#i actually used to be completely obsessed

[rinbowaman]

H I S M A R K : H E E D A M

WARNINGS: FLUFF, SMUT (UNPROTECTED), ORAL (MALE REC.), REFERENCE TO NONCON SMUT, MENTIONS OF FORCED BREEDING, SEX SLAVERY (HISTORICAL), DUBCON, MYTHOLOGY, ANCIENT HISTORY, SYMBOLISM, MARKINGS, YANDERE LOVE, OBSESSION, POSSESSIVE, FANTASY, MENTIONS OF KIDNAPPING, PARANOIA, STOCKHOLM SYNDROME, FORCED LOVE, ISOLATION, AND CURSING. NOT PROOREAD (YET).

THIS TAKES PLACE SHORTLY AFTER ‘CHILD OF THE SEA’ DRABBLE. ALL PART IF THE MERMAIDS TALE SERIES ON MASTERLIST.

This Drabble had me feeling something that is surreal I swear. Probably my favorite Drabble yet.

THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL. THIS IS NOT REAL.

For days, weeks, and months, you’ve questioned your sanity. It was the same routine; waking up in an unknown territory, wondering if you’ll ever get to experience freedom again. You’ve tried to calm yourself, but a factor prohibits you from gaining rest. It has been so long since you were able to roam the streets on your own, to visit the bakery that you loved so much, and to sip coffee while viewing the window of your high-rise apartment. It wasn’t that you couldn’t do the things you enjoyed in life, you just had to enjoy it…with him.

Over a year, this man had broken you down, restricted you of using your own senses, and prohibited in exercising your own way of thinking. No. Everything was about him. He made it that way to reflect his own spirit, since for him, everything was about you. You were all he sees, eats, hear, and breathes. It caused his insanity in which formed that insatiable love for you. He wanted you to rely on him, to think of only him, and to love him the way he does you. It’s…sickening. The worst part…was that you were actually starting to succumb to your weak heart.

The other day he made a great effort to impregnate you…the image plagues your mind, no matter what you’re looking at. You’ve tried to erase it completely, yet the view of his exposed throat, his thick neck in full display as he shoves and rests his length deep inside your womb, pumping out each string of release. His hands gripped your hips, slowly sliding up to your waist while he rests in between your legs, and his head remained flung back. His poignant Adams Apple bobs up and down delicately as he restlessly murmurs…’Uh-Uh-huh.”

He tells you that you should be grateful. For the rumors of his ancestors and their harsh breeding methods with Sirens were merely just to produce sons. At least with him, he did it out of love and passion. He tells you of how the sirens would eventually weakened to the desires of an Adams touch, and eventually grew to love their captors…which he predicted would become the end result for you.

‘It’s only a matter of time’ he says.

If only what he said wouldn’t hold any truth, yet as each passing day rotates in and out, you’re slowly coming to realize that he spoke the truth. It may not be out of your own willingness to return that love, but he didn’t care. All that mattered to him was the end goal, despite it being a result of Stockholm Syndrome. Regardless of his abusive method in claiming you, that love he displayed…it was getting to you.

‘It’s only a matter of time, baby. You will love me…you will, Siren.’

Sirens…a creature only read in mythology books, or poems and mentioning’s by philosophers. Who could ever believe that there was more truth to their existence?

A Siren cannot feel the physical touch, sensation, or feeling of anything. Not even pain at a high scale. Should anyone cut off your limb, or carve out an eye, you wouldn’t feel it. You wouldn’t scream. You wouldn’t even shed a single tear. No matter how many injuries your body would display, you’ll never feel the blister of the injury….unless it was done by an Adam.

The only person that can make you feel things. He knew that…he knew that too well. From the moment he sensed your expression and witnessed it at the party, he knew that something was amiss. He could feel it.

The Clan of Adam is what they are called, singularly referred to as ‘Adam’s’ named after the first man. The bloodline stemmed from the sons sired by Alexander the Great, that much you both knew. At least up until the moment he found the memento remnants of his late grandfather…who met a tortuous end by his grandsons hand.

“Huh…look what I found baby.” He holds the large book in both hands. It was ancient, laced by a gold chained binding, with thin wooden slats, polished to perfection with the inscription carved in the finest font. Elegant and edged with Hellenic images, charts, and astronomical symbols, you could tell that the contents contained knowledge that was unreal…stuff people read out of a fairy tale.

He pulls you back by tenderly holding your waist, sitting you on his lap as he sets the book before you. Resting it on your thighs, he passionately roams his palms up and down your ribcage, taking deep inhales as he whiffs in your scent, burying his nose at the back of your neck. “Mmm, fuck I love you.”

Your eyes begin to form tears…again. Yet each time you calmly sobbed, they became less and less watery. The feeling of touch, while initially had disgusted you, has now become the very thing you embraced. It was something you craved…and only he could give it to you.

“Read it baby.” He sighs out as he takes in another whiff. His hands lower their grip to your hips; his thumbs pressing in right above your derrière, beside your tailbone.

You arch your back as you winced your eyes. Your mind kept telling you to be strong and resist…but your heart told you the opposite. He pulls you in, smoothing your rear to grind and settle right on his bulge. “You’re sooooooo perfect…perfect for me.” He drags a deep tone as he flings his head back, lightly bucking his hips upwards. The sensation formed a familiar knot, a tightness that expanded until it snaps, releasing the flow of intense orgasm and pleasure. “P-please…please don’t—“

You gently spoke your words, moaning them out as you plead. You wanted it and didn’t want it. He reached up and around, turning your head to the side to face him, eloping you in a beautifully tender kiss. He grinds, and you move. He bucks, and you press in. Your bodies became a perfectly tuned rhythm of pleasure…and love.

“H-Heeseung…” you moan in between the small pecks. He lightly groans into your mouth, admitting a long and harsh lick up from your bottom lip to the top. “Aw fuck…yeah baby? You like that?” He doesn’t give you room to answer before re-sealing your mouth into a rather messier kiss. The twisting and twirling of tongue and the stroking of canines has completely melted you, and he could feel it on his crotch.

His hands migrate up and around, unionizing on your tummy. They slowly mesh downward and apply pressure as they rub on the flat canvas above your clit. It didn’t take long for him to find his way under your dress, his hands were so gifted in knowing the in and outs of feminine-styled seams. He hooks your panties and shove them to the side, and God..the way he could move his hands alone was enough to get you heated and moist. So wet.

Not once did he release your mouth. The flaring of your nostrils indicates the struggle for breath, yet the latching proved that it was all worth the struggle. Your lips quiver as your thighs shake; his fingers gently rubbing small circles right at the tip, surfacing a toil of piercing desire that raged within you like the fires of Hell. You moan some more in his mouth, hating how you were loving the way he explored inside you. That damn tongue of his…he was so experienced, being a former playboy, but now a committed husband who only had eyes, a heart, and soul, just for you.

“Oh Heeseung…mmmm! Oh please-“

“Fuck yeah baby. Never felt someone as good as you.”

His heart pelted against his chest, you could feel it underneath in between your shoulder blades as yours felt as if it would explode from within. He played around with your womanhood until he firmly gripped your waist, thumbs pressing against your back as his fingers dig into your torso. He lifts you just a tad, before slamming you down against his clothed groin. He continues to buck up while bouncing you in a momentum that was out of this world. You gasped out a series of yelps, all in sync with his motions. “Pl-please!!! Please..!”

“Please what? WHAT?” He whispers as he buries his nose and lips into your ear. “Fucking tell me what you want. Let me hear it.”

You reach up and gently palm the back of his neck, struggling to move smoothly as the quaking aches of pleasure and desire took over your body. “Ugh…please…please give it to me…”

You can’t believe you just said that…

He smirks. “Oh yeah baby…don’t worry, I’m going to.” He reaches beneath you to unzip his trousers when a sudden knock causes you both to pause.

His growl told you of anger and frustration as he bites down and grits a groan. His hands emerge up and grip your waist, slightly shifting you forward.

You whine out, begging for him to keep going. You cup his chin as you continued to melt against his chest, grabbing onto his free hand and resting it on your pelvis. “Please…please…Heeseung.”

What he wouldn’t give to satisfy you right now. Times like this, he truly sympathizes for you, and wanted nothing more than to give you everything you asked for. He gently takes your hand in his, causing you ti release his chin as he places a kiss on your forehead. “Shhh…I know baby. I know.”

He would have dismissed the person outside the door, instead, he mentally kicks himself in the ass. He was the one who summoned the curator to help translate the book after all.

“Hello, Mr. Lee. My name is Johnathan, I am the curator from the national library, we spoke on the phone. You stated you needed some assistance in translating some family artifacts?”

The young man was polite and well mannered, not at all losing composure, even after seeing you sitting on your husband’s lap, legs widespread. At least Heeseung reinstated the hem of your dress, layering it over the exposed parts. Maybe Johnathan was not at all familiar with the image of sexual desire, but it would otherwise seem quite obvious.

“I am sorry I’m late.” He states as he sets his briefcase on his lap, flipping the gold latches up.

“Not as sorry as I am right now…” Heeseung mutters against your ear, wincing as you admitted small and subtle waving motions at the hip, grinding against his groin. The pulse of desire hasn’t worn off inside you.

“What was that Sir?” Johnathan peeks up with a look of curiosity.

“N-nothing. What can you tell us about this?” Heeseung firmly wraps an arm around your waist as he leans forward, taking the book from your hand and passing it over. You whined as your body shifts forward from the leaned in motion. “Don’t worry…i’m never going to let you fall baby.” He whispers into your ear after taking notice of your hands gripping his thigh, halting the sliding of your rear on his lap. Meanwhile the curator remained completely oblivious as he closely admires the book. “Ah, the literature contains the ancient tongue that the Greeks used early on. It is most notably communicated by philosophers. Perhaps a well known philosopher drafted this.”

Johnathan examines each lettering and symbol, placing a magnifying device to study the engravings.

“Clan of Adam…interesting, I haven’t heard of them. Has your grandfather ever mentioned this clan to you before?” He speaks without lifting his head, keeping his eyes glued to the wooden frame.

“Maybe a couple times in reference to this heirloom.” Heeseung calmly fibs. If there was one thing you both agreed on, it was to keep your ancestries, and the knowledge of, a secret. Excluding the current lesson that was now being taught of course.

“Interesting. It says here that the clan were all male descendants of the first sons…sons of—“

“Alexander.” Heeseung calmly finishes as he pinches his grip, tightening his hold on your waist the moment he spoke out the name.

“Yes that’s correct. Alexander the Great, king of Macedonia.”

The curator continues to look over the slats, rotating the book as he studied the diagram of constellations and Greek symbols. “It says that the first sons of Alexander were hidden away in a monastery, many miles away from their kingdom. They were known as the first of the clan…says here they displayed inhuman abilities.”

Johnathan chuckles. “I see, this seems to be a book that contains speculation of fiction and fantasy. It talks about them battling mermaids—ah, sirens, as they are commonly referred in this book.”

Heeseung’s member twitches at the historical mentioning of your ancestors. You felt the snake-like feature of his size slithering and flickering under your thigh, causing you to gasp.

“This particular page goes into detail about the clans genealogy traits…saying that it derived from their grandfather.”

“Grandfather?” Heeseung raises a brow as he keeps his eye on the curator, yet shifts his mouth to place a kiss against your cheek upon hearing a small whine escape your lips.

“Yes sir…it says here that the late King of Macedonia and his wife, Olympias, was bedded by Zeus. This was recorded in private to a monk residing in the kingdom, and journaled after the king passed. Alexander took over the throne and was exposed to the secret of his origin, by his mother.”

The curator chuckles in disbelief. “Well that would explain why the clan could take down mermaids.” He laughs as he jests, little does he know that everything he had just relayed was whole-heartedly true.

Your eyes widen as he unveiled the truth behind the clans whereabouts. Descendants of Zeus? No wonder they held such tremendous power and combative abilities. They were commonly known as Spartans of the Sea.

Heeseung, being a former SWAT captain, eluded those traits. You’ve witnessed his training sessions he maintained simply for fun. The way he moved, the way he maneuvered in water, and his stamina…it was Godly.

Zeus…Zeus was the true father of Alexander…

“And the sirens were all daughters of —“

“Poseidon…” you calmly interject. Heeseung faintly smirks as he admires your side profile. “Yes ma’am, that’s correct. Have you both read this book?” The curator asks earnestly, subtly surprised by your perfect translation and knowledge of what was inscribed in the book.

“We looked it over prior to your arrival.” Heeseung states.

“Wow…so you both can read Ancient Greek?”

You both stayed silent as Johnathan’s innocent smile slowly fades. A moment of awkwardness fills the room. “Well…anyhow…there was a war between humanity and the sirens, and the godly descendants produced by Zeus engaged, becoming a formidable opponent to the sirens. In fact, it says here that the clan nearly wiped out the entire ocean of them, causing them to go nearly extinct.”

Heeseung taps against your thigh, vaguely whispering for you to stand just for a moment as he thanks the curator for his time.

“I’m sorry to tell you this book hardly exposes factual knowledge regarding your family, however, you’ll be pleased to know that it is a genuine artifact that is priceless. Should you ever care to get an appraisal, please do not hesitate to call us.”

“Without hesitation. Thanks.” Heeseung places the book to the side as he sees the young man out.

You sat by the window.

Descendants of Zeus…and Poseidon…you, and Heeseung.

He cups your cheek, gently forcing you to face him. “That pretty head of yours thinking about the history lesson we just got?” He smirks as he kneels down before you, reaching up as he strokes your hair. “All that talk about Gods and our lineage got me thinking baby…”

You gave an inquiring expression. “About what?” You calmly issue as he pulls you in for a kiss, never divulging an answer. “You’ll see.”

…………….

“Welcome to Brewery’s Coffee, what can I get for you?”

“Tall chocolate cream latte, and a venti Americano.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes.”

“What’s the name for the order?”

“Heeseung.”

The barista labels the cups. Handing the receipt, she admires the devastatingly handsome stranger as he walks to a table. Something catches her eye as she ogles his neckline. A small mark, looked to be of a tattoo, printed nicely and centered on the back of his neck. It was symbolic in nature, though she had absolutely no idea of what it entailed. “Do you see that?” She whispers to a fellow co-worker. They both admire the mark, when the latter recognized the main structure of the symbol.

“Oh! That’s the symbol for Pisces. The symbol represents commitment, and togetherness for eternity. I’m a Pisces myself, but I don’t know what that small symbol to the right of it is supposed to be.”

Heeseung takes a seat across from you, admiring how you sat patiently while he ordered the drinks. Not like you didn’t really have a choice, although now it seems he did manage to tame the shrew. You found yourself accepting the concept of belonging to him, especially after reading the history of his lineage.

Taking your hand in his, he rubs the back of your palm with his thumb. “You didn’t feel a thing, did you?”

You shook your head. “Me neither.”

Of course he wouldn’t. He’s too damn strong, some needle punctures would hardly faze him. You reach up and delicately smooth the tips over the back of your neck, yet couldn’t even feel your own phalanges as you attempted to search for it. He chuckles before reaching across the table. “Here.”

He takes your fingers and places it on a certain spot behind your neck. “Right there baby.”

You still couldn’t feel anything, other than the brush of his knuckles as he guides you to the matching mark. The sign of Pisces, with the respective symbols of the Gods that fathered both your ancestries. His, with Zeus, and yours with Poseidon.

Combined and side by side, it would form the Union of love…the love that he inherited for you…the love that you were forced to adapt to.

It was entirely his idea, of course. You recalled how he vividly told you of the theory in Zeus transforming Aphrodite and Eros into fish, paired together so that they may escape from the clutches of Typhon, the monstrous being. You laid on your stomach as the artist took his time to delicately outline the unique features of the custom symbolic nature of love and commitment.

After coffee, he brings you back home where he had every sense of focus to finish what was started earlier.

“Come here.” He gently calls to you as he flips two fingers up and flickers them, signaling for you to respond to his calling. His voice was tamed and gentle. So very calm and sensual.

You kneel before him as he took his seat, holding onto your hand. You lean forward in between his manspreading legs, guided by the subtle grip of your chin. He lures you directly to his bulge. “My woman…my life…my everything.”

You knew what he wanted, and you would never admit it aloud, but you wanted it too. The pains of yearning never left, it remained lodged deep inside your womb even after the curator left.

You unzip his trousers. It didn’t take long for him to whip out his cock, waving it in front of your face as if he was teasing you with it. Like quenching thirst, you caught the very tip of it with your parted lips, immediately swallowing as many inches as possible—and there were many. The man was gifted, such was expected as the descendant of a mighty God.

He groans out, holding the base of his shaft for you, while encouraging you to keep going. He collects your strands, and grips it in unison. Holding up your poneytail, there, in full view was the beautiful tattoo…his other half. Resting in the same spot as his, it nearly glows. He watches and maintains sight of it as you continue to bob for his girth.

“Thatta girl…keep going darling…get it while you can, I’m about to conquer you.”

You swipe your head up and down, motioning it with a sensual passion that could only be found in a love like this. One that was filled with so many contradictions, yet hold so much history. And with that history, came progression and transcendence. It was both frustrating and peaceful. Forceful, and yet consensual. It was…it was…

“Fuck! Get over here.”

“H-Heeseung!” You gasped outright as he used his god-like strength and lifts you up. He stands tall and straight, leaving you suspended in air against his chest as he grips your thighs, forcing you to straddle his groin. You hug his neck, embracing it against your breasts as you remain higher up while he cradles your rear, stabilizing his hold. Slowly…slowly, the moment you breached for all day, he finally inserts his stiffed muscle in between your slit. “Oh my God..!” You breathe out as he breaks you, inch by inch. The feeling was so different from the other day. This was different. The painful yearning that pounded your womb from within, sending tingles up your spine, and released a rushing flow of blood through your veins. All you could think about was being touched, being fucked, and being kissed over and over again, and he was the only one who could give it. The key to your release.

“Ah! P-please! Oh god please don’t stop!”

The very second he sat you against the hilt of his pelvic floor, he began thrusting at a phenomenal pace. God, was he perfect. He was so good, you just couldn’t contain yourself as it slipped…

“B-babe! Baby please!”

He pauses for just a second as he smirks against your neck. Did he just hear you call him ‘baby’?

He continues to grin as he slowly pumps up into you.

Realizing just what you had done, you found it useless to make excuses or to continue to fight it. Finally, after all that he’s done to trap and torment you mentally, he finally had you…all of you. You wave the white flag and surrendered. If it wasn’t in the endearing pet name that you sputtered out, it was in the tightening of your embrace as you pulled him close, thighs shaking and your derrière jiggling from the quivering jolts of pleasure…so good, it hurt like Hell.

