#writing convention

[scifrey]

Just got home from #WritersConnX - tired but filled with thrumming energy! Met some amazing people, had some incredible conversations, and looking forward to checking out everybody's stories.

[threeravenspublishing]

Raven and the Crow Author Interviewed on TV!

If you’re a fan of the Raven and the Crow series and you’ve never met the author, now’s your chance to at least see him! Michael K. Falciani was recently interviewed by a TV station local to his area. ABC’s KOLO 8 spent a segment covering Michael’s writing career with specific emphasis on his newest release in the Raven and the Crow universe, Shores of Blood. Click the picture to watch the video,���

[jpohlmanwriting]

Hey all. Sorry for the late promo, but there's a free, virtual, in-your-living-room writing convention taking place this weekend. It's called WriteHive, it operates off of Discord, and it's awesome.

I moderated panels on history, on war, and on the revenge of the divine. I also was a panelist on a debate between hard and soft magic.

You should come through!

[gwen-tolios]

Are you a queer SFF writer? You should attend Rainbow Space Magic!

Rainbow Space Magic is a free, virtual convention for queer SFF writers happening this weekend Sept 30-Oct 1.

🌟📔(Free Tickets)🌟📔

I will 100% admit to being a panelist (come see me on Writing Your True Self: Authentic and Diverse Identities on Sept 30 @ 12 central) but there are some other really cool ones.

How to market your work, researching vs experience sharing, building an online community, how to plan a series, and so much more!

As it's free, you have nothing to lose and everything to learn. Come for one panel or them all!

🪄📔(Free Tickets)🪄📔

[starsintheskyandtheeye]

Phantom Lane

Danny Phantom and Lois Lane are an under utilized combo.

One of Lane's sources in a story she was following comes to her with a tip that LexCorp has found a new, and steady source of kyrptonite. Well there's nothing else for her to do but to go the source, one Amity Park- smackdab in the middle of nowheresville.

"No Clark you have your own story and I don't need my partner with me 24/7. Go work on your mysterious expose on the lead levels in underprivileged metropolis neighborhoods."

Only when she finally gets there, after a very uncomfortable flight, in an actual plane for once, she's not a fan. She finds a very confusing situation.

LexCorp employees seem to be disguising themselves by dressing in white and pretending to be government employees, already a story. But they are using this "disguise" to abduct what look like ghosts?

"No Perry I'm not saying ghosts are real, what do you take me for, Clark? No, I'm saying that Superman is an alien so it's not such a reach that these beings are as well. And well, if they are ghosts, then I'm going to be the one to break the story that ghosts are REAL"

So she's going around interviewing the "concerned citizens, once a terrified town now a collection of people just trying to go about their day in this strange new normal." It makes a good line but really that is the vibe she gets. There's ghostly updates along with the weather (and a Fenton? driving update??) but most everyone seems to be fine with working around the occasional ghostly drama.

Her pizza is delivered in a bowl.

Her main sources end up being very convenient for her, at least in terms of location. It's important to be unbiased so she finds sources willing to talk to her with opinions across the spectrum. Including, two doctors Fenton - negative, one Danny Fenton (son of the doctors and without a named credit to protect privacy) - positive, one English teacher - neutral. Danny Fenton is also able to point her towards one Valerie Gray (no comment) who is able to get her in contact with the most commonly seen "ghost" in the town.

"Your name is Phantom correct? Is that how you would prefer to be addressed? A little on the nose considering your alleged ghostly nature, no?"

"So your claim is that Kryptonite is a byproduct of ectoplasm, something that makes sense when you believe in ghosts, which apparently I do now. Although I will need independent verification of course.

"But you're saying that when ectoplasm crystalizes it becomes what is commonly known as kryptonite, something that is famously toxic to Kryptonians. How exactly did these "Guys In White" come to learn and harvest this dangerous material. And less important but confusing to me personally, how can a material that has been proven to be sourced from astroids be supernatural in origin?

"Right, death of a planet imprinting on ectoplasm, no makes total sense."

She leaves Amity Park with enough material to write three separate articles, four bruised ribs from a particularly violent escape from alphabetically challenged weirdos, four new sources to draw upon for said articles, two new superhero contacts, and a new found respect for rectangular shapes.

She is going to get some scientists from Star Labs down here to get a tertiary verification and then she is going to write the biggest article since the introduction of Superman.

And Clark can be jealous since he may have gotten the Superman Saves Metropolis from Raging Wildfires story but she's going to take down a pseudo-government agency, announce the existence of ghosts, AND open up extraterrestrial relations all with one article.

