thigh, stroking your sides, and making sure you were never wanting for affection or praise as a soft swell of pleasure came dimly into view.

When he flattened one palm across your tummy and told you to lean back, you knew the end wasn’t far from sight.

Daryl took hold of your hips and made an even quicker cadence with his leg, bouncing you fast and hard and hopelessly tight against his thigh as he drank in every one of your moans coming out.

You pressed one hand to the window—long since fogged up and opaque with the hot breaths you were panting—and placed the other on Daryl’s shoulder.

You could tell by the glint in his eye and the grin on his face that he loved you like this. Spread out and desperate for release as you rocked your hips a vicious course over him, using his body for leverage as you fucked his leg for all it was worth.

“Tha’s my girl,” Daryl beamed, practically scintillating with joy.

He watched you rut your hips again and again in the most obscene sort of fashion, riding his thigh with a moan never far from your lips. You squeezed his shoulder.

“Daddy, I—” you started, only to swallow your words with a whimper the second Daryl started bouncing his foot even faster.

“Daddy what?” he teased, pretending not to notice the elevated pitch to your whines.

“Fuck— you know what!” you cried.

“Nah, pretty baby, I ain’t got the slightest clue,” Detective Dixon was exuberant now, grinning from ear to ear as the pleasure visibly mounted inside of you, “Fuck my leg a little harder and tell me how it feels.”

You did. He helped. Even gripped your hips and moved them for you, keeping that breakneck pace as you moaned and writhed and sank your nails into his shoulder as the feelings just got to be too much.

With one last strangled cry, you came all over his thigh.

And, whether that climax lasted two seconds or two hours, the man beneath you didn’t really care—he kept bouncing his leg as you finished, and long after you had, as well.

You seized both of his shoulders this time as you tried to slow his movements. He made no such effort to oblige, only flashing a smile and nodding his big, dumb head as he said:

“I want one more.”

What? No fucking way, you thought, communicating as much through your frantic eyes and the shake of your head. Daryl kept right on moving his leg and holding you firm to that mile-wide wet spot on his thigh, which only grew larger and larger the longer you rode him.

As a bizarre, unfamiliar feeling sank to the pit of your stomach and twisted, you weren’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or cum all over again—luckily, your body decided for you and graced you with yet another orgasm. You gritted your teeth and tried not to scream as a wild wave of a new sensation washed over your senses…

And Daryl kept bouncing that fucking knee.

Mind-numbing waves of ecstasy came crashing closer and closer than ever before, and frankly, you couldn’t quite tell how, or when, you’d ever cum again until you did it, you felt it: walls clenching back and forth while your vision blurred with pleasure. A sound wavering somewhere between a scream and a plea—Daryl, keep that goddamn knee to yourself, for fuck’s sake!—tore out of your chest and prompted you to sink all ten nails into flesh that told your sly detective it was time to stop.

Your whole frame was shaking by the time his foot came to rest. If you hadn’t been so fucked-out and sensitive, you just might’ve jumped out of the car the second it did.

But you didn’t. You stayed frozen in place, let your vision return apace, and didn’t let your eyes stray an inch from Daryl’s smug face while your third orgasm subsided.

Fighting every urge to giggle when he squeezed your ass and begged for another.

“Fourth one’s gonna cost ya, asshole.”

“Oh yeah?” Daryl said, grinning, “What’s your price?”

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon one shot #daryl dixon imagine #daryl x reader #the walking dead #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #twd imagine #smut

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hhnguyen · 1 year

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aren’t you just precious

Everything medical related was a google search, so those in the medical field please don’t come for me - I was a literature major for a reason 😭

♢ Pairing: Parents!Jake & Neytiri x Oldest daughter!Reader

♢ Word count: 2k

♢ Genre: suspense, action, angst, slight humor - Warnings: explicit description of injuries, blood, cursing, reader is a lil crazy

⌲ Description: Your iknimaya goes a little south. Aka introducing the ‘demon ikran.’

M A S T E R L I S T

Jake Sully, a marine veteran at the age of twenty-two had gone through absolute hell on earth before ever setting his disabled ass on Pandora.

He thought he had seen the worse - comrades shot down right in front of his eyes, the blood covering their skin, blank dead eyes staring into his soul. Sometimes there were those who were actually blown to bits by bombs and grenades, screaming not even five feet away from him as they clutched their missing limbs, begging a nonexistent God for mercy.

Then there was his own injury. The pain he hardly remembered, because he had gotten to the point of delusion when they finally managed to drag him out of the war zone, half dead, and to the VA hospital.

The incoherent words he had heard after waking up from his surgery despite his hazy vision and buzzing hearing at that time, yet the truth coming out of the doctor’s mouth had still hit him in the face like the largest ‘fuck you and your life’ to exist.

“...ave severe spinal injury...fixable...expensive, marine.”

A severe spinal injury that was fixable but too expensive for a marine like him to afford.

For an active man as he had been in the past, the thought of being paralyzed from the waist had been his worst nightmare to the point of being ready to waste away his life.

Though even after all that shit, Jake Sully felt like he wanted to throw up as he stared at his oldest baby girl at the fresh age of fourteen laying there in front of him; delirious as he had once been in the same position, bleeding and bruised.

He could only thank Eywa that your heart was still beating and your body intact.

Well, mostly.

The almost nauseous angle of your left wrist certainly did not look natural. And their bones were fortified, stronger than anything else to human knowledge. Yet it had managed to snap as easily as that.

Neytiri - his beautiful, poor mate. She was distraught, one would say more so than him. Sitting only inches away from your fevering form in one of Hell’s Gate treating rooms for avatars, muttering prayers with dried tears upon her face.

Your injuries had been so severe that not even the abilities of your grandmother, the Tsahik, could heal you solely through the spiritual power of Eywa. These kinds of injuries needed the advanced surgery of human technology.

His other children were barred from coming inside, having been firmly ordered to remain in their village as he and Neytiri made sure that you would be okay. None of them wanted to keep them away, but neither did they want them to be traumatized by seeing your bloodied and broken form.

A stark contrast from the smiling and proud sister that they knew.

And yet, you had still managed to complete your iknimaya.

Jake watched with a bated breath from the air upon Bob, his own faithful ikran through the years, as he saw the slight encouraging push Neytiri had given you on the edge of the nesting place. Your, oh so small form, looked firm and stubborn as you steadily stalked forward in a crouched form, the band for the beak held in your grasp with determination.

He watched as one ikran flew away. Then another. And another. A third one. Fourth. Fifth. Sixth.

He had lost count after the eleventh.

You were getting frustrated, he could see that. Neytiri was still there, calling out for you to calm down. To be patient as he moved Bob a little bit closer, but not too much to distract you if you were to see him hovering.

And there he was.

Jake had seen it before you did. The vicious screech even reached him high up in the clouds and echoed above all the other ikrans.

He felt his blood run cold as the midnight blue beast, nearly black in color with its yellow and green detailing jumped down from the highest point of the rocks and landed behind you as you whirled around with snarl of your own.

But then as fleeting as it had been, you had grinned, taking in the magnificent animal despite its bloodthirsty aggressiveness.

“Aren’t you just precious?” Neytiri had told him of your words in the aftermath.

His mate hollered in encouragement, and he could hardly stop the prideful tug of his own lips.

Rather than you leaping on the beast, Jake straightened up as he saw the ikran run at you as well. Both were only inches away from crashing, as you last minute decided to slide beneath its belly - slight enough to fit as you rolled away on the other side and then slung the catcher around its mouth swiftly before throwing yourself on its back.

His expectations had been hopeful from that moment. Positive. But wrong, oh so wrong.

Rather than trying to snap at you by turning, he watched in horror as the ikran seemed to have a human mind as it slammed against a stone wall, you hitting it first.

Neytiri had screamed, already half leaping forward but stopping herself as she saw you still clinging to the beast.

Both had thought that had been the worst of it until the ikran tried it again. This time deliberately falling backward to land on its back with a rumble, where you were hung on.

“LET GO MA ‘ITE! LET GO!” Neytiri was yelling. Or begging. He couldn’t be sure in his own fear.

But both of them underestimate you, as a growl mixed with what Jake had assumed to be a painful yell from yourself erupted. Legs manage to wrap around the animal’s neck despite being crushed underneath its weight.

He saw belatedly you were only holding on to the banshee catcher with one hand as you pulled at its head hard enough to make the animal let out another vicious muted screech.

And then you truly proved you were his daughter.

“C’MON YOU MOTHERFUCKER. GRANDPA BOB WAS BETTER THAN THIS!”

The ikran had gotten angrier, trashing before suddenly rolling like a fucking bowling pin on the stone-covered ground.

Towards the edge of the cliff.

Neytiri ran, and Jake dove, both reaching out and screaming your name as you and the ikran fell off the edge.

As his mate leaned almost desperately over the edge, Jake forced himself to draw Bob back up, only for a few seconds - not to interfere with the rite. But it was in those few seconds he felt like his heart had stopped beating.

There was that familiar screech again.

Then you were soaring.

Up in a straight line, past Neytiri and him. Tsaheylu clearly made as the ikran listened to your orders.

There was a blinding grin on your face as you soared, clearly looking for him and letting out a whoop.

The moment your eyes caught his, Jake felt his grin slip.

Your eyes, open just moments before suddenly rolled back. Your whole body went slack as you fell over the side, your newly bonded ikran screeching at the sudden weightless feeling as the bond broke and your body went straight down.

Jake hadn’t heard his desperate yell, this time diving down without stopping.

He thought you were dead when he managed to catch you and flew back up, only to have Neytiri meet him in the air on her own mount, an expression so clearly in distress. Without a word, they both made haste back to the village, your newly bonded ikran following closely behind.

“How is she?” His voice sounded like it had gone over fifty years of smoking with no water. It felt like his whole body was weighed down with stones.

“She’s alive,” that’s all that Max could offer with a grim expression. “She will need surgery. The momentum of her slamming repeatedly against stones with the ikran’s weight on top has managed to collapse a lung.”

Jake had never wanted to sob like a newborn baby until now. But he needed to remain calm, or at least sane. For Neytiri’s sake, and your siblings.

“Usually surgeries like these lead to long-term conditions in life, but we’re certain that with the Na’vi biology she will heal just fine without complications. But it’s the healing that will take time.”

He was nodding along, but it felt like he was far away. Only hearing a slight inconsistent sound in his ears as he watched through the see-through glass into the room where you were all connected up to tubes and an oxygen mask.

It was so human, the whole situation of you being in a hospital bed for avatars - Jake wanted to laugh. Not in humor, but maybe in slight delusion at the situation.

“Okay, okay…” he swallowed. “Anything else?”

His human friend was taking pity on him, Jake knew.

Max has been there since the beginning. Seeing Jake growing his own family and now being placed in this position. “Besides the broken wrist and strained ankle, it’s mostly cuts and bruises. So she will have to wear a brace as well as remain seated for the next week or so. And check-ups every three days.“

“Yeah, we can do that,” Jake croaked. “When’s the surgery?”

“As soon as possible.”

Another nod. “Thanks, man.”

“Of course.”

He had to nearly pry Netytiri away from you as she snarled protectively. But he had to explain that she couldn’t join in on the surgery due to contamination concerns. The whole room had to be fixed to match that of a Na’vi body, the surgeons wearing oxygen masks as the space was filled with Pandora’s toxic air for your sake.

It was an open lung surgery, Jake had been told. A risky procedure even on earth. It had taken four hours. Four hours full of anxiety and fear.

But you had pulled through, Max said, Norm closely behind with a relieved teary smile himself. The man was like another uncle to the kids despite his avatar form. He had watched their ceremonies, rites and connections to Eywa. So to Norm, this was just like a family member to him.

You had slept for a full day and a half after the surgery, still confined to the avatar hospital room before your eyes had fluttered open with difficulty. A cough erupted followed by your painful whine at the action.

Netytiri had hushed you gently, crouching down and stroking your hair back. Fresh tears fell at seeing you conscious again after so long, sobs breaking out as you flashed a sleepy smile at her.

Neytiri had felt like Eywa had pulled the entirety of Pandora away from underneath her feet during the hours of your examination and surgery. Clutching Jake to her and never wanting to let go as her oldest baby was at the mercy of nature and your own will to live through.

But she knew.

You were strong. You always had been. And you had fought.

Neytiri had never imagined a day when one of her biggest nightmares nearly came to pass.

To lose one of her children.

She would rather throw herself off the highest point on Ayram alusìng than lose one of her precious babies before their time. She believed in Eywa with her whole heart and soul and knew their beings were only borrowed and one day had to be returned.