“Say it again.” He snarls against your skin as he licks the underside of your chin. You shook your head, wincing your eyes as you refused initially, but he had his ways to make you give in.

One, two, three…no, four. Five! God…maybe it was twenty times, or more, he held you firmly and smacks his cock inside. It was brutally pleasing as he thrusts upwards, splattering the juices of his labor—and yours, everywhere. The offensive sound of his cock squeezing, squelching, and sliding in and out as his balls smack against your skin while he went in fast and hard, causing you to scream. Your mind blows away as you absorb his rhythm. “Ah! Fuck! Baby!”

There, he got what he wanted, and did he ever love it. He could hear you call him that, over and over again. And he did.

The undercarriage of your buttocks were painted with white, thick splatters of creamy and sticky fluids. The constant and solid tempo of his thrusts acted as a beater, stirring the semi-clear residue and turning it into a thicker consistency. A product of the love you both shared.

You scream out his name, gasping for air as the soft spot inside you releases, all thanks to the constant punching of his tip, and the pounding of his thick and lengthy cock. You dig your nails into his shoulders, the overstimulation makes you beg for him to tone it down but he doesn’t.

“TAKE IT!!!” He yells out against your skin as he holds and squeezes your cheeks together, creating a bubbling image of skin and muscle as your derrière becomes abused by the harsh grip.

Shooting everything he’s got inside, he holds you steady, burying deep. Pelvis to pelvis, hilt to hilt, you feel the pressure of his grip holding you down against his groin. A few minutes of his cock pulsating, pumping, and pushing, he finally loosens his grip. You slide down, legs still grasping his waist as he embraces your waistline, tumbling back. Bringing you down with him, he lays next to you on the silky bedding.

You both lay, admiring each others glistening skin. The beads of sweat dripping down your foreheads, the heat exhausting from your breaths, and the panting and heaving of your chests.

He pushes the wet strands away from your brow, leaning in and kissing you so passionately, he would have done his deity ancestor proud.

“…I love you.” You mutter out, nearly shamelessly and defeatedly.

He smirks as he gulps down a subtle swallow, already knowing, just waiting for you to say it. “I know.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to make eye contact, instead, you look away as he caresses your cheek, not minding the shyness you were displaying. “I could never be anything in life without you…daughter of the seven seas…you got me all to yourself. I live only for you.”

And with that, concluded this night, but birthed many more. This was only the beginning, what new life exists for you both? Now that you have each other…

And so the war between the Adams and Sirens came to an end, resulting in generations that mirrored the forbidden love between the two descendants. Mixing the bloodlines of Poseidon and Zeus, the clan formatted the ultimate beings, part God and part mortal. Despite the many rumors of the hostility the two parties initially held against each other, let it be known that no matter the history…no matter the bloodshed…by the prime example of sea maidens and sons of Alexander the Great, love conquers all.

@hoonieshoney and @sweeheehees 😏 they not cry or explode. Because I certainly almost did both when imagining heedam….BRO JUST TOPPED THE LIST.

[hellfiremunsonn]

Something About Her. Steve Harrington x Reader

Something About her.

I DO NOT ALLOW MY WRITING TO BE REPUBLISHED ANYWHERE OTHER THAN MY OWN BLOG WITHOUT MY CONSENT

Summary: Steve is kind of obsessed with you, and you're kind of obsessed with him. Only ever watching from afar until a fight breaks out at the party you're both at.

18 + IF YOU ARE NOT 18 OR OLDER DO NOT READ OR INTERACT WITH MY WRITING. IT IS NOT INTENDED FOR MINORS. I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MEDIA YOU CONSUME.

Warnings: fem!reader, physical altercation, reader gets backhanded by homophobic male character, brief mention of blood, forehead gets slightly cut, reader has a vagina, sex but not sex? No penetrative sex, fingering, Steve is called a f***** and a queer in a derogatory sense by a homophobic character at the party. (I will star it out anyway just incase any of you are uncomfortable with that) (IF THERES ANYTHING I MISSED LET ME KNOW)

AN: Real quick, I don't condone using homophobic slurs towards anyone ever. This is not ME saying these things, it is a CHARACTER in the 80's saying those things. I myself am Queer so... ya know... I get it. NOT REALLY PROOF READ FOR MISTAKES JUST FOR THE VIBES (Huge thank you to my bby @rowanswriting for giving this a read through for me to make sure it wasn’t absolute garbage! love u <3)

Wordcount: 4k

Steve doesn't know when his fascination with you started, but he knows that once it did start he couldn't stop it. Anytime he was out at a party he was always looking for you. Subtly over the rim of his red cup, filled with whatever concoction that would get him buzzed the quickest. Personally he doesn't think it's stalking, because he doesn't follow you around any other time, but when he knows you're around, he's going to keep an eye out for you. Robin on the other hand, definitely thinks it's stalking and will make it a point to tease Steve about it whenever she can.

He's only talked to you a couple of times and the two of you wouldn't even consider each other friends but for some reason he always had to have an eye on you, and you always had an eye on him. 

Robin would constantly poke into his side and whispering about his "obsession" with you but he would just push her off and roll his eyes. Because someone as pretty as you would never look at him the same way. You were ethereal; Steve might actually believe it if you were from another world, considering he's had his fair share of experience of things that you'd think didn't exist.

He knows you watch him too. Praying you don't think it's weird for catching your eye one too many times, but being constantly enamoured by the way you move and speak, how you captivate everyone around you yet you're completely unaware of it. 

Robin decides that after watching the two of you eye fuck each other six more times that she's going to help. She skips over to you and you greet her with one of the brightest smiles he's ever seen.  The two of you talking together has four hands flying around with the dramatics of whatever story it is the pair of you have begun discussing and he's honestly surprised neither of you have hit one another in the face.

Steve still, stands with his back plastered against the wall, trying to ignore the dull thumping bass of whatever shitty music was playing, focusing hard on the way your lips moved, trying to get any sense at what you were saying. It takes him a minute to realize it's Robin you're talking to and he's more confused, zoning in on the way your tongue darts out to lick across your strawberry pink lips when he's interrupted from his thoughts by some beefy drunk, boy from high school trying to relive his glory days as he stumbles past him. 

He looks at Steve, looks at robin, and then back to Steve. He snickers "Damn Harrington, can't even get Robin to stick around with you? Maybe you are as queer as she is" he sways as he passes Robin and you. Robin freezes, before slowly looking back to Steve, praying tonight wasn't going to end with Steve beating someone up. Again. 

"Hey" Steves voice is loud, angry, startling almost everyone, despite how loud the music was. 

"Say what you want about me, but don't say shit about Robin alright?" Steve warns.

The drunken asshole makes his attempt to saunter up to Steve, getting far too close to his face before speaking "Or what pretty boy? Gunna get your boyfriend to come save you?" 

Steve can feel the hot air of his breath in his face, it reeks so badly of alcohol it almost smells like hand sanitizer. "Get lost man" Steve says shaking his head turning away from him, trying to distract himself from the prying eyes by above everyones heads, sipping his drink. 

What Steve doesn't notice is how ridged you've become and how hard your fists are shaking where they are clenched at your sides. 

He laughs, thinking he's won whatever show it is he's putting on for everyone and goes to leave before turning back to Steve. "F****t can't fight his own battles, what a pussy"

Before Steve can even fully turn around you've pushed past robin and are standing in front of the drunk, arm pulled back before your tiny fist makes contact with the dudes face. "What's your problem!" You yell.  Steve has never heard your voice so loud before. "You homophobic piece of shit? What decade were you born in saying shit like that?" Your hand hurts, like really bad, but you're too prideful to let him see you cry. No one is going to say shit like that about anyone around you, let alone Robin, or Steve. 

"Fucking bitch" he spits, blood filled saliva hitting the white tiled floor beneath your feet. His hand raises quick, and without a second thought he lands a single smack across your face with the back of his hand, and then walks away. You involuntary gasp at the impact, while the rest of the party goers shout and follow him but you can barely hear over the ringing in your ears, but you hope they beat the shit out of him outside. You feel a drip of blood form and start to slide down your face from where his large class ring made contact with the skin just above your eyebrow. Your hand trembles as it reaches up to touch the warm liquid before bringing your hand down to see your blood covered finger tips. 

When you look up, blurry faces stand around you, and they're all speaking at once, you're unsure where to look, or who to respond to when someone gently takes your hand, pulling you with them upstairs and away from the chaos below. Only when the click of the bathroom door locks do your senses start to come back and you realize you're standing in front of Steve Harrington and that tears had begun rolling down your cheeks.

At the same time you both blurt out "Are you okay?" and Steve laughs in amusement. 

"Am I okay? I'm not the one who sucker punched someone twice her size and is bleeding from her head!" he exclaims. He laughs again before muttering an "Oh shit" Grabbing at the nearest hand towel and running it under the faucet. "Come here, sit" he says patting the countertop. You watch him with wide doe eyes, pupils blown from the adrenaline coursing through you, but still you listen, slowly and a little robotically you lean against the counter, Steves large hand holding the side of your waist to help as you hop up onto the counter. He's talking, but you don't really hear him so instead you focus on watching him as he moves around the bathroom, finding things to help with the tiny wound on your forehead. 

He dabs the damp towel against your forehead quickly and abruptly. You wince and pull back, your two hands coming up to hold his wrist in place. 

"I'm sorry, shit, are you okay? I should have warned you first" 

"I'm sorry that guy said that" you say finally finding your voice, it's shaky and a little croaky but it's there. 

"Don't be, I've heard worse" he smiles and you let go of his wrist signalling to him that he can continue and so he does. "S'not so bad of a cut, just bled a lot cause it's on your head"

You laugh a little, and the relief Steve feels when he hears it skyrockets. "You've got quite the arm on you, more guys like him should be afraid of you"

You laugh again. "I've had some practice" you shrug and sniffle, pretending to play it cool. 

"Oh yeah? You beating up guys in the alleyways behind bars? Lemme see those guns" he pesters, lifting up the arm you used to throw your punch, and you flex it proudly. The muscle bulging and Steve gives it a squeeze. 

He wolf whistles. "Wow-ee that's some A plus muscle right there" he teases but short circuits when you look up at him. Mascara smudged just under your eyes from where the tears overflowed, cheeks rosy with a blush or from the adrenaline, he can't tell but his hand comes up to hold the side of your face anyway and he does everything he can to hold himself together when he feels you lean into his touch. 

"You're so pretty" he blurts, feeling the heat of your cheek under his palm when he says it. 

"So are you" you whisper. You can feel the trembling starting to begin in your bones as the adrenaline wears off, your body finally attempting to come down from the earlier altercation. Steve notices at the first twitch of your shoulder. 

"S-sorry" you stutter through your teeth as they begin to chatter along with the rest of your body. 

"Stop apologizing for things you can't control" he says taking your hands and placing them on the sides of his waist. He doesn't mean for it to be forceful or sexual when he does it, but his one hand comes between your legs and pushes them apart by your knees, positioning himself between them. "Here, hug me, it'll help with the shakes" He pulls you into him and you're thankful for the tightness of his arms around around you. You sigh into him, feeling the slightest bit of tension leave your shoulders. Steve notices and slides one hand to the back of your neck, pushing in just slightly at the base, massaging it until he feels your shoulders start to slump.

The groan that leaves you was almost pornographic, and Steve has to calm himself down immediately or you might be able to feel how much that little noise had affected him. Steve tried really hard, he did, but he's standing between your legs and you're so close to him that he knows if he shifted just a little you'd feel his dick press into your stomach. 

When the shaking starts to stop you lean back from him, head tilted up towards him but your eyes stay closed. Your hands still stationed on his hips, and Steve doesn't stop his fingers where they massage the base of your neck. 

"That feels really good" you sigh, eyes flitting open lazily. 

"Good" Steve says with a smile, his opposite hand coming up to push your hair back behind your ear. He watches as your eyebrows furrow slightly. 

"What's wrong?"

"N-nothing" you lie. It's the adrenaline. It's like when you come down from a really big cry, and your body doesn't know what to do with all the feelings so it sends them between your legs, making everything in you ache for someone to touch you, for Steve to touch you. You shift on the counter, legs instinctively trying to close, the rough fabric of his jeans rubbing against the insides of your thighs, teasing you. 

Steve can feel your heartbeat pick up from where his fingers are still pressed against your skin, and he's watching you with curious eyes. He can sense it, he knows, but he wont make a move unless you initiate it, anything, even if it's subtle. But you have to be the one to start it. With one too many run in's with the end of the world, Steve knows that sometimes when the adrenaline wears off the only thing you want to do is fuck.

"Is it your head?" He asks "Does it hurt?"

"It's not my head" you say as you shake it. "It hurts a little b-but I'm okay, really"

Steve hums, his pressing touch moving from your neck and you have to stop yourself from whimpering at the loss. 

"Look at me" he says and you do, eyes darting back and forth between his. "I just wanna make sure you don't have a concussion" he widens his stance, sliding his feet outwards until he's just about your height from where you sit, his big warm hands come up and cup either sides of your face while he assess you.

A loud crash followed by laughter startles the two of you jump slightly. Your hands grip onto Steves waist harder and he's moved forward so now the two of you are pressed together, and he can see it in your face when his stubbornly hard dick makes contact with you.

"Steve?" you say quietly, and he's already preparing an apology in his head. "Um I know we don't really know each other" You swallow thickly. "But um" you trail off, glancing to your hands and where they rest, thumbs slipping past the hem of his shirt, touching the warm skin of his belly. He inhales sharply, and you look at him mesmerized. 

"Are you sure you're not concussed?" he questions "Or did that guy really hit me instead and I'm unconscious having a wonderful dream right now?"

You giggle and his cock strains in his jeans. 

"I don't wanna have sex with you though" you say quickly. "I mean now, right now, I definitely want to have sex with you, I just, not in a bathroom at a party? I wanted to- shit" You scrunch your eyes closed and take a breath before looking back at him. "I wanted to ask you on a date first"

"You wanted to ask me? Me on a date?" Steve says quietly. 

You nod, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth. So shy, yet so brave.

'I'm fucked' He thinks. 'I'm going to fall in love with her'

"C-can, we um, can we touch each other? Is that okay?" your hands hold him a little tighter and his stomach tenses. 

"Y-yeah, please, can I kiss you?" he asks desperately and you nod, your hands finally reaching up to cup his face. He grabs you by the hips and slides you closer to the edge of the counter, your old converse hitched on the sides of his waist, pressed against his brown leather belt. Your crotch now pressed against his jean covered cock, and he realizes you've been wearing a dress the entire time he's been stood between your legs, and only now has caught a glance at the pretty pink panties you wear. 

You whimper when he kisses you. His lips soft and plump just like you had thought they would be, and the tiny groan he lets out goes straight to your cunt and your hips jump ever so slightly. You kiss each other feverishly, sloppy and quick. Every kiss, every smack of your lips, every move of his tongue has your stomach flipping and your hips rolling into him. He's grinding into you without a single care, he could cum like this and wouldn't dare be embarrassed about it when you look like that under him. How could he not. 

He does almost bust his load immediately when your hands go for his belt, quickly unbuckling it and tugging at the button and zipper until it's all the way down. He breaks the kiss to watch you do it. 

"Is this okay?" you ask, fingers dipped into the waistband of his boxers.

"You could do anything you want with me right now and I wouldn't care" He jokes. "So yes this is more than okay"

"Can you touch me too?" You ask with your baby Bambi eyes and god Steve nearly loses it. How can you ask him something so dirty but make it sound so sickly sweet. 

"God, yeah, of course I can sweet thing" he says sliding his hands up your thighs until he's under the hem of your red dress, it's covered in dainty little white flowers, and he thinks it looks perfect on you. He searches for the band of your panties before tugging at them until you shift, letting him slide them out from under you until they're dangling off your right ankle that is still stationed on his hip. 

His fingers slide easily through your slick and he groans. "Fucking christ"

You giggle again, sighing when he grazes your clit and your knees instinctively try to lock together.

"It's taking everything in me not to bury my face in your cunt right now Jesus Christ, look at her" he praises, watching his shiny fingers and the way they move against you, the way your hips twitch to meet them. 

"Her?" you ask.

"Your pussy babe" he says obviously.

Your entire body engulfs in heat, and you can't tell if you're embarrassed that he's talking about your pussy like it's a person, or if it's turning you on even more. 

"O-Oh my god" you say, your words slipping into a moan mixed with a gasp. Head tilting back until it hits the mirror behind you. 

"Jesus baby, let's keep your head intact alright?" he jokes, pulling you into him with one hand, placing it protectively on the back of your head as you bury your face into the crook of his neck while his finger traces your entrance. Your brain buzzes with electricity and you forget that just seconds before you were tugging at Steves jeans, but then he touched you. 

He circles your hole a few times, before easily sliding one of his fingers into you. You whine, open mouth, almost drooling where your mouth hovers against Steves skin. He leans back slightly, chin touching his chest to catch a glimpse at you to make sure the noise he heard come out of you wasn't a sob. But the thought of you crying because of his fingers? He can't imagine what it would be like to have you and your pussy crying on his cock.

"Feel good?" He teases. 

"So good" You moan, lifting your head from his neck, staring down to watch his finger curl into you. Forcing yourself to look away to continue your attention to his jeans. Hands shaky has they slip his belt through the loops, pulling at the button of his jeans and tugging the zipper down. You try your best to push his pants down enough to get your hand in so you can finally feel his cock but he's distracting. 

"F-fuck" you mewl, and it's high pitch and girly, and if you were alone you'd cringe at the sound. 

"Need some help?" Steve offers, stopping his movements and slowly removing his fingers from you, shiny and slick as he helps you to free his aching cock. 

"Thank you" you whisper. Once his cock is free you wrap your hand around him, thick, hot and heavy in your palm and he groans, tilting his head back a little before reaching a hand up to tap your cheek, ripping your gaze away from your hand to his eyes. 

"Open" hes looking down at you through his lashes, cheeks flushed a perfect pink and his chest moves quickly while you continue to jerk him off. You listen, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out and Steve huffs out a laugh as he slowly slides his two fingers into your mouth. The ones that were just buried in your cunt. You lap at them greedily, body buzzing from the approval when Steves hums in delight, head tiling to watch your mouth. 

You pull his fingers from your mouth with gasp. "I have an idea"

Steve raises a brow as you push forward until you slide off of the counter, turning around so your ass is how facing him, both of you looking at each other through the reflection of the mirror. Watching you as you lean your hips against the counter, pulling him towards you by his belt until he's almost touching you. Reaching behind you, you take his cock into your hand, stepping onto your tippy toes until its slid between your thighs, pressed against your leaking pussy. 

"Fucking without fucking" you say with a smile. Your hand presses lightly against him so the tip of his cock stays connected to you while Steve moves his hips. 

