#t: fanfiction

[swansworth]

The Handsome Stranger

Rhysand x Priestess!Reader

Summary: You had fallen for the High Lord, it was inevitable. However, he was clearly in love with another, and now he had come to ask you the one question you had dreaded to hear. 

Warnings: brief mention of abuse, mild angst with a happy ending, a big misunderstanding, believed-to-be unrequited feelings, friends-to-lovers

Word Count: 3079

Author Notes: This was inspired by one of my favorite television series, The Vicar of Dibley. The show is much more comedic than this story is, but it still helped me formulate this. The story title is borrowed from the episode that inspired this. Some of the dialogue towards the end is as well, and some of it has been re-worded to fit ACOTAR more seamlessly. Special thanks to @azsazz​ for encouraging me to write this. 

Not many ventured to the temple, too afraid of what peace they would disturb. It was a benefit in your mind; it meant that you could read and take care of your daily duties without anyone bothering you. Usually your days were spent in a comfortable quiet, though it appeared today would not be such a day. 

“Hello?” A voice like velvet asked, causing you to sigh. You had just sat down to start the next chapter in the book you’d been reading and had really hoped to avoid dealing with anyone. You closed your book and moved to the sanctuary, doing your best to smile and give off an air of warmth and kindness. The smile on your face faltered when you noticed a beautiful fae standing before the altar, his blue-black hair tousled and his eyes closed in what appeared to be prayer. 

Part of you wondered whether you should leave him to his privacy but then he asked, “Are you one of the priestesses here?” He’d noticed you. You opened your mouth to respond then abruptly shut it when his eyes opened and orbs that were almost violet in color met yours. “Well?” 

His tone implied that he was annoyed and you wondered whether it was really worth your time to get involved with him. Unfortunately, it was your duty as a priestess to aid any who came to the temple asking for assistance. “Yes I am,” you answered at last, “Was there something I could help you with?” 

“We’ll see.” Oh, you did not like the arrogance that rolled off of this male. The two of you stared at one another in an unspoken challenge to see who would speak next. “Shall I get to the point?”

“If you’d like me to assist you, I think that would be wise.” A look of amusement flickered across his handsome face and you did your best to keep your own expression neutral as he continued to stare at you. 

“You’re very direct.” His statement left you unsure; was it meant to be an insult or a compliment? Regardless, you still held his gaze, waiting for him to state his reason for being at the temple in the first place. The silence stretched on, but you refused to be the first to break it. 

Stubborn too, I see. I could use that.  

The stranger’s voice crawled its way through your mind and your eyes widened. How had he done that? All at once you felt a stab of fear. He was a daemati; he could tear your mind apart with ease if you weren’t careful. 

Clever girl.  

It was almost taunting you, the voice, but you held firm, kept your gaze fixed on the handsome stranger. There was only one being in the Night Court who this could possibly be, and though you knew decorum instructed you to at least bow your head, you did no such thing. “Lord Rhysand,” you said, “What did you need assistance with?” 

“So it’s lord now is it?” He sounded almost amused and your shoulders sagged in relief as his expression softened. “I have a friend in need of sanctuary. They were badly hurt by their former lover and have nowhere to go. I would offer them a room with me, but they were adamant that they did not want my assistance.” 

There were rooms in the temple for requests such as these; cozy, private chambers that offered a sense of safety and peace while the people residing in them healed. The smallest room was unoccupied and had a fresh change of linens on the bed. “We have a room they could stay in for a time, if you feel they would be open to that.” 

Rhysand’s answering smiling was blinding and left you feeling almost breathless. He truly was incredibly handsome. No wonder all the other priestesses swooned whenever his name was mentioned. “I’ll bring them here at once. Thank you, priestess.” 

You gave your name and watched as that smile grew impossibly brighter. He repeated it back to you and your heart pounded in your chest at the way your name fell from his lips. It was almost a purr, soft and sensual. ‘Mother preserve me.’ It was a thought that you had often, a silent mental prayer in an effort to keep yourself calm. Rhysand’s smile turned into an amused grin as he turned to take his leave and you knew that he had heard it. Blasted daemati. 

═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══

You had believed that once Rhysand’s friend had settled, the High Lord would go back to his daily duties, whatever those were. Oh, how mistaken you were.

Rhys’s presence was a constant, nearly daily, thing.

At first, it had been to ensure that his friend truly was comfortable and safe. You couldn’t help but admire that unwavering loyalty. There were many stories and rumors about Rhysand, but the gentle smile he wore when he spoke to his comrade made you wonder how much truth lay within them.

It turned, quicker than you could have anticipated, into social visits. He came less and less for his friend and more and more for you. In the course of a few months, the two of you had formed a budding friendship and you could admit that the smile that tugged at your lips whenever he entered the temple was genuine and warm, full of the growing affection you held for him.

You hoped that the affectionate look you saw in his eyes was just as sincere.

Part of you also hoped that what you interpreted as flirtation truly was. You couldn’t speak for Rhysand, but you knew that your feelings for him had shifted to romantic rather than platonic. It was foolish, you knew, to hope that the High Lord of the Night Court would fall for a priestess such as yourself. And yet your heart raced wildly each time he stepped into the sanctuary, looked at you with those intense violet eyes, and asked with a grin, “Miss me, darling?”

“Always,” you replied easily.

As his arm slipped around your waist, pulling you close so he could converse with you about everything and anything, you sighed in content. In those moments, everything was perfect and right with the world.

That perfection ended when you saw Rhysand walking arm-in-arm with a beautiful, blonde, high fae.

You didn’t leave the temple often, but you had learned that it was Rhys’s birthday in a few weeks and you were out looking for materials to make him something. As a High Lord, you suspected that there wasn’t much you could buy him that he would need or want, and truthfully, you didn’t have much money to buy gifts with. So, you had settled on making him a token; something small he could keep with him for luck and protection. That was when you saw them.

The blonde with him was as beautiful as the goddess that you served. Grace rolled off of her in waves and you felt your knees tremble at the sight of her. She had eyes that reminded you of honey, a deep rich amber that was warm, but still intense. Everything about her was perfection; she was exactly the sort of fae someone of Rhys’s standing would be expected to be with. Your heart sank. You had always known it was foolish to hope and dream, but secluded in your temple, it was easy to imagine. Facing reality, seeing how you paled in comparison, hurt more than you would have ever thought possible.

“You’re a moron, Rhys. It’s a good thing I like you so much,” the blonde teased.

“Thanks Mor, I love you too.” Rhys laughed as he spoke and you watched as the blonde playfully jabbed him in the side with her elbow. You slipped away then, not able to see or hear anymore.

He was a High Lord. You were a priestess. It had been nothing more than a dream, and the dawn had finally come.

═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══

“Hello?” An all too familiar voice called out from the sanctuary. You cussed under your breath at the sound of it. Seeing Rhysand again was inevitable but you had hoped that you’d have more time to process and heal before having to engage with him. Though you had tried to fight it, you had fallen helplessly in love with him. Each smile, each gentle touch and warm utterance of your name had bewitched you. Seeing Rhysand meant facing your heartbreak head-on, and you weren’t sure you were ready for that. 

You heard him call your name and swallowed. There was no way you would be able to avoid him forever and perhaps dealing with the issue now would be wiser. Yes, putting it off wouldn’t solve anything. You took a deep breath, lifted your head and headed out into the sanctuary. 

“Lord Rhysand, how are you?” How you had managed to form words when he was standing there looking as handsome as he had the day you met, you had no idea. 

“So it’s lord now, is it?” You didn’t meet his gaze even though you could feel the weight of his on your face, trying to make out your expression. There was a faint poking at your mind, but you kept your walls in place. If he saw the swirling emotions warring within you he would certainly reject you entirely. Rejection would be worse than ignorance. 

“I suppose I may as well come straight out with it?” He formed it as a question, encouraging you to answer him. You turned your head to look at him and gave him a nod, a silent urgence to continue. His brow creased in what almost looked like worry. “I’ve thought about it quite a lot, talked about it a lot. And I came here to ask you a rather important question.” 

“Well, go on then,” you said. 

“Perhaps, we could find somewhere a bit more secluded? I hadn’t intended on asking you in the middle of the sanctuary.” 

“I don’t see why here isn’t as good a place as any.” You could have sworn that you saw his eye twitch as he stared at you. His hands clenched and unclenched by his sides and you could tell that he was trying to stay calm. He let out a breath and refocused his gaze on your face. 

“Will you marry me?” Damn. You had suspected that he and the mysterious blonde — Morrigan you learned her name was — were close, intimate even, but you hadn’t realized how close. It was your duty, as a priestess, to assist in mating and marriage ceremonies, you had officiated nearly a hundred. This, however, was one ceremony you were uncertain of. 

You stared up at Rhysand, looked deep into his violet eyes and saw the almost pleading expression hidden in their depths. He looked hopeful and eager and you knew that no matter how much it would hurt you to do as he asked, you would. You would because you loved him and his happiness was ultimately what you wished for him, more than anything. With a sigh you replied, “Well, yes of course. I’d be delighted to.” 

The smile that broke out across Rhysand’s face was so radiant that you felt as if you were staring directly at the sun. ‘If only I could make him so happy.’ The thought flickered through your mind and you did your best to squash it down. “That’s wonderful news!” He took a step toward you as if to hug you and you stepped back. No, you couldn’t. You would melt against him as you always did and it would be harder to maintain the professionalism the situation required. 

“Have you thought of any dates?” You asked as casually as you could, though a hint of annoyance found its way into your tone. 

“Don’t you think we should discuss that?” 

“Very well. I would suggest a time near Starfall. That’s always a romantic time of year.” If you were to ever marry, that would be the time of year you’d want your ceremony to fall on. It was cooler, the nights longer, but the stars shone clearer and on some nights looked as if they were close enough to reach. “Though, I would have to check the temple diary to be sure we can hold the ceremony at that time.” 

You moved to the adjoining room, where a few small tables and bookshelves remained for the priestesses to use. The temple diary was an easy enough book to find. Once you had retrieved it, you flicked through the pages to the calendar. Sure enough there was an opening two days before Starfall. You relayed the information to Rhysand who nodded and said, “That’s perfect.”

“Excellent! I’ll jot it down then. Listen, while you’re here, we should probably start getting some of the other forms done. Save some time.” You wrote the date down before standing to find a large pile of documents on the corner of one of the tables. The temple really needed a better organization system, but that was a problem for another day. The first part of the form needed Rhysand’s name, which you wrote . The next…

“All right, what is the name of the lucky lady in question?” 

At that, Rhysand looked visibly confused. “Rhysand, you shouldn’t marry someone if you don’t know their name. I feel that goes without saying.” 

Rhysand’s voice sounded mildly worried as he replied with your name. You paused in your writing and looked up at him. “Pardon?”

“It’s you. I’m asking you to marry me.” 

The silence was deafening. You stared, eyes wide in disbelief. “Are you out of your senses?”

Rhysand’s visible confusion deepened. “I feel Amren would say I am. She thinks it’s too soon; though I find in affairs of the heart, she’s not always the best being to turn to.”

“I might agree with her! What about that other female you’ve been spending so much time with? Morrigan, the gorgeous blonde one! What about her?” 

Frustration rose within you. Was this some kind of joke to him? He charmed his way into your life and then started spending all his time with Morrigan, and now he was asking for your hand in marriage? You opened your mouth to add your own two-cents regarding his judgment, but were rendered speechless by Rhysand’s reply. “You mean my cousin?”

All at once you felt all the confusion and anger of the last few weeks coming bubbling up to the surface and you shouted, “What?!”

“She’s one of my closest friends; I consult her about nearly everything.”  He still looked confused, but you found you didn’t really care. In that moment, you needed clarity. 

“What?” 

“We’ve been walking Valeris together trying to decide if it was too rash or too soon or, perhaps, too stupid. But, I finally decided I must follow my heart. And my heart is saying that you are the being I wish to spend eternity with, the being that I am destined to be with until death comes and claims me.” 

There was a look of burning passion, strong and intense adoration, in his eyes and your heart began to beat wildly in your chest at the sight of it. Oh. He loved you. Gods, you felt so foolish, but how could you have known. His words from before, his proposal, flashed in your mind again and when you opened your mouth to speak, to say that you felt the same, all that came out was a garbled noise. 

Both you and Rhysand looked surprised by the sound and you tried, once again in vain, to say what was on your mind. The noise was worse the second time. "Will you excuse me?" It was asked with some effort, but you managed. You didn't wait for him to answer and instead hurried off to the secluded meditation room around the corner. Once there you took a series of steadying breaths, trying desperately to calm your racing heart and wrap your head around the truth Rhysand had just shared with you. 

It all seemed almost too good to be true. Rhysand, the High Lord, wanted to marry you? You had hoped he loved you to that extent, and would gladly say yes if he meant it. The whole situation felt like a fantasy, like a scene from those books you used to read as a child where the handsome prince would save the princess and they'd live happily ever after. Could such a thing happen in real life? You inhaled and exhaled twice more and then moved back to the sanctuary where Rhysand waited, a nervous look on his handsome face. 

"Let me be sure I've got this absolutely right," you said as you approached, "You are asking me to marry you."

“Yes.”

That ungodly sound worked its way out of your mouth once more and Rhys’s lips quirked into an amused smile. His arms, so strong and warm, wrapped around your middle and pulled you to him. One of his hands slid up your spine to the back of your head before entwining in your hair. 

“I have loved you from the very moment I laid eyes on you. And I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that we are meant to be together.” His breath was warm against your face as he tilted his head down and leaned forward. “Marry me, darling?”

You didn’t hesitate, your answer required no consideration. You leaned up, closing the little distance between the two of you, and your lips dragged against his as you replied, “Yes.” 

There was a heat to the kiss. It was as if the dams you’d both built to preserve your emotions had crumbled and the flood of your love and adoration for one another had rushed forward. There was so much to think about and plan for. It wouldn’t be easy figuring out your place within his court and what his expectations would be; and you’d have to address your own for him. All of that would come, all of that could wait. In that moment, all that mattered was the feeling of Rhysand’s warm body pressed against you as he held you close, sipped kisses from your lips, and vowed to love you, and only you, until the end of time. 

#rhysand x reader #rhys x reader #acotar series #t: fanfiction #my writing #lit: acotar series #c: rhysand #ship: rhysand x reader #reader insert #acotar reader insert

[ourflagmeansdeath-kinkmeme]

Any — Ed organises a shipwide kinkmeme/exchange

Since ep 10 Edward is all about creative expression, he starts a promptfest or art exchange for the Revenge crew!

Who prompts what filthy kinks through stick figures? Who makes the best kinky porn? Who gets assigned who? Does anyone decide to make a flag instead of drawn art?

Fill: None

#C: Edward Teach | Blackbeard #C: Revenge Crew #P: General | No Pairing #T: Fanfiction #Fill: None

[tarjapearce]

El Diablo Wears Prada

Mafia Boss! Miguel O'Hara x Reader

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Cucking, Forced Voyeurism, A bit of Dark Miguel, Dom! Miguel, P in V, Oral (F receiving) Face sitting, manhandling, mild knife play, criminal undertones, Implied mild exhibitionism, emotional distress, mentions of cheating, Dubious morals, implicit non-con oral at the end (M receiving). No proofread.

Summary: Tired of warnings and dialogues with your stubborn and corrupt husband, The Devil shows up at your home.

A/N: Had to get it out of me. jsksj. Finally. Enjoy (?) ❤️✨.

Pt. 2

From the many times people tried to persuade you from marrying your current husband, none of them were successful.

Massimo Bianchi. An important lawyer that had swooped you off your feet with his smile and Italian charisma.

People often told you that he wasn't good. None had to be a genius to know the man was in shady business as his main job was to defend the top dogs of  corporate world. He didn't have to mingle with underworld criminals to know how they worked cause he was one.

Corrupt lawyer that always came out successful in his cases. But you remained on the shadows, blissfully ignorant of your husband's doings to the world. All you knew was that he was the head of his firm and that alone earned him a good chunk of money.

You thought him good, though your marriage had been cold for the last few years. Even though he spoiled you with things, you didn't want materialistic rewards. You wanted him.

A true fool. Your friends called you. Sometimes you truly wondered if it

was love or just that attachment that had grown over time? The kind that makes one so used to a person that their absence feels odd yet expected? You didn't know nor cared. As long as he kept coming home at night, things would be right. Everything would be fine and the fake illusion of a perfect marriage would keep playing in the background.

And it was. Until death threats kept coming into your mail. All of them saying the same.

Stay away.

Confrontations weren't really your thing, but the tension had turned so dense that arguments were the main course of everyday. Massimo refused to spill the beans as dread only kept growing inside your already rattled mind. Just like the death threats. All of them signed by El Diablo.

"Amore, he is none. Just a petty criminal that is pissed I'm locking up his associates."

Lies, lies and more lies.

