A/N: Did some spring cleaning in the drafts and found this fic vacant for 2 years. Inspired by spiders actual biology where females are larger than males. I have the headcanon that the reason Miguel is so fucking beefy is because he's afab so Miguel is a trans man and Reader is a trans woman. This tag could use some queer shit. I reference some spider facts throughout teehee.
past hairball i had of this exact idea that you could read
Tags: trans! miguel, mtf! reader, transhet relationship, abrupt ending, a/b/o vibes, no smut
FtM! Miguel who's been transitioning since before his spider incident.
FtM! Miguel who looks like the way he is (all big and muscly) in ATSV because of the spider genes he has in him.
FtM! Miguel who may hate his powers and responsibilities, is not that upset his spider genes make him an absolute beast compared to other men.
FtM! Miguel who one day is absolutely smitten by a new Spider-Woman recruit. A sweetheart that Miguel just wants to sink his teeth into. She's too cute!
MtF! Reader who like Miguel, also got her genes spliced with spiders, and bond with him because of their shared experiences and powers. (No sticking to walls, lack of spider senses, having claws and fangs)
MtF! Reader whose body also turned into a strong and powerful superhero, somehow subconsciously be submissive and bashful when around Miguel while he subconsciously always takes the lead.
MtF! Reader who looks absolutely tiny compared to Miguel and something in her just buzzed, it feels right. He feels it too. Is this what a spider sense is like?
MtF! Reader and FtM! Miguel who just can't take it anymore one day in the middle of October.
series summary: it was never a notion that someone could go toe to toe with clark as the clumsiest, cringiest, most awkward, glasses wearing dork at the daily planet, but the new hire definitely tries. perhaps the reminder of his best friend makes it easy for jimmy olsen to look out for her, but as two months go by he’s a little too invested in the girl who takes permanent residence in the desk fused to his. with his attention clouded by her, jimmy begins to notice the subtle changes in her persona after her chance article on visiting a rare arachnid collector; tardy arrivals to the daily planet, hurried excuses and rushing out when news drops that a villain has arrived in metropolis, plenty of new bruises, but also newfound confidence. it seems he’s the only one who notices, since everyone else is chasing after the masked vigilante in a spider suit that seemed to show up overnight. maybe clark and her had a lot more in common than he thought.
warnings: none really, perhaps strong language. reader wears glasses and is a huge geek—bring back cringe culture, you’re spider-girl after all!
wc: 3.5k
notes: see series masterlist for important notes. also, this is a very long prologue—my bad.
| navi | series masterlist |
It was a pair of well worn sneakers that halted your sleep deprived morning. Scuffed along the edges, creased at the top, and a stark navy blue check on the side that contrasted the now off white—previously perfect but worn down due to running block after block in Metropolis chasing after a story that paid way less than it was worth. And they were planted right on your worksheets.
“Oh shit—Sorry!!” The owner of the shoes panicked and backed up, and you chanced a glance up at them. It was unsurprising to see the culprit; bright blue eyes, now surprised and wide, combed, floppy hair, and a sharp outfit that sat between business casual and Saturday errands, but definitely didn’t call for sneakers. Something only the eager photographer and reporter Jimmy Olsen could pull off.
Someone both fresh yet seasoned enough to get away with it.
Someone you looked up to, despite familiarity.
Someone who was now leaning down on one knee to help gather your scattered papers, whatever expensive cologne he sported filling your nostrils each centimeter he lowered.
And you were gaping up at him like a fish.
“Uhhh—“ Was the only sound that came out of your mouth, your stupid, gaping mouth. Whatever halting sound you wanted to let out was overshadowed, and it didn’t even mater because now he was face to face with you on the dirty, scuffed ground of the Daily Planet floor.
Jimmy was quickly gathering whatever papers he could that scattered across the floor, the white printer paper fresh and warm in his palms.
And you were just staring.
The worst part about the aghast ogling wasn’t that it was obvious, but that it was happening in the first place. You knew Jimmy, you’d worked with him for months. He was nice, funny, charming and clearly handsome enough to warrant this type of reaction. He sat with you in the break room on the second floor during lunch, usually with his friends Lois and the big guy Clark, but with you nonetheless. You literally sat with your desk pressed against the back of his, and spent half of the day joking with his friends when lack of newsworthy stories allowed. So why were you being so weird?
But as all of those scrambled thoughts circled through your head, they simultaneously didn’t matter because you could see his dark freckles climb along his cheeks and nose, and the light from the large windows behind him made him glow in a halo—
You didn’t want to know what you looked like right now. The thought struck you like a slap in the face. Papers previously neat were now half out of your hands and sliding onto the floor gradually, adding more to the pile.
“Sorry, I didn’t see you, honest.” Jimmy said with an awkward chuckle, noticing your silence and taking it as annoyance. His eyes glanced up to gauge your reaction, only to furrow his brows and pause his own movements too. A small smile lifted the corners of his lips, eyes flicking across your frazzled features with a teasing glint in them. Hair frizzy and glasses crooked, most likely from the result of whatever happened to make you end up on the floor, and you had a cute confused look on your face, nose and eyes scrunched under your lenses like you were looking at the sun. Probably just assessing the situation and how you ended up here, but the look was aimed at him unblinkingly an it was comical.
Jimmy’s eyes darted down to your hands, watching the stream of thick papers in your loosening grasp spill slowly onto your thighs, then the floor, before landing back on your face. “Are you okay?” It was sincere, brow raised, but laced with.. trying not to laugh.
That brought you out of whatever stupor you were in and your own eyes widened, looking down to catch the waterfall of white reports before they became even more out of order. “I swear I didn’t see you either!” You let out a high, awkward laugh and scrambled, almost apologetic. As if you stepped on his papers. Then, as if catching yourself, your brows pressed together and your eyes grew round. “I mean not that I didn’t see you, of course I see you, I just didn’t know you were like.. standing there..” You trailed off, faltering as the absurdity of what you were saying finally reached your ears.
You went to grab a paper closer to him and he reached out at the same time, fingers brushing, and your hand shot back as if the touch shocked you. Jimmy was grinning the whole time, shaking his head almost fondly as he watched you ramble on. It was almost as bad as Clark—no, it was probably worse. But a reminder of his dorky best friend.
Why was he partial to dorks?
“It’s fine.” Jimmy said between laughter, “You didn’t hit your head, did you?” He tilted his own as he waited for your response, hands busy.
Finally, your eyes found his again as you sat back more on your heels, cheeks pink. The smile that he offered made you relax and flush in unison, your internal thoughts buffering between being soothed and sparking in haywire. “Oh, no. Not this time at least.” It was meant to be a joke, but it fell flat because that was definitely a possibility with you. Your hand absently rubbed your thigh in self soothing. “I just tripped on Cat’s chair leg.. again.” You said sheepishly.
“Sorry, sweetie!” Cat’s voice rang from across the room at the coffee stand.
“S’okay!” Your neck extended to try and see her behind your shoulder, voice cracking a little.
Jimmy’s stupid amused smile didn’t leave his face as he watched the exchange, and he offered up the stack of paper he collected when you turned back to him. “You were in the chairs way, huh?” He mused, the joke an ode to your kindness. You’d probably blame yourself before an inanimate object.
That earned him a grin as you took the papers. “Thank you. Exactly!” You chirped.
The exclamation with your lopsided smile and crooked glasses was a headshot to his functioning brain riddled with this odd, ever sprouting fondness for you, so he had to look away. Jimmy cringed at the papers as you took them, noticing the big grey footprint stamped on the front.
“I’m sorry—I can reprint those for you.” He offered, slowly standing up. A hand was stuck out for you to take, and your palm was clammy in his as you gripped it, easily pulling you to your feet.
Dusting yourself off, you shook your head. “No, it’s okay. These aren’t official papers.”
Jimmy nodded, shrugging. “If you’re sure. At least it’s a wake up call to clean my shoes.” He laughed awkwardly, hands in his pockets.
“We have the same pair, by the way!” Looking down at both of your feet, you grinned and stuck out one of your identical sneaker clad feet to tap one of his. “Look, twins!” Another tap before you stood normally again. They were a common pair of Nikes, something small only you would notice.
Jimmy faltered for a second, a hum escaping, looking thoughtful for a moment. The idea of you dropping something under your desk that linked with his, which you often did, and bending down to pick it up you’d noticed his shoes were identical to yours. Or perhaps you noticed at lunch one day, when Jimmy stationed his crossed feet on top of the break room table before Lois arrived and pushed them off. The notion of the girl currently grinning in front of him noticing such small things and storing them for later made him ache, but he wasn’t sure why.
Jimmy blinked and stopped himself before the daydreams multiplied.
“Great minds.” He said. Hands still planted in his pockets, Jimmy started backing up. His eyes still lingered on your face, and if he didn’t turn around soon he’d be the next victim to run into Cat’s chair.
“Your, uh, your glasses,” He said slowly and reached up to tap his freckled temple, “they’re lopsided.”
You scrambled to move your papers to one arm, reaching up and straightening them. “Oh shoot—thanks.”
Another fond shake of his head—Lois would say she can hear the marbles in it rattling around if she was nearby—and he turned, walking steady to his desk and talking loud enough for you to hear over his shoulder. “You’re morphing into Clark day by day!”
Your smile stayed on your face as you watched him, until you realized what exactly he said. A frown slowly replaced it. Clark? Of all people? He was awesome, sure, tall and nice, and you were.. well, also tall and nice. Okay, maybe he wasn’t too far off. But you weren’t totally sure if you wanted to remind Jimmy of his awkward best friend.
Sighing, you turned in a circle as if your body didn’t know whether to head back through the entrance of the place, or go to your desk. You settled on trudging to your desk.
Jimmy barely beat you, sliding into his desk chair as you almost sulkingly walked through the space between Clark and Lois. The two had their backs to their own working stations, facing each other across the way to furiously debate something. They paused and looked up as your silhouette floated between them, Clark’s brow furrowing in worry and Lois’ raising in question, but you were focused on your seat across from Jimmy, aiming to plant yourself right there and disappear into the cheap fabric
“Well, jeez, don’t look too excited to be here.” Lois muttered, earning a pointed look from Clark, followed by a ‘hey, stop’, ever the empath.
Hearing Lois, Jimmy’s ears perked up the same way his eyes did when you dragged yourself into his field of vision. A question sat on his face as he watched you slam your papers down on your desk, wondering why you looked sunken in compared to a minute ago.
“Hey! You two,” Lois piped up again, Jimmy hesitantly swiveling around to look at her, eyes lingering on you before his head turned to follow his body. “Someone fixed my computer router overnight. Like, magically. Any ideas?” She asked, motioning back to her old desktop their boss, Perry, still hadn’t replaced.
A beat of silence, Jimmy shrugging, Clark glancing suspiciously at you, before you sighed. “It was me.” You finally met their gaze, still standing before your desk and offered an awkward smile.
“Aha! I knew it!” Clark grinned with a finger in the air like the dork he was. Lois and Jimmy looked surprised, fully facing you.
“What- you?” Lois asked in disbelief and you just nodded.
