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monzabee · 4 months ago

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touching me, touching you - s. reid

criminal minds masterlist ||

Summary: five times you’ve touched spencer + one time he touches you.

Pairing: spencer reid x bau!reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: fluff!!, talks about child abductions/kidnapping, flirting, being in the hospital and talks about being shot, kinda angsty at some point

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

It’s hot in Austin. Not that it’s not usual, it’s Texas, after all. And though meteorology is something Spencer would consider himself interested in, all he wants to do is go back to the hotel and just lay under the air conditioning. Instead, he is in the precinct, trying to go over the geographical profile for the fifth time—and still the details don’t seem to add up.

“Don’t focus too hard, kid.” Morgan teases him from the other side of the table, “You’ll give yourself an aneurysm.”

“I can’t give myself an aneurysm,” Spencer says, shaking his head as though explaining a basic fact of biology. “Aneurysms are caused by a weakness in the blood vessel wall, typically due to high blood pressure or genetic factors. They don’t happen from thinking too much. It’s a little more complicated than just ‘overthinking.’”

Morgan grins wider, clearly entertained. “Yeah, but you look like you’re about to pop your head off with all that thinking.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, feeling the familiar warmth of frustration creep into his cheeks. “If I could give myself an aneurysm from thinking, I'd be dead by now.”

“Well, now that would just break my heart, sugar.” You say from the door to the meeting room, looking at both of them over your sunglasses, holding a carton tray of iced coffees. “Who would tell me facts about lady bugs if you’re gone?”

“Is that a code for something I don’t ‘wanna know?” Morgan retorts, eyebrows rising in question.

“Nonsense.” You shrug, placing one of the coffees in front of him. “You better be nice to me, or I won’t get you coffees when I go out to talk to eyewitnesses.”

Morgan chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “That’s blackmail, and I’m not afraid to say it’s effective.”

Spencer stares at the map in front of him, feeling the weight of the heat pressing in on him. But with the fresh wave of caffeine in the air, his mind sharpens a bit. He picks up his coffee and takes a slow sip before glancing at you. Iced drinks are a bit more your pace than his, but he throws you an appreciative glance either way. “Thank you.”

“You’re most definitely welcome, handsome!” You exclaim, lashing him a wink as you plop into the seat next to him, leaning over the table to pinch his cheeks between your two fingers.

Spencer’s cheeks are already starting to flush a deeper shade of red, his brain momentarily short-circuiting as he tries to decide if he should pull away or just endure the teasing. He mutters something about how he’s “not a child,” but his attempt at a serious tone is completely undermined by his growing embarrassment.

“You’re so cute when you’re flustered,” you tease, letting go of his face but giving him one last playful pat. “Really, Spencer, you’ve got to relax a little. You’re going to burn yourself out if you keep working this hard without a break.”

You’re already focusing on the files in front of you when he finally recovers from his momentary stun, though he catches a very clear look in Morgan’s eyes.

Man, you’re gone bad.

Some cases involving children are always harder than others, and this one is no exception. Spencer knows the facts, he really does.

He knows that 44% of children abducted by strangers are killed within the first hour, and 78% are dead within three hours. He knows that they did everything they could—the caught the unsub, didn’t they? But the nagging feeling that they were too late always lingers at the back of his mind. The girl was younger than most of the cases they usually handle. Seven years old. Too young to understand what was happening to her, too young to defend herself.

He can still see her face, pale and scared, in his mind’s eye. It doesn’t matter that they found her alive. Spencer can’t shake the thought that they could have gotten to her sooner. They should have. His mind runs over every moment, every decision, every action. Could they have stopped the abduction before it even happened? He questions this as he watches the young girl be reunited with her parents. How her mother holds her closely to herself, and how her father hugs both, and how any of them refuse to let go of one another. He shouldn’t feel this unsettled, but he just can’t—

Your hand slides down his arm until you can thread your fingers through his, squeezing once gently as you curl yourself around his arm as well. “We wouldn’t have found her alive if it wasn’t for you. You know that, don’t you?” Your voice cuts through all the thoughts that are swirling in his mind.

Spencer lets out a slow breath, his gaze shifting from the family to the ground. The knot in his chest hasn’t loosened, but it’s easier to breathe with you there, by his side. He knows you mean well, that you’re trying to give him comfort, but it's hard to shake the weight of his thoughts. “She won’t ever be the same,” he murmurs, then he forces himself to look down at you, “how could she?”

“She will survive.” you say softly but firmly. “What happened to her doesn’t define who she is, Spencer. You’re right, she won’t ever be the same, but that doesn’t mean she won’t find a way to heal. People are resilient, especially children.”

Spencer’s jaw tightens as he watches the girl in her mother’s arms. The smile on her face is small, tentative, like she’s unsure if it’s okay to feel safe again. The image of her, that fragile hope, tugs at his heart, and for the first time, he doesn’t know how to respond to your comfort. It’s hard for him to reconcile the fact that healing for someone so young will take time, that she will carry the scar of this forever, but he doesn’t want her to. He wants to erase the pain, erase the fear.

“But what if she doesn’t heal?” Spencer’s voice cracks just slightly. “What if she’s never able to trust again? What if this ruins her?”

You turn slightly to face him, squeezing his hand tighter, your gaze steady and full of understanding. “What if she does heal?” you counter gently, “What if, with time, and with love, she comes out stronger for it? There’s a world of possibilities between those two extremes, Spencer. You can’t predict the future, and you can’t save her from the pain of what happened. But you’ve given her a chance, and that’s everything. You saved her life, and that means something. Don’t forget that.”

Spencer nods slowly, though the weight of her words doesn’t immediately lift the cloud from his mind. But with your hand in his, and the quiet steady pulse of your presence beside him, he feels a small bit of peace settle in, just enough to stop the whirlpool of thoughts threatening to drown him. The girl’s life is no longer just a statistic in his head. She’s a person, a story still in the process of being written.

And for the first time today, he doesn’t feel so alone in the weight of it all. Especially when you press the faintest of hisses on his cheek before you pull away.

You are not a bad flyer, because how could you be with your line of work? As someone who is on an airplane for multiple times a week, you know you are not a bad flyer. So, imagine Spencer’s surprise when your hand grips his arm, tight enough that he can feel your nails through the fabric of his cardigan, just as the plane hits a rough patch of turbulence.

His gaze flicks to you immediately. Your jaw is locked, and your other hand is gripping the armrest so tightly that your knuckles have turned white. He blinks, tilting his head slightly in confusion. “Are you… okay?” he asks, voice cautious but genuine.

You exhale sharply, blinking fast as the plane jolts again, and suddenly, the statistical likelihood of a plane crashing mid-flight feels a lot less comforting than it usually does. “Yeah,” you mutter quickly, squeak rather. “Totally fine.”

Spencer doesn’t look convinced. “You know that turbulence is just a change in airflow, right? It’s completely normal. The plane isn’t in any danger.”

You shoot him a sharp look, but there’s no real bite behind your glare. “I know that, Spencer.”

He hesitates for a second, studying you, then says, “Then why are you crushing my arm?”

Your grip immediately loosens, and you clear your throat, shifting slightly in your seat. “I said I’m fine.”

Spencer, however, is undeterred. “If it helps, turbulence is actually less dangerous than most people think. Pilots are trained to handle it, and modern airplane are designed to withstand much worse than what we’re experiencing right now.” His voice is calm, matter-of-fact, the way it always is when he’s explaining something.

You breathe out slowly, eyes flickering toward him before landing back on the seat in front of you. “I know that,” you repeat, softer this time.

Spencer watches you carefully, noticing the way your fingers twitch slightly before curling into a fist on your lap. It clicks for him then, this isn’t just about turbulence. He shifts slightly, lowering his voice. “Do you want me to keep talking?”

Your head turns, brows furrowing. “What?”

He shrugs, casual but deliberate. “Sometimes, when I’m anxious, it helps to have something else to focus on. I could list off statistics about airplane safety, or I could tell you about the history of commercial flight. Did you know that the first airline, the St. Petersburg-Tampa Airboat Line, only operated for four months in 1914?” You blink at him, and despite yourself, a small laugh escapes—more of a breath, really, but it’s enough. Spencer catches it, his lips twitching ever so slightly. “Do you want me to continue?”

You exhale again, this time a little steadier, and finally, you nod while chuckling lightly. “Yeah. Keep talking, handsome.”

And so he does.

O’keefe’s is packed, which is nothing new for a Saturday night. You were in luck when you found a table which could seat eight people, which is no small feat. It’s most definitely a tight space for your entire team, which means you are packed into the small booth like sardines, though you are not necessarily complaining about it either. No, you are most definitely not complaining about being smushed next to the BAU’s resident boy genius, not matter how many suggesting looks you receive from Emily or Derek.

Across the table, Emily raises an eyebrow at you over the rim of her beer glass, her expression unreadable but undeniably amused. Derek, meanwhile, leans back with a knowing smirk, nudging her as if to say, See? Told you.

You shoot them both a look before turning your attention back to Reid, who is still in the middle of his impromptu lecture. “...which is why people tend to cluster in high-energy environments, like concerts or packed bars, even when they claim to dislike crowds.” He pauses for a sip of his drink before adding, almost absentmindedly, “Though, of course, certain factors, like proximity to someone you feel comfortable with, can make the experience more enjoyable.”

You freeze for half a second, wondering if he meant anything by that. Then again, this is Spencer Reid. He could just be making a general observation. But as he glances at you over the rim of his glass, there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, something that makes your breath catch. “So, I might actually enjoy being in an overcrowded bar if I’m with you?”

It takes a moment for Spencer’s brain to catch up with what you just said. You can practically see the gears turning behind his wide eyes as he processes your words, his fingers tightening slightly around his glass—water, you reckon. Spencer’s mouth opens slightly before closing again. His brow furrows. “I wasn’t— I mean, that wasn’t—” He stops, realization dawning in his expression. Then, in a moment of pure, endearing self-awareness, he exhales a small laugh. “Oh. Well,” he says, shifting slightly in his seat, “scientifically speaking, familiarity and emotional attachment can reduce the perception of discomfort in crowded spaces. So, yes, theoretically, if being near me is a positive experience for you, it could make the environment more tolerable.”

In hindsight, Spencer should’ve realized something was up from the moment a smirk takes over your lips. You tilt your head, feigning thoughtfulness. “So, what you’re saying is... you wouldn’t mind being stuck in a cramped space with me?”

Spencer hesitates for a mometn, his lips parting slightly like he’s considering the best way to respond. Then, with uncharacteristic boldness, he meets your gaze and says, “No. I wouldn’t mind at all.”

This time, Derek doesn’t even try to be subtle, he whistles low and grins. “And that, my friends, is what we call game.”

Spencer immediately ducks his head, his ears going bright red, but you don’t miss the small, pleased smile playing at his lips. You can’t help but smile too, hand gently closing over his, but in another uncharacteristic move, Spencer doesn’t pull away. Instead, he lets your fingers brush over his knuckles, his hand shifting ever so slightly beneath yours as if testing the waters. Then, eventually, he turns his palm up towards yours to tightly weave his fingers through yours.

Your hands stay like that the entire time you are in the bar.

It is a part of the job. That’s why you train for months, have qualification tests, even additional training in some cases. So, while it might not be normal for a regular person to get shot doing their job, for yours, the possibility comes as a package deal.

Unfortunately for you, Spencer, though he is a certified genius in his own right, is not exempt from this.

And yet, it is not easy to watch him lying in the hospital bed, pale against the crisp white sheets, an IV trailing from his arm and a heart monitor beeping steadily beside him. You’ve seen it happen before. You’ve seen colleagues, friends, even yourself take a bullet and come out the other side. But this time, it’s Spencer.

Your Spencer.

You haven’t left his side since the doctors assured you, he was stable, even though Emily and JJ tried to convince you to get some rest. The team understands, though—they always do.

“Statistically,” he points out, “this is not the worst shape I’ve been in. Remember when I got shot in the knee?”

“Hmh,” you hum, unimpressed, though relief washes over you at the sound of his voice—hoarse but undeniably Spencer. “Yeah, I remember. And that’s not exactly making me feel better right now.”

Spencer blinks at you, his lips twitching like he wants to smile but doesn’t quite have the energy for it. “I’m just saying… if we’re ranking my injuries, this one doesn’t even break the top three. Remember when I got shot in the neck?”

“Spencer, please stop.” You wince out the words, though it doesn’t stop him from rambling on.

“Then there was this one time I got kidnapped by Henkel, though that wasn’t necessarily getting shot—but some would argue going into a drug overdose being brought back to life is worse than getting shot.”

“Spence,” you say again, firmer this time, and your fingers tighten just slightly around his. “I don’t need a highlight reel of your worst injuries, okay?”

His mouth opens like he’s about to say something else, probably another statistic, another attempt to downplay what just happened, but then he stops. He looks at you, really looks at you, and something in his expression softens. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs after a beat.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “You don’t have to apologize,” you say, shaking your head. “Just… don’t do that. Don’t act like this isn’t a big deal. Not to me.”

Spencer shifts slightly in the bed, wincing at the movement, but his gaze doesn’t leave yours. “I guess it’s just easier to talk about it like it’s nothing.”

You sigh, brushing your free hand over your face before looking back at him. “I get that. I do. But you scared me, Spence.” Your voice is quieter now, rawer. “And I can’t just pretend it’s nothing.”

His hand tightens around yours, weak, but steady. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You offer him a small, tired smile. “I know.”

For a moment, there’s only the steady beeping of the heart monitor between you. Then, Spencer’s thumb brushes lightly over your knuckles. “I’ll be okay,” he assures you softly, like he’s making a promise.

You nod, even though a part of you still feels the weight of the fear you carried all night. “Yeah,” you murmur. “You better be, handsome.”

+ 1

Hiding a relationship, under any circumstance, is hard. It is messy, and it comes with a lot of feelings that are not necessarily positive. There’s the anxiety of slipping up, of letting a glance linger too long, a touch seems too familiar. There’s the frustration of stolen moments that are never quite enough, of having to pretend you don’t already know what the other person’s lips feel like, what they sound like when they whisper your name in the quiet.

And then there’s the guilt.

Because hiding means lying or at least bending the truth. It means dodging questions from Emily’s intuition, avoiding Derek’s knowing smirks, sidestepping JJ’s casual inquiries about your weekend plans. It means keeping something from people who are not just your colleagues, but your family.

But for Spencer, it’s different.

For him, secrecy isn’t just about discretion—it’s survival. He’s always been careful, always been hesitant to let anyone too close, and you understand that. You understand why keeping this quiet is easier for him, why he clings to the safety of the secret. But that doesn’t make it any easier when you’re in the bullpen, standing just a few feet away from each other, pretending like you didn’t wake up together this morning. Like his fingers weren’t tangled in your hair just hours ago, his voice soft and sleepy as he murmured something against your skin.

It’s moments like this, when he’s standing at the coffee machine pouring his third cup of the morning, that you want to reach out. You want to brush your fingers over his wrist, squeeze his hand just for a second—something, anything to ground you both.

Instead, you settle for words.

“Long night?” you ask, leaning casually against the counter beside him.

Spencer glances at you, and for a fraction of a second, there’s something warm in his gaze—something soft, something just for you. But then, as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone, replaced by his usual neutral expression.

He nods. “Couldn’t sleep.”

You hum in understanding, even though you know the real reason. Because he did sleep. He slept next to you. His hand rested against your back all night, his breath even and steady against your shoulder.

After fighting about the fact that you are hiding your relationship from your team.

The weight of the unspoken argument still lingers between you. Last night, the words had come out sharp and unfiltered, edged with exhaustion and frustration. You hadn't meant for it to escalate, but when you’re forced to love someone in shadows, resentment has a way of creeping in.

“You act like telling them would be the end of the world,” you'd snapped, standing in the dim light of his apartment, arms crossed over your chest. “Like they wouldn't understand. Like we’re doing something wrong.”

Spencer had looked away, his jaw tight. “It’s not about that.”

“Then what is it about?”

He'd hesitated, and that hesitation had stung. “I just—I don’t know how to do this. If they know, it changes things. It makes it real in a way I don’t know if I’m ready for.”

And that was the part that hurt the most, not the secrecy, but the fact that some part of him still didn’t know if he could let himself have this. Have you.

You’d left his apartment without another word, but not before he caught your wrist at the door, his grip light but pleading. “Don’t go like this.”

And so, you stayed, and he held you the entire time—as if he was scared you would leave him if he let go. And when it was the morning again, you let him continue to hold you, whispering sweet nothings into your skin, your hair. Now, in the coffee room, neither of you acknowledge the tension coiled beneath the surface, but it’s there, humming in the spaces between your words.

“You should try melatonin,” you say, forcing a lightness into your tone that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Might help with the whole ‘not sleeping’ thing.”

Spencer glances at you again, something unreadable in his expression. For a second, you think he might say something real, something that isn't for the sake of the team or the illusion you’re both desperately maintaining. But then he just nods.

“I’ll think about it.” And just like that, the moment is gone.

“You know what?” You breathe out, scoffing rather, “There, JJ,” you hand her the mug, her eyes jumping between you and Spencer trying to figure out what is going on, “I’m no longer in the mood for coffee.”

JJ’s eyes flick between the two of you, her brows knitting together in quiet suspicion. “O-kay,” she drawls slowly, accepting the mug you hand her. “Did I just walk into something?”

Spencer doesn’t answer, and neither do you. You don’t trust yourself to, not when frustration is still simmering just beneath your skin. Instead, you turn on your heel and leave the breakroom without another word, feeling Spencer’s eyes on your back the entire way.

You barely make it to your desk before you hear footsteps behind you, his footsteps—lighter than most, but you know them well enough to recognize them instantly. A moment later, Spencer appears at your side, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

“That wasn’t subtle.”

You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you drop into your chair. “Neither is this.” You gesture between the two of you, the space that has somehow managed to feel too wide and too suffocating all at once. “And yet, here we are.”

Spencer hesitates, shifting on his feet. His fingers twitch slightly like he wants to reach for you, but he doesn’t. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I know.” And you do. Spencer doesn’t do things with cruel intent—he overthinks, he hesitates, he protects himself (and you) in ways he thinks are necessary. But it doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

Across the bullpen, Emily and Derek exchange a look, both clearly sensing something is off. JJ, still holding the mug you practically shoved into her hands, watches you both carefully. You’d bet Hotch and Rossi are watching from their room, overlooking the bullpen, too.

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “I can’t do this much longer, Spencer.”

His throat bobs as he swallows. “I know.” His voice is ever so soft, as if he is scared of hurting you more. You look at him then, really look at him—the uncertainty in his eyes, the fear, the longing he’s trying so hard to suppress. And despite everything, you still reach for him, just for a second, just long enough to squeeze his wrist under the desk.

One heartbeat. Two.

Then you pull away, and the space between you grows again. “I need some air,” you choke out, pushing yourself off your chair and trying to walk away before the emotion that's threatening to spill over can escape. You don’t want to break down here, not in front of the team, not in front of Spencer. You need a moment to breathe, to collect yourself before it all becomes too much.

But as you turn to leave, Spencer’s voice stops you as he calls out your name. Before you get away, he gently grabs your wrist, pulling you into him and pressing his lips to yours. You feel the pressure of his lips, the softness, the desperation in the way he holds you, as though he’s afraid that if he lets go, you’ll slip through his fingers. You’re frozen for a moment, caught between the overwhelming need to pull away and the even stronger desire to stay. His grip tightens around your wrist, drawing you closer, and it’s that slight tug that makes you sink into him, your own fingers pressing against his chest, your breath mingling with his.

The whooping sound from the team causes you to pull apart, both of you looking at each other with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. “Oops?” He gives you an innocent smile, letting go of your wrist but promptly wrapping an arm around your waist.

Your team, with expected looks and teasing smiles on their faces, wait for an explanation. “This...” You start, but close your mouth to choose the right words, “This is exactly what it looks like.”

The room falls silent for a split second, and you can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you. It’s like time slows as your words hang in the air. Spencer’s arm stays around your waist, his touch a comforting weight, but his own nervous energy radiates off him in waves.

Emily’s eyes gleam with amusement, and she leans back slightly in her chair. “Oh, we know,” she says, her voice light and teasing, but there’s an understanding there too. “We’ve been waiting for this moment.”

Derek snorts, still clearly enjoying the sight of the two of you, but there’s no judgment in his tone, it's just pure teasing. “Well, it’s about time,” he says, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “You two were like an open secret.”

You glance at Spencer, who shifts slightly, his expression a mixture of sheepishness and relief. You can feel him chucking as you try to hide your face in his chest, but there’s a small, identical, smile creeping onto your face.

#monzabee #requests open #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x y/n #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff

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bettsfic · 4 months ago

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things i've learned about cooking after finally getting the hang of it after 20 years of trying and also finally organizing my kitchen:

note that i mostly cook for myself so a lot of this won't apply to people who have to cook for their whole family

invest in good storage solutions. buy the pop top pasta holder, the fancy glass tupperware, the very pretty candy jar. if you like looking at it and it's something you'll use for years, maybe the rest of your life, it is worth the money

that said, depending on your budget, making a list of all of said storage solutions (and utensils, tools, appliances, etc.) and buying one a month is a good way to spread it out. again, if it lasts a lifetime and you'll use it, it's worth it

cook food you love. this is such a simple thing and for some people probably obvious, but as someone who is not at all a picky eater, for years i found myself only cooking things that were tasty but not to *my* tastes, just because the fancy recipe i found told me it was good

another note about cooking to your own tastes: if you're just starting out cooking for yourself, don't bother thinking about what's healthy. focus on making meals that you want to shovel into your face. healthy can happen once cooking gets easier. the idea is that you're learning to love food you make *more* than food that can be delivered

THINK SMALL. i, a midwesterner, seem to be genetically predisposed to buying the most giant of all things, because you can use big stuff for small things but not the other way around. for example, if you're only cooking for yourself or one other person, you can buy one of those little half baking sheets instead of a full one. a leeettle skillet for your one grilled cheese instead of hauling out the one that can fit four. the bigger one is heavy and annoying to clean, and even though that might not seem like a big deal, when you're weighing your options, these kinds of hurdles start to add up. again, if it will encourage you to cook, it is worth investing in

speaking of hurdles, make everything as easy as possible. i am a perfectionist. i like doing things the Right Way. so when a chef says, "don't use cooking wine, use real wine" when i don't buy alcohol, and "the key to good asparagus is only buying it in season" when i don't even know what that season is or where to buy asparagus locally, it just means i won't try that recipe even if i was excited to, because i've been taught (get ready for it) it's not worth doing unless you do it right. but fuck that. you're not aiming for the best, you're aiming for food you're excited to eat

when i say "as easy as possible" i mean so easy may that it might even become fun. buy jarred garlic, an electric can opener, pre-cut vegetables. pots and pans you think are cute. mats for your feet. the prettiest apron you've ever seen. take note of anything that pings your brain as "hard" even if your natural inclination is to dismiss it because *other* people don't find it hard. write it down. figure out a way to make it easier or better

cooking is an inherently sensory experience. if you have sensory issues, your goal is to accommodate yourself to the highest possible degree. if you avoid washing your hands because you hate the smell of your soap, throw it out (or give it away) and go on a journey to find soap that's more pleasing to you

if you research cooking, especially on youtube, you'll find a lot of youtubers who try to encourage you to make excess so you can freeze it, meal prep so you don't have to worry about cooking throughout the week, etc. these are great tips but again: none of that stuff is worth thinking about until cooking becomes easier. just think about one meal at a time

if you hate leftovers, make sure you're only cooking single-serving easy meals or slightly more difficult double-serving meals. don't bother with 4 servings of something you might hate. for the next-day serving, it'll probably taste better if you heat it up in the microwave on 70% or 50% power. this has saved like a hundred otherwise disgusting meals for me

i know those weekly meal box subscriptions are basically a scam and crazy expensive, but i bought 1-2 a month for a year with the same service and i started to understand the techniques they used above and beyond the recipes they were providing. it's really eye-opening to realize one of your favorite meals is really only 6 ingredients and you know *how* to put them together without reading any instructions

honestly the meal box was not more expensive for me than my food budget. everyone says buying grocery food is way cheaper, but if you're buying 2lbs of rice just to cook 2 cups and then you're never going to cook rice anymore, that's still the cost of that whole bag of rice. with a meal box, they only give you exactly what you need for the recipe. combined with going out to eat and getting delivery, 2 boxes a month ended up being about the same price

if you're the kind of person who needs to understand the theory behind basically everything in order to anchor the skills it requires, i highly recommend the book Ruhlman's Twenty. it goes through the science of cooking like heating food and why salt makes things taste good

once you get into a groove and you have a good idea of your favorite ingredients, pick 40 to always have on hand so that you're not buying for individual recipes and you can also organize your kitchen more easily. with 40 base ingredients you know that unless there's a special occasion, you'll basically only have these items to find a place for

if you work from home, break dinner into prep time and cook time. if you prep dinner when you go eat lunch, it's very hard to say "i just don't feel like cooking" when it comes to dinner time, because 1) all your food is out and ready to go, and 2) you're already done with half the work

progress and improvement may be slow. be patient with yourself. cooking is a life-long commitment and so you're not in any rush. be honest to yourself about both your ambitions and limitations, and set up your kitchen and shopping list to suit your needs

food is necessary to live. if you have to choose only one aspect of your life to focus on improving, i recommend cooking. even though we live in a convenience economy and can get basically anything delivered, i find i'm so much happier now. i have more energy. i sleep better. cooking food you love is one of the best gifts you can give yourself

#food #food tw #cooking #advice

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pigfacedbitch · 3 months ago

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The Price of Promos

summary : Percy is obsessed with you, but people ship you with Jason. what's worse is you two take advantage of it on certain situations.

word count : 0.9k

pairing/s : Percy Jackson x Daughter of Nyx! Reader (Kinda?), Jason Grace x Reader (It's just for show)

warning/s : does lying for free stuff count as one? Percy is a little unhinged.

here's my masterlist!

Note : I, too, would like free stuff.

Perseus Jackson doesn’t hate Jason Grace.

I mean, how could anyone?

The guy is basically a walking PR campaign for heroism— selfless, kind, responsible, and so absurdly noble. They all had their tragic backstories, but Jason?

The guy was literally sacrificed as a toddler. Meanwhile, Percy at least had a childhood (albeit featuring Smelly Gabe and an absentee sea god for a dad, but still— memories were made).

Let’s not forget the sheer unfairness of Jason’s looks: golden-boy Roman features, electric blue eyes, six-pack abs (which Percy totally never stared at), and that conveniently attractive scar that made people swoon like he was the protagonist of a tragic romance novel.

If they only knew he got that scar from trying to eat a fucking stapler.

Jason could’ve been an entitled jerk, taking advantage of his powers, his authority, his stupidly good genetics. But no. He had to go and be a great person. Patient, understanding— the human equivalent of a therapy dog, if therapy dogs could shoot lightning and fly.

How could anyone hate that?

So yeah, technically, Percy couldn’t hate him.

But sometimes... Percy wants to yeet him into the ocean and never let him out.

Why?

Because of you.

The only demigod of Nyx.

You, the one demigod that somehow made Camp Half-Blood look like it had something to prove.

You weren’t rude, per se. Just… too unbothered, like someone who had already seen way too much crap to care anymore.

A walking badass, terrifying in the way that made people question their own survival skills.

Like when a monster asked, “How will you sleep at night after everything you’ve done?” and you deadpanned, "Like a baby, motherfucker." before slicing its head off.

You, who casually sipped a drink after saying, "Gods are the funniest to torture. They don’t die. They can’t beg for death if it never comes."