Sliding through your folds over and over as he mimics how he'd snap his hips against you if he were able to fuck you properly. It's probably the hottest things Steve has ever done with anyone, and he knows that he will think about this every single day until the day he dies, and he's absolutely content with that. 

His hands move to your hips, where he grips you tightly. Your dress sliding up with each thrust until the swell of your ass is exposed before him. Rippling with each thrust against his lower half, and he tries to stop himself, he does, but he can't. He lets his palm come down on your right cheek, a little harsh, and goes to apologize but the way your knees shake, and the moan that slips out from you tells him you liked it. 

"M'so c-close Steve" you force out. Your cheek is pressed against the cold marble top of the counter, and you're pretty sure you're drooling onto it but you couldn't care less with how good Steve is making you feel. "Steve I-" You can barely keep your legs up, but your trying. 

"Help" you whimper, and Steve knows what you need immediately. Wrapping a large arm around your waist, holding up most of your weight while still snapping his hips. 

"I got ya pretty girl" he mumbles into the skin of your shoulder. 

"Are you gunna cum Stevie?" You moan, silently begging he's as close as you are. 

"So close" he grunts. "Wanna see that face of yours when you cum, can you do that for me?" He asks sliding his hand into your hair until he's got a tight grip on the roots, tugging gently to instruct you to lift your head up. He doesn't want to be too rough with you just yet, not when you haven't properly been able to have that conversation. 

Lifting your head with his direction until you're forced to look at yourself and Steve in the mirror. He looks so pretty, face flushed, mouth slightly agape, his bottom lip slick with saliva. You could cry at how pretty he was. 

"Steve, Steve, st-eve, I'm gun-NAH!" you cum hard, all over your hand and his cock. Thighs trembling. 

"Fuck you're so hot" Steve mutters. "Gunna cum sweetheart where do-"

"On me, please I want it on me" You say almost frantically. Steve turns your around, helping you sit back up onto the counter so your legs are spread and he's stationed between them. Pumping his cock fast, the noise crude as it echos around the bathroom, slick with your arousal. 

"Fuck, fuck baby" Steve says through gritted teeth.

And you're smiling, and nodding, eyes glassed over and so fucked out, and he thinks he might marry you seeing the way you want him, and his cum so badly. He loses it when your hand joins his around him with those final few pumps, and his cum shoots across your stomach dripping down your connected hands to the base of his cock. 

He's panting and smiling, and trying to hold back a laugh, watching the way his cum drips down your body, down between the crease where your thigh meets hip, lazily flowing down to join the mess between your legs. 

You giggle, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as you wait till Steve finally looks up at you. 

"You're insane" he laughs, grabbing your face with both hands and kisses you quick. 

"Only a little" you say between kisses. "Take me home?" you ask bravely. 

"Anywhere" Steve says quickly. he tugs his jeans back up, stuffing himself back into his pants, and adjusts his belt. You hop down from the counter and attempt to fix your hair so it looks a little better. Kicking one foot up behind you, you tug your panties off your ankle and turn to face Steve, shoving them into the front pocket of his jeans. Steve swoons at the sly look in your eyes, and the way you didn't even attempt to clean his cum off of you when the two of you turn to leave the quiet confines of the bathroom.

You giggle again when he interlocks his fingers with yours, letting him pull you along through the sea of people and out onto the front lawn down the street and only a few blocks away until you reached Steves house. 

"Yeah"  Steve thought. "I'm gunna marry her"

thanks for reading! <3

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 6)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

GIF: Originally posted by @harleytudinous

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Nudity. Language. Mentions of sex.

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: Hello there! We're back in Morpheus' POV for this chapter. I've really enjoyed exploring the softer side of Morpheus with the aftercare but still keeping that foreboding undertones. Hope you like it too. Let me know what you think! All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

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Morpheus can see he has pushed your body to breaking point.

The only movements you are able to make are those that are involuntary. The intake of breath, sharp and shallow. The blink of eyelids, slow and drowsy. And the aftershocks feathering along the walls that still hug his softening cock.

The rapture of his own high vibrates in every cell, the humanoid form he takes being the epicentre, with waves of it expanding out across the expanse of the Dreaming, bathing it all in euphoria. He smiles faintly - anyone asleep during your union would have been privy to it in some aspect. Flashes of noises and sensations perhaps, or images of you entangled with him.

With a tender gaze, he looks at your exhausted form. He takes time to notice the details that others might have overlooked. The gradient of the dip of your navel. The vellus hair gracing your skin. The delicate lines on your face brought on by years of smiles. Every inch of you is perfection, the starshine streaming down enhancing your already incandescent air. Soulmate or not, you are the most remarkable person he has met.

There is no denying that you are to be his muse. Now that he has introduced you to his world he can resume work on creating new dreams, and your temperament and features are inspiring him already. His dreamers will be spoiled once the concepts are given life and sent forth into the Dreaming.

He is pulled away from observing your body by the sudden overflowing of silent tears. In the glow of the room, as they track down your cheeks, their lustre is like pearls washed up on a lonely seashore.

He's searching your expression for an indication to the source before they get close to wetting the sheets, cupping your face instinctually as feverous fear infects him. Is pain afflicting you?

His initial assessment gleans that they are falling despite there being no tangible signs of pain or sorrow, anger nor disgust. Further investigation is required.

He drops his register to the mellowest he can manage, whispering your name first, next asking, "Are you alright?"

You dip your chin in a solitary nod. A truthful nod.

You then take a deep breath, voice hoarse as you speak, "I just -"

Words fail you and you look down at your chest in lieu of finding the desired descriptors, hoping that he would catch on.

Your soul.

You make a little high-pitched sound in the back of your throat as he places a palm over its housing. Still very sensitive. With good reason.

Those last layers of defences that had been protecting you from the intensity of the soul bond had been steadfast in their resistance. Of course, they were never going to prevail over him, being the Endless that he is, yet the challenge could not be denied.

And now the conquest was over. He had you exactly where he wanted; physical form in the Dreaming, the Fates' prophecy fulfilled, soul tie complete.

He zeros in on your soul, using his aptitude for the metaphysical to see it in its actual form. The ball of light, two centimetres in diameter, that not too long ago was shattered, now criss-crossed with threads of rich blue, reminiscent of Kintsugi pottery. A mark of the small amount of his power - power that he'd quite literally fucked into you, that was slowly spreading out from your soul through your body, altering as it went. Only time would tell as to what enhancements it would bring if any.

His own soul was cleaved open at the end too, now infused with your essence; twines of seafoam green that he can feel rebalancing the constitution left so weary and depleted by his imprisonment.

It also appears that your mortality has been removed in the process; you are as eternal as he is now. He's against broaching this with you presently, feeling it would be misguided to do so. At this point in time you deserve the most diligent and gentle aftercare. It was your first time; you had trusted him with your wellbeing and that meant the moments after as well.

He will make his touches and movements so very delicate from here, continuing to keep his focus on your facial expressions and body language as much as possible.

Beginning with how he rises out of the position he had held over your body, giving him the ability to ease your crossed ankles out of the firm grip around his waist. Reluctantly, he withdraws himself from the warmth of your core, more trembles breaking free from the fluidity of the movement.

It makes you whimper loudly, the unintended stimulation and the way he guides your legs down to the mattress, as the recognition of how locked up your thigh and calf muscles are bark in your nerve endings.

"Would you allow me to clean you?" He asks, gesturing to the fluids that are now leaking from your cunt.

You seem surprised yet you agree nonetheless.

He conjures a bowl of water and a linen cloth, setting the former to the side of your right hip. The display has you propping yourself up on your forearms, fascinated by the shaping of form that comes so naturally to him. He moistens the fabric, pitter patters emanating erratically as he squeezes out the excess.

"I will stop if it is too much." A promise made while holding eye contact before beginning a gentle yet meticulous cleanse, re-dunking the cloth when needed.

Aside from a couple of flinches early on when he brushes over your clit, you cope with the touches very well, and Morpheus shows he acknowledges this in the murmured praises he looses with the completion of each swipe.

A stumble in your breathing has him stopping immediately though, drawing his attention to your startled face, eyes wide as you take in the pinkish tinge of colour in the water.

"Shit. I'm so sorry. I can finish taking care of it," your voice is warbled as you try and fail to close your trembling legs.

He puts a steady hand on your knee. "You have no reason to apologise."

A little dimple forms between your eyebrows, lips pulled thin by a grimace; evidently you are unconvinced.

"I want to take care of your needs. Please let me," he says with gentle candidness.

You blow out an unsteady breath as you struggle to look at him, attention darting all around the room, actively choosing to go anywhere but towards him.

These hallmarks of humiliation, vulnerability, they unreservedly rile him. Who had made you feel like this was unacceptable? No doubt your world's societal norms. Though Morpheus has seen improvements in them in recent years, there are lingering, foolish ideals on what was decorous when it came to the human body.

He relays his thoughts on the matter, "It is a natural occurrence, as natural as any other bleeding from broken skin. There is nothing to be ashamed of, Y/N."

He lets the reassurance settle in as he rubs his free hand up and down the outside of your left thigh.

"You know I speak the truth," he adds when you still remain silent.

Eventually you let your head slump back. "You're right."

His chest swells with pride at his successful reframing. "May I continue?"

You make a noise of affirmation.

Once he is done, the bowl and cloth de-materialise along with the patches of fluid that had been glistening on the sheets.

He leaves the space between your splayed legs, pausing as he kneels next you. You look like a ragdoll that has been dropped from a great height, limbs askew and head limp. He wishes to scoop you into his arms and re-arrange you, cocooning your beautiful body in the most luxurious fabrics his mind can create. So he does just that.

With a hand flat between your shoulder blades and another under your knees, he moves you to lay further up the bed, fashioning a sumptuous silk sheet to settle over you, a twin of the one tucked over the mattress. A knitted cashmere throw weighs down the sheet to seal in warmth. The last step is a plump pillow; he cradles your head carefully as he positions it.

"Thank you," you say shyly as he puts his head on an identical pillow, laying on his side so he can watch you.

"You are most welcome, my soulmate."

A beat. "Is there something I can do for you, Morpheus?"

He feels a thrill go through him, lust rising once more. Hearing his name on your lips is everything. Undoubtedly it always will be. He's instantly grappling with the urge to fuck you again and it is by sheer force of will he just manages to leash his lust.

"All I require is proximity to you," his words sounding much more gallant than he feels.

With visible effort, you roll onto your side, intent on providing him with delightful closeness despite the aches. Face to face, he decides now is time for a debrief.

"Is there anything you wish to discuss about the acts we performed together?"

You fiddle with your fingers, tentatively asking, "Did I do okay?"

The question is so endearing, it makes his chest tighten.

"Yes. You were, are perfection."

He catches the bashful glance your throw towards him and he draws even closer.

You had done so very well, taking everything in your stride since he found you in the waking world. Gone through a myriad of emotions, dealt with intense, sometimes painful physical reactions. And the sex... Well.

He runs a hand from your temple to jaw a few times to distract from the ever-mounting desires, thankfully taking the edge off with the affections.

"It is true. You are so trusting, communicative, generous. Receptive."

You huff out a noise of amusement. "How do you know that I wouldn't respond like that to everyone?"

Possessive jealousy drives a dagger into his heart, stiffening every part of his being, hackles rising as the sickening idea of anyone else touching you takes form in his expert imagination. Your question had been teasing - obvious from the impish quality in your eyes yet he cannot stop the rage that flares at the idea.

He extinguishes his temper, pushing it into the usual spot deep within, speaking with a level and authoritative cadence.

"You were not meant to be touched by anyone but me."

He holds your gaze resolutely, fascinated by how your pupils dilate from the covetous statement, fingers digging into the softness of your behind to add further weight to his claim.

"You derive pleasure from hearing me say that."

"Yes," you confirm, a telling half-smile appearing. "Though it would appear I am not the only one."

You nudge against the growing erection hidden by the sheets with your knuckles. The simple touch is a catalyst, his restraint almost breaking, eyes shifting to match the backdrop of the night sky above you both.

"Not right now," you assert.

His answering glare makes you raise your eyebrows. But you do not back down.

"Very well. I will keep myself contained. For the time being."

You press a sweet, quick kiss to his cheek. "I appreciate you enduring such hardship."

You laugh a little at the end of the teasing sentence. It is an effervescent sound, one that makes him feel so alive. When was the last time he truly felt like that?

He would do anything to keep you laughing like that, make you happy.

Inspired by that sentiment, he drapes an arm over your body and pulls you closer. You sigh in contentment, smiling warmly at him.

A crescent moon rises to accompany the stars in the ceiling sky. The slip of light it reflects is as peace-giving as your skin against his. Quiet descends.

Finally - after the frenzied events of the past couple of hours, the delirium that had ensnared the both of you in body and mind, spurring him to reveal the truth to you and initiate the binding of your souls - finally everything stills.

And in this stillness, after a considerable number of minutes, Morpheus begins to register the results of the soul bond between you; a direct line broadcasting your every emotion to him even though you are awake.

They are not particularly stable right now, kaleidoscopic in how quickly they evolve from one to the next. He is accustomed to knowing humanity's emotions, exposed to every facet of them for millennia yet this is different. With the dreamers there is a certain level of detachment. Being his soulmate, the impartiality is gone.

He is peering around the curtain.

And the emotions you are feeling are about him, directly influenced by him.

Exhilaration, fondness, trepidation, pensiveness.

His eyelids flutter at the intimacy, mouth dropping open with a shaky sigh.

"What is it?" You ask immediately as worry enters the mix. How adorable that your reflex was concern for him.

"Our soul bond is strengthening. I can feel your emotions."

You blink, stimulated by the notion first, then disappointed. "I can't feel anything coming from you."

"Give it time," he reassures.

"How much time?"

A little smile quirks his lips from your charming impatience.

"A few hours. Perhaps more."

Curiosity dances in your eyes as well as your mind; you study him closely, teeth nibbling on your bottom lip. "What's it like?"

"It is quite diverting."

In fact, it is the sort of thing that has potential to consume his every thought. He will have to be cautious of how much time he is dialled into the bond. As long as he makes the rules now then he will be okay. No over-use. No over-reliance.

A brush of fingers across the back of his hand, the inside of his wrist. "Tell me what you're feeling, Morpheus," you whisper.

He pulls himself from the compelling information flowing from you and takes a reading of his own internal state.

It's tempting to lay it all on the table. To tell you of the powerful emotional reactions happening. But he won't. The emotions must be compressed into something more regulated. He chooses the words carefully:

"I am wholly contented."

Joy and relief swirl from you and you kiss him. The softness of your lips help soothe the fierce feelings and when you part, Morpheus is fully reigned in.

He notes that your eyes are drifting now, glassy with oncoming sleep.

He rubs a thumb across your cheekbone.

"It is okay if you want to fall asleep," he murmurs. "My only request is that you permit me to hold you, so I may monitor how things progress."

There is much acclimation to be made. The scalding heat that had been rampant under his own skin has only just dropped to a simmer, let alone all the things to come. He must not leave your side until your body has adjusted to the energy within you.

"I wouldn't say no to sleep," you say with a lethargic smile.

He eases you into a nearer proximity. An arm slung across your middle. Legs tangling together. You nuzzle against the skin of his neck, inhaling deeply as if his scent could knock you right out.

"Good night, soulmate."

He kisses the top of your head, replying with the same.

You place a palm over his soul. "Thank you, Morpheus. For answering all my questions and being so patient with me."

"It is the least I can do, Y/N."

Morpheus keeps still as you sink into subconsciousness. Not a hard feat for him; he mastered that art long ago. Crossing the threshold into sleep is smooth for you, exhaustion efficiently picking the lock.

Morpheus keeps still as you sink into subconsciousness. Not a hard feat for him; he mastered that art long ago. Crossing the threshold into sleep is smooth for you, exhaustion efficiently picking the lock.

As soon as you are fully under he peers at you, cheeks already rosy from the warmth of the sheets and his body, lips parted. You appear serene on the surface - he decides to lean into that link one last time for tonight.

Yes. There it is. Evidence that you feel safe and happy. He has done his job well. Now to maintain this level of performance. For your sake as well as his own.

Your presence is the first rain after a drought. A lighthouse on a treacherous stormy night. You are an antidote to a poison that he hadn't realised he was choking on. You are healing him, just as he knew you would.

And there are measures that must be taken to keep it that way.

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

Tag list: @herfantasyworldd @kpopgirlbtssvt @littleblackcatinwonderland @1950schick @lollipopsandlandmines

"Controlling my feelings for too long. Forcing our darkest souls to unfold. Pushing us into self destruction. They make me, make me dream your dreams."

[imtrashraccoon]

Total Eclipse

Eclipse!Sans x OC

Eclipse!Sans belongs to @llamagoddessofficial and I am rather obsessed with them! I hope I captured them accurately but I couldn't help but wonder how they'd react to my OC.

Their design is based on art that @sparticus2000art created. I loved the first one the most so I hope you don't mind that I used it.

Background: This drabble is not canon to The Nightmare of Apathy and is a sort of "What if?" situation for whatever happens after the story ends.

All you really need to know to enjoy this is that the Reader was in a relationship with Nightmare and lives in his castle with the rest of the gang. The world is only lit up by the moon and the stars, thanks to Nightmare's influence.

Word Count: 1,959

You woke up alone, which wasn't too unusual in of itself. Still, you couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed that Nightmare hadn't joined you this time. He'd been extra busy ever since forming a treaty with his brother but you'd hoped he'd take a break on his own. Now it seemed like you'd have to go bug him about getting proper rest, even though he always insisted that he didn't need to.

You crawled out of bed and pulled the curtains aside. Just like always, the world outside the castle was dark. Only the light from the stars and the moon could pierce through the veil, but you didn't mind as it was all you'd ever known. Well that wasn't entirely true since you'd visited a few other worlds by now. Despite how pretty it was, you didn't think you'd get used to how bright the sun was anytime soon.

To your surprise and shock, the moon looked...different.

Somehow, it had turned black although the edges also seemed to be glowing. It was so bright, that you couldn't bear to look at it for longer than a second.

What did this mean? Was the world in danger? You'd never heard of anything like this happening before, although there was one person who might.

With little care for your appearance, you threw on a robe and hurried through the castle to find Nightmare, but when he wasn't in any of his usual spots like his office or the library, you started to get worried. In your hurry, you nearly ran into Killer in the hallway but his quick reflexes kept the two of you from ending up on the floor in a heap.

"woah there, what's the hurry, angel?" he asked teasingly.

"Where is he?!" You were slightly out of breath and had to take a moment to recover. "Where's Nightmare?"