You liked Lois, she was smart and quick and gave you half of her fruit at lunch sometimes. However, your awkward behavior often came off wrong, and you grew nervous around people you wanted to be friends with but didn’t know how. Fixing her router was quick and easy, something you did a million times over on your Uncle’s own dinosaur computer, and you figured it was your own form of sharing fruit.
Clark laughed triumphantly, like he won a million dollars. “I said it was her, and you thought it was Jimmy!” The big guy’s grin made your smile turn a little more real.
It was Lois’ turn to give Clark a pointed look. “I should’ve known it wasn’t him, he can’t tie his own shoe.” She grumbled.
“Hey!” Jimmy whipped his neck around and defensively retorted, “It could’ve been me!”
“Oh yeah? You’re the one who broke my camera last month!” Clark shouted accusingly.
“Well—it was slippery! From your big clammy hands!”
“And she—“ Clark pointed at you, ignoring that comment, “fixed that too. Which, thank you by the way.” He added the thanks sincerely, as if he didn’t thank you a million times before and buy you coffee for two weeks straight since you refused to accept any payment.
All three heads turned to you again, almost expectantly. Still standing you scratched your head, face scrunched to the side a bit. “What?”
Jimmy was the first to mutter softly, “I didn’t know you fixed things.” It was almost thoughtful, and it didn’t help that he looked like a puppy staring up at you from his seat.
You shrugged, looking anywhere but him. “Yeah, I like to.. build things. Computers, fix them. Cameras too. Anything, I guess.” The hand previously scratching your head motioned as you spoke before it landed against your side with a soft thud.
“Well, thank you.” Lois finally piped up with a small smile. “I really appreciate it. Perry probably wouldn’t have replaced it.”
You nodded in acceptance with a smile, a sheepish ‘anytime’ passing your lips. A beat passed before Lois and Clark turned to each other again, and you toon that as your cue to finally take a seat.
“You were in here last night? Alone?” Jimmy’s voice sounded from behind your computers. You slid your wheeled chair to the side, seeing him already peeking through the generous gap between the desktops next to both of yours. A little private alleyway between your desks.
“Oh—yeah,” Your brows rose, surprised at the sincere question. “I couldn’t sleep, and I remembered Lois slapping her router all day. It was kinda itching at me; I didn’t have anything better to do.” Shoulders shrugging, you pushed your glasses up as a way to distract yourself from his gaze.
Jimmy nodded, thinking for a moment. “It’s not safe without security, you know. Old ass building.” He stated simply, like he was dancing around saying something else. Blinking a few times, a few stutters came out of you, but he interrupted. “I’m usually here pretty late. But if I’m not, you can just call me, I’m always awake—like, always.”
The way he said it like it was something you could easily do. Just call him. Call him, because he’d rather be here in his dingy workspace than at his home, just so you wouldn’t be alone. Was that what he was implying? Maybe this was a normal thing friends did—make sure the other doesn’t get mugged in the dark streets of Metropolis at midnight, nor harmed if someone decided to sneak in the empty building after you with no security to stop them.
That made enough sense.
However, his straightforward words accompanied with a stone face made it a little more serious than just a friendly offer.
“Okay, sure.” Your cheeks were rosy as you nodded.
“Okay?” He pressed uncharacteristically with raised brows.
“Yeah, alright.” Your voice was small as you nodded.
Jimmy paused, jaw working thoughtfully, he himself wondering why he even said that, why he even cared so much outside of general safety. He scrambled to add in one short breath, flushing slowly up his neck, “Just a suggestion if you want.” In lightning speed he slid back to his normal spot carried by the sound of mechanical wheels against the floor, disappearing and leaving you to stare at the wall.
There wasn’t much time to assess whatever the hell that was, because suddenly the familiar click of expensive loafers was heading in your direction. Your boss, Perry, was a stickler for staying on task, and the four of you were the main ones who were always off task—or maybe just you and Jimmy. Either small talk between you two that should’ve been awkward by your bumbling but Jimmy didn’t let it, you surfing the web, bouncing from ten Wikipedia’s on whatever physics bullshit Perry caught you drooling at, or gossiping about that Superman guy Lois or Jimmy always seemed to bring up in a knowing tease when Clark was around. You were usually eavesdropping then, feeling like you were left out of an inside joke.
Most of the time Lois said she was in the line of fire by association with you and Jimmy, as you were the usual suspects, and Clark was just.. there, getting distracted by any conversation that wafted his way, even though he clearly didn’t mean to.
You scrambled comically to shove your off-assignment papers into a manila folder that was obviously too thick, a flurry of white, and in the struggle one slipped away and floated off of your desk. Landing right in front of Perry’s perfect shoes. Of course.
“Cross-Species Genetics Convention: Need to Know,” Perry said monotonously as he picked up the title page of the article you printed, one of many. “Really?” He raised a brow down at you, placing it on your desk.
“Uhhh,” You flushed and snatched the page the moment he gently placed it down. “Just keeping up with Metropolis’ local news, that’s all.”
Perry shook his head, a scoff following. “You would be into that.” He mumbled, and Jimmy snorted across from you, earning a look from the boss.
Moving along, the Chief stopped next to an empty cubicle, leaning against it as he addressed your sector of the room, heads turning to listen. “Alright, people! Listen up, we have a scientific convention rolling into town and egos to stroke. I need a handful of you in field to cover the event.” Perry ordered, looking from face to face.
Jimmy rolled back a bit in his chair, arms crossed and too smug. “Easy enough, geeks are boring and simple.” He grinned. You slid your article deeper into the manila folder.
“Hey!” Both you and Clark shouted out softly. You both shared a look when you heard the other, dissolving into shared smiles from across the way. Jimmy and Lois fondly rolled their eyes.
“Well,” Perry pressed, ignoring you and Clark, “these geeks need money to fund their toys, and they have a lot of it. They’re paying handsomely for puff pieces on their research stands.” Perry crossed his arms, and a couple groans sounded from the back—definitely Steve and Cat.
Sighing, Perry turned to where you sat, and a stern clip of your name came from him. Heads turned to watch you peek from behind your desktop monitor again, pushing your glasses up. “Uhhh, yeah?” You answered sheepishly.
“You seem... familiar with the event, I want you out there today.” He took a few steps closer as he spoke. “Which booth have you been reading about?"
“Dr. Connors’? Oh- Cross species genetics, it’s a new booth this year. He’s got a weird reputation but I’ve read some of the stuff and—” You babbled on, just the idea of going there making you haywire.
Perry snapped his fingers in familiarity, cutting you off. You're not sure if you imagined a few sighs of relief. “Yes! He’s one of the big ones. Just go poke around, ask questions, take pictures.”
A quick nod, an attempt to hide the eagerness you felt. “Okay! Sure, okay, yeah.” A smile, an awkward falter from the Chief as if he was unsure whether he liked your enthusiasm or not. He floated past behind you, muttering an you have fun, kid' and went on to assign Cat something next.
“Soo, Geek convention, huh?” Jimmy’s pestering tone snapped you out of it. He was looking at you expectantly, the corner of his mouth upturning in a teasing smile when your attention was on him.
“I wouldn’t call it that,” you mumbled, hands moving as you spoke, “Just a group of people exchanging big ideas, furthering science along--"
He pressed the pointed look across the table.
"Okay, fine! A Geek convention!" You threw your head back.
Fingers tapped on the table, Jimmy's cheeks pinching fondly. "You know, I'm learning quite a bit about you today," He mused, him shuffling closer to his computer, working but making room for your conversation.
Sneakers flat on the ground, you drug yourself closer to see him better. "Oh yeah? What have you learned?"
A shrug, he forced himself to pull his attention back to the photo he'd been editing. It was like it took effort; like he wanted to keep his gaze just on you. "You fix things, you could possibly be into some evil scientist shit, and you print articles to physically read them instead of online like any normal person--"
"I like to annotate them!"
"Open an illustrative word document." He laughed boyishly, head shaking side to side.
Lips pursed, you leaned back into your chair. "So you're saying I'm weird?"
"Nah, Steve is weird," Both of you glanced over at the mustached man on the phone, shouting way too loud into the receiver, then back to each other, sharing a look of agreeance. This time his gaze didn't falter. "You're a little... not normal." He finished with a chuckle, but it wasn't mean, it was almost appreciative.
"Abnormal." You offered, failing to tamp down a smile.
"Abnormal—but in a good way.” He agreed.
Your chair rolled back as you readjusted to your desk, trying to contain your glee that he even had an opinion of you at all. “Yeah, yeah, sure.”
A soft kick under the tables, his matching sneaker clad foot shoving yours in a silent exchange.
cw: explicit (18+), unprotected sex, size kink, rough handling, marking/biting, fwb-adjacent relationship, emotionally constipated!reader, denial is a river, many ruminations, not beta-read
wc: 1.4k
note: another draft DONE! i've been thinking about succubus!reader in many fandoms. here's the first one!
masterlist
---
he is the perfect specimen for you.
never running out of energy. barely sleeps. strong, and won't pass out from your aggressive feedings. big enough to actually make you feel something other than simple satiation.
when you grip him tight, you barely leave a mark on his steel-like skin. and even when you do, he doesn't run from you -- if anything, he gets more excited, speeding up his thrusts to the point of bruising your cervix.
a few bruises here and there don't matter to you either. the life of a succubus is a bruise in itself. you're there to hurt -- and to hurt others.
superman though, he doesn't hurt. and you've endured enough in your life that his strength is merely a driving force for your own aggression.
you only have to text him like a cheap booty call, and he's waiting at your window, standing on the fire escape like a lost kitten. he waits for you to invite him in, being polite -- as if he won't be slamming your face into a pillow as he rails you against the mattress in the next five minutes.
he's the only person that's tipped you over the edge and forced you through the next edge in the same breath. he can touch all those hard-to-reach spots within you, and continue discovering more each time, leaving you a delirious mess when he's done. something that only you've been able to do to your meals each time you've fed.
---
look, you're not evil -- though the daily planet has put you on the map as 'metropolis' newest villainess' in the last five issues of the paper (and the most eligable villainess in the last two!).
all you wanted was a few late-night snacks. unfortunately, those snacks couldn't handle you. you don't see how that's your fault. if they just worked out or something, they would've been fine.
you'd never claim the title of villain, certainly not one important enough for superman to hunt, but that's how you met the dorky hunk.
your first meeting was less of a fight and more like a blind date. you showed him how harmless you could be -- rolling over and showing your belly to him until he wanted to pet you.
it was really easy actually. once he saw that you could sustain his grip, he took all you'd give him, and you did the same to him.
