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z-ancunin · 6 months ago

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Fatal Touch (SCP 049 x Reader) Part 1🧡

| SCP 049 x fem!reader | Warnings: brief mentions of death and medical procedures (no blood). Part 1 of a series, NSFW in the later parts. You have been invited to an interview with the infamous SCP 049, aka, The Plague Doctor. Will you become another one of the doctors so-called "patients" or perhaps something more? |

Today was your first interview with a sentient SCP since you’d been hired. You had worked here for close to a year but had only really interacted with SCP’s in the “Safe” class. From what your boss told you, this anomaly was a class “Euclid”. Even though you had only graduated 5 years ago, your resume and good grades were enough to turn a few heads. The interview process was extensive to say the least, there were countless interviews, background checks, drug screenings, and even a lie detector test before the hiring paperwork (and an NDA) were slid across the table towards you. The pay was fairly decent, even if the hours were long. You hadn’t really bothered to make friends with any of your colleagues either. Almost everyone was very secretive of their personal life, which was understandable given the nature of your work. You just kept things cordial with every staff member you interacted with, and left out the bonding part. As you settled into your office for the day, you took a sip of your coffee and turned on your computer. As the screen lit up, you unpacked your bag and set everything out on your desk. You took out your notebook, several black pens, your company issued tablet, and a few snacks to get you through to your lunch break. While you were laying out your materials, you were interrupted by a knock at your office door.

“Come in,” you looked up to see your supervisor, Dr. Itkin with a file in his hand. “Hi Dr. Itkin, good to see you.”

“Good morning Y/N, how are you doing?”

You gave a small smile. “Good, I’m excited for this opportunity, thank you again for choosing me.”

“Of course, it’s high time you got to do some research on something more interesting. You’ve proven yourself to be quite a promising researcher, so you were an obvious first choice. I’ve got the file on the SCP that we will be interviewing for today.” Dr. Itkin lifted the folder he was holding in his hand.

Which SCP is it?” you asked as he handed you the file.

“SCP-049, a highly intelligent Euclid class that has been at our facility for roughly 8 months. It resembles a medieval plague doctor and seems to be obsessed with something that it calls “the pestilence”, although it has yet to completely identify what this pestilence is.” Dr. Itkin adjusts his glasses. “That file has all the information we’ve gathered on it so far. The interview is scheduled for 1300 hours in Research Sector 2, Site 19.”

You opened the file and briefly scanned the pages. You noticed the photo of SCP 049 immediately. It did resemble a plague doctor from the 12th Century, its face was covered by a large beaked mask and a black hooded robe. But what drew you in were its eyes. They pierced your soul and made your hair on your arms stand up. You looked up and nodded at Dr. Itkin. “I look forward to it! Thank you doctor, I’ll see you soon.”

Dr. Itkin nodded and left the room, the sound of his shoes fading down the hallway.

You opened the file in front of you and began reading in depth about this SCP. The more you read, the more you felt sorry for it. Being taken away from its homeland and brought here with little to no resources to conduct experiments seemed rather cruel. Surely the foundation didn’t plan on letting 049 return home, so it would be stuck here for as long as the foundation was around. Not to mention, it seemed fairly intelligent so being imprisoned was probably very boring. You were also intrigued by the deadly touch that it possessed, as any subject that came into contact with it was killed instantaneously and operated on, becoming a zombie-like creature that the Foundation called ‘SCP 049-2’. You just hoped that you wouldn’t do anything to cause it to use its power on you. As you flipped through more of the pages, you came across an incident report that was dated 3 weeks ago. According to the report, SCP 049 had a scheduled interview with Dr. [REDACTED] when it suddenly became agitated and killed said doctor, claiming that he was sick and needed to be cured. Due to a lapse in security, Dr. [REDACTED]’s body was not found until several hours later, where it had been turned into an instance of SCP 049-2. Your mind began racing and you felt your heart rate spike. What pestilence did 049 detect, if any, and would it try to cure you too?

As the time grew closer, you started gathering your things and headed to Site 19. You couldn’t deny that your nerves were on edge as you grabbed your notebook and pens, but you also couldn’t ignore the intrigue. As frightening as SCP 049 sounded, you were also genuinely curious and wanted to learn more firsthand. As you strolled down the hallway and towards the elevators, you noticed several guards and a D class personnel headed in that direction as well.

“Keep moving.” one of the guards snapped and shoved the man in the orange jumpsuit forward. They stopped outside the elevator doors and the guard to the left pressed the elevator button down and waited. “Going down, miss?” he asked as you approached.

“Uh yes, I think so. I’m supposed to report to Site 19. I’m looking for SCP 049’s containment area, do you know where I can find it?”

All three guards froze and turned towards you. Your face immediately became flush and you cleared your throat. “What’s wrong?” you asked, your voice wavering slightly.

None of the guards spoke up, and with their faces completely covered, you weren’t able to see what their reactions were.

“049 is a…special anomaly.” one of the guards began. “It allegedly killed two D class when they were sent in for experimentation and five more personnel when it breached containment, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

You swallowed hard. He must be referring to the containment breach incident from a few weeks ago. The elevator door opened and the four men pilled in. Your feet felt suddenly made of lead but you forced yourself forward into the small metal box. The guard in front of the car operating panel pressed two buttons and the doors closed. No one said a word as the elevator moved down. You clutched your notebook with white knuckles and attempted to control your shallow breathing.

“Hey.” one of the guards spoke up.

You looked over your shoulder, your fear probably written all over your face.

“You’ll take this down to two floors and then make a left. You’ll be fine, as long as you stay away from it. Don’t let it get too close, I’m sure you know what will happen. Just be smart and stay on high alert.”

The elevator stopped and the doors opened. You had reached your destination, but your feet were still heavy and you were having a hard time getting your body to move.

“This is your stop. Good luck.” the same guard said and held the door open for you.

C’mon Y/N, you just need to move. It’ll be over soon and then you can go back to your office.

You nodded and whispered a small thanks as you stepped into the hallway and turned left. You didn’t bother looking back in the elevator, you knew you’d be too tempted to run straight back in. Your nerves were all over the place as you grew closer, Dr. Itkin was waiting outside with a clipboard in his hand. He looked up at you and waved.

“Y/N! Right on time. Did you have enough time to read through the file I gave you?”

You nodded vigorously. “Yes, thank you doctor. It was quite informative.”

“You seem a bit nervous, do you still wish to accompany me?”

You knew that backing out wasn’t exactly an option at this point, you’d already read the file and if you refused The Foundation would most likely have your memory wiped due to the sensitive information you had read. Besides, you felt the need to prove yourself as one of the newest researchers at the facility. “Yes I do. I’m just nervous since this is my first intelligent anomaly I’ll be interacting with.” you lied through your teeth. “But I’m not going to let those nerves stop me, I’m eager to learn.”

Dr. Itkin smiled. “I’m glad to hear you’re still on board. Let’s head in then, shall we?”

You followed him into a dimly lit room where there were several people in white lab coats talking amongst themselves or working on computers. There were also two guards with assault rifles posted outside the door inside. It looked a lot like a prison interrogation room, it even had the two sided glass so the people in the room couldn’t see out but those on the outside could see in. Through the window you saw SCP 049 sitting at a long metal table. Two chairs were seated on the opposite side of the table. SCP 049’ wrists were chained to the table so it couldn't move them. Its head was down so you couldn’t see its face. You wondered if the beak was part of its face or just a mask, and if it was only a mask, you wondered what it looked like underneath it. Dr. Itkin approached the door leading to the interrogation room and swiped his keycard. The door light turned green and slid open.

“Dr. Itkin, how pleasant to see you again.” SCP 049 hummed, lifting its head and tilting it to the side. The humanoid figure sat across from you and Dr. Itkin, its wrists restrained in chains that were connected to the table. His gaze slid over to you and you felt chills run down your spine. “And, who might you be?”

“My name is Y/N, and you are?” you said politely.

“Ravi de te rencontrer chérie (Lovely to meet you dear). I have had many names across the years, but you may call me doctor. You are new here Y/N, or at the very least I have not seen you in this part of the facility. What brought you here?”

You recognized the doctor’s switch to French briefly in your conversation and it made you wonder what he had said. “I’m a new researcher. My speciality is in microbiology and chemistry. Was that French you just spoke?” you asked.

“Yes, it is my preferred language, although English will suffice. Curious, I have not met anyone here with a degree in microbiology. Your knowledge may prove useful in my research of the Pestilence. And you’re an aspiring scientist you say? Wonders abound.” 049 mused. “I see a very bright future ahead of you. Your eyes hold that spark of curiosity that is so often lost in this field. It can be hard to hold onto that spark, but keep the fire lit and you will go far.” 049 nodded.

You felt a small bit of heat rise to your cheeks, but managed to maintain your composure. “Thank you, doctor.” you said, your voice wavering slightly. What the hell had gotten into you? This was a highly dangerous and intelligent creature and here you were with butterflies in your stomach from the kindness of his words.

“Now, tell me Dr. Itkin. What brings you to my containment cell?” SCP turned towards your boss, his eyes trained on him.

“I wanted to check and see how your research has been going. We’ve seen you perform several…operations on the test subjects that were provided to you in the past, but we are no closer to understanding this pestilence you speak of. Have you any new developments to share?”

049 huffed and laced its fingers together, the chains of the wrist restraints jingling with the movement. “Well doctor, it might be more useful to provide me with more human test subjects like before instead of the mammalian cadavers. It has been some time since I was afforded a live patient and I would like to resume that schedule if possible. The pestilence affects humans, and that is where my interests lie. I cannot cure what is not sick nor what is already deceased.”

Dr. Itkin sighed and shook his head. “049 your recent behavior is partly the reason why we have not given you any more human subjects. Your breach of containment recently was unacceptable and several lives were lost. Not to mention the death of Dr. Hamm. You must understand that if you do not cooperate, you will not be permitted to continue your experiments. You have already lost most of your privileges and you will continue to lose more.”

“Those people were sick, very sick and incredibly contagious. I did you and this whole facility a favor by curing them.” 049 said matter-of-factly.

“I’m sorry 049, but it doesn’t seem like this “cure” of yours is a very good one. Those who have been touched by you are never the same.” Dr. Itkin said, his voice a bit sadder than before. It seems Dr. Hamm’s death was still weighing on him.

049 was about to say something in response when you spoke up.