A petty criminal wouldn't put you on edge, wouldn't make you feel watched. Cause in truth, wherever you went the feeling of being observed remained etched in every step you took.

"That's exactly what they want you to believe, cara mía. That's a tactic for scum like them to scare decent people like us."

You didn't pressed any further, rather save your breath. He was as closed as an hermetic safe box.

-----

To relax your nerves you decided to go shopping, and returned home with an idea that you were certain would rekindle the cold flame in your marriage. Massimo seemed way too busy in his work to make an approach, and when you wanted to initiate things, he'd just push you away with the excuse that he was exhausted.

And you were tired of toys and your hand. So, you took a bath, lathered your body in rich and delicious smelling oils, and slipped into an emerald green silk and velvet lingerie set you just bought.

You hid it all underneath a skin tight black dress that enhanced your body shape. Hair done in a messy yet sultry look, a subtle fem fatale makeup with a gorgeous shade of burgundy lips.

The sound of your husband's car breaking violently snapped your attention at the front door. Massimo bursted out through the door and you smiled.

"Hey, darling!"

"Pack your shit. We're leaving."

You frowned in confusion at his sudden panicky and antsy state. But most importantly his tone. Urgent, demanding and scared.

"W-What? Where are-"

"There is no time for questions! Just do as I tell you! Now!"

He grabbed you by the arm and dragged you to the bedroom.

"Massimo, you're scarying me. What's going on?!"

Bianchi groaned as he threw you on the bed, nose flaring in anger at your reluctance.

"Non hai sentito, stupida stronza? Fai quello che ti dico, cazzo!" (Didn't you hear, dumb bitch? Do as I fucking tell you!)

Your teary eyes widened at him, frantic and fumbling with the suitcases. Filling them with papers and valuable objects. Not even clothes, just things you were sure he treasured more than your marriage.

"MOVE IT!" He roared and you blinked away your tears, scrambling out of his sight. He muttered things you didn't understand much as he shoved more papers inside. You grabbed the first suitcase you found and filled in with the necessary.

The sound of cars breaking and revving into the pebbled porch of your luxurious  home made Massimo to pull out a gun, you gasped and he ushered you to come closer. You kneeled next to him as he spoke in hushed whispers.

"No matter what happens, you remain silent okay?"

Your trembling hands clung to him as fear begun numbing your judgment. There was a collective round of car's doors slapping shut and footsteps that approached almost in scary synchronization.

"Go through the pool entrance, take this with you and leave. I'll see you in the other apartment"

"N-No, Massi-"

He kissed you, as he pushed a stack of documents further in your hands.

"No matter what, don't let them get this, ok?" His hushed whispers didn't help soothing your already fried nerves

"Massimo!"

"Go!"

He dispatched you with an angry growl, shaking legs scrambled once more ducking down the windows. You removed the heels as you crossed the manor, tears momentarily blurring your sight as you reached the pool. A shot in the air made you still, before you ran back inside.

A few shots and screaming voices followed you. The pained screams of your husband along some grunts made you whimper in fear. You hid behind the kitchen's large breakfast island as steps echoed ominously close. No matter in what direction you tried to go, the men, clad in black and red were there. Awaiting for their prey. Anything that moved.

The paper crumpled under your tight grip, and you covered your mouth, to remain as quiet as possible. Heavy steps retired from your area, and you exhaled in mild relief. Heart pumped hard with every passing beat, you snuck past the island to go back to the main entrance.

And just as you were about to taste freedom, the largest man you had ever seen, clad in a rich black suit and polished shoes, blocked your entrance with a stoic gaze that shifted into a shameless smirk upon seeing you.

Big, strong and long limbs trapped you against him as you cried and thrashed in a meek attempt to free yourself.

"Shh, shhh shh"

His nose nuzzled your neck and you stilled, tears rolled down your cheeks as he pointed a gun to your head. The cold metal against your temple made your breathings erratic.

"Tranquila, corazón. I'm not gonna hurt you." (Relax, sweetheart)

He dragged you to one of the many spare rooms in the house. A tall black woman with a frondous afro was finishing tying Massimo on the ground to then wipe away the blood caked in her brassed knuckles. 

His handsome face littered in bruises, a blooming dark eye on his left, a busted lip and his broken nose was all that remained after the bravado he often boasted up. Your heart couldn't help but sink in further at the sight.

You tried to go to his side, but the man only tightened his grip on you.

"Mr. Bianchi."

The man holding you spoke, to then aim his gun to him.

"S-Stop! Please!"

He kissed you deeply as his hands handcuffed your hands back. The kiss was so fast you barely had time to digest it, just like everything that was happening around you.

"You really need to shut your pretty mouth for a bit, cariño."

"Hei! Lasciala!" (Hey! Leave her)

A blonde man kneed him in the stomach, knocking all the air out of Massimo as he doubled in pain.

"Stop!" You squealed in between hiccups. Fat tears rolled down your cheeks, ruining your makeup. The papers you were given were long gone from your hands.

The woman with the afro smirked upon reading them.

"We got it, Miguel."

Massimo gulped at the name. Miguel O'Hara, one of the major criminal Don's in the underworld, El Diablo himself had came to his home to collect his reaps.

"I tried to be a reasonable man with you, Mr. Bianchi, but given your stubborn nature to cooperate and pay what's rightfully mine, I must take drastic measures for you to understand that I don't like being lied to."

Miguel made a sign for everyone to leave.

"M-Massi? What... What is he talking about?"

"You lie to your lovely wife?" His face turned one of disgust and his large feet pushed Massimo's head on the ground, his swollen cheek flattening against the expensive Prada shoes adorning Miguel's feet.

You only looked away as your husband groaned in pain despite Miguel holding back from hurting him seriously.

" You see, cariño. Your doting husband right here, has been fucking around with my associates."

He removed the outer layer of his suit and carefully laid it on a nearby chair.

"People that have worked hard for what they have and have come to me in dire need of protection against this... greedy coward."

Your eyes snapped back to Massimo as he kept folded in pain, his eyes adverted from you.

"Bribing the judges, increasing taxes, charging extra fees to those who need him? And not enough, this cabrón tiene los huevos para pedir dinero en mi nombre." (This fucker has the guts to collect money in my name.)

His meaty mouth clicked in disapproval. 

"Is that true?"

He remained quiet, blood caking on his lips and chin.

"Massimo, look at me. Is that true?!"

"I'm really sorry you have to find out this way, preciosa. But don't you worry. I know he will pay."

Dread sunk in further at his words. If there was something you were so sure of, that if your life depended on it you wouldn't fear in risking it, is the little fact that your husband never really had the intention of paying debts.

A habit that stuck with him in your dating stage, something he never grew out of. And now the fatal consequences were only added in his karma balance.

"The hell I am!" Bianchi spat at his shoes, and Miguel, unbuttoned his shirt to then pull out a cigarette. He took a long drag. Cherry scent filled in your lungs as he blew the smoke in his direction.

"I'll put you behind bars, O'Hara!"

Miguel chuckled, showing his canines. One of the reasons of his nickname.

He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and crushed the ablaze end on your husband's forehead. A new groan of pain along a few Italian curses filled in the room.

You looked away, too scared and stunned to actually do something. What help could you possibly be? You were handcuffed, barefooted and emotionally all over the place. The many warnings about him finally weighing on your shoulders.

Your name was called between breathless and pained yelps, but you refused to acknowledge him.

"Let her go, please." You heard him, speak, but no words or pleas seemed to move Miguel. He just stared at Massimo with a bored expression as he crouched to meet his eyes.

"Hope you have told her that you cheated her with one of my favorite colleagues."

His words were the last stab you could handle, you broke in tears.

"I should kill you for that alone, but that would be too merciful of me."

Miguel stood up and prowled over you, his hands reached for your face and wiped away your tears carefully.

"I am a firm believer of 'An eye for an eye', Mr. Bianchi."

He removed the shirt, leaving his torso bare before you, eyes couldn't help but wander before retreating away, Miguel smirked.

"Are you?"

Massimo glared at him, heaving through the pain as he pulled a pocket knife and approached you.

"I'll have to make you a believer, then."

The sharp of the blade slid down your dress, enough to tear through the fabric covering your breasts. His lips pursed to give an appreciating whistle upon seeing your mounds clad in the velvety and silky texture of your lingerie.

" Con permiso, cariño." (Excuse me, darling)

Big hands took each a piece of fabric to tear the dress in half as you gasped and tried to scurry away from him. A hand grope your nape and you stilled.

One of his hands was big enough to pull you before your husband as the other one rested on the dip of your waist.

"Look at that. Por Dios... Was this a surprise for him?"

Upon your silence he squeezed your nape a bit tighter and you yelped.

"Y-Yes!"

"Too fucking bad he doesn't deserves it, right preciosa?"

"Don't you dare to touch her!"

Miguel nearly cackled at his measly threats. He took a couch and placed it before him. The coolness in the room made your skin crawl, but when he kissed your neck, an involuntary gasp left your lips.

"How long has been since this man touched you?"

His hands roamed your body, fingertips grazed your silky covered nipples as his other hand ghosted over your velvet clad pussy.

Another tiny whimper as he sat down on the couch, you were placed ontop of him, your thighs stretched, making to meet the width of his well sculpted ones, clad in fine wool. Hot and moist tongue caressed the upper part of your earlobe.

"M-Months"

You gulped and his touches stopped.

"You steal, you cheat and are a con man, yet you refuse to touch your wife? And me thinking I was the monster here."

He sat you in one of his thighs and pinched the bridge of his nose, an annoyed and incredulous look on his face.

"Lucky for you I'm in a good mood right now. Vamos a arreglar eso." (Let's fix that)

His hand cupped your chin and pulled you in for a kiss. Upon feeling his tongue invading your mouth, you recoiled but this only enticed him to snake his tongue around yours, sucking it and savoring you. The oils in your skin tickled his nose, a sweet and delicious scent that he'd often gift to his most prominent conquers.

But the way you had so dotingly prepared yourself for the cheating of a man you had for a husband, stirred something within him. You groaned as you demanded for air.

A thin dribble of his saliva connecting your mouths as hot pants fanned on eachother's lips.

He kneeled behind you and rolled your silk and velvet panties down your hips and knees. He tossed them away and bent you over, earning a yelp from you as your face was inches away from your alarmed husband.

"Don't" He shook his head and whispered. It came out like a silent plea that you ignored as Miguel sunk his face between your thighs from behind with a groan. Tongue teasing your mound, caressing softly at your clit.

You trembled and clenched your jaw to avoid moaning too loud. Shame spurted over your face in the shape of a bright red flush and a heavy feeling on your stomach. Big tanned thumbs spreaded your cheeks, to push himself deeper. His tongue lapped and teased; learning your skin's taste and texture that felt wonderful on his tongue and taste buds.

Wet and sloshing slurps made you pant and choke a moan as his hands grabbed your hips, exhorting them to use his handsome face as a seat. His tongue dribbled up and down your shivering and soaked flesh.

You groaned.

"Oh my god!" You mewled as you rode his face softly, "I-I'm so sorry!"

You spoke in between breathless pants as Miguel just moved your hips faster. Your mouth went slack and your needy breath fanned over your husband.

"Cara mía?" He'd whisper with pleading eyes but you were too enraptured in your brewing bliss. By instinct your hips seeked the movements of his tongue, chasing that relief only his mouth seemed to provide.

Legs quivered as they stood in their tip toes that curled in everytime he toyed with your clit. The smoothenes of his ministrations and the unceasing wet slurps he gave in your flesh, inched you closer and closer to the dangerous precipice of corruption and pleasure.

Another man was devouring you with such hunger you didn't think possible, as your lawful husband was forced to watch as you came right before him. It made your knees weak.

Eyes drooped before they clamped shut and your mouth hissed through panting and erratic breaths a needy Yes!

The guards outside the closed door were unfazed at Miguel’s antics. But the smirk on their faces were full of pride. El Diablo, their boss was someone people often had the misfortune of underestimate, until they were no longer laughing and rather plea for mercy or death, whichever came first.

Your hands behind your back slowly tingled as numbness spreaded upwards your arms.

Miguel separated himself and wiped his chin off your delicious slick and pulled the couch closer, he unzipped his pants and spreaded your thighs above his once more. Your chest heaved as you nested against his torso, fire licking your skin at the contact. The pocket knife was brought to your skin as he locked eyes with a disturbed yet aroused Massimo.

The tip of the sharp blades ran down up your torso, leaving a faint pink trail on it's wake, your breath hitching at the sensation until it reached the elastic lower band of your bra that held the cups together.

You didn't expected the quality elastic to give in so easily under the sharpness of a frail looking knife. Your breast spilled from the velvety green confinements and Miguel groaned while he hissed in delight at the sight.

He slapped your husband's face with a serious scowl

"Watch and learn how to treat a woman, cabrón."

Miguel fumbled with his pants and cotton briefs before releasing his aching and hard cock free. Bianchi adverted his eyes, embarrassed as defeat washed over him.

Miguel slapped the tip against your drenched folds, a cue for you to move your hips and smear more of your slick all over him before sinking in balls deep.

The intrusion felt delightful and painfully tight. Inner muscles clamped around him, making his head be thrown back, relishing not only at how hot and delicious you felt, but also at the feeling of your tightness trembling around him.

"Maldita sea preciosa, me estás matando". (Goddammit beautiful . You're killing me)

His hands hooked underneath the back of your knees, making you lean against him completely. Firm and cinnamon skin toned pecs supported your arching back.

Massimo couldn't help but peek under his disheveled hair and he nearly gasped at the sight. You were completely full and stretched at the size of his hefty cock. He could see your lower belly bulging a bit as his shaft rested within you. Bianchi was unable to look away, as emasculated as he felt.

A firm slap of his hips and it sent you curling your toes. Hips accommodated further in the single couch as his lips kissed your neck, canines grazing at your sensitive skin.

"So fucking tight f'me" He plunged you deeper, finally letting your walls meld to his size to then begin his slow thrusting. As much as he was dying to raw you silly, he had enough self control to be careful and not ruin you. That would come later.

It had been a long long time since he actually enjoyed having this kind of revenge. His eyes gave a quick glance to his beaten enemy and smirked in satisfaction when he noticed the bulge in between his imitation pants. Your hands fisted behind you, letting him to stretch you completely.

Your hips gave a soft rut, snapping his attention back to you, surprised you'd seek more of him.

His hands pushed your hips down onto him and your breast bounced. His eyes stalked yours, to assert his control, but you gave in so easily. Months of being untouched had made you a needy and sodden mess.

You were tired of your toys, and now that you had the real deal, it felt too good to let it slip. Things with your husband were surely done for anyways as fucked up as the situation was.

He'd probably be killed either way.

"Eyes on me, cariño" And just then, a sinful symphony of wet and merciless thrust fell upon you. Everytime he slid in made your pussy drool at his punishment. You cooed and stared at him with such a lovely and needy expression Miguel engraved in his mind.

Tears bit at the corner of your eyes as they drooped, taking your mind in this continuous trance of being torn between getting absolutely fucked out and coherent enough to give him a vocal reply like a moan or a praise and apologies to your voyeur.

"Cara mía, Don't do this to me" Bianchi shook his head in denial, but that only enticed Miguel to make it rougher.

Shy moans turned into shameless mewls and implorings that enticed him to ruin you at his contempt. The con man wished to cover his ears, but it was too delicious and forbidden to not indulge. Unavoidable too. Your pleas turned into lewd wailings and howlings. The tears and mascara long caked and dried on your cheeks.

Despite three years deep in marriage your husband would never care enough to leave you satisfied. It was everything about him, not really minding if you finished yourself by whatever means you found or thought right.

But this, this was pure torture. Sure, he didn't do anything to please you, but the thought of you being with another man always made him kick enough with the right amount of jealousy that would keep you satisfied for at least a couple of months while he kept ruining lives.

The slaps and Miguel's grunts turned desperate.

"Just like that! Yes!" You sobbed as his sac slapped against your clit, serving a good amount of punishment to your sensitive nub of nerves.

Your skin shook, breast bounced as you squirmed and twitched in absolute enjoyment.

"Like that, princesa?"

You nodded in between blown breaths, the pressure coiled tightly in the pit of your stomach. Menacing to snap at any second.

The sex and his Oud Wood by Tom Ford undertoned sweat made a puddle of your mind. Mouth gaped and shallow breaths came clenching through gritted teeth but he stopped just when you were about to greet God to release your hands from the back.

He pushed you on the floor on all your trembling fours, wool pants discarded completely, just as his CK briefs. Everything of him exuded with luxury. Even his rutting felt like an exotic meal you've tasted for the first time and you'd never go back to settle for anything less delicious and mind blowing than this.

But poor Massimo Bianchi was a reminder of your golden band that was wrapped around your ring finger.

Miguel's hand held tightly around the base of your neck, both hands melded at the size of your frail joint. both his feet planted on each side of you, caging you between his hips, and he sheathed once more in your already puffed and beaten pussy, making you yelp at the fullness and depth.