---
he doesn't waste time when he comes over. there's no need for small talk or for you to brew a cup of coffee for him; all he wants is your lips when he steps through the threshold.
and he's a good kisser.
if you didn't know any better, you'd think he was the succubus (or the incubus, rather).
he always cradles your face like you're something precious, like this is anything but a transactional relationship -- getting each other off.
his soft lips mold with yours, moving languidly before he suckles your bottom lip teasingly (where did he learn that?), waiting for you to pull back and slap his chest for being cheeky.
like you always do.
it bothers you, the small moments of normalcy you experience with the super. as if he's just getting home from work and embracing his lover or something.
it's not supposed to go that way, but it happens every time like clockwork. and you guess you let it happen too.
he picks you up effortlessly, a perk of his super strength, wrapping your legs around him as he navigates toward your bedroom. you learned early on that superman prefers beds to any other surface -- no, he demands a bed.
you've tried the couch, the kitchen counter, the floor, even, but you always end up on the plush mattress, his arm wrapped around your waist until he decides to disappear in the early morning.
you let him plop you onto the bed, watching as he starts to take off his suit. you've always wondered what he'd look like in casual clothing. it's hard to picture it: the great superman being a normal citizen in metropolis.
you've noticed that despite his perfect build and indestructible skin, there's a constellation of freckles that run over his body, dotting him like he's some sort of normal person who gets sun damage.
you're pretty sure the sun affects him differently -- just as it does you -- but still, the small dots catch your gaze, urging your fingers to trace them as if you have the right to.
his eyes no longer hold the surface-level lust they did the first time you met. now they looked dazed, softening the bright blue of his irises.
you ignore his charged gaze, shucking off your clothes and throwing them to the side. as soon as the garments leave your fingers, he's on you again, pressing you back against the mattress as your lips meet once more.
his hands drift along the contours of your body, feeling over every curve and divot like he's trying to memorize it. when you break the kiss, he attempts to chase your lips for more, not ready to separate
"get to the point, superman~" you tease him.
you refuse to call him his 'real' name. you're not even sure why he told you about it. kal-el. you mentally shake the thought from your head. you don't need to know that side of him. to you, he's just superman. the guy who would've arrested you if it weren't for your seduction skills.
"the point is whatever i want it to be," he grumbles, head dipping to nip at your neck. you arch your back to press your chest to his, letting him feel the softness of your tits as you pant gently against his mouth.
"ooh, getting assertive, hm?" you joke, eyes sparkling as you take in his reaction.
"that's how you like it, isn't it?" he pokes back.
"it's interesting when guys think they have power over me," you admit with a sigh, completely aware of the way he acts whenever you mention other guys.
his soft kisses turn into nips and then bruising bites.
"i'll make it interesting."
"you can try, superman."
sometimes you have to poke the bear to get the berries. or in this case, poke the super until he decides to flip you over and do as he pleases.
your hips are propped up with a pillow, lifted at just the right height for him to plow into you. his fingers are shiny with your slick, evidence of his efforts to stretch you out before fucking you.
superman is a gentleman, after all.
but he's not very gentle once he enters you. you moan into the pillow as he breaches your hole, slowly pushing in, inch by inch. even with how often you hook up, his size still leaves you breathless.
already, you're starting to feel the effects of his energy. that dark pit that used to rest heavy against your core has alleviated, leaving you with an inspired hunger instead.
his hands press down on your back to make you arch for him -- just enough so he can reach the depths of your cunt. you can already feel the backache you'll wake up with tomorrow morning.
soft sounds are pushed out of you with every thrust, his movements harsh yet addictive. all you can hear is the sloppy sounds of him fucking you, along with his groans as your cunt flutters around him.
"this what you wanted?" his lips meet the edge of your ear as he continues to press into you, "to be filled up and taken care of?"
"you know i always want it," you slur, "it's in my nature."
"and you take it well," he purrs, fingers spreading your ass to get a better look at him filling you up.
you choke out a moan when his chest meets your back as he shoves himself all the way in, your body moving in sync as you both catch your breaths. your legs shake from the intense stretch within you, almost too much to handle.
"you alright, sweetheart?" he questions condescendingly.
ugh, you hate it when men use pet names with you. especially when they speak to you in that tone.
"don't call--" your voice is lost to you as he purposefully presses in deeper, pressing right against that spot that makes you see stars. he chuckles mockingly as you struggle with his size, fully aware of what he does to you.
"don't worry, honey, i'll take care of you." he mumbles, movements starting back up.
a/n: I feel like i hate this but also kinda don't? First time writing anal, be nice or you'll have diarrhea for a month straight and you don't want that, do you? 😗🙂
Summary: You’ve faced down monsters, thieves and armed men but nothing tests your will like the sound of Superman calling your name. He’s supposed to be untouchable, a god among mortals but when you’ve got him tangled in your web, it’s hard to remember who’s supposed to be in control...especially when duty calls.
Classification and content warnings: Smut +18 | (Porn with plot) Adrenaline kink, friends to something more, dual identities, dom! and sub! Clark, superpowered and genius!reader (morally grey choices were made), unprotected anal sex (with creampie), unprotected p-in-v sex (this is fiction, don’t take it as a manual and do your research if you get freaky like that), use of a buttplug, display of superhuman abilities, gentle sex, mild bondage elements, and a touch of claiming kink if you squint.
Word count: 3,7k
Divider by me ;)
Metropolis didn’t really need vigilantes in the same way Gotham did, it had its heroes…but you had decided that one more pair of hands in the dark couldn’t hurt. Sometimes the police scanners fell quiet for hours and other times they crackled with trouble in a way that seemed too small for the big leagues, so you’d made a habit of haunting the rooftops, the forgotten corners and spaces between light and shadow.
Down below, the sound of heavy and steady footsteps echoed through a narrow alley. Kal or rather, the man the world preferred to call Superman, walked with purpose, the tap of his boots bouncing softly off the brick. Even before he called your name, you could feel the hum of his presence, that subtle pressure in the air that always gave him away. He looked around, x-ray eyes slipping through walls and stairwells but still, somehow, he missed you.
You smiled to yourself, crouched at the edge of the roof where the city spilled out beneath you in a wash of shadow. You watched as he scanned the darkness, patient but already half-resigned.
Only when he turned to leave did you move.
A thin, silvery strand hissed from your wrist, catching the setting sun as you dropped from the ledge and let yourself hang upside down in one effortless motion. The cool night air rushed past your face and your mask gleamed just enough to draw his attention, turning until you were face to face.
“There you are,” he said, smiling up at you. “Thought you’d leave me hanging…no pun intended.”
“If the grin on your face is any indication,” you said, voice carrying down through the still air, “it very much was.”
He shrugged, the gesture lazy, amused. “I think it was pretty decent.”
“I’m not surprised you’re settling for decent, Kal.”
That earned a real smile. “Love it when you’re mean to me.”
He always did and he also loved when you called him Kal, the name no one else used like a secret whispered through smoke. You didn’t know who he was when he wasn’t wearing that suit and he didn’t know who you were when you weren’t swinging between skyscrapers. Somehow, that ignorance made everything simpler, two strangers bound only by unusual part-time jobs and the way your hearts beat faster when you met in the dark.
“Not being mean,” you said, tilting your head, the smallest hint of a smile curving your mouth. “Just honest.”
Clark stepped closer to your inverted face, then reached out until broad and warm palms cradled your cheeks with care. His lips met yours halfway, an upside-down kiss that made the whole city fall away.
When he finally drew back, your lips parted with a soft, audible pop. “Been waiting all week for that,” he murmured.
“All week?” you teased.
He ran a hand through that maddeningly perfect hair and exhaled. “Yeah…rough week.”
“You mean…your other job? The one without the cape that conveniently hides that perfectly round bottom of yours?”
He flushed, a color you almost never saw on him. “Y-yeah, that job and the cape doesn’t…hide anything.”
“It doesn’t help you fly either,” you countered, crossing your arms loosely as the single thread now between your boots held you perfectly suspended. “Which means it’s just there to make you look–”
“Cool,” you both said in unison.
“And to hide that humongous ass,” you added, grinning.
You twisted gracefully upright, webline whispering as it drew you up toward the roof. Clark followed, hovering effortlessly as the glow of the city caught on his shoulders like starlight.
The rooftops of Metropolis had their own rhythm at this hour, tar and steel gleaming under the setting sun while the hum of traffic rose like distant surf. To most, they were boundaries, to you and Kal, they were streets. You moved across them side by side, trading altitude for intimacy as the city spread beneath like a living constellation.
You leapt from one building to the next, the wind curling around your body as your web line sang taut for a heartbeat before you landed in a crouch. Clark didn’t leap but floated, his boots kissing the ledge without sound, cape stirring faintly behind him in the slipstream you left.
“You want to talk about it?” you called over your shoulder, just as you pushed off again.
He chuckled, drifting effortlessly beside you. “And tell you what exactly? I’d have to censor half the story.”
“Yeah…and we know you’re not very good at that,” you teased, flipping midair before catching the next ledge on your palms. “How’s…uh, what was his name? Clint? No, Clark!”
Clark groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he slowed beside you. “It–It slipped out once.”
“Well, it shouldn’t have,” you sing-songed, webbing your way up a tower as he hovered a few feet below.
He sighed, defeated but smiling all the same. “He’s fine…Why do you still remember that anyway?”
You reached the top of the tower and looked ahead to the place you always went when the night felt too long, the deep. That’s what you called the gap between the city’s second-tallest tower and its crown jewel, a canyon of light and air. It wasn’t just distance, it was ritual. You balanced on the narrow ledge, wind tugging at your suit.
“Because it’s the only thing I know about your real life,” you said softly with a shrug and before he could answer, you tipped backward into open air.
The world inverted and the skyline spun. You fired a web and caught the wind’s breath in your chest as you swung, weightless and free.
Clark stood motionless at the ledge for a heartbeat, watching you arc through the night. You didn’t know it but every time he saw you do that, trust gravity just enough to defy it, his pulse stumbled.
The memory of that slip-up still haunted him, from the night you lay tangled together on some forgotten rooftop, stars caught in the slick of your webbing while his voice ran careless with comfort.
“And then I hear, ‘Clark, if you don’t meet the deadline, I’ll have you handing out newspapers in front of the building,’ and naturally, I start panicking–”
You had frowned, lifting your head from his chest. “Wait, who’s Clark?”
His heart had plummeted faster than any fall. “Uh… I–a friend...great friend, really nice and smart…and all that.”
You’d smiled, half-amused and curious…and now, even months later, you still remembered.
By the time you swung close to the tallest building, he finally moved. With a single push of air he was aloft, overtaking you in a streak of blue and red, his grin already waiting for you when you landed beside him.
“Beat you to it,” he said, proud and a little sheepish, knowing he’d cheated but too pleased to care. He could never fly very slow anyway.
You brushed past him with a smirk and headed for the edge. The city opened below, glass, smoke and motion stretching endlessly in every direction. Kneeling, you aimed your wrists and began to weave. Threads of gleaming silver shot out in rhythmic bursts, sticking to metal and concrete until they formed an intricate pattern.
Clark watched in silence, the sound of your webbing clicking softly in the wind. Bit by bit, a delicate structure took shape: a suspended bed, half-hammock and sculpture, glowing faintly under the light. It was absurdly graceful, spiderlike and utterly you.
When you finally stepped back to test the tension, the web flexed gently and held. Below, Metropolis breathed with car horns, sirens and the muted heartbeat of a city that never really slept.
“You’re good at that and I’m good at this.” you grinned, glancing over your shoulder. “Made it big enough for two.”
Clark’s gaze lingered, sharp and teasing and a slow, knowing smile spread across his face. “If you think webbing’s your only skill, you’re wrong.” he murmured, voice laced with humor and something sharper beneath it. “I’d argue you’re good at more than one thing.”
