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amourdivine · 8 months

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𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃 🤍 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒.𝐏. 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 & 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔?

Hello, lovelies! This was a suggested reading from a dear anonymous. It had a more romantic subtext, but I hope you take out what resonates & leave what doesn’t! If you have any more suggestions, so let me know! Feedback is always welcome. If you liked this reading, please consider booking a paid reading or tipping me at @ [email protected]! xo. ♡

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how to choose your pile. take deep breaths for a few minutes & look at each and every one of the piles separately. see which one brings you to a feeling, a place or a memory. take your time and feel free to come back to it later.

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disclaimer. this is a general reading for entertainment purposes. tarot is a divination tool & is not a substitute for medical and professional advice, nor is it meant to be taken as such. i do not take responsibility for any choice(s) made by you or others regarding my readings.

amourdivine. 2021 - 2023 © do not copy, redistribute or edit my content.

PILE ONE 💜

what do they think about you? ten of swords • eight of pentacles • six of cups.

I just heard Coldplay’s “The Scientist”, specifically the bit in which he sings “take me back to the start”. I wonder if you two had a fight, some sort of falling out or heavy disagreement. They think they’ve lost you - this is weighing heavy on their mind. They wish they could go back to when things were simpler, when things weren’t so difficult and anxiety-inducing. I think they feel a lot of shame and blame as well (I heard “blame game”) and I’m not going to lie, pile one, this person may be overthinking this connection, especially the way they see it. It feels heavy, like my chest and my throat are holding so much energy but nothing comes out. They’re not thinking clearly, despite thinking so much, it’s really difficult for them to “think” a way out of this situation you’re in. However, they do wish to work towards a peaceful resolution with you. They want to find a way to make things feel lighthearted and happy for the two of you again. This person could also be listening to a lot of heavy/sad songs, because so many of them are coming through to me. They’re experiencing a lot of self-hatred and very difficult emotions are going through them. They’re mourning some kind of happy ending, but they’re still willing to salvage the relationship if that's something you also desire.

how do they feel towards you? the empress • ace of swords • page of pentacles.

Gosh, there’s so much love here. They not only miss you, but they want to talk to you… to ask you how to work this out. They just want it to work it out between you two, pile one. Even if it’s difficult, like I mentioned in the previous section, they only want you. They don’t see anyone else for them. They don’t want to let you go, to lose you. It’s why their mind is so foggy and so clouded with poor judgment, they feel a lot of despair over the thought of losing the love you two have and shared. If your connection ended, they’re still not over it - they’re refusing to move on, simply because in their heart, they’ve decided it’s you. And I don’t think they’ve fully voiced it out just how much they want you, but they intend to do so. No matter how painful this situation has become, they hold some sort of hope that you’ll want to work things out with them too. They love you in a pure, devoted way and know how unique, how beautiful this connection is.

channeled messages: “i hate myself for what i did to you”, “i can’t forget you”, “you’re beautiful”, runaway, empty roads, highways, road trips, memories, polaroid pictures, “i wish things were easier”, “you betrayed me”, burning bridges, “do you still love me?”, deja vu.

channeled song: ghostin’ by Ariana Grande.

PILE TWO 🩷

what do they think about you? the magician • the lovers • the world

I couldn’t name a more beautiful spread. They put you on a pedestal, sort of - this person sees all that you are and they’re amazed. They admire you, they love you and they can’t see anyone else but you. This person’s got heart eyes when they look at you, maybe their eyes sparkle - pay attention next time you speak to them in person. Although they may wonder if they’re good enough for you, this person truly, deeply is inspired by you. It’s possible this is a friend of yours who’s crushing on you and vice-versa, but neither one of you is willing to admit it yet. This is a dreamy vibe, even, I feel like I’m immersed in Piscean energy. Maybe one of you is Neptune dominant or has Pisces in 1st. It’s the feeling of a high school crush, the intense, beautiful and almost soul-crushing one, but the kind of connection that has a lasting impact. Even if you haven’t known this person for a long time, they are eager to know more about you, all the little things that you do and say are stuck in the back of their mind. They don’t take it for granted. You’re extremely important to them, regardless of the nature of this relationship, you’re someone they want around.

how do they feel towards you? three of cups • five of wands • nine of swords.

They’re anxious, because they’ve got some heavy competition. Even if they see all these positive qualities in you, this person is afraid they’ll ruin the friendship by risking it. So many people are interested in you, that they’re afraid of rejection, afraid of all the people vying for your attention and sometimes, they just wish they could get rid of these feelings already. It’s possible there’s a 3rd party situation going on - either you or them could be in a committed relationship and there’s a lot of guilt and anxiety involved. You’re this person’s wish come true, but they don’t know what to do. They’re stuck in their head about it, fantasizing about coming towards you, talking to you and not feeling so insecure or jealous when they see you with someone else. I got the vivid imagery of someone seeing their crush talking to someone else at a party and being almost soul crushed by the fact that they’re so afraid of approaching the other. It’s giving me fanfiction vibes (in the best way possible, I promise). I’m almost sorry for this person because they’re so blindsided by their pessimism that they can’t fully see a way into being with you, no matter how much they want to. They know they need to make a move before they lose you for good, though.

channeled messages: “i’m so sick of love songs”, “i just want to talk to you”, instagram, DM’s, subtle flirting, “are you alone tonight?”, crush, “i feel invisible”, insecurity, jealousy, bonfire party, college life, “give me back my jacket”, inside jokes.

channeled song: Are You Bored Yet? by Wallows ft. Clairo.

PILE THREE 💖

what do they think about you? eight of cups • six of cups • the devil.

“Gone for good”, I just heard that. My playlist started playing sad breakup songs too, it’s honestly a little heartbreaking and quite bittersweet. This person thinks, well, they know you’ve left them behind and you seem done with them. You left them and they’re triggered. They’ve got so much going on in their head, always filled with “what ifs”. Your connection has turned sour and they think you wanted to pursue something better for yourself, something that didn’t trigger the both of you so much. I feel like this connection may have turned toxic, so they know you needed to leave, but nonetheless, they’re grieving, they’re sour and bitter. I don’t know if this person was heavily immature towards you or even disrespectful, but you left them on a chokehold because they didn’t expect you to simply walk away so easily. I don’t think it’s been easy for either one of you. I’m more so feeling a situationship or a friendship kind of vibe here, not a full, official commitment. Everything they see in you is almost a projection of their worst fears. All your worst traits mirror back to them, calling them to do some soul deep healing. I saw the Death card in the back of my mind, so I think this person knows it’s time to move on, to let you go, but they’re still obsessing over this ending you’ve had and it’s possible they lurk on your social media. It’s not an evil or malicious energy, but they’re not in a good headspace to talk or see you right now.

how do they feel towards you? two of swords • knight of cups • ten of wands.

Sometimes they love you, they miss you. Sometimes they just hate everything that came to be about the two of you. They’re tired, overburdened by their feelings, so sick of feeling so much and nothing at the same time. This person can’t really pinpoint exactly what they feel for you, but I got nauseous and almost sick to my stomach? I think they just wish they could erase this pain forever, but sometimes, they wish they could get some closure from you as well. It’s possible they wish they could give you some closure as well. All these messy feelings are taking their time in this person’s heart and body, but I think this connection, as triggering as it may have been, has brought up a lot of things back into the surface. Regardless of how they feel about you, it all ties back to their wounds, their feelings and themselves. I got some heavy Scorpio feelings in the last section and now I’m getting some Libra - I feel like those were significant energies and placements for your pile. This person’s not only heartbroken but almost… burnt out by everything that went down. They’re slowly trying to heal, to let go and forgive, but they’re not having the easiest time. I don’t think they’re “evil eyeing” you in any way, but I also think some distance will do the both of you some good. I feel like Spirit wants to emphasize how good this ending will be for you.

channeled messages: “you deserve better”, “i want to go back to who i was, mental health, physical health, “get over it”, 777, friends with benefits, messing around, fuck around and find out, taylor swift, moved on, finally, second chances, “i was a second option”, simply unrequited.

channeled song: Berenstein by The Band CAMINO | extra: Favourite Song by Tim Chadwick.

PILE FOUR 🩵

what do they think about you? the magician • ace of cups • six of swords.

You’re so nurturing, healing and magical. This person sees you as some sort of fairy, a beautiful, wholesome person who’s got so much love to give and to receive. Even the song that started playing is one of my favorites, a very healing and soft one. They see you as a safe person, an Earth angel, someone who’s almost like their lucky charm. The vibes here aren’t only romantic - they fit for friendships and familial relationships too. They’ve got a lot of fond memories and stories of you. I see someone going through a photo album and laughing to themselves in joy. This person sees a lot of good things in you and you’ve given them some sort of renewed faith in connections and humanity. They know you’ve been through a lot - they see you’re still healing. Every now and then, they catch glimpses of moments when you’re not feeling so good, but they still see your potential and growth nonetheless. I think your words and presence calm this person down. They value your advice immensely, all your words of wisdom and encouragement. I feel like Gemini and Leo are significant placements for this pile - I got the Strength card in the back of my mind, with the woman caressing the lion in the card. You bring calm and softness to this person’s life.

how do they feel towards you? queen of pentacles • ace of pentacles • two of wands.

I heard “wife you up”, lol. If this is a romantic connection, this person wants to offer you a deeper form of commitment - in whatever way that means for your connection. I feel like this person is smitten by you, even if you’re friends, you’re their closest, most prized friend. They’re making plans for something bigger, something greater between the two of you. This person views you as someone they could have ultimate success in every way, someone trustworthy and someone they intend on making accommodations for to fit in their life. It’s so soft and sweet, I see a woman arranging and rearranging pillows in a soft-looking bedroom to make sure her guests will be comfortable during their stay. I think they’re making room for you in their heart and mind, even their home as well. Maybe they haven’t told you, but they’re giddy to have met you and to spend more time with you. If this person proposes to you soon, please don’t tell them I told you! I’m not trying to ruin their plans, but let me say your connection has some really sweet, lovely surprises along the way. If you get engaged though, let me know, pile four. I’m really happy for you!

channeled messages: “fight for you”, “let me love you”, acts of service, bouquets, rainy days, “put your head on my shoulder”, “it’s okay to cry”, “i want to be there for you”, “you don’t have to pretend with me”, cupping someone’s face in your hands, comfort food, hugs, ice cream, care bears, pisces, cancer, healing, therapy, inner child.

channeled song: Room Service by Holly Humberstone | extra: Break For You by Valley.

amourdivine. 2021 - 2023 © do not copy, redistribute or edit my content.

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smuthospital · 8 months

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⭐️Yandere Miguel Ohara⭐️

Premise: You're a scientist, and Miguel is struck with a strange virus while out on the field. It's up to you to help him

Warning: Non-con, aphrodisiac, biting, fem reader

Minors DNI

You fiddle with your handbag nervously as you walk into the large building, entering the main foyer. You walk up to the main desk to see no one manning it. Just before you were about to look for an employee, a hologram flashes before your eyes. "Ah, you must be here for the interview. I'm Lyla, Miguel's AI assistant. Miguel's office is on the top floor. The elevator is to the right. Good luck!" You nod, thanking her before scurrying off. "Grumpy pants is really gonna like this one. Just his type," she chuckles, just out of earshot before disappearing. You're sweating bullets as you enter the elevator. You hope no one can see your sweat through the clothes you carefully selected for today.

You press the top floor key and wait. The ride to the top is agonizingly long. The doors opened to reveal a long corridor with a set of double doors at the end. You hesitantly knock followed by silence...Maybe he's not in? "Ugh. What now!?" A deep voice booms from the other side, the door immediately swinging open to reveal a very, very large angry man leaning over you. Surprise paints his face as he looks down upon you. He forgot he had one last interview for the day. Lyla snickers behind him, purposefully withholding your arrival for this scene. "O-oh! My apologies, please come in. (Y/n), was it?" He moves out of the way, allowing you to walk into his spacious office. He takes notice of the way your hips sway as you walk. He shakes his head, trying to dispel his unwanted thoughts. "Yes, that's me. It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Ohara," you say, smiling up at him.

He chuckles. It's adorable and strange at the same time to see someone so cute trying to be professional. "The pleasure is all mine. Have a seat,(Y/n)." He enjoys the way your name slides off his tongue. He sits at his desk and you take a seat in front. He crosses his arms over his chest, making his biceps bulge. It's as impressive as it is intimidating. You feel like a small bug before him. Your hands are clamming up. You barely make eye contact with him, opting to stare at the ground. Your resume was a good match for the position and his team of scientists were looking for a helping hand with experiments. It also helped that you were required to submit a photo with your resume and he liked what he saw. He must admit that you look even better in person. More promising candidates came before you, but you had his favour, not that he would ever admit that, even to himself. He asked you a few questions about yourself, knowing he'd hire you as soon as you walked in.

"Your resume was quite impressive. We could use a hard worker like you around here," he says as his eyes drift down from your pretty face down to your sexy collar bones...and accidentally land on your slightly open blouse that shows a delicious amount of skin. "Thank you. I admire all the work you and the scientists do here and I wanted to be a part of it." His eyes snap back up to yours. He inwardly shames himself for allowing himself to indulge in your appearance so much. It looks like you didn't notice his perversion. He smiles down at you, still having heard your response.

He stands up from his seat and outstretches his large hand towards you. You blush furiously and take his hand in yours. You watch your hand disappear as it's completely engulfed by his. He relishes the feeling. Chills of pleasure go down his spine. your hands are so delicate and smooth in his. He gives it a firm shake. "It was nice meeting you. Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Ohara, " you say smiling up at him with that same sweet-as-candy look from before. So Polite! Miguel has already taken such a liking to you. He hesitantly releases your hand, missing the feeling of your soft skin on his. "I'll be looking forward to your help around here, (Y/n). Have a nice day." He curses quietly to himself as he watches you leave the room, finding his eyes land on your ass once again. The spider in him is telling him to do awful things to you. Those stupid instincts of his.

Your first day of work comes and you're welcomed by the senior scientists instantly. You're the youngest member of the team. You now have the important task of assisting the other scientists with their tests. Venom testing, finding antidotes for said venoms, and going on coffee runs! You worked very hard in school to get this position, studying tirelessly day and night so you were a bit disappointed when the majority of your tasks were just coffee runs and grunt work, but you're still very grateful to be able to at least watch them at work.

A few days pass and you get the hang of your duties. The scientists usually appear extremely tired and overworked. That's when they wore their pyjamas to work and you went on the most coffee runs. Your co-worker appears before you with a stack of documents and a box of test tubes and tiredly sets them down before you, causing the table to shake. "Here, girl. Take these to Miguel. He was struck by a monster that's given him some...unwanted side effects. The antidote and ans the originally tested venom are in here. He's expecting them very soon so hurry...And bring back some coffee!" He doesn't give you a chance to respond, going back to his desk where a larger pile of papers lies before him along with four empty cups of coffee. Afraid of angering your exhausted senior, you quickly take the papers and make your way to the elevator. You begin to get nervous again, not ready to see the large muscly man so soon.

Miguel paces around in his office, quickly taking a seat behind his desk when he hears you knock. "Come in," he shouts. You notice he's a bit off when you enter. He seems nervous.. and he's blushing. He can't stop his eyes from focusing on your most intimate parts. Try as he might, he can't look away. The way he's looking at you is...frightening to say the least. His hands clench and unclench as beads of sweat roll down his neck. He swallows hard. He's using all his willpower to stop himself from ripping your clothes off. The priapism mixed with his spider instincts is not a good pair. He is so painfully hard. He already came twice before you came in, the underside of his desk splattered a white mess. "Mr. Ohara, I've brought the test tubes and documents you request-" He cuts you off before you can finish. "Hand me the antidote."

"Yes, sir!" His cock jumps when you call him that. He grunts and digs his palms into the wood of his desk. To you, he just seems upset. You read the labels on the tubes. They're written in classic doctor's handwriting, but from what you can see, one of them is severe priapism and the other is the venom he was injected with. You quickly hand him the tube which he downs immediately. He's quiet for a moment, waiting for his bothersome symptoms to go away, waiting for his swollen cock to finally calm down. He breathes heavily, tapping his foot with his eyes closed. He can't bare to look at you, feeling so very embarrassed. He hopes you haven't picked up on what's wrong with him.

Suddenly, he stops his body going completely still in his seat before he tumbles out of his chair. You have no idea what's going on. You don't even know what he was infected with. "Mr.Ohara!? W-whats wrong!?" You approach the desk, about to look over at him. He's oddly quiet. You're scared. Is he that hurt? Was there something wrong with the antidote? Did you give him the wrong tube? Oh god, you need to inform the lab and the infirmary. "I'm gonna get hel-" He leaps over the desk and lunges at you, an animalistic growl escaping his throat. you let out a scream and dive out of the way just in time. You crawl away from your boss, your heart pounding against your ribcage like it wants to escape.

You look into Miguel's eyes. They're different now. Instead of their usual red-brown colour, they're red with slits. You feel like you're facing off with a jaguar. You have a feeling that the second you move, hell attack. Tears border your eyes as you sit there in fear. Lyla appears once again, but the calm look is wiped off her face at what she sees. She looks Miguel up..and down and realizes what went wrong. She covers her mouth in shock and looks over at you. "(Y/n)! You have to get out of here! Miguel isn't himself!" You look back at her, feeling your limbs go numb. You know you have a limited amount of time to sit there and do nothing. On three, you'll force your body to get up and make for the door.