Beat that sweetheart

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

i met jared padalecki today and the first thing i did was gesture to his pants and went “oh my gosh you don’t have any staples on your pants this time!” and he immediately laughed and said something like “not this time” and i asked if i could hug him and he just said “oh get in here” and gave me the BIGGEST squeeze. before i left i just said “i love you so much, and congrats on you and gen for 15 years” and he smiled, put a hand to his chest and seemed like he was genuinely touched (that man doesn’t play about his wife) and went “thank you so much, i love you too”

he was the sweetest man. i’ve ever met. he’s so soft and gentle and keeps such heavy eye contact. i genuinely have no words. what a sweet, precious human being. AND HES SO TALL MWAHAHSB

i also made some new friends in line, and i’m so thankful for this fandom. i love jared:(💘

[angeloftuesdayy]

I just want to point out, that

in the episode about the supernatural convention, an agenda item at the convention was "the homoerotic subtext in supernatural".

mind you, the books ended with Dean going to hell (it was said in this very episode) , so Cas was NOT introduced yet.

hence the 'homoerotic tension' they want to discuss can only be about Sam and Dean.

just putting that out there...

(not to forget the gay Sam and Dean cosplayers that are a couple and Dean smiling afterwards to himself when he was at the car, waiting for Sam)

[ghostbsuter]

He'd moved to metropolis on a whim.

The city was big, he's earning good money via commissioned things (most people come to him for cosplay actually, who knew that knowing how to build a sci-fi gun that doesn't even work would be this wanted??) and he's got a nice apartment!

Superman and Supergirl were the active heroes, he didn't need to involve himself anymore with the world of heroes, he would continue as a civilian. It was better this way.

So how come LexLuthor, of all people, what is his luck?, sends him an invitation to LexCorp AND once declined, seemed to have created some sort of energy absorbing weapon that directly zoomed in on his immediate whenever around?

Civilian life is one thing.

Being rescued via Super for the 9th time is another.

"Hey Danny." Supergirl grins, they're floating to the side as Superman deals with Lex.

"Hey, Supergirl." Danny replies with a sigh, holding his bag.

[ejsuperstar]

Imagine you live in pelican town. The new farmer has been here a couple weeks now and seems to be settling in, except... He's picking the weirdest friend choices. Like sure it's not weird to befriend the local fisherman, especially when he has an interest in fishing himself, but you're pretty sure you've seen him rooting through the Saloon's garbage with the local homeless man. As well, he keeps harassing the poor guy who works at Joja even though you KNOW he doesn't want to be friends with him.

And since you're on the topic of weirdness, isn't it odd he seemingly runs everywhere at a full sprint? Or just... Eats entire raw fish while fishing for "energy reasons"...

...

Despite all that, it's too early to call him off putting or anything... He has been engaging in town traditions, and he's started helping out with the old community centre. He's probably like the rest of you. Someone with a few quirks, that will fit in with the valley great!

Surely he can't get any weirder... Right?

[threeravenspublishing]

Do You Love Writers' Conferences?

Do You Love Writers' Conferences?

If you do and live near the Chicago area (or don’t mind flying or driving a bit), you can’t go wrong with the In the Trenches Writers’ Conference coming up in November! Lectures, workshops, pitch sessions, and the networking opportunities afforded to those who attend the “barcon” during the after-hours will all be worth the price of admission and travel. Guest speakers include Dave Butler, Jodi…

[jpohlmanwriting]

Here's me talking about this coming weekend's virtual #writing convention, WriteHive! It's our fifth annual event. You should check it out.

[burningcheese-merchant]

Silent Salt's countenance is... a unique one. Not hideous, not quite, but not conventionally attractive by any means. Coupled with a cluster of scars and other ancient forms of injury further marring his face, he was never an easy one on the eyes, so to speak. He always wore the helm because it was his deeds that mattered, not his identity - or that was how he once thought, in his distant, heroic past. But, in painful, unfortunate truth, it was also partially because he simply didn't want to deal with the staring. With the shock. With the thinly veiled disgust. The forced politeness angered him the most; he knew they were lying, he knew his face perturbed them. He would've respected them so much more if they had just spoken plain.