Heat pooled in your chest at the tone and the way his eyes darkened while tracing the curves of your body and for a heartbeat the city’s sounds faded and everything else disappeared except for the taut tension between the two of you.
The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of incoming rain and metal but you were warm beneath the glow of the fading sun, body pressed into the webbed bed you’d spun with care. The strands were soft yet firm, cradling your chest as you kneeled on the floor, your suit unzipped and pulled down until it pooled at your knees. The fabric clung loosely to your curves, leaving your back and ass bare, exposed to him.
Clark kneeled behind you, his shadow stretching over your body, his presence as commanding as the city skyline. His hands found your hips, fingers digging into the softness there just before you felt his breath against your skin, pressing his lips to the space between your shoulder blades. The kiss was soft, a contrast to the hunger that simmered just beneath the surface.
You arched your back, presenting yourself to him and the sound he made was rough, pulled straight from his chest. His hands slid down to your ass, kneading once before parting you open and then his breath caught. Nestled inside you, gleaming faintly in the light, was a buttplug marked with his symbol. The sight of it, his crest, his claim, buried so deep inside you sent a sharp and dizzy rush of want through him.
Clark’s fingers traced the edges of the plug, teasing, before giving it a gentle but firm tug and pulling it out, making you gasp.
“Didn’t know you could swing across the city with this in,” he rasped as he slipped it into a pocket on his belt.
You didn’t respond, not with words but your body did, pussy clenching around nothing but already dripping onto the webbing beneath you, your arousal undeniable. Clark’s hands returned to your hips, gripping tightly as he lowered his trunks and aligned himself with you. His cock was already hard, slick with pre-cum as he pressed the tip against your entrance, gathering your slick before bringing it upwards to that pre-stretched hole.
He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, giving your body time to adjust to his size. The stretch was delicious, full and overwhelming in a way that made your breath catch, your teeth sinking into your lower lip to keep quiet. His own came in ragged bursts as he sank deeper, each pulse of resistance drawing another groan from him. The sensation blurred everything else, the city, danger and even your powers, until there was nothing left but heat and the dizzy pull of him inside you.
He paused once he was fully sheathed, hands trembling slightly on your hips before he began to move, pulling out almost completely before thrusting back in. Each stroke dragged against your walls, the friction sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. Your pussy dripped as though weeping in abandonment, slicking your thighs as he moved behind you and when his hand slipped between them, thick fingers barely grazing your clit, you couldn’t stop the moan that broke from your lips.
His thrusts grew deeper but not faster, each movement measured, the muted sound of skin meeting skin echoing softly through the night. Your eyes rolled back as his cock hit that perfect spot again and again, pleasure winding tight and hot in your belly. His fingers circled your clit in rhythm with his movements, gentle, focused and unrelenting until the tension inside you finally snapped.
Your orgasm hit hard, stealing your breath, your body tightening around him as you cried out, voice raw and unrestrained. The webs beneath you trembled under your grasp, your nails tearing small holes through its silken threads. Clark groaned above you, his pace faltering as he chased his own release, hands gripping your hips and spreading you wider until he came undone behind you.
“That’s it,” he breathed, watching you like he’d never seen anything so beautiful. His cock throbbed deep inside you, each slow pull dragging against your walls as you clenched around him. He groaned low, hips trembling as you milked him for every drop, your whines breaking into soft, breathless sounds that made his pulse stutter.
His hands tightened on your hips, holding you in place while he spilled his warm cum into you, body trembling with the sheer force of his orgasm as he slowly pulled out, massaging your ass with strong hands and stilling to watch a thick white drop of his cum, slide down and coat your eager, awaiting pussy.
With trembling hands from the force of your climax, you guided him down onto the webbed bed beneath you, the strands stretching slightly under his weight. Clark’s blue eyes darkened as you peeled off the rest of your suit and tossed it aside before straddling him, thighs already slick with a mix of your arousal and the remnants of his own. His hands immediately found your hips, grip firm as he guided you over him. His cock was still hard, glistening with the evidence of your eagerness making it easy for you to sink down onto him with a slow, shuddering exhale.
The stretch was different this time, softer, warmer and far more familiar as your pussy parted to welcome him. You rolled your hips experimentally, savoring the way he filled you completely.
Clark groaned, head tipping back against the webbing as you began to move along his painfully hard cock. His hands slid up your body, one cupping your breast while the other drifted lower, thick digits seeking your clit but you were too sensitive and still throbbing from the previous brutal intrusion.
You caught his wrist before he could touch you and with a grin, you shot a thin strand of webbing around it, pinning it to the bed beside his head. He let out a breathless laugh but you didn’t give him time to protest before doing the same to his other wrist.
"That’s…unfair," he rasped, though there was no real complaint in his voice, only heat because somehow, that made him even harder.
You leaned forward with a breathy chuckle, bracing your hands on his chest as you rode him harder, thighs flexing with each bounce. The wet slap of skin filled the air, mingling with your ragged breaths and his low, guttural groans. You could feel the coil of pleasure tightening again in your belly, slow and insistent, making your muscles clench around him as you chased the rising wave desperately.
Clark’s hips lifted to meet yours, his muscles straining as he fought against the webbing holding him down. The sight of him helpless beneath you, body taut with need, only spurred you on. You rolled your hips in slow circles, dragging his cock against every sensitive inch inside you, each movement drawing sharp bursts of air from his lungs as his chest heaved and you sank deeper.
Amidst all the pleasure flooding your body, the hairs on the back of your neck rose, skin prickling. You froze mid-motion, every muscle tight as that familiar, electric buzz bloomed at the base of your skull, a warning you knew too well.
Clark felt it too. You could tell by the way his muscles went rigid beneath you, by the subtle tilt of his head as he listened for whatever distant crisis had just shattered the moment. The both of you turned toward the same direction before he even spoke.
You swallowed hard, the air between you cooling as your thighs trembled. “How urgent?”
“Hostages,” he said simply.
“How many?”
He looked at you, almost offended. “Does that matter?”
You stared back. “Does it matter? Yes, it matters…look at us!” Clark groaned, throwing his head back onto the web bed. “How many?” you pressed again, sharper now.
“Uh…” He squeezed his eyes shut, clearly struggling to focus past everything else. “Four… five, maybe five.”
“Four or five?!”
“Five! Definitely five!” He blurted, half-panicked. “I can’t think straight when you’re…like this.”
You nodded, breathless but grinning. “Great. I’ll just head to the Daily Planet and let them know the world’s hero is really just a man…pussy whipped at that. Unbelievable.”
“You were riding me twenty seconds ago! How am I supposed to…golly.” He moaned, eyes almost rolling in pleasure as you started rolling your hips again after only a second of hesitation. Clark’s breath hitched, wrists straining slightly against the webbing.
“We have time,” you panted. “I just…need…time.”
For a second, Clark blinked up at you, clearly torn between the hero’s instinct and the human one. You, meanwhile, did the thing you always did when the world tilted toward absurdity, you calculated.
“Three blocks east,” you murmured, eyes flicking upward as your brain started ticking. “If you flew at subsonic speed, you'd be there in… what, eight seconds? Maybe ten if you stopped to assess the scene. Add in hostage extraction, disarming the robbers, call it two minutes, tops.” You exhaled sharply, never stopping your hips. “Yeah. We’ve got time.”
Clark stared, caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. “You’re doing math right now?”
“Always,” you replied, a moan stealing your voice. “Occupational hazard.”
He opened his mouth to protest but you cut him off. “Do a play-by-play of what’s happening.”
“W–what?” His brow furrowed, thrown off-balance in more ways than one.
“Kal,” you said, your tone turning low, coaxing and dangerous in the way you knew he couldn’t resist. “Come on.”
Clark’s chest rose and fell beneath you, each inhale a warm, unsteady drum as he watched you bounce on his cock. “Okay… okay,” he muttered, a tremor of frustration in his voice before activating his x-ray vision. “I’m seeing three armed men, all on the east side of the bank. One’s holding a woman against the…the…transparent thing…glass! it's called ‘glass’, sweet heavens…the others are uh…pacing, there’s weapons–.”
You tilted your head, breath hitching as your thighs clenched around him, trying not to lose focus on him while your brain ran the numbers anyway.
“Distance to the roof edge in that direction is twenty meters,” you murmured between panting breaths. “If I drop and swing in a direct arc…assuming minimal air resistance and maximum acceleration of my own weight, approximately… six seconds to reach the first contact point…uh fuck.” You gasped, shivering, pressing closer as your calculations faltered under the heat of the moment. “Keep talking.”
He blinked, jaw tightening, then exhaled slowly. “Uhhh. Number one is pacing near the north entrance. He hasn’t noticed anything yet. Number two is holding the hostage…scared but unharmed. Number three… patrolling the back. Weapons drawn…they’re tense, jittery, any sudden movement could–”
You adjusted, clenching around him desperately, your pulse hammering while trying to keep your calculations coherent while your body betrayed you. “If I swing to the southeast corner first, intercepting number three, then arc to number two… factoring in reaction speed, gravitational assistance, web tension…”
“Yeah,” you moaned, teeth biting your lower lip. “While I…while we…fuck, this is motivating.” Your body shuddered slightly, unable to focus entirely on the numbers and yet you tried to keep your mental math precise. “Okay. Okay. Adjust trajectory. I need… five seconds to clear that building gap, maybe six…and about half that time to orgasm.”
You bounced harder this time, nails digging into his chest as you rode him faster, your body teetering on the edge. Clark’s jaw clenched, hips lifting to meet yours but you could see the conflict in his eyes, the hero in him screaming to move while the man was desperate to stay.
“Don’t look at me like that, I know!” you whined, eyes squeezing shut as your movements became frantic, the coil inside tightening, winding ever higher…until it snapped.
“Oh, got it! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” The orgasm hit like a freight train, ripping through your body in a blinding surge of heat and pleasure. Your back arched, muscles trembling and for a heartbeat, your vision whitened entirely. Every nerve flared and every thought shredded into nothing but sensation.
Even though it left you gasping and weak-kneed, you didn’t hesitate. In one fluid motion, you pulled yourself off him, ignoring his groan of protest as you snatched up your discarded suit. Clark watched, still bound, his expression a mix of awe and frustration as his cock twitched freely with an impending orgasm that just…wouldn’t come.
“Okay…okay…” you muttered, yanking the suit over trembling legs, slick thighs catching against the fabric as it clung and resisted. Each movement was faltering, inefficient and you groaned under your breath, tugging and twisting like it was a puzzle you couldn’t quite solve but even in the chaos of post-orgasm haze, your brain wouldn’t shut off. Numbers flickered through your mind in rapid-fire that were impossible to ignore.
“Five seconds, maybe six if I twist this properly…okay, fuck! Nine tops,” you muttered aloud, voice breathy and urgent, trying not to draw his attention too much. “Then I’ve got to launch, web-arc to the southeast corner, intercept the first guy… shouldn’t take longer than four seconds, maybe five…can’t remember what I said earlier.”
