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g-xix · 4 months

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🔞Locked In | ArthurTV

Based on ArthurTV in Locked In S2 on Footaslyum! Summary: Y/n is set the challenge to ignore Arthur for a full day. Too bad that when Arthur realises this, he does everything to try and make you acknowledge him again... Wordcount: 7.3k aka LONG

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"Y/n to the storeroom please"

"Hey sugarlips!" You plopped yourself into the leather seat and smiled at the camera and tripod in front of you.

The Locked In Footaslyum reality show had been hard, that was for sure.

Surprisingly though, one week away from your phone wasn't what had you all that worked up. No, instead it was ArthurTV. He'd been ever so nice at first, when he'd popped up in your Instagram DM's with a "Hi! Saw you're going on Locked In asw :)". And from there you spent your last few days with your phone only messaging Arthur. You woke up? You checked your phone to reply to Arthur. Midday? You had your phone on vibrate to alert you for when he replied. Night-time? The two of you were facetiming in your beds, giggling and both secretly ecstatic you'd be spending two weeks alongside one another.

Then when you entered into the house, Arthur was first to spot you across the kitchen island, and ran over to wrap you in a hug. The other housemates thought it was just initial, friendly banter. But you were weak in the knees just hugging him. And anyways, soon enough the housemates started guessing at least one of you had a crush on the other.

Afterall, Arthur seemed to always be at your side. If you and Steph were doing your makeup, best believe Arthur was sat at the other spot on the makeup table just waiting there and listening. When Arthur was trying to get better at football with Jamie and Jokeman, you were sat in your puffer jacket on the outdoor sofa watching and occasionally passing the ball back to them. And whenever one of you had to go to the storeroom, best believe the other was piggy-backing them there.

"Y/n, you and Arthur have been exceedingly close."

"Is it that obvious?" You questioned with a little giggle. "Hey, we might be close but nothing could get between you and I, Sugarlips, don't you worry."

"I know." She bluntly responded, drawing a laugh from you. "Do you like Arthur?"

"I like everyone in the house, Sugarlips."

"You know what I mean."

You laughed as you could only imagine her rolling her eyes. "Only if he likes me as well I suppose."

"Interesting." Came the enigmatic voice's reply. "We have a challenge for you, Y/n."

"Tell all, Sugartits."

"Please just Sugarlips." She stopped you, making you snort. At least your Scottish mate would be happy you tried. "Your challenge is to ignore Arthur for the whole of today for three points."

"ALL OF TODAY!" You exclaimed with a gasp.

"That's right."

"What, so no doing anything with him."

"You must treat him like he is not there at all."

"Bloody hell that's a whole ask and a half."

"Do you accept your challenge, Y/n?"

"Gah... I... How many points did you say it was?"

"3 points."

"Fuck it, let's do it."

Arthur was already there waiting for you when you exited the store room. He wore one of those fitted white tees- the type that clung to his biceps and broadened his chest, hanging looser around his waist and giving him such a sexy look along with his black cargos, it was a task and a half just ignoring him and walking past him there. You could almost imagine the look of shock on his face as you passed him, pretending you hadn't noticed him and walking up the stairs- flashing one of the recording cameras a you-did-this look before continuing out of the corridor just as you heard Arthur call "Wait for me then, Y/n!" meaning that as soon as you turned the corner, you sprinted across to the bathroom, locking the door behind you to give yourself a moment to recollect your thoughts without Arthur on your back.

Listening closely, you could hear Arthur padding slowly, pausing at some point- before padding up the stairs and into the bedrooms. You allowed yourself to press your back to the door, leaning your head back and squeezing your eyes shut, groaning and wondering how the hell you were meant to do this challenge.

"Y/nnnn..." It wasn't even midday and you were sat across from Anisa and Anastasia doing your makeup, when you heard Arthur's voice looming from down the corridor. Anisa and Anastasia giggled, giving you a look as they normally did when Arthur came looking for you, though they were surprised to see that instead of having your usual big grin on your face, you just did your mascara as though you hadn't heard a thing.

"There you are, feel like I haven't seen you at all today." You refrained from turning around and looking at the oh-so handsome face of Arthur behind you, printing some dewey blush onto the back of your hand instead.

A tension was raised upon the little makeup table as Arthur's words were met with a blank expression and non-existent response.

"Have I put too much blush on?" You broke the silence, looking up from the mirror to the girls in front of you, who stared back with open jaws and looks of confusion. Anisa was the first to close her jaw and snap herself out of it, shaking her head before responding.

"It's more than your usual but it suits you, I like it."

"Let me have a look-" Arthur was persistent in trying to get your attention, and when met with no response as you did your best to ignore him, you felt the material of his cargos brushing against your arms as he squat down behind you. Your peripherals showed Arthur's face behind you in the mirror as you searched your makeup bag, doing your best not to look and acknowledge the man behind you- though as you found your pen and your eyes flicked back to the mirror- they momentarily met Arthur's big doe eyes before flitting away- causing a wide grin to light on Arthur's face.

A wide grin you wished you could've been looking at.

"Looks perfect." Arthur commented on the blush, still smiling cheekily as he snaked an arm around you shoulder, travelling across your collarbone so that his fingers brushed your opposite shoulder as he held you in what felt like a possessive way.

He didn't make it any easier for you to ignore him, the way you could feel butterflies dancing around your stomach and your skin tingling from his touch, hairs raising on the back of your neck as you could feel his every breath land coolly against the side of your neck.

Being in a house with eight other room-mates was not the place to start getting hot and bothered over a boy, though as you felt Arthur's other hand place softly against your waist, thumb caressing the soft skin of your stomach exposed by your cropped top whilst his palm rubbed up and down sensually slowly, you could feel your thoughts turning hornier by the second.

"I know what you're trying to do," Arthur whispered into you ear just as Anastasia and Anisa started getting back into their own conversation, not noticing the closeness between yourself and Arthur as pressed his lips to your skin. You gulped and starting unscrewing the lid of your highlighter pen, trying to ignore Arthur's husky voice in your ear. "Good luck tryna ignore me, but just know that I won't make it easy for you..."

Arthur pressed a chaste little kiss behind your ear, patting your hip as a little goodbye before getting up from behind you and departing down the stairs as though nothing had just happened.

You exhaled a breath you didn't even realise you'd been holding.

At some point, Sugarlips gathered you all to the living room sofa, turning a screen on and taking you through comments left on recent videos.

You lounged yourself besides Steph, resting your head on her shoulder and waiting for the others to arrive. Anisa, Millie, Spuddz, Johnny- they all slotted through the door one by one, and lastly , Arthur came and (to your disappreciation), plopped himself right besides you on the cushions.

One of his arms fell over your shoulders instinctually, though as the comments were read out one after the other, his arm seductively slowly trailed from your shoulders down to your thigh. It was painful, the way you fixated on that soothing touch of his thumb rubbing slowly over your outer thigh, biting your lip and glancing down just momentarily to catch the sight of his large hand almost enveloping the width of your thigh from the tip of his pinkie to his thumb. You felt as though you were discovering new kinks, as the way his hand looked so grand on your thigh had your pupils dilating, thoughts dipping into the forbidden horny vault as your felt his fitted "manwhore" shirt brush against your arm as he leaned close.

"Don't get let me distract you," Arthur whispered into your ear quietly, the cruel smirk dripping from his voice as he taunted you, his breath across your skin making you shiver, feeling his lips brushing the sensitive skin. "You just focus on tryna ignore me, hm?"

You kissed your teeth, not wanting to entertain him and yet having to pretend as though he weren't there regardless. It became easier to ignore his presence as his thumb slowed and slowed until it eventually stopped, just resting against your thigh and sleeping, letting you find yourself back in the moment and laughing with the rest of the housemates as you came back in touch with reality until-

You choked over your word as you felt Arthur's hand slip further across your leggings, his palm resting on your inner thigh and shocking you- turning your face bright red and making you instantly choke on your word, silencing you with shock as your splutters coughs, though nobody seemed to notice it over Darkest's yells of laughter, allowing you a moment to recover.

Eyes squeezing shut, you couldn't help but flicker your gaze over at Arthur for just a moment, his expression poker straight with just the slightest curl of his lip- amused by your suffering- amused by the way you were like putty in his hands.

His hand was so dangerously placed. His palm fell over that soft skin ranging from the uppermost bit of your thigh down the inside, fingers spread facing down to your knee so comfortably it was like they belonged there. So sinfully entitled. Bright pink heat rose to your cheeks at the thought of how close he was to you, how one slight fraction of a movement would have his hand on something completely different and have you feeling some other way completely... It felt so wrong, having him like that whilst you were sat by nine others- being recorded for the whole of the internet to see, too.

You were squirming internally, wanting to tell Arthur to stop, get off and leave you be- but you were torn between fulfilling your challenge of ignoring him and your genuine need to have him closer. To tell him to touch you instead. Entertain him. Tell him to do something, and see whether he'd follow it up and play the game with you- who would be first to back down?

And as though Arthur could read your mind, you felt the tip of his pinky which was closest to the seam of your leggings ranging upwards, scaling the see-through mesh region of your leggings and closer to your core.

The only difference between yourself and Arthur though, was that whilst Arthur seemed quite up for a casual bit of exhibitionism just to see you fail your challenge- you were not about to let him fuck you on the Locked In sofa with eight other people watching. Even if that would set a pretty fuckin unbeatable legacy-

You emit a little gasp as you felt Arthur's pinkie slip perhaps more than he'd meant it. He was barely millimetres away from his finger tips touching the uppermost of your legging's inseam- and you jumped, gripping his wrist firmly enough to make it begin glowing white from the contact- stopping his movements and pinning his wrist in place. You'd jumped around to face Arthur- give him a long, hard look for the first time all day.