One...

Two.......

Three!!!

You scramble up from your spot on the ground and make a mad dash for the door, not even looking back. You don't need to though. You can feel him behind you. You can feel his claws barely grazing your back. You can hear his footsteps right behind yours. You open the door and slam it behind you. You know that won't hold him and just as expected, he bursts through it and starts chasing you on all fours. You continue running down the hall and slam your hand on the elevator button. By gods grace, it opens immediately. You think it may have been Lyla.

You waste no time getting in the elevator and pressing the emergency shut button a second before he would have joined you in there. You breathe a sigh of relief and click the button for the lab floor. Hopefully, in his animalistic state, he doesn't know how to operate an elevator...You were right, he doesn't, but it doesn't matter. You hear a loud slam and see a dent form in the elevator. then another and another. You scream and cry as he pries the doors apart before the elevator could start moving. Your only chance of escape is getting past him and using the stairs. Right as he gets the elevator doors wide enough, you slip between his legs and run towards the stairs.

He grows and chases after you. You've never been more scared in your life. In your panic, you trip over your own feet, sending yourself tumbling down the stairs. although it hurt, you fell faster than you could run. You lift your head from the concrete to see Miguel jumping six steps at a time. You get up as quickly as you can and enter the floor below Miguel's office. Spiders are looking at you questioningly, wondering why a scientist is running around crying and screaming like a lunatic. their confusion is cut short when they see Miguel burst from the stairwell, knocking over everything and everyone in his path to you.

"P-Please! Help me!" you scream. Spiders immediately get between you and him, but it doesn't last long before he's throwing them around like rag dolls. You take the opportunity to run down the next stairwell, hoping to find somewhere to hide. You make it two floors below and hide under a desk. You curl into yourself and cover your mouth with both your hands, trying to muffle your ragged breathing and whimpering. You shut your eyes and take deep breaths, trying to calm yourself when you feel a tap on your shoulder. Your soul nearly flies out of your body when a hand rubs your knee followed by a hush. You look over to see that it's just a spider. They lean in and whisper "Shh it's ok, love. I'm Hobbie. We have to get you out of here. We're going to capture boss man. Follow m-" The desk over the two of you goes flying. Miguel stands there with heaving shoulders, eyes just as wide and animalistic as before. The Hobbie takes your arm and crashes through the side of the building, swinging down and crashing down into the main atrium.

It looks like your arrival was prepared because a large team of spider people and the science team are already there waiting for you. You remind yourself to thank Lyla later. You scream as you and Spiderpunk continue to be chased by a very persistent Miguel. Spiders try to stop him, shooting webs and attacking him but he just busts right through them again. He's unstoppable. Your legs are getting tired and your lungs are burning. You can't take much more of this. Miguel is used to this sort of activity, but you're just a scientist. Miguel bars his fangs at you. He's gone completely feral. What was he even infected with?

An electric red web shoots out toward you. You think it's over for you, but open your eyes to see that Spiderpunk got in front of you. "Go! Keep running! Jess will find you!" He shouts. You reach a dead end with a bathroom. With no other choice, you run in and hide in a stall. It's silent for a moment. No footsteps, no sounds. Just as you think you lost him, you feel a hot sticky liquid hit your cheek. You look up in terror. It's Mr. Ohara. It finally clicks what he's been affected with. The liquid came from the bulge in his suit. He jumps down from the ceiling, landing on his feet and towering over you. You fall back, immediately clambering out of the stall through the bottom gap. He breaks the door off its hinges, following right after. Just as he's about to reach for you, a red light flashes. Miguel is caught in his containment device. Jess helps you to your feet. "(Y/n), are you ok? You did a good job leading him to a closed area." That was a complete accident, but you don't have the breath in your lungs to tell her that. You look over to Miguel to see him snarling and slashing at the red cage with the sharp attachments of his suit, his eyes never leaving your form. Your face is red for all sorts of reasons now. His cock is still visibly leaking arousal,

Finally. He's contained. The science team could help him from in there. After the sudden events, you let out a sob. You were chased through HQ by the strongest man in there. If it weren't for Jess, he would've... You sniffle. You're led back to the science team by Jess. They all look at you like they've seen a ghost. You assume it's because of what happened. Jess pulls them to the side and whispers between themselves. You can't make out what they're saying. After they split up, the scientists get back to work, sending you suspicious glances now and then. You must be in trouble. Jess walks into the room and whispers to the scientists, who suddenly look frantic. Jess grimaces. She pauses in her spot, looking at the ground before walking over to you. "Hey, sweetie, we got Miguel back to himself. We gave him a double shot of antidote to counteract his double shot of venom. He'd like to apologize to you now if that's okay with you." She extends her hand and you take it, feeling reassured. You're happy the nightmare is over. Jess helps you up and leads you back up to Miguel's office.

You look around at the wreckage. Miguel has caused quite a mess. The doors need to be replaced. All of them. You arrive at Miguel's office door, which seems to have been repaired with webs. You're about to enter when you hear a soft growl from the other side. Your heart rate accelerates. Jess shoves you through the door and uses her webs to stick it shut before you can even think of running. You bang on the door, not even facing the monster you're trapped in there with. "I'm sorry, (Y/n). This is the only way we can calm him. He broke through his containment device before we could make an antidote strong enough and he's too dangerous to let him roam free." You continue banging on the door, trying to push it open in vain. "No! Please! Let me out! I'm begging you, please!"

Your heart sinks into your stomach as you hear her footsteps fade away. A shadow encompasses you from behind. You're ripped away from the door and thrown to the floor, knowing the wind out of you. You scream as the monster known as Miguel Ohara climbs over you, his arms holding yours sown and jaw snapping towards your neck viciously. You're screaming uncontrollably, ducking away from his snapping teeth, missing him by a hair. "Mr.Ohara! Please stop!" you cry, trying to appeal to his long-lost humanity. His claws dig into your arms, bringing your torso up and smashing you back into the floor, winding you for a second time.

He latches his mouth onto your neck, his fangs sinking into your soft flesh. You cry out in pain as blood leaks past his lips before you feel a cold liquid enters the wound from his fangs. Slowly, you lose the ability to move any part of your body. You feel his ginormous bulge press into your clothed crotch. He grabs onto your waist, grunting while violently humping into you until you feel a hot wetness explode onto you. He came through his suit, soaking you.

You're helpless as he releases your arms and inhales your scent, moaning as he breathes out. He sinks his body lower on yours, pausing at your chest. He raises a clawed finger and begins tearing it in two from the center. Once off, he does the same to your bra, exposing your breasts. He doesn't hesitate to lick your nipple, lapping at it and tweaking the other with his fingers. He sinks lower on you and digs his nose into your crotch, pressing in and inhaling. The clothes protecting your pussy from his hungry eyes don't last long, falling to the floor in pieces.

He licks a stripe up your pussy and stares into your eyes. You try to tell him to stop, but your lips and tongue won't move the way you want them to. Noises slip past your parted lips in a pathetic attempt at begging. Your face burns bright. He grunts as his suit rubs against his throbbing cock. He rips his suit at the crotch to free his painful erection and climbs over you, his monstrous cock rubbing against your cunt. You whine in protest. as he lifts your thighs and puts them on his shoulders, leaning over you to lock you in a mating press. Tears run down your hot cheeks. This will kill you! Or render you handicapped at the very least!

He hisses as he pushes forward. You squeeze your eyes shut. Oh god, it hurts! He's stretching you open on his cock. Inch by inch, he sinks himself in. With nowhere else to go, his cock forms a large bulge in your lower stomach. A pained moan escapes your throat. he rears his hips back and rams forward, punching your cervix. He lets out short animalistic grunts and growls. He grunts as he finally manages to bottom out, your cervix screaming for help as you're fully stretched over his massive cock. He doesn't give you a second to adjust, ramming himself in and out rapidly until he thrusts in one last time before you feel hotness shoot inside you. There's so much that your stomach rises from the sheer amount before escaping past his cock. He bucks his hips forward as if to taunt you, forcing his cum deeper inside your already swollen insides. He pants on top of you before slowly unsheathing himself from your abused hole.

Your brain isn't able to process anything but the feeling of your insides and that he's finally done with you. He roughly flips you over on your stomach and pulls your hips back, forcing your back to arch up before him. He presses his thighs to your ass, lining his cock up with your entrance. You whimper, tears leaking from your eyes. He sheathes himself within you again, leaning over you and growing right in your ear. His hips piston in and out of you ferociously, his hot, ragged breath fanning over your neck. Your walls begin to clench around him again. His hands grab your hips, pressing your ass flush to his hips. The height difference causes your knees to lift off the ground. you can feel every inch of him inside you.

Your eyes cross. You can't take much more of this. You're getting drunk off the feeling of being raped by your boss. He ruts faster inside you, smacking sounds echoing through the room. You feel shame pool in your gut along with the same hotness from before. You feel it flow into you before running out of space and running down your thighs. His claws dig into your flesh, causing rivulets of blood to leak past his fingers. You feel your energy drain from you as you come down from your high. He continues pumping in and out of you as you succumb to sleep.

#lemon #non con #x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse

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skyeventide · 9 months

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this assumes that the fic in question would already fit your other general reading criteria, like favourite ship, characters, rating, interesting summary, et cetera

AU is here intended as a mundane sort of "right now" situation, with no magic or other supernatural elements (which for the purpose of this I'd categorise as urban fantasy, or magical realism, et cetera). if your answer is something like "yes, but it must keep magic" then you can either pick "I'll read other AUs" or "secret tenth option", at your discretion. if a target fandom is already happening right now in the real world, then within the sense of the poll, it doesn't have a modern AU option, it's already modern. it could have other AUs but it prolly doesn't qualify for the poll. a fandom that goes from "modern with magic", so some kind of urban fantasy and the like, to "solely mundane real world" still qualifies in this poll for a modern AU.

"tries to adapt roles very faithfully" is intended as, for example, turning a king into a CEO/maintains some kind of high status, a mage becoming a scientist of sort, a knight either professionally fencing, or being a medievalist with a passion for ren faires, so on and so forth.

#fandom #fanfiction #polls

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moondirti · 10 months

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11. SUCK IT UP

CHAPTER ELEVEN OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter ten / chapter twelve ⇀

summary: you aren't feeling too good. miguel helps you get over it, in more ways than one.

explicit (18+) | 6.7k words warnings: enemies to lovers, smut, cunnilingus, face-sitting, fingering, squirting, power imbalance (everything is consensual), miguel is... sweet (?), mild fluff, angst, very little plot, mentions of death/gore notes: inspired by this hysterical ask. twas supposed to be a bit of short fun but i am a chronic over-writer. thus, i present to you – a week late tangent about miguel's magical tongue! enjoy

The night ends with you riding Miguel’s face, panties ripped and cartons of food waiting idly on your desk. If you could shatter the pleasure that seizes your brain with a vice-like grip, you would take a moment to admit one thing.

You don’t know how you got here.

It’s not the fact of it that’s got you fazed; no, you’ve long since come to terms with the new perimeters of your relationship. Really, it’s been the only active component in your life as of late, serving itself in all your food for thought. You’ve contemplated it before going to bed, upon waking up, during your lunches with Hobie – where the spider critiques your mentor so often that you’ve learnt not to mention your less-than-professional relationship out loud.

And, well– For every moment in between, you’re caught up in this exact transgression.

If you’re being perfectly honest with yourself, it’s fruitless to attempt to rationalise it. The day’s happenings couldn’t have hinted towards this at all. In fact, your morning had started miles off from where you are now. Laying on the ground, ambition fried save for one goal:

To take a break.

Your dreams still burn on your eyelids when you blink them open. They’re feverish, ochre and plum and sickly green, a little too blurry to make out the details that would’ve otherwise helped you decipher their meaning. It was something about blood, something about patchouli, and a conclusive explosion that fizzled with bright light.

Though the latter might merely be ideation. You forgot to close your blinds before falling asleep – the only reason you’re awake being the sun bathing your room in white.

A migraine strikes at your temple, rhythmic and reinforced with stainless steel. It’s vengeful. Your entire body is, actually. Sour aches run up your muscles, swelling around your joints, digging into your bones. When you attempt to readjust, your spine screams in protest. So does your stomach, gurgling for either food or relief. It’s hard to tell really; the pain is so profound that blaming a particular area would be dismissing the others.

You do know who to blame, though.

That asshole.

He’s ruthless. An absolute implacable force that grills you almost every hour of the day. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have said that his concern with your training is due to a growing fondness for you. But you’ve seen enough evidence of his method to prove otherwise – he’s merely approaching it with as much dedication as he prescribes anything else. Like the fate of the multiverse relies on your betterment, like his seeing to it is some sort of commandment by God.

(Perhaps it is.

But not even you take gospel this seriously.)

It’s been a couple weeks and you’re still not used to it. Over the year since gaining your powers, you’ve never exerted yourself this much. You’re so weak, you find, that your strength can be likened to that of a civilian. The constant wear and tear hasn’t pushed that front, either – the first few sessions, you’d come dangerously close to throwing up from the sheer exhaustion of it all. Your gut turned into itself, gags coated with bile as you ushered Miguel away from your perimeter. The only thing that held you back was a lack of energy to actually commit to the issue.

That, and the promise of his fingers buried deep in your cunt.

You’ve begun to understand him, though. The scientist part of you can’t help but pick up on his patterns, storing them in one place for further analysis. Eventually, having enough data allowed you to draw up a trend.

It tends to go something like this:

He compiles an exercise to help you learn a lesson. It’s devised to push you both mentally and physically – a killing of two birds with one stone. To phrase it like that, plain cut and simple, makes it sound almost juvenile, like a look into a kindergarten teacher’s book of discipline. The punishment should fit the crime, or however it goes. But it isn’t easy, not by a long shot. He seems to see what you have trouble harrowing from yourself; those meaty flaws, fattened from neglect, maggot-strewn and pulsing with a verve of their own. They’re pinpointed, slated, and then he gives you the knife all expectantly, like you can kill it by yourself.

The beasts’ name has been resilience lately. According to him, planking for two minutes wasn’t a sufficient enough appeasement to it.

Because the next day, he always expounds upon the lesson from the last. The training is a developed form of the one that nearly just killed you, and he tests how you respond. Your enthusiasm or lack thereof doesn’t matter, it’s your perseverance despite it that he rewards. You can smile every time you fall, if you don’t get up, then he doesn’t grant you an orgasm.

If you do, however–

Then, fuck. It’s so good that you often forget the struggle it took to earn it in the first place.

A strict system. One with little room for loopholes or faults. You can tell he’s thought it through – every exertion is met with an upside, a failsafe tailored to the type of pupil you’re proving to be. It means that he’s done this before; is accustomed to the patience and regimen it takes to guide someone as wayward as you.

You add it to your tally of proof that he’s a father.

(He’s able to come up with detailed plans surrounding your weaknesses.

You, on the other hand, have to resort to contrived assumptions to get a glimpse into who he is.

The imbalance is present, glaring. Enough to irk you but not enough to implode just yet. You stuff it away for later.)

Solid system aside, it certainly doesn’t account for how much of it you can tolerate. You’re paralyzed, hollowed out by the endless workouts. And while, yes, you could go to the cafeteria to fill up with fuel that alleviates the effects, you physically can’t move out from under your sheets – limp as the mattress that cushions you.

You wonder what he would say if he saw you like this. It’s become harder to guess now that you’re unsure of his true feelings towards you. A Spanish taunt, likely; something along the lines of have I worn you out already? And you’d huff but secretly squirm under the prospect of disappointing him, a scolded schoolgirl caught with a lame excuse between index and thumb.

Hell, he’s not even around and you’re still plump with shame. Your room doesn’t feel nearly as comforting with the knowledge of what waits outside. Down the hall, up the staircase. Through the common room and across the lobby. In that little gym, hidden in a corner near the med-bay, where no one frequents when the more advanced training facilities are in another sector entirely. You check the alarm on your desk – 09:00. He’s probably there already, waiting on you with arms crossed.

In your mind's eye, he’s wearing that black compression top he seems to resort to on laundry days. Grey sweatpants too. You don’t know what to call the passing reflection – fantasy is all too mortifying a word. Wish? Absolutely not. You wish for nothing when it comes to him. Except maybe–

Thighs squeezing, you brush the objection away. You could get it easily if you’re able to muster the energy. Take it one step at a time. Change into your athletic gear. Eat a light breakfast. Show up, if not a little late. Miguel would make a passing comment about it but nod at the fact that you came at all. And it would be enough, that little assurement, to motivate you through whatever gruelling exercise he has planned today.

If you let him know, though – how hard it was for you to go – would he add to your reward? So far it’s only been his fingers on you, rubbing you while you run slick onto him. Deliciously thick as they fuck into you, long and perfect at pinpointing that one spot that makes you just burst. Certainly better than your own, but…

His touch is beginning to lose its novelty. Increasingly, you’re left wanting more. You come down from your highs gaping, clenching around the memory of a length that’s only ever been in your mouth. And if he’s able to make you see stars with just his hand–

Then you’d abandon the cosmos just to get him to fuck you.

(A proclamation you’d never say out loud. Even your conscious cringes at just how depraved it sounds.)

So, you try.

