#WHY DO YOU HAVE TO CAUSE EMOTIONAL DAMAGE TO ME | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wttcsms · 1 year

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diesel is desire (we were playing with fire) ; sebastian sallow

pairing sebastian sallow x f!reader word count 4k synopsis sebastian sallow is a good friend. so good, in fact, that when you find yourself under the ungodly influence of a lust potion, he's willing to help give you some relief. content contains seventh year au, dubcon (under the influence of lust potion), darker take on seb's character lol <3, breeding kink, creampie, possessive!sebastian, possessive sex, virginity loss, babytrapping

“Why did you go out of your way to avoid me?”

An accusatory voice momentarily breaks you free from the overwhelming feelings you were struggling to deal with, but the voice is too familiar.

The source? Sebastian Sallow — a very disappointed Sebastian Sallow, which after two years of friendship (and the lingering what-if of becoming something more), you’re able to identify as a Sebastian that you would much rather not be dealing with. Particularly because, try as hard as he might, he’s rather prone to saying harsh things and treating you unkindly whenever he gets into one of his moods. The hurt expression on his face is barely concealed by the scowl that mars his otherwise handsome features.

Don’t think about how handsome he is!

Instead of replying to him, you’re quick to turn your head to the side, trying to focus on the curtain that separates your cot from the others in the infirmary. It’ll do no good to engage with Sebastian right now — not whenever the reason you’ve been compelled to check yourself in to the school nurse is purely because you’re not sure if you have enough self-control to stop yourself from literally ripping his robes off of him.

But it’s not like you can tell him all that. Lying would be preferable, if only Sebastian wasn’t so attuned to you and every single one of your tells. If you attempted lying to him, who knows what more damage you would cause? Then again, blatantly ignoring him also seems equally dangerous, especially with how quick to irritate he’s been lately. Ever since you witnessed him literally murdering his uncle, the relationship between the two of you has grown stronger — being practically partners in crime will do that to a friendship — but also more… volatile. The charming fifth-year you met on your first day of school still remains, but you have long since realized that there’s more to him than meets the eye.

On the surface, he’s nothing but affable. Maybe a bit of a rebellious streak, but it’s all in good nature. In the beginning, it was fun being with him. Exciting, even. Then you started following him on the dark path he paved all by himself, and before you could realize that you were in too deep, it had already been too late to turn around. Now, the seventh-year boy standing by your cot seems so different from the one who lives on only in your memories.

“Don’t ignore me.” He means to make the words come out sharp, irritated. It resembles more of a plea than anything, and you shut your eyes, willing him to leave. It must be all in your head, but you swear you can smell the familiar scent of him: cool mint mixed with the light musk of whatever cologne he’s been favoring since the fifth year.

“Sebastian, I’m not feeling very well.” You mumble, hoping it’ll be enough to get him to leave you alone. It’s not a lie. You aren’t feeling great whatsoever. Not even the nurse, bless her heart, can figure out what’s become of you. She gave you a pitying look and an almost amused smile as she explained that — in her words — sexual urges are very normal for girls your age.

If your body wasn’t already overheating, you’re certain your cheeks would have instantly turned hot from sheer embarrassment.

“Well, why wouldn’t you tell me that instead of abandoning me the whole entire day?” Sebastian is many things with different people. With you, he is both guarded and vulnerable. Some days, when you’re not feeling your best, his emotions versus his actions can give you whiplash. He has the audacity to say something like that all the while, he sounds absolutely tortured over the fact that he had to go eight hours without your presence.

As if realizing the harshness of his attitude, he softens his tone as he asks, “Are you feeling any better?”

You had gone to the Great Hall before him because you needed to review your History of Magic notes before the test today. All you had was a bit of pumpkin juice and toast, and all had been well until you started feeling warm underneath your robes and sweater. As the heat began to travel through your body, you found it hard to concentrate on your notes. Not because of the heat, but because of the many thoughts swirling around in your head. Flashes of Sebastian that started innocently enough and quickly morphed into daydreams of him without his uniform. Sebastian with his hair messed up from the way your fingers tugged at the strands as he satiated his thirst with the juices flooding between your legs. Sebastian who would prioritize your pleasure over his and could make you cum multiple times before even thinking about getting his dick wet. Sebastian—

—who you share most of your classes with!

You knew right then and there that something had to be wrong with you. Sure, you’ve thought about him sometimes, but never to that degree. And certainly never at seven in the morning over breakfast and history notes.

That’s how you ended up lying in a cot in the infirmary, trying your hardest to ignore the intrusive thoughts of Sebastian fucking you ‘til you can’t walk anymore.

“No.” You practically moan out the word, and you’re hoping to play it off as just you being a baby about being “sick”.

You don’t expect him to turn your head so that you’re staring up at the ceiling, and you certainly don’t expect him to press the back of his hand against your forehead. His hands are cold, but surprisingly enough, it brings you some sort of relief from the fever that has seemingly overtaken your body. You bite back another moan.

“You’re burning up.” Gone is his attitude. Instead, it’s been replaced by your favorite Sebastian — the kind, caring one. The one that resembles the boy you first met. Sometimes, his care can be suffocating, but when you find yourself craving nothing but him and his touch, you don’t mind his invasion of your personal space at all. “Are there any other side effects? Does your throat hurt? Stomach? Tell me what’s the matter.”

You know how Sebastian must feel when it comes to people he cares about falling ill. His sister has only made him more paranoid about the severity of sickness and curses, and the concern and fear etched upon his face makes your hardened resolve of keeping the sordid details of your affliction to yourself melt away.

“Don’t laugh…” You warn him, but your voice seems so small and maybe even a little scared that his expression turns even more serious.

“Never.”

“I think… I think something happened to me. A charm…” You’re careful to dance around the word curse, lest Sebastian accidentally blows up the whole entire infirmary due to his emotional state. “I just feel very hot. And, um, I think the only relief would be to—”

You can’t even say it. You can barely even explain it since you don’t really know what’s happening either.

“I’mfeelingverysexuallyfrustratedandIhavenomeansofrelief!”

The two of you know that you’re never going to repeat that phrase ever again, and you’re practically near tears after that little confession.

“Oh.” He says, as if this is nothing more than a simple, casual conversation and not the most humiliating situation ever. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Be-because it’s embarrassing!” Has he really no shame? Who would willingly admit that out loud?

“You know, I’ve heard rumors of some sixth-years trying to pull pranks by spiking the juices with love potions. Just really gimmicky concoctions, truly. Nothing too severe. Hmm… You must have a sensitivity to it, though.” Sebastian’s musings do nothing to bring you reassurance. If anything, it just makes you want to hide. If the universe is truly kind, a sinkhole will emerge from nowhere and swallow you whole. Yes, that sounds lovely right now.

Instead, the universe is sick, because what else could explain Sebastian telling you,

“If it’s relief you need, I’d be happy to help.”

Sebastian is many things to you — a dear friend, a confidant, a literal partner in crime — but none of those things involve him having sex with you, even if the offer only came from some odd sense of duty.

And that’s what this is, isn’t it? He probably feels indebted to you since the fifth-year. Maybe even anxious, too. You could expose him at any given moment, and maybe that’s why he’s been so keen on attaching himself to your side ever since. This is a humiliating predicament to be in, and Sebastian doesn’t seem like the type to kiss and tell — considering that you don’t even know the names of girls he’s been with before is evidence.

Besides, you’re only feeling incredibly needy for one person. You can accept his offer, but you’re certainly not going to let him know the truth: that only he is the one who can help you.

“Don’t be embarrassed.” His cool hand is now cupping your face, thumb brushing against your cheekbone in an almost gentle manner. Sweet Sebastian is making an appearance, perhaps to try to put you at ease. You like this Sebastian. “Just let me take care of you.”

When the haze of lust clears from your sex-addled mind, the rush of consequences will burden and crush your very conscience.

Fortunatenly enough, consequences are clearly the last thing on your mind.

It would appear that the only thing you can truly focus on is Sebastian and what his idea of ‘taking care of you’ is.

The Sebastian staring greedily at you is an unfamiliar Sebastian. You’ve become accustomed to the many variations of himself: Angry Sebastian, who says the most vile things out of spite and usually misguided anger; Remorseful Sebastian, who is quick to grovel (he’s quite good at groveling, really) and wants nothing more than to be back in your good graces; Happy Sebastian, although there are variations upon this very variation — the trick to seeing whether he’s pseudo-happy or not is all in his smile (the fake one is eerily perfect, the real one is crooked and a rarity). This Sebastian, though…

Hungry.

The word doesn’t quite explain the dark glint in his eyes or the way his hands are almost reverently stroking your body. Your skin felt so, so hot just a few minutes ago — then again, just a few minutes ago, you still had your school jumper and blouse neatly intact. Now, you’re laid practically bare, prey to Sebastian’s more-than predatory gaze.

If the two of you weren’t such great friends, you might have had enough sense to be scared.

The only articles of clothing left to protect your dignity and shield you from his eyes are your skirt (which is already riding up to expose your thighs due to his wandering hands), your white cotton panties, and the matching bra.

“How do you feel now?” He asks, and you want to tell him you’re still feeling embarrassed, but his hands feel surprisingly nice on your skin, and you can’t help but hunger for more. Perhaps the look in his eyes, the one you couldn’t quite find a proper name for, is the same look you’re giving him.

“More.” You whimper out, not caring if you sound selfish or impatient. This is awful. The two of you should put a stop to… To whatever the hell this is! This is a horribly unbecoming, unsavory situation you are in, and if things progress like how you think they are going to (how you want them to), then you’re both dead once all the adults find out. Professor Weasley would probably force the two of you to be wedded within the next day of her finding out, not to mention that the headmaster would probably have the both of your heads on sticks.

But you don’t tell him to stop because your rational thought is slipping, much like your bra. You’re viewing everything almost as if in a trance, almost as if this is happening to someone else and not you. But it is very much you; it’s your nipples hardening after being exposed to the cool air of the infirmary. It’s your bra that Sebastian tosses to the side. He’s licking his lips, eyeing the expanse of skin that has been revealed to him. In ordinary circumstances, you’re certain you would make all attempts to cover yourself up and try to regain some sense of modesty.

In these circumstances, you practically arch your back and mewl out for more, more, more.

More touching. More skin-to-skin contact. More of Sebastian. You want him. All of him. Every part of him. You want his cock ramming into your cunt, you want his hands wrapped around your throat, his mouth spewing out words of filth right into your ear. Most importantly, even though all you can seemingly focus on is having him ravish you, you can’t help but to be greedy and dare to hunger for more. You want his secrets — all of them. You want to know the nightmares that plague him, and whether he’s full of regrets, just like you. You want to have a claim to his soul, just like how he already has a claim to yours. You want to know that when his heart beats, it is calling out for you.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” He announces, like he’s waiting for you to protest. He’s not directly asking, but the question is still there, as is the warning. Can I kiss you? If you let me, there’s no going back.

“Please.” You whimper, completely and entirely at his mercy.

“Say it.” Sebastian swallows hard, almost as if he’s also nervous and too charged up with desire. His fingers are loosening his tie. He has already shrugged off his robes.

He doesn’t tell you want to say, but you already know what he wants to hear. The words have been resting on the tip of your tongue this whole entire time, anyway.

“I want you to— to kiss me, and more…” You look into his eyes. The lights in the infirmary make them appear a lighter color than usual. “I want more. I want you, Sebastian.”

The moment the last confession slips from your soft lips, Sebastian’s mouth descends upon your own. His body is angled awkwardly, trying not to crush you with his weight, but you can feel the heat emanating from him all the same, even despite the layers of his clothing that separates the two of you.

You think the world stops spinning when his lips slot against yours. He tastes like the pumpkin juice from this morning, sweet and refreshing. There’s a lingering taste of spearmint toothpaste. You want to keep kissing him forever. You want him to kiss you everywhere else. When breathing becomes a necessary thing, he stops. You frown. You didn’t want him to stop. Oxygen is overrated, anyway.

He lays a hand against the pillow you’re resting on, staring down at you, want clearly displayed on his visage; desire is etched onto every facial feature, and his eyes are gazing so intently into yours, you wonder if he’s a Legilimens.

“Promise me you won’t regret this. Swear that you truly do want this.”

He must not be a Legilimens, then. It’s so clear you’ve been in… It feels odd to admit it. Wrong, even. But it’s the truth—

—you’ve been in love with him since the fifth year.

You don’t keep someone’s secrets, their crimes, to yourself when you don’t love them. You let him perform Cruciatus on you, and you forgave him. No — you didn’t. Because you asked him to. There was nothing to forgive. You would endure it, over and over and over again, just for him, only him. And to think, you’re flooding your panties just at some simple fantasies of him, and he has the nerve to believe you don’t want this? Don’t want him?

“I promise. I swear it to you. I want this entirely.” And maybe liquid courage had been slipped into the juice you’ve consumed as well because you find yourself admitting, “I’ve always wanted to do this with you. If it… If it had to be done the first time around, I would always dream of you doing it to me.”

He stops breathing, just for a moment. Gapes at you, even.

“Y-you’re a virgin?”

You wonder if you’ve gone off and ruined the mood. You wonder if you should take it back, say you were just joking, but before you can, his lips are pressing against yours once again. This kiss is even hungrier than the last, and you’re not quite sure how that’s even possible. It’s almost as if he wants to devour you whole.

“Thank you.” He gasps out, so close to you that his breath tickles your nose. “Thank you for entrusting me with this, love. I promise I’ll make it good for you, just as you deserve.”

And suddenly Sebastian is just everywhere. His sweater is discarded on the floor, right next to your bra and his tie. His belt is unclasped; he hasn’t even bothered to remove it entirely, just displaced it enough to where he can unbutton his trousers, and he’s pulling it down — his pants, that is. And the briefs. He hasn’t entirely disposed of everything, just partially. Meticulous Sebastian Sallow who is now so far gone into lust and depravity that he cannot even handle wasting another second by removing himself entirely of his clothes. You have made a man into a beast.

But you see the way he’s eyeing you — all dark hair and sharp teeth. He flips your skirt up, exposing your damp panties to him, and he licks his lips again, and you realize — perhaps too late, or perhaps you’ve known all this time — that Sebastian has always been a bit of a beast. A wolf only coyly imitating domesticity.

“You’re so wet.” He brushes a finger against your cotton-covered folds, and you shiver.

Yes! Your body seems to cry out. More, more, more! Your back arches, keening, craving his touch. You’re soaking through the fabric, making it practically translucent. You’ve never been this wet before in your life. You’ve never wanted his touch more badly than you do now.

“For me.” He mutters, but in the silence of the infirmary, you hear him all too clearly. “Is this all for me, love? Have you been like this all day?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to form coherent sentences. Even if he’s not staring at your head, far too fixated at what’s between your legs, he hums his approval.

“Don’t worry, my love. I’ll make it all better.”

He’s kissing you. He’s got your panties only pulled to one side, and you think he’s muttering apologies against your saliva-coated lips. Something that sounds awfully like sorry, so sorry, but I can’t wait, and I don’t think you can, either. You barely catch a glimpse of his cock before you can feel the sharp heat of his length against your inner thigh. You would have thought that there would be some preparation, especially since this will be your first, but you’re thoroughly soaked. You’re aching for a sensation you have never felt before, but the animal inside of your brain is telling you, instinctually, to seek Sebastian out. That Sebastian will make it all better. That’s what he said he’ll do, and he’s kissing you, and he’s apologizing, and—

—and the world stops spinning.