But Eywa would not take her children away from her until Neytiri herself agreed.

Until that time, she would do anything to protect them. But to have it happen during one of their most treasured rites in life had prevented her from doing many things.

Interfering for once. Because you had said so before as if knowing how horribly wrong it could go.

“Do not stop me, mama. I can do this on my own.”

Of course, you could. And you did.

Despite having to brush the doors to Eywa’s home yourself to succeed.

And as your parents carefully helped you back home to the village after five days of observation at Hell’s Gate after your surgery, you couldn’t help but snicker despite the stabs of pain.

Your mom had admonished you gently to not aggravate your wounds. Whereas your dad held back the roll of his eyes with amusement tickling the sides of his mouth.

“Why are you laughing, flower?”

Your grin was shit-eating as you looked up at him.

“My iknimaya was so much cooler than Toruk Makto’s.”

“You little skxawng.”

I feel like I lowkey pulled this one out of my ass, but oh well.

taglist: @nao-cchi @eywas-heir @ssc7514 @spicycloudsalad @calums-betch @httpjiikook @ricecakeslove @fanboyluvr @iwaslikeblah @the-wandering-pan-ace @avatarloversblog @eternallyvenus @enchantinggoateefox @arianapntn @heydemonsitsme @slyvixen1029 @promiseofeywa @love13tter @directioner5life @bambisposts-blogs @melllinaa @sugarmummystuff6 @lovekeeho @hai-kbai

#avatar #avatar imagine #avatar the way of water #sully family #sully family x reader #jake sully x reader #dad jake sully #jake sully imagine #jake sully x daughter #mom neytiri #neytiri x you #neytiri x daughter!reader #sully reader #sully daughter

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tarjapearce · 3 months

Text

El Diablo Wears Prada (Pt.3)

Mafia boss! Miguel O'Hara x Reader.

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Smut, Fingering, non-con oral (M! receiving), masturbation, power play, sexual tension, mild angst, Dom! Miguel.

Summary: Another toll is put on your shoulders.

A/N: Centuries later, here's part 3! Hope you like <3. Feedback much appreciated. Cooper Coen belongs to Marvel ✨

As much as you wanted to remain in Morpheus' arms and let your body rest until it reached a hundred percent, the constant buzzing of the tracking device against your ankle kept alerting you.

The last vibration had bolted you awake with a startle. Body whined in protest at the sudden movement that took such a strong hold on your hips, the juncture of your arms and thighs.

It took you a couple of seconds to get your bearings and see the little and borderline fancy tracking device on your ankle. It was as if a digital watch had been locked up around your smooth skin.

A little jolt of electricity ran through your nerves in a clear sign to not mess with the device, since you had tried to remove it. If you looked closer, it had a little password lock behind, a four-digit code.

You gotta be kidding me

How dared he putting such a thing on you? When did he put this thing on you?, but more important, was he still around? Cause if he was, he'd have a piece of your mind.

His sweater on your skin felt a too stuffy, and you needed a bath. A couple of bruises begun appearing in your ankles and the fatty part of your thighs cause obviously he needed to make sure you understood the magnitude of your current situation and how Massimo had willingly put a target ring on your back.

The buzz however snapped you out of the spiralling trance of thoughts that assaulted your mind. Brows puckered as you made your way towards his room but as soon as you entered, anger sapped away for a moment from your head.

The curtains were drawn shut, their dark colors provided enough darkness to isolate the brightest sunshines that tried with all their might to seep past them and take a hold of whatever thing they could reach.

With careful steps and a petty heart you sauntered over the windows and one by one removed the curtains, letting all the sun's ablaze glory to illuminate the darkened room in a go, even if it meant for you to be blindsided for a second before you turned your back on the light and saw the results of your anger display before you.

El Diablo, laid sprawled in his ever big and cozy bed, his right and sharp cheek smooshed against the soft and silky burgundy sheets that wrapped like a second skin on his torso and legs. One of his feet poked out from underneath, letting itself to hang outside the smooth prison.

His gorgeous mouth laid slightly ajar, letting a little drool streak to escape him and get long dry over the sheets. The smooth locks with the little silver strands in it were also sprawled all over his forehead and the mattress. Your eyes shamelessly raked his back. Big, well worked, perfect for leaving scratches and marks. He had none of those, but a different one.

A red lips silhouette located a few inches from his ear, half of it smeared, as if wrongly or quickly wiped, trying to cover up a trail.

The fact he had someone before giving you a rough fuck, not only put a little familiar yet painful stab in your heart, but returned the angry thoughts that initially gave you enough courage to foray into the devil's personal hellhole.

The pain felt like an old friend now that you had seen and heard the type of man Massimo really was. You didn't want to admit that there were times you could still feel a woman's perfume on his clothes while busying yourself in the confinement of your manor, trying to distract yourself from the emerging distraught of knowing your husband was possibly cheating.

Men

With a scowl, you took one of the many pillows and threw it at his beautiful sleeping face.

"Wake up!"

That quickly contorted into several emotions upon suddenly awakening. Surprise cause you had dared startle him, anger because you had the guts to interrupt his slumber and throw a pillow and finally, annoyance at your yapping.

Your arms crossed against your chest as he placed the pillow you threw his direction on t of his head with a bored grunt.

The smell of his perfume wafted through the air, hand in hand with a light natural musk and a dash of air freshener coming from the bathroom.

"What the fuck is this on my ankle and why did you put that thing on me?"

"Can you shut up?" His slouching form only turned enough to take a proper look your way once his irises had adjusted at the room's brightness.

Wearing his oversized sweater that covered those perfect mounds of yours he didn't have enough time to squeeze properly. Face twisted in a scowl, that although he rather your scared and demure look, he had to admit this angry you made his lips smirk and a spark of excitement to run through his body.

Your hair spooked and tussled even if you were now trying to contain it in a messy bun while ignoring the rebellious baby hairs, revealing more of your upset features.

Beautiful and angry.

Was this the sight you gifted Massimo every day?

"I'm talking to you!"

"¡Ya pues! Cállate... fucking heard you already." He grumbled while laying down on his back.

But in truth he hadn't heard a single word it came from your mouth. Too deep in suddenly remembering last night's events and what had transpired back in the club.

"Take this thing off me."

"No."

Miguel stretched his spine with feline grace and a satisfied smirk, letting some joints pop back into place. His spine wasn't aching anymore, he didn't feel like dragging the past few weeks' tiring load, his shoulders felt rather light, he was even in good spirits. You had spent him real good last night.

"What is this anyway?"

You remained on the window, letting the sun warm you up a bit. The whole floor was cold anyway. Your hands grope on either side of your waist and your frown deepened upon him turning his back on you.

"Fucking men."

He smirked as you went to his closet. He noted you only wore the thick sweaters. You didn't rummage through his clothes and personal items like he initially thought.

"I need to get some things back from home."

With a groan he finally rose, and sat against the bed's oak frame, his hands reached for his phone, and scrolled through his messages as his other hand slicked the messy strands that partially obscured his sight.

"Are you even listening?!"

"I'd rather not to."

He grumbled while his eyes remained on the screen.

"I need to get myself some clothes. I don't wanna keep using yours for you to have me naked later."

"You're thinking way too high of yourself, Ratoncita." He removed the silky sheets and tossed his phone somewhere in the bed, revealing his bare physique to you as he prowled your way.

Eyes boring on your tense form. Undoubtedly he was the cat and you his ever lovely and amusing little mouse. One of his hands landed a few inches on one side of your face, but as soon as you tried to remove yourself from the equation, his other hand and a step forward of his frame closed the space, sandwiching you loosely between him and the wall.

Even if limp, his cock felt above the sweater's fabric, right above your lower belly, ever warm and hefty. He had to lean down enough to face you, then took a half firm half gentle hold in your chin.

"If you have the energies to be mewling this early in the morning, you can take your pretty ass to the shower, clean yourself and get changed. We'll leave soon. ¿Entendido?

"I'm not coming-"

He squeezed your chin, igniting that spark of fury within you as he growled between teeth, "Understood?"

His tone left no space for replies. But you slapped his hand away and retreated away from his confinement, but the petty in him needed to have the final saying. Even though words were done, he took your actions as a defiance. So he returned it, on your butt as a firm slap that smacked deliciously in the air.

You didn't even turned to face him. Anger was too much in your mind to let it have the whole control over your emotional panel, and part of you assumed that he'd settle the score to his favor with another rough fuck.

Men.

Your hands clenched into tight fists to finally disappear into the bathroom with a loud slam on the door.

As much as he wanted to yell for the poor treatment on his property, he couldn't help but smirk, satisfied at your reaction.

Part of his brain was amused to no end to see this new emotion in you. Anger made his senses tingle. But the ever rational part of his gray mass, wondered what had taken over you to be this pissed.

Hadn't he fucked you silly last night? Cause he refused to believe he had done a poor job.

The sudden thought of him underperforming in bed made his bushy brows to pucker in annoying concern. He'd take many insults, name calling, but someone, a woman specially saying he was bad at in bed? No. He couldn't allow it.

He heard the shower run, and it was his cue to get his clothes ready.

He'd go for a pair of black pants, a burgundy Prada button shirt, socks, dress shoes, no tie neither a suit, Day was too humid to be overdressed.

The shower stopped a couple of minutes later, and he put all the things on the bed.

You had finished a hot shower, rinsing all trace of him, wrapped your hair in a towel and pat dried your body to then wear one of his many black sweaters and slippers, the only thing you truly possessed.

Upon seeing nothing but his toothbrush and grooming devices, you rummaged through the marbled drawers to look for a new toothbrush. You'd eventually find them next to a neatly arranged box of condoms and some gun chargers. But to your surprise the box was intact, sealed even, waiting to be used.

With a roll if your eyes and a huff, you got to brush your teeth, a little harder than intended.

Miguel simply entered the bathroom and slowly squeezed his way into the same space as you before the mirror, pushing you softly as you brushed your hair with your fingers.

He looked in the mirror, the grayish hue on his cheeks increased, but he kept it. Not really feeling like grooming himself. His happy trail was on full display to you.

If honest, it was the first time you actually paid attention to the secrets of his skin.

A couple of scars littered his cinnamon tan and muscled skin, bullet marks? perhaps. The muscles rippled at every movement, enhancing the sight of his lower back's dimples, waist narrow and sharp, adorned with well-worked abs and sculpted thighs. There were no tattoos on his skin as he rather keep himself clean from them.

His mere existence spoke loud and clear, he didn't need ink to prove his prowess. Plus, he considered himself too old for them.

Gabriel on the other hand was like a walking board underneath his clothes. Or a bathroom stall's wall like he once called him.

Your stomach grumbled loudly, and he chuckled.

"Instead of staring, why don't you get some food? You'll need it."

He grabbed his toothbrush and put a dollop of paste on it. Voice smooth like butter, that barely did a good job at hiding the rising mirth. But his lid twitched, vexed on your mimicking words

"You're thinking too highly of yourself."

You pointed at his neck.

"And make sure to properly clean yourself from others before even considering touching me."

His smirk widened and held your wrist with enough force to make you whimper. Miguel finished washing and rinsing his mouth to then pull you by your nape and crashing his mouth on yours.

You froze as he made you taste the fresh and cool flavor of mint in his mouth. When he pulled away, a sardonic smile plastered all over his infuriating yet beautiful face. He didn't give you time to reply as you were being pushed out the bathroom and before you could even give him again a peace of mind; he slammed the door in your face.

"Asshole!"

He chuckled as you yelled behind the door and finally got to shower.

----

After a hearty breakfast and some more calls from Miguel, you and the rest got into the cars and left.

Ben, the blond man drove the SUV again. Jessica was tailing after in her own car as another car with a lanky and pierced man lead the way.

Buildings and skyscrapers of all sizes and colors passed you by, streets were averagely full, but Ben drove through shortcuts that approached faster towards your secret destination.

Miguel had refused to speak after you recoiled away from his sudden urge of teasing you. He deliberately ignored you through the road, focusing occasionally on his phone screen.

"We're here, boss." Ben mumbled after what it felt like forever.

The little caravan had stopped before a bright red three floored building. Dark windows prevented the sunlight to seep in. The name, Casa Cisneros displayed in a Dior alike typography over the red walls.

Your eyes widened when you saw the gorgeous, elegant and colorful clothing designs neatly arranged in the window's showcase.

Miguel guided your surprised self deeper into the boutique. A man around his forties, white hair, shorter than Miguel, dressed up in an orange suit and a shit-eating grin came to greet Miguel.