There had always existed this shallow element of self-loathing within him; never more so than it does with regards to White Lily. She's so lovely, so captivating, and he's... he has to wear a mask all the time, just for some semblance of peace of mind. Hers is a sweet, delicate, almost ethereal beauty. He is grim and gruff and all dark, sharp edges, inside and out. If by some miracle his personality and status as Beast of Silence doesn't drive her away, then his face will. Like it had so many others.

He has never allowed anyone to remove his helm. Not even his friends and colleagues, both then and now (especially not now. Shadow Milk's petty jabs are insufferable even with Salt's face obscured; revealing it again would only escalate the jester's mockery). Even just trying to touch it sparks a terrible rage. It's his security blanket, in a way. Something that grants him a modicum of control over his supposed destiny. He cannot change how he looks, but he can at least hide it. And hide it, he will. From everyone he can, for as long as he can. From her most of all.

Perhaps he could've been more... polite in his refusal of her touch, the first few times. He saw a hand wrapped in green floating towards his face and he responded. The regret that washed over him at the sound of her yelp - startled and pained, an accessory to the tremor in her wrist born from him grasping it so tight - was overwhelming, almost suffocating, and yet... he did it again, the next attempt she made. And the one after that. And the one after that. Nevertheless, for reasons unknown, she persisted.

Must've been that morbid curiosity of hers.

The one time she asked him why he never rid himself of the helm, he answered her simply. "Because I don't want to." Five words - six, technically - conveyed to her through the curling of his fingers and the rattle of his gauntlets as he signed them to her. And she took it well, all things considered. No disappointment, no rebuttals, no further inquiries. Only a slow, thoughtful nod and nothing else. It was a mercy and a relief he didn't think he'd feel so thankful for, until he did.

Something told Silent Salt that she already knew the answer that hid behind the first one. Intuition? Their Soul Jam connection? That glint in her eye that resembled sympathy more than he would've liked? Whatever it is, it hardly matters in the end. She asked once. He answered once. She didn't ask again. That was the end of it.

With time, she grew more bold. No more reaching for his helm; it took a few tries but she learned her lesson there. Instead she let her hands rest on his cold shoulders. Trail along the dents and grooves in his chest. Take one of his gauntlets prisoner, turning it into a test subject, the apple of her curious eye as she studied the metal plates big and small encasing his fingers.

"Your hands are quite large," she remarked one day, some of it to him and some of it just to herself, her eyes still fused to the black sheet of his palm as she spoke. "My friend, Golden Cheese... She once told me that your comrade has large hands, too. Twice the size of hers, in fact. Are they bigger than yours, too?"

Yes, he told her, if his memory served. Once upon a time, Shadow Milk had tried to draft blueprints for armor that would actually suit Burning Spice's brutish proportions, and used Silent Salt's own as both a model and a controlled variable in his design experiments. Spice was as much a foolhardy thrillseeker then as he is now, charging into battle with his beads and bracelets and little else on his person. Whenever the five of them reconvened - and those meetings became fewer and fewer with time - Shadow Milk would nag him incessantly about it. Clucked at him like a mother hen would at an unruly chick. It was once his way of showing concern. Once.

The gauntlets were dirty and must have felt quite cold and unpleasant to the touch. But if White Lily minded, she made no sign of such. In fact, she showed the opposite; if he dared to believe what those slender, linen-wrapped fingers weaving through his own ironclad, mannish ones told him, she even seemed to find comfort in them. In him.

She grew bold, and he let her. A time eventually came when he could no longer help himself - but it was a hard-earned victory if there ever was one. Despite their bond, be it the one forged from their shared divinity or the one forged from their tentative friendship, his old habits and reservations still bound him in chains; memories from a time long gone, of men and women shying away from his sight. Of children rudely gawking. As darkness descended upon his soul, he came to resent them and their harsh reactions, for it was because of them that he looked like this in the first place. Every blade that carved into the flesh of his cheeks. Every creature with terrible claws that sought his eyes as trophies. Every gauntlet that looked just like his own that punched, slapped, poked; whatever the owner could do to leave behind their mark of conquest and shame. Silent Salt endured it all for their sake, and all the thanks he ever got was being gazed upon as a freak. A cautionary tale. A garish art display.

The world branded him a monster long before he ever became one. What reason did they have to be so distraught when he finally did? Is this not what they always believed him to have been anyway?

But White Lily took no part in this wholesale rejection. How could she, when deep down, she was hardly any different? And who would he be to continue mimicking his persecutors, like he has been for far too long?

