“I was having fun” should be an excuse that works for more things. Sorry I’m late to work I was having a great time with friends last night. Sorry that knot isn’t structurally sound but it looks cute. Sorry the onions are burned I was just loving the sizzle. If we mainstreamed gnometech we’d all be better
In your universe, you are known as the Sun Spider. It all started on a school field trip to a solar energy research center, where you were accidentally exposed to a spider that had been subjected to intense solar radiation. You woke up with a white-hot surge of power, and your life changed forever. You donned a suit of pure white, taking the name that reflected both your newfound abilities and the brightness you brought into the world: Spider-Sun.
Your ability to harness solar energy and transform it into powerful blasts or create protective shields made you a formidable superhero in your home city, Nea Yorkey. Your ability to bring light to even the darkest corners of your city earned you the love of its citizens.
However, everything changed when you were suddenly pulled into the Spider-Verse.
Upon arriving, you were greeted by the gruff leader of this interdimensional team of Spider-People, Miguel O'Hara. His reputation preceded him - the genius intellect, the imposing figure, the gruff demeanor. Everyone respected him, and some even feared him. You, on the other hand, were drawn to him. There was something about that guarded demeanor that called to your own sunny nature.
You became an integral part of the team, fighting off anomalies and working hard to maintain the balance in the Spider-Verse. And despite Miguel's stern exterior, you felt yourself falling for him.
One mission was particularly rough, and you found yourself alone with Miguel in a safe house, nursing your wounds. His usually stern face softened as he tended to your injuries. The distance that he usually maintained was nowhere to be seen.
"Thank you, Miguel," you whispered.
He looked at you, his usually hard eyes soft. "You fought well, mi sol."
There was a moment of silence, a strange tension hanging in the air. Then, Miguel leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was filled with unexpected passion.
In that moment, you were not the Sun Spider, and he was not the Spider-Man 2099. You were just two people, seeking solace in each other.
Afterwards, as you laid side by side, Miguel turned to you, a serious look on his face. "This...this can't be more than what it is. Just...you know, stress relief," he muttered, his voice just above a whisper.
His words wounded you. Naturally, they did. He had reduced your relationship to mere stress relief, as if you were some object devoid of feelings. Yet, in spite of it all, you fell for him. Perhaps you were naive, even foolish, but you didn't care. You yearned for him and were ready to accept any fraction of affection he was willing to offer, no matter how small.
During the day, as you fought alongside him against the anomalies threatening the Spider-Verse, his attention toward you was sparse. He mostly shared only necessary information, barely making eye contact. Sometimes he didn't speak at all, and you and the rest of the team would receive mission orders and briefings from Lyla, his AI assistant.
But at night, when the two of you were alone, he became a different person. He'd whisper praises into your ear, telling you how exceptionally you fought, how much he desired you. He showed you his hidden vulnerability under the cover of darkness, the sheets their only witness. He'd gently stroke your hair and peppered your jaw and temple with kisses until you fell asleep, only for you to wake up the next morning to an empty, cold spot where he once lay.
This cycle - his coldness by day, and the fervor by night - repeated itself relentlessly for months.
And so, this is how you find yourself: disoriented, frenzied, and on the verge of tears, seated on the couch of your best friend, Peter B. Parker, in Earth-616. Cradled in your arms is his sweet daughter, Mayday, who, with her innocent touch, tries to console you. Yet her wide eyes dart anxiously to her father, reflecting her own alarm at your distress.
Peter rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe we should wait until MJ gets home?" he suggests, then, with a furrowed brow, he asks, “Have you tried talking to Jess about this?”
You shake your head vigorously. "No, I haven't told anyone. I have no idea what to do," you confess, your voice breaking.
Peter, ever the caring friend, gently takes Mayday from your arms and sets her down. He turns back to face you with a sympathetic gaze. “Do you..eh.. know who the father is?” he inquires softly.