"Por Dios, te juro que si vienes con esa mierda de zapatos de Prada ni me molestaré en atenderte." (I swear that if you've come with those shitty Prada shoes I won't even bother in help you out.)

Miguel chuckled while shaking his head. Then hugged the man briefly yet sincerely.

"How have you been Mateo?"

"¿Cómo que 'How you've been?'" His disgust couldn't hide, "Ugh. Never mind, where is Dana? Can't wait to dress her up in my new collection!."

Your brow quirked upon the woman's name but Miguel just dismissed him with a disdainful wave of his hands and a blasé scowl.

"Ah... Ya veo. En fín, whose the new seasonal fling?"

Mateo, the owner, or so you supposed, fixed his eyes your way and smirked approvingly as he watched you from head to toes.

"Nothing better and exciting than a blank canvas." he then turned to Miguel, "The same as usual?"

The same as... what?

You looked at Miguel and the mob lord shook his head while focusing once more in his phone

He dialed some numbers to place the trinket in his ear, "Up to her."

He mumbled before disappearing into another room. Mateo however grinned upon you being given a carte blanche from his best client. Cause that meant money.

"So... What do you want?"

"Uh... The basics I believe?"

This earned him a giggle.

"Preciosa. Hermosa, muñeca. Listen to me. And listen well.", He waved a warning finger at you, "Basic is not in this fashion's house vocabulary. Secondly, if Miguel brings you here is cause, he wants you to look good and not embarrass him. I know it sounds awful, but if you're with him-"

"I'm not." Your frown deepened and Mateo just rolled his eyes.

"Of course you aren't. Anyway, I'll give you a wardrobe. Let's go. Cooper!"

He called and soon a tall, young and redhead man approached. His green eyes lit up upon the task ahead.

"This is Cooper Coen, my assistant. He'll be helping us today."

The young man greeted, and soon they began working.

Mostly of the pieces the both picked suited perfectly on your body, every curve lavished and worshipped with utter care. But you also noticed that as beautiful as it all was, the crafts were easy to remove. As if Mateo knew the purpose behind everything he donned you with.

Cooper kept packing and bringing clothes that not only enhanced your body shape, but made you look like a spoiled rich man's wife. Elegant, beyond gorgeous, expensive and oh so tempting and fuckable.

Mateo seemed delighted in having you as his personal doll, trying outfit after outfit. Miguel had left to business but Jessica remained behind to look after you.

Hours kept passing, and you moved to the undergarments. You were too focused in getting the underwear you had missed for so long that didn't hear Miguel returning.

You wouldn't ruin him financially, sadly, but as Cooper had told you, it wasn't going to go be cheap either. And if your intuition wasn't failing, you knew something didn't add up. Not that you weren't grateful to finally have your own clothes to wear, but deep in your brain, the ever rational and alert part of it kept telling you to be wary. To not trust Miguel.

What is he hiding?

----

Miguel had to leave for a couple of minutes to have an impromptu meeting with Peter back at the club for more Intel gathering. Apparently a clue on Massimo's whereabouts came up and he left you with Jessica.

But upon returning and seeing the amount of packages and the count ascending past the fifty grand, he called you.

Money wasn't an issue for him, but the amount of unnecessary shoes that you or rather Mateo had made him wonder how many pair of shoes a woman truly needed.

Never enough apparently.

He called you once, but Cooper showed up instead.

"She'll be here soon, Mr. O'Hara."

The young man nodded as Miguel huffed.

It reminded him the too many times he took women for shopping and always ended up like this. Bored out of his mind, sometimes pissed at the constant questions they asked him.

Do I look fat? Does this color matches my skin?

He sighed, irked but somehow ready to ignore the flood of questions you'd annoy him with.

Much to his dismay, minutes kept stretching impossibly longer and he had things to do and places to be at. He called you again.

No response.

His jaw tensed as his teeth ground together. He immediately took his phone and searched on the tracking device location.

Signal Lost

"Pinche mujer" He growled as he bolted gun in hand towards where you had been, Heart pounding with such an intense anger it felt like molten lava flowing through him. 1Jessica was helping Mateo, unaware of what was to unfold.

Heavy and livid steps guided him towards the dressing rooms. He swung the curtain, ready to look for clues as to where you had left, only to find you, struggling with adjusting the back straps of the lingerie Cooper had handed over to you.

"¿¡Qué no oyes cuando te hablo?! ¿'Tas pinche sorda o qué?" (Didn't you hear me when I'm talking to you?! You fucking deaf or what?!)

His sudden outburst startled you while your frightened gaze settled on him and it quickly turned angered.

"What the fuck?! I'm changing!" You were about to keep up with his yelling when his gun stood high and proud in the air. Silencing your babbling with an unintelligible grumble.

"What was that?" With a scowl he glowered your way. Your tongue clicked, ignoring him.

His eyes couldn't help but rake your body for some brief seconds to finally settling on the tracking device. The thing was off.

"What did you do to it?!" He growled while pushing you against the mirror and kneeled to grab your ankle and see with his own eyes why the device wasn't working.

Updating 40%

Of course the damned thing would be updating. His nostrils flared angrily as you yanked your limb away from his grasp.

"Hurry the fuck up, I don't have all day."

He let you go and headed towards the entrance.

"Che palle! Lasciami in pace un attimo, stronzo!" (How annoying! Leave me alone for a second, you asshole!)

And oh his head turned in many dangerous and dark thoughts. It wasn't the words you used, he couldn't care less about them, but the fact alone you still had bits of Massimo still clinging to you.

If honest, you only had learned some phrases in the attempt to rekindle things with your husband, it somehow worked, but this was a completely different outcome you truly weren't expecting.

In a blink of an eye he was already before you, red eyes glowering your way, a steely grip on his gun.

"The fuck did you say?"

You had to recoil away, but where? He had trapped you again against the mirrors, your fear etched in every face the multiple surfaces provided and it fuelled him.

A thick gulp rolled down your throat as his gun's tip placed underneath your chin to drag down between your breast to stop right above your heart, tapping a tad rough with it.

"If you wanna act like a spoiled brat, fine." he seethed as he pushed you on your knees in a swift move, the sudden movement had you stumbling down, startled "I'll teach you a fucking lesson."

His other hand immediately went to your front strands, tangling his long fingers in them, your hands immediately flew to his wrist, grunting uncomfortably at the tight grip on your skull, trying to pry yourself away from him. You could feel his anger through the little tremors his body did as he tossed the gun to the seat inside the little cubicle.

"Let me go!" he pulled your head back, parting your lips open in the way.

"Since you fucking love opening your pretty mouth to disrespect me," His hold tightened on your hair as his hands fumbled with the belt of his pants, sliding his free hand past the layers of clothing and pulled out his engorging cock. A few pumps of his hand around it had it twitching to life.

"I think it's time to find a proper use for it, hmm?" Before you could even protest, his flushed tip was already invading your mouth. A hiccup escaped you while he pushed in inch by inch, earning a brief gag and gurgle from you.

A satisfied growl escaped his smirking mouth.

"What's wrong? Cat's fucking your tongue?"

He stepped in closer, your nose nuzzled his happy trail as he was now holding your hair in a fistful. A sharp tinge of tears blurred your eyes for a moment as he slid down your throat. Your hands slapped his thighs while trying to push him back, earning him a breathless moan. You had tested his patience long enough for him to snap and remind you of your position.

If he had known how easy and quick you'd learn how to get under his skin, he would've left you back with your rotten husband.

Upon sensing you gag again, he chuckled while sliding some of his fingers underneath your chin, guiding you slowly to take him properly.

"Fucking relax." He heaved when your mouth flattened around him to have air flowing back to your lungs.

Fucking gorgeous. That's how you looked, staring with your pretty and angry eyes while you choked on him, set a long forgotten thrill alive that he rather keep buried for good.

You coughed as soon as he slid out, completely hard, glistening in your saliva and beads of pre cum that connected to the corners of your flushed mouth.

"Uh-uh. Open up, I'm not done yet."

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and coughed a couple of bits; the glare returned to your eyes.

"Fuck you."

Miguel huffed, crouched and took your chin to kiss you, tasting himself. You bit his lip, hard trying to get him to free you, but the growl grumbling through his chest only made your skin crawl as his tongue slid in your mouth, also invading you.

The sheer size of his frame and the little space between sandwiched you, deliciously against him. One hand cradled your head, not giving you a truce while devouring your lips as the other one slid down between your legs.

The sudden contact sent jolts up your spine, as he changed the cradling on your nape to a light squeeze on your neck as he pressed you against the floor, and spread your legs with his teasing hand when you trapped his hand in between your thighs, preventing him from reaching deeper.

The motions had slowly made his cock to be trapped again in the fabric confinement.

He earned a feeble mewl as he slid two of his fingers inside. The vibrations of your purring reverberated underneath his skin made his eager tip to twitch again

His phone buzzed and he let your throat go for a second, but his fingers remained inside, massaging and wriggling softly within your flesh.

"Not a peep from you, ok? This is an important call."

Your hands immediately clenched and your thighs trembled when he moved his hand, back and forth, delving into your drenching walls.

Heat licking at every pore of your skin. You didn't know if it was in anger or your hormones betraying you once again. The lack of sex with Massimo was costing your dignity big time.

He's just toying with you cause he knows he can.

Your mind reasoned, despite the rationality's grip loosening at his ministrations.

"Ya le dije a Gabriel que procediera sin contratiempos." (I already told Gabriel to proceed without problems)

He talked and moved his hand like the most natural thing to do while in a call.

Shame washed over your cheeks at the raunchy and sloppy wet noises your cunt made the more he probed your insides.

"No, no-"

You hissed and his eyes went immediately on you, as if with his glare alone he'd be defying you to make a noise again.

Your lips pursed shut as your chest heaved with ragged yet quiet breaths

"I've got it under control."

More than a reply to whoever he was talking to, his words were a fact. An undisputed truth that clawed at your brain the deeper he stimulated with his fingers.

He was on control. Of you, your body and every bit that formed it, of every contraction that sucked and trapped his fingers, of every breath he made you exhale.

His pace increased, and you choked while your body trembled at the beat of his thrusting fingers. A satisfied smirk crept up to his face, determined to break your forceful silent vow.

He's worse than Massimo. Don't forget that.

The hardened nub of your breast peeked underneath the flimsy fabric, swaying, demanding to be tasted.

His initial resolution of not making a physical approach, had been long broken, ever since you insulted him in that foreign language that certainly sparked things within his mind he rarely liked to indulge thinking.

You amused him, that was much true. But God you also made him so fucking angry. Running your mouth like you were his equal, facing him despite being scared to the core and spending his energies in such a delicious way he only sought whenever stress was eating him alive and none so far had properly known how to sate. Not even Dana.

The only serious relationship prospect he had so far until she cheated on him and he had to get rid of her.

But you, He didn't know if to kill you himself or fuck you 'til you were in tears.

Your mouth parted in a pornographic 'o', gasping quietly, eyes shut, face covered in a deep shade of red, hands clenched into fists on the floor as your body swayed underneath.

"Let me see what I can do." He crooned as his golden chain around his neck dangled with his motions.

His eyes kept glued onto your face as he slowly rubbed the rough pad of his thumb against your neglected clit in a tortuous and flickering motion.

You bit your lip, and he smirked darkly. Slowly, he pushed in a third finger as he applied a bit more of pressure on your already sensitive and engorged nub

Think about the condom box!

Your toes curled in, body contorted in between gentle twitches and jerks when he grazed ever softly and teasingly at your sweet spot. A soft and barely audible gasp escaped your mouth. And his breath hitched as soon as you locked eyes with him in a glare.

How dare he?

He moved in and out, alternating between fucking his fingers inside and caress your bundle of nerves for enough time to edge you.

"I know. Hmm." He nodded at whatever words Peter gave him, "You're more than capable of handling it."

It felt like he was encouraging you through the whole process.

He's not in control.

One of his fingers grazed into a spot that got your hips stuttering and shaking your head as your teeth sunk deeper into the plump of your bottom lip, jaw tense but unable to trap in a garbled moan. You felt like a hypocrite.

"Yeah, don't worry. Everything's fine."

The way your walls increased their drenching with every contraction on his digits, had him tittering silently in twisted delight.

At this point it was a matter of seconds to have you coming undone. He was set into making you break the rules. Your toes curled and trembled as he fastened the pace enough to have a soft squishing slap echoing just for him.

El Diablo tilted his head as you clawed your nails on his ankle, it barely tickled him.

"All he has to do is to agree. Offer him more money if that's the case."