One day, he found himself under a microscope again. It was cute, how her brow would furrow the slightest bit and she would start to purse her lips the stronger her single-minded focus became. A strand of snow white hair escaped its place atop her head and came dangling, teasing the tip of her nose; yet still, it went ignored in favor of the knight looming past it. Few questioned Silent Salt's bravery, himself included, but now... now he can feel his accursed face growing warm at the thought of tucking that rogue strand of hair behind her ear. Such a deceptively simple thing.

He stood still as a statue as her hands traveled up the metallic expanse of his torso. Up, up, up, along plates that had long lost their smoothness and shine, dipping into scratches and dents left by friend and foe alike, those old scars he wore on the outside. Sneaking past a familiar silhouette, just barely grazing the tips of that fabled fleur-de-lis. He never envied Burning Spice and where his own Soul Jam resided, but in hindsight, perhaps Silent Salt was never much better. With how seldomly he removed his armor, it may as well be his flesh by now. And within his flesh the Light of Silence nested, glowing brighter and emitting a faint pulse upon White Lily's brief disturbance. A broken heart, still as death, woken from its eternal slumber. Dared to beat again by she who held onto its missing half.

Her hands rose to his neck. Some ancient warrior's instinct demanded he take action against this would-be assassin, but he paid it no mind. He knew better. Not that White Lily wasn't capable of such barbarism; she has proven differently a thousand times over by now. He simply knows what an assassin looks like, and what a liar feigning innocence looks like, too - and now, in this moment, White Lily was neither.

His breath caught in his throat when those hands grasped at his head and he felt his helmet begin to rise. Slowly, carefully, betraying their master's hesitation. There was a slight tremor in her wrists - was she expecting him to suddenly reach up and grab her again? To try to stop her?

...The former came to pass, that much was true. But instead of pushing her away, this time, he found the courage to do the opposite: with his hands eclipsing her own, he guided them up and away, taking his helmet with them.

He loosened his grip just enough to let her hands go free. From there, he lowered his helmet and held it tight - so much so that that telltale rattling filled both their ears.

It felt strange for the wind and sun caress his skin again after so long. Once upon a time, he welcomed their embrace; once upon a time, they were a beloved respite, the only reward he ever wanted for himself after a long battle. They never ran away or judged him for this unfortunate face of his; in fact, once upon a time, he might've said and thought that they were the only ones in the whole world that ever believed he was handsome.

White Lily did not run away. She did not veil her disgust behind false politeness. She did not judge that unfortunate face of his.

All he could behold in her own face and eyes was that same old curiosity, adorned with that familiar glint of sympathy and shadowed by sorrow.

She gave her hands back to him. Cradled his face as he cradled his helm, albeit more gently. Ran her thumb over a faded gash in his cheek. Ghosted her fingertips over the claw marks crisscrossing over his eyes.

Silent Salt wondered if she'd already guessed his eyes are purple. He didn't ask. She probably did.

"It must have been terrible," she murmured, some of it to him and some of it to herself, as she observed the scar that threatened to split his hairline.

He nodded. She said no more, but there was no need; he understood what she meant. "It must have been terrible, how you earned each of these." "It must have been terrible, how others would shun you for what you endured." "It must have been terrible, how you felt compelled to hide behind a mask all this time, for lack of remembering any other way to exist." Only White Lily could say so much with so little. He always cherished it.

Through her quiet, endless searching, he could sense that she wanted to know more. In her eyes were questions that she wouldn't let out of her mouth. She wanted to know where the scars came from. What caused them. Who. How. Why.

Despite that morbid curiosity of hers, she did not ask. Although it likely pained her, she held her tongue and gave him peace. This was something else Silent Salt admired, something else that made him favor her above all others. For unlike others, her politeness was real.

He caught her stealing a glance at his lips, the faintest shade of pink tinting her cheeks as she did so. Gone were her sorrow and sympathy, leaving curiosity behind. In their place came... something else.

Perhaps the wind and sun weren't the only ones who believed he was handsome anymore.

She grew bold, and took a step closer - the only step left to take, with how close they already stood. Placing her feet atop his own in a small, adorable way to compensate for her height.

Only now did his supposed bravery return, and grant him the strength to tuck that strand of hair behind her ear. She seemed surprised, more so by his sudden gesture than she'd ever been by his face, the warm color in her cheeks turning more vibrant. He wondered if she could see that he felt just as bashful. She probably did.

She stood on her tiptoes, inviting him to tilt his head down with the soft nudge of her palm against the nape of his neck. He did so without resistance; now it was her turn to guide him.