“Doctor, if I may,” you began. “How would one know if they had been exposed to this sickness?”

049’s face was covered by the mask and hood it wore, but you could’ve sworn you saw a flash of surprise in its eyes when you asked your question. Almost like no one else had thought to ask.

“What a wonderful question dear Y/N, you see I have the ability to detect the pestilence in any living creature. Perhaps it is a divine gift or perhaps it’s due to the many years I have spent studying it. In any case, I am always able to tell when someone is infected, even if they themselves do not feel any different.”

You nodded and took down a few notes as 049 spoke. “Do you detect any of the pestilence in me, doctor?”

049 leaned in closer, and you felt your whole body go cold. There was something unsettling about the entity, but something drew you in too. You didn’t know whether or not to run away or lean in as well.

049’s eyes scanned up and down your entire body, lingering for just a brief moment on your lips before resuming eye contact with you. “I do not. You are perfectly healthy, as is Dr. Itkin.” 049 stated.

You smiled. “That’s good. I will hopefully do my best to keep it that way. Perhaps if it would help, maybe we could take a look at some cells from an infected person under a microscope? I’d be very interested to see if the pestilence mutates any of the living cells.” Even though you still knew next to nothing about this disease, you could tell that it meant a great deal to 049, and if you could help advance its research you would be happy to help.

049 chuckled and you could hear a smile in its voice despite not seeing its mouth. “You are quite different from anyone I’ve met here, Miss Y/N. That spark I noted earlier, I can see you crave knowledge as do I. Perhaps you would like to be my progeny someday? Learn by my side and help me eradicate this disease once and for all?”

Dr. Itkin’s walkie-talkie beeped and a muffled voice came through the speaker.

“Dr. Itkin, please exit the interview area and bring Y/N with you.”

“Affirmative. Y/N, we will have to cut this conversation short, we’ve been instructed to leave.”

You nodded and grabbed your notebook, slightly disappointed that your conversation had been cut short. “It was nice to meet you doctor, I look forward to speaking more.” you gave him a small smile and nodded your head as you pushed in your chair.

“As do I. Au revoir ma chérie, s'il te plaît, porte-toi bien (Goodbye my dear, please be well).” 049 said in his native dialect.

You followed Dr. Hamm out the door and back into the observation room where you first entered. All eyes were trained on you, and it made heat rush to your cheeks as you squeezed your notebook tighter.

“Y/N? My name is Dr. Isaac, good to meet you.” the man extended his hand towards you and you shook it.

“Nice to meet you too. How can I help?”

“We were observing your interview with SCP 049 and noticed that he seems to have taken a liking to you.” Dr. Isaac gestured to the other people in lab coats across the room who were all watching you. “After the containment breach, 049 has been much quieter and more withdrawn. But today was different. He seemed to be more animated and talkative with you. We think your presence could be beneficial in finally learning what this Pestilence is that he seems so obsessed with. So, what do you say? Would you be up for weekly interviews with SCP 049?”

You were shocked. You’d only had one conversation with the doctor, but you also couldn’t deny that you had felt…something when you two were talking. His presence drew you in, while your mind screamed to turn and run. And yet…

“Yes, I’ll do it.” you answered after a moment of silence. When do I start?”

#scp 049 x reader #scp 049 #scp foundation #scp fandom #049

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in1-nutshell · 9 months ago

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Hi, can you please write a sequel to Susan's story. I thought and it occurred to me that it should go on like this: After the day described before, a week passes and little interesting happens during all this time. Unless, of course, you count the day when Susan assembled a detector from all sorts of junk that, in her opinion, should capture energy anomalies. To the annoyance of Autobots and children, these anomalies are Autobot life signals. All day long, Susan walked around the city tracking the Autobots, who barely managed to escape from the annoying schoolgirl. But it all ended when the Raf used equipment at the base to send a strong energy pulse that caused the detector to explode right in Susan's face. But after this excess, everything went back to normal. As the new week begins on Monday, Susan arrives at school handing out invitations to all her classmates to come to her house to watch the meteor shower in her backyard. For her, this is such a rare and significant event that she put on her special astronomer hat. And as you might guess, all of her classmates either lied that they were busy, or pretended to be interested but weren't really going to come, or outright refused or laughed in her face. The only ones who really want to come are Jack and the Raf (Despite Miko's warnings that this party is just a sophisticated trap) They thought it would be possible to go to this party at least out of pity (Jack especially saw this as an opportunity to apologize to Susan for the broken camera) But despite their wishes, they could not come because they had been helping the Autobots with a very important mission all evening. Which brings us to the backyard of the Farmfield house, lined with folding chairs and decorated with homemade decorations. Where Susan is sitting and waiting for someone to come. She waits and waits, but nothing. After a while, the sliding door opens with a sharp movement and Susan's mother comes out of the house. (A little clarification: After Susan's grandfather died, her parents moved back to house in Jasper to "take care" of their daughter. Although in fact they only moved because their business went bankrupt and they need a place to live) A woman looks around the backyard, looking at the decorations with disdain.

Mom: What is this all about, Susan? The woman asked with irritation in her voice.

Susan: Oh, it's all for my little party. One of the rarest meteor showers is going to happen today, and I thought it would be fun to share this rare phenomenon with someone. And I think if you and Dad join in, that would be it…

The girl happily tried to explain her idea until her mother unceremoniously interrupted her.

Mom: Susan, not me, not your father, and no one else in the whole world is interested in some stupid space-flying rocks.

The woman said with growing irritation in her voice.

Susan:Well, some of my classmates agreed to come, so they're interested.

The girl said with hope in her voice.

Mom: Ha, where are they?

She asked with mockery in her voice

Susan: Maybe… Maybe they're just late.

She said clinging to the last shred of hope

Mom: Or maybe they just lied to you and you, being an empty-headed fool, took their word for it?

Saying this, every word is laced with poison

SUSAN: But… But they promised

Susan said sniffling, tears in her eyes

Mom: Oh my God, are you crying!? Stop it!

The woman shouted .

Susan: I'm sorry, Mom.

Susan muttered, trying to wipe away her tears

Mom: You know, it's because of your excessive sensitivity and your stupid hobbies that you can't make friends. You're just like your grandfather, a weirdo who will be laughed at for the rest of your miserable life.

Susan: I'm sorry

Susan mumbled even more softly than last time, still crying no matter how hard she tried to stop.

Mom: You know what, I don't care, live your miserable life any way you want.

The woman muttered at the end, turning around and walking back into the house. On the way there, she knocked over a couple of chairs and tore a couple of ornaments from the trees.

Mom:And take away all this garbage!

She shouted as she entered the house and slammed the door behind her.

Leaving Susan to sit alone, feeling like she's the loneliest person in the universe.

I'm sorry if this is too much, I just got carried away.

And I'm sorry if I've already sent this request, my Internet is buggy.

I teared up a bit reading this.

Poor Susan!

Susan will be okay, I promise!

Hope you enjoy!

Jack, Miko, and Raf vs Susan Farmfield part 2

SFW, Platonic, Angst, Human reader

TFP

Susan was still the trio enemy.

…Well, more Miko’s than Jack and Raf.

Jack didn’t see much harm with Susan.

She couldn’t even hurt a fly.

The only thing he would count as Susan hurting someone is having them sit in a room with her for 24 hours talking about conspiracy theories.

Raf honestly felt sorry for her.

He had her as a science partner once and it was fun!

He even got a couple of cool stickers from her.

Raf just hated that she had to look into places that could expose the bots.

Miko straight up hated her.

She saw the other girl as her prime nemesis, like the Autobots saw the Decepticons as their nemesis.

She was DETERMINED to make sure that Susan never got a hold of anything related to the bots or anything on them.

At school… Jack, Miko, and Raf are walking through the hallway. They spot Susan getting her books from her locker. A couple of new band aids cover parts of her face. Raf: “Susan? You, okay?” Susan jumps a bit, but smiles seeing it was the trio. Susan: “Oh yeah! I’m fine!” Jack: “What about those band aids from?” Susan: “Well, I was testing out a new invention I made last weekend. It can detect strange or unusual energy pulses. I hit a really big one the other night and it kinda exploded on my face.” Miko: “Well it was put out of its misery then.” Jack: “Miko.” He nudges her ribs a bit. The comment flies over her head. Susan: “But it did teach me to widen the range, but still back to square one. See you guys later!” Susan walks off. Jack and Raf turn to a smug Miko. Jack: “Is that why you told Raf to fire the energy pulse?” Miko: “Maybe, maybe not.” Raf: “Miko! That could have hurt her!” Miko: “So what? She’s the enemy.”

It was later that week when the trio found Susan passing something around the class.

It was an invitation to see a meteor shower from her backyard.

Jack and Raf winced as they saw students laugh and taunt in Susan’s face for making the ‘dumb party’ in the first place.

Other just made excuse not to go.

If there was one thing the trio, yes including Miko, could respect was that Susan was as stubborn as they came and followed through plans till the end.

Even if they blew up in her face.

Raf was the first person to tell Susan that he wanted to go.

The young boy had never seen Susan speechless and so happy at the same time.

Jack followed as well, mainly because he felt he owed Susan a solid after Arcee crushed her polaroid camera a couple weeks ago.

Miko reluctantly agreed, keep your friends close and your enemies closer right?

When the trio told the bots this, there were mixed reactions.

Arcee was curious on why the girl wanted to invite others to her home to watch some meteors.

It wasn’t a big deal.

Bumblebee was worried that it could be a trap, or Susan was going to do something to them.

Bulkhead did not want them going to Susan’s house. Point blank.

Optimus and Ratchet had mixed feelings about this human, but they both agreed to keep on optic out for her.

It was the night of the meteor shower when a couple of Decepticons showed up in a sector near an energon vein.

It was all servos and hands on deck.

The bots would go in the retrieve the energon while the kids would help keep visual and have the groundbrigde ready.

All three of them completely forgetting that they had plans that night.