Or the time you casually dragged a monster into Tartarus instead of fighting it because "Ugh, this is taking too long! I have plans."

Half the camp was terrified of you. The other half idolized you. There was no middle ground.

And Percy? He is obsessed.

It wasn’t a secret either. His friends roasted him constantly about it.

They have a running joke about how the literal savior of Olympus could barely ask you out without causing plumbing disasters.

It was either you were oblivious, or you were just waiting for him to, as Leo so eloquently put it, grow some cojones and finally make a move.

So technically, you weren’t his. Yet.

He is working on it, okay?

But what made his blood boil was how everyone kept shipping you and Jason— the golden boy and the dark, dangerous femme fatale. Oooh, forbidden love! The perfect aesthetic! Percy couldn’t care less.

At first, you and Jason laughed it off. But then—

Sales. Discounts. Promos.

And suddenly, Percy was living in hell.

Because the moment a deal was on the table, you and Jason leaned into the "couple" act so fast it gave Percy whiplash.

That’s when Percy’s casual irritation turned into full-blown homicidal intent. Towards Jason, of course.

The first betrayal happened at a café.

A barista, way too chipper for Percy’s liking, smiled at you and Jason. "Are you two a couple? Lovebirds get free drinks today!"

Percy watched in horror as you and Jason shared a look.

Free drink, (Y/N)?

Duh, idiot.

And with synchronized, Oscar-worthy smiles, you both turned to the barista. "Yes, we are."

The barista squealed. "You’re like night and day. So cute!"

Jason, fully committing, threw an arm around you. Percy was this close to turning that café into an aquarium.

His hand inched toward Riptide.

He could make it look like an accident. Right?

Instead, he settled for stabbing his blue cupcake with enough aggression to count as a felony. He, of course, paid full price for it.

Unbelievable.

The next time, it was at a shopping mall. You were all just supposed to get supplies. Simple. Harmless. Until a saleslady smiled brightly at you and Jason.

"You two are adorable! Are you dating?"

"Oh, we’re n—"

"Couples get a 50% discount per purchase. To keep the love alive!"

"—totally dating! Right, Jason?"

Percy felt his soul leave his body.

Jason, grinning, sealed the betrayal with a playful peck on your cheek.

Percy lunged. Annabeth and Grover had to physically hold him back.

"I can make it swift. Jason won’t feel a thing—"

"No." Annabeth and Grover said in unison.

And then there was the movie theater.

The old vendor, all kind smiles, handed Jason a snack box. "For you and your girlfriend. Enjoy the movie, kid."

Jason, with those perfect teeth, turned to you. "Love, come here."

You complied. He puts an arm around your waist and pressed multiple kisses on your cheek. "Isn't my boyfriend the sweetest?"

Percy nearly exploded on the spot.

Jason Grace. Cause of death? Choking on excessive buttered popcorn and blue Coke.

At the end of the day, Percy knew it was all for the freebies.

Logically, he got it.

But that didn’t stop the irrational rage whenever he saw you two act like a couple.

It looked too good. Too natural.

Like you were actually in love and not just two chaotic demigods scamming capitalism.

So, eventually, like a normal human being? He snaps.

"Are you SERIOUS? AGAIN?" He practically yells during another fake dating stunt.

Everyone stops. You and Jason blink.

Percy throws his hands in the air. "Oh my gods, just date Jason already if you love scamming the universe so much!"

You tilt your head. "Or… you could just ask me out already?"

"...That's a better option. Come on, let's leave this stapler-eating nerd." Percy grabs your hand and pulls you away. "Fly home, Jason!"

"I drove us here, though?" Jason murmurs, confused.

You just laugh, intertwining your hand with his.

And Percy? He just smirks, finally tasting victory.

#percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson imagines #jason grace #jason grace x reader #jason grace imagine #jason grace imagines #heroes of olympus #heroes of olympus x reader #heroes of olympus imagine #heroes of olympus imagines #pjo x reader #hoo x reader #pjo imagine #hoo imagine #riordanverse

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novy2sirius · 10 months ago

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astro notes volume nine

༊࿐ gemini’s often get hated on because a lot of people hate themselves but don’t realize it. gemini’s are mirrors. they try to relate to you as much as possible. this is also why they’re so charming. they match people’s vibes. long term though people tend to dislike them since they don’t wanna meet themselves/be around people like them. this isn’t always the case of course. when low vibrational there is definitely gemini’s that are fake since the sign is associated with gossip. there is times when they will be nice to your face and then talk bad about you behind your back. however, high vibrational ones put their energy toward their interests and don’t gossip, but instead have better communication skills and are direct with people

༊࿐ aquarius’ are probably the most misunderstood sign. every one i’ve met has just had a chaotic upbringing and because of this they have lots of chaos going on their mind sometimes. they don’t always know how to express themselves perfectly as they’re the opposite sign of leo, so they can come off as cold and insensitive. i’ve actually found often times they don’t even truly know when they’re being insensitive though until they’ve been called out by someone and then (if they’re evolved) they do try and correct this if they know they’ve hurt someone, so in other words it’s not that they don’t care about you, it’s that they can be quite literally unaware due to their upbringing and them being raised in a “cold” household. i would say especially aquarius moons though

༊࿐ moon square mars can indicate what your soul truly wants to do in life doesn’t always align with your actions and it may take some time for you to make changes in your life or change who you are as a person. for these people change is harder than it is for others since the moon is associated with comfortability, squares create obstacles, and mars is where we take action they want to stay in their comfort zone and can lack motivation at times depending on where they happen to be at in life. people with this aspect should force themselves to do things they don’t want to in order to try and work through this square

༊࿐ venus and the ascendant are great placements to check for fashion, but if you want more info about fashion you can also check the house of your neptune as it is the higher octave of venus. the sign in neptune doesn’t change often, so it won’t be telling, but the house can be helpful! for example, neptune in the 10h could indicate looking better in classy clothes, professional clothes, brown clothes, or darker colored clothing

༊࿐ jupiter is the planet of ease, so yes it can show things that come to us with ease, but it can also show areas where we’re lazy because jupiter discusses the areas we haven’t had to ever work for. for example, jupiter in the 5h could indicate being too lazy to have any hobbies that are productive and just enjoying watching netflix, jupiter in the 4h could indicate being too lazy to leave the house and just being a huge homebody, etc

༊࿐ your 4th house ruler can tell the type of things that you inherit from your family members. this doesn’t just include hereditary things, but also things we have in common with our family that we’ve learnt as children and taken into adulthood. for example, often those with their 4th house ruler in the 7th house act a lot like their parents do in their own relationships once they start dating or genetically it could mean having similar beauty to one of your parents (usually the mother)

༊࿐ your 8th house profection year is at 19 years old which is why we hear most people say that 19 is a really hard age. it’s a very transformational time in your life for multiple reasons. 19 is also the number of negative karma in numerology, so it will especially be a struggle if you’ve got a lot of unresolved karma that you’re carrying with you. it can be even worse if you’re a gemini or cancer ascendant because it will also be a saturn year for you on top of it being an 8h year. for profection charts everyone will have the same house years, but not planets in each year

༊࿐ the part of fortune can show what type of luck we attract at our worst moments (when we need it most). this is different than jupiter representing ways in our life we get lucky in general. for example, an aries part of fortune can indicate getting what you want by being direct/assertive with people or getting really lucky during super dangerous moments when you’ve could’ve literally died. i know someone with their part of fortune in the 10th house who didn’t go to college and basically lounged around at 18-19 doing nothing with their life, but then at 20 created an online business and got really lucky because it happened to blow up on tiktok. they were at the worst point in their life before their company blew up though, so as you can see part of fortune is more about major lucky events that happen right after you’re at a low point in life

— © novy2sirius don’t copy my work !

#astrology #astrology blog #astrology chart #birth chart #astrology community #astro community #astrology notes #numerology #numerology blog #astrology observations

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beuxwhoyouare · 7 months ago

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Raised You Better

My son Jasper was a good kid. He was a star soccer player in school and got a scholarship to play in college, so I only saw him on holidays. I missed him so much and looked forward to our quarterly reunions.

Well that was until his most recent visit. He was being so distant and when I finally inquired why he was acting differently, he finally admitted he actually dropped out to pursue being a personal trainer.

I was shocked. He's always been a model child and did all me and my husband expected of him. Maybe it was all our time away working? Maybe I should've been home more instead of being at the lab. It felt like a punch in the gut. I mean sure he knew what he was doing thanks to all his time training for soccer but that's not a way to build a life?

My husband and I did it right. We met in college and supported each other through our advanced degrees and worked our way up in an international pharmaceutical company. Personal training is just so...surface level. He's supposed to be better than us. That's what you want for your children. No no no this is no good. I'll have to set him on the right path.

I knew of a special program at work that was rooted in natural medicine and meditation with a mad science twist. I set up Jasper with the "Sports Nutrition" department at work but it was actually our new experiment. It looked like a TENS muscle stimulator on crack. Several wires shot out of a relatively large dark grey box with a screen and several sliders on one side. I sat connected on the other side of the wall connected with the pads all over the top of my head. All I had to do was wait for Jasper to get hooked up. We sold it to him as a scientific way to curb cravings for sweets and unhealthy things, like an ozempic shot for the brain. In reality, I was told that the machine would take positive attributes from one source and strengthen them in the weaker mind.

I saw the lights flicker and anticipated that he had already been hooked up to the machine. I just laid back and rested while focusing on the importance of getting a quality education. Eventually, I must have dozed off because when I opened my eyes again it was all so groggy. But I was sitting facing the opposite direction. I lifted my arms to wipe my eyes and gasped when I looked down. My boobs were gone and replaced with sizable mounds of muscle escaping a tiny white tank top. My arms and thick thighs now filled with tattoos....no?! This isn't supposed to be how it works

I told the lab techs who I am and that I was actually Meredith. They both looked at each other spooked but judiciously jotting down notes. After answering a few security questions, they agreed to believe that I was indeed not Jasper and it must be an unforseen side effect from the treatment.

That's when they explained the problem....When my body woke up, it also said it was Meredith. Could the experiment have basically overwritten the memory of my son with my own? I felt like I basically killed my own child. Grief swept over me. But then so did a bravado, a confidence, a giddiness? The two lab techs handed me a towel as they shyly avoided looking down at a tent forming in my shorts. Oh I guess the excitement led to a physical response.

In theory I get it as a scientist. I did in fact instill positive traits on my son. Granted, that also erased him seemingly. But also it's a chance at a new life full of new experiences. I'm a man now. And what a man indeed. I walked into the shower facility at the lab. I took off the outfit Jasper donned to the lab, if I was still a woman it'd be called skimpy and slutty. Tiny shorts with underwear built in and a virtually see through tank top. In two swift moves, I had taken everything off. I had seen my son naked as a child but this is different. He looked so much like his father....well I guess I looked so much like MY dad now. His genetics graced me well as I placed one hand on my pecs and another on my new dick. I squeezed both recoiling from the newfound pleasure. This was wrong right? Like I shouldn't be doing this....I felt disgusted with myself. No. This is for the betterment of Jasper's life. I'm going to let go of my past life....I'm Jasper now.

And what a life it will be. Years of playing sport and training, whew. I wasn't going to let him throw it away, I'll let it be a side job, maybe I'll own a business with a bunch of trainers under me but I won't be hustling like that. Not yet. I gotta learn the new me. I used my hands to trace the curves of each new tattoo, then moved on to each muscle. I poked and prodded before squeezing, then I remembered I had business to attend to. I took one hand and gently took hold of the warm fleshy rod under the steamy water pulsing down onto me. I pumped back and forth for a few minutes. Jasper was not sensitive at all...I shoved aside my reservations and gripped myself firmer and began jerking harder and faster. Eventually I introduced my other hand....oh he was girthy in the best way. I mean I am thick in the best ways. Harder and faster, it felt like I was floating outside of myself as my muscles took over almost like autopilot.

The steam radiated off my new musculature when it felt like I saw a flash of light. Shot after shot came out of my new rod. The lab walls had likely never seen a show like this but I was happy to christen them. The autopilot kinky thoughts continued to take over my new mind and body. I squatted down an licked the nearest wall as my cum dripped down. I knew Jasper was queer but I didn't know how he would respond to this kind of kink. I think he was a little freak because there was not one single butterfly in my stomach from this action. I quickly toweled off and headed to my apartment. I figured "Meredith" could find her way home.

The apartment smelled like a young male in college. A musk twirled around sweat and strong cologne. Foreign to me, but familiar to my new body. I couldn't control myself and ripped my clothes off...literally. My strength made it obscenely easy to tear them off in ways they weren't intended to. I wanted to try on all my new clothes. This body made everything look good.

My phone buzzed. It was one of "my" bros asking if I was coming down to the shoot. I played it off like I forgot and asked him to send me the "deets" again.

I threw on the nearest random shirt and bottoms and made my way to the warehouse address given. I guess "I" had agreed to help with the photoshoot to launch "our" new clothing line. A nearby table had Jasper's name on it and I quickly assumed the position taking off all my clothes and putting the skimpy clothing on. I channeled my new swagger as my bros began taking pics.

Oh I think I'm gonna like this. Hopefully I can find a cute twink or something soon. I really wanna put these thighs to work plowing someone's son or two.

#f2m transformation #ftm switch #male body swap #male transformation #identity theft #body switch #male

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superectojazzmage · 10 months ago

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Just back from Alien Romulus and hoooo boy oh boy. Review/analysis.

Easily the best Alien movie since the first two, which isn't saying much, yeah, but it is legit a really cool and well-made movie, competing with Late Night With The Devil, Longlegs, and Cuckoo for title of my favorite horror movie this year.

In a lot of ways it's about harvesting the few good ideas from the post-2 movies that were squandered and doing them right, plus getting the series back to it's healthier roots, kinda the movie equivalent of someone doing physical therapy to get back in the saddle after an injury. This means it's not quite brand new ground like some may hope for and I've heard some people feel it gets a little derivative at points because of it. I can kinda agree and certainly understand that criticism, but I feel it does what it's aiming for really well and sets things up for future works to go in even crazier directions. Furthermore, it takes a lot of time to try and weld together the disparate post-2 movies in a way that brings the series back to a little coherency.

The atmosphere is really intense and cool, swinging between lovecraftian dread and build-up and high-energy chaos. The aesthetics and special effects are gorgeous, taking full advantage of the progress that technology has made since 2 plus really digging in to the used cassette future vibe of the older films. The characters are likable and actually intelligent (or at least understandable) in behavior like in the first two movies, so you care about what's happening to them instead of just waiting for them to get munched. The action and kills were really cool and creative, the cinematography in general was off-kilter in an awesome way - there's a definite attempt to make the movie feel claustrophobic and intimate. Fede Alvarez did a fantastic job in general, I'd love to see him do more with the series.

It REALLY cranks up the series' psychosexual, freudian, and sexual assault subtext, arguably to a point where it's just plain text. So if you're sensitive to stuff like that or if this is your first go at Alien, be warned for that.

More specific notes go under the header for spoilers. Highly recommend you go in as blind as you can.

Andy and Rain were wonderful leads, their dynamic was fantastic and Calie Spaeny and David Jonsson both turned in great performances. I direly hope they join the first two films' casts as "major" characters for the series going forward.

The effects to make Daniel Betts look like Ian Holms were quite possibly the one and only time the special effects failed. It looks very wonky, which is sad because Betts does a really good job copying Holms' mannerisms for Ash while still making Rook feel like a distinct character.

In addition to the usual themes of sexual unease, genetics, and parenthood, this movie adds in some really interesting themes of familial legacy, the rise of new generations, foundations, etc.. Andy and Rain are like Romulus and Remus of myth, orphaned and left to fend for themselves but growing into founders of a new age - both in-story with their carrying the XX121 substance and evidence of Weyland-Yutani's misdeeds to Yvaga and out-of-story with them being the protagonists of a new era for Alien. Likewise, the Offspring is the first example of an entirely new species, neither human nor alien but taking from the lineages of both through Kay and Big Chap, a Romulus-like founder of it's breed that will later bear fruit in Resurrection with the Ripley clone and Newborn.

I'm really not kidding when I say above that the psychosexual undercurrents are taken to the extreme here. This movie basically sees the ways the original film subtly pin-pricked at those themes, says "fuck that", and deliberately rubs it in your face in a way designed to make sure you can't ignore it. It wants you to be grossed out and to squirm in your chair and it knows exactly how to make it happen.

Alvarez noted in the lead-up to release that he took a lot of influence from Isolation and you can definitely see that in how he depicts the Xenomorphs and the general aura of the film. He further described it as a kind of halfway point between the first and second movies and you can also see that; it has the Lovecraft-style tension and horror of the first, balanced with the energy and action of the second, and it does a really good job finding a middle ground between Ridley Scott and James Cameron's styles while also doing it's own dance.

I mentioned way back at the start how the movie basically harvests the good ideas from 3, Resurrection, Prometheus, and Covenant and gives them the room they deserve while dumping the bad. It does that in both terms of themes/style and continuity/lore. Concepts that those movies bungled like xeno-human hybridism, the black goo, genetic engineering as a focus, and so on are done here more creatively and competently. Themes that those films tried and failed to tackle are handled with significantly more grace. It has the atmosphere and characterization of 3 but none of it's baggage and needlessly depressive tone. It has the body horror and weirdness of Resurrection without taking it to the zany, embarrassing areas that movie went. The effects and creativity of Prometheus and Covenant without any of their awful writing and clumsy messages. Alvarez takes on kind of an Al Ewing-esque "repairman" writing style here.

The Xenomorphs are absolutely deranged in behavior compared to most portrayals, attacking like either cruel sadists or raging chimps and rarely bothering to take hosts. I'm not sure if such a reading was intended, but I got the vibe that the idea is Xenos raised without a queen or hive grow to be basically sociopathic like how real world predatory animals grown without parental figures become feral and dysfunctional. Which would also explain a lot about how the Xeno in the original movie, Big Chap, acts there.

The Offspring's design is fucking wicked and I love it.

One of my few major criticisms is that Big Chap died off-screen instead of getting more to do. What was the point of having him be alive at the start if he wasn't gonna be used beyond a backstory point to set up the main story?

All in all, a very impressive effort and a great return to form for the series that I recommend highly.

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d-dantes · 18 days ago

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⋆｡°·☁︎ ─── • 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲

Pairing: Vergil x F!reader

Warnings: Reader is a demon but there are no specific traits listed, established relationship / childhood friends -> strangers -> lovers, clawing, missionary, slight nipple play, creampie. Takes place before the events of DMC3 / coincides with the mangas code 1 and 2.

Wordcount: 5k

Notes: Of course I wrote him before Dante lmao. For my beloved @katsukikitten

It had been years since you two had last seen Vergil, life proving to be inherently cruel to have you pine for a soul whose progenitor separated the mortal realm and hell from one another. Erecting a barrier that sealed the worst type of creatures together with a tyrant, issuing peace to fragile humans while leaving them ignorant to the suffering their savior wrought for his own kind.

Power struggles worsening already unloving homes much like the one you hailed from, conditioned to fight and fend for yourself at a young age. Beaten and battered, starved and poisoned with the reasoning to build you stronger to topple the rankings of those still loyal to the temporarily vanquished king Mundus.

Only freed of your torment by a stroke of pure luck, slipping through a tear in the barrier between your world and his. Landing at his feet in a heap, weakened yet feral and ferocious in your defensive caution as you lunged at the young boy with a knife nearly too big for your hand at that age. You blame his overpowering of you on your lack of sleep and malnutrition, you pin your surrender on a lapse in judgment from the poison in your veins.

If only your tyrannical father could see you in the weeks to months that followed, essentially in the lap of luxury of Makai’s traitorous lineage as you tentatively shared a space with that family, willingly and (your best kept secret) happily after some time. Nurtured, housed and fed thanks to the benevolence of Vergil’s dearly departed mother Eva despite her son bringing home the most unconventional of strays.

Even in adolescence you figured she always wanted a daughter that Sparda obviously hadn’t provided her with, but you were never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

And like all children, you assume you’re indestructible (the twins only proved to exacerbate this notion), that you’ve all the time in the world. Puppy love cultivating in your time together only to bicker and fight like cats and dogs whenever Vergil’s younger brother playfully gagged and mockingly sang a childish song in regard to the overt affinity between one another.

You were both young and ignorant to the atrocities that would cleave you two from one another’s arms; but, much like flesh and bone, what is meant to be one will return as such.

You won’t gift fate all the glory to the reunion either, not with how tirelessly you searched for Vergil that fateful night. You could smell blood on the wind amidst the flames and ash, both demon and his own. You never lost hope because you never found his body, only the skeletal remains of the same creatures that attacked Eva and set the home ablaze.

Spending your teenage years hunting down any creature that even mumbled a ghosting mention of the twin sons of Sparda. Most of the leads only ending short with nothing to show for it besides guiding you to the next pathetic sod that sullied the legacy of Sparda in the form of his two sons.

Only gleaning some good news from some of the lower level swill that Dante was alive and relatively well. You looked into his business and, despite the dilapidated building and the lack of clientele, he was doing as fine as he could be.

At least he found the girl he’d lost that same night, his own soft spot to fight for instead of solely for the disdain he held for half of his genetic makeup.

But with Dante’s very existence breeds an unrest that he’s founded a business model upon. A stirring in the underworld mercenaries doubling as devil hunters whisper trade secrets your keen ears pick up on. Often nothing notable, typical happenings of demons kicking up a fuss for hired hands to fight over silencing.

Dante didn’t chase boring cases and as you linger on the fringes of his awareness to ascertain definitively that he was doing fine on his own, you realize the infamy of his name brings jobs to his doorstep in the form of a portly man. Something of a shifty sort for certain but you’d be hard pressed to find a soul that didn’t fit that bill in society's underbelly.

You expend little effort to tail the man, keen ears perked to eavesdrop on the conversation you can tell the young mercenary isn’t entirely interested in hearing but you glean plenty from the exchange.

Dante denies at first, scoffs at the details of the job but something about it engenders a familiar foreboding feeling in the pit of your stomach, an instinctual reaction that foments your involvement.

You don’t understand how Dante could choose to turn down a job with a promise of hefty payment simply because he deemed it boring but you don’t entirely share the same sentiment. He only agrees himself because of the soft voice that makes mention of looming payments with empty pockets but you’re already kicking away from the dingy brick wall for a jumpstart on the case.

You know in your heart the scent of a setup but you find Vergil in the midst of it by chance alone, fate will never earn your thanks when it’s what tore you asunder. Only pouncing on him in the first place because you didn’t recognize him and the details of Dante’s job said nothing about a man’s presence. You’ve plenty of rage to spare and expend as you topple the figure from the momentum with your engraved dagger he’d gifted you as a child held closely to his adams apple. He only blinks, the ghost of a smirk quirking one side of his lip towards before he exhales a breathless chuckle.

“I see the way you make your presence known hasn’t changed even after all these years,” but there’s a tenderness to his gaze, a sense of relief as he drinks in the sight of you as you lower the dagger that fits well in your hand now, no longer oversized and awkward.

The voice is more mature now, still soft but smooth in only a way his could ever be and he still styles the starlit locks gifted from his father the same way he did as a child; hell bent on distancing his similarities to his younger twin in any way he can.

Your heart pounds in your chest, hastening its pace as you lean up slightly to really take him in. Same icy hues and serious expression but he still bore a boyish look about him, especially as he wears that ghost of a smirk on full lips.

“V?” gasped as you sit up completely now, back arched as you hold your position but you lessen the pressure on the blade at his throat though you don’t completely remove it. Not yet, shapeshifters have tried to fool you with your beloved's face once before and though you saw through the farcical figure you’ve never been one to let your guard down so easily.

His lids flutter slightly at the affectionate nickname you’d assigned to him, having haven’t heard it for a decade, it sounds like music to his ears. Vergil hums a response before snatching your wrist in his broad palm to disarm you but he makes no threatening move following the action.

If you weren’t certain before of the man beneath you being your lost beloved, you were now. There were only two beings in existence that have been fast enough to disarm or react to your attacks and both of them were related to one another.

Dante and Vergil.

Whether you meant to or not, tension bleeds from your body as you subtly lean into him as Vergil sit’s upright. Neither of you detangle from one another and you familiarize yourself with his scent as you tilt your face towards his coyly, “don’t tell me you’re playing an elaborate game of hide and seek with Dante.”

“Unlikely,” Vergil scoffs but says little more, his mother was no longer living in order to chastise him about his relationship with his younger brother. He has plans that include his brother but his involvement was not yet required.

He pivots the conversation away from the subject of his brother as easily as he always has, silently and through physical redirection. Vergil skillfully spins your dagger in his hand and holds the hilt to you with his fingers pinching the blade. As you snatch it from him in a huff and your signature bratty pout, Vergil’s arms position behind the backs of your knees and around your up back to hoist you into a princess carry as he stands.

Your nails dig into his chest, just above his diaphragm from the sudden movement but he does little more than grunt in annoyance more than pain, “this isn’t my first time carrying you.”

“And this isn’t my first time clawing you for it,” you nearly hissed but relax in his hold nonetheless, resting your temple on his collarbone, “warn a girl first and maybe I wouldn’t have.”

“Lies still favor that tongue of yours? You’d fight me regardless, there’s less fuss this way.”

It’s comforting how familiar and easy interacting with him feels already, choosing to respond to him with a simple yet playfully petulant, ‘hmph.’

Vergil carries you from the streets and the steadiness of his gait, the rhythmic thump of his heart in his chest and the even draw of his breath threatens to lull you into an impromptu catnap. Familiarity fighting at the fringes of your reality as you recall him carrying you just like this whenever you first met. The memory of it paints your features in serenity as your fist the lapel of the vibrant velour blue coat, curiously glancing around at your surroundings as Vergil shoulders through a pair of intricately designed despite deteriorating with age double doors.

You ascertain quickly this building is something of an archaic hotel, the vacant space obviously a lobby but you don’t ever realize how truly vast the spaces are until it’s devoid of decoration.

There’s a crescent shaped desk towards the rearmost point of the room where dual staircases adorn either edge and lead to the second floor. You trail it with your eyes first as Vergil nears the mouth of the left set, glancing about to see rows seating and tables draped in sheets dingy from decades old dust.

Running your fingertip along the banister as Vergil ascends the steps that lead to two sets of stainless steel doors in dire need of polishing. The only lighting in the space comes from the moon hanging high in the sky bleeding through the clerestory and aisle windows alike, casting elongated shadows from the mutins that divide the panes.

“Auxiliary power,” Vergil answers the question you’ve yet to pose, glancing at you while he presses the button to his desired floor as the doors slip shut and the cabin shifts subtly as it rises.

“Then why are none of the other lights on? Don’t tell me it’s for the haunted ambiance,” Vergil having always been an enjoyer of different types of literature, poetry being his main preference but he did indulge in gothic horror from what you could remember. He chuckles at your tease, earning a smile of your own because the sound has always been music to your ears though it was much more boyish and carefree the last you’d heard it.

“Auxiliary power prioritizes basic functions, though I’ve tampered with it enough to suit my needs,” plus, even though the building is abandoned doesn’t mean ambient lighting wouldn’t raise a few eyebrows. The last thing Vergil cared to deal with was human interference, the man he works with currently is less than tolerable as is.

The elevator opens soon after and Vergil traverses the hall until he stops short at the second to last door before the hallways end. You take the liberty yourself of grabbing the crystal cut knob to push the door open yourself, tittering cutely as you sweep your arm in a motion for him to continue as if he weren’t the one carrying you.

The room is sparsely decorated with a window covered by thick drapes to conceal the illumination of the bedside lamp from the outside world. Only the essentials remain in the room, a queen sized mattress with the bed neatly made but it doesn’t appear untouched by time.