You shake your head again, even though deep down, you know the truth. “The father is out of the picture. He doesn’t know, and he never will because he doesn’t want kids,” you whisper, fighting back tears.
As you and Peter sit down on the couch in his cozy living room, you find a sense of comfort being around him. His experience as both a superhero and a parent seems like it could be a beacon in this storm you're facing. The room is quiet, save for the soft ticking of a clock on the wall.
“You know, Peter,” you begin, your voice almost a whisper. “I’m terrified. What if the baby has powers? How am I going to protect them, especially if...if I can’t stop fighting anomalies?”
Peter looks thoughtful. “That’s a valid concern. First, you should know that you don’t have to do this alone. There’s a whole community of us, and we stick together. If the child does have powers, she or he will be badass like Mayday, right?”
You nod slowly but then anxieties pile on top of each other in your mind. “But... how can I hide this? Nobody and I mean nobody is supposed to know that I’m pregnant. Especially not...” You trail off, not finishing the sentence.
Peter rubs his chin, deep in thought. “We could look into modifying your suit, maybe talk to some tech geniuses in the Spider-Verse about creating something that can shield or conceal the pregnancy.”
You roll your eyes. “That kinda defies the ‘nobody is allowed to know ‘ordeal, Peter. You have to promise me that this stays between us.”
“I promise,” Peter says sincerely.
Silence fills the room again, and then you voice another fear. “Peter, what if...what if I’m not a good mother? What if I mess this up?”
Peter smiles warmly. “You know, I had those same fears when Mayday was born. I think it’s normal for any parent. But, take it from me, the fact that you’re worried about being a good parent means you’re already on the right track. You’ve got a good heart. Trust it.”
You look down at your hands, fingers interlaced. “Thank you, Peter. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“You’ll never have to find out,” he says with a reassuring smile. “We’re family, in this weird, Spider-Verse kind of way. But maybe… and I am sayig this as a father myself… reconsider telling the father. I can’t imagine any guy wanting to give up this.” He says, pointing to his precious daughter playing with a napkin she found on the floor.
"Maybe you should reconsider telling the father," Peter's words are echoing in your mind like a haunting melody. A part of you yearns for that possibility. Perhaps you're not alone in this. Maybe, just maybe, Miguel wants this as much as you do.With newfound resolve, you set off for the Spider-Verse headquarters, expecting to find Miguel tucked away in his office, immersed in maintaining the spider verse or as he calls it "arachno- something-multiverse-thingy” or something similar to that.
Upon reaching his office door, you pound on it sharply. No response. Frowning, you knock again, a little harder this time. When silence continues to greet you, you slowly turn the doorknob and peek inside. There he is, hunched over his desk, lost in a world of numbers and codes.
"Miguel, I-" you start, but his sharp voice cuts you off.
"No," he interrupts, his tone cold. "Did I say you can come in? Dios mio, why are you always so damn clingy?"
His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stare at him, taken aback by his blatant disregard for your feelings. You can feel the beginnings of tears prick at the corner of your eyes, but you will them away.
He doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean it like that. This mantra plays over and over in your head, like a broken record. You take a deep breath, forcing down the hurt his words cause.
"Look, Miguel," you begin, struggling to keep your voice steady. "There’s something we need to talk about, and I think it's important for you to listen to me."
“Fucking hell, woman! What exactly don’t you understand. I’m busy. I don’t care about your little problems, right now.” he barks, not even looking up.
“Miguel,” you speak up, forcing the words out through clenched teeth, “ I’ve never asked anything from you. Not once have did I ask you to stay, to feel the same I feel, to fucking talk to me when people are around. Please all I am asking you is to just ... listen to me, fpr once.” Your voice grows stronger as you speak, a determined fire igniting within you.
Miguel finally looks up, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, he seems taken aback by the resolve he saw there.
He rubs his temples. “Can we do this later?”