She grew bold, and pressed a kiss to his scarred lips. And he let her.

[sword-wielding-sapphic]

every other crime fiction author looked at Sherlock Holmes and said "hmm, he never shows any interest in women and he hates small talk, this must be because he is incredibly psychologically disturbed due to some dark backstory. we should make this the standard for detective characters going forward"

my brother in christ, have you considered that maybe he's just gay and autistic?

[apolaskiart]

My two favorite rabies creatures from the dimwood

[tusks-and-claws]

I’m Not What You Need (But I Am)

Miguel O’Hara x female reader

Summary:  “When you sit there/acting like you know me/acting like you only brought me here to get below me”

You have a concern to bring to Miguel, but when he hears what you really think of him, he doesn’t let you off so easily

Tags/warnings: smut (18+), oneshot, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, kind of missionary idk what to call it, dominant Miguel, brat taming, orgasm denial, dirty talk, choking, sort of strangers to lovers, maybe a little bit of a hatefuck if you squint, reader is a Spider person, def a bit out of character

Wordcount: 3.5k

Find on Ao3 here :3

"Why are you coming to me with such trivial annoyances?" Miguel O'Hara asked you from the platform of his lab, at least ten feet above you. He was tapping on various screens, not giving you eye contact. It felt purposeful, pointed. 

"I'm sorry, I thought you wanted to know when fights broke out. Keeping the peace and all that." You felt yourself growing warm, anxiety fluttering in your stomach. 

"What I want," he said, his tone growing short. "Is for people to sort out their own bullshit, so I can worry about what's important. Which, if you haven't noticed, is much bigger than you and I and some stupid fight in the lobby."

As soon as he said it, you knew he was right. But he was still being an asshole. You were only trying to help.

You put your hands up in defense. "I just thought you'd wanna know." Then whispered under your breath "douchebag," as you turned to walk away.

But your progress was halted by something tugging at your wrist. You looked down to see what it was, and closed your eyes, quietly cursing yourself. Neon red webbing. 

"You wanna run that by me again?" Miguel asked. 

You swallowed a lump in your throat. "Nothing, it was nothing. I'll just leave." 

You tried to pull free, but he was reeling you in, like a helpless fish on a hook. "Oh, no," he said, sounding somewhat amused. "No, I heard you. 'Douchebag,' eh? Not very creative. But…" he paused when you were closer, close enough that he could look directly down at you. "I want to hear you say it again. Face to face, this time."

You frowned. "How can we be 'face to face' when you're so high above me?"

He wagged a finger at you. "You've got a point there." In a sudden flash of tingling, your Spider sense triggered. But Miguel was too fast, he'd been doing this for far longer than you had. In an instant, you were wrapped in neon red and being hoisted upward onto the platform. He planted you right in front of him, putting his hands on his hips and leaning down so his eyes were level with yours. "Happy?"

You huffed. Why was he like this? A self-satisfied grin played at the edges of his plush lips as he scrutinized you with bloodshot eyes. Finally registering how close he was, and how huge he was, you started turning red. He could throw you around like you weighed nothing, couldn't he? He had just lifted you up here with hardly any effort. You'd never thought about another Spider like this. Sure, you were all strong, but there was something in Miguel's upper body that you couldn't free from your thoughts, something in those massive shoulders, something-

"Well?" He asked, breaking your trance. "I don't have all day."

You met his eyes. They looked so tired. You didn't want to insult him anymore. You wanted to leave and pretend like the thoughts you had about him never existed. 

But you knew what he needed to hear. 

"Douchebag," you repeated. 

He smiled, and it was humorless. "It's nice to know that this is what people think of me. That I did this for all of us, and everyone in our worlds. And the word that comes to mind when people talk to me is…?" He raised an eyebrow prompting you. 

"...Douchebag."

"That's right!" He pointed a finger at you. "I don't ask for much. I ask for people to listen and respect the operation. And that means respecting my time, too, eh? No more coming right to me with petty fights that people can solve on their own." 

You just stared back up at him, hardly registering his words. Respect time, no more fights, whatever. His hair looked so soft. 

"Got it?" He asked, starting to sound frustrated again. 

You nodded.

"I need to hear you say it."

"G-got it." 

"Good." He patted your shoulder. What an odd gesture. It was very nearly caring. "Let's get you out of here." He flexed his hand, talons coming free. He quickly swiped at the webbing he had wrapped you in, the strands snapping and falling to the floor in shreds.