“You’ve been staying here?” You muse as you’re situated at the edge of the mattress, smoothing out the wrinkles your body causes.

“For an interim,” he responds as he shrugs off his coat, footfalls muted by the carpet as he approaches the only other door in the room to place it on the hook that decorates it. You beam a wide grin, leaping to your feet as you coo about how divine a shower sounds after you’ve swung the door open to reveal a gorgeous porcelain clawfoot tub with a shower attachment overhead, “necessity dictated proper accommodation. I venture to assume you’re inclined to agree?”

“Hmm,” you hum coyly, tapping your chin as your other arm folds under your breasts, displaying them more prominently as you spin on your heel. You bend slightly at the waist to tilt closer to him, gently jabbing your finger into Vergil’s sternum but miss how his gaze wander’s lower then back up to meet your gaze, “I suppose. As long as that water is warm, perhaps I may.”

“Ascertain at your leisure,” Vergil’s voice bears a playful lilt so subtle only you could ever pick up on it.

You shimmy your shoulder alluringly, practically purring a coquettish, “care to verify my findings?”

He clears his throat at that, faint simper on his lips but his expression appears overly relaxed in your presence; though only for a moment. There’s a notable shift in his demeanor, his gaze flirting to his peripheral as a minute amount of rigidity steals the moment as his fingers tighten around the hilt of yamato.

“Another time,” he says and you try not to deflate, pouting slightly before he continues, “excuse me for a moment, there’s an irritant for me to handle.”

You want to follow, to keep him within your sight to subjugate the fear of losing him again that gnaws at the floor of your heart. He stops you short, however, tilting his head slightly and the intention imbued in his words puts you at ease, “I will return, you’ll have to enlighten me of your findings when I do.”

A heat floods your system, smile painting pretty features as your fingers wrap around the curtain of the fixture, “prepare for a dissertation if it isn’t to my standards, V.”

He hums as he gives you his back, dull thuds of his boots singling his departures as he leaves you with no further parting words.

You’re sure to have plenty to say upon his return but you won’t make mention of how alike the siblings truly were and how in sync they acted without intention. You can hardly stifle your giggle though as you turn the ornate knobs on the shower and test the temperature before shedding your clothes to enjoy a well earned, scalding hot shower.

What were the odds that both siblings would find lodging in buildings forgotten even by the city?

You don’t dwell on the thought long after stepping into the shower, near moaning at the divine heat that delightfully stings the surface of your skin. Standing under the spray just to bask in the warmth before passing your palms over your body as if to store the warmth in your muscles.

Thoroughly relishing the moment before reaching for the gently used, eggshell white brick of soap. You lather it between your hands first, turning it over a number of times for a generous amount to coat your palms before starting at the slopes of your shoulders and working your way down. Losing yourself in the comfortable embrace of the steam and Vergil’s fragrance.

You almost wish to have taken a bath instead but you weren’t sure how long Vergil would be gone. The tub seemed big enough for two, it would be such a waste not to test the hypothesis another time. You weren’t sure how long the two of you would linger in this building but you knew one thing definitively; you weren’t leaving alone. Not again.

Nipping the train of thought in the bud before it could even hope to sour your mood, closing the faucet with a bereft sigh. You would live under the stream if you could but the temperature would run tepid before long.

You rip open the curtain to snatch quickly for the towel on the wall adjacent to fight a possible chill. Wrapping the still plush fabric around you securely as you exit the room, steam rolling out as you survey your surroundings.

Vergil’s yet to return but it hasn’t been long enough to worry you. Padding towards the single bed at the center of the space and scooping up his abandoned coat. Holding it to your face to breathe him in as a salacious thought crosses your mind. Cheshire grin contorting your features mischievously as you let your towel drop and pool at your feet.

Donning his signature coat next and nothing else, toying with the lapels and situating it to your form for an artfully scantily clad look before positioning yourself onto the mattress. You crawl to the center and posture yourself into a seductive yet leisurely lounge for him to stumble upon. Glancing at the nightstand to find a book you recognize well, inscribed with an ornate initial ‘V’ full of fanciful swirls.

The pages are still well loved, the spine yet unbroken and you can still pick out his favorite poems by the wrinkling of the edges.

You don’t have to wait long for his return, however, only getting a few pages deep in the composition of poems before the door opens quietly. He’s pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance, an exasperated sigh still in the midst of leaving his lips as the door clicks closed. Vergil rolls his shoulders and you swear your mouth could water at the way his back flexes without his coat to hide the scene away.

“Feeling tense?” You coo to call his attention, letting your palm splay over the space beside you and pat enticingly. Vergil rolls his neck next, slowly turning to glance over his shoulder at you before pivoting in his heel. His brow raises subtly at your state of undress before he lets his shoulders sag, chin tilted upwards as if to mask his subtle ogling.

But you’ve seen a hungry man’s gaze time and again, though none have ever felt as exhilarating as his own.

“Want me to help you unwind?” You beckon him closer as you wag your finger in a come hither motion, slowly turning to lay in your back and with the new position more skin is exposed for Vergil to drink in. Your legs still crossed to cover your slit but even then you tease him, shifting until only your ankles cross and he can see your bare mound.

He joins you with ease, naturally, weight dipping the mattress and pressing into you as he settles down. Arms thick with corded muscle slip beneath your body in a half embrace as you cup his cheek affectionately.

Vergil turns slightly, brushing his lips over the heel of your palm, once, twice before cupping over the back of your hand to lay another chaste peck to the pulse point on your wrist. Trailing lower with another placed to your forearm before he leans to kiss your shoulder only to be stopped short in his journey before he can dip to your throat.

Watching glacial hues flick towards your lips, dip lower to tease himself with the gratuitous cleavage on display that you apparently don’t want him to appreciate quite yet as the pads of your fingers press into the hollows of his cheeks. You hold fast when he pulls back the slightest bit, no real pressure to truly hold him in place and the moment reminds Vergil of how you both used to train and dance as children. In tune with one another then and now, nearly making his lids flutter at the feeling.

“Temptress,” Vergil husks as he gently pries himself from your grasp, leaning to close the gap and seal his lips over yours. A fleeting yet firm contact and his lips are soft, plush and perfect against your own before it’s over as quickly as it began.

“You’ll learn to love it,” a sultry purr as you tip his chin with the claw of your index finger while the other rests on his chest, points of your freshly manicured nails pressing minuscule divots into the taut flesh of his bare chest.

He’s tired of being denied already, obviously so with the roll of his eyes before he takes both of your hands with only one of his own. Vergil’s fingers lock firms around both of your wrists, crossing them as he lifts them above your head. The new position exposes you, placing your bosom on full display, nipples pebbling from the brush of the fabric and the cool air of the room.

Vergil basks in the sight of you, crystalline hues committing the rise and fall of your chest and the thinly veiled, flustered expression on your pretty face to memory. Stealing another kiss before crawling lower, adorning you in the affections. Your throat, as previously desired, your clavicle, your sternum, then to the tops of each of your breasts as he soughs against your skin, “I’m not that patient boy you once knew.”

You’re writhing beneath him, thighs clenching together as arousal warms your blood at every action. Still, as you always had, you work for an upper hand, arching into him with a sensual sigh, “you were patient before?”

It’s a gentle tease, one that births a lighthearted scoff as he sets to do as he pleases. First pressing a kiss to the bottom of your sternum as he inhales slowly, breathing in the aroma of fresh soap and what still lingers of your own body wash. It’s an intoxicating mix, the respective scents of one another and it makes his blood thrum in his veins. Placing another kiss along the valley of your breasts as he palms a greedy handful of the pliant flesh and settle more comfortably between your thighs.

You can feel the rigidity of his cock through the thin material of his trousers as he gently kneads you as his thumb brushes over a pebbling nipple, making you arch into his touch with a sigh. Dampening his crotch with each upwards jerk of your hips at the stimulation, the friction to your clit maddening, leaving you near ravenous.

Singing in soft suspires the moment Vergil releases his hold on you to give equal attention to your chest. His lips wrap around the bud he toyed with cruelly while the other mimics his earlier ministrations.

“V, V, more V baby, please,” as your nails comb through the soft spikes of his hair and rake gently at his scalp. Tugging more insistently when he ignores your plea, growling slightly as he releases your nipple with a lewd pop.

Vergil's lips hungrily seal over yours, brushing your tongue along the seam of his lips and you moan appreciatively when he grants you entry. Wet muscle sliding over his as Vergil reaches between your bodies to undo his pants. Unclasping the button with ease as you hastily yank at the material of his shirt, buttons snapping free and landing with deft thuds against the thick comforter.

“Who’s the one lacking in patience now,” he mutters into your mouth, shrugging the sleeves from his arms as your hands slide along his skin beneath his shirt to rid him of it faster.

“You tease too much,” you all but whine as you toss away his shirt with a sneer like the garment offended you. Chasing his lips as Vergil shoves his pants and boxers down his thighs, allowing them to slip lower with his movements.

“Forgive me then,” Vergil sighs between chasing kisses. He fits the web of his palm around the base of his erection, jumping in his hold as he head glides through your folds, coating himself in your wetness. Cockhead kissing your clit, leaving you keening salaciously with his name on your lips before his tip catches on your entrance.

His hips roll into you slowly, giving you a taste of every inch that sinks into you as Vergil placidly groans with every convulsion of your cunt that envelops him until he’s buried to the hilt. You both feel like you’re engulfed in an inferno but you’ve no desire to separate.

Indulging in one another as you adjust to the size of Vergil, canting your hips beneath him and the action has his tip nudge into a patch that rips a moan from your lips too sinful to selfishly swallow.

He wants the sound of your pleasure to haunt the halls for the years to come like they’ll plague his every waking and dreaming hour henceforth. Vergil’s hips jerk into yours to earn another and a gasp to follow it as he drags his hips slowly backwards, sinking into you at nearly the same pace as the first.

You writhe and you whine beneath him, nails digging into Vergil’s back before raking angry red lines into alabaster flesh. His pace is rhythmic and steady, slowly dragging his hips back until only his tip is still sheathed before sinking into you with a shuddered groan. The grind of his pelvis into your clit leaves you twitching, gradually working you closer to release but hardly fast enough.

You lift your legs, bringing your knees close to the bottom of his ribcage as you lock your ankles at the small of his back. Your thighs clench as he continues as he has, digging your heel gently yet insistently into the base of his spine.

“Greedy,” Vergil growls but he responds with a hastened pace, his own demise steadily approaching. Teeth tugging delicately at your bottom lip as he pulls away, decorating you with a smattering of kisses beginning at the corner of your lip, over your cheek and ending with a press to the hinge of your jaw. He smirks at how you crane your throat to grant him any access he covets, rewarding you with a hastened pace and his lips gracing the skin over your thrumming pulse. Your nails bite into his skin, a delightful sword of pain added to the plethora of pleasure he continues to cultivate, laying another kiss before nipping at your earlobe, “don't whine, craving more?”

You whimper at the tease, squirming as you sigh out breathy exhales in affirmation. He couldn’t deny you if he wanted to now, knees digging into the mattress as he slams into you with a bit more force. Jostling your body and knocking the headboard against the drywall it rests against.

The steady crawl hastens to a hurdle into euphoria then, arching into Vergil but you can do little else but take him at this pace. Mewling the syllables of his name with broken gasps as your head presses back into the superfluous amount of pillows beneath you. Claws biting into the flesh of his back and your heels dig into his lower lumbar with a bruising force.

Then the coil in your lower belly snaps, moaning prettily as euphoria washes over you in waves and Vergil works you through the high. Keeping his pace as he sits up and grips at the fat of your hips, pulling you into his ruts, satisfied smirk gracing his features as you babble his name.

Prolonging your high for a few moments longer when the vice grip of your velvet walls sends him careening from the precipice of pleasure he’d been teetering on for so long. Filling you full, continuing to rock his hips into yours in slower ruts that the rhythmic slap of wood against plaster is replaced by pitiful whines and the lewd squelch of your cunt.

He takes a moment to revel in the afterglow of your coupling, drinking in the sight of your heaving chest as he leans down to press another kiss to your sternum. Thumbs massaging soothing circles into the space where your hips and pelvis meet before unsheathing his spent cock. You twitch and whine at the loss but little else, Vergil shushing you softly as he sinks to lay beside you in the mattress.

Arranging your bodies to lay on your side and curl slightly around you, unbothered by the tacky feeling from the sheen of sweat painting both of your skin. You settle comfortably against him, wiggling your ass against Vergil playfully as you glance over your shoulder at him.

His eyes are closed, a serene expression on his features that makes your heart swell. How many years had it been since you last saw him look so peaceful? Carefree instead of burdened by a history you’ve yet to learn but now long to in this small sanctuary.

You reach back to cradle his jaw in your loving hands once again and he cracks a lid open curiously at you.

“Falling asleep?” You murmur as you bring your lips to his, casually and unhurried before you part long enough to finally ask, “V, baby, where have you been?”

He’s silent for a long moment after that, exhaling slowly as he contemplates how to truly answer that question. Posed innocently but the answer bears a substantial weight. He knows you mean more, to be enlightened of a history already laden with grief and strife alike you weren’t there to bear witness to and weather alongside him.

Where would he even begin? Vergil couldn’t be sure, but there was one thing he knew without a shadow of a doubt.

“Certainly too far from where I’ve longed to be.”

#vixen writes #vergil x reader #vergil x you #vergil sparda x reader #vergil sparda x you

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nymphomatique · 11 months ago

Text

simulacra

atsv!miguel x fem!reader x comic!miguel

im no geneticist so please forgive me for any incorrect science terms 😁 i have no words for this one i wrote this with my pussy. enjoy!

cw: bunch of word vomit before we get to the sex, miguelcest? two miguel’s like eachother very much, comic!miguel x fem!reader x atsv!miguel, boys kissing, reader fujoshing out, cunnilingus, ass eating (f receiving), blowjobs, ball sucking, handjob, fingering, squirting, voyeurism/cucking?? idk one watches for a bit, double penetration, anal fingering, unrealistic anal 🫡, nipple sucking (f), cum eating, honestly just vibes all around!

wc: 7.9k. im sorry.

—> so this was originally supposed to go up like several weeks ago with a note that i would be gone for school + summer classes (that i just finished!!!) but turns out i drafted it instead of queuing it like a fucking idiot 😁!!!!!! nonetheless, i’m so sorry for the wait. enjoy.

“This is ambitious, even for you Miguel.”

“The worse that could happen is there’s no other dimension, then we take our dinner after this experiment.”

“You’re paying.”

“Only if I’m wrong.”

Geneticist by day, interdimensional scienctist by night, Miguel O’Hara proceeds as one of Alchemax’s brightest employees. A ground breaking research paper with a thesis on the future of genetics and their ability to be bioengineered and spliced with those of non-mammals earned him the title of lead geneticist, nothing short of prodigal in comparison to his peers.

You and Miguel met two years ago during your internship for Alchemax, studying yourself to become a geneticist after reading Miguel’s thesis paper in your freshman year of college. Miguel is a famed alum of Nueva York University, the science department’s crowning achievement in all its years of standing. When you had heard that the genetic science department had opened internship applications for Alchemax, you had been ecstatic. Not only would you have a chance to intern at the company of your dreams, but also get the chance to meet one of your academic idols. Needless to say, when you had read the words “Congratulations! You have been accepted and offered an internship position to study within Alchemax’s genetic science and engineering department.”, to say you were excited would be an understatement.

In the two years you’ve spent interning at Alchemax, you and Miguel have developed a close relationship to say the least. It had been a divine stroke of luck perhaps when you learned that you would be working along side Miguel as a lab technician, you had felt like you died and gone to heaven. Seeing framed photos of the scientific genius in his earlier years had no comparison to seeing him in person. To be crass, he was fucking sexy. Tall, extremely tall, broad and muscular in stature, and tan all over. Brooding eyes and a seemingly permanent frown of dissatisfaction present on his round lips, it was safe to say you had developed a slight workplace crush.

Nevertheless, it seemed to be an unrequited infatuation. Miguel never seeming to want to talk to you about things beyond the study of deconstructing cells on an atomic level or changing the structure of somethings molecular composition, he seemed beyond disinterested in you. Still, you enjoyed the stolen glances and the misinterpretations of a touch or a word or a glance. It’s like a secret you have kept to yourself.

It wasn’t all distaste on Miguel’s part however, after some time with him he began to share some tidbits out his personal life, rather reluctantly however. You caught him one day in the lab after hours, you had decided to stay late to work on a test subject, a spider with more than one type of species’ cells, an epigenetic experiment of yours. You were about to leave the lab when you saw Miguel hunched over his desk in his office fidgeting with a gadget you’ve never seen before. A rather crude looking watch, various types of wiring and exposed circuits coming together to form it.

It was then he had explained to you his after hours personal project; inter-dimensional travel. To think he was ambitious was the least of your thoughts, you concluded in your head that he was downright stupid to think something like that is feasible on a level of understanding basic science and physics. But after witnessing the messy blueprints and nights of coffee and energy drinks, night after night, seeing how truly dedicated he was at just wanting to believe the idea of inter-dimensional travel, you had no choice but to indulge in him, your bubbling crush gave you no choice to object.

So nights of him alone hunched over his desk, became late nights of both of you hunched over his desk together, fidgeting with formulas and logistics of opening a window to an entirely different universe.

Sometimes you brought coffee, and sometimes he brought late night dinner (that he made in his kitchen) for the both of you. Regardless, the both of you had developed a work relationship, platonic of course, in the two years you’ve been present at Alchemax. You had even shared with him a draft of your own personal work for your final thesis before you graduate; the possibility bio engineering spider DNA with human DNA after your successful test of cross species creation of two types of spiders. To your surprise, Miguel had taken great interest in your work, even helping you with your thesis. It made it hard to not develop feelings for him under circumstances like this.

Tonight has been no different than any other. The two of you sat together in his personal office, gearing up to test a new iteration of the dimension opening watch, more sophisticated than one of the prototypes you walked in on Miguel tweaking at all those months ago.

“Did you set up the tripod?”

“Check.”

“And the-“

“Yes, Miguel,” you drawl out, “the recorder is set as well. Can we get the started now? I’m tired and hungry. I’m counting on that burger.”

Miguel’s face goes stale and you hold in a laugh. You really love how easy it is to piss him off. “Get in position so we can start.” The fluttering thought of you and Miguel setting up and getting in position for a different type of movie crosses your mind and you blush a bit. Focus! You move behind the camera set up, and press record, signaling for Miguel to start the video log.

“Miguel O’Hara. Time is 22 hundred and 27. This is watch prototype 14-B. With this experiment, I hope to be the first person on earth to discover inter-dimensional travel.”

You give a very subtle clear of your throat behind the camera and Miguel sighs and rolls his eyes. “I’m also accompanied by my lab technician.” You peek your head around the camera and wave with a smile. Unmoved, Miguel prepares to start with the experiment. A nervous glance to the camera and he twists the mechanism of the watch to the on setting. There’s a moment of silence, the room tense with anticipation, the silent clanking of gears filling the room, until its stops. There’s a short pause in hoping, anticipating something would happen but nothing. Miguel breaks the silence.

“Attempt number 34 is a conclusive failure.”

“Knew you’d be buying me dinner tonight,” you quip, walking away from the camera, ignoring to turn it off.

Miguel rolls his eyes at your comment shucking off his lab coat for the day. “Hurry up so we can catch the cafeteria before it closes.”

You’re hot on his heels, leaving the lab sauntering behind him.

“Attempt number 34 is a conclusive failure.”

“Knew you’d be buying me dinner tonight.”

Miguel was perplexed. Where are those voices coming from?

Sat in his apartment, a glass of scotch on the rocks in his hand, with soft jazz lulling in the background. After a long day of hero work, the unwinding was needed, so such a rude interruption calls for investigation.

“Lyla?” He calls out softly, and with flitting of light she appears. Soft features and blonde hair all an illusion of light.

“Yes?”

“Inspect where those voices are coming from.”

“On it,” and she’s gone once more.

A sip of scotch luls the bulging nerve beginning to head at Miguel’s temple. With a sigh, and another curt sip, he gets lost in the soft jazz, the saxophone carrying him away just for a moment. Until..

“Miguel?” Lyla rouses him from his reverie, and he’s reminded of where he is. “I’m not sure where the sound is coming from. But I am sensing waves of molecular abnormality and instability, suggesting that someone could be-“

“Dimensional travel,” Miguel cuts. “Shock. Who do you think’s behind this?”

“I’m not too sure, but I am worried. I’ll look into it further.” Lyla disappears once more within a moment.

“For shock’s sake,” a sigh and thick fingers come up to pinch his nose bridge. This is the last thing he needs. He stands from the couch and is suddenly taken aback at the intense shaking in his penthouse. “What the sh- Lyla!” he calls out, but as the shaking continues she’s nowhere to be seen. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. A bean of light shoots up from under the ground and blinds Miguel. He’s so fucked if he ends up in the hands of some villain. The floor splits from under him, swallowing him and spitting him out into a void-tunnel-like space, an amalgamation of orange, yellow, red, and pink lights. He feels like he’s everywhere and nowhere, all and nothing at once. He simply closes his eyes and braces himself for wherever this decides to drop him.

Glass breaking alerts Miguel all the way from the cafeteria.

“Did you hear that?” He stalls mid conversation. Quiet. Listening.

You’re confused. “No? How good is your hearing you think you hear things from down here?”

“Sensitive hearing,” he says, still unmoving. There’s another pause, until he starts packing up his food to go. “Stay here. I think someone is in the lab.”

Your eyebrows pull together. “You don’t know me as well as I thought. I’m investigating with you, let’s go.”

Miguel looks at you and any argument dies with the deadpan look you give him. Silently, he walks back to the lab and you’re just as silent, following behind him.

First, Miguel thinks he’s in a hospital. The white lights and broken vials he landed on making him think he fucked up some poor doctor’s office. Then, he looks around and he knows it’s not a doctor’s lab. The bunsen burners and scribbles upon a rolling chalk board riddled with math. Then, he sees the abandoned lab coat embroidered with the word ALCHEMAX. How did he end up here? That’s when he hears it. Hulking footsteps, followed by a lighter tread. Shit. Shit. Shit. He had no gear on. The footsteps were getting closer. He thinks fast, grabbing a piece of a broken beaker in his hand.

The lab door swings open and that’s when he sees the both of you. Him and the stranger in front of him look at each other. Perplexed. You’re like me. Different. It’s unspoken. There’s a pause before you emerge from behind the large man and Miguel looks at you up and down, glossing you with his eyes. Cute, he muses silently. You raise a brow at him blatantly checking you out before you speak.

“Care to explain what’s going on here, or should we call security and let them deal with you instead?” A hand rests on your hip as you pose the question. A feisty one, he can tell.

Miguel sits up and drops the glass. “I.. don’t know how I got here or how. One minute I was in my house and the next..” he shrugs and looks around.

You freeze, looking at the tall man before you both. “You don’t think.. do you?” And he freezes at the question a beat after you ask it.

“It worked.”

“So, uh,” Miguel clears his throat. “Care to clue a guy in?”

You think you’re losing your mind. You can’t believe it worked. A person, a man, from another dimension is here. In your lab. You and Miguel did this. You want to burst with excitement and vomit in fear at the same time.

Holy fuck, dimension travel is real. We did it. We fucking did it.

You introduce yourself and your lab partner to the strange and is face goes staunch.

“What did you say..?”

“This is my- my lab partner Miguel. Miguel O’Hara.”

“No shocking way.. I’m Miguel O’Hara.”

It’s your turn to go staunch next. “You’re- what?” It’s now you take a moment to look, really

look at the other Miguel. First thing you notice is he’s drastically shorter that your Miguel, sitting at five foot eleven compared to the staunch six feet and nine inches of your Miguel. Then, you look at his face. Same brown tresses but less wavy, coiffed in a messy side look instead of the slick back you’re used to seeing. Still, you can’t deny his attractiveness looking at him. Some things seem to carry on between dimensions, like the same thick eyebrows, slightly tanned skin, and soft looking lips in a pout. You trail your eyes down his strong nose to his thick shoulders, muscles visible even through a plain white tee shirt. The small of his waist and the thick of his thighs strained against his denim jeans have your mind trailing off for a moment, with very inappropriate thoughts to have about a coworker and a stranger.

Miguel, your Miguel, has barely said a word, brooding over you and his tether silently. “Yeah. And this is Alchemax, yeah? My father owns this company where I’m from, the piece a’shit. Lyla would lose her head at this.”

Miguel decides to speak finally and it scares you a bit. “Did you say Lyla? As in Lyrate Lifeform-“

“Lifeform Approximation, yeah.”

“Brother?”

“Gabriel, the pain in the ass he is.”

Miguel’s in disbelief. “No way this is- I did this.” He looks at you for a second and away, like he’s thinking, contemplating.

“Are you.. do you take it too? Rapture?” he chooses his words carefully, and you’re confused. Rapture?

“Yeah,” he nods.

You look between the two men, a bit flustered to be honest, and clear your throat, trying not to blush when they look at you. “Sorry to be that guy here gentlemen but uh- how do we get him back?”

“I think the pretty little scientist is right here, my brother. I think you know as well as I do why I can’t stay here for too long.”

He does. A dirty little secret he’s kept from not only you, but all of Nueva York, is that he’s the one and only Spider-Man. Not only does rapture need to be sated, but crime doesn’t allow for vacation time in this line of work. Left to its vices, Nueva York may very well burn itself from inside out.

“Get me the watch,” your Miguel asks you. You twiddle off to the office with broken glass and loose paper rattled all over the floor, picking up the watch in all its fried-wire glory. You grimace, before getting up to leave when you notice the camera from the video logs on the floor tucked away behind a fallen chair. You remember that you forgot to turn it off before you left for lunch. You bring it in jest, hoping maybe there’s something valuable on film. If not, you get to watch Miguel look incredibly handsome in his lab coat again, and you can’t complain about that.

It’s quiet between the pair when you return. You can’t help but look at them, thinking how ludicrous this whole situation is, truly. “I still can’t believe you guys are the same person,” you muse aloud, dropping the broken watch on the counter along with the camera. “I forgot to stop recording, might be something worthwhile on that thing.”

“Thanks. We’ll clean up and uh, head to my place. S’getting late,” your Miguel says, dropping the watch in his pocket.

In the two weeks the other Miguel has been here, you’ve learned two things: One, Miguel, the both of them, are Spider-Man. Other Miguel had let it slip, and your Miguel confirmed it to you. Following a brief moment of shell shock, your mind began to race. His stamina is probably incredible, and he’s so big and durable, I wonder what he looks like under that suit. Speaking of that suit, you’ve never not noticed the bulge but knowing it’s been Miguel under there the whole time you bite your lip. You’re so fucked. Second, you were beginning to develop a bit of a crush on the other Miguel. You delude yourself into thinking it’s an enamourment that’s returned, the flirty jokes and wandering exchanges shared between the two of you.

This was something that unbeknownst to you didn’t fly under your Miguel’s radar in the slightest. When all three of you are together, you notice the way his muscles in his face pull at the borderline vulgar double entendres his doppelgänger makes towards you. The twist of his lips, the hard swallow in his throat. Is he… jealous?

“Red or white?” you hear the other Miguel over the couch ask, and the question grounds you. You’re over at Miguel’s place, in attempts to figure out what missing code is needed to finally send Miguel’s other back to his original dimension. You had showed up on time, but Miguel had been running late with Spider-Man duties, so you and his tether found yourself plenty occupied within the wine cabinet, stocked with aged reds and whites.