Really, you do. With the fear of failing him and the lust that’s taken root in your core, you kick your legs off the edge of your bed. The air is frigid, biting at your heels as they press to tile, which is just as cold itself. You let it diffuse into your feet, getting used to it while bracing yourself for the pain bound to reemerge. Black broaches your vision, blotting its edges. You opt to ignore the blatant warning, sucking in a hurried breath – resilience – before rising to a stand.

Two seconds pass. You go blind. Like a marionette with its strings cut, you tip over and collapse to the floor.

Whether a headrush or your muscles finally giving up on you, you can’t help but attribute the display to none other than your ‘mentor’ himself. Cocky bastard with his stupid fucking philosophies. Resilience my ass. Look where that’s gotten you now; capsized like a turtle with a shell too big for its own good.

Groaning, you flip over to your side. Your elbow had taken the brunt of the impact, yet your head rings with alarm nonetheless. You’ll just… You’ll just stay right here. Yeah.

He’ll understand.

(And, if not, then you’ve dealt with him in poorer moods.)

18:00.

You’re pathetic.

So much more than that, actually. Pathetic is a description reserved for the pitiable. A person has to actually sympathise with you in order for it to be true, and you’re sure that if anyone saw you in this state – God forbid – then they’d convulse in disgust instead.

You cycle through a list of viable synonyms. Miserable. Lame. An absolute tragic case of wasted potential. None quite fit like you want them to. They all feel wrong – mirrors so distorted you can’t make out your reflection in them if you tried.

It’s just… becoming of you.

If there were a word that specifically meant befitting to Wraith, then you’d clutch it close to your chest for how validating it would read. It feels like all the work you’ve put in thus far was for nothing. Despite how it may seem, you didn’t just do it for Miguel. If it had been, then you would’ve given in half a year ago upon realising just how attractive your pursuer was.

(You remember it, clear as a waxy moon on an ink-blot night.

He’d thrown you into dry-wall and you’d called him a coward for not looking you in the eye. It must’ve hit him where it hurt, because his mask drew back and before you knew it, you were phasing in and out to the beat of your fluttering heart.

It was the first time you saw him. Once you managed to escape, your fist suffered through its duty in muffling your moans, cut by biting incisors as you rubbed one out in a hostel bed.)

No. It was for you. To put distance between the inconsiderate menace you were before Earth-15 and the woman you desperately want to be. You’d started to notice the difference too. Mentally, sure – where your self-hatred was tamped to the background, and every action you took was opened with weighty contemplation. But even physically – your eyebags had faded and you looked much cleaner than you have in a long, long time.

Where’s that progress now?

Because you’re crumpled on the spot where you fell almost eleven hours ago, with the addition of a pillow to support your head. You’re much like a wad of chewed gum, spit out by some being greater than this dimension. Gross and regressive and littering this world with your very existence.

It’s a close parallel to how downtrodden you’d felt in that convenience store bathroom, bandaging your forearm where Miguel’s claws had dug deep into the flesh. Your throat had been tight with suppressed sobs, both pain and primal fear replacing the pus that surged from your wound. The wash area was filthy. Dirt-packed grout and grey tap water. Paper towels balled in wet wads. But it felt right for you at the time, like you deserved no better.

Of course, you didn’t. Don’t. You went out and got an innocent woman killed not much later.

You still think about her sometimes. Her blood had been piping hot, almost bubbling from the yawning hole in her throat. The rescue was half-assed – you could’ve incapacitated the robber after knocking him out – but you’d been so filled with false bravado at actually having done something that it never occurred to you. The instinct lacking. Your spider-sense, absent. If you’d ever considered grasping the reins to your powers, you could’ve prevented the bullet from phasing through you and meeting her instead. You’ve always been short-sighted like that; prioritising the now over the what if.

And that’s what you stayed here to remedy. But if the same thing happened tomorrow, what’s stopping you from repeating your mistakes? You’d been too broken this morning to process that.

You should’ve just sucked it up and went.

From your place on the floor, out the window, only the top of Nueva York’s cityscape is visible. The sky has darkened to the colour of a bruised peach – an oxidised sort of orange that reminds you of last night’s dream – and the nightlights of some buildings flicker on cue when the sun dips below the horizon. You can see the ninety-degree highway up to Second Base from here. It’s been your entertainment for today, with its little commuting cars and the train that zips back and forth.

If you focus hard enough, then you can trick yourself into believing that the space station is visible, floating just above the stratosphere – where gravity is weak enough to let it hold its place. But you’re a woman of science and you know that it's impossible, that the silhouette you’re picturing is a figment of your wild reverie and you’re still anchored to earth where dreams are just that. Dreams. Your eyes burn from attempting it, anyway, those damn dust motes cropping up again.

Christ.

Given that life’s slowed, you’re spotting them more often. Back in that empty storelot, right after being bit, you’d fixated on them for a brief instant. They fit in with the setting back then, lazy in a stream of sunlight. Colourful – pink, green, orange, gold – flipping through the shades in a way that made sense. But their appearances have lost that sense of cohesion. Now, they emerge when you least expect them. In shadows. Hovering in corners not too far away. Places where it’s unnatural for them to be.

You reach a hand out. There’s no purpose behind it. Just… an exploratory action. To test the unknown. Your shoulder aches when you do, and so you don’t notice how odd it feels at first. Like electricity, buzzing at your fingertips. The motes start to drift towards your skin, magnetised to something you can’t explain.

When you sit up to investigate it further, there’s a knock at your door.

Hobie?

Couldn’t be. He mentioned he’d be away for a while last you talked.

There are few others who know of your assignment. Reilly, but he hasn’t paid mind to you since introducing your room. Jess Drew, maybe, though that’s far-fetched.

So–

You look down at your dishevelled state. In just a plain shirt and your pair of oldest underwear, you’re hardly dressed for entertainment. Especially when it’s him.

Is he checking up on you?

It’s so stupid that even in a depressive slump you’re able to laugh at yourself. Check up is the only way you can put it without making things worse. If he’s passing by, then it would be in suspicion. You’re no idiot, after all, in spite of your dejection. He wouldn’t let you roam free without having measures in place to ensure you don’t leave. That may just mean looking in from time to time.

Though it’s practically guaranteed that it isn’t out of concern.

(You have to remind yourself; you wish for nothing when it comes to Miguel O’Hara.)

Another knock. It’s hastier this time. Three raps with sharp knuckles. Impatient.

Panic overtakes all motor functions as you scramble to a stand. Yesterday’s joggers are thrown over your desk chair, in need of a wash with all the fluids secreted in them. They’re the closest in your vicinity, though, and will have to do for now. You briefly fuss over how your hair looks, whether your unwashed face is visibly oily – all fixable things that you dismiss while tripping to the doorway. The waistband is barely over your ass before you swing it open, greeting Miguel with a grimace.

Idiot. You shouldn’t have opened it that wide. Now he can see your mess of a r–

“Bad time, I’m guessing.” Is all he says, voice lilting into a question. You can’t help but register it with a tone of condescension; the raised eyebrows certainly don’t convince you otherwise.

All you really want to do is tell him off for the impromptu visit. The chagrin is there, latched onto your throat. But before you can, and against your better judgement, you give him an extensive once-over, taking heed of his state. What’s ironic – a tranquillising point that promptly shuts you up – is that it’s worse than yours.

In the complete opposite way.

Three big rips run along his torso, interfering with the technology of his spider-suit. It glitches between static and a transparent condition, baring the bronzed skin of his chest. There’s blood there too, reiterating the crimson that peeks from beneath his floppy hair, which is sweat-drenched. Tousled. He’s tousled, like he waltzed directly from a fight. A particularly bad one at that.

(And of course he still looks better.)

“One can say the same about you.” You bite.

“Don’t be smart.” He says. It isn't the snap you take it to be, more a mumble with consequence to his fangs. His mouth doesn't sit right when they’re withdrawn. You run your tongue along your gums upon remembering how they’d felt, pierced in your neck. “I couldn’t make our session this morning. An urgent issue came up.”

Immediately, something fresh smooths over you, like a balm to the anxiety that’d been plaguing you all day. He wasn’t even there. You’re tempted to laugh, but your humour dims on its way out. And when all is said and done, you find the disquietude is still there, nestled between your ribs.

You just blink in acknowledgement.

His jaw tenses. “We can reschedule.”

“You don’t have to sound so guilty about it.” The joke contains perhaps more sarcasm than you intend for it. It echoes, spiteful, and you at least have the sense to be ashamed, for you follow it up with a small reassurance. “It’s fine. I never showed.”

“Sick?”

“Something like that.”

(Lie.

Look at you, just embodying ignobility today.)

He nods, scanning your dishevelled clothing and chapped lips. Your only drink of water all day had been from the bathroom tap in an especially lamentable episode. It smacks, as though it were filled with cotton, the inside of your cheeks dry paper.

You wait for him to say something, unease broiling in your core. He does the same, gaze shifting from the scars on your arm to your bedroom and everything in between. It lingers on the external hallway, scanning for passersby. You recognise the indecision. Deliberation. Still – the long stretch of silence that hangs between you is awkward, broadening with every passing second, a gluttonous sort of tension whose favourite meal is the undefined mess that is your relationship to one another.

Finally, Miguel speaks up. “I’ll be back.”

And then he leaves.

He just… fucking–

Walks away, off to whatever takes precedence over your less-than-invigorating conversation. Which, admittedly, could be counted as anything in the world. But seriously, where is the decorum? Showing up unannounced only to leave you waiting? You run through the various reasons he couldn’t stand to be in your presence any longer, and what he expects you to do before his return.

The most plausible is that his injuries needed tending to. If they were that severe though, then why he saw stopping by first a greater priority is beyond you. In any case, he’ll probably return refreshed. But for what? Your response couldn’t have been misinterpreted to mean that you wanted to reschedule the missed session for tonight. You’re still sore, thank you very much, and in a much shoddier mood than you had been previous.

(This is what you wanted though; a second chance.

‘Just suck it up.’)

Steeling yourself, you shut the door and hobble down to the back of your room, stripping on your way. You’ll tidy up after your shower – it's bound to wash at least half of your self-loathing.

You just hope your leggings are clean.

As it turns out, you were the one who misinterpreted things.

Dressed in your athletic gear with damp skin and your sneakers primed to go, the dread had started to ebb away into a begrudging acceptance. Yes, your body still tenses with lactic-mutiny, raging where you’ve exerted it in the past, and your head still sings in migraine tones. But they all came second to the split-second fluster that had risen when he’d knocked on your door. That fear of disappointment returned with a vengeance, your worry for regression packing the final punch.

And, really. What were you supposed to think?

He left without so much as an excuse. It was up to you to decide what he’d see upon coming back. Just based on the nature of your prior meetings, the answer heavily leaned towards your own durability. Ready to face whatever exercise he has to throw your way, supposed sickness aside. You were actually quite proud of yourself for it, directing a heavy-handed pat on the back for the nail you ‘hit on its head.’

Never in your blurry dreams could you have predicted this.

Your face burns hot with puerile embarrassment.

“Um–”

“I figured you haven’t eaten.” Miguel explains, curling the plastic bags up in a gesture akin to surrender. They’re solid white, those thin types that bend under the weight of the cartons packed inside. You’re unable to process it before your stomach does, growling in suppressed hunger.

“No.” You shuffle to the side to allow him in. He takes the invitation, carefully, traipsing within your quarters to place the food on your desk. “I haven’t.”

The air resumes its resting level of edginess, however you’re far too wrapped up in your own head to buckle underneath it this time. It’s cold, you ascertain, your skin puckering in a gradient from foot to toe. His survey follows the same line, regarding your changed appearance in intrigue, cheeks sinking with a downward smile. It looks positively smug.

“Sorry, I thought… You’re not here to dole out another one of your lessons?”

“You’re sick aren’t you.” He isn’t interrogative in the slightest. You can’t bring yourself to lie again, so you stay silent. “I see you got dressed regardless.”

“Well, that’s me. Just a sucker for appearances.” You scoff, shutting the door behind you. The room appears infinitesimal in his presence, collapsing into those broad shoulders. “Tidied the space too and everything.”

Tall, packed with undiluted muscle. No longer in his spider-suit, but clothes more casual. A bandage stretched across his forehead. It’s stark against his skin, white on bronze and you can’t help but follow the way he gleams under the warm lighting. Fresh – he must’ve showered too, further evidence found in the way his hair curls, dips, drops of water rolling down his nape. You dig your teeth into your lip. Any closer and you’re bound to hit a wall of patchouli, that aphrodisiacal scent that triggers you like an animal in heat.

“Is that so?” He prods, unconvinced. It’s dark outside and you feel confined to this box. “You weren’t just anticipating it?”

“Anticipation is a forgiving word. No one would look forward to torment.”

His brows knit together, the creases between them playful, like the very implication is offensive on the same magnitude as a low-life’s taunt.

“But…” There’s nowhere to back into when he takes a step closer, your bed hitting the back of your knees. “You got dressed regardless.” He reinstates, emphasising each word, syllables punctuated to make his point. If you weren’t cornered, snared in the clutches of a cat celebrating its next meal, you’d have been able to see where this is going.

As it stands, you’re blind.

“You know what I think?” He adds upon your reticence. You shake your head. “I think, it’s finally starting to hit you.”

“Hit… Wh–”

“The point. These past few weeks have been tough, I won’t pretend otherwise.” Miguel clarifies. “But it was only the first part of it. Withstanding struggle, that torment you speak so… fondly of.”

“Like you said,” You catch on, recalling the reality check he’d given you that day with the plank. “Y’know. Resilience.”

“Remind me of the other half of it again.”

“There’s… Withstanding struggle,” You repeat stupidly, working overtime to try and fetch his exact words. It’s an almost impossible feat, the gears in your mind turning on empty fuel. The initial lecture wasn’t that long ago, but it’s been intercepted by a million other philosophies. And he’s right there, ducked close to your level, keen eyes patiently waiting for you to continue. His breath fans across your cheek. The pressure worsens. You feel dumb. “And–”

You resort to context, then – grasping for the crux of his little tangent. What did you do to inspire it, anyway?

It hits you so suddenly your neck twinges with phantom whiplash.

“Recovering when you fall.” You complete.

“That’s it.” The whispered praise tickles you, like sand filling an hourglass. Your tummy sinks, heavy with it. It’s warm and dry and feels much like how his bare hand did, supporting your neck under rubble. Behind your back, your own wind together as you shoot him a vampish look.

“Who would’ve thought.”

He shrugs. “Was your faith that lacking?”

“There were a few times, yeah. You should’ve seen me this morning,”

“Oh, I can imagine.”

“Fell right to the floor. Almost died, I’m telling you. I stayed right here,” You tap the ground with your heel. “All day.”

“It was not that bad,” He insists, speaking with a levity you don’t often hear from him. It’s nice when he reciprocates like this. You’ve always reckoned that he took himself seriously one-hundred percent of the time. You find that you get along better when he doesn’t.

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep.” You pop the P, using the excuse to wet your lips. The guard you keep constantly raised bends to the contours of his face, curved elegantly around those high cheekbones and the jaw he must physically sharpen to get looking so pronounced. He’s studying you – you sense it, teasing your lashes, noting the way your eyes pointedly avoid his. They’re planted firmly to his neck, where corded muscles stretch under skin, so strong you can practically hear them creak.

Your heartbeat skips from between your thighs. When you rub them together, they glide easily, lubricated by the slick pooling into your panties.

“No logical reason you should continue putting up with it, then.”

It could turn out that Miguel’s voice is modulated and you wouldn’t be surprised given how pleasing it is to listen to. Deep, controlled from a low point in his chest where smouldering coal chars it until it’s rugged. You always pay closer attention to the letters through which his accent comes through; short O’s and throaty D’s. His mouth hardly moves when he speaks. You wonder when he chooses to properly utilise it. Whether he does at all.

Your kiss had been entirely one-sided. His rewards are so detached. There’s a lot you haven’t explored yet; with every passing second, the greater the urge is to push and find out.

“Except we can both appreciate why I do,” You breathe, throwing caution to the wind and catching his stare. An irrepressible smile blooms at the spirited expression he gives you. Eyebrows raised in a thick arch, forming an amused look that only bolsters you further.

“For your redemption?” He baits, only to interrupt your response. “Or…” Your nerves spark. “For this–”

And then he cups you over your leggings, pawing where you’re brim with molten arousal. Hips bucking, your jaw hinges to expel a high-pitched keen, pinched from the back of your gullet. You latch onto his wrist, eager to either neg him on or push him away – but with the torrid fuzz that gains control of your systems, you can’t work it out.

“Do you deserve it?” His ask caresses the shell of your ear, a whisper, fingers slowing until you land on an answer.

Distrusting yourself to verbalise it, you give a frantic nod, mortifyingly desperate. It’s as much of a revelation for you as it is for him, manifested with every needy rut you give his hand. Miguel lets you seek the pleasure, pinning harder to provide the pressure you need, before withdrawing just as assuredly.

You could almost sob. Your nose is stuffy and your lips bitten and you so badly wish to be filled with anything to help you forget your miserable day. When he taps your ass, you assign every ounce of remaining intellect to decipher the vague gesture – eventually falling back on your bed in a close measure of what you assume he means. It’s a sterling guess. Your shoes are shucked off in the process and he leans over you, one knee anchored to the surface as he tucks into the waistband of your pants. They slide off with his help, separating from heated flesh like velcro.