No. There’s some slight resistance at first, your poor cunt protesting at the intrusion. A second later, and he’s slipping in half of his length with considerably more ease. A few inches more, and his hips are pressed against yours, and oh— Oh, it’s like you’re made for him. There is no resistance. There is no pain. There’s just you and him, and your body is welcoming him home. Where has he been? It seems to ask. Please don’t ever leave again.

“Fuuuuck.” He hisses it out, and his teeth are gritted, and he’s admiring you. His eyes flicker to your face, down to your breasts, down down down right to where the two of you are connected. The word comes out broken, and yet, drawn out. As if he’s struggling to speak.

Then he starts thrusting, and suddenly you realize that the world hasn’t ceased its spinning. No — now it’s moving entirely too fast. It must be off its axis. You feel otherworldly. You feel like this pleasure, this overwhelming, absolutely delicious pleasure, cannot simply exist on earth. It should be impossible. It should be impossible to find comfort and rapture in the way the tip of his cock seemingly kisses your cervix. You expect pain.

You only find mindnumbing, earth shattering pleasure.

You feel stretched beyond your limits. You hear his pants and his groans, and you’re moaning, too. Calling out his name, which is so silly, he’s right there, he’s right there. There, at that special spot, at the spot you’ve never been able to discover on your own. You now know why adults advise so heavily against these type of relations — it’s simply addicting. You don’t think you can stop; you don’t think you want to stop.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck, you’re so good f’me. Such a good girl. My good girl, aren’t you?” He’s rambling. His thrusts are considerably sloppier, and you feel his thumb brush against your clit, and you arch your back some more, practically screaming out his name. The stimulation is too much — it’s not enough — and you will always crave him. “Tell me. Tell me that you’re mine.”

There’s something so, so addicting about his possession. About being treated like his possession.

“Yours. M’yours, Seb. All—” You can’t finish your sentence. The pleasure is becoming too much, and you’re too sensitive, and he’s doing this thing, this absolutely amazing thing, where he rubs circles on your clit in tandem with his harsh thrusts, and you’re cumming. You don’t ever want to come down.

He feels you cum, sees your juices drench his cock as he pulls out, only to push right back in, relishing in the feeling of your contracting walls. He leans down, biting on your neck, and you take a hand to grip his dark hair, still cumming, and now he is, too. Spurts of his cum are flooding into you, painting your walls, successfully staking his unrivaled claim on you. You have been compromised. If anyone were to find the two of you out, you would have no other choice but to take his hand, his ring, his family name, him. You would have to take it all.

Coming down from his high, he has enough kindness left in him to lick at the wound he’s left on your neck. Your eyes are fluttering close, the intensity of it all thoroughly exhausting you. You don’t know the thoughts swirling in his mind. You don’t sense the longing behind him stroking your stomach, wondering if the Felix Felicis — his bottled Liquid Luck he’s spent forever brewing — has done its job. It would surely be very lucky, indeed, if his seed takes this first time around.

Your breathing slows, and he feels your heartbeat even out. You’re exhausted, poor thing. Perhaps he had been too rough.

He’ll apologize, he decides, by doing something that’ll benefit the both of you. He ought to clean you up, get you tucked in, and when you wake, he’ll go down on you. He bets you taste so sweet, so innocent. He had known, of course, that he was your first — that he was always going to be your first. Your only.

He wonders if the effects of the lust potion will still linger in your system even after you wake up. Probably so — he did it brew it quite strongly.

But the adoration, the love, in your eyes is something no amount of skilled potioneering can create. No; your feelings for him are real. You just needed to lower your inhibitions to get to the confessional stage.

And now that you have confessed…

Sebastian Sallow can rest well after confirming what he’s known ever since he first laid eyes on you:

You’re his.

#sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #smut #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow smut #one shot #lemon

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krypticcafe · 9 months

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Can please get fic where young reader almost gets r-word.. like! What happened to ellie on 'the last of us' like make it into that situation, reader kills the rapist and flees away and runs into the 141 team, and their like in this state of like panic, but they calm them down and they explain what happened they are beyond livid so they just reck hell on the people who was with the man who tried to r-word reader.

(this a platonic relationship between reader and the team)

Me and the Devil

rating: mature

pairing(s): platonic 141 x gn!reader

warning(s): no use of y/n, dead dove do not eat, non-explicit attempted r*pe, emotional and physical trauma, sexual physical and mental violence, canon-typical graphic violence, comfort

wordcount: ~3.8k

a/n: i'm not exactly sure what anon meant by young, but for context, reader is probably 20-22, I'm just not comfortable writing this kinda stuff for teen or child reader, I hope you don't mind. also, huge, HUGE emphasis on the warnings. though nothing is explicit and there are no sexual graphic terms, the descriptions and actions alone are still very disturbing and uncomfortable! and the violence is a little uncomfy for those not used to it, too. title is from 'Me and the Devil' - Soap&Skin

synopsis: You can see it. The devil. It laughs, and laughs, and laughs, mocks you for your childish stupidity and naivete. To think the angels would come marching in, that you'd make it out with any semblance of sanity. You can't fight it, you can't even hide from it. All you can do is lie in your grave.

Just hours ago, you were alongside the 141, cleaning up and wiping out an enemy base, a typical Tuesday on a summer afternoon. You should've known things would go downhill with how smoothly it was all going. Even Price commented on it with an air of wariness and suspicion. After all, it was a saying that if the fight starts getting too easy, then it's an ambush. And an ambush it was. You want to tell yourself that it was nothing, easy as pie compared to what you've been through. You wanted to say that it was a success and you turned the tables on your enemies. You wanted to say that it ended within a matter of minutes and that you were on your way back to base with your boys, ready for a night of banter at the pub. You'd join Ghost in watching Soap and Gaz try their hand at poker, taking a shot each time Soap's dogshit luck lost him another couple of euros while Price would pry Roach from having another cocktail and piss himself ('it was one time!' he slurs).

But instead, you're here. Locked in a room, bag over your head, tied to a chair, a stereotypical hostage situation but that didn't make it any less tolerable. Though having a potato sack over your head was nowhere near as embarrassing as the reason why you were captured. You tried your best to hold onto the jeep, honestly, you did. Until some ankle-biter decided to latch onto you and sink his teeth into your flesh, causing your grip to loosen and send you tumbling into the dirt. Your bodies slammed into the ground, kicking up dust and your opponent taking most of the fall damage for you. How thoughtful.

Seething at the audacity he had to chomp on your leg like some feral mutt, you gave him a piece of your mind and made sure he'd never bite another ankle again. His friends caught up the moment you were done. They dragged you back down to the coarse dirt and sand of the earth, making you taste and choke on dust. You looked at the lifeless figure in the sand, briefly wondering if you'd be wishing you were him before a bag was slipped over your head and tied like a collar. It didn't help that the sand on the roof of your mouth combined with your ineffective attempts to ration your breathing made for a burn worse than any hard liquor down your throat. Thrashing and shouting like a madman, you cursed them like some teenager who discovered swearing as they tossed you into the back of a truck, rolling you forth with the heels of their boots. Not your finest moment.

Once you were loaded and the rest of them climbed on, the truck shot forward without slowing down for a second, taking you to your own personal hell for the next few days. Knowing the 141, they were probably at the safehouse, planning their next move to retrieve you. In the time between interrogations and routine attempts to break you, you could imagine Soap and Roach pacing around the room, Ghost brandishing a knife with a dark look in his eyes, and Price looming over a map and pulling up contacts with Gaz at his side. While you hated to burden them with your own mistakes, thinking about them all gnawing their teeth in comical anger at your expense brought you momentary comfort, eliciting a small chuckle.

"Something funny?" Much to your ire, all your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of several people shuffling into the room. You could only expect so much privacy in a place like this. The man who spoke up seemed to carry himself like a leader, considering how he spoke above all others and you could hear him carrying out demands every now and then, checking up on you as if he actually gave a shit. And currently, he was on the top of your "to kill" list, along with every other cunt in this prison.

"What'll it be today, more screaming or more silence? You know, you can only stay quiet for so long." He sighed. Judging by the sound of metal screeching on concrete, he pulled up a front-row seat. With a single yank, you were again temporarily freed of the confines of the bag on your face, glaring at the man with a look of ferocity that seemed as if it were etched on your face permanently. His clothes were disturbingly clean-cut and polished despite the blood he spilled for the past few days. Your blood he spilled. "Come now... you know you'll only make things more difficult. Face it, kid, they're not coming, it's been days."

When you felt gloved fingers touch your jaw you snapped, pulling away like an animal restrained by a leash. Your captor let out a taunting "Oooh", and your skin crawled at how he heckled and laughed like some adolescent boy poking a rabid animal with a stick through its cage. "So it bites."

"Fuck you." You rasped.

"And it talks." The humiliation of their nonchalant attitudes made you seethe, you knew it was a tactic to get under your skin and you just wouldn't have it, turning your head away from the men.

"Uh-uh, eyes on me. How is such a fresh thing like you out fighting wars with men like them?" He hummed, gripping your jaw with a strength that took you by surprise and had you wincing. Even though his hands were gloved, it felt as if he were trying to dig into your skin. With no other choice, you were forced to look into his eyes, the pyres of unimaginable anger burning in yours.

However, it was then that you felt it. Something was off. Something was horribly off about him. The several times he'd come in here to either coax you with gentle words or have his men beat you within an inch of your life, he either had some faux kindness or gleeful malice painted across his face. But this time, his eyes were alight with slimy delight. You hated it, Hated how it made you feel small, cornered, pulling on your leash so that you couldn't be yanked from the one place that made you feel safe. You hated how it didn't feel like he was trying to get under your skin, or sink into your bones but instead your mind as if to violate it. You hated how it seemed like he had something more in mind, something that you couldn't predict like a kick to the ribs or a carefully worded reassurance that you'd be in "good hands". It was the one thing you felt like you had control over, knowing what was next, and now you didn't.

With a wave of his hand, his men all filed out of the room, leaving just him and you alone. One came back with a bowl in their hands and you felt yourself doubt your worries. Were you already beginning to lose it in here? "Hungry?" He smiled, taking the bowl and dismissing the soldier. It looked and smelled like a stew, potatoes, and beef, not scraps of stale bread or lukewarm, half-empty beer cans.

"I asked them to make something special today for you, isn't that nice? I suppose even someone like you has a taste for the finer things in life and wouldn't say yes to leftovers." No answer came but it was to be expected as he mixed the stew with a spoon. Your eyes were trained on his face instead, expecting some kind of strings attached. He entertained that expectation by—to your disgust—spitting into the stew, mixing it more, and bringing up a spoonful to your face. "Consider that the cost of being so picky. Open wide, soldier. Surely you won't make a fuss again, now will you?"

There was a pause, you leaned forward, lips ghosting the tip of the spoon before you roughly shoved his chair away from you with your boot. The bowl fell from his hands onto the ground, pooling between the two of you. He could go to hell with his stupid fucking soup.

He let out a scowl of disapproval, his self-satisfied smirk replaced with disgust and irritation like a parent to their troublemaking child. Fine with you, you didn't need that asshole's approval. He stood, grabbing a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiping his hands and the small splatters on his uniform. "Should've known better that the government's pets would act like such animals. I gave you a chance, I tried to make this easy for you." He snarled, tossing his handkerchief aside and grabbing you by the collar, "But no, you just had to be a fucking brat, huh? Fine, be one. I can work with that. Either way, you'll be put in your place soon enough."

Before you could comprehend what he was implying, he slashed the ropes that binded you to your chair with a combat knife and shoved you to the floor, your head throbbing as it hit concrete, along with the rest of your aching muscles. Vision blurred, you sat up and tried to make out what he was doing, falling back when he roughly grabbed your hair and shoved your head back down into the ground. Like an alarm, every single flight or fight response went off in your body and yet you couldn't figure out what he was trying, you just knew that this was something worse and that you were a fool to let your guard down for a single second.

A twisted smile broke across his lips, "You know, you have a very lovely voice. You sing the loveliest songs."

Your brows furrowed, confusion flashing across your face until you let out a yelp of pain when he pressed into your stomach, already bruised from previous matters. He let out a sigh that made you shudder and you felt bile creep up your throat, moving your face to the side in fear that you'd choke on it.

"Eyes. On. Me." He snapped, his voice sounding so much louder than it actually was, his hand twisting your jaw back to look up at him while his fingers proceeded to dig themselves into whatever spots got you hissing and squirming away. That's all it took for your resolve to break, the blaze in your eyes fizzling out and replace with genuine fear and utter shock as you watched him straddle you and stare with a piercing gaze that trapped you. It forced your attention to stay on him, daring you to look anywhere else but him when that was all you could focus on. Him.

You couldn't even scream, paralyzed when you heard the sound of metal clinking against metal and the brushing of fabric, raw horror setting itself alight in your bones at how he loomed over you. At that moment, you swore you could see the devil itself laughing, cackling, mocking you in his eyes.

It was like you were seven again.

Scared, cornered in your room because you swore, you swore and sobbed and cried that you saw it, a monster in your closet. A dark, shadowy figure that'd taunt you merely with its existence and prayed on your downfall, drinking the fat tears you spilled and listening to your high-pitched cries as if they were music, eyes that you couldn't see but they could see you.

Others tried to convince you that it wasn't real, opened the doors, and closed them again, showing that there was nothing but cleanly folded clothes and hung-up jackets lined neatly along a rack. Every time, you'd feel a little more silly about your fears but anxious that they'd come back for more.

At some point, you nearly forgot about the monster altogether. It ceased to exist in your closet, but never your mind.

"Damn it, what now?!"

Pulled back into the present, you heard muffled speech with loud, obtrusive noises and more screaming and cursing from the man above you. He was faced with the still-closed door, talking to a soldier behind it. Instead of trying to catch up with what happened, your mind raced to its defensive instincts. Finding the spoon dropped from earlier, you reached for it with a strained grunt which caught his attention. Yet with a swift grab and thrust of your hand, you jammed the blunt handle of the spoon into his throat and screamed at him, your vocal cords ripping in deliriously satisfying pain.

Barely giving him a second to let out a final gasp for air, you flipped him over underneath you and yanked the spoon out, blood erupting out of the gash. Fire ignited in your veins and you balled your fists, giving him a taste of the rage of a caged beast with nothing left to lose, just the desperation to survive for more. It was a symphony of grotesque crunches of bone and ligament, and you yelled, screamed, and cursed with each impact at him, at the entire organization, at a godless world for making you live through hell. A pitiful yet gruesomely satisfying attempt to reclaim what sanity and control you lost in that room.

Blood and flesh coated your fingers like warm syrup, and you were sure your knuckles were split. Crimson red was a good look on a sterile uniform, you thought to yourself. The sight of your work made you realize it wasn't the devil in his eyes was laughing at you, but rather its reflection from over your shoulder, still gleefully singing and squealing with delight as it watched you indulge in pure, unadulterated wrath. Its tail wrapped around your neck, strangling you with delirium and bloodthirst, guiding you in your ear as you beat an already dead man to a pulp.

Taking a stand, its whispers remained in your ear, praising you and yet you felt sick looking at what was left of what you had done, of what was left of the man's face. His blood pooled around his shoulders, mixing with the stew into an unholy concoction, evidence that was a testimony to your suffering and to your sin. Using his combat knife, you cut through the ropes around your wrists, skin scratched raw and bleeding. Without a second glance, you took his gun and left the room.

To this day, you tell yourself that you crawled out of hell that day.

"Any signs of the hostage?" Gaz shouted over comms, holding off a room of enemies alongside Price.