Susan waiting patiently with a tray of homemade cupcakes and snacks in a lawn chair. Maybe everyone was running late. Or they forgot last minute, and they were getting ready. Her mother comes outside. Mother: “And what is all of… this?” Susan: “It’s for the Meteor shower party. You know, the one I told you about… like 9 times.” Mother: “Don’t you get smart with me missy!” She sneers at the décor and snacks. Mother: “And why on Earth would you waste all this food and paper for a party for yourself?” Susan: “No, I gave out invitations. They’ll be coming.” Mother: “Susan, if there’s one thing, I do know about you is that you have no friends. Just like your disgrace of a grandfather.” Susan narrowing her eyebrows. Mother: “Don’t give me that look! He had no friends because he drove them all away with his stories and lies!” Susan: “They were tru—” Mother: “SHUT IT!” Susan clamps her mouth and feels a familiar sting in her eyes. Mother: “Quite your crying kid! You don’t cry! Just quite it!” Susan: “What? Quite what?” Mother: “EVERYTHING! You think your going to get anywhere in this world by holding onto that weird little hobby of yours? Do you really think anyone will like you if they hear you spouting this nonsense? Look at yourself Stacy!” Susan: “Its Susan.” Mother: “Whatever! Just clean all of this junk up by tomorrow morning or I swear you will never see your telescope again!” SLAM! The lights in the house turned off. Susan slowly knelt to the ground letting out soft sobs while holding herself tightly. Maybe they were late… Maybe they got stuck in traffic… Maybe they… They… Following school day… The trio is walking down the hall. Raf: “I still feel bad that we didn’t go.” Jack: “I’m sure she’ll understand. We just had things to do.” Miko: “More important things than a meteor shower.” The stop when they see Susan again. She looks… different… Susan spots the trio and freezes a bit before slowly walking past them. Miko raises an eyebrow. Miko: “That was weird.” Raf: “She’s upset Miko.” Miko: “Please, Susan Farmfield never gets upset.” Jack looking at Susan going into the classroom with a defeated look on her face. Jack: “You sure about that?” Miko: “She’s just doing one of those sympathy tricks. Trust me the enemy will go back to normal when she sees her plan isn’t working.”

Since the party, Susan started having second thought about everything she had worked for.

Don’t get her wrong she still believed that there were aliens and unknown things that needed to be discovered.

But… what if part of what her mother was saying was right?

No, she came to far to start second guessing herself now.

Who needs friends anyway?

Susan Farmfield was going to find those aliens.

For her Grampa!

Susan was walking near one of the forested areas with her new energy detector. BING! BING! The machine had detected something. Something at the bottom of the gorge. Carefully Susan climbs to the bottom and gasps. It was a pod of some sort… Definitely alien origin. Susan pats the frost glass. Susan: “Hello?” The glass open startling the girl and she falls backwards and stares at the giant coming out of the pod. Groaning, a large bot sits up, stretches a bit before looking around and spots Susan. Susan waves awkwardly. The bot slowly waves back. Susan: “I don’t mean any harm. My name is Susan. Do you have a name?” The bot grumbles a bit. Susan: “What? Iroh eef?” The bot clears his vents a bit before giving a small smile. Ironhide: “The names Ironhide, kid.”

#transformers x reader #maccadam #tfp #tfp x reader #tfp x platonic reader #human buddy #susan farmfield

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beaconfeels · 2 months ago

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WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by my beloved @nickcharleswife <3 I swear someday I will finish all these fics I’m working on, but for now have a snippet from the latest Steter brainworm that has infected me.

Stiles should be afraid, out here alone in the woods with Peter Hale—an alpha who has killed four people already, and bitten Stiles’s best friend against his will—but Stiles has never been scared of the things he’s supposed to be scared of.

His friends are too far away now to hear him if he screams, and the claw on Peter’s index finger is tracing a line up and down Stiles’s throat.

Peter squints at him, as if with the right look, he can read Stiles’s mind. “They don’t know you,” Peter says finally. That single claw hooks under Stiles’s chin, not drawing blood, but pressing just this side of it, making sure he’s constantly aware of it.

Stiles rolls his eyes, but then Peter says, “They don’t know what you’ve done,” and his voice is low and silky, a threat and a seduction all in one.

“And what have I done?” Stiles asks, barely moving his mouth, very conscious of the claw against his chin.

“Killed three people, that I know of.” Peter sounds nonchalant, but Stiles can tell he’s being read like a book, his body scent, his heartbeat, the flick of his eyes.

“Oh really?” He tries to keep everything under regulation, but it’s an impossible task. He hasn’t had to practice, you see. Nobody’s ever seen him enough to ask any questions that would trouble him, and until recently, he hadn’t known that people who were walking lie detectors existed. Damn his lack of psychic powers.

Peter smiles. “Oh really.” He ticks them off on his fingers, one by one. “The boy who drugged the drinks of multiple girls in your high school disappeared after all charges against him were dropped. Then there was the man who threatened your father’s life over the course of several months, then mysteriously vanished off the face of the earth.”

Stiles swallows, and the pad of Peter’s thumb rubs back and forth across Stiles’s adam’s apple, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“Mmm. And then there was Rafe McCall, father of your very best friend, Scotty boy. He’s my favorite. Killed by the serial killer he had been hunting, they said, but there were certain anomalies in the death, things that didn’t add up. Yet when they caught the killer, he confessed to that killing as well. Interesting, no?”

“Fascinating,” Stiles says flatly, wishing he could slow the flutter of his heart.

✨I know it’s late, but gonna do low pressure tags for @nogitzune @mirrorthoughts @clare-guilty @kymera219 @pussyeatersamwinchester would love to know what people are working on!

#Steter #my writing #WIP Wednesday

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year2000electronics · 9 months ago

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how does your reverse falls weirdmageddon go down?

GREAT QUESTION. full explanation under the cut! (this info can also be found in my reverse falls doc) tldr ford and will start weirdmageddon, the gleeful family goes through the ultimate challenge of realizing theyre a selfish and broken family, and they all work together with the rest of the zodiac to destroy will through erasing fords memories!

the dimensional rift exists, but instead of ford finding it, stan does. ford knows there should be a rift around somewhere now that his portal's been totaled, but he can't find where it is. this is frustrating.

ford wants to start weirdmageddon with will to become the most powerful man in the world. that's his goal after he came back.

mason wants to grow up too fast, mabel is afraid of growing up. (we know this from canon already) this is also coming off the coattails of last mabelcorn, where mabel gets called 'ugly' by the unicorn (it hits her twice as hard because mason and mabel's entire thing is being cute kids performing!)

in mason & mabel vs the future, ford takes dipper to crash site omega to try and build an anomaly detector. he treats it as mason's first sort of "real expedition" but in reality he's still trying to find where stan hid the rift.

ford offers mason an apprenticeship, but instead of the problem being "dipper would stay in gravity falls", it's "ford says that he would have to stop his 'telepathy twins' act with mabel because it's holding back his potential and is actually quite childish". (of course he insists mabel would do great as a solo act)

mabel hears through walkie-talkies (they use it to fake 'twin telepathy' sometimes), gets upset that mason is abandoning her, and runs off, but instead of blendin, it's will that finds her! will insists that since she's technically his boss, if she wants a little more summer, he has no choice but to do as she wishes. he explains he'll need the rift that stan keeps in his study. mabel sneaks back inside and is able to get to stan's keys thanks to stan being hypervigilant of mason and less so of mabel (due to his brother and all)

once she gets the rift to will, will SMASHES it, revealing that ACTUALLY, he works on FORD'S orders, and she's forgotten where she lies in the pecking order. weirdmageddon begins, she gets trapped in a bubble, and ford and will's deal gets broken because of will's newfound physical form (and now that time is dead, it's technically "the end of time!" so there you go). they agree to rule the world as partners

somewhat replacing the canon intro all the way to the part where ford gets turned to gold is ford and will running into mason, who ford invites to join him because "he sees great potential in him". mason looks up at his uncle being all buddy-buddy with a demon and literally ending the world and he realizes "this isn't the man i want to be." but hes too terrified to say no, but he doesnt WANT to say yes, so hes just kinda frozen there.

wendy bails him out, pulling him into a car she jacked and driving off. they take shelter in the mall which is where they find paz, gideon, reggie and robbie. they form a ragtag group of Apocalypse Heroes and mason explains he needs to free mabel from her bubble. they drive all the way out to the bubble but get ambushed by STAN

stan kinda takes gideons place in the role of weirdmageddon where he has a mad max troupe of road warriors, but once he sees mason in the group, he calls them off, revealing he only "joined" ford to save his own hide and is absolutely ready to ditch that idiot.

the gleeful family enters mabel's bubble as the rest of the gang stand guard outside

weirdmageddon 2 is very similar to canon, but mabel gleeful elects herself queen of mabeland and has a lot more of a "tyrant ruler" vibe. she throws mason and stan in the dungeon and stuff its great. mason and stan convince her that theyve all messed up and they need to Be Better... starting with mason not taking the apprenticeship. mason and mabel reunite and theyre ready to take on will and ford now

weirdmageddon 3 has the gang finding bud and hope (gideon's parents) trying to ditch town by driving away in an RV, but paz and gideon want to help their NEW FRIENDS THE GLEEFULS rescue all the other townspeople, and maybe try to talk some sense into ford? (stan is doubtful.) so they start gathering resources to head to the fearamid

meanwhile, the reverse falls equivalent to the penthouse scene is happening, which is basically just will and ford chilling out as ford slowly tries to hammer away at the barrier equation (he studied magic, not this! give him some time!) until will drops the ball that like. ford has charmed him into still loving him. that much is true. but he's like "i think we're a little beyond you being in charge of me, right? and im more than happy to keep you around... but i never said anything about stanley or those kids."

hes like, to fords face, "i am going to kill mason and mabel." and obviously fords like UHHH NO DONT DO THAT because theyre family? and he doesnt want them DEAD even if theyre below him! but of course, will is just reflecting ford's terrible attitude back at him that only the Special and the Worthy should be able to claim that success. and since ford was always only looking out for himself, this is the ultimate culimation of that: he'll be the one surviving gleeful.

ford protests against this but will starts sobbing that ford is getting cold feet and turns him into gold and thats where we're at by the time the gang gets to the fearamid with the GIANT BUD'S AUTO ROBOT.

they rescue ford cos hes part of the zodiac and he definitely seems a little shaken up as he agrees to hold hands and save the world. but stan is pissed OFF because ford has done nothing but threaten and belittle stan for the entire time hes been back so as theyre holding hands he lets a remark slip about it and then ford just cant help himself and goes "its not my fault im the better twin". cue fighting cue everyone getting turned into tapestries etc.

stan and ford, instead of pulling the switcheroo, agree that ford should goad will into entering his mind by saying he's solved the equation (since yknow reverse ford doesnt need a metal plate). ford does that and then they erase his memories like they do with stan in the original show. kinda the ultimate penance going on there, ford doing something that isnt selfish for once and actively harms himself.

world saved, ford gets his memories back, blah blah blah, the gleeful twins celebrate their 13th birthday and mason, mabel and ford all smash their magic amulets so that theyll never use them again

stan and ford become the new "telepathy twins" as now neither of them have any magic to their name and can bond by tricking tourists Together. meanwhile mason and mabel retire and do part time work at greasys

paz leaves town for the summer but promises she'll come back next year

will whines at the axolotl to give him a second chance and he gets chucked in the theraprism

#mothra answers #reverse falls

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serendark · 5 months ago

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Misc. ideas and thoughts about Journals 1 & 2, as inspired by Forduary this year

I have too much going on to participate, but I really like the Forduary prompts this year!