“Red,” you reply back. “What bottle is that? If it’s expensive he’ll kill you.”

“Chateau Cheval Blanc. 1947. Aged to perfection,” Miguel says, walking towards you at the couch with two large rounded glasses in hand accompanied with a rather expensive looking wine bottle. When he rounds the couch you quirk an eye at him. “All the bottles he has are expensive. And technically, they’re my bottles too.”

You roll your eyes and can’t help but smile. With a pop, the champagne bottle opens, and the smooth pour of amber liquid fills your glass.

At the first sip, it’s tart, a slight edge to the wine. But with each sip, the notes of fruit and full bodied taste of it begins to hit your taste bud. As you sip, conversation between you and Miguel follows. He tells you about his own perils as Spider-Man, his troubled home life, romantic life, and everything in between.

You laugh. You sip. Your glass empties, and he refills it. You’re warm. Your eyelids become heavier. You’re blinking slower. You’re chewing your lip. You’re nervous.

You’re nervous to be alone with Miguel like this. You’re scared of his charm, his dry humour. His chiseled jaw and rounded lips. You really wanna kiss him.

You realize he’s been talking to you this whole time, sat across the couch, droning on about his own LYLA. You feel the heat in your stare, and you wonder if he can too. You can’t help but look at his lips while he’s talking, his tongue peeking out in a flash of pink to wet his lips after a prolonged sentence.

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me.

Your hand slowly comes up towards Miguel’s face and the words slowly die out of his mouth until he’s silent, staring at you like you’ve been staring it him.

“S’good wine,” you say, rubbing soft circles into his cheek.

“Yeah?” he asks, and you nod and bite your lip. “How comes, baby?” You blush. He’s teasing you now. This is exactly what you wanted.

“Makes me feel warm.”

You’re meek in your speech, and Miguel finds it adorable, building up the all too palpable feeling of attraction. “Just warm?” he prods, his turn to run circles onto your skin. You’re glad you worse a dress, you think, as his hand trails slowly up your thigh until his fingers are just centimetres away from where you really want them. Then he begins to caress your upper thigh with his thick hand. You’re beyond the point of wanting a kiss now.

You shake your head slowly. “Not just warm. Needy,” you sigh out. Your hand leaves his face and falls on top of his hand on your thigh, and you pull it up ever so slightly until he’s touching you where you really want it, his fingers simply resting against the fabric of your panties. “Feel needy here.”

“Oh, baby..” he drawls, and he pulls you in with a kiss with his free hand. You feel yourself melt into him, a little dizzy. Whether it’s the wine or Miguel, you’re unsure, but you savour this feeling, scared for it to end. Your lips exchange taste, his mouth tasting of the wine, mint and cigarettes. You can’t help but grind yourself into his fingers, and he finally gets the hint and rubs against the crotch of your panties, coaxing the wetness out of you. Your lips don’t leave eachother, the moment you’ve been waiting for being fuelled but the weeks worth of desire for this Miguel, and years worth of repressed feelings for the other. Your hands comb through his thick brown hair, holding onto him as if he’ll disappear if you let go. Your lips leave his to whisper your words of desire into his ear. You can’t wait anymore.

“F-fuck me, please.”

He groans, his lips making his way to your neck to suck, and when your field of vision clears up you freeze. Miguel is home. Standing in the doorway to his apartment, watching you suck face with his tether. You feel like a kid whose hand got caught in the cookie jar, the strong look of displeasure, anger, at catching you in the middle of defiling his couch. Other Miguel eases up off of your neck with a satisfied face that falls flat when he sees the expression on yours, eyes fixed over his shoulder. He sits up and turns around and freezes once he sees what you see.

It’s unbelievably tense in the room. Your mind feeling like it’s going a mile a minute, while also feeling like you’re unable to produce a coherent thought, a combination of Miguel’s touches and that damned red wine.

Your mouth opens and closes over and over, until you blurt out some half-coherent apology for making out with his indimensional counterpart in his home.

“I’ll um- leave.”

You get up and grab your purse, walking past your Miguel on your way to the door, but you’re met with a strong hand on your shoulder. His strong hand on your shoulder. “Sit.”

It’s all he says. And you do.

You slowly stalk back to the couch, sat in the middle trying to keep a respectable distance from the other Miguel, considering the embarrassing position you were caught in. Miguel makes his way over to the couch, looking at the wine bottle and wine glasses on his glass centre table.

“1947. Good year,” he smirks, and you’re feel your stomach twist. What is he playing at?

Finally, Miguel sits beside you, and you feel your face heat up at your predicament. Stuck between a rock and a hard place.

“I’m not upset about what you two did in here,” Miguel states plainly. He runs his eyes down your neck at the drying spit in between the juncture of it and your shoulder. You look down in embarrassment, but his hand lifts your chin up to look at him once more. “I’m just upset he wasn’t going to wait for me,” he says, brushing his fingers across your cheek and down your chin. You barely have a moment to process what the fuck is happening before his lips crash into yours. Your wine-muddled brain is swirling with so many thoughts but the only one you listen to is the one telling you to kiss him back, so you do. You kiss him back softly, letting him lead you into it. His tongue slips between your lips when you let out a soft moan, and the kiss breaks. Miguel chuckles at your face. He looks beyond you and eyes his twin. “You gonna join or what?”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” other Miguel muses, and grabs your chin to kiss you next. The difference between the two kisses has your mind spinning. One soft but dominating, the other hot and heavy. You want to feel them both forever. You feel another pair of lips on your body, your neck specifically, softly kissing up and down the plane of skin there until the soft kisses turn into lingering nips, and the nips turn into bites and sucks that have you writhing against the couch.

Other Miguel breaks the kiss to move his way down to the juncture of your neck, littering it with bites and kisses as well. The stimulation on both sides feels so good, you can’t help but moan and tilt your head back. With lips preoccupied, a set of hands moves to life your shirt, exposing your bra and the swell of your breasts. Palms move through cups of your bra up, freeing your breasts. They’re only free for so long until a palm envelopes one, and a pair of lips from your neck migrates to your unattended nipple. Your eyes have been closed this entire time, the sensation and sheer circumstance throwing you for a loop. You open your eyes and look down, to see your Miguel sucking and pawing at your breasts, while the other continues to lick and bite at you. You feel sharp teeth graze your nipple and you hiss, your hand moving to the back of Miguel’s head and running your fingers through his brown hair, gripping slightly. He peeks up at your face with a smirk, biting one nipple and pinching the other. Your back arches and you inhale shakily and he chuckles. “Naughty fucking girl. Strip.”

It takes you a moment before your brain processes the words you just heard, but after a moment you realize what he said. Strip. You get up, back facing the two, and you undress slowly, and you become privy the sound of them stripping along with you. you sit back down between the two, hands in your palms and nervous. You’ve had sex before but never this intense, or with two guys at once.

“Can you get on your hands and knees for me, mama? I want your ass this way.” Your Miguel asks.

Ever so pliant, you obey. Ass up, face down in the other Miguel’s lap. You take the time to look at his dick from where you are and your eyes bulge. He’s not the longest but fuck is he thick. He’s well groomed, his curly pubic hair kept primped and cut at his base. In your reverie, you feel something wet lick up at your slit and it sends a chill down your spine. He’s eating your pussy. Miguel is eating your pussy.

“Taste so good down here too,” he muses from behind you, inhaling you before diving his tongue deep within you. Your lower body feels like it’s been set ablaze, your nerves on edge and Miguel’s prodding and licking and sucking and rubbing. His fingers circle your clit slowly as he eats you out and you feel like you’re in heaven.

“I see you’re feeling good, huh baby. Make me feel good too, yeah?” Other Miguel says, caressing your hair away from his face. You nod, and grab his thick cock in your hand, beginning to slowly jerk him off. “Yeah, just like that baby,” he sighs, watching you intensely. You jerk him off for another moment before you lift your head up and lick haphazardly at the tip of his penis, twitching and leaking already. You look up at him as you give his tip kitten licks, and then put the tip in your mouth. “Fucking vixen, you are,” he groans, his hand coming to sit at the back of your head. You bob your head up and down slowly, trying your best not to scrape your teeth against his shaft while your Miguel eats you out so feverishly. You’re sucking and licking as best as you can, reaching a hand around to cup and massage Miguel’s balls, and his hips twitch up and push him deeper in the back of your throat. You moan, at both him and the Miguel behind you, and Miguel notices. He holds your head more firmly before he starts to thrust up into your mouth, fucking your face. Your mouth produces obscene noises, leaking spit around the base of his cock and down your lips. You moan as he fucks your face and suddenly you jolt. A thick finger breaches in you and starts thrusting against your walls, and you can’t help but moan, feeling already full from both ends. One finger becomes two, and Miguel finger fucks you to the pace of other Miguel’s hips. “Taking us so fucking well, baby. Good girl. So good. Take it for us.” You don’t know which one says it, but you keen at the praise. You want more. Your throat feels tight, like you’re gonna suffocate on this thick cock, but you hold out, feeling so good and hot inside. “Almost there baby. Swallow it all.” You muster the energy to flit your eyes up and see Miguel’s eyes closed as he fucks your face voraciously. You feel hot, both at the fingers inside you and the face Miguel is making. With each thrust, your nose hits his pubes and it makes him moan increasingly louder until he thrusts one final time and groans. “Take it for me, baby. Don’t swallow yet, fuck. Fuck!” he moans. He pulls his dick out of your mouth until it’s just the tip your lips wrap around. You breathe deeply through your nose, finally. You let Miguel’s potent cum spurt in your mouth until he finishes and pulls out.

“Show me,” he breathes.

You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, showing him the white ropes of cum in your mouth and how groans, pulling you up to his lips to kiss him messily. You’re dumbfounded before you can even realize that your Miguel pulls you away and towards him next, pulling you into a kiss too. His tongue swirls in your mouth before he pulls away from you. “I told you I wanted to share,” he says, before kissing you again. Your head is spinning. You’re not even sure this entire thing isn’t some mega fucked up erotic dream you’re having. You can’t find it in you to care if it is or not for another moment when you feel Miguel grab your hand and wrap it around his cock. Your fingernails barely touch around the girth of him so you look down and holy shit.

Miguel chuckles at your reaction to his size. He must get this often. His cock is definitely proportional to the rest of him, long and thick all over with a trail of curly dark hair at his base. It’s not as groomed as other Miguel’s but you don’t mind. The leaking, uncut cock in front of has you pulsating inside, and you bend down to lick the precum from his dick. “Such a good girl for me. I don’t even have to tell you what to do,” Miguel says, stroking your hair. You hear movement behind you before lips lick from your clit to asshole, and it takes you by surprise. Your lips pop off of Miguel’s cock and you turn around to see the other Miguel, already semi-errect with a smug smile on his lips. “I-I’ve never.. not there,” you stutter. “Just relax baby. M’here to make you feel good,” a says, rubbing his hand across your right ass-cheek. You nod and go back to sucking off Miguel, feeling the wet tickle of Miguel’s tongue against your asshole. You can’t help but tense as him placing kisses back there. He brings his other hand up to your other ass-cheek and spreads you apart. So vulgar, but you can’t help but find a part of you that likes it.

Miguel spit on your asshole, causing a squeak to leave your stuffed lips, before his plunged his tongue in the hole. Your head starts to fly back before Miguel’s hand stops you and pushes you down, two thirds of his dick down your throat.

“Ah ah, baby. Be a good girl and show me how you suck me off,” he says, rubbing the apple of your bulging cheek with his hand. Be a good girl and show him. With Miguel’s thrusting tongue in your ass, you keep forward and try and fit more of Miguel’s dick in your mouth, sucking him and jerking off what can’t fit in your mouth. “Just like that, baby. Yeah. Make your master happy.”

Your stomach contracts at the word master and something flips in you. You suck his cock until you feel like your jaw is about to dislocate, letting yourself get lost in the praise and the pleasure, feeling an orgasm build up from getting your ass ate. You begin your tremble at the constant stimulation, sucking even harder. Your feel Miguel’s dick twitch in your mouth, an almost there slipping from his lips as you suck and lick and jerk him off. Your hips start to shake when you pull off his dick, placing the tip against your tongue and jerking him, wanting to milk him of his seed.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum.” Miguel pants.

You brace yourself and open your mouth even wider, jerking him as he cums in your mouth. Miguel’s tart cum falls against your tongue, falling down the side of your face as you hold your mouth open for him. He groans above you and curses. “Swallow it.” And you do. Miguel groans before he leans down to meet you in a dirty kiss, and you can’t hold it in anymore before you’re groaning into his mouth and shivering into him from your orgasm. Other Miguel doesn’t stop licking you, licking up the liquid leaking from your pussy with a salacious sounding moan. “Sweet fucking pussy,” he moans between licks, and you’re trembling at the overstimulation, sending you into a second orgasm. This time, you feel your body tense up, and before you know it, you’re squirting into Miguel’s mouth. You gasp, and move your hips from Miguel’s face, feeling your own liquid leak down your leg.

“Yeah, baby. So fuckin’ sweet,” the words make your clit tremble, the sheer base in Miguel’s voice twisting and turning, prodding and pulling at your nerves. “Don’t run, lemme finish, yeah?”

Your hips buck up and away wildly but to no avail, Miguel proving to be an immovable force to your constant movement. With every suck and lick, you feel your energy depleted as the pleasure crosses the threshold of pain, the overstimulation making your body go both numb and still. You’re engulfed in a haze, your body going limp against the couch save for your pelvis held up by two very large hands.

Distantly, you hear skin slapping and you flit your eyes up for a moment to see your Miguel jerking off at the sight of you, surrendered fully to them both. Your eyes roll towards the back of your head when you feel the wetness of Miguel’s thick tongue lick up from your clit to your ass, prodding the tight rim of muscle lightly with his tongue. Before you can register what’s about to happen, you feel a gush of wetness leave you and you groan, utterly exhausted simply from foreplay. Your ears pick up on the increased speed your Miguel took in jerking himself off, a groan leaving his lips shortly after your own does. You picture him covered in his own cum, white sketched across his tone and tanned abs, and the mental picture is enough to get you excited again, despite the way your muscles protest.

“Such a good girl, taking my mouth like that.”

You suppose you should answer, but your tongue is limp in your mouth, unable to force a sequencing of words out. Instead, you let out a pathetic sounding moan.

“I want a taste too. Holding out on me, baby?”

You half expect the stimulation to start again, tensing up, anticipating a touch to your sensitive clit. After a beat, you finally notice you’re untouched still, and a part of you is graceful for this recovery time, but the shuffling behind you has you finding the strength to lift your head up and—

Oh my fucking god.

Your brain short circuits for a moment, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing above you.

Your eyes flutter open and close a few times, somewhat of a quick blink to make sure you’re not riding off some ecstasy high that has you imagining things, that has you imagining both Miguel’s kissing.

It’s slow, and messy at the same time. Your fluids are being lapped up and exchanged by the two men, who lap up and exchange their own saliva as well. You’re struggling to make sense of the eroticism of it, and sheer absurdity of two Miguel O’Haras making out, both mouths wet of your pussy’s nectar. The cognitive dissonance starts to kick your ass a bit, rationalizing the logistics of self incest and it being plain out sexy.

They break apart, both slightly flushed. Your Miguel eyes you with low, brown eyes while your gaze is transfixed at his wet lips, a singular web of saliva connecting both of the men’s lips as they pull apart. Your breath is caught in your throat and you’ve immediately made your decision about the bullshit logistics of this dimensional anomaly. It’s making you so fucking wet.

You’re sure Miguel notices your face, as a breathy laugh leaves his plump lips, wet with both you and him and another him.

“Knew you’d taste good.” He winks and smiles a smile that has your legs regaining feeling once more.

You slowly sit up, straddling yourself in Miguel’s lap. “Want you in,” your hands wrap around his strong shoulders and you lay your cheek against his chest, grinding your sensitive wet lips up and against his dick slowly. You have other Miguel in your line of sight, and you see him watching you both, cock straining against his stomach. It has you feeling warm, thinking of how he unwound you from the inside like that earlier with only his mouth. You can only imagine how it would feel with him inside you. “I- I want you in me too. Please..”

Your voice comes out as meek, but the raunchy display of your hips grinding, face flushed, is anything but.

“Gotta go slowly, mama. You ready?” Miguel asks you, his large hands resting at your hips now, slowly increasing the friction of your wet pussy lips against his thick cock. You moan a bit, and nod in his chest. The thick tip of Miguel’s dick stretches its way inside your pussy, burning slightly despite how wet you are. You wince in pleasure, savouring the burn of the stretch. Other Miguel sits up and makes his way behind you, kissing your back and neck as you sink down onto your Miguel’s cock.

“Fucking tight,” Miguel groans, just as aroused and affected as you are in all the hazy pleasure. Once you’re fully sat, you can’t help but sit up and look down at your lower stomach, a slight bulge in your lower abdomen. “Holy shit,” you moan. You’re pushed back against Miguel’s chest and you squeak at the sudden movement.

“Gonna fuck your tight little ass, baby. Okay?”

It’s rough the way he spits it out into your ear from behind you. You can hear the arousal and anticipation in Miguel’s voice. He spreads your cheeks, spitting on your taut hole. “Gonna have to relax f’me, baby. Gonna be a real tight squeeze.”

You wince and hold onto your Miguel as the other one enters you from behind. While his size isn’t as big as your Miguel, he’s still insanely thick and long in his own right. It takes a lot out of you to withstand the entrance. Soft kisses to your temple and shoulder, sweet nothings and whisperings of “You’re doing so well”, “Good little girl” tickle your ears. From who, you’re not sure. But the verbal praise makes the pain worth it with the way a concentrated heat builds in the depths of your stomach from their charged words.

“I’m all in baby, tell me when you’re ready.” You blink once, twice, and exhale a curt puff of breath. You can’t wait anymore.

“M-move, but slow.”

As soon as the words leave your lips, the rocking of hips start, and you feel everything. The pain, the pleasure, the push, the pull, the sheer unnerving hot heat and sensation the two men bounce you between.

After the initial moment of processing the moment you’re having with these two men, these two Miguel’s, you feel your body become both wracked and accepting of the pleasure. The cant of hips get rougher, the spill of moans and breath get louder, and you start to feel yourself get lost in the raunchiness of it all. Your hands roam up a plane of firm musculature and it has you reeling. Miguel is so manly you can’t help but let it turn you on.

“Feeling good, hm?” Miguel’s full lips are pulled into a smirk as he fucks up into your pussy and you simply grip onto his biceps as he drives into you harder. One particular thrust has you sitting up and leaving back into the other Miguel, head tucked away into the juncture of his neck as he fucks your ass from behind. “I think- fuck- we broke her, man. Can barely speak.” You can hear the smirk in Miguel’s voice as he says that, but you can’t be bothered to protest, because you feel like if you let them fuck you any longer you’ll enter comatose.

Hands from behind you roam up from your hips to your breasts, squeezing at the expanse of your chest tenderly. Simultaneously, thick hands plant themselves on your hips, squeezing as they bring you down in time to the upwards thrusts of hips. “Oh my god- I’m gonna c-cum,” you breathe out, feeling your body wind itself up, preparing for another explosive release. The hands at your breasts start to squeeze your nipples, pinching and pulling the sensitive and erect buds, and you squeal.

“So fucking sensitive, baby.” You know that’s the other Miguel, his lips are directly next to your ear. You turn your face towards his and plant your lips against his, desperate for a kiss. Your lips tingle as he kisses you back and you moan in his mouth, your hands running through his thick brown hair and gripping gentle for support. You’re sure that if you were to let go you’d fall face first into your Miguel’s chest, which wouldn’t be all bad now that you’re thinking about it.

Your kiss with Miguel breaks when you feel something warm and wet wrap around your nipple- Miguel’s mouth. You gasp, feeling yourself tighten around him inside of your pussy as you watch him suckle at your breast. Lips trail up against your neck and they suck and Oh my god- he bites your nipple and you moan so loud it almost startles you. That signature smirk doesn’t cease to appear on Miguel’s face even with your nipple between his lips, and you’d smack him if he wasn’t fucking you oh so well.

The lips sucking hickeys into your neck stop and the cold air drying the spit there makes you shiver. Miguel chuckles behind you and you feel the reverberation of the sound in his chest up against your back and it makes you feel warm inside. You can’t hold on for much longer if the two keep teasing you like this. “P-please let me cum, I can’t anymore,” you heave out, both exhausted and inexplicably excited.

“What do you say, Miguel. Should we let her finish?” A voice behind you. Your eyes squeeze close at a particularly intense thrust to your ass.

“Mmm, I don’t think she wants it enough.” A gravelly voice from your front says. He unlatches from your nipples. Thick fingers tease at your clit and you keen forward.

“P- please oh my gosh please let me come I want it so bad-“ You feel like you’re on your knees, begging to two unmerciful gods to turn your punishment into something considerably comparable to a torturing pleasure.

“Hold on for juuust a little, baby. We’ll make you feel real good, real soon.”

The thick fingers teasing your clit, which you’ve deduced belong to the Miguel behind you, move on from their teasing to rubbing strong circles into your clit and you feel your legs begin to tremble. The feeling of your body getting ready to unwind feels closer and closer and you feel your ass and your pussy get fucked harder and harder until-

When it happens you feel disjointed from your body, watching from third person. You can see yourself, squirming and twitching and shaking and squirting again all over Miguel’s couch and lap and they’re still fucking you because they haven’t cum yet. Your body begins to go slack and you fall against your Miguel’s chest, lips grazing his nipple as he continues to fuck up into you fervently.

“Looks like we fucked you numb, baby,” he laughs and you hear it- feel it in his chest, and you moan lazily. “Oh baby, I know. I’m almost ready to cum. Just a little more.”

“F-fuck, I’m gonna burst back here,” Other Miguel grunts above you. His hips pound roughly for two- three- four more thrusts before his stills into you and you can feel his cum spurt into you and you shiver. Right behind him your Miguel follows fucking his cum into your pussy with a deep and heavy groan.

“S-So deep…” you breathe out, relishing in the stillness between all three of you. Heavy breathing weighs in the air for few moments before you feel Miguel slowly begin to pull out of your ass, his cum leaking out of you lewdly. You inhale a sharp breath as he moves to sit down on the couch, and that’s when your Miguel lifts you off of his semi-softened cock and onto your back on his lush sofa.

Your chest rises up and down and your eyes flutter closed as you struggle to catch your breath and wrap your head around what happened, but you barely get a moment’s rest before your knees are pushed up to the side of your head and you’re basically balancing yourself on your shoulders. Your eyes shoot open and you see two heads above you.

“Gotta taste our work, don’t we?”

One mouth against your creampied pussy, one mouth against your cum filled ass. You’re not too concerned about who mouth is where- but them sucking at your holes, licking up their cum and yours too is sending your body into overdrive with the overstimulation.

You focus on the image up above you and your eyes bulge in your head at what you see, with each lick up your mounds, the tongues between the two Miguel’s touch. With each lick their tongues touch longer, and longer, until they kiss once more, exchanging each other’s cum with your in their mouths and you’re sure you’ve begun to witness an orgasm induced hallucination. They finish kissing, lips and mouths wet and messy, and your legs come back down from your head to the soft couch cushions.

Your mind is absolutely reeling, processing the last few hours up until moments ago, feeling warm in the face already.

You’re so fucked going back to work.

#miguel o’hara smut #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara drabble #comic miguel #comic miguel o’hara #comic miguel o’hara smut #miguel atsv smut #miguel o’hara x you #miguel smut #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara x y/n #feature films💌

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niallerspayno · 6 months ago

Text

English Love Affair (frat boy Harry x reader) - Fic Request

Masterlist

Inspired by the song English Love Affair by 5SOS

Request for @purplekimijks: What began as a one-time fling quickly evolves into something more as you and Harry find yourselves seeking each other out for frequent, secretive hook-ups. As Ashton’s sister and a songwriter for 5SOS, the situation grows more complicated by the day. Will you and Harry continue with these fleeting encounters, or will you take the risk and make it something real?

Tags: frat boy Harry x reader, Ashton x sister!reader, smut with plot

Author's note: I unfortunately never really got into 5SOS, which is weird because I saw them open for 1D in 2013 and I'm Australian - just incase I get any details wrong about them

...

The tour bus hums beneath your feet, the steady vibration lulling you into a sense of rhythm as you absentmindedly scribble lyrics in your notebook. Life on the road with 5 Seconds of Summer isn’t always glamorous, but it’s the kind of chaos you’ve grown used to—probably a genetic thing, considering your brother Ashton thrives in it.

Being the band’s unofficial fifth member and go-to songwriter is a role you love. You’re good at it, too—helping the boys find the words to match their stories, giving them the push they need when inspiration runs dry. It’s fulfilling, creative, and keeps you close to your brother.

But if you’re being honest, it’s not just the music that keeps you here.

It’s him.

Harry Styles.

You don’t know when it started—maybe the first time you met backstage at some award show, his charm disarming and his dimples practically illegal. Or maybe it’s been brewing longer, a quiet fascination that finally burst into a full-blown crush when One Direction invited 5SOS to join their tour.

Now you see him almost every day. In rehearsals. At afterparties. Lounging around during those rare, stolen moments of downtime. And every time, you’re drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Not that you’d ever admit it.

It’s dangerous territory, crushing on someone like Harry. Ashton would lose his mind if he found out, and you can’t even imagine the chaos if the rest of 5SOS or One Direction caught wind. For now, you’re content to steal glances, laugh at his terrible jokes, and feel the thrill of his attention when his green eyes linger just a second too long.

“Daydreaming again?” Michael’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you glance up to find him smirking at you from across the lounge.

“Just working,” you say quickly, holding up your notebook as proof.

“Sure,” Michael teases, waggling his eyebrows. “Working on a song or working on Harry Styles in your head?”

Your face burns, and you throw a pillow at him. “Shut up.”

He laughs, dodging easily, and Ashton walks in, his expression suspicious. “What’s going on in here?”

“Nothing!” you and Michael say at the same time, a little too quickly.

Ashton narrows his eyes, but thankfully, he lets it slide. “Whatever. We’ve got soundcheck in fifteen. Let’s go.”

You gather your things, your pulse racing as you follow the boys out. In the corridor, you almost run into Harry himself, who flashes you that devastating grin and holds the door open for you.

“Thanks,” you murmur, your heart doing that stupid fluttery thing it always does around him.

“Anytime,” he says, his voice low and smooth. His gaze lingers, just for a second, and it’s enough to make your thoughts spiral.

Yeah, this tour is going to be complicated.

…

The music thumps through the walls of the club, loud enough to make your chest vibrate. Ashton and the rest of the boys are deep into their second round of drinks, Michael and Luke shouting over each other about who can chug a beer faster. You should probably intervene before they make fools of themselves, but the atmosphere is charged, and you’re not in the mood to play referee.

Instead, you slip outside, the cool night air a welcome relief against your flushed skin. The alley is dimly lit, the sounds of the party muted as you lean against the wall and take a deep breath.

“You, too, huh?”

The familiar voice makes your stomach flip. You turn your head to see Harry stepping out of the club, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his black blazer. His hair is a little messy, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to give a teasing glimpse of the tattoos on his chest.

“Needed some air,” you say casually, though your pulse quickens when he walks closer.

“Same.” He leans against the wall beside you, close enough that his cologne—warm and woody—lingers in the space between you. “It gets a bit… much in there.”

You nod, unsure what to say. This is the closest you’ve been to him all night, and the awareness of his presence is almost overwhelming.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The sounds of the city fill the silence: distant cars, muffled laughter from inside the club, the soft buzz of a streetlamp overhead.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” Harry says finally, his voice low.

“Just tired,” you lie, forcing a small smile.