The moment they had all seen your fingers slip from the jeep and saw you tumble away that afternoon was the moment they knew they wouldn't be coming back to base for a long time. Roach had watched in despair as he was so damn close to grabbing your hand, swearing that had he'd been a little quicker, you wouldn't be here. Soap had yelled for Price to go back but Gaz and Ghost both knew his hand wasn't going to turn that wheel anytime soon. All of them knew. They couldn't turn back, and you wouldn't have wanted them to either, not unless the entire team and mission were to be jeopardized. However, that didn't stop them from doing whatever it takes to get you back safe again.

"Negative." Ghost answered over the line, standing with Soap in a hallway painted with the blood of the opposition, bodies scattered like lifeless bags of flesh with no greater purpose than to rot.

"I have eyes on them, they escaped from captivity. Currently pursuing them!" Roach responded. He'd seen your figure run down a hall at an alarming speed, and when he followed you, he had a glimpse of the room and the spectacle you left behind, "The leader is terminated, too. Jesus, can someone get over here?! They're gunning it for the west exit and I can barely keep up!"

You were in fact, bolting for the exits, panicking the more you got lost and running so fast that you probably could've broken a record on base. Distant gunfire and blasts snapped at your heels like a pack of dogs, reminding you that if you didn't keep running, you'd be dead, you'd be torn apart and beaten just like their leader and fed to the wolves. Boots trampled the ground behind you like drums of death, the yelling of men ringing in your ears, a requiem to the inevitable. Run, just run, it's all you could do in this frenzied state. If you didn't you'd be helpless, you'd be put down like a rabid fucking animal. Run, even if your bones shook from the pain, even if flames licked at your torn muscles, even if it meant dying of exhaustion because anything was better than dying at the hands of those animals.

At last, you found the light of an exit, finally an escape from this asylum. Your heart felt lighter when sunlight kissed your skin only to be weighed down by getting slammed into, grabbed into a relentless hold. You screeched, shrieked, snapped, and sneered while the voices seemed relieved, almost happy at your capture.

"Don't fucking touch me-!" You screamed with animosity, practically frothing at the mouth, "Don't fucking touch me I'll fucking kill you! I'll fucking—"

"Friendly, friendly!"

Still growling under your breath, confusion flickered over your eyes. Why did it sound like... like...

"Captain?"

"You're safe kid," Price panted, as if he'd been running to chase you. He was chasing you. In all your hysteria, you hadn't realized that the group had been running after you for past minute or so, trying to call for you, get you to slow down. The only thing that worked was to just grab to and hopefully knock some sense into you or knock you out. "It's just us, see?"

Your gaze softened, taking in the features of the man before you. Despite the crossfire and fighting, somehow he still had such a kind look on him, puppy eyes that pitied you and kept you grounded. Turning your head, you saw the rest of the men watching you in concern, all tired but overjoyed nonetheless that you were finally back.

You were safe.

It was like a weight finally lifted off your chest, a pile of restrained misery and relief washing over you, and you wept without a thought to pride. Price whispered your name in a way that felt so comfortingly familiar, tucking your head into his shoulder and letting you muffle your sobs into his uniform. It was painful to hear your wails, the relief and the instability shaking off of you in waves. A part of you expected to be scolded, to be teased for messing up so badly with a simple mistake as letting go of the jeep but they didn't.

"You're in good hands,"

"We've got them covered,"

"They can't hurt you anymore, love."

"Do you have any major injuries?" Gaz asked, but you couldn't say a thing, clinging onto Price's jacket and crying like you were four years old and found by your parents after getting lost. Slowly and gently, Price pulled you from him to examine you, and that's when he saw it. It didn't take long for the others to notice as well. Your clothes were torn and belt undone. While no physical harm was visible, knowing what happened was enough to make Price tick.

"Roach, get them to the car and give them some spares ASAP. Everyone else with me, we're cleaning out the place." Everyone else had the same dark look in their eyes, one that sent shivers down your spine but encouraged you once more you were secure now. While Roach escorted you away, you peeked back to see them disappear back into the building. After you changed in the car, you could hear the distant gunfire and screams, shutting your eyes closed tight, making an effort to drown out the thoughts.

"You okay?" Roach frowned. he had apologized to you a dozen times over on your way to the car and explained all that happened after you were taken, which you appreciated him for and insisted it wasn't his fault. But he was sweet and stubborn, bandaging your wounds and telling you he'd make it up by giving you his dessert for the next month, a gesture that made you smile for once in a while.

"Yeah, yeah just... hope they're safe." You breathed, sinking into your seat with the rest of your thoughts. Though you cried once more, quietly this time and on Roach's shoulder. He was cautious not to initiate too much physical contact, holding your hand only when you asked for it.

The building was silent, not a single soul left to be reaped by the 141. They all regrouped around a body that was beaten beyond belief, to the point where the face was unrecognizable. Regardless, they knew who it was.

Gaz broke the silence, "You think they did this?" They all looked at each other, not wanting to imagine what happened to lead to this point.

Ghost nodded, a confirmation of something they already knew but wanted to mutually agree on. "No one else could've made this much of a bloody mess. HQ's going to have a field day with this. Can't say that he didn't have it coming for him, though."

"And well deserved, too." Soap spat. Price continued to look down on the figure on the floor without any thought to it. Not anger, disappointment, or spite, just disregard. Headquarters would be interested to hear what happened, but he could care less about the report. All that mattered was that loose ends were tied.

Minutes later, the men all piled up in the car again, setting for the road back. You woke from your half-asleep state, rubbing your eyes. You were met with a soft smile from Soap, who ruffled your hair. "You alright there, sleepin' beauty?"

Humming in acknowledgment, you nodded and glanced out the window to see the road whizzing by, the building growing smaller and smaller in the distance. Some dingy warehouse. So that was the hellhole you were stuck in for a near week.

"Dinnae think 'bout it too much," He followed your gaze and nudged your boot with his, "When we said they can't hurt ye anymore, we meant it."

"Yeah," You quietly mumbled, leaning back on Roach, who had fallen asleep and leaned on Gaz for support. "Can smell it on you guys."

That got a rumbling laugh out of Soap and even a little headshake from Ghost who sat in the passenger seat. Looking at the rearview mirror, Price was looking right back at you, eyes flickering to the road occasionally, "Get some rest. It'll be a long ride home."

You nodded like a little kid with a mumbled "yessir" and drifted off once more. For the first time in forever, you feel like you can breathe and ground yourself, no punishment, no torture, nothing to haunt in this rare bit of calm. You didn't feel the pain of your sore muscles, you didn't feel that your body was filthy, you didn't feel small and scared, not anymore. Just surrounded by nothing but a familiar feeling of safety and lulled to sleep by the sound of the engine that took you home.

a/n pt.2: had a tough time writing this one but hey, I think I managed! to be honest, though, I'm not super confident about the ending and proofread this while half-asleep, but I'd love to hear some thoughts about it. shoutout to the people who noticed any reoccurring themes.

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slushycoookie · 2 months

Text

My Husband Has a Symbiote! Pt. 2

Pt.1 - Pt.2

Relationship: Symbiote! Miguel O'Hara x AFAB! Reader

Word Count: 2,804

Content: Smut, p in v, vaginal fingering, Miguel gets choked, Reader can't go ten minutes without being railed, MINORS DNI!

Summary: You try to have a serious conversation about the symbiote Miguel has, but it doesn't really work.

A/N: I'm having so much fun with this, don't mind me. Also, you guys really liked the first part, so here's some more!

After the most wonderful sex you had in your life, you had to get a grip.

It couldn't happen again. Having sex with an alien that your husband bonded with. You were still trying to understand why using a symbiote was the best action out of everything else. You all could try the normal way. Without taking extreme measures. Or, in your case, out-of-this-world ones. That's what you decided to do getting up this morning.

You took your time putting on clothes, your legs wobbling as you stood. You smelled the strong scent of coffee while traversing to the kitchen. Only to get a view of your husband's gorgeous back.

“Good morning.” Miguel handed you a cup of coffee as a peace offering. As you took it, you tried not to get distracted by his hairy chest and arms. Or how his sweatpants hung low around his waist.

“Good morning.” You smiled against your cup, “Sleep well?”

He nodded, matching your smile. “Did you?”

“Yeah.” Your eyes darted around his form. No clear view of his new symbiote. Unless he put it in a bottle. “Where is it? Or them?”

Miguel rubbed the back of his neck, “They're still here.” Just then, his new best friend appeared. Only its head, sporting your partner's signature blue and red colors. Its smile and tongue gave you flashbacks of how that was on your lower half last night. Taking exceptionally good care of you. You squeezed your thighs again to ignore the arousal.

“Pretty thing.” A weird form of greeting they uttered before disappearing.

“We should definitely talk about that. In-depth.” You settled your cup down.

Miguel did the same, standing beside you. “What's more to talk about? I told you why I got one.”

“And I understood that.” You sighed, “But that can't happen again. We should try like normal people. Go see a doctor, try more sex positions…”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist and holding you close. “We're not normal people.”

“I know.” You let out a slight laugh, “But I think it's best to-”

“Did you not enjoy last night?”

Your heartbeat picked up. His eyes were lowered, gazing at you with an emotion you knew all too well. It didn't help that he smelled so good. Hints of ginger mixed with the fresh coffee hugged your senses. Or the way his rugged arms held you up last night while thrusting into you. “I did-”

He stole a kiss. Stopping you from regretting anything that occurred last night. You started making out in the kitchen, absorbed in the bitter coffee taste. Which somehow turned into you getting destroyed from behind. Miguel's symbiote form pressed against your back, body rutting into you. His ginormous hands covered the countertops. Little cracks formed with each thrust he took. You couldn't be upset about the destruction of your kitchen. You didn't want him to stop.

“You deserve to have our children…” That deep voice resonated in the room, causing you to shiver.

“Don’t say that…” You whimpered, pressing your ass back against him. A territorial growl emitted from behind and he went harder. Pounding into you until you screamed his name.

Everything was a mess.

The countertops were damaged, coffee spilled on the floor along with the broken pieces from your mugs. And a sticky, warm substance was sliding down your thighs. Miguel’s normal hand reached down and scooped up whatever was coming out. Pushing it back in to make sure it didn't go to waste. All while he kissed your head.

You couldn't even talk to him about the symbiote in the room. Whenever you tried to bring up getting rid of it, somehow you were on your back, side, bent over or on top. Taking your partner's cock like a champ. Getting full of his seed. And at the end of it, feeling completely satisfied.

You ranted to MJ and Jess when you all went out for lunch at a café. It's been a week of Miguel using you like his own sex toy.

“All I heard is that you've been getting some.” Jess remarked while sipping on her drink. “And you're complaining about it.”

“Because he's distracting me! So I don't tell him to get rid of it!” You buried your face in your hands.

“Well…how big is it?” Mj asked, eyes wide with genuine curiosity.

You raised a brow as your cheeks turned dark. “I shouldn't tell you that.”

“You look the way you did when you came back from your honeymoon.” Jess noticed your body practically glowing from all the sex you were having. “We gotta know how good it is.”

The table they were sitting at was rectangular in shape. Long enough for you to show them how big Miguel was with his symbiote. Which was almost half of the table.

“Whoa.” Mj gawked at the description. “And tell me why you're complaining again.”

You rolled your eyes, “Symbiotes are dangerous! I don't want him to get obsessed with it all because of a problem I have.” You turned to Jess, “Shouldn't you be agreeing with me here? Didn't you have a symbiote?”

Jess waved you away, “No, because I'm too smart not to put myself through that.” You purse your lips as the Spider-Woman kept going. “They are dangerous, but only if they don't have a decent relationship with who they're attached to.”

“Yeah, Peter was very different when he had it.” Mj explained, twirling her drink around with a straw. “First he was energized and then snippy. He couldn’t part with it until he had a wake-up call that it was destroying our relationship. It was scary.”

That's what you were worried about. Your partner turning into someone you couldn't recognize. You weren't scared of him but for him.

“You know you can say no, right?” Jess said before getting a mischievous glint in her eye. “But you don't want to. The sex is that good, huh?”

You gasped at her accusation, “You are…absolutely right.” Your friends sympathized with you, “But we need to talk…”

You had to come up with a plan. A way so you could talk without having his cock buried inside you. You decided to visit him at HQ, trying to look as unattractive as possible with a hoodie and sweatpants. Being married to the leader of Spider Society had its perks. One of them was looking into mission distribution. You noticed the teen dream, which you called Miles, Gwen, Pavitr, Hobie, and Margo, going to report to Miguel that day. You couldn't barge in when he spoke to Peter. He'd have Mayday with him, adding more fuel to the fire. Or any reports with Ben because Miguel would get jealous and sex would ensue. A bunch of teens on the other hand was perfect.

You approached the group as they were about to make their way into his lab.

“Hey!” Miles greeted with open arms, “What brings you here?”

“Oh, I need to talk to Miguel about something.” You waved it off, not deeming it as important.

“Trouble in paradise?” Hobie said with a smirk, causing you to shake your head.

“No, no. It's just about the symbiote. You guys think it's weird, right? That he's using it?”

“Actually,” Gwen took over, “some of our people have had success stories in using it. Like me, for example.”

You stared at the girl, surprised. “What? You had a good relationship with one of those things?”

“Yeah. It's no big deal.” Gwen shrugged it off. The entire time they were slowly making their way inside his lab. Going past his equipment in the darkness.

Pavitr jumped on her back, “She says it's no big deal. Like a boss.”

“That's Gwendy for ya.” Hobie winked at her.

“Guys, it really isn't a big deal. Symbiote relationships can be symbiotic. It depends on the person and who they connect with. It could make them better or worse.”

Everyone blinked at Gwen's explanation. Your knowledge of her connection with the alien made you pause. Was it possible for Miguel to have a healthy relationship with the thing? Were you stressing yourself out worrying about him?

“Miguel has been getting better lately.” Miles cut in.

“Yeah, at first he was moody, but then he gave me the day off so I could play a new game that came out.” Margo added. “He never lets me take the day off for video games.”

You hummed. Sure, his mood was getting better, but they still had to talk. You didn't want to assume everything was okay until they at least spoke about it.

Inside the lab, the teens gave their report to Miguel. The entire time he stood high on his platform, nodding to everything they were saying. Once in a while, he’d glance at you, a trace of intrigue, like he wanted to talk. Or breed you before getting back to work. You couldn’t relax seeing him in his typical suit. The symbiote was still attached to him, just not present.

“Good work.” Miguel complimented, “Now, my partner needs to speak to me about something.”

You perked up, shaking your head. “They can stay, it’s not that important-”

“I’d rather they didn’t.” His stare shot through your body. It was hard but yet filled with increasing lust. All you did was walk in the room.

The teens walked past you, shooting apologizing looks. Hobie’s face was amused, giving a reassuring pat on the back before whispering in your ear. “Don’t rough ‘im up too much.”

Miguel called you to his platform. You made your way across, trying to devise a quick game plan as your current one backfired. You placed yourself on the other side to create as much distance as possible. You heard him command Lyla to lock the lab so no one could get in. You took a deep breath to stabilize your beating heart.

“Why are you over there?”

You shot him a glare, “You know why.”

“Do I?” Miguel tilted his head in question. A rumbling chuckle filled your body when you tsked. He stood on the other end, not making any moves to get closer. Yet his eyes were trailing down your covered body. Picturing himself peeling every layer off of you. “I like your outfit today.”

You saw him take one step closer and you had to straighten yourself. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Another step and you cleared your throat. You could see yourself being bent over that console if the conversation kept up like this.

“Look, we really need to talk about this symbiote.” Miguel hummed, partially listening. As he took another step, you pressed yourself back against the console. Realizing you couldn’t get further back, you raised a harsh pointer finger towards him. “Miguel.”

