Latest Posts by d-gteeths - Page 4

JAWAN (2023) dir. Atlee

Private Vasquez in Aliens (1986) dir. James Cameron

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish is the kind of dad who throws your kids around for fun, tossing them into the air and catching them just to hear their infectious laughter, ignoring the worrisome protests that you call out from the kitchen when they get a little too high.

Captain John Price is the kind of dad who convinces your children to ask you for pizza for dinner, acting all surprised when you tell him to call the local pizza place, eyebrows rising with "What's the occasion?" despite the obvious grin that his plan worked. You aren't fooled.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick is the kind of dad who chases your kids around with a nerf gun, relentlessly pelting them with styrofoam bullets and ganging up on your oldest son with your youngest daughter. Waits behind the front door for your son to get home from school and immediately fires on him.

Simon "Ghost" Riley is the kind of dad who holds your toddlers like footballs, your daughter tucked sideways under his arm and dangling your son by his ankle. "Found these mice sniffin' 'round the cookie tin." He says with a deadpan expression, but you don't miss the way his mouth twitches when they giggle and shriek.

ghost getting himself a cute, soft girl he doesn't talk about much but is clearly obsessed with and price just thinks it's nice he's finally settled down, approves of the home he's made for himself, definitely approves of the one he's taken for himself.

soap asks kyle if he's seen you and he says, "yep. lovely bird he's got tucked away in her little dollhouse. makes great food, too." soap swears there's a subtle shift in his tone when he says "lovely", a hint of something deeper that flickers in his eyes for just a moment. soap simply sucks on his teeth, letting it slide. (although he knows that kyle's always been one to appreciate the good things in life.)

interest gnaws at him, a persistent itch he can't scratch. price likes you just fine, as does kyle. well what about him? he decides to bite the bullet and goes to simon with a knot between his brows, the corners of his lips tugged downwards. they've shared clothes, bullets, beds. if the other two got to meet you, why can't he?

"ya can come over for dinner on tonight. she'd 'ave my neck if she didn't formally meet ya anyway."

soap then asks, out of genuine curiosity more than anything else, if simon would have kept you in the dark from him hadn't he brought you up himself.

"ya meet 'er when i want ya to, boy, and not a moment before." the tone he takes is unmistakeable. his words are a command, not a suggestion, and soap instantly knows to not push further.

soap nods. "ah'll be there."

"course ya will. she'd be terribly disappointed otherwise."

yeah, he'd hate to have that.

soap sits in the living room, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm light over the cozy place. with a full stomach and an unfastened belt, nursing a glass of kentucky. he can't remember the last time he ate that well or that much.

maybe it's the alcohol that loosens his tongue, or the fact that he wishes he also had a sweet little thing to keep at his side just like simon's doing with you now, but the thoughts he's been mulling over all evening since he first saw you tumble out of his mouth.

"while ah can attest to yer taste in sweethearts, can't say much about your alcohol. bourbon, LT?" he says, chest warm.

simon's arm tightens around your hips, fingers splayed possessively over your thigh. he shrugs, completely unbothered by the backhanded compliment. "can't be perfect in everythin', can we, sergeant?"

soap's cheeks burn furiously hot when you come to his defense with a smack of your palm onto simon's chest. "be nice to johnny. he's got a face that make up for some of his other flaws."

the teasing lilt in your voice unashamedly gets his southern blood pumping. he can't help it if certain things stir when someone as pretty as you look at him like that. soap swirls the amber liquid gently in the glass while keeping his limpid eyes on you, not even trying to hide the fact that his gaze hasn't wavered since your cheeky little comment.

you then whisper something in simon's ear, your cupped hand not even half the size of his head and soap has to rearrange himself from the outside when your teeth catch your bottom lip. simon looks up at you then, eyes heavy and half lidded, and a smirk plays at the corners of his mouth.

"'m not sure, love. you'll just 'ave to ask 'im yourself. go on."

you open that sweet mouth of yours, but simon cuts you off with a decisive wave of his hand. "no. you know how to ask for things."

your reaction to that is visceral, and you're on your knees faster than his alcohol-muddled brain can comprehend. don't look down 'er shirt, don't look down 'er shirt, don't-

"johnny, will you touch my pussy?"

he splutters at your question, completely taken aback, but it seems you're not done just yet.

"hands to yourself, sergeant. tha' not all."

you pout at simon, one that earns you a look that promises consequence, but do as he says.

"will you touch my pussy, johnny? pretty please?"

idk just thinking about seeing your lieutenant for the first time, this big giant dog of a man, and thinking to yourself, "hmmm yeah, i'm gonna make that thing mine." (18+)

like. i'm thinking about seeing him walk into the room for the first time. fresh off an op, still in all his gear. he's angry cause he's been awake off and on for 40 hours at this point, and he sinks down into a chair in the mess hall, and your eyes bug cause the chair fucking bends with his weight.

and you're just like "omg omg omg holy shit" cause this fucking brute is just huge and beefy, and you had no idea this was your type until you watched his hand curl around a cup and make it look miniature. and you're wondering like "fuck i bet those holsters are custom made" cause you don't think you've ever seen them stretch that far around someone's thigh.

ughghghghgh, and he's dumb as shit, too, or maybe he's just fucking blind. you give him every hint in the book, every indication of how you feel other than pasting a giant neon sign on your forehead that says "fuck me."

you wear the tightest cargo pants you can get. you let the buttons on your shirts go low whenever he's near. you make excuses to see him late, delivering him paperwork in the middle of the night, meeting him out for a smoke (and he's never seen you smoke anything), shuffling your way in front of him in line so you can bump into him and graze your ass against his front. he even catches you this way--even curls his hand around your waist and steadies you before letting you go impatiently.

fuck, bending over in front of him, the obnoxious giggling, the excuses to dangle your tits in his face. you want this man underneath you, on top of you, tangled around you and suffocating you with those enormous arms, and he barely side-glances at you whenever you're in his vicinity, and it's infuriating.

what do you have to do to reel this thing in? how many bones do you have to give him?

how many times do i have to flash my bra at you for you to fuck me over your desk?!

you can't eat another cherry in front of him. you can't drop more sauce onto your cleavage. you cannot come out of the showers in just a towel in front of him anymore because you're going to lose your fucking mind--

you even made out with his beloved little sergeant, his favorite little know-it-all that can't stop blowing shit up. that blue-eyed, insufferable, yapper of a scot that kisses all wet, with teeth, who pants like a puppy when he asks if he can 'ave a taste of y'r bonnie cunt, please, please, please--

and you say yes, because maybe he'll finally fucking shut up if you drown him between your thighs and never let him come up for air.

face down, ass up, cargos around your ankles, hips pushing past against that puppy's stubble as he devours you on his knees. his big hands spread your ass for him, and his thumbs flick over your folds as he opens you up, a cackle leaving him before he opens his mouth wide and kisses your pussy all sloppy and uncoordinated.

when the door swings open and hits the wall with a bang, the puppy tries to leave. he tries to move, but you reach back and grip his mohawk, scowling as you shove his face back where it belongs as your lieutenant stands at the door and heaves with anger.

"uh uh," you snap, and your sergeant on his knees whines, his blue eyes a little foggy and wet as he blinks up at you. but he complies, his tongue slurping, and you flutter your lashes at your lieutenant as you keep johnny muzzled in your cunt. "sorry, lieutenant. is this your office? must've read the sign wrong."

you reel from the contact. a big hand grips you by the hair, slamming you down against his desk, and you choke as you try and gasp for air. like a good boy, johnny settles where he is, shoving his tongue down your hole and moaning low when he realizes you're dripping down his chin now that his lieutenant has you.

"y'think this is funny, eh?" ghost mutters in your ear. "y'think i don't know wot y'r doin'? think i 'aven't caught on, think i 'aven't noticed wot a fuckin' insatiable bloody pain in my arse you've been ever since y'got 'ere?!"

you whimper, relaxing against the desk, and ghost tugs at your hair again, shaking his head.

"oi! y'don't get to be stupid just because y'r gettin' y'r cunny played with," ghost snaps. "y'r a right headache."

you laugh, getting up to your elbows, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as ghost scruffs johnny by the base of his mohawk and cups your pussy with one big hand. you gasp, leaning your head back, because finally, yes, it's all i want, please, please, please--

"'f you wanted to be my pet so bad," ghost murmurs, fitting himself behind you, leaning over your shoulder as he spits into your ear, "all ya had to do was fuckin' ask, swee'eart."

when your eyes open, ghost hums, clicking his tongue under the mask.

"use y'r words," he growls. "be a good girl, and say wot it is y'want."

"want you," you whine, and he sighs deeply, closing his eyes, and you drown out the sounds of johnny sputtering at your feet as ghost bends you at the hip a little more, arching your back.

"mmm...tha'sit. was tha' so hard?"

Disco :)

ATTENTION

If you see this you are OBLIGATED to reblog w/ the song currently stuck in your head :)

bully!Soap who never insults your looks, you were his pretty little cry baby. he craved seeing you whimper and whine, he loved the thrill of you fighting back with tears on your cheeks

he however hates seeing those pretty eyes pained. when the two of you were 10 years old is when he made the grave mistake of mocking your teeth for the first time, he was experimenting at the time and he q u i c k l y learned that is not what he wants, not at all, after watching tears of genuine hurt pool at the corner of your eyes, not meeting his eye as you cover your mouth with your hand and fleeing

you didn’t smile for weeks and everyone avoided the boy, who stared at you, willing you to l o o k at him

the first time he ever heard a boy a grade higher than the two of you utter the word “fat” in your direction, he blacked out, only coming back when two teachers were hauling him off the boy, knuckles busted and dripping blood, and the boys face was a proper mess

when they were dragging Johnny towards the office, he caught sight of you, staring at him, hands clutching his book bag and cheeks glistening in the afternoon sun, eyes wide and curious

ok guys but hear me out..,

back before simon was drafted and he was still working in some butcher around the outskirts of manchester, he remembers a little bakery a few blocks down from his shop. although never particularly crowded, he's noticed the older locals go by in the mornings for coffee, kids guided in by their parents after schools to get a snack. but he doesn't seem to lounge in the corner of that cafe for either of those reasons- instead, he finds himself fawning over the pretty baker.

and you're nice to him, too- always smiling when you see him around, voice so sweet when you're at the butchers to buy some meat for the pies, sneakily trying to slip him a discount whenever he goes to buy a sandwich- 'hospitality workers gotta stick together, right?' it's no wonder that he finds himself falling for you, a stupid puppy crush that he tries, and occasionally fails, to suppress. and sometimes, simon lets himself believe you like him too, with the way the blood rushes to your cheeks when you spot him across the shelves, with he notes how you nearly fumble a frothing pot of milk when caught staring at him. it's a little attempt of young love that he thinks will be smothered out as he gets older.

but now it is twenty years later, he is working with the sas, and he is meant to be dead. but simon finds himself strolling his hometown, genuinely surprised that he sees the cafe still up, that he sees you, still working behind the display cabinets. you're older now, more mature, but your smile is just as pretty as it was those years ago. and he sees that glimmer of recognition in your eyes, how your head perks up at the sight of his figure outside of the window.

ghost smothers his cigarette and bins it before walking through the doors. may as well pay the bird a visit.

‏I am mohammed Ayyad, I am 17 years old, high school student, I have 7 brothers, including 4 girls and 3 boys and my mother.

‏Since the beginning of the war, my family and I have been displaced 4 times, each time more severe than the other.

‏The first is from Gaza City to Khan Yunis, and the second is from Khan Yunis to the shores of Bahr Khan Yunis, then to the city of Rafah, and then to an area called Al Qarara .

‏My house was completely destroyed , everything is under the rubble my childhood, my memories, my books, and my ambition and Many relatives and friends were killed and life was completely destroyed.

‏ so l please you to help me and help my family collect donations to evacuation the war zone, get out of Gaza safely, and complete my school studies, via my donation link.

‏‎

gofundme.com

Donate to I want to buy water and medicine for my young children becau, organized by DUNIA E D HABIB

‏I am mohammed Ayyad, I am 17 years old, high sch… DUNIA E D HABIB needs your support for I want to buy water and medicine for m

I'm going to cry

Natural - MDNI

pairing: simon riley x black!reader summary: simon wants to see your natural hair more often. cw: 2.2k+ words, fluff, sex mention, hair length & color is not mentioned

“can’t believe women use all this crap. what is this shit anyway?”

“it’s grease. don’t be a hater simon,” you tell your husband, while trying to hide your smile when he mutters something under his breath.

simon passes the jar to you, before turning his gaze back to the row of color bottles and jars on the shelf. he may not know what half of this shit is, but he does recognize some of the products he’s seen you use.

“you act as if you’ve never been to a hair store before,” you say, before laughing under your breath at the deadpan look on your husband’s face as you drop yet another hair product into the basket he’s holding. “you know you can sit in the car if you don’t wanna be in here with me.”

simon’s eyes soften when they land on you. you’re aware of his staring, but you don’t meet his gaze. you’re too busy comparing two different brands of heat protector.

“of course i want to be here,” he murmurs quietly, from where he stands beside you. “wouldn’t’ve left the house if that was the case, lovie.”

you acknowledge his words with a hum, before turning slightly to place the bottle into the basket. you’re secretly happy simon’s decided to take this little trip to the store with you. he’s barely been home for a week and you’ve missed him. simon’s always gone for work, so you try to spend as much time with him as you can. it helps to lessen the ache in your heart when you know he’ll be leaving again. whether it’s grocery shopping, trips to a home improvement store, or if you’re just going to pick up some takeout, you’re always at his side.

simon follows you from aisle to aisle with no complaint. he’s your silent but deadly shadow, who only speaks when he’s curious about something on the shelves, or if you ask for his opinion.

“you gettin’ your hair braided?” he asks with a raised brow when he recognizes the wall you keep glancing at as you walk. he doesn’t remember hearing you mention anything about braids to him.

you shake head, “no, i think i’m gonna do something different this time. i’m just browsing.”

“is that why you’ve been on youtube the last three nights, instead of sleepin’?”

you roll your eyes at the amusement you hear in his tone, because of course he knows what you’ve been doing late at night while he’s asleep. simon’s always been a light sleeper. you can’t move an inch without him knowing what you’re up to.

“i thought i was being quiet,” you laugh as you come to a stop when you find the aisle that has the last item on your list.

unfortunately for you, the oil you want is out of stock. you let out a soft noise of disappointment and resort to pouting, which doesn’t go unnoticed by your husband.

simon laughs softly at your facial expression. “stop pouting, lovie. would you be open to finding a substitute? or we can go to another store,” he suggests, even though he already knows the answer to his question.

but you shake your head stubbornly, whining, “i don’t want an alternative.” and you’re definitely not going to another store. “i’ll just make due with what i have.”

“okay,” your husband says quietly as he commits the name of your favorite oil to his memory, before closing the distance between you two and brushing his thumb across your cheek. “got everything ya need then, love?”

you can only nod and mumble out a yes, honey while you try not to swoon at the tender look in simon’s eyes. you have to refrain from chasing his hand when he withdraws his touch.

damn did i miss him that much, you think to yourself when he takes your hand and leads you to the front of the store.

when you step up to the register to pay, you take the basket from simon and exchange pleasantries with the cashier, before placing your items on the counter.

simon glares at you when you start digging in your purse for your wallet. “what do you think you’re think you’re doing?” he asks calmly, his voice low enough for your ears only.

you freeze immediately and stare up at him with a confused look. “looking for my wallet,” you answer slowly, before doing just that.

you stop rummaging when simon huffs under his mask and eases around you, so he can pay for your things. no matter how many times you’ve told this man that you can pay for your own stuff, he refuses to listen. you don’t even protest anymore whenever he pulls his wallet out in the store, like you used to at the start of your relationship. you think it’s nice to have someone take care of you.

“thank you,” you say softly when simon intertwines his fingers with yours, and leads you away from the register and out the door.

you do get an earful from him on the ride back home though. your husband cannot fathom why you insist on paying for anything when he’s told you time and time again that it’s his job to pay for everything, his job to provide. hell, simon barely even lets you lift a finger around the house when he’s home.

sometimes if you’re stubborn enough, he’ll let you get away with cooking or cleaning. you better not press your luck next time, though, because he can be just as stubborn as you.

when you get home, you let simon kiss you senseless, before you separate so he can get some work done and you can empty out your bags. when you’re done putting your purchases away and reorganizing your hair products, you get started on your hair.

you’re in the bathroom plugging your blow dryer into the socket, so you can dry your freshly washed hair, when simon makes his presence known. he doesn’t say anything at first. he’s content with watching the way you handle your coils with care as you apply some pink lotion before using a comb to loosen up some of the kinks. when you reach for the blow dryer to cut it on, simon decides to speak.

“leave it.”

his soft request makes you pause.

“leave what?” you ask, before setting the blow dryer back down onto the bathroom counter, and giving simon your undivided attention.

“your hair.” he says softly, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror. “i like it this way. natural, curly.”

“are you implying that you don’t like it when i wear braids? you got a problem with my wigs, riley?” you ask with a pout, your eyes full of mirth.

“not at all, love.” simon loves your hair in any form. “you know i don’t care about that. long hair, short hair, wigs, or braids. it doesn’t matter to me. i wouldn’t give a shit if you were bald.”

you turn to him fully, “then why—”

“you never let me see you like this,” simon blurts out, a blush high on his cheeks when you stare at him in surprise. “it’s always fleeting. and i understand that you’re always so particular about your hair. but for once, let me see it like this. let me see you.” he pulls on a soft coil for emphasis, grinning when you bat his hand away.

“didn’t know you felt that way, si. why didn’t you say anything sooner?” you shoot him an exasperated look when he just shrugs and rubs the back of his neck. “thought i would say no, huh?”

simon blows out a breath, before he chuckles and nods, “fuck yes.” sometimes you were set in your ways and he couldn’t change your mind.

he lets out a low laugh when you slap his chest lightly. “i don’t say no all the time,” you protest, as a bubble laughter spills from your lips when he snorts.

“you told me no this morning,” he points out, remembering how he almost had you bent over the railing of your balcony earlier that day until you realized what he was trying to do.

“that’s because you wanted to fuck me on our balcony. that’s a perfectly good reason for me to say no,” you argue. in your mind that does not count. “had i let you continue, someone would have seen.”

“you’d be too drunk on my cock to notice a peeping tom,” he smirks when you let out a groan.

“you’re impossible, simon riley,” you huff, before turning away from him and unplugging your blow dryer.

“so i’ve been told,” he shrugs, before pressing himself against your back and tilting your head to the side so he can press soft kisses to your jaw.

your eyes flutter shut almost immediately when simon’s teeth grazes the soft skin of your jaw, making you whimper and moan before you can stop yourself.

“s–simon,” you choke out. you’re not sure if you want him to stop, or if you want him to bend you over the sink and split you open on his cock.

“yeah?” he rasps against your jaw, making you sag slightly in his hold, when his thick fingers start tugging at the waistband of your leggings.

“need to fix my hair,” you hiss at him, though you make no move to stop him.

when simon backs away from you and takes up his previous spot in the doorway, you almost change your mind. almost. you should be applying your curling cream, not letting your husband devour you at the bathroom sink. you let out sigh when you reach up to touch your hair, glaring at simon when you notice how it’s already started to air dry. it’s definitely his fault.

“don’t even think about blaming me.”

“you’re the one who tried to distract me from doing my hair, so yes i do blame you,” you sniff, feeling indignant.

“and yet it didn’t stop you from moaning and rubbin’ your ass on my cock, now did it?” before you can retaliate, simon ducks out of the bathroom with a bark of laughter.

you’re propped up against a mountain of pillows with your bonnet on and your nose in a book when you feel the weight of simon’s gaze on you.

“stop staring at me.”

“i can’t stare at my beautiful wife?” simon replies from where he stands in the doorway of your bedroom, soft amber eyes taking you in.

“simon,” you whine, suddenly feeling a little shy because of all the attention he’s been giving you today.

simon hasn’t stopped staring at you since you exited the bathroom earlier in all of your natural glory. he’d even asked for your permission, before he sank his fingers into your soft coils. he was a bit surprised when you said yes, because you’ve always told him the one thing black women do not tolerate, is a person touching their hair. it was even worse when they touched it without permission. he didn’t seem bothered at all, when you told him not to get used to it.

your eyes follow simon as he steps further into the room and tosses his shirt onto the chair in the corner, before he climbs into bed next to you. he does his usual grumbling about the mountain of pillows you insist on torturing him with. he tosses several pillows to the bottom of the bed, then makes himself comfortable. you barely put up a fuss when simon pats around the bed and searches for your bookmark with one hand, while he gently pries the book away from you with his other hand.

“c’mere, love,” he croons while tugging you closer, then murmuring, “much better,” when you climb on top of him.

a soft sigh escapes your lips when simon starts stroking his big warm hands up and down your spine. a light squeeze to the back of your neck has you lifting your head, your eyes meeting your husband’s. you squirm a little when he presses his lips to yours, taking advantage of the way you gasp softly by slipping his tongue in your mouth. the way simon nips at your bottom lip and does his best to shove his tongue down your throat makes you a bit dizzy. but not dizzy enough to be unaware of his hand gripping the edge of your bonnet and tugging it off your head.

you pull away from the kiss to sit up and glare at his sneaky ass. “what do you think you’re doing simon?” you ask, snatching your bonnet from him.

“one day i’m gonna hide that shit,” he threatens, his lips curving up into a smirk when you clutch the bonnet to your chest with a shake of your head.

“you wouldn’t dare!”

he absolutely would. he’s tried it before.

“i will. leave the bonnet off. i wanna see your curls bounce while you ride my cock,” simon says in a tone that makes you whimper and has your eyes widening.

“don’t you mess up my hair,” you say warningly, before tugging off your shirt.

simon pretends not to hear you as his hand dives into your sleep shorts.

-

hair series masterlist

masterlist

to the anon who just asked me if i ever shut up

no bitch i do not lmfao

Insatiable

AN: No one asked for this but the Butcher brain rot is crazy and i can't stop myself. Alas, I couldn't resist so welcome to the madness. Anyway, I went insane and absolutely wrote a devoted piece to this man. Jesus help me.

Warnings: dub-con (use of sex pollen-ish mind control), smut, fingering, language, and Butcher is a warning in and of itself.

MINORS DNI Below the cut

"I'm not wearing any underwear."

The admonition echoed in the habitat of Butcher's Cadillac like a bird's call. Even the sound of leather on leather, as the man sitting beside you slowly turned to examine you, wasn't loud enough to get the stupid ringing out of your head.

This had all started off like a bad scab you thought was healed but wasn't, and now it was bleeding all over your favorite pink pull.

Hughie and MM had uncovered a rightful piece of Temp V hideout; a Supe's mansion on the Upper East Side who, just happened, to be throwing one of his renowned "XXXchange" parties for Supes and their pets (this was how it was described on the e-vite MM hacked).

This Supe, still unknown to everyone because he kept the mansion under a random woman's name, was supposedly a Seven-in-the-making, as Hughie put it. If he could prove himself, he was next in line for a comfy beige seat in the Tower. So hence, him keeping and distributing Temp V to teens and young adults who didn't know any better.

So what had been Hughie's grand ol' plan? Bring you in. As the newest Supe member of The Boys, no one had yet seen your face. No one even knew of you. You were a low-level "barely considerable" Supe...as Butcher had put it the first time he blew the hinges off your front door.

Your power wasn't really a - well, a power at all. It was mostly an advancement, an intellectual add-on, or a sixth sense. You could read lies. More coherently, because someone with a beard and a giant stick up his ass didn't understand correctly--you could tell when someone was lying.

You weren't really an attribute to the team when it came to brute force. You left that up to Annie and Kimiko. But you had your perks, and since you were still under Vought's radar, you could slip through the cracks and get intel for the Boys.

Now why was Butcher with you, the most notorious Boys' member? Well, one might say he was eager to see your 2-hour fight training in practice, but really, it was because he "didn't trust a dumb twat with highly sensitive information and tech". His words.

So he'd garnished a Tommy Bahama blouse with pink flamingoes and palm trees and a matching set of swim shorts, sunglasses, and a stupid bright pink bucket hat that was way too small for his big ass head.

And now here both of y'all were, headed to the Upper East Side, dressed like a hooker and a pimp. Annie had insisted on this get up, a tiny, tiny pink skirt, a white bikini top, and a pink cover up with flip flops to finish off this fucking look. Because apparently, no one would let you in if you weren't A) a Supe and B) not dressed like a House Bunny.