“No!” you shout. “It’s always later with you. You’re like...like a ghost. Just a figure in the hallway. I don’t need a figure, I need a person! I need someone who listens when...”
He glares at you, his eyes narrowing. “Okay, okay I will listen just not now. Whatever it is, it can wait.”
“No, it can’t,” you retort, your voice shaking a bit. “Why is it that every time I try to talk to you, you just brush me off? Am I that insignificant to you?”
He stands up abruptly, the chair skidding behind him. “This? This is what you want to talk about?” he says with a tone of annoyance. “Look, I have a million things to deal with and-”
“And what? And I’m not one of them? Just five minutes, Miguel! That’s all I ask!”
The room is tense. Your heart is racing. His eyes are fiery. It's a standoff.
“And what is so important that you have to disrupt everything right now?” he challenges.
Your breath catches in your throat. This is it. You're about to say it.
“I...” you stammer. “I need to tell you that...”
Suddenly, the door to the office swings open and Jess storms in.
“Miguel, we have a major issue in Sector 12! The anomalies...” she starts, then catches sight of your tear-streaked face. “Oh, am I interrupting something?”
Miguel seems to shake off the tension and slips back into commander mode. “No nothing important. What’s happening in Sector 12?”
You can't believe it. Just like that, he turns away. It feels like your heart is being squeezed.
Jess starts rattling off data and scenarios. The two of them are talking, but you don’t hear it anymore. All you can think of is how you almost told him. How you just wanted five minutes.
Your hands shake and you quietly step out of the room. The door closes behind you, and it feels like a chapter that you can’t read has been sealed away.
The next day you are on Earth-8311, an anthropomorphic animal-dominated universe. It's the home of Peter Porker, the Spectacular Spider-Ham, and you can't help but find it amusing.
The mission: to transport an anomaly, which resembles an enormous floating jellyfish, back to its home universe. It's been pure chaos here, and you are determined to set things right.
The team: Gwen, Hobie, and Peter B. Parker. You're all in your suits, eyes sharp, and webs at the ready.
"Alright, Spiders. Let's round this jelly up and send it home," Peter B. Parker takes charge, shooting a web towards a nearby building.
You swing alongside him, your thoughts a whirlwind. The world around you blurs - the animal citizens, the bustling cityscape, the strange yet familiar surroundings.
The anomaly appears before you, thrashing and pulsating as it floats through the sky. It releases blasts of energy that ripple through the air.
"Watch out, Sunny!" Gwen calls out as she dodges a blast.
You, however, are a split second too late. Your reflexes are off, your movements sluggish. The blast sends you spiraling towards the ground.
Hobie swings in and catches you mid-air, his guitar strapped on his back. “Get it together, Sun!” he shouts over the noise, his punk-styled hair waving wildly.
You shake off your daze and look up to see Peter B. Parker shooting webs to pull the anomaly back down, while Gwen is deploying a device to open a portal back to its home universe.
Your heart races as you focus on the task at hand. You need to get this right, not just for yourself, but for the life you’re now carrying. Your suit seems to glow even brighter in the chaos.
With a final combined effort, you manage to lasso the anomaly and push it through the portal. The anomaly disappears, and the portal closes behind it.
The team regroups on a rooftop. Gwen is catching her breath, Hobie is tuning his guitar, and Peter B. Parker gives you a concerned look.
“Are you okay?” Gwen asks, her voice laced with worry. “You weren’t yourself up there.”
The weight of the secret you’re carrying feels unbearable. But you're not ready to share it.
“Promise me you won’t tell Miguel about this,” you say, your voice barely audible.
Gwen raises an eyebrow, while Hobie crosses his arms. Peter B. Parker simply nods.
“Nah, Bossman doesn’t need to know about this,” Hobie says, and there’s a firmness in his voice that is strangely comforting.
Back in the HQ, your head spins, and your stomach feels like it's doing somersaults. You mumble a quick excuse about feeling nauseous and practically sprint to the nearest restroom.