“I’m listening, preciosa.” He paused, that same look of hunger in his eyes.

“Are you? Do you see yourself right now?” You watched him take another step.

Miguel snorted, “Do you see yourself right now? You’re so sexy. I can’t believe I married you.”

He closed the gap, one hand on the console behind you. You placed your hands on his chest. At first, it was to try to create some distance, but the hardened muscle under your palms made you reconsider. Those same pectorals you've always felt and pressed up against. Your hands had a mind of their own, running along them. The corner of Miguel’s lips curled up in amusement.

“You still wanna talk?” He picked you up and placed you on the console. His other hand placed against your lower back, pressing your entire body against his chest. Your resolve was dwindling as he gazed at you. “Or do you want to be bred?”

That’s how you ended up the way you were now. Clothes removed, thrown who knows where in his lab. Legs spread while his gigantic finger pumped into and out of you. Miguel’s symbiote form took over, drooling while watching you take him in easily. You whined while clutching his arm. Small sopping sounds fill your ears.

A gasp escaped your lips when a second digit entered you. Your back arching at the beautiful friction. How his fingers knew where to touch inside. A satisfied growl erupted from Miguel, mouth wide as his tongue glided across your pleasure-fixed face.

“Pretty thing. So obedient…” His thumb pressed against your clit. Your nails dug into his sticky skin at the additional sensation. Not wanting him to stop for a second as that familiar burning feeling started to rise. It pooled in your stomach before spreading up and over your body. Miguel didn’t care when you screamed for him in his lab, letting all the spiders know he was pleasing his partner.

You panted, leaning back a little on the console when his fingers were gone. The familiar sight of his large cock came into view, ready to go in. A rush of clarity filled your mind as you stopped him. He gave you a look in question.

“Lemme be on top.”

Miguel grinned, eyes lighting up with intrigue. “Oh? Pretty little thing wants to bounce?”

Before you could nod in confirmation, he sat down. Back pressed along the console. Goosebumps formed, feeling the cool steel amongst your feet. You licked your lips, watching your partner observe you. Dark blue cock aching to be inside. You hovered over him, stabilizing yourself by touching his shoulders. Before sinking down.

Each time Miguel’s cock entered you, it was always as if it was the first time. After a couple of thrusts, You always lost your ability to think straight. Only taking what Miguel gave you. This time was going to be different.

A moan escaped you, getting used to the feeling before raising your hips again. Before slamming back down on him. His eyes lowered at the sight of his partner fucking yourself on his shaft. Even though Miguel took over most of the time during sex, You had your moments of being the one to make him quiver under your touch. While fucking the symbiote, it was still affected by things that made regular Miguel whine. So you went slow, sliding up and down at an antagonizing pace. Even for you. But you needed to get your point across. Miguel’s hands hovered by your hips, ready to have you pick up the pace. Only for you to use one hand to grip his thick throat.

His eyes went wide at the sudden action, your tiny hand doing your best to choke him out. “Pretty thing wants to get rough?”

“You like it rough.” You quipped back, still rolling your hips on him. Miguel growled at the sensation before latching his hand on his arm.

“We do.”

It happened in an instant, the symbiote tendrils curling around the lower half of your arm, coating it the signature blue. You felt stronger. Enough to grip his neck tighter. You also picked up the pace, bouncing in a way to drive him crazy. If you could see Miguel’s face, you knew his eyes would be rolled back, while his hips thrusted up in unison with your bounces.

“L-Let me…speak to him…”

“You are.” The symbiote’s chest heaved, almost succumbing to the intoxicating sensation.

You shook your head, a whimper coming out as you hit a spot that was too good. “No. I wanna…see him…” Miguel’s face appeared, pleasure permeating his dazed face. If there were any other moment, you wouldn’t stop, help him chase his fucked out high. But not right now. You slowed down, earning a cry from Miguel.

“N-No. Don’t stop, mi amor.”

“Listen to me first…” Your pace was torture as you sunk down enough to provide pleasure still. In this position, Miguel was susceptible to agree to anything as long as he made sure he released inside you. “We’re gonna have a conversation about this thing.”

“Okay, okay. We will. Now let’s-” A strangled moan escaped him when you squeezed his neck.

“I’m serious, Miguel. If we end up like this again without talking, you’re not coming back home.” You stared right into his eyes, serious while clouded with pleasure. Miguel stared right back, taking in that you meant every word. You didn’t like it had to come to this, but it would put you at ease if you two talked about it.

He nodded, taking your words to heart. “Okay.”

With that, your pace picked up again. You bounced on his cock with vigor, hand removed from his throat and back to his shoulders. Miguel’s hands were on your hips as he fucked up into you to meet your own. Both were extraordinarily loud in the lab. Neither cared as they went to chase the high together. A mix of grunts and moans spread amongst the atmosphere.

Then, a comfortable silence took its place.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #slushycoookie writes

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xzaddyzanakinx · 2 months

Text

Dear Diary

Emo!Anakin Skywalker x Femme reader Oneshot

Warnings: CNC, Dom/Sub, predator/prey, rape kink, unprotected PiV, misogyny, derogatory comments, knife, bondage, gagging, blood, whipping, spanking, spitting, slapping, biting, mask kink

Info: never leave your diary unattended, he loves you so much that he’ll do anything for you, don’t question why Anakin is so good at being scary (he’s straight up terrifying)

🕊DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT 🕊 This is DARK

“Hey, you know there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.” Anakin’s soft voice floated down to where your head rested in his lap on this sleepy Sunday afternoon.

“Mmm?” You hummed, tilting your head slightly to look up at his face.

You expected to see a soft expression to match the gentle tone of voice, but you were mistaken. His lip had a sneaky little curve to it, like he had a secret that he was dying to share. He reached his long arm over to the nightstand and opened the drawer. Fishing something out and holding it up for you to see.

Your diary. It wasn’t one of his secrets. It was yours.

You squealed in protest and shot up from your resting place much too fast. After being sedentary all day long your brain had a hard time remembering what it needed to do in a high-stakes situation. After the dizzy spell settled slightly you tried and failed to snatch that horrid little book away from him.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

You should’ve known better than to keep a written record of anything, let alone your darkest secrets, with Anakin around. That handsome little shit can’t keep his dirty little paws off of your or your stuff.

“Anakin please!” You pleaded, pouting out your bottom lip.

“Shhh baby.” He laughed, flipping through the pages. “I occasionally read a few pages… just to make sure you’re happy with me of course.”

Right. Of course he would do that.

“Cause sometimes you don’t like to talk about your feelings right?” He chided.

“Yeah.” You grumbled.

“And it seems like my sweet sweet girl had some dirty thoughts since the last time I checked this book.” A sickly saccharine smile materialized on his lips

“Anakin no!” You gasped, hiding your face in embarrassment.

“Bunny, yes!” He teasingly replied.

“Look, right here it is princess. About a month ago. I took you to that new horror movie remember?”

“Yes.” You squeaked.

Anakin nodded, clearing his throat as he ran his finger under the messy scribbles in your diary.

“You said: ‘that scene where he’s chasing her through the woods and caught her? Christ that growl was sinful, but coming from Anakin? I’d be a goner. Knife and all.’”

You blushed fiery red and snatched it from his hands, tossing it to the floor defiantly despite knowing the damage had already been done.

"Anakin that is none of your business!" You pouted.

"But it is now, isn't it?" He whispered, tracing circles on your throat with his thumb.

"It’s okay darlin’ I don’t need that silly little book. I’ve memorized the good parts.” He chuckled as he spotted it on the floor.

“What else did you say? 'I want him rough, maybe even have him wear a mask like in the movie.'” He grinned gripping your cheeks to puff out your lips and give you a playful kiss.

“So I said to myself: ‘Anakin, that sounds like a challenge.’ and you know I love a challenge.”

“Anakin! You weren’t supposed to see that!” You yelped. “That’s embarrassing!”

Anakin chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh no? I think I need to see this fantasy of yours come true."

He released your cheeks and stood up, rummaging through the closet until he found an old hockey mask that he'd worn during his youth.

"Stay here," he commanded before disappearing into the living room.

You sat and stewed in your embarrassment, thinking of all the ways you’d like to squeeze his tiny head until it popped off. How dare he? He read your diary! Ridiculous.

His voice called your name and you were snapped out of your emotional festering.

“C’mon. We got places to be.” Anakin grinned, the car keys in his hand and a small backpack slung over his shoulder.

“What?” You asked in confusion.

He wants to go somewhere now? After he’d just humiliated you in front of your entire collection of stuffed animals?

Anakin nodded, a devilish grin on his face. "We're going on an adventure, Bunny."

Oh. Oh no.

“You’re serious?” You gasped. “like right now?”

He tossed the backpack into the backseat of his Ford pickup truck and opened the passenger door for you, waiting for you to get in. He clicked his tongue like he was calling for a dog, patting your head to scoot you along.

"Come on, baby," he urged, leaning down to kiss your cheek. "Where we're going, no one can find us."

You blushed, but obeyed regardless. You trusted him with your life and depending on how this excursion went you might just end up putting that trust to the test.

“W-we don’t have to do this Ani.” You said quietly.

“I mean… I never even- I didn’t think you’d ever find out.”

Anakin's grin faded slightly, his eyes softening as he cupped your face. "Baby, it's okay. You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with," he reassured you.

"I want to make this happen for you. Plus, I think this will be fun." He added with a smirk, the sincerity in his voice reflected in the icy blue of his eyes.

He climbed into the driver's seat, starting the engine and pulling out of your driveway.

“Like you’re sure you wanna do this? Like you actually want to? Not just because you know I wanna try it?” You asked, picking at your fingers as you forced myself to make eye contact.

Anakin met your gaze, his eyes filled with an understanding for your concerns. "I want this as much as you do, Bunny," he promised.

"So let's go have some fun, shall we?" he asked, pulling out onto the highway.

You slipped your hand into his, the drive was only about 30 minutes. Even with the short distance it seemed like you were far, far away from anyone and anything. The afternoon sun was dwindling quickly over the horizon. It made you wonder if Anakin had done alittle research and a lot of planning before enacting this ambush on you.

“Look at me bunny.” Anakin said softly.

“Safe word is red okay? You say red and every thing stops immediately. Understand?”

“Yes.” You nodded giving him a little smile.

“Good.” He agreed with a kiss to your forehead. His eyes bright and sparkling with this new brand of adrenaline. “Here’s the plan.”

“Once we get out of this truck, you’re the pretty little victim and I’m the big scary killer.” He teased, though he held a serious tone behind the playful words.

“Is that okay? I won’t talk like myself, I’m gonna do my best to be mean and scary okay?”

“Yeah that’s okay,” You blushed at the thought.

“I want you to run. I’ll give you a pretty good head start. Don’t look behind you until you hit the tree line okay?” He grinned.

“Okay I can do that.” You giggled, the reality of your situation kicking in as you began to realize Anakin *had* done his research. He really did want to do this just as much as you did.

“I’ve got a mask.” He pulled out the hockey mask from his bag. “A rope, a knife, and a bandanna. Are these things okay? It’s a real knife, it’s one of the kitchen knives.”

“Yeah.” You nodded, biting your lip as you looked at him, already imagining him in character. “yeah that’s all okay.”

“Do you want me to cut you?” He asked, staring you in the eyes.

“M-maybe alittle.” You nodded, your expression turned serious again. “just not where anyone else can see okay?”

“Got it babydoll. I promise.” He said gently.

“Okay.” You smiled, nervous but so so excited.

“I’m gonna put my hair up.” You giggled. Tying your hair up in a ponytail.

Anakin watched you, a mix of excitement and protectiveness in his eyes. "You look so fucking hot," he muttered, his voice low and rough.

"Alright, princess," he said, his voice now deep and menacing. He grabbed the hockey mask, and held it in your direction to point at you.

"Get out of the truck and run as fast as you can. Don't look back until you reach the tree line." He paused, reaching for the knife, sheathing it on his hip. Shoving the rope in his hoodie pocket, the bandanna in his jeans pocket.

"Remember, red means stop. Whatever happens from here on out, I'll make sure you're safe."

You watched him put the mask on, heart pounding in your chest as you unbuckled your seatbelt and stepped out of the truck into the cooling dusk air. Anakin got out of the truck on his side, looking over at you and nodding his head.

“Run.” He snarled, his features completely hidden by the mask and distorting his voice a bit more than you’d anticipated.

Your only light source was the setting sun and rising moon as you booked it through the field, keeping your eyes forward as your heart beat quickly. You reached the tree line and finally looked back, seeing Anakin running at a full sprint toward you. The prey instinct in your hindbrain kicked into overdrive and adrenaline flooded like ice through your veins.

You froze for a moment until you heard what could only be described as a psychotic laugh ripped through Anakin’s chest. Finally back to your senses you turned on your toes and started running again, only to be tripped by your own feet.

You steadied yourself quickly and recovered your pace after a sharp squeal left you when your knees hit the ground. Your burst of fear driven speed surprised you, but only fueled Anakin’s laughter. You weren’t sure if he was laughing as himself or as the character he was playing, either way… it was terrifying.

You made the mistake of looking back again and realized how quickly he was gaining on you. He had given you a generous headstart for a good reason. Like he’d anticipated you’d fawn instead of flee.

How did he know that?

Anakin was closing the gap, his breath heavy but not labored as he chased after you. You wondered what his eyes looked like behind that mask. Would they be familiar? Or would they be akin to a cold blooded killer?

You stumbled as you whipped your head back to the path ahead and he lunged forward, wrapping his arm around your chest and tackling you to the ground with a heavy thump.

The mask hid his grin as he pinned you down with his body weight, but you could * feel * it. The satisfaction he felt at catching his trophy was palpable, now… now you weren’t completely certain your Anakin was really there behind that hard plastic mask.

"Caught you bitch." He growled, his voice remained menacing. "You're mine now."

You struggled against him, the sides of your fists not even coming close to making contact with his chest. His grip on you was painful, bruising and just what you wanted.

“N-no!” You whimpered. So incredibly turned on by his aggression.

He was surprisingly great at this role, he was doing everything perfectly as if he’d done it before. A nagging thought tickled your mind, what if? But he gave you no time to consider it.

“No?” He laughed, rolling you underneath him so that your face was pressed into the forest floor. His knee pressing down on your back as he roughly tied your arms together behind your back with a practiced ease.

“No! Please!” He mocked you in a whiny impression of your voice.

“Pathetic.” He hissed.

You fought harder, wriggling and trying to get out of his grasp. His hand gripped your ponytail with enough force to make your scalp sting, yanking your head back.

“Stop fucking moving.” He growled as brought his lips to your ear, then he let go of your hair cruelly letting you face plant into the dirt.

“Ow!” You whined in pain, it actually did hurt. Not bad, just enough to make you see stars and feel heat bloom across your cheek.

“P-please! Stop!”

He laughed, the sound gritty and almost unrecognizable. He used both hands to roughly tug your jeans down your thighs, using the knife to cut your underwear off.

You wriggled and squirmed, panting helplessly as all your movement did was undress you further. Your jeans bunched around your knees, leaving you exposed and vulnerable to whatever he had planned for you.

Anakin's breaths were ragged, his heart pounding in sync with yours as he stood over you. Lightly tapping your hip with the toe of his shoe.

"Shut the fuck up, bitch," He snarled. "You made me work for it."

He took the knife, running it down your side, as he kneeled beside you. Forcibly turning your head to make you look at him. He trailed the knife along the back of your thighs, leaving tiny threads of red behind.

"Now you're gonna pay for your insolence." His voice was harsh and cold with an undeniable lust hidden beneath.