"So you're tellin' me," Butcher drawled as the New York skyline darkened, "that your bare pussy is suction-cupping my leather seats?"

You crossed your arms. "I'm sitting at an angle."

Butcher slapped the wheel. "You should've told me earlier!" he laughed. You frowned in return when he swivelled that giant head of his towards you. "Come now, if you're not wearing panties, why should I, eh?"

"You wear panties?"

He hummed, regaining control of the road as the car slipped passed the last townhouse to enter Mansion Ville.

"I like you, little Truthteller," he mumbled to himself. "Thought you were a bit worthless at first, but you might just prove yourself tonight!"

You didn't dare answer the last bit, instead focusing on the details Annie and Hughie gave you before you flip-flopped your way into Butcher's passenger seat (and did absolutely not suction-cup his leather seats).

The idea was to go in and place a few bugs in and around the mansion in key locations. You could try to figure out who the Supe was or even find out where he stashed his V, but it didn't matter. The Boys would find out over the bugs.

The mansion Butcher parked the Caddie in front of was like a cookie-cutter version of the 90s PlayBoy mansion.

"Alright, love," Butcher sighed, killing the engine and stepping out, rounding the nose of the car to open the door for you. "Give 'em a nice peek of that minge, eh?"

You blushed from head to toe, a torment of fire assaulting your skin until Butcher caught on and chuckled low in his chest, helping you step out the car with his hand.

You still hadn't gotten used to the crass words that could tumble out of his mouth like vomit.

He guided you to the entrance, where a man dressed in black boxers and a black neck tie asked for your invite number, which you recited from the one Hughie gave you.

Then he asked, "And which is Supe and which is pet?"

You blushed even hotter. "Um." Your throat got sticky and dry all at once. "I'm the Supe and he's my... um, he's my-"

"Her pet," Butcher interrupted with a wide smile, the sunglasses hiding the glint in his eye that was surely showing. That ridiculous bucket hat made him look almost two heads taller than you as he bent down to whisper in your ear, "bark, bark."

You groaned inwardly as you lead him into the foyer, where a sprawling staircase lead to a mezzanine and a mahogany banister and a wide archway gave way to a mess of bodies in the living room.

"Oh my God," you mumbled, turning away from the onslaught of legs and arms and slithering bodies like a pile of snakes.

"Oh, nuh-uh," Butcher chuckled, grabbing you by the shoulders, steering you right into the mass of party-goers, moaning and groaning and thrusting into one another or bouncing on top of each other like mad dogs. "If you want to play the part, you have to look the part." His mouth was right next to your ear, and for some reason, the breath caressing your skin sent a slowly gliding shiver down your spine.

Why was this happening?

You felt the flesh melt where his fingers lay, clutching at your shoulders, pulling your coverup off of you.

"Butcher," you said, stopping his hand.

He shook his head. "Show them what you got, mama," he whispered again, the rough of his beard tracing against your cheek. He scooped the coverup off your shoulders and threw it across the room, leaving you in your bikini top.

Butcher had never seen you so exposed before. You'd always worn pants and t-shirts around the safe house, so watching all that bare skin available to his hungry eyes flipped a switch in his head.

A woman, tall and elegant, cream skin and sultry black eyes, approached you before Butcher could do something stupid. He straightened up, lifting the sunglasses from his nose.

"Miss, look at you," he cooed.

Miss was naked. Someone had left a bite mark on her right breast, just above her peaked nipple. She was so long-limbed and beautiful, and the sight of her naked body made you turn away instinctively.

"I like you," she said, voice low and husky, like a purr.

"I like you too, sweetheart," Butcher answered, the heat of his body completely leaving you as he zeroed in all his attention on the naked, wanting lady before you.

She huffed. "You're great too," she answered, and when you turned, her lascivious brown eyes were settled on you. "But it's her that I want."

Butcher gasped and then erupted in laughter, taking the bucket hat off his head and putting it to his heart. "Woah, I never imagined I'd see this in my lifetime."

The other woman smiled slowly and you gulped. She was pretty, but she was also not part of the mission.

So you back-peddled.

You put a delicate hand to Butcher's arm, digging your nails into his skin, and put on a lovely, sweet smile for the offering girl. "That's nice of you," you said, voice sultry like a wet candy cane. "But we're more interested in watching." As you said this, you dropped into your act as best you could, mustering up the strength not to blush but to play the part of the sex-obsessed Supe.

She brightened up at this, gesturing to Butcher. "Well I could fuck him while you watch," she suggested.

Butcher's body tensed up against you and he turned to you. "Please say yes," he mumbled.

You smiled, throwing him a glance. "Both of us are watchers," you corrected, watching as she bowed her head, a lustrous gleam in her eye.

"It would've been a pleasure," she said before walking away.

When she was climbing onto another woman's lap, Butcher grabbed your bicep and brought you into a corner, sheltered in the dim lighting of the room, smothered under the moans and groans and the sloppy sounds of...intercourse.

"You were this close to fulfilling a fantasy of mine," he groaned, and when you looked up, he looked more angry than turned on.

"We're not here so I can watch you have sex with a woman, asshole!" you gritted between your teeth. ''We're here to plant bugs and find some V."

He huffed, rearranging his Tommy Bahama. "I'm obeying just because you're wearing this outfit," he grumbled, following you as you led them into the next room.

A kitchen, stock full with boxes of canned beverages and food platters.

"Okay, here." You pointed to the dinner table in the adjacent room, a teakwood marvel that surely housed a few meetings or two.

Butcher expertly placed a bug under the table.

You meandered safely through the house, planting bugs in various living rooms, meeting rooms, and spare bedrooms. Whenever some couple or lone masturbator dedicated their attention to you both, you pretended to watch, Butcher enlacing you in his arms.

It's only then you noticed how tall, how big this man was. He was easily dwarfing you by just standing there, your head against his chest, his fingers drawing lazy circles against your exposed spine.

When the onlookers would pass, he'd chuckle as you pushed him away like he was a booger wall.

But the more you traveled in the house, the more people seemed to stare, wanting, questioning. So you ended up holding Butcher's hand, at his command: "Wouldn't want the lovely ladies stealing you away, eh?"

And hand holding turned into his arm around your shoulders, the tip of his very long fingers ghosting your breast.

"Let's go upstairs," he whispered in your ear once he'd bugged up the toilet.

"Ew, no."

He sucked his teeth. "I mean," he gritted, pushing you up against a wall when a man with a considerably large strap on made his way towards you. Butcher bent down, squeezing the breath from your lungs as he grazed his mouth on your bare shoulder. He pressed a featherlight kiss, all while observing the passing man, dragging his lips up to your ear. "We should go bug up the rooms, eh? Maybe see if we can find this cunt's V supply?"

You nodded, a wicked shiver pebbling your flesh.

Butcher blew cold breath onto the thin line of saliva he'd left on your skin. "Cold?"

You swallowed hard. "Let's just go."

He chuckled as you grabebd his hand and led him back to the stairs, galloping up to the second floor.

Truth is, you'd never imagined Butcher like this. He was so arrogant and he loved to make people jump out of their skins by how uncomfortable they were with him, but you'd chopped it up to the old chip on the block; Butcher pushing people away to keep himself safe.

So when the Boys had initiated you, you'd figured it'd be best to steer clear from this tyrant of a man. He was way older than you anyway, and he was always calling you every name in the book except your government given one. And he was always dismissing your ideas, so you'd always assumed he had an image of an immature little girl in his head.

But he'd dreamed of you more times than he cared to count. The messed up parts of his brain, where most of it was left behind in his old life, conjured up hauntings of you every night. Of those soft, plump lips whenever you'd eat cherries. Of your legs in your pajama shorts and your giggle when Kimiko signed something stupid. Of that perfect little body of yours.

"Okay, in here." You interrupted his chain of thought, the one that was going to crash into a puddle brains that would eventually leak out of his ear.

You lead him into a room, which turned out to be some kind of antechamber with a hearth and a giant portrait of a small, bald man.

"He looks like a mouse," you muttered.

But Butcher froze, tearing his hand away from yours. "Oh, fuck me," he groaned, putting his sunglasses and hat onto the low table. "That's the fucking Seducer."

Your skin crawled. You turned, examined Butcher's expression as he leaned against the far wall. "This cum guzzler is the one trafficking V?" he thought to himself, just as you asked, "who's the Seducer?"

Butcher turned to examine you across the room, lit by a few lights in the sconces. "He's the world's number 1 date raper," he answered, frowning. "This guy can intoxicate the female species into a mad heat, like dogs."

"What?" You frowned.

Butcher walked a bit closer, turning his head to watch you out of one eye, like a bird. "Yeah, he secrets this hormone on a whim and boom, bitches go mad for his dick."

"Oh." You swallowed, turned to push the handle of another door, leading to a darkened room fit for a king. "I think this is his room."

Butcher muttered behind you, "Lucky guy if you ask me."

"Trouble getting women, Butcher?" you asked absentmindedly as you entered the dark room, lights from the lawn outside filtering milky-white through the windows, illuminating your path like a trail of snow.

Butcher followed, closing the door behind you. "Not really," he answered, immediately pulling cubbards and drawers open. "The ladies love me."

"Oh, yeah I bet," you muttered, pulling open the wardrobe. A loose floorboard creaked loudly and you froze, turning to meet Butcher's eye.

He scrambled to where you stood, pressing on the floor and repeating the awful creaking sound.

"Pants jizzer must be keeping the V under his floor," he mumbled, pressing until at least 6 floorboards rose from the ground on one end, a whole door to the underside of the Seducer's floor.

"Bingo," you giggled, helping Butcher pull the damn thing open. But there was nothing there, only an empty black space that could've fit maybe two people, gaping at you like a dark maw. "He must have transfered them," you whispered.

"Or he's trafficking other things," Butcher replied darkly.

Just as you were about to close the floorboards, a loud thud rang out in the antechamber. You froze, listening, until a feminine giggle made you and Butcher lock eyes.

"Get in," he whispered, motioning to the black pit under your knees.

"In here!?" you whispered tightly.

Whoever was on the other side was making their way towards the room, painstakingly, and this was not the place you and Butcher needed to be found.

"Yes, fuck, get in," he insisted, and your heart thudded so loudly, so harshly against your throat you thought it would burst right out through your chest.

Shaking, you got into the little space, falling onto your back because you couldn't see where this thing ended. As soon as you got your hair out of your eyes, Butcher was tumbling onto you, closing the floorboards a millisecond before the bedroom door burst open.

Sound was immediately muffled, like being underwater, and the only thing you could hear was your breathing. Butcher's breathing over you. Your heart in your throat, nauseating you, the adrenaline rushing like a flood in your veins.

Butcher's chest heaving against yours, the entire length of him pressed up on you like a heavy blanket.

"Get off," you whispered, feeling the heat of his forearm next to your head.

"There's no space," he grumbled, his voice catching on your cheek, your neck, as he tried to maneuver himself every which way that meant he wasn't pressed up on you, but he was just so damn big, like hiding with a grizzly bear, that whenever he tried to move, he just ended up being half on and half off you.

"Fuck it," he grumbled, pressing one hand under your thigh, wrenching a gasp from your throat as he placed himself comfortably between your legs.

The pressure of him on your bare bottom half made you freeze, heart hammering like an angry drum against your ribcage. The way you were positioned, thighs wide open, knees bent each side of his waist, made the skimpy little skirt bundle up onto your tummy, leaving you completely bare.

"Hush up, little thing," Butcher whispered in your ear, holding himself up on his forearms as not to crush the breath out of you. But his voice was wretched, pulled and tight, no doubt reacting to the heat he could feel through the thin fabric of his swim shorts.

The noise overhead intensified; a moan, a few garbled words, thudding.

"They're going to do it while he lie here," you whispered, hands balled up by your sides.

Butcher chuckled silently, breath fanning your neck. "So we really are voyeurs."

You smiled, holding back a giggle until a heavy thud caught your attention and the voices suddenly got a bit clearer. They were right over you.

A woman's voice floated through. "How ever I can serve you, Seducer."

The last word made your insides coil in fear. It looked like this woman was answering a command from the Seducer himself, the man who owned this house, who trafficked all the V and worked with Vought.

"Fuck," Butcher muttered. "This is worse than I thought."

"Why?" you asked silently, your fingers trembling against your thighs.

You felt him bend forward, his body tight like a rod. "This is going to hurt, love."

And just as you were about to ask what he was about to do, a soft pang echoed in your lower belly, like someone had tied a rope to your bellybutton and pulled. You squirmed, the thudding overhead leading back to the bed.

The pulling again, making you heave in a breath, squeeze your eyes shut. "No, no, no," you muttered, feeling an ache build between your legs, a force pull through your veins like molten honey.

The Seducer was using his power. And it wasn't just affecting the woman he was with... it was starting to affect you.

You felt yourself clench on nothing but air when the ache throbbed against your clit, like an invisible vacuum seal had closed over it, and you lifted your hips off the floor slightly.

Butcher immediately grabbed your hip, bringing you back down forcibly, sending a new wave of heat, of ache, of hurt through your body just at the touch of his bare fingers on your bare hip.

"Don't," he breathed, his word clipped. "Don't do that."

He could feel the heat of you through his shorts, just how impossibly hot you were, probably dripping from the Seducer's power, and the little control he exhibited around you was pulling quite taut.

"It hurts, Butcher," you gritted through your teeth, hands settling on his shoulders for support as another wave of need, of painful, painful need, throbbed through your body like a pulsing nuclear explosion. Your legs tightened around his waist, nails digging into the fabric of his Tommy Bahama. "Make it stop," you pleaded, heaving, throwing your head back, bucking your hips to get the pain to stop. Just stop.

Butcher huffed, cradling your face, his insides in turmoil with his brain. God had given him such a gift right now, a chance to take you, mark you as his, finally fuck that perfect little body--and he didn't know if he was man enough to stop himself.

You groaned in pain, subconsciously grinding your bare pussy against his thigh, searching for any kind of friction, of relief. Your skin was so hot, sweat beading your forehead as you braced through another wave of this unknown ache, throbbing relentlessly against your clit, deep inside you, just grazing your g-spot.

Your fingers balled into fists against his shirt, your face finding his chest, and you sobbed, "Make it stop, Butcher, please, it hurts."

You weren't aware that your hips had started grinding against his thigh, the knee he'd placed between your legs for leverage. And just the fact that he could feel his shorts getting soaked had him straining against the stitches of his sanity.

"There's only one way," he breathed against your ear. You sobbed, heaving, breathing raggedly, grinding so hard on his knee it was almost pathetic. "Are you sure you want to try?" he asked, voice trembling.

You sniffed, hung onto his neck for dear life. "Please, anything, this is--ah--this is unbearable."

He bent his head, mumbled for God to forgive him, and then pressed a deep, hard kiss on your lips, pressing you back into the floor completely. Somewhere above him, he heard a woman moan loudly, but the only thing that registered to him was the way you clung to him like a pawing animal.

A strangled moan, quiet and restrained, left your throat, caught behind your teeth as he ravaged your mouth.

"N-no," you mumbled. "No."

He pulled away, kissing your jaw, your neck until your were humping his thigh like a woman gone mad.

"This the only way, little Truthteller," he murmured in your ear, dragging his knee away and feeling your entire body go stiff against him.

A whine, like delicious music, lifted to his ear and he groaned inwardly. He had to convince himself he was doing it for you, but half of him was delighted at the idea of finally having you. Like a meal he'd been mouth-watering over for some time, and now it was fresh and warm right in front of him.

"I need," you muttered, groaning through another wave of the Seducer's power, your hips bucking into nothing. "I need..."

"You need to cum, little dove," Butcher whispered, caressing the side of your face and you shook your head.

"No."

"Yes, love," he muttered, tracing the line of your neck, down your chest until he softly cupped your breast.

A quiet moan rippled along your throat like a symphony to his ears. He played with your hard nipple through the fabric until he pushed it aside and replaced his thumb with the warmth of his mouth.

"Fuck," you whispered, pushing against his shoulders. "This is wrong." Your voice was so thin.

Butcher lapped at your nipple like an ice cream cone. "Want me to do this to your pretty little pussy?" he mumbled, and the crass words sent a hot wave of need pulsing painfully between your legs.

His other hand skimmed down your side, over the swell of your hip, and down to where you needed him most.

When he swiped a slow finger across your soaked folds, the grunt that left him was purely predatory. "You're so fucking wet," he whispered, to the accompanying sound of your panting. He brushed his thumb across your clit, holding you down as you jolted, flicking his tongue against your nipple.

"Butcher, please," you begged.

"Billy, love," he whispered, raising his head to kiss the corner of your mouth, brushing his thumb against your clit once more to capture your gasp in his kiss. "Call me Billy."

You gripped onto his shoulders, feeling the wide, powerful muscle of his right hand playing with you.

He pressed three fingers flat against you and you bucked, searching for more, as he circled slowly, starting you off.

"Say it," he commanded quietly, circling your clit faster.

"Billy," it came out as a whine and he groaned lowly, capturing your lips and kissing down your throat. The way his fingers played you like a harp wrenched a pornographic moan from your throat and immediately, Billy put a hand over your mouth, the skin between his thumb and forefinger snug under your nose.

"Quiet for me, little Truthteller," he whispered.

He moved his fingers to your entrance and slipped one in so easily it was almost embarrassing. He cooed at you, gliding his finger in and out so slowly it was almost arrogant. "So fucking wet, this perfect little hole."

You keened, squeezing your eyes shut at his crude words, searching for more friction until the heel of his hand pressed snuggly against your clit.

Your hips moved on their own, bucking against his hand as he pumped his finger, faster and faster until your pants turned into hyperventilating and your legs started to close around his hips.

"Got my whole hand drenched, pretty love," he whispered. "That perfect little cunt can handle another finger?"

You preened against his hand, your sounds muffled against his large, meaty palm and he chuckled at you.

The second finger was a tighter fit, his thick digits spreading you and squelching into you slowly.

"Ah, there's my girl," he moaned in your ear. "Fucking my fingers like a good girl."

You wanted to tell him to quit teasing, to bring you to orgasm as quickly as possible because the heat stirring under your skin was insatiable, but you didn't understand how much Billy was enjoying himself. He didn't know when he'd get a chance to have you so willingly spread open for him again, or if he'd ever get the chance again. So he savored this moment like a dying man's last meal.

He let you adjust to his fingers, fucking them into you, palming your clit before he thrust in another finger, opening you wide to him. You gurgled against his hand, muffled moans and pleas stuck behind his palm.

He didn't miss just how tight you were around his fingers, how snug and warm. "So tight, my little love," he cooed, thrusting his fingers in and out slowly, enjoying the way your hips bucked.

The sloppy sounds of your cunt sucking on his fingers drove you mad and a hot, painful knot formed in your belly, pulling and tugging at your insides.

He felt you trembling, your orgasm on the horizon, and he lifted his hand off your mouth, capturing your lips in a warm, sloppy kiss.

"Want you to cum with my name in your mouth," he mumbled, almost incoherent in his chase for your climax. He pressed his thumb to your mouth, opening it, listening to your panting, your quiet moans as he fucked his fingers into your cunt, pressing down on your clit, rubbing it with his palm.

"Billy," you breathed. "Billy. Billy." Like a mantra, a prayer.

"That's it, my pretty girl," he whispered, thumb on your tongue, fingers fucking your pussy until that knot in your bely tightened impossibly and your legs went numb. "Cum my pretty dove, gush all over my hand, come on now."

He grunted against you, and somehow, that guttural, manly sound made stars explode in your belly and you came, shuddering his name quietly, over and over and over until the pleasure had seeped out of your veins and you crumbled back to the floor. You felt his fingers slip out of you, his wet hand pull your knee apart, press against the meat of your thigh, spreading you wide, wide open.

He slithered down your body like a snake, pushing you up against the confines of this box until you felt the warm breath of him against your clit. When he lapped at you, humming around your hole like a satiated man, you mumbled his name, searching with your hands until you grabbed onto the thick strands of his hair. Panting, you mumbled his name again.

"Just having a taste, love," he mumbled, sucking on your over-sensitive clit until the heat came blasting through you again, all over, like you were under the Seducer's spell again.

"Fuck," you gritted, biting your lip, caging in the awfully loud, guttural moan that wanted to spring free.

Billy grabbed onto your hips, holding them down, his forearm over your belly like an anchor.

"One more, little Truthteller," he mumbled, flicking your clit with his tongue, his beard scraping on the inside of your sensitive thighs.

"Billy, please," you whined softly.

"Always wanted a taste," he said. Not a lie. "Always wanted to tongue-fuck this perfect hole." Not a lie.

He pressed his tongue flat to your clit, sucked and nibbled on it until he pressed his tongue right into your cunt, fucking you with his tongue like he'd promised. The mix of his hot breath, his tongue inside your walls, his thumb working on your clit made all your senses flush full of adrenaline. Bucking against his face, you rode his mouth until another flash burst through you and you came all over his face, grinding down on his nose until the last waves of your orgasm had left you.

When he climbed back over, kissing your belly, your nipple, covering you with his warmth, you were just a numb shell of the girl you were when you walked in here.

Billy kissed your jaw, your neck, stroking your hair as you regained your senses.

Whoever had been overhead had gone. It was completely silent. And it left you wondering if that last wave of need had been the Seducer's spell or Billy's.

"We should go, love," he whispered. "Before I stuff you full of my cock and have you cumming on it for the third time."

His filthy mouth brought you back to your body, cold and sweaty and oh so comfortable with two orgasm singing in your veins.

"Yeah," you whispered as Billy pushed the trap door open, peaking out to make sure the coast was clear, and then hopping out. He helped you out with his hand, gentle and calm, smoothing down your hair, covering your nipple, patting down your two-inch skirt.

"I've made a real good mess of you, love, eh?" he chuckled, standing and taking your hand. "Was I a good pet?"

Masterlist

On The Run Series :

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

OTR Drabbles:

Breeding Season

Bed Warmer

Knock First

Clothing Preference

i just imagine simon to be so casual while balls deep… like toooo casual yaaa feeel??

like your legs sittin all hiked up n pretty on his shoulders, the insides of your calves being rubbed absolutely raw with the drag of his scruffy cheeks n chin against em.

“how was your day, mama?” he shrugs slightly, your thighs jigglin’ with all the movement as he presses himself to the absolute hilt within you, balls pressed against the crease of your ass.

“w-wha-… simon,” you’d gasp, fingers desperately reaching out for his. in which he complies real quick, tangling his fingers between yours and pressing em down to the mattress forcing your thighs to burn in a deep stretch with the way your knees brush against your perked nipples.

“how was your day, baby? cmon.” he smiles down at you, the bush of his thighs slapping against the back of yours. “ya’ went out with the ladies, huh? how much ya’ spend today?”

so in love with old man bf butcher. like u make fun of him for being an old man and he gets all huffy and rolls his eyes at u AHHH

"Y'so deep," you sob, words cut off by a pitched wine rolling up the back of your throat at an angled thrust.

"Yeah?" Butcher practically sneers from above you and you can hear the smirk in his voice. His bangs stick to his forehead and veins of his forearms bulge with ever movement he makes.

You nod, eyes fluttering shut.

"Yeah."

"Still think this old man can't give ya' what ya' need?"

Truthfully, you hadn't expected your own words to be thrown back at you – despite your obnoxious claim that 'he was too old to keep it up' was the whole reason the two of you were in this situation to begin with. You both knew there was no serious threat behind your words, you just wanted to rile him up.

His words send a shock of pleasure to your core and you instantly reach down to circle your clit only to have your wrist snatched away.

"Nuh uh." His eyes lid and he cocks his head to the side some, thrusting at a deeper angle.

You shake your head.

"Please–"

"Nope." He quiets you with a shake of his head, "you wanted to piss me off so yr'gonna take what I give you since you can't find it in yr'self to just tell daddy when y'miss him."

There's a layer of soft to his tone that makes your eyes tear up and legs go numb.

A whimper falls from your lips and Butcher moves to throw your leg over to rest in the crook of his elbow, opening you up.

You gasp at the sensation and the older man chuckles above you.

"Thaaats it. Right there, huh."

"Yes, daddy. Yes." You nod, lashes strewn together by the wet of your tears.

He gives you a particularly rough thrust that has your head falling back against his pillows and your toes curling.

"Hey," he's quick to slip a hand under the nape of your neck, tilting your head back forwards, "Eyes open, keep 'em on me."