With clinical precision he stopped a few seconds before you got to come undone and trap him inside. A frustrated and shallow whine flew out your mouth. His thumb pad was now tracing the outline of your lips, to then slid two of his drenched fingers into your mouth.

"All he has to say is yes." He moved his hand, making your head bob in a nod as he spoke. Your taste exploding into your mouth.

With little he just retreated outside the cubicle to return a few minutes later with a plain pair of pants and a shirt. He hung the call up and sighed.

" Now that you've learnt how to shut the fuck up, get changed. We need to go."

With trembling legs you stood, trying to catch your breath, the lingerie soiled, your thighs sticky. Heart and pussy played like a fancy tailed piano and he was the main musician.

He fixed his clothes, despite the raging boner pulsating between his clothes. He looked at you for a moment, nose reddening, lips flushed and glossy eyes that turned aqueous the more he remained in there.

His brows pinched softly in an imperceptible frown before leaving you alone. Not really wanting to witness your sudden discomfit.

What had came over you?

----

Ever since he woke up that day there were so many changes he had barely had time to adjust. But this quiet and distant you was unsettling and uncomfortable for him.

First the need to cry after he almost gave you an orgasm, then, the silent ride back at home.

You barely glanced his way when explaining the dress you needed to wear for the party he was also changing into. But what frustrated him the most was when he asked you to remove the ring out of your finger. The urge to cry returned on your face.

He truly didn't understand why you still clung so blindly to Massimo. At this point he thought it was love.

He huffed, disgusted.

You wouldn't drag him to your emotional rollercoaster cause he already had his own. And there was an enough mess as it was to keep adding to his plate.

He was proud of his detachment skills, soon you'd return to that asshole you called a husband and he wouldn't have to worry about you anymore, cause again, he was growing tired of facing other emotions that weren't the ones he could master.

No matter how gorgeous and fuckable you looked in that backless and sequin golden dress that undoubtedly did a better job at treating your body than him.

You had to apply some makeup to the most visible bruises around your body. Neck included. He loved squeezing it apparently.

Miguel had removed the tracking device of your ankle to disguise it as a clock on your wrist. He looked handsome as usual.

In truth, you looked like a celebrity. It made you wonder what kind of party you headed to, but you refused to speak to him and he was more than happy to not be bothered.

Each sat in opposite corners in the car. Not saying a word during the ride. The only instruction he gave you was to stay close as he hugged your waist, although weakly, with his hand.

Nostalgia was rampant on you today, and it didn't help the not so clandestine reunion harbored within a familiar milieu for you.

A fancy club, L'Enfer, you once had the chance of visiting. Your engagement night, and returning after so many years in extremely different circumstances, tightened the knot around your throat and the need to run away to increase tenfold.

Golden floors matched the velvet curtains that protected the black windowsills from prying eyes. The tables pristinely arranged to the left and right, ready to witness its attendee's darkest and deepest secrets.

Servers were dressed in jet black suits and red gloves, offering the myriad of delicacies prepared for the night.

Some men stared at Miguel, apprehension and wariness in their eyes. Others smirked and raised their champagne cups as he made his way deeper into the place. Peter walked ahead, Miguel and you followed, and Jessica tailed behind, yet his agents scattered all over the place, either as servers or valets, even bartenders.

Miguel wore his usual frown, occasionally changing into a deadpan whenever a fan of his work approached.

Miguel entered to a further room, more private and secluded. The smell of tobacco and expensive perfumes polluted the air, assaulting your nose at once.

You downed the discomfort with a cup of champagne.

"Try to not drink too much. Need you sober for the meeting."

A meeting?

You quirked a brow at his mumbles but nodded and remained seated near the indoor font, the least tobacco smelling place from the rest and the same place Massimo proposed. Now, you were eating the different entrees, balancing the alcohol ingest in a mob lord party, you realized too late.

Jessica remained on your side, also eating whenever a snack she liked passed by. Peter accompanied Miguel as he greeted and exchanged a few words with the other people.

Orborn, Kravinoff or Kraven for short, Olivia Octavius, and other men didn't ring a bell on you.

"Let Miguel do the whole talking. In fact, act as the listener. And if Kraven calls you beautiful, don't say thanks. He'd think he can hit on you and the least Miguel needs-"

"Is worrying for stupid shit. I know."

The sweetness of the mini desserts and other assorted flavors didn't help to conceal the tart tasting in your mouth. Jessica quirked a brow and nodded.

"You're adapting quick. That's good. But despite having a ten grand dress on you with matching shoes and gold in your ears, you look like you're about to cry. What the hell is wrong now?"

Tough love was all you got from her, but it also surprised you how perceptive and unsuspecting she could be.

"Everything."

Jessica rolled her eyes and sighed, adding another lemon curd mini tart in your plate. One you hadn't had before.

"What in specific? Is it... That guy, your husband?"

Jessica smacked her lips with her gaze fixed on you, scrutinizing within your eyes upon your sudden silence.

"You're really hung up on that asshole, aren't you?"

"It's not that. And I'm not even sure about my feelings on Massimo. I want to punch him in the face for lying to me, but I also I want to know he's alright, so I can... pass page."

Your shoulders slumped as you heaved, defeated, "And Miguel is no better. It feels like they'd be secretly competing against eachother whose worse."

Jessica grunted with a silent titter and shook her head.

"He's blunt and an asshole, undoubtedly. Despite that, I'd stick in Miguel's side, he'll make sure you're safe in his own way."

"Just wished he'd be less cryptic whenever I ask for answers."

"Again, he's protecting you."

"From what? From himself?"

"No. From the troubles your man dragged you to, honey."

"Ugh" You rolled your eyes, the last thing you needed right now was to be reminded how awful Massimo was, "Just forget it. I feel anxious enough as it is."

"What do you mean?"

"I... I have a bad feeling."

-----

You sat next to Miguel and carefully listened. The mobster's voice occasionally drowned the cutlery's tinkling out.

Topics had varied through the night, from luxury cars and ways to armor them, weapon hiding and smuggling, to your current predicament. Massimo.

"Kingpin is looking for him, his wife has gone MIA, which is convenient. Bitch's smart. The guy could learn a thing or two from her."

"He ratted out Delgado with the FBI. His associate! Wouldn't surprise me if he'd sell out his family to save his skin." The man called Harry Osborn spoke as he downed his whiskey.

"Da. My associates have gathered Intel, he hasn't left the country still."

You gulped thickly the more the men spoke. If seeing with your own hands what your husband had created wasn't enough, hearing it straight from the horse's mouth only crushed your heart even further.

"What about you, Diablo?"

"Max owes me money."

Many just hissed while contorting their faces disapprovingly.

"How much?"

"Four Million."

"Poor bastard sold his soul to you, didn't he?" Olivia Octavius mumbled between sardonic and titters.

Miguel downed his whiskey as your hands clawed on the golden sequins of the dress.

"What kind of fucked up woman marries a guy like that? She's desperate or corrupt as he is."

Olivia spat and a few nodded.

"Heard he was fooling her this whole time."

"Ahh, C'mon, Miguel. Didn't know you fell for such things."

Miguel just shrugged, then he lit up a vanilla and cherry cigarette to blow the smoke away from you.

"I'm giving people the benefit of doubt still. But I'll find him."

"You'll kill him?"

"Gotta collect my reaps first."

The men and Olivia grinned, everyone seemed pleased but you. It had been a good deal of information to swot on, so many to digest your stomach had turned queasy.

You were about to stand up, feeling the bile and nausea rising, that registered too late the acute ring piercing through your eardrums so badly after a powerful loud bang. Unable to move, frozen in the spot.

Everything felt in muted slow motion, some droplets of something warm and wet fell on your face, spraying you. You saw the group pulling out their guns one by one as Harry Osborn fell with a seemingly loud thud on the table.

Why isn't he moving?

Your heart pounded in your ears, throat constricted, and when you tried to scream nothing but a mute yell came out. A strong tanned hand pulled you down, as more loud bangs kept echoing, like distant fireworks underneath water.

Guns were sparkling with every shot they fired, people fell on the floor, staining the golden surface with crimson as the walls around received an ugly hole-themed makeover.

You could see Miguel grabbing your shoulders, shaking you while his mouth moved angrily as he pulled his gun away and kept you secured tightly underneath his frame.

Chaos had broke loose. And you weren't sure you'd live up to tell.

-----

Taglist:

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#t writes✨#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #el diablo wears prada #miguel o'hara smut

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pearlzier · 3 months

Text

you look so pitiful right now. you're tucked into your boyfriend's arm, staring blankly at the phone in front of you as you attempt to ignore the aching pains filling your entire body. god, period's fucking sucked. you felt like hell, and even if chris didn't want to make it all about himself—seeing you so distraught made his heart ache in all sorts of dumb ways.

“if i could kick the shit out of your cramps, ma,” he spoke up, careful not to move you, “i would. i'd fuckin’ destroy ‘em.”

a small, faint smile plays on your lips at his words and you subtly shift a little closer, using him as a makeshift heating pad. not like you didn't already have one, but any extra warmth was good. “believe me, you'd have a hard time trying to get past me beating the shit out of them,” your words are lazy, a tiny bit uncomfortable to get out. this only makes chris whine a little more and he nuzzles his head into your shoulder.

“are you sure there's nothing i can do to help? anythin’?” his brows raise, fingers brushing over your arm in a gentle pass. you really can believe you got so lucky to get a guy like this, but you're in a bit too much pain bleeding out for you to uh, register that. “y'know, i heard uh.. a little trade secret, babe.”

you know full well he's gonna say some dumb shit, but you encourage his behaviour almost instantly. “i'm all for it,” you mumble into his arm, brows raising a little.

a little giggle almost instantly slips past his lips and he runs his fingers over your cheek, before he mutters, “period cramps can be relieved in some uh, intimate ways.”

“christopher—” he practically beams as he sees you giggle, and he raises his hands as if to surrender, before he gently shifts you over onto the other side of the bed so he could get up and grab you something to eat from the cabinet.

the man came prepared.

“okay, okay, what d'you want? we got everythin’,” he lifted a packet of chips, eyeing it for a moment before he glanced over at you, “what, as they say, tickles your fancy, huh?” he was such a dork, god. your dork, but still.

your eyes lift to look at the options he has available, and you slowly slink yourself upwards to see them with a little grunt. chris runs a hand through his hair, showing off the food he'd raided from the fridge without matt or nick noticing. “can i..” you frown for a moment, letting the wave of pain pass before you spoke up again, “surprise me, actually, i don't think i have the energy nor brain power to pick.”

“surprise you? gotcha, one sec,” he folded his arms over his chest, blue eyes flickering over the food before he grabbed the little packet of muffins, then grabbed you a drink as well. “these alright? i may be a bit rusty,” a grin plays on his lips, and he shrugs his shoulders.

“nah, you're all good,” you chirp, a smile brightening your face as he very accurately gets your favourite foods correct. “come back, please, i think the cold is seeping back in.”

a self-satisfied smirk tugs at his lips and he makes his way back over, muttering a quick, “too fucking good,” under his breath before he slinks back under the covers beside you, placing the muffins down onto the tray alongside your drink. “comfy?” he asks after a moment, voice a little softer.

“yeah,” you gently place his hand over your tummy to try get some of his warmth before you place your own over the top, sighing gently as you relaxed into his touch. he let his head sit against your shoulder, resting his chin happily.

after a little while, chris notices you fidgeting a little and he gently brings you into his chest and gently grasping at your tummy. “i got you, i got you,” he muttered, plucking your phone from your hands and holding it in one of his so all you had to focus on was holding onto him. laying back against the headboard, he breathes evenly. “just relax. i know it's hard.”

“you're the best, you know that?” you mumbled gently, sighing softly. even when your pain was insane, chris managed keep you relatively sane. your hands slide down to his and you interlace your fingers together, a little smile playing on chris’ lips. “the best.”

“just doin’ what i gotta for my girl,” he shrugs his shoulders gently—”s'no biggie at all.”

☆ 𝅄⠀ㅤׂ also asking who tryna be on the taglist <3

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo blurb #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo drabble #matt sturniolo drabble #matt sturniolo blurb #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets x reader #sturniolo triplets blurb #sturniolo triplets drabble #nick sturniolo #divider by plutism

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skteezcursed · 2 months

Text

❝USE ME❞ — h.js.

PAIRING. han jisung x fem!reader.

GENDER AND WARNINGS. smut. friends with benefits. sub! jisung. dom! reader. overstimulation. praising. pet names. kinda power play? (reader is kinda jisung's boss). piv. face riding. oral (f. and m. recieving). unprotected sex (please don't) . based on jisung and reader scene of hsog fic. lmk if i forgot anything.