It occurs to you that this is the first time he’ll see you. So far, your body is familiar to him in touch alone – hurried, stolen and shoved under your panties in semi-public spaces while you fight to endure the conflicting sensations. There’s mind to currently faux humility – a game you liked to play with your college conquests. Batted eyelashes and babydoll modesty; a secret thrill present in watching them come undone at your relinquished control.

But Miguel is no lover, and you’re far too gone to play nice now.

You scoot back to your pile of pillows when he joins you. It’s unreal seeing him in such a domestic setting. Civilian attire, combed hair. In high nature. If it weren’t for the bandage on his temple and the shadows making allusions to the brawn he keeps at bay, then you could’ve fooled yourself into trusting his normality. That he isn’t larger than life – solely here because he’s like you, a person trying to make well for themselves.

As it is, though, he’s still impenetrable. Fully clothed while you lay bottomless.

(Again, you’re reminded that you don’t know him. The man sacking you of your underwear could have a spouse, for all you’re privy to.

It just adds another layer of distance you should be thankful for.)

Manic with lust, you’re barely enlightened to what’s coming when your mentor captures each leg in a separate grip. Big hands cradle their bends, under your knees where your skin is unconventionally soft. It poses a contrast to the calluses on his palm, worn by years of crime-fighting and swinging on reinforced webs. They’re warm and rough and scratch you, sending a nervous buzz down to your core.

He guides your limbs up. Your ankles sway. Definitely strong; he almost syphons the breath right out through your stomach. If you close your eyes, you can imagine that this is just another exercise, a preliminary stretch.

But you don’t. Folded with your thighs pinned to your chest, you can only fluster with real self-consciousness. Your cunt is exposed to the filtered air, biting the heated centre with its opposite degree. Perhaps more wickedly, however, is the way you’re spread to Miguel’s hawk-like gaze. He inspects the way you glow, humiliated, the sticky confirmation of your desire smeared across your puffy lips. Is he turned off by the sight – your eagerness a violation of the pseudo-professional boundaries marked around your deal?

No, you decide. He’s all too content when he ducks to face it, laying a heavy mouth to your throbbing clit. It’s intoxicating, the cool slice of oxygenated air after months of smoke inhalation. You forget your insecure tangent entirely, tipping your chin back to moan your encouragement.

Fuck, he’s good.

More than good. You scramble for a better description, hands clawing for purchase on your sheets. It’s indescribable in its obscenity – lewd and dirty and slow, mapping every fold and crevice with his tongue. The sweltering muscle, like velvet, swirls across your sensitive bud, taking in its high reactivity, before lapping at the hood above it. You hone in to every miniscule movement, raptured by its dexterity and unwilling to fully let yourself go.

Miguel hums, low, tasting the agony that pours from his skill. His fingertips paint bruises where they dig, holding your thrashing hips still. You find there’s nothing else you can do to bear it, your arms flailing pathetically, toes curling. You pant and it doesn’t help dissuade the indulgence building up within you, crashing against a dam that’s starting to crack. It’s almost as though you’re doing too much to seek it out, afraid he’ll turn to ash at any second and leave you wanting.

“Oh– O’h… Shit, shit!” You whine, pounding your heel on his broad back. He barely notices, peering up at you through dark lashes. “If I had… Don’t stop! Please, p–” His crimson eyes gleam dark and bloody, obscured in shadow. Sobbing, you suck in large gulps of heady air. “If you promised this earlier, I would’ve climbed up fucking buildings to earn it.”

“Mmm-” He ignores your plea, breaking away to bring two digits to his mouth. Your right leg flops uselessly to his side. “Good idea.” One lick and they’re covered in spit. You can’t help but notice the discolouration on his knuckles, deep red and purple, as he uses his index and middle to fan out your lower lips.

And then he’s back to eating you out. This time, though, he’s drinking from your weeping slit. Breaching it, exploring the perimeter that stretches to accommodate his pistoning tongue. Despite pursed lips, your scream still manages to sound through the way it vibrates your lungs. Rattling you, much like he does now, from inside out. His nose is pressed to your mound. You don’t doubt he can smell you, potent sex and clean sweat, contracting every joint until you’re an immovable board.

“Don’t do that,” Miguel groans, scorching the space he creates to reprimand you. Crying, you obey what he says, melting into a puddle of nectar. He strikes a fair point; things feel exponentially better when you aren’t tense, nerve pathways unobstructed in sending pleasure signals to your blank brain. Discerning the shift, he huffs. “Good.”

Stars and heaven above, your consequent wail is unhinged. Your hands fly to his hair, seizing the wavy tresses in a smarting hold. The praise serves as an amplifier to every sense. Hips bucking, free calf curling around his neck. His fingers plunge into you, scissoring your tight walls as he spits onto your pussy, gathering the pearlescent fluid with his thumb and using it as aid. Like you need the extra help.

Because you’re soaked. The dam is broken. Everything gushes out of you in an ugly mess, glossing his palm and the duvet below. He nips your clit, grazing his teeth along the swollen sprout, teasing, then places his mouth back onto you. Brown locks curl to his brow. You brush them back, shoving him harder, closer. Sort of power-drunk at the sight of him succumbing to your command.

It’s short lived. You’re about to cum when he chooses the inopportune moment to speak.

Growls, actually. “Hold on.”

Capturing you to his face, he makes sure you’re steady before relinquishing his fingers from your hole and upending you both.

Suddenly, you’re on top and he’s the one framed by your pillows. Your back bends and you almost crumble on top of him – an old building met with a wrecking ball of celestial proportions. You can’t hold your weight on your haunches. They’re practically useless like this, quivering with suspense. Where guilt would be the appropriate response at such a prospect, you’re bound by awe instead. He’s no doubt suffocated by your squeezed thighs and seated pussy – the force of which aided by gravity – but something tells you that’s what he wants. For the first time, his eyes flutter shut.

A sting – concentrated on the globe of your ass – registers only seconds later where he had slapped you. Go, it demands silently. You force yourself to muster the energy to do so.

You can’t last very long, anyway.

Pelvis waving, you ride his face, back arched away from his hand. It irons over your covered waist, wet and soaking the breathable material of your shirt. The position proves to be a workout in of itself, your core strength tested in the motions. For the first time, you find yourself thanking his training. You wouldn’t have persisted otherwise.

Your orgasm rises again, faster now that you’re properly edged. It floods up from your feet like a high tide, sweeping all the seaweed and shells and stability from your abdomen. Lost at shore, a stranded sailor waking up from a tempests’ shipwreck; dazed, sun-blanched on splintered wood. There’s sand on your skin – it clears that too. You’re renewed in briny water. Freshened, addicted to the feeling of the sea pulling you back into its gentle but firm embrace.

You take back what you said. About his mouth and how he chooses to use it. It’s none of your business so long as he keeps it on you, sucking and drinking the cum he milks for all its worth. It just keeps coming, no start or end in sight. It’s all you can do to withstand your weakened centre constantly clenching and still breathe, tears budding hot and heavy. Your nails scratch his scalp. Miguel gives a minute mmmm.

And in the wake of it, while he lays there and laps you clean, the echoes of your moans still rings from the walls.

Forget what you said. Technically, the night didn’t end there.

Much later, you’re both washed and warm. It took you a while to wipe the slick from your folds. He used your bathroom to cleanse his hands and face.

The same cartons of food now sit open between you, on the desk he’d manoeuvred off the wall to divide its chair from your bed. He’s much too big for the seat, but when you’d offered him the mattress, he brushed you off. You currently sit cross legged, cushions bare – sheets in the wash.

And it’s quiet. The empty type, strangely enough. Devoid of any of your usual sarcasm or awkwardness. Sort of… suspended between both, in the foreign land of amity.

Perhaps that’s what convinces you to ask. The inherent safety of the moment. There’s not much you can say to offend in the post-smut glow. Slurping the tail end of a noodle, you look away from your rapture with the illuminated highway outside to take him in. The train had just passed.

“Are you married?”

Miguel doesn’t reply immediately, chewing a mouthful of seasoned vegetables. Instead, he looks at you with mild amusement. Eventually, his adam's apple bobs in a thick swallow.

“No.” He says.

chapter twelve

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youremyheaven · 4 months

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The Absorbent Nature of Venus: An Astrological Exploration

I was inspired to make this post when I saw pictures of Bella Hadid with her new boyfriend, Adan Banuelos.

For context, Adan is a professional cowboy and Bella Hadid used to be an equestrian (she trained for the Olympics back in the day). Bella's new pictures (after a long absence from social media) feature her in all her horse girl glory. But I couldn't help but notice how Bella has a tendency to morph into her boyfriend(s).

This is not to say that she adopts a persona that is entirely alien to her, but more so that she channels one aspect of her personality and lets it take centre stage. With Adan, she is the laid-back horse girl, channelling the side of her that grew up on a farm in Santa Barbara riding horses.

Prior to this, she was dating Marc Kalman who is an art director. Idk how many of you are familiar with those "pov : you're talking to an art director at a party" reels/shorts/tiktoks but Marc fits that bill to a tee. He's the edgy, weird alternative androgynous guy and in the 2 years that Bella was with him, she morphed into a caricature of him almost.

her y2k style had a huge impact on fashion trends/pop culture but it soon kind of became a parody, as it seems a bit over the top to be wearing 25 things that do not belong together.

There was also a drastic shift in Bella's public image; she was more earnest & open; this period also saw her at her fashion nerdiest as she openly spoke about her love of finding and collecting "vintage" designer pieces from the 90s and 2000s. He was the weird edgy art director, she was the weird edgy art kid.

The only other man she dated publicly before Marc was The Weeknd and if you look at her style/persona from this period, you can see a tendency to opt for darker, grungier aesthetics. She herself has called this her "sexbot" era.

Its crazy but almost every picture of the two of them together feature both of them wearing black😂😂

This brings me to what I hope to discuss today, which is the absorbent nature of Venus.

Bella Hadid is Purvaphalguni Moon & Rising and is a Venusian. Venus is the planet of beauty, harmony, love, creativity etc. Venus exalts in Pisces ("exaltation"= it functions at its best). Pisces being a watery sign and the final sign of the zodiac is very telling in this context. Pisces is the culmination of the zodiac and contains the qualities of every preceding sign (this is why they're so chaotic lol, they have too much going on) and in water, which is where life originated, everything is at home. Pisces thus has the unique ability to find beauty in everything; water signs are known for their empathy, intuition and psychic abilities, this is because water holds the qualities of everything within it. Scientists have purported about "water memory" and water's ability to remember is linked to its natives high sensitivity, more than literal memory, its a kind of cosmic memory or inner knowing that I refer to in this context. Pisces natives tend to report psychic abilities more than any other sign in my observation and to be psychic/clairvoyant/clairsentient/claircognizant/ clairaudient is essentially to have a higher degree of empathy/sensitivity than most people. Although in some cases it may apply to tropical Pisces natives, what I'm speaking of here primarily applies to Sidereal Pisces natives.

Its easy to see how water absorbs information and retains memory but we must ponder upon why Venus, the planet of love, beauty etc exalts in a water sign and why so, in Pisces specifically. Pisces' all consuming all absorbent nature is the essential or true nature of love, beauty & harmony, to absorb, hold and possess all that there is and all that there will be, without trying to restrict it or limit it (water has no shape or form, it takes the form of whatever its poured into, pointing to the adaptability of these natives to get along with anyone or belong anywhere). Understanding love as devotion means allowing yourself to be consumed by it, it borders on religious fervour because you're losing all sense of yourself and giving your all. Its to give until you yourself are lost in it, with no sense of boundary between you & God or you and your lover (Sufi poetry extols this).

Only someone who has the ability to have this kind of all encompassing, profound divine kind of love for others, for creation, for source has the ability to connect to the ether and make art. there is a reason why the most spiritual art often tends to be abstract, there is much that cannot be expressed logically or in a straightforward way. much can be said without using language or words, some things are understood in a far more abstract way, its understood by the senses, by the subconscious, not the rational, thinking mind.

Beauty then, is the ability to perceive beyond the surface, there is nothing shallow or superficial about it, it is to understand the sum or whole of something, its essence, its core and understand its value and why its separate from the rest. True beauty then is rare but there is immense beauty all around us. Both these things are true. This is the true nature of Venus which is also the planet of refinement, it sees value in things that are unpolished, raw and original wholly but also in what is practiced, deliberate and refined. Venus is a planet of immense contradictions as the themes associated with the planet itself are contradictory in nature. To know or experience love, beauty, creativity etc one must also be well acquainted with its opposite. There's no middle ground and there's nothing lukewarm, you have to go all in. To understand and appreciate beauty truly, one must face brutal ugliness, to know the nature of creativity or to access it, you must first experience the lack of it. Its out of nothingness that things manifest but this means nothingness must first be experienced.

Sorry to have gone off on a tangent (me with everything I post lol) but its important to understand the nature of Venus in this specific context because its not the other attributes that makes Venus so absorbent of others influence. Its such a creative energy for the same reason, it absorbs and is influenced by absolutely everything. However, it can be hard for Venusian natives to feel as though they have a strong sense of self.

Granted that the "self" is an illusory concept and we are all an amalgam of numerous influences (people, places, culture, literature etc), Venusian natives are more susceptible to lacking true individuality since they absorb projections far too easily. This is also why Venusians are so highly desirable. You can always tell when someone's Venusian or has an exalted Venus, they are projected onto HEAVILY by others, but by having desire projected onto them, they become more desirable. We fall in love with the reflections we see in others and dislike those who project our shadows (this is literally a Jungian concept, v fascinating pls look it up). Venus inspires others to project unattainability, mystery, romance, beauty and desire and the more they see it, the more it manifests.

However this has its pitfalls. Without solid grounding, Venusians turn into chameleons who are constantly morphing into their environment; they are known for their hospitality and pleasing demeanour because of their innate ability to pick up on these cues and behave accordingly. Bella Hadid herself is self admittedly a "people pleaser" (Venusian natives struggle with this a lot).

What does it mean to not have a solid sense of self and constantly be serving as a mirror to others?

We see Bella's shifting style/demeanour/persona with every boyfriend. There is rather embarrassing clip of her speaking with a French accent (juxtaposed against an old clip of her using AAVE). Venusians are more prone to picking up accents/emulating the behaviour of those around them.

The Venusian tendency to absorb can extend to picking up accents, mannerisms, style, self-presentation, persona etc it can sometimes be very superficial but in some cases natives immerse themselves in it so deeply than they live their lives under the guise of a pseudo persona borrowed from someone else.

youtube

This video of Bella is a good example. If you've watched her in other videos you'll know that she does not usually speak/present herself this way. If you watch this video of Carla Bruni also discussing her iconic looks (it came out in the same year 2021, several months before Bella did hers) you can see how Bella is emulating Carla in her video.

Now its quite well known that Bella Hadid "copied" Carla Bruni's face through plastic surgery. This is what I mean by some Venusian natives taking the absorption thing too far. We imitate the things we want to embody/what we're inspired by, Venus is a planet of constant refinement/self improvement, while its good to be inspired by people we look up to, it does not bode well for one to embody them completely, stripping yourself of your own identity. This is also why Venus in 12h (Pisces) is said to be illusory. Its hard for these natives to discern what love really is, since their natural inclination is to simply embrace things at face value. This is why they are susceptible to abusive and toxic relationships, simply because they are blinded by their own loving nature and cannot see the faults in their lovers even when its plainly obvious to others (think Bella & The Weeknd).

Let us look at Miss Ariana Grande. She has Mars in Bharani atmakaraka.

Ariana has gone from baby voiced teen star to blackfishing r&b singer to vaguely asian looking in the span of her career.

She's also changed her voice, speaking style & mannerisms MANY times.

I don't think enough people talk about how Miss Grande essentially stole Victoria Monet's mannerisms, voice tone, speaking style etc

youtube

Ariana essentially emulated this woman and that was her at the peak of her career. She's to Ariana what Carla Bruni is to Bella.

Its really unfortunate that Ariana changes races every few years like they're a passing fad and this is a really unfortunate manifestation of her Venusian influence.

Her Venusian influence is also really obvious in her music, especially her Bharani Mars because her music is very sensual but also straight up crass and horny, there's also a tendency for her to use revenge-y themes (break up with your gf im bored?? yes, and??)

Claire Nakti had spoken about how this purple blue-y iridescent esque lighting is very Venusian and consistently used in films by Venus natives. I found this true of Ariana's stage sets/design when she's on tour.

god is a woman is a very Venusian coded song/music video, from the colour palette to the Yonic imagery at display.

Brad Pitt is a male Bella Hadid in the sense that he has a tendency to morph into his girlfriends. He went from Cali stoner surfer guy when married to Jennifer to humanitarian serious filmmaker when he was with Angelina. He likes to switch up his persona based on his partner at the moment. He has a Purvashada Stellium (Mercury, Mars & Ketu)

Johnny Depp is known for his broadly European/British accent despite the fact that he's from Kentucky/Florida. He's a Purvashada Moon

youtube

Madonna is another celebrity who is notorious for her fake accent. She lived in England briefly after marrying the British director Guy Ritchie and spoke with a British accent.