The stretch of his cock rubbing against your gummy walls has your eyes fluttering closed and your legs shaking in Butcher's hold.

Butcher taps the plush of your thigh and you open your eyes in response, doing your best to make him proud under the intensity of it all.

"C'mon, love, ya'got it – There she is," he soothes, meeting your swollen lips in a gentle kiss as he ruts into you to the hilt.

The intimacy paired with the intensity of it all has you shivering and sobbing into his mouth, grabbing at any part of him that you can in hopes of grounding yourself.

"Butcher, please–" your voice breaks into a sob when he hikes your other leg over his shoulder and sinks his length to the base inside of you.

"Oh shit." Butcher groans, dropping his head to look at the way your cunt swallows his length whole.

Eyes rolling back and cunt quivering pathetically, you let out a broken gasp.

"I can't, oh my god."

Butcher doesn't shed any more time before he's thrusting into you so deep and at such a rough angle that you're nearly seeing stars.

"M'gonna cum," you manage, biting weakly at the skin of his forearm.

"Yr'okay, cum fr'me, dollface."

He’s Just Not That Into You

pairing:  jordan li x reader

summary: a hopeless romantic, you keep looking for love in all the wrong places, with all the wrong guys. that is, until you meet jordan li, who takes pity on you and tries to help you learn when a guy just isn’t into you.

gif credit: artemidosgifs

“You good?”

"Huh?" Dazed and drifting, you look up from your incredibly important task of peeling off the label for the worst tasting artisanal beer ever created.

You quickly remember why you focused on the task in the first place. The lighting at this party sucks. It's mostly dim, to try and hide all the unsavory things happening in every corner of the house. The brightest bits of it are all flashing. Neon blue. Neon red. Neon green. As if anyone has ever looked good in neon green lighting. That plus the never-ending movement of people dancing is enough to make you sick.

"Are you good or are you starting to tweak?" Your eyes adjust enough to see who's talking and you sit up straighter. Jordan Li. Number #2.

She's wearing her ever present scowl that makes you study extra hard in Brink's class. You don't ever want to be in the position to have to ask for clarification on an assignment or further guidance. Brink's so busy being renowned that he's a pretty absent teacher, if you're not one of his favorites. Everything menial falls to Jordan.

"I'm good! Totally good. Just vibing, y'know."

Jordan stares down at you, looks back out onto the sea of partygoers, "What vibe do you think you're matching?"

“Excuse me?”

"You've been sitting here for almost twenty minutes. You've barely moved. Did you take something?"

"No! I.... I didn't take anything. I'm just enjoying the atmosphere."

Jordan rolls her eyes, takes the beer bottle from your hand, and then takes your hand itself. She pulls you to your feet, easy, despite the way you go limp at the last second to try and stay seated. Without a word she begins to pull you through the crowd. Bewildered, you follow.

She doesn't stop till you're outside on the porch. Surprisingly, no one else is lingering. But the air has a chill that's pretty biting for an early day in fall. You take a deep breath. You hadn't realized how loud the music really was. How overwhelming every smell. The itch that crawled across your skin with each jostle of a body coming too near.

"Yeah, you look like you were really enjoying the atmosphere." Jordan drawls, leaned up against the railing, observing you.

Your first instinct was to say 'fuck you' to that, obviously. But at the last second you remember she is your TA and is probably doing all the actual grading for every assignment you turn in.

You force a smile, "Thank you. Guess I was feeling pretty anxious."

"What are you even doing here?"

"Should... I mean, I was... invited? If that's what you're asking. Although I think crashing parties is pretty typical college stuff, even if I wasn't-" 

“Not what I meant.” Jordan interrupts, “I mean you don’t usually go to parties. I never see you at any of them.”

“Maybe we just run in different circles.”

“Not really. You’re in the top ten now. What did you jump to, number 6?”

“Seven, actually.”

“Really? Well, won’t be long. Number 6 is a dick. He’ll be easy to knock out with the type of stats you’re pulling this year.” 

Somehow, this compliment bewilders you more than anything. Jordan must see it on your face, because she rolls her eyes again. 

“I keep an eye on the competition. Even if you are just a sophomore.”

“Okay, Junior.” You narrow your eyes at her. She narrows hers back, which feels like overkill, because she was already glaring. 

“So, what are you doing here?” 

“Did they hire you to be the bouncer for this party?” 

“Jesus, ‘m just making conversation. You looked like you were gonna hurl in there. What? Did your friends drag you here then ditch you?” 

“My friends would never do that. That violates the party safety rule. Arrive together, leave together.”

“Oh of course.” She says, nodding in a way that feels sarcastic. 

“I actually came without my friends.” You say, standing up straighter. Proud of yourself for stepping out of your shell even if it ended on a sour note. 

“You did?” Jordan raises an eyebrow. You deflate a little at the shocked tone. Even your TA thinks you’re lame. 

“Well…. I was supposed to meet someone here. But they… I dunno, I must’ve missed them. Or whatever.”

“Who were you supposed to meet?” 

You hesitate for a second, but they impatiently gesture for you to go on. So, begrudgingly you admit to, “Uuuuh… Andre?” 

“Andre?” In the blink of an eye they shift, and take a step closer. As if he wants you to see the disbelief on his face as clearly as possible. “How do you know Andre?” 

“What happened to we run in the same circle?” You snap back. “Andre’s top ten.” 

“Andre’s a fucking nepo baby.” Jordan scoffs

“Aren’t you friends?” You frown.

“Andre barely shows up to class, he knows why he’s top ten, trust me.” Jordan says. “Andre invited you?”

“Yes, Andre invited me. We were at the club last week and you know…talked.”

“You were at the club? You’re changing it up like crazy this year, huh L/N?”

“Lot of good it’s doing me.” You sigh. You twist the sleeve of your top, wrinkling the fabric. You’d spent hours picking out the perfect outfit that looked like you weren’t trying too hard, but brought out all your best features.

Jordan’s face twists, you’d almost mistake it for sympathy, “Did you see Andre at all tonight?”  

“Did he come here with you?” 

“Would you like me to lie or tell you the truth?” 

You sigh, moving to sit down on the porch steps, emotionally and socially exhausted. “It’s okay, I already know the answer.”

A moment of silence before Jordan moves to sit beside you. He offers back up the beer he took from you earlier, “You look like you could use a drink.” 

“Eh, you have it. If you’re not a germaphobe. Thanks for rescuing me.”

Jordan shrugs, takes a sip and almost spits it right back out, “God it tastes like fucking piss.” 

“You weren’t very nice to me during the rescue, so you didn’t deserve a warning.” 

“Well fuck me, I guess.” He laughs, staring at you. He let’s out a sigh of his own, “So which line did he use?” 

“Huh?”

“What did Andre say to you?” 

“He didn’t use a line.” You protest. 

“Andre doesn’t know how to do anything but use a line. Wait! Lemme guess,” Jordan looks you up and down before glancing at a few rings on your hand. “Were you wearing those?” 

You stare back at him. 

“Well?”

“Yes, I was, why?” 

“Did he come up to you with one of them and ask if you dropped it?” 

“.....Maybe. I repeat, why?” You ask, stomach twisting.

“Cause he slipped it off your finger with his powers so he’d have an opening. It’s his go to for girls that look shy. Seen it a million times.” 

“Oh, well, that’s lovely, actually. Fuck me!” You groan, laying back against the steps and throwing your hands over your face. “You’re really good at comforting people, did you know that?” 

“I’ve been told to work on it.” 

“Clearly not enough.” 

“Just didn’t want you to fall for the bullshit any more than you already have.” 

You scrub your face harshly, trying to ignore the tightness in your throat. “Sorry. Do you like apples? I can put a nice shiny one on your desk Monday morning as a thank you for the solid.” 

“Are you about to cry?” Jordan asks, bewildered.

“No.” 

“Over Andre Anderson?”

“No!” You sit up, glaring at him. He glares back. “Not exactly. It’s just… I don’t put myself out there a lot. So it sucks. That I tried… and all I got was a guy who fed me a line he’s used a million different times on a million different girls, who then ditched me at a party he invited me to. I should’ve just fucking stayed home.” 

You sniffle and then remember who you’re actually talking to and how awkward it’s going to be to see their face Monday morning for class if you keep spilling your guts. You stand up abruptly, already planning on apologizing for whatever you said while you were “drunk” tonight. You’re opening your mouth to make your excuses, already taking steps away from the stairs when Jordan reaches out, grabbing you gently by the wrist. 

“Wait! I’m… sorry, I mean-”

“Why are you sorry?” You sniff, “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I could’ve… I could’ve been nicer. About telling you. About Andre.” Jordan pulls you to sitting back down beside him, slowly, so you can pull away if you really wanted to. 

“It’s okay. I should’ve known better.” You say quietly. 

“Hey, no. I made it sound like he’s super obvious about it but he’s honestly pretty smooth. His only hobbies are picking up girls and cocaine. He could make… fucking, I dunno, Ellen Ripley blush if he had the prep time! It’s really not your fault.” The comment surprises a wet laugh out of you and Jordan smiles, bumping your shoulders together. 

“Thanks, but he probably was obvious. I just… don’t see stuff like that coming very well.” You laugh bitterly.

“What do you mean?” 

“I apparently just can’t tell for shit when a guy is actually into me! Or just… entertaining himself.” You sigh. 

You and Jordan sit in silence for a second. You have no clue what’s going on in his head. You see him tapping his finger on the beer bottle, the sound of his rings the only noise for a moment. 

“I could help you.”

“Help me what?”

“I could teach you how to spot when a guy is just being an asshole or when he’s serious about you. So this doesn’t happen again.” Jordan shrugs, taking another swallow of the beer, flinching again at the taste. 

“Piss kink or short term memory loss?” 

“Offer retracted.” Jordan laughs.

“Why are you offering in the first place?” 

Jordan shrugs, looking out in the distance, “You’re… cool, y’know. Think of it as a welcome to the top ten gift. You’re only gonna get more and more attention now that you’re there. You’ll need to be able to sniff out bullshit or you’ll get eaten alive. No offense.”

“I’ve been in the top ten for the last six months.” You scowl. 

“Mazel tov.” 

“Dick.” You scoff, fighting back another laugh. You and Jordan make eye contact and both lose the battle, laughing together. 

You take a deep breath once the fit passes, “This isn’t a top ten humiliation ritual of initiation thing, right?”

“I’m way too busy to waste my time doing stupid shit like that.” Jordan says, familiar glare falling back onto his face.

“Sorry, rough night, had to ask.” You say sheepishly. “Offer still open?” You smile, extending your hand out for a handshake.

“Yeah, offers still open, L/N.” Jordan rolls his eyes, but he does shake your hand.

“So, number’s one pretty obvious but we have to establish the basics because you told me you were hopeless.” Jordan sips her chocolate milkshake. 

“Didn’t use the word hopeless, but sure.” You mutter, tossing a fry into your mouth and frowning at the lack of flavor. “Hit me.”

“If he calls off plans with you all the time he’s not interested. If he doesn’t give you as much heads up as humanly possible before he has to cancel a plan or bail then he might actually hate you.” 

“You’re exaggerating.” You scoff, shaking extra salt onto your fries.

Jordan reaches over, stealing one of your now delicious fries to dip it into her milkshake. “It’s a type of power play. Too many reasons to name why a guy might feel the need to pull something like that but we don’t wanna get too complicated. All you need to do is memorize the red flags and run when you see them.” 

“Okay…. follow up question, what would you consider to be ‘all the time’?”

“If you just started seeing each other and he cancels two dates in a row without desperately trying to make it up to you he doesn’t give a shit.” Jordan steals and dips another of your fries. 

“What about emergencies? Like… I dunno, a funeral? What if his Aunt died? So he cancels that one date. Then the next one he tries to plan his car breaks down or something, you know?” 

“He should call an uber and get to the fucking location of the date come hell or high water. That’s what a guy who likes you is gonna do. Don’t over complicate, L/N.”

“Oh and you don’t think you’re over-complicating the process of eating my fries?” You smack at her hand as it reaches for your plate for the umpteenth time during this lunch. “You could have ordered fries. Why didn’t you order fries?”

“Didn’t want any until I saw yours.” She tries again but you see the movement coming and block her hand, again. You did not notice the second, slightly sneakier hand that does successfully carry out the theft. 

“Did you just juke me over a fry? 

“Yeah, and I won.” 

You toss a fry at her and laugh when she manages to catch it with her mouth. Asshole.

You sit on the corner of Jordan’s desk, watching as he finishes up some last minute work that Brink asked him to do before heading out. You’d offered to meet back up later but he just shook his head and said it wouldn’t take long.

“What if he’s just a private person?” You ask, kicking your feet lightly. 

Jordan looks up from his laptop and frowns at you, “Why are you trying to invent exceptions to the rules? The rules are there to help you. Can you say that for me, L/N? Can you say the rules are there to help me?” 

“The rules are there to help me.” You repeat back, mocking their tone. 

“Thank you.” Jordan smirks at you, “Like I said, if he’s hiding your relationship from the world then he’s not serious about you. He should be introducing you to people. You should be on his social media. People should not be shocked you exist when meeting you. All that bullshit.” 

“And if they’re a private person?” You challenge.

Jordan pushes away his laptop, turning to face you. “Fuck me. The types of guys you’re gonna be around as a hero are all gonna be doing the same stuff as you. There’s gonna be a certain level of our life that’s always in the spotlight. Minimum of two posts a week if he’s constantly posting in general.” 

“I don’t post very much.” You counter.

“You should be posting more. Especially as a top ten. There’s no reason you shouldn’t be number 6 right now. You need to be more active on socials.” Jordan gives you a look before going back to typing. Two weeks ago that look would have put you on the verge of tears. Now you roll your eyes.

“I’ll think about it.” 

“It was an order as your TA, actually.” 

“Oh god, an order? I’m shaking in my boots.” You tease, playfully kicking his chair. 

“That just knocked your essay from a B- to a C, congratulations.” Jordan quips. 

“You were gonna mark my essay a B-, you dick? You know damn well I don’t turn in B- work. Who do you think-”

The rest of the afternoon is lost to playful outrage. The papers get graded late. Yours comes back an A+. No one besides you has gotten a grade of + anything since Jordan became TA. 

“Okay, so this is one with a grey area.” Jordan says.

“Oh no.”

“Shut up. If he never gets jealous that’s a red flag.” 

“But-” You sit up from where you’re laid out on the blanket you threw on the ground to better soak in the last warm rays of September sun. 

“I am not saying go out with some overly possessive fucking maniac.” Jordan cuts you off. 

“Be specific, Jordan. You can’t give me rules with built in exceptions. I’ll fail. Is that what you want? You want me to fail, Jordan? That’s messed up-”

“Shut up-” Jordan laughs, shaking her head. “Listen to me, if a guy never gets jealous he just doesn’t care at all. The most namaste, enlightened dude on the planet will get jealous in the right situation. I’m not saying tolerate anything crazy. It’s just good if he like… responds, when you say you’re going to study alone with another dude at 9pm, in the guy’s dorm... while his roommate is gone.”

“Is studying alone with another dude, in his dorm while his roommate is gone, okay as long as it ends before 9pm?”

Jordan rips out grass from the ground and tries to sprinkle it onto your face. You put up a force-field and laugh when she sticks her tongue out. 

“He’s gotta give you his full attention. When he’s with you, he’s with you. Everyone gets distracted. But if his head is always somewhere else, every time you see him, he just doesn’t like you.” Jordan swipes at your head, fast enough to be a challenge to dodge but not hard enough to hurt you had the hit connected. 

You go in for a kick yourself and he practically twirls out of the way. You try twice more, managing to evade his own hits just barely. 

Breathlessly, you gesture for a time out and Jordan sighs, “We gotta get you better at hand to hand.”

“That’s what my shields are for.” 

“The way you use your shields is really good. You’ve gotten a lot more creative this year. It’s why you’ve been jumping ranks so fast. You’re powerful.” 

The earnest tone he uses makes you lift up from the hunched over position of misery on your knees, “You think so?”

“Well…. yeah.” He clears his throat. “But you can’t get lazy. What if someone wears you out and you don’t have any energy left for them? No more shields. You need to be able to fight.”

“If I don’t have any energy left for my shields and my only option left is hand to hand combat, respectfully, it’s my time.” 

Jordan rolls his eyes, “Break’s over. Back in position, stay on your toes more so it’s easier to move, okay?” 

You’re about to get back into form when you hear calls of Jordan’s name from across the arena. You turn and see Luke and Cate coming over, wide grins on their faces. You give them a small wave and they both wave back, incredibly eager. 

You’ve always been friendly with one another but the strength of enthusiasm is… strange. Enough to make you blink in surprise.  

“Thought you said you were super booked up this week doing stuff for Brink? Absolutely no free time.” Cate asks, staring Jordan down. 

“This isn’t free time. I can’t slack on hand to hand combat training. It’s important.” Jordan stares Cate down even harder. 

“Why didn’t you ask me?” Luke asks casually. 

“Jordan saw my form in a video I just posted and apparently it was ‘despicable’ and ‘the most insane way he’d ever seen anyone do that before’. He rushed over to show me what the ‘right way to do it is’. Control freak.” You fake a cough as you say the last part.  

“You were gonna hurt your back!”

“Super healing.”

“Super herniated disc.” Jordan quips back and you scoff, shoving him. 

He shoves you back with an eye roll, fighting back a smile.

“How ungentlemanly of you.” You gasp. A shift, and she shoves you again making you laugh, “and unladylike!”

“You shoved me first!” 

“Children, please try and be civil we’re in public.” Luke cuts in and you almost jump at the sound of his voice. 

It’s easy to get lost in your own world when you’re with Jordan. You turn to be politely facing your classmates and not just Jordan, wearing a sheepish smile. 

“Stop teasing them. They’re cute.” Cate smiles.

“Anyways, you guys need something?” Jordan asks.

“We can’t just hang out? Are you trying to get rid of your best friends?” Luke asks.

“Yes.”

“Jordan!” You bump her with your elbow. 

“Okay, okay. We’ll leave you alone. Wanna grab lunch with us after though?” Cate asks, looping her arm through Luke’s.

“You feeling up to lunch, L/N?” Jordan looks over at you.

With three unexpected pairs of eyes on you, you fluster. “If you go easy on me for the rest of training, yes.”

“Not a chance.” Jordan snorts. “We’ll be there though. Now scram. L/N needs a lot of help.”

“No, I fucking do not!” You protest.

The two of you don’t notice Luke and Cate walking away trading looks.

“When you don’t know really know anything about him, it’s not a good sign.” Jordan tilts the bowl of popcorn towards you. 

“And what do you mean, specifically, by knowing anything about him?” You ask, taking some pieces and throwing them back.

“Has has ever shared his feelings? Talked about his personal life? If you don’t know anything besides the superficial stuff he doesn’t care about you.” Jordan states. “You also need to look out for him not knowing anything about you. Does he give you space to open up? Does he remember the shit you do tell him?”

“Got it, so just look out for the superficial surface level conversations if you never have any deeper moments.” You say.

“Exactly.” Jordan says before her eyes snap back to the screen suddenly. “Did they say they’re gonna try and make that house feel more ‘open concept’? What the fuck is their problem?” 

“Huh?” You look back to Jordan’s TV, which is playing Property Brothers. “You got a problem against open concept?” 

“I have a problem with every house being made to look the same, inside and out. It’s bad enough new houses don’t have unique floor plans. Now we’re taking houses that were unique and fucking them up till they’re boring! What ever happened to individuality? I bet they’ll paint the walls grey too. Fuck me.” She huffs, leaning back against the couch. 

“Are you really into this show or just really into design patterns?” You ask, charmed at her passion for something completely random. 

“A bit of both.” Jordan says. “I wanted to be an architect. Before I got my powers.” 

“Shut up! No, you did not.” 

“I did.” She laughs, “I used to draw up plans and torment my parents with them every hour of the day.”

You spend the rest of the afternoon talking about your hidden passions. 

You even get the honor of seeing a few of the sketches Jordan made years ago. They were crinkled at the edges, pencil markings dull with age in some places. You smiled down at the folder Jordan keeps the drawings in. When you look up, finally, to compliment them you notice a strange look on Jordan’s face. 

Thinking you’d made her self conscious with your long silence you wrapped an arm around her and told her she would have made a hell of an architect. And probably killed someone with the utter lack of load bearing beams in her structures. 

You expected her to shove you off playfully but she only leaned into you and smiled, flipping to the next page of the folder.

When you get back to your own dorm room, moon high in the sky, you have to stifle a laugh. The latest post on Jordan’s Instagram is a picture of you standing with your hands on your hips in the middle of their room, looking baffled. 

The caption: I handed her the remote and walked away for five minutes. We’ve been looking for almost an hour #jesus christ #banned from room 4ever. 

You step out into the hallway and call Jordan up, demanding they take down their character assassination attempt because you two only looked for 26 minutes, actually. 

They refuse. 

You’re so incensed by the exaggeration that you wind up back outside Jordan’s dorm room not ten minutes later. When she opens the door, and sees you standing there, she bursts into laughter. She drags you inside, and when you ask her when the ban got lifted she just throws you on the bed. You spend the rest of the night arguing semantics. 

You and Jordan were sitting in the ground floor of the school’s library where you were allowed to talk quietly. You were teaching them how to fold paper to make little stars while they were teaching you how to make the perfect paper airplane. 

“Are you filled with barely suppressed rage? Why is it so damn wrinkled?” You laugh at their mangled star.

Jordan grabs another piece of paper with a huff, pushing her bob back behind her ears. “You are shit at giving instructions. This is impossible. Do the steps slower again.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m actually not capable of slowing myself down times 3 like a Youtube video.” You tease.

“Fuck you.” Jordan kicks you under the table with her foot. “Again. Show me.”

“You start with this corner here, then you twist it over here, next you wanna-”

“Hey! Hey! What’s up people!” You and Jordan turn in perfect sync to hiss at the person to be quiet only to find that person to be Andre Anderson. 

You turn back towards the table, Jordan moves an arm to curl around the back of your chair. 

“Hey.” Jordan says flatly. You make some noise that you hope passes for a greeting.

“Sorry, too loud. So this is where the party is, huh? What’re you two doing?” Andre grabs a chair on the opposite side of the table and you frown, focusing intensely on the paper before you. 

“Don’t you have a class right now?” Jordan asks sharply.

“Blowing it off.” Andre grins back.

Jordan scoffs. You only notice your shoulders are practically up to your ears when Jordan puts her hand there and rubs. You relax, letting out a quiet breath you were holding. Jordan gives you a squeeze. 

“Awww, you making little stars? Cute. Wanna show me how, F/N?” Andre has the nerve to sound flirtatious. 

After ditching you without a word and radio silence to back it up. To really make sure there’s insult to match the injury. You clench your jaw. Keep moving your hands. Try to zone out. 

The hand on your shoulder gets bigger and so does the thigh that brushes against yours under the table. “Could you fuck off for a bit? We’re trying to relax after our exams this morning.”

“Ouch. Didn’t know you couldn’t relax with me around, man.” Andre bites back. “F/N, you want me to stay, don’t you?” 

You get up from the table abruptly. The sudden sting in your eyes doesn’t even allow you you to collect your things. Your chest feels tight. You have to just get out of here. You hope in a school of future superheroes no one will steal your stuff. You think you hear calls of your name from behind you. Some yelling. Your ears are ringing too much. You break into a sprint. 

You can’t even make it to your dorm. You have to settle for tucking yourself into the first patch of trees behind a building you can find. You try to fight back the tears. One breathe. Two. Three. Try to focus on the birds chirping somewhere above you. But the memories are all flooding in at once and you start to cry. Heaving, chest burning sobs.

“F/N. F/N. F/N, hey look at me.” You zone back into the world to Jordan pushing your hair away from your face and you sob.

“Fuck me, I’ll kill him. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d get so upset. You seemed like you didn’t care after that night… I-  I’ll fucking knock his teeth in.” Jordan hisses. You’d thought you’d seen them angry before. But their face has never looked like this.  

“What’s… are you having a panic attack?” Jordan asks, still petting your hair gently. You manage to nod. “Is touching you okay? Is it making it worse?” You push yourself into his hands and without another word he pulls you into his lap, tucking you against him. 