Your heart was hammering in your chest. His brow furrowed. "Listen, I know I'm scary, but I'm just doing my job."

You shook your head. "I'm- I'm not scared."

"Are you not? Dios mio, I can hear your blood pumping." 

His heightened senses were going to be your death sentence. The longer he stood staring at you, the worse your thoughts became. But you couldn't bring yourself to move away from his attention. You crossed your arms, trying to make yourself small so he would stop looking at you. 

He raised an eyebrow. "What, do you wanna be friends or something?"

No, you thought, I want us to be something different. 

Despite your best efforts, you blurted out, "no, in all honesty, I've never really liked you that much." Why did you say that? What was wrong with you? 

He cocked his head, his eyes widening, processing what you just said. He started to nod. "Oh, wow. Great. Thank you so much. What a productive conversation. And you're still here because…?"

"Because you getting the last word in is infuriating to me." You couldn't stop yourself. You knew this was bad, but you couldn't stop.

"How do you think I feel? You came here for the sole purpose of bothering me and now you won't leave me the shock alone." He pointed at you again, forefinger lightly jabbing your collarbone. "You. Can. Leave. This is my lab, you little brat." He spoke the words through gritted teeth, and you could just barely see his elongated canines, gleaming and sharp in the light of the lab's computer screens. 

Oh no.

You stood there, just blinking at him. You've never seen someone so annoyed looking so attractive at the same time. It wasn't fucking fair.

He suddenly started, the anger from his face vanishing, confusion taking its place. "Oh yeah?" He asked, his voice taking on a mocking tone. "That's why your heart is pounding?"

Fuck.

"What, uh… what do you-"

"Don't play dumb with me.” He placed a gloved finger under your chin, tilting your head up towards him. “I can smell that you're turned on. Is that why you came here to bother me? So you could gawk at me? And maybe I'd fuck you if you were lucky."

You backed up, nearly slipping off the edge of the raised platform. Miguel reached out and caught your hand, pulling you in close to him. Unconsciously, you splayed your hands on his chest to steady yourself. His body was so warm and inviting, and you were drawn into it like a little planet circling a blazing sun. 

What was happening, what were you doing?

"Is that what you thought?" He asked, seeming to echo the questions you asked yourself, his voice growing more quiet as he looked down at you.

You quickly raised your hands away from him, closing them into loose fists and crossing your arms again. "No," you said, truthfully. 

"But you're thinking it now." He nodded. "Aren't you?"

After a pause, you nodded too.

"I really need to hear you say it." He probed.

"I'm…. I'm thinking about it now."

"Oh, are you? Thinking about what?"

You swore under your breath, doing a poor job of hiding a scowl. You should've known he wasn't going to make it easy for you. 

"Thinking about you fucking me." You grimaced after admitting it, waiting for him to mock you and disown you. 

He smiled. "That's funny. I thought I was a douchebag." 

"Fuck you, man!" You threw your arms up into the air, turning around and preparing to hop down from the platform. 

“No no no, come on, now,” he said, grasping your wrist with a large, warm hand. His grip was surprisingly gentle. “Why don’t you give me a chance to change your mind?”

You looked him in the eyes, and there was a small spark there. You sighed, unable to deny the reaction your body had to him. You wanted him. And he was offering himself to you. What reality was this where that was even possible? Not ten minutes ago, you were hardly closer than strangers. “Okay,” you said, offering him a small grin. “Don’t fuck it up.”

“Oh, I won’t.” In another swift movement, he swept you up into his arms and laid you down on your back on the lab floor. He was above you, arms on either side of your head, boxing you in. You could hardly see anything past those vast shoulders. You swallowed. He raised one hand to your head, petting your hair. “Look at that. You really are so pretty. Couldn’t help thinking it even when you were pissing me off earlier.”

You furrowed your brow. “I thought you wanted to change my mind, asshole, is this-”

He cut you off as his hand lowered, skating down your side and brushing against your breast before traveling even further. You exhaled shakily, trying to prepare yourself for this. Miguel O'Hara was touching you. Miguel O'Hara was going to fuck you. 

When he reached the curvature of your hips, he fondly squeezed, humming to himself. "Soft… so soft. You wouldn't want an asshole like me to eat you out, would you?"

Your brain short-circuited at how blatant he was. "No, I- I would, I really fucking would, Miguel."

