Sugar On The Rim I

Sugar on the Rim I

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

warnings: implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), mentions of sex, smut in next part

You twist the stem of the wine glass around between your fingers slowly. Your chin rests atop your knees as you stare vacantly at the tiny puddle left of the drink. You could go refill it, but then you’d have to go back out to the main room and man…you really do not want to do that. So you’ll sit here, swiping your tongue across the bumps of the roof of your mouth as if it's a fascinating new discovery.

The creak of hinges has you shooting upright, your back thumping against the stair step behind you. You’re not immediately sure how to act as though it’s normal that you’re sitting in the stairwell outside the gala rather than in it, fraternizing with old and new money alike. You freeze, trying to relax your posture so it doesn’t look like you’re alarmed at the sight of another person, but not so relaxed that you look as bored as you are.

Your neutrality stutters when you glance up to find the host of the fundraiser. The billionaire host of the fundraiser. Bruce Wayne, the billionaire host of the fundraiser. Your posture straightens right back up and your mouth snaps shut as you make eye contact.

Should you stand up?

No, he’s rich, not royalty.

You are in his house though—

He looks you over contemplatively, “I don’t know you,” It’s not accusatory, rather he says it like it’s something interesting.

You perk up at that, immediately formulating reasons to justify your presence. “Oh, uh, no—” the words nearly spill out of your mouth all at once. You clear your throat, “I’m just a plus one for my boss—”

“Who’s your boss?” he asks, relaxed.

“Arthur Mullins.”

He looks to the side, squinting, “Mullins…he’s the executive at Williamson Industries, yes?”

You nod and he returns the gesture, slower, like he’s processing through something. “I’m Bruce,” he says warmly after a moment, holding his hand out to you.

You nod before you can even think to get any words to come out, “I—yeah, I know,” you accept his hand, shaking it as you tell him your name.

There’s a slight glint in his eye when he hears your name, and he repeats it quietly to himself. “A pretty name.”

“Oh, it’s just…” Just your name. But rather than fill him in on that fascinating tidbit, you let the sentence die off.

He smiles kindly anyway, “What are you doing in here? Party’s out there, or so they tell me.”

“I…I’m hiding in here,” you admit sheepishly.

He leans in towards you slightly, lowering his voice. “I’ll let you in on a secret—so am I,” he smiles at you like it’s easy.

Your grin matches his, “It’s your party,”

“That’s why I need to hide.” He tilts his head, “Doesn’t give you much of an excuse though, does it?”

“I don’t know anybody here.”

He puckers his bottom lip contemplatively, “Your boss.”

You shake your head, “I’m just his assistant. I’m pretty sure he just brought me as a precaution in case he needed a designated driver.”

He laughs at that, “Based on the way I’ve seen Mullins’ attempts to operate, his assistant would have to be a hell of a lot more important than just a designated driver.”

Well, he’s certainly right about that. Your boss doesn’t exactly “have it together” per se. He’s an unorganized man with little to justify his importance in Gotham, so he tends to insist on taking on more responsibility than he has any business having. Not to mention, he’s a bit of a try-hard and you’re constantly left to sweep up the pieces of his reputation that he shattered himself. Not to say he’s necessarily unprofessional, he just will do anything and everything to prove he belongs in any given space. It’s honestly a bit exhausting to watch. It’s more exhausting to try and convince him that the exchange went well afterwards.

You nod slowly, eyes on his shoes. “Mr. Mullins has…a unique approach to business. It does usually leave me fairly busy, I’ll give you that.” You take a quick deep breath, plastering on a fake smile. “But that means I occasionally get to go to fancy parties where I don’t know anyone, so..”

“Well then it sounds like you’ve got it all worked out,” he ribs, “Or don’t you agree?”

You smile coyly, “I would never be so bold.”

“I don’t mind boldness. For example, the reason I came in here is because he spotted me.”