His eyes were completely blown out, brown irises pushed out by feral black pupils, eyes wide in a way you'd never seen them before. A bright red glow was present across either cheek, connected across the bright of his nose which was blushed also- his lips slightly parted as though he was struggling for air, simply running on animalistic desires and needs.

Even he seemed shocked at the fact you'd acknowledged him- even if it were only for a moment, before both of your heads snapped back to the screen as-

DING!

"Arthur and Y/n are my absolute faves omg, istg these two have sm chemistry but also sexual tension either they come out of this house FWB's or married atp"

It took a moment for the shock of Arthur's previous actions to mull over and be replaced with the words Sugarlips read out. And then register those words...

The girls squealed and leaned over to kick your legs with titters of told you! and laughs, whilst Johnny and Darkest just cheered and slammed Arthur on the back as a well done.

Arthur looked proud despite the even brighter red glow of embarrassment across his cheeks, whilst you just collapsed against Steph's side, using Steph's body as a shield for your rudolph-red face, leaning against her for a moment longer than you really needed to just so to fully recover from whatever the Hell had happened within the last ten minutes.

Retracting from Steph as the attention shifted back to the screen, the next comment already being read out, you looked back at Arthur's face.

He glanced at you, lips curving into a devious smirk. "You're welcome." He grinned maliciously, drawing a huff from you as you turned around to face the screen and purposefully crossed your leg over the other- swinging one thigh over the other and away from Arthur.

"Y/n, please report to the storeroom."

You plopped your ass on their confession seat. "He's an absolute wanker you know, Sugarlips, been testing my patience out."

"We can tell. He is very touchy today."

Your ears went bright red. "Whatall have you seen, sugarlips."

"His hand was around your shoulder at the seats. And Steph's body blocked our view of his hand, but it looked like it was on your knee."

Oh thank fuck the cameras didn't see what happened. You mentally breathed a sigh of relief. God bless Steph and her beautiful body.

"We also have seen you look at Arthur and talk to him momentarily."

"Whoa whoa whoa, sugarlips you gotta understand that was necessary, he said he'd poo on my bed tonight if I didn't."

"Do you expect us to give you a second chance?"

"Well, if you're offering one sugarlips, those three points would be much appreciated."

"Hm... We'll see how you do for the rest of the day, Y/n."

You grinned, knowing that meant she agreed. "Cheers, Sugarlips, I'll do you proud."

"Of course you will, Y/n."

Just as you got up to leave, you felt the need to double back to Sugarlips.

"Oh, and please give Arthur something to do. Otherwise he's just constantly on my back."

Turns out the distraction Sugarlips provided to Arthur was insufficient.

The chessboard they'd gifted Arthur was entertaining for twenty minutes, in which time you'd decided to begin making some sort of dinner, and Arthur had already won 4 games against the other house members.

The pot sizzled as you added the soy sauce into the mince, the garlic, shallots and red chilli following as you double checked the rice also to make sure everything was cooking just fine. Given that within the first few days the house had ran through the entire supply of pot noodles, everyone who could actually cook without transferring salmonella had gone on a rota for who cooked each night.

Tonight was your night, and although most times whenever someone cooked the rest of the house would join them and entertain them- you'd asked to just be able to cook alone so that you could just let your mind declutter after the day. Plus, you wanted to make a Thai bowl for everyone, and that required a little bit of mental effort to just remember how exactly that was cooked.

Questions whizzed around your head as you separated the mince out using the wooden spatula, keeping your mind so occupied that you didn't realise someone else had joined you in the kitchen until it was too late.

A gasp was drawn straight from your throat as you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist, squeezing you and swaying from side to side in what would've been a sweet, domestic way- had it not been for the way you already knew who it was hugging you from behind.

You weakly shrugged those arms away, trying not to let butterflies form as a result of his touchy loving. You couldn't tell if you were relieved or slightly despondent as Arthur really did pull away.

"I'll get plates out," Arthur hummed, reaching to open the draw above your head and easily managing to do so as it swung open without touching a hair on your head.

For the second time within the minute, a gasp left your throat as Arthur's body came flush with yours from behind, pressing up against your back as he leaned over to find ten china bowls in the cupboard above your head.

Though the action of Arthur pressing his body up so close to yours you could feel the heat radiating through his shirt was enough to get your cheeks reddening- the feeling of something beneath his cargos pressing into your lower back gave you the realisation that you weren't the only one getting unmanageably horny within the locked in house.

As Arthur pulled away a moment later, hands laden with china, he made eye contact and passed the most subtle of winks that had you rolling your eyes and looking for the videoing camera within one of the four corners before locating it and mouthing I hate him, all the while fighting to turn your face a more normal colour.

Of course, Arthur caught your reddened face with a cheeky grin, only returning for more as he claimed to "help set the table", feeling the need to place his hands on your hips to move you out of the way of the cutlery drawer.

And that didn't help the rudolph-red face.

Thank God Spuddz had gotten too bored of all the chess and wandered into the kitchen, spotting Arthur and bounding over, holding Arthur beneath one arm and chatting to you with the other half of his brain about how Arthur must've been cheating with the chess board ("I'm telling you- he must have a bishop shoved up his bu-)

You allowed Spuddz to remove Arthur with a sigh of relief, finishing up the Thai cuisine and plating up equal sized portions in each bowl before loading them onto a tray and handing them out- joining Millie on the sofas and enjoying watching her playful bickering with Jamie whilst you ate your rice.

And it was nice to see everyone appreciate your cooking, as the girls begged for you to move in with them just to try more of your cooking, whilst Darkest, Johnny and Jokeman declared you "wifey" material and gave Arthur pointed looks.

Whilst it was all well and fun eating with your housemates and listening to the banter that was contentedly thrown from person to person, you found yourself getting up to stretch after you'd eaten- deciding to excuse yourself to take a shower.

"I'll be about half an hour in there, if you wanna grab your stuff to brush your teeth downstairs be my guest." You informed the room before heading up, grabbing a towel and your shower kit, heading into the bathroom and letting the water run.

Nobody appeared to be interested in getting their toiletries, thus you took great pleasure in slinging your towel over the shower door and stepping into the glass door confinement and allowing the warm jets to run down your body and cleanse all the soapy suds that trailed from your neck down your body and into the drain.

It was calming, and a bloody good place to just get a moment to yourself whereby you knew you could go unbothered- and you got a nice good look at yourself in the mirror as you dried yourself down with the towel you'd initially brought in for yourself- even getting out the moisturiser to nourish your skin with.

It was only when you turned around to the bare radiator, you realised that you had left your clothes outside. In a little bundle on the edge of your bed- you could practically visualise it there, see it almost tauntingly sat on the edge of your bed.

Your head fell into your hands, your digits barely muffling your groan as you realised you'd have to run to your bed in just that towel to try and grab the clothes and get back in without anyone seeing you. Or at least none of the boys; all the girls were fine, at least.

Peeking through the keyhole, it appeared nobody was even there. And you weren't going to start second guessing yourself and leave enough time for someone else to walk on up and enter in the bedroom meaning you had to wait any longer to get your clothes.

You pushed the door handle down firmly, one hand gripping the towel which was knotted at your chest to hold the it safe around your body...

Marching with a quick pace- you barely made a step outside of the bathroom before you slammed into a body which sent you recoiling with a gasp. Yet they only closed the gap between you, shutting the door behind them with a backwards kick as your back hit the sinks leaving you no exit as he leaned in close.

Arthur's eyes had you unable to look away, the blaze within them making knots form in your stomach whilst the smirk that rested on his face seemed to bring that same feeling down to your core.

"Been having fun ignoring me all day?" He cocked his head and asked with a devious grin.

"Yeah and I still should be ignoring you." You managed to break the eye contact, focussing on a wall instead. Yet by not being able to see Arthur you only became more wary of his touch which only seemed to bring a redness to your cheeks as you realised how vulnerable you were in just a thin towel with a flimsy knot at the top. Fuck, you could feel goosebumps lighting across your skin as you realised that the towel barely reached your thighs and your weren't even wearing panties beneath! Arthur appeared to notice all that embarrassment on your face too, and seemed to take great satisfaction in it.

"Oh c'mon, you know damn well they can't hear you in here..." You turned back to him and looked onto his shirt, realising he'd also unplugged his mic from his tee shirt. And his grin only widened as he watched you notice this and glance upwards to meet his eyes, a glimmer of realisation and maybe even desire in your eyes. "I think we have some unfinished business, Y/n."

"And what would that be?" You tried to match his confidence with a cocky grin of your own, having realised that nobody- not even Sugarlips would be able to see what happened now. "Was it trying to fuck me on that sofa downstairs? Or grind until we're fucking on the kitchen counter..."

"Didn't realise you such were an exhibitionist," His fingers found your jaw, thumb gently padding over your lips whilst his index and middle lightly pushed against your chin, indicating for you to tilt your head back- allowing him to close the very last bit of space between the two of you- his lips delicately brushing your jawline as he mumbled "But why don't we start here, for now..."

His lips were feather light, his stubble brushing gently across your tender skin as he mumbled those words before pressing a kiss at the prominent bone at your jawline, his touch delicate despite the passion behind it, causing butterflies in your stomach as his gentle touch trailed down from your jawline to your lower neck.

Your eyes fluttered and closed as Arthur caught you by surprise, gasp leaving your throat as he bit down onto a sensitive spot between your neck and collarbone which made your heartrate shoot up, lips fall between your teeth in a futile attempt to try and muffle a moan as Arthur's mouth formed a suction around the skin, ravenously leaving a dark purple mark which he pressed his tongue flat onto once more, pressing until you were whimpering and clenching your thighs together subconsciously- the whine in your voice only turning Arthur on as you felt his lips curve into a smirk atop your skin.