"Miguel!" You cried as your hands held on your husband's crossed legs. Your body lurched forward, meeting his cock in a merciless pace it had you bubbling like a total fool.

"I'm... Im sorry" A choked whimper, "Oh god, I'm so sorry Massi" Your mouth mumbled before Miguel squeezed your neck to keep you from apologizing to him, choking words in your gaping mouth.

He didn't deserve your regret, he deserved nothing. He wouldn't give him that much satisfaction.

"But it feels so good!"

You rasped and Miguel smiled darkly.

"Why don't you give him a farewell kiss, cariño?"

You shook your head and he frowned.

"No? Should I stop then?"

A whimper. Eyes twinkled in amusement as you reached for your husband and forced a kiss on him while El Diablo plowed remorselessly into you.

Bianchi could only whimper in pain as you bit his busted lip and kissed him, with a rough motion Miguel pulled you away from him. Your head far too gone into a place only he could reach. His panting and mumblings had turned borderline animalistic. He had praised you through it all and you were more than willing to comply.

Your body went taut, spent walls milked and creamed him as he cradled you against his torso. Body convulsed in bliss as he spilled his hot, sticky and big load inside your spasming walls. He laughed at your husband and at your dumb-bitch gone look.

He gave you a deep smooch before laying you on the couch. He slicked his hair back and caught his breath for a couple of minutes to then put on back his boxers. His eyes darted to an expectant Massimo.

Eyes wide. Still deciding between feeling horrified and happy for having such a twisted fantasy come true. A sick fuck through and through.

"I expect my payment within a month. More than enough time for you to collect what you owe me, Max."

Miguel purposely butchered his name as he threw his thousand dollars shirt you way.

"Put that on. We're taking a ride."

----

His men had escorted you back to his car. An armored black Bulletproof Lincoln Navigator SUV. House slippers was the only thing he had allowed you to get on your feet. The cold seemed to not affect his naked torso as he waltzed out your now wrecked home.

The cologne in his shirt stronger, as it covered your naked body from prying eyes.

"Get inside"

"N-No"

Miguel's nostrils flared in anger, despite the dazing and scrumptious raw fucking he put you through some moments ago, you knew he was a dangerous man.

"Why wouldn't you just-"

"-Ta madre, que entres al puto carro, mujer!" (Fucking shit, get into the fucking car, woman!)

His booming voice made you still with a frown. His temper switching surely made you confused. Tears welled up in your eyes, and seeing the sluggishness you took to get in, made him drag you inside himself, and sat beside you and sighed.

His sour mood was thanks to one of his men, Peter. He had the most awful timing to deliver news. One of his younger recruits had been shot. Not fatally shot, but surely would cost him a great chunk of money. Bribing judges to prevent him from sending him to prison, and medics through thirds would take some resources he was planning to use in another mission.

Miles G. Morales.

The name made his patience even shorter, and it didn't helped you were sniffling as your hands rubbed your ring despite the sore wrists.

After all he did to you you still thought about that cheating cuck?

No. He wouldn't allow it. Not when he has already found a perfect use for you.

As the ride begun he pulled up the middle window, blocking his sight from Ben as he drove. He made a couple of calls, you were recoiling away from him at every chance he tried to wipe your tears. Reject was something he was used to, that didn't mean it set right in his heart. And it showed as he unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock once more.

The calls ended and he tossed the phone back to the inner pocket of his suit and pulled out his gun to rest it on your temple.

Your eyes widened as he spoke.

"Clean it."

Fear clung to you as a new wave of tears rolled down your cheeks. But your mouth beat you to voice your true desires.

"No."

His brow quirked and smiled darkly once more. He grabbed your hair and pulled you down on your knees before him. Legs still recovered from the previous cucking session, not that he cared anyways. The SUV cabin was spacious enough for him to pull the stunt.

"Funny you think you have a saying, cariño. Now be a good girl and clean my fucking cock. You made a mess out it."

The gun was pressed further, the click of his safety removal made you gulp.

Was this the life that you'd get from now on? It couldn't be. Part of your brain refused to acknowledge him as your owner, but the other part was terrified and intrigued to see how all of this would unfold for you. You won't make things easy for him as he was already making it a living hell for you.

You mouth begun to work him as he pulled another cigarette and blew the smoke in your direction.

The Devil seemed pleased. For now.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #mafia au #t writes✨ #mafia miguel #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x y/n #Something for kinktober I guess #kinktober

[gaytricorder]

#spirk #star trek #gay men #james t kirk #spirk fanfiction #spock

[twink-gods-and-olive-oil]

I still remember the day I first watched Star Trek and I thought, "Wow, Kirk and Spock would make a really good couple, I wonder if there's anyone who ships them," and then I looked up 'Kirk and Spock' on the Internet and the first thing that came up was the fucking Wikipedia article about the history of slash fiction and that it was Kirk and Spock who invented modern fandom.

#star trek #star trek tos #james t kirk #jim kirk #kirk spock #kirk/spock #captain kirk #spock #tos spock #spirk #k/s #slash #slash fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 #gene roddenberry

[carolinanadeau]

"this female character is underdeveloped" TO YOU. I can read subtext and I know all about her backstory and her rich inner life. also she told me personally

#I honestly think that one of the most enriching and rewarding parts of writing fanfiction is getting to #fully flesh out and explore a character who gets some but not-quite-enough characterization in canon #unless the character is REALLY minor there are always so many threads to pull out and weave into something new #you can even deconstruct the marketing materials! oh this character is only described as 'beautiful'? wonder how she feels about that hmmm #my original post #writing #fanfic #I'm just really proud of what I've been able to do with Miss T. it's almost all right there in the script and lyrics if you'd only look!

[thedeepgreensea]

Cowboy Spock for a fanfiction I'm currently writing!

(Not happy with Jim, as always, so he doesnt get his own picture)

Bonus horse!

#fanfiction i am currently writing #i say as if i have more than two pages written #my art #spock #start trek #james t kirk #fanart #star trek fanart #spirk #cowboy #cowboy au #save a horse etc etc #star trek tos

[sinsandsweetness]

something about hyperfeminine reader x rick.... another anon said he'd adore pink nail polish & i so totally agree. maybe cause he's so rough and sharp edged? and it's the very opposite of him? so the pretty pink skirts & sweet perfume you always wear would make his brain fuzzy in the best way !! 🤧

using this as an excuse to write something extremely self indulgent 🤍 obsessed with this sweet, girly, almost bimbo reader that Rick can’t help but be a little extra soft with… <3

When he steps out of the shower and onto the bathmat, he can’t help but smile at the sight of you sitting on the sink, one foot up and crouched over, focused intently on the toenail you’re currently painting. And he can’t help but notice how cute it is that your tongue is poking out the side of your mouth.

Rick rubs a towel on his hair and then wraps it around his waist, walking over to the dresser in the bedroom and grabbing some boxers. You’re a little too immersed in perfecting the pale pink pedicure to notice that he even finished his shower.

“Need some help?” He asks, coming up to the sink and reaching into a drawer. Grabbing some shaving cream and a safety razor.

You look up at the sound of his husky voice. Taking in the sight of his wet hair. Curls forming and dripping onto his shoulders. His torso, glistening with little beads of water that are racing to meet the waist band of his plaid boxer shorts.

“Hm?” You say. The sight of him went straight between your legs, making you almost immediately forget his question.

“D’you need some help there, sweetie?” He nods towards the hand gripping at Essie’s ballet slippers.

“Oh. No, I just finished. Thank you though,” you smile up at him sweetly, screwing the cap back on the bottle and turning to let your legs dangle off the marble countertop.

He positions himself in between your legs and against the vanity, while you lean back on your hands. Watching his brows draw together in focus as he rubs shaving cream along his jaw, his chin and the bottom half of his face. Grabbing the razor, he starts to make long, languid strokes down his face and neck. The blade moving with ever curve of his jaw, so smooth and intentional. But he can feel you staring. Glancing from the mirror to your gaze and then back. Trying to fight the smirk from forming on his face.

“Is it hard?” You ask, oblivious to the teasing grin on his face.

“Shaving?”

“Yeah. Aren’t you scared you’re gonna cut yourself, or somethin’?” You ask, doe eyes wide and curious. And the sight makes him think about you on your knees, having looked up at him in nearly the exact same way, all sweet and eager and so fucking perfect.

Rick shakes his head, at both the intrusive thought and your question, “Not really. Don’t you shave your legs? It’s the same thing, sweetheart.”

“But this is on your face. And you’ve seen how many times I end up nicking myself.”

He smiles, knowing that it’s true. Watching you sit on the side of the tub, silky robe leaving very little to the imagination as you glide a razor up your legs, trying to go nice and slow and get every little hair. Turning sharply to look at him with wide eyes and a hand on your mouth when you both notice a crimson droplet, trickling all the way down to your ankle.

“Yeah. You aren’t so good at that are you?” He chuckles, pressing a quick peck to your mouth which you immediately wipe off because now there’s shaving cream on your nose.

It takes everything in his power not to kiss you again.

“So how do you always get it so good?” Your honeyed voice brings him back.

“Practice I guess. You wanna try?”

“And leave you with any more scars? No thank you.” You joke.

“C’mon. Give it a try.”

“You sure?”

He nods, urging the razor into your hand and leaning in for you, “Mhm. I trust you.”

You gulp at that comment. Hoping he can still keep that trust in a few minutes when you’re all done.

You try to copy what he was doing, going extra slow over the ridge of his jaw and the bump of his adam’s apple. He hums in approval and you take it as some kind of praise. Sitting up straight and a little more confident now that his hands have moved to your hips, pulling you to the edge of the counter. Panties now flush with his groin.

“I did it.” You say triumphantly, handing him back the razor and letting your hands slide around his waist, fingers interlocking on top of his tailbone. Cheek pressed to his chest as he leans forward to rinse the razor under the faucet beside you. Tapping the metal on the counter twice. The sound echoing through the room, before he places it on a folded towel on the other side of the sink.

He leans back up to look at you. Pretty eyes and pouty lips. Hair all soft and natural, and tucked behind the dainty gold jewelry dangling from your ears.

“Y’look so pretty.” You marvel, one hand coming up to his jaw. Freshly shaved, so smooth and warm. With just the tiniest strip of leftover shaving cream that needed to be washed off.

You are so much prettier, sweet girl, he thinks to himself. Unable to form a verbal answer now that you’re touching his face. His heart doing somersaults like it was the first time. It isn’t. But he loves feeling like it is.

Being with you in this moment makes him forget what was stressing him out before his shower. Completely unbothered by the tedious week he’d had helping the Tobin with the walls.

Now, all he can even think about is you. Your face. Your voice. Your long legs and the holy temple in between them.

He closes his eyes at your touch, soft and delicately tracing your way down his jaw. The attention sending a tingly, serene feeling up his neck and down his spine.

He can’t even help what he does next. Not that he really needed to. And definitely not that he wanted to. He pulls you in, tangling his fingers into the locks at the nape of your neck. Kissing your soft, plush lips and tracing a tongue over your bottom one.

You taste like candy. And you smell like a vanilla cupcake. And the combination of the two makes him want nothing more than to take a damn bite.

Gosh, you couldn’t be more different from him. So pure and soft and sweet. So fucking kind and perfect. And though he may be a bit biased given your relationship and all, he’s positive that not a soul in Alexandria would disagree.

Your breath hitches in your throat as he pulls your legs around his waist, and he can’t help but smile against your lips and think to himself how fucking lucky he is that he found someone who can be his escape. Who can make his brain feel all fuzzy and his heart feel way too full. Who effortlessly distracts him from everything that’s wrong with in the world, just by being your beautiful self.

#rick grimes smut #rick grimes x y/n #Rick fluff #Rick grimes fluff #Rick grimes suggestive #rick grimes fanfiction #twd fanfiction #rick grimes #rick grimes x female reader #rick grimes imagine #Rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x you #Rick daydream #t’s daydreams <3 #hyperfeminine reader #hyperfeminine reader x Rick

[rhys-writes-some-shit]

"Sing to Me?"

Alastor x Reader (QP)

Yawning, you trudged out of the bathroom, drying your hair loosely with a towel. You were warm from your shower and the filling meal you'd had a little while earlier. Alastor was probably the best chef you knew, a fact you were extremely proud of. Even if your preferred form of protein was banned from the hotel premises, Alastor was always able to make do with what he had.

Despite it being late at night, you grabbed your laptop (a very rare, not VoxTech one) to work on some paperwork. You'd promised your boss to get these spreadsheets done, and you weren't one to shirk on your promises. Yawning again, you tuned your old-fashioned radio before settling down with your laptop. The radio had been a gift from Alastor. Many late nights had been spent listening to his broadcasts. They'd always been a comfort, even before you'd signed a contract with him.

Some light jazz filtered through the static, one of your favorite songs. Alastor knew you were listening. Smiling lightly, you started typing away.

The music was occasionally interrupted by a bloodcurdling scream or a sharp whimper. Your smile never left, humming along while Alastor had his fun. Part of you was vaguely aware that the radio show was now being broadcast all throughout Hell, that you didn't even need the radio, but you liked it, so it stayed on.

The spreadsheets were simple enough. With the radio in the background, you were able to focus just enough that the job came naturally. In the back of your mind, you started going over the next day’s schedule.

You'd ended up zoning out while you typed, not even noticing how the radio switched to static and then turned off by itself.

A single knock preceded Alastor's entrance, enough to break you from your thoughts. You were quick to notice the faint blood splatter on the sole of Alastor’s shoes, the only evidence of his previous activities.

“My dear, you know how I abhor those vile machines,” Alastor reprimanded, walking and starting to subconsciously organize your room. A chair was pushed in, a painting adjusted so it was even, the bottom drawer of your dresser lightly closed.

“Yeah, yeah.” You grinned to yourself. “I need it to do my job, Al. Besides, do you have any idea how hard it is to find a piece of electronic equipment that's not created by VoxTech?”

“All the more reason to get rid of it.” Alastor walked over to the window and stared out at it. He was a little lost in thought himself, it would seem.

Typing a line, you said, “I liked your broadcast.”

“I'm glad.”

He was quiet. Something was wrong. Your grin died down, pushing your laptop to the side. Alastor’s smile was still there, but dimmer. Sadder.

“Al? You okay?”

“Nothing to concern yourself with, dearest,” Alastor replied, a slight edge in his voice.

You wanted to push. To get him to talk to you. But you knew it wouldn't be worth it. If anything, he'd just get upset or shut down more.

“You know, sometimes I wonder what would've happened if we'd met while we were alive,” You said nonchalantly. “I mean, obviously that would've been impossible in the first place, considering I wasn't even born when you died, but I just wonder about it.”

“What a ridiculous thing to wonder about!” Alastor laughed a little. “As you said, it would have been impossible. And why think about being alive when we have all of death to enjoy?” His tone lightened a bit. “There is so much entertainment to be had! Life was quite dull, comparably.”

You wondered for a moment, trying to figure out where to lead the conversation. “Where did you live, when you were alive? You already know where I lived when I was alive, it's only fair I know where you lived.”

Alastor’s grin softened a bit, still sad, but with a hint of happiness in there. Nostalgia, if you had to guess. “New Orleans, Louisiana. I lived there with my mother. I had a delightful job as a radio host.”

“You're still a radio host,” you teased playfully. “What was it like, back then?”

“Ah, it was… entertaining.” He didn't say anything more, lost in thought as he leaned on his cane. You were vaguely aware that you were the only person who ever saw him like this. Alastor wore his smile like armor, guarding himself with a nonchalant facade, but very rarely, behind closed doors, the guard would fall, just for a little while.

Just as you were about to open your mouth to ask another question, Alastor spoke, “You seem quite tired, my dear. Maybe it is time we part ways for the evening.”

Pressing your lips together, you knew he was right. You really should be getting to bed, but you were worried about Alastor. You hadn't seen him like this before, so it was impossible to guess what he'd do once he was alone.

“You really should learn to hide your emotions better.” Alastor turned suddenly, chucking to himself. “There is nothing to worry about, darling. I am perfectly fine.”

“Yeah, you say that, but for some reason I don't believe you.” Stifling a yawn, you gave Alastor a look.

“Now, now, don't be like that.” Alastor came and sat on the edge of the bed, using his magic to set the laptop on top of the dresser. “What can I do to convince you to sleep?”

Leaning back, you thought for a moment. When the idea hit you, your face flushed with embarrassment for a moment, but you swallowed the anxiety. He did ask, after all.

“Sing to me?”

Alastor laughed, causing you to glare. “Again with the ridiculous ideas!” When your face fell subconsciously, Alastor hesitated.

When he didn't say anything, you accepted the fact that it was a ridiculous request. Assuming he'd leave the room on his own accord, you used your magic to turn out the lights as you slid under the covers of your bed. You never did get all those spreadsheets done like you'd wanted.

“Parlez-moi d’amour.”