You laugh at that, “Mr. Wayne—”

“Bruce.”

“Mr. Wayne,” you suppress your smile as you pause, choosing your words carefully. “I think he’s just networking.” He doesn’t have the money to give.

He nods surely, “He’s definitely just networking.” He really doesn’t have the money to give. You allow just the faintest wisp of a smile to adorn your face as you look down again.

You check the time and realize that you’ve been hiding away for too long and that if he hasn’t already, your boss will notice soon. You sigh quietly to yourself, “I should..”

He turns his head to the closed door where the chatter can be heard from beyond, sighing in defeat as he shakes his head looking back at you. “So should I.”

You feel a bit insecure as you stand, the gown you’re wearing is pretty but it is very much affordable and you’re sure someone as wealthy as Bruce Wayne would know the difference.

If he does notice he makes no deal of it, motioning you forward gallantly to walk ahead of him.

He follows after you, hands behind his back. “Would it be rude of me to ask you to distract him while I run for the bar?”

It’s busy, even for a Sunday afternoon, and you have to sidestep past someone nearly every step you take. You stick next to the windows of the line of boutiques down the road, trying to balance window shopping and not bumping into other pedestrians.

You're in a nicer district of Gotham, truthfully an area you don't quite belong in. So far you’ve only managed to find a couple shops that weren’t several ranges above your budget.

A call of your name has you blinking rapidly and turning around as if you’re lost. It doesn’t take long for you to pick the six foot two billionaire out of the crowd and it’s only half a second longer before you realize he’s walking towards you. A few people collide shoulders with you as they move past thoughtlessly, no regard for the personal space of the idiot that stopped in the flow of traffic.

You let him approach a couple feet closer before you ask him, “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Wayne?” The presence of his figure in front of you allows for a break from being bumped into, as he seemingly makes for a far more easily seen and intentionally avoided target.

He sways a bit, “Bruce. I’m not sure yet,” he looks down to the couple of bags you’re holding, extending his hand out. “May I?”

It takes you just a moment to move past your surprise at the request, allowing him to hold them for you. “Are you in a rush?”

You shake your head quicker than you meant to, “No, I—not at all,” he gestures his head forward, allowing you to walk before him.

You traipse ahead in silence for a moment before deciding against biting your tongue, “What exactly is it you’re not sure about?”

He raises his voice a bit so you can hear him over the crowd, “Whether or not you’ve got plans on the 19th.”

You look back at him, “What’s on the 19th?”

He stops with you as you admire a set of jewelry inside a window display, “We’re hosting a gala for something or something else, hopefully less boring than the fundraiser.”

You blink, “You’re inviting me?” He nods. “Why?”

“I could use someone who wants to be there even less than I do.”

He said it so casually it takes you a second to even register his meaning. You blink, face contorting defensively, “That’s not—” you can barely make out the smile on his face as he continues on walking.

You shake your composure back together and trail after him, rushing to catch up. “I don’t think Mr. Mullins would be very happy to hear that I’m attending a business gala without him.”

He shakes his head as he scans over the crowd, “He can’t fire you for that.”

“He’ll try.” He would. A petty little man, he is.

He scans across the rows of clothes leisurely. “Well, then he can speak to me about it. Besides, it wouldn’t be for business.” And then he just lets that sentence linger.

It takes you a moment to recover from those words and begin to start processing the world around you again. After a few more feet down the sidewalk he pulls you gently to the side by your lower arm, out of the rush of traffic, and looks at you dead on, “What do you think?”

You try not to waver under the weight of the eye contact, “I don’t…uh, I don’t really have…” you look down, hoping to get the message across without actually having to say the words.

He glances into the store window next to you and raises his eyebrows, “Well then I’d say we’re in the right place.”

You can’t manage to tell him that this store is definitely far too expensive for you, walking through the door as he opens it for you, albeit apprehensively.

Well. Up close window shopping is more fun anyways.