Many have accused Madonna of being a wannabe Angelina Jolie when she started to focus on humanitarian work & adopted several children in the mid 2000s. She is a Purvaphalguni Moon and Rising.

Camille Rowe (Purvashada stellium; sun, mercury and saturn) is often accused of having a fake French accent as she mostly grew up in America.

Hilaria Baldwin (Purvashada sun) is infamous for pretending to be Spanish, speaking with a fake Spanish accent and giving her numerous children Spanish names despite the fact that she's a plain old white woman.

Austin Butler is by now infamous for speaking like Elvis (he's now working with a coach to lose his Elvis accent lmao), he has Mars in Purvaphalguni as his amatyakaraka.

Lindsay Lohan (Bharani Moon, Mars in Purvashada amatyakaraka) has also switched accents and often spoke with an Arabic accent and has had an on & off relationship with Islam. Its unclear whether she's still practicing the faith but at one point she did convert. I do not mean to ridicule someone's faith or use it as an example of Venusian persona switching but a lot of Hollywood celebrities have a tendency to experiment with Eastern religions/traditions/culture like its some trend or fad and drop it when they lose interest. I do not have enough information to make a clear judgement but LiLo has had an unstable public image to say the least. I sincerely hope she is peaceful and safe.

John Malkovich is another celebrity who passes off as a European even though he's from mid-western America. He has a hard to place accent. He is Purvaphalguni Rising

Aishwarya Rai is known in India for being fake or "plastic" (I'm Indian) she has an unnatural non-Indian accent despite the fact that she's lived in India her whole life. She is a Purvashada Moon.

Numerous celebrities whose public image/persona is incongruent or at odds with their real personality also tend to have major Venus influence in their chart.

Charlie Chaplin is the father of slapstick comedy and is very well known by the persona he created for himself but irl he has been described as "sadistic" (by Marlon Brando and others) and he's known to have been a terrible person all over (multiple teen wives, abusive to his children among other things). He has Bharani Venus conjunct Mars and Jupiter in Purvashada conjunct Ketu

Elisabeth Moss is known for having played several iconic feminist characters but irl she's a scientologist. She has Ketu in Purvashada

This absorptive quality of Venus can also manifest positively. Meryl Streep, Bharani Moon is known for her uncanny ability to do just about any accent and completely blend into her character.

youtube

I will add more examples as I find them but for now this is it!! If you think of any others do let me know!!<33

#vedic astrology #vedic astro notes #sidereal astrology #astrology notes #astrology observations #astroblr #nakshatras #astro observations #astro notes #astrology #Youtube

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dancingtotuyo · 4 months

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6. play my bloody part

Woman | Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: You take another step forward. Maria goes into Labor.

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (Reader is 42, Joel is 56). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: angst, needles, blood, discussions of selfworth, grief (loss of a spouse), childbirth, graphic descriptions of childbirth, traumatic child birth, hemorrhage, likely very bad medical practices (don't try this at home folks, I am not a medical professional), shock, trauma, anxiety

This chapter is intense!

Notes: Thank you to @janaispunkand @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for beta reading this! I appreciate all your comments and feedback, and I love you both so much!

Words: 5507

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

Ellie stops by the clinic a few days later. She stays relatively quiet as you gather supplies. Her eyes track your movements as she swings her legs back and forth from her place on the exam table. You’re not used to her being so quiet.

“Hold out your arm for me?” You give her a reassuring smile.

She listens but seems half a world away. You find a vein with quick precision, letting the blood drip into a glass vial. Your eyes flicker from the collecting blood to her face. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Oh…” she says. “I guess- why did you agree to do this?”

You cock your head to the side, twisting the top on the vial before you press a cotton ball to the inside of Ellie’s elbow. “You asked. I could at least look at it.”

You press her arm up to hold the cotton there. “Even though you think there’s no point.”

“I never said that.”

Ellie looks you dead in the eye, expression flat. “You thought it. Joel thinks-”

“What does Joel know?” You twist your face, winking at her. A faint smile flashes over her face. “I’m the medical professional here.”

“He talked to Marlene.”

“And Marlene was a doctor? A nurse?”

“No… at least I don’t think so.”

“See, what does she know?” You smile. This time, Ellie actually smiles back. “Now, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why did you ask me to do this?”

Ellie bites her lip. “I mean if there’s any chance, I have to try right? People could stop dying from this.”

“It’s not your responsibility, you know.”

“What?”

“To save the world.” You say. “It’s not your responsibility.”

“But I’m immune.”

“It’s okay to want to help.” You place the vial in a holder on the counter. The crimson red stands at stark contrast to the sterile-looking clinic.

“I have to help. I have to do something.” Ellie can’t meet your eyes. “It can’t be for nothing.”

“What can’t be?” You tilt your head to the side.

Ellie clenches her fist. Her typically assured demeanor is gone, making her look more like the 15-year-old she is. “Ellie?”

She takes a deep, shaky breath, lip quivering slightly. She doesn’t cry, waiting until she’s more assured to answer. “A lot of people died for me. It can’t be in vain.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” She’s quick to answer, looking away.

“That’s okay.” You nod slowly. “But Ellie?”

There’s a pause. She sighs deeply. You can see the tears glistening in her eyes now. She’s fighting so hard to keep it all together. “Yeah?”

“Those people, they made a choice to do that. From what Joel’s told me, it sounds like they did that without even asking you first.”

“What do you mean?”

You hold out a hand in front of her arm, the one with the bites on it. She’s hesitant at first but eventually lets it rest in your palm. You look over the raised skin where the tendrils of fungus are or were. You’re not sure if they’re still there, or if her body just stopped the progression of them. “You get to decide what happens to you, Ellie. Just because you’re immune doesn’t mean doctors or scientists or whatever form of power gets to make decisions for you.” She meets your eyes. You squeeze her hand. “You don’t owe the world anything for just existing.”

She chews on her lip, making you worry that she might draw blood. Her voice is quiet like she’s scared to say the words. “What good am I if there’s no cure?”

“Ellie.” Your heart breaks for her. You want to gather her in your arms and push all the bad thoughts away. You settle for squeezing her hand again “Your value isn’t tied to your immunity. You’re worth something simply because you exist.”

She tries to brush you off, pull away, and not look at you, but you keep a grip on her hand. “Look at me.” You’re stern. She hesitates but listens. You take a deep breath. “I don’t know if it means much coming from me, but you belong here. Here in Jackson, here in the world. You’re not a bother or an inconvenience, and yes, it sucks that we can’t do anything with your immunity, but that’s not your weight to bear. You understand?”

Her chest quivers. She manages a nod as a couple of tears fall from her eyes. You wipe them away. “And you will always, always, always, have a place in my home. Just waltz right in and I’ll set a plate.”

A small laugh falls from her lips.

“Okay?”

“Okay.” She agrees, a small smile beginning to take over her face. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” You smile back. “Now, what do you want to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you still want me to look at it?” You tilt your head toward the vial of blood sitting on the counter.

She stares at it for a minute, contemplating the answers. “Maybe another day? I’ll let you know.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

You move away, disposing of the vial. You’re not sure how much weight your words hold, but you feel a little proud of her decision.

“Are you going to the dance tonight?”

“I guess.” She shrugs. “Dina and Jesse say I have to.”

“Good. You should.”

“Are you and Joel going?”

“Adam beat Joel in Texas Hold ‘Em last night and is making him go.” You laugh a little at the begrudging attitude Joel met you with last night, but a bet is a bet.

“I bet you could get him to dance.”

You laugh a little, images you’d conjured up in your childhood bedroom spring into your mind. They were the daydreams of teenage delusions, but there’s still a little dip of excitement in your stomach at the thought.

And then you sober up. “I’m not going.”

“If Joel and I are going, you have to come.”

You force a smile. “I don’t go to them anymore.”

“Oh, come on. I bet you’re a great dancer.”

“It’s not about the dancing.”

“What is it about then?” Ellie wears that goofy little prying grin that’s nothing no short of pure curiosity. If Joel were here. You imagine he’d say her name sternly and give her a look.

You sigh, keeping a tight smile on your face. “It was something my husband really enjoyed. I haven’t gone since he died.”

“Oh,” Ellie says as the energy shifts.

“It’s okay, Ellie.” You brush it off. It’s not her fault, and you didn’t have to answer.

She hesitates, and then she knocks into you, arms flying around your torso, knocking the wind from your abdomen. It takes you by surprise, but it’s a good one. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

And then she’s across the room, grabbing her backpack off the exam table. You can’t help but laugh, wondering how she’s managed to hold onto all that wonder and spunk.

“You should still come tonight!” Ellie calls before the clinic door slams shut, leaving you with only your thoughts.

You drop Carter off with Tommy while you walk that night. Maria is on strict bed rest with her due date fast approaching, making them two of only four people not crowded into the Tipsy Bison. You expect to cry on your walk, expect to feel all the emotions that keep you away from the dances, but it doesn’t come even as you round the corner, passing the building that’s overflowing with energy.

Light flickers across the dimly lit street from moving bodies. The doors and windows are open to let the breeze filter through. A few people congregate outside on the patio with boisterous laughter and animated movements. A couple of folks stumble about, already intoxicated. You stop in your tracks, taking it all in. In the past, you’ve doubled back to forgo passing the festivities, but things are different now. Maybe… maybe you’re a little bit different now too.

Then you feel it, almost physically, like someone is pressing on your back, leading you toward the door. The people outside don’t pay you much mind, too caught up in their own worlds. The noise grows louder until you’re inside the Tipsy Bison’s doors.

You pass through the room slowly, almost invisible at first. Then you find him, laughing at the bar with Adam. He’s relaxed. An empty whiskey glass sits in front of him and a full one in his hand. He makes a comment to Adam that earns a playful roll of his eyes. He chuckles, shaking his head as he pulls the glass to his lips. His head cocks to the side. Before his lips make contact with the glass, his eyes lock with yours. He stills, a smile crossing his face. He tips the glass toward you and finishes it off. Then, he’s walking toward you with a determination that makes your insides melt and your toes curl in your boots.

His lips dip to your ear. His voice is low and smooth. “I thought you weren’t comin, Darlin.” His Texas drawl is stronger tonight, not helping the heat that grows in your belly. it sends wicked thoughts through your mind.

You shrug, almost careless about it, but he sees the heat in your eyes. It burns in his too. “Plans change.”

His hand slides around your waist, landing just above your hips. “I like it when your plans change.”

You bite your lip, fighting the urge to pull him out of here and into your bed. “Dance with me?”

A grin spreads across his face. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He pulls you toward the dance floor. The crowd of bodies seems to part like the Red Sea before you, not that your mind can focus on anyone but Joel. He tugs you close as the band starts their rendition of My Girl. Your arms slide around his shoulders, body flush against him. He smiles at you. It’s like something out of a high school movie. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

He kisses your forehead, and then your head falls to his chest, eyes blinking closed. It feels like such a sacred moment, it’s hard to believe you’re in a room full of people. Joel sways on beat to the music, humming along. It reminds you of the faint singing that used to drift through your bedroom window at night when he would sit out on his front porch with his guitar and the stars. You spent countless hours sitting under an open window listening to him when you fostered that crush, imagining him singing to you.

You never imagined you’d be in his arms at the end of the world, in front of the whole town no less, as you fight your growing feelings for him. It sends a kick-start to your system. Not enough to raise a panic attack, or for onlookers to notice, but Joel feels it in the way your muscles tense and your body straightens in his arms. Your eyes pop open and you catch it- the rumor mill turning. Whispers pass behind shielded hands between pairs throughout the room. Some of them are audacious enough to make contact with you or send a wink your way.

Joel’s breath hits your ear again. “Wanna give them something to really talk about, Sweetheart?”

You look up at him, brows furrowed. He stops swaying, both hands cupping your cheeks. Your breath catches. It feels like the whole room’s does, and then his lips are on you, hot and searing and nowhere near chaste. Joel Miller never struck you as the PDA type, but this feels like more. He’s staking his claim on you, telling them all to shove it. Everyone is here. Everyone can see what’s happening for themselves. For all intents and purposes, this is the night Joel Miller becomes yours in the eyes of the community. You’re off limits, and so is he, and it feels good. There are no words, no spoken acknowledgment of anything, just his actions.

He pulls away, leaving you slightly stunned and hazy. He chuckles. Spinning you around and then pulling you in as the song ends. People clap around you, for the band of course, but you can only look at Joel with a smile that shines like crystal.

Another song starts back up. Another wave of people join the dance floor. People seem disinterested in the very thing that held them captive moments ago. Joel looks like he is two seconds away from dragging you out of the bar as you stare at each other, unmoving.

Tommy runs in, breath ragged and hair a mess. His eyes dart around until they land on you. He calls your name, running toward you. “Tommy, what’s wrong?”

“Maria’s in labor.”

Whatever trance Joel put you under is gone as years of experience snap into place. You turn to him. “Will you grab my clinic key and get the green bag?”

“Of course.” Joel nods and then Tommy grabs your hand, dragging you to the house. Ellie and Joel are not far behind.

Maria is pacing the guest room when you get there, letting out small groans. Like everything else, Maria handles childbirth with grace and dignity- something you wish you could’ve done.

You shake the memories from Carter’s birth from your mind. It’s mostly a blur- what you remember from that day haunts you. You were a mess- inconsolable. There was no grace or dignity in it.

“How far apart are your contractions?”

“Hello to you too.” She pops a smile. Your tight lips don’t budge. She sighs. “About three minutes.”

“Three minutes? Maria!”

She waves you off. “You were never more than two minutes away.”

“We agreed on five.”

“I changed my mind.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re a shit patient.”

“I’ve been on bed rest for two weeks, have I not?”

You quirk an eyebrow. She may not have left the house, but you’re not convinced she was following the rest of your instructions.

She waves you off like it’s nothing. “I heard you were at the Tipsy Bison.”

You shoot her a glare. “You are literally on the verge of having a baby, Maria. My social life is unimportant.”

“I can still talk in labor.”

“Not about this.”

“Oh come on, I’m going to be here all night. Might as well entertain me.” She grins.

“No. Now let me check your cervix.”

Maria sighs, sitting on the bed. “I think we’re too close as friends.”

Maria’s labor moves quickly. Before midnight, the baby is crowning. You’re coaching Maria through it as Tommy stays by her side, offering what support he can. Maria lets out low moans as she works through contractions, bearing down when you say. Sweat dampens her brow. She’s tired but determined. “How much longer?”

You meet her eyes, giving her an encouraging smile. “You’re almost there. One or two more, Okay?”

She nods, and then another contraction hits. You feel them in your hands, guiding the newest member of Jackson, Wyoming into the world. There’s a long pause, there always is, you never get used to it, you’re quick to clear airways, and then he takes a deep breath, and tiny little wails fill the room.

Relief fills Maria’s eyes and looks of awe and wonder fill the couple’s faces. You can’t help but let out a joyful little laugh. “It’s a boy.”

You place him on Maria’s chest. The proud parents crowd around him, their voices softening, pitching up as they soak in their first moments of a family of three.

“Tommy, you wanna cut the cord?”

He nods. You show him where to do it, and then he’s right back at Maria’s side, caressing his son’s head.

“He’s got so much hair,” Tommy says. Tears gather in the new parents’ eyes.

You’re quiet as you tidy up. Before you slip out, Maria grabs your hand. “Thank you.”

You smile at your best friend. “Of course. Anything for y’all.” She squeezes your hand and you return the gesture. “I’ll give you a few minutes and then be back in to finish up.”

She nods. You wash your hands in the hall bathroom, shedding the soiled apron you wear. Joel greets you when you come out. He raises his eyebrows. “I heard crying, and it sure as hell wasn’t Tommy.”

You laugh. “It’s a boy.”

You see Joel’s happiness for his brother on his face before the big smile ever crosses it. He wraps his arms around you. You lean in, laying your head on his chest. His heart beats beneath your ear steady as a drum. The stress you’ve been carrying for months over this day starts to dissipate from your body. It’s here. He’s here. It happened. You made it through.

Tommy peaks his head out. “Maria says she’s ready for you.”

You nod. Joel kisses your head and you pull away, warm energy thrumming in your veins. Maria looks almost annoyed when she sees you, knowing what’s coming.

“He have a name yet?”

“No,” Tommy looks pointedly at his wife. “She swore we were having a girl. Wouldn’t even discuss boys’ names.”

Maria rolls her eyes, making you laugh. “Tommy, go make yourself useful and get me some water.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Tommy chuckles, the grin unwipable from his face. His hand runs over his son’s head before he leaves.

Maria shifts slightly, careful not to disturb the sleeping infant at her side. She lets out a soft hiss.”

“You good?”

“Yeah, you know how it is. Pretty sure the placenta is already out.”

You nod, kneeling at the end of the bed. You’re relieved to see the placenta delivered, fully intact. There’s some bleeding, but no more than what you’d expect. Another relief. “We should get Tommy in here to move you back to your room. How do fresh sheets sound?”

“Like a slice of heaven.” She smiles.

You move Maria to their room, Tommy sweeping her into his arms like a groom would carry his wife on their wedding night. They throw baby names back and forth as they cross the hall. You carry the baby, swaddled and sleeping. Once he’s tucked into his mother’s arms, you set to work cleaning up. It’s always the hardest part as the adrenaline fades from your bones. Tommy and Maria’s bickering floats across the hallways as you do, making you laugh. This baby may never get named at the rate they’re going.