Journal 3 has some things that help with inventing both Journals 1 and 2, I think.

Isn't it weird that gnomes and various other creatures are in Journal 3 instead of Journal 1, when it just feels like Ford would have met them 6 years ago when he first arrived to Gravity Falls? Like, did it really take six years before he wrote about or saw gnomes? Who knows, maybe! However you want to imagine it. I think Journal 3 itself can be used for examples of Journal 1, or you can work backwards from Journal 3 to invent more of what the landscape was like for Ford when he arrived here and was first getting his footing. Journal 3 has various bits looking back at his earlier years, like about his house being built iirc and Steve, so I think there is likely overlap with Journal 1 (and 2) already.

Journal 1 sounds fun as a novice Ford being awestruck by so many things for the first time, and trying as many experiments as he can, and having all kinds of inexperienced clumsy missteps. He traced this town as a big home of anomalies and now he is actually here, and beginning his dream on his own, fresh out of college! And there's all the locals to meet for the first time. Was it overwhelming in the best way possible that everywhere he looked there was just more and more and it felt impossible to possibly study it all? Were his first years really social while he tried interviewing everyone, before falling into his eventual status as a recluse who doesn't really connect with them, before he realized how lonely he was, or maybe he pushed through all of his negative feelings because there was so much that was exciting to focus on instead? Were there more weird holidays like Summerween that don't exist in 2012? Or, even, did Ford witness the very first year of Summerween? What are some local mysteries and ghost stories? Did he meet more of the parents of individuals we know about in 2012?

Were Ford's first notes a mess that he had to go back and reorganize later? Did he have to figure out ways of being better able to draw anomalies when life drawing isn't always an option? What's up with the camera and photos and all those other weird objects in his house in that one flashback scene in ATOTS? How much did Ford have to study and catalogue and take samples of local plants and water before he started noticing weird connections and magical influences? How did he figure out what equipment, tools, machinery, and anomaly specific magic detectors or whatnot that he needed? What was the iterative process like? Did he have a bunch of failed drawings, machines, and samples at the start? Did he hear about the underground weirdness black market and spend a lot of time trying to track it down before realizing how hopeless the endeavor seemed to be? One failure of many he would remember moving forward in his time here, but also exciting fuel to keep learning! Gravity Falls has so much to offer, far too much to stop learning just because of some unanswered mysteries.

I don't recall if Hirsch has ever spoken on the content of Journal 1 but I really think it has a lot of potential as a prompt if you're a little creative! Yeah it isn't super guided but I don't think it's boring at all!

And then Journal 2 is especially extremely super hype imo!! That's the one when he was really throwing himself into researching and learning about spells and magics, including spells he would even carry with him in Journal 3 as useful protective tools on excursions if I'm remembering that correctly. There's so much here that must be related to forest creatures, not to mention the artifacts. Did he catch wind of the Hand Witch or other potential similar individuals? The Love God? Were there more witches and creatures during the 80's than we see in Gravity Falls in 2012? Like how zombie uprisings were a regular monthly occurrence, mentioned in Journal 3, when that clearly chilled out and settled by the time of the show, not to mention the blood rain.

Wizard Ford! Warlock Ford! Ford, the DD&MD dork! Did he learn defensive enchantments? Was he really into useful utility spells instead, like one that keeps himself dry in rain? Or refills his quill ink? What offense might he have liked, or even felt uncomfortable with? Did he practice writing and learning sigils and runes and fae language? Did he sew any into his clothes, or wear any in temporary tattoos or skin paint? Were there things in the library or museum he was able to translate?

Were there other events like that carnival in Journal 3, or weird black magic holidays before such things were wiped from the townsfolks' memories? Was there more visible magic on average back then, and magic interacting with people and vice versa? How did Ford compare his experiences and studies with his beloved stories of fiction, historical reading, myths, and folklore? Did Ford make or find magic rings, pens, wands, hats, clocks? What are some really dumb and silly spells? Did he research how different phases of the moon, weeks in the month, days in the week, or certain hours in a day, or even the weather, influenced any of the rituals or how to acquire materials and items? Did some spells or rituals demand him to sit in pose for 12 hours before activating, and which spells or rituals were more instant or immediate? How about astrology?

This also overlaps with the period of time where Ford knew Bill for like 2 years before the portal was ever proposed, and before Ford had felt himself stuck at a dead end. Ford was still eagerly exploring and researching and practicing like normal, surely with some doubts and difficulties, but I think he was still starry-eyed, too. What was Bill like? How much did Bill help? How much of the stuff in Journal 2 came about from Bill helping Ford with leads, giving him breadcrumbs about things Ford wouldn't have known on his own? What questions did Bill answer, and did Bill tell Ford about any spells outright? Did Bill and Ford hang out working on translating runes together? Did Bill give Ford spells and sigils and all to solve himself like a mentally stimulating puzzle? Is this the period of time where Bill was the most like a practical helpful teacher and friend, and a stronger bridge between Ford and the local weird? Did Ford investigate different ideas about geometry and its relation to religion/spirituality/history/myth?

What potion recipes and ingredients could Ford have found and made and jotted down in Journal 2? The steps and materials needed for rituals? What about notes to be taken on the anomalous and magical properties of random materials and how those interact with mundane technology and science, like hen's teeth, fairy wing dust, certain mushrooms that only grow around fairy circles, silk from weird spiders? Or even how more familiar earthly materials interact with these, like mercury, blood, salt, gold, silver, onyx, honeycomb? What are some local legends and myths? Did Ford use any variety of magical ingredients, ritual, or spell for experiments specifically in his mindscape while he was asleep? Or maybe meditating in a fairy circle?

What offerings did Ford need to learn how to prepare for different creatures, spells, or rituals? Did he have to learn how to bake certain desserts as acceptable offerings? Did he have to make candles and parchment out of custom materials? Did he have to wear clothes of only very certain materials and dyes? If he got on the bad side of very dangerous creatures, or got himself cursed, how did he negotiate with them or figure out how to solve it? Does some magic only work on humans and not the beings of the forest? What experiences did Ford have regarding dreams and the mindscape? What experiments did Ford try? What technology and engineering did he attempt to etch with runes or control magics with? Did he have to lean more into his artistic skills and make sculptures, weave cloth, knit tapestries?

I don't remember if Hirsch has said anything about the contents of Journal 2 either outside of what we see in the show, and it's been a while since I've read Journal 3 to particularly remember what nods it may have had to Ford's pre-Journal 3 experiences. But there's so much potential! It's SO interesting!

I just completely don't relate at all to people who find these prompts boring just because two of the books basically don't exist. And if you don't like what Hirsch has said about them, then don't use or follow what he said? People always want more creativity about Ford's portal adventures and Stan's first acclimation to the weirdness of Gravity Falls after Ford disappeared, yet people are shutting down at the creative opportunity of these prompts.

There's so many different angles you can approach this stuff from, and I think that's a big part of what makes it fun to think about, personally! It is pretty hard to invent where there is nothing or not much guidance, but I think it is truly worth the attempt! There's nothing wrong with looking up secondary prompts if you need them, whether they're past Forduary/Stanuary/Fiddtober/Maybel/Dipcember/Dipril ones or from events like Funguary/Witchtober/Inktober/Mermay! I do really like how Stanuary has a bingo of additional prompts, and I think such a thing would be cool for Forduary too. I notice some previous years did have various extra prompt ideas.

I'm excited to see what people make, especially for Journal 2! Good luck everyone!! :D

#seren.txt #gravity falls #i feel weird tagging this with forduary #ford tags take my yapping #ford pines #stanford pines #bill cipher

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weirdmarioenemies · 1 year ago

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YOU: Me... from another timeline? What does that even mean? What are you talking about?

YOU FROM ANOTHER TIMELINE: Don't worry. I've brought my union assigned Portable Multiverse Exposition Device precisely for occasions like these.

YOU FROM ANOTHER TIMELINE: Your universe is just one among an infinite number of parallel timelines- each with their own video game character review blogs. We call this cluster of universes...

The WMEverse(pronounced wummyverse).

BURT THE BASHFUL: Wow! If there's such thing as parallel universes, then are there versions of me as well?

YOU FROM ANOTHER TIMELINE: Yes there are. However, your timeline was the source of a great anomaly...

YOU FROM ANOTHER TIMELINE: What was supposed to be a harmless, obscure Super Show character somehow acquired great knowledge... and power. The power to travel through time and space. It used this ability to rip posts from throughout the multiverse for its own wicked gain. Even though it has been defeated... these rifts in space-time pose a great threat to our existence.

SWORM: So if there's infinite universes, that's gotta mean there are other versions of me, right?

YOU FROM ANOTHER TIMELINE: Yes that's right. I had previously thought locating your universe would be an impossible task. However, the defeat of Mecha Slammerobo V in the distant future created enough of a shift in your timeline to be picked up by my detectors.

BURT THE BASHFUL: Wait, so there's infinite versions of me? Like INFINITE infinite?

YOU FROM ANOTHER TIMELINE: Oh my god

YOU FROM ANOTHER TIMELINE: Do you understand why I've come here? You are the one chosen by the Holy Chariot. Without your power there is nothing that I can do. The fate of the WMEverse (pronounced wummyverse) lies in your hands.

YOU: Geez, the fate of the WMEverse? That sounds like a lot of pressure! What do you think, gang?

BURT THE BASHFUL: It'll be alright! We've already been through so much together!