Killer hummed thoughtfully, "i actually haven't seen him in a while." He seemed to notice how concerned you were and the corners of his smile quirked up slightly. "what? is the world ending or something?" he asked with a chuckle.

You huffed and shot him a glare. "Maybe? The moon is completely messed up and I don't know where he is."

That seemed to catch his attention. "i'll go ask the others and see if they've heard anything."

You nodded and Killer shot you a wink before vanishing into mid-air. As irritating as he could be, you had to appreciate how serious he got when it counted. No wonder Nightmare trusted him with important jobs.

You continued to search the castle and were soon joined by Nightmare's other henchmen, but no matter how hard you looked, there was no trace of him. At some point, you happened to glance outside and noticed that there was somebody on the veranda. They were facing away so you couldn't really make out what they looked like beyond being a tall skeleton with pitch black bones.

Maybe you should've been more cautious about approaching the strange skeleton, especially with everything that had happened before the treaty, but the moment you stepped outside, you couldn't help but feel drawn to them. They just felt oddly familiar, like an old friend or loved one.

You only got about halfway across the veranda when they seemed to sense your presence. They turned quickly and the moment you made eye contact, you realized that despite what you had thought, you'd never seen them before.

They were much taller than you'd initially thought; easily pushing eight feet tall, making them taller than even Horror. While their bones were indeed black, they actually seemed to have a white glow, kind of similar to Dream. Their eyelights were mismatched, with the left being cyan while the right was gold, and there was a flared halo hovering around the top of their skull. You were also immediately struck with their intense aura that was reminiscent of both the god brothers. You could feel your eyes start to sting with tears that threatened to spill over and yet your soul nearly leapt for joy at the same time.

They wore an elegant black overcoat with white epaulettes, a flared collar, white buttons, a white sun motive on the lapels, and their tail coats had a white lining. Under the jacket, they had on a dress shirt with lace ruffles, high waisted black pants with buttons that matched the jacket's, and knee high boots with white accents.

"Who...? Who are you?" you asked cautiously.

They gave you an amused smile but said nothing at first and just continued watching you.

You frowned and took a step closer. They just seemed so familiar and you felt like you should know who they were. The more you stared up into their eyes, the stronger that feeling became. His facial bones vaguely resembled Nightmare's but maybe that was just because their left eyelight was the same colour.

Your eyes widened with the realization that this was why he hadn't been anywhere in the castle. What could've caused such an extreme change in appearance? Was this related to the moon?

"Nightmare?"

Their smile didn't falter and they just continued watching you, although you felt their already very intense aura flare up even more. You could feel the buzz of ecstasy in your veins and how your soul seemed to swell from the positivity.

It actually hurt.

You recoiled and quickly stepped back. While your body was nearly overwhelmed by emotions, your mind was relatively clear at the moment. You wished you had more control over your magic, especially for times like these, but at least you had some defense against this manipulation attempt.

This wasn't Nightmare. It couldn't be! He wasn't capable of inflicting positive emotions and he hadn't tried to influence your emotions at all since the beginning of your relationship. There was only one other person who could, and previously had, tried to do these things.

"Dream...?" you tried again, although your voice trembled as you spoke.

They blinked before the amused smiled finally faded a bit. They did vaguely resemble the god of positivity, especially with the whole inflicting positive feelings ability. The gold right eyelight did seem like the exact same shade as his as well.

"That is not my name anymore."

You could hardly believe your ears but their voice was exactly like Nightmare's, although it was the one he used when he was trying to intimidate mortals. It was nothing like the calm, velvety tone he used when you were alone together.

You couldn't keep yourself composed any longer and the tears that had threatened to burst earlier, now flowed freely down your cheeks. You didn't want to believe it, but you could see that something terrible had befallen your partner and it seemed like Dream was involved as well.

You felt their claws press into the skin around your jaw as they ever so gently tilted your head up to meet their gaze again. When had they gotten so close?

Even though your head was dwarfed by the size of their hands, they were so careful as they wiped your tears away with the tips of their claws. You didn't dare move in case they injured you with how sharp they were.

It felt like their eyelights could pierce through to your soul with how intensely they were gazing at you. Their aura felt a lot warmer all of the sudden too and your mind felt kind of fuzzy.

They began to stroke your hair in what felt like a reassuring way, although you felt shivers run down your spine every time their claws grazed your scalp. You had been in too much of a hurry to brush your hair earlier and their claws caught on the occasional knot every now and then, but they were careful not to tug on the individual strands too much at least.

"It's... It's alright to cry..." Their voice suddenly lowered mid-sentence until it was almost a whisper. It still didn't sound exactly like Nightmare's voice but it was eerily similar. "Would...a hug help you feel better?"

You swallowed and barely got out a "Yes" when they practically engulfed you in a warm embrace. Their bones were quite literally warm, much like Dream's were the few times you'd touched him, although you could sense that the temperature was actually from how much mana they had contained in their form than anything else.

You couldn't physically wrap your arms around them, so you settled for letting your hands rest on their chest instead. They didn't seem to mind in the slightest, although you thought you faintly heard a soft purr when you touched them.

They suddenly scooped you up in their arms as if you were nothing but a small child, causing you to gasp as your feet left the stone tiles. They held you close to their ribcage and pressed their teeth against your hair, as if mimicking a kiss.

"Dear little human... I'm sorry for causing you such distress."

You sniffled and buried your face into their shirt. Everything felt wrong and knowing that this entity wasn't Nightmare hurt so much.

"You're...a very special human. The last thing I want is to hurt you..." they purred.

"Do... Do you remember me...?"

They stilled for a moment before moving to sit down on a nearby bench and setting you in their lap. They resumed stroking your hair before even attempting to answer your question.

"I'm sorry, dear, but I can't remember someone I've never met." They moved one of their hands to your back and began to rub circles into your shoulders. "You're certainly familiar to me though."

You pulled back so you could look up at them again. "Night...what happened to you? Why do you look like this? I don't... I don't understand what's going on..."

"I'm not your Nightmare, not anymore," they answered. They paused for a moment, as if trying to find the right words to say next. "I'm not either of them anymore. This is...just the natural result..."

"But why?"

"It just is. I am the god of feelings, both positive and negative." They sighed and lightly caressed your cheek. "If it is of any comfort to you, they didn't plan for this to happen."

You took a deep breath. "Was it because of the truce?"

The edges of their permanent smile quirked up slightly but they said nothing. You weren't sure if that was a yes or no but you couldn't think of any other reason for the brothers to have accidentally merged into one body out of nowhere.

They let out a quiet chuckle and softly poked your nose. "He may not have always been able to say it, but he loved you so much. If you'll allow me, I would be happy to share the depths of his love with you sometime, dear."

You furrowed your eyebrows and glanced away from them. "I... I don't know... Does this mean you have their memories?"

They shook their skull ever so slightly. "Not quite, but I have their combined knowledge. Anything you could possibly want to know, I can explain."

"How about a name first?"

They practically beamed and quickly pressed their teeth against your forehead. "My name is Total Eclipse or, if you prefer, you can just call me Eclipse."

You felt your cheeks grow warm at the contact but quickly forced any emotions down for now. "My name is Aylin. It means 'moon halo' and, well..."

They let out a quick bark of laughter. "...'the one who belongs to the moon...' I think it's rather fitting."

"That's... That's actually almost exactly what he said when we first met..."

"I told you, I know everything that they knew..."

[mazzystar24]

Asking this under anon bc i don’t wanna get any backlash in my inbox lmao

but to start this off: i love oliver stark, and i am so appreciative of how important he views this storyline and the representation it provides

however

i am going to be very disappointed in him if we get through the next few episodes, and it becomes clear that they aren’t going to further develop buddie anymore. he has always been so careful and cautious when it comes to implying things in interviews/press stuff, but lately with this resurgence in his response to fandom interest with buddie (liking fanart, reposting it, talking openly about buddie in interviews, confirming things like buck thinking eddie was attractive, etc.) if they don’t go that route, it will honestly severely hurt me.

i have very mixed feelings about what is and isn’t “queerbaiting” (most of my friends would say i tend to not believe that it’s a thing, and to an extent i agree) but there are certain situations in which something does blatantly feel like baiting… to me this is one of those situations.

with both lou and edy still being around, as well as ryan’s sudden stint in pr jail, the fandom’s obsession w lou/tommy, and tim minear’s seeming interest in complying with fan-service… it’s hard to remain optimistic that they will actually give us buddie. the past two weeks have given me whiplash as a buddie fan and i am getting tired of the show using our desperation and love for this ship as a marketing tactic when they have no intention of going there (tim minear himself saying things like “i don’t like to plan endgame relationships” or “there are no plans for buddie at the moment”).

that is why the media’s sudden obsession with asking about buddie, as well as oliver’s willingness to interact with buddie content online combined with the constant flow from the set of things not going in the direction of buddie… it feels very intentional to drag us in. and if oliver is participating in that, then i am going to be very disappointed and hurt by that. he used to care so much about not getting our hopes up, but lately it feels like that isn’t the case anymore, and that getting our hopes up is their way if getting us to continue watching the show because they know that people will stop watching after having to watch years of buildup and (at times admittedly) roment subtext between them just for all of that to be completely retconned and them to say “no-homo, bro” in favor of a character/ship that came out of nowhere and has had no development.

obviously, i don’t blame os for the storyline- he’s not a writer, he doesn’t get to dictate what does or doesn’t happen. But he is the one getting all of the media attention, and using that to shine a spotlight on buddie when (if) he knows that buddie isn’t happening? it feels very icky to me and i really don’t want to have a reason to dislike him.

unfortunately it’s seeming more and more like a possibility each day as we get inundated with bts info that doesn’t bode well for us at all.

I’m afraid I’ll have to disagree with you anon sorry😭🫶

If buddie doesn’t go canon/ they don’t show they’re heading in that direction in the next few episodes, I still would not blame Oliver at ALL for his recent more openness about buddie

(Idk how familiar you are with me and if you are you’ll know this but if you’re not lemme clarify I use bulletpoints a lot but not to be curt or rude I just like breaking things into chunks🫡)

1. He has made sure to constantly clarify that he doesn’t know how things are gonna go and he has no control over things- i mean EVERY time he spoke about buddie

2. He’s also a fan of the show guys, yes yes he’s an actor and it has different implications I agree 100% but also if he’s choosing to ship his character or enjoy fan work that’s his prerogative and sure he can lurk privately like he has in the past but also he probably knows that implications aside fans who make that work will be ecstatic to see him actually liking the stuff

3. The man legit said he deleted social media at one point cos he didn’t wanna like or share stuff that’d accidentally give people false hope for buddie or bi Buck but he has silently agreed for years and he hated not being able to confirm bi buck till now

4. He’s been a HUGE advocate for us both on the buddie front and bi buck front and that deserves recognition

5. As you said there is a LOT of bucktommy love rn which is great and all but may draw focus away from buddie, if Oliver is intentionally trying to get buddie fans to keep going it could genuinely just to show that buddie fans are still aiming for buddie endgame and that they still make up a huge portion of the fandom

6. Writing is CONSTANTLY in progress on 911 so again buddie fans being more vocal and abc and writers seeing such positive responses to him so much as interacting with buddie posts or answering buddie questions give them a gauge of audience’s wants (granted Tim has stated it’s not a HUGE factor for him) and also keep in mind s8 is still in the books so even proposals of storylines may be in the talks rn

7. When he talks he is VERY careful about his words and is very well spoken on the topic like yes there have been more stuff we can read into and be optimistic about but you can tell that he in no way is saying specific things to bait people, when talking about existing buddie things he talks about HIS interpretation and uses lots of maybes and might’ve beens and I see how that could be and when he talks about future buddie he talks about being open to it talks about what he’d want from it and he talks about not having control or knowledge of it happening

So yeah he has done/said things that I absolutely think warrant optimism (I made a whole post about it) but if it doesn’t pan out that optimism should a- still be there b- not turn into blame for him

Okay now Oliver aside- the questions being asked about buddie and all the buddie promotions I would be side eyeing the higher ups for if it’s for nothing because yes all the articles and stuff are stuff being pre-approved by abc and the people higher up than cast members or the journalists but I would also keep in mind that s8 is still in the works so hope is not lost even if s7 isn’t what we hoped for because keep in mind we had only 10 eps to work with too

[linka-from-captain-planet]

Power ranking BG3 ladies based on how much I'd personally like to marry them

All main and supporting women: Shadowheart, Lae'zel, Karlach Minthara, Jaheira, Isobel, Aylin, Mizora, Orin

Plus my background babes: Florrick, Talli, Alfira, Lakrissa, Araj, Nocturne, Skoona, Adrielle, Z'rell, Roah, Nine-Fingers, and special guest star Philomeen

*Isobel and Aylin deserve to be regarded as individuals occasionally, so yes I'm wrecking that home (Alfira and Lakrissa too)

*essentially, top 10 is "women I would like to marry" and 11-21 and is "women I would not like to marry"

Quartermaster Talli. Granted she has an unfair advantage due to looking and vibing as a fusion of my IRL girlfriend and the butch lesbian who installed my new garage door 3 years ago whom I'm still mildly obsessed with. But anyway, we'd have a really great life together. We'd be able to communicate, we'd be compatible in the bedroom, we have similar values. Wife material, Grade A - the gold standard comparison for everyone else on the list.

Isobel. We'd have our tiffs (we can both be a little catty and sensitive), but overall we'd be a pretty stable match. We'd put in the work to make it last. I feel like being a cleric counts as a "job" so I appreciate that.

Nocturne. My #1 "I can fix her" pick because I think I actually can. I appreciate a hard worker, so Nocturne having distinguished herself in her uh workplace enough to become an officer is very respectable to me. We could go to therapy together. Not a perfect match, but I think we could make it work.

Lakrissa. Would be an easy second place if she didn't read so young. She's a little immature (a little over-dedicated, a little too self-sacrificing) and so she'd have to do some growing up, but I think we could make it work.

Florrick. Even though she's my #1 beloved and by FAR the sexiest person in the entire game and I would do anything to [redacted], we'd be like two brick walls getting married. We're too similar. But sheer affection and lust propel her to the top 5 anyway, even though we'd probably be married 10 sexless years before one of us finally snapped and filed for divorce.

Skoona. Assuming she drops the whole self-deprecating thing (can't stand that). She has a job, she's sensitive, she's romantic, she's humble, and she's hot. I don't think we'd knock each others' socks off, but we'd be a nice match.

Lae'zel. Extremely 22 years old and that's an issue for me. I'm also too sensitive to make it through her tough outer shell to get to the soft waifu meat inside. However, she does have amazing wife material to uncover, so I think if I could be her second wife, we'd be golden.

Adrielle. We'd have our problems as two neurotic faux-normies, but we're neurotic in different ways, so maybe we'd complete each other? She's very conscientious and thoughtful, though, which are the most important wife traits for me. With commitment and therapy, we'd make it work, but it wouldn't be the smoothest ride.

Jaheira. I don't really want to be a step parent to young kids, so that pulls her down the list a bit, but there's no way I couldn't have her in the top 10. We'd get along great; we have the same sense of humor; we're both not clingy. A good match, but not really the wife for me.

Minthara. I want her so bad but she'd eat me alive and not in the sexy way. I would let her walk all over me for 2-3 years though, assuming she didn't dump me first. Impossible to rank below the top 10, but objectively not the wife for me.

Shadowheart. Like Lae'zel, there's a lot to get through before you get to the wife material deep inside. I would also need to be her second wife. Also, I'm not doing that cottagecore shit and I cannot have that many animals in my house.

Araj. I know I called her bad in bed 2 different ways in two other posts but that's not a problem, she's so sexy and interesting to me that I know I would fall super hard for her. I too love science? We have something in common. I feel like she'd bring out a lot in me, not necessarily good things, but to be loved is to be changed? I would probably come to my senses before really risking it all though.

Alfira. I love her so much but I am no Lakrissa, I could not handle both supporting her while she pursues her artistic goals AND having to top every time. We'd be that miserable couple that lets it drag on forever because nothing is *wrong* even though nothing is *right* and wind up hating each other.

Nine-Fingers. She'd stress me out too much. Running the streets, making enemies... what if a shake-down goes wrong? Admittedly I'm tempted to live out my mafia wife fantasies with her, but realistically, I think I'd have too many nervous breakdowns to make it worth it.

Karlach. The divorce would be so epic that I almost wanted to rank her higher, but I just know deep down that we would trigger/frustrate the fuck out of each other and completely implode long before making it to the courthouse and/or altar.

Aylin. I routinely get over-stimulated by my cats brushing against my leg when I'm trying to multi-task working and listening to music, so there is no universe in which I could tolerate being married to Aylin. She's too exuberant and touchy. I would be scream-crying WHY ARE YOU YELLING AT ME every time she simply asked me how my day was in her usual volume. An absolute disaster, she'd smother me despite her best intentions.

Z'rell. She can have place #17 to match the 17 husbands which I would not be okay with. I'm not jealous, but I'm not THAT not jealous. She's also just really harsh and I'm a crier, so we probably would not be able to have a conversation, let alone a relationship.

Roah Moonglow. Like Nine-Fingers, but I feel like the Zhent is like, a second-rate criminal organization and so it'd be like being a second-rate mafia wife. All the stress, fewer fist-sized emerald necklaces.

Mizora. On top of everything else, she's also a corporate LAWYER... yuck

Philomeen. I would go on 1 date with Philomeen, let her start a blowup fight with me outside of [regional burrito chain], let her neg me into fucking anyway, go no contact, and let her booty call me 2 years later at 3AM like nothing happened, but I would not even slightly consider dating her, let alone marrying her.

Orin. Ignoring the whole serial killer thing that's neither here nor there, the problem is the combo of overbearing family (my #1 dealbreaker of all time) and lack of communication skills (my #2 dealbreaker of all time). Like I'd be constantly trying to get her to go no contact with Serevok and she'd never listen and she'd always be talking in fucking Dr Seuss riddles and disappearing and pissing me off.

[bit-dodgy-innit]

We're Not Here to F*ck Spiders

Summary: You were the oldest Spider-Girl the society had ever encountered, therefore, Miguel took a special interest in you. He wanted to know if your life would correspond with his and the other Spiders’ canon, or whether you had a completely different canon you were forging on your own. After an offhanded comment about reviewing your canon with Miguel outside of headquarters, your relationship with Spider-Man 2099 is forever changed.

Set in between ITSV and ATSV.

Pairing: Marc x OC Female!Reader

For context, Reader is an alternate, grown-up version of Mayday due to personal reasons (personal reasons being I’ve been obsessed with Mayday Parker since I was baby child)! No real use of Y/N, though Miguel does refer to the reader as "May" twice and Peter Parker nicknamed her Mayhem. Peter B.'s daughter is Mayday.