He looks at you, really looks at you, and you feel like he’s peeling back layers you didn’t even know were there. “You’re not much of a party person, are you?”

“Not really.” You glance at him, trying to keep your tone light. “But it’s a necessary evil when you’re on tour with two bands of extroverts.”

Harry chuckles, the sound soft and warm. “Fair enough. But you do it well. I’ve noticed you’re good at blending in when you need to.”

His words catch you off guard, and you turn to face him fully. “You’ve noticed?”

He shrugs, but there’s a glint in his eye that makes your breath hitch. “I notice a lot of things about you.”

The air between you shifts, charged with something unspoken. His gaze drops to your lips for a split second, and you’re sure he’s about to say something else, but he doesn’t.

Instead, you find yourself closing the gap.

It’s not planned, not even a conscious decision—just a moment of pure impulse. His lips meet yours softly at first, tentative, as if testing the waters. But when he pulls you closer, his hand brushing your waist, the kiss deepens.

The world fades away, the sounds of the city and the party melting into nothing as the two of you press closer. There’s a heat, a hunger, that neither of you bothers to hide.

When you finally pull back, breathless, Harry’s green eyes lock onto yours, and there’s a playful curve to his lips.

“Well,” he says, his voice low and teasing. “That was unexpected.”

You laugh softly, the sound nervous but giddy. “Yeah. It… it was.”

But neither of you moves to step away. Instead, he leans in again, his breath brushing your ear.

“Think you can keep a secret?”

Your pulse races at Harry’s question, his breath warm against your skin. You should say something—anything—but all you can do is nod, your body leaning instinctively toward his.

“Good,” he murmurs, his lips brushing just below your ear. “Because I’ve been thinking about this for a while now.”

His confession sends a shiver down your spine. The thrill of his words, combined with the tension that’s been simmering between you for weeks, pushes you over the edge.

“Harry,” you manage to whisper, but it’s less of a protest and more of an invitation.

He takes the hint, his hands finding your waist as he presses you back against the wall. His mouth captures yours again, this time hungrier, deeper, as if he’s been holding himself back and can’t any longer. Your hands slide up to his shoulders, gripping the soft fabric of his blazer as his body pins you in place.

The alley is quiet, the world shrinking until it’s just the two of you. His lips trail from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, skimming the sensitive spot just below your ear. You bite back a gasp, the sound catching in your throat, and he chuckles softly.

“You’re so quiet,” he teases, his voice a mix of amusement and desire. “I was starting to think I’d have to work harder.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him back to you.

He grins against your lips but doesn’t argue, his hands sliding down your waist to your hips. The pressure of his touch is firm, grounding, and you feel yourself melting against him.

“Let’s go,” he says suddenly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, his lips slightly swollen from kissing you.

“Go where?” you ask, your voice breathless.

“Anywhere but here.” He nods toward the club. “Unless you want to risk your brother walking out and catching us.”

The mention of Ashton jolts you back to reality for a split second. This is a bad idea—a terrible idea, really—but the way Harry’s looking at you makes it impossible to care.

“Fine,” you say, your voice steadier than you feel. “Lead the way.”

He takes your hand, his fingers lacing with yours as he pulls you toward the back entrance of the club. The thrill of sneaking off together sends a rush of adrenaline through you, and by the time you make it to his hotel room, you’re both laughing softly, your nerves tangled with excitement.

The door clicks shut behind you, and for a moment, you just stand there, looking at each other. The room is dim, the city lights filtering in through the window casting shadows on his face.

“You sure about this?” Harry asks, his voice low but serious.

You step closer, your hands sliding up his chest. “Are you?”

Instead of answering, he kisses you again, and this time there’s no hesitation. His hands are everywhere—your back, your waist, your thighs—pulling you closer, as if he can’t get enough. You stumble toward the bed, his jacket slipping off his shoulders and landing on the floor.

The backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you let yourself fall back onto the soft mattress, pulling Harry with you. His weight presses down against you, solid and warm, grounding you in this moment that feels both thrilling and inevitable.

His lips move against yours, hungry and sure, leaving you breathless as his hands slide under your top, his fingertips grazing the bare skin of your waist. The heat of his touch sparks a fire that spreads through your entire body, your senses heightened by the closeness of him—his warmth, his scent, the soft rasp of his stubble against your cheek.

“Are you sure?” he asks again, his voice lower this time, tinged with impatience and raw need. His green eyes are darker now, locked onto yours, the question more of a formality than anything else.

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you pull him down to you, crashing your lips into his, fingers tangling in his hair as you take what you’ve both been craving all night. It’s messy, hot, and desperate, and you feel his groan reverberate against your mouth as he presses his body firmly against yours, pinning you to the mattress.

The shift is immediate. His hands are on you, rougher now, gripping your waist and sliding down to your thighs with a possessive strength that sends a jolt of arousal through you. He’s not gentle, and you don’t want him to be. You arch into him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he grinds his hips into yours, his hardness pressing against you through the thin barrier of clothing still between you.

“God, you feel so good,” he growls, his voice ragged as his lips trail down your neck, teeth grazing just enough to leave marks. You gasp, your body responding instinctively as heat pools low in your stomach.

“Harry,” you gasp, his name falling from your lips like a plea, and it only spurs him on. He yanks your shirt over your head in one swift motion, his hands immediately returning to your bare skin. His palms are hot, his touch firm as they slide over your curves, fingers digging in just enough to leave a sting that’s more pleasure than pain.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” he mutters, his voice rough and breathless as he pulls back just enough to take you in, his gaze hungry and intense.

You don’t give him a chance to say more. Your hands move to the hem of his shirt, tugging it off him in a rush before your fingers are on his belt, working it open with shaking hands. He smirks, the sight of your urgency clearly fueling his own, but he doesn’t stop you, his eyes darkening as you shove his jeans down his hips.

He’s on you again, his body pressing into yours with a weight that feels overwhelming in the best way. His hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider as he settles between them, his lips crashing against yours with a bruising intensity.

Your head tilts back against the pillows as he moves lower, his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin of your chest before his lips trail lower, biting and sucking his way down. Your moan fills the room as he pulls your underwear down with a sharp tug, tossing it aside before his hands are on you again, exploring, teasing, claiming.

When he finally moves back up, his lips find yours again, rough and insistent, and you feel him against you, hard and ready. Your breath hitches as he presses forward, his hand gripping your hip tightly to hold you in place as he pushes into you with one slow, deliberate thrust.

The stretch is overwhelming, and you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders as your body adjusts to him. He stills for a moment, his chest heaving against yours as he curses under his breath, his control clearly hanging by a thread.

“Jesus, you feel so good,” he groans, his voice strained. But the pause doesn’t last long. He pulls back and thrusts again, harder this time, and the sharp cry that escapes your lips only seems to fuel him.

The rhythm he sets is relentless, his hips snapping against yours in a way that leaves you breathless. His hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, tangling in your hair, pinning your wrists above your head as he takes you apart piece by piece.

“Look at me,” he demands, his voice rough, and you force your eyes open, meeting his gaze. The intensity there steals what little air you had left, and you feel the raw hunger in the way he looks at you, like he can’t get enough.

The room is filled with the sounds of heavy breathing, skin against skin, and the soft creak of the mattress beneath you. Every thrust pushes you closer to the edge, your body trembling beneath him as you surrender completely to the heat and intensity of him.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his lips brushing against your ear as he drives into you harder, his grip on your hips almost bruising. And in this moment, you don’t care about anything else—just the way he feels, the way he makes you feel, and the fire that’s consuming you both.

The tension in your body builds with every thrust, every roll of his hips, each movement pushing you further toward the edge. Your nails dig into his skin as your body tightens, every inch of you alive with the electric buzz of him, the heat between you. You can feel him, deep inside you, moving relentlessly, his breath ragged and harsh against your neck.

"Harry..." you gasp, your voice breaking as your body starts to tremble, your chest heaving with the effort to hold on. You’re so close, so close that everything else fades away, leaving only the overwhelming sensation of him and the burning need for release.

"Fuck, I know," he grunts, his fingers gripping your hips harder, his pace quickening, his breaths coming in sharp, uneven gasps. His eyes are locked on yours, his face a mixture of concentration and raw desire. "Come on, baby. Let go."

And then, just like that, it snaps. Your body gives way, a wave of pleasure crashing over you, your breath catching as you cry out his name. The world tilts as you lose yourself in him, the intensity of your release leaving you breathless, your body shaking as it waves through you.

Harry’s movements become more erratic, his control slipping as he follows you, his own release tearing through him with a low growl. You feel him pulse inside you, each throbbing wave of his climax pushing you even further into the haze of pleasure, your body still trembling under the weight of it.

He collapses onto you, his chest heaving against yours, both of you slick with sweat, breathless from the overwhelming rush of it all. You lie there for a moment, both of you tangled in the aftermath, the room heavy with the echoes of your connection.

The silence between you is thick, the only sound the frantic beating of your hearts. His hand brushes against your cheek, his thumb stroking the soft skin there as he raises his head to look at you. There's something almost apologetic in his expression, but also a glint of something deeper—satisfaction, maybe, or desire, or something you can't quite place.

"That was..." he starts, but he doesn’t finish. Instead, he presses a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment, before pulling away slightly to look at you again. "We don't tell anyone about this, right?"

You nod, your fingers lightly tracing the contours of his jaw, feeling the roughness of his stubble under your touch. "Yeah. No one," you agree, your voice still a little breathless, but with a steady resolve.

His lips curl into a small, almost mischievous grin. "But we can definitely do it again, yeah?" he asks, his voice lowering, as though testing the waters.

You can’t help but smile at the suggestion, your fingers running through his hair as you look up at him, the heat of the moment still lingering. "Definitely," you reply, your voice steady, the hint of a laugh in your tone.

He leans down to kiss you again, soft and slow this time, a promise of more, as both of you settle back into the bed, the world outside forgotten. The night stretches ahead, and in the quiet aftermath, there’s only the unspoken agreement between you—what happened stays between the two of you. But it’s not over. Not by a long shot.

...

You wake up to the soft light of dawn streaming through the window, the quiet hum of the city just beyond the walls of the hotel room. You’re tangled in the sheets, your body still warm from the night before, but there’s an underlying tension creeping in with the awareness of what happened. You blink a few times, the events from last night flooding your mind in vivid flashes—his touch, the way he kissed you, the way your bodies moved together, and the marks he left on you.

You feel his breath on the back of your neck before you even realize Harry’s awake. He’s lying next to you, his arm draped over your waist, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, looking impossibly calm for someone who shared such an intense experience with you.

Your eyes widen when you catch sight of the dark purple marks scattered across your neck, a line of them creeping down toward your collarbone. Your breath catches in your throat as you shift slightly, trying not to wake him. Then your fingers trail down to your hips, where you feel the telltale pressure of his hand—the faint outline of bruises, each one a reminder of the night’s wild intensity.

Panic starts to creep in. You have to hide these. You have to figure out how to sneak back to your room without anyone seeing. You don’t even know why it’s bothering you this much; it’s not like you and Harry made any promises, not like anyone would find out. Still, the idea of the band—especially Ashton—finding out makes your stomach churn.

Carefully, you slip out of the bed, trying to make as little noise as possible, but Harry stirs slightly. You freeze, heart hammering in your chest, but he simply groans softly and rolls onto his back, one hand draped casually over his eyes, completely unfazed. His deep voice, laced with sleep, cuts through the silence.

“Morning,” he says, his tone as nonchalant as ever, like he hasn’t just turned your world upside down.

You bite your lip, trying to keep your composure as you stand near the bed, searching for something—anything—to cover the marks. Your mind races, fingers fumbling as you search for a shirt or anything that will help hide the evidence.

“Everything okay?” he asks, his voice low but teasing, not even glancing your way as he stretches. He’s acting so casually about it, like nothing out of the ordinary happened, like he doesn’t see the way you’re scrambling to cover up.

“Yeah,” you mutter, forcing a laugh, though it’s thin and awkward. You grab your shirt from the floor, pulling it over your head in a hurry. “Just, uh... need to go back to my room. Don’t want anyone to notice.”

Harry finally opens his eyes, his lips curling into a small, apologetic smile as he watches you. He sits up, running a hand through his messy hair. “I’m sorry about that,” he says, nodding toward your neck and hips, where the marks are still evident. “I didn’t mean to leave them... though, you do look pretty fucking beautiful with them.”

You glance at him, surprised by his tone—genuinely regretful but also teasing, in that way only Harry can pull off. You try not to smile, but it’s impossible not to. The apology, even if wrapped in his usual charm, makes something warm stir in your chest.

“Doesn’t matter,” you shrug, trying to brush it off, even though you’re clearly bothered. You finish pulling on your jeans, quickly tugging the fabric over the marks on your hips. “I’ll figure it out.”

Harry slides closer, his hand reaching out to gently tug your chin so you’re looking directly at him. His expression softens, and he leans in, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that’s much gentler than anything from last night—sincere, almost apologetic.

“Next time, I’ll be more careful,” he whispers against your lips, his breath warm against your skin. His thumb traces the side of your neck where the marks are, making you shiver. “But I’m not sorry for last night. That was perfect.”

You lean into him, kissing him back for a moment longer before pulling away. "You really have to stop marking me," you tease lightly, but you can’t help but grin. "People are going to ask questions."

He grins back, his lips curving into that devil-may-care smirk. “If anyone asks, we’ll just say we were... being friendly,” he says, his tone playful but laced with that same intensity from the night before.

You laugh softly, but there's a tightness in your chest that you can’t quite shake. As much as you want to be carefree like him, you know the reality of sneaking back to your room is a little more complicated.

“I’ve got to go,” you say, standing up quickly, suddenly feeling the weight of the situation. “Before anyone notices.”

Harry nods, his smirk never fading, his eyes still gleaming with that mixture of mischief and satisfaction. “Don’t worry, babe. I won’t tell anyone.”

You pause, glancing back at him as you reach for the door. “I’ll see you later.”

He leans back on the bed, his hands behind his head, looking completely unfazed by the chaos of the night you both shared. “You know where to find me,” he says, his voice casual, but there’s that familiar undercurrent of promise.

You slip out of the room, your heart pounding, your mind racing. The door clicks shut behind you, and for a moment, you just stand there, breathing in the cool hallway air. It feels like everything just changed, and you’re not entirely sure how to process it. But as you make your way back to your room, you can’t shake the feeling that this won’t be the last time Harry’s hands leave marks on your skin.

...

You walk into the breakfast area, trying to shake off the lingering tension from last night. Harry’s already sitting with a coffee, looking casual as ever. You meet his gaze, but the smile he gives you is knowing, making your pulse race for a second before you force yourself to act normal.

The rest of the band is chatting, and you take a seat, trying to ignore the burn of the marks on your neck and hips. Ashton’s eyes keep flicking to you, the silence between you palpable. You can feel the weight of his stare.

Liam, ever the conversationalist, breaks the tension with an innocent enough question. “Hey, what’s up with you two?” he asks, glancing between you and Harry.

Harry shrugs, cool as ever. “Nothing, mate. Just breakfast.”

You nod quickly, sipping your coffee, trying to seem casual. But Ashton’s quiet. He’s not buying it. His eyes flick to your side, where you shift uncomfortably. “You okay?” he asks, his voice sharp, before glancing at Harry with suspicion.

“I’m fine,” you snap a little too quickly, and Harry intervenes just in time, his voice smooth and easy. “We’re all just adjusting to the time change, right?”

Ashton hesitates but then shrugs it off. The conversation moves on, but you feel like something’s off.

Then Niall spots the marks on your side. “Hey, what’s that?” he asks, pointing. “New ink or something?”

Before you can answer, Louis leans in with a grin. “Bite marks? Who’d you go home with?”

You force a laugh, brushing it off. “Just some random guy from the club. It didn’t mean anything.”

Niall raises an eyebrow. “A random guy at the club? Didn’t expect that from you.”

You shrug. “Sometimes you just need to blow off steam.”

Louis teases more, but Ashton’s quiet, his jaw tight as he observes. “Sure,” he mutters, his tone colder. “Nothing.”

You feel the shift in the air, Ashton’s unspoken frustration hanging between you, but you stay silent. Harry gives you a small nod, his eyes locking with yours for just a second before turning back to his coffee.

The rest of the conversation continues, but you can’t shake the feeling that everyone knows—or at least senses—something happened. And you’re left trying to keep it together, even though the heat from last night still burns beneath your skin.

...

A few days have passed since breakfast, and things have shifted, though no one’s mentioned last night’s heat. The band is busy with rehearsals and interviews, and the air between you and Harry feels charged, like electricity just waiting to snap.

That night, after the show, you slip away from the usual after-party chaos. You need to clear your head, to get some space from the noise and the people, but the moment you step outside, your gaze lands on him. Harry’s leaning against the back of the venue, hands shoved in his pockets, watching the stars like he’s waiting for something—someone.

You’re not sure what pulls you to him, but you find your feet moving before you can stop them. When he sees you, that smirk appears, the one that you know so well, and his eyes light up.

“Thought I’d find you out here,” he says, his voice smooth but with a hint of playfulness.

You stop in front of him, the cool night air biting at your skin. "Couldn't sleep," you reply, your heart already picking up pace as he steps closer.

"Couldn’t sleep, huh?" He steps forward, his hand brushing against yours. The simple touch sends a wave of heat through you, making it impossible to ignore the tension between you two. “I think I might be able to help with that.”

The words hang in the air, thick with meaning, and without thinking, you close the distance between you. His lips find yours almost instantly, pulling you into him. The kiss is hungry this time, no teasing, just raw need.

His hands are on your body, pushing you against the cold brick of the building, his lips trailing along your jawline, down your neck. Every movement is deliberate, urgent. You gasp when his teeth graze your skin, a rush of heat flooding your veins. You can feel him hard against your stomach, and it makes you dizzy.

“Right here?” you ask breathlessly, your hands running over the muscles of his back, the tension in his body matching your own.

He looks at you, his green eyes dark and intense, a spark of mischief dancing in them. “Why not?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. “It’s just us.”

You don’t hesitate. With a quick move, your hands are tugging at the hem of his shirt, pulling it off in one smooth motion. His skin is warm under your fingers, and your breath catches when his lips find yours again, harder this time.

You can’t keep up with the speed of it, the way he’s pushing you toward a part of the alley where the shadows swallow you whole. His hands move over your body, finding the zip of your jacket and pulling it down. Every touch, every movement sends you spiraling. There’s no waiting this time, no slow build-up. It's frantic, raw, like you’re both trying to chase the same thing.

You help him out of his jeans, the fabric sliding off his legs just as you pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside. The cool air hits your bare skin, but Harry's warmth, the heat of his body, is enough to make you forget the chill.

With a sudden, fluid motion, he lifts you up, pressing you against the wall as your legs wrap around his waist. His lips are back on yours, and you can feel the intensity building again, the desperation of it. You feel his cock against you, and a shiver runs through you at the feel of him, so close, so desperate.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders as his hands find their way to your hips, guiding you toward him. The way his fingers dig into your skin makes your heart race even faster.

The way he enters you, quick and relentless, takes your breath away. The world narrows down to the sensation of him filling you, the rhythm of his thrusts, the pressure in all the right places. You meet him with equal urgency, the rhythm between you sharp and frantic.

It doesn’t take long for the heat to build, for the world to go blurry and insubstantial. You’re caught in the force of it, lost in the way his body moves against yours, in the sound of his breath, his low groans as he pushes deeper.

It’s raw, fast, just what you both need to feel alive. The noise around you fades into nothing. All that exists is him—his touch, his body, the overwhelming heat that’s too much and not enough at the same time.

And when you reach the edge, when everything seems to come apart at once, you feel him release into you, his grip tightening as he lets out a low, guttural sound that makes you dizzy. It crashes over you like a wave, pulling you under, and you cling to him, riding the wave of pleasure until it finally fades.

You both stand there for a moment, catching your breath, leaning against each other for support. He places a gentle kiss on your forehead, still breathing heavily. “You good?” he asks, his voice soft but rough from the intensity of it all.

You nod, a smile tugging at your lips as you look up at him, feeling the aftermath of everything. You didn’t know it would feel this good—this easy, this undeniable. But it does.

“I’m good,” you reply, your hands still on his chest, feeling his heartbeat match your own.

He smirks again, leaning down to kiss you one more time, his lips soft now, slower, almost tender. "This isn't over," he murmurs against your lips. "We’re not done yet."

You pull back slightly, looking at him with a knowing smirk of your own. "I think we both know that."

...

A few days later again, and the night is loud, the music and chatter from the party blending with the thrumming bass of your own pulse. You're moving through the crowd, adrenaline pulsing, and you know exactly where you're heading. You don’t need to find him—Harry’s always in the same spot, tucked away from the chaos, waiting for the perfect moment.

You don’t waste time looking for him. As soon as you find him, you step into his space without hesitation. He’s leaning against the wall near the back of the venue, his eyes immediately finding you as you approach. The air between you thickens, a knowing tension hanging heavy in the seconds before you speak.

He smirks, his lips curling, but his eyes are dark with something more dangerous. “You alright?” His voice is low, deliberate, the edge of it making your pulse quicken.

You don’t answer with words. You reach up, your fingers curling into the collar of his shirt, and pull him into a hard, bruising kiss. The kind that burns, urgent and hot. No hesitation. No sweet words. You’ve had enough of waiting, of being passive.

Harry’s hands find your waist, but you don’t give him the chance to pull you closer. Instead, you shove him back, pinning him against the wall with your body. His breath hitches, and for a moment, you feel his control slipping.

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “Not this time,” you murmur, your voice rough with desire. “I’m in charge tonight.”

Harry’s lips part, a flicker of something dark passing through his gaze. He’s caught off guard for a second, but the challenge only fuels him. He smirks, but it’s different now—almost predatory. “You sure about that?”

Without answering, you grab his wrist and tug him toward the back hall. There’s a small storage cupboard just around the corner, hidden from the rest of the crew. You reach it quickly, slipping inside with Harry close behind you, your back pressing against the cool metal door.

The moment the door closes behind you, it’s like the world shrinks to just the two of you. There’s no one around to stop it, no one to see what happens next. And that’s exactly what you want.

You waste no time, pushing him up against the shelves, the sound of metal scraping against the wall echoing in the small space. Your hands are on him instantly, pulling at his jeans, your mouth on his neck, the heat between you rising fast. There’s no teasing, no soft caress—just the immediate pressure of wanting him, needing him, right here, right now.

Harry’s hands come to your hips, fingers digging in as he tries to guide you, but you won’t let him. You’re not here for him to control. You kiss him again, harder this time, your hands undoing his belt, unzipping his jeans with quick, practiced movements. When you pull him free, his breath catches in his throat, and you feel him twitch under your touch.

“You think you can just take over?” Harry’s voice is low, rough, and it makes your pulse race even faster.

“You’re about to find out,” you respond, your voice steady despite the heat building inside you. You drop to your knees in front of him, not wasting a second before you take him in your mouth. It’s quick, sharp, the way you want it. His groan fills the small space, and you feel the way his fingers tighten in your hair, pulling you closer.

You know he’s holding back, fighting against the rush of pleasure, but you won’t give him the chance to regain control. You move faster, harder, your mouth working him while your hands hold his hips still, forcing him to take everything you give him.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, his voice strained, low. His grip on your hair tightens, his chest heaving as he struggles to stay in control. “You’re gonna make me lose it.”

You look up at him, meeting his darkened gaze, and you can see the struggle in his eyes. It’s almost like he wants to push you away, take the lead again, but he can’t. Not now. You’re too far in control. You pull away for a moment, and his eyes flicker to yours with frustration.

But before he can say anything, you grab his wrist and pull him into the corner of the cupboard. The cramped space forces you both closer, heat between your bodies rising by the second. You push him back against the shelves, your hands sliding over his chest before you drop to your knees again, taking him in your hand, guiding him where you need him most.

This time, there’s no slowing down. You lower yourself onto him in one quick motion, feeling the stretch of him fill you completely. The angle is different, sharper, and the way he groans under you sends a thrill of power through you. You move against him, setting the pace, your body riding him with the urgency of a fire you can’t put out.

His hands grip your hips, but you don’t let him take over. You fuck him harder, faster, feeling the pull of your body tightening with each movement. The sound of your skin slapping together fills the small space, your breath coming in quick bursts, matching the frantic rhythm between you.

“You feel so fucking good,” Harry mutters, his voice low and raspy as his hands grip your waist, pulling you even closer. He’s close, you can feel it. But you don’t stop. You drive yourself harder onto him, taking him deeper with each thrust.

The heat builds, pressure coiling tighter and tighter until, with one final, sharp push, you both come undone. The force of it takes you by surprise, your body trembling as you collapse against him.

You’re both breathless, sweaty, and still reeling from the intensity. Harry holds you close for a moment, his hands running up and down your back, trying to steady both of you. You pull back slightly, looking up at him with a smirk.

“You didn’t think I could take control, did you?” you tease, your voice husky with satisfaction.

Harry chuckles, his lips brushing your forehead as he presses a soft kiss there. “You fucking blew me away, love,” he mutters, his voice filled with admiration and something else—something you can’t quite place.

You smile against his chest, the rush of power fading as you both come back down. You’re not done, not by a long shot. But for now, you both stay there in the cramped storage cupboard, tangled in each other’s arms, letting the aftermath wash over you.

For now, it's just you and him.

...

The next day, you walk into your hotel room, exhausted from the day's events, only to find Harry waiting for you. The door clicks shut behind you, and before you can say anything, he’s there, stepping toward you with that same confident smirk on his lips. His eyes are dark, and his stance says it all—he’s taking control again.

You try to keep your cool, but your pulse is already quickening. You hadn’t expected him to follow you, hadn’t thought he would be here, but now that he is, there’s no denying what’s about to happen.

“Still thinking about last night?” he asks, voice low and teasing, as he reaches you in two strides.

You can barely find the words. All you can do is stare back at him, your body reacting before your brain can catch up. “I thought we agreed—”

“We did,” he cuts you off, his hand brushing lightly against your arm, sending a shiver through you. “But I think it's my turn again.”

His mouth is on yours before you can protest. It’s a demanding kiss, his lips parting yours with purpose. His hands quickly make their way to your body, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the heat of him, the hard press of his chest against yours. There’s no room for hesitation, no time to think. He knows what he wants, and he's making sure you know it, too.

“Take your clothes off,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to let you breathe, but his eyes never leave yours.

Your body moves almost involuntarily, your shirt falling to the floor as he watches, his gaze intense. There’s something about the way he looks at you now that sends a rush of heat to your core. You can feel your body responding before you even realize it, your breath catching in your throat as he moves closer.

With one swift motion, he pushes you back toward the bed, never breaking eye contact, his hands on your waist, guiding you down. You’re almost powerless against his grip, the way his hands are everywhere, touching, exploring, pulling you closer.

"Stay still," Harry growls as he hovers over you, his lips trailing down your neck. His touch is rough, deliberate, his hands gripping you like he owns you. You try to fight it, try to hold on to some sense of control, but it’s impossible.

His mouth moves to your neck, biting down hard enough to make you gasp, leaving marks, branding you in a way that only he can. "You’re mine, remember that," he mutters against your skin, before trailing his lips lower, down your chest.

Before you can fully process what’s happening, his fingers are at your waist, slipping under your waistband. You tense at the suddenness of it, but there’s no stopping him. He doesn’t give you a chance to breathe before he's moving, quickly and efficiently, pulling you closer, his mouth returning to your skin.

“Missed this,” he murmurs, his fingers sliding over your hips, his touch like fire.