"Can I take this off?" He looked up, two fingers hooked around the knot of the towel between your breasts, the only thing holding your dignity together. Yet you could feel your 'dignity' dripping between your legs, and couldn't restrain yourself from nodding your head, whispering "Fuck, yes" and relishing in the feeling of Arthur's long, talented fingers unravel your towel in a mere second, dropping to the floor and exposing you.

There was almost a feeling of shyness, being this vulnerable to him, and you looked down- your arms crossing over your stomach loosely, subconsciously shielding yourself, though Arthur seemed to hate the idea as-

"-No-" His hand grabbed your arm, pinning it back besides your body so quickly a gasp left your throat as you looked to catch Arthur's expression. Wholly mesmerised. "Fuck, you're so beautiful..."

That queued another blush to rise to your cheeks, biting down on your lip and looking to the floor, yet you weren't given an opportunity to bask in the praise as Arthur's hands snaked down to your tits, large hands encompassing the soft flesh as he fondled both boobs simultaneously, thumbs teasing over the sensitive buds and making your legs shake as you let out a shaky breath, trying not to moan, considering you had not clue whether anyone would be able to hear what was happening from outside if they just so happened to wander into the bedroom...

Only when Arthur's head lowered to one titty, did you realise how defenseless you were though, as a unexpected moan was pulled from your throat, back arching from the sink as his hot mouth was placed around one nipple, his tongue swirling before flicking the hard nub with such experience you inadvertently started grinding down onto his clothes leg which rested between either thigh all too invitingly.

"A-Arthur-" You managed to hold your moans to whine his name. He pulled away with a hum in response, his hands following the curve of your sides down to your hips where the space between his thumb and index fit perfectly in your hip dips. You almost got lost in how fucking intoxicating the feel of his hands over your hips was- controlling your movements and handling you as he turned you around so that you faced the mirrors, looking at him in the reflection and doting on how infatuated he looked as his eyes scanned down your body, his eyes lingering at your fat ass. Your responsible thoughts all came back to you though as you felt Arthur's hand glide over to your peachy skin, fingers closing around a handful of ass before you opened your mouth again. "Arthur- we shouldn't be doing t-this..."

You watched as his lips quirked, curving into a sinful smile that only made your thoughts juxtapose your previous words.

"That's funny." He hadn't moved to meet your eyes yet. You just stared at his reflection wonderingly, only feeling as his hand slowly moved across your skin, his other hand finding your lower back and you unintentionally arched your back at the touch, exposing your core to him which caused a low chuckle to come from his throat. "You say we shouldn't be doing this, but your body seems to feel otherwise-" A gasp fell from your throat, your neck rolling back as you felt Arthur's hand between your thighs, his thumb tracing up between your folds until he felt touched your clit- the bundle of nerves shooting fireworks all over your body as he just touched it only a fraction.

He chuckled at your response to even the slightest of stimulation, your thighs clenching and clamping around his hand with the little friction he gave. His fingers only kept working, however, as he traced his middle and index finger back up from to your slit, collecting your arousal on his fingers and only using it to lubricate his motions as he slipped his fingers into your pussy, curling them and making you let out a loud moan, closing your eyes and biting down on your lip after as you realised how loud you were.

"Because we don't have to do this if you 'know' that we shouldn't..." Arthur's words were taunting, borderline cruel as his words told you one thing, yet the fingers that slid between your walls told you another. "You want to stop? You just tell me and I'll stop touching you..." He was cruel - he knew you were too drunk on the feeling of his digits pushing into your pussy, finding that pleasure spot and making you want to cry out as you felt him brush it with every stroke, his thumb pairing with the motion and rubbing agonising circles on your clit.

Your hands gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles glowing nearly as white as the marble as you tried not to let out stupidly loud noises. And as though Arthur could read you mind:

"Don't be too loud, hm?" He was scorning you yet again, taunting with sarcasm dripping from his voice in such a sexy way you could feel yourself quite literally dripping onto his hand between your thighs. "I'd say you'd hate if anyone knew what we were doing, but if you wanna fuck on that sofa downstairs next, then I really don't know how you'd feel..."

You didn't humour his mocking, your eyes already rolled to the back of your head, hips inadvertently rocking back and forth, following the movement of his hand so that you could feel a knot forming in your stomach - your orgasm echoed in your actions as you felt yourself clench just the slightest bit around his fingers-

Before he took them out of you.

You were dazed, so close to orgasm and so disappointed as you opened your eyes, frowning at Arthur in the mirror before seeing his unbuckling his belt behind you...

Not so disappointed after all, you rocked your hips back and forth, easing away the draining feeling of the lost orgasm and instead looking at his reflection in the mirror and waiting for him to take his cargos off...

"Fuck, do they have condoms here?"

"No need," You smiled innocently. "On the pill."

Arthur groaned at the way you said it, his hand disappearing under his cargos to stroke his length under his boxers, feeling over the rock-hard boner, tip red from the blood rush and precum smeared sinfully over the tip.

Feeling his cock running along your folds, collecting your wetness on his tip as he directed his cock from your clit all the way back to your hole had you in a state- loud moan leaving your throat as you threw your head back.

"Go on then, tell me how much you want this," That devilish grin had returned to his face as he waited for you to talk.

"So fucking bad, Arthur..." You didn't even bother with being subtle about it, the way you were so needy for it, you'd completely lost your filter and were completely ravenous for Arthur.

Feeling him push the tip into your pussy was enough to have your mind completely broken with pleasure, the stretch already so good... Yet Arthur didn't push in fully as you stopped talking. "Keep going," Arthur encouraged you to speak with a devilish grin.

"Need you so fucking bad Arthur, I want you inside me..." You could feel him sinking furthering into you, his cock filling your pussy up inch my inch and having you completely wasted as you kept babbling. "Please, fuck, fuck me Arthur..."

Arthur had bottomed out as you said the last bit, waiting a moment or so and only just allowed you to adjust to his size before he pulled back slowly before thrusting right back inside, your whole body jolting at the feeling, a raw moan leaving your throat as you felt his tip brushing you G-spot instantly, making your legs feel jelly when he was only one thrust deep.

He felt so good, the stretch, the angle, the way he hit that spot - your head was bowed, whole body shaking as you felt his hands on your hips, manhandling and snapping your body back by the hips to match his thrusts, only reaching deeper into your pussy and making you nearly cry from how good it felt.

One hand moved from your hips, reaching up and grabbing your hair in a bunch and pulling your head back so animalistically you almost got whiplash (and yet you would've been willing to thank him for it), the motion making you groan as he pulled your head up so that you were forced to look into the mirror.

Arthur looked fucking Godly. His hair spiked and messy, jaw slack and eyes half lidded, that gorgeous body that looked as though it had been chiselled by Zeus itself...

A gasp fell from your throat, pushing you forwards as you felt him hit somewhere completely new, taking you with shock and complete euphoria as you felt stars clouding your vision.

"Ugh, fuck, Arthur- I think..." You had to bite down on your lip to prevent the absolutely filthy moan from escaping your lips. Arthur got the message though, and he didn't seem that far away either- the way his thrusts grew sloppier by the second.

"Same, fuck, c'mere gorgeous-" He could feel your legs giving out already, and didn't hold himself back in wrapping one arm around your leg, raising it so that it was by your side as you leaned your bodyweight back onto him- his other arm holding your body against his own whilst he snapped his hips up to thrust into you. He could practically feel how close to your climax you were, and grunted "Say my name- fuck- say my name when you cum-"

You were body had completely faltered, unable to support itself under the buzz of fruition that had each individual neurone in your body racing with impulses running at the speed of light, the knot in your stomach growing tighter and tighter by the second until you were seeing stars in your vision, thighs shaking from the muscles tightening so much- your whole body filling with euphoria as you followed his command and chanted his name "A-Arthur, ohmyfuckinggodArthur!", your orgasm rushed dopamine through your whole body as you came - hard - black spots clouding your vision as you felt the pleasure drain from your head to the tips of your fingers...

And just as you felt that pleasure turning into just the slightest of painful overstimulation- Arthur's cock still thrusting into you as he chased his own climax, his athletic arms practically picking you up and manoeuvring your body so that he could fuck himself into you to get his own end- he let out one loud groan, his head burrowing into the crook of your neck as you felt him filling you up, reaching his own orgasm and painting your insides with his hot white climax, his lips leaving one final hickey against the already marked skin of your neck before gently lowered you onto your own (shakey) legs.

There was a peace in the air.

A strange sort of mutual serenity came, having shed all of that sexual tension and weeks of hopeful talking and finally, finally just fucking and resolving all of that built up traction.

"Fucking finally," You were the first to break the silence with a grin, turning around so that your body faced Arthur's smiling as you looked at that beautiful face of his.

"What, you've been wanting this for a while, too?" Arthur asked jokingly, though it was obvious he was really being genuine with what he said.

"Yeah, considering you've been teasing me all day it's no big shock that I've been wanting this." You rolled your eyes, Arthur laughing himself. "I think I need another shower though..."

"Am I coming?" Arthur quirked a brow with a hopeful smile.

"No, you just came in me a minute ago," You rolled your eyes at him, stalking over to the open shower and turning the tap on before turning around with a wide grin and beckoning him over despite your shitty joke. "Come on- get in here, you big idiot."

With no need for any more convincing, Arthur joined you in the shower with a laugh- flicking water on your face and attacking you with full-power setting on the shower head for a few minutes, laughing as you defended yourself with the loofa before eventually stopping him by just pressing a kiss to his lips to distract him for long enough before you took the shower head back and started attacking him with it.

"You know, I didn't realise this showerhead had such a high pressure setting..." You smirked, turning it back onto the high pressure and admiring what good use it could go to.