Word Count: 10.2k words (see why this took me forever?!)

Rating: Explicit - Minors DNI!!

CW/TW: An obscene amount of world-building, parents and kids fighting, mentions of a loss of a child, everyone being hot for Miguel, rough-ish sex (both partners are superheroes, come on), our boy is HUNG, dirty talk, a bit of cocky dom!Miguel, oral f!receiving, a lil bit of both m and f!receiving nipple play, PIV sex, riding, a quick spank, creampie, felching, and perhaps most intense of all, Miguel’s fear of commitment.

A/N: hahahahahaha this movie is nearly a year old and I FINALLY got around to writing a fic for it! Trust that I've been working on this on and off for a while now, but life has been nuts and writing more and more for work (yay!) but wanted to get this out while I had a slow week for everyone to enjoy!

Also, due to more personal reasons, my HC for Reader's parents are Peter and Mary Jane from Sam Raimi's masterpiece in 2002. But no presh if that doesn't jibe with ya!

I MADE A PLAYLIST FOR THIS FIC AND I'VE NEVER BEEN MORE PROUD OF ANYTHING

“Careful, Mayday!” you fondly called after the child who was literally bouncing off the cavernous walls of HQ. Yeesh, were you this energetic when you were her age? Probably. It never ceased to be weird, hanging out with an alternate baby version of yourself, but you could manage if you pretended she was your little niece, or sister, or something like that. 

The alternate baby version of Mayday Parker in question didn’t heed your admonishment at all (which tracked), so you called again, “Oh noooo…I’m gonna have to come up there and get ya!”

Mayday squealed in delight at your “threat” and only zipped around quicker. However, you had a couple decades on her, so your reflexes were more attuned. It didn’t take long for you to capture her in your grasp and tickle her. However, little Mayday wasn’t going to give up that easily. She squirmed out of your hold and began scaling the nearby wall at a dizzying pace. 

“Okay, missy, let’s settle down,” you announced, shooting a web to meet the infant on the platform she’d crawled onto. You continued to speak as you swung, “you know how Miguel is, we can’t get too carried…away.”

You nearly threw yourself back off the platform when you were met with the sight of Miguel himself standing before you holding May. 

“Oh, hi,” you gestured to the squirming girl in his hands, “thanks. I was right behind her.” 

“What am I like?” He asked, an inquisitive arch in his brow. 

“You’re…you run a tight ship that’s all,” you wished a portal would swallow you whole. “And it’s great! We need it.”

“Are you supposed to be anywhere?” Miguel prodded further as he passed you May. 

“Me? No, it's my day off.”

“Then why are you here?” 

“Because you put Peter B. on a mission and it gives me anxiety when he takes her.” 

“You and me both,” he huffed. 

“That being said, anything I can help you with?”

“Yeah actually, I have new sequencing to go over with you.” 

Though the multiverse was ever-expanding, you were the oldest Spider-Girl the society had ever encountered, therefore, Miguel had taken a special interest in you. Since you were a second generation Spider, Miguel wanted to know if your life would correspond with his, your dad’s, and the other Spiders’ canon, or whether you had a completely different canon you were forging on your own. You initially found the whole concept fascinating, yet that interest waned pretty quickly when Miguel informed you that he was going to have Lyla analyze your entire life and have you expound on your experiences so he could compare you to the other Spiders. 

Not that there was anything you were particularly ashamed of, but some of this stuff was embarrassing. Unlike baby Mayday, whose powers had already emerged, yours didn’t make an appearance until puberty. Reviewing your awkward teen years wasn’t exactly your ideal way of spending time with an unfairly hot guy, let alone the head of Spider Society.  

“Oh okay, yeah,” you replied. “When Peter gets ba—“

“MAYDAY! WHERE’S MY PUMPKIN?” Peter’s voice echoed across the room. 

No sooner had Peter spoken did Mayday websling herself off of the platform and into her father’s arms. 

Shit, there went your excuse. A nervous chuckle escaped you, “Convenient.” 

“Sí. Follow me.”

You did as Miguel said and trailed behind him to his…office didn’t quite describe it. Work station? Lair? You lasted all of forty-five seconds before your gaze dropped to his sculpted backside, a new record for you. 

It really was unfair that the intense, ornery leader of the Spider Society had to be so damn fine. You were a superhero and a consummate professional, but at the end of the day, you were a mostly heterosexual human woman with eyes. Miguel was stupidly sexy. His shoulder-to-waist ratio, that chiseled face, and of course, perfectly round ass had been the topic of a few hushed, giggly conversations between you and the other Spiders that liked boys. 

It was only ever cheeky whispers however. All of you knew better than to catch any real feelings for Miguel. One, it was majorly inappropriate. And two, he’d built emotional walls higher than the tallest skyscrapers in Nueva York. 

Still, your mind couldn’t help but wander every now and then…you blamed it on your latest breakup. Spider-Girl duties had yet again claimed another potential partner. You suspected that was the reason it was more and more difficult not to fantasize about Miguel lately. Like sure, he was probably an animal in bed in the best way, but it was the prospect of not having to hide anything from him that appealed to you even more. 

“Lyla, bring up the latest sequencing,” Miguel ordered. 

If it weren’t for your spider-senses, you would’ve collided with his impossibly cut back, you were so deep into your thirsty thoughts. 

Suddenly, you were back on Earth-982A in your childhood bedroom. Or at least, that’s where you appeared to be. The virtual surroundings would’ve been comforting if it weren’t for the particular event that Miguel had wanted to revisit. 

Your father was forbidding you to use your powers. Again. You gazed at the rendering of your teenage self with compassion. Now, your father was fully supportive of you following in his footsteps, but the journey there had been rough. 

“You know, most parents would be happy if their kid wanted to do something to help the world!” 

Your dad scoffed. “That doesn’t matter - I’m not most parents and you’re not most kids!”

“Yeah and whose fault is that?!” Virtual you fired back. “I was born like this because of you! Dad, you’re always telling me that ‘with great power, comes great responsibility’ and now when I discover I inherited that great power, I can’t use it!?” 

“Pause,” Miguel’s voice spooked you back into the present. When you finally shook yourself from the memory that was playing before you, you found his eyes on yours. “Okay, there. Define ‘always’.”

“Quantitatively?” 

“Preferably.” 

“That’s impossible.” 

“Qualitatively, then.” 

“I mean, it's one of those things he said so much that I can’t remember the first time I heard it.” 

“When did your dad first hear it?” 

“His Uncle Ben told him during their last conversation together.” 

“Checks out. And how old was he?” 

“He was a senior in high school, so like seventeen, eighteen?” 

Miguel nodded. Even though x-ray vision nor telepathy weren’t in your powerset, you could practically see all the comparisons and calculations he was making in his head. 

“So using your powers to help people, that was your instinct when you inherited your abilities.”

“Yeah.” 

Miguel nodded again. 

“It’s different, isn’t it?” you asked him. He didn’t reply. “My dad told me he entered some god awful cage-match-wrestling-thing to get enough money to buy a car and impress my mom before he officially became Spider-Man.” 

Miguel was seemingly too busy with entering his latest data to respond. Instead, he barked at Lyla, “Resume sequence.” 

The holographic version of your dad lurched back to life to argue, “May, you are my great responsibility! So if I say no powers, no powers! I did this a lot longer than you! ” 

Tears streamed down your adolescent face. Thankfully, you’d lost some of the baby fat since.  “I hate you! I HATE YOU DAD!!” 

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. This wasn’t easy to live, let alone re-live. So, as a Spider, naturally you made a jaunty, off-handed comment. “Wow, you really know how to show a girl a good time.” 

“Qué?” 

“Nothing.” He fixed you with his signature scowl so you elaborated, “Seriously, nothing. Though, maybe if we did this in an environment where I had access to alcohol and carbs, this would be less um…less unsettling for me.”

Miguel stared at you blankly. “But the simulator is here.”

“Right, of course.” Ughhhh, why was he so damn pretty?! “Forget I said anything, Miguel.” 

He dropped it, but before the simulation could start again, your gizmo beeped. Benji’s basketball game started in twenty. 

“Actually, sorry, I have to go.” 

“But we just got started.” 

“I know, but I haven’t been able to catch one of my little brother’s games yet this season, and it’s almost the playoffs.”

“Won’t he under–”

You interrupted Miguel. “You realize spider-stuff is not a viable excuse with my family, right? Besides, it’s my day off. I’m only here out of the goodness of my own heart and my commitment to the Spider-Society.” 

He rolled his eyes at your remark, but couldn’t help a little half - nay, quarter - smile from forming across the lips you had fantasized about kissing one too many times. “Things are quiet for once. We should knock this out now.” 

“We should,” you conceded as you created a portal, “but trying to have some semblance of work-life balance is Spider-Girl canon.”

And with that, you hopped back into your world, before you could change your mind or say anything else stupid and/or unintentionally flirty to Miguel. 

You re-appeared in your apartment with just enough time to throw on clothes and swing over to the middle school. Your mom was waiting as you hurried into the gym right as Benji and the other players were taking the court. 

“Look who made it,” MJ observed wryly. 

“Ha ha,” you fired back humorlessly, but pulled your mom into a hug all the same. “Where’s Dad?”

The ref’s whistle signaled tip off and the beginning of the game, momentarily distracting you two. You were thrilled to see Benji starting – he really wanted to make JV when he started high school next year, and this was a step in the right direction. 

“Go Benji!!” MJ cheered before answering your question, “He hit traffic coming from the station. He’ll be here soon.” 

Your collective attention was pulled to the game unfolding in front of you, then MJ asked, “What have you been up to today?” 

“Me? I was at the society for a bit, helping with the baby.”

You didn’t need to see your mother to know that she tensed at the mention of the Spider-Society and Peter B.’s Mayday. It, understandably, weirded her out. 

“How can it not be strange to care for–”

“It would be if we were closer in age,” you pointed out. “But it’s just like babysitting with Mayday right now. And trust me, after all the versions of Dad I’ve met, hanging out with little me is nothing.” 

Despite being weirded out, your mom always tried to empathize, so she switched gears. “Anything interesting happen?” 

“Ugh, just more sequencing with Miguel - today was a tough one.”

“Why?”

“Fights with Dad from years ago that I know we’ve moved past, but still suck to watch.” 

Your mom took your hand in hers, a much-needed grounding gesture. “Well, you’re back in the present, in your corner of the universe now, sweetie.” 

You gave her hand an appreciative squeeze and took her words to heart, focusing on the basketball game in front of you. It didn’t take too long to put the earlier events from headquarters behind you – Benji scored a couple baskets and you took it upon yourself to meticulously document the game on your phone for memories and possible future blackmail. 

When your Dad did join you and MJ, you couldn’t help but hug him tightly. You buried your face into his coat, which smelled like a mix of smoke from the streets and his aftershave. 

It was Peter’s mix of spider and paternal instincts that prompted him to ask, “Everything okay?” 

“Yeah,” you assured him, giving him some space. “I just–I love you, Dad.” 

“Love you too, Mayhem.” Where Mayday was Peter B’s moniker for his daughter, Mayhem was your dad’s nickname for you.

The game ended in victory for Benji’s team, the Midtown Mavericks, and you three waited for the youngest member of the Parker family to emerge from the locker room. 

Benji’s face when he saw you made any lingering discomfort you had leaving Miguel one thousand percent worth it. “You made it!” 

“Wouldn’t miss it!” you pulled Benji into a hug - however reluctant he was to it since he was a ~teenager~ now. “Dude, you put up points tonight!” 

But Benji had gotten distracted, so instead of responding to you, he murmured “Woah, that guy is swole.” 

You turned around to see who he was talking about and your jaw nearly hit the floor. 

It was Miguel. 

Even more incredibly, he was in civilian clothes. It wasn’t until you witnessed him in dark wash jeans, a henley, and a well-worn bomber jacket that you realized that you’d actually never seen Miguel in anything other than his spider suit. 

He called your name and you acknowledged him with a wave, flabbergasted. Even more astonished that you knew this very attractive hunk of man was your brother, “Wait, you know him?!”

“We work together,” you said quietly. 

“At the paper?” Benji was confused. 

“No, at my other job.” 

“Oh,” it clicked for him. “That makes sense. Man, I hope I get that jacked when I get my powers.” 

“Shhhh, be cool Benji,” you urged him. 

“Um, I’m not the one you have to worry about,” he harrumphed. “Oh shit, you like him.”

Though there was more than a decade between you and Benji, your little brother was still your little brother.  “No! He’s the head of the Spider-Society and he’s–you’ll see.” 

You took a step forward to greet Miguel before anyone else from your family could get to him. “Hey! What’re you doing here?” 

“I wanted to finish our work today, and since it’s your day off, I decided to come to you.” 

“Miguel O’Hara making a compromise? How not canon. Wonder how big of a hole that’s gonna tear in the multiverse.” 

“Shut up,” he ordered you playfully. 

“Miguel, good to see you!” Your dad strode over and pulled the younger spider-man into a handshake. 

“You too, Dr. Parker.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at how oddly deferential Miguel was with your dad. He’d met Peter first, when he was establishing the Arachnohumanoid Polymultiverse. Miguel was stunned to discover that this Peter was not only retired, but had a full-grown daughter who’d taken up his crime-fighting mantle. Apparently your dad’s canon was particularly important and central to the greater Spiderverse, which meant Miguel would pester you with questions about him constantly. 

“Is everything okay?” Peter asked, “You don’t usually make house calls.” 

Before Miguel could explain, an elbow nearly sent you into careening into his broad chest. Mom. 

“Miguel, this is my mom, Mary Jane.” 

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Parker,” Miguel dutifully offered his hand to her. 

“The pleasure is mine,” your mom gushed, “I’ve heard so much about you.” 

Benji was right. He was not the person you had to be worried about. A rip in the multiverse to swallow you whole would be rather convenient right about now. 

Miguel’s brow creased. “You have?”

“She hasn’t,” you intervened. “Like two or three things in passing, max. Promise I haven’t broken my NDA or you know, the superhero code of secrecy or anything.” 

Mercifully, Miguel let it slide for the time being. He turned to your brother. “And you must be Benji.” 

“Yeah,” Benji confirmed, doing a terrible job of pitching his voice lower. “‘Sup, bro.” 

Jesus Christ. At this point, you were ready to rip the fabric of reality yourself to end this. 

“Congrats on the win. Hate to do this, but I need to steal your sister for a bit.” 

“No problem, I know she’s fine with it.” Perhaps Benji needed a reminder regarding which sibling had the super powers. “Also, what’s your workout–”

“Well, as fun as this all is, we should probably get back to work.”

Your family didn’t put up much of a fight – thank God – as pleasantries were exchanged and you and Miguel took off. You hoped Miguel didn’t catch when your mother mouthed “So handsome!!” to you as everyone said their goodbyes. Finally, it was just the two of you walking down East 36th Street. 

“Sorry about them,” you began. 

He looked at you, puzzled. “Why?” 

“My family. Embarrassing.” 

“They’re not embarrassing. They’re…they’re nice,” there was pain behind Miguel’s eyes. “It’s interesting. Your brother hasn’t experienced any spider-abilities, has he?” 

“No,” you confirmed. “Not yet.”

You two slowed to stop on the corner. Miguel looked at you expectantly. “So, where to?”

“What do you mean?” 

“You said you wanted to do this in an environment where you ‘had access to alcohol and carbs’.” 

“Oh! Right. Hmmm, where are we?” you looked up at the cross streets above you. “36th and 3rd? I know a place.” 

You took Miguel to a little hole-in-the-wall Italian spot nearby. Since it was so close to Benji’s school and your old middle and high school, you had spent many a week night at their tables, either working on homework or chowing down after basketball practice. 

Therefore, the staff knew you – it was a family owned spot, you’d basically grown up with the owner’s children, Maria and Chris. Though you graduated from Midtown Charter a looong time ago, they still took care of you. Maria had even let you use their first aid kit once, no questions asked, after a nasty Spider-Girl skirmish nearby. You didn’t suspect she knew anything, but even if she did, you could trust Maria to be discreet. 

At least, you thought you could trust Maria, but when she showed you and Miguel to your table, and Miguel made a pit stop at the restroom, she very indiscreetly asked, “Daaaamn, girl. He your boyfriend? Because you–”

“No!”

“You getting dicked down by him?” 

“No!” 

“Can I get dicked down by him? He single? Does he like the ladies?” 

“Maria, he’s a colleague. Actually, he’s my superior. So no…unfortunately, no.” 

Maria cackled with delight. “That’s a pen worth sticking in your company ink. I’ll bring you some garlic bread.”

“And a glass of red wine,” you added. “no, a bottle.”

“That’s my girl!” 

In theory, you had thought that reviewing sequencing outside of headquarters would’ve been less awkward, but in reality, it was more so. You couldn’t stop drinking in the sight of Miguel in normal clothes, the intimacy of having a meal together when usually your interactions were so sterile and professional, plus there was a little voice in your head screaming that THIS WAS BASICALLY A DATE on repeat.

“So should we pick up where we left off?” Miguel asked. The question brought you back down to Earth. Despite that little persistent voice in your head oohing and ahhing at him, it was clear that Miguel didn’t think this was a date. This dinner was a means to end, nothing more. 

“Let me get a little wine drunk first,” you bargained. 

“Yeah, but you have sped-up metabolism, so that’ll take at least–” 

“That was a joke. Miguel, when was the last time you went out to dinner?” 

He seemed to truly consider the question, then, “I don’t know.” 

You’d never heard Miguel say those three words in that order before. 

“I promise you I will go over my cringe teen years with you, but can we eat some garlic bread and not get drunk off this very nice bottle of wine first?” 

“You’re worse than Lyla,” his eyes narrowed. 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“She’s always trying to get me to take breaks.”

“You should! There’s only so much self-flagellation a human can take, even if they’re a superhero.” 

Miguel’s response was a very inarticulate grumble. Maria dropped off the wine, bread, and took your order. You didn’t know what was more insane – the amount of food Miguel ordered or how unabashedly Maria was ogling him. 

“Let me guess, Lyla’s the one who suggested the field trip to my home dimension?”

Another grumble, this one in the affirmative. 

“Classic,” you remarked with a snort before taking a gulp from your glass. “I love that your AI is smarter than you.” 

“Of course she is, she can access all of the multiverse’s knowledge in a nano-second.’

“That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean then?” 

“Can we not talk about me for a second?” 

“Why?” 

“Because…because, I don't know, I was hoping doing this in a more casual environment would–it’d make it feel more like a conversation.” 

“We are having a conversation.” 

“Jeez, Miguel,” you took another sip of wine. “It’s not easy digging through my past like this. A lot of the time it feels more like an interrogation.” 

“Ah.” 