The spotless white of the floors and walls has you intimidated, and just as much so by less by the no doubt designer clothes lining the walls. The saleswomen all look pretty highbrow themselves, hair up in tight buns and uniforms chic.

You only break from gawking at the store to look behind you at Bruce. You note the way his eyes roam around blindly, looking for something and clearly having no means to narrow down where it might be. You take one more glance around, immediately finding the women's section with no such difficulty.

“This way.” You say, nodding your head over to the left. He recovers nicely and lets you lead the way towards the section of dresses. You peer back at him, “You don’t seem like someone that does much of his own shopping.”

Thankfully, he laughs at that. “Well, special occasions.”

You keep your gaze ahead this time, asking as casually as you can, “Is this a special occasion?”

He hums in consideration, “I’d say so.”

You stop upon approaching the dress section, taking in the immediately stunning display of options.

“What are you doing up here anyways?” you ask, hand brushing across a particularly plush dress.

“Ah, I was headed to a meeting.”

“Oh,” you frown, looking at him. “Don’t you need to go?”

He shakes his head with a puckered lower lip, “No.”

A few seemingly heiresses roam down the aisle mindlessly, not caring much that you’re in their path.

Bruce sees them before you do, knowing well that they were not going to excuse themselves. “Sweetheart,” he nudges you gently to the side, closer to him as the group passes. His hand remained open-palmed and flat as he guided you to the side, seemingly very careful not to touch you with uninvited boldness. Though you’re quite shaken by the chivalry of the gesture, a brazen touch wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world.

As your arm brushes against a rack of clothing your gaze follows, met with something rather appealing.

Bruce is quick to notice you admiring the sleek black dress that looks like something you’d see a model wearing on a runway. “You like that one?”

“It’s nice, yeah,” you murmur, not really thinking. You flip the price tag over and your face drops. “It’s $800.”

He nods thoughtfully, “We can find a nicer one,” he says, though it’s clear he knows exactly what your problem with the price tag was.

“I can’t—” you restart, “I would never have a reason to wear something this nice again.”

He shakes his head coolly, “That’s alright.”

Your shoulders drop and your head tilts seriously, “It’s not, though.”

“You like it?” He looks you in the eyes, his own searching for a truthful answer.

“I mean, of course, but it—”

He nods affirmatively, “Then we’ll get it. Problem solved.” He turns his back to the rack, casually observing the rest of the store goers. “Pick your size.”

Apparently not one to argue, you thumb through the row until you find one that should fit.

You sigh, realizing that you’re running out of time to mention that you don’t have $800 to spend on a dress. “I can’t—”

“You don’t need to,” he says simply as he takes the dress off the rack and drapes it across his arm, making his way towards the salescounter.

You try to stop your mouth from hanging open as you follow, “It really is okay, I don’t need—”

His grin cuts you off, just in time for you to hear him mutter, “Sweet girl..” to himself. You stop right in your tracks, feeling very thankful that he’s not looking at you right now because you’re certain the look on your face would give you away.

He still doesn’t face you as he calls out, “Come on,” as he continues on.

Obviously you’re not stupid. You know what type of intentions a billionaire playboy must have with a younger girl that he doesn’t even really know. However, if said billionaire is offering to buy you a pretty dress…no, you’re not sleeping with him because he bought you a dress—of course not—and you’ve made absolutely no promises to do so, so what’s the harm in letting him? Really?

And yeah, maybe it’s a plus that he’s not bad looking, but how is that your fault?

You stand a bit awkwardly next to him as he puts his card in the machine, not even glancing at the outrageous number, and declines the offer for the receipt.

As you exit the store together and stand at the doors as he hands your original two bags back to you along with the new shiny black one that on its own looks like something people would pay for.

“You will be there?” he asks, eyes more hopeful than you were prepared for.

You nod, gesturing the bag up, “Well you just bought me the dress.”

He shrugs that off, “I would’ve bought you the dress anyways.”