Meanwhile, Gwen, Hobie, and Peter B. Parker head to the cafeteria to grab something to eat.
As they sit down at a table with their trays, Gwen breaks the silence. “Is it okay if I say that this mission was kind of easy? Like, I’ve seen Sunny take down Doc Ock from Earth-818, and she did that without any problem. So what was that today?” Gwen’s concern is apparent.
Hobie, munching on a sandwich, nods in agreement. "Yeah, it's like her spidey senses were jammed or somethin'. Never seen her like that before."
Peter B. Parker looks thoughtfully at his sandwich, then glances up at Gwen and Hobie. He’s torn, having promised you to keep your secret but also wanting your friends to understand why you were off your game.
"You guys remember when she fought Morlun on Earth-001? She was a totally smashin’ it, and today, she nearly got turned into spider-paste by a floating jellyfish. That ain’t right," Hobie adds.
Gwen’s eyes suddenly widen. "Oh my God! Do you think she’s in trouble? Like, something from her universe? Or maybe she's having an identity crisis! Should we stage an intervention?"
Peter B. Parker clears his throat. “Maybe she’s just having an off day.”
Gwen’s eyes narrow as she scrutinizes Peter. “You know something, don’t you?”
Peter scratches the back of his head, obviously uncomfortable. “Nope, no idea.”
Hobie puts down his sandwich and leans in. "Oi, mate. Spill your guts. There's something dodgy going on. She's always been our burst of sunshine, lifting the mood. But now she's... dimmed. What's going on with our Sunny, Parker?"
Before Peter B. Parker could answer Gwen’s barrage of questions, Jess - Spider-Woman - appears, her belly showing. She takes a seat at the table and, oblivious to the serious conversation that was taking place, asks them about their latest mission.
"So, how did your mission go?" Jessica asks, while munching on her Burger.
"Nothing to report, Jess," Gwen answers, a little too quickly, her face all sunshine and false smiles. Peter simply nod in agreement.
“Yah, all good!” Hobie chimes in, flashing a grin that seems a little too bright.
“How about you? How are you holding up?” Peter asks Jess, trying to steer the conversation away from the mission.
Jessica shrugs, not overly concerned, and bites into her burger. "'M good. You know, I'm so glad I can finally eat a burger again. At the beginning of my pregnancy, practically every food made me nauseous, especially after swinging around on missions.”
Suddenly, there's a moment of collective realization among Gwen, Hobie. It’s as if their spider senses are tingling in unison. They exchange knowing looks, all of them silently putting the pieces together.
Gwen’s eyes are wide, Hobie’s eyebrows are raised, and they both turn to look at Peter, who simply nods.
Jess, noticing the silent exchange, squints at them. “What is up with you guys? You’re acting weird. Well, weirder than usual.”
“Uh, nothin’!” Hobie says, a little too quickly.
“Yeah, just tired from the mission,” Gwen adds, trying to play it cool.
Jess rolls her eyes and stands up. “Alright, weirdos. I’m gonna go find some normal people to talk to,” she says jokingly and walks away.
After she leaves, the trio leans in.
“Sunny’s pregnant, isn’t she?” Gwen whispers.
Hobie's eyes are as wide as saucers. “That would explain everything!”
Peter B. Parker nods. “We need to be there for her, but remember, it’s her news to share when she’s ready.”
They make a pact to support you without pushing you to reveal anything before you're ready.
As you walk back into the cafeteria, you find your friends huddled together. They break apart when they see you and welcome you back with smiles and light conversation, but something in their demeanor is different but you can’t put your finger on it. They are being more attentive, considerate, and frankly, a little too curious about your well-being.
"Are you sure you're okay, Sunny?" Gwen asks for the third time since you sat down. Her concern is genuine, but her intensity is slightly off-putting.
"Yeah, do you need anything?" Hobie offers, his eyes gleaming with unspoken curiosity. "Food, drink, or maybe... pickles?" Pickles? Thats oddly specific.