“No! No I’ll do anything I swear!” You cried out. Kicking and fighting against him as best as you could.

You heard him taking off his belt, felt him shoving his jeans down and even the familiar grunt as he pulled out his cock.

“I told you to shut your fucking mouth didn’t I?” He snapped at you.

Gripping his belt tightly in his hands he cracked the leather across your ass hard, causing you to scream out in pain.

“Stupid whore.” He scoffed. “what did I just say? You want it again?”

“N-no! Fuck that hurt!” You yelled.

“God you really are stupid aren’t you?” He laughed, cracking the leather down on your red ass cheeks again.

This time you were able to bite down on your lip and suppress the loud crying moan that tried to escape. You knew the tender flesh of your bottom lip would definitely be an angry red for the next few days as a taste of blood hit your tongue.

“That’s better.” He scoffed.

Pumping his cock a few times behind you before spreading your ass cheeks wide and smacking your hip hard to get you to lift up just a bit.

He set his sights on your incredibly drenched pussy. The view might make a weaker man cum on the spot, but Anakin wasn’t a weak man. He’d made that very clear today.

“Never seen you so fucking wet.” He whispered, in awe of the dripping mess you’d made of your cunt. The momentary break of character that you weren’t supposed to hear reassured you that it was definitely still Anakin under that mask.

Anakin's cock twitched, his eyes locked on your pulsing hole, watching it flutter around nothing. He chuckled and spit on his hand before rubbing it on the head of his cock. Letting out a low groan as he tugged on his balls for good measure.

"You're going to take this like a good little slut," He growled, lining up his thickness with your entrance. "And you're not going to fucking scream."

With a low hiss he thrust into you, your body protesting the sudden intrusion with a jerk. You failed to listen to his command and let out a muffled cry behind closed lips as he sank deep inside your heat.

"Quiet, bitch," he warned, pulling back and thrusting again, setting a rough rhythm. "Or I'll really give you somethin’ to cry about.”

You couldn’t help yourself, you whimpered and moaned and drooled in spite of his warnings. The feeling of being taken so roughly, but knowing you were safe… was intoxicating. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt.

Anakin moved suddenly and you saw a flash of red before he yanked back your head, shoving the bandanna in your mouth to use as a gag.

You coughed and gagged on the dry fabric as he forced it in your mouth. Anakin's thrusts became more frantic, his hips moving in quick, hard strokes. With the gag in place you let yourself be loud, there was no point in staying quiet right? If you were heard it would be * his * fault for not properly securing your gag.

"Dirty little thing aren’t you? Filthy. You like this don’t you!? Huh?" He snarled, slapping your ass hard with his free hand. "Scream for me, you fucking whore. No body can hear you. No body is coming to help you."

You moaned into the gag, body trembling as he pounded into you relentlessly. Each slap of skin against wetness echoed in the still night air, punctuating your defilement.

"C’mon, you can fight harder than that." He growled, grinding against you he placed one hand on your lower back and used it as leverage to hold you in place.

He laughed loudly, clearly enjoying the power trip he was on. He’d never fucked you like this before, he’d been rough yes… but this? This was blinding. Hot, white, blinding pleasure that spilled over into pain.

“So fucking tight.” He groaned. “pitiful little pussy. Bet you were a virgin weren’t you?”

You whimpered, the bandanna in your mouth wet from saliva. Tears dripping down your cheeks from his rough treatment. Your legs shaking violently as he fucked you into the dirt.

And he expected you to speak?

“Answer me.” He demanded, ripping the fabric from your mouth, the suddenness of it being pulled from your throat made you gag violently.

“C’mon. Talk to me. You’ve been dying to fucking talk and now you’ve got nothin’ to say?”

“Y-yes.” You sobbed, unable to form more than a few words. “Virgin.”

“Oh I knew it. Fuckin’ knew it.” He groaned.

Anakin's thrusts grew more furious, his cock sliding in and out of your tight ‘virgin’ pussy with each word grunt and groan that fell from his pretty lips. His hand gripped your hair, pulling your head back when you started squirming out from under him again.

"You think you can get away from me? Think you can run? You’re mine now, bitch." He spat, slapping the side of your face. "I own your little cunt now."

You cried harder from the pain, tears streaming down your dirt streaked face as he continued to pound into you without mercy.

"No one else is gonna touch you. No one else is gonna have you." He growled, his words thick with possession.

“Gonna take you home. Tie you up.” He grunted. “Fuck you whenever I want.”

“No one’s gonna miss you are they?” He laughed, “Just a worthless little nobody aren’t you? Yeah, you are.”

“That’s okay though sweetheart.” He cooed, sweetness laced with venom. “I want you. I want you all to myself, show you that all you’re good for is this.”

He spit, ripping his mask off to bite you hard, leaving clear teeth marks on your shoulder. The mask hit the ground near your head and you stared at it with big wide red-rimmed eyes as a violent orgasm ripped through you. Your cunt spasmed around him, slick leaking out and coating your thighs.

The squelching noises filled you with a new wave of embarrassment and fresh tears wetted your cheeks. You might’ve been done, but Anakin wasn’t. He had no plans of stopping now, this wasn’t over until he said it was.

“Stop! Please oh god.” You whined, scrunching your nose up as your body vibrated from the overstimulation.

“Stop? Oh you don’t mean that.” He moaned. “you just fucking creamed all over my cock.”

“Don’t lie to me. You know you like it.” He snickered, you could hear the grin gracing his lips.

“No! No! Please! I don’t!” You struggled, trying to get out of your bindings, the rope digging further into your wrists. “Please stop!”

“Fuck toys don’t talk.” He growled.

Anakin shifted his weight, now leaning with his forearm across your back, his sharp elbow cutting into the muscle to give himself an extra edge to his brutality. You thought he was comfortable in his position, but you were wrong. This was just a transition period.

His arm slid up your back to wrap your hair around his fist, exposing your neck and pining you in place.

A glint of sliver shined in your peripheral, followed by the cool metal blade of his knife on the soft skin of your throat. He had the flat side pressed firmly beneath your Adam’s apple. Anakin's thrusts grew more frantic, his cock sliding in and out of your tight, weeping pussy as he held the knife.

"One word," he growled, his eyes dark with lust and dominance. "And you’ll wish you were dead."

You whimpered, body shaking as you struggled against my bindings. Your cunt clenched around him, milking his cock with each powerful thrust.

"Make me cum, bitch." He snarled, his breathing labored. "Or I’ll slit your fucking throat right here."

His words sent a jolt of electricity through you. This was sick, you were sick. How could you possibly like this? Being threatened with a knife against your throat? You didn’t know, didn’t understand and maybe didn’t even want to. Maybe the logistics behind the thrill of this was better off unexplored. You decided then and there you would never let yourself explore that nagging little ‘what if’ about Anakin too.

His grip on the knife tightened, his thrusts becoming harder with each passing second. You controlled your breathing as best you could. Trying desperately not to move as another orgasm washed over your tired body. Your entire being vibrating with the intense energy, cunt spasming around his twitching member, leaking and dripping slick all over again.

“That's it," Anakin growled, his hips moving faster and harder, growing sloppy. His breathing ragged as he felt himself nearing the finish line. "C’mon, make me fucking cum and I’ll let you live."

"You're gonna say thank you after I cum. You hear me?" He snarled, biting the nape of your neck roughly like a dog in heat.

His balls tightened up, his cock pulsating inside you. Your pussy tightly enveloping him, feeling every twitch and jerk.

You squeaked as the cool blade dragged across your throat in a way that felt alittle too real, a little to close to being sliced open. Though you breathed a sigh of relief as the knife now pressed into your shoulder blade. The sharp tip popping through your skin.

“Gonna put a little ‘A’ right here. You want that? Answer me!” He asked through clenched teeth, staving off his orgasm in favor of torturing you.

“No! Please it hurts!” You screamed, the pain bringing you so incredibly close to cumming again.

He let out a familiar whine, followed by a choked moan as he carved the first letter of his name into your unblemished shoulder.

“You should’ve kept still. Now it’s crooked.” He scoffed.

You screamed out in pleasure, hiccuping as you tried to catch your breath. Anakin’s cock throbbing inside your abused walls. You whimpered as an overwhelming orgasm took hold of you. Your body convulsing in a way it never had before, with Anakin never slowing his hard albeit mess pace. He laughed as he watched your bound hands clasp themselves together as you held your breath.

The dam broke and you squirted, making a mess of yourself and him. You could feel the hot wet liquid dripping down your legs, hear it sloshing and squelching with each thrust.

Anakin’s laugh cut off into a choked groan, his cock jerking violently inside you as he came. His thrusts becoming wild and erratic, his body shaking with the force of his release.

"Fuck," he growled, collapsing against you as he finished. "You're a fucking mess, aren’t you?"

You sobbed into the dirt, body still trembling from the intense orgasm. Your pussy clenching around his softening cock, milking him for every last drop of cum.

"That’s right. Good girl.” He moaned, slowly pumping in and out of your swollen and well used cunt.

“Atta girl. You’re a good fuck so long as you keep your mouth shut.” Anakin let out a pained whine as he pulled out of you, leaving your pussy gaping and filled with his seed.

He cut the rope from your wrists and hissed when he saw the red marks. He broke character again for the simple fact that he felt terribly about accidentally hurting you. It was one thing to do it purposely, but this was unacceptable, he chided himself for tying you too tightly under his breath. He leaned down to kiss each wrist gently before tapping your ass with his hand.

“Get up. All fours.” He growled. Back to playing your big scary killer.

You sniffled, doing as he said as quickly as you could even though your body felt weak and jittery.

“Fuck.” He groaned spreading your ass cheeks apart, his thumbs keeping your pussy lips spread so that he could see his hard work; the mess he’d made of you.

He dove into your slick, reddened folds. His tongue laving and sucking your clit. He moaned and whined like he was the one getting pleasured. He shoved his tongue into your hot, raw hole and licked his cum out of you, mumbling dirty words with each breath.

"You taste so fucking good." He groaned, his voice muffled. "So wet and fuckin’ messy. I love it."

You whimpered, his tongue darting in and out of your still-throbbing cunt, tasting the evidence of your rough sex.

"You’re gonna be mine forever." He growled, his words slurred with lust. "No one else is ever gonna touch you again."

His fingers found your entrance, teasingly playing with it before sliding inside, stretching you open again. Your body trembled, pussy clenching around him in protest of his reentry. He leaned forward licking the trickles of blood from your shoulder and gathering it in his mouth. He sat back on his heels and then spit the mixture of his cum, his spit and your blood into your pussy, gently shoving it inside with his fingers.

The act was filthy. Disgusting. But so fucking hot, so sexy, so much so that your pussy contracted around his fingers again. Alittle bit of squirt dribbling out as your body shook. Anakin's eyes darkened as he felt you clench around his fingers once again.

"Fuck." He grumbled, hid grip on your hips tightening. "You’re gonna cum again, aren’t you?"

You sobbed, body trembling with the impending orgasm or maybe just from the humiliation. Who knows? At this point you couldn’t tell left from right.

"You just want to get used and ruined, don’t you?" He growled, his fingers thrusting in and out of you. "So fucking ready for it. So desperate for a cock like mine to take care of you."

His words sent you over the edge, body shaking as you came yet again. Your pussy fluttering around his fingers, dribbles of liquid leaking down his hand.

“N-no more.” You whimper, begging for a break.

“Oh poor thing.” He laughed. “it just feels so good that it hurts huh?”

“Y-yes.” You cried, sniffling. Your arms weak and wobbly.

“You’ll get used to it.” He said pulling out his fingers and roughly smacking your pussy with his hand.

You screamed, a choked whimpering sob. You were beyond sensitive, you could feel how swollen you were. But even through the pain, a jolt of pure pleasure shot through your core.

“Get up.” He growled, tucking himself back into his jeans, pulling you to your feet by the hair.

He shoved you against a tree and barked out the instruction for you to stay there. He picked up the knife and bandanna, kicking the ruined rope aside and shoving the ripped panties in his pocket. He grabbed his belt and cracked it against your ass hard one last time before putting his belt back on.

“You didn’t say thank you.” He reminded you.

“Say thank you. Ungrateful bitch.”

M’sorry!” You whimpered. “th-thank you. Thank you.”

“That’s better.” He grunted, yanking your jeans back up and leaving them unbuttoned. The fabric wet and sticky from all the abuse.

“Turn around. Can’t leave those gorgeous tits without any attention right?” He chuckled darkly.

He grabbed your chin examining your face when you slowly turned around. His other hand pulling up your shirt.

“Still pretty. Even after all that.” He said softly a small glimpse at your Anakin, not this brutal character he played. But it was gone quicker than you could blink.

"Beautiful." Anakin murmured, his eyes lingering on your tits before he leaned in to lick and kiss each one. "You’re gonna be so pretty covered in bruises, huh?"

Your breath hitched, nipples pebbling as he sucked and licked at them. His hands cupping and squeezing your breasts roughly, leaving red marks on the soft skin.

He bit down and pulled your nipples with his teeth causing you to yelp in pain. Eliciting a dark laugh from him.

“C’mon,” He grumbled. “let’s get going. I’ve got plans for my new whore.”

He grabbed the back of your neck and shoved you forward, making you stumble and almost trip. You stayed silent other than your sniffling and wiping your nose and eyes as you walked on jelly legs.

"Don't think you're done." Anakin growled, his grip on your neck tightening as you walked. "I’ll never be done with you."

His free hand grabbed your ass, squeezing it roughly before letting go. His eyes never leaving the path ahead.

"You owe me. You know that? A lifetime of obedience and gratitude." He laughed, pushing your forward again. “I could’ve killed you and I didn’t. That’s called a life debt baby.”

You nodded, seeing the truck in the field and breathing a sigh of relief knowing you wouldn’t have to walk much further.

“Almost there.” He said plainly.

Once you reached the truck he opened the door and helped you inside gently. Giving you a soft kiss on the cheek.

He walked around to his side and shoved the items along with his hockey mask down inside the bag. Tossing it to the floor board as he climbed in beside you, pulling you against his chest in a comforting, soothing hug. You sighed, leaning into him. His warmth and closeness comforting you.

"Good girl." Anakin whispered into your hair, his voice softening. He kissed the top of your head gently. "You did so good. I love you doll. I love you so so much."

"Hang tight, baby. We’ll get you cleaned up and back home soon enough." He murmured, his hand resting on your thigh reassuringly.

You gripped his shirt, there was something thrilling about his possessiveness, his control over you. “I love you too Ani.” You whispered, voice shaky.

Once the short drive was over he helped you out of his truck, turning around and leaning forward to give you a piggy back ride to the house.

You sighed thankfully and climbed up. Hugging around his neck and inhaling his comforting scent. Nuzzling into his neck as he carried you into your home. Locking the front door behind him. He softly sat you on the couch, giving you a gentle forehead kiss.

Wordlessly he went to the kitchen and got himself and you a glass of water. Placing the cup in your shaking hands, making sure you drank some before he chugged down his.*

“You okay babydoll?” He asked, pulling you into his lap. “that was pretty intense.”

“I-I’m okay.” You nodded. “y-yeah it w-was intense.”

You gave him a soft smile. “It was fun though… I’m just gonna be really, really sore.”

"You’re so fucking precious.” He murmured, nuzzling your neck. "All worn out and sore, but still smiling at me."

"We'll take it slow next time, okay?" He whispered in your ear, kissing your temple softly. "You tell me when you’re ready for sex again baby. I’m not gonna ask until you come to me.”

You nodded, sighing contentedly. Your head resting against his chest as he held you close, breathing slowly returning to normal.