Your hands trembled as the suit finally slid into place, zipping with a harsh tug. You swallowed, exhaling raggedly, muscles still buzzing and shot a glance over your shoulder at him, smirk tugging at your lips. “This was great Kal…gotta go though!”
“H-Hey! You’re forgetting something!” he stammered, voice rough, failing miserably to resist the taut webs binding his wrists.
You glanced back, taking in the mess of webbing and sweat and the way his cock twitched against his stomach, still glistening from your orgasm.
“I’ll be quick. I got it!”
With a leap, you launched yourself off the building, wind whipping past your ears as the city lights blurred beneath you, grinning through your adrenaline haze.
Heroes needed breaks too… and maybe, just maybe, a reminder that with great power came great responsibility.
A/N: If you enjoyed this story, feel free to explore the archive for more! Liking and reblogging helps others discover my writing and comments always make my day, they’re a huge encouragement for me to keep creating. Thank you so much for reading!
Johnny strutting up to older!reader in a bar with the tired “can I buy ye a drink” and you just look him up and down and ask “oh baby. How old are you? Where’s your dad?” In the most condescending yet sweet voice he’s ever heard and the man is lowkey bricked up. He’s stunned just staring at you stuttering out “ ‘m 26” You look over his shoulder to the rest of the 141 sitting at a table. “Either come back in ten years or send your mutton chops daddy over. Ok sweetheart” your hand is shooing him away and he’s walking a little stiff bc you just unlocked a kink in him he did not know he had.
Johnny walking back to his table and they’re all wondering why he is both sulking and blushing until he says “cap’n she wants to talk to you”. He’s pouting as he slides into his side and watches Price stand up.
“You called?” His deep voice pulled you from your drink to turn and give a knowing smile to the man now sitting next to you.
“You just let that poor thing go hitting on women older than him? Why not just send him to the pretty more age appropriate girls hmm?” You motioned for the bartender to get Price another beer and you another one of yours
“The boy doesn’t usually have a problem with the easy ones. Gotta give him a challenge or he’ll get a big head”. He’s sipping his beer watching your lips wrap around yours.
“What about you? How’s your head?” You’re looking at him like you’re expecting an answer as your hand lands on his thigh. And now he’s almost choking on his drink, fully understanding why Johnny had the look he did on the way back to the table.
reader is gender neutral and a muslim. reader comes from a country that is hot and have a significant muslim population. i try to keep their nationality vague, but there are tertiary "characters" that speak malay and reader understands them.
ghost x reader x gaz (relationships up to you but they act platonic in this one)
in a few days, you're family is gonna celebrate the first day of eid. miraculously, you and your task force are clear of any missions for a few weeks, so you took the opportunity to fly back to your home country and join the festivities.
somehow you managed to get your lieutenant and one of your fellow sergeant with you in your trip. gaz guiltily sipping on some iced tea ("you don't have to fast with me gaz, its fine.") from a plastic bag while ghost stays at the back, protecting you from any muggers and pick-pocketers of the bazaar market.
he has to be real hot. instead of wearing a surgical mask like a normal person, ghost still insist on wearing his balaclava. he doesn't seem bothered that your country is significantly hotter than your base in the UK. you and gaz are sweating up a storm, forehead drenched. you're sure ghost is the same but stubbornly stays quiet about it.
"take that thing off! it's fucking boiling out here. i can't imagine what that thing smells like." gaz complains, yet still directs the straw of the plastic baggie he's holding towards ghost's mouth, trying to keep the big man hydrated so his stupid ass doesn't pass in the busy street you're walking in.
ghost points to the numerous hijabi women around you. all wearing different styles, yet still covered and layered like he is. "they're walking around just fine." he lifts the bottom of his mask up to take a sip. "hm... and pretty sure they aren't having drinks either."
"no offense, i don't think you're as strong as reed's women, L.T."
"i can certainly try to be, garrick."
you roll your eyes as the two boys bicker about whatever, you're trying to find some food that catches your eye. from what you've learned before serving your time, you know most of these hawker stalls are a hit or miss. a complete toss up on whether or not you're gonna get a delectable meal or an okay one. if your luck is truly bad, something rotten.
while gaz and ghost oo-ing and awe-ing (gaz did all the oo-ing and awe-ing, ghost just stared), you were dismissing every stall you see, none of it clicks in your mind. you're waiting for that one meal to pop out from the rest of them and grab you by the throat. seducing you, convincing you its the perfect meal to break your fast with.
you're barreling through the bazaar in record speed, made through at the end of the market but somehow hands empty of anything. you're pretty you didn't even stop to at least look at whatever the stalls offer for more than a second. you sigh, you can't spin around the bazaar all day, your stomach growls at you to pick a meal already.
"oi! fucking hell, get back here!" you turn around, others around you too when hearing a different accent that is not your own. ghost in his skulled balaclava glory, marching towards you with gaz in tow. in both of the men's hands are plastic bags upon plastic bags of just stuff. it is a lot, one hand of plastic bags is enough to feed a whole family. all four of them is enough to feed an entire eid's family get together and then some.
your eyes bugged out at the amount they're holding, hoping the fridge at your homestay can handle the load. you can hear the people around you snicker among themselves.
"banyaknya..." ("that's a lot...")
"biasalah tourist." ("typical tourists.")
"tengoklah badan diorang, sado-sado tu." ("look at their physique, all muscley.")
"abang sado memang kene kuat makan." ("strong men have to have big appetites.")
"hey! reed!" gaz's voice snapped you out of your stupor. to save them energy, you jogged to them to meet halfway, your eyes not leaving the bags they're holding. noticing what you're staring at, the boys looked at each other and grimace. timidly, gaz asked,
a/n: happy eid! idk what this is. reader is southeast asian and implied to be muslim. reader is gender neutral.
ghost x reader, ghost x gaz
"you don't have to eat that, sir."
but it is really funny to see him try. your poor lieutenant, a hwite englishman through and through, doing his best to not let the rendang effect him. you provided him some fatty lemang to cut through the spiciness, but he has a thick slice of it gripped tightly in his palm instead of chewing it in his mouth.
you feel bad, really. your beef rendang shouldn't be this spicy, but your silly ass added way too much chili. even your own seasoned taste buds struggle with the heat. but damn it, you're getting homesick. you've already put in the time and effort to have at least one thing that reminds you of home and you're not throwing all that work away.
ghost's thousand yard stare into the offending beef makes you feel better though. gaz cackles next to him, his plate licked clean of your spicy, spicy dish. unexpectedly, he took your meal in stride. he only needed a cold glass of water to soothe his tongue unlike your superior here who probably needs something stronger than milk.
he slams his fist on the table. you hear him swallow it all down in one big gulp. big mistake, as he coughs up a storm right after. oooh, his nose, his throat, his everything really, gotta be burning.
he stood up, to get away from the evil, evil beef, you're sure, and turn his coughing fit away from the both of you. you just see his back shake, heaving violently. he got his hands on his knees, lemang dropped to the floor. if it weren't for all of your's profession, you would be calling medical help by now. he'll be fineee though, you've seen that man went through literal hell and he barely flinched.
gaz, like the good sergeant he is, slaps a hand across his L.T.'s back. firm and hearty and the coughing seized.
. . .
. . .
. . .
ghost, ever so slowly, sat his ass on the floor. criss cross, applesauce. his hands then go to his face, covering it. "fucking hell."
"good, yea? how would you rate it?"
"fucking cunts. one and a half stars."
you and gaz laugh, you both crouch down to ghost's level. tanned hands contrast his pale, yet red face. one pair of lips touched his own while another touched his forehead.
cannot get the mental image of price fingering you roughly with one arm locked around your waist while you're on your hands and knees, keeping you from squirming or wriggling out of his hold. it's like putting your pussy in a headlock, and his focus is entirely on the way she's drooling into his palm while he ignores your moans and wails and feeble attempts to get away. after all, that man's got lazer focus when he sets an objective, and right now the objective is to make you squirt so hard that you mist the far bedroom wall... and god help you, but you'll definitely be here all night until that exact thing happens
im begging writers to put a disclaimer or trigger warnings for your dark works 😭 this is not r/nosleep y'all. what is with fics with innocuous beginnings suddenly ending with the most scariest and triggering line ever just out in the open like that
Being so sensitive to squirting that the 141 make fun of your for it and have little competitions to see who can make you squirt the fastest :(
Johnny holds the record of 37 seconds from fingering you so fast you couldn’t tell when his fingers were inside or out of you.
After their little competition your poor pussy was so swollen and sensitive that all it took was a few rough spanks to your pussy from Price to make you squirt again.
“Oh well look at that? Seems we got a new record holder hm?” Price teases you and Johnny.
“That doesn’t count the competition is over!” Johnny exclaims angrily at Price.
Meanwhile Simon and Gaz are fucking rock hard from watching you squirt again so quickly.
I think Khonshu would benefit a lot from being tied up and given an hours-long edging session tbh (the incredulous logistics of an ancient deity as demanding as him actually staying bound and rendered immobile aside, of course). See if he’s still crabby and snippy after he has to beg for mercy from his puny li’l human lover who hardly ever has the opportunity to give him a taste of his own medicine.🤭
MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME
A/N: Yeah, this is basically a part 2 to my other Moon Knight!Reader fic. The Dusty Bird Man gets his 👀 But the answer to that is also yes
🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑🌑
It had been almost two months since your confusing and arousing encounter with your god, Khonshu.
Two months since that night on the couch, and the bastard hasn't even so much as hinted that he cared--or even remembered--what happened that night. But you knew he felt it, you could tell he thought about it; in the subtle way his hand would press into the small of your back before battle. In the way you could feel his eyeless gaze linger on your body as you danced between your foes in a bloody concert and blur of white.
You could feel it on you even when it appeared you were alone in your camps, or hotel rooms in your travel; the way eyes unseen slowly raked your form, leaving cold prickling bumps in its wake.
Despite the fact you knew of his newfound attraction to you--or perhaps more accurately, your body--he had not voiced it. And most likely never would have, had you not.
He would have let his fascination and arousal fester within him, locked it away into his own imagination to entertain him on silent, windless nights.
But, that didn't need to happen. Not now.
You couldn't take the tension anymore, the ache between your legs that refused to be satiated by means of your own, none o f your vibrators or silicone toys enough to ease the burning need your depths craved to be filled. Nothing could compare or come close to how electrifying it felt to have his hands on you, leaving you wondering how it would feel if you took it just a bit further...
And thus was how your bargain with you benefactor started. You played him at his own game; talked in the same labyrinthine patterns of honor he reveled in. No mortal bindings could keep him restrained or bound.
Nothing but his words and promise to let you entertain yourself kept him in line. His pride would not allow him to break carnal oath. Like a demon at a crossroads, Khonshu struck a bargain with you. Your pleasure for his, yet he was not allowed to touch you. And if he did, you would stop entirely and never venture into this territory again. The premise of such a situation had his ancient blood singing at the prospect.
But he had no idea you could be this maddening.