“Yeah. And don’t get me wrong, I want to help you, help the Spider-Society, but the one-sidedness of this is exhausting.”

“Exhausting.” He sounded dubious. 

“You know what? Forget it. I’ll take care of the bill and see you tomorrow, and we can go back to reviewing the sequencing like we normally do. I should know better than to complain to you.” 

Miguel looked at you if your words had stung him. “You can complain to me.” 

“No, I can’t,” you disputed. “You’re the most self-sacrificing Spider out of any of us–which is really saying something, by the way–and I feel lame talking about my feelings with you.”

“And that’s why our reviews feel like interrogations,” he was putting it together. 

“Yeah. Sorry to drag you out of HQ.”

Miguel scrutinized you with a long, unreadable look before announcing, “I’m not leaving before I have my bolognese.”

You didn’t know whether to smile or scream. Miguel may have lacked the traditional spidey precognitive sense, and the signature spider sense of humor, but he definitely had the stubbornness you all seemed to possess. 

You shot him a sidelong glare. “Why did you come here?” 

“I told you - I wanted to finish sequencing and Lyla suggested coming to you.” 

“But you didn’t have to take her suggestion.”

Miguel’s large frame shifted in the chair that suddenly appeared too small for him. “Like you said, she’s smarter than me, so I did. And yeah, it’s been a while since I’ve gone out to dinner.”

You didn’t know how to react to that. Right before the silence became intolerable, Miguel spoke again, “You still with that gu–’

“No.” The last thing you wanted to talk about with Miguel was your failed relationship with Gene, and you’d once discussed the correlation of getting your first period could’ve had with your powers emerging with him.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I mean, you get it.”

Miguel at last took a sip from his glass. “All too well.” 

“The price of being a hero, right?” you sent him a small, sympathetic smile across the table. “Or at least that’s what I tell myself.” 

“Your parents seemed to have figured it out,” he pointed out. 

“Well, that took like decades, and according to you, they’re canon, right? So it was meant to be. I guess that’s one of the comforts of having a canon-confirmed soulmate.” 

“Yeah, if you're Peter Parker.” 

Your heart sank at the implication. “So that means if a Spider isn’t Peter we’re meant to die alone?” 

“I don’t know,” Miguel’s eyes were averted. “Maybe only if you’re a Miguel O’Hara.” 

“Stop, you could get anyone in this restaurant to sleep with you,” you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, “Our waitress has to resist climbing on top of you whenever she passes the table.”

He swatted away the implication as if it were a pest. “That’s different.”

“You know, it might help with the stress.”

“What?”

“Letting someone climb on top of you.”

Miguel glared at you, “Don’t.”

“See? It’s not fun being on the other side of the questions,” you smirked. Your conversation was briefly suspended when Maria returned with your entrees. After thanking her, you refocused back on Miguel, “Can I ask you something else?”

“No.”

“DADA!” A child, who couldn’t have been more than three, screeched happily from a neighboring table. 

Miguel froze. For the first time in the several months that you’d known him, you saw his face soften. The warmth that filled his eyes at the sight of the toddler was undeniable. The fond expression hardened back into his stoic facade within an instant, yet Miguel couldn’t fully conceal the anguish that clearly still haunted him. He never could. 

“Sorry,” you said softly. 

He shook off your condolences. “What’d you want to ask me?” 

“Have you tried seeing anyone after…” it felt forbidden to say Gabriella’s name out loud. 

“What’s the point?” Miguel shrugged. “I don’t have the time, even if I wanted to.” 

“Right,” you hedged. 

Eventually, you and Miguel were able to find things to talk about outside of work and your respective traumas. You compared notes on the lamest villain you’d each encountered rounding up anomalies, discussed the idea of a nursery for spider-babies, or as Miguel insisted on calling them, “second-generation Spiders” – Peter couldn’t keep taking his kid on missions, plus Jessica Drew had just learned she was expecting – you even got Miguel to open up about his teenage days some. 

“Makes sense you were a rebel,” you chuckled, taking one last bite of the tiramisu Maria insisted was on the house.  

“Yeah? Why?” Miguel prodded.

“Because you-re so uptigh–upstanding now.” 

You were treated to another rare grin from Miguel, this time a half smile rather than a quarter. “Nice save.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you contended with put-on innocence. 

“Yeah, yeah, I don’t always like what I have to do, you know.” 

Your gaze locked directly with his for a breath-taking second, his eyes garnets in the low light of the dining room. “We should get going, I've taken you away from headquarters for long enough.” 

“You act like I’ve never left HQ before, and if anything, I took you away from your family,” Miguel parried, yet stood up nonetheless. You followed suit, only mildly disappointed he didn’t argue with you about leaving. As awkward as this dinner initially was, you’d actually ended up enjoying it. “I’ll take you home.”

Miguel’s words stopped you in your tracks, “You know I’m the protector of this city, right?” 

“Obviously, I—” he huffed as you waved goodbye to Maria and exited back onto the street. “Mierda May, I’m trying to be a gentleman here.”

Oh. Oh. Did Miguel think this was a date too? Date was too strong of a word – did Miguel think this was a not-entirely-work-related-hang too? 

You struggled to keep your face blasé. “Ah, okay. We taking the subway or are we swinging?” 

Miguel shot you a look as if the choice was obvious, which is how you found yourself traipsing across the city with Spider-Man 2099. You’d traveled by web plenty of times with Miguel before on missions, but there was something about it being the two of you, in your city, that made it feel just a little bit special. 

And to be honest, you’d never get enough of watching Miguel’s body hurtle through the air – despite his bulk and brawn, he was agile and lithe as he swung from building to building with you. You nearly plunged into traffic on Sixth Avenue after your thoughts had wandered to what those bulging muscles looked like unencumbered by that skin-tight suit of his. 

When you arrived at your apartment in Morningside Heights, you were suddenly self-conscious. You’d never brought a Spider to your residence, and Miguel was likely the hardest to impress of them all. 

He studied your modest one-bedroom with the same intensity as he did his screens at the Spider-Society. 

“It’s not much, I know,” you began, “and with Spider-Girl stuff, I don’t have the time to keep it as tidy as I'd like to.”

“It’s perfect,” he mumbled before catching himself. “I mean, it’s perfect for you.” 

“Yeah, I don’t need much, but it gets good light during the day and was the highest floor I could afford at my price point,” you removed your mask as you babbled on. 

“Makes sense,” Miguel nodded. 

You had no idea where to go from there – what on Earth was the man playing at? Should you offer him water, another drink, the best spot to portal back to HQ? He was lingering in your space, seemingly fascinated by the framed prints on your walls, the photos on the coffee table and credenza. 

“Um, do you need to use the restroom or something? Because it’s right through there,” you motioned to the appropriate door. 

“I’m good for now.”

THEN WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU STILL DOING HERE? You hollered in your head. Externally, you kept playing hostess, “Let me get you a glass of water then–”

Yet Miguel caught your wrist before you could retreat into your tiny, galley kitchen. You weren’t proud of how your heart leapt and your breath hitched at the contact. 

“Shouldn’t you be getting back?” 

He shrugged, “I should, but–”

“But what?” 

“I’ve been thinking about what you said…about letting someone climb on top of me.” 

You gulped, “Sorry, that was so inappropriate of me–”

“It was. Inappropriate, that is, but it doesn’t mean it wasn’t a good idea,” he tugged you closer to him. You could barely stand to meet his eyes, alight with desire, while your heart was pounding embarrassingly fast. 

“Um, judging by the–uh, do you want me to climb on top of you, Miguel?” you were always so much smoother in your daydreams about him. 

His lips hovered dangerously near yours. “Do you want to climb on top of me?” 

The closer you got to Miguel, the faster your brain turned to scrambled eggs. His large, sure hands had settled on your hips. 

“Uh huh,” was the best you could muster before he crashed your lips together. 

Miguel’s kiss was searing and all-consuming – it felt as if the longer your mouths moved against each other, the more your body melted into his. He was tall, so tall, and even for a superhero like yourself, it was difficult to keep yourself perched on the balls of your feet to reach his skilled, hungry mouth. 

He seemed to sense your struggle, and without breaking your liplock, he scooped you up into his arms. It was foreign but not unwelcome – you were so used to being the strongest, the person who held others, the hero. Therefore, being held so effortlessly in Miguel’s arms was nothing short of exhilarating. You weren’t the strongest person in the room anymore, you could surrender. You loved it.

Miguel pressed your back into the nearest wall, causing an emphatic moan to leave you when your hips became flush with his. You could already feel him – hot, hard, and big – between the flimsy fabric of your spider-suits. Instinctually, you canted your heat against his, delighting in the way he seemed to grow hotter, harder, not to mention unbelievably bigger, when you did. 

“Bedroom?” he gasped between harsh, ardent kisses. 

You managed to fling a hand in the correct direction, and next thing you knew, Miguel was depositing you onto your bed. You propped yourself up, leaning back on your palms to take in the man towering over you at the edge of your bed. In a flash of color and light, his suit disappeared from his strapping physique, and the sight of Miguel naked intoxicated you more than alcohol ever could. 

His shoulders seemed even broader without the unstable particles of his suit covering them. His pecs were massive, which made a delectable ratio when his chest tapered down to a chiseled abdomen and slim hips. Slim hips that framed the biggest cock you’d seen outside of porn – hell, maybe even including porn. He was long and thick – it made a dark thrill race down your spine when you contemplated how the hell that was going to fit inside of you. 

Miguel noticed you marveling at his package, misinterpreting the rapacious glint in your eye as unease, “I’ll prep you, I won’t hurt you.” 

“Oh, I’m not worried” you glanced back up at his face coquettishly. 

“No?” Miguel cocked an eyebrow and advanced toward you on the bed, a jaguar stalking its prey. He nudged you onto your back and pinned your wrists to your comforter, “maybe you should be.” 

You muscled out of Miguel’s grip and switched positions so you were straddling him. Only then did you lean closer and whisper into his ear, “I can take it.” 

Miguel growled, and within an instant, you were on your back once again as he pawed at your suit. Unlike his costume, your spider-suit was made of plain old fabric, so there was a bit of fumbling, cursing in Spanish, nervous giggling, and a mumbled comment about ‘making you a suit like mine’ from Miguel before you were nude as well. 

He splayed you out against your mattress as if you were a feast before him. Your first instinct was to try and cover yourself but Miguel’s dark gaze froze you. A pleased groan rumbled from his chest and then his large hands flew to your breasts. “Such full, perky tits.”

You moaned in response to his ministrations. How was this real? You and Miguel were touching each other – naked – and you hadn’t woken up yet. 

“It’s all for you,” you mewled, relishing his hot palms on your sensitive buds. 

Another growl ripped from his chest before he swooped down and sucked one of your nipples into his warm, wanting mouth. You keened, a pathetic, high-pitched sound, and you wove your fingers into his dark locks as he gorged himself on your tits. 

The pull of Miguel’s mouth on your peaks was made only better when he snaked a hand between your legs and ran a finger along the seam of your sex. You bucked at the touch, your reaction causing Miguel to lift his head from your bosom. 

“Mmmm, you like it when I play with your pussy, cariño?”

At this point words had all but left you so you nodded and whined in the affirmative. Miguel’s digit parted your folds, tracing up and down, then found your clit and rubbed slow, tortuous circles into the nub. 

“So wet for me, bebita,” he observed, maddeningly casually, while he played you like an instrument. “This is all for me, huh?”

Your head thrashed back and forth on your comforter with a sob, both from pleasure and bashfulness. Now there was no downplaying how horny Miguel made you. 

“Shhh,” he cooed at you, taking one of your hands and bringing it to his groin, “feel what you do to me.”

This time your moan was unabashed as your hand circled around his girth. “Fuck, you’re so big.” 

“I know,” he grunted. Normally, such braggadocio from a man would be an immediate turn off to you. But Miguel wasn’t being arrogant, not when he was referring to the thick, pulsing hardness you were currently caressing. “Gotta get you ready for me.”  

He guided your hand away from his member, even despite your protests, to wrench your thighs wider and bury his head between them. The realization alone that Miguel O’Hara was about to eat you out almost made you come, yet actually feeling his tongue on your needy cunt was infinitely better. He licked a stripe from your perineum to your clit, tearing another ragged moan from you when his tongue focused in on the bundle of nerves. 

Miguel chuckled against your folds at your enthusiastic praise and redoubled his efforts. Your fingers reflexively tangled in his inky locks once again as he continued his delectable assault on your pussy. The way Miguel tasted you matched with how he seemed to approach everything – he was vehement and determined to bring you pleasure like how he was when he worked. He managed to just stay on the right side of rough as he slurped at you..though perhaps that was a bit different than how he fought.

He speared his tongue into your hole, affording you the opportunity to grind your clit against his prominent nose. In your pleasure-filled haze, you briefly fretted that you were suffocating Miguel, but when you tried to scooch away and give him some air, the man grunted and pulled your hips closer to him.

You keened again when one of his thick fingers joined the fray as he prepped you. After all the sexual tension, all the self-denial, and all the excitement the night had held, it felt so good to clench around something. He was again methodical with his preparation, allowing you to adjust to one digit before adding another, and another. It couldn’t have made a starker contrast with how he was devouring your sex. Even in the bedroom, Miguel O’Hara was full of contradictions. It didn’t take long for your breaths to become more shallow, for your cries to reach a higher pitch as you climaxed around his hefty fingers. The combination of the penetration and the stimulation of your clit with his mouth was too good to resist. 

You were slightly relieved that Miguel remained nestled between your legs while you rode out your peak. The orgasm he’d given you was much too good to be able to control your facial expressions. 

He at last came up for air once you’d begun floating down from your peak. A primal pride surged through you at the sight of your juices smeared all over his lips and chin. You couldn’t help but smash your mouths together, eager to sample the combination you two made. It was all too easy to get lost in a kiss with Miguel, yet as you plundered his mouth with your tongue, your hand crept back down his groin. 

This time it was Miguel who moaned into your mouth as you returned him to full mast with feather-light, teasing touches. 

“I need to fuck you,” he gasped between kisses. 

“Finally,” you bantered back. 

A growl from Miguel and then he tackled you back flat on the bed. You couldn’t help the giggle – partly from nerves, partly from anticipation – that escaped you at his actions, despite the visage of a hulking, intimidating man hovering over you could be frightening in another context. 

“Do you have protection?” 

You hesitated. You kept a box of condoms in your bedside drawer, but given Miguel’s size, they’d be inadequate. 

“None that would fit you,” you confessed, stealing another glance at his large erection. It was truly a sight to behold. Miguel deflated slightly, fearing penetration was off the table, and usually it would be. You were firmly a two methods of contraception girl, but there was no way you were going to pass up this chance to have sex with Miguel. “Don’t worry Spidey, I’m on the pill.” 

“Gracias a Dios,” he muttered, then wasted no time situating himself between your hips. He drew yet another mewl from you when he slapped the tip of his cock a few times on your clit before lining himself up with your entrance. 

He found you looking at him expectantly. And though Miguel mostly saw desire in your eyes, he could see the glimpse of unease too. He assured you, “I’ll go slow.” 

You nodded, you trusted him after all, but nothing could prepare you for the stretch of when Miguel finally pushed into you. Just the tip was already splitting you apart more than Gene, or any former lover for that matter, ever had. 

“Breathe,” Miguel rasped. You couldn’t tell if he was advising you or himself though. It struck you then that you’d perhaps achieved the damn-near impossible – disarming the notoriously closed-off Miguel O’Hara. He looked beautiful, biting his plush lower lip as he slowly rocked more and more of his huge cock inside of you. 

Your back arched off the mattress of the sensation of being progressively speared on the monster that Miguel called a dick. It was too much and not enough all at once, and your fingers dug into your comforter below you. He tried to distract you from any potential pain, Miguel’s index finger returning to your barely-recovered clit. 

“That’s it, open up for me,” he husked. Your head swam at the mix of his enormous manhood stretching you to your limit and his tender, in-control tone. The realization hit you harder than a punch from an anomaly. In that moment, fear skittered down your throat and pooled into your stomach, resting right above where you two were joined. He’s going to ruin me for other men, isn’t he? 

You couldn’t think any further since not only was Miguel fully seated within you, he had asked you a question. Your eyes glassy and pupils blown, found his, and he repeated himself. “You okay? Can-can I move?”

“Yes,” you gasped. In case your breath affirmation left any room for doubt, you added, “please.”

Another grunt from your lover and Miguel at last began to thrust into you. Your arms flew from the bed to his impossibly wide shoulders, your nails digging into the caramel, taut skin there. You couldn’t tell exactly when it’d happened, lost in the deliciously lewd sounds you were making between the slap of your bodies, your labored breaths, and his determined staccato grunts while Miguel railed you, but your hips had begun to meet his. 

“M-more Miguel,” you urged him as you dragged your fingertips down the expanse of his back. Each of your hands grabbed a fistful of that glorious ass and squeezed to drive home your point. 

“You sure?” 

You moaned. It was as if he couldn’t give it to you hard or faster enough. You used your grip on the globes of his perfect rear to try and force him to increase to the pace and force you needed him to fuck you at. 

Miguel laughed. A dark and stirring sound that made you involuntarily tighten around his girthy length. “Alright bebita, but remember…you asked for this.” 

His words ignited something defiant within you. You pulled Miguel’s head from where it had fallen into the crook of your neck so you could look him in the eyes when you said, “I’m not some pillow princess from Nueva. I’m just as strong as you are, I can go just as hard you can, and I want you to fuck me.” 

Your lover’s eyes darkened at your demand. The growl that ripped from his throat was your only warning before Miguel unleashed the full force of his strength on you. You keened in pleasure as he all but drove you through your bedframe and the wall behind it. Miguel captured your wrists once more and restrained you against the mattress as he absolutely pounded into your pussy. 

His drilling drew another ecstatic cry from your mouth. Miguel glared down at you, his eyes nearly crazed, his face barely lit in the ambient light from the street. It truly was infuriating to you how beautiful this man was. You watched his brow furrowed in concentration – not on his stupid screens for once – and his dark hair shift in time with his thrusts.  Your features contorted in pleasure when Miguel switched from drilling into you to swiveling his hips to stuff you with his cock. His movements were deliberate and slow, he was trying to get as deep inside of you as he could. You almost went cross-eyed at the feel of his bulbous cockhead punching against your cervix. 

The criminal undulations of his hips extracted a little yip from you each time he pistoned into you. He grinned down at you wolfishly. Equal parts indignation and arousal bloomed within you. Also, was the first time you'd ever seen Miguel smile? Not a little half-smirk or a humorless quirk of his lips, but an unabashed smile?

“Want me to back off?” 

Oh, there was no way you were going to take that lying down. Even if Miguel’s pubic bone was perfectly grinding into your clit. 