“Are you glad I read your diary now?”

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starry-bi-sky · 6 days

Text

Danyal Al Ghul: Incorrect Quotes and Miscellaneous Thoughts

Incorrect quotes-style snippets specifically for my danyal al ghul au here (which i really need to come up with a unique au name for atp). Because I thought it'd be funny. And also some miscellaneous headcanons thrown into the mix. Some context for the au: - Danyal is 5 years older than Damian (so 10 and 15) - Danny faked his death when he was 10. Talia knows and helped him with it. - Jazz, Sam, and Tucker do not know he's an ex-assassin.

-------- Snippet 1

Danny, dryly tapping his temple: I have, as the Americans say, irreparable psychological damage, right here.

Jazz, an older sibling first and foremost: well, it's good that you're self-aware.

-------- Snippet 2

Danny, aged 10, in the American foster planning to just age out of the system: *emanating Bad Vibes. Pure, Little Orphan Tom Riddle Energy*

Jazz, aged 12, coming in to adopt a new sibling with her parents: Him. This is my brother now :)

Danny: ...what

--------

Lilo and Stitch is Danny's favorite Disney movie. He watched it when he was 11 with Jazz when she was attempting to connect with him, and by this point Danny was becoming receptive to her efforts. They had a movie marathon in the living room one night.

Safe to say? It resonated with his little 11 year old heart strongly, and he related very strongly with both Nani and Stitch. He got unexpectedly emotional and hid in his room for the rest of the night. Jazz felt really bad, but it had the intended (but kinda unexpected) effect of him trying to be nicer to her afterwards.

-------- Snippet 3

Dash, aged 12, causing trouble again and getting intercepted by Danny: *scaling up a desk* AHHHHH! GET YOUR LITTLE FREAK, FOLEY!

Tucker: Hey! Danny is not a freak!

Dash: GET HIM TO BACK OFF

Tucker, was the kid Dash was messing with: ....whats in it for me

-------- Snippet 4

Danny, saying some questionably immoral shit: What. Why are you looking at me like that.

Tucker: Bro. I mean this as kindly as possible; what the fuck?

Sam: yeah, I'm with Tuck on this one.

-------- Snippet 5

Danny, ranting about Vlad: if it weren't for the laws of this land, I would have slaughtered him

Sam, painting his nails black: I'm pretty sure you'd slaughter him regardless of the laws of the land -- and quit moving, you're gonna mess me up.

Tucker: we've literally seen you debate yourself about this, Dan

Danny: ...you are correct, but it is the principle of things.

-------- Snippet 6

Vlad: I have experience my child, and the money and power attained through using those powers for personal gain, you say. I could train you, teach you everything I know! And all you have to do is renounce that idiot adoptive father of yours.

Danny, was already contemplating committing a Violence: ....

Danny, internally: I'm going to stab him *turns into Phantom*

--------

Funny contrast I realized between Danyal and Vlad that iirc I haven't pointed out yet is that imo, Danyal doesn't rely on his powers nearly half as much as canon Danny does. He falls back instinctually on his League training, and thus sometimes forgets to use his powers in battle. This was prevalent especially early on when he was still getting used to the whole 'halfa' thing.

He incorporates them more often after a year, but still for the most part relies on his own physical hand-to-hand combat. He trusts those skills much more than he does his powers. I'm not sure where he is on a technical level compared to canon, but just to stay safe I'll say he's similar in power skill as canon Danny. Perhaps a little more finessed than him because his League training would probably have him trying to figure out his powers as soon as possible.

But in summary? Danny is strong in hand-to-hand combat, weak in powerset.

Meanwhile Vlad is the opposite. I can't recall if he even knows hand-to-hand in canon, but it makes total sense to me that Vlad Masters wouldn't because he's so confident in his monetary influence and ghost abilities that he sees no need for it.

And he's kinda got some merit behind it. He's very powerful and has 20 years of experience to experiment and fine tune his powers. He's got bite to follow up his bark. He's perfected long-range combat and his ability to phase through walls makes it impossible to corner him, but if you can manage it, then one good hit could probably knock him on his ass.

So in summary, Vlad is strong in powerset, weak in hand-to-hand combat.

And it casts a good contrast between the two of them in that regard. Danny, as a fellow halfa, can follow Vlad when he phases through walls and is fast enough to land a hit on him. His league training as an assassin, albeit rusty, is still deep ingrained enough in him that he can hold up as a rather veritable threat against Vlad without needing his powers.

But Vlad can force Danny to use his powers more often through use of his own. The duplication is the first thing to come to mind: Danny's fast enough to dispel them on his own without powers, and smart enough that he could figure out who the real one is if given a few minute. But that's not always efficient enough.

Good foils for each other that way. Also Vlad's Plasmius design mimics Ra's juuust enough that he looks like Ra's knockoff loser second cousin no one talks about, which only fuels Danny's hatred.

-------- Snippet 7

Danny, ranting about Vlad for the first time: --and it's only made worse by the fact that the little ingrate resembles a cheap knock-off of my grandfather!--

Sam, choking on her water: he what--

Tucker, doing a spittake: HE DOES?

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #danyal al ghul au #i have a doodle of that little scene with vlad actually. its in my notebook lmao.#danny gets *furiously* shakespearan when he's insulting someone. sam and tucker have recorded some of his rants #and they are just pure gold.#sam and tucker calling danny 'dan' as a nickname 2024.#which reminds me about how TUE would even happen. someone in my ao3 comments made a good point about how they weren't sure if my danyal #would even have a TUE occur because he's not the cheating type. i've seen clips of how he got his hands on the test answers but i'll need t #watch the episode to gauge if Dan is even feasible. and if he is what changes to make him happen. hmmm. much to think about #don't think danyal would stay with vlad even in the midst of his grief. hmhmhm #dpdc

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vinnellamadz · 3 months

Note

Enemies to lovers Adam x f!reader?

Enemies to Lovers

Adam X Reader

A/N: I shed blood, sweat and tears making this. SORRY IF ITS OOC this is my first real fic Adam is a PAIN to write.

You were never really able to get along with Adam. From the moment Adam arrived in heaven, the two of you were always at each other's throats.

Adam would always pick fights over the smallest things, and it was always enough to make you bite back. There wasn't a single day that he couldn't get under your skin and make fun of you. Calling you names, competing with you, and just being a general pain in your ass.

Today was the day of the first-second extermination of the year.

Adam was off giving his soldiers a 'pep talk', but before he flew off to this hazbin hotel, he came to you first.

As always, he made sure to get his daily insults in before he left, tearing into you with his words, ensuring you knew just how inferior and pathetic he deemed you. His snarky and playful tone only served to aggravate you further. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you snapped back, 'Oh, shut up! I hope you never return, Adam!' His initial shock quickly gave way to a smug grin. 'Calm your pretty little head, babe,' he retorted, his arrogance undeterred as he continued to prattle on about himself."

You weren't even listening; His annoying voice was easy to block out.

“plus I know you’ll miss me, I fuckin’ rock, I’m THE Adam” he pointed to himself keeping that stupid shit eating smile he always had, god you wanted to punch him so bad but couldn't, as you feared you would get sent to hell so you slammed the door in his face instead.

Later that night, you were sitting on your heavenly comfy couch, enjoying the latest episodes of your favorite shows. You were just about to fall asleep when a frantic knock jolted you from the cushions. With a tinge of fear, you approached the door, thinking, 'This is heaven; this couldn’t be bad, right?' As you opened the door and peeked out, you were shocked to see Adam, but he was far from his usual self. Covered in golden blood and bearing multiple stab wounds, he looked as though he had been through hell. (Lol) Without hesitation, you flung the door open, calling out, 'Adam!' before he collapsed on your doorstep.

It had been a while since you found Adam. Earlier, you had managed to drag him to your couch. As you attempted to patch him up, you discovered several more wounds scattered across his body. Shocked by the extent of his injuries, you couldn't help but wonder who could have inflicted such damage.

hours have passed since the surprise at your doorstep. You had fallen asleep on the floor beside him. When you woke up, he had yet to awaken, Panic gripped your heart as you reached out to shake him gently, wondering if he had actually died in his sleep. (double dead) You placed your finger beneath his nose, relieved to feel the subtle rise and fall of his breath. 'Why do I even care so much...' you pondered, a mix of emotions swirling within you.

More hours had passed, and as you were making lunch for yourself, you heard him make a sound. Turning around, you saw that he had finally woken up. “What the fuck am I doing here?” was the first thing that came out of his mouth. “You came to me, Adam. You're hurt.” Upon hearing your words, he winced and attempted to sit up, but a wave of pain washed over him, causing him to groan. Reacting quickly, you rushed to his side, gently placing a hand on his shoulder to ease him back down. 'Lay down, Adam,' you said softly, concern evident in your voice. “You're going to make it worse if you push yourself too hard.” Adam groaned with displeasure as you stood up and started walking back to the kitchen. However, something he said made you stop in your tracks.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” You froze in surprise. 'What?' Slowly, you turned to him, a shocked expression on your face. “Excuse me? How hard did you hit your head?”

You stood there in silence as he just stared at you “… I’m just fucking with you… dumb b-bitch…” he looked away in embarrassment, you stared at him with a shocked look ‘doesn’t sound like was a joke..’

“I can do it myself!” He argued.

"If you move, you'll probably explode or die. Stop it!" You were trying your best to care for him these past few days, but he's just such a pain in the ass. Currently, you were trying to feed him, but he kept turning his head away, stubborn as ever. Fed up with his behavior and the frustration boiling inside you, you finally snapped. With determination, you grabbed hold of his head, locking eyes with him. "Just eat it, damn it!" you exclaimed, frustration evident in your voice as you forcefully shoved the spoon into his mouth. Finally, he relented and ate it, although begrudgingly.

“I’d rather you shove your-“

“Shut the fuck up”

“Moody Bitch…”

You scoffed at his remarks, striding over to him and motioning for him to sit up, to which he obliges. "Take your shirt off," you instruct. He smirks in response. "Don't give me that look; you know what I mean." His smirk fades into annoyance as he complies with your request. Gently removing his bandages required getting close, and you carefully unwrap them before swiftly replacing them with fresh ones, wrapping them around his body with precision and care.

"You look really pretty down there" he grins at you, his eyes sparkling with admiration. You blush in response, feeling a warm flush creeping up your cheeks, unsure of how to respond to the unexpected compliment.

Wanna know a secret?" He said, catching your attention. You looked at him with a confused expression, but slowly nodded, curiosity piqued.

"you know I live alone right now? No one's going to—" Your words were cut off as you felt his hand grasp your face, Before you could react, his lips met yours in a sudden, electrifying kiss, sending a rush of warmth through your body.

Adam pulled away, leaving you stunned and bewildered by the sudden rush of conflicting emotions.

"You make it so damn difficult to hate you," he confessed, his voice tinged with frustration and a hint of something deeper, something you couldn't quite decipher. As you stood there, grappling with the unexpected confession, you realized that perhaps there was more to your relationship than just rivalry. With a mixture of uncertainty and expanding hope, you met his gaze, silently acknowledging the unspoken possibility of a new beginning between two former enemies turned potential lovers.

This was so hard goodbye. It’s so OOC I’m soo sorry I tried to rush the end to put this out faster 😭

#adam x reader #adam x reader hazbin #hazbin #hazbin adam #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #helluva boss #hazbin adam x reader #adam hazbin hotel #adam x reader hazbin hotel

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astroboots · 10 months

Text

Every You Every Me Issue #3

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You are determined to meet your Spider-benefactor face to face and you go to ever increasing extreme lengths to do so. Problem is, Miguel O'hara is very uncooperative to your plans.

Word count: 5,500 words.

Content: Slowest of the burn, so slow you wonder if it's even burning. Near death experiences, the state of the economy and how expensive it is to live in a big city, the emotional whiplash of Miguel O'Hara.

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

[Previous issue] [Next Issue]

You saw them in the window display of a bakery in Greenwich Village. Round sugar cookies with red frosting and white eyes, decorated as a tribute to everyone's favorite neighborhood Spiderman.

Before you had time to properly think things over (would he even like the cookies? Is he on a strict superhero diet and workout plan? What if he's gluten intolerant?) you were already standing in front of the cash register having a dozen of them wrapped up in fancy crinkly paper and were $72 dollars poorer.

Charging six dollars per cookie is practically highway robbery, but that's par for the course with New York bakeries. You wouldn’t be surprised if every bakery in New York was already a part of Wilson Fisk’s criminal empire.

As you push open the door, box in hand, you wonder wryly to yourself why Spiderman’s ruder alter ego isn't there to save you from that.

You wonder, for Superheroes, what classifies as an event worth intervening in and what everyday citizens need to be saved from?

Financial ailment doesn't quite seem to qualify from what you've been able to glean so far.

Tony Stark, for all the wealth he’s amassed (a large enough treasure hoard that he would be capable of buying the whole planet of Mars according to Forbes) isn't massively involved with charities. He only donates to the one: his own. And the Stark Foundation is really just Tony Stark paying reparations for the damage he and his buddies caused in the first place.

Thor is an actual deity, and you still remember that write-up in Esquire magazine, where local waiters in New Mexico had called him a terrible tipper and a habitual smasher of glassware.

Assault and battery is up in the air. There are accounts of Superheroes intervening; that Tiktok videos of She-Hulk breaking up a bar fight that went viral a few weeks back. But then equally, there are memes of Doctor Strange peeking out the window of Sanctum Sanctorum watching a street fight unfold,, utterly uninterested in getting involved. The internet labeled it as "mood".

As for murder and mayhem, there's a longstanding public debate as to whether Superheroes cause more than they prevent. Case in point: that Moon Knight guy that paints the streets of London red.

There is no rule book written to explain how Superheroes decides who is worth saving and who is not.

Does one have to be important and have a material effect on the state of the world?

If so, you fall pitifully short. The most world-changing decision you made as of late was deciding to opt out of utensils on your last GrubHub order to help save the environment.

So it makes you wonder: Why on earth has this non-costume accurate Spiderman saved you, not once, not twice, but 13 times to date?

That’s just the first of many questions you’d like to ask him. What does he know that you don’t? Does he know why the universe seems to be out to get you lately? Or why death itself is following you everywhere you go, nipping at your heels?

You haven’t had the chance to ask him anything, because despite all of your encounters, you haven't met him face to face since that very first time.

Inconveniently, you don't exactly have a way of contacting him. Superheroes aren't listed in the phone book.

With no other way to reach out, you go at it the old fashioned way. You write him a note from a page you've ripped out of your notebook:

‘Thank you for saving me. Can we meet? I have questions.’

You place the note on the window sill. Setting the plate with $72 dollars worth of Spiderman cookies on top of the left corner of the paper to make sure it doesn't get blown away in the wind. Then you leave the window open for the first time since you've moved into this apartment before heading to bed.

There's nothing else to do but to wait.

You wake to the spit and splatter of rain against your window. It's gray outside, and the cookies you set out the night before remain untouched. You frown at the sight, but you can't say you're surprised.

There was never any real indication that he was lurking around you. Superheroes are bound to have more interesting things on their schedule than stalking a random insurance employee.

You don't know why you thought this would work in the first place.

Getting out of bed, you walk up to your window to inspect the scene. The note is where you have left it, ink a little smeared from the rain, where the plate has kept it in place on the right corner.

That seems odd, now that you think about it. You stare at the note, eye drawn to the watermarks. Why are there water stains bleeding into the paper if your window was closed? As crappy as your rundown apartment can be, water damage is the one thing you haven't had issues with.