The way you were on your knees before him, skin bare, save for the silvery-white cloak he'd granted you enshrouding you with his power; wearing him on your bare skin in such a way that he had never thought to see any of his chosen, let alone you. The holy article flowed and hung like silk over your bare shoulders, down your back, covering your head and much of your face, concealing the mischievous glint you help in your eyes as your tongue lazily running up and down his thick shaft, your diminutive fingers tracing every thumping vein beneath the searing, velvety skin.
It was a worship he would surely have enjoyed, had he not made a binding promise not to touch you, to push and press you into the position that he wanted; to take you in the way he knew without a doubt you wanted him to.
But your own pride and ego could sometimes match his own, and he knew you would not abandon this game just to know what it felt like to have his entirety deep within the hottest, wettest recesses of your body that his divine ichor may burn forever inside of you at the mere memory of it.
He growled, a deep, menacing tone that would terrify any other mortal away from the path of teasing and testing the patience of a god this way; to try and push him past his breaking point. And, infuriatingly--pleasurably--you did not relent in your pace, one of your hands pumping his shaft as he sat before you, perched on the ruins deep in the desert, the carnage of the battle you fought still littering one of his ancient, ruined temples while your other hand crept up his thigh so achingly slow until your fingers curled and cupped the large testes that hung beneath his cock, heavy with his godly seed.
You palmed them, your fingers teasing and pressing in such an erotic way it had every nerve in his body tingling while you sucked the tip of his cock past your swollen lips, your tongue tracing the slit and tasting the ambrosial fluid dripping from it, humming appreciatively at the taste of him; pumping the rest of his length lazily in your fist.
Khonshu growled again, his hips bucking slightly to try and force himself just a bit father past your soft lips, to feel more of your tongue trace the underside of his shaft.
He felt so enraged he nearly fisted your hair as you pulled back, a heavy trail of saliva connecting your tongue to his cock as you leaned away, finally looking up at him with sadistic mirth in your eyes.
"Giving in already?" You jabbed playfully, your tone almost innocent as your tongue ran along the shape and curve of your slick lips. "And here I thought the God of the Night Sky would be able to control himself better than some horny teenager."
His chest rattled with a dismissive huff as he felt his outrage simmer low in his belly, mixing with the strange pleasure that he felt at you denying him as he looked down at you. "A test," Khonshu sneered. "I will not give in like you think I will."
You slowly trailed a finger up from the underside of his cock all the way to his tip, swirling another bead of his precum around the crown almost lazily, smirking at how he twitched and the massive girth jerked in your palm, veins thumping beneath your soft skin. "Oh, c'mon... and you called me pathetic? It's only been an hour. You've been squirming this whole time, old man."
His fists clenched so hard he could feel his tendons strain with his effort to reign in his self control, to pull and stretch it to its absolute limit as your haughty voice teased and poked at him like a fool poking a tiger with a stick.
He dropped back against the crumbling stone, forcing his tense shoulders to drop as he looked at the night sky--his night sky. His moon shining down on the sands of Egypt while the two of you engaged in your little rendezvous.
"Guess you can teach old birds new tricks." You murmur with a giggle, sliding your tongue around his flushed head and pulling him into your mouth, soaking and coating his tip with your saliva before pulling back, reveling in how his ashen abs flexed taut at the loss of heat, at how his voice nearly trembled with frustration.
His cock ached and twitched, throbbing and swelling as you hang your tongue out of your mouth, dripping heavy globs of your spit onto his length, using your soft yet calloused fingers to spread it and pump him harshly, clenching your legs together at the heady groan that slithered out from within him.
His head was still turned to the sky, beak pointed at the stars like a bony compass as you knew he was still trying to ignore how you were teasing him. Your cunt throbbed painfully, drooling onto the sands below, coating your thighs in a hot sticky mess that you refused to tend to just yet in favor of aggravating the creature that was basically your boss.
You swore he almost snapped again, feeling his thighs flex beneath your palms as you released his cock, using his legs as support as you shuffled closer.
His head snapped down to look at you, holding back the urge to thrust towards your missing touch; until he felt the soft and heavy weight of your breasts pressed around his dick. Khonshu growled approvingly as you used your hands to press the mounds of flesh tighter around him, arching and pulling your body in a way that stroked him.
It was not the wet, tight heat that he wanted... but it was very, very close to it.
He hadn't anticipated you to do this, shuddering and feeling his heart sing in his chest at the assault of pleasure you were attacking him with; his hands gripping the edges of his crumbling, makeshift throne as you chuckled, grinning widely up at him as you dipped your head down, licking around the head of his cock each time you rolled downwards, swiping away each fresh bead of his precum that he dribbled out for you, letting some of it roll down his throbbing shaft to drip onto your breasts as you worked him over.
Khonshu's cock was so hard you could swear the damn thing could probably fuck a hole into a steel wall if he really wanted to. Your cunt pulsed and clenched around nothing at the thought of what it could do to you if he fucked you, instead.
But no, that would happen later. Maybe. If he obeyed the rules of your bargain, that is. You could do whatever you wanted to him, make him cum at your own leisure to get back at how he treated you before.
And oh, how you were enjoying this game. You almost couldn't believe it, the adrenaline pumping through your veins as you sliced down the interlopers that were raiding his temple to sell the artifacts on the black market; the tension after that came to a head when he began to mock you in such a way, circling you in a predatory manner, jokingly talking about how you got distracted, slipping in the sand and almost toppling over as a shotgun round blasted you in the chest.
You would have yelled at him like you normally did had his hand not slowly crept up the curve of your spine, his fingers pressing in ever so slightly and leaving a blazing trail that burned through your linen trappings and armor like they weren't even there; cold sweat trailing down opposite, battling the warring hormones raging in your blood.
It was then that you couldn't take it anymore--the adrenaline colliding with your repressed arousal is what led to this boiling point.
Khonshu hissed from an unseen mouth, his fingers crumbling the stone beneath his unearthly grip like dry, stale bread as you continued to fuck him with your tits yourself.
You bite your lip as you felt him twitch in between your tits, the soft squealching of skin on skin only aided by his generous precum; softly glowing against your skin in a transparent sheen as the entire length of him ached for that blissful release.
You hum as you continued to work yourself up and down in an almost lazy rhythm; a wicked thought creeping up in your mind.
Your clit throbbed and your folds dripped with neglected need. Gods, you needed something to offset the ache or you might break the rules of your own game just to feel something...
Gleeful joy thrummed within you as Khonshu groaned loudly when you pulled away again, deep chunks falling away from his throne while you licked your lips.
"Why did you--"
"Ah-ah," You giggle, standing up, your breasts glistening with his divine fluid, nipples pebbled in the warm desert air. He looked down to see how slick your thighs were, and some part of him felt smug; knowing this was just as much torture for you as it was him. He was almost impressed with your restraint to avoid pleasuring yourself. He figured you would be so cocky as to make him watch you touch yourself while denying him his own coital release--
His thoughts came to a screening halt as he watched you move, picking up your cloak and turning around, draping it across one of his thighs as you inched backwards between his legs.
You grabbed his cock in your small and soft hand, lifting one of your legs briefly to slip him between your slick, hot thighs. For a scant moment, his heart hammered within his chest when he assumed you gave up, wanting to take him within you finally.
But that wasn't what you had planned. Khonshu tipped his head back with a low huff, shuddering when he felt your clit throb against his shaft, your sweet nectar dribbling around him lewdly as you squeezed your thighs together.
The hem of your hood concealed your eyes once again from his view as you looked over your shoulder at him, but he knew all too well what your wicked grin meant.
Khonshu once more resisted the urge to just thrust against you as you braced yourself with your hands on his thighs, your ass pressing flush against his groin before you rocked your hips forward, a relieved moan sighing out of your lungs at the blissful drag of his searing skin on your aching sex; his veins adding delicious friction to your swollen bundle of nerves.
"Fuuuuuuck, that's so much better..." You groan loudly, perhaps putting just a bit too much emphasis on your voice just to egg him on. You briefly look over yourself at him again as you grinded down with his cock between your legs; "What's the matter, old man? Nothing to say now?"
Khonshu grunted loudly as he flexed his hands to relieve the tension aching in his joints, feeling his cock slip between your legs, pleasuring you as you essentially used him to masturbate yourself.
Oh, how he wanted to scratch that itch, to relieve himself of that tight, boiling pleasure that rolled around in his belly that he hadn't indulged in... in millennia. A carnal dance he hadn't performed in recent memory, but still looked back on with recorded, expert skill.
Your moans only pushed him even further, the small huffs and puffs; the whimpers and murmurs that babbled from your lips as you continued to grind down on him.
Your body wept around him, the slick noises adding adequate lubrication to give the most pleasurable glide as his cock disappeared between your thighs only to stand out prominently from between them when your ass and back were pressed flush against him once again.
He knew that if he so much as leaned in to your space, he would have broken his word and lost. His pride stabbed him too greatly in his psyche to allow him to fail at this; regardless if he craved you to cant your hips at just the right angle to let him fill you to the brim, to let you ride him until you both crumble into sweet oblivion.
But of course, true to your own word and devious machinations... you didn't. You just continued to grind and slide yourself up and down the throbbing length of his shaft, his tip leaking viscously down your thighs.
He felt a wonderful stab, his sack drawing tight when you whimpered loudly, his name finally tumbling from your lips in a breathy whisper.
Draped in his cloak, his magic; his blessing like a veil had him growling. You looked perfect like this, naked, needy and draped in holy linen as though it were the finest gossamer veil, your body dripping from pleasure that you were using him to give yourself...
You were beautiful, he supposed, bathed in the light of his moon.
And he felt his climax finally beginning to crest, the soft fat that hugged around your concealed muscles squeezing his cock, the wet slide of your clit against the veins that thumped hard beneath his skin has his heart skipping a beat.
Khonshu hissed, not wishing to give you the satisfaction of hearing him announce his impending release; instead grunting, letting you set the pace (as frustrating as that was to him in the moment) and leaning back, and allowing him to enjoy the view of you that he had from behind as you bounced in his lap.
He reclined, his palms itching to grip your hips and slam himself upwards to meet your rolling hips as their tempo increased in rapidity. He wanted to press his thumbs into the dimples at the base of your spine, bend you forward and arch your spine...
The first second as he came almost blinded him, his head dropping back as he groaned deeply in relief; his hot seed spurting forth as you continued to grind and stroke him against yourself, moaning appreciatively as the divine sap coated your skin, the luminescent fluid glittering on your skin like liquid moonlight, illuminating you as he almost entirely painted your skin with ghostly, ethereal light.
"Oh, fuck, Khonshu--" You hiccuped, the sight of it as he just kept cumming on your thighs sending you careening over that edge; coming undone around his cock with a joyful sob as your orgasm tore through your body like ripples on the surface of a still pond after dropping a stone in it.
Your body slowed, panting as the haze lifted from your brain, the fog clearing as your mind cleared. You reach up and laugh, looking down at the glowing mess he'd made of your thighs (and impressively enough, part of your belly) as your hand stroked the smooth, bleached bone of his beak as you felt his heart beat agaisnt your back through his broad chest.
"Mmmm... that was... nice." You commented contentedly, letting yourself relax and grow limp in his lap, your eyes closing as you tip your head back against his chest.
His warm hands slipped around your body, trailing down your belly and to your thighs, his fingers dipping into his seed to spread it around his bare digits.