SWORM: Heh, it can't be helped! Guess we're goin' on another adventure, huh?

YOU: You're right! If I'm with you guys, I can do anything!

Let's all go fix some multiversal anomalies!!

#Weirdmarioenemies: The WMEverse Arc

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911coded · 5 months ago

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Tidbit Thursday: Buck and Tommy Fic Notes

tagged by: @chococara25

I was having trouble keeping track of who knows what so I took notes on my own fic and I’m sharing in case anyone is confused. (If anyone has questions, or DID have questions, please let me know, it will help with writing and I can make some changes before I post to AO3!!!)

What Tommy knows by Chapter 7:

He has a neurological link to certain technology (chapter 2)

2. It’s a genetic anomaly (chapter 2)

3.It runs in family lines (chapter 2)

4. Buck met people w/ the gene in Peru (chapter 2)

5. Buck has a strong version of the gene (chapter 2)

6. Gene carriers tend to find each other, are drawn together and have strong emotional connections (ie. platonic, romantic, hatred, though rare) (chapter 2)

7. John “visits” earth (chapter 5)

8. The hum of the tech can be comforting (chapter 5)

9. John carries a piece everywhere he goes (chapter 5)

10. John lives/is based somewhere surrounded by the tech (chapter 5)

11. Tommy Identifies tech from chapter 2 as being for children’s therapy (chapter 5)

12. Everyone with gene is at least bisexual (chapter 5)(NOT meant to imply that gene makes you gay or that anyone gay would have the gene, just that people with the gene tend to be more flexible in who or what they find attractive)(coincidence or not? Not enough known gene carriers for scientific study)

13. Tommy thinks that Buck knew about the tech that he was activating w/o touching and kept it to himself (he’s right) (chapter 5)

14. The gene is alien DNA that was either an experiment on humans or passed on the old fashioned way (chapter 5)

15. There are only 2 city ships left, one on earth (in my head named Terra) and Atlantis (chapter 6)

16. Only Atlantis still has the ability to fly (chapter 6)

17. There were many more, but lost to “great war”, along with Altantis’ fighters (chapter 6)

18. Gene carriers can fly “first ones” ships with their minds (chapter 6)

19. The antarctic base has a voice (chapter 6)

20. The ships consider themselves sisters (chapter 6)

21. The ships want/need more gene carriers (chapter 6)

22. The original expedition is not making them any babies with the gene, or not enough (chapter 6)

23. The city ships know of Buck and want the 2 of them to “come home” (chapter 6)

24. John is considered to be the “first son”, the city-ships credit him with waking them

What Buck knows by Chapter 7:

Something in his new friend’s pocket is talking at him (Peru, pre 911)

2. Now it is trying to instruct him on pickpocketing (Peru, pre 911)

3. Sentient rock? Alien tech? Something really classified? Undetermined. (Peru, pre 911)

4. He should keep in touch with these people, just in case, don’t want to be disappeared by the government, here’s my email 🙂(Peru, pre 911)

5. Buck’s new friends are based at McMurdo? In Antarctica? Ok, sure. (Peru, pre 911)

6. This is all way more important than I thought, there are Generals involved and now they want to talk to Tommy too (chapter 1)

7. Emails sometimes mention “the mountain” (Chapter 3)

8. Colorado Springs + “the mountain” = Cheyenne Mountain, which has the worst cover story ever (Chapter 3)

9. Definitely has something to do with space since Karen the rocket scientist is somewhat aware of it (Chapter 3)

10. (drunk, watching Wormhole X-Treme!) It’s aliens, I’m sure now, still says nothing (Chapter 3)

11. Jack spilled the beans about something classified to Tommy (chapter 4)

12. The base is somewhere on the ocean (chapter 4)

13. Lorne is Air Force and was escorted to the airport and back by a Marine (chapter 5)

14. The base where Parrish and Lorne live is not Cheyenne Mountain (chapter 6)

15. Lorne never did tell him if the broom closet labeled StarPortal Command exists (chapter 6)

16. General Sam Carter is head of HomeWorld Command (chapter 6)

17. Cheyenne Mountain is massive, goes down at least 27 levels, and has identical hallways that are confusing (chapter 6)

18. The thing from Lorne’s pocket was a LSD (Life Signs Detector), he still carries the same one (chapter 6)

19. Not everyone can “hear” the tech the same way (chapter 6)

20. An LSD looks sort of like a game boy color (chapter 6)

21. He has a gene that acts as a key for technology made by an alien race called Alteran, it was passed down to him by one of his ancestors (chapter 6)

22. There is a blood test to determine if you have the gene, though it’s easier to give them a piece of tech and see what happens (chapter 6)

23. Buck finds out the same thing happened to Tommy (chapter 6)

24. The program that they want him to join/work for is called the Stargate Program (chapter 6)

No tags, other than those who want fic updates, it’s been a long week 😟😴

@anangrylittlehobbit @grimmsdead @eliotwaughdeservesbetter

#bucktommy goes to the pegasus galaxy fic #bucktommy #911 abc #tevan #tommy kinard #evan buckley #writing #update?#writing notes #stargate sg 1 #stargate atlantis

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dangerousthingobservation · 7 months ago

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A Lockheed S-3A with its magnetic anomaly detector deployed.

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slowd1ving · 1 year ago

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UNFORTUNATE BACKUP・゜ MIGUEL O'HARA NSFW

It's just you against fate. Unfortunately, it's hell-bent towards pairing you with the most annoying person in existence ever. Medical Researcher/Field Doctor reader, GN but he is used exactly 1 time warnings: nsfw, violence, tension (resolved), degradation wrote this for my friend a while back so it's not my usual style ;; lowkey clueless abt medical stuff so I'm sorry if that's obvious... this would've done numbers here if I actually posted this when itsv came out but as you can tell I just could not be asked if you've seen this before, it was posted to ao3 like a year ago by yours truly!!! wc: 7.5k

MISC. MASTERLIST . 　⁺ MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Maybe it’s fate playing a silly little prank on you when you don’t see Jessica waiting for you at the abandoned Alchemax you’re investigating. Maybe she’s late? You shift from side to side, wishing you brought your insulating suit to combat the frigid wind sweeping through the clearing where you stand.

“Jess?” you hesitantly call out, even though you know it’s utterly foolish to do so when you haven’t even surveyed the surroundings. You can’t help but feel a pang of worry at her absence; it’s only the rustling leaves that answer your call.

“You’re late.” it’s not Jessica’s voice that sounds out from the shadows of the Alchemax entrance. As your eyes struggle to make out who exactly spoke, he steps out into the weak rays of sun. It’s… Miguel? What the fuck is he doing here? Rarely do you ever see him, since the medical research facility is practically a gazillion miles away from his office-cave.

“Sorry,” you try to inject some sincerity into your tone since he’s your superior, but it’s proving difficult when you’re literally on time . You slowly push open the creaky revolving door (which is ridiculously heavy, but you refuse to let him see your struggle).

“While you were taking your sweet time,” Miguel pauses to shoulder the door open with practised ease, ignoring your exasperated sigh. “I already surveyed the building for you.”

Literally nobody asked. You bite back the retort, feeling your face contort into a very impolite expression. Don’t lose your job.

“Thank you,” you force out, surveying the entrance hall with a critical eye and an infrared detector scope. No signs of biological life here, it seems. It’s unusually quiet; normally these facilities are crawling with anomalies and other beings, which is why this is a job for two.

“Where’s Jessica?” you ask offhandedly, following Miguel up the emergency stairs. You don’t want to make conversation with this standoffish man, but anything beats the very awkward feeling in the air. “Have you kidnapped her or something?”

“A comedian,” you can hear him mutter under his breath in annoyance. He doesn’t turn to face you. “She sent me to work with you, since she had something urgent come up back in her home world.”

So she hasn’t just left you for the fun of it. Cool. You don’t say anything in response, choosing to run the objectives of your mission through your mind instead. Find the DNA lab, grab some spider-DNA, then do the same in the pathogen department. Back at base, they’ll be used to drive forward immunity research you’ve been conducting with your colleague.

“The first stop is here,” Miguel informs you curtly, pointing to the frosted glass door in the middle of the corridor. You wordlessly move to gather your specimens, noting how the room is unexpectedly in great condition. The samples are all fresh too, dating only a month back. Great. It’s unusual, but you’ll take it. It’s the same with the virus specimens you’ve managed to get - the Alchemax was probably abandoned very recently.

“Done,” you don’t see the point in trying to be amiable when Miguel clearly isn’t. We’re never going to be buddies.

It’s a very pleasant week that flies past without you seeing him. Even though you’re permanently part of the team, you’re rarely ever assigned an active combat mission since you’re one of the few medics available in the facility. Seriously, why are there so few medical Spiders? Regardless, your line of work means that you won’t be in contact with Miguel any time soon. Or so you hope. But fate likes its silly little jokes.

“They sent you for backup?” the question flies out of Miguel’s mouth when you step out of the portal into the dimly lit streets of Earth-152. A symphony of police sirens and rain splashing onto the pavement is heard in the background; it’s a fitting orchestra for this annoying scene.

“Is there a problem?” your fist clenches around the strap of your medic bag as you fight to keep your frustration at a simmer. It’s not often that you’re called in for backup to tackle such a large-scale anomaly (see: never ), but you’re good with combat and injuries. Objectively, you’re an exemplary ally to have when fighting - is this fool denying that? “Or can I do my job?”

“He’s just worried because it’s a big operation,” Jess interjects from behind you. What a relief. She elbows him from where she sits astride her motorcycle, looking pointedly at him. “ Aren’t you?”

He doesn’t say anything as he turns to look at his wristband, which currently projects what appears to be a map of the area. You ignore the slight, turning to face Jess with your brows furrowed. “Any updates?”

“The target should be appearing within the next few minutes,” she quickly pulls up her own projections to show you a blurry photo of the target. “We’re capturing him alive and heading back to headquarters. Target’s particularly strong, so be careful.”

“Right,” your affirmation is interrupted by incessant red blinking from the map hologram. Your breath catches in your throat at the tantalising prospect of finally fighting. Two streets away. You follow Jess out of the alleyway into the blaring lights of the city, feeling the neon lights soak into your very being . Warm summer rain sluices away all your wariness before your webs propel you to the side of a glass skyscraper.