You draw your eyes to the closed window being smattered with the rain outside. Didn't you leave the window open last night? You're pretty sure you did, hoping that the open window would be seen as a gesture of invitation. You had left it open… right?

You did.

You're sure you did.

He must’ve been here.

Rude, not-costume-accurate Spiderman was here.

Right?

Your eyes flicker back to the window.

Or maybe you did close the window?

You close your eyes trying to recall your evening, packing the length of your apartment as you replay the memory. Suddenly, you're not so sure anymore. You always close your window, and even though you had every intention of keeping it open last night, who is to say you didn't close it out of sheer habit?

It's strange. Because if he was here, he would've spotted the note. But it's in the same spot you left it yesterday right under the plate on the left side of it...

You eye the undisturbed note tucked under the right corner of the plate.

Wait, wait. Didn't you put the note under the left side of the plate?

You did.

Yes, you definitely did.

Which means, he was here... Right?

You feel like you are going insane.

Are you seeing things that are not there? Was he actually here and if so why did he go to such lengths to pretend otherwise. Why would he passive-aggressively gaslight you into thinking he was never here?

You decide on a redo.

Because if you can't trust yourself and your questionable memory, you can trust a recording.

A teddy bear nanny cam sets you back $50. Not cheap, but not as outrageous as your stale-cardboard-tasting Spiderman cookies.

You set it up on your dresser opposite your window and link it to your phone as per the instructions.

As for the bait. After having tasted those brick cookies for yourself, putting it out for a second night for a man who has saved your life repeatedly didn't seem right. You decide to bake them yourself this time.

The added bonus is that you get to mix blue food coloring into the frosting for the decoration that goes on top. In retrospect, the red Spiderman cookies from last time might’ve implied that you’re calling him a knock-off Spiderman.

Besides, even with the cost of living crisis: a bag of flour, baking powder, unsalted butter, sugar and eggs cost a lot less than $72 dollars.

This time, you don't write him a sloppily put together note. You decide to write him a proper letter.

If he did visit your apartment, (and you're not just going insane) the fact that he moved the note meant that he must've read it.

This note didn’t work.

It must not have been compelling enough, you were kind of in a hurry…

You’ll have to write something better this time. Longer. More emotionally compelling. Surely if you take the time to really explain your plight, you can make him understand why it’s so important he talks to you!

The problem is that it’s hard to sound serious when it’s written on lined paper from your ruled notebook.

That won’t do. You go to the nearest stationery store in your neighborhood, a chain outlet of Paper Source to get yourself some decent looking stationary paper with a matching colored envelope to boot.

You immediately regret this part of your plan, because it ends up setting you back another $26 dollars. Why is 6 pieces of paper so damn expensive anyhow? Surely there’s a few trees left in the world to chop down?!

$102 dollars down in your bank balance, you sit down at your dining table that night, pen in hand and begin writing. You pour your heart onto the pages, setting out in as precise words as you can manage the effect your near death incidents have had on you.

How scared you are, how confused you are, but also how grateful you are that he's saved you, again and again and again. That you believe if you and him can just meet in person and talk, if you could ask questions and figure out why this is happening, then maybe you can find a way to stop it from happening again.

Then you fold the letter and tuck it neatly into the matching envelope and slide it under the left side of the cookie plate and go to sleep.

When you wake the next morning, nothing seems out of the ordinary.

The cookies are still neatly arranged on your plate. The letter snugly tucked underneath it.

On the left side this time, you note.

It doesn’t look like he came.

The only thing is that you swear that the envelope is now several inches further to the left than where you left it last night.

Again, maybe that’s just wishful thinking.

You pull up your phone, opening the app linked to the nanny cam and press play.

There is nothing but the still frame of your studio apartment, your bed to the right and your window square in the camera-view. You speed up the video, but the only thing that takes you by surprise is that you apparently toss a lot more in your sleep than you thought.

The camera footage goes well into 3am, and you’re resigning yourself to the fact that this was all down to your imagination.

He didn't come last night. Probably didn't come the night before. Most likely you woke up from the rain, closed the window and were too sleepy to remember.

You sigh, setting down your phone on the table, prepared to let this whole endeavor go.

On your screen, a smudged shadow appears in the corner of the window. You jump to your feet from your seat, knocking your chair over in the process with a raucous thud. The dark figure grows larger on your screen, dark navy blue and lines of stark red that perches itself onto your window sill.

YES! yes-yes-yes! You knew it. You fucking goddamn knew it!

You were right.

Adrenaline buzzes victoriously in your veins, and you grip your phone harder. Your heart is pounding so fast and hard in your chest you can hear the drumming beat of it in your ears.

He was here!

(You're not cuckoo for cocoa puffs).

You watch as his large figure sits on your window sill. He's still wearing his mask, and while you can't make out the expressions underneath, the outline where his eyes would have been, painted in dark blue, now narrow into a slit on your screen.

There's a hostility emanating from that glare that you are able to sense all the way from the opposite side of the screen. He stares down at the plate of cookies suspiciously. Then he just stays there, unmoving, having a staring competition with the cookies you baked in his image.

In the privacy of your living room, you have the luxury of taking the time to get a proper look at him without interruption. It's hard to ignore the fact of just how tightly fitted to his skin that suit is. The dark blue fabric clings to every line of muscles on his body and it makes your cheek prickle with heat when you look. It feels voyeuristic somehow, but you can't help but think that the more modest alternative would be if he had worn nothing at all.

He's absurdly ripped. Muscular doesn't even begin to describe it. Broad shoulders and a narrow tapered waist segueing into obscenely thick and defined thighs that have your eyes linger for far too long. You shake your head to snap yourself out of it, Jesus you are acting like a creep. This isn’t OnlyFans, though lord knows you paid for this privilege! $102 for a cam video!

On the footage, there is finally movement. He reaches for a cookie, bringing it to his mouth. The blue fabric dematerializes on his lower face until it reveals his tanned skin and that ridiculously cut jaw of his.

His mouth parts. Fangs protrude where his canine teeth are supposed to be and the sight makes you nearly drop your phone in shock.

Is this Spiderman a vampire? Or is he like a tarantula Spiderman with fangs to match?

You watch in suspended horror as he bites into the cookie, those sharp fangs of his are in plain view as he chews.

He leans over to reach for a second cookie and all your trepidation is forgotten for a second, because if he’s reaching for a second one, it must mean he likes them. You grin at your screen, culinary pride beating out any caution or fear you may have had.

Then he lifts up the plate, picking up the letter. The anticipation is too much. You press your face closer to the screen to try to get closer, because your screen is too small to pick up any possible nuances in his expression.

He's carefully opening the envelope as he starts to read. It's impossible to tell what he's thinking. There's no visible change of facial expressions in the outline of his masked eyes. His mouth, which is bared to you, doesn't so much as twitch.

It doesn’t take long for him to read it. When he's done, he tucks the letter back under the plate. Then he bends down over the plate of cookies, and for a moment you think he’s going in for a third. Instead his hand lingers on the plate, before he starts to slide the remaining cookies around the plate to your confusion. You watch in confusion as he picks up the cookies one by one to space them out more evenly. You don't quite understand what he's trying to do, wait… is Vampire spider man re-arranging the cookies to make it less obvious he’s eaten them?!

The bastard really was trying to gaslight you into thinking he was never here.

Once he’s seemingly satisfied with his work, he straightens up, turning until his back is against the camera preparing to leave.

To your surprise his face turns around to take one last look inside. The direction of his gaze settles on your bed where you're sleeping. His eyes lingers there for a handful of moments, inscrutable over the mask.

Is he sad? Angry? You can't tell.

He finally looks away and then he leaps off the window.

Politely asking him in writing is clearly not working out for you.

You decide the only recourse you have left is to try and physically catch him.

Such a simple sentiment that had sounded so easy in your head, but you quickly run into logistical issues when you try to put it into practice.

The man is built like a tank. Can leap off of skyscrapers (and the window of your sixth floor) without breaking a sweat. Potentially also a vampire.

You're not exactly sure how you're supposed to catch someone like that.

Your google research is off to a shaky start. Somehow you end up down a rabbit hole of tutorials for non-lethal mouse traps. It's not very useful inspiration. Because you can't exactly build a 7 foot large cage trap to catch him the next time he comes around to help himself to cookies.

But the concept of having a lure trap set with bait seemed transferable and so you decide to go for a classic spring trap that you’ll modify. No cage, instead you set up a DIY contraption with a sturdy string attached to a bell meant to quickly alert you to his presence next time he comes around.

The game plan is to wake up and corner him before he has a chance to abscond.

As for bait, you google things that vampires might like in a half-thought of plan it might be applicable. Unfortunately, there are no young virgin maidens you know of as far as the eye can see in New York (yourself included) so that was a no go.

So you default back to cookies (because hey, at least it worked last time).

Amazon has your whole set up shipped and delivered by the next day and you implement phase 3 of your rapidly escalating attempts to reach out to him.

Unfortunately, it doesn't work. For one he doesn’t show up that night. Or the night after. It takes him four whole days to show up again and when he does, he spots your trap a mile away. When you review the footage on the cam the next day, he avoids the rope and the whole mechanism effortlessly.

There's no sound on the nanny cam so you can't be sure of it. But you think from the way the line of his shoulders shake as he steps over the rope that he might be laughing at you. He’s definitely seen through few supervillain traps in his days so in hindsight the probability of success here was low.

He does however eat three of your cookies this time.

You get a little bit more desperate after that.

You decide that if a trigger trap to wake you won't work, then obviously, the next best thing is for you to simply stay awake.

The problem is that he doesn't show up every night. His visits are entirely random without an obvious pattern. Sometimes he shows up two nights in a row, sometimes he goes several days without making a guest appearance on your nanny cam footage.

It means you end up downing a whole carafe of coffee, and several energy drinks, every night for a week straight. Entirely unable to predict what night he's going to appear, you keep dooming your already tiny bladder to a dozen visits to the bathroom before the clock has even struck nine.

The saddest part of it is that despite being wired on enough coffee to power a nuclear power station by yourself, you never end up staying awake the whole night through.

More often than not you end up falling asleep sitting upright by the dining table waiting up for him. Then the next morning you wake with a wry neck, a sore back and your face pressing up uncomfortably against the wooden surface.

But you're nothing if not tenacious. Tonight makes it the sixth night in a row that you’re doing this. You stare down the can of red bull on your dining table as you pick it up and lift it to your mouth. You’re going to keep going, hardness of the wooden table be damned.

You're surprised to find yourself waking up feeling well rested without any aches. Surrounded by the softness of your quilt and your even softer memory foam pillow.

The luxurious comfort of it all is such a relief that you don't even question it at first. Don't question why you're in bed when the last thing you remember was nodding off against the palm of your hand and the hard discomfort of your dining chair.

In the sanctuary of your bed, you just dig your face deeper into your pillow and snooze for as long as you can. Ignoring the bright sun pouring in from your windows until it sears unforgivingly against your skin and you decide that it’s finally time to start your day.

By habit, the first thing you do as you get up from bed is to pull up the nanny cam app on your phone and press play on last night's recording.

There's nothing of interest. Seeing yourself read a book by the dining table and chugging down a series of Red Bull is hardly riveting television.

Yesterday you barely even make it until midnight because you can see yourself nod off at the table, head sliding off your palm and plonking down on the dining table. You flinch at the impact, vaguely impressed that the collision didn't wake you.

Your (maybe vampire) Spiderman turns up at 3 am.

Much like the times before, he perches himself on your window sill, peering inside (presumably to check for any new traps you might have laid out for him).

His broad frame stiffens, and then, with a smooth leap, he's inside your apartment.

Excitement rushes to your head, because this is the furthest he’s gone and the first time he's come all the way inside instead of just lurking on the window sill.

He goes over to your bed, flinging the quilt to the side. He seems stressed, the dark shape of his eyes wide as he stands over the empty bed when it dawns on you what’s happening on screen right now.

Oh, he's worried.

He looks over at you, hunched over the dining table, sound asleep and oh god, is that drool on your cheek?

The line of his shoulder relaxes. The broadness of his chest rises then dips with a heavy exhale. Something warm trickles in your stomach at his obvious concern for you.

The mystery is confounding. You don't know him. You've never met him, but for some unfathomable reason he cares enough about you to genuinely care about your safety and you want to know why.

He makes his way over to the table where you are. The mask slowly ebbs away, uncovering his familiar chin, cheeks and then finally his eyes. An other-worldly shade of crimson that has you spellbound and transfixed on the screen.

You find yourself raising your phone closer to your face, trying to get a better look at him. Cursing the crappy quality of the video. You don't know what to make of the way he's looking at you. It's intensely focused, almost sad, and… and… And you don't know what, but it makes your heart leap up into your throat, chest clenching tight.

He bends over, wrapping his broad arms under your knees. He’s careful in his movements, cupping your head as it lolls to the side until you’re comfortably resting against his shoulders. It’s a practiced movement, as if he’s done this a hundred times before as he picks you up and carries you bridal style to your bed. Gingerly tucking you under the quilt with something that looks a lot like tenderness.

It leaves you with more questions than ever.

Ever since you started your caffeine chugging marathon, work has become a new kind of hell.

You're already half-asleep and nodding off at your desk by 10.30. Eyes sore and strained as you stare at the bright screen and try to make sense of the endless columns that are all different and also all the same until your brain refuses to try to make sense of any of it anymore.

You need to go for a walk. Clear your head.

Maybe pop out for a coffee... smoothie. Definitely smoothie.

Outside, the heat is oppressive, far too hot for only being May. Definitely too hot when there are this many tourists around. The street is so crowded you can barely make an inch of headway, trapped behind a family with a stroller in front, trapped in front of a pushy businessman who keeps stepping on your heels every two steps, and trapped next to a guy who is really into his airpods.

With the excess of caffeine still trying to make its way out of your system and the unforgiving heat of the sun beating against your back, it all has the effect of making you feel like you’re hung over. Your breakfast is roiling in your stomach. Sweat plastered against every inch of clothing. You don't know why you do this to yourself.

Every morning you tell yourself never again, and yet every night, there you were, spending half of your disposable income on energy drinks.

Starting from today, you're going cold turkey on the stuff. You've finally given up on trying to stay awake long enough to catch your super-stalker in his cookie burglar routine. Endlessly chugging down caffeine every night is not working out for you. Neither are the DIY mouse traps.

You're running low on ideas of how to trap him. You have nothing else to go on anymore. No idea on how to summon the man. The only time you know he'll be there is the moment before each near-death when he's there to save you.

What are you supposed to do with that? Purposely throw yourself off another building to lure him out?

That's crazy!

…Right?

But maybe... No! Definitely crazy.

Someone screams, and you snap out of your thoughts. There's yelling and terrified shrieks all around you. You're caught in the throng of people, panicked bodies pushing and pressing up against you, all of them trying to run the other way.

You dig in your heels, bracing yourself against the stampede of people. They’re pushing in from every direction until it’s impossible to move an inch. It’s hard to turn your body, when second after second, someone is pummeling into your side, knocking into your bruising shoulder. You barely manage to crane your neck back far enough when you finally spot it.

A red-green truck with a gigantic taco on its roof is careening towards you across the pavement, no driver behind the wheel. The sea of bodies parts around the out-of-control vehicle, people running left, right and forward to escape being crushed under the wheels.

There’s no time to react. It’s too close. Too fast.

A hand clutches at your wrist and pulls you backwards, your vision obscured as your face is pressed up against a familiar solid warmth.

"Hold onto me," he tells you, and you do.

You're held firm against him as the ground underneath your feet disappears, and everything feels weightless. Then all you hear is a loud thunderous crash.