SYNOPSIS. jisung just want to be a good friend and help you release some stress.

WORD COUNT. 3,7k.

NOTES. english is not my first language. thanks to michi (@cybrsan) for giving me the idea to create this.

IMPORTANT. this is a work of fiction, it has zero intent on portraing how any of the people quoted here are in real life.

CREDS. dividers by cafekitsune ♡

They all heard the moment something crash and the agonizing scream you let out at the same second. Jisung and Hyunjin, who were closer to the bedroom halls, were quickly close to your door, finding Chan also getting out of his with a distraught expression. The silence that followed your scream made them all wary as Chan indicated all of them to return, finding everyone’s attention on the three boys.

“What happened?”

Naturally, Jeongin was the first to ask, raising his head from Minho’s computer screen.

“It was silent after.”

It was all Hyunjin offered as all the others sigh. They knew you were stressed, the whole situation with the whistleblower taking a toll on you, knowing the superiors had called both you and Yang for questioning as to why the prisoner had been terminated, and only after the evidence were laid out was that you were cleared, but not before a private conversation with one of the superiors.

“Shouldn’t we check up on her?”

Chaeryeong was the first to ask what everyone was thinking, their head snapping to Chan who had been the last to talk to you before you head to the room.

“Okay -”

“I’ll go,” Jisung said quickly, receiving a curious stare from everyone before sighing. “We know she won’t talk, the silence was probably because she knows we may have heard it and she doesn’t want us to question it.”

“She has been pretty stressed lately…”

Ryujin words travelled through the room. Everyone knew that they could only get so much from you, if you didn’t want to talk, there was no way they could find out what was on your mind.

“Jisung is the best option,” Minho said, checking some of the footage from when the system was connected by you. The look on your face was the same one he had seen prior, you were gathering your thoughts, something was troubling you, and you were now frustrated because you couldn’t visualize it, or a way out of whatever it was you found. “She won’t talk, she’s too into her head, and he’s the body language expert.”

After a moment of silence and mumbles from everyone while Jeongin and Chan were having a secret conversation, Jisung was eyeing the bedroom halls every five seconds. No one but you had access to the surveillance on the leaders room and they could only see it with you allowing them, which didn’t help the jitters going down everyone’s spine.

They had just arrived at their destination, having to stay there for at least a week until headquarters decided it was okay for them to return, but you had seen something and you wouldn’t tell them until you were sure, that’s the only thing they knew for sure.

“Okay,” Chan’s words broke the silence making all eyes snap at him as his focus was on Jisung, “try to figure it out what happened, I don’t care how, all I want is for her to be okay, we don’t care what you do to make that happen.”

That was a silent conversation, one that everyone knew what meant and why it was spoken like that. Jisung could feel the jitters in the pit of his stomach; he refused to call them butterflies, because that implied things he shouldn’t be having, not towards you. No strings attached, that was the agreement everyone had, yet here he was looking like a teenager with a crush going towards your door room, knocking lightly as he eyed everyone still in the Communication Center. He knocked again, stronger this time, did he sound desperate? Because he thought he was.

He was about to knock a second time when the door lock was turned and the handle was turned, opening to the sight of you in nothing but a towel wrapped around your torso, hair still humid from the shower you probably took prior to the scream, so maybe you had a realization of something while on the shower? The small sigh that left your lips already told Jisung what you were going to say.

“Ji, I’m so-”

The touch of his lips on yours was for nothing more than to shut you up, which you caught up quickly. His eyes traveling through your body, face, hair, lips, eyes and back to your lips slightly agape from what had happened. Yet, here you waited for what Jisung wanted, making him swallow dry before taking a step forward, noticing how you didn’t stop him or walked away.

“No need to say anything,” his hands found your waist, his mouth finding the corner of your own, a light push and you two were inside your room, Jisung's foot pushing the door, closing it behind him, who pulled you closer, connecting your mouths again. “I heard you, we all heard you.”

“I’m sorry Ji, but -”

“No need,” he already knew you didn’t want to talk, your body and face only confirmed it for him when the door opened, he could also see the tension on your body, how stressed you were, you needed to relax and he knew exactly how to make that happen. "Use me."

“Jisung? What?"

“Use,” a kiss on your jaw, “me,” another kiss under your ear that made a small moan leave your mouth and you felt a small smile form on Jisung’s mouth. “I’m yours to do with as you please,” you pulled away meeting his eyes, his hands firmly on your waist, trapping you against his body. “You can use me to make yourself feel better, as long as you get better.”

Your eyes roamed every corner of Jisung's face before your lips found his again, your feet already guiding the two of you to the bed as you tried to make your mind forget everything that had happened since the moment you found Shinwoo's basketball a few hours ago.

It worked until your backpack fell to the ground, the noise of the drone against the ground bringing you back for a moment, your eyes falling on the backpack as Jisung kissed your neck, moving down until he found the pendant that rested between the valley of your still hidden breasts.

Jisung's eyes searched for yours, indicating the necklace. Everyone knew that necklace was important to you, but this was a subject that you had never talked about with any of them and you wouldn't, everyone respected your decision, but everyone knew that in moments like that, you always took it off, or rather, asked whoever was with you to take it off, which was what Jisung was doing now, as he kissed every part of your skin, helping your mind not to think about whatever it was that troubled you now. Or even all the things prior to right now. He wanted you to not think, and he was gonna make sure of that.

All you needed was a distraction, and he was gonna be exactly that to you.

His right hand caressed your thigh as his left held your head, a trail of wet kisses being left from your ear to the valley of your breasts, making him eye you again, waiting for confirmation you were okay with it, that he could take the necklace off. To his surprise you brought his face up, crashing both your lips as your heels locked on his thigh pulling him to you, a small whimper leaving Jisung’s lips as he felt a smirk forming.

“Please Ji, make me forget.”

It was all he needed to take of your necklace putting on the nightstand, not missing how your eyes followed every movement before finding Jisung’s dark ones, making a sly smile appear on your lips as his mouth found your neck, his hands quickly opening the towel allowing his digits to mark your skin as his kisses went lower, finding your uncovered breasts.

As his left hand cupped your right breast, his mouth fully sucked on your left, making a loud moan left your mouth as your right hand went for his head, pulling the hair slightly making him whimper against your breast.

“Fuck don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” You playfully said as you pulled his hair again making his mouth fully detach from your hardened nipple, a groan being followed as he already had hooded eyes. “That?”

“Y-yes,” as your fingers started to caress his scalp leaning his head back into your breast, he left a ‘thank you’ murmur before he bit down your nipple making you moan. “Now, let me take care of you, please.”

Although you loved when Jisung was doming, having him whimper and plead for you was just as exhilarating. His left hand never leaving your right breast, pitching the nipple from time to time as he leaves red and purple marks all over your neck and breasts. When his hands weren’t on your breasts, they were holding you down from your waist as you started to move your hips and pull him closer, but he wanted to push you, he wanted you to use him, the only way that could happen was if he pushed all your buttons.

“Take off your clothes, now,” the demand that came with your voice made Jisung smile widely, he had finally made it, just after a few purple marks and his hands lingering a little too close to your heat. As he obliged to your demand, you watched him carefully, God he had a body made by the best sculptures of Heaven. Your hands greedly pulled him in by the waist, his hard cock already millimeters of your face, glistening with precum, making you smirk as you eyed him from below, lips slightly touching his length. “You are so pretty for me Ji, you know that, don’t you my pretty baby boy?”

The whimper that left Jisung’s mouth at that, followed quickly by a loud moan as your lips finally touched his cockhead, making him throw his head backwards while jolting his hips forwards, trying to fully be in your mouth, and you let it, at first. Taking half of his size inside your mouth, feeling him twitch as your nails scratched his lower abdomen.

Your tongue swirling around his head as you squeezed the other half that was out of your mouth from time to time. The noises coming out of his mouth only hitting your dripping cunt as you finally took him out, the line of saliva mixed with the precum connecting your mouth with his red leaking cockhead.

“I was good, why -”

“You know the rules, I cum first,” you bat your eyelashes at him as both your knees found the mattress walking away from him, allowing him to sit on the bed as he quickly did, boba eyes filled with lust eyeing you as your hand cupped his cheeks binging him into a sloppy kiss. His moan was loud as he felt his taste on your tongue. Your hand pressing down his chest while his hands found your waist and thigh, pulling you to straddle him. “Now, put that mouth to good use, yes?”

“Can I also touch you?”

“You can, but I’ll set the pace,” your hand grabbed his hair again as a whimper left his mouth making you smile, “now, can I ride your face, Ji? Will you be okay with that?”

He nodded as best as he could while you pulled his hair even more, feeling his cock twitch under you, as your soaked cunt slid back and forth, his hands already grabbing your waist and hips, only so slightly while his fingers dig into your flesh. You pulled his hair again increasing the movement of your hips, your available hand holding his jaw making him open his eyes and look at you.

“Use me as you please, I’m nothing but a fucktoy for you right now.”

“Such a pretty boy, you are,” you kissed him one last time disconnecting your cunt from his cock, receiving another complaining moan, “ah, if you are gonna complain, then you shouldn’t have my -”

“No! No, please, please, I’ll be good, I’m sorry, let me taste you, please, sit on my face, I don’t care if I can’t breathe, I just need to taste you, please.”

You smirked at the panic in his eyes, you knew he could please you in other ways, although you loved his mouth, his abs and thighs had also always done a good job, but never as good as the feeling of his tongue against your folds. You kept caressing his cheek as you climbed up, only stopping when your wet cunt was exactly above his mouth, your hand scratching his scalp.

As his hands moved to find your waist, he noticed you had both legs on top of his biceps, allowing him to only reach your thigh at best. A smirk formed on your lips as you pulled his hair before sitting against his open mouth feeling his nose against your clit as his tongue quickly found your wet folds.

You started to rock your hips against him as you felt his fingers dig on your thighs. The sounds coming from both of you increasing considerably the warmth forming on your stomach. As you felt your thighs tremble, your available hand went to Jisung’s hip bone in hopes of helping you maintain some sort of control over the situation, only then noticing he was moving it around, making you eye him confused, but never stopping your movements.

He was fucked out and you have barely touched him, making you then look behind you, his red angry leaking cock making your mouth water. You elevated yourself from his face, laughing a little as you heard both a whine and a heavy breath. As you moved your legs, he noticed you had freed his arms, making him quickly wrap them around your waist, a giggle leaving your lips.

“Make me cum Ji, and you’ll get your reward.”

Only then your hand found his hot cock, fingers squeezing it making a loud guttural moan erupt from his throat making you clench around nothing. Without another word his arms pulled you down on his face, his lips attaching to your clit sucking it harshly as you felt of his hands go down your ass, giving a hard slap as making you gasp loudly and squeeze his dick before using your thumb to spread the precum leaking from the head, using to jerk him off while giving random squeezes whenever his tongue would go inside you making his nose deliciously press against your clit.

Your hand movements stopped the moment you felt the heat build up fast on your lower abdomen, your hips moving on its own as you pulled his hair, the other hand going to the pillow to help you stabilize as you rocked your hips against Jisung’s face chasing your own high. Which came with a loud cried moan before you felt something hot on your back and ass, finding Jisung’s hand on his cock, white hot stripes of cum still leaking from his cock.

The moment your eyes met his fucked out face, glassy eyes and how much of your arousal was painting his nose, mouth and chin, you reconsidered being mean to him, after all, he had been so good to you.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“Oh Ji, it’s okay, truly,” your fingers played with the cum that was on his abdomen as you got up and back from his face, his glassy eyes following your every move, knowing you were preparing something, “I used you already, we both came, you can leave -”

“No, please, I -”

“Ji, it’s fine, really,” you laughed at his panic making him sigh as he sat up straight, “but I would like to do something,” although his cock was soft, you noticed the twitch happen when your fingers lightly touched the length, noticing how Jisung bit his bottom lip, “because I’m feeling rather empty right now…”

“Fuck…,” you giggle as you felt his hands on your back, the sticky cum on his fingers. “Let me clean you up first,” before you could respond, he got up taking a hand towel, you heard the water running and smiled at yourself, you were lucky to have him on your team, you were lucky to have him either way if you were honest. “What’s with the smile?”

Your head shot up at that, finding his amused smile as one of his hands was on your shoulders and you felt the wet cloth against your skin making you shiver slightly, getting a giggle from Jisung.

“It’s nothing, I just… I just feel lucky to have you and the rest of the team, I like how we manage to understand each other.”