The target’s nowhere to be found on the roof of the building he’s supposed to be on. Frustration makes itself palpable in the air and you can’t help but feel the dawning horror of apprehension. What’s going on?

“Ambush!” your mouth forms the warning just as you spot several clones of the target emerging on the roof of the building. You’re not sure if Miguel or Jess heard your cry of shock, but you can’t check on either of them as the clones of the target start surrounding you. You can’t afford that; your webs are laced with a potent tranquilizer that makes quick work of those in your immediate vicinity. It’s not enough - the hordes that emerge from your peripherals are surrounding you anyway.

“I’ll take care of these,” Jess’ motorcycle makes quick work of a good portion of the clones - they disintegrate pretty rapidly when hit with the heavy vehicle. “Miguel’s on track to find the main body. It’ll go faster if you also look for it.”

“Right,” you know Jess will be fine; her motorcycle and quick wits will let her tackle this crowd with ease. Find the main body. Your gut tells you it’s not going to be far away. In fact, your senses are urging you to check out the derelict factory a few blocks away. And who are you to ignore them?

“Where are you, where are you,” you mumble to yourself as you swing towards the building. Its imposing structure almost halts you in your tracks, but you know something is lurking within. The angry clouds swirling above don’t make the situation any less menacing, but you ignore the unfortunate weather. No use in shaking in your boots because of some clouds.

Luckily, there’s a row of windows in the shadows of the factory by the roof; it’s an easy objective to lithely creep up the side of the building. There. Concealed within the shadows of rusty machinery is your target, leaning against the wall in a too-casual manner. Before he can spot you, you crawl down until you’re not in view - there, you immediately fire out a call to Miguel from your watch. It’s the first time you’ve ever done so, but the situation calls for it.

“What do you want?” his little hologram’s mask is indented with a sharp annoyance. You should’ve just handled this yourself.

“I’ve found the target,” you retort with whatever venom you can muster. The two of you are colleagues, for fuck’s sake; there’s no use dismissing others like that in the first place. “You can see my location, right?”

“I’ll be there as soon as I finish off this one,” from what you can see, he appears to be fighting a different enemy, judging from the sharp slashing you can faintly make in the background. “Stay exactly where you are until I arrive. Don’t engage in combat.”

“Sure, sarge,” you end the call with your annoyance slowly brimming over the edge. Who knows how long it’ll be before he finishes off that other enemy? You peer back into the factory, intending to continue your little reconnaissance. Your blood runs cold at the view down below. There’s nobody there, not a whisper of a soul down in the depths of those shadows.

“Looking for me?” you almost jump out of your skin when a cheerful voice calls out from below. It’s the target, who’s somehow managed to make his way to the side of the factory you’re currently balanced on.

“Don’t do that,” you spring down to the ground so you can come face to face with the target, clutching your bag to your side. The orders not to engage are still fresh in your mind, but you can’t exactly ignore the situation, can you?

“So, uh,” you begin, noticing the way he leans into the space between you two slightly. Diffuse the situation. Stay calm. His suit is almost as dark as the night itself, and it catches your eye with how it thrums like shaken ink. “Any chance you’ll give up peacefully?”

You already know the answer when he laughs mirthfully, with his head thrown back in sharp amusement. You can almost taste the forceful no that’s about to leave his lips.

“You’re funny,” his razor-edged smile lacks any sort of laughter as he regains his composure. You brace yourself. “But no.”

And you’re ready, ready for the swift kick that comes flying your way. You easily move out of the way, while quickly slinging a web his way - it only scrapes by his upper arm, unfortunately, but it still has the potential to affect him somewhat. Concentrate. The fight will only last a few minutes at worst; it’s absolutely crucial to keep a clear mind.

You alternate between throwing calculated jabs and webs designed to trap opponents to create a perfect feint and secure yourself an opening. One second. One second to carefully strike a tranquilizer web directly at the shirt under his suit. You don’t want to touch whatever makes up that shifting suit. What is it?

That question is answered immediately as clones start emerging from its shadows. Shit. You can see why the guy’s taking so long to be captured; it’s incredibly troublesome when he’s got a whole legion of clones available.

You don’t hesitate.

Steeling yourself, you fire a tranquilizer web straight at him while sending a kick to his side so he evades it right into your line of fire. The web lands on his cheek, which is an excellent target for the tranquilizer to work its wondrous magic. He’s out cold within a second or so. Perfect . It leaves you with plenty of time to ponder how you’re going to explain to Miguel that you’ve (unintentionally!) disobeyed orders within the humongous timespan of ten seconds.

He doesn’t keep you waiting long.

“What did you think I meant when I said to not engage?” Miguel’s annoyance seeps into the air when he sees you standing over the unconscious clone-man.

“It was self-defense,” you argue, holding your hands up in mock-surrender. He’s clearly sceptical with the way his eyes swivel from the knocked-out target on the floor back to you. “Play it back on the watch!”

“Jessica, he’s been apprehended,” Miguel speaks into his watch briefly, before putting his arm back down. It's an uncomfortable feeling; you don’t think you’ve ever been the subject of such an intense, scrutinising glare.

“You did take out the trouble,” he finally admits grudgingly; it feels like somewhat of an accomplishment. Somewhat. “Do a better job of following orders next time.”

You fight the urge to mutter expletives under your breath.

It’s the same song and dance for the next month; fate can’t help but assign you as backup to Miguel’s missions, though it’s strictly limited to medic duties in case someone fucks up. It’s unpleasant - his criticisms of your actions slowly wear down your absolutely bottomless patience like coarse-grit sandpaper pretty quickly.

You wouldn’t call the next mission a fuck up; it can only really be described as an absolute calamity when you step out into the mayhem. It’s an incessant cacophony of blaring sirens and pure carnage - from what you can gather, a gaping abyss is swallowing the buildings above where it’s situated. It’s a disaster.

It’s not really a surprise then, when Miguel forces his way onto the hologram projection on your watch to move you elsewhere, your nerves are frayed.

“Shut the fuck up,” you spit out, scribbling out a list of equipment for an unfortunate intern to bring from the medical facility. You pray what you carry is enough to quench the insatiable hunger of injuries. “Let me do my goddamn job for once.”

You hang up; etiquette be damned in this haze of smoke and debris. Thankfully, there’s no fatalities recorded after the sinkhole is stabilised. On the other hand, the infirmary is going to be very lively for the next week. The movement of your hands can only be described as frenzied with how efficiently you patch up the countless injuries on site - there’s an ever growing mountain of sanguine gauze building up beside you.

It’s only a few hours later that you’re finally allowed a reprieve. You trudge back to the medical facility where one of your few colleagues who’s actually finished training is running around haggardly to care for the incoming patients.

“Can you patch up O’Hara?” he nervously asks you, while you feel your bones wither away. You meet his pleading gaze impassively. “He’s been refusing medical treatment from any of the available interns, and you’re the only one who doesn’t crack under that pressure.”

You want to say no. Your mind’s practically begging you to refuse so you can have him out of mind for some time. But looking upon that pathetically pitiful countenance of your colleague, your resolve softens. This man will wilt like a goddamn cabbage if Miguel so much as exhales sharply.

“Fine,” you concede with a look of defeat; it’s almost horrendous with how quickly he beams at you.

“After, your shift’s over,” he calls out after you as you grab some ointment, gauze and other essentials. You’re unclear as to how Miguel was injured exactly, but your gut tells you it’s probably just some shallow injuries if he hasn’t been coerced by Jess into coming to the infirmary. Just do the job. You should’ve kept your Spidersuit on below your regular clothes; yet the prospect of sinking into bed right after you treat your last patient far outweighs the vulnerability you feel.

It’s not exactly a short walk to where Miguel’s room is situated, but the concept of time is one that’s chased away by the sinking feeling in your stomach. It goes by too fast. You really should’ve just refused. Here goes nothing.

Surely you’ll be turned away immediately after you knock? Surely you’ll be able to go back to your own room and forget this ever happened? Surely fate will smile down upon you for once?

Fate truly is a fickle being.

Your knock on his door is almost immediately answered by an exasperated “ Come in.” You suppress your own exasperated groan as you recognize Miguel’s voice. Cradling the bag of medical supplies in your arm, you shove the door open with your shoulder. It’s dark - which you’d expect - but it still takes a while for your eyes to adjust to the sight-

Rapid heartbeats resound in the back of your head as you make out Miguel’s dim figure sitting on the edge of his bed. His suit is rolled up around his waist, leaving his torso completely bare. Your blood is practically beating up your veins with how quickly it races around your body. What the everloving fuck . The resounding question you have is answered by the dim glow of a syringe in his hands - it’s not exactly a secret that Miguel’s not just a human bitten by a radioactive spider, but it’s the first time you’ve ever witnessed a tangible instant of it.

“It’s you,” he doesn’t move to cover up with a scandalous gasp, but rather stares you down impassively. Who was he expecting? “What do you want?”

“To dress those wounds like I’ve been told to,” you stare right back at him, refusing to let your eyes be cowed into avoiding that gaze. You don’t budge, you don’t shift from foot to foot; your stance is staunchly planted onto the floor of his room. You can faintly see some nasty-looking gashes that look like they were caused by debris, as well as shallow lacerations that were undoubtedly made by a weapon.

“I’m fine,” he dismisses you, but you can see the shiny skin surrounding some of the injuries. You can’t even feel the resentment that you would normally - if that becomes infected, it’s not your problem.

“Those might get infected,” you point out, though you don’t really know what’s prompting you to argue in favour of spending more time with him. “I’ll be done in less than ten minutes.”

You suppose that noncommittal grunt is a concession to your superior logic. He stares at you wordlessly as you approach him; he’s rarely ever seen you without your mask and suit, you realise. Silence. Well, it would be silent if it weren’t for your heart desperately pounding away, so much so that you swear even he can hear it. You carefully put your bag down onto the floor.

He doesn’t hiss or pull away as the antiseptic-covered cloth runs over the gashes; the imperceptible stare that’s on you is disconcerting, to say the very least. He’s cold to touch, even through the thin disposable gloves you’ve donned. It doesn’t fully hit you that you’re touching Miguel’s shoulders and upper chest without getting your head bitten off. Absolutely shocking.

Those gashes beneath his collarbone aren’t as nasty as they looked underneath all the dried blood - he’s not going to need any stitches, so you can just slap gauze and medical tape over those bad boys and let the platelets do their job. It’s getting increasingly hard to concentrate on the next set of injuries when you can feel the warm air of his breathing near your neck. Shit . Your eyes hone in on what your hands are doing; it’s not enough to distract you from his burning gaze on you.