"Wait, what are you--"
You were interrupted when he lifted a hand and slipped his cum-coated fingers into your mouth, his flavor invading your senses in every way possible, almost making you instantly black out again as a violent aftershock ripped through you the moment his hot ambrosia trickled down your throat.
"You forget, little dove." Khonshu chuckled darkly. "That our bargain was for you to have your fun. And you already have."
Your eyes grow wide as his fingers continue to stroke your tongue, his free hand wrapping around your thigh to draped your leg over his, spreading you open for him as he lined his cock up against your fluttering entrance. You practically sobbed around his fingers as your body burned with renewed desire; stinging almost painfully with delicious overstimulation.
"Now..." He spreads more of his seed over your clit, tapping it softly, the sensation enough to cause your blood to boil and another orgasm to sweep through your very pores like a tsunami.
"Allow me to demonstrate why I am also a god of fertility."
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.
I'm all for character interpretations and AUs so this is not a serious post but Miguel O'Hara X reader fics where Miguel's character is completely changed to fit the author's fantasy or something is so fucking funny to me. "Punk!Miguel" "Loser!Miguel" baby that is just an OC
I love Steven Grant X reader fics where reader is a brit and says British slangs. Moon Knight is set in the UK after all, I like seeing him converse with other British people. I just... like when Y/N has their own quirk that is different from my own :)
Summary: You and Santiago are on a much-needed date night, but your ex, Leto Atreides, shows up unexpectedly. Back at your house, babysitter Benny has a couple of surprise visitors of his own.
Contents: mostly fluff, Santi gets possessive and little soft!dom at the end, but no smut
a/n: based on a wonderful anon ask about what an interaction btw these guys would be like, since we didn't technically meet Leto in 'Multiverse of Dad-ness'
-----
“We’ll be fine,” Benny says, letting your toddler bop him over the head with a stuffed hippo repeatedly.
“We appreciate you coming over to watch him,” Santi says as he opens the door so you can leave. “And I know you’re going to use him to take selfies and bag hook-ups, but can you at least get him to bed on time?”
Benny gives Santiago a dirty look. “Scout’s honor. And if you two get back here before twenty two hundred, then make out in the car until your date night is over. You’re not getting back in this house until then.”
As the door shuts, Benny smiles hugely at the baby. “Dude, we are going to have a great night, aren’t we?” He pinches the baby’s nose lightly, making him laugh. “Now, let’s go snoop around your house. See what kind of secrets Pope's got.”
*****
“This place is fancy,” you whisper to Santiago.
The hostess is showing you to your table in the back corner. The space is dimly lit, with a man playing the piano by the bar, not a kid in sight.
He grins at you. “I know, baby, I made the reservation.”
He kisses your cheek and pulls out your chair for you. You sit down and look up to thank him, only to see him blatantly looking down the v-neck of your dress. He grins when he catches you catching him.
“Hey, I have to go wash my hands. Either the baby or Benny had something sticky on their fingers and it got all over me. Be right back.” He leans down to kiss you and you watch him walk away.
You haven’t seen him in a suit since your wedding. And damn. The man is so, unbelievably hot. His ass is still cashing checks left and right.
You feel a light touch on your shoulder and turn, expecting to see a waiter.
“Oh my God, Leto,” you smile as he leans down to hug you, plant a lingering kiss on your cheek. He smells familiar, like rain and cedar.
He’s a little grayer than when you saw him last. Still the same serious, brown eyes, full of restrained passion, and that beard that always did drive you a little nuts. He has on a black suit, very discreet but you’re sure it’s custom-made. His family’s ring is heavy on his left hand.
He sits down at the table, the side close to you. “I hope I’m interrupting something,” he says with a smooth look.
“What are you doing here?” You ask with a smile.
“I texted you that I was in town, remember?” He signals the waiter, who appears with an ice bucket and a bottle of wine already open and chilled. “I was disappointed when you said you couldn’t have dinner with me. Imagine my surprise when I saw you walk in here, in that beautiful dress, with that beautiful smile.”
The waiter sets down a third glass and pours the wine.
“You know, my psychic told me this was a very important trip. I thought she meant it was business related, but now I’m not so sure.” Leto holds up his glass.
“You and your psychics,” you roll your eyes, but hold up your glass and cheers with him, taking only a small sip
Santiago sits down in the seat opposite you. “What are we toasting?” He asks you, but he’s looking at Leto with narrowed, sharp eyes.
*****
Benny has the baby upside down, making him giggle uncontrollably with raspberries on his fat little stomach.
The doorbell rings and Benny tips the baby back up to answer it.
“Hey, Catfish, what’re you doing here? I said I had everything under control,” Benny says with an easy smile. But there’s a slight annoyance to his tone.
They both know why Frankie’s here. Adult supervision for what the rest of Delta thinks are two children. Benny blocks the doorway with his muscled frame.
“I know you’re good, man, but my kid’s at their grandma’s for the night and my lady’s working late,” Frankie says. “And I brought pizza. So, stop bitching. It’s cold out tonight, fucking windy.”
He shoulders his way inside, boxes and bags in hand.
The baby looks out the open door. “Konshu.”
“Whatever that means,” Benny says and closes the door. “Hey, you know the code to Pope’s safe?” He asks Frankie.
*****
“I think the Army uses Atreides satellite targeting systems,” Santiago says over his wine glass.
You’re relieved he’s playing nice. You thought he’d be a little territorial, finally meeting Leto in person.
The one ex that your family still talks about. Not just because Leto’s family is rich beyond belief, but because he’s high-profile rich. And also, very handsome and overly educated and a captivating public speaker and notorious for doing the right thing and oh fuck.
Santi’s lulled you into a sense of complacency. He hasn’t been playing nice, he’s been looking for weaknesses, and spots to set snares and traps.
“Not anymore,” Leto says. “Since I took over the Atreides holdings I’ve gotten us out of military contracting and mining in emerging countries. They can both be a little inhumane. I’m trying to do things better.”
“Better? Better than what?” Santiago says. You tap your foot into his, sensing that Santi is trying to lead Leto down the path to an argument.
Leto turns his head and smiles, lays his hand over yours. “That was my foot, sweetheart. But if you want to play footsie, I’m not going to argue.”
Santi gives you a long-suffering look. He takes another drink of wine.
You know that you should move Leto along, go back to date night with just the two of you. Especially since Leto is flirtier than you remember him, a little less all business.
But you haven’t seen Santiago in a mood like this in awhile (not since that weird day out where you got hit on about a hundred times, but that was probably because you’d accidentally left a button undone on your shirt and everyone had thought you were open for business).
You’d asked Santiago long ago to tone down the macho posturing. Use the energy for something more useful. But you have to admit, as wrong-headed as it is, there’s also something sexy about the throw-back of it all.
Santi always appreciates you, lets you know how much you mean to him, but it’s been awhile since he’s ordered you around in bed, making you tell him over and over who you belong to.
With a little push in the right direction, though, you might be able to get him back there.
“So, you’re married,” Leto says, running his hand over the thick hair of his beard. “I wish I’d known. I would have sent something.”
“I’m sure you would’ve,” Santiago mumbles.
Leto politely ignores him. “I promised we’d stay in touch.”
“I’m sure you did,” Santiago says into his empty wine glass.
You clear your throat, swap his empty wine glass for your full one. “How’s Paul? I see him online all the time, but you can’t ever really tell if people are happy from press, right?”
A fond, but tired smile crosses Leto’s face. “He calls himself a mega influencer. I try to stay out of it. His vision for the future is really something, though. I try to help him make it happen where I can.”
“That’s really admirable. You always were a wonderful father,” you say.
Santiago makes big eyes at you.
“And Santiago, my husband, is also amazing,” you say.
“Gee, thanks, baby,” Santi says to you, dark eyes glittering in the low light.
*****
“Frank, I’m the babysitter,” Benny says, almost whiny, as Frankie bends his tall body over to hold the baby’s hands and help him walk around the room.
“We’re just going for a walk, Ben, relax. Have some more pizza.”
Benny growls in frustration. The doorbell rings. He jogs over to answer. It’s Will.
“I brought pizza,” Will says.
Benny opens the door so his brother can see inside.
Frank and Will lock eyes.
“I said I was coming over,” Frankie says.
“No, we agreed that I was coming over,” Will says. “Whatever. We’re both here now. There’s no way Benny can get into trouble with two of us watching him.”
He hands Benny the boxes of pizza from the exact same place Frankie had ordered from.
“Beer in the fridge?” Will says.
“Will you both get out?” Benny almost shouts. “I’m almost as old as you. I’ve been through the same shit you assholes have been through. Pope asked me to watch his kid because he knows I’m a responsible adult. You two old biddies need to find someone else to bother because you’re done with me. Starting now.”
The baby looks up at Frankie. Frankie shrugs. “I don’t know what his problem is, kid. Probably too much protein powder. It can kind of gum up the works, you know? Makes people cranky, when we should all just get along.”
Benny closes his eyes. “I’ve got a fucking headache.”
“Sit your ass down,” Will says. “If you stop throwing a tantrum, I’ll open the safe in Pope’s closet for you.”
Benny cracks one eye open. “He trusted you with that code?”
Will grins. “No, but it’s what? Six digits? I think I can figure it out.”
*****
“You built this yourself?” Leto asks, scrolling through the photos of the back porch of your house.
“Well, me and the guys,” Santi says. He slips off his suit jacket and a waiter is there immediately to hang it on a hook on the wall. “We got it done before the baby was born, which was the important thing. And we’re putting up the drywall on the new baby’s room next weekend.”
Leto looks up at you from Santi’s phone. He has a big smile on his face. “Another? Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” you say. “It was a surprise, but a good one.”
“A great one,” Santi winks at you, putting an immediate flutter in your stomach.
Leto hands Santi back his phone. “I’m useless around the house,” he says. “Much better at fundraising and corporate law.”
“No one’s perfect,” Santi says as the appetizers are set down. He reaches down and takes the pieces of cracker off your plate without asking.
“Thanks,” you say.
Leto watches the exchange. He tilts his head subtly at Santi.
“The menu said they’re made with that weird kind of flour. She hates it,” Santi says, popping them into his mouth. “It’s the little things in a relationship that really matter, you know? Why did you two break up again?”
You sigh quietly.
“I work a lot,” Leto says, picking through his salad. “I’m overseas probably half of the year. You’d know about being away from home, though, wouldn’t you?”
Santi nods, takes a drink of water. Sets the glass down, thoughtful for a moment. “Used to, yeah. But I met this woman right here and I couldn’t think of anything worth leaving her for. Not for a day, or a weekend. Definitely not months at a time.”
Leto looks serious again.
“I would’ve been a complete fucking idiot to let her slip out of my life. So, I didn’t,” Santiago says, talking more to you than to Leto now. “It’s like winning the lottery every day I wake up.”
You feel tears gather along your lower lash line. To you, no one holds a candle to Santiago Garcia. Father of your children, husband of the year, every year now and forever, who always saves his very sweetest words for you.
“You certainly have a way about you,” Leto says, scratching his beard.