There's a burst of laughter from Gwen, and even Peter is suppressing a chuckle.
"What's up with the pickles?" You ask, looking at them suspiciously.
"Oh, nothing!" Gwen says, a little too quickly, trying to hold back her laughter.
"Hmm, pickles and ice cream, a weird combo, innit?" Hobie wonders aloud, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
Again, there's suppressed laughter, and you look at each of them, a realization slowly dawning on you. You turn to Peter, your gaze steady and serious. "You told them, didn't you?" Peter looks shocked, but quickly composes himself. "I didn't exactly tell them, per se," he confesses, "I might've confirmed their suspicions when they asked, but they figured it out on their own. Spider senses and all that jazz.”
Before you could respond, Gwen and Hobie jump in, both talking over each other in an attempt to apologize.
"We're sorry, Sunny," Gwen says sincerely. "We didn't mean to invade your privacy, it's just that... we're worried about you. Please don’t be mad."
Hobie nods, adding, "And we're right behind ya, whatever comes our way. We've got your back, no doubt about it."
You are happy, while the situation isn't ideal, but at least you're not alone. You have friends who care about you and, despite their unconventional way of showing it, they are there for you. You smile, comforted by their concern, and grateful for their support.
"Yeah," you finally say, "I guess we’re gonna need a lot more pickles and ice cream around here, huh?"
“Sooo...who’s the dad? Is he hot?” Gwen, leaning on the table with her elbows, asks shyly after a while.
You let out a long sigh, “He’s very hot... but also a colossal jerk.”
Peter raises an eyebrow. “You took my advice and talked to him then?”
You shake your head, your eyes starting to well up. “No, I tried. But he wouldn’t listen to me. He was busy, and I guess I wasn’t important enough. So, the baby won’t be either,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.
Hobie's eyes narrow, and his face is flushed with anger. "Who's this bloke, eh? I swear on me nan's grave, I'll give him a right proper earful! No one treats our Sunny like a tosser and gets away with it!"
Gwen jumps in, her eyes wide with speculation, “Wait, is he a Spider? Is it Peter? Or the other Peter? Or—”
“Guys, guys!” you cut them off, your voice cracking. “Please, it doesn’t matter. He made it clear where I stand, and it’s not with him.”
There’s a silence that settles over the table as your friends look at each other and then back to you. Their faces are a mix of concern, sadness, and frustration.
Peter B. is the first to break the silence. “You don’t have to go through this alone. You’ve got us. If the dad doesn’t want to step up, then he’s missing out on something amazing.”
Gwen nods, her eyes firm with resolve. “Yeah, we’re family. We’ve got your back, no matter what.”
Hobie, still fuming, finally calms down enough to say, "All you gotta do is whistle, love, and we'll be there in a blink. Even if it means thumping some manners into this mystery idiot."
You can't help but crack a small smile, despite the tears. You’re overwhelmed by the love and support your friends are giving you.
“Thanks, guys. You don't know how much this means to me.”
They all reach out and there’s a group hug right in the middle of the cafeteria. You didn’t know how much you needed this until it happened.
a/n: Thank you guys for all your love on this fic so far.I really appreciate each like, comment, reblog <3 I somehow can't reply back to your comments but if you want to be tagged just comment and I'll make sure to tag you on Part 2. Also I am open to requests, critic and wishes. Have a wonderful day. xx
Miguel would totally use his webs to pin you to a wall and eat you out.
i’m talking he’s on his knees for hours pleasing you,
you don’t know how many times you’ve cum, you eyes blurred with tears as you feel his fangs sink into your thigh. You tried to pull your hands free so you can push his head away but no, his webs were too strong and he grinned up at you, overstimulating you to no end.
Panel was first. Then the photo. Panel was great. Tenoch made everyone cry. I will tell that story when I have a chance to settle down.