Alastor’s slightly-static-filled voice was quiet. His eyes faintly glowed in the dark and you watched him with wide eyes.

“Redites-moi des choses tendres.”

Smiling softly, you sank into the bed, closing your eyes and allowing Alastor’s comforting voice to wash over you.

“Votre beau discours /

“Mon cœur n'est pas las de l'entendre /

“Pourvu que toujours /

“Vous répétiez ces mots suprêmes /

“Je vous aime.”

((The song))

#hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #plz don't come after me for the french #I just copy/pasted off google T-T #rhys-writes #alastor x reader queerplatonic

[megamindsecretlair]

When It Feels Right

Pairing: Lamont Diggs x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. PWP, cursing, protected PIV, oral (female receiving) fingering (female receiving) teasing/mocking, size kink, dirty talk, praise kink, all consensual. Use of n-word. Drug use.

Summary: Lamont invited you to his studio to help work on his new beat. You help him in more ways than one.

Word Count: 5,057k

A/N: Hello, my loves. I have been feral for this man since watching this show. This was LONG overdue. This is the winner of the Fic poll, thank you to everyone who voted! ONE SHOT. Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Taglist: @planetblaque @babybratzmaraj @browngirldominion @we-outsiiiide @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @wide-nose-and-wonderful @hereformiles @flydotty @blackerthings @notapradagurl7

Lamont released a heavy cloud of smoke in the air. You bobbed your head to the new beat he made. Lamont matched your bobbing head, a slow grin working its way across his face. You rolled your eyes and turned away from him, trying to feel the beat without him coloring your opinion.

Just because he was your best friend didn’t mean that you couldn’t lay down the truth when needed. The good Lord knew that he didn’t need an even bigger head. 

As the beat faded and came to a close, Lamont clapped his hands in the too silent studio. It was a rare night where he didn’t have Melissa, couldn’t sleep, and his boys weren’t in the background smoking up all the weed. 

“Go on and tell me that’s hot!” He yelled and clapped his hands again. He played with a few switches on the switchboard and then swung his chair to face you. You swung idly on your own chair, back and forth. 

You gave him a funny look, not willing to admit that it was good. Of course it was good. Dude really knew his fucking craft. 

“It’s aight,” you said and dismissed him with a wave.

“Bullshit!” Lamont yelled. The joint hung from his lips as his long, delicate fingers flew over switches and knobs and he ran the track back. The deep bass thumped through the speakers once more and he turned to you, brows furrowing to gauge your reaction.

“Damn, I’m playing!” You said and giggled. You pushed away from his too intense stare. He sucked his teeth and pushed you back.

“Tell me what you really think, damn,” he said. 

“Nah, that shit is fire, Lamont. Seriously, you tore this up,” you said.

“Thanks, thanks. Just need some dope lyrics on it. Tired of them mumble rapper m’fucka’s,” Lamont said. 

He shook his head, his locs tussling over his face and dropping into his eyes. Your hand itched to push it away so you could continue looking at him. You swung your chair away from him so that your face didn’t give you away. It was the weed talking, nothing more. 

You played with the sleeves of your sweater, swinging around and around in circles until his studio became a dizzy array of green and red. Like Christmas. That was a much safer line of thinking. You could think about lights, gingerbread houses, and pinecones and not about how Lamont’s lips poked out, ready to be kissed.

Lamont turned down the beat and deposited the joint in the nearby ashtray. The smell was loud, filling your senses with its aroma. You smacked his shoulder as you passed him and then smacked it again until he relented and handed it to you.

You took a lungful, holding it in and rolling it around your tongue before releasing it back out into the studio. You watched the smoke lift towards the popcorn ceiling, wishing it would take your thoughts with it. You smoked so that your brain could pause like a TV show. So that you could stop to take in the details around you and make sense of it. 

Your stomach turned and roiled so you stuck your foot out to slow your spins. Lamont was on his phone scrolling through Instagram.

“You always on that damn phone,” you said, grinning as you realized that you sounded like your mama. 

“Okay, Ms. Etta,” he said.

“Shut up! That is not my mama name!” 

Lamont peeked at you from the curtain of his locs and smirked, holding out his hand for the joint. You took one last inhale, the burning embers at the end filling your peripheral vision before you handed it back to him. He dumped the ashes and then took a puff, putting it down on the ashtray. 

Lamont returned his attention back to his phone, head slightly bouncing to the beat he made. Your eyes slowly tracked over all of the mini orange, red, and green lights blinking from the switchboard.

This was the kind of laid back music that would be in a lounge somewhere. Your mind’s eye filled in details of blue ambient lighting. Black men and women and those in between dressed in their finest business casual. Men in deep, monochromatic suits and shiny shoes. Women in dresses a hair shy of too short, showing off long, thick legs and strappy high heels. 

You pictured glasses clinking, words whispered amongst friends, and glances thrown across the room. Ballers sending trays of drinks to the group of women at the bar knowing exactly what they were doing by leaning over it. 

It was a type of sexy beat that you felt in your inner thighs first. The thrumming bass making your thighs jiggle. Warming heat working its way up your spine until you couldn’t help but nod your head, bump your shoulders, and look at your friend to see if they were feeling the beat like you were.

You turned to Lamont, ready to tell him, when his nose was buried in his phone again. You groaned and reached out to slap your hand over the phone.

“You said you wanted no distractions tonight, remember?” You asked.

“I’m done with the beat though,” he said. He moved his phone out of your way and you leaned over a little further to try and snatch it from his fingers. His arms were longer than yours and he easily held it away from you. 

“You said not to let you get distracted. Hand it here,” you said. You snapped your fingers. Lamont shook his head, his locs whipping across his face. His gold chain glinted in the low lighting and it was stark against his white T-shirt, dyed green in the studio lighting.

“You ain’t gon’ snap yo fingers like you somebody,” he said.

“I AM! SOME-BODY!” You cackled at your own joke, eyes wide and smiling so big that your cheeks ached. 

“Goofy ass. You need to stay off this shit,” he said. 

“Boo, you’re no fun,” you said. You continued to reach across the short space between you, trying to reach his phone. You were high, but not that high. Your thoughts were coherent and slow. Like you could pluck each of them out and lay them on a blanket. That you could take your time and choose between them like choosing your outfit. 

“C’mon, watch out,” he said. He nudged you back but you were undeterred. Your tongue stuck out of your mouth, so deep in your concentration. Lamont chuckled, effortlessly fighting you off. 

You huffed and you huffed but you could not blow this wolf down. You sat back in the seat and sighed. “For real, Lamont. I did not come over here, at midnight, just for you to play on your phone. I wanna see some magic,” you said.

“Girl, I just showed yo ass the Magic Kingdom,” he said.

You laughed at his corny ass line and shook your head. “One beat is all you got?” You asked.

“All I got?” Lamont scoffed, affronted that you would even suggest such a thing. 

You inwardly grinned, using your knowledge of him to your advantage. He always rose to the occasion. He was almost too easy as he sat forward in his seat. His left hand dropped the phone in between you while he focused on the board once more.

Where you only saw switches and gears, he saw instruments. This board was a modern orchestra and he knew exactly which sounds to pull from it. Which drums sounded dirty enough to warrant adding snares and strings. 

You snatched his phone from beside him. He instantly balked, trying to get it back from you. You didn’t have the length he did, so you had to resort to putting it behind your back and trying to slide your chair away from him.

He put one hand on your chair to stop your retreat and then the other went in search of his missing phone.

“C’mon, stop playing!” He laughed as he struggled to get the phone from you.

You only had so many places to stick it. You kept moving it like you were playing hot potato with it, tossing it from one hand to the other. “You come on! I know why you call me here. So I can keep yo ass focused!”

“I focus just fine without you. Ever think I just want your company?” He asked.

“Duh, you always want my company,” you teased, still moving the phone every two seconds while he lunged for it. A giddy feeling swelled in your chest like a balloon, filling up all of your hollow crevices and giving you the feeling of floating despite feeling heavy. 

“Always? You loud and wrong,” he said. He sat back with a huff, eying you. You grinned, looking for any type of eye twitch or flicker. Anything to indicate that he would make a sudden move and try to snatch it from you. 

“Oh? I guess I should just leave then,” you said. You leaned out of the chair, butt hovering over the seat that was practically molded to your ass by now. You felt a few twinges. The side effect of sitting too long. All this cushion in your ass didn’t mean shit. 

“Man, sit yo ass down and hand me my phone. Please?” Lamont asked. But the please was not sincere. You stuck out your tongue while you placed the phone down your shirt.

The warm metal laid across your skin and you grinned at Lamont’s expression. His face kind of froze. Or paused while he stared at your chest. It was nothing new for the two of you, so you couldn’t name why it made your belly flip. 

“You think that’s gon’ stop me?” He asked. Was it you or did his voice get a little deeper? A little rougher? 

You adjusted the phone against your cleavage and threw up your hands. “What you gon’ do?” You asked.

Lamont licked his lips, a small smile forming on his lips. “You know I can just turn you upside down and shake you like a toy?” 

Nope. That did not make your pussy flutter. You did not imagine shaking for entirely different reasons. 

There was always this thickness between you and Lamont. A sort of sticky, gooey middle that kept you glued to his side all these years. You had been friends for so long, you didn’t remember the exact number. Where one went, there went the other. There was always a lingering look, a hand on the hip placed too long, a bite to the lip. 

You never crossed the line. The timing was never right. Either you were with somebody or he was. He was nursing your broken heart while you were getting him turnt up for his. He had an entire baby with Mia who had him wrapped around her tiny manicured pinky. Despite his protests otherwise. 

Now. Now you were both single. Unattached. No messy drama getting in the way. 

“Whatever, Lamont. I am here to keep you on track,” you said. You shook your head and smacked your lips. “Literally and figuratively.” 

“Gimme my phone,” he said, that same rough voice dancing along the sticky gooeyness that made your toes curl. He didn’t need to see the way you looked down trying to get yourself under control. 

“What you gon’ do?” You asked, rolling your neck for emphasis.

He smiled and shook his head. He waved his fingers in a ‘come on’ gesture and you smacked his hand. 

“What you gon’ do? What you gon’ do?” You kept asking, waiting for him to reply. To say something. Anything. You were tossing out the question like a fishing line, baiting him with delicious chum. With the irresistible urge to either latch on and let you know that it wasn’t just you or toss it aside and let it drop once and for all. 

“Say it one more time and I’ll show you what I’m gon’ do,” he said. 

“What you gon’ do?” You said slowly, enunciating each word so there were no misunderstandings.

Lamont’s hand shot out and pulled your fuzzy sweater away from your chest. His other hand snuck up your shirt and went fishing around for his phone. But his hands roamed too broadly, lightly squeezing your titty every so often. 

“Lamont!” You yelled. 

He licked his lips and got closer. His breath fanned across your face, a subtle mix of candy and weed. His hand continued to roam while he slowly closed the distance between your lips. He looked at you the entire time, giving you ample opportunity to back away.

But you wanted this. You casted that fishing line out into the ether, so you closed the distance for him. You pressed your lips against his finally. Your dreams didn’t come close. It was nothing like what you thought it would be and everything you dreamt it could. 

His lips were soft against yours. Smooth tongue running over your lips and sloppily slanting against yours. You hummed, low and softly but you were sure he heard it. His hands continued to roam under your shirt, no longer seeking his phone. 

Instead, his hands found your breasts and began to knead them, fingers grappling for your nipple. As soon as his fingers found that little pebble – no bra because you hadn’t felt like throwing on one just to chill with Lamont – he squeezed and rolled it between his fingers.

“Oh shit,” you said against his lips, finally pulling back far enough to get some air. Some room. 

“Mhm,” he moaned. “You think I ain’t been paying attention these past few years?” He asked.

“Wh-what you mean?” You asked. He rolled his lips around yours, kissing you but only just so. His wide nose danced against yours. One thing about high sex that you loved was how sensitive you became. How the little hairs on your skin picked up the different changes in temperature or tingled with every brush of skin. 

“All them nasty ass stories you liked to tell. About how men never hit it how you like,” he said.

He switched his hand to your other titty, seeking your nipple a lot faster. He rolled it in between your fingers and your breath stuttered. 

Already, he was leagues better than half the guys you’d been with. Or perhaps it was your lingering, previously unclaimed chemistry, doing most of the work for you. This was inevitable. Your lips would always meet his. His hands would always press into your skin. 

“You remember that?” You asked.

“Kept hoping it would be me in one of them stories. ‘Cept, I know what I’m doin’,” he said.

You giggled and pushed away from him. “Big fuckin’ words, boy,” you said.

Lamont had a playful frown on his face, considering your words, before he slapped his hands onto the arm rests of your chair. He caged you in your chair while he leaned down for more kisses.

His lips were like little clouds of heaven. Each one sweet, soft, and lazy. He lowered himself to his knees, still too tall for his own good. He kept kissing you, even while his hands went roaming again. 

He pulled your sweater off and took in the white tank underneath. His lips found yours again as if he didn’t want to be gone too long. He mixed in nips and licks to keep you on your toes. He grabbed his phone from out of your tank and placed it on the edge of the switch board.

He returned his attention to your body, kissing and biting you through the fabric of your tank. You felt him, but you didn’t really feel him. You lifted the tank and threw it over your head.

Cool air from the studio hit your upper body and you immediately shivered. Even with the thumping beat and lingering smoke, you weren’t warm enough. Lamont helped you lower your leggings and panties, pulling them off and throwing them across the room.

You were fully naked, staring into his dark eyes while he was still dressed. He leaned back, took in your curves, dips, and valleys with a satisfied grin.

“So that’s what you look like underneath all them damn sweaters. You been keepin’ this from me?” He asked.

He rubbed the goosebumps from your arms, scooting in between your legs and making you spread them wider to accommodate him. He looked you in the eye while he lifted one leg, kissed it, ran his tongue right behind your knee before placing it on the arm rest.

You felt ready to explode. He did the same to your other leg, but trailed more kisses down the length of it before placing it on the arm rest.

“You gon’ answer me?” He asked.

“Waat?” You asked. 

He chuckled. “You were just gon’ keep hiding this from me?” He asked.

“I-I wasn’t trynna hide it,” you said. Your words were slow to form and even slower to get out. 

“You wasn’t? Then why I ain’t never get a taste yet?” He asked.

He leaned across your body. His cotton shirt was almost too rough against your skin. You hissed, moving away from him but he moved forward anyway. The shirt tickled your skin but you didn’t have enough air in your lungs to giggle. 

Anticipation flipped in your belly, like it was playing hopscotch in there. You didn’t know what he was going to do next. You were on an infinite precipice of waiting.

He didn’t make you wait long. He kissed you, moving his hands between you to brush his fingers along your wet seam. You jerked in the chair but he had you effectively pinned. You had nowhere to go. Trapped in the chair with him covering your naked body. 

You moaned, licked your lips in between kisses, and then went back to feeling those sexy lips on yours. 

His fingers pushed in, separating your pussy lips and dipping into your heated essence. He moaned into your lips, tugging on your bottom lip. “You always get this wet?” He asked.

“Uh-uh,” you said. 

“No? I just bring that out of you?” He asked.

“Uh-huh,” you said. You had no words. With every swipe of his fingers, he pulled them out of your head. Each pass of his fingers around your clit made one more word disappear like air. 

“So that means I get to taste it right?” He asked. He moved his nose against yours and you sighed, your pussy clenching around nothing. 

“Uh-huh,” you said, lips finding his again and again. His wet, suckling kisses made you see stars behind your eyelids. 

His knuckle nudged into your clit and you hissed, releasing the air in short bursts. “Oh, she a little excited,” he said.

“Oh shit,” you moaned. “Don’t tease me.” 

“Don’t tease you? I like teasing you. I finally know how to shut that attitude up,” he said.

“You too damn cocky,” you moaned. 

“Still running that mouth,” he said. He moved his fingers to dip in and out of your pussy, pushing his fingers deep to his knuckle. Your mouth dropped open, eyes turned bruising. 

He moved his lips to your jaw and kissed down to your neck. He sprinkled kisses across your chest and then licked your nipple into his mouth, suckling. “Oh my god,” you gasped, back lifting from the chair.

Your pussy greedily sucked his fingers inside. “That’s right. Grip them fingers. Show me you like what I’m doing to you. Getting wetter over here, I’m gon’ have to buy a new chair,” he whispered around your nipple.

Your hands came up to play with his locs, rolling them between your fingers and loving the feel of them. You were in sensory overload. Everything was too much and not enough. Lamont’s filthy words had you screaming towards a climax, thighs shaking and pussy gripping him tighter.

“That’s fuckin’ right. Been dyin’ to know what you look like when you cum. You gon’ look like that riding this dick? Huh? How many pretty faces can you make while I’m rearranging your guts?” He asked.

“Lamont!” You twitched. 

He continued to pump his fingers as you calmed down. It was like he was exploring your pussy with his fingers. Trying to gauge how deep you could take him. Your grip tightened around his neck and he hummed, flicking his tongue against your nipple.