You notice absently he’s wearing his favorite jacket and try to shift, so that you’re not getting tears and snot onto the fabric. He pushes your head back against his shoulder, shushing you gently. You let yourself relax, letting out the rest of the tears. Letting the anxiety leave your body. You start your grounding techniques as your breathing evens. You can see the sharp cut of Jordan’s jaw. Hear his heartbeat. The birds chirping. Feel his hands as they rub soothing circles into your skin. Smell the cologne he wears. You tuck yourself closer, even though no more tears are coming. 

“Andre is a fucking loser.” Jordan says, quietly but vehemently, “You shouldn’t waste a second fucking thinking about him. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself. It’s not you. It’s just who he is.” 

“It’s not just Andre… It’s… it’s not even mostly Andre.” You say quietly. “I mean he’s a dick but… it just brings up memories.” 

“Memories?” Jordan echoes softly, and you know you don’t have to tell him anything but you want to. 

“When I was younger… I was even more of a wall flower than I am now. Shocker, I know.” You try to joke, Jordan only hums to let you know he’s listening, pulling you closer. “Even though I had powers I wasn’t popular or anything. I had trouble controlling them. Not enough to be dangerous… just enough to be… well, a loser, honestly. Because of my anxiety, and how loud my head gets my force-fields would just pop out whenever. I couldn’t stop it. If I was scared. If I got nervous. If I was feeling stupid, or ugly. All the time. People called me bubble girl.”

“I learned to just keep to myself but I was such an easy, fun target. Sneak up on the mouse and watch them jump and make a bubble! Fun!” You laugh bitterly. You think you feel Jordan kiss the top of your head, but you’re still out of it. “It made even getting out of bed to go to school hard. Administration wouldn’t take it serious as bullying because I was a supe: if I wanted it to stop I should defend myself.” 

“My parents felt the same way. Wouldn’t let me transfer. But I didn’t want to fight back. I didn’t want to turn myself into something I’m not just to be left alone! I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I thought eventually everyone would get bored, mature a little. But it just got worse and worse every fucking year. Senior year was… bad, though. I was getting better at controlling my powers so what kids would do to make me react was worse. But I just ignored it. I started just… pulling into myself. Whenever anyone would pour paint on my favorite outfit. Or cut my hair. Or hit me, I’d make the bubble in my head instead, and go there. Eventually, towards the end I thought people finally got bored, they stopped fucking with me as much. I thought I’d be able to graduate in peace.” 

“There was this one boy… he was popular. But he’d always been nice to me. He smiled at me in the hallways. Would help me up if people shoved me when he was around. He even gave me his sweater once, when someone cut up my shirt during gym. His friends were dicks but I thought he was different, I thought he was nice.”

“He suddenly started being even more nice to me. It felt… when he asked me to prom I just wanted to be normal for one second. I should have known. I probably did know. I just wanted to pretend, for five seconds, I wanted to pretend.” You trail off, lost in the memory.

“What happened?” Jordan asks, voice sounding hoarse. You try to pull back to see what’s wrong but he keeps you still. You realize he started rocking the both of you as you spoke. You didn’t realize how soothing it was. 

“It was a joke, obviously. We went to go shopping together, so we’d match, he told me. When we got to the shop he insisted we go to all his friends were waiting for us. Recording, of course. They all laughed at me. I still remember what one girl said, ‘you’re more crazy than we thought if you honestly ever believed someone like him would go out with a loser like you’.”

“F/N, those people were fucking assholes. They… god what the fuck is wrong with people. That’s not true.” Jordan makes you look at him, suddenly. You’re shocked that his eyes are red. “You’re not a fucking loser.”

“It’s okay, Jordan. I know they were just assholes. I always knew. It just hurts still. I’ve… I’ve avoided dating ever since, obviously. My first kiss wasn’t even romantic. It was just with a good friend that I knew wouldn’t make fun of me. So I could get it out of the way.”

“I’m sorry.” Jordan looks helpless, like he wants to do something but doesn’t know what. 

“You didn’t do anything, Jordan. No need to say sorry.”

“And then Andre went and fucking… fucking motherfucker I’ll kill him!” Jordan snaps, goes to stand up and then remembers he’s holding you halfway. He sits back down, grip a little tighter, but still gentle. 

“It’s okay. It wasn’t even a joke, what Andre did. He’s just… inconsiderate. And I happen to have a nasty experience that makes me blow everything out of proportion. I’ll have to get used to that kind of thing if I want to actually start dating.” 

Suddenly both of Jordan’s hands are on your face, holding you still so you have to look at him. “You’re not blowing anything out of proportion. And… and you don’t have to get used to shit, F/N. You’re fucking incredible. You don’t need to tolerate anything, from fucking anyone. You’re a fucking… you’re a fucking dream girl! You’re smart, and funny, and sweet, and strong, and beautiful. You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met. You don’t have to settle for fucking anything. Okay?”

You stare up at him, shocked, he gives your head a gentle shake, “Okay?” You nod slowly.

He pulls you into another hug, the tightest one you’ve ever gotten. You don’t pull away until the sun dips so low you’re both draped in gold. 

“Fucking rank number fucking 5!” Jordan screams, arm wrapped around you tightly. A chorus of cheers from the rest of the group and people nearby. 

You cover your face, laughing helplessly. Jordan didn’t surprise you with this party, they knew that would only make you anxious, walking into a room full of people you weren’t expecting to see with (even if asked not to) cameras pointed at you. 

Jordan had texted you: I am throwing you a surprise party on Friday night to celebrate your new ranking. Please practice your surprised face. 

You had practiced. You’d done a very convincing gasp when you walked in. 

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” Jordan says, for the umpteenth time, looking at you. You feel your cheeks go hot.  

“Oh shut up. I’ll get a big head soon.” 

“You deserve it more than anyone. You’re fucking awesome.” Jordan had started heaping more praise onto you than you knew what to do with, most days. 

She claimed it was practically training. That you needed to get used to people complimenting you, with the level of fame you’re going to reach. That alone had made your stomach erupt into butterflies. Jordan believed in you. Really believed in you. 

“You’re the one who’s awesome… you’re a good mentor, Jordan.” You reach up to hold the hand that’s been wrapped around your shoulder all evening. 

“Are you saying that following my advice works?” Jordan pretends to gasp. You playfully dig your nails into her side and she jumps before grabbing the offending hand and holding onto it. She doesn’t let go. 

Her advice had worked. You posted on your social media more, at her insistence. You started to become a beast at hand to hand, thanks to Jordan’s brutal training regimen. You were socializing more, because as long as Jordan was there you felt safe. But you were even feeling confident enough to do things on your own that high school you would be shocked didn’t instantly send you to the grave. 

You’d done an interview, for God’s sake! All on your own. Although your eyes kept darting to Jordan right off camera, who smiled reassuringly the whole time.  

“I will not. Because then you’ll get a big head.” You tease, giving both her hands a squeeze. 

“Let’s get a drink.” Jordan says, tugging you towards the kitchen. 

It’s quieter in the kitchen. The drink table in the living room is still overflowing so no one’s had to start looking for leftovers yet. 

“How you feeling?” Jordan asks, helping you sit on the counter before going to the fridge. After a second he pulls out your favorite. He hid them in the far back, you can tell by how far he had to lean. 

“Good.” You smile as he pops your drink open before handing it to you. He leans against one of your knees. 

“Party isn’t too much, right?” He asks, for the third time tonight. 

Laughing you push a strand of unruly hair back from his face. He freezes at the touch, before a smile creeps onto his lips. 

“Party is perfect, Jordie. Thank you. For everything. For being so…” 

“Don’t thank me for treating you the way you should always be treated.” 

“You treat me like a princess! What if I get spoiled? You’ll have to deal with a monster.” You tease. “You won’t even be able to be mad at me, because you’ll be the reason.” 

“You’ll terrorize the world.” 

“Cause complete chaos.” 

“Devastation, even.” As Jordan speaks you realize you’d gotten closer. A lot closer. Your chest seizes up with anxiety as you wonder how long you’d been leaning in like this. You almost pull back, ready to apologize. But you’re frozen stiff now and realize the two of you are still getting closer. With a jolt you realize you both leaned in. 

Jordan has a hand on your thigh, you reach down, nervous, to hold his hand as reflex. It’s an every day comfort, lately. You give his hand a squeeze. He squeezes back. You don’t pull away as Jordan keeps leaning in. 

“Jordan! Come stop Luke from doing a keg stand, please!” Cate’s voice, typically pleasant sounds incredibly annoying at the moment. 

“Gimme a sec!” Jordan calls back, still looking you in the eye. You squeeze his hand tighter. He looks nervous. They’ve looked so nervous all night. Nervous you were having a good time. Nervous you were happy. Nervous… nervous to kiss you? Is he about to fucking kiss you?

“He has an interview tomorrow! Hustle please!” Cate calls back in a sing song tone. 

“Fuck me!” Jordan throws his head back, shifting, frustrated. “I’ll be right back, okay?” 

You nod, a little breathless from anxiety and excitement, and dread, and the full spectrum of human emotion. “Okay.” 

Jordan stomps out of the kitchen, probably going to rip Luke a new asshole from the sound of her boots on the floor. She sounds like her own stampede. You giggle, pressing your hands, still warm from holding Jordan’s into your face. You may be bad at signals but… 

You sit under the hideous fluorescent kitchen lighting feeling like something inside you is glowing. You kick your feet, nervous, waiting for Jordan to get back. Wondering what they’ll do. What they’ll say. If you’re delusional. You have to be delusional. You have to be. 

“Guard dog taking a walk?” In the doorway stands Andre, looking a little rougher than usual. His right eye is dark, like a black eye that’s started healing. There’s a small bandage over his nose. 

“What happened to you?” You gasp.

“Your guard dog.” Andre says, reaching into the fridge to pull out a bottle of spicy vodka. “Jordan’s number #2 for a reason. Congrats on making #5 by the way.” 

“Thanks.” You say. “When did Jordan do that?”

“A week ago. Would have probably gotten it earlier but apparently Cate talked them into waiting to see me until they were less pissed off. For which I’m eternally grateful.” He says, taking a sip straight from the bottle without chaser. 

You don’t really know what to say so you sit in silence. Legs still kicking, more from anxiety now, less from giddiness. 

“He gave me a busted lip too, but that healed pretty quickly. I also think he might have kicked a rib loose, been a little sore on the left side.” Andre says, he doesn’t seem to be angry but you don’t know why else he’d talk to you. 

“I didn’t ask Jordan to do that. If you’re wondering.” You say, slowly. 

“No! No! You’re way too sweet for that. This was just my shitty way of getting around to an apology. I’m sorry. I should’ve said sorry before Jordan kicked my ass but I promise Jordan kicking my ass isn’t why I’m saying sorry. The original plan was to ask you out again, make it up to you with dinner. Jordan just kicked my ass first.” 

“I hope to god you’re not working your way around to asking me on a pity date.” You narrow your eyes at him. 

“So Jordan could put me in a full body cast?” Andre laughs loudly, shocking you. “No offense, you’re really cute, but nothing’s worth that fucking beat down.” 

“Well, I guess I accept your-”

“You don’t have to forgive me. Jordan was pretty clear that I tore up some old wounds. I didn’t mean to, but I’m sorry. I can just be… a dick, sometimes. Often. All the time.” Andre jokes. 

“What did Jordan say exactly?” You ask nervously. 

“Nothing specific! I could barely pick out anything at all, really. The sound of her fist breaking my nose was pretty loud.” 

You laugh then try to cover it up by taking a sip. Andre grins and you relax, knowing it was his way of breaking the tension. 

“Can I ask you something?” Andre asks suddenly.

“You can ask, doesn’t mean I’ll answer.” You shrug.

“Fair enough.” Andre says, toying with the bottle. “Do you like Jordan?” 

“What?”

“Because Jordan sure likes you.” Andre states. 

“No, they don't.” It’s a reflex to deny the possibility of someone having feelings for you but the words feel wrong once you say them. Weren’t you just about to kiss? Wasn’t his hand just burning into your thigh like a brand? “Do they?” 

“Jordan would never do a fraction of the shit they’ve been doing for you if they didn’t care about you.” Andre takes another sip, then moves to saunter from the kitchen. He stops, a glance over the shoulder. “However you feel, tell Jordan. And soon. They’re looking a little desperate.” 

Then it’s just you and the sound of the party, and the cool marble you’re sitting on. And a lot to think about. 

“Your incessant leg jiggling is distracting me from how and why they intend to turn this beautiful victorian home into another soulless open concept millennial nightmare.” Jordan says, glancing from the TV to your leg which, yes, has been jiggling for awhile.

“I’ve got a question.”

“Obviously.” 

“How can you tell if a girl isn’t into you?” 

Jordan turns to face you, eyebrows furrowed, “what?”

You feel heat flood your cheeks, but keep your eyes firmly glued to the screen. “Are the rules the same? Or different?”

“You like girls?” Jordan blurts out.

“What?” The question is enough to make you look at her. And now you're trapped by societal standards of politeness to maintain the most anxiety inducing eye contact you've ever shared.

“You've never talked about… you've never said anything about liking girls.”

“You only offered up the help for the one gender. Didn't wanna get greedy.” You force a laugh.

“How long have you…. have you always liked girls?” Jordan asks and you hope to God you're not hallucinating that quick glance at your lips. 

“You follow me on Instagram!”

“What's that have to do with anything?”

“I literally have the pride flag in my bio?”

“I thought you were-”

“-Jordan Li, if you're about to tell me you thought I was an ally I'll beat you to death, and then jump off a cliff.” 

Jordan laughs, ducking her head, hair falling into her face slightly. You dig your fingers into your thigh to stop yourself from reaching out and tucking it behind her ear. 

“Is there a reason why you're asking… about how to tell when a girl isn't into you, all of a sudden?” Jordan looks up at you and the world narrows down to her brown eyes, and her nose, and her mouth. And the look in her eyes you hope you're not reading wrong.

You blink in confusion when amusement crosses over her face and for one awful second you think Jordan is laughing at you and you could throw up. But you realize you're suddenly looking at her from behind a force-field of light purple and feel queasy out of a different sense of embarrassment.

You can hear a smile in Jordan’s voice, but you refuse to unbury your face from your hands, “Never seen you not be able to control your powers before.” 

“Please kill me.”

“Can't. Your forcefield is still up, princess.” She teases, tapping at the bubble. 

With a groan of humiliation you drop your field and peek up at her through your fingers. 

“First the forcefield, now the hands. Still haven't answered my question though.” You almost snip at her that she should take a wild guess at your answer but there's something about Jordan’s expression. It's teetering between playful, guarded, and… something else. And you have to bank on whatever that something else is.

You take a deep breath in and move in closer, “You're not so awful a teacher that the lessons for a guy didn't stick, but considering you're a girl too who knows what incredibly important lesson you didn't know you had to teach me. The lesson… the girl lesson, that would have stopped me from misinterpreting what's been happening here. If I’m misinterpreting. All I know is… all I can really be sure of, is how I feel. And I, well-” You bite your lip, taking a shaky breath, and Jordan moves in closer, “I'm about halfway to being in love with you.”

The words are barely out of your mouth before her lips are on yours. Her hand curls at the base of your neck, pulling you in closer. A brush of her tongue against your bottom lip before you let her in with a breathless sigh. She moans against your lips, other hand moving to your waist to tug you into her lap. 

You lose your balance a little, fall into her in a way that is not at all seductive. You laugh, embarrassed and she chases the sound, using both hands to put you in her lap, holds you there firm and secure.

“You-” She kisses you, interrupting your sentence. “Haven’t-” Another kiss. “Told me-” She holds you tight this time, tilting her head to the side, sweeping her tongue against yours and gasping at your taste. You pull back with shaky hands, keeping her at a distance with a grip on her shoulders.

“Could we use our big girl words?” You ask, breathless and a little dizzy. 

“I’ve fucking only been in love with you for two years, thanks for fucking noticing.” She huffs, exasperated and smiling. 

“How on Earth was I supposed to interpret your seething stare of hate for being in love with me?” You’re already melting against her as she pulls you back in with the guiding grip on your hair. 

“Shoulda looked harder, baby.” She coos, and doesn’t let you up again anytime soon. 

A/N: my magnum opus of pining! if you enjoyed this fic consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anon! a writers fuel is engagement. xoxoxo

HELL IS A (FUCKING) ROOMMATE. JORDAN LI.

synopsis ; your roommate has the libido of a goddamn animal and it's driving you insane. not to mention the fact they have an annoying habit of jerking off in your dorm. to you.

they want you? fine—they can have you. only on your terms, though.

✗ warnings ; dom!reader, sub!jordan. fem!reader, perv!roomate!jordan, dubcon, voyeurism, excessive masturbation (soz). wc ; 4.2k

YOU can do this. you can do this.

you grunt as you fumble for the key. cursing as, with an extreme lack of coordination—you begin to forcibly ram the bloody thing into the lock with the grace and precision of a sledgehammer. what you lack in motor control you make up for with inner beauty—or something.

the do not disturb sign rattles mockingly off the handle, meaning your roommate is definitely inside and definitely not helping out. you grit your teeth, entire body off kilter as you're preoccupied with balancing the boxes cramful of belongings in your arms; big and bulky and absolutely not helping your aim. you curse, loudly as they almost almost tumble out of your grasp the moment the key miraculously jams into place, jerking wildly to catch them. (note: super strength does not come with super-hand-eye-coordination.)

“fucking– stupid- key– fucking better– woah!” 

without warning, the door swings open, inwards. a montage of your entire life flits before your eyes as you hurtle forward, boxes and all. you just about barely manage to catch yourself with an undignified stumble before drawing yourself up; coming face to face with—oh.

two figures. bodies very noticeably.. inside. each other. naked. on, what you realise after a bout of disbelief; your fucking bed.

"what the fuck?"

one of them growls, mop of black hair flopping as their head snaps up, even though you're pretty sure you should be the one slinging expletives around. with a frustrated scowl they pull out of the dude, sending a withering glare to the poor guy they were fucking into the bedspread—to which he.. disappears? glitches out? phases out of existence? because suddenly he’s not there anymore, and you’re stranded alone with a very attractive, very threatening looking college student. 

who is also—uh, very, very naked.

“um, hi–”

“why do you have a key to my fucking dorm?”

oh, shit.

they are, frankly, gorgeous – like, one of the most beautiful people you've ever seen. their hair is black, mussed, and you can’t help the way your gaze follows its way down the threshold of an.. extremely muscled, slick torso before snapping upwards to find a mildly paralysing glare that reminds yourself that you are not in a very good position right now.

“i’m uh- your new.. roommate?'' you don't mean for it to come out like a question, but by the way they're staring down at you like you're a cockroach that just flew onto their windshield, you almost aren't so sure.

"i'm a fucking TA— i don't have roommates." their eyes narrow, which is like—alright, way to be real welcoming.

“i’m a.. last minute transfer..?” you offer, wincing as you meet their stare. their eyes are unflinching, yet still lidded in a post-sex haze. you can feel your body involuntarily holding its breath; though from the steel in their gaze or the way their biceps flex when they run a hand through their dishevelled locks, you can’t tell. 

fuck, you hate hot people.

“oh, yeah. fuck, i forgot about that.” their shoulders slacken, mouth settling into an unimpressed line; which is only slightly more welcoming than the look of murderous intent of two seconds ago. “jordan. jordan li." they say, last name and all—which is how you know they're a prick. "make yourself at home, i guess.” they don’t sound all too enthused as they skirt away from the door, seemingly satisfied with the fact that you're not a home invader—dorm invader? whatever. you just pray that the sigh of relief you breathe isn’t audible.

“great! nice to meet you, i’m–”

“s’on the sheet." jordan cuts in with supreme disinterest as they move across the room, leaning down to pick their boxers from the floor. you’re struck once again with the realisation that they are still fucking naked, and you pointedly tear your eyes away. 

“um, yeah.. hey, uh—what’s your-”

“third year, crime-fighting. don't touch my shit. no pets, obviously. if you have a dog, get rid of it. give it to the animal shelter, don’t care. don’t snoop, don't make a mess, and definitely don’t take off the goddamn do not disturb sign. got it?”

you've barely opened your mouth to reply; probably with something along the lines of what the fuck? or animal shelter? before jordan's already turned away, back muscles flexing as they sink back onto the end of their bed, scrunching their briefs up in one hand and—

“hey, uh,” jordan interjects, turning round with an unreadable expression as they glance down, and like a fucking idiot, you follow; giving you front row seat to the massive, throbbing boner that they’re still sporting—pulsing an angry, flushed red as the tip drools with precum.

“mind if i take care of this? couldn’t exactly finish, if you know what i—”

you slam the door after you, and you swear a snicker follows you down the corridor. 

-

over the next week, it quickly becomes apparent that jordan either a): forgets you live in the same room as them, or b): simply does not care. 

for starters, there’s their apparent aversion to doing laundry until their entire closet is out of commission, the coke stash underneath their mattress and also—oh. their need to get their dick wet at least four times a day. (irrespective of whether they have a dick or not).

“what?” jordan scoffs through a mouthful of cereal. “‘m not lettin’ some fuckin’ freshie cockblock me.”

“i’m a transfer, not a fucking freshman.” you scowl, and jordan’s lips curl to form a lazy little ‘o’. it twitches upwards into that infuriating little smirk, like they enjoy seeing you squirm. 

“whatever. my libido stops for nobody, not even you. besides,” they set their bowl on the bedside table, wagging their fingers suggestively into a ‘V’ shape and licking the air between. "a bigender supe has needs too."

they’re slouching against their headboard, free arm stretching lazily above their head. your cheeks flush traitorously as their biceps flex—muscles visibly popping against their frame “you can just say 'a girl has needs'. i'm not an idiot, i know what you mean." is what you grumble back, if only to ignore the inane, stupid heat pooling in the pit of your stomach. 

"but i have needs when i'm a dude, too." jordan grins, propping themselves up by their elbow, eyes gleaming impishly as they curl their hand into a fist and making a fucking wanking motion over their (currently) non-existent dick. which is—yeah. that pretty much sums up your roommate for you.

the thing is about jordan, is despite all their excessive lockerroom talk and relatively abrasive personality; they’re still rank two in all of godolkin. ergo, they’re a surprisingly busy person; being preoccupied with either studying, sparring or partying ninety of the time. 

thus, like all horny, single college students, when you don’t have time to squeeze a good fuck in, you’re left with second-best option—yourself. this would otherwise be fine, except jordan’s compound v must have seeped through their bloodstream and into their libido because jesus fucking christ are they horny.

it’s not like they make an effort of hiding it, either. they seem to have zero qualms about rolling out of bed, morning wood popping out from their briefs like a fucking beacon. 

“oh, shit,” jordan yawns when slide the covers off, giving way to the immense boner throbbing against their boxer-briefs. they don’t even have the decency to look sheepish when they walk past you, adjusting themselves lazily. you don’t miss the grunt of relief that escapes them as their hand palms their crotch before they disappear into the bathroom, either. or the little groans of relief that sound behind the door before they saunter out, towelling their hands with the stupidest grin on their face.

it shouldn’t piss you off as much as it does, except for the fact that even when jordan rouses without morning wood (or wood in general); they end up making their usual bathroom trip anyways. noises slipping from a half-ajar door and toilet lid left slippery, as always. 

they have to be doing it on purpose. they have to be. like, they left their strap-on on your desk once. which, first of all, gross. second of all, why was it so fucking big?

“jordan!” you holler, aghast as you nudge the thing on your desk, conveniently placed right next to your laptop.

“oh! that’s where i left it. sick.” jordan grins as they saunter over, veined hands reaching over to wrap around the shiny, plastic length and fuck, since when were their palms so massive—

“thanks, roomie.” they ruffle your hair with an impish glint in their eyes, smile only growing when you jerk away with a scowl. 

and that’s not even the worst of it.

“oh, shit—was that yours?” to their credit, jordan looks somewhat sheepish as they pinch a rock-hard pair of socks off the floor. your fucking socks, which have clearly been well-loved and cared for in places other than your shoes. 

“those were my favourite!” they weren’t your favourites. they’re socks. however, it makes jordan wince, which almost makes it worth it. 

hey, a little remorse is better than nothing. 

“..i’ll buy you a new pair?” jordan offers, scratching the nape of their neck. you’re almost content to let the awkwardness linger just give them just a piece of the torture you’ve been subjected to for the past several weeks — except the sliver of satisfaction is completely negated by the way jordan’s lip twitches upwards, like they’re fighting back a smirk.