The first time Tommy calls out your name. It doesn’t register. The second time is much more urgent and he’s in the doorway of the guest room. He’s gone pale, breathing heavily.

Your stomach drops. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s bleedin. It’s soaked through the towel.”

“Shit.” You drop what’s in your hand, grabbing your bag of supplies.

Tommy is at Maria’s side. You lift the blanket and your heart drops. You glance back up at Maria. She looks tired. You’d expect it, but this feels different. “How do you feel?”

“Like I just had a baby.” She tries to joke, but it falls flat. She knows this is bad too. “A little lightheaded.”

There’s another gush of blood. A clot that’s bigger than it should be. “Fuck, Fuck, fuck.” Your breathing turns ragged. There’s too much blood and more appears bringing another large clot with it. She’s hemorrhaging.

“What should I do?” Tommy asks. He’s panicking.

“Go get Joel.” Tommy tries to protest. You cut him off. “Get Joel back in here.” You leave no room for debate, but he still hesitates. “Now!”

He finally listens. Maria locks eyes with you. She knows. You see the fear in her eyes, and it knocks the breath out of you. You’ve never seen Maria scared. She’s always so sure and sturdy, but not now. Her skin has gone dull, losing its typical vibrance, like the life is slowly draining from her. You want to sit on the floor and weep, but you have to push through. “Deep breaths, Maria. I need you to stay as calm as possible.”

You dig through your bag, pulling out everything you need.

Joel is barely across the threshold when you direct him to the chair next to the bed. He doesn’t have time to ask questions. He knows it’s best not to. “You promise you’re O negative?”

“Yes, why?” He hardly gets the words out before you clean his arm with high-proof moonshine and insert the needle in his vein. He winces. You’re efficient, ensuring there’s no air in the tube before inserting the other end into Mari’s arm. You glance down at your watch, noting the time.

“Keep your arm elevated. If you start to get dizzy, you tell me.” You’re stern. You leave no room for argument. Joel watches as his blood flows through the short plastic tube connected to Maria.

You have no idea if this will work. She’s probably losing blood too fast and the risk of complications looms in your mind, but you’ve never had someone survive a hemorrhage like this before. It’s your only hope and you will do everything within your power to keep Maria on this earth.

Maria stays as quiet as she can. She’s focused on her son, memorizing everything about him, so you focus on saving her life.

“What’s happening?” Tommy stays in the doorway. You don’t turn around. You can’t stop what you’re doing. You have to stop the bleeding. It’s the only thing on your mind now. “Tell me what’s happening to my wife!”

“She’s trying to save your wife’s life!” Joel snaps. “Let her do her job.”Joel keeps his eyes pinned to you.

“Tommy,” Maria says. “Come here.” Her voice is weak and raspy. You have to push it out of your mind. If you don’t, you’ll break. You can’t break right now.

Tommy kneels next to Maria and his son. He’s caressing both their heads. You’re sure he’s crying. You’re not convinced you’re not crying too, but you’re too preoccupied to take stock of it.

You know when she goes unconscious, but you don’t hear anything from Tommy. The room is so silent as you rotate between massaging Maria’s uterus and packing it. You’re running out of semi-sterile material. Has the bleeding slowed down? How long has this been going on? It feels like a lifetime. You can’t spare a second to look at your watch.

Joel’s arm drops a little. It’s getting tired. “Keep your arm higher than her head.” You spare a look at Joel only because it pertains to Maria’s health. “Stand if you have to, but slowly.”

The blood loss appears to be slowing down, but you don’t. You keep going and going and going, until you’re sure it’s stopped. Then, you just sit there and wait. Tommy wants to demand answers, but Joel glares him into silence.

You dare you to step back. You’re on autopilot, the adrenaline wearing off long ago. You check her heartbeat and her blood pressure. Neither is great, but it could be worse. You dare to hope you’ve seen the worst of it.

Joel stumbles forward a little bit, catching himself on the bed frame.

“Shit.” You rush over to his side, guiding him back into the chair.

“I'm fine, I’m fine.” He brushes you off, making sure his arm is still raised. You see the shake of it.

You check your watch. It takes you longer than it should to do the math. “Fuck, you’ve been hooked up for too long.”

Joel stops your hand before it can pull. “No, no. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You’re done.”

“No, Maria… she’s not awake yet… she-” Tommy stands up.

“She’s not waking up.” You face him.

He loses any color he has left, panic-stricken across his face. “What?”

“Fuck,” you cringe. “I mean tonight, Tommy. She’s not waking up tonight. She needs to rest.”

“So she’s going to be okay?”

You want to assure him. You look at their newborn baby sleeping in the bassinet in the corner. You don’t know when he was moved and it doesn’t matter. You want to promise Tommy that he’s not going to be a widower, that their son won’t be motherless, but you can’t.

“I don’t think she’s going to die from blood loss anymore.”

It’s a small assurance, but it’s all you have to give. When you attempt to remove the needle from Joel’s arm this time, he lets you. The bandage feels so delicate and small compared to the trauma you just dealt with. You struggle with it. Joel takes over for you.

“You need food, something to drink,” you say.

“I’ll get it,” Joel says.

You push him back into the chair. “You’re in no condition to walk downstairs.”

“Neither are you.” He says, eyes traveling over your frame.

You furrow your brow. You don’t understand. You don’t see or feel the blood that dresses you, not yet

“Ellie!” Joel yells.

It’s a stark contrast to the quiet encapsulating the room. You hear her footsteps up the stairs. She enters, eyes going wide. She surmised something wasn’t right, but the copious amounts of blood are startling. “Holy shit.”

“Will you bring up some food? Water?” Joel looks to you to confirm.

“Fruit.”

Joel nods. “And then take Carter home?”

“I should-” you go to say.

“No.” Joel cuts you off. He takes your hand, thumb running over your knuckles. “Not tonight.”

Ellie nods. She knows now is not the time for the many questions running through her mind. “Yeah, of course.”

Tommy clears his throat, still searching for answers. You sigh. “I can’t promise anything, Tommy. There’s still so much that could happen, but she’s strong.”

“I know how strong my wife is. I need to know that she’ll be okay.” He’s still pushy and you don’t blame him. You’re all on edge.

“I don’t know!” The world blurs before you. “The risk of infection is high, she- she could have complications from-” Your chest rattles. Joel’s hand settles on your back. Tommy can’t look at you. “She’s my best friend, Tommy. I’m doing everything I can.”

Tommy nods. He knows it’s true, but he’s scared. This is Maria. She keeps Jackson going. She keeps you going.

Ellie brings up the food. She wants to do more, you can see it in her eyes. You can’t pull the words out anymore.

“Thank you, kiddo,” Joel says.

Ellie makes a face at the name. She shoves a strawberry in Joel’s face. “Eat this, you look like a ghost.”

“Carter?” You ask.

“Passed out on the couch,” Ellie smiles proudly. You need the relief, you just hate that the 15-year-old bears that responsibility. “Glad he’s potty trained.”

“Thank you, Ellie.”

She nods at you. There’s some hesitation like she might wrap her arms around you for a second time that day. Was that really only hours ago? But she ducks out of the room instead.

You make sure Tommy and Joel eat. You’re amazed that the newborn still sleeps. His chest rises and falls and from your check-up, he seems to be healthy. You check Maria’s blood pressure and heart rate again. It hasn’t gotten worse.

You clean up as best you can without jostling Maria too much. Tommy joins in, working silently alongside you. Much to his displeasure, you make Joel stay seated. It’s another long silence before you’re finished.

“Sweetheart, you need to go home.”

You’re dead on your feet. Your arms feel like lead at your sides. It’s so apparent in all of your movements, but you don’t feel like you can leave her side. Fear flares up in Tommy’s eyes and then he takes in your appearance.

“He’s right,” Tommy says.

You intend to put up a fight, but it doesn’t happen. You feel the exhaustion in every fiber of your being. You’re not sure you won’t collapse at any minute.

You pull out a bottle of antibiotics. Maria would hitch a fit you know, but you don’t care. You’ll do anything you can to make sure she recovers, and you can’t keep the medicine forever. It’s going to be fancy water eventually if it isn’t already. You hand the bottle to Tommy with careful instructions. “If her breathing changes, or she starts bleeding, come get me immediately.”

He nods. “Of course.”

“We’ll stop at Paul and Lindsey’s, she’s still breastfeeding. Little man is going to want to eat any minute.”

Tommy nods. Joel’s arms come around you, supporting you from behind. Your legs attempt to fold but you regain your balance with his help. Glancing between Tommy and Maria, the urge to stay inflames again, but Joel is leading you out of their home before you have time to comprehend it.

He leaves you on the front steps, approaching Paul and Linsey’s on his own. You’re worried about him, sure he gave too much of his blood tonight, but he comes back a few minutes later.

Joel leads you through your house. You want to collapse into bed at first sight, but he tugs you back. “Shower first.”

The small protest dies on your lips the moment you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. You look like you have stepped out of a horror film. You don’t even recognize yourself. Blood, Maria’s blood, coats your shirt and arms. Smudges streak your cheeks. Some of it’s in your hair. It’s endless. Your body begins to shake. You don’t think it’ll ever stop. You lean against the vanity for a semblance of stability. It’s useless. You stare at it all, taking it in, but it doesn’t look like you. It’s like you’re in some faraway space floating around, not connected to your body.

Joel tears your shirt down the back. He’s quick and gentle about it. Your bra is next. He slips off your shoes and then your pants until you’re completely naked. Steam fills the room. Blood soaked through your clothes in some places, painting your skin like modern art. Joel backs you into the shower with ease. You’re pliable, muscles turned to liquid.

Hot water cascades over your body, flooding your eyes. It’s suffocating until Joel pushes your hair out of your face, redirecting the water with his hands. His fingers massage at your scalp over and over. He adds soap to your hair, pulling it through until the grime and blood are gone.

There are no noises, no tears, but you can’t stop the shaking. You must look pitiful standing under the water like a limp doll as you lose control of your body.

Joel scrubs your body clean, and then he does it a second time for good measure. When he finishes, his fingers trail up your arms and neck until he cups your cheeks firmly. Your eyes finally focus on his, pulling you back into yourself with a thud. You feel it all at once, his hands on you, the rawness on your skin, the hot water pounding down on you. Joel sees it happen, his hands slide under your arms as your knees give way. The tears fall. Your back hits the cool tiles. Joel presses against your front, keeping you up.

Finally, tears wet your cheeks. Sobs leave your chest, and your brain spirals through it all: Maria okay one minute and bleeding out the next. The fact that it stopped was little comfort now. So much could still go wrong, and you can’t lose Maria. She’s your rock, probably the only reason you’re alive today. Losing her would be harder than losing Gabe.

If she dies, it’s your fault because you couldn’t save her.

Your chest constricts with a tight, wheezing inhale. The tears stop as you struggle to breathe. Joel takes your hand, laying it over his chest. “Breathe, I’ve got you, Sweetheart.”

He models it. You see and feel the slow rise and fall of his chest. His hand stays over yours until the ache in your chest eases and the water runs cold.

Joel picks you up, tugs a soft shirt over your head, and crawls into bed behind you. He’s solid and warm against your back. You’re locked against him. His fingers dance across your stomach, lips brush against your ear. You lean into him. In such a short time, he’s come to know you so well. Maria is your rock, but Joel is your support. He tore down your walls like cheap construction and built a fucking shelter to keep you warm. You let your brain take you away before the rest of it can sink in because loving Joel Miller would be wonderful, but losing him would kill you.

He whispers in your ear. “What do you want?”

Your eyes won’t stay open anymore between the exhaustion and Joel clouding your senses.

“Stay,” you fumble out. You don’t know if it’s decipherable but it works.

For the first time, Joel stays the night in your bed.

#the last of us #joel miller #tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel miller/reader #pedro stories #pedrostories #pedro #the last of us fanfiction #woman (joel’s version)#woman (joel miller)

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ohbo-ohno · 8 months

Note

Gaz x reader with mad scientist/doctor? Maybe like, brothers best friend gaz who's wanted reader for a long time and is willing to try *anything* to get her to feel something, even if it means trying some experimental sciencey stuff 🐰

1k game here - no more please!

first gaz ask for this little celebration! love him <3 very little sciencey stuff here i'm afraid, it's mostly just porn

2k of corrupt alpha doctor gaz taking care of his favorite omega patient in a very unethical way (cw: a/b/o, use of drugs, soft noncon sex but noncon sex nonetheless!)

Gaz smiles down at your prone form, unable to resist stroking a stray bit of hair off of your face.

God, you're so pretty. Delicate little nose, chubby cheeks just made to pinch, and pretty plush lips. It takes everything in him not to press a kiss to them, to see what they feel like against his.

But you'll wake up soon enough, and he'll get all the kisses he wants. If everything goes to plan, you should be more than willing.

He forces himself to pull back before he can sink into his own instincts too much. It's hard, with your scent ripening and filling the room around him. He'd brought nose-plugs just incase, but he knows tasting your scent would be even worse.

He's a professional, though, so he takes a few shallow breaths and forces himself under control.

He's waited too long to squander this opportunity now. Years of watching from the sidelines as you grow up, watching you go off to college and forcing his alpha down at the thought of you with anyone else.

It was only a matter of time before he couldn't control himself anymore. This - you laying here, a forced heat beginning - was always the natural conclusion since you absolutely refuse to see how perfect Gaz could be for you.

He wish he could take you home. He'd like to spend your first heat in a nest in his den, not yours, but needs must. When you'd invited him over for an afternoon cup of tea, he hadn't been able to resist the urge any longer.

It was laughably easy to drop the little tablet into your mug when you stepped out to go to the bathroom. He'd hardly been able to hold back his purr when you drank the whole thing without even noticing, fully trusting that he wouldn't have done anything to it.

You'd passed out soon after. He sat with you on the couch and watched you get sleepier and sleepier, cute little yawns every few minutes, big stretches where you stuck your legs out and curled your toes. Fucking adorable.

It was easy to carry you to your room once you were fully asleep. He knows you're self-conscious about your body - even now, decades into knowing each other, you get flushed and annoyed when Gaz tries to touch you. It wasn't as easy to strip you, but he'd gotten to spend a few wonderful, peace-filled minutes appreciating every bit of skin he revealed to himself.

He can't wait to spend hours showing you just how beautiful he finds your body.

One of the benefits to riding out your first heat with him your own den will certainly be the familiar smells. You should already be in the throes of pre-heat when you wake up, and the familiar scents plus the scent of an alpha should help drive you to true heat soon enough.

He can't wait.

He brings any blankets he can find while you sleep, folding them and leaving them neatly at the foot of the bed. He brings out a few of the shirts he'd brought too, then takes off his own and lays it on the pillow next to your head. He leaves his pants on, unsure if that might be a bit too much before you fully enter your heat.

He's folding the final blanket when you first start to stir. He quickly abandons his task, sitting on the bed next to you and helping you sit up.

"Kyle?" You mumble, rubbing a fist against your eye.

"Morning, sleepy head," he teases, rubbing your back. "Feeling alright? You passed out on the couch earlier?"

"I did? Oh..." you trail off, a cute furrow between your brows. Before you can say anything else, there's a rush of pleasure scenting the room, and you keel over your stomach with a loud whine.

Kyle nearly mounts your right then and there. It takes everything in him to take a deep breath, to stroke your back and ask, "Love? Are you alright?"

You can't answer with words, instead moan loudly as you fall back to your side on the bed. Kyle shifts to try and help you up before he sees what you're doing.

You shift from your stomach to your knees, thick ass held high in the air, and your fingers quickly move to work at your dripping cunt.

Kyle gapes at the sight - he never would've expected the pre-heat to hit you so quickly, but you're clearly already lost to it.

"Oh, baby," he coos, quickly moving to kneel behind you. He forces himself to leave his pants on, knows he would fuck and knot you if he took them off now. "Here, let me help."

You let your hand drop as soon as his fingers replace them, whining loudly when he strokes over your clit. He rubs his free hand across your ass, shakes his hand just enough to watch it jiggle.

"Do you need to come, love?"

He gets an incoherent whine in response and smiles, shifting his hand to sink two fingers easily inside of you, working his thumb at your sensitive nub.

You're wonderfully loud, mindless moans and whines echoing off your bedroom walls as you try your best to rock your hips back onto his fingers, knees spread wide to give Kyle all the access he could want.

He salivates at the sight of you, mouth filling with spit as your pre-heat triggers his pre-rut. His cock is fully hard in his trousers, and it gets more and more difficult every second to not mount you.

When you finally come, he buries his teeth in your ass. He can't let himself get a taste of you yet, that would send the both of you spiraling, but he needs to feel you between his jaws.

He helps you sink down to lay on your stomach once the aftershocks have passed, stroking wet fingers over the soft skin of your back.

"You alright, love?" He whispers, leaning down to hover in front of your face. "We should have a few more hours before your heat hits, is there anything you need before then?"

He understands his miscalculation as soon as you blink up at him.

Your pupils are blown - he can hardly see your irises, and at this close of a distance he can see his own reflection. Your mouth parts, then your little pink tongue dips out to rest on your lip as you pant.

He must've given you too high of a dosage - he'd mistaken your first orgasm as pre-heat, when really it had just been the start of your true heat.