But maybe you could talk Santi into letting his scruff grow out a little longer.
*****
“Shut up. I know what I’m doing,” Benny says. The baby is laid out on the kitchen table, diaper off.
Frankie is looking over one of his shoulders, Will over the other.
“You have to put the diaper on, man,” Frankie says.
“You’re hesitating,” Will says in that deep, patient voice. “Hesitation kills.”
Frankie pokes Benny in the shoulder. “That means do it now. You don’t get it. Baby boys-“
Benny raises his hand sharply to shut Frankie up. “I can change a fucking diaper. I’ve changed like, ten.”
“I’m not saying you can’t. We’re just saying hurry up,” Frankie says urgently.
“Why?” Benny gives them both a dirty look.
The baby kicks his feet and immediately starts peeing again, a stream of liquid that shoots straight up and hits Benny square in the chest.
“Who’s side are you on?” Benny asks the baby.
*****
“I still have dreams about that garden,” you say, groaning.
“You should stop by. I mean it. We open it to the public once a month, but I know the owner and I’m sure I could get you a tour,” Leto jokes as you reminisce about staying at his family’s estate outside of Seattle with him.
“Leto’s mother planted it herself,” you explain to Santiago. “It’s huge and gorgeous. Like a jungle in his backyard.”
“You used to love it out there. I’d always catch you working or reading under the trees. You spent many an afternoon with the backside of your jeans soaking wet from sitting on the ground,” Leto says with a smile.
“Oh, honey, show him our garden,” you say excitedly to Santiago. “Santi dug it out for me two summers ago. Come on.”
Santi takes his phone back out.
“The flowers are all coming back really great, but it turns out I couldn’t grow a vegetable for shit. But look at this,” you take Santi’s phone, swiping until you get to the ones of the big, bushy tomato plants. “Santiago Garcia is the tomato-whisperer. Look. Roma, tomatillo, heritage. The man can do it all.”
You beam at Santiago, who looks back at you in a very non-family-friendly way.
“Really? Tomatoes? That’s what’s doing it for you?” You say before you can stop yourself.
“You just look gorgeous in this light,” Santi says.
*****
Frankie is asleep, head tipped over the back of the couch, snoring like a diesel engine. Will’s chin is to his chest, eyes closed, despite the fact that he “wasn’t sleeping” thirty seconds ago.
“Who’s the best babysitter now?” Benny asks the baby, taking him upstairs to bed. “Those guys think they’re so fucking smart. But we know what’s up. Don’t we, buddy?”
"Konshu," the baby agrees.
Benny switches the baby to his other arm. He doesn’t know what a toddler is exactly, but this baby is growing like a weed. He takes the baby into your bedroom.
“Let’s see if Uncle Will’s as smart as he thinks he is,” Benny says, opening the closet. He sets the baby on the ground between the plastic storage bins. He punches in the code, a scrambled version of your anniversary.
The safe beeps and unlocks.
“We won’t let your Uncle Will know his first guess was right, okay?” Benny winks at the baby and opens the safe with a groan. “Oh, you’re fucking kidding me.”
Benny reaches in and picks up a Polaroid of Pope holding up a middle finger to the camera: Benny, better luck next time, written on the bottom.
The baby laughs. Benny scrutinizes him. “Were you in on this?” Benny picks him back up. “Well, you got me good, buddy. I admit it. But I get the last laugh because it’s bedtime. Come on.”
Benny walks down the hall, makes sure the little nightlight on the dresser is on before he lays the baby down in the crib. He takes his phone out and shows the baby. “Look at these two hotties you helped me score.”
The baby smiles. “Konshu.”
“Okay,” Benny says, tucking the stuffed hippo in the corner of the crib, “I’m going to Google that because you’ve been saying that all day.”
He squints at the screen.
“Don’t tell anybody, but I think I might need glasses. Okay, here it is. Ancient Egyptian god of the moon, blah blah blah, justice, blah blah blah, fertility and healing. Huh. Maybe he’s the reason you mom got knocked up again so fast. Wish he would fix your dad’s shitty knees, though. Where the hell did you even learn a word like Konshu?”
The nightlight flickers and Benny reaches over and smacks it. The light blinks and steadies back on, but a soft, steady blue instead of the orange it was before.
Benny puts his phone away. He puts his hands on his hips and looks down at the baby, who smiles up at him.
“Yeah, I’m your favorite,” he tickles the baby’s tummy, runs a hand through his hair. “Okay. So, I don’t know your dad’s fancy good night song. But, do you like Al Green?”
*****
“Benny, it’s okay, just put the phone down by him and I’ll sing it,” Santi says into his phone. He looks apologetically at you and then gets up and walks out toward the front of the restaurant.
“The baby likes this one, made-up song that Santi sings,” you explain to Leto. “He has trouble going to sleep without it.”
Leto leans back, letting the waiter clear the dessert dishes from the table. He covers your hand with his again.
“You look very happy,” he says with a small smile.
“You look stressed, Leto,” you say. “I mean, you always look stressed. More than usual.”
He lets your hand go, scratches his beard. “Seeing you here with your Santiago, I think. You were the first real, adult relationship I ever had. Paul’s mom and I had an arrangement, and we loved each other, but,” he pauses, sighing, “I guess we can’t have it all, can we?”
He spins the Atreides signet ring on his hand. You know how heavy it is, literally and figuratively. It’s given him everything he is, and he’s proud of his family and his work.
But it’s also stood in the way of a lot of things he’s wanted. Including you.
Leto leans over and kisses your cheek. “It was good to see you.”
“You too, Leto.”
He stands up. “I almost feel bad for intruding on your date night.”
You laugh. “Almost. I kind of feel the same. Santi’s cute when he’s all riled up. And I know you don’t mean it.”
“No, I guess our timing was off,” Leto says with a sigh. “The most I can do for you now is make your husband a little jealous.”
You'd forgotten his dry humor. The almost playful side of Leto is one he rarely lets out, but it never fails to stir up trouble.
Leto grins, easy-going if only for a moment. “Doesn’t hurt to remind Santiago that you have options.”
Santiago’s hand hits the table, hard. “What the fuck did you just say?” He says to Leto, apparently returning at the exact wrong time.
You lay a hand on his arm. “Leto was just joking, honey.”
“It didn’t sound like a joke. It sounded like he was trying to make a move on my wife,” Santiago says. “I thought the Atreides were all about honor.”
“Don’t do that,” you say to Santiago as he starts unbuttoning his shirt sleeves. “Stop it.”
Leto holds up his hands. “It was a joke in poor taste. I’m sorry. I wasn’t hitting on her. I’m actually seeing someone myself now.”
Santiago pauses, scanning Leto with his bullshit detector.
“You remember my assistant?” Leto looks at you.
“That’s great,” you say with a smile.
“Is it?” Leto looks confused. “Why?”
“She always had a thing for you. She’s sweet and smart. She knows about your family, but isn’t intimidated by everything. I think it’s a perfect match,” you stand up and hug him. “You should probably leave before someone calls the paparazzi to catch you fistfighting my husband,” you whisper into his ear.
“I was a solder too, for a time,” Leto says with a smile. “But I take your point.”
He holds out his hand and Santiago, to his credit, doesn’t hesitate to shake it. Leto leans in to kiss your cheek, but thinks better of it. He runs a hand over your shoulder and tells you both good night.
Santiago’s face is grim as he watches Leto leave.
He takes his suit jacket off the peg and shoves his arms into the sleeves. “I already paid for dinner, we can go.”
“Oh? Leto didn’t pick it up? I, um…”
You trail off at Santiago’s searing-hot glare. You press your lips together dramatically. His hand is firm on your lower back as you exit the restaurant.
Maybe you’d pushed Santi a little too far.
“Is the valet bringing the car around?” You ask.
“No, we’re going across the street,” Santiago says shortly, fixing his lapels. He still seems pissed.
“To that hotel bar? It’s a nice thought, Santi, but we should get home and relieve Benny,” you say, grabbing his hand and threading your fingers through his.
“Benny’s got it under control. He put the baby, Will, and Frankie down to sleep. I asked him to stay over. We’re not going to be bar.” Santi squints one of his eyes and points up at the building. “I got us a hotel room for the night.”
“That wasn’t the plan,” you say hesitantly.
Santiago turns and grabs your other hand so you face him. He pulls you closer until he can run the rough stubble of his chin over your cheek, rest his lips against the shell of your ear.
“My plan,” he whispers, “was to have you all to myself tonight. I had to adapt. And now, so do you,” he kisses your ear, “princess.”
Heat pools in your stomach. Santi hasn’t called you that in quite awhile.
You feel his lips smile as your body tenses. His hands untangle from yours and glide smoothly over your hips. “I think you need a little reminder, don’t you? I think you’re a little too used to being treated like a mom, like the queen you are. But we both know what you need.”
He cups your neck in one of his hands. “Tell me,” he says.
“I need you,” you say quietly.
“Not good enough. Not after I watched your eyes sparkle for your ex all night. Try again, princess.”
You run your hands up his chest, then under his jacket. “I belong to you.”
Santi nods approvingly and takes your hand, walks you across the street when the light changes.
“I like date night,” you say to Santi as the doorman opens the hotel doors for you.
“I already asked Benny to babysit again next month,” Santi says. He pauses outside of the elevators. “Wait here. I’m going to pick up the key. And you’re not going to speak unless spoken to.”
You don’t bother fighting your smile. “Whatever you say, Santi.”
Santiago fake winces. “Strike one. You really have forgotten how this goes.”
Shit. You had forgotten. But you were looking forward to re-learning the rules.
Santiago comes back, an actual metal key in his hand and a very dark look on his face. You keep your mouth shut, but stare at him. He steps onto the elevator with you and presses the ‘P’ for Penthouse.
You nudge him with your elbow.
“Yes, we’re going to the Penthouse. Turns out the hotel is owned by Leto Atreides and he comped us for the night. So, we’re going to order two expensive bottles of champagne and we’re going to introduce ourselves to every single inch of that suite.”
The elevator dings and the doors open on a gorgeous foyer. Santiago is already taking off his tie. “Find the bed, but don’t get undressed. That’s my privilege tonight” he says, “I’m going to check in with Benny one last time.”
You smile at him. He grins, more like his usual self.
“Go ahead, you can say something,” he says lightly.
You wrap your arms around him. “I love you.”
He kisses you deeply. “I love you too, baby. Your ex was wrong by the way, we can have it all.”
You tilt your head back to look at him. “You’re so unbelievably sneaky. You heard the whole conversation. You weren’t ever going to fight him, were you?”
Santiago runs his thumb over your cheekbone, his brown eyes smiling.
“You really have forgotten who you’re dealing with,” he says with a disappointed shake of his head. “I reserved at this hotel a month ago under your name, hoping Leto would find out. The same thing with the restaurant, which he also owns.”
Your mouth drops open slightly. Santiago looks all too pleased with himself.
“You wanted Leto to show,” you say, somewhere between horrified and impressed.
“I didn’t need him to show up, baby. I needed to show him. And I did.” Santiago’s hands run down your body possessively, sending a very specific electricity through your body. One you haven’t felt in awhile. “Now, I’m going to show you too.”
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