When you relaxed against the chair, Lamont slowed down his fingers until stopping altogether. He licked his fingers and moaned. “Taste so fuckin’ good. You doing okay?” He asked.

You nodded, loosening your grip on his neck. You wiped up run away drool, feeling a bit embarrassed that a little finger action made you cum quicker than a man in a porn store. 

Lamont shook his head, shaking the locs from his face as he pressed his face into your pussy. He took a loud, deep breathe and blew air between your pussy lips.

“Oh shit!” You screamed, hands flying back to his head. You gripped his hair while he began to eat you out in earnest, using his tongue first. 

He leaned back and hummed, slapped your pussy. “Damn,” he moaned. “So fuckin’ good.” He was a messy eater, digging in like it was his last meal. His lips wrapped around your clit and sucked. He brought his hands up to roll your nipples between his fingers, squeezing and squeezing until he pinched them.

“Fuck, fuck. Lamont! Damn,” you moaned, biting your lip. Fuck! It felt too good. So damn good with his lips between your thighs and his locs tickling your skin, and your hands digging into his head. Smashing his face into your pussy, giving him free rein to explore this thing between you. 

“Name sound sexy on your lips. Say it again,” he said, coming up for a bite of air. 

“Lamont,” you said with a grin. His eyes flicked to yours while he continued to make out with your pussy.

“Again,” he said, muffled against your wet core. 

Lamont!” You moaned while your orgasm was cresting the surface. Pressure built in your lower belly, getting so close with each new flick. Each new lick. Each new moan that told you he liked what was between your thighs. The thought that you could please him, even by the small act of being wet for him, turned the tide.

Your hand flew back to the back of the chair to steady you while your back arched. “Oh shit, Lamont!” Your neck rolled against the top of the chair while your body twitched and convulsed. Your body turned limp, riding the orgasm wherever it took you. However you looked while you spasmed. 

“Tasting so fuckin’ good. Fuck, I been missing out,” Lamonst said into your pussy. He continued to lap like a cat to cream. “So fuckin’ sweet. So fuckin’ good.” 

He lumbered to his feet, tossing off his white shirt. His chain bounced against his dark skin. His tattoos were darker still, spread out all over his body. You watched him through slitted eyes while he unzipped his pants. 

He freed his dick and rubbed the hardened length. Shit, he was perfect. Big and girthy. It was always the skinniest niggas that packed the biggest punch. It had a slight curve to it and your pussy clenched just seeing it.

He dug into his pocket and grabbed his wallet, flipping it open and grabbing a condom. He tore it open, found the right side, and then pinched the tip. You watched him as he rolled it onto his dick, adjusting here or there until it was fully on.

He pushed your thighs back on the chair. It protested with a loud groan, conflicting with a different beat in the background. Something laid back, lazy, and slow. Light danced over his features while he leaned forward, towering over you bent like a pretzel in his chair.

“You feelin’ aiight?” He asked.

“Yes, nigga!” You said with a smack of your teeth. He chuckled, grabbing your throat with his left hand. Your eyes rolled involuntarily, hand flying to grab his wrist. Not to push him away, but to keep him there. To push for more pressure.

He obliged you, squeezing harder until you were ready to cum just from that. “You must need some dick to get you right,” he said. 

“Umph, yesss,” you moaned. 

He used his right hand to grip his dick and run it through your damp folds, getting the condom slick with your wetness. He pushed in slowly. You hissed, pushing against his thighs. 

“Uh-uh, don’t push me away. Move them hands,” he said.

“But Lamont–”

“Move. Them. Hands,” he growled, getting close to your face and squeezing your neck.

You moved your hands with a whine. He was too damn big. He rolled his hips, sliding inside of you and working his way deeper. Your hands flew back to his thighs, pushing at him.

“Move them fuckin’ hands,” he rasped. 

“Please,” you begged. You were going to pass out. There was too much pleasure. Too much desire and lust. Too much of him. His scent, his sighs, his scorching looks. He lit fires in your veins that made you whimper and pout.

“Move them fuckin’ hands right now,” he said.

Again, your hands slid away from his sweat-slick thighs with a whine. The sound was needy and desperate. You had no way of slowing this down. Slowing it down to a pace you could quickly adjust to.

His dick didn’t hurt, he just stretched you deliciously. So much so that you had a goofy smile spread across your lips like icing on a cake. You moved your hands back to his hand on your neck.

He rolled and moved his hips, stroking into you with deep, long thrusts at a steady pace that stole your breath. You whined, choppy hums in your throat. “Why you doin’ this to meeee,” you moaned. 

“‘Cause I been waiting too long to get in this pussy. I’ma enjoy that shit,” he said. He smirked and dropped down to kiss you while he stroked deeper still.

You sank onto his dick while he rolled his hips, moaning with every glide. He lifted his head and rolled his neck, closing his eyes. You watched his face while he stroked, watched as he found some type of groove like your body was the switchboard and he was making a complicated beat.

He lined up perfectly. Your back arched. “Oh fuck, oh fuck. Right there, right there, Lamont,” you moaned.

“Right there?” He asked. He kept hitting your sweet spot, not deviating in the slightest. 

“Right there, oh my god, I’m gon’ cum,” you moaned.

“Give it to me. Let me feel that pretty pussy grippin’ this dick. She feel so fuckin’ good. Wrapped around this dick. This what you needed? Huh? This what you needed? Them other niggas ain’t have all this for you, did they?”

Each of his questions grew fainter as your orgasm came closer and closer. Your hand pushed against his chest. Your eyes were too far in the back of your head. You were worrying a groove into your bottom lip by biting too hard. 

“You still with me? This dick got yo tongue?” He asked.

“I’m-” You came with a loud moan, louder than you had ever moaned before. You twitched in the chair, the groans from it sounded violent. “Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Feel so good, Lamont!” You cried out. Yelled out. 

It was a good thing that you were in a proper studio and there was no one around to hear you. Had you been at your place, your neighbors would know his fucking name. 

Your hands scratched at his stomach while he chuckled and kept stroking. “Fuck. You squeezin’ the fuck outta me. You ain’t trynna let me go, huh? Now that you know I know how to hit it right. What got you screaming. What got you moaning. What got you cummin’ on this dick like that,” he said. 

“Oh baby,” you moaned. 

“I’m baby now? What happened to my name?” He asked.

At this point, you didn’t know your own name. You clenched around his dick and he cursed, slamming into you one more time before you felt him twitch inside. You had an errant fantasy about him cumming inside you, spilling his fat load into you and then fucking it into you. 

You tucked that particular one to the back of your mind while Lamont dropped against you, loosening his grip around your throat. Your matching pants and gasps made the moment soft but fuzzy around the edges. Like when you first woke up from a good nap and didn’t know what year it was or what you were doing beforehand.

Lamont slipped out of you, stumbling back. He took off the condom, tied the ends, and threw it in the nearest trash can. He sat in own chair. He tucked himself back in but didn’t zip up his pants. 

You slowly lowered your legs from the chair, feeling thoroughly fucked out. You looked towards Lamont who was studying you in the same way. He smiled first. Your smile matched his as the gravity of what you just did sunk in. 

Sunk down deep into your bones. There was no going back from this. There was no way to pretend this didn’t exist. That he wasn’t just deep enough in your guts to still feel the lingering effects. You felt empty without him. 

“We wasted too much fuckin’ time,” he said softly. You nodded and licked your lips.

You tapped the tips of your fingers trying to reorient yourself. Bring yourself down to reality. The reality of you with Lamont. You smiled. “Let’s not waste anymore.”

You had sex again on his red, leather couch. Nasty, intense sex where his hands were back around your throat, he was stroking deep in your guts, and staring into your eyes while he continued to shatter your world over and over again. You grinned and giggled in between his nasty words and your faint pleas for mercy. 

You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but you were excited to find out.

THE END

Psst, over here! The Secret Lamont Files.

#Megaminds Secret Files #The Secret Lamont Files #Lamont x Black!reader #Lamont x Black reader #x Black reader #Lamont x Fem!reader #Lamont x Fem reader #Lamont x plus size reader #x Fem reader #Lamont x reader #Lamont x you #Lamont imagine #Lamont fanfic #Lamont fan fic #Lamont fanfiction #Lamont fan fiction #Rap Sh!t #Rap Sh t #Rap Sh!t fanfic #Rap Sh!t fan fic #Rap Sh!t fanfiction #Rap Sh!t fan fiction #drug use #drug #cw drugs #cw weed

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Warming Up (Good Omens Drabble)

Aziraphale x Crowley x GN!Reader / requests are: open and encouraged

Summary: You're cold. Aziraphale and Crowley can't have that, can they?

CW: none, this is so freakin soft

Gomens tag list: @coffee-and-red-lipstick @quickslvxrr @clarina04 (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

“Are you cold, dearest? Oh, you’re positively shaking.” 

Aziraphale has his brows drawn down in that way that you know means he’s starting to overthink things and stress right out. You are in fact cold. Freezing, even. You nod, and Aziraphale tuts, drawing you into his embrace. 

“You poor thing,” he coos. 

You relax almost instantly, a sigh of relief melting out of you. Aziraphale rests his chin on the top of your head and rubs his hand over your back softly but firmly, trying to get the circulation going once again. 

“Crowley, love, would you mind popping in here for a moment?” Aziraphale calls, using his other hand to cover your ears softly just in case he was too loud for you. It was such a sweet gesture that it made you giggle, though you were immediately wracked with shivers as the cold bit back into your skin. 

“Mm- yes, Angel?” Crowley sticks his head around a bookcase. He takes one look at the view before him before promptly letting his protective instincts kick in. “What’s happened?” He sounds calm, but you know him better. You can hear the hint of a threat behind those words. 

“Our dearest here is cold. Come?” 

Crowley is pressed up behind you before the full sentence has left Aziraphale’s mouth. His warm hands wrap around you and the both of them are now sandwiching you between them. It takes a moment but cold does start to seep away. 

You decide that there’s nothing quite like being sandwiched for a warm cuddle with the afternoon light coming in through the window. You could stay like this forever. 

“There, now,” Aziraphale comforts. “Are you warming up?” 

You nod, snuggling into his chest further. The Angel chuckles, and the Demon behind you presses in closer with a soft grunt. 

Crowley pulls a miracle from below, and suddenly the three of you are in the bedroom upstairs. Your stomach lurches uncomfortably for a second at the momentary displacement, and Crowley chuckles. 

“Sorry, Pet- just thought- well, you know. Might be more comfortable in here.” He averts eye contact, doing his best to quell the flush creeping up his cheeks. “Blankets and things,” he adds. 

“Good idea,” you say, shivering as the both of them step away. You clamber into the middle of the bed. Your partners follow- one on either side of you. They pull you in close, Crowley nosing at your neck and Aziraphale pressing a kiss to your temple. 

Aziraphale miracles the blankets over the top of the three of you and settles down comfortably. 

“Can’t have our favourite mortal getting sick now, can we?” He says, tutting softly. 

“Mm- remember last time?” Crowley adds. “All that… mucus.” You can’t see his face but you can tell he has his lips screwed up in distaste. 

You roll your eyes and reach behind you to swat at him. 

“If I recall correctly- you were the one who wouldn’t leave me alone, remember?” The last time you’d gotten a cold, Crowley had barely left you alone for more than two minutes at a time. He’d been always coming by to see if you needed anything. It was sweet at first but did end up grating on you somewhat. “Couldn’t have thought it was that gross at the time.”

“Shut up,” he replied, nipping at your shoulder. You laugh. 

“Mhm, that’s what I thought, dear.” 

It doesn’t take long at all before you’re all warmed up again, but you don’t tell Aziraphale or Crowley that. You enjoy their warmth far too much to let them go tend to their errands. At least not yet. 

They know this, of course- but they certainly don’t complain.

#fanfiction #good omens #gomens #crowley #crowley x reader #crowley good omens #one shot #aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley x reader #smu t #good omens fanfiction #good omens fic #david tennant #michael sheen #lemon #aziraphale x reader x crowley #crowley x aziraphale x reader #crowley x reader x aziraphale #reader x crowley x aziraphale #reader x aziraphale x crowley

[swansworth]

My High Lady

A Darker!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: You are Rhysand’s mate and he is not afraid to make an example out of any who dare harm you. And you are more than happy to let him stake his claim in front of the gathered crowd. After all, he is as much yours as you are his and they all need to remember that. 

Warnings: smut, vaginal sex, public sex, finger-fucking, rougher sex, mild breeding kink, semi-graphic torture and mutilation of a prisoner, biting/marking, Darker!Rhysand, mildly possessive talk

Word Count: 2,638

Author Notes: Just a really delicious idea that popped into my head and I had to get out. Considering this is my first time writing for Rhysand at length, I’m pretty content with this. Special thanks to @bubbles-for-all-of-us​ and @azsazz​ for being so lovely and encouraging me to write this. 

Can now be found on AO3 here.

“I have to pretend to be someone I am not when I’m in the Hewn City,” Rhysand had once said, “Though, I will admit, it’s becoming harder and harder to determine where the real me begins and the persona ends.” 

As you stared at him, his violet eyes almost black with fury, you wondered briefly if there had ever been a persona to begin with. However cruel the being before you seemed to be, you were not afraid. This being was born out of a soul-deep unconditional love for you; you would never be in danger of it. Your gaze returned once more to the elemental currently bound before you. He still smirked, as if he somehow had the upper hand in this twisted game he had thrust upon Rhysand. His mud colored eyes turned to focus on you and your fingers curled into a fist, ready to punch that smug look off his face if need be. 

The growl that tore through Rhysand’s throat then, clawing its way out of his mouth—with a ferocity that you could only describe as carnal—was a clear message that the High Lord of the Night Court was done playing games. Rhysand flicked his wrist in a gesture so slight that to the untrained eye, it would have looked as if he hadn’t even flinched. There was a pause, and the elemental laughed at him, and you, not for the first time, felt a desperate urge to tear the bastard’s throat out with your bare hands. 

The elemental’s laughter died suddenly, rapidly changing into a harsh series of screams as his body was overcome with a dark vicious-looking shadow that pulled and clawed at his flesh, tearing it slowly, mercilessly. Rhysand shot Keir a look and the Steward quickly stepped forward to put a small, opalescent, orb on a pedestal beside the restrained fugitive. A light burst from the orb, cutting through the shadow, projecting for all those present the crimes of the elemental and Rhysand’s violet eyes narrowed dangerously. 

“Elemental you may be, Aldric Firedagger, but surely they taught you not to touch that which does not belong to you in the Elemental Planes?” His tone was deceptively calm and you looked at him, watched rage swirl in those eyes that so often held nothing but love and adoration for you. “You tried to drag my love, my mate, back to that cave you call home, You dared to lay your tainted hands on her, hoping that you could steal her from me and then touch her, claim her, in the most intimate parts of her being. That right is mine. As payment for your despicable actions, we ask you to pay with your hands.”

Aldric pleaded, “Please! I need my hands for my work!” 

Poor thing. 

Rhysand’s voice was clear in your mind, as smooth as velvet and just as comforting. 

He hasn’t realized I’m not going to let him out of here alive. 

You know that he didn’t hurt me, Rhysand. 

You haven’t seen what was in his mind. Believe me when I say hurting you was the kindest thing he had in store for you had Azriel not found you in time. 

Then do what you must, love. 

There was a tug of affection through your bond and you offered a reaffirming tug in return. Aldric’s hands were gone an instant later; sliced neatly by the claw-like shadows. You barely noticed his screams, not when Rhysand was gingerly stroking against the wall you kept up, almost as if to distract you from what was happening. 

Rhys, I knew what I was getting into when I accepted the mating bond. 

I just don’t want you to see more than you have to. 

You said that we would do everything together. I intend to endure this together as well. 

You could almost see Rhysand’s smile in your mind. 

That’s my girl.

His attention shifted back to Aldric. For his part, Aldric had stopped sobbing as if he had accepted the weight and consequences of his actions. There was a look in his brown eyes you couldn’t quite place and it was only after he spoke that you knew what it was. “Do your worst half-breed.” 

Facing death had made Aldric bold. His challenging words caused a ripple through the court, a wave of gasped breaths reverberated against the carved stone walls. Fire elemental or not, you had never seen such a blazing look on Aldric’s face before and for a moment you worried that he was going to burst, to scorch you all to Hell. Rhysand, however, was unfazed. 

“They say that it is a sin to covet, Firedagger. Yet, with your eyes you have lusted after many beings, my mate included. Fantasies of passion, both sexual and murderous have filled your gaze and thoughts. I have seen it. It’s all there in your mind, unprotected and exposed. Tell me, Aldric, why is that?” 

“I have nothing to hide. I am not ashamed of my desires, no matter how dark and corrupted they may seem to be.” The burning was still there in his gaze as he lifted his head and squared his shoulders. He was emboldened and reckless and one quick glance to Rhysand’s carefully composed face told you that Aldric had just made his last move in this twisted game of theirs.