Kyle takes a deep breath, almost choking on the thick scent of omega in the air. He'd hoped to maybe have a few hours before you completely lost coherency, but this is far from the worst case scenario.

Skipping the pre-heat likely means you won't build a nest for him to share in, but that's alright - you'd only have to rebuild one in his home anyone.

He's jerked from his musing by your desperate moan of, "Alpha."

He can't bite back the growl at that, tightening his hold on you and rolling you to your back. "Yes," he hisses, every instinct inside of him fucking singing. "Omega, my omega. Need your Alpha, yeah?"

A keen and you rut your hips into his, wrapping your thick thighs around his waist to try and force him where you want.

He rumbles a low note of disapproval, using one hand to collar your throat and the other to hold you down by the hips. "Say it for me, Omega. Tell me what you need."

Your eyes clear a bit, and for just a moment he's seeing you - not the omega sunk into her heat, but his girl, his precious love staring up at him.

"Need you, Alpha," you whisper, voice just edging on shaky. "Pl-please, need you so bad, can't.... ohhhhh, Alpha." You quickly devolve into moans, eyes clouding over again as you wriggle beneath him.

He's not a cruel man, so he doesn't make you wait. He relishes in your begging, notches the tip of his dripping cock at your hole, and pushes in.

It has to hurt - he's far from small and two fingers can't have been a proper stretch - but you moan like you've never felt better in your life. Tears streak down your temples as he bottoms out, wordless sounds of pure pleasure all you're capable of.

"Yes," he moans, quickly pulling out and thrusting back in. "Feel so good 'mega, fuck, not gonna.... not gonna last long. Gonna give you my knot real soon, you want that?"

"Yes!" You nearly shout, fully lost in the heat. "Yes, yes, pleeease, Alpha, need it, need your knot so bad, can't- oh please, please, pleasepleaseplease-"

He huffs over you and fucks into your cunt more harshly, hips slapping into the backs of your thighs with bruising force. It's all he can do to keep from choking you, fingers flexing around your throat.

"Good omega," he rumbles, teeth beginning to lengthen against his tongue. His grin is feral as he forces your chin up, preparing you for his bite. "Alpha's fucking you good, huh? Giving you his fat dick in your little cunt?"

"Ye-eees!"

"And you take it so well. Gonna take my knot just as well? My bite?"

The b-word is what triggers your second orgasm. He has to fight to hold you down as your back arches off the bed, your heat clenching around him in the most deliciously pleasureable way possible.

"Need- need your bite, Alpha, please! 'm good, 'm bein' good, please give me your bite, need it, need it so bad, Alpha, please-"

He snarls at your begging, hunches over you with both elbows braced on the side of your head and forces his knot into you. It's a tough fit, and your moans shift to shouts before he can finally pop the bulbous shape inside of you. Then the two of you moan in unison, both lost in the sensations.

"Gonna give you my bite," he pants, half delirious. It's easy to pin your head to the side when you're so willing like this, his mouth ghosting over the column of your neck.

if he were any more aware of himself, he'd drag this out. Say something romantic that you could remember later, something about how he's suffered alone for years to allow you to grow up, how he's so glad you're giving him the gift of biting you now, how he'll always take care of you, never let you hurt like you made him hurt, he'll always be there for you, never leave you alone, never let you go-

But he's nearly as incoherent as you are, so instead of any sort of romantic speech, you get a growl and a pair of canines buried deep in the tender spot between neck and shoulder.

You don't quite scream, but your cries of pain are loud and distressing to his alpha. He tunnels one hand between your bodies, working at your clit while he makes sure the mark takes.

You're either a bit of a masochist or further along in your heat than he realized, because your cunt clenches rhythmically on him just a few moments later, milking him of all the cum he's got to give.

He rolls the two of you over, minutes later. He makes sure to lick over the bite as you lay on top of him, clearing your blood away as best he can before it stains the sheets.

You're asleep by the time he finishes, and he huffs a laugh to himself at your little snores. He wraps both arms around your back, hands lacing together at the small of your back.

He takes a few deep breaths to calm himself as his knot begins to slowly deflate inside of you, smiling contentedly.

He knows you'll probably be a bit upset with him when you first come out of the heat, but you can never leave him now that he's given you his bite. He can already feel a bond forming, a place in the center of his chest tying right to yours.

He can't wait to spend the rest of his life with you.

#gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic #bo writes #1k celebration #horrorhoneybeest

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friendlyengie · 1 year

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i bloody love your fem merc designs, but wheres the love for medics ex wife?? you cant just drop a bomb ass character and the not give her a lil attention

you’re absolutely right and I’m so sorry. She’s been one of the hardest to pin down but this ask inspired me to give her more appreciation. Gobless you. Here’s some images

Um. Big? Tall. I’ll never understand the way people slim down any iteration of fem medic like. She should be just as ripped as he is. This is how love wins. Medic is pretty similar to canon medic in regards to her appearance, but that’s counteracted by their very different personalities. She’s a lot more professional than he is, holding herself and her work in high regard. Their methods are more alike than she’d admit in regards to the whole “affront to god” theme, but she’s convinced in one way or another that she’s on a higher level than he is just because she doesn’t do a mad scientist laugh every time she has some sort of breakthrough.

She uses her monopoly on healing to keep the rest of her team on a tight leash. If they act up when she’s around (or just annoy her at the wrong time of day) they can kiss any direct support on the battlefield goodbye. And any support they want outside of work hours is done through a barter system. As in, they come to her with broken arms or missing limbs, and she berates them for whatever stupid thing they were doing and says she’ll fix them if they let her try out some new super cool and safe method she’s been planning or whatever. Normal woman hours.

Her teams engineer is the one thing keeping her from total control of the team on account of her own support mechanics. and Medic HATES her for that. Old woman rivalry

lots of a words not a lot of quality images… wanted to draw something bigger for her but these have been on the back burner long enough. Hope you guys like mean old women! That’s all I got here!

QUICK EDIT sorry if any of this is incoherent it’s midnight and I’ve been fighting against the melatonin I took an hour ago in order to post this before I sleep. Thank you for the ask btw ^_^

#Tf2 #fem fortress #fem fortress but they’re separate characters from their canon merc counterparts #Ida #anne #others there too… but they’re not important #tf2 medic #ahhh whaddahell… why not tag the class. As a treat #Ottos fem fortress

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antiendovents · 1 month

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I’ve seen pro endos harp on the anon here that said their doctor is pro endo and saying shit like “you should trust the medical professionals!”

I stopped seeing a doctor because he thought horse dewormer would cure covid and that Oprah was secretly a clone and the real Oprah was killed in South America.

Doctors are capable of being batshit crazy and not knowing what they are talking about!

also,, those doctors aren't DID/OSDD specialists.. they don't know shit of the disorder. That's like saying you should trust what a biologist says about chemistry. Like yeah they're both scientists but they specialise in different things.

Listen to the specialists, not a doctor that knows barely anything about DID/OSDD

And yeah, doctors aren't always right. They can be very wrong, they can be harmful people. Doctors can be horrible, they can be mean. Not all doctors are immediately right in what they say just because they're a doctor. I mean why do you think medical gaslighting is so common?

#anti endo #endos dni #did #did system #plural #system #actually did #alters #endos fuck off #did osdd

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melanieph321 · 8 months

Text

Ruben Dias x Reader - Remember You and Me Part 2/8

I have so much planned for this story, y'all ain't ready. 🤭

Summary - After a traffic accident reader is left with no memory of her life with Ruben, who desperately tries to get her to remember him.

Enjoy!

It was this or staying at the hospital. Your family and the doctors gave you no other choice.

"Memories are triggered by familiarites like taste and different smells." They said. Since you remembered everything about your life up until the age of nineteen there was no point in going home with your partners, you needed to remember who you were now, who you were before the accident. Which would be who you were with Ruben.

"Is this your house?" Your head tilted with the tall roof.

"It's our house." He smiled. "Come, let me show you around."

He was kind and patient Ruben. You were his wife but he was a stranger to you, still there was somthing, a familiarity to him. It was hard to explain beyond words, but deep down inside you knew that you trusted him completely, as if your feelings were ahead of your mind.

"Over there is our bedroom but I'll be sleeping in the guest room until, well....."

You were upstairs. Ruben had taken you through the house room by room. It all looked knewly renovated, untouched. Things were costum made and imported from countries you had never heard of.

"Ruben, what exactly do you do for a living?"

He chuckled at the question, but did not seem offended. "I'm a professional footballer."

"Oh?" Not the answer you expected. You saw Ruben more as the lawyer type or maybe a diplomat. He looked stiff in the shoulders, too stiff to be playing a sport at a professional level. Were footballers really as tall as he was? He must be above average then.

"And me..." You stuttered. "What do I do for a living?"

"Well, before the accident you were studying to become a scientist. You were doing your research at the University of Manchester."

"A what now?" You frowned. A scientist, how? You barely graduated from high school back home in the Netherlands, how could this be?

"Well you worked hard and earned a scholarship. That's why you came to live in England, in Manchester." Ruben explained.

"And that's where we met, here in Manchester?"

"Yes, but it's a long story actually." Ruben looked to want to changed the subject. "Let's get you something to eat, I've cooked dinner."

Dinner didn't stop you. You had so many questions about your life before the accident and Ruben was probably the person that knew most about it.

"I don't understand..." You wiped your mouth with a napkin. Dinner was lovely. Ruben could really cook.

"What?" He asked, watching you from where you sat across from him.

"If I'm just a graduate student and you're a professional footballer, how come you let me stay in this big house with you?"

Ruben's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you're the one paying for everything, aren't you?" God knows what the electrical bills were like in this house. No way the income of a graduate student could contribute paying for it.

Ruben nodded his head, coming to terms with what you meant. "Yes, I pay for everything. I actually have no problems with it."

"You don't, why?"

He paused, his eyes locking with yours. "Because you are my wife and I love you."

The words seemed to enter straight through your heart. Leaving your chest heaving up and down as you tried to catch your breath. "I..."

"You don't have to say it back." He said, his expression serious. " I just need you to know."

You nodded. "But you want me to say it back, no?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "When the time is right you will."

You went to bed with those words echoing in your head. "When the time was right...."

Eventually you'd get your memory back. When the time was right things like living in a luxury home too big for just two people, would be normal to you. As well as sleeping in a costum made silk pajamas. But for now it all felt very strange to you and quite out of place. Question was, is this really what you had wanted for your life?

#fanfiction #football imagine #ruben dias #man city #manchester city #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias imagine #footballer imagine #footballer x reader #football angst

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somedaylazysomeday · 4 months

Text

Noisy - Part Three

Viktor is going to be busy in the lab for the next week. He comes over to tell you personally.

Viktor x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI

Word Count: 5,200

Warnings: Arguments, misunderstandings, Viktor has a chip on his shoulder, fingering, unprotected piv sex, discussions of sex with disabilities, creampie

Previous | Next | Masterlist

---

The knock on your door was a surprise.

Not that you didn’t have friends, but very few of them worked or studied at the Academy of Science, Technology, and Innovation in Piltover. Of that small group, even fewer of them would come visit you at your apartment unannounced.

Which meant it was probably one of your neighbors. Your downstairs neighbor was a rather bubbly girl attempting to become a professional musician. She studied under a cellist who taught at the Academy - though you had never quite managed to figure out why a school of science and engineering had a concert orchestra. In any case, she helped conduct the orchestra when she wasn’t working with the professor and gave lessons to students in her off hours.

But given that you hadn’t heard any music coming from her apartment that day, she was probably preparing for the holiday concert that the orchestra was putting on next week.

That left Viktor - scientist, assistant to the Academy’s Dean, and your upstairs neighbor.

He was also the man you had shared a brief sexual encounter with a few weeks prior. In your defense, you had been trying to force him to go to sleep so he would stop making so much noise late at night. It didn’t hurt that Viktor was devastatingly attractive, but you had really been more focused on the sleep.

Another knock shook you from your reverie. It was softer, almost hesitant, and you hurried to open the door.

Sure enough, Viktor stood on the other side. You took a moment to congratulate yourself for your deductive reasoning, then smiled at him. “Hey Viktor. What’s up?”

He smiled back, but it looked sickly. You watched his thumb strum nervously along the handle of his cane. “I wanted to let you know that I spoke to Heimerdinger and got permission to work late in the lab next week.”

You nodded thoughtfully. “I know that curfew has been the bane of your existence for a while now. Do you have a specific project you’re working on or is he just tired of you trying to break in?”

Viktor’s uncomfortable smile turned to a scowl and you fought back a chuckle. Stiffly, he told you, “I do not try to break in, I-”

A hand lifted between the two of you interrupted whatever he intended to say next. With your most serious expression, you said, “Viktor! I don’t want to be a party to your crimes!”

He gave a deep sigh. “You are a menace.”

You finally broke, and your laughter made him smile. It was a real one and you reached out to pat his arm. “There you are. I needed to see you happy, not fake happy. You’re a terrible actor.”

Viktor rolled his eyes, though he was still smiling. “And to think I was trying to be a considerate neighbor…”

“Go ahead,” you told him. He raised an eyebrow and you laughed despite yourself. “I’m serious! I’m done. Please say what you came here to say.”

Though he still looked deeply skeptical, Viktor relented. “I received permission to conduct experiments outside of the lab curfew. I will be working late at the lab for much of the next week. I wanted to tell you myself.”

A realization was tingling at the back of your mind, but like any good scientist, you needed to test it. You kept your face blankly serene as you nodded. “Thank you for letting me know, Viktor. I hope your experiments go well.”

He looked mildly disappointed. “Thank you. And I hope your week is pleasant. You will not have me around to make noise over your head.”

“That will take some getting used to,” you teased.

“And you likely will not see me very often,” Viktor added, ducking his head at your joke. “When I am home, I will be sleeping. And we work in such different sections of the campus…”

You nodded slowly, your hypothesis all but proven. “That’s good to know. I would have wondered if you were avoiding me.”

“Never,” he denied instantly.

That made you feel warm, as did the way Viktor stood in the hall, nervously shifting his weight back and forth as his thumb tapped frantically at the handle beneath his fingers. Despite his clear unease, Viktor glanced at you every few seconds, eyes bright and hopeful in a way that you found both amusing and sweet.

“I suppose I should leave you,” Viktor admitted, slumping slightly.

“You know,” you started, pausing the half-pace Viktor had taken in the opposite direction. “If you want to sleep together, all you have to do is ask. If that’s in any way what you were-”

“Can we sleep together?”

The immediacy of the question made you laugh aloud even as you nodded and stepped back. “Well, I was in the middle of grading some papers, but it can wait.”

“I can wait, if you prefer?” Viktor said, in the middle of crossing the threshold into your apartment.

“No, you’re going to be gone for the next week,” you reminded. “Besides, this sounds much better than slogging through another essay on population ecology. Come on inside.”

Viktor seemed almost sprightly as he stepped into your apartment, the tip of his cane hardly touching the ground. He looked around eagerly, studying the interior of your living room with such intensity that you were forcibly reminded that he had never seen it before. With that in mind, you did your best to look around with a fresh perspective.

The furniture was well-worn - all of it was, in this particular housing unit - but you had done what you could. You'd used an assortment of soft blankets to cover stains or tears while comfortable pillows that shielded your back from spots where the padding beneath the upholstery had all but disappeared. The small table in front of the couch bore stacks of textbooks, reference guides, and the aforementioned papers you had been grading.

The apartment’s small kitchen was visible from where Viktor was standing, a wine bottle and an old dish sitting in plain sight on the countertop. But you were far too wary of pests to allow any kind of mess in the kitchen, so you didn’t have much to be embarrassed of in there.

Overall, it was a little messy - especially compared to the stark desolation of Viktor’s apartment - but the most notable feature of your living room wasn’t found in the furniture or in the traces of your work that were scattered around.

You had installed a collection of corkboards and dry-erase boards around the apartment. The corkboards held the results of your latest experiments while the dry-erase boards held scrawled collections of notes and ideas about relationships between criteria. Your goal was to go around and gather those musings once per week so you could erase the boards, but it had been a while and they were cluttered with your handwriting.

Anyone else might have made some bland comment about your apartment, but Viktor cut directly to what interested him. After moving to study one of the dry-erase boards more closely, he gestured to it and asked, “What are you attempting to calculate?”

“Well, each board is set up to have its own focus,” you explained. “On that one in particular, I’m trying to figure out why the toxicity in the Sump level of the Undercity is as high as it is.”

Viktor’s shoulders tightened, but his voice was bland as he said, “Perhaps it has something to do with the large levels of industrial waste and chemical byproduct that moves through or is stored in the area.”

He was here to fuck, not fight, you reminded yourself. And yet, even after you had taken a breath and bitten back your immediate harsh response, you couldn’t let the implied insult to your scholarly skills go unchallenged.

You marched to a corkboard on the other side of the doorway, tapping it sharply with your forefinger. “Yes, I realize that, but look at the particular levels of these toxins. They don’t match up with those you would expect to see from anything produced by the plants in Factorywood.”

“No Undercity industries admit to what they are truly producing,” Viktor said, eyes still roaming over your hastily written notes. They lingered on where you had written ‘Silco?’ beneath a particularly strong toxin found in some products from Priggs Industries.

“”Of course they don’t,” you agreed easily. “But the toxic by-products still generally match up with what everyone knows the factories are producing. From these numbers, someone on the Sump level is creating chemical products in a quantity that threatens the existence of the entire city, not to mention the serious health risks linked to living in the Gray.”