"I can use it on you." Arthur only doubled down far too quickly, making you laugh as you turned it back to a normal setting.

"Why don't we save that for tomorrow, hm?" You proposed jokefully, yet Arthur's enthusiastic nods told you that maybe it wouldn't be a just a joke after all.

What could've been a simple, five minute shower was drawn out into a fifty minute one, and when you came out giggling besides Arthur and you were met with Johnny sat on his bed.

He sat far too smugly, arms crossed with a smirk and a knowing look, reminding you of his presence AND making you remember the fact you were in a house with eight other people, making a great heat rise to your face as all the giggles with Arthur fell to a deadpan expression, realising you hadn't been quite so mindfully of your volume just half an hour ago when Arthur was seven inches inside of you...

Your face went bright red as you passed Johnny, hissing a you better keep your mouth shut to him before quickly walking out of the room in embarrassment, hoping Johnny didn't notice your limp, hearing his laughs from behind you which indicated that Johnny was not, in fact, going to keep his mouth shut.

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

Bonus scene!

"Guys, I've got a message! It says everyone to the living room!"

You all huddled on the sofa and awaited further instructions.

"Y/n was set a secret mission today." You grinned as some of the people around the sofa let out gasps at Sugarlips' words. Your smile at your friends slowly faded however, as you remembered what that challenge was.... And what you'd just done an hour ago. "Y/n's challenge was to ignore Arthur all day."

"I knew something was up with you at the makeup table earlier!" Anisa exclaimed, punching your arm and making you mumble a little something, cheeks beginning to tinge pink as you wondered whether Sugarlips knew anything...

"Y/n, can you guess whether you passed or failed?"

You groaned internally. Why the hell would she leave it up to you to decide? Did she expect you to admit what you'd done?

You looked over to Arthur for help, and he just had a hand over his mouth in obvious shock as well, though he let out laughs nonetheless.

Your face was flushed bright red when you finally answered, and of course Spuddz pointed out- "Oi, why's your face like a lobster?" To which Steph hit him on your behalf, though Anastasia to your right gave you a shove and doubled down on Spuddz's question.

"Y/n, do you want to tell the house how you failed the challenge?" The wide grin was evident even in Sugarlips' voice as she asked the taunting question.

Anisa let out a little scream and Johnny burst out laughing all too knowingly- yourself cringing at Johnny's insider knowledge and forcing you to cover your face with your hands in pure horror, just wishing the ground would swallow you up in that moment.

"Spilll then, tell us!" They all clamoured over one another, one of the girls shaking you by your arm, though you didn't look up to see them.

"Look, c'mon, c'mon we can work this out guys...." Darkest hushed everyone around the sofa, taking on the role of Sherlock Holmes. "When was she set the task?"

"Probably at eleven like we were all brought in when we had our challenges." Jamie deduced.

"What did she do after eleven, then?" Darkest asked.

"Oo, that was makeup with me and Anastasia!" Anisa perked up. You raised your head with your eyes wide, watching as everyone began connecting the dots and fearing for their eventual conclusion...

"Then we had the comments read out where she was on the sofa with all of us..."

"Then the group challenge we were altogether, and she was on a different team to Arthur anyways-"

"And then cooking dinner... Wait! Arthur got up and went to the kitchen then, didn't he?"

"Yeah but she still ignored him there- I walked in and just saw him laying the table in there in silence..."

"Well, what then? That was just an hour ago wasn't it...?"

"Yeah"

"True"

"Hmmm..."

You hoped they'd all finish there. Reach decide their deductions were eventually inconclusible and finish up.

"Well, that's the end of that-" You tried to clap your hands together and end them, though Johnny couldn't wipe the grin off his face as he slipped-

"Then she went upstairs."

"Ohmygod and Arthur went up as well, didn't he..."

Jokeman let out a scream, getting up onto the sofa and pointing between yourself and Arthur with a hand over his mouth in shock.

"What? What? what happened?!" Everyone began exclaiming at him, not quite reaching the conclusion as fast as him. You could tell that Jokeman knew just by the look in his eyes, and went to cover your face for the third time of this evening, not wanting to even hear it as Jokeman yelled-

"HE'S FINALLY GOT SOME HASN'T HE?!"

That queued everyone to let out screams, yells, cries of laughter and response which you tried to shield yourself from as you pulled your knees up to your chest as well, burrowing in a ball as the girls shook you and cheered for you, noisily nattering besides you and throwing questions at you whilst you could only assume the boys had gone to pester Arthur.

You were practically crying into your arms, wishing the ground would swallow you up as you felt the commotion from the girls rocking the sofa beneath you- one whacking you with a pillow... Yet all you could think about was the countless number of views and clips this would get- not to mention the people that you knew were going to see it...

You looked up after a couple seconds, embarrassedly meeting Arthur with embarrassed eye contact. He grinned, offering an overdone wink with a pink dusting of blush all over his cheeks as he leaned to the right and slapped his palm into Jokeman and Darkest's, dapping them up with a far-too-cocky grin and laugh, making you roll your eyes and un-ball yourself as a grin began growing on your face.

Absolute prick, you thought towards Arthur, before looking to the camera in the corner of the look- pointing at it and grinning as you yelled- "THIS IS YOUR FAULT, Y'KNOW?!"

----------

CONRGRATS IF YOU READ TO THE END!!! HAPPY NEW YEAR, TOO (SAY IT BACK!). Thought the best way to start 2024 would be with some ArthurTV smut, and I hope you can all agree.

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diejager · 9 months

Text

Bittersweet Devotion pt.2

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Cw: angst, heartbreak, mention of cheating, mention of death, no happy ending, apology, tell me if I missed any. wc: 9.3k

Your universe, Earth-XXX, was a parallel one to Earth-616 in some sense. You had a Peter Parker, a Gwen Stacy and a Mary Jane Watson, it had everything down to the death of Ben Parker and the devastation it brought to your friend. It was the same year as Spider-Man 616’s world, it had the same political standing and same history. Your world, like many others, was a near carbon copy of 616, down to the smallest things; but like others in the spiderverse, you had differences. Some were minor changes in the course of its canon story, others were major changes in the characters and the era.

You - like Miguel, Miles, Jess, Hobart (he liked going by Hobie), Patrick and Patriv - were one of those major deviations in the original canon. You didn’t exist - or so you thought - in Peter B. or Peter’s universe even though you lived in the same year. The reason might be that in the reality, the sum of all potential universes that paralleled each other, created the multiverse - the Spiderverse.

The concept of it seemed strangely unlimited, the infinite possibilities to a different ending or a different start for its world. The multiverse was, in some sense, as old as time, a culmination of everything made imaginable by man. Found in ancient texts - the Puranas, ancient Hindu mythology - that expressed the infinite number of universes with their gods and principles. Whereas Persian literature - tales - touched the idea of learning about alternate universes that were similar, yet distinctly different from theirs.

Misconstrued by many, the strangeness of it was deemed a danger, the unknown possibilities were feared by people of older age, but venerated in the past as it was in the present for the unfathomable possibilities. It exists in fiction, where they borrowed the idea of many worlds within a reality from myths, legends and religion. Heaven, Hell, Olympus and Valhalla were all reflections of a familiar world, a material realm for the blessed, the sinful, the gods, and the worthy. The similarities sometimes frightened you, how close the people were to knowing of the reality you all lived in. The tangibility of crossing worlds and bringing about chaos to every string, every realm, every material form of the multiverse.

They, after all, were real, Hell as much as Heaven in your universe. Gods from every religion, either monotheistic or polytheistic, some you’d personally seen are Thor and Loki, brother and sons of Odin the Allfather, and the God of Thunder and Mischief respectively. Another was a big crocodile lady, Ammit, from what you’d heard from the all-knowing Dr. Strange. From God to Norse and Egyptian gods, from angels and demons, and from humans to mutants, your plane of existence was as wide as it could go without drifting off the edge and causing a mass domino effect within the multiverse.

You were curious, naturally so for a scientist, exploring the worlds that felt familiar to you but you hadn’t truly grasped - different, yet similar. You hadn’t given a second thought to exploring yours. After all, why explore yours when your horizon was as broad as you imagined it, unperturbed by any limits when it came to the multiverse? The eternal and unlimited growing number of realms in your expanding reality.

Perhaps that was the reason why you hadn’t known your universe had its own Miguel O’Hara. You rarely came back for anything, you had everything you’ve ever wanted in Nueva York, Earth-928. You have friends who could truly understand you, people who stood beside you when you fought, youngsters who looked up to you for mentoring and a dream- or it was a dream. Dreams, not dissimilar to wishes, were hopeful, naive in a way, they came and went. Some dreams would come true, while others fell, like the fallen stars that crossed the night sky.

Yours simply happened to be a fallen one, one not meant to happen and become greater. You let it go after he dropped you, after he turned his back and let his mouth run unperturbed. He brought her up, someone he swore he would remember but left in the past. A new chance to become something, to become whole again, and Miguel took it. He wanted to start anew, fresh with someone he never met, you wanted the same; you both had what you wished for, until he put his foot down, cutting the thin web that connected both your lives.

It broke your heart. Months of patience and anxiously stepping around each other, nervous about breaking the trust freshly built between you both, lost in a few weeks. You were brittle, heart fractured and threatening to fall further apart if someone was any crueller to you. The smallest glare, the tiniest scoff or the weakest remark would send you reeling into the abyss of heartbreak and the throes of anguish. Yet somehow, you found yourself being led away by a copy of the Miguel you loved.

He mumbled apologies as he held you tightly, his arm over your shoulder as he cradled you under his umbrella, hastily urging you to follow his guidance. If it were any other person, you would’ve been wary, cautious of any strangers that touched you so closely and chaperoned you so quickly; but this was Miguel, a man you trusted and that you still trusted wherever he came from. Earth-XXX’s Miguel O’Hara was still similar to the one you knew, someone you could trust. You did.