“you little fuck—“

anyways, the point is jordan wanks. a lot. 

you can’t stop thinking about it. because it’s annoying. and disrespectful. and god, do they think you want to hear every pretty little moan that falls from their mouth? every grunt and groan that slips from their throat in that raspy, godforsaken timber— 

long story short; if you have to find a wadded up sock or sticky residue at the bottom of the computer desk one more time, you’re going to lose it. 

you think jordan knows it, too.

-

it’s midnight when you wake up to the sound of a bed creaking.

you’re an early sleeper, jordan isn’t. it works. you’re typically long knocked out before they even make it back in the dorm, out there doing god knows what. today, though, you’d far overestimated your ability to finish your latest assignment; so when jordan finally staggered through the door, slumping into bed with a little grunt, you thought nothing of it.

minutes pass, and the bed shifts. jordan groans. under the moonlight you can see the shadowed visage of their figure, splayed out on their bed with one hand underneath the covers; moving, repeatedly.

jordan grunts again, and you squint; bleary eyes adjusting to the darkness. the muffled, wet sound of slapping resounds, subdued by the weight of the blanket. if you didn’t know better, you’d think they were—

“mm, fuck—” jordan moans, blanket slipping down their hips and—oh my fucking god.

like pulling back a curtain, jordan’s cock springs enthusiastically to the surface; standing tall and proud as their fist pumps up and down the thick, veined girth of their length. it’s practically pulsating with need, bordering on desperate—they must be desperate, because jordan’s shameless, sure, but.. jacking off in the same room as you? 

you didn’t think they were that much of a fucking perv.

but maybe you’re a perv too, because the moment jordan’s hips rock upwards and their tip glimmers in a thick sheen of pre-cum; you can feel the telltale surge of heat in your stomach, the fabric of your panties dampening and oh, this can’t seriously be happening right now.

“fuck—motherfucker..” jordan hisses, drawing your bleary-eyed gaze from the flushed, throbbing bob of their cock to their pink cheeks and fucked-out face, mouth lolling in pleasure. they twist their head, nosing into something tossed onto their pillow that makes you stop in their tracks.

that’s.. you thought you lost that!

“need ‘m—so—fucking bad..” jordan slurs stiltedly, nuzzling into your shirt like their life depends on it. “fuckin’—stupid fucking—”

your stomach tightens, and you can’t help it when your fingers dip down under your shorts, slipping into your cunt. you should be mad, should be disgusted, should be shoving open the door and ripping them out of their covers and.. wrapping your mouth around their adorably flushed tip? seizing their hips and yanking their cock into your tight, wet little—

"oh, fuck," jordan interrupts your thought process by growling through their teeth, precum spilling from the slit of their dick and glazing their palms. there’s so much of it, so wet that even in the dark you can see the stain pooling in their sweatpants, their bedsheets. 

you’re so entranced you barely even register when it when their grip releases; length arcing and splattering thick ropes of cum against their abdomen. the sight is so mesmerising that you almost don’t pick up on the sound of your fucking name that tears out of their throat—husky and half gargled as jordan’s chest heaves. you don’t even realise you’ve been holding your breath until jordan’s figure simply lays there, pants echoing in the silent room. 

they wrap your shirt around their dick and wipe it clean. it’s only when they murmur something unintelligible—burying their nose back into your jumper that you finally, finally turn away, fingers curling deep inside your cunt.

fucking hell.

-

the second time it happens, you are wide, wide awake. which unfortunately means you have no excuse for the minutes seared into your memory and sticky residue on your thighs.

granted, at first you didn’t know. as always, the bathroom door hangs carelessly agape. steam curls from the room, wafting up and dispersing in the stuffy dorm air. what lingers, however, is the fresh note of jordan’s shampoo, body wash, and something.. saltier, headier.

whatever. with nothing more than an arched brow, you pick over the discarded basketball shorts and tank tops that litter the floor, intending to kick the bathroom door shut and be on your way. it’s when your hand reaches out, closing around the cool metal that you see it.

jordan’s slumped against the slick shower wall, fingers buried knuckle-deep into their pussy.

oh, shit shit shit—

“shit..” jordan hisses, muscles working like well-oiled sprigs as they pump into their cunt, droplets of water trickling down their skin and pooling into the divots of their body. 

your hand tightens around the doorknob. god, their moans.. if they think the sound of the showerhead can disguise the filthy nothings spilling out of their mouth, they are very, very wrong. 

somewhere between the fuck’s and annoying’s and pretty fuckin’ prude’s their full-weight crumples against the shower wall, plush ass pressing up against steaming glass like some (high-quality) porn ad as they ram their fingers in one last time, free hand shooting out wildly to grasp at nothing before the shower wall splatters with something you only catch a glimpse of before you’re slamming the bathroom door, cheeks burning and fingers trembling. with a start, you realise you’ve almost wrenched the goddamn metal off.

the doorknob is always a little bit loose, after that. 

-

you’re getting ready for a party.

well, you’re supposed to be getting ready for a  party, hence the sultry eyeshadow, glossy press of your lips and sheer amount of skin laid bare. your crop-top is just a little bit too high, mini-skirt more than a little too short.

in reality? you’re enacting your fucking vegeance.

jordan likes you. it’s a fact that stares you right in the face. and if not a crush, it’s a massive, raging hard-on. for you—only you—citing a certain roommate’s post-nut ramblings you’ve heard one too many times. 

as it turns out, jordan becomes considerably less insufferable when you know you’re the only thing that gets their dick wet.

“how do i look?” you call, doing a little twirl. it’s impossible to keep the smirk off your face, skirt flipping very purposely upwards as you spin, revealing a tad more than they ever (usually) get to see. 

jordan glances up, and their breath fucking hitches.

bingo.

“what?” you cock your head, lashes batting innocuously as they stare. playing the oblivious role is just too sweet, especially when your eyes flicker down, just for a moment, and you can see the bulge in their sweatpants growing.

poor little jordan, hard because their roommate flashed a millisecond of ass.

“you look—good.” they grunt, tone carefully measured. their gaze lingers, only for another moment before they abruptly snap their vision back to their screen. an admirable effort, really. if only their cheeks were a little less red, cock a little less needy.

“well don’t flatter me too much,” you twist away, lips twitching upwards. feigning normalcy is easy, seeing as how you’ve been doing so ever since that first night. you're practically buzzing with anticipation when you make a big show of leaving the room, snarky comment and all.

and really, jordan could've waited for longer than two minutes before moaning that raspy, broken moan (you're so intimately familiar with) from behind the door.

your lips split into a grin, and when you slide the door back open, the look on jordan's face is so priceless you hope it'll be seared into your memory forever.

“shit!"

it’s undeniable, this time. you’re no longer a fly on the wall, and they’re no longer blanketed by the illusion of secrecy; caught red-handed with their cock in their fist and head on your pillow.

“wait—fuck—i can expl—!”

like clockwork, jordan's cock twitches as if in reaction, and a drop of fresh semen spurts from their tip before trickling down to join the messy puddle on their stomach. 

“i thought—fuck! you said you were going!” 

“that doesn’t sound like an apology to me.” 

you delight in the way jordan flushes, their breath hitching. they take a ragged breath before they make a valiant attempt to cover up their falter with aggression. "doesn't mean anything," they retort through gritted teeth, mustering up as much conviction as they can. 

it’s adorable, how much they pretend they don’t want you as if they don’t jack off to the smell of your sweatshirt every night. 

“shut the fuck up.” you roll your eyes, novelty of the movement finally wearing thin. you have needs too—and with a fluid movement, you slide onto the bed and yank their hips against yours, pulling them into a straddle over your torso.

jordan can't help but hiss at the sudden contact, hips jerking instinctively. "fuck, you're cold," they mutter under their breath, though there's no denying the thrill running through them; hips bucking forward into the touch of your cool fingers as they wrap around their hard member. it feels euphoric—the contrast between your heat and coldness heightening every single nerve ending in their body. the tip of their cockhead brushing against your belly button, dripping a thin line of hot, sticky fluid after it.

“go on.” you coo, eyebrows raised. 

jorda’s hands fly almost immediately to the hem of your skirt. so eager, like an impatient puppy. 

 before you curl your hand around their wrist, grip firm and punishing. 

they freeze, head cocking like a confused puppy. “huh?” they say, biting back a noise of complaint. they want you so bad its goddamn gruelling; their fingers twitching around nothing, screaming in impatience, let me fuck you, let me ruin you already. don’t you know how long i’ve been waiting? how long you’ve kept me fucking waiting?

of course you know. they don’t know that, though. 

“you’re not gonna do anything?” despite all their irritating, fratboy-esque bravado; jordan’s unable to prevent the whininess from seeping into their tone, hands tugging insistently at the hem of your skirt. their cock pulses, painful and needy.

“you have hands, don’t you?” your lips quirk at the way jordan’s expression drops and their mouth opens again, probably to protest until you yank their thighs open and press them forward, dick pressing flush against your torso. 

"unnhnnngh.." jordan grunts, gasping for air while trying to maintain eye contact with you—an impossible task considering how goddamn desperate they are. their free hand grabs hold of your waist, grinding sloppily as precum spurts all over your chest. “f-fuck off," they hiss, lips crashing against yours, teeth knocking at their eagerness.

“goddamn tease—” they groan, rutting against your torso, to no avail. they bury their face into your collar, utterly miserable, fingers twisting into the hem of your shirt. “just get the fuck on with it—ahnnn.. f-fuck—”

“so mouthy,” you tease, delighted at the mewl that slips past jordan’s lips when your hand wraps around their tip. their chain necklace swings wildly, bucking their hips desperately into your fist.

“hands feel so fuckin’ good,” jordan sputters, drooling almost as much as their dick is. their fumbling grasp finds purchase in your shoulders as they pump themselves into your hand; you barely even have to move, with them doing most of the work.

“need to be— inside—“ jordan grunts; glassy eyes blinking down at you like it’ll change your mind just like that. it’s cute, how they look when they’re not scowling or fucking smirking at you. it’s even cuter, the way they inhale sharply when you shake your head and deliver a cool “no, baby,” their back arching when you cup one of their balls and squeeze, forced into dismal acceptance with a keening whine. 

jordan’s movements are getting unsteady, now. eyes glazing over by the second. “y’gonna make me cum,” they slur, grip on your hips tightening. it only takes a moment before their movements stutter and they’re muttering “fuck fuck fuck oh, fuck!“ and a long, gargled moan rips from their throat and all of a sudden hands wrapped around cock are sinking in wet, sloppy heat; your fingers sliding knuckle-deep into their pussy with almost breath-taking ease.

“jesus christ!” jordan croons in sheer, unexpected pleasure as they feel you shove yourself inside them, cum spurting and squeezing out helplessly from between their walls and your fingers. they squirt so fucking messily, their leaking cock replaced by a cunt spilling out out all over your palm. 

“i didn’t—didn’t mean to—” they slur, panic two steps behind their mouth. struggling to sling anything coherent together with you kneading your fingers into their pussy like its goddamn putty. “oh?” you arch a brow, and jordan visibly flushes, moaning openly when your digits curl.

“can’t–don’t really—”

“what? fuck yourself?” is your reply, because you both know they fucking do; it’s not like you don’t how their pussy sounds when it’s sliding slick against their pillow, how your name sounds cried out, thick through the muzzle of your jumper.

it’s a dual guilty pleasure—you watch, they do. at this point, you can’t tell who’s the more perverted out of the two of you.

jordan. definitely jordan. 

“too busy humping my clothes, is that it?” you purr, and jordan honest to god whimpers, squirming away from your fingers both out of overstimulation and plaintive shame. “ah, ah,” you tut, nails digging into their hips as you hold them in place, finger thumbing harshly against their clit as they cry out a gargled moan. 

“f-fuck off—” jordan hisses, practically an admission of guilt itself. they seem to know it, too, with the way they abandon all pretence and pound violently against your knuckles—their gaze burning into yours like they’re daring you to say another word. “don’t act like you didn’t—shit—fucking like it.” jordan gasps out between sputters, teetering on the edge of another orgasm.

“hm?” you pause, eyes meeting jordan’s heated, quivering stare. “jerk off to watching me?” they choke, eyes glossing over when you thrust “did you fuck yourself to my—mmhnn—!” 

an easy, all-too-familiar eye roll graces your face before you shut them up with your fingers. their pussy clenches; hot, slippery walls gripping your digits as if afraid to let go. oh, this is too easy.

“don’t get cute with me, roomie.” the nickname tastes sweet on your tongue, and jordan’s face grows hotter. a well-timed thumb to their clit flickers their bravado out like a light. “fucking hell!” they gasp, mouth gaping into a moan and eyes rolling back into their skull.

“you wanted me to watch, didn’t you?” you coo, and jordan squirms; mouth open in protest—or at least attempts at them, what with the way they keep gasping out in pleasure as you roll your fingers against their clit. 

“shut the fuck—i didn’t—”

“a pervert and a liar now, are we?”

jordan makes a noise somewhere between a hiss and a whine, crying out when you slide two more fingers into the slick canal of their core. their eyes screw shut, hands seizing so wildly into the mattress you almost think they’re about to tear a hole through the bedsheets.

“god! fuck—i can’t—”

they cry out your name when they cum, and even if its a sound you’ve heard countless times by now you don’t think it’ll ever get old. “that’s it, baby.” you coo, lips curling upwards at the way they bury their face into your collar.

they lie there, panting, for what feels like forever before a muffled, half-delusional groan leaves their lips.

“oh, fuuuckk..”

“what?”

“..i thought i would top.”

A Second Chance PT 1/10

Summary: After the loss of his daughter Miguel wants nothing to do with kids that is until he impulsively offers his pregnant neighbor a job at the Spider-Society.

Tags for this story: Grumpy x Sunshine, Double life, Secret Identity, Fluff, AGNST AGNST AGNST, Miguel x reader, Spiderman 2099 x reader 8.3k words

I really hope you guys like this one<3333

This takes place before the whole Miles situation, and instead of Miguel taking the place of his other self in a different universe when Gabriella was older in this story he took his place while his "wife" was in the last trimester. So he had the chance to see Gabriella grow.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

You slowly make your way inside your apartment complex carrying 4 plastic bags 2 in each hand filled with groceries. This is your second trip and with just your luck the elevator is out of order and you live on the 3rd floor which means that's 4 flights of stairs you have to walk up. It's 9 a.m. You just got off of work at 6 and took a nap in your car because the supermarket doesn't open till 7:30 and here you are on a hot morning in Nueva York breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth focusing all of your energy in making your way back into your apartment safe and sound. This is one of the parts you hate about bartending coming home so early in the morning after dealing with loud rude and obnoxious people all night. You love the rush and the adrenaline that comes with bartending. Memorizing drink orders, making the drinks, learning who's cheating on who. You love it you always had but now you're questioning your job as you steal a glance at your round belly that's peeking through your oversized shirt that's sticking to your skin. No one else knows it's there but you do.

Oh right, and you're 4 months pregnant.

It's just you and your baby, your ex he…. Well, let's not talk about him now, shall we? You just need to focus all of your energy on making your way back into the safety of your own apartment and these stairs aren't helping nor are the bags in your hands.

"One step at a time" You whisper as you reach the last flight of stairs.

"Can you move?" You jump startled at the deep voice coming from behind you. Immediately turning around you accidentally drop a bag and of course with your luck it was the bag that held your glass carton of milk. The contents spilled out all over the stairs and landed on the stranger's shoes. Your eyes widen in horror. You slowly drag your eyes from the bottom of their feet to their face. It's a fit middle-aged man with black hair that looks like it was gelled back but is now messy. He definitely has a few wrinkles on his face and you're pretty sure you just added another one. He's wearing a pair of black slacks that hug his thighs and a loose black top. 

"Shit you scared me, let me go get something to clean up" You begin to place your bags down but you hear a dissatisfied grunt from the man.

"Just move"

"But your shoes" The man says nothing as he takes a step up towards you and he stands there looking at you expectedly. You give him a confused look before realizing that he wants you to move. Or more so that you have to move since the staircase is so narrow.  You watch as he makes his way into the 3rd floor and it isn't until you hear a door opening and closing that you look away from the direction that he went in.

Bringing your attention back to the stairs you let out a groan of frustration all you wanted to do was put these groceries away and go to sleep. But no now you have to clean up this mess and you just lost a carton of milk that you spent almost $5 on. Fucking inflation.

Sighing you trudge your way up the last flight of stairs making your way back to your apartment to get stuff to clean up the mess. You hope that's the last time you see him. That encounter was embarrassing enough. 

But of course, it's not every day for the next two weeks you see him each morning as you come home from your shift. Each encounter always leaves you feeling embarrassed and leaves you feeling like he wants nothing to do with you. But by the 3rd day, you realize that the two of you are actually neighbors.

"I didn't know we were neighbors," You say as you both are unlocking your doors. When he doesn't say anything you decide to speak again. Maybe he didn't hear you.

"It's weird I only ever see you in the mornings I've never seen you anywhere else"

"Yeah let's keep it that way"  You turn around to face him but his door is already closing shut. Rude.

Day 8

Your feet hurt like hell. The bar was swarming with customers tonight which is typical on a Friday but still, you barely had any time to sit down and take a break. A break in which your feet needed desperately you chose the wrong day to wear sneakers.  Finally reaching back to your apartment building you smooth down your skirt as you walk through the lobby doors. You go to check your mail before you decide to lock in for the night…well morning.

While looking through each of your mails you accidentally drop one. Since there's no one behind you you bend over to pick it up, your skirt lifting up slowly revealing the ends of your ass and your underwear. Lifting back up you flatten out your skirt with one hand as you begin to close your mailbox. Turning to head to the stairs you nearly trip over your feet when you hear a voice behind you.

"Have some self-respect" You turn around to the sound of the voice and you see the middle-aged man who happens to be your neighbor standing a few behind you with a scowl on his face.

You immediately jumble over your words. "I'm sorry I didn't think anyone was behind me" You watch as he rolls his eyes and scoffs. "That shouldn't matter, you clearly have no respect for yourself if you walk around in a skirt that looks like it will fall apart with one breeze from the wind" You gape at his words and then you look down at your skirt. It's not like you chose to wear this skirt your boss asked you to wear it, plus it got you more tips.

Rolling your eyes you fold your arms over your chest. "This wasn't by choice it's my uniform for work"

"And somehow that makes it even worse. Listen I didn't come home to talk I came here to sleep so if you'll move out the way that'll be great"

You don't know how a person you barely even know could be so rude to you. You've barely even said anything to him. You walk over to the front of the staircase before turning around to face him. "No, I think you can wait I don't walk that slow"

He walks up to you and the minute he's in front of you you take a nervous step back. He's huge in every aspect. In height and width. He towers over you easily even though you’re 5'7. But you don't let that faze you. Sticking out your chin you stare up at him unmoving determined not to let him intimidate you.

"Move"

You lean forward lowering your voice. "No"  Turning around you begin to walk up the steps. Once your feet touch the 5th step you feel hands on both sides of your forearm lifting you up and putting you back on the lobby floor. Did he just…?

You stare up at him in disbelief but he's already walking up the second flight of stairs. "You're a jerk" You shout out after him as you begin your journey up the stairs.

Day 14

Once again you're coming back home around 7 am. It was surprisingly windy this morning and you can already feel the mess that the wind made of your curls. But you’re too lazy to put it into a bun or truthfully you just don't care. You really hope you don't run into your rude neighbor today, you're way too tired to deal with him. Plus you'll need all of the sleep you can get if you're going to make it to your summer class on time for 2 p.m. You're grateful that after you finish your 2 summer classes you'll finally be getting your bachelor's degree. You would've gotten it sooner if only your ex would've allowed it…. You had to sneak around to get the information you needed in order to apply for community college and you’ve spent all 4 years taking online classes. You're grateful for each day that you wake up and he's not there to yell or to put his hands on you. You thought that he was going to change you really did he promised you. But you guess there are just some promises that can't be kept. You knew you had to leave him when you were 1 month into your pregnancy and he hit you not once but twice in the same day.

You just finished checking your mailbox and you turn around ready to head upstairs when you walk straight into a brick wall…..or straight into a man who lives in the gym. You subtly rub your nose and look up immediately groaning when you see who it is.

 "Can you move out my way?" Folding your arms across your chest you stare at him expectantly waiting for him to move. But he doesn't move away instead he takes a step forward and you hastily take a step back. You begin to feel uneasy when he continues walking forward until your back hits the mailboxes.

"H-Hey listen I'm sorry I didn't mean to upset you just-" The minute you see his right hand raise just above your head your body reacts on its own. You duck your head lifting your hands blocking your face from taking the blow. You wait for it to happen but it doesn't. It isn't until you hear the sound of keys rattling from above your head that you take the chance and peek through your arms. You watch as he stares at you with a confused look on his face, his eyes narrowing before he shows you your keys…?

"You left them in your mailbox"

Slowly you lower your hands as you feel tears begin to fill your eyes. It's been 3 months and yet you still…."O-Oh I'm sorry I didn't know"

Hesitantly you take the keys from his hands and you watch as realization dawns on his face. He takes a step back before opening his mouth to speak. "Did you think….I would never"

Wiping your eyes you try to bring light to the situation by changing the topic. "I'll willingly let you go first this time" He takes another step back before you meet his eyes he opens his mouth to speak but you shake your head no turning your attention away from him.

"Just go…please" You don't watch as he leaves you’re too embarrassed to do so but you wait till you hear the sound of a door opening and closing before making your journey up the stairs.

•°~°•

It's early Saturday morning and you had to have a security guard walk you home. Working at a bar as a woman has its cons just like every other job. Men immediately think that you’re up for grabs or they can talk to you however they want. Two men made crude comments towards you the whole night. One of them even tried to touch you inappropriately. As a safety precaution, you begged a security guard to walk you home. You even offered to pay him. But thankfully he agreed to escort you home free of charge.

Instead of going into your apartment straight away, you decided to go up to the roof to catch the sunrise. Even though you just came out from outside you feel like you need a breath of fresh air. You just need a moment to let go. You're grateful that there are only 5 floors in your apartment because of course the elevator has yet to be fixed. You absentmindedly rub your belly which seems to be growing each day as you walk to the roof. You can't believe that you're already 5 months pregnant. In the app that you use to track the growth of your baby, it says that at 20 weeks they are the size of a banana. You’re really excited to know the gender of your baby. You can’t wait to hold them in your arms for the first time. You’re even more excited to paint and decorate the nursery. Finally reaching the door to the rooftop you say a silent prayer hoping that you’ll be alone before pushing open the door.

•°~°•

Fighting an anomaly and putting it back where it belongs no matter how many times he does it never gets easier. This particular anomaly did put up a fight and left him bruised way more than he likes to admit. Miguel does his last round of patrol of his neighborhood before landing on his rooftop. He hates that he has to come home. Or rather that he was forced to return to his place for at least 4 hours a day from Jess, Peter, Pavitr, Gwen, Hobi, and of course Lyla. He doesn’t know why he puts up with them. If he had the ability to do so they all would be fired maybe with the exception of Jess she isn’t too bad but she has her moments. They all decided that it was a good idea to riot against him. Their reasoning: 

“Running the Spider Society is taking over your life”

“When was the last time you took a shower your funk is spreading throughout Spider Society” 

“It’s getting hard to speak to you I can smell your breath from over here”

“You need a break”

And so on. At first, Miguel was able to ignore them but it all started to go downhill when they began to purposely mess up on missions. Even though their mistakes always got fixed it became annoying. So Miguel had no choice but to agree with them that he’d go home each day for at least 4 hours. He hated every moment that he wasn’t in his office. The fate of the multiverse is in his hands and they want him to sleep…? At first, he found ways around it he would just disappear from his office somewhere in Spider Society but they quickly found out and made it their business to see him out of HQ.

Each morning deep down inside Miguel felt his brain and body rejoicing the minute his brain knew that they were on the way to his apartment. It was hard some days he would just spend the 4 hours in his bed checking on stuff through his watch. Most days he didn't even make it to his bed he just stayed in his living room staring at the clock waiting for those hours to pass him by. 

There’s a large gash on his shoulder and a deep cut on his thigh that he's pretty sure he’ll need stitches for. He would've just fixed it up at the Society but it made no sense since he was due for his 4 hours of “break”. He thought he might as well go home and take care of it. Turning around to make his way out of the rooftop he stops as he sees the door opening.

It’s you.

He rolls his eyes at the sight of you. Here’s another reason why he loathes coming back to his apartment every day. He doesn’t know why the universe is doing this to him. Every day before making it to his apartment he runs into you like clockwork. It doesn’t matter if he takes the long way back or if he leaves an hour in advance he always runs into you. Each morning you look more tired than the last. You probably spend the night out partying. But every day..? It seems a little excessive but you seem young enough to partake in such activities. You’re weird but also very annoying you talk way too much and for someone your age you walk too slow.