He flips you onto your stomach before you can even react. His hands grip your hips, pulling them up, positioning you exactly the way he wants you. You brace yourself, knowing what’s coming. It’s not gentle. He’s not gentle. His hand smacks against your ass, hard enough to sting, and you gasp.

“Don’t move,” he growls, his voice rough as he enters you in one swift motion. The force of it makes you cry out, the suddenness taking your breath away.

He doesn’t wait. His thrusts are relentless, harsh, driving into you with a power that has your body shaking. There’s nothing soft about it. Nothing tender. It’s all control, all power, and you can’t help but give into it, letting him take you in a way that only he can. The bed creaks beneath you, his hand still gripping your hip with a bruising force, and the sound of his skin meeting yours fills the room.

He’s rough, pushing you to the edge, your body moving with his, the tension building in your stomach. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he mutters through gritted teeth, his pace quickening. The marks on your neck throb with every movement, the bites and bruises adding to the intensity. You can feel him everywhere, his hands, his mouth, his body against yours.

It’s not long before you feel the tension snap, your body clenching around him as you cry out, your release crashing over you. Harry doesn’t stop. He keeps going, chasing his own release, his grip tightening as he finishes with a low groan, his body shuddering against yours.

He stays inside you for a moment, his hands resting on your hips, before he pulls out slowly. You collapse onto the bed, breathless, the marks on your neck and hips still stinging with the reminder of what just happened. He doesn’t move away. Instead, he leans down, pressing a kiss to the marks he left, his lips lingering on your skin.

"Next time, don’t try to fight me," he murmurs, a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll make sure you remember who’s in charge.”

You can’t help but shiver at the thought, your body still tingling from the aftermath. Harry pulls away, his expression smug as always, but there’s something in his eyes that tells you this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

...

The night air is thick with the promise of something to come, the city lights flickering below as the storm clouds gather above. You’ve been feeling the electricity between you and Harry all evening, the kind of tension that only seems to grow the longer you spend together. Tonight, something is different—there’s an undeniable pull that neither of you can ignore.

You’re in Harry’s hotel room, lounging on the couch, the hum of the city barely reaching your ears through the thick glass windows. Outside, the wind picks up, and you catch the first few drops of rain against the glass. You glance over at Harry, and your heart races at the sight of the mischievous grin that’s spreading across his face.

“You know,” he starts, voice low and tempting, “I’ve got a better idea than staying in here.”

Before you can ask, he’s already pulling you to your feet, his hand gripping yours with a firm urgency. The way his eyes glint with intent sends a thrill running through you, your pulse quickening. Without a word, he leads you to the door, and your stomach flips with the knowledge of what’s about to happen.

As you step into the hallway, the sound of rain grows louder, and Harry’s grip tightens around your wrist, guiding you toward a hidden staircase. “You’ll see,” he murmurs, a devilish smile tugging at his lips.

The air is charged with something unspoken, and as you ascend the stairs, you can feel the growing anticipation, your heart thumping in your chest. The storm outside is starting to pick up, a low rumble of thunder echoing in the distance. As you reach the rooftop door, Harry opens it, and the full force of the rain hits you—cold and sharp, the droplets crashing down as you step onto the wet rooftop.

The view is breathtaking, the city sprawled out beneath you, the sky above heavy with rain. You can hear the sound of water pounding against the pavement, but it doesn’t drown out the rush of your heartbeat as Harry turns to face you. His lips are on yours before you can even think, hot and insistent despite the cold rain soaking through your clothes.

“You’re crazy,” you murmur between kisses, your hands gripping his shirt as the rain drenches you both.

“You have no idea,” Harry replies, his breath hot against your ear. He pulls back for a moment, looking down at you with that smirk of his. “Let’s take this somewhere... a little more private.”

Without waiting for a response, he grabs your hand and leads you toward the far side of the roof, where a small, secluded corner offers some shelter from the storm. The wind howls around you, but the heat between you both only intensifies. Harry’s fingers work their way down your body, pulling you closer, your breath coming faster.

He presses you against the wall, his lips finding yours once more in a kiss that’s rough, desperate. His hands slide under your clothes, the cold rain making his touch even more electric against your heated skin. There’s no teasing this time—he’s all urgency, a desperate need that matches the pounding rain around you.

“Harry,” you gasp, your hands pushing his shirt off, “we shouldn’t be—”

But you’re cut off by his mouth trailing down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as his hands push you further against the wall. His words are muffled against your skin. “We don’t need to care about that now, do we?”

The adrenaline is coursing through your veins as you feel his hands tugging at your clothes, eager, impatient. The rain pelts down harder, drenching both of you, but it only makes everything feel more intense—more real. You’re soaked, and yet there’s nothing about the cold that can stop the heat building between you two.

He drags you up against him, his lips moving with feverish need, kissing you in the rain like it’s the only thing that matters. You can barely keep up as he lifts you, pressing you against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist as he pushes you further into the corner.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Harry mutters, his voice rough and low as he grinds against you. His hands roam, exploring, pulling you closer as if he can’t get enough. You respond with equal hunger, the rain streaming down your face, the world falling away as you lose yourself in him.

His lips trail down to your neck, biting into your skin, leaving a mark that’s sure to last. The cold rain and the heat between you are at odds, yet they make everything feel more electrifying. You can’t stop your own moans, your fingers tangled in his wet hair as you pull him closer.

“Harry,” you whisper, your voice breaking as he moves faster, more urgently, each thrust more demanding than the last.

With each breathless moment, you know this won’t be the last time you end up like this—caught between the madness of the storm and the chaos of everything you two are. You’re both drenched, but it doesn’t matter. The rain may fall, but it’s the fire between you that keeps you both burning, relentless, until the world outside seems to disappear.

...

A few weeks have passed since that first hookup with Harry, and the tension between the two of you has only grown. The encounters have become more frequent, more intense. Sometimes it feels like there’s no hiding what’s between you, even though you’re doing your best to keep it under wraps. Harry’s smirks have become a constant, and the moments when he looks at you with that knowing glint in his eyes have started to make your stomach flip every time.

The bands—5SOS and One Direction—have started picking up on it, though no one’s come right out and said anything yet. There’s an unspoken feeling in the air, a shift in the dynamic, but everyone’s too polite—or too unaware—to confront it directly. The only one who seems to have picked up on something more than the others is Ashton. He’s been quieter, his eyes lingering on you with that concerned look you’ve come to recognise. He’s your brother, and you know him well enough to know that he senses something, but hasn’t quite put his finger on it.

You’re sitting backstage, your guitar resting on your knee, the hum of voices and instruments in the background. You’ve been working on a new song—one that’s personal, raw, and a little too close to the truth for comfort. The lyrics have poured out of you, each word more revealing than the last. It’s about what’s been happening with Harry, about the passion, the uncertainty, and the way he makes you feel all at once. You’ve titled it “English Love Affair,” a playful nod to the chaos of your tangled situation.

It’s time to show the guys. The atmosphere is a bit lighter today, everyone milling around in a relaxed mood after a long rehearsal. You grab your guitar, your fingers hovering over the strings as you make your way to where 5SOS and One Direction are gathered. Ashton notices you first, giving you a small smile, though his eyes still hold that familiar concern. The others are scattered around the room, laughing, teasing, but there’s a flicker of interest when they see the guitar in your hands.

“Got something to share, love?” Louis calls out from across the room, his voice loud and playful.

“Yeah, she’s been working on something,” Niall adds, eyeing you curiously.

You take a deep breath, nerves fluttering in your stomach. You’d been writing for months, but this one—this one feels different. The song is about Harry. About all the emotions, the heat, the connection, and the chaos of what you two have been doing. You’re not sure if you’re ready to show them yet, but if anyone’s going to understand, it’s them. You know how to separate your personal feelings from your music, but with this song, it’s a little harder to mask it all.

“Yeah,” you reply, strumming a few notes to test the sound, “it’s... a new one.”

Ashton steps forward, crossing his arms as he leans against the wall. His eyes are on you, searching, but there’s a quiet understanding there, even if he’s not sure what’s going on. You meet his gaze, offering a quick smile before looking down at your guitar.

The guys quiet down as you start to play, the melody flowing easily as you strum the chords. Your voice fills the space, the words slipping out with a raw honesty that makes your heart race:

“It started on a weekend in May I was looking for attention, needed intervention Felt somebody looking at me With a powder white complexion, feeling the connection

The way she looked was so ridiculous Every single step had me waiting for the next Before I knew it, it was serious Dragged me out the bar to the back seat of her car”

As you sing, the room grows quieter. The words, the rawness, the honesty—it’s clear this is something personal, something deeper than the usual pop tunes they’re used to hearing from you. You continue, each verse building with the tension that’s been hanging between you and Harry:

“When the lights go out, she's all I ever think about The picture burning in my brain, kissing in the rain I can't forget, my English love affair Today, I'm seven thousand miles away The movie playing in my head of a king size bed means I can't forget My English love affair My English love affair”

The last chord rings out, and the room is silent for a moment. You lower the guitar, waiting for their reaction, your heart thudding in your chest. Ashton is the first to speak, his voice quiet but steady.

“So, what’s this really about?” he asks, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of concern and something else—something you can’t quite read.

You don’t know how to answer. The song is about him, but it’s not. It’s about the complications, the passion, the messiness of what’s been happening between you two. It’s about more than just sex—it’s about feelings, connection, confusion. But you know the guys won’t get that. They’ll just hear the lyrics, the heat, and they’ll know. They’ll know exactly what you’ve been hiding.

You hesitate for a second, then shrug, trying to play it off. “It’s just a song. You know, inspiration. Whatever comes to mind.”

But Ashton doesn’t seem convinced. His gaze sharpens, and you can feel him trying to decipher what’s going on. The others, though, are still taking it in, the intensity of the lyrics lingering in the air.

“I mean, it sounds like something... more than just a song,” Luke says, his tone casual but with a knowing look in his eyes.

“Yeah, you’re not fooling anyone,” Michael adds with a smirk.

You try to laugh it off, but Ashton’s stare is unwavering. He’s not buying it. He knows something’s up, and though he’s not pressing you for answers, you can feel the weight of his silence.

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, forcing a smile. “Just some fun lyrics.”

But in the back of your mind, you know that everything is far from just “fun” anymore. The song says it all, even if you’re not ready to admit it.

...

It’s late, long after the song reveal. The buzz of everyone’s reactions still lingers in the air, but you’ve distanced yourself from the others, needing a moment alone to process it all. You’re sitting in the corner of your hotel room, the soft hum of the city filtering through the window. The lyrics you poured out have left you raw, the reality of what you’ve been doing with Harry settling heavily in your chest.

Writing the song made you realize something you hadn’t let yourself acknowledge before: you want more. This—whatever this thing is between you and Harry—isn’t enough. It’s thrilling, electric, and addictive, but it’s not real. And you can’t keep letting it consume you if it’s never going to be anything more.

The knock at your door startles you. You already know who it is before you even open it. Harry stands there, leaning casually against the doorframe, his signature smirk in place. But there’s something more in his eyes tonight—a flicker of something softer, almost vulnerable.

“You were brilliant today,” he says, his voice low. “The song... it’s incredible.”

“Thanks,” you reply, your voice quiet but steady. You step aside to let him in, but as you close the door behind him, you already know how this conversation will go.

Harry wastes no time. The moment you’re alone, he steps closer, his hands finding your waist as his lips brush against your neck. “You know,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin, “I can’t stop thinking about that song. About you.”

You place your hands on his chest, stopping him gently but firmly. “Harry,” you say, your voice soft but resolute.

He pauses, pulling back slightly to look at you. His brows furrow, and you can see the confusion in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. “I can’t do this anymore,” you say, your words steady but heavy with meaning.

His hands drop from your waist, and he steps back, his expression shifting to something you can’t quite read. “What do you mean?”

You meet his gaze, determined not to waver. “I mean this. Us. These... hook-ups, the sneaking around. It’s not enough for me, Harry. Writing that song—it made me realize I want more. I can’t keep doing this if it’s never going to be anything real.”

Harry’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks like he might argue. But then he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You know how complicated this is,” he says, his voice quieter now. “With the bands, the press... everything.”

“I know,” you reply, your tone softer but still firm. “But that doesn’t change what I want. I can’t keep being this... secret. If you don’t want more, then we need to stop.”

The room feels heavy, the weight of your words hanging between you. Harry looks at you, his green eyes searching yours as if trying to find the right thing to say. But he stays silent, his hesitation speaking louder than any words could.

You feel your chest tighten, but you force yourself to stay strong. “I care about you,” you continue, “but I can’t keep pretending this is enough for me. So unless you’re ready to make this real, we go our separate ways.”

Harry’s gaze drops to the floor, and you can see the conflict written all over his face. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

“I mean it, Harry,” you say, your voice breaking slightly. “I can’t do this anymore.”

He looks back up at you, and for a moment, you think he might say something—anything—to fight for you. But instead, he nods, a small, almost imperceptible gesture.

“Alright,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart aches, but you know you’ve made the right choice. You step back, giving him the space to leave, and after a long, silent moment, he does. The door closes behind him with a soft click, leaving you alone in the quiet room.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, your emotions swirling as you try to process what just happened. It hurts, but deep down, you know you deserve more. You deserve someone who isn’t afraid to love you out loud, someone who will choose you without hesitation.

And if Harry isn’t ready to be that person, then it’s better this way.

...

The greenroom hums with pre-show energy—chatter, guitar tuning, the low buzz of excitement. You sit on the couch, your notebook resting on your lap, though the words you’re scribbling barely register. The tension in your chest is suffocating. Since giving Harry your ultimatum, he hasn’t acted on it, and it’s tearing you apart. Worse, the teasing from both bands has started to escalate as they slowly piece things together.

“So, Y/N,” Louis calls out, his grin mischievous, “who’s the muse behind your little ‘English Love Affair’ masterpiece?”

Your head snaps up, heat crawling up your neck. “It’s just a song,” you reply quickly, forcing a light tone.

“Sure,” Niall drawls, smirking. “Except it sounds like someone’s been dragging you up staircases and kissing you in the rain. Pretty specific, if you ask me.”

Michael leans back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “And the sudden obsession with scarves? You trying to start a trend or cover up some marks?”

Liam chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Definitely the latter,” he murmurs, though there’s a flicker of concern in his eyes.

“I knew something was up,” Luke adds, his teasing smirk widening. “You’re glowing, Y/N.”

“Alright, alright,” Calum cuts in, laughing. “Who’s the mystery guy? Come on, spill.”

The room falls quiet as everyone turns their attention to you. Your heart pounds, panic tightening your throat. Before you can stammer out a response, Ashton’s voice cuts through the noise.

“That’s enough,” he snaps, his tone sharp and unyielding.

All heads swivel to him, the easygoing atmosphere evaporating. He pushes off the wall where he’d been leaning, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His eyes dart between you and Harry, narrowing as the pieces click into place.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Ashton’s voice is low, but the anger simmering beneath it is unmistakable.

Your stomach twists as the room goes deathly silent. Harry, sitting on the armrest of a nearby chair, stiffens but doesn’t look away.

“Ashton—” you start, your voice trembling, but he holds up a hand to stop you.

“Don’t,” Ashton says, his gaze locked on Harry now. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

Harry rises to his feet, his expression calm but guarded. “Ashton, I—”

“You’ve been sneaking around with my sister,” Ashton interrupts, his voice rising. “Sleeping with her behind everyone’s back? Leaving marks all over her? And now you’re stringing her along like she’s some casual hookup?”

Harry’s jaw tightens. “It’s not like that,” he says firmly.

“Oh, really?” Ashton’s laugh is cold and bitter. “Because it sure as hell looks like you’re screwing her over—physically and emotionally—while you figure out whatever it is you want.”

“Ashton, stop!” you plead, stepping forward, but Zayn gently places a hand on your arm, holding you back.

“Let them talk it out,” Zayn says softly, though his dark eyes are watchful.

Harry steps closer to Ashton, his voice tight but steady. “I care about her,” he says. “More than you can imagine.”

“Then why are you hurting her?” Ashton demands, his face red with anger. “You’re leaving her bruised, confused, and heartbroken, Harry. That’s not love—that’s you being a selfish prick.”

“I know I’ve messed up,” Harry snaps back, his composure finally cracking. “I know I’ve handled this all wrong. But I’m not using her. I’d never do that to her.”

Ashton scoffs, his fists clenching at his sides. “You already are. If you cared about her, you’d stop treating her like some dirty little secret and give her the respect she deserves. She’s not just some girl you can screw around with—she’s my sister.”

Harry flinches at that, the weight of Ashton’s words visibly sinking in.

The tension is suffocating, the room silent except for the heavy breaths of the two men squaring off. Finally, Louis breaks the silence with an awkward cough. “Well… this is fun,” he mutters, earning a glare from both Ashton and Harry.

“Ashton,” Liam says gently, stepping forward. “Maybe give them a chance to work this out?”

“There’s nothing to work out,” Ashton retorts, his eyes narrowing. “Harry knows what he needs to do. Either step up or stay the hell away from her.”

“Ashton, I can handle this,” you say, your voice trembling but firm.

Ashton looks at you, his expression softening slightly, though the anger in his eyes doesn’t fade. “I hope so, Y/N,” he says quietly. “Because you deserve better than this.”

He turns and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The echo rings out in the silence, leaving everyone in a tense, uneasy stillness.

Harry turns to you, his face unreadable. “Are you okay?” he asks, his voice soft.

You nod, though your chest feels tight. “Are you?”

He doesn’t answer, his gaze dropping to the floor. Because the truth is, neither of you are okay.

...

The steady patter of rain against the hotel window is the only sound in the room as you sit on the edge of the bed, your legs crossed, your fingers lightly tapping the sheets. You’ve been staring at the door, thinking about everything that’s happened—the conversation with Ashton, the way he confronted you, and how much of your own behavior you’ve been running from.

When the knock comes, you know it’s him.

“Come in,” you call out softly, your heart thudding in your chest.

The door creaks open, and Harry steps inside, looking hesitant but determined. His hair’s damp from the rain, his jacket clinging to his shoulders. For a moment, he doesn’t move, just looks at you, eyes searching, waiting for permission.

He steps closer, his voice low when he speaks. “I’m sorry, Y/N. For everything. For the way I’ve been handling this... or not handling it.”

You don’t respond immediately, your mind racing with the weight of everything. You’ve been torn in so many directions lately, guilty for the way you’ve been playing this game with him, unsure if you were using him to fill a void, or if it was something deeper.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like you were nothing more than a distraction,” Harry continues, his voice thick with sincerity. “But I’ve been acting like I don’t care about you, and I do. I care about you more than I’ve let on.”

You take a slow breath, looking up at him. “I’ve been stringing you along too, haven’t I?” you say quietly, the guilt surfacing. “I let things go on like this—casual, no strings, knowing full well that I wanted more, but not giving you a chance to show it. I made it so easy for you to stay at arm’s length, but I don’t want that anymore.”

Harry’s face softens, and he steps closer, kneeling in front of you. His hands hover near yours before finally resting gently over them. “I’m glad you said that,” he admits, his voice thick with emotion. “Because the truth is, I’m scared too. Scared of what this means for us, for the band, for everything. But what I’m not scared of is you. I don’t want it to just be a fling anymore. I want this. I want you. For real. Not just when it’s convenient or when we’re sneaking around.”

Your heart flutters as you take his words in, your fingers curling slightly around his. You’ve heard him say things like this before, but now—this feels different. There’s no more running, no more hiding.

“I want that too,” you say softly, your voice steady, though a hint of uncertainty lingers. “But we both know this isn’t easy. I can’t keep doing this with you unless it’s real, Harry. No more games, no more keeping it quiet. If you’re in this, then I’m in it too. But I can’t keep pretending, not anymore. And if you can’t do that, then we’ll have to go our separate ways.”

Harry swallows, his gaze intense as he watches you. He’s not looking at you with the same playful glint as before. This time, it’s sincere, the weight of his words matching the look in his eyes.

“I’m in it,” he says quietly, nodding. “For real. I want you, Y/N. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work, to show you it’s real. I’m not backing down this time.”

You take a deep breath, your chest tightening with relief. There’s something so final about his words, something that makes you feel like you’re stepping into a new chapter.

“Okay,” you whisper, your hand reaching up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “No more pretending. We do this, or we don’t. But I’m not looking back.”

He leans into your touch, pressing his lips to your palm gently. “I don’t want to look back either.”

The moment stretches between you, the weight of the words still lingering, but now there’s a sense of peace—a promise that this, whatever this is, will be real.

You lean in, closing the distance, your lips brushing over his in a kiss that’s softer than the ones before, but carries the weight of something much more substantial. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.

“We’ve got this,” he says quietly, a hint of a smile curving on his lips.

The quiet between you both is comfortable, filled with an unspoken understanding. For once, there’s no rush. No expectations. Just the two of you, finally on the same page. Harry stays close, his hands gently brushing against yours as he leans back against the bed, pulling you with him. You settle into his arms, your body fitting perfectly against his.

The only sounds in the room are the soft rustle of the sheets and the gentle rhythm of your breaths. Harry’s fingers trace small circles along your back, as if memorizing the feel of you in his arms, and you do the same, your hand resting over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“You okay?” he whispers, his voice low, a little hoarse from the emotion of the conversation, though it still holds that warmth you’ve always loved.

You nod, lifting your head slightly to look at him. “Yeah. I’m good. It feels like… everything makes sense now. Like I’m not pretending anymore. Like this is real.”

His lips curl into a soft smile as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m glad,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I want you to know, Y/N, that this is real for me. All of it.”

The words linger between you both, but this time, they don’t feel heavy. They feel freeing. The quietness of the room feels like a safe cocoon, a place where nothing needs to be rushed, where there are no games, no pressure. Just the quiet rhythm of the two of you, finding comfort in each other’s presence.

You press your lips to his, gently, a soft kiss that’s slow and unhurried. It’s not about passion in this moment. It’s about connection. About feeling the weight of what’s changed between you both. The kiss deepens, but it doesn’t push for more—it’s tender, the kind of kiss that’s meant for taking your time, for savoring what’s just beginning to unfold.

Pulling back, you rest your head on his chest again, your eyes fluttering closed. His arm wraps around you, holding you close, and you feel the warmth of his body seep into yours, grounding you in this moment.

“Goodnight, love,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Goodnight,” you reply softly, your voice barely audible.

His fingers continue their gentle movements against your skin, and the steady beat of his heart becomes the rhythm that lulls you into sleep. The world outside the room feels miles away, and all that matters is the feeling of his arms around you, the peace of knowing that this—what you two have—is real.

You drift off to sleep, wrapped in the comfort of him, the quiet promises of the night hanging in the air. It’s the first time in a long time that you feel truly at peace, knowing that you’ve found something that isn’t fleeting, that isn’t just a momentary thrill. This is real. This is yours.

And as you fall asleep, the last thought in your mind is that you’re not just a fleeting part of Harry’s life anymore—you're something more. And for the first time, you believe it.

...

The next morning, the air feels lighter between you and Harry, a sense of calm settling over you both. The conversation from the night before has laid the foundation for something real, and while there’s still a part of you that’s nervous about what comes next, there’s no more uncertainty between you two. You know where you stand, and you know that this time, it’s different.

You’re sitting with Harry in the common area, trying to act like everything’s normal. You’re not hiding anymore, but the rest of the bands are still operating under the assumption that something’s been happening between you two for a while now. Their teasing comments have become more frequent, but there’s an undertone of curiosity that lingers.

Harry catches your eye across the room, his expression soft. He stands up, extending his hand toward you, and you know what’s coming. You take a breath, pushing aside any remaining nerves as you reach for his hand.

“Oi!” Louis calls out, noticing the two of you getting up. “Where are you two off to?”

Harry doesn’t hesitate. He pulls you closer, his arm resting around your shoulders as he walks you toward the others. The whole room falls silent as you approach, the energy shifting instantly.

Ashton’s eyes narrow on you both, but there’s a look of relief in them now, even if he’s still on edge. Niall raises an eyebrow, still unsure of what’s going on. Luke and Michael are watching carefully, their expressions unreadable but attentive. Calum glances between you and Harry, a quiet smirk tugging at his lips as he folds his arms. You glance at the floor, feeling the weight of their eyes on you as Harry gives your hand a reassuring squeeze.

“We’ve got something to say,” Harry begins, his voice steady but there’s a slight tension in his jaw, as if he’s bracing for their reactions.

You take a deep breath, your nerves a little more palpable now that you’re in front of everyone. This feels like a big moment—like things are finally being put out in the open. You’ve kept this secret for too long, and now, there’s no turning back.

“We’re together,” you say softly, your voice clear but quiet. “For real this time. Not just... whatever it was before.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then the reactions come fast.

“Oh, thank god,” Niall says, a grin spreading across his face. “You two have been dancing around this for ages. About time you made it official.”

“I knew it,” Louis adds with a smirk. “You two were always making eyes at each other. It was only a matter of time.”

Harry laughs, his hand tightening around yours. “Yeah, well... we had to figure things out first. But now we’re here.”

Ashton crosses his arms, his expression a little more guarded. He’s trying not to smile, but you can tell there’s still a hint of protectiveness in his eyes. He looks at Harry, then at you. “I just want you to know, Harry,” he says, his voice low, “if you hurt her again, I won’t hesitate. You’ve got one chance to make it right.”

Harry nods immediately, without hesitation. “I know, man. I won’t hurt her. I care about her too much for that.”

The tension eases a bit, but Zayn and Liam exchange looks, their expressions still weighing the situation. Zayn’s lips curl into a small smile, but he remains quiet. Liam gives you a warm look, the faintest glimmer of approval in his eyes. It’s clear he’s not against this—it’s just new territory for everyone, and a lot has changed in the time since the last time they saw you and Harry together.

“So, we’re all good then?” Niall asks, a grin still on his face.

You nod, squeezing Harry’s hand tighter, your voice steady now. “Yeah. We’re good. We’re not hiding anymore.”

It feels like a weight has been lifted from your chest, like everything is finally falling into place. It’s not perfect—it’s never going to be—but it’s real. And for the first time in a long time, you’re not running from it.

Ashton looks at Harry one last time, then nods, a little less tense than before. “Alright. I trust you.”

Harry’s face softens, a grateful look crossing his features. “Thanks, Ash.”

The atmosphere in the room shifts, and suddenly, it feels like things are less complicated. Everyone’s starting to come to terms with it, the unspoken questions beginning to fade away. For the first time, there’s no judgment, no tension. It’s just you and Harry, and the rest of the band, finally adjusting to the new normal.

Luke looks at the two of you, a knowing smirk on his face. “Alright, alright. So when’s the wedding?”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “Not that fast, mate.”

Michael laughs, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, but at least it’s not a secret anymore.”

Calum chuckles, nudging Luke. “Maybe they’ll invite us to the wedding. They’ve been keeping us on the edge of our seats for far too long.”

The banter continues, but there’s a sense of ease in the air now. No more secrets, no more uncertainty. And as Harry pulls you close again, his hand resting on your shoulder, you feel like this is just the beginning. This time, it’s real. And you’re ready for whatever comes next.

#harry styles x y/n #harry x reader #frat boy harry #harry styles x reader #harry x you #frat boy harry x you #one direction fanfiction #5sos fanfic

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hannahbarberra162 · 4 months ago

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Victoria Punk Breeding Farm, Part 3 (Hybrid AU, standalone-ish chapter)

18+ MDNI | on Ao3

The other chapters

Note: this chapter could be read as a standalone. It has some angst but it's mostly smut. It's light vibes and it is consensual. It does tie into the other two chapters but it could be read on its own.

As always, thank you to @don-mellow for sentencing me to a lifetime in horny prison. You can check out their Patreon and see the lil Mosh sketch that inspired 7k+ worth of smut if you want.