Photo op was fast moving but Tenoch said hello and thank you to everyone. And he looked happy to be there. And he did the poses with a big smile on his face.
I'll elaborate later.
Here is my photo. I like it. Just wish I had smiled with teeth like him. Yes I wore the shirt. And the shoes. He liked the shoes. 🤗 But they made me 6ft and I'm already 5'10. I just asked if I could put my hand on his shoulder. He said yes of course and they snapped the photo. BOOM. It's over. The attendant pointed to my shoes and said she liked them. Tenoch smiled and wagged his eyebrows. He was also looking at them at the panel. I sat front row and I have long legs. He definitely peeped them. I know because the moderator told him and Dominique that I answered that I had seen the movie 15 times when she asked. He looked at me impressed and we made eye contact a few times during the panel. No QA, but that was the best I could ask for. I'm so happy! I'm glad I wore these shoes damnit!
OMG!!!! This is so wonderful. Tenoch has such a big heart it makes me melt. That smile is everything. This pic of you two is GORGEOUS! Girl, you need to put those shoes under glass. Preserve them like the national treasure they are. Eye contact at the panel????? How are you still breathing? Now I want to see the shoes too. Yeah, the photo ops goes by quick, but he manages to leave a lasting impression even beyond the final shot. I am sooooo happy you got to experience this. And happy you have more memories to make tomorrow. I'm anxiously awaiting your elaboration.
How would miguel react to his partner protecting Miles?
Omggg. I honestly don’t know what would happen. 🫣 Like Miguel would be so torn. He’d want to be mad at you but it’s you. You mean everything to him. But you’re protecting Miles? I wanna take it a step further and say what if you side with Miles? Like Miguel wouldn’t know what todo.
rafa x gn!reader, 7598 words, canon typical drug use, hurt/comfort/angst, no happy ending(!!!)
the five times you were his friend, and the one time you weren’t
a/n: this has been in my docs waiting to be finished for sososo long omg finally the rafito despair is here. enjoy!
taglist: @ashlingiswriting @drabbles-mc @cositapreciosa @hausofmamadas @cherixrosa @purplesong1028 @mandaloria314 @dashavau @yeetintomadness @thesandbeneathmytoes (as per i have forgotten who wants tagging and who doesnt sorry!)
1
Rafa’s been asking you for weeks. Come smoke, carnale, come on. I have something to show you.
Soon, you told him. I’m busy with school, work, I have to pick my Abuela up from church—I’m the only one who can drive her, remember?
They weren’t made up excuses, even if he thought they might’ve been. You didn’t like it either, having no time for him, but it’s how it went. How it is. He dropped out of school, never made it to college. You did. It gives you different markers now, different structures to shape the friendship around. When you were classmates it was easy, natural: before class, in class, after class. Simple. There you were, there he was. Now, you have to pencil him in like any other obligation.
He isn’t an obligation. You try not to let him feel like one.
listen as a namor whore (namwhore?) i think that he loves marking you as his like man would go nuts with the hickeys and bruises (and bite marks too). on the off chance he lets you return the favor he’s surprised by how much he loves seeing the love bites and bruises on his own godly self >:)
pairing: namor x princess!reader
word count: 962
warnings: eighteen+ content, mentions of p in v but not shown, teasing, bites and marking, established forbidden relationship.
note: ok see i love this concept, this take, this thot!! but i fear he’s not completely into you returning the favor because for him it’d be more of a ‘i want everyone to see and be reminded who you worship to’. and i think he likes to stay looking proper to his people, but he does let you get away with bites left under the shorts!!
You were supposed to have left your room and met your mother and the council minutes ago—almost an hour ago you now see as the clock on your bedside reflects back to you in the mirror you’re standing at. Trying to right yourself back into looking presentable, kept, like you’re not running late because the man at the foot of your bed used his sweet siren song of pretty compliments, and words that had you out of your dress just as fast as his fingers had torn at the undergarments underneath it.