He led you to his flat, someplace near Alchemax’s building in Manhattan, a safe neighbourhood for the richer citizens of Manhattan. A cozy place of neutral tones and muted colours, yet warm as he welcomed you - a stranger as of yet - into his home. He had machinery strewn around, reports stacked on his coffee table and smaller things he had been tinkering about decorating his home. As a geneticist, he liked to play with machinery, having drawn his designs and models, built his creations from scratch and worked from the base programming to make something better. At least Miguel from Earth-928 did, and it seemed this one did as well.

You stood in his shower, where he left you in a frenzy to bring you dry clothes, drying out your hair with the towel he motioned you to use. You doubted that he had anything your size, his broad shoulders and his towering height, nothing he had in his draws - and the boxes he stowed away in his closet - would fit you. They would drag down your ankle and sit low on your collar. Granted, you were soaked down to your socks and had no temporary clothes to cover yourself with during your stay.

You had stripped from your soaked clothes and patted down your wet skin, shivering from the cold that clung to your bones even after Miguel had increased the heater in the small confines of the bathroom. It was small but big enough to move around and stretch your arms comfortably. You hadn’t felt the cold until he brought you to his bathroom, the numbness of the past months weighing heavily on your shoulders and the bleeding of your heart made everything seem so meaningless. The colours draining from the world around you, a once bright New York turned grey, the monochrome tones of black and white mixing and interlacing to form even more boring shades.

The vibrancy and life you once saw around you dulled and died suddenly, like the winters brought by Demeter’s devastation and sadness when her daughter was taken from her, stolen from the berth of flowers she liked frolicking about. How Demeter doomed the world to see her pain, to feel how she felt in the moments her daughter had to return to her husband than stay with Demeter. You felt laden by your faults and his actions. Doubtful of your relationship, of what led you both to such an ending. Had you been clearer or more forthcoming about your emotions, or had you confronted him for his behaviour, would you still be in his arms?

Were you at fault for missing something you had relied on as comfort and safety? Could you be blamed for his reaction to your meddling in his affairs in the Society? Could you blame him for dropping those words on you? After all, being reminded or compared to a past lover was anything but gentle, the gut-wrenching envy and betrayal you felt flash through you was nearly drowning. It made you feel lacking, to be reminded of his old flame, the one he was about to marry and the person he seemed to love before all. Could you even compare to what she was; what she did? (Dina had cheated on him, you knew that, but he was truly happy in their moments of pleasure and domesticity. They were a family until she died.)

You were drowning in your self-made sorrow when his voice called you, grounding you to the room. Standing before a door, naked and shivering, arms wrapping the damp towel around your shoulders. He called again, cracking the door open to pass you the - his - clothes he thought would fit you. He coughed as you took your temporary wear, your cool fingers brushing his warm ones. It was a sudden and jerking contact, you pulled back jerkingly, a shamble of an apology and a thank you flew from your tongue. His chuckle was a reassurance in the complete quietness of the flat, his low voice reminding you of better times.

The sweater hung loosely around you, dipping down your collar to expose your shoulder. It was warm, the cotton used to make it still soft after being stored away and the soothing scent of spice and pine deeply integrated into the fibres. The pants were stretched around your hips, the tight fabric thin and flexible under stress, hidden under the long shirt. The legs, however, swayed loosely around your limbs, too big for your calves, but tight enough to hug your thighs. He had certainly made sure to bring you clothes that would fit your frame. You hadn’t attempted to smell his pants, you thought it would’ve been too intrusive and disgusting to do so if only to smell a remnant of Miguel on his as you did on the sweater.

Miguel was waiting for you in the kitchen, his back turned to you as you ambled towards him. His shoulders loose and back relaxed in the presence of a stranger made you appreciate how good-natured he was in most universes you’d been to. He turned his head, gesturing you to sit on the chair facing him on the island as he returned to something he was making while you changed.

“I hope you don’t mind hot chocolate,” he started, voice light and hopeful as he turned to you, cup in each hand as he moved to stare at you. “I’m not one for tea.” He slid the warm mug into your hand, eyes watching your expression as he slowly sipped on the hot beverage.

His eyes squinted slightly when your lips curled upwards, a smile hidden by the steaming mug. You cupped the mug, feeling the warmth of the freshly brewed drink, the steam rising in soft curls and melting in the cooler atmosphere. Tentatively, you brought the rim to your lips, slowly tilting the cup. The powerful taste of chocolate hit you strongly, the sweet and dark liquid melting the tension in your muscles until you could curl over the table with an appreciative sigh.

“Thank you…” you knew his name, wanting to call him, but his reaction would be unwanted, the shock, fear and suspicion that would fill his beautiful, brown eyes. So you slurred your words, dragging out your voice until he could tell you his name himself.

“Miguel. Miguel O’Hara, ” he nodded, cocking his head upwards, pointing at you with his chin. “What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Hey every time I want to call you.” His lips broke into a cheeky smile, teasing you when he saw that you’d comfortably melted into the drink and his island chair. He wanted to ease the tense atmosphere from before into something much calmer, to help the accumulated tension in your shoulders to fall like the rain that clouded the streets of New York.

You let out a hoarse chuckle, your throat still fresh from crying, and told him your name, trying to stabilise your shaking tone. His cheeky smirk tugged at your heartstrings, you hadn’t seen Miguel laugh or smile this freely in months. You missed it. The casual banter you shared and the on-and-off insults you’d hurl at one another, all good-natured insults meant to rile him.

“Thank you, Miguel,” you nearly choked when you uttered his name, the wound still so fresh and bleeding it slip from your tongue easily. It brought up so many memories, both painful and joyful. Your eyes glazed over, tears threatening to fall once again, to paint your cheeks with agony that you - him, or perhaps both of you - had brought on yourself. “Thank you…”

Miguel hummed sympathetically, eyes staring down at his drink, deep in thought. Perhaps he was thinking of a way to invite you to share your problems, to tell him why you broke down on the street in stormy weather. Or maybe he was thinking of the fastest way to kick you out, to get rid of the mess you became. The silence, however, was reassuring, calming the nerves that followed the eerie calmness of Miguel’s den or the loud, hectic atmosphere of the Society. His warm, worrying gaze grounded you, the softness behind his concerned stare was heartwarmingly nostalgic.

“Difficult breakup?” His words seemed hesitant, unsure of his conclusion to the cause of your appearance. Unknowingly, he had struck gold, pinning down the right problem in your life with a few observations. Of course, he was observant and aware of his surroundings, why else was he so willing to bring you into his home?

“How’d ya know?”

His sigh was telling, the deep, concerned and tired breath was only used when he knew that you wouldn’t tell him what ailed you, like the groan of a disappointed, yet worried father.

“Because I know how it feels,” he says slowly, pensive over his words, picking them carefully to not damage you further than your ex had. He knew the pain of a harsh breakup, the pain and sorrow that followed, like a dark cloud that hovered over you whenever you were awake.

“Why?” You croaked.

“Why?” he parroted, frowning at your question.

“Why did you invite me in? I’m a- a stranger to you, you don’t even know me. What if I’d been acting to mug you or potentially kill and steal from you? What’d you do then, Miguel?”

“I know the risks, but you didn’t, didn’t you? And wouldn’t, you don’t look like the person to harm another.”

You scoffed at his words. Didn’t and wouldn’t didn’t mean you would not do it later after gaining his trust, to stab him in the back after he helped you and nursed you. The simple, naïve idea that you didn’t look like a violent person was mind-blowing, it was stupid. How could he know if you didn’t mean harm later on? Like how Miguel never meant to harm you - he loved you - and yet in the end, he had.

“That’s naïve,” you muttered, eyes closed as you drank the cooling beverage, the sugary drink trickling down your throat.

“I’m confident in my ability to read people.”

He did seem confident in his ability, the straight back and the strong gaze in his eyes showed; and, maybe because you knew from experience that Miguel was observant and careful, he hadn’t gotten where he was by simply trusting people and following the herd. He tested and made mistakes, he learned from them each time and found a way to use it to his advantage. The Miguel you saw in every universe was similar in some ways, their good nature, their cunningness, their bravery and their intelligence. All aspects known to characterize Miguel O’Hara in all universes he existed in.

You conceded to his will, head bowed and shoulders slack. You breathed shallowly, swallowing the lump in your throat:

“Yeah, what gave it away?”

You thought it would be the last of him you’d see in your life, you wished it wouldn’t, that you’d see him over and over, to feel what the Miguel from your universe had to give, but you knew it was wishful thinking, a wish thrown to the stars. Logically, he had no reason to call or text you after exchanging numbers days prior. He promised to call you, and he made you promise to call him if anything ever resurfaced, be it pain, anger, heartbreak or hate. You, instinctively, believed his word.

You hated yourself for falling so easily to another Miguel, how you bent to his words and the sweet promises he uttered that night. There was no sign that he would keep his word, that he would see you again after your breakdown, except for his words and your belief in him. Then it wasn’t misplaced, all the trust and belief you had, since he called you, asking to meet up at a cafe. Miguel had set up a place and time for you when you replied with a croak, still feeling down. He had whispered reassuring words to you, urging you to meet him - he explicitly told you he’d feel offended to be stood up - and spend some time outside. The air was fresh and cool for an autumnal month, it wasn’t too cold that you were forced to wear a thick jacket, but it wasn’t warm enough for you to go out in a simple shirt.