“The front’s done,” you pull back, only now noticing you’ve been standing between his goddamn legs . It’s a miracle your voice doesn’t shake at the revelation, but you’re sure that he can hear the deafening way your heart is beating. Say something. Anything. The silence is all too unnerving.

“There’s some cuts on my back as well,” he finally says after you’ve surveyed your work and start opening your bag to find the bio-waste disposal bags. You pause. You suppress the urge to rub your hands together maniacally.

“Alright, turn around,” you laugh internally at the absurdity of the situation - he does nothing but spout frustration at you, yet there are no complaints or criticisms escaping him as he turns around obediently. It’s not a full turn; the angle of his turned back invites you to take a seat beside him on the mattress. Woah there.

You wait a second or so before realising that, yes, he’s waiting for you to sit down and isn’t actually going to bite your head off for doing so. It’s extremely surreal to sink into the firm mattress beside him; you doubt anyone’s made it this far in this goddamn cave . It’s even more surreal feeling the wisps of body heat brushing against you from the thighs still covered in his Spidersuit: a sharp contrast to his cool torso.

Be professional. Your eyes skim over the various scrapes littering his shoulders, and fortunately, all of them just need a quick wipedown and a plaster. It’s a lot easier to daub the antiseptic on without his gaze on him; that is, until you become slightly enraptured by the way his muscles tense (almost imperceptibly) at the sting of the antiseptic. You’re not as smooth as you wish, fumbling the packet of plasters while you revel in the fact his gaze is elsewhere.

“Almost done,” you reassure him after he tenses up slightly after you brush your fingers over your handiwork on his lower spine. Can he feel the way your pulse is absolutely electrified right now? You don’t even like him, but the proximity might just send you into cardiac arrest.

“It’s fine,” his tone is slightly strained. You raise your eyebrows, but ultimately ignore it in favour of patching up those last few cuts.

“Done,” you try not to sound too regretful. You hate the way your heart’s beating more and more rapidly; it takes everything in you to quickly gather your materials and stand up from the bed.

“Thanks,” the begrudging gratitude that comes out from him forces you to look back at him wordlessly. You take the time to search his face with your eyes, noting the slight sheen of sweat on his face. Is he…

“Are you running a fever?” the question escapes your lips as you move closer, whilst the medical supplies are unceremoniously dumped onto a side table. Your hand carefully places itself on his forehead (paying no heed to the very close proximity of his teeth). There’s no actual heat radiating from him, but the way he’s currently looking at you with that half-lidded gaze is making you feel like the delirious one. Why isn’t he saying anything?

Say something.

The back of your hand slowly moves away from his face, but you freeze as your wrist is grasped by his hand. What is he… His skin is cold, but the prickles left behind on your wrist are burning and spreading all over your body. You’re not breathing; you’re waiting for his next move.

“You are so frustrating,” he says through gritted teeth - though it lacks any of the usual bite that’s present. He speaks! You can feel his little angry exhale on your hand from where he’s holding it near his face. You still haven’t moved away, instead choosing to observe the way his facial muscles contort into an expression of fervid displeasure. “To think you’d have such an effect..”

The last part is muttered under his breath, as if you weren’t the intended recipient, but you hear it clear as day. What effect? The heavy implication creeps up inside your mind; it wriggles its way through the cracks in your composure. Surely he didn’t mean it that way, right? Surely you’re just annoying? You can feel your breathing get more shallow as his gaze flickers back up to your face - it searches ravenously, focusing on each feature as if it were a long awaited oasis in the arid desert.

His hand lets go carefully - it’s so unlike his usual brash movements that you almost laugh. Yet, once you’re free from his hold, you don’t make any move to leave again; it’s truly a strange magnetic effect you’re enveloped in. The carmine glow of monitors in the corner of the room is the only weak illumination in the room (it’s making the situation feel way too intimate in your opinion).

“Do you want me to stay?” your words escape your lips in a hushed voice. You can’t help but feel the addictive thrum of confidence pulse through your veins, your very capillaries . Maybe the unidentifiable emotion roiling within his eyes isn’t an avid dislike of you? You don’t know why you offered. You’re not sure if you even want to know. Still, you can’t help but feel prickles of curiosity at whatever’s making him so flustered.

Do you know the implications of your offer?

“Do I want you to stay..” his repetition of your question might’ve seemed mocking at any other time, yet the unusual hushed cadence begs to differ. Anticipation. That’s what’s keeping you rooted in place for fear of disturbing this unfolding scene. You’ve never seen him like this - it’s a delicate balance your heart is begging for you not to destroy.

“After I let you put your hands all over me, and you’re asking if I want you to stay?” he leans slightly closer towards you - you’re extremely glad he’s still sitting and not absolutely looming over you like the tower he is. You can feel your erratic heartbeat pulsate through your entire being at his words. It’s getting incredibly hard to think when anticipation in your stomach gives in to the rising swell of desire.

“You’re yet to be put in your place, and you’re asking if I want you to stay?” you feel a shiver run through your body at his proximity, yet you’re the one leaning into him now. You’re so close you can feel his breath fan over your neck; it’s the only part of his body that’s remotely warm, so much so that it’s absolutely scorching you. Or maybe it’s the white-hot blood you can feel blossoming on your face.

His cold hand ghosts over your chin, tilting your face down with nothing more than a brush of his thumb. Please. Your breath catches in your throat as you watch the muscles of his face contort into a slight smile.

“Do you want this?” his brows furrow slightly. A question. Your veins already thrum with the answer.

“ Yes ,” you respond, feeling both your brain and heart work together to cheer you on for once. This better not be a dream . You can see the flash of teeth as he smiles, before you’re roughly pulled onto his lap. It’s actually comfortable to straddle his thighs, you note, but you can’t exactly focus on that anymore when he draws you into a searing kiss.

He tastes of the coppery tang of blood. It’s the first thing you notice as he slots his mouth against yours. The second thing you notice is how impatient he is, probing at your lip with his fangs while simultaneously pressing you up closer and closer until you’re practically melting into him. You don’t miss a beat; you snake your hands into his hair until they’re buried in the thick brown waves. Your fingers slightly pull at the back, and he lets out a small groan into your mouth at the sensation.

Sharp fangs graze your lower lip ever so slightly, but the pain is immediately alleviated by his tongue running over the cut. He’s sucking on it - evidently, there’s some blood left behind (or maybe even traces of the venom coursing through those fangs). His little pleased hum reverberates within you; you find yourself being flustered more by that than the way he’s rubbing circles into your thigh with his thumb.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he says in a low voice after the two of you pull apart for air. The string of saliva connecting your lips to his is tinted a rich sanguine; the bridge linking the two of you is entrancing, right before it breaks. His words set your very veins ablaze.

“ Please ,” you don’t even know what you’re pleading for , only that the pace is far too slow for your liking. It seems he feels the same way, since his face dips lower so his mouth can settle on your neck. He’s careful not to fully sink his teeth into your skin, instead choosing to lightly skim them over your pulse points to elicit small gasps out of you. Your hands grasp and twist so he’s pressed closer and closer into you. It’s strange - you never thought that he’d be the one to coax such a reaction out of you.

“Desperate, aren’t we?” you can feel the infuriating bastard curl his lips upwards as he sucks marks you know aren’t going to fade for days into the side of your neck. The mocking lilt of his question makes all the blood rush straight down - it’s unfair how unbearable he’s being. Your nails are no doubt leaving marks of their own as you let your hands roam the vast expanse of his back.

Almost involuntarily, your hips move to gain a semblance of any relief, any friction, but the firm grip of his hand on your thigh prevents you from doing even that. You hiss as his sharp nails dig into the skin (if you get tetanus you’re officially suing).

“What a pathetic little slut,” he coos into your ear; he can definitely hear the way your breath hitches at his harsh tone. You can’t even bring yourself to respond. “Getting turned on from a few kisses?”

Fuck .

You can’t even deny it; instead, you turn your head to the side as if you can escape his prying eyes with your embarrassment. It’s futile. You know he can feel your racing pulse against his lips as he once again presses them to the side of your jaw to coax small sounds out of you.

“I bet you could get off with just my thigh like the filth you are,” his words drip condescendingly, but you can barely hear him over the pounding heartbeat in the back of your head. You furiously bite back the whine that’s emerging from your throat from his fleeting touches. “Will you?”

“Fuck, Miguel,” you choke out as he moves one of his legs away so you’re completely pressed against his thigh.

“Get yourself off,” he utters, seemingly bored, but you both know he’s anything but from the way his eyes gaze intently at you. “But first..”

A quick, experimental swipe of his claw-like nails leaves your plain shirt neatly cleaved in two. So impatient . You can’t say that you’ll miss it, but still. You pull the shirt off, until your torso is just as exposed as his. His gaze sweeps over you ravenously. Then, he leans back onto the bed with his elbows propping him up so he can enjoy the show. What a bastard .

You bite back a groan as your hips stutter forward; the friction is already causing that sensation in your stomach to build up, even if it’s barely anything. It’s probably due Miguel’s eyes raking over you with tightly restrained desire. You don’t miss the way his eyelids lower and he looks away for a brief instant as you keep your eyes trained right on him. The tightness of your pants does absolute miracles to fill your mind with a pleasure-induced haze, so much so that you’re leaning forward and putting your hands on the curves of his waist (as if they were handlebars) to steady yourself.

You can go slow without losing out on the mind-numbing friction you’re experiencing - the absolute pressure is slowly driving you to that brink without you having to even try. Still, you can’t help but feel a small gnawing trickle of disappointment; will this end this soon? You push it out of your mind as you continue moving against his thigh - that haze you’re in is too powerful to worry too much about the what-ifs. You succumb to the pleasure, slowly, but surely.

It’s almost comical as that pleasant haze is snatched away. Even with heightened reflexes, you barely process the swiftness with which Miguel sits up and somehow manoeuvres you so your back is sinking into the sheets of his bed. You can’t help but cry out in disappointment.

“You thought I’d let you fall apart so easily?” he’s practically purring with that vexing smile on his face - you almost prefer his permanent scowl to this smug expression. Still, being manhandled by him makes your heart drum louder than ever in your ears. “After your constant misconduct ? Open your mouth, whore.”