“For those crimes, we ask you to pay with your eyes,” Rhysand’s voice was deep, powerful, and you shuddered against him as the shadows made quick work of utterly wrecking Aldric’s eyes. His scream fell on deaf ears, none caring that this measly elemental was being torn apart by the High Lord. 

You supposed it said quite a lot about who you had become that rather than be disgusted by this torturous, public, punishment you felt aroused. There was an undeniable heat pooling between your thighs as you watched your mate’s stronger, darker magic—the magic that made him the High Lord—tear this insignificant being apart piece by piece. It was a graphic display, a goreish show, that had many turning away. Even there in the Hewn City, it was almost too horrifying. You, however, could see it for what it truly was. In the most twisted way, it was a demonstration not only of the High Lord's true power, but of the undying, unconditional love he felt for you, his mate, his High Lady.

Try as you may, you couldn’t ignore that burning heat within you, that flame of arousal. You worried your lower lip between your teeth as you debated what to do. The logical solution was to be as patient as you were able; Rhysand always took such good care of you, knew exactly how to use his mouth, fingers, and cock to make you sing in pleasure. However, a larger part of you wanted to have him right there, audience be damned. Let them see. Let them all see how well Rhysand claimed you and how he was hopelessly yours as much as you were undeniably his. 

It was a thought that certainly had its merits. 

Your fingers wandered down the expanse of your abdomen, around your hip to your lower back where the fastens that held your skirt together resided. With a practiced ease you worked them open, sighing in relief as the immense amount of fabric fell down, pooling at your feet. You stepped out of the skirt, pushing it aside with your foot, and were happy that the cloak Rhysand had insisted on wearing was large enough to cover your now nude lower half.

You brought your hand back around to the small patch of hair resting just above your slick folds, dragging your fingers down to press against your entrance. A low hiss escaped you as they slipped in with ease, surprised by how wet you were already. Your gaze locked onto the slowly diminishing form of Aldric, each scream that erupted from his mouth sending a shiver down your spine because you knew that he was suffering because he dared to look at and touch something that was forbidden to him.

The scent of your arousal was evident to everyone present; they could smell your slick as you worked yourself open, quivering against your mate’s side and moaning into the darkness. You felt Rhysand’s grip on you tighten and all but shivered as he turned dark, hungry eyes towards you. He flicked his wrist again, his gaze solely focused on your face, and he watched as your pupils dilated with a desperate need at the sound of Aldric’s tormented wails. You could so clearly see the depravity in his violet eyes and eagerly met it with your own. It was a look that said I see you and I love you and accept you and Rhysand let out an almost choked sound at the sight of it. 

You gasped as Rhysand turned to face you fully, pulling you close and grinding your bodies together as he bent down to lick his way into your mouth. His left hand wandered down the planes of your skin, joining your own at your dripping cunt. You cried out, using your free hand to grab onto the front of his tunic as he pressed one, two, three of his thick fingers into you, thrusting in and out alongside your own smaller digits. 

You chanced a look back at Aldric and watched as his arm slowly came undone in perfect synchronization with Rhysand’s own gentle touch to your arm. The same happened again as Rhysand dragged his hand up to grip your chin, forcing you to look back at him as he surged forward and captured your mouth once more, his other hand still fucking you open relentlessly. The knowledge that for every inch of you that Rhysand touched Aldric would lose that part simultaneously produced an especially delicious-smelling gush of slick from you and you moaned as Rhysand brought an utterly soaked hand to his mouth and licked it clean.

“Rhys,” you pleaded, sighing in relief when his fingers entered you once more, “Please. Claim me. Mate me again. Show them we are equals.” The implication of your words was understood by all in attendance and Rhysand, who normally took a pause to verify you truly wanted to be ravaged so thoroughly by him, unleashed a sound that was positively bestial as he gripped the corset and blouse you were wearing and tore them asunder.

His hands gripped your waist, dragging you down to the ground with him, into the dust beneath your feet. It was a filthy thing, one that to many would be seen as unfit for a fae of his standing, but neither of you cared. The ferocity with which Rhysand flipped you around, edging you onto your hands and knees—soaked entrance on display like a bitch in heat—sent a full body shudder through you, getting a thrill at seeing your mate so unhinged.

The sound of Rhysand untying the fastens of his trousers was familiar and you pressed back harder against him, hoping to feel some of the cock you knew he was freeing. You could feel yourself gushing, slick spilling out of you as Rhysand rubbed the head of his thick cock against your wet entrance. Rhysand’s normally calm outward appearance was ripped away as Aldric let out a particularly blood curdling cry, his body disintegrating as Rhysand fucked into you in one fluid movement. 

The lack of care you felt in that moment for Aldric should have, perhaps, frightened you. But the sight of his body blasting apart and then dissolving into ash and dust sent a shiver down your spine. It was a brutal, grotesque, thing, but it was a sign that your mate loved you, truly, madly, deeply. If the visual display from the High Lord of Night was not enough, the way he took you, claimed you, in front of all present, was another reminder. 

You took in that glorious cock, moaning at the curve of it. It was a proud, thick, thing and you shuddered as you felt it throb within you. Then, you rocked back against Rhysand, urging him on, wanting more. The base part of your brain, that seemed fond of taking over whenever Rhysand was more feral, was desperate to be glutted with his seed, to be bred and filled with a new life in front of the ashen remains of someone who thought they could have you.

Rhysand was a bestial thing, his grip on your hips firm, keeping you still as he pounded into you. Growls tore out of his throat as his mouth moved against your flesh, biting and sucking all over to mark you, to show any who dared look that you had a lover, a mate, and that he had staked his claim. You were helpless, only able to angle your body to make the slide of his cock easier, allowing him deeper. The speed with which he took you was nearly too much, yet you were thriving, your muscles convulsing around him as he drove into you. 

He thrust in deep and perfect and you threw your head back, exposing more of your neck to his mouth. You screamed your pleasure, and pleaded for him to continue, begged for him to finally claim you. He bit down and your’s eyes widened in surprise as you felt a sudden surge of his power course through your veins, pulsing through every inch of your being. His tongue darted out to lick at the traces of blood seeping out of his claiming mark and you hissed in delight at the sensation. 

“I love you. You rare, beautiful thing. My mate, my wife, my High Lady.” Rhysand’s voice was barely recognizable, more of a growl than anything else. His hips stuttered as he spoke and he bit down once more as he emptied himself into you. The feeling of his hot seed spilling into you, stuffing you full of him, had you screaming as you came at last. 

Rhysand’s mouth was licking and kissing along the mark he had made and you groaned as he shifted. You could feel him in every fiber of your being and finally felt complete. ‘This’, you thought, ‘this is what I was missing.’ Rhysand hoisted you up with ease, standing with you still stuffed full of his cock and seed. He moved you slowly, turning you so your legs could wrap around his waist and you wanted to laugh at how ridiculous it must have looked to your audience, but refrained. Instead, you gasped once more as Rhysand carefully pulled out, his cum leaking out of you and onto the ground below. 

What a waste. 

You couldn’t help but hum in agreement. Though that was a conversation for another time. 

Rhysand’s hands were on your rear, keeping you supported as he looked around at the group surrounding you. There was a dangerous look in his eyes again, silently reminding them all to stay in their place. 

“Someone clean up this mess,” Rhysand snapped, his voice rough and guttural and you delighted at the sound of it, “The High Lady and I are going to retire for the evening.” The High Lady. You grinned wildly at the sound of that. It was merely a title at the end of the day, but it spoke volumes and told all the fae in attendance that you were their ruler, that you were his equal and were not to be trifled with. 

“Thank you, my darling,” You whispered against the shell of one of his pointed ears, your tone sincere and full of the love you held for him. You peppered kisses along his handsome face, neck, and shoulder and Rhysand gave an approving hum before whispering a promise, “For you, my love, my life, anything.” 

#rhysand #rhysand x reader #rhys x reader #acotar reader #acotar series #acotar reader insert #reader insert #c: rhysand #t: fanfiction #cw: smut #cw: torture #cw: voyeurism #ship: rhysand x reader #lit: acotar series #my writing

[ourflagmeansdeath-kinkmeme]

Gen — Pirate novels

Someone decides to write a sensational pirate novel about the short, ill-starred life of the Gentleman Pirate. Stede reads it to the crew, to general hilarity and Rifftrax shenanigans as everyone objects to their own portrayals.

Bonus points for: - Ed being very upset that Blackbeard is cast as imprisoning Stede rather than befriending, mentoring OR falling in love with him. - At least one important crewmember got left out entirely and is in a snit about it.

Fill: None

#C: Revenge Crew #P: General | No Pairing #T: Fanfiction #Fill: None

[tarjapearce]

Dr. Michael Stone (Pt. 2)

Art and Character by: Spiderthingcoo on X

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, forced voyeurism, body exploration, edging, double v penetration, female anatomy, rough and drugged induced sex, manhandling, substance abuse, 3some-ish, rimming (m receiving) nudity appreciation, breeding kink, a bit of dacryphilia, Objectification, overstimulation, filthyness undercut, no proofread, bit of cum play, bellybulge, electrocution, Michael is a sick fuck and I love him.

Miguelverse

Summary: Michael Stone has the time of his life.

A/N: I got too carried away and the fanart didn't help jskjs, hope you enjoy <3

Time ran at the speed of a snail. Each blink was torture, like you were removing seconds from the clock with each brief pause of your eyes.

How long have you been here? Certainly too fed up with trying in succeeding to escape. There was no punctual way to determine in which part of the day you were as there was no windows, no clocks, or anything of the sort that dictated the unstoppable force that always outlasted everything within reach.

Just dull pale grey walls, borderline white in every direction your sight stretched. Which wasn't much.

Your new habitat, was minimalistic, decored with the basics to sate physiological needs such as sleep, shower or pee. Ceiling too lowered to crawl or stretch your muscles properly when you tried to keep mobility going.

A fancy cage, nothing much, nothing less.

How long had it been since he slammed the door shut? Days? Week?

You didn't know. And the lack of a sense of time was irrevocably screwing with your head in a way it resembled how Michael had fucked your insides. There was no sun to bath in, no wind to blow and mess with your hair as you swung through the buildings, providing the right amount of adrenaline, no structures to crawl or stretch your muscles completely on. No external stimulus.Nothing.

Just a few meters of space that caged you like a live sample for a maniac's twisted experimenting and amusement. Fed and cleaned whenever you required it. It sometimes blurred the line between being a pet and a Guinea pig.

Just your cell, withering away your spirit. Even the food provided, lacked that homey seasoning you adored indulging in HQ's cafeteria after a mission. The only rift of color popping in the tray and around you were the vast array of vitamins and minerals, shaped in round and squared pills, nested within a metallic cup.

Cause according to him, if his offspring was to emerge within you, your body had to be properly nurtured. Ironically, the food was bland and tasteless, but you didn't starve. And it spooked you how easy your body took a liking to it.

Skin healthier, glowing and silky even, a soft natural flush dressed your cheeks, metabolism in its peak, a couple of pounds were lost, but that was the least of your concerns.

He was set into perfecting the vessel for his future seedling. You.

Michael was... You didn't even know where to start besides being the obvious doppelganger of Miguel. The only way you could tell them apart was because of his eyes. They were brown, like the most scrumptious shade of chocolate you've ever seen.

Unlike Miguel, he just took what he wanted and needed, everything in the name of science. He was the embodiment of 'the end justifies the means'.

Alluring, inviting you to a forbidden and fucked up world where he was the unanimous and dangerous sovereign. Like his whole aura. His impassive act was only a coy facade to hide what was underneath.

Madness, lust and something so dern you didn't want to try and decipher cause in truth, you were terrified to fuck around and find out. He had already gave you a little taste of his abyss, but it wasn't enough for him. He wanted you to drown in him and everything that rendered his mere existence.

He needed to crown a queen for his chaos. And what a better way to do it, than choosing you to give him a perfect offspring.

In his own twisted world the need of a superior being was a must. A need he was creating the proper foundation to sate.

He was prepping you to bare his child. And it scared you to no end. Not that you didn't want kids, but to be forced to fit into that role out of sudden scared you shitless.

And you didn't want to sour and make your thoughts awkward by knowing a variant of Miguel would be the father.

Fuck. No.

If your mind could have arms, it surely would've slapped itself for such thought. Not that you didn't think Miguel was handsome, in fact, you avoided being seen as that recruit that had the hots for the boss, lingering too much around him made you more nervous than you liked to admit.

And when you were paired with him, the anxiety of knowing you could mess up went heavenwards. Your Miguel wasn't one to dwell into conversations if they weren't necessary, canon before personal interests came first and always, awkward social skills that came out stilted and forced almost mechanically, specially when someone caught him off guard or in the high level of stress his gorgeous brain fed him on a daily basis.

Grumpy was his default emotional read, snarky or dry humored replies when dumb questions were asked, overworked to the bone. Secretly labeling himself as a bad man cause of the things he needed to do in order to keep the arachno-humanoid poly-multiverse working, a walking failure through and through, weak for meeting his emotional needs and trying to be happy for once and failing at it, and apparently the only one that knew how to keep everything together.

And still, the first one that always replied the call for help by either sending a group, or creating an escape plan route to ensure your and the rest's safety with the help of Lyla.

Unlike him. The man in the flesh and bone, that would easily supplant him physically, and had been watching you ever since you awoke. You didn't have to turn to him to know his presence had invaded your already reduced and secluded space.

Brown coals raked over the slope of your neck, the dip between your shoulder and junction, gaze remained over your rising form in every disguised breath you took, hoping he'd go away. Long and tan fingers tangled softly in the silks of your hair and the touch alone made your skin crawl, and not precisely in a good and pleasant way, no.

Whenever he was around your spider senses tingled, sometimes you'd end up with a headache, unable to shut it off. You didn't have to look deep enough to know he was as messed up and unpredictable as the task he had bestowed upon you.

"Eres tan perfecta..." his impish titter made your heart wrench and anxiety to bubble in the deepest of your gut.

In other circumstances you'd be a flustered mess, flattered even to have such kind of man groveling over you. But this one in specific had you coiling away from his touch, hoping to vanish into thin air or turn invisible like Miles.

God, you really wanted to have Mile's invisibility powers right now, so at least you could have a chance to escape. But dreaming had gone out the window ever since he dumped you here.

He never lingered too much, even when he did routine checkups on you. Blood and other fluid samples were taken, he made sure you ate the bland and soggy looking food 'til nothing but crumbs were left, and then he'd leave to do whatever he did in the lab and wouldn't return until your next feeding time.

The only thing he had in common with your Miguel was the workaholic attitude. He'd spend hours if not days tinkering with canisters and things you low key feared to know their components. You've noticed the little parts of limbs floating in some recipients, none of them human.

What kind of things this Alchemax did? Cause the little you had seen so far wasn't nice nor pretty.

Alchemax took seriously their research, and with this man on charge, you didn't want to even think about what kind of ungodly horrors they harbored. There was a little slapping in the air as he removed his gloves, and it was your chance to crawl away.

Rough pads thrummed over your soft skin, sending shivers down your spine, breath hitched as he beckoned your forearm, the only part of you that budged, towards him in a demanding pull.

"Haven't had the time to properly examine these." he mumbled, more to himself than to you, as his thumbs squeezed soft circles, soothing the previous pressure's discomfort.

You gulped as he narrowed his eyes behind his glasses at the tiny circular slits indented in your wrist, a pale pinkish hue rimmed the tiny hole. The way he admired and looked with child-like wonder at your web shooters was overwhelming.

Cheeks grew warmer as the tip of his nose ran up your forearm to finally stop on the shooters. A soft salty musk emanated from them.

"Organic webbing... Fascinating." He crooned.

He closed his eyes to relish in the smell of your skin. A shaky breath came off your lips as his moist tongue rubbed a kitten lick on it, a bolt of electricity flooded your senses and earned him a whimper. Eyes immediately shifted on you, pupils widening.

Much to your dismay both had accidentally unveiled a borderline gruesome breakthrough. The twinkle in his eyes made your brows twitch in worry. Your neck gulped and his eyes caught the fraction of movement to then smirk.

Pearly whites shone with twisted pride upon the discovery.

"W-Wait-"

The tip of his tongue pressed harder on the slit and you couldn't help but moan. A lovely and surprising melody to his keen ears at your reactions.

Web shooters were a sensitive and therefore an erogenous area.

You tried yanking your arm away, but your knees trembled when he delivered a wriggle of the tip of his tongue, trying to worm into your veins, prodding and tasting unabashedly at your dint.

With every coil of his moist muscle your brain sparked alive, neurotransmitters soaring in wicked delight. Your teeth clamped on your lower lip, stifling another upcoming moan.

The wet sounds and pops of his mouth made your insides clench involuntarily. Legs smothered together, as he now sucked. His lips pursed in that familiar shape it reminded you the way he ate your engorged and sensitive nub.