Leaving your balcony door open for him was seeming more and more like a curse than a blessing.
Letting him come and go as he pleased, when he cared to visit you after days of being MIA. Sometimes only noting his presence with a saltwater covered gift he’d leave at your doorway, when you’d stayed up as long as your body would allow to. As you waited to see if he would come to you; or when duties like council meetings and required dinners were demanded of you—events a Princess was supposedly meant to attend.
You’re surprised your mother hasn’t sent someone to fetch you. You expect it anytime now, ever the punctual woman your mother was. Being tardy was surely going to get you a stern look and deep questioning.
“Jats'uts,” he mumbles against your shoulder.
Beautiful.
Pretty.
Your heart soars, fingers only wavering a little as you do your best to right the necklaces adorning your neck. Your body having just been molded pudy in his hands mere seconds ago. Your thighs still sticky from having his mouth and cock between them. Your legs still feel that heady wobble from post orgasm. Your mind and body still coming off of that beautiful precipice of want and desire, of falling against his body like you couldn’t stand up straight, or function properly, without him being there to sink into—or onto on most nights.
You had told him how urgent it was that you make it to this meeting. How he needed to turn around and make his way back to his beloved ocean before someone saw him, and your mother had both of you locked away.
A threat he laughed at. A threat you knew meant nothing to someone as powerful as him; a God.
“If this were Talokan I’d make our people come to you. You’d never have to lift a finger, princess.”
Our people.
As if there were some alternate reality in which that could come to formation. Where the two of you would rule as equals and not something forbidden, and secretive.
There had been too much death and destruction on both sides, from both of your people, for either groups to be happy to be ruled by the both of you.
But the fantasy was nice to dream about—get lost in the idea of actually being able to flaunt your love instead of hiding it.
When his arm wraps around your waist your body works on instinct, on knowing the hands and warmth of the man that’s touching it. Guiding it into his chest to lean and rest against. His lips brushing at the side of your neck, mustache burning your skin.
“Or you could stay naked, spread out for me. Waiting for my return while I handled everything.”
“Mm.” You let your eyes close as you grin, “no responsibilities other than pleasing my king.”
“Precisely.” His teeth take a hold of your sensitive skin, his tongue following after the sting like a salve. Making your body tremble against him, a gasp falling from your lips. “You’d never want for anything. I would have it brought to you. Made for you. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give to you, princess.” His mouth repeats it’s actions against your neck, his hand creeping lower to the start of your thigh.
That ache between your legs quickly making a home once more at your swollen clit.
“K’uk’ulkan,” his name falls from your lips, practiced, known, worshiped—as you moan softly. As you let him suck and bite at your skin, letting his words coax you into that fantasy world you want so badly.
You don’t come back to reality until you feel his fingers start to pull up the bottom of your dress, the cool air against your damp underwear bringing you back down from that building high.
“Nononono,” you pull away from him. Untangling his arms from your body and sending him a scowl at the way he’s smirking at you. “I’m already late because of you!”
“My apologies, princess.” His hand waves towards the door, “don’t keep your people waiting any longer.”
“I won’t! You-” your quick movements stop abruptly when you see it, when the deep hue catches your eye in the mirror. And maybe it’s half your own fault for not stopping him, for once again falling victim to the hot-tease of manipulation of his beautiful words.
There’s words of anger and disbelief in the back of your throat, ready to come up and spill over at the man whose eyes are locked onto yours in the mirror. Who is still wearing that signature cool as can be expression, that you really want to slap off of him.
Your mother was going to kill you.
String you up as a pariah!
“My mother–”
“Will not be pleased, no.” He finishes for you. Steps back into that space behind you, returning his heat to your back. His thumb runs along the bruised area, eyes gleaming at his creation before flashing back to yours. “But now everyone will know you belong to someone.”
You belong to me.
Unspoken in words but not in the way he presses a kiss to the love mark, lips soft and endearingly sensual.
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