You let out a growl of your own and summoned all the power in your core muscles to wrestle Miguel back and claim the high ground. Out of breath when you found yourself seated on Miguel’s dick, his large, muscled body prone beneath you, you braced yourself on his rippled abdomen.

“Is the itsy-bitsy Spider-Girl gonna ride my cock?” he taunted you. If Miguel didn’t wear that arrogant, playful smirk so well, you would’ve wiped it from his lips. 

You slid your hands up the length of his chest and leaned over, your face hovering over his. “That depends. Can 2099 handle it?” 

Miguel answered you with an impatient buck of his hips up into your sex. You giggled as you straightened up again, tweaking one of Miguel's nipples as you went. You relished the little shudder it sent through him. “Alright, but remember baby, you asked for this.”

He snorted out a laugh, which you quickly silenced once you began riding Miguel like the stud he was. “Hnnn–shock, bebita.”

“Ah,” you sighed as you bounced on his prick. Before sleeping with Miguel, you had assumed the term “feeling him in your guts” was hyperbole. Not with him. “Fuck, you’re even bigger like this.” 

A large hand traced its way up one of your thighs, now lightly covered with a sheen of sweat, past your sex, split apart by his shaft, to where Miguel’s manhood made the slightest bulge in your lower belly. His smile became wider and even cockier. “It’s good, no?”

You gave him a nonverbal, but enthusiastic, reply. He smacked your ass in satisfaction, “Yeah c’mon, cariño, ride me. Wanna watch your tits bounce.” 

You officially hated Miguel and his big, thick, perfectly sized cock. Where as with other partners you’d smack them right back with a zinger, all you could do was moan again. His naughty, domineering words did nothing but excite you. There was something about him and the way he fucked that made you incapable of doing little else than enthusiastically submitting to him. You leaned back, your fingers clutching onto Miguel’s thick thighs to stability as you changed angles and gave him a better view of your breasts jiggling in time with your motions. 

“Ay, sí bebita,” Miguel’s hands flew to your hips to intensify the frantic mashing of your bodies together, “Ven aquí.”

He gathered your torso in his hulking arms and pulled you closer so that he could coax a breast into his mouth again as you rode him. 

“You gonna come for me Miguel?” you panted.  

“No,” he sounded as winded as you were. “Not yet.”

You clenched around him and snickered. “Are you sure?” 

“¡Coño!” Miguel snarled at the feel of your already blistering, tight pussy suffocating his dick further. “¡No más – basta de esto!”

The vision of your bedroom swam when Miguel lifted you off his pulsing member and dropped you back on your stomach onto the mattress facing the foot of the bed.. You could hear him shifting behind you, and you blindly groped for the lower metal railing of your bedframe’s footboard, only vaguely aware what was to come. 

A grunt from Miguel, and the next thing you knew one of your pillows was stuffed under your lower belly and his massive hands were back on either side of your hips. Your lover didn’t give you any notice before shoving his fat erection back inside of your already tender pussy. 

You shouted at the feeling of his cock stuffing you to the brim once again. Miguel’s hands appeared above your head where you held on for dear life as he impaled you on his prick.

“Ahhh!” you clamored, desperately trying to pull enough air in your lungs to function as Miguel squatted behind you. “I’ve never been so full! Oh God, Miguel, it’s so much…so much…”

Miguel responded with a pleased growl, and merely rammed into you harder. You were peripherally aware of the clanging of the pieces of your metal bed frame clanging together in protest at the vigor of your and Miguel’s coupling, but there were too many sensations overwhelming you at once to focus on one in particular. Not even when the metal groaned and the angle Miguel fucked you at changed did you pay attention to what was actually happening. You merely pushed back onto his cock as much as you could, your fingertips scrabbling into the folds of your comforter. 

Your eyes screwed shut at the barrage of stimuli - the unrelenting stretch of Miguel’s hardness,  his harsh but steadying grip on your hips, the light scratch of fabric beneath you on your skin, the little puff of warmth on the back of your neck from Miguel’s labored exhalations. You were sure this was better than any high any drug could provide. You hadn’t tried many, not even Rapture, and but nothing could top being thoroughly fucked into your mattress by Miguel O’Hara.

Miguel’s dogged grunts morphed into shouts when he at last found his release, spurting rope after rope of hot, creamy cum into your welcoming cunt. You found yourself crying out along with him as he emptied his load, your walls bearing down around his length as you both rode out his high. Miguel flooded your pussy with his seed and before you could even try to adjust to the feeling, he withdrew his cock from you, tearing a quite pathetic-sounding whimper from your mouth. 

Miguel pulled your ass cheeks apart to examine your stretched, puffy pussy leaking his cum. His chest rumbled with primal delight. “Hermosa.”

You’d barely had a chance to catch your breath when Miguel dove back in for more, this time his eager, demanding tongue again invading your channel. You whimpered again, your pitch jumping an octave at Miguel’s needy tongue not only collecting his spunk from your pussy, but flicking the muscle against your clit. He was a man possessed, he ate you out as if he needed you to orgasm one more time for his survival. 

You gave him what he wanted (how could you not?), and once the crest of your pleasure had subsided, you lightly pushed him away from your gaping, abused cunt. 

The first thing you noticed when your wits returned to you was how much closer the ground had become. 

“Oh my God,” you put it together and turned to face your partner, "we broke the bed.”

Miguel arched a brow from where he leant back into the pillows. “Are you surprised?”

You frowned at him.  

“I’ll fix it,” he promised. 

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I’m going to…” you trailed off your gaze floating to the bathroom.

“Do your thing.”

“Can…can I get you anything?” 

Miguel glanced down at his crotch. “A towel?” 

You nodded. “Say no more.” 

You ducked into your en-suite, and once you were sure the door was firmly closed behind you, you proceeded to have a freak out to yourself in the mirror. You scarcely believe your own appearance – lips kiss swollen, hair a veritable bird's nest, your mascara smudged into rings around your eyes. Miguel had destroyed you in the best of ways. 

The thought sent a little aftershock of pleasure through you. You didn’t dally any longer — you relieved yourself, washed your hands, ran a brush through your hair and splashed water on your face. After dampening a washcloth for Miguel, you returned to the bedroom, where your bed frame was properly vertical again. 

You glimpsed the glow of Miguel’s distinctive red webs holding the broken metal rods together. The other Spider was reclining on your mattress, a sheet haphazardly tossed over his groin to preserve his modesty. Even so, the sight of him made you go weak in the knees. He really did remind you of some sort of a large cat given the odd grace in which he lounged with, the evidence of his power and strength so poorly hidden under the surface of his skin. 

“Get a new frame and expense it to Spider-HQ,” Miguel's baritone snapped you out of your reverie. 

“Oh, okay. Thanks,” You tossed him the towel. 

His eyes raked over your naked form. But instead of the desire you’d found there earlier, his gaze was full of concern. “You okay?”

“Yes. Very okay. A little sore but good sore, ya know?” 

“Good,” Miguel busied himself with cleaning up. 

“I mean, what’s the point of having superpowers if you can’t enjoy extra rough sex?” you joked. 

“Yeah, about that,” Miguel refused to meet your eyes. “As um…great as all this was…I think we–it should be a one-time thing.” 

“Um, duh.” He looked up at you hastily and you continued, “Miguel, neither of us are anywhere close to ready or in the right place for a relationship.” 

Your heart disagreed with your words, but you uttered them anyway. Not because it was how you truly felt, but you knew it was what he wanted to hear. Miguel associated any sense of closeness or vulnerability with weakness and danger. Trying to get him to see otherwise was a fool's errand, and it was easier on your heart to convince yourself into concurring with him. 

Oddly, Miguel didn’t seem to relax at your assurances. He looked dubious. “Are you sure?” 

“Oh my God, you are so cocky!” you accused him with a playful slap to the broad, tan chest. “Spare me the fake worry 2099, you may be amazing at sex, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be able to be professional with you at HQ.” 

“Amazing at sex?” Mirguel parroted you with a smirk. 

You slapped him again. “Of course that’s the only part you heard.”

“Sorry but those are very distracting,” he claimed, his gaze focused on your exposed breasts. 

You scoffed and grabbed a pillow to temporarily cover yourself. “Hang on there, Spider-Man. Yes, you are…not terrible at showing a lady a good time, no, you don’t have to worry about me being clingy at work, and yes, I’m sure so stop looking at me like that!” 

You tossed the pillow away and straddled him. “Now I don’t know about you, but it’s only midnight. If this is indeed a one-time thing, I say we make the most of the night and the fact that no one has bothered us with some multiversal emergency yet.” 

Miguel finally let it go, choosing to focus on your very nude body on top of his. His hips moved on their own accord, grinding his cock, already stiffening back up to full mast, against where you were still so nice and stretched for him. 

“Vamos, bebita,” he whispered into your ear. His fingers dug into your sides possessively in a way that almost let you believe he was doing it because you were his. “Wanna fuck you on the ceiling.” 

***

You shouldn't have been surprised that Miguel didn’t stay the night. You were honestly shocked when he collapsed beside you after the hours you’d spent vehemently fucking. Your bed was now held together by a mix of both his and your webs, one of your framed photos on the wall lay shattered on the floor to be dealt with later, and the ceiling now sported a dent that was going to be very difficult to explain to your landlord. 

The memory of Miguel leaving was hazy at best. After so many rounds of deeply satisfying, intensely athletic sex, you felt like you could sleep for a week. Yet the shift and dip of Miguel’s large frame exiting the bed was enough to wake you. You could sort of recall a small flash of light and chirpy voice which must have been Lyla…and you also had a vague memory of him replying in a hushed rumble as if not to wake you up. Or was he telling you he was heading out? Everything jumbled together under the fog of sleep. 

Either way, you had to tell yourself that the sensation of a large hand caressing your face and then tenderly stroking down the sleep-warm skin of your back was a dream. Not for Miguel’s sake, but yours. 

Thanks to super-spider stamina, you only really needed a couple extra shots of espresso to function somewhat normally the following day at headquarters. You were angry at your instinct to avoid Miguel. You both were adults that had an adult, mature conversation that last night’s activities were merely a form of stress release that didn’t mean anything. It was hard to believe however, when you could still feel the phantom shape of him inside of you. 

Besides, it’s not even like you could avoid him if you wanted to. You were scheduled to go over more sequencing today with Miguel, and you were dead set on not blinking first in the post-sex-awkwardness stand-off. 

“Hey, Miguel!” your voice reverberated in the vast space. 

Several agonizing moments later, his platform lowered enough for you two to start conversing. If he was at all bashful about seeing you, the man didn’t show it. 

“Good. You’re here.”

“Yep.” 

Miguel was all business. “I want to go back to the fight you had with your father. Lyla, take us to timestamp 46:90:45.”

Damn, and here you thought you were good at compartmentalizing. You did your best to hide any disappointment from reaching your face, playing along as if he hadn’t seen every crevice of your body the night before. 

***

Days turned into weeks, and you eventually, reluctantly accepted that Miguel had told you the truth that night. What you two had shared was really just a one-time lapse of his frighteningly strong self-restraint. 

You were enjoying a rare night in, parked on the couch, takeout boxes strewn about the coffee table, your favorite trashy reality show playing on your TV. You’d gotten injured taking down a Doc Ock variant a few days ago, and Miguel benched you to recuperate. You were all too happy to take a break, from him and Spider-Girling. Despite your complicated feelings for the man, he assigned a recently displaced Spider, Spider-Woman 1357, to pinch hit for you in your dimension while you healed up. It was the first time since you became a hero you had a day off with peace of mind. 

Just as you started another episode, a tingle raced down your spine. Your spider-sense. Something was about to happen. Out of all the possibilities of what could have followed, a portal opening in your living room and Miguel walking through was the last thing you would’ve guessed. You leapt up from the sofa. 

You instantly regretted your appearance - messy bun, no makeup, and ratty sweatpants. Miguel, as usual, looked immaculate in his skintight spider-suit. 

“Hey.” 

“Is this a booty call?”

“No.” 

“Don’t bullshit me–”

“It’s not, I swear! Coño, I came to check on you.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“Why not?”

“Because you could have messaged me on my gizmo. It’s your preferred method of communication after all, ever since the last time you were in my apartment.” 

“May–”

Lyla appeared over his shoulder. “He missed you, that’s all.”

Miguel growled at his AI. “I’m going to sentence you to robot death via spreadsheets.” 

Lyla wasn’t threatened in the slightest. “Thank me later.” She disappeared before Miguel could try and make another retort. 

“You missed me?”

“No,” his denial was instant. “I just…I–”

“This is a booty call!” you crumpled up a napkin and chucked it at his large form. “Go home, Miguel!” 

He didn’t budge. “It’s not a booty call. I…what are you watching?”

“The Realest Housewives of Manhattan. What, don’t judge me!”

Miguel couldn't keep his face straight. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

Seeing his eyes crinkle with amusement was infectious. You threw another napkin ball at him and then composed yourself. He wasn’t getting off the hook this easily. “Why are you here? Be honest with me. It’s the very least I deserve.”

“I wanted to see the shocking expensive bed frame you expensed to HQ for myself.” 

“You said I could and you didn't set a spending limit.” A wicked little grin pulled at the corners of your mouth. The bed frame from Restoration Hardware had been your own private form of revenge. “And I’m supposed to believe you wanting to see my bed – my bed that you broke–”

“Hey! We broke the bed–”

“--is not your thinly veiled excuse for seeking another roll in the hay? Enough with goddamn mind games Miguel.” He tried to speak but you pushed on, “I’m tired and this is the last thing I need.”

Miguel sobered. He hung his head. His mouth seemed to fight the words as they left his lips.  “Alright, fine. I missed you.” 

You ignored your heartbeat’s sharp increase and schooled your features to maintain a neutral appearance. “I have some extra Pad Thai if you want.” 

“Sounds good.” 

“So this may not be a booty call, but does anyone other than Lyla know you’re here?”

“No.” 

You nodded. “Come. Sit. I just started the episode where Beverly throws her poodle a forty thousand dollar birthday party.” 

“Nothing you said just now made sense,” Miguel protested, but took a seat on your couch anyway. 

A/N: Hope y'all enjoyed!! Miguel has fully rotted my brain so I thought it only fair to share the horniness. Of course I have more imagined in this AU, fingers crossed I can find more time to write (comments and reblogs and likes help!)

Translations:

Mierda - Shit 

cariño - dear

bebita - baby

Gracias a Dios - Thank God

Ven aquí - Come here

¡Coño! - Damnit!

¡No más – basta de esto! -No more, enough of this!

Hermosa - beautiful

Vamos, bebita - Come on, baby

Taglist: @plethora-of-imagines, @itdobe-liza @absolutelybloodyhopeless @ninebluehearts, @oscarissac2099

[sadhornydemons]

Rapid-Spoiler-Season-Speculation: Apology Tour/Ghostf*ckers

Caution: some references are made to other spoilers, so proceed with caution if you wish to avoid.

Apology Tour:

Alright, I'll admit, this episode I think I understand the least, so I'm sure I'm completely off the mark in even attempting to make sense of it.

Cake will be served, and it's clown Blitz version. Heart on an item in the back, heart on the knife. How many years has it been and she's still obsessed?

WHATEVER this is, Blitz didn't just stumble into it, I wonder if some type of invitation got him there.

Blood/red stained sheet for unknown reasons.

I think I'm the only one who preferred the earlier design, but guess I just have a type.

WHAT. DA. FUCK.

Yeah, of course, this is when my imagination starts churning.

Did Stolas reach just the perfect amount of drunk before his Spotify breakup playlist reached Olivia Rodrigo, causing him to throw on last year's Halloween costume and portal himself to his ex so he could express himself properly?

No, Stolas had an entire stage prop production prepared. That or we haven't seen the full extent of his magic conjuring abilities.

(same outfit, I'm keeping my eye on the spiked collar 'cause it's new to his wardrobe)

I don't know what could bring this on. At first, I thought it was a dream sequence, but the spiked collar turns up in a later scene. Maybe I just haven't accepted that my fav character could be an asshole?

Screenshots of Blitz, sheet is now a hoodie, we really don't know what he's looking at in this particular scene.

I don't think this is a full scale concert, though. Probably more of a private event. Maybe Verosika was planning a gathering of the 'We Hate Blitzo' fanclub, but Stolas was the only one to RSVP.

If it is, a public concert, I mean, I can just imagine the headlines:

Prince Stolas shocks audience members by appearing as the opening act in Verosika Mayday's concert, preforming his original ballad, 'Imp Dicks Aren't Worth the Heartbreak'.

And if it is a regular event, there's the possibly Blitz attended on purpose..to apologize about things? (hence the title) I don't know, it just all seems too weird.

As poster bleucaesura noted, Stolas is on his couch in this scene. The red stained sheet, presumably with Blitz under, stand before him. Stolas's collar is spiked, so this seems to happen after the musical number.

This is mainly all the info we have this episode, but looking ahead to future ones, I'm thinking this is gonna conclude the majority of the Stolitz angst. Or at least the current ones.

As many have noted, this season has been following a pattern of focusing on, and occasionally resolving Blitz's relationship problems. Unhappy Campers introduced Barbie properly, adding more details to the fire incident. Oops and Mammon's Magnificent Musical Mid-Season Special added to that by focusing on him and Fizz. Full Moon and Apology Tour seem to be based around Stolas and then both Stolas and Verosika, fitting since it's comparing people from his love life.

Hence, I believe the next episode will instead prioritize Blitz's relationship with M&M:

Ghostfuckers:

The IMP mobile is totaled and appears spray painted. Therefore, guessing this scene must take place first:

But what would cause "a life on the run", as Blitz puts it, unless he wasn't completely serious?

And I'm not sure if the hooded folks, "Come out, we've got your surrounded." scene was edited in before this or not.

There are those clouds in the background and it seems to call for a more scary scene, or at least until he checks his watch.

(actually those could all take place in previous episode or the ones to come, for all we know!)

Blitz wears a bad disguise rather than using an asmodean crystal. We could read too much into that because maybe Blitz just LIKES coming up with disguises, but in other spoilers, we see Blitz using a book for portals.

The enemy is doing bad things to the character's mental health, bringing about their worse fears. In reference to Blitz, I wonder if this is this is where those scenes come into play:

Interesting how it's edited like Blitz watching a filmstrip of his life, complete with a decorative frame.

Shown in a different style, I wonder if this flashback will also be used:

And, (if my earlier theory is wrong), this has to appear somewhere:

We see a flashback to a younger, longer hair Millie (not unlike her wedding photo):

(and it looks like outside a ship? Hey, maybe pirates really did have port windows!)