Head split in two, fighting over what side of reasoning you'd agree with. One side was ashamed such ministrations from your wretched captor turned your unwilling body like puty within seconds in his dexterous hands, and with this newfound information, his power over you just increased tenfold.

Or aghast for allowing such thing, for allowing him to cage you against the bed and his formidable frame while he devoured and toyed with your wrists, and for him to make you feel revered like no man ever had, even if it was for the wrongest of reasons. Brown eyes stared at your countenance with such curiosity and enthrall, as if you were everything he needed. Like his prayers had been answered and delivered in silver platter with you on it, right in his hands.

It didn't help your shaky resolution he squeezed and draped his other thumb in your other slit. Rubbing in lazy circles, pressing the right amount to have your clit throbbing and your mouth panting. The vibrations of his low groan on your skin sent your brain in tiny shortcuts, your synapses were howling.

A shiny streak of his saliva connected with the left wrist. The irisdiscent shine of your webs connected to his bottom lip.

"Tad salty" His tongue licked the web away, His thumb moved in a back and fro motion, alternating between circles and soft licks from his thumb pad.

"Hnng-" Your toes curled in, as your hips stuttered but he grounded his even more on yours, preventing you from shifting too much.

"Stop squirming" He huffed, annoyed, trying to focus his sight on the tiny crevice.

"F-Fucking stop then" you panted in angry breaths

Michael smirked, genuinely amused at your unexpected reaction.

"Why would I? This is the most exciting part of the research."

Shit.

He took your other wrist and kissed the dent, your eyes went shut as he pressed both wrist above your head. Thumbs kneading with a bit more of pressure right above your tiny holes. And God, it was embarrassing hearing yourself mewl like a needy bitch.

How couldn't you notice such thing about yourself after so many years of being a Spiderwoman?

Fuck

And why the fuck were you about to cum while having your wrists stimulated? But more importantly, was he really having a boner by toying with you?

"God, you're a pervert..."

You couldn't help but mumble and he pressed tighter on purpose, sending a muffled whimper through your throat, silencing your yapping.

"I rather the term, Man of science, pequeña. Now stay fucking still."

But you couldn't, not when he kneaded so closely to a spot that send your mouth gaping like a fish out of water, begging to be thrown back in the liquid oxygen. He pressed two inches away from the bitty hole, and that was it.

Jaw clenched and your spine arched. His brow quirked with clinical curiosity at your thrashing despair. Breaths paused and shallow, still deciding whether to moan or sob.

"Nmh-Fuck, fuck, oh my god-" Your eyes rolled back, and your insides clamped. Brain vaporising any coherent thought, mouth too busy catching air and sputtering dumb babble at the consuming climax. Contracting and pulsing at nothing as the little dent squirted a silky and sticky rope towards the wall with a soft Thwipsh. He blinked nearly stupidly at what he had just achieved, cracking his apathetic stare for good.

"Dios mío..." He pressed again and again and you sobbed as the web spurted hapzardly, diverting in every direction and etching to whatever surface it touched or landed. He stared with wide eyes between you and the webs. Limp limb suspended in the air.

Toes curled and clenched at the bedsheets, attempting to anchor yourself at the overwhelming sensations that clouded your judgement. Head spun and buzzed with the thrill not even you achieved when handling those annoying reminders of your solitude in your own hands.

For once your spider senses tingled deliciously. His cock twitched almost painfully at what he just witnessed, he groaned and cupped your face to deliver a deep and breathtaking kiss.

"I knew someday, all my work would be rewarded. All those sleepless nights, those sacrifices, would bring someone like you to me."

He panted, examining you with wicked excitement, shaking you softly in his aroused wake.

"You and I, will create something so beautiful even God will be jealous!."

If it wasn't for the ominous meaning behind those words, you'd be amazed and moved at his overboard thrill. He rested his head on your lower belly, a dark grin plastered over his face, fingers padded your skin, warmth spreading through his hand.

Where are you, Miguel?

"I can't wait to see you swollen, carrying the future of this earth, pequeña."

I'm scared

But as quickly as he laid down, he bolted out of your cell, too enraptured in his musings to actually care for your rattled state.

Now that his motives were clear, your need to escape was greater. But maybe if you played your cards well, you'd have a chance.

I need you.

----

The table landed on the wall, shattering in smaller shards that splintered all over the place. Michael's back rose and tensed so tight, his lab robe wrinkled, trapping the fabric in between his muscles.

The corner of his lip twitched, almost like a tick, teeth menaced with baring, fury boiling underneath his skin. If he could, the steam would blow off his ears, but instead he prowled over your unsuspecting and sleeping form in the very back of the lab. Mind assaulting his reasoning with so many questions, but one in particular made his hands to clench into tight fist.

Why weren't you pregnant?

He had came inside in your most dangerous and fertile days, and still, you weren't pregnant.

As much as he was a patient man, he was throughly disappointed at his own failure. Was his seed defective? No.

He had run studies on himself and his results were everything a desperate man in need of children could ask for.

Fertile, fruitful, healthy.

And still, the screen shone brighter on the 'Negative' results.

Hot and furious breath fanned over the glass wall where he saw you sleeping. He'd have to run even more tests on you, start all over and wait for another two weeks.

But what if your body refused him again? Your womb's rejection was an open slap on his face, when he had been nothing but kind to you. He had been taking care of you with the best things, and this is how you repaid him.

It frustrated him beyond reason. But he was a patient man. Weeks were nothing compared to all the time he had already waited. With a final huff, he returned to his lab to correct your stupid hormonal imbalance that was costing him his valuable time and resources.

However, a Public Eye officer barged in, breath in his throat. His personal hounds, and whenever they came in, it only meant one thing. They had found something, and by the scratches and claw like marks on the officer's bleeding shoulder, meant it was something good.

You had to wait for a moment longer.

-----

"Lyla"

Miguel's gruff whisper came behind the corner of the structure he was in. Lyla appeared right on his shoulder.

"Any readings?"

"Some-" She froze for a second, "Ssft-"

Her yellow shade glitched to then appear right before him, she was speaking, but Miguel could barely understand her.

Fuck.

The place's interference was messing up with her programming. His gizmo popped with a message, your location. Beeping in a bright yellow dot within the ever tall and imposing Alchemax building in the middle of the city, like a watchtower.

Your last signal. Earth S-2015.

If you were here, he was sure you'd quip up something about a movie reference, something about a Mordor, whatever the thing meant, to lighten up the mood. He'd never admit it, but it always made him a bit curious as to what you watched or did to entertain yourself. The things you spoke were beyond absurd and still, he listened, inwardly pondering as to what kind of substances your universe used to get that sort of inspiration, but now there was nothing but silence at his side. And he grew tired of it.

No matter how much he had tried to recover or track you, the signal vanished into thin air. And he wasn't happy. At first he thought the gizmo's self restart feature would bring the signal back, but days kept passing, and nothing happened, he even went to the extent of rewiring the trinket's code to see if there was anything between lines, but there was nothing after the current location he was in.

Miguel swung through the buildings, avoiding the constant and alert drones soaring through the sky. Alchemax safety propaganda was plastered all over the place, but this earth's inhabitants looked everything but happy. Unlike his wonderful and manageable utopia he had helped to improve.

Fear was forever etched in their faces, constantly moving, never lingering too much around those mean looking officers. The Public Eye.

Their image all over the city, with low key subduing messages as 'Keep The order', 'Report any anomaly in the nearest station.' It set perfectly with the gloomy, authoritarian and heavy atmosphere of this universe. Chaos brewing in the darkness, awaiting to be unleashed.

His gut felt queasy. He might not have spider senses, but intuition never failed him. And right now it was telling him to find you and get the fuck out as soon as possible. Precisely in that order. He didn't want to pull out a Miles, even if he wanted to on this wretched world. Frustrating as it was, Earth S-2015 was a necessary evil, like his ruler and his major minion.

Not that you were incapable of fending for yourself, one of the main reasons he  didn't act right away, but knowing who was in this place, and the possibilities, made his chest constrict with a new wave of underlying anxiety and dread as  there was no Spider in this earth to protect it.

His watch buzzed a bit too late with a new message from Lyla.

RUN!!!!

A hoard of drones shoot his way, creating a sequential line of explosions, he dodged, tore, and crashed the drones against eachother, as if they were bugs pestering him.

"Look! Another one!"

Some officers didn't wait to appear and shoot their best shots at him. They fired and Miguel fought back, talons in hands, ripping and tearing flesh.

They had taken you, and a cold sweat ran down his spine.

Mierda...

He took one officer by his neck, masked face came into view as his teeth bared.

"The other one, where is she?!" he seethed but the man was stupid enough to oppose. He thrashed, which only added gasoline to Miguel's already blazing fury. Talons dug in the man's tender flesh, but even so, the officer had managed to impale a needle on his arm. It's liquid immediately melting into Miguel's muscles.

It stung.

With a hiss, Miguel let the man go, too focused on the sudden burning sensation spreading through his arm and body like a wildfire. Breathings took a couple of seconds to turn erratic, lights flickered and dances before his eyes.

Concéntrate, mierda! (Fucking focus)

The remaining officers jumped on him, using their subduing tools on him, an electrical shock here and there, a couple of stabs that had him kneeling, punches that definitely got all air out of his scorching lungs. It hurted to breath, to move, to see. His photophobia was rampant as lights were suddenly on him.

Miguel tried to cover his eyes but punches kept coming, he lunged and swung back to nothing but air, as his faculties were in a painful sensorial overload. The last thing he could manage in between blurry and prancing lights was the officer's wicked smile, stretching. Darkness claimed him.

----

"Me estás hartando, quédate quieta de una vez!" (I'm getting tired of this, stay still!)

The lack of exercising had made you slow, he didn't give you enough time to fight back when dragging you by the ankles while you were in the best of your nap. The alerts in your body kicked a bit too late, and like he had done before, his hips grounded yours, suffocating their squirming as his hand squeezed the wrists, needle menacing on his other hand, a pinkish liquid shook within.

"Fuck you!"

With a low growl he smashed your hands against the mattress, earning him a painful yelp, and it was his chance to sink the needle on your neck, a sting that immediately stifled your body, a brief itch spreaded through before turning into a cool shot of drug.

"Don't worry... We'll get to it later. But I need your body cooperating first."

You tried batting his hands away, but he held your face, and you gulped. He was staring.

Michael Stone was staring at you.

Thrill, joy, and something eldritch within his beautiful eyes. It scared as it intrigued you.

"What did you just put in me!?"

His nose nuzzled on the crook of your neck and crooned, "Nothing you should worry about, pequeña. Just a little enhance that will take my investigation to the next level."

His nose revelled up to your neck, body shuddering with the soft kisses left imprinted on your skin. It confused you.

One moment he treated you like the best thing he had ever had, and the next he manhandled you like a rag doll, pumping whatever substances he thought right into your bloodstream.

"Ger'off me!" A backlash and he chuckled.

"You're amusing. Might keep you as a pet once my child is born." He frowned suddenly, like if an idea had came into mind, pondering.

"Or not, I could grow it on my own... But, no no. It wouldn't be the same, wouldn't it?." His peering landed on your abdomen, ready to see it plump. "Call. me traditionalist in that way, but there is nothing more beautiful than seeing life growing within a perfect specimen." His eyes twinkled. 

"You're a sick fuck, you know that?"

"You loved having this sick fuck inside, pequeña. Your mouth might be spilling nonsense, but your cunt" He cupped it suddenly, shutting you up right away, "neither data lies."

A thick lump was swallowed down your throat.

"Rest well, I've got a surprise for you."

The smirk on his lips was everything but a good omen. And the heat increasing on your body didn't help. Hormones were slowly coming to a riot, spider tingle ringing harder for a moment.

Great.

Fingers rubbed on where he sunk the needle, wishing that for once he wouldn't use the thick ones. A tiny red smudge came into the pad of your fingertip.

Asshole.

----

Disgust, curiosity and repulsion.

Those were the main reads on Miguel's bruised face when Michael was before him, having a taste of his lips, but quickly backed up upon feeling the prong of his fangs grazing at his tongue. Miguel spat away his taste.

"Vete a la mierda, cabrón!" (Fuck you, asshole)

"Oh" His smirk went wider, almost wicked. He wasted no time in securing his grip on Miguel's chin to probe and poke at his mouth, revelling at every single thing within his structure.

"This is... perfect! With you and my vessel, we'll create-"

Michael jumped backwards as Miguel tried to lunge for him, but to no avail, chains clinked on his feet and wrists, restraining him.

"Now, now. What happened to that... friendly neighborhood thing your species used to preach? Is it a ruse?"

Miguel's fury burned brighter than the sun, he was ablaze, the Ethyl Chloride still railed within his bloodstream. He'd have to wait a bit more, just a bit for it's effects to leave his system and he'd free himself.

Never in his life had the urge of hurting someone came so strong on him, but he needed to be as collected as possible if he wanted to find you.

Even if his evil twin's hand roamed over his chest, measuring and probing his physiology. What's with everyone trying to get a piece of him?

His sight landed on something that undeniably belonged to you, a piece of your suit, under a microscope. Michael followed Miguel's line of sight and smiled, naturally, proud even.

"She's been a good specimen. The best one I've got so far."

A cold shudder ran down Miguel's back, eyes immediately on him, venom dripping in his words as they came out in a growl

"What have you done?"

Michael shrugged nonchalant, pride swelling up his chest. "Nothing but my work, Mr. O'Hara. And now that I've got you, you'll help me too."

"Te juro que si has hecho algo para lastimarla-" (I swear if you've done something to hurt her)

"Oh no, no. Im not that kind of monster." Michael tinkered with some tubes as he pulled a couple strands off Miguel's head. The Boss shook his head away from his tweezers.

"But she can get annoying sometimes. Nothing that pleasure helps to shut her up"

Miguel's eyes went wide, horror and anger in tandem within his crimson gaze.

His talons poked out, itching to tear the man before him, until he was nothing but bloody chum, fuck the canon, fuck this dimension. He'd do everyone a favor, unlike the first time he broke the rules.

"But dread not. Tonight is very special" Michael smiled at Miguel, but it didn't reached his eyes. The same pink liquid he injected on you was now flowing in Miguel's veins, thanks to thw needles in his shackles.

"Mating season is around the corner , isn't it?"

Miguel scowled, wary as Michael made his arms and legs restricted to the metallic wall of his confinement, hitting his head in the process. A wave of pain invaded Miguel's skull.

"I won't hurt her, no. But I won't allow you to take her away from me."

Michael pressed a button, sending shockwaves through Miguel's body, suit glitching out, until it disappeared, leaving a bare, righteous doppelganger of himself at his feet, panting, gritting his teeth and growling in pain.

Michael leered at Miguel unabashedly, smoke oozed from his shimmery tan skin, and the madman nodded, pleased.

"You spider-folk are unique and wonderful creatures indeed."

It was the last thing Miguel heard before another electrical and unexpected shock subdued him to darkness.

----

Miguel

His mind was a puddle. Nothing coherent could properly take shape in his brain. His body was heavy, doused in a borderline painful heat, the same sort of feeling he'd get once his body entered this spider-like urge to mate.

Miguel!

The voice calling him was familiar, but it's tinge sent a delicious pulsation right to the tip of his already twitching cock.

Wake up!

Leaden-lids parted enough to take in his surroundings again, consciousness returning to his empty body. But as it did, the strong tidal waves of his arousal drowned him in.

It didn't help he kept hearing these delicious mewls and pants, begging for him to do something simple as to wake up. The constant slaps of flesh and the breathless moans made a trail of precum escape his flushed and sensitive tip. Thick veins decored his pulsating girth, aching painfully to sink in something. To be wrapped in nothing but snug zeal.

"F-Fuck... Wake up, please!"

Another garbled moan that ended in an acute whimper. And that made him growl. His toes curled in, bleary sight finally taking focus on what was going on.

He could only blink at the scene. Stupid and high in need. Dying to be free and unleash himself.

"Ohmygod-" you hiccuped, watching him, flushed cheeks, mouth gaping and panting, exhaling deep and sweet mewls his body yearned to induce

"Miguel!"

You called, waking him up despite your insides getting a good rearrangement by Michael. The latter was too keen in watching his reaction as he smacked himself against you, his cheeks reddened in want.

You were spreaded like a book ontop of the sitting madman, back colliding with his bare chest, hands cuffed within two metallic hoops, hooked behind Michael's head; cunt swallowing him inside, choking with his continuous thrustings, slapping the back of your ass over and over as his hands kept your thighs apart and close to your chest, providing Miguel with a 4K image of your bullied and glistening pussy.

The way Michael pushed in so swiftly made Miguel's cock to erupt with another pre cum bead. Your breast swayed and bounced at the rough pace settled underneath. A rhythmic slap, like a perfect metronome for an obscene and wet melody.