You were hesitant to take him up on his offer, knowing how easily you could rebound. You’d crash into Miguel’s open arms, searching for the love and affection he fed you like a lovesick puppy, but, then again, Earth-XXX’s Miguel was similar, yet different from his variant. It would be a lie if you told yourself you didn’t miss him, the soft smiles, the gentle touches and the affectionate words. You had spent so much time as his right-hand Spider that it felt odd not seeing him the following morning. It was a routine you’d formed: waking up in his bed, kissing him good morning, getting to work together and eating together. Everything you’d done in the past years was with Miguel from Earth-928 the routine, the rigidity, it was grounding, it was the only semblance of normalcy in the world you lived in.

Now, you had to face the possibility that you were too broken to see another Miguel, to hold a casual conversation and form coherent and normal sentences. The purposefully slow steps you took to the cafe picked after having a moment outside the glass front were telling in itself. You swallowed the little amount of saliva in your throat to soothe its dryness and walked through the doors of the quaint establishment. It was painted in calm, brown tones, rustic in design with a warmth that rivalled the comfort of your bed. It lifted a bit of the tension you had, shoulders slumping slightly as your eyes searched for a familiar mop of brown hair.

Laying against the brown sofa, he stared out of the wide window from his booth. The warm, morning lights caressed his cheeks, lighting up the sharp edges of his jaw and nose. He was sculpted in perfection, like the youthful beauty of Adonis, crafted with the meticulous and attention-catching hands of an artist that created what was thought to be a god’s beauty. You could spend your days watching him, catching every little detail of Miguel’s face under the changing lighting, but you were standing near the entrance and he was waiting for you. His words echoed in your mind: “Don’t forget about next week, I miss seeing you.”

His eyes flickered to you, blinking as he turned to you, flashing a smile. You returned the sentiment, a shaky smile lifting the corners of your lips. You sat across from him, eyes wandering the cafe to stare at anything but him, lest you wouldn’t be able to stop the rush of emotions that would light your face in a flush. He uttered your name, greeting you in a friendly manner. You nodded back, muttering his name, pushing down the wince whenever you said it.

“Chocolate.”

The still-warm cup stared at you, light steam wafting over the reflective liquid. It was full, unlike Miguel’s cup, and drank down to the middle of the container.

“Thank you.”

He probably wouldn’t let you repay him for the hot chocolate he bought you, the smile he gave you told you as much when your eyes flickered between his and your cup. The hot chocolate was a reminder of your night in his flat, where he lent you his shoulder to cry and his ears to listen. Embarrassment seemed to flash whenever you recalled the memory, how vulnerable you were to him, your walls broken down and your heart open. Though, Miguel didn’t seem to mind your fragility, giving you as much time as you needed.

“How are you? I wanted to give you a few days to think before meeting again, I thought you might’ve needed the time alone.”

You nodded lamely, fingers curling around the warm porcelain, back slumped into the booth to hide from his knowing eyes. He was right, you had needed the time alone to clean yourself up, scour through your memories and tend to whatever mess you made of yourself. You were thankful. The last few days had brought revelations, how - both of - you had ignored the signs of a rupture in the relationship and continued to push on, like crossing a crumbling bridge.

“‘M doing better. How- and how are you?”

He smiled at your attempt, you were trying on your own after a few - forced - encouraging words from Miguel. Maybe you’d learn to live with the pain, coexisting with the numbness that filled you until it dulled to a point where it would be barely acknowledged by you or anyone in your vicinity - where it wasn’t painted on your face with bright colours. Or the pursuit to forget it, pushing it into the farthest corner of your mind and heart, painting over the crack with glue. As long as you wouldn’t drown in your sorrows, ending up playing with dangerous substances to stay afloat while your mind sunk deeper into addiction and denial.

He wouldn’t let you get that far, Miguel understood you and he lived through it as you did. Although his was a more violent breakup - she had cheated on him, his explosive reaction was natural - than yours, he hadn’t relied on anything but self-meditation and a lot of thinking. Like a friend - you were one by his standards, he’d invited you to his flat, you’d seen his organized chaos and ranted about your life while he comforted you with his shoulder and a cup of hot chocolate - he would stay by your side, hoping his support would be enough to help you.

“Great so far.”

His grin - somehow - grew even larger, enthusiasm gleaming in his eyes.

Oftentimes, Miguel would be the one to call you, your phone ringing in the afternoon of the day prior with his soothing voice on the other end of the line. He spoke easily, finding the time to invite you out for the simplest reason, to talk, to make a drink, to have fun, and - your favourite by far - to see you. His initiative had you trying to double your efforts to heal, reaching outside of your boundaries and texting Miguel whenever you had a moment to yourself. You felt guilty that he was always the one to plan these outings, so you promised yourself that you’d become a better friend than you currently were. You even remembered his teasing tone when you called him for the first time:

”Aye, finally. I thought you’d never call me, chica. I felt neglected, thought you had forgotten about me for a second there.”

It started with the first coffee date, bickering about who would pay, pushing your card before the other while still seated at your table, frowning stubbornly and throwing promises about letting the other pay next time. Either way, Miguel rarely let you pay, coming atop as the winner of your little fight with his strength and height (you couldn’t exactly put all your force into your push, it could break bone and bruise the skin.).

Then it would be random meetings on the streets that would lead you to a random bench at the park, basking in the other’s presence, retelling your day and him nitpicking anything he could with a ridiculously criticising frown. He was playing, you knew he was. You did the same after you’d gotten more comfortable talking to him, it became easier to see him as a different - as his own - person. A few hits on the shoulder left and right, but it was mostly laughter at ridiculous expressions made to emphasize your disdain for a certain event.

The months that followed were a blur to you. Rather than going to a cafe or the park, you went to restaurants and crashed at one of your flats, yours if he wanted to play games and lounge about with food and drinks, and his if you wanted to watch movies (he had the best television you’d ever seen, such high definition and speed.) and tinker away at his inventions and theories. He was certainly happy that his new friend was another scholar in the field of genes and engineering (you were mostly into engineering than genes, but you knew a few things that you’d found interesting.). You could both gush - scientifically - about the possibility of gene splicing and lab-generated mutations in humans, like the mutant superheroes.

You’d taken some liberties and went drinking, meeting at the same bar biweekly to relax after a few hard days at work. It served to loosen your nerves until either of you felt comfortable to chat up a storm about the most random subject. It’d been about the odd dent on the rim of his glass; then it’d be about how the sky was grey this week, there weren’t any warm, yellow rays blaring down on you when you went out; or it’d be about the distasteful cut of a man’s moustache. Drinking loosened your tongues, some words were said and some sentiments were shared, but none were truly taken seriously knowing you were tipsy - nearing drunk - those nights.

Every time you saw Miguel, you felt like you were rediscovering a part of yourself as well as him, the thing that made him so distinct and loveable. Miguel was expressive and honest, he slowly and gently let you down from whatever high you were, the pillar you needed to stand again after falling. He was so much different. It used to pain you how much they looked alike, but character-wise, they were like the two sides of a coin. It made you appreciate the delicate intricacies that made the multiverse.

You won’t - can’t - deny that you’ve grown fond of this Miguel as you did with the other one, but you couldn’t let yourself love him. He didn’t deserve someone broken and hashed into many lives: the masks you wore, the things you did, the secrets you hid, and the things you could do. He didn’t deserve someone who could bring him to his death; dying simply because he was connected to Spider-Woman; beaten simply because he knew Spider-Woman; kidnapped simply because they deemed him useful as leverage. All things that could go wrong haunt you. Miguel was human, he wasn’t a Spider, he wasn’t a superhero, and he wasn’t a vigilante. He was Miguel O’Hara, the geneticist working at Alchemax, with a brilliant mind and a kind heart.

You cherished every part of him. That’s why you can’t let your heart lead, dedicate how you’d react to Miguel after the months you spent together. He was so close, yet so far; he was touchable, you could hold him, kiss him and hug him, but he was unattainable, you couldn’t tell him how much you loved him. You watched him with hidden love, showing your affection as platonic, a friend watching another. You had hardened yourself to your heart’s cries, for loving Miguel was a dangerous game-

“I- what?” you gawked at Miguel, wide eyes and mouth agape. You were shocked at the words that left his mouth, his soft, wet lips moving as he repeated the words.

“I love you.”

His cheeks were flushed, burning a soft red, it trailed to his ears and nape. His open collar - his jacket hung on the back of his chair and his shirt clung below his collar, a skin-tight shirt that hugged his sculpted chest sinfully, it hid little to the seeing eyes of the crowd and your drunk self. His sudden words had all but sobered you, shaking you into clear lucidity of his confession.

“You… love me?”

He blinked dumbly at you for a second, as if taking the time to absorb what he told you and what you repeated. Miguel was tipsy, not drunk. He smiled and nodded, a bashfully affectionate grin on his beautiful lips.

“Yes, is it so hard to believe, chica?”

He often called you chica, you thought it was a friendly term of endearment between friends (truthfully and regretfully, you knew little of Spanish, even with being in a committed relationship with an Irish-Mexican.). You just realised it was his pet name for you. All this time, he had given you his heart, and yet, you had denied him of yours. He was more playful and less burdened by life, it made him more teasing and smiling. The term chica somewhat made sense, a cuter and more playful way of calling someone you loved than the deep-meaning ones like mi cielo and mi vida, a play of words like a small secret between you. This secret hid behind names given between friends, a well-kept one, close to his chest but gifted to you.

It might’ve once been - started - as friends, but it grew and festered in his heart until he found the time to express himself, to tell you how he truly felt for you - how he grew to care for you. He deemed this moment fine, bordering tipsy and nearing drunk, he’d be open, brutally honest but still aware of the words that left him. He wasn’t a lightweight anyway.

You wanted to tell him you also loved him, but you couldn’t do it, mouth slightly open and eyes glazed with heartbreak, you simply stared at him in hesitancy. You opened your mouth once to reply and closed it, open and close, again and again until all you could do was stare at him. How were you supposed to answer him after the bomb he dropped?