Your feet touch back down on the ground, and the strong protective hold on you unravels.

When you open your eyes he's already gone. You're left on the corner of Lexington Avenue, still trying to catch your breath. The mob of people is still there all around you, but the panic has passed now, everyone is standing still. Everyone is observing the wreckage of the run amok truck that is now flipped onto its side, rendered harmless.

Miraculously, somehow, nobody around you seems visibly injured.

From a distance, you can hear sirens approaching with a deafening wail.

But your mind is elsewhere, on the shade of the familiar dark blue and red as you were being saved seconds ago. On his gentle voice in your ear that still thrums pleasantly in your chest.

You want to see him again.

It's Friday, and you break half an hour early for your designated 40 minutes of lunch, taking the elevator directly to the 72nd floor, which is under construction to renovate it into an open observation deck for the public next year.

The thing with commercial skyscrapers is that nowadays most of them have safety glass panels on all outside spaces of the upper floors to ensure that it is impossible to climb up the buildings and jump.

It's a safety feature that became standard after the financial crisis of 2008.

Turns out that imposing an 80 hour work week on your employees, where they don't get to see their family or friends or have a life outside of work, and then stripping them of their financial security makes a lot of people miserable and suicidal (who knew?)

The elevator pings open, and you exit into the construction zone, carefully avoiding the various tools scattered across the half-finished deck. On Fridays, the construction workers on the site leave by lunchtime, and the space is empty of people.

Step by step, you walk up towards the edge of the terrasse, until you stand before the temporary safety rail, looking out over the sprawling city below you. Cars look like tiny moving pebbles and the people, a hive of ants scurrying from street to street.

It’s a dizzying view. Both beautiful and grotesque in its grandeur. The 72nd floor will be 28 more floors to fall from than the 44th was.

The air around you seems to thin, and your stomach wants to crawl down to your feet and hold on to steady ground.

Taking a deep breath, you lift the hem of your shirt, running your hand over the safety harness strapped around your waist, reassuring yourself it's still there. Then you feel along the attached cord, using the carabiner at the end to clip it around the rod of the safety rail.

Being impulsive and daring in your quest is one thing. Reckless and stupid is another.

It’s not a real climbing rope and harness. Turns out professional safety gear is shockingly expensive, but you found a knock-off resistance training set, complete with harness and stretchy bungee cord rope, on Amazon for a very reasonable $15. You’ve already spent $72 on cookies, $50 dollars for a nanny cam set, and an extortionate $26 for stationary paper in your never-ending quest to lure out Fake Spiderman. You figure a rope is a rope, and you're not paying $100 more to get ripped off by the big climbing corporations. But you’re also not willing to go without.

After all, you've already fallen from the Chrysler building once, and you're not angling for a repeat.

As intent as you are on seeing your Spider-benefactor eye to eye, you're not quite prepared to die for the privilege. Your plan is just to make it look like you are going to jump.

Any superhero worth his dime wouldn't actually let you fall before they would be willing to save you.

That would be a real dick move.

You give your impromptu safety rig one last tug to make sure it's secure, then straighten your posture. Grabbing a hold of the metal rail, you hoist yourself up. You clamber onto it, gripping tight with shaking hands as you swing a leg over, straddling the bar.

Left leg then the right, until all of you are on the other side of the railing.

Then you stay there.

One second. Then two. You close your eyes and try not to look down at the many, many floors below, and how one gust of strong wind could probably knock you over and have you falling down the building again. You count the seconds that pass you by.

Five. Six. Seven.

A strong gust of wind blows through your side, and your legs buckle at the strong resistance, hand gripping down on the metal railing to hold yourself steady so you don't fall off.

Eightnineten! Ok. Fuck. No. You're good. Fuck this! He's not going to come.

If he didn’t come when you climbed over, he's not going to turn up now.

You briefly let go of the railing with one hand, adjusting your grip so you can climb back to safety. The sun beating down on your back disappears and is eaten up by a large and looming shadow. Every hair on the back of your neck prickles in warning.

Your reaction is too slow, you don't even have time to turn around to see what caused it. Then all you hear is an angry booming voice right next to your ear.

"Have you lost your goddamned mind?!"

You panic, flinging out your hand to catch the bar, but the hard metal of the railings isn't there anymore.

There is a sharp metallic snap. The safety rope around your waist splits from the hasp.

He’s calling your name.

The world tilts and everything goes upside down along with it. Your stomach sinks with a sickening plummet, legs dropping through into zero gravity as you find yourself staring up at the blue and endless New York sky.

Then you're falling from the Chrysler building.

Again.

Fuck!

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: To my dearest @thirstworldproblemss who has to constantly listen to me jabber on about this day and night endlessly and forever. She is in every sense of the word a collaborator on this project. She brainstorms, she pitches in, she edits and she beta-reads. This and so many of my works would not exist without her, please send her all the love if you enjoyed this story.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

#miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfic #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #oscar isaac #spider man: across the spider verse #marvel #miguel ohara x reader #spiderverse fanfiction #across the spiderverse fanfiction #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you

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qpidkitea · 4 months

Text

ENDUREMENT

FARLEIGH START X FEM! READER

PRÉCIS: Second part of Tranquility, where Farleigh talks about himself and his family. Hoping that you wouldn't judge and come with him to America to visit his mother.

WARNING: Angst, cursing, mentions of death, mentions of Oliver, kisses, happy ending. The reader is kind of an anchor for the family right now.

A/N: Big big biggg thanks to @darkeyesshine for the ideas for this fic. Thank you again!!

No one knew about your 'relationship' with Farleigh. You weren't even sure yourself you two were officially together, but you cared for him, likewise he cared for you. The two of you spent many nights at Saltburn sneaking into each other's rooms for nothing more than the comfort company and some shared kisses- not on the lips just yet, silently grateful that you two uncoincidentally chose rooms down the hall from each other. You don't even think that fucking freak. Oliver knew, and he knew everything.

You and Farleigh lie beneath the duvet in his room, your head resting on his naked chest, your arm laying across his stomach as he smokes a cigarette, being careful to blow the smoke in the air, attempting not to cause severe damage to your lungs, even though you're definitely sure you have already been exposed to secondhand smoke just from being near the Cattons. For the past two weeks, you have been staying in Farleigh's room during the night, but you made sure that in the day, you'd invite the Cattons to come and do the things they used to when Felix was here. It was fun while it lasted. Now Farleigh was planning to go back home to America permanently. Venetia was still severely depressed, but it wasn't like you could ask her to stop. You didn't know how Elspeth and James were feeling. They hid their emotions through careless eyes, moving on with the same normality as before.

You look up at Farleigh, who was just finishing his cigarette. You watch as he throws it out of the open window before he looks down at you with concern behind his eyes.

"What?" Staring wasn't the word to explain what you were doing, you were admiring. His beautiful brown skin was glistening in the scorching sun, and you swore you could almost mistake him for a Greek God. His brown curls settled perfectly around his face, he was perfect to you. Everything about him was perfect. You just hoped he may feel the same about you.

"Nothing. Just looking at you." Farleigh lets out a laugh, smiling so hard his cheeks expand, but that only made him look cuter. You sit up from laying on his chest, and move to sit Criss Cross on the end of his bed facing him. Farleigh sits up next, and you can't help but laugh when he turns to the side to stretch, seeing the back of his hair flattened.

"Oh, shut up! I'm fixing it." You're still laughing, and you swear you could almost pass out from laughter. Using one slender arm, Farleigh fluffs the hair at the back of his head. Your laughter dies down and you take a deep breath. Smiling again at him.

"Farleigh, is there anything on your mind before you depart for America next week?" You feel bad bringing this up when just a moment before you were laughing with him, but you didn’t want him leaving in a horrible mood. Farleigh runs a hand up and down his chest, nodding his head a bit. He moves to stretch his legs over you, socked feet laying in your lap. You scrunch your face up before pushing his feet to the side of you. Farleigh takes in a deep breath before beginning to speak.

"I have to get the fuck away from here. I can't stand it. They make me feel like an imbecile- not Venetia." You nod your head at his clarification, now understanding that he was talking about James and Elspeth. You knew James was funding Farleigh's mom- his own sister - back in America, but you didn't know that Farleigh was receiving the backlash from his mother's actions. Unfortunately, you also know that Farleigh's mother was disowned from the family. You don't know why, but you know her name is completely off the will, and most likely they would withdraw from paying for college.

"He claims he doesn't care about my "Bloody American Feelings-" What the fuck does he even mean?" Farleigh looks at you with wide eyes, emphasizing his point. Farleigh was a very handsy talker, moving his arms around to explain his point. You stay silent, letting him get his rant off. You weren't related to the Cattons- just a friend of Farleigh's, Venetia's, and Felix's, who the Cattons let stay. This was your 3rd year staying in Saltburn.

"This place is too- much for me right now. I miss my mom, I miss my house, I never even wanted to really go to Oxford, I only went because Felix wanted me to- I don't fit in anywhere. A queer, needy person of color in the middle of England? Fucking England!" You pout slightly at his outburst, not liking him calling himself needy.

"You're not needy, Farleigh. Don't believe what Sir James says about you. He's a complete and utter fool. You can't expect someone who's been rich their whole life to understand anything from the perspective of someone who hasn't had everything handed to them." You look into his eyes as you say this, making sure he understands exactly what you are trying to say.

"Thank you. I know, I just- you're a problem for me. I want to get away from here, but I can't just leave you here. jus' can't let you go back home and forget about me, can I?" Farleigh grows this smug smirk on his face, taunting you almost.

"Oh, shut up! I'd be fine without you." At this, Farleigh quirks an eyebrow, his smirk dropping before he comes to his knees on the bed, crawling over to you over the expanse of the bed before leaning on top of you, his shadow blocking out any light.

"Live? Without me? Impossible. You need me. Who's gonna make you laugh in the late hours of the night, hm?" Farleigh tilts his head at the end of his question, his curls moving along with him. There's nothing but teasing behind his voice but it still makes you nervous none the less, playing your bashfulness off, you push him, making him fall backwards because of his unstable position.

"Okay! I'll miss you, I must admit, but as long as you just call me, we'll be fine" You cross your arms as Farleigh sits back upright, crossing his legs now, his long limbs folding across each other. It's weird, because he's quiet. He's looking down, facial expression blank, a bit of uncertainty in his movements, fiddling with the box of cigarettes in his lap.

"Do you want to come with me?"

"What?"

"Do you... want to come with me? To America." Fairleigh knew you lived alone, your very wealthy parents died a month before you went off to college, and you inherited all of their wealth. It would last you at least another 10 years, and by that time, you would already have a job, living on your own. This is part of the reason you had no problem going to Saltburn for the last three years. You had no family waiting for you to come home for the holidays.

"Are you sure you would want me to come?"

"I wouldn't be able to live my life with just a phone call every week." Farleigh looks up with a smile, his hair bouncing, looking as beautiful as ever.

"Okay. How long do you want me to stay?" Farleigh has surprise written all over his face, he never expected you to agree so quickly, to want you to come to such a place with him, where you know you won't have the finest things, or a great big house to live in.

"We'll come back before school starts again and go back in for all the breaks. I'll be able to finish college. They paid in full for tuition already." He smirks and pulls out a cigarette from the small cardboard box, putting it between his ring and middle finger, but not lighting it just yet.

"What about when school ends?" Would you stay in England? Or would you find a home in America to be with Farleigh, or possibly find a home together? You brush your thoughts off as wishful and look up from your lap at Farleigh with your head tilted, awaiting an answer.

"Oh, I'm hoping that you'll stay with me in America? Pretty, pretty, pretty pleaseeeee." You laugh, knowing of the incoming dramatics about to come from Farleigh, and if on cue, he flops backwards on the bed, shaking his head about in a show of a tantrum. Swinging his arms behind his head, somehow throwing his cigarette across the cold wooden floors and huffing loudly. He rolls off the bed, landing on his feet before he comes to the side of the bed. You turn your body to him, and he's on his knees, his hands grabbing your own before he pleads dramatically.

"I'll do anything! Just come with me and stay. You'll love the fatty American cheeseburgers, I swear!" It's surprising how long Farleigh can hold up a good act, not once breaking his role to laugh or even cringe at himself.

"Anything, huh?" You lean forward and smile. Fairleigh's blonde and brown curls touch your forehead.

"Anything." It wasn't you who made the first move, but Farleigh. As he inches himself to your face, you lean in also, but it felt as if you weren't the one controlling your body. Your forehead tickles, and you want nothing but to back away and rub at your forehead to get rid of that itchy feeling, but your body won't let you. Slowly you two inched closer together until your lips finally touched, Farleigh sighs softly, like he was waiting for this moment, and you can't help but melt into the kiss.

To you- to the both of you, this confirms everything. Small stares at each other across the dining room table, the lingering touches at the bar, the matching costumes you two would often wear to parties. You couldn't believe it took this long for you to even just kiss, even after nights of sleeping in the same bed. Farleigh is the first one to pull back, and you can clearly see, etched on his face, is nothing but adornment.

"I can't believe I let myself wait three fucking years for that. Should've done it way sooner." You two bust out into laughter at his words, knowing that a new beginning would start for the both of you.

Farleigh ushers you to knock on the front door, but you slap his hand away from the small of your back, insisting on ringing the doorbell, the house was medium-sized, but it was a breath of fresh air for you, you grew sick of high ceilings and Renaissance walls. You could hear his mother's steps get louder as she approached the door. Heels- she was wearing heels. The doorknob twists in your view before the door opens towards Farleigh's mother. She wore a beautiful black pantsuit with red lipstick and red heels to match. She might've not been filthy rich, but she dressed like she was, even if it was inexpensive or not a designer brand. A white smile comes upon her face as she looks at you, and then at her son.

“Oh! You must be Y/N. Nice to meet you darling” You almost forgot she was English. Her accent was not as strong as yours, but you could tell her upbringing.

“nice to meet you Ms.-" You smile back at her, reaching out to shaker her hand, but she ignores it, instead pulling you in for a tight hug.

“please, call me Frederica, come in, come in, quite cold outside” She steps aside from the doorway, allowing you and Farleigh to enter. She winks at Farleigh, motioning her head towards you as he passes. Extending her two thumbs out at him. But you don't see that. She then pulls her son into a warm, tight embrace, kissing his cheek, some of her red lipstick transferring onto his face. Your heart warms as she tells Farleigh how much she missed him, and it nearly melts away as he responds, telling her the same thing.

She turns to you now, who's still standing in the middle of the living room. The woman motions her hand for you to sit on the couch, and you do. She smiles and sits next to you, and Farleigh almost screams in horror as he too comes to sit on the couch, only to notice the blue picture book sitting on the coffee table, undoubtedly filled with his most embarrassing baby photos. The woman next to you crosses her legs before turning to you and smiling.

“Farleigh is quite fond of you, talks about you all the time over the telephone." Farleigh turns away, pretending not to hear his mother as he looks at the white curtains hanging from the window. Tapping his foot on the carpeted floor. You smile and laugh slightly, imagining him ranting about you to his mother, who's never even met you.

"Really?" Your tone is teasing. Even if he wasn't looking your way, he could definitely hear you.

"Oh absolutely, almost every day, and now I know why. You're stunning. Now, let me show you some of his baby pictures." Farleigh whips his head over to look at his mother with wide eyes, his hair swinging wildly.

"Mother, no!"

#farleigh start x fem reader #farleigh start x you #farleigh x reader #farleigh start x reader #farleigh imagine #farleigh start #saltburn imagine #saltburn #saltburn movie #saltburn x reader #archie madekwe #saltburn 2023

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