You open your mouth obediently, and he lets out a pleased hum. You instinctively know what he’s about to do, so it’s not a surprise when he lets a thick string of spit fall into your mouth. You swallow, noticing how his eyes trace over your throat with barely suppressed lust.

“ Please ,” you choke out, helpless with your wrists pinned to either side of your head. You can hear a dry little chuckle sound out from him.

“Speak up,” he leans in closer to practically spit the words out. A slight shiver runs through you when his breath ghosts over your ear. “What does the little slut want me to do to him?”

It’s so utterly laughable; his words make you so goddamn pliant in his hands.

“I want you in me,” you don’t miss how his body tenses at your bold request. The curve of his throat bobs when he swallows thickly.

“I’m going to ruin you,” he promises quietly. His head dips low to trail a path down your chest with his mouth - you know you’ll be absolutely covered in marks by the time he’s done with you, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You revel in his touch. You lean into him like a goddamn moth to flame.

With a swift tug, he pulls down the elastic band of your pants (you thank whatever’s above that they’re spared the same treatment as your shirt). You’re left shivering as his mouth travels to mark up your thighs - he’s practically burning bruises into you at this point.

Dim red lighting washes over every sharp crevice and line on his face. The sight before you eases the frustration building at the agonizingly slow pace he’s setting. More . It’s as if he’s heard your silent plea; before you know it, one of his fingers slips past your underwear and enters you, coated in what feels to be lube. Fuck . A drawn out string of muttered expletives escapes your lips as he continues at his slow pace.

“Are you frustrated?” he mocks, resting the side of his head on your inner thigh as he languidly moves his finger. That prick knows it’s not enough; he’s inviting you to beg for it. It’s humiliating, but you can’t bring yourself to care as desperation pools in your stomach.

“Faster, please -” your words cut off with a strangled moan as he pushes another finger in easily. Your hand desperately grasps his hair to ground yourself, earning a reverberating groan against your inner thigh. Fervently, you pray those walls of his are soundproof; the obscene noises coming from both your mouth and between your legs fill up the room quickly.

His composure seems to be rapidly slipping as well, judging by how his enthralled gaze is focused on how you’re taking his fingers. His chest is rising and falling erratically, and his eyes flicker between your lowered eyes and where you’re pulling him in greedily. As soon as you increase in volume, he pulls his fingers out, leaving you so unbearably empty .

The next thing you notice is the neon red ropes that buzz with static energy trussing your wrists up - it can only be his handiwork, though you’ve never been this close to those unusual red webs. You don’t question it; instead, you’re rapt watching Miguel, who’s hooking his fingers around the bunched up material around his waist, and pulling it down ever so slowly as if he’s putting on a show for you. Maybe he is , considering his eyes are right on you and watching your expression with an underlying smugness as you take the sight in.

He’s blocking out the vermillion glow of those monitors, practically towering over you and making you swallow nervously thinking about how exactly you’re going to take him. That worry pushes its way into the back of your mind as you decide you don’t particularly care when he’s haloed by that lighting as if he were an angel.

He looks like he’s relishing your reaction when he pulls his underwear off; after all, he’s suppressing that dry, mirthful laugh at your widened stare. You can’t help it - he’s massive . You’re enraptured by the small hiss he lets out at the coldness of the lube as he pumps himself, knowing very well he’s just as entertained as you.

“Scared you won’t be able to take it?” he challenges, parting your legs easily with the faintest pressure of his claws digging into your thighs. His pupils are completely blown out with lust; they’re honed in on you completely as if he were hunting you down. “Like you weren’t desperately fucking yourself on my fingers a minute ago?”

He cages you easily: too easily. You’re so malleable for him already, and he hasn’t even begun. Your wrists are starting to feel deliciously numb from the low buzz of his crimson web, and you can feel your breathing start to accelerate.

“ Please , Miguel,” whatever scraps of dignity remaining in you aren’t enough to stop you from begging him to do anything . “I can take it.”

And whatever self-control he’s been displaying (hardly any) up to this point swiftly dissipates as he leans in to swallow the moan that emerges when he finally puts the tip in. He’s still moving all too slowly, but the stretch is making up for it. A low whine escapes your throat as he presses in, and you’re teetering between pain and pleasure.

“Thought you said you could take it,” he lets out an amused exhale into your mouth, not going any deeper to accustom you to the burn. “And I’m only halfway.”

You rock your hips into his and revel in his groans, prompting him to slowly bottom out. Holy fuck . It’s enough to make your mind blur with a foggy haze at the absolute fullness he’s causing. He’s clearly enjoying himself, or at least, his expression is contorted into one of sharp amusement.

“Faster,” you urge him on. He can feel your wanting in every arrhythmic breath you take.

“So desperate,” he groans out as you roll your hips to generate any friction. His chest dips down until it’s pressing up against your bound wrists, only adding to that sharp pressure building in your stomach. “I bet you just want to be used like a degenerate toy.”

Please .

He doesn’t allow you time for thought at all when he starts moving; his pace is unrelenting and brutal, forcing noises so obscene out of you that you’re praying for whatever next-door neighbour he might have. The snap of his hips into yours is slowly building up that aching pleasure, and your back slowly arches so he can target that particular spot better.

You’re very rapidly unravelling, even more so when he bites down into your shoulder. The pain coursing through your veins swiftly devolves into pleasure. You can already taste the blissful wave that’s steadily approaching you.

His movements become more sloppy as he becomes more vocal at the way you’re taking him. It’s incredibly attractive to watch that carnal desire overtake him.

“Look at you, taking me so well,” he praises, digging into the sides of your shoulders with his claws. It goes straight to your pleasure-addled mind, even more so when you hear the wet sounds of skin on skin resounding through the room. “Like a personal fucktoy, don’t you think?”

You can’t even say anything in response, wrapping your legs tightly around him so he can reach even deeper than he has. The overwhelming urge to let go is building up quickly in your stomach, and that heat is climbing all over your skin and mind.

"Fuck, I’m gonna-” you choke out as Miguel angles your hips down with one hand, pressing into just the right spot. He swallows your cries as your mind goes completely blank with pleasure, still moving into you as you reach that climax. His movements draw that euphoric state out for as long as possible, before the waves of pleasure become overwhelming for your fatigued mind.

“Miguel-” your whine is broken off as he moves into an upright position, digging his claws into your hips as he keeps moving against them.

“You didn’t think we were done, did you?” he asks mockingly, wiping up a tear leaking from your eye with the rough pad of his thumb. You succumb to the touch, taking him in all his entirety. Your gaze trails from the frustrated lines on his face, lower, to the rivulets of your cum splattered on his lower abdomen, and finally to where he’s staring, completely enraptured. The breath in your throat hitches as you observe the bulge in your stomach fading and reappearing in time with his thrusts. “I’m not stopping until you fulfil your purpose.”

You feel a trickle of trepidation as he pulls back so only the tip remains in you.

“What are you-” you trail off, noticing the way his lips curl in anticipation. Oh god . Surely, he won’t-

“Getting myself off,” his lethal smile is the most foreboding one you’ve ever seen, before he slams his hips into yours. It hits that sweet spot instantly and you cry out pathetically. He’s got you seeing the very galaxies with how numbed your mind feels. Distantly, you can feel tears of pleasure swimming down the sides of your face, and his own groans of pleasure.

He pulls back again, leaving you empty once more, and repeats his earlier motion. You’re practically broken over his dick, but the waves of pleasure aren’t letting up any time soon. It seems the sensations are also getting to him; his powerful movements are slowly becoming sloppier by the second.

“Want me to cum in you, like the slut you are?” Miguel groans out, coming more and more undone. His question makes you tighten around him, which earns you another breathy exhale. “Getting turned on by the very thought of me breeding you?”

“ Fuck , yes,” you cry out involuntarily. You can feel your heartbeat pulsing its rapid beat in your stomach as he fills you up again and again. His grip on your thighs is slipping as he messily fucks into you. Obscene squelching noises fill up the room, but you’re too far gone again to care if the whole goddamn building hears the two of you.

You can feel him desperately trying to maintain any sort of grip of control as his hips snap into yours fervently. Over and over, he repeats your name in a chorus as if it’s his lifeline. That aching feeling in your stomach is slowly returning, ardently wanting him to continue his unforgiving pace.

With a start, you realise the binds on your wrists have dissolved due to his wavering concentration. Immediately, your hands wind their way around his back to steady yourself, scratching harsh marks into the muscles. He lets out a wanton groan at the sharp sensation; his breaths are coming faster and faster, and you know he’s close.

Your fingers thread upwards through his hair to pull him into you. He breathlessly kisses you, though it’s more a desperate clash of teeth than anything. His lips part slightly in pleasure and he stiffens minutely. Got him .

You swallow all the noises he’s making, feeling hot spurts of his cum paint your insides. He doesn’t stop��moving ; it’s as if he’s making sure not a single drop is wasted. He rides out the high by pulling you ever closer to press against his body. The shuddering halt of his hips against yours lets you know the fatigue’s taken over him, but he doesn’t stop kissing you, and he doesn’t pull out either.

The salty taste of sweat is prominent on your tongue when you drag it across the skin of his neck, leaving your own marks as a petty form of revenge. He lets out a sharp exhale, but doesn’t protest as he lets you roll him over so that you’re lying on top of him, connected nonetheless. The movement makes him whine , on the other hand, which you know you’re never going to forget.

“Fuck,” you mumble against his skin, feeling him shift to gaze down upon your head that’s propped on his chest. “You are so lucky I don’t have any shifts tomorrow.”

Your head moves up and down on his chest as he lets out a tired laugh. Wincing, you prop yourself up on your palms so you can sit up and pull yourself off him. He groans lightly at the change, but you attempt to ignore it.

Carefully, you rise to your knees with a pang of regret at the loss of him in you. When you look at him, he’s visibly entranced by the combined rivulets of fluids streaming from between your legs, as if he’s asking if he really did all that.

“You can, uh, use my shower,” he offers, sounding extremely unapologetic. “And stay the night if you want.”

You don’t respond immediately, instead choosing to lean into his touch as he rubs small circles into your thighs. A pressing question emerges in your mind, however.

“Do you always sleep with your doctors?”

#miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #x reader #into the spider verse #itsv #res ･ﾟ writing #across the spiderverse #atsv #slowd1ving

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