Miguel knows his size is intimidating to most people and he knows that he isn’t particularly the best at conversing with people but the moment he saw you flinch it made him think is he really that scary? To those at Spider Society sure but when he’s a regular civilian no suit no nothing just him bare and exposed he's not…he can't be that scary right?  He would never hit you or any woman for the matter. He knew better and the one thing that he learned from his mother was to respect women.

Concealing himself in the shadows he takes a step back watching, waiting to see your next move. He watches as you walk closer and closer to the edge of the building. What are you doing? It looks like you have no plans of stopping and if you continue you’re going to fall off. 

Shit, you’re going to jump.

Miguel immediately makes his way over to you grabbing you by the elbow and pulling you away from the edge as far as he can.

"Don't do it, it's not worth it" He watches as you stare up at him with wide eyes. Your eyes dart up and down from head to toe.

"Spiderman?" He looks at you confusingly before he realizes you’re talking to him. Right, he has his suit on you don't know that he's under here. Remembering how you flinched last time he drops his hold and takes a step back but this time his back is towards the edge. So if you try to make a run for it you'll have to go through him.

"What are you doing here, what's going on?"

"You were going to jump"

"I was not" He narrows his eyes at you before you stand on your tippy toes peeking out over his shoulder. He moves into your line of vision.

"Don't think about it" You roll your eyes at him before tapping on his shoulder. "Come on big guy move you're going to make me miss it" You immediately step around him and begin walking towards the edge.

 Oh for fucks sake. 

He hovers over you subtly holding out a hand just in case. He watches as you try to sit down awkwardly. Why don't you just sit down normally? Thankfully you're not wearing a skirt this time so he won't get flashed by you. When you finally sit down you begin to scoot closer over the edge till your feet are dangling. You slowly put your arms behind you leaning back as you close your eyes taking a deep breath.

He's watching you confusingly as you look straight ahead. When he feels heat on the side of his face he slowly turns his face in that direction. The sun is rising, peeking up just above the horizon. When he hears you sigh he turns his attention back to you.

"I was just trying to catch the sunrise. I don't need to be on suicide watch I'm fine." He folds his arms across his chest trying to analyze you. His muscles bulged against his suit. He's not sure if he believes you or not. It isn't until he feels a sharp pain in his shoulder that he remembers his current state. When you finally look up at him your eyes gape at the sight of his wounds.

"My goodness you’re dripping blood all over the floor” You swing your legs over so that they no longer dangle off the edge and you form a squat position before rising to your full height.

You wave your hand beckoning him to follow you. "Come come I have a first aid kit" You walk a few steps but turn around when you realize he's not following you.

Miguel shakes his head no and stretches out a hand so you can continue walking. "Go on"

"No you're going to leave the minute I turn my back come on big guy let's go" You reach for his left hand and he slowly draws it back. Your eyes dart down to the big watch with the orange screen that's on his wrist.

You point to his watch. "Oh…I don't want that come on you're wasting time you're going to bleed out before you know it" Grabbing him by his right hand you pull him into the staircase. Miguel doesn't know why he's letting you do this. Maybe he's just too tired to protest. He watches as you drag him down the stairs you're not even half his size, what are you thinking? Surprisingly though you're not that slow when walking down the stairs. Once reaching on the 3rd floor he subtly glances at his door that's directly across from your's. So close yet so far away. He's going to regret this. He takes a deep breath as you pull him inside your apartment.

•°~°•

If you knew that you were going to start your morning on your knees for Spiderman you would've laughed and called yourself stupid. You sat him down on the loveseat couch in your almost bare living room. He looks so out of place it looks like he's been photoshopped in your apartment. You sit down on your knees carefully pulling your shirt away from your body so that it doesn't stick to your growing belly. You sit your first aid kit on the couch between his legs. Before starting you pull your curls into a very uneven puff on top of your head. You watch as he quickly turns away folding his arms across his chest. You're super positive you look like a hot ass mess right now but it's fine you have no one to impress.

You stare at the deep cut on the inside of his left thigh near his knee. You're grateful that it isn't high up on his thigh near his crotch otherwise things would've gotten awkward real fast.

"You're going to have to take off the suit so I can properly disinfect it"  You expect him to take off his suit but instead the parts of the suit where his cuts are disengage creating an opening so the skin around it is free.

"Oh, that's very convenient" You begin to get out the stuff that you're going to need to disinfect his wound. You lean forward placing a gentle hand on his knee to support yourself.

"This is going to sting" You slowly press the cotton ball dipped in alcohol on the wound. You pause for a second expecting him to flinch or to grimace but you get nothing. The only thing you feel is his body tensing up. Taking that as a sign to continue you try to figure out what to say. How does one start a conversation with Spiderman?

"What Spiderman are you?" You take a glance at him before returning your attention back to his wound.

“2099”

“Oh so you’re this universe’s Spiderman…that’s cool. Sorry, I don't keep up with the news. I felt like I should've known that '' After you finished cleaning his wound you stared at it for a little bit realizing that it’s going to need to be stitched up.

“You’re going to need stitches, is that alright with you?” You watch as he finally turns to look at you, unfolding his arms and resting them on the back of the couch.“You know how to do stitches?” You slowly nod your head. Getting the needle and thread ready.

“How?”

“I had to do it a lot…are you ready? A distraction may help lessen the pain or….well distract you from it”

 “Uh, so how was your day?” You begin to thread the needle through his skin hopefully this will lessen the pain. You steal a quick glance at him thinking that he’s paying you no mind but you find him looking directly at you well you’re assuming that he is since you can’t see his eyes. You begin to scan him tracing the red lines of his suit with your eyes. From down his arms leading to the red spider in the middle of his chest. He’s incredibly huge. The width of his shoulders looks like a foot long or maybe it just looks bigger because you’re on your knees? One headlock from him and you'd be dead instantly. It isn’t until the lines on his face circling his eyes narrow that you realize he is in fact looking at you. Shit, he caught you staring. Feeling embarrassed and your skin heating up you turn your attention back to the very important task at hand.

“I’m sorry I thought you weren’t paying attention since you didn’t answer me”

“Did you get this from a villain or were you-”

“You talk a lot” You feel your heart sink at his words. You were just trying to engage in conversation to distract him from the pain but you guess you’re doing too much. He’s Spiderman after all he probably does this all the time so it’s not a big deal to him.

“Oh…you’re right I’m sorry let me hurry up and do this for you so you can go back to doing what you do best” You give him a small smile shutting your mouth too scared to say anything that will embarrass yourself even further. Once you're finished with the stitches you take a small scissors to cut the hanging thread. 

You then get what you need to disinfect the wound on his shoulder. Realizing that you're going to need to get closer to him in order to clean the wound you sit up on your knees leaning forward to get a closer look but almost immediately he draws his head back. Oh, maybe you should've warned him.

"Sorry I just need to get a closer look at your shoulder, I don't mean to make you uncomfortable" He stares at you for a moment before turning his head to the side away from you to presumably give you more room. 

Putting the finishing touches on his wound you seal it with gauze and you lean back resting on your knees again. Pleased with your work you sigh contentedly happy to be finished. You fight back a yawn and glance at the clock. It's 8 am and you've been up since 2 pm yesterday. You pat his knee twice signaling that you're finished.

"All done" You rest your hands on the couch bracing yourself as you stand up grabbing your first aid and heading over to the kitchen counter.

Walking over to the fridge the sounds of your bare feet hitting against the tiles echoes throughout the room. "Sorry, I don't have much to offer you but would you like something to drink? I have milk and water?" You turn around to face him expecting to find him where you left him on the couch only to find it empty with a dent in the middle where he sat. He left. You sigh, maybe you were doing too much. He's Spiderman for goodness sake. You shouldn't have expected him to take a break. He probably has a million and one things to worry about.

You glance around the room trying to figure out how he left it isn't until you feel a small gust of wind your eyes dart to the open window. Making your way over you close the window before turning off all the lights to get ready for bed.

"Come on baby Mommy's tired"

•°~°•

Two days have passed since you practically dragged Spider-Man into your home. You left for work last night finding a blue note on your window seal saying "Thank you" with the number 2099 at the end of it. He stopped by to give you a thank you note. You place the note on your kitchen counter since you have yet to get a coffee table. You've been using the extra money that you have to spend to buy things for the nursery and diapers for the baby. You didn't know how expensive diapers were until you had to buy them. You're waiting for your next ultrasound appointment to finally find the gender of your baby. You can't wait, you know that you'll be grateful for whatever gender you have. This is your baby and you'll love and cherish them no matter what but secretly you're hoping you'll have a baby girl. You just can't wait to have a mini-you running around.

You just got off from work and you're parking your car a few blocks away from the supermarket because you know how hard it is to get parking over there. You’re way past overdue for a grocery run and luckily you got paid today so you can finally satisfy your cravings. Weirdly you've been craving cream cheese and pickles. It's a weird combination for sure but that's all that you can think about while you are at work. You sigh as you make your way to the supermarket. You have an uneasy feeling in your stomach and no it's not the baby you just feel worried. The voice in your head is telling you to hold off on getting groceries but your intense cravings are saying otherwise. Grabbing a shopping cart you head immediately to the milk and cheese aisle.

You stand in front of the cream cheese section with strawberry cream cheese in one hand and regular low-fat cream cheese in the other. You've been standing here for 2 minutes trying to figure out which one to get. Half your mind is telling you to get both and the other half is telling you to rip them both open and take a taste.

"Pregnancy cravings?" You turn around to the sound of the voice coming from behind you. It's a small elderly woman with her own shopping cart. You glance down at your stomach and realize that it's poking through your white buttoned-down shirt. Although your stomach isn't that big yet it's finally noticeable that a bump is there. Or maybe it’s because you aren’t wearing an oversized shirt this time around. But just 2 days ago it wasn't like this at all, it wasn't this big. You swear your stomach grew overnight. Well, it was only a matter of time before you could no longer hide it.

You slowly nod and give her a small smile patting your belly affectionately. "Yeah I don't know I've just been craving cream cheese and pickles lately" 

The elderly lady smiles pushing her shopping cart forward. "When I was pregnant with my 3rd I wanted to eat nothing but cheese and pretzels" You tilt your head at her words that don't sound bad at all you eat cheese and pretzels all the time.

You let out a small laugh. "That's something I eat on a regular" The lady shakes her head "I'm lactose intolerant and at the time I haven't eaten a slice of cheese in years"

"Oh," She laughs at your reaction before walking a little further ahead.

"Cherish them when they are small. I think that's one of the best stages when they can't speak" You laugh at her words as you rub small circles on your belly. "I'll keep that in mind" You bid your farewell to the old woman and finally decide on getting both cream cheeses. Placing them down into the shopping cart you walk away in search of where the pickles are located.

While walking your feet slowly come to a stop when you feel the ground beginning to shake. Pausing for a second it isn't until things on the shelves all around begin falling off and the shakes become more violent that fear begins to settle deep within your bones. Earthquakes in Nueva York are unheard of. You begin to slowly back away clutching your stomach as the sounds of panic fill the air. What's going on? You turn around making your way to find cover when all of a sudden a big boom fills the air causing your ears to ring. Turning your attention to the direction of the sound more than half of the wall on the right side of the supermarket is gone. Bits and pieces of the ceiling are falling along with it.

No no no this can't be happening.

You walk with hurried steps to the semi-secluded corner of the supermarket. You place a hand over your ear trying to cancel out the sounds of panic and one hand holding your stomach protectively. However you stop mid-way when you see another pregnant woman who seems to be further along in her pregnancy trying to help the elderly lady you were talking to moments ago. Glancing back and forth between them and the safe corner you begin to make your way over to the women.

•°~°•

"Lyla, what's the stats?" Miguel, Ben, Jess Peter, and a few other spiders from HQ are swinging their way to where the anomaly is currently wreaking havoc.

"An anomaly is currently attacking the supermarket downtown so far there aren't any casualties"

"And which dimension does he belong to?"

"Earth-616B" Miguel grunts in response as he lands in the parking lot of the supermarket. Half of the supermarket walls are gone and the ceiling is slowly crumbling. If they don't act soon a lot of casualties are going to happen. Miguel barks out orders for the rest of the group before doing his own thing. Miguel begins to gather up some of the civilians using his webs to get them out of the way and to safety.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone walking further into the building where the ceiling is unsteady and small chunks of it are landing on the floor. What is wrong with them? Do they have a death wish?

"HEY WHAT ARE YOU DOING MAN GET OUT" Miguel yells at them while he's swinging in the air knocking some of the debris out of the way while some spiders deal with the anomaly. When he realizes that they aren't stopping he angrily scoffs to himself as he begins to run towards them. The closer he gets he realizes that it's a woman who looks oddly familiar.

Of course, it's you.

You said that you don't need to be on suicide watch but now he's thinking otherwise. The closer he gets to you he sees that you have one hand clutching your stomach while helping a pregnant woman help an elderly lady. His eyes dart from the women to you he can't carry all 3. He takes a moment on who he's going to get first and he decides on you. He doesn't need another death on his conscience…..

While running he darts the falling debris using his webs to break them in half. The minute he reaches you he quickly guides the pregnant and the elderly woman to a secluded spot using his webs to give them a temporary shield. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Ben running towards him. Miguel points to the woman he’s hidden in a corner and Ben nods immediately. He then dashes over to you picking you up bridal style.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you purposely run into-" A large rock begins hurtling straight at the two of you. With little to no time to react Miguel turns his back to take the blow. He grunts on impact stumbling a bit as your high-pitched scream causes his ear to ring he then continues his journey out of the fallen supermarket.

“Why would you purposefully run further into a collapsing building? Do you have a death wish?”

“I-I was trying to help-” 

“Help yourself before helping others” Miguel continues to navigate his way out of the building, careful not to trip over anything. Finally making it out he places you down where the police cars and ambulances are located. He watches as you clumsily try to steady yourself holding onto his forearm for support.

Once you're steady he removes your hand from his arm getting ready to jump back into action. "If you're hurt the ambulance is right-" You let out a sharp gasp as you put both hands on your stomach and you feel a sharp pain in your abdomen.

"Oh no….I think….I think-"

"Listen I don't have time for this if you're hurt, the ambulance is right there they'll help you" Miguel rolls his eyes as he glances back to where the chaos is currently happening. He doesn't have time to babysit the longer the anomaly is here the harder it's going to be to put them back.

"No no no c-can you check for me I think something's wrong with the baby" You begin to feel your eyes fill with tears the moment you feel another sharp pain in your stomach.

"What baby are you talking about? Listen I need to go" Miguel takes a step back to observe you from head to toe. Trying to find any signs of injury. His eyes stop on your stomach that you're cradling. He finally takes notice of how big it is…

Fuck… you're pregnant?

"Spider-Man please can you check I think something's wrong….it hurts" The minute your eyes meet his breath hitches in his throat. He gets flashbacks of when his late "wife" expressed her discomfort with the baby that she was carrying. He lets out a deep sigh as he decides on what to do.

"Lyla scan her to see if anything is wrong" Lyla appears in front of him and gives him a salute. Turning around to face you she fazes in and out to get closer to you.

"Hey, pretty lady can you stand straight for me pretty please" He watches as you wipe your eyes before standing straight with one hand under your stomach. Lyla scans you from head to toe twice before going closer to you.

"You're baby is fine their right under your ribcage so that's why your feeling some pain. Your vitals are normal for someone who was just saved from a collapsing building but you need to take it easy maybe lie down for a bit"

"So they're okay?"

"They're okay" Lyla turns to Miguel and gives him a look. "Maybe you should take her-"

"You're dismissed"

"Thank you so so much I really appreciate it I-" Miguel cuts you off raising his right hand to stop you.

"I have to go….go over to the EMTs to double-check things" He watches as you nod before he runs off going back to help the others. Amidst the chaos he goes to deal with the anomaly subtly glancing over his shoulder to make sure you followed his orders.

•°~°•

It's been 5 hours since you’ve been discharged from the hospital the doctors said it was fine for you to leave. To say you were scared would be an understatement. If anything happened to your baby…..Sighing you place a gentle hand on your stomach blinking rapidly to keep your tears from falling. Crying won’t do you or your baby girl any good. Since you were already at the hospital it only made sense that you'd have your ultrasound appointment early and you found out you are having a baby girl. You cried the moment you heard the news you’ll do whatever it takes to give your baby girl the childhood you never had. A childhood filled with love and support from everyone around her. 

Forcing yourself out of your thoughts you walk over to your kitchen to get yourself something to drink. Since this grocery run was a complete disaster you’ll have to do it again tomorrow. Pouring yourself a glass of water you stare straight ahead at the clock. In about 45 minutes you’ll have to get ready for work. Since you came home you have done nothing but focus on making sure you stayed calm. For your sake and the baby’s. You’ve played calming music, cleared your thoughts, and done self-care you did it all. You know the little hologram told you to rest but you need the money. Since it’s a Monday night the bar shouldn’t be that packed. Maybe you’ll take a day off on Friday so you’ll have a long weekend. You quickly wash and put away your glass cup before making your way into your bedroom to get ready.

•°~°•

You should've known that it was going to be packed tonight. It’s a full house not a free chair in sight. You're convinced that the bar has turned into a club. People are dancing 3 fights have already broken out and you are only 4 hours into your shift and you unfortunately have 5 more to go. Your curls are pulled back into a low ponytail as you feel sweat dripping down the nape of your neck down your back. You're wearing a simple black top with a low v-neck paired with a black pleated skirt. Thankfully your top is loose so your bump isn’t visible plus 

An hour later your feet are aching and you’re really hungry. You need to take a break maybe sit down for a few have a drink of water or something.  You stare at the clock sighing as you read the time. It’s 2 am and you won't get off till six you won't make it that long. Grabbing a rag to wipe your hands you call for another bartender to take over while you take a break.

•°~°•

Miguel doesn’t know how he allowed them to talk him into this. After a long day of doing his job instead of being at HQ Ben and a few of the spiders that were working on the supermarket mission dragged him to a bar. Out of all the places they could’ve dragged him to they chose a bar…..He’s not really a fan of loud and crowded places he never has been. He doesn’t even know why they invited him he has nothing to add to the conversation. Staring at his drink menu he reluctantly looks over the options as he decides on what to get. It isn’t until he hears a few low whistles that he peeks over his menu. His eyes almost bug out his head when he sees you. 

What the hell are you doing here?

No matter how hard he tries he can’t seem to shake you off. It’s like everywhere he goes you’re there. His eyes follow your movements as you make your way to the customers. He watches as you move exceptionally fast taking orders while making drinks. You should not be working as a bartender as a pregnant woman. What in the world are you thinking? When he got back to HQ after dealing with the anomaly he asked Lyla to pull up any information she got from you when she scanned you for injuries. Not because he was curious only and only because he wanted to know who he was living next to. He found out your age, the school you attended, and the schools you attended before that. However, the most surprising information of all was that you’re married. You’ve been married for 5 years now. It’s weird because he’s never noticed a ring on your finger even now there’s still nothing he couldn’t even find out anything about your fiance. No name, no pictures, nothing. Even when he was brought inside your place against his will there were no signs of a man living with you. In fact, your place almost looked bare with only one 2 seater couch in the living room, and from the look of it, there was no TV either. 

But what kind of man would allow his pregnant wife to work as a bartender? Anyone should know that you shouldn’t be on your feet for long. Well…. you're another man's responsibility another man's problem so that has nothing to do with him. He is pulled out of his thoughts when he sees you making your way over to him. Turning his attention back to the menu he doesn't even bother to respond when you ask him for his choice of drink. 

When you don't hear him answer you move on to the next person which happens to be Ben.

“And what can I get you”

“You're too pretty to be working as a bartender” Miguel rolls his eyes at his comment. You tilt your head at the man before opening your mouth to speak.

“Sir what can I get you” 

“A Long Island iced tea” Miguel watches as you immediately begin making his drink.

“What are you doing after this pretty, are you going straight home?” 

“Yes I am….and here's your Long Island iced tea”

“Say you got a man to go back to?”

“No” You make your way past the guy to take another drink order.

“A boyfriend, husband?”

“No and double no”

“Great so you're-”

“Ben enough” You're eyes snap to meet the face of the voice and you wait patiently as they lower the drink menu. He stares Ben down in order to “tell” him to stand down. It isn't until Ben sighs and mumbles “Yes Dad” under his breath that Miguel turns his attention back to you. He stares at you for a moment before telling you his drink order.

“Whiskey” You give him a quick nod before you move to make his order. When you hand him his drink you don't bother looking at him. Miguel has to turn all his attention to the dark liquid in his glass if he doesn't he'll accidentally end up staring at you the whole time.

•°~°•

You feel a hole burning in the back of your neck. Why would someone ever stare at you like that? His gaze never wavers you feel his eyes on you as you move around the bar, take orders slide glasses down the bar, and as you ignore some men's advances. His glares make you uncomfortable you hate working when you know someone is actively judging you. Truthfully you almost dropped your glass in hand when he lowered the menu. The last time you saw him was when you accidentally thought he was going to hit you in the lobby. To say you are embarrassed would be an understatement and plus he's been rude to you since the very beginning. He's just weird….or more so you can't get a read on him.

It's now the end of your shift and you're currently wiping the bar down and washing the last of the glasses to get it ready for the next bartender. But yet he's still here you walk over to him to tell him that the bar will be closed for the next 5 hours when he slaps down a $50 dollar bill. You close up the register and walk in the back to get your bag. 

When you walk back out you let out a sigh of relief when you realize he's no longer at the bar. You walk outside and begin to walk home thankfully it's only a few blocks away. You could use your car but you only use it when you have to get groceries. You want to stay active with your baby. As you walk home you hear heavy footsteps behind you it's 6 in the morning and the sun isn't up yet however you can see the sky beginning to take a lighter shade.

Once reaching the end of a sidewalk waiting for your light you subtly turn around to see if there's anyone behind you and you immediately lock eyes with your neighbor. Too embarrassed you turn straight ahead you thought he left already. He can't be following you because he's most likely coming back home like you are. Sighing you focus all your attention on walking back home. Now that you think about it you're really hungry you could kill for a toasted bagel with cream cheese right now maybe add some bacon and pickles and- 

Oh, she's moving.

You pause briefly to rest a hand on your stomach. Maybe she knew that you were thinking about food.

You lower your voice whispering to your stomach. “Did you know I was thinking about food?” A few seconds later you feel her move again followed by a small kick. You laugh to yourself as you continue your journey home.

Finally making it back home you're digging in your mailbox when you notice that your neighbor is standing a few feet behind you by the lobby doors. Is he waiting for you to go upstairs? He's making you feel uneasy. Before your brain can formulate something to say to him you're already facing him and you open your mouth to speak.

“You're making me feel uncomfortable”

………..

Oh God, why in the world would you say that?

“Sorry, I-”

“I’m waiting for you to move from the mailbox” You watch as he folds his arms across his chest while sending the same glare that he was giving you earlier.

You take a nervous step back. Dammit, you shouldn't have said anything. “O-Oh I'm sorry I didn't know-”

“Of course, you didn't know…I'm keeping my distance since you thought I was going to put my hands on you the other day”

“Oh right listen about that I didn't mean to it was just a reflex and I-” He puts up a hand to prevent you from going any further.

“You don't need to explain anything to me…can you move your taking up space and I have things to do” You watch as he points to your stomach and you immediately put a hand over it. Taking up space? You're not even that big yet….Eager to get out of there you immediately close your mailbox making sure to grab your keys as you start your journey upstairs wishing him a goodnight. Is it too early to say you hate your neighbor?

•°~°•

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having thots about the unstoppable invincible force aspect of masc!jordan….. trying to close your legs when it gets to much but their hands are like iron clamps on your thighs……………. holding both your wrists in a vice like grip as they coax you through your third orgasm of the night….. 😗🫢

had to sit on this one for a bit because it quite actually made me gaze into space with a thousand yard stare. t- the thought of jordan using their powers of invincibility in their masc!form to keep you in place.... wow. okay. alright.

its literally like irons bars wrapped around your thighs, though they feel as warm and soft as their skin always is, unable to move even a centimeter. just forced to keep your legs spread and open as their tongue works between your legs, bullying orgasm after orgasm from your spent little cunt. just the thought that you literally have to take it, can't move away, cant push them away, and of course you could end it, you have a safeword, but that's not the point, you like it. you like feeling trapped and forced still as jordan pulls what they want from your body, even when it feels like you can't give anymore.

just crying and sobbing and gripping the sheets as you try, try, to push at their shoulders, just a little, whine that its too much, its too much j, you cant take it anymore they've made you cum so much it hurts. but they dont move and they dont stop. just push your thighs even wider apart, so the folds of your pussy split and your clit is raw and exposed and puffy and they just look up at you with those dark eyes that say 'im not done.' as they seal their lips around it and suck.