You frowned as you eased your expensive low riding car down the muddy unpaved gravel road taking you towards your destination. Your sweet baby was meant to hug the city streets, not dodge potholes on some backwards ass farm, you thought to yourself as the body of the car shuddered. Luckily, you were a phenomenal driver so your baby would make it through the trip in one piece. Stopping in front of a worn yellow sign, you turned your sports car into the drive for the Victoria Punk Breeding Farm with a heavy sigh. You passed a few large vehicles, studded with rust, and sniffed your disdain. Sure, you grew up on a farm too, but you treated your car like it was your actual child. You’d never let your car rust out or come to harm under your hand.

You hadn’t wanted to come to the Farm at all but your body had finally forced your hand. You were a hybrid cow, though you didn’t look like a typical hybrid. And unfortunately for you, being a hybrid cow meant that you went into estrus once a month. It was kind of like a short-lived heat, only about six to ten hours but it was intense. Your hormones had you wanting to breed with the biggest, largest bull you could find but you'd stuffed the desire down for as long as you could remember. In fact, you spent so much of your adult life denying your genetics that it had come to bite you in the ass. You’d tried having human partners sate your need for bull cock but as the months and years went on, your estrus became more and more painful as you denied your body what it needed. What you needed was a bull - and you were here to hire one.

You had scoured sources looking for a discreet rural farm that could tend to your animalistic needs and the Victoria Punk Breeding Farm fit the bill perfectly. The farm had no online pictures, no website, no reviews, hell if you hadn’t found it referenced on the deep web you wouldn’t be sure it existed either. But you’d called the number from a prepaid snail and someone named Killer had confirmed that they did indeed take monthly breeding clients. You’d had your slot booked by the end of the call with only a few details needed over the phone.

There was good reason for you to be secretive over your hybrid needs. If people found out your well hidden secret it would be catastrophic to your business and personal life. Hybrids weren’t legally lesser than humans but they were discriminated against in ways that made it hard for hybrids to compete with humans. Hybrids could be put under guardianship easily, they had fewer job and housing opportunities and could legally be refused services for no other reason than genetics. Right now you had your life on the trajectory you wanted - you had human friends and a high paying job as an attorney. A human attorney.

Luckily, no one in New World City knew you were a hybrid since you appeared and acted so human. You had won the genetic lottery and could pass as human easily so you’d taken advantage of that fact to become an attorney. You did everything in your power to maintain your appearance as a ball busting completely human lawyer and that meant you couldn’t blast the news that you were off to be plowed by some bull during your estrus. Instead you told everyone you were going to visit your old great Aunt and took PTO for a long weekend out in the country.

Turning off your car's engine in the gravel driveway, you threw your purse over your shoulder and strode to the large barn in front of you. You had left straight from the office and didn’t think to change your clothes or shoes so you had to pick your way through the gravel driveway to make it to the barn. You still had a pair of farm boots in the back of your closet but you didn’t think to bring them with you since you were much more focused on the…physical aspects of the upcoming event. You stepped up the stairs of the wooden porch, taking in the dilapidated looking building. Opening the unlocked screen door, you let it close behind you with a bang. There was a man in a white and blue striped mask sitting at a desk, looking over cook books and writing notes in a ledger. You crossed your arms and cleared your throat to get his attention but he didn’t look up.

“Excuse me,” you stated in irritation. The man finally picked his head up from his work but didn’t say anything. You couldn’t make out his expression because of his mask but he didn’t seem to be in a rush to help you.

“I’m here for an appointment ,” you stated primly while drumming your fingers against your arm. You'd never been the most patient person and now was no exception.

“We don’t service humans,” he stated after looking at you, then back down to his work.

“Good thing I’m not human. I’m a hybrid, I booked this appointment over the phone a few days ago with you. I can show you my birth certificate if you need.” You had prepared for this outcome, afraid that they wouldn’t believe you were a hybrid, so you brought your papers with you proving that you were born a hybrid to hybrid parents.

“No need,” the man stated, still not standing up. He remained silent for a few seconds longer before you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Well, is someone going to help me?” you asked while tapping your foot against the wood floor. The masked man’s face tilted to the side before he raised his hand to his face and yelled out towards the open doorway separating the front room from the rest of the barn.

“MOSH! CLIENT’S HERE!”

You noticed he didn’t answer your question. Now your fingers were drumming, your toe tapping, and your eye twitching. You couldn’t stand being ignored or having your time wasted. Hell, you charged 5,000 beri an hour for your legal advice and this bull had just wasted several minutes of your precious time for free.

“Bratty?” asked the largest bull you’d ever seen in your life. The man with the mask working at the desk was huge, with rippling muscles, well over your height, and large horns that could gore someone with ease. But he looked like a regular human in comparison to the bull easing himself sideways through the doorway.

“Worse. Difficult. Have fun,” the masked bull said with a facetious salute towards the large bull coming through the open doorway. Your head had to tilt up to view the face of the bull you’d have to endure for your estrus. If being a hybrid was a spectrum, you were way at one end - you looked and acted completely human with no visible hybrid characteristics. Mosh was on the other end of the spectrum - there was no mistaking that he was a hybrid from first glance. He was the most bullish looking hybrid you’d ever seen, even during your days on your home farm. In fact, if he hadn’t been bipedal, he could almost have been mistaken for a complete bull.

He made his way over to you, his long tail swishing behind him. It ended in a fine plume of long, bright pink hair that matched the vibrant ponytail on his head. His horns weren’t the longest you'd ever seen but they were thick and brown, which contrasted nicely against his hair. His legs were much more animal-like as his calves were set behind the knees and ended in a fine set of hooves. You'd heard that some hybrids had hooves but you'd never actually seen any yourself. He was big and beefy and there was no doubt he was a breeding bull. If he could satisfy you, you wouldn't care if he had a horn coming out his forehead.

He was wearing very little - a loincloth covered his lower half and a harness crossed his chest, the shoulder straps covered in spikes. His nipples were pierced and you could see his bulging muscles even as he was simply walking. Your mouth watered but you kept your composure - he was exactly your type. You'd always been attracted to the largest, most muscular man in any room. Human men could be larger than you and you always gravitated towards men who towered over you, making you feel smaller. It was some kind of biological drive that you'd never taken the time to examine in yourself. Just looking at Mosh made you wonder if you should have sought out bulls before, even ones with shitty attitudes like these.

“I'm not difficult , I have high expectations,” you gritted out at Mosh but directing the comment at Killer. Mosh looked you up and down, his eyes raking over your form in your tight fitting office clothes. After a moment, the pink haired bull snorted at you, which blew his bangs out of his face momentarily.

“Let's go, heifer,” he said, not acknowledging your statement. He led the way, holding the door open for you as you trailed behind him. You could almost feel his eyes glued to your ass as you walked in front of him. Suddenly your world went off kilter as Mosh picked you up and threw you over his shoulder.

“H-hey! Put me down!” you demanded, trying to use the voice of authority that always worked in court. It would probably have been more effective if you hadn’t squeaked out the first word but maybe he would still listen.

He didn’t.

You tried yelling at him to put you down but he ignored you completely, marching on as if it was completely normal to have a cow resting on his shoulder, pounding on his back. Finally resigning yourself to being carried like a little calf, Mosh carried you on to another building set behind the barn. It was a normal farm house, complete with an open porch with rocking chairs. The house reminded you of the farm you grew up on, sitting on the deck on long summer nights with your grandparents. Mosh opened the front door with a heavy hoof kick, breaking you from your thoughts. Stomping up the stairs, Mosh turned the knob to a large bedroom.

The room was sparsely decorated - it had one of the largest beds you had ever seen, the sheets and covers tangled up together. There was a door to an ensuite bathroom, a rather large bookshelf filled with older books, and a large wooden desk with an office chair. The only decoration on the wall was a mural of the same design you’d seen on the entrance to the farm, a jolly roger with a knife and red hair with goggles atop the head. Mosh set you down on your feet gently and plopped himself down in the office chair with a thud, spreading his thighs. You could see the bulge of his cock and heavy balls against his loincloth and it made you want to peek under to see the whole package.

“C’mon, little cow. Take off your clothes, lemme see what I’m working with,” he said, leaning back in his chair, his arms behind his head. His broad chest spread out, making you want to lick and bite his nipples. You’d done it a few times in the past but your other partners had been neutral or hadn’t liked it.

“Right down to business then?” you asked, cocking an eyebrow. You crossed your arms across your chest again, though not in annoyance this time. Crossing your arms squished your boobs together slightly, showing off a little cleavage. You were already feeling horny and you wanted the experience to start sooner rather than later.

“I can smell the estrus on ya. It’s your choice - either take off your clothes now, or I’ll rip em off ya in about an hour when you beg me to,” he said with a shrug. His bluntness was a little surprising but it didn’t upset you. On the contrary, you found his upfront nature complimentary to your own. You couldn't stand when people beat around the bush or said things they didn't mean - anything that wasted your time was a crime in your opinion.

Looking over the satisfied bull, you decided to give him a little show, let him know he wasn’t the only person in the room with power. Sure, he was good looking, but you were the one with money and a job in the city. You started unbuttoning your blouse slowly, your fingers dancing their way elegantly to rid yourself of your button down. Letting the shirt hang open, you took your time to expose the even skin of your chest, untainted by cow spots and ran your fingers over your decolletage. Finally removing your arms from the sleeves of your shirt, you placed it on the bed, leaving you only in your bra, pencil skirt and heels. Mosh’s eyes were glued to you as you unzipped the zipper on the side of your skirt, slowly wiggling your hips from side to side in order to free your ass from the confines of your clothes. The skirt dropped to the floor and you stepped out of the pooled fabric towards him.

“No panties?” he asked, palming his massive erection over his loincloth.

“Nope,” you said, popping your ‘p.’ “This has been on my mind all day, thought I would spare us both the time of taking them off,” you practically purred, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. You held the bodice across your chest as you slipped your arms out of the lacey affair, making sure you were still covered. Mosh watched you with rapt attention as you finally moved your arm, letting the bra fall to the ground. He sucked in a breath through his teeth as he took in the sight of your naked form. You didn’t want to say anything but having his complete attention was a heady experience. You’d long fantasized about a bull taking you during your estrus, unable to keep his hands away from your body as you both brought each other to repeated ecstasy. You walked your fingers down your legs towards the straps of the red shoes you’d worn as Mosh pulled on one of his horns for stimulation.

“Nah, keep the high heels on. Like those shoes,” he said, practically licking his lips. You leaned your weight onto one leg, thrusting out one well rounded hip to give him the full effect of you in your stiletto heels. They hurt your feet more than humans knew but damn, they made you feel good.

“C’mere, wanna touch that soft skin,” he said, extending his arms to you. You were a little surprised you weren’t starting out on the bed but you’d let him call the shots this round. Your mind was in the pleasantly fuzzy phase of estrus where you were more open and agreeable to things you normally would be prickly about, like following someone else’s orders. You sauntered over to the bull in your sights, a pleased hum coming out of your lips. Just to do a little tease, you turned in a small circle to show yourself off before being within arm’s length. You thought you’d see the same heated look of desire as before, but now Mosh sported a frown.

No one had ever given you that look upon seeing you naked before and you missed a step, almost falling into his lap. You stood before the half naked bull, putting yourself between his spread legs. He ran his rough hands up and down your sides, back, and ass, as if familiarizing himself with your body. He left your tits alone for the moment, much to your surprise and disappointment.

“Where’s your tail?” he asked, concern tinging his tone as his fingers felt along the base of your spine.

“Oh, my parents had it docked when I was a baby. Y’know since I was born with no spots and no horns, they thought I could have a regular life,” you explained. Mosh turned you around and bent you over slightly, so you rested your palms on the large desk in front of you. You felt the breath coming out of his nose on your back as he examined the area.

“So no horns, no spots, no tail. What kinda cow you again?” he asked, his thumb rubbing over the scar where your tail had been. The action made you want to moan - no one had ever prodded at it before and you hadn’t realized how sensitive you were there. His thick fingers continued to work at it, making a tingle start low in your belly.

“J-jersey cow,” you replied, arching your back into his touch. He huffed against your skin once more before turning you around and sitting you on the edge of the desk, his large hands grasping you around the lower stomach.

“That’s sad,” he said as he scooted himself closer to you.

“No it’s not, they wanted the best life for me that I could possibly have. They wanted me to -”

“To not be a hybrid,” Mosh said, finishing your sentence as he drew closer. You didn’t answer but tucked the sting of his statement away for later. Right now, all you could think about was that your tits were at mouth level and you hoped he was going to do something about it. Estrus was hitting you in full and you knew in about an hour you’d be whining and begging him for anything and everything he’d give you.

“‘S alright, I’m gonna show you what a hybrid can do. Lay back,” he ordered. You were all too glad to comply, laying down against the cool grain of the desk. There were stacks of papers on the desk but you tried your best not to disturb them, along with some kind of medical equipment you couldn’t identify. He grabbed your ankles in his massive hands and hiked your legs over his shoulders, your heels a stark contrast to his spotted skin.

“Lemme see that pussy that’s cryin’ for me. I can smell it practically weeping,” he murmured. You were glad he wasn’t trying to kiss your mouth or pretend what you were doing was anything other than a business arrangement. However, you were pleased as punch he was going to kiss your pussy. Sighing and putting your hands behind your head, you hummed as you felt his hot breath edge closer to your already wet pussy.

“Lemme see this lil’ designer cunt,” he said as his roughened fingers spread your lips apart. He sucked in a breath against his teeth. “Shit, no hair? Lookit this cute little thing, you sure you’re not human?” he asked, biting the soft inside of a thigh. You smirked to yourself - part of your maintenance routine was a complete wax of all your body hair, including a full brazilian. Hybrid body hair was a little more wiry than a human’s and you didn’t want to risk it. Besides, it was worth it for a reaction like this.

“N-not humaaAAaahh~!” you started to protest that you weren’t human but were cut off by the longest, strongest tongue you’d ever felt parting your pussy lips. Mosh began lapping at you like a cat with a bowl of cream, licking you in long broad strokes and ending at your clit at the top. His tongue wasn’t exactly like a human’s, it was firmer and strong, not to mention the extreme length Mosh was currently using to his advantage. You were expecting some heavy petting to begin the ordeal but you weren’t complaining about having your pussy eaten like it was manna from heaven.

It felt like Mosh’s tongue was everywhere - the base grinding against your slit while the tip flicked against your clit. He spent what felt like half an hour teasing you, bringing you close to orgasm only to back off at the last moment. It was annoying but you guessed he was trying to prepare you for that giant cock you’d seen earlier. You moaned loudly and rolled your hips trying to get closer. If this was what you’d been missing with a bull, you were sorry for lost time.

Reaching up, you grabbed his horns to pull him closer as he started to work his tongue into you. The pointed heel of your shoe dug into his back but he hardly seemed to notice as the tip of his tongue breached your tight hole. Pushing it further in, he tongue fucked you as he used the tip of his nose to rub against your clit. Closing your eyes, you pulled harder on his horns as he worked you over. You felt your desire winding tighter inside and hoped he didn’t pull away at the last moment.

Which, of fucking course, he did.

You wanted to stomp your foot but they were currently hiked over Mosh’s massive shoulders. “What the fuck?” you said, hitting your fist against the desk. Mosh picked up his head from between your thighs and grinned at you. You didn’t return it.

“So impatient. ‘S gonna take time so I don’t break ya in half. You’ve got nowhere else to go right now. Relax,” he said, pulling you to sitting again. But you couldn’t relax. In fact, you were angrier than you could remember being since the last time you’d lost a case in front of a judge. He started running his index finger up and down your slit slowly, teasing you further.

“Well, Mosh, ” you started to say in an overly patient tone as if you were speaking to a child, “I can’t relax. Right now I’m a little wound up because some one -”

“Didn’t give you what you wanted,” Mosh said, finishing your sentence with a grin as his finger tapped your clit. You wanted to punch him right through his teeth but refrained because you didn’t want to be left high and dry. “And why should I? You’ve been… difficult,” Most said with a twinkle in his eye.

“Oh, you want to play that game? Have me beg with wide eyes and tears? Maybe on hands and knees?” you said, mimicking a sad and pathetic voice.

“Nah, I like you this way. Turn around,” he ordered, his hands already on you and pulling you to the floor. You were standing in front of him as he turned you around and bent you over the large desk, your torso pressed flat against the surface. One of his large hands settled on your mid back, keeping your skin warm despite the cool surface of the desk. Mosh scooted himself closer and you couldn’t help but wiggle in anticipation of his cock.

“Excited, eh? Gotta be patient, keep tellin’ ya,” Mosh chided with good humor, his fingers rubbing your skin. You waited for him to start rubbing your clit to prepare for the main event, but instead he moved a pile of papers to the corner of the desk away from himself and you. Your eyes flicked over the papers in a force of habit before you remembered where you were and that they weren’t your responsibility.

Before you could suck in a breath to start yelling at him, you heard the sound of a metal buckle being unclasped and Mosh stood up and leaned over you. He wasn’t covered in hair but his skin had a much rougher texture than your own. You felt his absolutely massive erection rubbing through your folds and the only thing keeping you from thrusting backwards onto it was his hand on your back. He shifted so that one of his hands was braced on the desk as the other fisted his girthy cock.

“I’m not small, so if you feel anything bad, you gotta let me know,” he rasped into your ear. He began pushing himself slowly into you as his thick cock speared through you. You’d been stretched before but nothing like this - it felt like there wasn’t even room for you to breathe as he continued nearly cleaving you in half. There wasn't anything in the world but Mosh's huge, fat cock as he rocked it slowly into your body.

“That’s it, such a good cow, take a little more, there ya go,” Mosh started to praise you in your ear as he used his free hand to rub at your clit. The praise slut in you rose to the surface as Mosh worked you open until you felt his heavy balls hit the backs of your legs.

“So wet for me, takin’ me so well,” Mosh cooed at you, continuing to rub at your clit. Your face was a little heated from the praise but you were still prone over the desk so it wasn’t like he could see. “Ya ever had a bull cock this big?” he asked. You groaned as he started rubbing the spot where your tail had been again while his other hand continued to rub small circles on your clit.

“N-no,” you moaned out, your cunt tightening around the massive cock within you. You couldn’t wait for the delicious feeling of his thrusts to begin as he….sat down in the chair, with you impaled on his cock. His thighs were so massive that sitting down spread your legs almost wider than was comfortable. You saw red but as you sucked in a breath to yell and scream at this slow-ass bull, he pinched both of your nipples so hard it scrambled your mind.

“Ow! That hurts!” you whined as he rolled your nipples between his fingers.

“ ‘S supposed to, don’t want to hear more from you about wasting time,” Mosh snorted, keeping pressure on your nipples. His entire hands were cupping your breasts, squeezing and groping them as his cock sat within your tight channel. The feeling of being overfull was making you squirm on him as he continued to play with your tits.

“Smell so fuckin’ good,” he said, leaning down to gently bite your shoulder. “Taste fuckin’ good too,” he continued as he kissed up towards your neck. You shifted your weight between your legs trying to feel some friction from his cock but the positioning of your thighs made it nearly impossible. One of Mosh’s arms wrapped around your middle while the other continued to pluck at your nipple. Mosh ground his palm against your lower stomach, making you arch forwards towards his hand. You could feel him pushing on his own cock as you kept shifting and moving. Sweat was beginning to drip down your forehead from the effort of keeping yourself still.

“Feel me in there, little cow? Deep in ya? This is how you should be kept, fucked full of come by a bull night and day. Not stuck in some stuffy office, playing at being human,” he husked as you whimpered.

“P-please, I need -” you didn’t want to admit it but you were nearly in tears. Mosh’s teasing combined with the cockwarming was making you feel like you were bursting at the seams - this was more intense than anything you’d ever taken before.

“I gotcha, little cow. Don’t worry, just needed to get ya used to me. Feels good, yeah?” Mosh asked you, running a hand down your back. Your chest was heaving, unable to catch your breath from the overwhelming sensations.

“Y-yeah,” you said, an errant tear streaking down your cheek. You wiped it away before he could see the effect he was having on you.

“Gonna make you feel better now, OK? Gonna take care of ya,” he murmured, still running his hands over your skin. “Just a few minutes like this, getcha warmed up for me. Wanna see what this pretty little pussy can do, don’t wanna hurt cha on the first round, yeah? It’ll be better for you if we take our time, none of that impatience,” You nodded, knowing he was right but still wanting more.

He nuzzled into your ear and used his long tongue to lick up and down your neck and in your ear. One hand remained pressed against your stomach while the other errantly played with your tits. Eventually your breath evened out and you were able to sit on Mosh’s lap without scooting around every moment. Your eyes returned to the paperwork on his desk, noticing some legal documents with notes scribbled in the margin in clean handwriting.

“Time’s up, I think you can take it. Made a mess of my thighs with your slick already,” Mosh said unexpectedly, pulling himself all the way out of you. You nearly cried from the loss of contact but Mosh quickly had you in his arms and moved you onto his desk, putting you on hands and knees. With the desk’s height, you were now perfectly aligned for Mosh to slide back into you, making you moan low in your throat. Mosh started to fuck you slowly, pushing himself into you inch by inch and removing himself at the same speed. You pushed your hips back but were met by his hands holding you in place.

“Easy, calm down. ‘S not a race,” he stated, unamused at your antics. You hummed but allowed him to set his slow pace. After a few long strokes, he began to move faster, thrusting himself into you fully. His long, hard cock was just the right length - long enough to give you what you wanted without causing pain now that he'd stretched you. You tossed your hair back and sighed from contentment.

Reaching over you, Mosh grabbed the medical equipment off the corner of the desk. It was a medium sized gray box with two tubes coming out the side. If you didn’t know any better, you would have said it was a nebulizer. He flicked a switch on the side and grabbed two plastic cylinders that had been lying on the desk, attaching them to the ends of the tubes. The machine started to hum as the intermittent sound of air hissing filled the air. Before you could ask what it was for, Mosh pinched your right nipple and placed one of the cylinders over the hardened bud. The machine created a vacuum and the cylinder stuck in place, pulling your nipple gently every few seconds. It kind of felt like someone was sucking on them, but very lightly.

“Ever been milked before?” he asked, already pinching your other nipple. You shook your head as the machine started to rhythmically pull on both nipples. Mosh was slowly thrusting as he checked the fit and pulled on the cylinders to make sure they would stay. Once both cylinders were over the center of your areolas, he turned up the dial on the machine. Suddenly, the pressure increased as the milking machine pulled on your nipples while Mosh started fucking you faster. Mosh’s movements made the tubing bounce against your chest as his balls started swinging again. The harsh bite of the machine against your sensitive nipples was on the edge of pain but combined with Mosh’s pistoning it felt heavenly, though overwhelming.

“A-ah, n-no, this is too m-much -”

“You’re gonna like being milked, you’re a Jersey cow,” Mosh proclaimed while snaking a hand under you. His fingers rubbed and gently pinched your clit while he fucked you with his massive cock and the machine milked your tits. The milking machine felt like it was biting your nipples with the pressure and every thrust of Mosh’s cock had his juicy balls swinging against you. He picked up his pace, his every thrust hitting your cunt just right. You closed your eyes as you hurtled towards your first orgasm, an animalistic moan ripped from your throat as your walls clenched hard around the fat cock in you.

“ G’na come for me, little cow? G’na come all over this huge bull cock like the heifer you are?” Mosh teased you, rubbing your clit faster. “C’mon, you can do it. C’mon, come all over me like the messy, sloppy little cow you are,” Mosh said, giving your clit a light pinch. That was all it took for the band that had been tightening within you to snap as you screamed your first orgasm of the night. Mosh fucked you through your high, never stalling or missing a beat, just keeping that steady pace that was driving you to madness. Once you’d come back down, you grabbed one of the cylinders on your nipples and tried to pull it off. Mosh’s hand found your own and placed it back on the desk. He stuck the fingers that had been rubbing your clit into your mouth, which you accepted with a slack mouth. You were too burnt right now between the orgasm and your estrus to fight or argue so you sucked his fingers obediently.

“Oh, I’m not done with you, my little dairy cow. C’mere,” Mosh said, removing his fingers, grabbing you around the middle. He turned the machine down slightly but it continued to pull and tug on your now sore nipples. You whined but as his tempo picked up again all you could do was lower your shoulders to take what he was giving you. You weren’t usually like this with your partners but you weren’t usually being fucked by a massive bull while being milked.

“ Fuck! This pussy is nnh too fuckin’ aah good, can’t stop- can’t - need ta- hah hah, ” Mosh babbled at you as his thrusts became more erratic. You were loving it, allowing yourself to be taken by a huge bull was one of your biggest secret fantasies. Mosh grabbed your hair in one fist, pulling your head back. The other hand spread your ass cheeks, his thumb starting to circle your tight back ring. You felt the budding of another orgasm as he fucked into you and pushed against your untried ass.

“G’na fuck you here too, little cow. You’re gonna be dripping from every hole,” Mosh grunted, his words sounding more like a promise than dirty talk. You panted back at him, unable to form coherent words as he worked you over. As he reached his peak, he stuck the tip of his thumb in your hole, which made you clench down on his cock in pleasure as you came again. He continued to pump into you, his hot ropes of come spurting deep within you. You weren’t worried, you were on birth control and had been for a long time.

After giving you a few small thrusts, Mosh leaned over and turned off the machine. As Mosh grabbed the cylinders and gently tugged them off you hissed. During the act it had felt great to be milked but now your nipples were stiff and sore. You didn’t know how you were still on hands and knees - you wanted to collapse against the comfortable looking bed. Mosh scooped you up off the desk and you fell limp into his arms as he turned you over to inspect you.

“Still alive, little cow?” he asked, his cock somehow hard again and bobbing against your ass. His head dipped down as he captured a nipple in his warm mouth. You put your hands on his head to push him away but the way his tongue laved over your nipple actually felt pleasant. Instead you settled into his arms as he sat back down in the chair with you in his lap.

“Y’know, if we put you on the machine enough, your milk will come in,” Mosh stated, switching over to your other nipple. You hummed but the thought had your pussy pulsing in heat. “What? Ya didn’t know that?” Mosh laughed lightly. “Never been milked either, huh? Kinda fuckass bulls you been with before?” he asked teasingly.

“Never been with a bull before,” you said with a shrug. Mosh’s mouth opened slightly as his eyebrows furrowed in the middle.

“Whaddya mean? You weren’t a virgin or anything -”

“No, no. I’ve had sex before, lots. Never with a bull though. Just humans,” you replied as Mosh settled you on his lap, a string of come dripping from your core onto his massive thighs.

“Shit. I didn’t - I woulda been easier on ya if I knew it was your first time,” he said, rubbing your shoulders sympathetically. Now was your turn for you to furrow your brow.

“Like I said, I wasn’t a virgin. Had loads of sex before -”

“Nothing like that though, I’m sure. No human can compete with a bull. You’ve probably been suffering every month because of your pride. Like I said, sorry,” Mosh said with real affection in his voice. You weren’t sure how to take his words - you didn’t want his sympathy or empathy but some part of you wondered if he was right.

“By the way, you don’t have to answer that cease and desist,” you said with a yawn while relaxing your head on Mosh’s shoulder.

“What’s that?” Mosh asked with interest, for once not telling you to be patient or calm down.

“That cease and desist for loud sexual noise on your desk. It doesn’t mean anything, you can keep it for your records or throw it in the garbage. Farm land comes with farm noises, like hybrids and animals fucking,” you explained, now calm after your two massive orgasms.

“‘S helpful to know. You a legal assistant or somethin’?” he asked, still massaging your sore nipples.