“Fucking someone kinda have that effect, you -”

“It’s not just about the fucking, Ji,” your eyes met his as he went to clean the mess between your legs, only then you noticed how his face no longer had your arousal all over it, making you want to ride him all over again, “I genuinely love our dynamics, even before we all started fucking around.”

“You getting soft, (y/n),” he laughed as he pulled you into his lap, discarting the towel somewhere as he made you straddle him, “can’t say I dislike when I get to see you like this.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it, Ji.”

“We don’t need to,” he says, kissing my neck once again, his hands roaming your body before one of his arms goes around your waist as the other grabs your ass cheek squeezing it harshly making you whimper against him. “Tell me what you want and I’ll deliver, please, I just want to make you feel good, boss.”

“Fuck Ji, I need you inside,” your hand goes to the back finding his half-hard cock before putting the tip at your wet entrance, “fill me up, stay with me for a bit, please.”

“Anything for you,” his kisses find your neck once again as you can feel his teeth bite against your skin as his cock fills you up, making both of you moan. “You are so perfect, God I could easily live on this pussy of yours.”

You giggle as you clench around his length, feeling it twitch inside of you as Jisung groans against your neck. His hands roam your body, nails digging occasionally on your skin as you two find each other on a heated kiss.

“Bet I can make you cum by just this,” you say jokingly, feeling his hard cock twitch again by your phrase and clench, a smirk on your lips, “make you melt under me but barely doing anything to you.”

The whimper that left his mouth as your nails traveled his body scratching lightly through the hot skin made you bite your lip as you watched him break under you.

“Please, ple-please do,” you feel his hips jolt up as you clench around him again and laugh against his ear as you leave a trail of kisses from ear to ear. “Fuck, I can’t, I’m gonna cum.”

“Already? But I barely started,” you say, pushing him down on the bed again, his hands firmly on your waist and hip, “you only cum when I tell you, understand?” He nods as his lustful eyes wander across your body. “That’s my pretty good boy.”

“Call me that again, please,” he pleaded as your hands went to his pecs as you started to move up and down his length, just enough to tease you both. One of his hands went down as his thumb found your clit, already putting pressure there as he held your hips strongly making you look at him curiously. “Let me, I promise I’ll make you cum, let me make you feel good.”

The nod was slow, but the smirk was all the answer Jisung needed as he held you a little higher, before keep playing with your clit, only the tip of his cock inside of you, but he held you up whenever you tried to go down, until his hand leaves your clit finding your breasts, slapping them before squeeze them against his fingers, bringing a loud moan to your mouth as he started to push his cock inside you strongly and take it out slowly.

Noises started to fill your room again as Jisung’s cock started to fill you up faster, making you bounce slightly as you feel it turn sloppier, the build up in your stomach growing. AS quickly as you could, you took his hand from your hip and waist pulling it up to your breasts as you forced him onto the bed before rocking your hips back and forth. The friction from your clit sends electric waves to your body helping you find your high.

“Fuck, just like that Ji, it feels so good.”

“Your pussy is made for my cock, fuck! Please don’t stop–FUCK–your cunt is so good (y/n), fu-fuck, don’t clench like that, I won’t last…”

“Just a little longer, Ji, for– fuck! – for me, ple-please…”

Your voice is low and pleading, not much different from the man under you as you scream out a moan as he squeezes one of your nipples and slaps the other one at the same time. At this point all you can do is arch your back in search for more contact with his hands, your legs are burning from all the riding, but your orgasm is too close to let go.

Jisung’s grip on your breasts tighten as you know he’s close, the sweet nothings coming from his mouth only helping you reach your high. As your legs start to tremble furiously, his hands find your hips again as his hips jolt up, hitting your cervix making you scream as you let your body fall forward, both of you a moaning mess as you feel your whole body heat up, clenching around him one last time before cumming on his cock, him following right behind as his seeds mix up with your juice.

“Fuck, that was–”

“Fucking amazing,” you curse as you lift your head from the crook of his neck, finding his lips one more time, feeling him still inside you. “Thank you Ji, you are perfect.”

“Anything for my favorite girl.”

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mothmanns · 2 years

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#nunya beeswax #someone just called me a g**d g*rl and i #had to go put my head on my desk for several minutes #im distraught i do not like someone having this much power over me

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blindmagdalena · 7 months

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The Drug In Me Is You

18+ 3.2k vampire!homelander x supe f!reader. dacryphilia, noncon, p-in-v, blood drinking, possessive homelander, vampire bites as an aphrodisiac, cunnilingus, fingering, kidnapping, reader is held captive, gaslighting, abuse. dead dove!

Ever since Homelander got his cold dead hands on you, you've been the answer to his every prayer. You exist solely for him, kept safe in his home, delicious to the point where he refuses any blood that isn't yours. He isn't conscious of the extent he's grown to rely on you until the day he comes home to find you gone.

written for Monsterlander Mania! thank you @staarboyyy for the incredible vamplander gif. 🖤

There are few things that Homelander despises more in this world than summer. While the heat doesn’t bother him even beneath the thick layers of his suit, the rest of the world isn’t so lucky.

The meet and greets are by far the worst; a crowded collection of sweaty bodies piling in against one another like directed cattle, stewing in their own filth just long enough to reek of their own humanity by the time they’re touching him with clammy hands.

He’s never more grateful for his suit–especially his gloves–than during these occasions.

On top of that, these sardine can buildings become an echoing cacophony of juicy, throbbing hearts, every single one of them pounding in eager anticipation. Indoor events are better for blocking out the sun, but worse for every other aspect when it comes to his senses.

By the end of the day, his skull is throbbing and his stomach is twisting itself into knots. He needs quiet. He needs home. He needs to eat.

It’s dark by the time he lands on his balcony, the hour late. While he does prefer flying at night, he doesn’t like coming home so late. He tugs off his glove to use the thumbpad, which unlocks his automatic door. Stepping inside, he then hits a switch that triggers his blackout blinds to close behind him alongside the door.

“What a fucking day,” he grouses, making his way to the kitchen. “Twelve hours of this shit. I hate summer,” he says, tossing both of his gloves onto the kitchen counter. He reaches into the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water and a dark, thick green slurry in a tall lidded cup. It’s packed full of everything he both needs and likes, but perhaps most important is the iron content.

He goes through a fair amount of that.

“But I’m glad I’m home,” he says, carrying both beverages to his bedroom. “Because it looks like someone didn’t drink their shake.”

Homelander stops dead in his tracks, staring blankly at his empty bed. Standing perfectly still, he listens for the familiar cadence of your breath. The beat of your heart. Anything to tell him where the fuck you are. When he hears nothing, he drops the drinks unceremoniously to the floor and spins on his heel, instantly tearing through the penthouse.

He doesn’t smell blood or death, but the thought of you dead seizes him anyways, hurling him instantly into a panic. He scans through every wall and ceiling, but you’re not here. He calls your name, shouting it down each hall, but he’s met only with the reverberations of his own distraught voice.

At the front door, Homelander moves to input the code to open it, but halts abruptly. The panel is green. It hasn’t locked. Pulling it open, a thin piece of plastic falls away from the mechanism. It had been blocking the lock from securing.

Wednesday is grocery day, he recalls distantly. A staff member came to restock the fridge. They must have had the door propped open, and you…

Left.

You left.

Homelander rips the door open, nearly yanking it off the hinges, and storms down the hall, fangs bared. You must have waited until it was late and the guard presence was scarce, otherwise someone would have reported you. You can’t have gone far.

When Vought realized that the continued development of Homelander’s powers came with a particular quirk that necessitated the consumption of human blood, they began the process of ensuring he always had a steady supply to keep him from eating his adoring fans. He never really cared about where the blood came from until he tasted yours.

Yours was special. It did something no one else’s ever had; it made him feel alive. He could taste the world in ways he never could before, and if he drank enough, he swore he could feel his heart start to beat. None of the scientists knew why. It didn’t matter to him. From that point on, he wasn’t interested in drinking from anyone other than you.

That was when he decided to keep you close at hand. Cut out the middleman.

You belong to him, and you have for months. He’s taken the utmost care of you, ensuring that you could have everything you need within the confines of his penthouse. The finest foods, every form of entertainment one could dream of, exquisite service at your fingertips and most compellingly of all, the love and adoration of the world’s greatest hero.

So why the fuck would you leave?

Homelander rips through the tower. He’s furious, wounded and hungry. Those few security guards smart enough to get out of his way evade his rampage while a couple of unlucky ones wind up with their own personal craters in various walls.

He can smell the intoxicating allure of you trailing a path through the halls, but the combination of his hunger and his rage makes following it disorienting. He’s in no condition to hunt–he’s become sickeningly complacent in your time together, more reliant on you than he ever would have admitted freely. He’s grown to love the wait, letting himself feel his hunger so that you taste all the sweeter on his tongue.

Now the churn of it in his gut burns like fire.

Nevertheless, he is relentless, and within minutes he finds you in the garden just outside the tower, locked in by looming steel gates. You aren’t even properly dressed, garbed only in the thin loungewear he keeps you in, barefoot and combing your fingers through a tall hedge full of flowers just beginning to wither, their pink petals curled and browning.

You don’t even notice him until he’s upon you, snatching your wrist and whirling you around so sharply, the hedge behind you drops its wilting petals in a flurry. He must be a fearsome sight if your expression is anything to go by, your eyes wide and panicstricken.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He hisses through his teeth, fangs fully protracted. You take a breath to speak, but he doesn’t want to hear it. He jostles you by your shoulders to cut you off, fingers biting into your arms. “Do you have any idea how fucking worried I was?”

Your pulse is racing. He can hear it, feel it in your wrist beneath his thumb. The sound of it is nearly enough to throw him to the ground, to shred the thin veneer of humanity he wears and give in to the bloodlust. His thumbnail tilts ever so slightly, biting a crescent mark into the supple flesh of your wrist. Never have you felt more tender in his hands. Never has he come so close to tearing you apart.

One slip, and you would be spilling red all over his tongue.

“I just–” you begin, but he pulls you sharply up into his arms, seething so furiously that he can’t stand to hear you speak. He’s too far gone. Too fucking hungry.

“We’ll talk at home,” he grits out, and with a sonic boom that rips the remaining blossoms from the hedge in a flurry, he launches into the sky, purposefully flying too fast to allow for conversation. He holds you to his chest as tightly as he dares, landing back on his balcony with a thud. He uses the thumbpad and damn near tears the door off the hinges pulling it open.

Homelander doesn’t have time to waste. You bounce a few times with the way he drops you onto the bed. Glancing up, he catches sight of himself in the myriad of mirrors. No wonder you looked at him the way you did. He looks crazed, lips parted around his fangs, his usual bright blue eyes shining pure crimson.

It’s fine. It’s fine. Everything will be fine after this.

You scramble up the bed, moving backwards on your hands, but he catches you by the ankle and yanks you back down it, climbing on top of you with a frustrated noise that fades off into a sigh. “Y’see what you do to me?” He asks, voice low and frayed. You yelp when he rips your shirt clean apart, exposing your top half completely. Your skin is adorned beautifully with the history of your night.

You bruise easily for a supe. Your blood just loves to rush to the surface for him, vessels full and bursting under his grip. The memory of inflicting these marks is so intoxicating that even in his frenzy he can’t help but lean down and drag his tongue over one of the bruises that mottle the pretty skin of your chest. Under his tongue, you feel like ripe fruit yearning to be bitten into.

“Please, Homelander, stop,” you plead prettily. He can hear your tears in the tremble of your voice, practically taste the salt in the air.

Good, he thinks viciously. Cry. Regret. Never do this to me again.

“Played a dangerous game tonight, sweetheart,” he tells you, that pet name dripping with affection and venom in equal measure. He forces your legs apart and settles between them, tearing what little clothing remains on your body like paper and tossing it aside. He presses his palms down against your thighs, and the heat of you compared to the chill of his fingers nearly burns. He pushes your legs up and apart, soaking in the sweet smell of your cunt.

Sex and feeding have always gone hand in hand for Homelander. Vought tried for years to satiate him with plastic blood bags and artificial alternatives, but it never fed him the way a meal he could fuck does. Still, all of them paled in comparison to you. Your inner thighs are a mixture of both new and faded punctures that dot your body in matching pairs, scars that he hopes never fade. They mark you as his.

Neither of you will ever settle for another ever again. “I didn’t mean to make you worry, please–please let me explain,” you weep, trying to squirm out of his grasp. With a predatory growl he yanks you back into place, unwilling to listen.

The hunger is driving him to madness. He can feel your pulse like it’s his own, the sound of it thundering in his ears until it threatens to split his skull in half. His nails bite into your skin while he leans in, deaf to your begging as he closes his eyes and opens his mouth wide, sinking his fangs into the soft, succulent meat of your inner thigh.