"Oh, are we on a first name basis, now?" He hooked a clawed finger into the fabric of your suit, ripping a huge gash into it so he could access you. That… that was your good suit. You bit down on your bottom lip, trying to keep yourself from quipping back at him as he scooted downward, wrapping his arms around your thighs and lining himself up with your pussy. You threw your head back in anticipation, screwing your eyes shut. How was this real? How was-

You gasped as his tongue made gentle contact with your sex, slowly and carefully licking a long swipe from your opening to your clit, like he was savoring the first taste of you. 

"You taste even better than you smell, amor." 

Fuck, he was savoring you. You trembled beneath him, your hands tentatively reaching down to tangle with his hair. And it was even softer than you thought it would be. 

"That's it," he encouraged. "Hang onto me." 

You listened, your grip on his hair tightening. As if that were his cue, he brought his tongue back to your aching pussy, lapping at the wetness that was all but dripping from you. Your body immediately felt too hot on the metal floor, and you were convinced that you were beginning to melt under the warmth of his tongue. The almost-penetration was sending you spiraling; he was giving you nothing that you needed while somehow simultaneously answering your every secret desire. You needed that mouth on your clit. Your greedy, aroused body needed more, more. You had him all to yourself and he was teasing you. It wasn't fair. 

You whimpered as you gripped soft locks of his hair, waiting for him to take the plunge. Waiting…. And waiting. But he just kept lapping contentedly at your entrance, just barely dipping his tongue inside. The feeling was pleasant but infuriating. What was he trying to do? Did he want you to beg for it?

Oh.

…He couldn't be serious. 

But that was the only conclusion you could reach. After all, he'd been asking to hear you say things this entire encounter, prompting you to be vocal. All you had to do was swallow your pride. 

"M-Miguel…?" You asked, your voice quiet.

He stopped, picking his head up slightly, looking at you from under his thick brows. "Mm? What is it?"

"Please, um… please…." Your voice caught in your throat. Why was this so difficult?

"Oh, you're begging me now? What could you possibly be begging for… Isn't this what you wanted?"

You narrowed your eyes as he held your gaze with that lackadaisical expression. 

"Please," you started, feeling humiliated. "Please suck on my clit."

"Good girl. All you had to do was ask." In no time at all, his mouth was back on you. He zeroed in on your clit, taking the sensitive bundle of nerves into the wet warmth of his mouth, sucking on it just as you needed. The feeling was so intense and you couldn't suppress any of the noises that escaped you. And the noises he made didn't help in the slightest. He was humming as he worked your clit, the gentle vibrations of his voice adding to the overstimulation. He stopped for a moment to instead use his tongue, and the pointed attention was delicious.

"How are you feeling, amor?" He asked without fully pulling away from you, his voice slightly lisping from the contact. 

"Good," you gasped, feeling like you were getting close to the edge. "So, so good. Please keep going."

"Tell me when you're going to cum."

"Yes, yes I will." 

He continued his efforts, mercilessly devouring you, a cacophony of wet sounds rising to meet your ears. You could feel your orgasm building, your body singing. He was playing you like an instrument. That warm, pulsating feeling was building deep inside your core, threatening to burst apart with every second. 

Your grip on his hair tightened. "Miguel, I'm- I'm gonna-" 

Your back started arching and you closed your eyes as… nothing happened. He pulled his head away from you. You opened your eyes to see him looking at you from between your legs, one of his eyebrows raised. 

"Wha- what?" 

He smirked. "Oh, this? It's nothing... It's just that douchebags usually don't care about making women cum."

Your jaw dropped open. This again? You gritted your teeth, your clit swollen and thrumming with your pulse. You needed release. 

"I'm sorry." You said, your voice desperate. 

He raised his eyebrows, amused. "Oh, wow, that was fast." His tone was so matter-of-fact.

"I'm sorry for calling you a douchebag and an asshole, I was wrong about you. Please let me cum." You spat the words out so quickly that you hardly registered what you were saying. 

"How could I say no to that?" He returned to you, gripping your thighs more firmly than he had before, shamelessly moaning into you as you started to curl up off the hard metal floor. Your orgasm was so close, it was right within your grasp. Your breath started going ragged as you held onto him for dear life. In a white hot burst of pleasure, you came, swearing loudly as Miguel drank up every bit of you, letting you ride your orgasm out on his skillful tongue. He slowed down right as you did, matching your pace perfectly until you were a heaving mess on the floor in front of him.

"My turn, now," his voice came through the fog, it sounded distant. But you could feel strong arms lifting you up and all but dropping you onto your back on one of the lab's computer consoles, its screen turning off in response. He dismissed a section of his high tech suit, his manhood coming free. You couldn't help but gawk at him. His body was unreal. From the small window he created, you could see hard lines of muscle carved into golden skin. Your head started spinning again. 