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Oral Sex, Indirectly Mentioned Age Gap, Jealousy, Possessiveness, Mentions of Male Masturbation

Summary: An unwelcome guest arrives. 

A/N: They’re back at it!!!

Word Count: 2.9K (Not Edited)

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3

He can hear you. Both of you. 

There are two pairs of footsteps walking past his door. The lighter, softer ones are recognizable. The heavier ones are not. His eyes narrow at the noise, quickly lowering the volume of the TV. He can hear the rustling of keys overlapping with the sound of muffled talking. Your laugh cuts through the noise, and his head whips to his own door. He’s quick to get up, making his way to the door. He waits a few moments before opening it, casually looking to the left as he steps out. 

You’re standing at your front door, just opening it when you turn to him. Your doe eyes blink at him, a smile on your face and a slight blush. It’s the first time you two have seen each other properly since the incident two and a half weeks ago. He takes the time to drink in the sight of you. You’re wearing a bubble jacket and a pair of jeans. On your head is a beanie with a logo in the front, causing your hair to stick to your face. Over your shoulder is the bookbag you use sometimes when the weather isn’t ideal for your usual tote bag. It’s a refreshing sight. Better than the dream versions that visit him in his sleep. 

The sight quickly sours when his eyes register the boy behind you. He’s young, around your age. A classmate perhaps. He’s tall, but nowhere as tall as Miguel. He’s lanky, all long, thin limbs. Probably doesn't know the difference between barbells and dumbbells. He’s wearing a pair of gray sweats and a black sweater with a coat overtop. He has thick hair, styled to look ‘naturally’ messy. It looks like he got electrocuted. Three times in a row. By lightning. He has his own book bag thrown over his shoulder, and his smile slowly disappears when he looks at Miguel. He steps a little closer to you, a few inches separating his front from your back. The scene looks far too intimate for his liking. He would be considered ‘cute’ or ‘hot’ in a dorky way to any teenage girl. 

The two size each other up. There's no competition.

“Hi, Miguel!” 

Your face makes both of them turn away, looking down at you. You’re smiling wide at Miguel, and he feels way too prideful when you step towards him. He can’t resist the smug look he throws at the boy behind you. His arm reaches out, his fingers grabbing at one of the front pieces of your hair. From over your shoulder he can see the fetus glare at the possessive touch. 

“Hi, mi nena. Who’s this you brought with you, hm?”

His voice is low, intimate in the fact that his words are softened for you. You seem to melt into the tone, your body self-consciously leaning in as you blink up at him. For a second you seem slightly confused, turning around to see the boy. It’s like you forgot he was even there. The boy loses his glare, giving you a small smile. You turn back to Miguel quickly, a slight flush on your cheeks. The attention you give him, even in front of your…guest, makes his heart sing and his cock stir. He’ll have to reward you for it later, when the time is right. 

“Oh! He’s just my classmate, we have to work together on a project.”

Miguel smiles at that. He’s just a classmate. He’s not even considered a friend to you. It’s cute, the way you try to reassure him that nothing is happening between the two of you. But, that doesn’t nullify the fact that your classmate obviously wants to be something more than your project partner. Miguel trusts you completely. What he doesn’t trust is a young, horny boy near you. But he does have to admit, the dejected look on his face when you refer to him as only a classmate pleases something ugly inside of him. 

Miguel’s finger rubs against your cheek before he lets your hair go, his eyes following the way your body shivers slightly at the contact. You stay leaned towards him, and Miguel has to resist the urge to coo down at you. Instead, he reaches both of his hands down towards your waist. Your body seems to melt into his touch, your eyes going dopey as his warmth seeps through the thick denim of your pants. If the two of you didn’t have a guest present and weren’t out in the hall, he would kiss you. Or eat you out against the wall. Whichever one crossed his mind first. He would have enough time for both if you let him indulge. But, again, he would have to save that for another time. Right now, he has to- very reluctantly- return you to your party. 

His arms are quick around your waist as he turns you around, your body stumbling slightly from the speed. You seem confused as you’re now faced with your company, turning your head back to Miguel. You have a slight pout on your face, disappointment spreading as he pushes you forward slightly. You look like you’re about to protest, and as much as he’d love to have you begging for his attention, you have other matters to attend to. Miguel leans down, his breath warming your neck. He can’t resist taking a whiff of your dizzying smell, letting it invade his lungs and travel to his cock for safe keeping. He’ll make use of it later. 

“Go do your work, mami. I’ll see you later, hm?” He whispers, eyes hungirly taking in the way your lips part and  blush spreads across your face. You turn your face to him, a few centimeters separating the two of you. Your eyes hastily fall to his lips before meeting his eyes, muttering out a breathless ‘okay’.

Miguel smirks, opening his mouth to say something else when a rough cough breaks the moment. Both you and Miguel turn your heads, looking at the boy who seems slightly uncomfortable. He eyes the lack of space between the two of you, eyes dropping to where Miguel still grabs your waist. Good, at least now he knows who you belong to. Miguel slowly removes himself from you, and you give an apologetic smile to your guest. You begin to walk towards him, and Miguel lets you walk a step or two away before grabbing your wrist and pulling you back to him. 

You bump into his chest with a soft noise, wide eyes looking up at him. Both of your arms are trapped between your body and his, and your breath stutters when he leans down. Miguel keeps his eyes trained to the boy behind you, loving the sour look on his face. 

“I don’t want to hear any funny business. This will not be one of those types of ‘study sessions’, you understand?” Miguel says slowly into your ear, possessiveness seeping in with each word. You open your mouth to say something, but the words get stuck in your throat as you feel something hard pressing against your thigh. Miguel squeezes your wrist, pulling your attention back to where it should be, “Do I make myself clear, chica?”

The airy ‘yes, Miguel’ you practically whimper out will satisfy him for now. He whispers back a ‘sé buena’, letting you go and pulling away. Miguel keeps his eyes on your little frat boy for a few more seconds before he looks down at you. His hand falls to your chest, pushing you back slightly as he turns towards his apartment. You still have this dazed look on your face, and Miguel commits it to memory. Slowly, you turn around looking at your classmate briefly before walking into your apartment. He takes a second to follow you in, instead looking at Miguel with a tightened hold on his bookbag. You call out his name, and he disappears behind your closed door. Miguel scowls at the door before he slips into his own home, leaning against the door. 

His eyes trail down his body to the hard on bulging through his pants. His hands slip through his waistband, palm connecting to the precum beading at his tip. He grits his teeth as he begins to tug at himself, the smell of shampoo and a dazed face running through his head. 

___________________________________

He sits up on the couch when he hears your door open and close. He stays silent, picking up the sound of a singular pair of footsteps walking away until they’re gone. Miguel waits a few moments before getting up, running a hand through his hair as he makes his way to the door. He doesn’t bother to lock it behind him when he closes it, instead focusing on getting inside of your apartment. He stands in front of it, lifting a hand to knock before stuffing both of his hands into his pocket. He can hear you walking towards the door, and his cock stirs knowing you're all his now. He hears the lock click and a second later you open the door with a confused look on your face. Your expression falls away, mouth parting slightly at the sight of him. He smirks down at you, not needing an invitation before he walks in. 

He lazily looks around, eyes narrowing on the heater panel on the wall. He fucking hates that heater. He turns back to you just as you lock the door and turn to face him. There is a sort of electricity running through the air, and Miguel’s eyes slide down your form half-mast. You’re still wearing your jeans, but now he can see the long sleeve shirt you were wearing under your coat. It isn’t skin tight, but he can still see the outline of your breasts in it. He can feel his cock twitch in his pants as he focuses on the slight swell, but his eyes come back to your face. You look bashful, obviously catching him eye fucking you. Miguel doesn’t feel an ounce of shame, walking up to you slowly. You back up against the door, back hitting the wood. He doesn’t stop advancing until his chest is mere centimeters away from yours. With his close proximity, you’re forced to look up at him, wide eyes blinking cutely up at him. 

It makes his eyes darken, and his hand comes to your face and strokes just under your eye. 

“How was your little study date?” He asks, a dark smile on his face. 

Your lashes flutter rapidly, lips parting, “It wasn’t a-”

Your words die off as Miguel’s other hand presses against your pants. His fingers expertly undo the button, and soft unzipping comes after. You try to look down, but Miguel’s hand around your face grabs your chin and keeps you looking up at him. Your chest brushes against him with every breath you take. Your eyes are glazed over, and that dazed look paints your face again. Miguel’s thumb plays with your bottom lip, his smirk dropping slightly. 

“I asked you a question. Are you gonna answer it?”

“I-” you stutter out, thighs pressing together. You can feel a wetness filling your panties and your cheeks flush. “It wasn’t a date.”

Your voice is soft as you confess it, and Miguel finally coos at you. His smile comes back, still condescending. He hums in thought, hands falling to your hips. Slowly, he begins to descend to the floor, “Yeah? Why don’t you tell me about what you did and I’ll decide for myself.”

You stutter out another response as you watch him, thighs almost crossing over the other to relieve the ache in between them. His thumbs stroke just under the waistband of your jeans, his fingers hooking into the belt loops as he begins to drag the denim down your legs. Your mouth parts as he looks up at you, but no words escape. He shakes his head with a chuckle, parting your thighs once your pants pool at your feet. He leans forward, and you yelp as he presses his nose against your panties. Your hands fly to his hair, whimpering out as he groans. He can feel your damp arousal through your soaked panties, and the smell of it is intoxicating. He can’t resist the urge to lick at it through the fabric. 

“Miguel!” You gasp out, eyes wide as you look down at him. His pupils are blown wide as he moves your panties to the side, coming face to face with your naked cunt. 

Your clit pokes out to greet him, and there is a soft glistening around your folds. All for him. He curses at the sight, his tongue lapping at the small bud. It causes you to shriek, hands tightening in his hair. Miguel smirks at the noise, pulling away from your addictive pussy for a few minutes. 

“I don’t hear much talking from you, nena.”

You choke on your breath as he licks at you again, lips falling open. Your sentences are stuttering, incomplete babbles, mind getting lost in the pleasure he’s giving you. You’re saying something about researching and some dead poet, but Miguel doesn’t really care. Your head leans back against the door as he slurps at you, his tongue flicking against your swollen bud and teasing your folds. You cry out his name again when his tongue pokes at your entrance, catching the arousal that dribbles out. His hand comes to the back of your thigh, lifting it over his shoulder as he sucks on you. You let out a loud moan as his tongue slides inside of you. 

The groan he lets out vibrates against your whole body, and he gets drunk on the taste of you. His tongue explores your wet walls, moaning whenever they contract around the slippery muscle. He can feel the arousal on his face, and he tries to bury himself deeper into your cunt. You can’t help the high-pitched noise that leaves your mouth as his nose bumps repeatedly against your clit, stimulating you to the point that your legs feel like jelly. You can feel your leg buckle from under you, and the only thing keeping you up is Miguel’s head pressing your lower body against the door. 

Your hips buck into his face as he switches between tongue-fucking your hole and sucking on your clit. Your pussy pulses against his mouth, and you can’t help the grinding you do as you use your hold on his hair to move his face against you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he lets you guide him, his groans vibrating against you. Some whines and whimpers leave your mouth, a hot ball forming in your stomach. 

“Miguel, I’m… please,” You cry out, making Miguel chuckle against you. 

His movements speed up, tongue lavishing you like a man starved. His eyes are hazy as they look up at you, watching your twisted face. Your mouth falls open, hiccuped noises leaving you until your entire body tenses. You cry out loudly, head pressing deeper into the wood of your door as you release. Miguel moans against you, eyes closing as he greedily laps at you for a taste of your sweet cum. Your chest heaves like crazy, and your lower body jolts from the overstimulation his tongue is giving you. Your hands weakly try to push his head away, and he whines disapprovingly against you before he submits to your silent order. 

Your face flushes as you look down at him, his chin glistening with spit and your arousal. You feel yourself pulse when he licks his lips, collecting the remaining juices there with a moan. Your body goes slack against the door, and Miguel gently eases your leg off his shoulder. Your hands fall to his shoulders, using him as a way to keep you up as his hand places your panties back into their place. The wetness still coating your underwear is slightly uncomfortable, but you quickly forget it when Miguel comes face to face with you again. His face is still shiny, but that hunger in his eyes seems satisfied for now. 

“Don’t think I like that boy around you,” He comments, eyes scanning your face. Your body jolts when his thumb presses into your clit, making you gasp. “And don’t think for a second he can make you feel the way I just did.”

You’re left speechless again, only capable of staring up at him and nodding numbly. He leans down and kisses you quickly, a thin coat of the sticky remains of your own arousal coating your lips as he pulls away. He moves you slightly, your body pressing against his chest as he opens your apartment door. He’s quick to turn the two of you around, not wanting anyone to see you in your underwear and post-orgasm daze. His mouth falls to the top of your head, planting a kiss to your hair. He pulls away from you as he goes out in the hall, leaving you standing inside your apartment. 

“Don’t bring anymore boys home, cariño” He calls out teasingly, that smirk still on his face as he closes the door behind him. 

You blink at your door, confused on how he left so casually. You look down at your jeans on the floor, slowly picking them up and holding them to your chest. 

Why does he always leave?

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Pairing: Nerd!Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Reader Under the Influence of an Aphrodisiac, Somnophilia, Blowjob, Slight Nipple Play, Slight Fingering, Penetrative Sex, Mean!Miguel, Slightly Perverted!Miguel

A/N: Requested!

Summary: There is only one man you can turn to in your time of need

Word Count: 3.2K (Barely Edited)

Fuck!

You almost miss your landing, having to hold extra tight to the fire escape railing to not fall. Your breath is ragged, and you never realized how hard it was to breath through your mask until now. You stumble as you step off of the railing and onto the landing, taking a lungful of air as you reach behind your head and rip off your mask. Your steps are clumsy as you walk towards the window, your body burning up as you grasp the window ledge and push it up with a grunt. God, I told that idiot to start locking his windows, you think as you slide through. 

It’s completely dark inside, the only bit of moonlight being blocked by your figure. But even then, you can see the outline of posters and figurines on the wall. You can even see the outline of his body laying in his bed. You let out a heavy sigh, making your way over to him. His bed creaks as you kneel on top of it, the soft mattress sinking under your weight. Miguel’s sheet is half-way off his body, probably kicked off during the night-time heat. His chest falls steadily, his whole front being exposed to you as he sleeps on his back. He mumbles something, sleepy whispers leaving his barely parted mouth as his hand comes up to scratch at his naked chest. You can feel your skin heat up at the sight of the exposed skin, seeing the way coarse hair spans over tan muscles. You feel like a Victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time. 

You don’t really think before your palms land flat onto his skin. It’s slightly cool under your hands, but it does nothing to kill the heated flush over your own skin. It only makes it worse. A tortured sound leaves your lips as you rake your hands down his body, ghosting over the skin of his chest and stomach until they stop at his thighs. Why are his boxers so tight around his thighs? You take a shaky breath in, shifting your weight as your hands travel up slightly until they’re right over the outline of his soft dick. Your hands shake as you massage him over the thin fabric of his underwear; have they always shook like that?

You can feel him hardening under your hands, and your head snaps up when he lets out a soft moan. He’s still asleep, that steady rhythm still moving his chest. But his brows are furrowed, lips parted slightly. It makes something in your stomach twist in fear and excitement at the idea of being caught. You let out another breath as you drop your attention to his semi, your hand gently guiding his cock out through the hole of his boxers. Even though he’s not fully hard yet, you can see the beginning bulge of a vein running up the underside of his cock. The length of him just barely being supported by the hold you have on him. 

Your mouth feels dry at the sight. He’s big, and he isn’t even fully hard yet. You try to chase the dryness in your throat away with a swallow, but it only makes more saliva pool on your tongue. You sneak a peek up again, finding him in the same pose from a minute ago. You keep your eyes on him as you slowly lean down, only looking down for a second as you guide your mouth over him. Your bottom lip brushes over his tip, but you turn your head to the side as you lean further down. Your tongue darts up, licking the length just above your hand as you make your way back up to his tip. Miguel’s breath hitches, your eyes looking towards him. His head is thrown to the side, but he doesn’t seem to be waking up. 

Good.

You hum against him, tongue flicking at his slit. Your hand moves up and down him slowly, feeling him get harder in your hold before you wrap your fingers around his tip. You suck lightly, eyes fluttering when the first salty beads of precum melt on your tongue. You can feel a dull throb beginning at your core, your body craving Miguel’s addicting taste. Your body needs it. A small moan falls from your lips as you take him deeper, your hands falling away to sit on his thighs as you slowly move your head up and down his length. The heavy warmth in your mouth is comforting, and the pleasure of having him in your mouth travels straight to your cunt. Your eyes are squeezed shut as you focus on moving your head, gagging slightly when you force him a little too far down your throat. But you’re caught off guard when a heavy hand falls on your head, forcing Miguel’s cock down your throat entirely. 

You squeal, quickly turning into a gag as your nose meets the coarse hair at the base of his cock. The hand keeps you there and you snap your eyes open. Miguel’s half-lidded eyes stare down at you, sharp crimson glinting. His other hand is stretched out to his side, coming into view in a second, the frames of his glasses pinched between his fingers before he slips them on. You moan around him, trying to communicate the uncomfortable pressure pressing on the back of your throat, but it only makes Miguel hiss out in pleasure. His hand tightens in your hair, pulling your head up before pushing it back down to the base. 

“Fucking knew it,” he breaths harshly, repeating the movement until he’s controlling how fast you suck his dick. “Thought I wouldn’t find out it was you, huh?”

You whine around his cock, mind too hazy on the smell of his skin and the feel of his dick in your mouth to process what he’s talking about. Miguel’s head rolls, his hips beginning to thrust into your mouth as he keeps your head still. You can feel tears pricking at your lower lash line, wet gags escaping your throat with each of his thrusts. Your hands bunch up the fabric of his boxers, eyes staring up at him. You can feel yourself dripping, praying it doesn’t seep through your suit. Miguel thrusts into your mouth a few more times before he pulls you off of his cock, allowing you to take a large breath in and sputter. Spit wets the entirety of your chin and lips, and you gasp as warm liquid splatters on your cheek. Your eyes close instinctively, your ears picking up Miguel’s low groan and labored breathing. Your eyes slowly open, closing quickly when his cock slaps against your cheek.

It twitches against your face, softening only slightly. When you open your eyes fully, Miguel is sitting up. He’s looking down at you, eyes taking in your face and the all too familiar hero costume sticking to your body. He has a knowing look in his eyes, and you yelp when he grabs you. Your positions are switched quickly, your body bouncing once it hits the bed. Springs squeaking under your weight. You can feel Miguel’s body pressing against your back, his hand snaking to your front and pressing up on your abdomen until your ass is forced against him. You whine as you feel his cock pressing against your ass, and you turn your head over your shoulder to look back at him. His glasses have slid down the bridge of his nose, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he studies your body. Or rather, your suit.

‘So, how does the suit work?” he asks, hands running down your sides. You shiver at the contact, pressing yourself further against him. “How do you put it on? A hidden zipper, maybe?”

You gasp as his hand suddenly and roughly cups your clothed cunt, the heel of his hand pressing against you. You’re so warm there. “Or is it something you have to slip on? Gotta get naked before you can put it on, right? It certainly doesn’t feel like you have any panties on.”

You're at a loss of words, shaking your head and trying to grind against his hand. You didn’t know how desperately you need that pressure against your sex until he put it there. Miguel chuckles, cooing at you. His body presses against your back as he leans forward, warm breath hitting your ear. “I saw you on the news earlier, got sprayed with something, didn’t you? You smell so good.”

Another whine passes your lips when he takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of your hair. You smell sweet, delicious, like sex and candy. His free hand slips up to your chin, forcing your head up. You grind into his hand desperately as his warm tongue licks up your throat. The saliva is sticky on your skin, but you just wished he could lick you everywhere. Maybe it would help your body cool down. Miguel chuckles against your skin again, pulling away. 

“God, so needy.” He laughs, pulling his hands away from you completely and loving the way you pathetically fall limp onto his bed. “Don’t tell me it was an aphrodisiac or something.”

You huff against his pillow, trying to back your body more into him. It makes him laugh louder, meaner. His hand comes to wrap around the base of his cock, slapping it against your ass. “Is this what you need? You need a nice, big cock to make it all better? Pathetic.”

Despite his words, he’s smiling. He’s wanted this for so long. It’s only a plus that you, his best friend that he’s been tugging his dick to, is also one of the hottest superheroes in Nueva York. It’s like a fucking wet dream. But here you are, in his room with a desperate need for your pussy to be stuffed to the brim. How could it get any better than this?

“I- Miggy, please,” you breathe out, a flush covering your cheeks at his dirty words. Miguel coos, his hands returning to rub up and down your sides.

“It’s okay, baby. I promise I’ll help it feel better. I’ll make it feel so good.”

You gasp when you feel his hands at the nape of your neck, a loud tear filling the room as he rips your suit down your back. “Hope you got extra at home, cariño.”

It takes a few rough tears to completely expose your backside, Miguel pushing the torn edges away as you pull your arms and legs out of them. He groans at the sight of you: your naked body laying in front of him as the tattered remains of your suit lay around you. Your skin is so warm under his touch, like you’re running a fever. And you’re so responsive, mewling and shivering as he rubs your sides slowly. You look so small under him, so perfect. Your back arches when his hands snake to your front, grasping your breasts. You gasp loudly, your hands pressing your body up from the bed, standing on all fours. 

Miguel leans to lay on top of you, pinching and flicking at your horribly hard and sensitive nipples. His teeth are sharp against the lobe of your ear, soothing the sting with kitten licks. You whine when one of his hands leaves your breasts, feeling Miguel twist his head to the side slightly. 

“Down, girl,” he commands, a smile evident in his tone as his hand presses on the center of your upper back and your body buckles. You let out a puff of air as your chest hits the mattress again, your hands sliding out from under you. “Good girl, that’s a good spider.”

You huff at the teasing, glaring at him from over your shoulder. He chuckles at your expression, ignoring you as his hand slips away from your chest and ventures further down your body. You stiffen as his fingers stop just above your clit, your thighs aching to close. With a slight stretch, Miguel’s middle finger skims your bud, your hips bucking. Miguel hums in contemplation, his hand moving away despite your whine of frustration. His hands come up to rub your ass, one of his hands moving further down until his fingers are playing with the sloppy mess of your cunt. You sigh in relief, your back arching further. 

“God, you’re so wet. Is this all for me, baby?” He coos, watching the way his fingers get completely drenched from a few swipes at your folds. His curiosity gets the better of him, plunging two thick fingers through your throbbing hole. You groan, and Miguel slaps your ass to shut you up. 

A wet squelch echos the room when he curls his fingers. As he slowly drags his fingers out, your walls clench in a futile attempt to keep them inside of you, a sad pop coming from your hole when his fingers pull out completely. Miguel holds his fingers up, studying the slight glint of arousal against the moonlight. It drips down his fingers, and Miguel licks the trail up to prevent a further mess. He moans at the taste, sweet and heady. He sucks the rest into his mouth, tongue working around his fingers until they come up clean. He uses the same fingers to smear saliva over the head of his cock, hand dragging it down as he tugs at himself. He shifts behind you, aligning himself until the head of his cock presses against your tiny hole.  

“Gonna make it all better now,” Miguel whispers into the air before he thrusts his hips forward. His low groan is drowned by your loud screech, your walls stretching rapidly to accommodate the sudden intrusion. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you bite down on the pillow, the tip of his cock pressing right against your cervix. 

Miguel curses when your walls pulsate, molding to his cock. His teeth grit as he looks down, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he watches the way your hole moves as he pulls out slowly. Your hole completely melts around his tip, stretching wide as he suddenly fills you to the brim again. Miguel pushes his glasses up again as he smiles, repeating the movement. You moan loudly despite the pillow in your mouth, your hands grabbing at the sheets to stabilize yourself. Miguel’s hands grab at your ass again, kneading it in his hands as he begins thrusting in a steady rhythm. You melt into the bed, eyes fluttering with each snap of his hips. 