Which may be used to match up with this fight:

This, however, is hopefully, just another hallucination:

Okay, for the rest of this episode, one can't really speculate because the (looks both ways cautiously) storyboards leaked last year reveal a good chuck of the action and dialogue. So without getting TOO into that, for those who want to avoid getting too spoiled, I'll conclude this episode may turn out to be a fun, scary, but with admittedly triggering subjects, that showcase Blitzø's messy and occasionally obsessive relationship with Moxxie and Millie.

...and possibly new issues with Loona? Something is hinted out, but I might get into THAT speculation in the last two episodes.

[nrilliree]

https://www.tumblr.com/dreamfyre-beautiful/748866149787353088/problems-i-have-with-hotd-so-far?source=share

This post is killing me !

Alicent is not a good person.

Helaena is barely a character in the original version and she never had any autonomy.

The point of dancing is not to have a smalfolk perspective, stop with this fucking hypocrisy.

Criston Cole is not even a fucking member of the smalfolk ! Wtf ?!

Then the problem with Laena is not that they try to make her look older than Rhaenyra in episode 5, in fact canonically in HOTD she remains younger than Rhaenyra, so what are you complaining about ? Plus this comment is completely stupid, because Laena is older than Rhaenyra in the book ! You know ! The original version ?!

Um... A mother who abandons decorum for her child ? Alicent doesn't do what she does for Aemond by wanting to take Lucerys' eye and attacking Rhaenyra. She's been doing this kind of thing for 10 years already. She literally uses what happened to her son to try to take down Rhaenyra by making up lies saying that Lucerys ambushed Aemond to try to kill him and then she brings it all on herself, poor woman who has no did what was expected of her all these years. It mostly looks like a woman taking out her frustration on another woman, rather than a mother defending her son, we need to stop the bullshit.

So... Laena didn't die killed by Daemon. She died of a complicated childbirth, like many women of the time. She simply accelerated the death process by getting burned by Vaghar (for somes stupid reasons...). And Laenor didn't even die in HOTD, and people always seem to voluntarily forget that yes, certainly Daemyra had this plan together, but that Laenor there accepted and left of her own free will !

Then, it's crazy this obsession to repeat that Rhaenyra is trying to take the title of Corlys for Luke and therefore that she is taking it from the twins Rhaena and Baela... The TG really has a problem with legitimate heirs, huh ? Rhaenyra was designated heir to the throne by Viserys and Lucerys was designated heir to Lord of Tides by Corlys himself ! What isn't clicking in your head about that ?! Rhaenyra doesn't steal anything from anyone for her sons !

And his rant about "the new promo saying "[team black] acts more like family" maybe my family is weird but we don't fuck or get married at all" Um... wtf ? Yes, the TB is more of a close-knit family than the TG, there is not even a debate to be had over it and sorry but does this person forget that there is incest also among the TG ? Not only because of the marriage of Aegon II and Helaena, but also simply because Aegon II openly flirts with Baela, you know, his uncle's daughter? (I say this because a lot of TG claims that Aegon II is actually disgusted by incest and is only with Helaena out of obligation. So yes, the marriage to Helaena is arranged, but clearly this boy didn't have problem with the incestuous costumes of the Targaryens and Westeros This is shown by his reaction when he learns that he is going to marry Helaena and that he flirts with Baela / sexually harassed her). Aemond even since have a crush on Helaena in HOTD, so... no incest in TG ? Let me laugh !

And oh poor people who are full of the fact that the dragons in their team have no development ? We're going to see Sunfyre in season 2, it's confirmed. Then Dreamfyre plays no fucking role in the dance, just like Helaena. Welcome to reality. This show neglects dragons in general anyway, a shame when this show normaly talks about their extinction...

And still the madness of talking about the fact that Alicent doesn't have the right to terrifying childbirth scenes ?! So, the show is about the Targaryens, especially Targaryen women. At least she's supposed to ! And it makes sense that women who died in childbirth or had complications during childbirth are entitled to on-screen scenes about it. Alicent is not a Targaryen and didn't even have a complicated birth so get the fuck out.

My god the TG really have a problem understanding the basics of this story...

I have a blocked user, so I will not refer to @dreamfyre-beautiful's post, but to what you write.

1) If you feel satisfied by forcing a woman who has not yet delivered her placenta to give up her newborn baby (knowing the history of her siblings, mother and both grandmothers) or march through the entire castle - you are not a good person. If you allow one son to bully another until no one sees it - you are not a good person. If you are planning a coup and usurpation of the throne, sending your children to war because you will not bend the knee- you are not a good person.

2) Helaena is probably more of a character in the show than she was in the book at this point in Dance. She was always barely a character.

3) Criston is not a smalfolk. He belongs to a family that was the banners of the Dondarrions. It's not smalfolk.

What amuses me the most is when someone is both team green and team smalfolk, because… it's impossible. I'm not saying that team black was wonderful for the smalfolk, because during the war you can't do that, as ASOIAF has shown more than once, but it is the green team that is responsible for the vast majority of suffering among the smalfolk.

It was Aemond who burned the Riverlands. It was Daeron who burned Bitterbridge. It was the TG people who committed the Tumbleton massacre. It was the TG people who plundered Spicetown. It was Aegon who ordered the building of large golden statues of war criminals during war and famine.

These were all crimes against smalfolk.

And TB? Rhaenyra raised taxes because the Greens robbed the treasury. Alternatively, you could add the Greyjoy plundering to this.

4) In my opinion, there were some problems with Laena's casting. The actress who played teenage Laena was almost the same age as adult Laena, and the actress who played adult Laena was much older than the actresses who played Rhaenyra and Alicent. She was undoubtedly beautiful, but a little too old for the role.

5) Alicent doesn't even scream to Rhaenyra about Aemond's harm. He screams about his own, putting his own suffering above his son's in that moment. With her attitude, she forced Aemond to comfort HER.

6) Okay… I understand people say Viserys murdered Aemma, but how could Daemon murder Laena…? After all, he cared about saving Laena, not the child. He talked to the maester about this. What did he use to murder her? Because he got her pregnant? They already had two children, in the series Baela and Rhaena are apparently not twins, so it's no wonder that he thought that the third birth would also be problem-free.

7) Rhaenyra didn't take anything from Baela and Rhaena because… Driftmark was never theirs. They are Targaryens. Lucerys is Velaryon. Corlys chose to legitimize his own bastard rather than give Driftmark to his grandchildren, so where is Rhaenyra's fault? Even if she didn't want Drifmark, she had to fight for it, otherwise giving away her son's inheritance would be suspicious, right?

8) The marriage of a niece and uncle is less incest than the marriage of a brother and sister. Even outside the Targaryen family, nieces married uncles and cousins married cousins. Even Tywin Lannister was married to his cousin. And even if the marriage of Aegon and Helaena was arranged, she is not wind-pollinated and he fathered her three children.

9) I wrote about dragons here, I think it was about the same post: https://www.tumblr.com/nrilliree/749167004582297600/i-saw-a-post-complaining-that-the-show-goes-above?source=share

10) Aemma's birth was necessary because she died that way. Laena's birth was necessary because she died that way. Rhaenyra's birth was needed to show Alicent's cruelty and Alicent's objectification of Rhaenyra's children. Alicent's delivery was not necessary. And seriously, three birth scenes for six episodes was enough. Definitely. I feel sorry for every pregnant woman who watched the series.

[missamyrisa2]

I'm sooo obsessed with how everyone does the 3x tickle tease ~ because it's always sooo different, like even five people will say tickle tickle tickle a different way. Sometimes it's very bullying like tickle, tickle, tickle you punk~~

Other times it's overly sweet teasy like tickle tickle tiiiiiickle~ with that little lift at the end~

or maybe they say it almost monotone and repeatedly, like narratively tickle tickle tickle... Tickle tickle tickle ~

And then there's the seductive sensual tiiiickle~~ tickle tickle!

It might be said because they giggled so sweet or it might be said to coax out their giggles~

Anddddd one of my favorites rarely seen, the conversational tickle back, where the ticklee protests and the tickler says tickle tickle tickle with the intonation of actual conversation~

That's not even getting to the variety of the ~other~ magic words. Ohh yes I'm going thereee~~ it might be coochie coochie coo, or kitchy kitchy koo~ or goochie goochie goo, gitchy gitchy goo (mmmh!) ~ and sometimes it's something original and not even words just like vocables in that same 3x format ~ once I took a widda widda woo as my armpits were being teased and that unique take destroyyyyedddd meee ~

It's likeeee whyyyy does everyone say it different? Why is it usually 3 times? I just want to like hire a massive focus group to tickle people and observe what they say~ or don't say!

Because it's sooo fascinating to me that some people always use it and some people never ever do, and for some it's like only certain circumstances. Like there's a Japanese lady tickler I love and in certain videos she's like a nonstop tease box of that particular onomatopoeia sound (not kocho kocho kocho)~ and in other videos she's completely silent~

but most of alllllll whyyyyyy do these words and that ~tone~ have such power over us?~~

Anyway while trying to find that onomatopoeia I found this thread which is one of those rare threads that both educates and meltsssss~

[somnimagus]

colored some more things from my sketchbook! zelda edition this time

[id in alt!]

[biblically-accurate-dca]

sb humanizations + various vannys :3

[zensations35]

King of Madness

Soooo, I knocked this thing out in like 48 hours. Because when inspiration strikes, nothing makes sense. This is an Orestes fic based on Greek mythology retellings. It's a different style than I normally write, but I did it this way to keep it loyal to the source material. I also wrote it specifically to be read as an audio fic, so, enjoy that! A little background: The furies are causing Orestes to hallucinate and Menelaus is trying to catch him acting mad so he can take over Orestes’ kingdom. It’s all very political and petty. Ok! Enjoy!

Pylades sweeps into the room, cloak whirling around his feet as he dips so quickly he cracks his knee on the smooth floor of the bedchamber.

“My King,” his voice is firm, respectful. Only slightly pitched with worry.

Orestes reclines--slumps really--against the headboard of the carved wooden cradle of the bed. He looks much worse than Pylades last saw him. Dark curls damp his brow, his visible flesh shiny and scented with the gleam of oils and sweat from his mental decline.

“Did…” Orestes chokes on the word, his lips dry, breaths hot like baked earth. “Did you bring it?”

Pylades pulls out a wooden box, gold filigree carved in the sides and woven in floral patterns.

“Yes, My King, but I know not why.”

Orestes shifts to sit upright and winces. His head spins and he swears he catches the sight of a sinister shadow just out of his field of vision.

“Open the box,” he says. “Dab the oil on your wrist.”

Pylades is dying to ask more, but he obeys. Even he concedes to Mycenae’s ruler.

The bottle of oil in the box is a voluptuous glass with amber liquid inside. He does what he is told and spreads a dollop around his wrist. 

The odor is pungent, the sweet earthy scent of flowers permeating the air. 

Orestes drinks in a liquid sniff. “Yes--that is the one.”

Pylades’s brow furrows. “Is this…the scent you react to?”

“It is.” 

“My King, my Lord…why?” 

Another sniff, this one punctured by a swift intake of breath. Orestes nose tips skyward and his lower lip quivers. Then his chest deflates with a sigh. He brings up a hand to whisk under his twitching nose. 

“Menelaus comes for me. We must convince him my fevers are illness, not madness.”

“And you wish me to…”

Orestes presses the circle of his fingers into Pylades’ wrist. “You must aggravate my symptoms from the oil. But do not let my Uncle know what causes it. We must be--”

Orestes shivers, his breaths slick with panic. His eyes catch the sight of something above him, but he dares not look. “I-I'm not…” he cinches his lids, curling into himself and shuddering. He can hear them--the furies--cackling in the rafters, screeching.  

Orestes smothers his face in his palms, muffling his mania. “I c-can't! I…I see them! I see--!” His voice pitches into hysteria and Pylades moves closer. 

“My Lord, Orestes,” he breathes, steadying his voice, guiding his King back to the realm of reality. “You are here. You are safe. You are in Ithaca. You are safe!” 

Orestes blinks shadows from his eyes and seals his lips. A beat of his heart, and then he sighs. “I…yes. I am…” 

A bull of a knock makes both men flick eyes to the door. 

“Nephew?”

Heart thudding in his neck, Orestes’ grip tightens on Pylades’ arm and he wrenches his wrist close, dipping his nose into the heartbeat of his skin. He inhales. 

“Nephew? I--”

Orestes doesn’t hear the rest. His lungs crackle with force as he guzzles a breath. “HfSH-Mnn-!” 

That silenced Menelaus. But his footsteps do not retreat. Orestes knew he wouldn’t. But now he knows this plan should work--as long as Pylades reads the cues as well as he does in battle. 

Pylades helps Orestes stand and hobble to the door. His normally bouncy curls stick flat and limp against his slick brow. 

The door creaks open and Orestes stands in the hollow arch. Menelaus is there, bold and ready to enter. 

“Nephew, kin of my kin,” his shoulders bob--barely a bow but no one, no one, would insult the great Menelaus by questioning his prowess at bowing. 

“I have come to escort you to the feast.”

“Uncle,” Orestes offers a respectful nod. He ambles forward, detaching himself from Pylades. 

Menelaus watches them, a spark in his eyes that is close to malice. And then, gone. Replaced by a Kingly smile. “We have not started without you. I told them, I said, ‘We must wait. We mustn’t start without the King! Not without the Lord of Mycenae.’” 

Menelaus is so close now, Orestes can smell the sour wine upon his breath and Menelaus can see Orestes’ sweat bathed forehead. The King of Sparta licks his teeth, eyes narrow and clever. 

Orestes turns away to sniffle politely and cough. 

“Your illness seems not to have improved.” Menelaus scans the room. “Where might Elektra be?”

“She helps the women prepare the feast, of course.”

A raised brow in mock surprise. “Who cares for you, then, nephew? Your noble hand,” he gestures to Pylades. “I thought him capable in battle, no? Such a good man. A good soldier.”

“Pylades does just as well with other tasks.”

“Sickness is inherent in your family, is it not?”

A muscle feathers in Orestes’ cheek. “Are you implying, Uncle, that Agamemnon--your brother, greatest of Greeks--has a tainted bloodline?”

Menelaus chuffs, “Of course not. Obviously I meant in the matters of caring for ailments and illnesses, Elektra has experience with these. Wiping brows and blowing noses is women’s work.”

Orestes stiffens. “I find it distasteful to assume men cannot perform such simple tasks.” He twitches his head to the side to hide a silky curve of his lips. “But perhaps it is more Kingly to see women as superior in some aspects.” 

Menelaus’ eyes flash, a peevishness hooding his eyes. He blinks it away. “How silly of me, very silly. I know not enough about your condition to say.” He tilts his head to the side, shifting his bulk from one foot to the other. “What exactly ails you, my nephew?”

Orestes opens his mouth to speak but instead of words escaping, air flows in. 

Pylades, taking the subtle cue, places his oiled hand on Orestes’ shoulder. 

Orestes turns his head as if to look at Pylades, nose pinking from the cloying scent a mere hairsbreadth away. 

“My King…” 

Orestes dips in a small sigh, brushing his nose against Pylades’ perfumed skin. “Hih-ieh!” his chin juts upward, nostrils jumping to life, “Hnk-ZZHeu!” His body warps and coils, avoiding Pylades’ skin with the spray. 

A thick sniffle follows and he knuckles the itch still lingering behind. 

Pylades notices the dizzying intensity of the sneeze. Notices every muscle Orestes must use to keep himself standing and stoic. He notices the slight tremor in Orestes’ legs, though the robe shades it from Menelaus’ notice. 

“My sickness is from Thebes, come about when merchants came into the city for trade. It is quite Hie-TZHhhh-! Hn…” a thick swallow. “It is quite contagious. This is why Pylades cares for me. He has already been through the ailment.”

Menelaus rocks back on his heels, feeling the weight of his body rolling up and down his joints, his muscles. “Contagion is a myth.”

Orestes plasters on a smile. “I am glad to hear you say that, Uncle. I would hate to miss tonight’s festivities beca--” his eyes widen. The furies are there. Just above, in his field of vision. They giggle and cackle and caw. 

One of them reaches down with a long, blackened finger, and curls it upward in an arcing motion.

“Hhh-ih!” Orestes feels the pull of his sinuses, as if his breaths were on a puppet string attached to the finger of the furies. The others giggle, glee replacing anger. Torment amuses them. 

The finger lifts higher and his nose follows the motion.”Hhh-hh…”

Menelaus stares at him. Pylades stares at him. For the other men, it seems a normal, if highly exaggerated sneeze. 

But it is not. It is well controlled by the furies. A monument of torturous prickles, like hanging partially off a cliff. “--ieh-HHh-Hhhihh!”  Orestes’ nose stands poised, nostrils glistening, eyes wet, blurring their shadowy forms. 

His chest swells, hitches coming like a songbird in his throat. And then, with a skip of his heart, “Hieh-TSZHSHH-! EGK’TNNKSHEU!” 

The sounds ripping from his throat casts Orestes forward, stumbling so hard that Pylades wraps warm hands around his King’s shoulders to steady him. 

Menelaus, eyes wide, teeters back. Takes a small step in retreat, before catching himself, anger hardening his features. Menelaus, King of Sparta, recognizes when to withdraw. 

“Perhaps, nephew, you should pray to the gods for recovery first,” he says, sweeping back through the door. “I shall send my best priest to your chamber.” He peeks over his shoulder, lips curling. “After all, we want the best care for the King of Kings, do we not?”

The door bangs shut. Footsteps retreat. And then, unable to hold himself up any longer, Orestes falters, collapsing to the marbled floor. 

Pylades dives for him, heartbeat threading through his throat. “My Lord, my Lord--” he holds Orestes in his arms. The King of Mycenae, son of Agamemnon, weak like liquid in his embrace. 

“Pylades,” Orestes pants, hand fumbling, searching. “I…I…” he speaks with the ashes of fatigue, his energy burned away from the mere act of standing too long.

Pylades touches the back of his hand to his King’s brow. The closeness of his wrist lights a fire in his nose. 

 “Hih-EXTSHue! HihTSHHoo!” His neck bends, moisture painting Pylades’ hands. He can’t suppress his shudders, lips trembling as he speaks. “Apologies. Apologies--I--”

“My Lord, all is well. Menelaus has gone. You are safe, you are safe…I will care for you.”

Orestes slumps further into Pylades and sighs. “It is rotten work.”

Pylades’ finger drifts over his thumb, “Not to me.” He uses the folded cloth of his robe to dab at Orestes’ cheek. “Not if it’s you.”

[puppyeared]

Ouhhhh friendship I love friendship……..

[seaofashes]

The Underworld Saga did something to my brain actually

[dreemurrsightings]

When you're overstimulated and about to have a meltdown and someone touches you:

I speak from experience