Your blood spills into his mouth like rich ambrosia. He moans loudly, losing himself to the taste and the heat. Your blood is transcendent, going beyond nourishment. Your pulse reminds his heart to beat. The more he drinks, the more the warmth of you fills his frigid body, thawing out his sanity alongside it. Your heat courses steadily through him, the fervor of it vanishing that nauseating pound from his skull until the only throb he’s left with is the one between his legs.

He sucks in a wet breath when he breaks away from you, panting his delirious pleasure. There’s nothing in this world than the high that comes after being satiated from a frenzy. It’s like he’s floating, his tongue and throat tingling with your sweet nectar.

He isn’t the only one tingling. He can smell the heady musk of your arousal. Your fearful tears are no match for the effect his bite has on your body, how his saliva mingles with your blood and makes you ache for him.

Without his hunger deafening him to the world, he can focus again. He takes a moment to lap at where he’s bitten you, cleaning up the blood that dripped from the wounds. He trails his blood-warmed tongue inward, far from placated.

He pins your thighs down flush to the bed and nestles into the sweet core of you, plunging his tongue eagerly into your cunt. Your body jolts, but he holds you steady, eagerly swirling his tongue, collecting the taste of you to drink down. He sucks hungrily at your clit, pulling off of it with wet little pops, kissing and licking and sucking until you’re writhing beneath him for all the right reasons.

Devouring you like this is working him back up into a different kind of frenzy. He slips one finger into you, then two, mouthing your clit while he fucks you with his fingers, coaxing more and more from you. Your walls feel so fucking soft and velvety around his fingers, and his need to feel you quivering around his cock is rapidly outpacing his hunger for the taste of your cunt. With one last deep plunge of his tongue, he lifts himself over you, reaching down to hurriedly unclasp his belt, staring down at you with lust glazed eyes.

You’re a mess. Your whole body is flushed with heat, and you’ve barely stopped moaning since he bit you. He’s heard the effects of his bite described like a fever, a delirious experience that robs you of your senses and leaves you desperate for more, for anything of him. Even so, you haven’t stopped crying. It makes you look sweet. Vulnerable. Fucking delicious.

“Mmm, you’re pretty when you cry, baby,” he says, running his tongue along his teeth, over the sharp juts of his fangs. He gets his cock free and adjusts himself between your legs, laying over you. “This your way of saying sorry? Because it’s working,” he tells you, bracing one hand on the bed next to you while he uses the other to hold the base of his cock, dragging the head of it up and down through the wet mess of your pretty pussy lips. “Show me how sorry you are, sweetheart. Be good for me,” he murmurs against your skin, nuzzling at your throat.

Opening his mouth, Homelander bites into your neck at the same time he thrusts forward, letting out a muffled, ragged moan as he sinks into you on both fronts, shuddering with how fucking good it feels, tight and wet and hot as sin. Between that and the fresh rush of your blood down his throat, he ascends to a state of goddamn euphoria.

You make a noise somewhere between a sob and a moan. He drinks you up, savors the sound of you as much as he does the taste. He snaps his hips, wastes no time fucking you deep, holding you still with the lock of his jaw while he pounds you into the mattress.

“Oh, ffffuck,” he groans, lips bloodied. He laps at the blood on your neck, the sound of it as wet as his cock hammering your cunt with the relentlessness of a machine, utterly inhuman in the way he takes you. “So good to me, aren’t you? Feeding me, taking me. Mmm, fuck, m’close,” he says, nuzzling at your skin, enamored with the warmth of you.

With the ravenous insanity of his bloodlust fading, his thrusts become less brutal. He hikes your thigh over his hip and holds it there, sliding into a rhythm that’s something closer to making love. Your cunt quivers all around him, and by the noises you’re making he knows you’re electrified, out of your mind with the haze of pleasure that his bite induces. “M’gonna take care of you, too. You know that, don’t you? Yeah, y’do, and you won’t ever fucking leave me again. Don’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” he pants, mouthing at the shell of your ear.

It’s a lie. He knows what he would do. He would punish any world that dared take you from him. The thought alone would be enough to enrage him all over were he not so deeply soothed by your iron on his tongue and your soft body giving into him. If he had breath to give, it would be stolen by the way you seize up against him, orgasm taking hold of you like a possession, capturing your voice and rolling your eyes heavenward.

This is love. This undying hunger, this obsessive compulsion to keep you close. He craves you not just for the ambrosial taste of your blood, but for your soft lips against his and the timbre of your voice. He brought you into his life to satiate his bloodlust, but never could he have fathomed the greater emptiness that you would fill. Knowing you were here waiting for him has made him understand for the first time in his life what it means to come home.

He’ll ruin you before he loses you.

Homelander comes with a low, wrecked moan, kissing you fervently as he stops to empty himself into you as deeply as possible, forehead pressed to yours.

You’re panting, letting out pitchy little wisps of sound with every breath. He gently kisses them from your lips, hushing you. “S’alright, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek, licking the salt of your tears from his lips. He cups the other side of your face and strokes it with his thumb. You’re shaking all over. He slips an arm around you to draw you close, to comfort you as you come down from your high. “Ssshhhh. Everything’s alright. M’right here, and I love you.”

That wrings a tight little sob out of you. He smiles, dazed on his own lingering ecstasy. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you,” he assures you, kissing your forehead. “Can’t imagine how scared you must’ve been, wandering alone in the dark like that,” he says, stroking your cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Just happy I found you before anything happened to you.”

What if someone else had found you like that? Confused and vulnerable. He would have found you eventually, but had anyone been unlucky enough to lay their hands on you before then, they wouldn’t have hands for much longer. He kisses you again, firmer, possessive. “Don’t cry, baby. You’re safe now. You’re home.”

Gingerly, he slips from the wet heat of your body and adjusts himself, getting you both situated under the covers. He spends a while soothing you, rubbing your back while you lay in his arms, kissing the top of your head every so often.

“You alright?” He asks eventually. You aren’t shaking anymore, but you haven’t said a word. It makes him a touch… anxious.

“Yes,” you whisper. It’s not very convincing, but he wants to believe it enough that he accepts the answer anyways.

“Good,” he purrs, slipping his hand over the back of your neck. His fingertips brush your menagerie of scars, each bite a reminder of how thoroughly you have allowed him to love you. “That’s my good girl. I love you,” he says with a smile, tipping your head back to kiss your lips.

He waits.

“I love you,” he says again.

“I love you, too,” you finally respond.

His smile broadens. He draws you closer to him, listening to the lively thrum of your body. You are the warmth in his own veins, the beat of his heart. This, too, is love. Kissed lips, bitten limbs, hungering teeth and bodies intertwined. It’s sweeter than anything he has ever known. The need in him is a monstrous thing, he knows. He hadn’t known how monstrous it was until he thought–even for a moment–that he’d lost you.

It won’t happen again.

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #terato #vampire x reader #monster romance #monster x human #it's late af but i FINALLY wrote vamplander!!!! special shoutout to non and calli for helping me with this one #my writing #dark fic

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gobbogoo · 4 months

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"It's Been A While, Morgott"

To me, this moment of tenderness all but confirms that Godfrey must have visited his Omen children in their sewer prison.

Consider everything we know about Godfrey. He actively venerated the Crucible and its primal manifestations. His knights wore helms decorated with horns and utilized its animalistic magic:

Even after the Crucible fell from favour, these knights were tolerated right up until Godfrey was banished. Therefore Godfrey must have been preserving them even despite Marika's decrees. This makes sense, because Godfrey was born in the ancient era when the Crucible's wild power was considered a blessing, not a curse:

"A vestige of the crucible of primordial life. Born partially of devolution, it was considered a signifier of the divine in ancient times, but is now increasingly disdained as an impurity as civilization has advanced."

To Godfrey, his Omen sons would not have been something to revile. This is supported by the fact that their horns weren't excised. I doubt it was Marika's choice, since she had turned against the Crucible by then. It MUST have been at Godfrey's behest. Likewise, who else could have commissioned THIS?

A "memorial fetish fashioned in secret" that CLEARLY depicts Morgott. Someone CARED about this secret Omen infant. Enough to memorialize their their existence at the risk of the entire Golden Order. It literally ONLY could have been Godfrey.

Lastly, there's the circumstances of Godfrey's banishment. Most people say he was simply cast aside after he ran out of enemies to fight, but this CAN'T be all there was to it, because Raya Lucaria still existed. A FAR better explanation is that Godfrey began to show signs of disobedience. Godfrey was a man of instinct and emotion. Could such a man have sat idle while his children were imprisoned and his comrades reviled by the very order HE helped build?

No. And so Godfrey began to visit his Omen children in secret, where he told them stories of their lineage and their origins. In Morgott his stories instilled a Lord's sense of duty for the Erdtree and everything it could be.

In Mohg, his stories instilled an Omen's sense of pride for the Crucible, and everything it once was.

Until Marika learned of her husband's treachery, and the Omen Twins never saw their father again.

EDITED IN EXTRA OBSERVATION:

Someone pointed out that Serosh exists to channel Godfrey's emotions, and what's the first thing we hear/see when we approach Godfrey holding his son? Serosh roaring in anger. Beneath that kingly countenance, Godfrey is a lot more distraught than he's capable of showing.

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kizzer55555 · 12 days

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Ultimate Escape Room

Sam, Danny, and Tucker are bored. Nothing seems to be a challenge anymore. Summer vacation is coming up but they can’t agree on anything . Themepark? What’s a better roller coaster than Jack driving? Scary movie? I’m sorry, nothing beats Fright Knight’s nightmare realm. Bungie jumping? Danny can fly. Then Tucker, who’s been typing on his computer, asks “what about an escape room?”. The others are about to shut the idea down because seriously? Easy. But Tucker just grins and shows them his computer screen.

“Ever heard of Arkham?”

Danny and Sam lean over to read the description and all three turn to each other and grin.

Now, what’s the fastest way to get into Arkham?

…

So the chaos trio do ✨something✨ that gets them locked up in Arkham and then try to escape and they keep. You know, normal stuff for Arkham inmates. Except this trio? Keep. Getting. Out. Of. Their. Cells. So they are just passing by locked up rogues and waving at them as an army of prison guards chase after them. Sure they could get out the easy way (Aka powers) but no, this is a challenge so they have the normal rules of an escape room. Aka, you can’t break anything and an extra rule where if a guard catches you, then you can’t fight back (also, no one can get hurt). (They make fake identities and everything). So they need to go through the whole process. Figure out how to unlock cuffs. Could be learning to pick a lock with a spoon/stick/long nails. Then find the keys. Possibly having to crawl through vents to get in the warden’s office. Or making deals with prison inmates. Like, I’ll get this for you if you give me that (however they extract a promise that the rogue can’t kill anyone with whatever they help them with.) So they are in prison literally doing errands like find freeze’s weapons in exchange for him telling them the passcode to the gate or something. Or getting Waylon some meat from the cafeteria and he’ll break the lock on this movable vault that has materials to make smoke bombs they can use to distract the front guards.

These kids are just going wild and it gets to the point where Arkham has to call the bats (like no Waylon, we won’t escape with you, we have to do it without breaking any walls!) So literally the only reason they are not escaping is because they want to do it ‘right’. But they are also aiding other rogues in their escape (at least certain ones. They aren’t helping joker no matter what he offers)

It’s driving the bats mad. They have vigilantes stationed in each hall, in multiple monitor rooms.

They aren’t even using anything clever to block the cameras. They’re using mirrors. Mirrors! Where did they even get so many handheld mirrors!

They are running circles around the bats. The escaped rogues literally aren’t doing anything yet because they want to see how the three hellions will escape the entire bat clan. They have bets going. So there is a temporary truce.

Just imagine the conversations/interrogations the bats will have with trio, trying to figure out their master plan - because surely there's something more going on than three chaos young adults playing a game, right?

They trio each have a different story. And they are so passionate/convincing actors that no one knows which story is real. At least one of them told a sob story with legitimate tears.

Danny: (all mysterious) You shall never know our master plan….until it is too late. And just casually dropping hints that there is something greater or that the bats are playing right into their hands. Even using ridiculous scenarios like yesss the ketchup explosion in the cafeteria….We are one step further….Mwa ha ha! (Rubs his hands together)

Sam: (absolutely distraught with literal tears running down her face and ruining her mascara.) There is a terrible organization holding their parents hostage. They had been framed and forced to be in Arkham. If they don’t do exactly as they are told, their loved ones are in danger! Should we stay? Should we escape and help them!? No one will believe us and what if we make things worse? We don’t know what to do!