“Lawyer,” you replied, not giving any more information than necessary.

“Hybrids can’t become lawyers,” Mosh replied, his tone a little more bitter than you were expecting.

“There’s no laws prohibiting hybrids from becoming lawyers. Most colleges will turn down hybrids based on their names or how they look or any reason they can find, but legally hybrids aren’t barred from the profession. I found a school that didn’t ask for my birth certificate and a few years later became a lawyer. No one knows I’m not human though,” you said sleepily. Mosh didn’t respond but picked up your limp body and brought you over to the bed.

“Hmm. Might have ya look over a few things later if you’re not too fucked out,” he said, taking the covers off the made bed and placing you on the sheets. He picked up one of your ankles and undid the clasp to your shoes with surprising delicacy. Throwing the expensive shoe over his shoulder, he repeated the same process to your other foot. You sighed in contentment as your feet were now free from the lovely looking but horrible feeling high heels.

“ ‘S fine, I’ll glance at whatever. But I don’t wanna waste my time sleeping,” you said as he covered you with a blanket. It smelled like sweet hay and reminded you of the blanket you kept from your old barn.

“Always about wasting time with you. Take a short nap, you’ll need it for what I’m going to do to you next,” Mosh said, spanking your ass with no heat. “Don’t cha want to see how you’ll look with a tail?”

“Don’t have a tail,” you mumbled, already drifting off.

“You will in about an hour. Hope your ass is ready,” Mosh said with a smirk. You snorted but decided against arguing. You trusted Mosh would prep you and you were a little curious.

Roughly a half dozen hours later and you were leaking Mosh’s come from every hole. He’d thoroughly used your mouth, pussy, and ass, and you’d loved every minute of it. Your estrus had ended and it was the best one you’d ever had. You were in the bed he’d bent you over, had you ride him on, and had taken you in every position you knew. Stretching your arms and legs, you reveled in the soreness of your body and the knowledge that you’d been thoroughly and completely fucked out of your mind. Mosh had gone to shower and you sauntered into the steamy bathroom for a quick chat before you left.

“I gotta go, my time’s up,” you said, sitting yourself on the counter and letting your legs dangle.

“Could always stay for round two,” Mosh offered, soaping up his torso. You saw your lingering bite marks on his nipples and thought over his offer for a moment. It was tempting but you had a life to get back to.

“We already had rounds two through ten,” you replied, watching the suds run down his gorgeous body.

“I’ll see ya next time then. Don’t wax your hair off, I like ya natural,” he said, his cock starting to harden as he watched your naked form sitting on his bathroom counter.

“And what makes you think there’s a next time? Maybe I won’t come back next month,” you said, arching an eyebrow. Mosh just smirked at you, running a hand up and down his thick horns. He knew - and you knew - he was right. There would be a next time, you were already imagining it in your mind. You’d make the hike out to this shithole every weekend if you could get more of Mosh.

“You’ll be back. See ya next estrus little cow. Don’t wax,” he said with another smile. You returned it and walked back to the main room and began to get dressed. It didn’t take long since you hadn’t worn all that much so you were done in about ten minutes. You yelled a quick goodbye to Mosh and opened the bedroom door, not bothering to put your painful heels back on your feet. Walking down the hallway through the main house, you heard sniffling coming through an open door. You slowed your walk - it wasn’t really your business but you’d always been a hybrid who supported hybrids so you wanted to lend a hand where you could. Pushing open the wood door a little more, you saw a tired looking orange cow hybrid sitting on the floor, sniffling as she cried quietly. Leaning against the door frame with your heels in your hands, you considered her for a moment. She looked up at you with some inscrutable emotion before returning to her thoughts.

“What’s the matter Red? Bad estrus?” you asked.

“No. Don’t wanna be here,” the cow mumbled out.

“So leave? What’s the issue?” you pressed. It wasn’t really your business but the cow kind of reminded you of your younger cousins and maybe all of Mosh’s talk about being a hybrid had hit home for you.

“Can’t. They bought me,” the cow said, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand.

“They can’t buy you. It doesn’t work like that,” you automatically replied. You’d provided a lot of pro bono legal support anonymously to hybrids over the years as a way to assuage your guilt for blending in. You’d helped save hundreds of cows from situations they didn’t want to be in - the laws of guardianship weren’t well known and kept purposefully vague in order to subjugate hybrids. It had almost become your personal mission to help as my cows as you could escape from abusive farms and “owners.”

“Well they did. And now I can’t leave,” the cow stated, putting her head back down on her knees.

“Sure you can. C’mon, I’ll take you back to New World City. You know someone there?” you asked. The cow looked up at you with big eyes as you fished out your keys from your designer purse. Sure, this would be your first in person saving, but it wasn’t really any different than helping hybrids with legal advice.

“You’d do that? Really? But I - they’re gonna punish us. I tried getting out once and I got caught and -” you threw your keys up in the air and caught them in your palm.

“Baby, they’re only gonna punish you if they can catch you. Sure, I’m a lawyer now. But I used to be an ace driver - faster than lightning and just as unpredictable. Let’s hit it,” you stated with a wide smile. The cow’s eyes lit up as she stood and followed closely behind you.

Taglist: @mfreedomstuff @fanaticsnail

#Victoria Punk Breeding Farm #vpbf #mosh one piece #op x y/n #x reader #standalone #mosh x reader #killer mentioned #cow hybrid #hybrid mosh #hybrid au

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mistfallengw2 · 9 months ago

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How do charr hands function? Here's my headcanon (with drawings!)

So I made this poll earlier today and I ended up making some sketches to explain how I headcanon charr hands and their supposedly retractable yet too big claws. The idea is that both the game and the books are partially right: claws can be big (not as big as the models), and they're semi-retractable (so fully-fluffy paws). [Disclaimer: I am bad at anatomical drawings and did not try to make them super accurate :')]

Basically charr fingers are made of three phalanges, but functionally they're just two, with the 2nd and 3rd being much shorter and sort of "merging" with the claw itself, which is mostly supported by the 3rd and starts very close to the knuckle between them. The palm is covered almost entirely by a skin pad/paw pad, which usually extends to the first phalanx of each finger, and the fingertips are covered by pads as well.

The claws are semi-retractile, though the exact range of motion depends on the individual's genetics (claw size and shape + hand anatomy) and preferences (how much they trim the claw). The ability to retract their claws is managed by specialized extra tendons and muscles in the hand's structure, and they can lock the claw in place or move it, even while the fingers are bent, though with some limitation at the extremes of movement. While the claw at rest will stay at a "safe" angle, the claw's bed can shift on the cartilage structure when pulled, sliding back into a "sheathed" position or be pushed outwards. [note: I was too scared to go too far with the "x-ray" sketches and probably the claws could go a bit further back in the finger lol]

Ancestrally, this system kept the claws from always digging into the ground and losing sharpness when running on all fours, while still allowing for extra grip when necessary (similar to cheetahs) and the use when fighting or taking down prey. During the evolutionary transition in which charr started walking upright most of the time and using tools, it lost some of its ancestral necessity and functionality. However, instead of turning into something vestigial, charr evolved the ability of controlling each claw's movement independently from the rest of the finger, allowing for greater precision, fine motor skills and dexterity.

The pad grants grip and softer manipulation of items, while the claw handles movements finer and more precise than the pad allows, and other races find it complex, fascinating or a bit freaky. Some say that charr are as dexterous than humans, if not more, which is quite an accomplishment for creatures with such big hands.

That said, variety is huge among charr. Some have stubby paws with big, wide claws, while others have long, slender fingers with narrow claws.

Claws are still used as a natural weapon by many soldiers, but it's totally not uncommon for charr to file their claws down or keep them blunt, as there's a huge variety of reasons for not wanting sharp knives on one's fingers (job requirements, handling of delicate materials, safer interactions with cubs or creatures with softer skin, personal preference, etc), and some even keep their claws at different lengths for specific uses.

That said, claws can't be trimmed beyond the quick without bleeding or potential damage, and since it extends out of the sheath it's not possible for a charr to fully sheath their claws. Claws grow quite fast to make up for the daily wear and tear, so upkeep must be done regularly, as trimming too much might temporarily impact coordination. Declawing can happen during combat or following injury, and those affected might wear prosthetics/fake claws to make up for it.

#gw2 headcanons #gw2 charr #charr #my art #charr anatomy #gw2 lore rambling #btw hind paws and their claws are different and I have a whole other headcanon for the dewclaw with spur. and teeth number too #anyway everyone who draws charr hands does a great job at it so don't take this as gospel. I'm just trying to wrap my head around anatomy #but damn did I just really draw hands and fingers without despising them completely? O:#gotta keep telling myself that this isn't useless cuz I'm helping myself figure out stuff. the ocs drawings will be better now!#edit: since someone mentioned the term... I guess the claws are technically protractible as well? 🤔 oh well they still move lol

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overtake · 7 months ago

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Post-Vegas Maxiel | 1.2K

The lead-up to Max’s fist on Daniel’s front door is a hazy kaleidoscope of memories.

Flashes of sponsor-branded tumblers with gin and tonics being pressed into his hands, which started the night steady and ended up shaky when they tried to sneak under Martin’s shirt and feel up his chest.

Fuzzier still: Martin pulling him into a hug and whispering something against Max’s sticky, sweaty temple about where Max really wanted to be. He can’t make out the words in his hazy memories, only their too-kind cadence, but he remembers the shape of the name Daniel on Martin’s mouth and the way he suddenly stopped wanting to kiss it.

His phone history highlights a costly change to his flight path, a car service for when he landed, typoed assurances to his team that he’d make it in time for Qatar, and four calls that Daniel never returned.

So Max is here in LA, knowing Daniel is probably warm and fast asleep in bed. He can picture the leg hanging off the side of his mattress. His white noise machine will be making Daniel’s bedroom sound like rain, a different shower than the champagne that was poured over Max’s head and down his throat.

He longs to be inside. To press his broad chest against the muscles of Daniel’s back. To kiss down the heated skin because Daniel keeps his bedroom warm like Perth summer and prefers flannel sheets.

Max’s whole body aches with every movement and the need to hold Daniel, even as a solid thrum of excitement keeps his spine rigid and eyes open. He wants to take what Daniel hinted could be theirs when all this was over, even though Max still has two more races and maybe more years left. He’ll be okay if Daniel isn’t ready, but the part of himself that was genetically designed to know Daniel tells him he’s allowed to try.

“Max?”

And then Daniel’s there, confused and squinting around the side of the house. Not asleep, the way Max pictured. He’s in shorts and nothing else, the side of his hand pressed to his forehead as he tries to ward off the sun’s glare and process what’s in front of him.

Max, little pieces of confetti still stuck to his cheek, holding nothing but his backpack and a phone on 10% battery. Max, bleary-eyed and mouth beginning to taste of hangover and death.

He knows he’s not a vision, that this isn’t the big romantic gesture he’d planned with dirt bikes under a Christmas tree. Instead, he hopes his flushed cheeks and mussed hair and the break of his face into the same kind of smile that lived under his helmet when he crossed the finish line … he prays those are enough, that Daniel is healed enough to let himself want Max now and like this.

“I won,” Max says dumbly. He wishes he remembered to grab a water bottle from the car service so the sentence wouldn’t dry tacky and cotton under his tongue.

“You won,” Daniel says, matter-of-fact. He’s not upset or elated. He’s not anything different. He’s Daniel, as himself as ever, looking like he expected this, like Max belongs here the same as the green grass and cement walls.

Max doesn’t feel ridiculous and fearful with Daniel holding him in the stare of his gentle eyes. They’re crinkled at the edges from all his years of laughing — many of the moments shared with Max adding to their depth since the skin there was taut with their shared youth. Max is developing his own smile lines, finally old enough for his skin to permanently imprint the joy of knowing Daniel.

“I have to leave for Qatar tomorrow,” Max says. He takes a step toward Daniel, then another, until Daniel begins to move too.

Max processes for the first time the way Daniel glows under the LA sun and considers that maybe he could make a home here too in Daniel’s joy. He’d seen him in Monaco. He’d been able to confirm for his own eyes that Daniel was taking ownership of this new life and thriving in it. He’d been too nervous then to do more than take Daniel to lunch and padel and observe him cautiously, trying to note every change in his month of healing.

He has the same relaxed and relieved demeanour now as he did then. Daniel is beautiful and belongs everywhere, but Max would make his home in LA just to watch the way Daniel lives so carefree under these palm trees and hundred lane highways.

His shoulders are even looser here than they were Monaco. When Max places a hand on Daniel’s bare, sun-warmed hip, he can feel the tiniest squish of where Daniel can finally eat all the schnitzel he wants. He’s a cactus built in the tough conditions of a sport that didn’t love him back, and he’s still blooming his flowers without it. Max wants to cup him like he’s something precious and be grateful that this sport didn’t make him bitter, that he was born so good that he could survive all this and love Max anyway.

“Guess you don’t need to get me a Christmas present after all,” Daniel jokes. His giggle ducks his head down to Max’s shoulder for a half second, hair tickling the nape of Max’s neck.

Max didn’t need his point to win, sure. But he liked having it; knowing that Daniel set a lap record as his final fuck you to the blind fuckers who quit on him, a lap that also gifted Max breathing room. He’d wished in the plane ride home after Singapore that fastest laps had something tangible for him to steal and hold in Daniel’s absentia. A trophy, a plaque, anything he could grip between his heat-swollen fingers to remember how his chest felt when his radio crackled with the news of Daniel’s triumph.

Max shakes his head, which sends a slightly dizzying wave through his dehydrated, sleep-deprived body. He adjusts his grip tighter on Daniel’s skin, a needed reprieve after the physical ache of wanting.

“You of course still get a Christmas present,” he tells Daniel. He briefly wishes his breath were fresher, but he doesn’t think Daniel will mind too much. “A real one, too, but also.”

He drops his bag on the grass then so his other hand is free to trace the contours of Daniel’s stubbled jawline. Max thinks that if Daniel is careful, Max will be okay to strap the seatbelt around his thighs this week even with the lingering beard burn.

Daniel gifts him the kiss instead, while Max is busy trying to memorize this moment inside his bleary head. His lips are wet against Max’s parched, chapped ones, but he doesn’t pull away from the reminder of Max’s night spent celebrating a world that Daniel was choosing to forget.

Instead, Daniel’s arms ensnare his waist and tug him closer until Max’s breath hitches and he forgets they’re in a front lawn and loses himself inside Daniel’s mouth.

“Congratulations, champ,” Daniel says, pulling away only long enough to speak the words. His nose brushes Max’s when he speaks and begins to tug Max toward the front door. “Let’s get you home.”

#clearly i’m a bit emo atm #maxiel #fics #i have a factum draft due tomorrow that needs about 1k more words to be done #but god forbid i write that when i could do 1k of maxiel instead

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cupcakeinat0r · 1 year ago

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A Nerdy Middle-aged loser Miguel with a dad bod who teaches your genetics class

In celebration of 1k followers, I give you Pt.5 <3

Enjoy! - Cupcake

Since that day you kissed Miguel on the cheek, the dynamic of y’all’s relationship had totally changed, but not drastically. Miguel was back to acting soft towards you, greeting you upon your somewhat late arrivals, getting you little gifts that reminded him of you, and the subtle exchange of glances in class.

Professor O’Hara was a little handsy during your tutoring sessions before, but now he was even more so, your little peck on his cheek was all the encouragement he needed. For sure, his job was on the line since anyone could’ve walked in and seen the two of you like this, but it was worth the risk. Just as long as you both acted this way in his office, the coast was clear.

The head messages had doubled, footsies was played underneath his desk, and he’d even find any excuse to have his hand on yours while you both worked independently, sitting in peaceful silence with each other. You found it hard to complete the research questions when his thumb kept caressing your knuckles, yet, you never protested. His flirt game was rusty, his advances limited to innocent touching and praise, but nonetheless, it was adorable to you the way he tried.

After that day in his office, tutoring sessions became less about tutoring and more just about being in each other’s company. Instead of spending an hour practicing formulas, you both would mingle while organizing the lecture hall or filing research papers. Anything to help Prof. O’Hara, or rather Miguel, since y’all are officially on a first-name basis.

A new development was when you started staying after to help him grade papers. The two of you would use this time to talk one-on-one more, no one there to interrupt. Miguel was just as handsy during this time, too. As mentioned before, he’d find any excuse to touch you, and in the most innocent ways. For example, if he saw a strand of your hair falling on your face while you were grading a paper, he’d simply tuck it behind your ear for you, or when the necklace he got you was crooked or facing the wrong side, he’d gently fix it for you while you spoke to him about one of your current interests, following along with low hums and ‘mhm’s. It’d make you blush and stutter mid-sentence, inflating his otherwise small ego.

Miguel wasn’t a very vocal person, you knew that, but you can see by his actions that he really really liked you. You continued to show your appreciation by leaving treats on his desk, keeping note that his favorite was black coffee and a quesito from the bakery he showed you on campus. A pastry not too sweet, and goes perfectly with a cup of cafécito.

But you were just too sweet and Miguel completely fell for it. He saw how eager you were to help other people in the class, and seeing how willing you were to stay with him to help him with anything you could. He admired that. It also confused him for so long because how has no one swept you off your feet? You were literally perfect? Certainly, people have tried, there’s no way he would believe that no one has. It’s apparent now that the both of you share feelings that are beyond platonic, it’s just a matter of time before someone makes the next move. Given the circumstances, for now, Miguel is taking things microscopically slow with you. He doesn’t wanna scare you off. The last thing he wants is to ruin his chance with you.

His feelings for you were growing, which slightly terrified him given that you are still, in fact, his student, no matter how grown you were. He couldn’t help it. His dreams about you were turning less lustful and more wholesome. When he sleeps, he would see himself coming home to you, cooking with you, reading books next to each other, or even cleaning with you. Just mundane day-to-day tasks, only they’re with you. Maybe for now, they’ll just stay in his dreams. Maybe.

The lecture had just finished and you sent your new best friend, the transfer, away with a European farewell, kissing both of his cheeks. Without you knowing, Miguel watches on with an unamused smirk, remembering how he mistook your relationship with the transfer as a romantic one.

Before leaving the lecture hall, you strut towards Miguel to give him your now-routinely kiss goodbye (on the cheek, of course…). As you walk, you see that he’s crouched over his computer, tired eyes glossing over the screen. The fatigue of finals season is beginning to show on him, and it was a pitiful sight that made you purse your lips. Although it made you sad, you couldn’t help but let a small puff of air out your nose with how his glasses sat low on his nose. He never bothered to fix them, so you were the one who’d fix them oftentimes, and every time, he’d give you a small, “gracias, mama.”

You set down your bag, the thud of it hitting the floor finally stealing Miguel’s attention away from the blue-lit screen. He looks you up and down over his lenses, the small, fine lines of his face showing his age and you loved ittt.

“Sweetheart, as much as I love it when you stay and help, I’d be happier knowing you’re at home getting the rest you deserve.” He softly speaks, this version of himself that is so different from the one he presents in front of his class and colleagues.

“You worry too much, Miguel.” You plant yourself next to his chair, leaning down to get a better look at what on the computer has him so worked up. “Jesus, Miguel, no wonder you look sick.” You scroll through what seems like an endless list of students who signed up for office hours. With the amount that registered, Miguel would have to work even outside of his office hours.

From Miguel’s seated position, he has first-class access to your sweet perfume and a million-dollar view of your neck and chest, his mind wandering for a moment.

“Are you listening to me? This is ridiculous, there’s no way you’re cramming this amount of students… is there not another professor who could tutor as well?” the small raise of your voice is enough to bring his attention upward, not that that was any better of a view. Now, he was just looking at your lips, and how your lip plump makes them looks deliciously kissable. He imagined how’d they’d look if they were-

“Miguel O’Hara!” He blinks once or twice, gaining consciousness again, “Excuse me, uh, yeah, no, I’m the only one who can. For this class, I mean.” He rubs one of his eyes, letting out a sigh as he looks at the heavily packed schedule displayed on his desktop. “Anyways, it’s my responsibility. This was in the job description, so I gotta do what I gotta do.”

You roll your eyes in annoyance, hands on your hips, “Okay, but that doesn’t mean compromising your own health. There are healthy and efficient ways of doing your job, Mig.”

There’s that nickname he loved. He melted every time you used it, the familiarity of y’all’s relationship shining through the most when you did. He especially loved it when you were upset. He thought it was cute.

“Let me tutor some.” This snaps Miguel back to Earth, but this time, he’s in disbelief. “You’d tutor other students?” This was a rhetorical question, of course, he knew you were serious. He knew how big your heart was. He guessed he was just in disbelief because, once again, he was beguiled by the existence of a literal angel sent to Earth. He can’t believe he’s been blessed by your presence and friendship (?). You were so kind, so intelligent, so put-together, extremely gorgeous… you were utterly perfect.

“If splitting the work meant you got some sort of rest around here, then of course I would! Mig…” You grab the nearest chair and pull it to sit next to him, placing a hand on top of his. His hand relaxes under your touch, “You’ll work yourself to death like this.” You send a warmth onto his hand and up his arm you rub circles on his knuckles, the same way he does it to you.

“You’ve done so much for me, Miguel. Let me repay you, please? Please let me do this?” You bat your eyes, Miguel’s kryptonite.

Miguel turns his hand to intertwine his fingers with yours, seeing the genuinity in your eyes. He gives it a small squeeze before saying, “What did I do to deserve you, hm?” it comes out just above a whisper.

“Plenty, Miguel. You’re the hardest working man I’ve ever met,” you cock your head to the side, your eyes tracing the muscles of his broad shoulders, counting in your head all the possible knots buried deep in there,” Here, sit back, please.” You say sweetly, standing back up to travel to the back of his seat.

“What’re you up to?” His eyebrows raised, but he eased again when he felt your small hands massaging the crooks of his neck. “Sshhhh, just relax, Mig. It’s ok.”

He furrows his brows feeling the scrumptious pain of knots unfurling and tension melting away, your soft hands kneading his back muscles like readied sour dough. You know you hit a good spot when he accidentally lets out small groans. You’re doing so good that it takes every thing in him to hold back any embarrassing moaning. You can see his fits clench around the arms of his chair. His breath shakes from the sudden touch, but it’s not in protest; just surprise. Astonished that the woman he dreamed of every night was currently giving him a message.

You can see his literal jaw unclench, happy to see him so relaxed. “Feel good?” You whisper in a sugary tone, Miguel nodding with his lips parted. He lets out a small noise of approval, urging you to keep going. With his eyes closed, you were able to closely examine all the sharp features that make up his beautiful, sculpted face. He was simply gorgeous. Slowly, his hands relax, signifying that he’s becoming comfortable with this, welcoming your soothing touch.

“S’good, mama… s’good…” he speaks under his breath as you knead out the stubborn knots on the stiff tissue of neck. Once you feel like you’ve ridden all the points of tension there, you slowly work your toward his clavicle. He lets you unbutton the first three buttons of his polo sweater. With your whole hands, you apply pressure there, offering weighted comfort to the area. He takes a deep breath and exhales with an open mouth, as if releasing all the tension and stress.

Then you rub up and down slowly, the sensation of his chest hair tempting you to venture deeper down his thick torso. Due to the immense relaxation, Miguel’s head begins to fall back onto your stomach, so you step closer to give him extra support.

He hums when he feels both of your hands cup his face. You then remove his glasses so you can work on his temples. His eyes are still closed, but you can see his lips slightly curl, which makes you smile. You wonder what he’s thinking about as you give his scalp a good rake.

Miguel is currently thinking about where he should get down on one knee for you. He’s thinking about what color you’d possibly want the cabinets to be in your shared home. He’s thinking about if y’all’s child will be as nerdy as him or as fashionable as you. Either way, he’d be the happiest man in the world. He’s on cloud nine as far as he’s concerned. He couldn’t remember the last time he relaxed like this. This train of thought is stopped by the sensation of your lips on his forehead. His heart stops as well.

Then he feels the soft smack of your lips on his left cheek, then his right, leaving behind a trail of lip gloss prints. Anticipating a potential fourth kiss somewhere specific, he slowly opens his eyes, your face inches from his. His head leans all the way back, resting against your stomach still.

It’s silent between the two of you. You lock eyes, completely drowning in the other's gaze. No words were exchanged, but there didn’t need to be.

Seeing no other action fit for this perfect moment, Miguel raises his hand above him to cup your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb. You inch down closer, your heart racing. His is, too. His thumb itches to move, brushing along your bottom lip softly.

In what would be considered “Spider-Man” style, you both share a kiss, so sweet, so tender, and so innocent. The perfect first kiss. After a few mind blowing seconds, you’re the first to pull away, but not wanting to stop just yet, Miguel crashes you back into his lips by adding his other hand to your head, extending the moment just a bit longer. You weren’t complaining, though, you’d stay here forever if you could.

Feeling your knees getting weak, you shift all your weight onto Miguel, your hands traveling from the sides of his face back down to his pecs underneath his sweater, his chest in a slow rise and fall rhythm. To deepen the kiss even more, Miguel's hands wrap around the back of your neck. You both come up for air for just a mere second, Miguel breathlessly letting out a weak, “Please.”

knowing what he meant, you smile, going back down again but this time, open-mouthed. Miguel groans into your mouth with the feeling of his tongue on yours, practically treating it like his lollipop. The kiss becomes hungrier with a nibble on your lip by Miguel, pulling on it while you get some needed air. It’s getting sloppy now, and your hands travel lower, meeting the softness of his belly. His breath hitches when he feels them there, half-expecting you to be revolted in any way, but your hands just sit there. In fact, you start messaging there as well, giving love to his whole body. The feeling of the softness of his body in your hands grants a small moan, loving every piece of him. Your hands drag up and down his whole torso with each wet collision of your lips. Your hands would go as low as the pudge sitting above his belt, all the way to up his knife-like jawline, and back down again, and repeat. It’s like you wanted him to know you worshipped his body, and Miguel wanted to show some in return.

Using his hands on the back of your head, he tapped you to pull away so that he could take your hand and guide you around his chair, pulling you to straddle his lap. “C’mere…”

Tongues are going down throats, moans are being heard, and hands are becoming desperate. The fingers tugging his hair, his hands squeezing the globes of your ass, him desperately lifting his hips to make some friction. It was like horny college kids fucking for the first time…. or at least maybe one of y’all felt that way. The other was just that. A horny college student.

There was no stopping either of you, except maybe for the knocking at the lecture hall door.

Both your heads snapped toward the thankfully semi-transparent, iced door. You scramble to get off Miguel’s lap, Miguel wiping your lip gloss off his face. You go to button his sweater and fix his hair as he calls out, “Just a moment.” You give him his glasses when you hear the voice of the student speaking about a tutoring session with Miguel through the door.

Miguel thinks he’ll go to the door, but he feels you grab his hand. “Hey,” you pull him in for one last peck, “I’ll take this one, mkay?” You smile up at him, a very dazed Miguel looking back at you. As far as he’s concerned, he’s floating right now.

“Anyways, it seems like someone,” you look down, motioning to the prominent bulge in his pants, “needs a moment to calm down.” You chuckle, practically gliding to the door as Miguel looks down at his excitement, wide-eyed and making his own way into his private office to… read about DNA Polymerase Replacement or something.

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A/n: I just wanted to thank you guys for 1k followers as well as all the appreciation on this lil story of mine<3 y’all so sweet n cewt, and it’s so much fun writing this fic n just writing in general! Ty for letting my creative juices fuel ur delulu <3 I also hope that this hot, wet, fat kiss made up for all the edging I’ve done, if not, sorry <3 Next chapter tho………….. but chu gotta stay tuned, yall hear meeeeee????

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