A sweat builds on Miguel’s face as he moves his hips, mouth open in a moan each time your walls clench around him in thanks. His glasses slide down his face again, refusing to stay in place no matter how many times he pushes them up. He tires of it quickly, cursing as he rips them off his face and throws them somewhere near your head. His hands leave your ass, coming up to your hands. His palms are against the tops of your hands, his fingers connecting between yours despite the tight hold you have on the sheets. His chest pressed against your back, his forehead pressed against the side of your head as his thrusts speed up. You choke on a moan, your body jolting upward with the force. 

“That’s it, taking it like a good, needy slut,” Miguel praises, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head, a stark contrast to the way he punishes your dripping cunt. Your walls tighten embarrassingly at his words, making him laugh breathlessly. 

The room is deafening with the sound of his pelvis hitting against your ass, his balls slapping at your clit when he goes flush against you. It all mixes together to form the wet squeals from your cunt, your mind going dizzy from it all. Miguel’s hand pulls away from yours, coming up to your throat to force your face away from the pillow. A wet circle surrounded by teeth marks stains his pillow, more abstract lines showing where his cum has rubbed off of your face. He turns your face towards him, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip before pulling you into a heated kiss. His tongue licks at your teeth, tangling with your tongue. Your face presses more into him with each of his thrusts, and you moan pathetically in his mouth as the rubber band inside of you snaps. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you gush around his cock, body breaking in an almost uncomfortable arch as your body twitches. Miguel groans into your mouth as your walls grow tighter and tighter around him, his thrusts getting desperate as he tries to thrust in and out of them. He rips his mouth away from yours as you go to collapse on the bed, your muscles jumping from your orgasm. Miguel’s hand travels to your clit, rubbing in fast circles that overstimulate you. You gasp and cry, your walls confused as they pulsate quickly and trigger another orgasm in seconds. Your hands shake as they let go of the pillow, traveling down to hit and tug at Miguel’s arm. 

“T-t’much. Miggy, t’much,” you sob, your muscles prickling. 

Miguel hisses at you, removing his arm to hold your waist as he bounces you back on his cock rapidly before he stills. His groan is animalistic as his cock twitches inside of you, painting you in white seed. You moan like an animal in heat as the warmth fills you, your entire body collapsing on the bed in an exhausted pile. You only whine slightly when Miguel gives you a few slow pumps of his cock to ride out his orgasm, forcing his cum deeper inside of you before pulling out. You sigh as you close your eyes, that overbearing warmth that was once consuming your body finally dying away. Miguel lets out ragged breaths over you, pushing his sweaty hair out of his face before squinting his eyes and looking for the outline of the glasses he threw. When he finds them, he slides an arm down his face to get rid of pesky sweat before putting them on, his eyes falling down to your abused cunt just in time to see a bead of cum slip from your hole. 

He lets out a heated sigh, turning his head to look for the shirt he discarded on the floor before he went to bed. He reaches for it, balling it in his hands before swiping it against your cum soaked folds. You mewl at the coarse fabric rubbing against your sensitive pussy, but Miguel is too tired to care as he cleans his mess and throws the shirt to the floor again. The front of his boxers has a slight wet ring around his cock, but he makes no move to take them off as he stuffs his softening cock back into its confines. His hand rubs up your back before he moves to lay down besides you, pulling tattered parts of your suit out from under him and onto the floor. Exhaustion fans his body as he turns to his side and pulls your limp body into his chest. 

“Need to talk about this Spider-Woman shit in the morning,” he mumbles into your hair as he closes his eyes. You only hum, shifting into his warmth. 

Yeah, definitely.

Nasty! Dirty!

Hey Cherry, I love ur blog. Can I request afab!reader giving Miguel a little strip tease? You can add the context, I just want Miggy to watch as his beautiful lady teases him and makes him wait to get the goods. Thank you very much, and have a lovely new year :)

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Mentions of Nudity, Sexual Touching, Mentions of Fingering

A/N: You just KNOW it's bad if it says happy new years LOL. I hope this year is treating you well, love!

Not Edited

You didn't mean to be a tease.

You were simply doing what you always did after your shower. The only difference is Miguel laying in bed watching you. You had ignored him, walking over to your things on the dresser. Your towel was clutched tight to your body, the outfit you were planning for your night out sitting on a hanger next to your closet. But before you put it on, you went through your routine.

You reach for your bottle of lotion, (something that smelled pleasant but didn't seem worth the money you had spent on the name brand cream), and hit the cap against your palm. Your music could still be heard from the bathroom, and you hummed along to the tune, occasionally whispering the words under your breath as you uncapped the bottle. With slight pressure, the cold lotion gathered in your hand, and you slapped the cap back onto the heel of your palm before setting it on the dresser. You smooth the clump over your hands, getting them evenly coated before bending down. It was slightly awkward as your hair began to fall in your face and you had to press your arms firmly to your sides to keep the towel from falling off.

As you begin to rub the lotion into your skin, a sudden noise from behind you makes you startle. Still in your position, you turn to look over your shoulder. Miguel enters your view instantly, seeing that he pushed his holographic screens that he was working on to the side to get a good view of you. His hand was pressed into the front of his pants, his eyes half lidded as he looks at you. But his eyes aren't trained on your face. No, they're trained to where your towel rides up slightly over your ass from your position, giving him a perfect view of your pussy. He presses his hand harder against himself, his wrist beginning to move in slow rolls.

It makes your cheeks flush, and you call out his name in a chastise. But he pays you no mind as he continues looking, making you hastily straighten up and turn around. Your face is still hot from his actions, but you clear your throat and try to get rid of the lewd image. You pick up your perfume, clearing your through as you begin fiddling with it as you tilt your head back slightly to spray the sweet scent over your skin. The expensive bottle almost slips out of your hands as you feel Miguel's stomach suddenly pressing against your back. Your head tilts further back to look up at him, your eyes meeting his blazing red ones. You begin to open your mouth to question him, but a sharp gasp leaves your lips as his warm palm snakes under your towel and cups the entirety of your cunt.

Your cheeks absolutely burn, your body becoming very aware of his touch and the hardness pressing against you. Miguel presses against you harder, forcing your body to bend down until your chest is pressed down against the dresser. Miguel's body follows, keeping you down as he buries his head into the junction of your neck to smell your signature scent.

"Let me help you rub that in, hermosa," he mutters, his warm breath heating your ear. And you don't even have time to protest when he slips his fingers inside of you and begins to massage your gummy walls.

Looks like you might need another shower after this.

1k Prompts

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Bathroom Sex, Jealousy, Penetrative Sex

Summary: A little warm up before the game starts. 

Word Count: 695 (Not Edited)

You were always such a tease. 

He almost tripped over the ball as he watched you, a scowl distorting his face. Today, the boys and girls soccer team had a game. It wasn’t unnatural for the two teams to practice together, going through drills and pair training. But usually, you and Miguel would pair up together, going toe to toe. A way to help build up the competitive nature within the both of you before a game.

But here you are, giggling and smiling with one of his teammates. You have a wide smile on your face, eyes on the ball as the two of you fight over it. You keep bumping into Peter’s side as you try to steal from one another, a loud yelp escaping you when you almost trip over the ball. Eventually, you steal the ball, his teammate falling to the ground as you kick it into the empty net. You whoop out in victory, smiling and sticking your tongue out childishly at your opponent before helping him up. It makes Miguel’s blood boil as he watches. 

But it isn’t anything to worry about, not really. Not when he has you trapped between him and the wall, your legs wrapped around his hips to keep you up as he slides into you. You mewl, all that fight and competition leaving your body as you suck him in. You lean forward, whimpering into his neck as he bottoms out with a groan. The sound vibrates in the empty bathroom, and you press your face more into his neck to muffle the sounds. Miguel coos down at you mockingly, watching how your body instantly accommodates him and sags. 

“Where did all that energy go, hm?” He whispers into your ear. You whine again, quickly moaning out when he pulls out and thrusts sharply into you. “You had so much energy when you were fucking around with Peter.”

He gives you more rough thrusts when you don’t answer, and you throw your head back against the wall. Your mouth is wide open, moaning and whining as you close your eyes. It makes Miguel hum in satisfaction. He doesn’t stop his punishing thrusts, only going faster. Your hand drops to his chest, pushing him away weakly. 

“M-Miguel! Not so rough! I still have to p-play!” You struggle to say, interrupting yourself with gasps. 

Miguel only rolls his eyes, but he still listens and softens his thrusts slightly. But he doesn’t slow down his pace. If the two of you want to get off in time to clean up and get to the field before the game starts, he needs to get the two of you to come fast. His hand trails down to your clit, rubbing it in fast circles that have your back arching. You clutch onto his arm desperately, body tensing as you feel your release building to its peak. Your legs around his hips have him in a vice grip as you moan out his name, walls clenching as you finish. 

Miguel is quick to follow, the feeling of your tight walls fluttering doing him in. He buries his face into your neck as he groans, pumping his release into you with slow thrusts until he stills. The two of you stay still, catching your breath for a few seconds. Miguel slides out slowly, setting you down to the floor. He grabs a few paper towels from the dispenser, handing you some as the two of you wipe off. When the two of you finish, you readjust your clothing and walk over to the mirror. 

From behind you Miguel smirks, “I think you can walk just fine. Don’t know what you were fussing about.”

You scowl at him from the mirror, undoing your fucked-up ponytail and fixing it. “Shut up, you jealous fuck.”

Miguel scowls at you, ruffling his hair and deeming himself presentable. Ugh, men. He grumbles something under his breath about you making shit up, flicking the back of your head. He walks towards the bathroom door, sticking a finger back at you. “Twist an ankle!”

“Take a ball to the nuts!” You shout back.

God, you hate him.

No shame, shit was fire.

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Oral Sex, Mentions of Male Masturbation

Summary: Just some good old student appreciation

A/N: Requested by cat anon!! I missed you cat anon!!!

Word Count: 520 (Unedited)

You know who each other… technically. 

You’ve heard of each other. You’ve seen each other’s faces. Just, never in person. But that still counts as knowing someone. You don’t have to know someone to know someone. You’ve got each other marked to the T.

Miguel’s some too hot to handle delinquent punk that is the main subject in many of your anonymous complaints, and you’re that pretty little goody two-shoes who is probably wondering where her nobel peace prize is. At least, that’s what the two of you have chalked up based on random name drops you’ve heard around the school. Which has to be 100% accurate because… because. But of course, Miguel can’t just take anyone’s word for it. He doesn't like half of the people in this damn school, so why would he listen to them? So naturally, he has to do his own little investigation. 

And he won’t admit it to anyone so god help him, but it’s hot. Not you, because you’re well, you, but the way you take command has his cock hardening in a second. And it’s totally just that and not the way your hips move when you walk or the way your eyelashes bat when you’re exasperated or the way you bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from letting your true emotions take control. Nope, it’s simply the dominance. Nothing else. I mean you’re just a stranger and the bloody VP and not someone he fists his cock to in the bathroom when he’s skipping class…

Which is why when he got the anonymous letter from you- it’s not his fault that he memorized how you write your a’s and y’s-  he didn’t stalk the janitor closet that was to be the designated secret meeting spot. And he totally didn’t make sure to wait 7 minutes (because 5 is too punctual) after the destined time to walk inside. And he totally didn’t feel his cock stir when he got a hint of your perfume as you turned around hastily to look at him. Don’t quiz him, but he was 100% listening to every word you were saying and not just staring at your lips and imagining sliding the tip of his dick through them. Because he's a good and attentive boy. Obviously. Haven’t you heard?

And good boys show their thanks. 

Which is why his tongue is very attentive to your pretty little clit. Twirling and sucking it into his mouth until tiny clicking sounds resonate in the cramp space. It isn’t very hard, the sweet juices you keep gushing on his face makes it very convincing to pay attention. And even when his mind strays, the pretty little mewls you let out and the grip you have on his hair pulls him back into the moment. It just makes him slightly delirious: the way your eyes roll, the mixed scent of your sex and perfume, the intoxicating taste rushing down his throat. It’s just so good he doesn’t even realize he’s coming in his pants the same time you come into his mouth. 

Guess Miss VP tastes as good as she acts. 

Communion | AU Priest Miguel O’Hara x female Reader

A/N: I commissioned the above Priest Miguel. Ever since the artist sent the sketch, (@ ejpuki on twitter plz go show love!) this story has been a brewin’ in my cranium. I am not a newbie when it comes to fanfic, but a virgin to writing Miguel. Please accept this offering to the mania that is fandom. Feedback is appreciated. I know the tenses are probably all over the place. Part 2 is live!!. Let me know if you’re interested ~~

Warnings: Religious content, parents, dirty-minded reader, no mention of Y/N

As you sat in the middle pew, aisle seats, you fiddled with the dress your mother guilted you into wearing. The hem of the skirt had a little fraying and you couldn’t help but pick at it.

The meddling was met with a small smack on your wrist from your mother.

“Stop! You’re going to make it worse! I know it’s an old dress but it will only look that way if you pick at it.” The sharpness in tone and the lacy lilac dress from high school brought you back to all of the Sunday mornings you’d been ripped from the comfort of your bed to attend church.

Church. Your head was already starting to hurt from the early morning light pouring through the stained glasses windows, but your tried to remain neutral to spare mom.

Your relationship with the Almighty soured not long after your father passed. Faith was hard to come by and the struggles you’d faced recently only strained that even further.

“Sorry, mama.” You say quietly, acting like you’re still twelve and not in your mid twenties.

Ever since you moved back in you’ve had to live under “her rules”. Sunday service is one of those rules. Considering the headache you’ve caused her recently, you ignore your own and do as she asks. It’s only fair.

But church? Last week was your first time back inside a church since leaving for college five years ago. It was the same one you’d been dragged to in your younger years. The same stained pews, same old books of Psalms, same feeling of estrangement despite being surrounded by the same old folks.

Your mom had turned her attention to the lady that lived on our street and you turned your own attention to your fingernails, scraping underneath them for dirt that wasn’t there. You think about how you had dropped the habit until moving back in, but was interrupted by microphone static.

You pulled your gaze to the front of the church and saw Father Steen tapping the microphone. Despite only being five years since you last saw him, the man seemed to have aged decades. His frail frame balanced on the podium as he spoke. You realized why the microphone was needed when he started speaking - amplifying the hushed tone of the elder addressing his congregation.

“Good morning and many blessings to you all this Sunday morning,” he began and you couldn’t help but lower your gaze back to the frayed bit of your dress. His monotone voice was… kinda boring. You hated thinking that way because Father Steen was such a good man and he cared for your mother greatly when dad passed. He was mentioning an upcoming surgery and you were back to picking at your fingernails. His voice eked on through the speakers, “so we will be having a transitional deacon come in to take over my position until I recover. This fine young man has graciously accepted this position as he is working to become a priest himself. Please welcome Mr. O’Hara as he leads us in prayer to begin communion for this month.”

There is respectful applause and your eyes are still on your hands until your mom elbows you gently. You start to apologize again for not paying attention but notice she and her pew neighbor are giggling as they clap. You start to clap your own hands as you look up at what they were giggling like schoolgirls about when your hands freeze in their clapped position - almost like you’re praying.

The deacon that Father Steen introduced was… gorgeous, and he was looking at you. You blushed, embarrassingly, under the gaze of the dark eyes. Could he tell you hadn’t been paying attention?

Well, you most certainly were now.

You pulled your eyes away from him to look at your mother who was wiggling her eyebrows at you, causing you to blush even deeper and turn back to the front.

The first thing you notice about the man standing at the front of the church was his height. He towered over the podium he placed a hand on. Father Steen came up to only just above his elbows with his hunched body.

The eyes that were watching you now surveyed the room and the light from the windows shown dark, warm pools of irises. His face…

Sharp symmetry made up his countenance. Distinct cheekbones bobbing as the smooth bronze skin stretched upwards into a smile. The strong jawline accentuated with the muscles of his lips pulling back, revealing a dazzling toothy smile.

When he spoke for the first time, you understood why your mom cried during Psalms at times. His voice was gospel.

“Thank you, all, for welcoming me into your parish. I know that you have received excellent spiritual guidance from Father Steen. I can only hope to at least partially fill his shoes in his absence.” His voice boomed throughout the church with no need for a microphone. “Before we begin the sacred ritual that is communion, let us bow our heads in prayer.”

The church around you dutifully lowered their heads, and you did the same. Hating closing your eyes to the alluring man in front of the church. At least his voice still filled your ears with song.

“Heavenly Father, we are gathered here today, in your house, in the name of your Son to receive the Body and Blood of Christ…” you decide it won’t be such a terrible sin to sneak a peek during prayer. You lift your head up to catch another glimpse at the ethereal creature leading prayer while he wasn’t looking.

But he was looking. Right at you as he continued to recite, “We are all sinners, and we are all in need of your grace and forgiveness.” You start to think about how much you needed his grace, when you pinch yourself for the blasphemy.

You’re still staring at each other as he finishes, “We pray that You will bless this communion and that it will deepen our relationships with You.” You instantly feel heat in your gut when you wonder just how deep it can go..

You think you see him grin slightly, but he pulls his eyes away from yours and you quickly put your head back down.

“In Your Blessed Name, Amen.” He ends. “Amen”, the church responds in unison and you squeak it out as well.

The first pew stands and approaches the front of the church, choir boys retrieving the communion goods. You notice that there is a split in the line as one is given the small wafer and grape juice shot by Father Steen and the other line the new deacon.

You can’t keep your eyes off him as he offers the sacrament to each person in line. He is taking longer than Father Steen, seeming to ask questions before presenting the body and blood of a savior.

As it came to be your pew’s turn, you stood. With only a few people in front of you, you studied Miguel’s figure in short glances.

Along with being a towering figure, he was a wide one as well. Muscles filled in the long-sleeved black button down shirt. His large upper body tapered off into a slim waist, tucked neatly into dark pants. A belt accentuated the fit waist even further. Your eyes trailed quickly across the thick neck that was accessorized by the all too familiar white collar of priesthood. When you were just behind one more person, your eyes fell to the floor.

Part of you wished you would be on Father Steen’s side as you feel as though you’re about to burst from this proximity of the giant man. He was bent over speaking to an elder of the church, giving her a soft smile as she blessed him for coming to ‘our little church.’

The man in line in front of you stood to Father Steen and the woman was letting Mr. O’Hara go from a sweet embrace.

Thank God, you guessed, for the years of attending communion as your muscle memory tore your legs from their form rooted position at the altar.

You approached the tall figure and your eyes are locked on the lips of the man in front of you. You see them move, hearing nothing but the beating of your heart in your eardrums.

“I-I’m sorry. What?” You sputter the words and heat creeps into your chest and face.

A soft chuckle escapes his full lips and he smiles as he repeats, “What is your name?”

You give it to him. And he says it. The way your name sounds in his music makes you smile up at him. He holds your gaze for a moment before speaking again.

“The Body of Christ.” He extends his hand in an upward position, the white wafer between his index finger and thumb.

You bow your head slightly in reverence of the offering. As you start to pull your head up again, his pinky and ring finger catch under your chin, lifting your face the rest of the way.

You breathe out a small gasp and open your mouth. He seems to mirror the action slightly as his own mouth drops slightly open. You extend your tongue a little as he places the thin wafer onto it.

His gaze is heavy as he watches you take the offering into your mouth. Your breath hitches when he runs his thumb across your pouted bottom lip, catching some saliva with it.

“Amen.” You respond and it’s not until he pulls his hand from your face when you turn to grab a small glass of grape juice. “The Precious Blood.” You hear him say behind you as you bring the glass to your lips, relishing the sweet refreshment.

Your face is red hot as you turn to walk back to your pew, ignoring your mother’s glances as she had already been back to her seat.

The burning in your cheeks is even more fiery as it dawns on you that the whole church saw the exchange. You hope, you pray, that it was perceived as a normal moment between a new Shepard and a member of his flock.

Communion wraps up and Father Steen takes a seat behind the the new head of church as he begins his sermon. The slight pressure of his thumb on your bottom lip created a pool of heat in your belly that wouldn’t go away.

You try to pay attention to the Good Word, you really do, but your mind is other places. Definitely not holy places.

Maybe coming to church won’t be too bad after all…

Spiderpoly is finally here!🥰

Tatoe.

Just...Pissed off Bestfriend!Ghost who can't get outta the friendzone...

TW: no direct smut ig, but its teasing and build up to smut. Ghost pinning over an oblivious reader.

This might get a second part if it does well, but who knows.

Imagine Ghost who prides himself in being subtle, unfazed, and mysterious. Except, he isn't around you. He'd been one of your closest friends since you both practically grew up together. Even when he joined to military, you made it a point to send letters and stay in touch. Ugh, that made it so much harder to not grow attached.

Ghost, or Simon, as you know him, would never out right tell you he was interested. Instead, he chose to drop hints. Maybe warding off any guy who looked at you too long wasn't the best hint, but it was crucial. Simon made an effort to keep his hands on you whenever he could. Whether that was a hug; a hand on your hips when he brushed passed you; or full blown cuddles on the couch when you guys watched movies.

Oh, he loved the cuddles. He had your whole body pressed against him as he occupied most of your attention. You were always so soft and warm. He always had to take a bathroom break half way through to relieve himself of a harder problem.

If you noticed how Simon began to change, you never mentioned it. This was now approaching your sixth month of this friends with cuddles non-sense. It wasn't like he wasn't your type! On a boring mission break, he might or might not have gone through your search history to find some enlightening Onlyfans subscriptions. He was both unimpressed and flattered when he saw how his body matched many of your most visited sites. Why pay to see other men's bodies when you could run your dainty hands over his? Simon Riley didn't get it.

Simon also couldn't fathom how you still hadn't taken the hint. He'd agreed to go clubbing with you as you chose to parade around in the sluttiest two piece he'd ever seen. Fuck. Why was your skirt so short anyway? Your top was basically lingerie with the mesh pieces and thin straps. Were you trying to grab his attention on purpose? Cause it...was kind of working... a little too well for his liking.

He hated how his eyes ghosted between your thighs before pulling away to look at the cock block who had you exhale an airy laugh. Your sounds were always angelic. He'd be lying to himself if he hadn't fantasized about the more sinister sounds he could draw out of you when you'd finally gotten the hint. Nevertheless, hearing it directed to someone else made his blood boil. Perhaps the other predicament was the fact that he knew that his eyes weren't the only ones lingering on you.

"Hey, darling, I think it's time we head out." Simon wasted no time, in two strides he was at your side with his arms wrapped protectively around you. He gazed down at the moron who looked a bit paler before the guy made an effort to wrap up your conversation. The idiot quickly scurried off into the tight crowd.

"No, I wanna dance more~" Your voice drew Simon's attention. You were being such a brat by subtly grinding your hips against him. Sure, you were wasted, but you had to know how riled up he was. You should be able to feel his hard on poking your back by now. He gripped your hips, forcing them to still.

"Baby, you're drunk, and I'm the one who's responsible for getting you home," he growled in your ear. There was a thick rasp in his voice as he tried to repress the urge to grind back. This wasn't fair to him at all. How could you expect a man to resist you? Simon had plenty of trouble doing that already, but this gave blue balls a whole new meaning.

when simon gets fucked out, pussydrunk, and overstimulated he cant control his fucking mouth. its a source of embarrassment and insecurity for him so dont !!!! ever tease him for what comes out of his mouth in those heated, vulnerable moments.

he says a plethora of things he just cant control but one thing is always consistent. the more fucked out he gets, the more he has to tell you that hes yours.

"'m all yours," he'll slur, sloppy and barely intelligible with his eyes rolled back while you ride him, "all yours. all yours. l-love you so much."

ask him if he means it, if hes really yours and yours alone and his eyes will roll some more and the sight alone could make you cum all over his stupidly big cock. ask him if thats yours too and hell fucking whimper — "yeah, love, 's all yours. take it all. use it. this cock...'s yours" <3

I can't stop thinking about Nimona going from calling Bal "boss" to calling him things like "dad" or "pops"

Like:

Bal: Nimona I've made breakfast. Come and eat, you've been playing that game all morning.

.

Nimona: Yeah okay, gimme a sec pops, I gotta get to a save point

.

Bal: .... Okay kid. (Heart melting smile)

.

Nimona: What?

.

Bal: Nothing :)...

I LOVE NIMONA SO MUCH YOU HAVE NO IDEA OMG 😭😭😭