Tucker: (takes a long slurp of a smoothie. Where he got one? No one knows). Yeah we were bored and had nothing better to do than mess with you guys. (Sluuuuurp).

The bats are trying to figure it out. Is the black haired guy telling the truth and the other two are just manipulating them? Is it the girl and the others are only following the plot of the organization? IS THE BARET KID RIGHT AND THEY’RE JUST MESSING WITH US!? WHICH STORY IS IT!?

Under normal circumstances, Sam wouldn’t give a sob story because It’s not really her vibe. But Sam has the opportunity to pull one over on a bat. Do you honestly think she won’t take a chance to mess with them? Also, Dick is the one who is interrogating Sam.

He’s crying too by the end of the story.

Poor guy, Sam will play his heart like a fiddle.

Also, their fake identities are Jordan for Danny. Mortica for Sam (or Macey for short) and Phineas for Tucker. The fact that they are using fake identities is the only thing they all agree on in the interview. But the bats find nothing on them and the identities are so realistic they wonder if they are even fake at all. If the three are faking fake IDs to throw them off their tail from looking deeper. Apparently their ‘parents’ having a missing persons report.

Damian is interrogating Danny. It’s just so easy to rile him up and get under his skin. It’s absolute drama in that interrogation room.

Danny: ah yessss. Master plan.

Damian: you shall never succeed! Justice shall prevail evil scum!

And Duke is interrogating Tucker. He just…has no idea how to respond to this. He wasn’t trained for this response. Hostile, yes. Mysterious, yes. Scared, yes. Civilian, yes. Even Flirtatious! YES! But not…this. What does he do? should he take out his note cards?

Also, I’m adding a mix of home alone elements to this. They have to get past the bats somehow and it can’t be lethal. Poor Jason and Steph who are patrolling the halls fall victim to most of this.

At one point, both of them are tied up together and hanging from the ceiling. While the trio just casually walk by under them.

It’s dental floss. Really strong dental floss.

Then the bats start taking sides.

Jason? once he hears Sam's story, he's immediately willing to help her. He and Dick are searching for that missing person's report almost religiously.

Tim believes Danny's story. part of it is because it makes the most sense, and the other part is that he's slightly biased from becoming an evil megalomaniac in every timeline he's seen so he's subconsciously trying to stop that from happening here.

Cass believes Tucker because come on, it's Cass.

Steph is siding with Tim because her father was cluemaster so same reasons.

Bruce is trying to fact check all of them and is failing desperately.

Sam added some ‘clues’ in her interrogation and basically threw the GIW under the bus as the organization. So the bats do find a shady organization but so far no missing persons so the other bats still don’t know if what Sam is saying is true or not while Dick takes this as absolute proof and Jason feels like it doesn’t matter if she’s telling the truth at this point. It’s a corrupt organization. So he’ll still blow it up.

I think in this AU, the GIW isn’t a threat and more of an annoyance so Sam just plays them up as even worse. Like, she doesn’t say anything untrue just makes it sound worse out of context. Oh yeah, they opened fire on this random kid. (Gregory when they thought he was phantom) Oh yes, they have destroyed Danny’s house at one point. (The prank war with Vlad) Yes, the have an unhealthy obsession with dissecting people. (Even though they are too incompetent to actually catch anyone).

So again, they don’t know if Sam is telling the truth of the organization or they just used this random organization to draw their attention away from the three’s plans (as Danny implied). Possibly an enemy organization or a competitor.

I know everyone makes the GIW a big threat but I decided to change it up. They aren’t a threat but still get obliterated by a pissed off Red Hood and Nightwing.

And that’s another reason why Sam gives the sob story. Danny and Tucker are great but they wouldn’t actually sick a crime lord on the GIW. Sam? Absolutely would. She does not care what happens to them. They tore up her garden one time with a stray shot. She wants revenge. And sure, she didn’t actually know what would happen to them after the bats find out but she still doesn’t care.

And through all of this, the rogues are sitting back and eating popcorn while Joker screams bloody murder from his cell.

#Dpxdc #dcxdp #Kizzer55555 ideas #Sam Danny and Tucker are chaos gremlins. Correction. BORED chaos gremlins. The most frightening of all.#The GIW are not a threat but Sam still decides to mess with them.#Danny is having too much fun messing with Damian. He wants to see how far he can push the baby bat.#At one point he even sets up a scavenger hunt with ‘clues’ that makes Robin run all around Arkham convinced Danny had placed some kind of #Hidden weapon there. It was a whoopy cushion.#Poor Dick is getting played. He’s trying very hard to calm Damian down because that poor Jordan kid is just trying his best!#He has no Choice!#Jordan is now Damian’s life long nemesis.#Duke and Tucker sitting in a room. Slurping slushees…..awkward silence.#They can hear screams of rage from one room and hysterical sobbing in the other. ‘Phineas’ looks at Signal. “Sup”#The trio home alone the entire prison. Then cut the lights. Everyone is convinced they escaped again and start running around and getting #Caught in traps. Meanwhile. Sam and Tucker just broke into Danny’s cell to play Uno. It was game night! They don’t break out on game night!#By morning the entire prison is filled with shaving cream. Glitter bombs. All of the guards are caught in toilet paper like mummies or #Stuck in the vents. Steph and Tim are somehow caught in a life size Chinese finger trap made of pillowcases. Jason is knocked out by the #Ketchup bombs (curtesy of a favor from condiment king). The monitor room looks like an egg apocalypse. Damian is screaming from where #He got trapped in an empty cell. There is an ominous pole in the courtyard with a decapitated teddy bear head impaled on top.#And batman’s suit has been dyed pink.#Technically the trio COULD walk out of here at this point. But they were having game night! They weren’t even trying this time!#It doesn’t count unless they are trying! So they walked back into their cells and close it on themselves. Danny’s cell is right across from #The still locked up Robin who is glaring MURDER at him.#‘Jordan’ winks.

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yandere-daydreams · 1 year

Text

Title: Vampiric.

Pairing: Yandere!Miguel O'hara x Reader (Spiderverse).

Word Count: 1.4k.

TW: Vampire AU, Blood and Violence, Unbalanced Power Dynamic, Predator/Prey Dynamics, Implied Past/Future N0n///C0n, and Obsessive Behavior.

He came to you in the midnight hours.

You’d learned, by now, to wait for his nightly visits in privacy, to sit on the corner of your bed farthest from your window and listen for the distant sound of claws digging into wood, of a body dragging against stone, of nails scraping against glass as he beckoned you to let him in willingly. Of course, you didn’t, and of course, he didn’t need you to – your bedroom window crashing only a moment after you would’ve reached it, a pair of talon-doting hands wrapping around your windowsill before Miguel hauled himself inside, scarlet blood already dotting the collar of his white undershirt. Clearly, he’d already fed, tonight. His appetite had already been sated, which meant he’d only come to you to wash the taste out of his mouth.

The alternative would’ve been kinder. When he came to you half-starved, you could blame his violence on his hunger, his cruelness on his desperation. Whatever he did tonight would only serve his own twisted sense of entertainment.

He was grinning, too; crimson painted over his lips and dripping from his chin, coating his pointed fangs and spilling onto the fine silk of his tunic. With your back to him, your shoulder pressed into the plain wood of your headboard, you watched from your peripheral as he stepped into your bedroom, letting out a bark of a laugh and arching his back before stiffening, his smile falling in an instant with a sharp, venomous hiss. He didn’t flee or melt into a pile of ash and bone as you’d hoped, but only turned back to your window, catching the wreath of purple and white flowers posted above it on his claws. “Garlic blooms,” he muttered, crushing your wreath in his fist. The ruined flowers were allowed to drift pathetically to the floor, but you forced yourself to look away before they landed. “Trying your hand at botany?”

“Someone told me that garlic was good for keeping away for keeping away unwanted pests, but they must’ve been mistaken.” You didn’t move, didn’t turn, keeping your back straight and your hands wrung together in your lap. It was all you could do to keep your voice steady, to hide how much you wanted to buckle into yourself and beg him to leave. That’d come soon enough, when you were drained of all things good and vital and had only the strength it took to hold yourself. For now, you could play confident. “Tell me, would it be worth the time it’d take to hang a crucifix?”

You felt his weight on the plush of your mattress, your stomach turning as he grew ever-nearer. “I wouldn’t think so. You know how fond I am of holy ground.”

It was true, you did. You’d never be able to forget the night he first cornered you, the hours you spent pinned against the alter of an empty chapel as a beast you’d mistaken for a man buried his teeth in your neck and he forced his body into yours. For as long as he’d tormented you, you’d thought that night would be your final one, that he’d split you open and eat you alive before the sun ever rose, but here you sat, alive and breathing and still completely in the dark as to why he hadn’t devoured you, why he hadn’t left you in the same decrepit state as the rest of his mortal victims – a dried husk, barely a shell of a corpse left in a gutter or alleyway to be found by some poor soul the next morning. Your only guess was that he took more joy in being the ghost that haunted your every waking thought than the beast who would rip you to shreds the moment you stepped into the moonlight, and even then, it was hard to tell which fate was crueler. It was hard to tell if you were glad that he’d shown you mercy, or distraught that he'd chosen to keep you as a plaything, instead.

A bitter taste spread over your tongue. His cold breath fanned over your exposed back, and reflectively, motivated by the same instinct that propels the rabbit to writhe in the fox’s mouth, you tried to stand, to flee Miguel before he thought to bite down. You made it all of half a step before a strong arm caught you by the waist, dragging you back onto your bed and against Miguel’s broad chest. There was a throaty laugh, a flat tongue ran over the curve of your throat, and then, the fox put the rabbit out of its misery and Miguel sunk his fangs into your neck.

It hurt the same way it always hurt. The pain was sharp, hot – searing your veins as he bit into you, drawing a sharp cry from the base of your throat before you could hope to swallow it down. He held you like that for a moment, then another, your body pressed against his and his teeth burrowed in your flesh, before pulling back with a rolling growl, barely giving you time to draw in a ragged inhale before his lips latched onto his fresh puncture marks, his coarse tongue over the twin streams of blood. A thin trail of scarlet slipped past the corner of his mouth, only growing thicker as he nipped at half-healed ‘love bites’ and throbbing bruises too often abused to fade. His hand fell away from your wrist and rose to your collar, finding its way to the base of your throat and catching you in an inescapable grip, holding you steady as he drank from you. Sometimes, he let you fight it, took joy in pinning you down as you shoved and kicked and screamed, but he usually preferred a submissive meal. Tonight, he was clearly in the mood to pretend you were willing prey.

You expected him to leave after he’d drunk his fill, to pull away and slip back out of your bedroom window, but you were not that fortunate. Rather, he sunk lower, burying his teeth in the curve of your shoulder. The impact was dull, just forceful enough to bruise – meant more to mark than to maim. A love bite, in the place of a puncture wound – the former just as painful as the latter. “It’s like wine,” he muttered, the words nearly lost against your skin. You felt his hand on the collar of your nightdress, starting to drag the delicate fabric downward before he lost what little patience he still had. Before you could brace yourself, before you could think to bed him not to, your body was slammed against the wood of your headboard, his fist still wrapped around your neck, his claws still tearing at your clothes. “If I had less control, I would’ve drained you weeks ago.” His voice in your ear, his hands on your skin. He dropped lower, to your chest, and yet, you never seemed to rid yourself of the awful feeling that he was looming over you, consuming you. “You’re lucky that your blood’s not the only part of you that tastes so—”

“Please.” It was barely a whisper. Without his uncannily keen senses, it could’ve easily been lost underneath the sounds of his lips against your skin, underneath his throaty growls and stifled moans. Still, he raised his head, his scarlet eyes flickering up to meet yours as you went on. “Please, Miguel, not tonight.”

For a moment, he did not move, did not speak. You pictured, in a part of your mind you’d lost control of the day you met him, Miguel burying his talons in your chest, carving out your beating heart and making it so you’d never be able to deny him again, but the blow never came.

A small, teasing smile spread across his crimson-stained lips as he raised his head. He kissed you, the gesture gentle and lingering, before straightening his back and releasing your throat. “Not tonight,” he said, watching as you sunk into yourself. “But soon. I can’t let my amor spend their nights alone for much longer.”

You opened your mouth, but he was already gone – vanishing into the moonlight and leaving you covered in your own blood, shaking in the tatters of your nightdress, and already dreading his next visit.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere spiderverse #spiderverse x reader #across the spider verse spoilers #spiderverse spoilers #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #yandere miguel o'hara #yanderecore #yancore

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