”Yes! I love you too!”

”Oh, Miguel, I love you too.”

”I- I love you as well.”

There were so many ways to express your feelings to the man who confessed, but none seemed to convey the true emotions that lay in your heart. You wanted to tell him you learned to love again thanks to him, that the time spent with him had made you open your eyes to the beauty that you were blinded by the pain and you slowly grew to care for - love - him as much as you did with Spider-Man 2099. He had the same smile, the same mind, the same heart, but he was more innocent, less burdened by disaster and happier.

So you simply nodded. It made his smirk grow.

“Aye- would it be better if I called you ‘mi tesoro’ instead? It’s more straightforward, no?”

Even now, his words were light and playful, his tone affectionate as he leaned closer to you. You could see the mischievous glint in his warm, chocolate eyes (you thought that was why he liked serving you hot chocolate, it reminded you of his eyes.) and the curve of his lips as they moved to form words. You were transfixed by his beauty, mesmerised by the comforting hues and the sharpness of his cheeks, missing how close he was to you.

“Or maybe-”

Softness caressed your lips, a plush, warm feeling that made you flush. He was kissing you, those pretty lips on yours. Your breath stuttered and you froze, but it didn’t stop Miguel’s initiative, a hand cradled your nape, holding you in place as he pushed himself closer to you. He moved against you, tongue slipping from his mouth and tentatively laving over your bottom lip, asking for something.

He was so warm, so caring. You could just close your eyes and follow his lead - you did. He pushed harder, yet the kiss stayed soft and passionate, he lightly nipped your lip and soothed the stinging with his warm tongue, beckoning you to open your mouth for him. Your lips parted, opening up for Miguel to dive in, muscle meeting yours halfway and curling over yours. He still cradled your head, fingers running through your loose hair and tilting your head backwards, giving him more space to show you how much he loved you. Your arms, somehow, found themselves wrapped around his neck, pulling him as close to you as he was pushing himself against you.

His kiss was loving, his hold was careful and his touch heartwarming. You almost regretted having to pull away, but you had to breathe, your lungs starving for air after having been devoured by Miguel’s adoring kiss. The moment you opened your eyes (you didn’t know you had closed them while you kissed), his smile greeted you, a lovesick one bubbling with unending joy. You almost choked from how it fit so well on him.

“That’s- that’s one way…” you spoke between breaths, chest swelling with every erratic pant, matching his similarly worn-out breathing.

That was all he needed from you. Your kiss was enough for him to know you loved him the same, a patient and gentle love he was willing to give you. Your heart pulsed strongly, lips curving and eyes squinting, you pushed yourself closer to his heat, his all-encompassing warmth that wrapped around you when you wanted to feel safe and loved. Your world couldn’t be any brighter, like the vibrant colours of blooming flowers when Persephone was given to her mother, where the snow melted and colours washed over the lands once more, painting the blank white and dead grey in joyous tones. It glowed brightly and warmed you like the summers that followed the melting ice, the clear, blue skies of Olympus and as freeing as the soaring hawks and skipping elks.

Letting go was far harder than loving. To let the person who you let in leave felt emptying, it left a gaping hole in his heart. Where it was once calm, struck a raging storm of rejection and regret, crashing waves the size of Poseidon’s rage and violent storms the strength of Zeus’ retribution. It hurt watching you walk beside a variant of himself, a happier and lighter version of him without his mutations or duty. You were the Spider-Woman of your universe so there wouldn’t be a second one unless there was a catastrophic canon divergence.

He hadn’t followed you at first, respecting your wishes of being left alone. He had to give you that much, at least, after those months spent beside his ignorant ass. He hadn’t seen it until it was too late, lost under the weight of his duty and fears that he’d forgotten he had people who cared, who felt, who loved. It was too late, it was always too late with him. If he couldn’t fix his first mistake, who’s to say he could fix this? He couldn’t save his first daughter or his second’s universe because it was falling apart. He couldn’t save anyone because he hadn’t realised his mistake in interfering in canon events, and he lost you because he couldn’t stop his vitriol, his violent temperament that had pushed you away. He always took things for granted until they were lost to him.

Was it two or three weeks before he decided to check up on you? He didn’t know anymore, the weeks blurred until he finally amassed the courage to go against everyone’s words. Through the flat hologram of his orange screen, he watched you lament on your own, body curled into itself and shoulders shaking. Your sobs were heart-wrenching to watch while he had no means of contacting you; you would’ve reacted more strongly and aggressively if he’d contacted you after leaving.

So he watched.

You stared vacantly from your window and left only for the bare necessities or to act as Spider-Woman. Crime never slept so you couldn’t stop even in your time of need. You swung from building to building so gracefully that Miguel was hypnotised by your grace. He watched these moments as a reminder of the missions he took by your side, webbing and catching anomalies all across the multiverse with fearsome speed and accuracy. You both had made a fearsome team, but that time was over, it was a memory long forgotten.

So he watched.

Your flat was cold and empty, the space filled with spectres of memories, the cool rooms vacant of life that used to fill them with warmth and happiness. It was saddening from his perspective - the observer, the watcher and the reader of your story - of your time spent alone. He wanted to tell you that you weren’t alone, that he was watching you from afar, a silent protector that would only act if you were in imminent danger - as long as it wasn’t part of the canon.

So he watched-

Besides you was Miguel - not him, another one - and he looked much too comfortable by your side for his liking. His variant seemed much too close for a friend, moving from sitting before you to beside you, arm slung over your shoulders and leaning back and, sometimes, towards you at a breath’s distance. He turned green with envy, a vicious monster brewing inside his body with the threat of bursting out, clawing at his chest. The other was too close to you for his liking.

He watched as his variant bought you drinks - always, however long and loud you’d complained and fought, he never let you pay in the end - and paid for your dates. He abhorred it. How happy you looked with the other him. How calm and satisfied your smile was. How close his variant was to you. He wished he was at the other’s place, taking his rightful place beside you. He would kiss you, smother you in love and give you whatever you wanted, whether it be a hug, a kiss or his time, he would’ve given them to you. He wouldn’t dance around the edge of your affection and his love like he was doing, like a man unsure of his feelings and anxious to act on it.

He thought the other Miguel was a coward - though he knew he wasn’t. He wanted to blame his variant and find fault for anything he did, but they were still the same person. He was Miguel O’Hara as much as he was. He wanted, but couldn’t, especially after seeing how both loved you the same, having a similar type. They were so much alike that he could’ve replaced his variant, yet so vastly different in other manners that he would’ve stood out. His history, his trauma, his curse, the other had none of them. He was normal while he was Spider-Man, a stronger, more brutal version of Spider-Man.

Granted, he loved you with every fibre of his being, but he had never showered you with as much love and affection as the other, having his character muddled through long hours of work and long-lasting tragedy. You were another of his tragedies, where he found love again and lost it by his own making. He would have left too if the Society didn’t depend on him, leaning towards him for support and help in protecting the multiverse. It was something he couldn’t sacrifice for his whims.

So he kept watching and let his heart crack and envy fester.

He watched you grow even closer to him, shoulders and hands occasionally touching, making you jump and blush. He watched you move from simple coffee dates to full-blown restaurants and bar dates, drinking and eating at your leisure - something he could’ve never provided you. He watched you wobble around when you were drunk, your arm over his shoulder and his around your waist, supporting your drunk weight. He watched you kiss, the other pressing your bodies together and you reciprocating the loving embrace you had once given to him.

He felt like crying. He was crying, silent tears rolling down his sharp cheeks in slow, thundering waves of his heartbreak. He clung to the desk, claws unintentionally popping out and bending the metal under his fist. The sound ripped through the silent room like the image that ripped through his heart. He was alone in his grief, shoulders slumping and arms shaking with the intensity of his emotions. He had locked the door, barricading it with a busy, do not disturb sign, warning the others that he was occupied and wouldn’t be reached unless there was an emergency.

“Miguel…”

He’d forgotten Lyla was here - she was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, with your help he had given Lyla an upgrade in her system that gave her access to every Spider that had the watch. She had access to every file in the database and his secrets. Lyla was loyal to him as much as she was to you, respecting your words with a promise of her own to leave you alone. That, however, didn’t mean that she wasn’t privy to his pains, watching him while his eyes were stuck to your universe’s screen, giving him some comforting words that were meant to lift his spirit. It never worked but the intention was there.

He couldn’t look at her, still facing the hologram of you kissing. He felt the surge of too many emotions to be able to think clearly, his self-control tethering on a thin line of fragile web. If he turned, he would explode on Lyla, giving her the brunt of his suffering even though she didn’t deserve it, she felt and laughed as much as any other human. He remembered programming in emotion with you, laughing about how much she would be as teasing and annoying as you. Lyla was another gift to him by you, so it would hurt him more.

“Miguel-”

“Don’t- Do not say another word.”

For a man in tears and pain, his voice was curt and stoic, playing the leading figure he’d taken for so long. It betrayed his shaky figure, fingers crushing the metal loudly and shoulders jerking with ever-wrenching choked sob. His world was crumbling around him, rippling and cracking from the seams and folding into itself. The control of his state was failing miserably as he kept staring at your mirthful smile after the kiss. It tore him apart knowing he pushed you further away and into the arms of another. It hurt him deeply.

Through everything, he heard Lyla whisper a small sorry before she popped out of existence, her small holographic body vanishing along with her orange light. Gone was her familiar light, gone was the nostalgic memory of programming her, and along her, was the support of another person. He was truly alone in this moment, to fall on his knees and let himself drown under the weight of everything.