He began pumping his hard cock as he looked down at you, spreading your legs further open with his free hand. "See how easy it is to get what you want when you aren't being a brat?" The way his muscles flexed through his tight suit while he worked himself was maddening. You wanted- no, you needed him to fuck you. You needed him inside you. 

You nodded your head, answering his question. 

"So, tell me what you want." 

"I want you to fuck me," you answered, still panting from your orgasm. "I want to feel you so badly. Please, Miguel."

"You're a fast learner," he purred, bringing his cock to your folds and lubricating himself on the mess you two had made. He slid over your slick entrance, his head touching your aching clit as he moved up and down. "I'll fuck this pretty cunt for you, since you asked so nicely." 

He positioned himself at your entrance and slowly pushed himself inside of you, inch by thick inch. You moaned, the feeling of finally being full was luscious, he was pressing at your walls from all angles. At last, when he was in up to the hilt, he stayed there for a moment while his large hands found your waist. 

"My God, look at you. You took all of me, and so shocking well. You," he exhaled, seemingly taking a second to compose himself. "You feel so good." 

"Thank you," you whispered, breathless. He was praising you. It was… nice to hear. Stubbornness be damned.

He chuckled to himself. "Please and thank you? You really do learn fast. You've earned this, amor." And with that, he pulled himself out of you, slamming back in with a hard slap. Over and over, he fucked you with the entire length of his cock, hitting spots inside of you that you weren't sure even existed. "Lemme hear you, I wanna hear it all."

You obeyed. "O-oh my God, Miguel, fuck. It's… it's so good. Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you."

Thanking him fueled his fire; his grip on your waist tightening, red eyes sparkling wildly. "Good girl, that's it… watching my cock disappear inside of you… it's making me crazy. You like getting fucked by someone you hated before all this? You wanna get filled up by someone you don't even like?"

"Yes, please." Your back arched into him, the pressure from his unwavering thrusts overwhelming you. The feeling was impossibly perfect, your body tingling from your head to your toes. He really did fit inside of you so well.  

"You'll get it, baby. Keep being good for me, you'll get it." 

As he continued, his hands roamed your body. Groping at your breasts, resting on the soft slope of your stomach. You grabbed one of his traveling hands, a rogue feeling overtaking you as you brought it up to your throat. 

His eyes widened in disbelief. “Y-yeah? You want me to choke you?” He sounded excited.

“P-please,” you huffed, grabbing onto his forearm.

“Holy shit, you’re something else.” He began applying gentle pressure to your airway as he kept fucking you. It was the perfect amount of constriction; suppressing your breath intake just enough for your head to feel pleasantly airy. He was good at that, why was he so good at that?

Between the way he was pounding you and the way he was choking you, your muscles started to bear down on him.

"Yes, yes, squeeze that cock. Good girl. You’re gonna get what you want.” 

You clenched down on him, your orgasm rocking you to your core as he fucked you through it. It hit you in giant waves, crashing over you and pulling you into the undertow. You felt completely drunk on it. The warmth of it was everywhere in your body, all the way up to your fingertips. Your head swam, your eyes rolling back into your head. Miguel swore to himself, his tempo becoming more irregular. He released your throat, hands flying down to grip the console. You thought you could hear it cracking. 

“God, you’re tight. I’m gonna fill you up.”

“Yes,” you rasped, your body shaking. 

He growled as he came inside of you, bearing his fangs in clenched teeth once more, and you could feel his cock twitch followed by the heat of his seed as it stuffed you full. He lingered over you, his eyes looking frenzied as his gaze flicked over your face, his chest heaving with every recovering breath. 

You released a deep sigh, smiling tenderly at him. “Thank you, Miguel.”

“You, uh,” he started awkwardly, running his hands through his hair. He still hadn’t even pulled out of you yet. “You earned it,” he repeated. 

He took a short, unsure step back, as he pulled his length free from you. You could feel his cum leaking from you upon his release. There was so much of it. 

He held his hand out to you to help you up, and you grasped it, smiling again as you got to your feet. 

“I’ll clean this mess up, but you.…” He scanned your frame. “...I’ve got a pair of pants on one of the lab chairs down there.” He pointed toward a particularly cluttered section of his space. “Bringing them back would be a much better excuse to see me than a fight in the lobby.”