The little rational part of Miguel told him, demanded him to look away. To spare you some shame, but his body had been rewired in such way he was unable to tear his oggling away, cause he could feel the need to break the chains and do a better job than Michael. He'd destroy you. He needed to.

Michael's hands made you hold the back of your own thighs, so he could plow deeper. And your spine arched as your toes curled, legs shook and a sweet acute cry echoed through the lab, announcing your first orgasm.

Miguel's sore cock twitched. Begging him to jump into action. His mouth watered as your pussy swallowed Michael's cock so deep and tight that a frothy, creamy ring nested at the base of his tightened balls, contracting as the madman came inside your snug hole.

Your arousal awakened a primal need in him, to the point that his talons dug in the fat of his palm, cutting skin and bleeding, like his bottom lip. Plump mouth heaved, his throat rumbled with gutural growls the more he stared, hypnotized at your post-bliss face.

Miguel whimpered, like a kicked dog, a deep flush invading his heaving countenance.

"Seems the serum is also making effect"

Michael slicked his hair back and gave an excited sigh, "I think it's time to see his performance, right?"

Michael pushed you away from his body, Bambi-like legs failed their attempt to hold your whole frame. You fell on the ground with a wheeze. Miguel immediately lunged, but his restrains held him back, prevented him from achieving his main goal.

Crimson eyes turned darker, nearly matching Michael's. The latter pressed a button and the collar on Miguel fell with a clank on the floor.

"M-Miguel" it was difficult to find your voice when it was scrapped raw and dry, but still, you had to try.

"We... we gotta leave. Do you hear me?"

Of course he did, but his mating cycle was on peak, thanks to Michael. He had messed up the natural process by accelerating his heat prematurely.

Why would he leave when he was about to wreck you?

His feet were unlocked. You gave Michael a pleading look while trying to crawl away. When the last lock clicked free, your breath hitched.

It felt like a slow motion as you looked over your shoulders, marked with hickeys Michael left. Pupils wide blown as Miguel lurched forward, stalking and hovering over you. Cock smearing his pre cum in whatever skin it landed, marking you with his scent as he  manhandled your hips up, aligning them with his girth.

His hand was big enough to keep your whole head on the floor. Michael cackled as Miguel sunk in deep in a powerful roll of his hips, earning a stuttering grunt through clenched teeth from you.

The fat of your ass trembled, your clasped hands curled underneath your torso, in dire need of holding onto something, cause Miguel merciless plows were fucking any coherent thought.

Your whole body shook underneath him, cunt ever tight, your juices and Michael's cum made him easier to delve in a pace you knew would scrap your knees, cause he wasn't stopping nor waning.

Michael circled you both, hand on his cock, stroking himself at the sheer display of primal desire. The whole show made him hard, specially when seeing your engorged clit peeking underneath Miguel's jackhammering frame, flushed from the unceasing beating the hero's balls provided it.

"Just like that" Michael husked, and whimpered as you did nothing but sputter nonsensical and lewd blabbering.

Miguel's fingertips sunk tighter as they grope your hips firmly to keep you from lurching forward, despite him plunging into you with abandonment, as if with every thrust he'd say take it.

Take it for disobeying.

Your toes curled in and your jaw slacked open, unable to keep it together.

Take it for not following instructions.

"M... Mig-"

Bendito... He was just starting and you were already clamping onto him in a grip so tight it only matched the way he was holding your beautiful and generous hips.

"You're almost there, Mr. O'Hara! Keep it going!"

One specific thrust had your eyes watering and rolling back. A pathetic and incomplete scream made Michael to kneel behind you both. His eyes were too dazed in how Miguel fucked you. Dancing up and down, like the strokes of his hands on his cock.

Miguel secured your head in a tight headlock that cut your air supply enough to clench on him, again. Strong biceps trapped your airy head, clouded with a biting desire that came stronger every time you breathed.

Michael groaned when Miguel pulled a last thrust, sheathing to the hilt, forcing a powerful and milky kiss on your cervix. The madman's mouth wasted no time to sink in between Miguel's firm glutes, tasting him, squeezing and pushing him towards his face, tongue fucking the tight hole, earning a low but stuttering growl from a surprised Miguel. Glasses fogging at the rising temperature.

"Fucking delicious." He mumbled with a smack of his lips to focus his attention in your flushed and sensitive cunt. When Miguel pulled out, Michael was already pushing him away, to then prowl at your throbbing cunt, gathering the leaking cum on his tongue, revelling in the taste as he pushed it back inside with a soft dribble.

"W-Wait" You hissed, his moist muscle had been wonderful once, but right now it felt rough. Flesh too sensitive to the touch.

Miguel staggered, body overridden with a relentless urge to be inside you again, but his body screamed for a rest, the venom still lingered on his muscles. Michael on the other hand, cradled and sunk you once more ontop of him.

"The more you take, the more chances you'll get pregnant are." He explained underneath you. Tears rolled down your flustered cheeks, overstimulated and pearled, glowy skin by the thin layer of sweat etched in every slope and dint in your body.

Michael licked them with a groan while his hips smacked yours in a slow but deep, deep rut, pulling the last coherent thoughts through muffled groans and hiccuping mewls, while you shook your head vehemently.

"You're so perfect, pequeña"

"T-Too much" you croaked

Michael sunk you in a swift move, as his slapping hips met yours upwards, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

"No, no. you can. You're strong, bonita. You can take me." His crooning was eerie, yet so alluring it blurred the line between monster and devotee.

Pleasure clung to your brain with such force it was dizzying. Every pore of your body oozed with the pheromones the serum produced, creating a tantalizing smell that lured Michael and Miguel's attention.

The grumpy hero could only watch you squirm as another cock that wasn't his, wrecked your insides in a tortuous pace.

"Fuck" He grunted, feeling the consuming and mind numbing drug licking at every inch of his cinnamon skin, imploring to feel you again.

Even though the Ethyl Chloride's effect had been long gone, the serum reacted to your pheromones. Meaning he'd need to provoke one more peak to have the effects completely worn out.

He'd feel sorry and awful all he wanted later, his priority was to get you out of this madman's claws. But...

It was impossible not to think in how good you felt, how delicious your whole body contorted while witnessing the way Michael subdued you to ride him as he captured one of your nipples in his urgent mouth. Lovely and plump bumps of flesh jiggled at the tempo, outer folds that without a doubt would be so sensitive to the touch, parted and guzzled Michael's veiny cock.

Miguel crawled to you both.

How well you had taken them each., Adjusting perfectly at their sizes, like a perfect flesh sleeve.

He hovered over the both and smoothed away the strands of hair that stuck on your flushed and gorgeously fucked out face.

The heat was consuming, and Michael's pace wasn't enough. The madman noted you were reaching the peak of the serum functionality as you urged your wobbly hips clumsily on his.

Despite you not being able to properly verbalise your pleasure, you still sought it. Michael's wicked fantasies came true when Miguel pushed you tighter against him, as if wanting to flush your body and Michael's as one being, just to have a proper glimpse of the sight that had him guiding his tip towards your already stuffed entrance.

Detente (Stop)

But he couldn't, he couldn't stop himself from entering you, knees flexing as he lowered his pelvis, pushing inch my inch deeper. Earning an ascending pleasurable wail from you.

Your eyes widened and your jaw clenched, baring your teeth as he also sheathed inside, womb so full it bulged.

Michael's laugh echoed through the room. Everything had came as planned.

"Let's make you a wonderful mother, mi pequeña."

Oh my god.

A panting groan escaped as Michael moved in first, igniting the painfully delicious friction inside you. He wasn't only stimulating you, but Miguel as well. The snug crevice too tight for them to coexist in peace, yet there they were, fighting over who pulled the last peak and thread of rationality out of you.

Their cocks pumping and prodding had your spine arching. Miguel grabbed a fistful of your front strands and pulled backwards, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, letting your chest exposed to Michael. He wasted no time into pushing both of your breasts together, tongue alternating between the left and right.

Sucking, lapping, wriggling his hot muscle on your taut peaks, making a mess out of them by creating more hickeys in every inch of salty tasting visible skin.

"Michael!" You whimpered and it was enough for Miguel to plow harder. The sinful makeout session of their cocks inside your walls made you pant, beg and laugh like a total loon.

A streak of saliva escaped the corner of your gaping mouth. Head lolled back and fro, fried brain with the lust both men induced you, floating on cloud nine. You didn't want to come down to earth, much less when Miguel and Michael's groans and moans over you, urged you to be the best cum dumpster ever.

Miguel pulled your handcuffed hands underneath your chin, beckoning your lips to his. His mouth suffocated any future moan as you bounced on both.

Your one and only boss didn't need you wailing his name to know you ached for him. But Michael was set into having a proper taste out of you both.

He pulled you closer, pushing deeper inside you. Michael's lips erased all trace of Miguel's on yours, to then kiss Miguel. To his surprise, Miguel didn't oppose, too gone in the sensations this mass of tangled limbs offered.

Michael hands roamed your body and Miguel's, feeling his own climax approach.

Hearing Miguel's animalistic growls on your ear, made your clit throb. He pounded with every fiber of his body, urging you to reach the stars and play with them.

Your cunt soaked them, too wrecked and ruined to care. Like your mind. It didn't matter who fucked better, all your body asked was fresh cum, deep in your womb.

The serum coaxed you to move faster, almost matching the rhythm of their whomps. The sound of your greedy and drooling hole being battered was music to their ears.

Michael whimpered and his spine arched, finally reaching his peak, spurting his hot sticky scent inside. Miguel hissed and held Michael close, watching him.

Limbs nearly cramped as they curled in, hands fisted tightly on each side of his trembling body, eyes rolled back, mouth panting, head too heavy to think straight. And that's when Miguel sunk his fangs on his neck, injecting his paralyzing venom on his bloodstream.

A pornographic and slurred moan erupted from Michael, his wicked smirk widened as his body slowly but surely, lost all control of his nerves, unable to command them to move.

Miguel had to resist the urge to come inside. He knew he had a couple of minutes before Michael regained mobility, and as heavenly as you felt, he pulled out of you, drowning his orgasm with regained self control, earning a small hissing as he pulled you out too, gently, off Michael.

Legs and body refused to cooperate. With clumsy steps he stood, taunting the surfaces for support. He slanted against the table, gasping for air.

Miguel shook his head and threw a quick look to Michael, still on the floor, but now groaning in discomfort. Even his tongue had numbed out.

Miguel didn't waste time and sauntered over the next table where pieces of his gizmo laid neatly arranged in a metallic tray. He swept them all in a container, along the tubes filled with his samples.

Like Hobie, he took other parts of machinery in a quickened pace to finally grab a couple of lab robes. He wore one and covered your overworked body, to then throw you above his shoulder.

"Nos vamos." (We're leaving)

Michael groaned, loudly. Anger was felt in every gurgle his throat did. Despair widened in the only thing that still remained movable in his numb face. They darted between you and Miguel, begging him to leave you there.

He groaned again, losing sight once Miguel swung with you from a window.

"Hold on tight if you can" Miguel's voice cooed as you two escaped.

-----

Michael had to douse some pain killer spray on the two slits done in his neck.

How could he not forsee this? How could he miss something so obvious that ended up messing his one decade old plan?

He let his emotion get the best out of him, fouling up his usual calculating judgment, replacing it with excitement.

A Public Eye squad remained before him, awaiting for his orders.

"Find them. I need the woman alive, understood?"

"What about the... other one? The monster?" The same officer Miguel had sliced through and marked, spoke.

The lights in the screen gave Michael a sinister red hue on his face, light reflecting on his glasses.

"He's not a monster, Johnson." Dr. Stone smirked, copying your information in his database, "There can't be two of us."

Johnson, the captain, nodded. The squad obeyed, and the hunt was on.

-

Taglist: (I apologize if your blog isn't able to be tagged, tumblr is... tumblr)

@smokeywhalee @maomaimao @beingdeluluisthesolulu @byjessicalotufo @darkfairy102190 @angel-of-the-moons @bunnibitez @decaffeinatedplaidwinnersoul

@thealleydog @sariespi @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @barryatsumu @missylo @fistsuptitsup @lazy-idate @crimsonriot06-7 @uraritychain @little-lovelace @llama--drama @deathlypickles @cupidojenphrodite @@nostalgicdaira @homewreckingwreck @millliko  @tatatida @melday0105 @scaryplanetdestroyer @minispidey @miranexx @migueloharacumslut @keepghostly @ion-news @misswonderfrojustice @kishimiest @prctty-birdie @migueloharacumslut @the-true-tato-god @1biggestsimpofalltime @catfwngz @drefear

#t writes✨ #Michael Stone #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #miguel ohara #miguel ohara smut #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel spiderman

[gaytricorder]

#spirk #spock #star trek spirk #gay men #james t kirk #spirk fanfiction

[jiyascepter]

Subtle Seductions

Masterlist

Pairing: Loki x f!reader

Words: 796 (no i will not call this a drabble!)

Warnings/Cont. : fluff, seduction, tension, reader is shorter than loki, overall fluff but implied smut at the end, nicknames: little one | lmk if i should add any more

Synopsis: Loki's seducing words and caresses before a party.

A/N: My exams are over so I can finally write after so long 😭 this is a pretty casual story tbh, i did not think much while writing this

The Avengers compound was buzzing with festivity and excitement. Today was a special occasion—Tony's birthday. In a few hours, the team and several other guests would gather to celebrate their teammate's birthday. But amidst the preparations, a different kind of magic was unfolding.

Loki was sauntering in the corridors of the compound, dressed in his special black suit for the party, his eyes scanning the surroundings with mild interest. His attention was soon captured by a sight that made his heart skip a beat.

There you were, the fellow Avenger who Loki could never keep his eyes off because of how capturing you were to him, and today, dressed in such an attractive outfit for the party, he couldn't help but watch you. You both got dressed early, and you were waiting for the others, leaning against the kitchen counter, your eyes on your phone.

Loki leaned against the doorframe, silently observing your every move. His gaze softened as he took in the subtle curves of your figure and the way your eyes sparkled with determination.

"Ahem," Loki cleared his throat, announcing his presence as he stepped into the kitchen. You looked up, noticing how good he looked in his black suit. "Oh, hey," you say, keeping your phone aside and correcting your posture to look at him.

"I guess we are the early dressers of the night," he says, walking up to you. "I couldn't help but notice how enchanting you look tonight, little one." There was your nickname that had been there ever since he moved in with the Avengers.

You smile softly, with a slight blush on your cheeks, when you notice the way he is looking at you. "Thank you, Loki; you look good too." You say this when you notice his tie is a bit dishevelled.

As you approached, his eyes shimmered with anticipation, with his hands in his pockets. Considering his height next to you, you had to stand on your toes to take hold of his tie and adjust it.

"Ah, little one," Loki's velvety voice purred, his lips curving into a sly smile as you stood before him, a delicate blush adorning your cheeks. "Do you need assistance?" Your heart fluttered at the sound of his voice, tinged with a hint of mischief and warmth that stirred something within you. Summoning your courage, you stood on your tiptoes, your fingers delicately grazing the fabric of Loki's collar as you attempted to adjust it.

"I can manage, just... almost got it," you murmured, your voice soft and tinged with a shy vulnerability that seemed to intrigue Loki even more. A chuckle rumbled in Loki's chest; the sound was like a melody that echoed through the chamber. "Gods, you're adorable," he remarked, his gaze softening as he watched you with a mixture of amusement and fondness.

He takes out his hands out of his pockets and holds your waist to sit you up on the counter, then leans closer and says in almost a whisper, "By the way, did I tell you how ravishing you're looking this evening?"

"Y-you did…" You say it a bit shyly, struggling to look into his beautiful blue eyes. With a gentle touch, Loki reached out, his fingers grazing against your own as he effortlessly adjusted his tie, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. His proximity was intoxicating, his presence enveloping you.

With a tender caress, Loki cupped your cheek, his touch gentle yet electrifying. He leans closer, his breath hovering on your lips. "You smell amazing too; are you trying to kill me, little one?" He says, caressing your arms up to your bare shoulders and sending tingles to your skin.

A smile tugged at your lips, and you looked up at him. "That wasn't the intention, but I do not mind if it's having that effect on you." He smirks and takes your hand and places a kiss on it, looking at you intensely. He was being incredibly touchy today.

"The way you look right now is making me want to skip this party with you." You shyly smile. "I don't really mind, you know. The number of guests Tony has invited, he won't know we never came."

He grins. "Clever girl."

He leans in and kisses your neck several times, the tip of his tongue running up and down your nape as you let out soft gasps. He then pulls away, inches away from your lips. The closeness makes you want to grab and kiss him already.

But instead of kissing you, he picks you up in his arms. "I have a better place for this...activity, little one." He says gazing down at you with a playful intention behind his eyes.

And he takes you to his bedroom. For...things.

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#jiya writes #t: loki oneshots #loki x reader fluff #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #loki fanfics #loki fluff #tom hiddleston #loki x female reader #loki x reader #loki fanfictions