If your love was a tangible thing, he would’ve cradled it between his warm palms, holding it tightly to his chest to feel the soothing effects you had on him. Like a balm to burns, you cooled the searing pains that the world inflicted upon him, the warm blanket that covered him when he needed rest and the pillar that held him when he fell. He’d lost something he couldn’t gain a second time, clutching his head in his misery, drowning and howling.

It felt surreal until it wasn’t until it all sunk in. He truly couldn’t grasp the utter loss and betrayal he felt. The realisation that he truly lost you to none other than himself. The irony of it all slashed deeper, how he drove you closer to another him by his own doing, making you love a Miguel with more gentleness, more kindness and time than him, Miguel O’Hara, the Spider-Man from Nueva York, Earth-928. Everything he had was lost in time, his spiralling thoughts of loss and misery clouded his vision, bringing tears forward in bigger waves.

Was he doomed to lose everything he cared about? Was he bound to love and lose? Why couldn’t he have a happy ending like everyone else? Was it because he was different? Perhaps it was, there were other O’Hara Spider-Man, but none were mutated like him, a product of self-infliction and sabotage - none had their DNA spliced and mixed with a spider’s. He was simply too different from the others, they were lean but still had a strong musculature, muscles tightened to create more strength and defence; none were big and broad as he was, with rough edges and mean streaks. They were nice and happy, faced losses of their own, but always came out on top (there were some minor - sometimes major - variants of Spider-Man here and there, but they all had some similarities in their stories of becoming.). He saw the devastation and grasped onto the thinnest silver lining he could find, holding onto it to stay afloat while others thrived where they were.

Maybe it was truly because of him. He was realistic - near cynic - he couldn’t see things optimistically, life had made him that way. The silver lining he saw in things was small, nearly extinguished by his near-pessimistic way of life. Did that have an impact as well? It most likely did, at least partly. Fate had given him a bad hand in things, he couldn’t be completely blamed for how things turned - or so he thought, hoped. A man wasn’t only the result of what he’d done, but also of what he was given. When push comes to shove, Miguel acted in a way he thought meant well for him and the others even if it didn’t seem like the right decision at first. He rarely doubted his actions while he did them, only after, could he let himself face the consequences of what he’d done. Miguel simply didn’t have the pleasure of waiting. He needed to act when it was called.

If he had waited, if he had been patient and sought out others for support, if he had spent time thinking before acting, would he still have his little girl beside him? Would he still have you in his arms? If he had shown you more affection, would you have still loved him?

Did you still love him?

Miguel didn’t know what he was doing. Standing before your apartment door in civilian clothing and a bouquet of twelve, beautiful white tulips - the meaning not lost to him. It was an attempt at apologizing for his mistakes, a desperate one led by heartache. He brushed his hair back, trying to look as kept as he could in his situation: dark bags and sickly skin, tense muscles and sore back. This was a daring move from him, it would end up catastrophic if the Miguel from your universe saw him at your front door; but he checked, making sure his variant was elsewhere before opening a portal to your place.

He hadn’t moved in a while, listening to you move around your flat, the sound of your soft steps shuffling from behind the door, a wall between you and him, reminding him that he wouldn’t be able to cross it unless you welcomed him. He held the bouquet in one hand and knocked with the other, his knuckles hitting the wood softly and hesitantly. There was a pause between every knock, drawn by his nerves and the anxiety that gripped him.

You moved and closed in on the sound at the door. He saw your shadow dance under the small gap on the floor and pause. You knew. You knew it was him even without peeking through the peephole, your spider-sense aiding you in recognizing the unknown. Although your hand rested reluctantly at the knob - perhaps still too raw from your break as he was - you opened the door for him, figure small and apprehensive.

“Miguel,” you muttered his name, greeting him with a slow nod. You stepped back and opened the door wider for him, he took it as a good sign that you let him in rather than shut the door in his face.

He nodded back, saying your name. He took a step forward, foot breaking the barrier to your flat. The second one ensured he was fully invited, both feet strongly rooted on your side of the door. He wanted to make himself smaller, to appease you, but he knew you wouldn’t have liked that. He squirmed under your stare, a mix of curiosity and concern.

He nearly sighed audibly when you gestured at him to sit and he moved to the sofa he remembered sleeping on with you, cuddling under a warm blanket while you watched a movie. He knew your home by heart like you knew his, the memory washed over him with melancholy. You sat on the armchair to his left, your back to the kitchen. He swallowed thickly and handed you the bouquet, freshly cut tulips glistening with pearly drops under your lights.

Your shoulders shook as you leaned in to take the bouquet, jolting back when your fingers grazed him. Feeling your skin felt invigorating, it breathed back life into him, even slightly. You thanked him with a slow nod, seemingly unsure of what to make of it. Was it a gift? Was it an apology? Was it a farewell sign? He figured your mind was running in circles trying to understand the meaning of the pretty bouquet he handed you. You were always an overthinker, but your mind worked brutally well. That’s something he always appreciated about you.

“I-” Miguel started, seemingly stopped by something that he couldn’t get out of his throat. Maybe a ball of dread or needles of anxiety, but it held him from giving you the words he spent nights thinking over, to give you the message he built from the deepest crevice of his heart. “I’m sorry, (Name).”

You stared at him, understanding that he needed a moment of silence to truly convey his feelings. You hadn’t uttered a word since he first started, expression neutral, not betraying whatever brewing storm you locked inside of you. He was grateful, truly.

“I know- I know it doesn’t mean much now, but I’m really, really sorry, mi vida.”

He sensed you tense, the muscles of your back contracting and rippling under your shirt. Every unseen fibre moving was bare to him, he could see and feel better than most, if not, everyone else.

“I acted out of anger and lack of sleep, but that doesn’t mean you deserved that- never. I just, my mutation makes me more animalistic, more… aggressive than the other, and I hurt you. You didn’t deserve any of that and I can’t always blame it on my mutations. I should’ve been able to control myself. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you in those ways.”

He lowered his gaze to his hands, the calloused pads of his fingers rubbing his palm, trying to coax himself into relaxation. Although your breathing softened, a calm breeze in an atmosphere thick with tension, he didn’t dare look up and see the face you were making.

“I was a bad boyfriend and a horrible friend. I’m- I’m not asking you to forgive me, I don’t want you to forgive me, but- I just needed to tell you how much I regret hurting you. I want to apologise, I don’t know what else to do, I don’t know how to fix this.” He breathed deeply, collecting every ounce of confidence and honesty to brave your reaction. “I’m sorry, mi cielo.”

He shuddered, body rippling with his pained breath. He hadn’t realised how painful it would be to face you with his fears and confession, with the threat of abandonment and rejection fresh in his mind. He was a man of pride and strength, rarely facing anything with trepidation and hesitance.

“I’m really sorry, mi cielo. I’m so, so sorry.”

He sat in silence, letting it hang over him like the blade of a guillotine, silent and brunt. Perceiving the flash of the sharp blade before it fell on his neck, sentencing him to a quick downfall with a long, lasting agony that would sting his neck as long as it would hurt his heart. The French used it for executions, the thing that spelled people’s end. At its height, it was used as an apparatus to behead traitors or people who were deemed dangerous to the people of the new republic. Down the blame went and off the head popped, like it would happen to Miguel if he wasn’t prepared for it. He truly didn’t know whether he had prepared for his rejection, for the death of his heart, to watch the flickering sparks of his flame wither out.

“I’m sorry too, Miguel-”

The rope strained, knots twisting and rippling in the tightness of the pull. It shook, whipping in the air as it straightened completely, held closely by the hand of the executioner. The wind blew but it was sturdy, withstanding the violent gales that slammed against the body of it.

“-it means a lot that you came here to apologise- ”

The crowd was filled with silence, the emptiness of the area a mock of a ghost town. Abandoned to be sentenced to death without anyone to witness. They deemed him not fit for their acknowledgment before his death, before the sparks of his life extinguished. His fate wasn’t worth their time, unlike the poorest criminals who stole for money, unlike the richest pigs who fed from the poor with their silver spoons and golden crowns, unlike the cruellest killers who gutted and left men, women and children to bleed out, and unlike the guiltless innocents cursed for something they hadn’t committed.

“-but, I can’t.”

The rope was let loose, its tail flying and whipping in the air as the blade descended with its weight. The wood chafed against its support beams, yet it flew gracefully and rapidly, singing the doom of its prisoner. The blade gleamed under the moon’s bright light, the silver whispers of peace and sleep deaf to his ears.

“I can’t love you anymore.”

It cracked down on him, his life flashing before him as it cut into him. Severing his control over his body, putting out the dying embers of hope. He clung to desperation in his last moments, wishing to relive the moments of happiness, bright oblivion and cherished love.

He wished that he could’ve seen your shadowed figure hidden in the darkness, tears lining your cheeks as you watched him take his last breath. The only person who came to see him leave, the one who he would’ve burned the world for. In the end, after everything he’d done, you still gave him a small moment of your time to witness his fall, you deemed him worthy of such an act. You offered him your kindness.

My extensive tag list of extremely patient people pt1.:

@iseizeyourmom @raynerainyday @etherealton @sciencethot @coffee-obsessed-freak @thesecretwriter @beepboopcowboy@bontensh0e @aikoiya @allysunny @fandoms-run-my-life @brittney69 @aranachan @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @konniebon @starlightaura @redwolfxx @aniya7 @alicefallsintotherabbithole @bvbdudette @wwwelilovesyou @wwwellacom @akiras-key @bobafettbutifhewasgay @opiplover @rinieloliver @uniquecroissant @yas-v @xrusitax @blkmystery @darherwings @ariparri @notivie @vr00m-vr00m @battinsonwhore05 @irishbl0ss0mz @mivanda @saint-chlorine @livelaughluvmen @battinsonwhore05 @notivie @lililouvre @giasjourneyblog @ykyouluvme @skullywullypully

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