Viktor sighed, his dark eyes meeting yours. There was a deep sadness in their depths, and it made your heart ache to see it. “It is a noble thing to work on a problem like the Undercity’s health. But you will not get far with it. Piltover has more to gain from looking to the future rather than fixing the problems of the present or the past.”

“You’re from the Undercity, right?” you asked, needlessly. You knew where Viktor was from. Everyone did - it was one of the reasons he struggled to be respected despite his incredible intellect.

“You think I do not care for where I am from?” he asked, a sharpness in his voice. “You think I would not keep others from enduring what I endured?”

The sharp thump of his cane against the floor was loud in your living room, but you kept from wincing. With your steady gaze fixed on him, you slowly shook your head. “I don’t think that at all, Viktor. But I also think Piltover will care about these findings, even if it’s just for self-preservation purposes.”

“You realize they are more likely to clear the Undercity than make meaningful changes?”

That was something you hadn’t truly considered, though you should have. Anyone with a brain knew that Piltover’s treatment of the Undercity had been reckless and unhelpful.

Still, you lifted your chin. “I will keep that in mind moving forward, but I have to believe I can do something meaningful to help the people who have no choice but to live there.”

Viktor was quiet then, his gaze fixed blankly on the dry-erase board in front of him as his thoughts consumed him. Eventually, he tilted his head to give you a sidelong look. “Why are the boards next to doorways?”

You smiled despite yourself. “Sometimes, I get flashes of inspiration if I only catch a glimpse of a problem. Something about seeing the information as I walk into and out of a room when I’m doing another task makes me think differently about a problem. That’s why the boards are everywhere, too - so I can write down what I’ve thought of before it has a chance to get away.”

“It is a good idea,” Viktor admitted.

“The Academy has plenty more boards and you definitely have the space for them,” you teased.

The ghost of a smile flitted over Viktor’s face and the odd tension disappeared. "Perhaps I should look into having some installed. They certainly seem to be helping you."

You made a face at him, but there was no real antagonism in it. “I have to admit, I’m surprised you’re so interested in the boards. I thought you were here for other things.”

Viktor’s gaze sharpened as he turned to face you, but his tone was light as he retorted, “Talking about your research findings doesn’t put you in the correct frame of mind? I would have thought better of such a respected scientist.”

The unexpected teasing brought a delighted laugh to your lips as you gave a shallow bow. “I don’t think anyone thinks of me as a respected scientist, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“I happen to have a great deal of respect for you,” Viktor said, the effort ruined somewhat by the way he was focused on your lips. “Can I kiss you?”

“So much for respect,” you said, leaning eagerly toward him. Viktor was smirking when his soft lips pressed against yours.

The first time you had kissed, Viktor had been hesitant. When he had gotten over his own discomfort, the depth of his need became apparent, but not before that. This time, his intensity was immediate. After a split second of softness, Viktor’s lips firmed and he used them to part yours so his tongue could slip into the space between them.

Viktor tried to pull back at the surprised noise you made, but you weren’t having it. Your hands fisted in the front of his vest, keeping him close as you responded to his explorations with some of your own. Viktor was exceedingly sensitive, and you teased as many reactions from him as you could manage before you parted for air, both of you panting.

“There is such a reaction when we kiss,” Viktor mused, almost to himself. “It cannot be simple chemistry.”

“I don’t think there’s anything simple about it,” you countered wryly. “Besides, why can’t it be chemistry? Everything else is. Every smell or taste or touch… Chemistry is how we understand and interact with the world around us. Why should kissing be any different?”

“You are being deliberately obtuse,” Viktor muttered, mouthing butterfly kisses over your jaw and down the side of your neck. You were swaying into the sensation when his lips parted to deliver a sharp nip to the tender skin. You groaned, but didn’t move away.

“See?” Viktor asked. “Why should that feel pleasant? Simply because of chemistry?”

“Dopamine, serotonin, and oxycontin,” you informed him. “They’re a strong combination.”

He rolled his eyes, but leaned in again, working his way back up until he could meet you in a furious kiss once more. It managed to be more intense than the first, though both of your attention was split. Viktor was ruching your shirt upward while you were doing your best to unbutton his vest.

“Your skin is so soft…” he murmured, and you felt like you were on fire.

Perhaps that was why you forgot yourself, giving his vest a sharp yank. Buttons scattered across the floor and Viktor gave a disbelieving laugh. You offered an apologetic look. “This would be much easier if you didn’t insist on wearing fourteen layers at all times.”

“You are right; that was my fault,” he agreed. You smiled, though it turned to a startled laugh when his fingers tickled up your ribcage. You probably would have protested more vocally if you hadn’t been so relieved at his pulling the shirt over your head.

“No,” you said decisively, pushing his hands away. Viktor immediately withdrew, looking apologetic, horrified, and confused. “You don’t get the easy job. I’ll take off my own clothes and you deal with all of the buttons.”

Viktor’s eyebrows arched so sharply that they approached his hairline, but he obediently began to undress himself. You made short work of your own outfit and took a comfortable seat on the couch. The soft texture of a blanket teased at your buttocks and the backs of your bare thighs and you luxuriated in the feeling. Perhaps you should lounge around your apartment in the nude more often…

Then Viktor was approaching. He was completely bare and your breath caught at the beauty of him. He was pale, all long-limbs and angular joints. Dark freckles and moles dotted his skin, almost artistic in their placement. Instead of looking small and frail, Viktor put you in mind of a sculpture. He looked like a piece of ancient artwork, perfectly formed to capture a human emotion you recognized, but couldn’t quite verbalize.

The thatch of hair at his pubic bone was dark, eye-catching surrounded by the stretches of pale skin. His cock rose from that darkness, proud and erect, the slightest hint of an upward curve that promised to do delicious things inside of you.

Before Viktor could come too close to the couch, you stood and motioned for him to turn around. “Let’s go to my room. I want us to be comfortable.”

When he nodded, you led the way to your room. It was plain compared to the rest of your apartment. You tried to keep the most chaotic parts of your work away. Bedrooms were for sleeping, not thinking, and you did your best to keep the two from being combined in your mind.

But there were still touches of your personality spread around. You had specifically requested a bed that was larger than average. There were pillows scattered at the head, each one a slightly different softness so you could use whatever pillow you needed for each specific day. They were matched by different blankets across the lower part of the bed. Each one was made of different fabrics, but all of them felt like heaven against your skin.

You stepped toward the bed, but froze when Viktor let out a soft chuckle behind you. “What?”

Viktor gestured toward the bed with his free hand. “It seems they have allocated my returned bed to you.”

It took a moment for that to sink in, but then you belted out a laugh. “Thank you for your sacrifice, then. I hope to give you a glimpse of what you gave up.”

“It has a better life here than I could ever give it with me.” When you looked at him, Viktor was studying your body with obvious admiration.

Before you could tell him how utterly cheesy that was - no matter how charming you found it as well - he stepped into kissing range. Well, you had always heard it was better to show than to tell…

This kiss was no less demanding than the last had been. In fact, each touch seemed to increase in urgency, building toward a precipice. It was exactly what you wanted from someone you were about to sleep with, and you started to get impatient with the teasing touches.

“Any-” kiss “Any preference?” kiss “For position, I mean.”

Viktor looked dazed, drunk on your lips, but a concerning thought jarred you from your self-satisfaction. “Wait, this isn’t your- Is this the first time you’ve done this?”

He frowned at you, color rising high on his cheekbones. “Did you not ask this the last time?”

“Did I?” Honestly, as much as you had thought about that night in the time since it happened, very few of your thoughts had centered on the conversation you’d shared before your focus shifted to other things. “And what was the answer?”

“No, believe it or not,” he grumbled. “I have managed to find at least one partner before you.”

“Oh, good.”

Viktor’s eyebrows shot upward at that. “Not quite the reaction I had expected.”

“Sorry,” you offered instantly, hoping you hadn’t hurt his pride. Viktor seemed a little sensitive about his self-image. “I just meant that I’m glad you found someone you wanted to share this with in the past.”

“How magnanimous,” he said dryly. “But I would prefer if you wanted to share this with me now instead of asking if I am virginal.”

“Virginal?” you asked, nose wrinkling. “Am I an 18th century lord? I don’t care if you’re- ah!”

With a well-placed push, Viktor had sent you sprawling across the bed. The sheer number of blankets over the mattress meant that the impact was so minimal that you hardly noticed it, but you still took a moment to blink up at Viktor in surprise.

For his part, Viktor looked so self-satisfied that his expression verged on smug. He stepped up to the edge of the bed and stooped to lean over you when you remembered your original point.

“Wait, I was asking for a reason,” you protested.

A look of genuine irritation crossed Viktor’s handsome face. “No, you are not my first.”

“Not-” You took a second to give a silent laugh. “Not that. I meant about positions. Do you have a preference?”

“Not in the slightest,” he assured you. “Now, if you were to ask for my preferences on when we get together, I have several strong opinions-”

“And your leg will be okay?” you asked softly. Viktor paused. “I don’t want this to hurt you.”

“I am not so delicate,” he said. “Any further objections?”

“Only that you’re not already inside of me.”

The stunned look on Viktor’s face at your tongue-in-cheek answer was a glorious sight to see. But it was fleeting; only a moment later, his jaw firmed with determination and he crawled onto the bed. Most of his weight was supported on his arms, planted firmly on either side of you, and the weight that remained on his legs didn’t seem to bother Viktor in the slightest.

So you didn’t feel bad for losing yourself in the sensations.

Perhaps, given the nature of your first hookup, you shouldn’t have been shocked that Viktor would want to explore. He sucked a mark over your collarbone, and you could feel his smile at the noises it pulled from you. When his clever fingers dropped to your breast, you froze under his touch. Viktor finally pulled away from the tender place on your skin, but only so he could study every microexpression that crossed your face at the feeling of his fingers on the sensitive peak.

When he finally pulled away, you arched into his retreating touch. Viktor managed to soothe you into lying against the bed once more. That made it far easier for him to lower himself onto top of you, his hips pressing squarely between your thighs. Suddenly, losing his hand on your breast felt like a fair trade.

When those talented fingers drifted down to your core, you wriggled impatiently. “I’m ready, I promise. Please, Viktor…”

He looked conflicted. “I know. I will give both of us what we want in a moment. But I- I need to feel you.”

Any further arguments you might have made faded away with the feeling of his long finger sinking into you. Your body accepted him easily, so easily that you might have been embarrassed by it if you weren’t so relieved by the feeling of something to grip with your desperate muscles.

Viktor withdrew his finger far too soon. You groaned when he studied it for a moment before putting it in his mouth. Then you were groaning together and your core clenched so sharply that it took your breath away.

“Viktor-”

He gave a decisive nod, lined the head of himself up with your entrance, and began pushing inside of you. As if your body was angry at having lost your previous stimulation so soon, the muscles of your channel contracted around his length. In fact, they spasmed so hard that Viktor paused.

“Am I hurting you?”

The real concern in his voice was sweet, but you were nearing desperation. “Only because you’re going so slow. Please, Viktor…”

He gave a stuttered half-thrust into you, clearly trying to stop himself before he drove too hard into you. With a crooked smile, he said, “Have I ever mentioned that I enjoy hearing you say my name?”

“No, but I can do better than that,” you offered. “Start moving now and I’ll scream it for you.”

Viktor’s eyes widened and he started a series of pulsing thrusts, each one driving himself a little further inside of you. When he was - at last - as deep as he could be, you both paused to soak in the sensations of it. His hips were flush against your ass and one of you was throbbing. You were too close to know which of you it was.

Most of your focus was on the realization that you had been right: that slight curve of Viktor’s length was in exactly the right place to press against your g-spot. The delicious pressure of it made your toes curl and you lifted your hips in an effort to urge him deeper.

When you remembered that your eyes worked, you smiled a little to see the intense concentration on Viktor’s face. Your hands smoothed down his back and when they were as low as you could reach, you pulled him closer, urging him into motion.

For someone who had a tendency to be oblivious, Viktor took the hint beautifully. With an audible sound from where you were joined, he pulled out. His motions were achingly slow, but he thrust back in before his head could leave you entirely. This push of his hips was made up of more mini-thrusts. The next only had a few. Then he was driving full-force into you at a pace that took your breath away.

And his.

Getting a little winded during sex wasn’t exactly uncommon, especially when things were as heated as they were with Viktor, but it worried you. The legs you had wrapped around his waist - though you couldn’t remember exactly when you had done that - could feel tremors wracking the right side of his body. They seemed to stem from his weaker leg, and it was quickly growing more severe. He was frowning, and while it seemed to be mostly concentration, there was more than a hint of genuine pain buried in the wrinkles of his forehead.

“Viktor,” you started, cutting off with a low cry when he slammed into you. “Viktor, wait.”

It took another half thrust for your request to filter through the fog of good sex. When it did hit him, Viktor slowed, though you could see the strain of it in his muscles. “What is it?”

“Roll over,” you said. “I can tell you’re hurting.”

An expression of displeasure crossed his face. “I told you: I am fine.”

“You aren’t,” you argued, watching his face turn incredulous. “Viktor, I can see it. It’s not a bad thing. I like being on top.”

“I don’t need you to pretend you know what’s best for me!” he snapped.

Arguing with someone who was currently buried inside of you was a new experience. From the stubbornness in Viktor’s eyes and the set of his jaw, he wasn’t going to let you win. You would bash yourself to pieces against the stone of Viktor’s personality. But maybe you could try a different tactic…

“Please, Viktor,” you murmured. “I promise, I’ll still make things feel good for both of us. Just let me do this. Let me take care of both of us, even if you don’t need me to.”

You watched him think that over. A direct and combative approach wouldn’t get anywhere with Viktor, he had spent too much of his life fighting. But the one-two punch of logic and emotion helped you get through the walls he had built around himself.

He didn’t agree verbally - that would be too much like admitting defeat. But he carefully withdrew from you and settled onto the bed beside you. When you realized what was happening, you scrambled upright and straddled his thighs as soon as he was fully horizontal.

The brief pause had done strange things to your libido, but it came roaring back as soon as you saw Viktor lying beneath you, his body still hard and eager and shining with remnants of you.

You sank down onto him so quickly that it pulled a startled noise from both of you. And then you were moving, surging up and down so quickly that the muscles of your legs started aching almost immediately. That wasn’t enough to stop you, not nearly, especially when you saw the stunned pleasure on Viktor’s face.

You rested your hands gently on his chest, using him more for balance than a true counterpoint, but Viktor thrust his hips sharply. The force of it knocked you off balance, pushing you forward until you were braced against him.

His hands covered yours, keeping them planted over his heart. You glanced up at him, unsurprised to see Viktor’s intense gaze fixed on you. “I will not break.”

You nodded, taking the low promise as truth. With the additional weight resting on your hands, your legs lifted you far more easily, working up and down on his shaft. Pressing your hips backward let you brush your clit against the thatch of coarse hair at Viktor’s base, but it also pressed that slight curve against your g-spot. Your inner muscles tightened so hard and fast that Viktor made a shocked noise and you started having trouble keeping your rhythm.

“Are you close?” he asked, chest rising and falling more rapidly under your hands.

You didn’t quite trust your voice, so you nodded again. He nodded with you. “Me too. Where-?”

“Inside,” you interrupted. You used birth control for several reasons, but sex actually wasn’t one of them. Having someone come inside of you wasn’t a sensation you particularly enjoyed, but you were close and pulling out was always tricky when you were on top. And Viktor felt so good…

His eyes widened. “Are you-?”

Before he could ask if you were sure, you had fallen over the edge. You fingers curled against Viktor’s skin, legs tingling so badly that you almost stopped moving on him. But as if your body was willing to circumvent your brain to keep the stimulation going, your legs and hips and torso kept going. You were moving up and down and forward and back all in an effort to chase the incredible pleasure that wracked your body and made your movements stutter.

Somewhere in the middle of your orgasm, Viktor reached his as well. He stiffened under your hands and between your legs, thrusting into you to drive you both higher. You felt his length twitch and pulse inside of you, along with a general sense of warmth as he spilled.

When the incredible flood of endorphins began to fade, you collapsed like a puppet with cut strings. You slumped forward onto Viktor’s chest with him still buried deep inside of you. His hand came to rest on your back, stroking your overheated flesh. You stayed like that for a long while, your ear pressed to the reassuring sound of his gradually slowing pulse.

“That was incredible,” he said eventually. His voice was low, but the awe in it was unmistakable.

“It was pretty good,” you agreed.

A displeased noise escaped him and you lifted your head to look at him, wincing at the way your sweaty skin had stuck to his. “What’s wrong?”

“There is a considerable difference between ‘incredible’ and ‘pretty good’,” he told you, the disgust clear in his voice.

You were already smiling at the way ‘pretty good’ sounded in his accent. “Sorry, I meant it was the single most mind-blowing experience of my entire life. Is that better?”

Viktor hummed, but his amber eyes sparkled down at you. “That seems like a lie. But it is fine. We can work up to incredible.”

You chuckled at that, and Viktor pressed a kiss to the back of your hand as you settled back against him.

---

Author's Note - You'll note that this isn't a two-part fic, but there will be another Viktor fic this Fanfic February because I had two ideas that I liked.

Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you thought!

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