You linger in the midst of the ado wearing a dress that you feel far too overshadowed by, fidgeting with the half empty wine glass in your hand. Unfortunately, this time around you were invited by the host of the event and it would be extra rude to run away and hide. That doesn’t stop you from considering it, though.

A hand sliding across your lower back has you momentarily startled, and for reasons you couldn’t quite verbalize, you’d naturally assumed it was Bruce. The disappointment rings strong when you turn around to be met with the sight of an even older man, who looks considerably wine drunk.

“Hello there, Miss.,” The words themselves are polite but the salacious smile on his face and the way his eyes have no trouble roaming your body gives you a solid idea of what this conversation is going to entail.

“Hello,” you fake a polite, tight smile and shift your attention to the rest of the room.

This does nothing to deter him, as he takes a sizable step back into your line of sight. “Having a nice time?”

The man is clearly from money, if his attire didn’t give it away his attitude sure did. There’s an heir of entitlement around him, like he’s inherently deservant of your attention—a quality you were notably surprised to not have found in Bruce.

You give him your faux-smile again, this time tighter but half a second longer for the sake of politeness. A rookie mistake.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks, gesturing to the bar.

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say, gesturing your wine glass up.

A momentary flash of irritation crosses his face, but to his credit, he does a better job recovering from it than you would have expected. Though, that’s not really saying much. “Well, pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be all alone here,”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Both of your heads snap to the side, finding a much more welcome surprise than you’d previously received.

Your counterpart's posture straightens immediately, “Mr. Wayne,” he fawns, “What a lovely event you’ve thrown. I’m sure the Bernsteins will be appreciative.”

Bruce hums, eyes narrowed slightly. “You are…”

The man startles and rushes to finish off his sentence, “Alexander Watson, senior executive to the accounting department for the research wing of the company.”

He nods slowly, no recognition actually present in his eyes. “Ah. The research wing of the company that just blew fifteen million dollars on prototype self-operating cell phones.”

You’re trying hard to fight the smile creeping up on your face.

“What exactly is a self-operating cell phone?”

Watson’s face drops, hurrying to justify his approval of the proposal’s funding. As he rambles, Bruce’s gaze lowers to where Watson has once again placed his hand on your hip, though he’s not close enough to you for it to rest fully or naturally. You don’t know him well but you can say confidently that he doesn’t look pleased.

He looks back up to Watson, attitude challenging. “Surely you’re not poking around where you’re unwelcome?”

Watson stutters at that, blinking and shaking his head quickly. “No, no, of course not! I was just hoping to provide the young lady with some company. That’s all.”

“And so you have.”

“I—,” about two steps behind in this conversation, Watson finally decides to retreat, “Yes, good evening, Mr. Wayne.” He bows his head and shuffles away back into the crowd.

“Mr. Wayne,” you smile knowingly, turning to him. “How are you?”

The hardness of his gaze fades quickly as he takes in your appearance, quite liking how you wear the dress you’d picked out.

“Things are looking up,” he smiles, “You look lovely.”

“Thank you,” you glance over to where Watson has made his way to the bar, likely about to down an entire glass. “Mr., uh, Mr. Watson makes quite the impression.”

His smile turns a bit sullen, “You know last year he tried to convince the board that battery-powered battery chargers were going to be the next big thing?”

You blink, tilting your head, “Thought you didn’t know who he was.”

His eyes are fixed on the wall as he tugs the corner of his lip down, knowing he’s been caught but not really caring. “I’m sorry to have been away for so long, it seems everyone needs my attention at these things.”

“At the gala that you threw? I’d imagine so.”

He rolls past that smoothly, “You’re having a good time?”

“I am,” you say with a confirming head bob.

He regards the room with a numb expression, “You know, I think I’m getting bored with all of this.”

You smile at him, brow furrowed, “It’s only been an hour.”

He looks at you, eyes wide. “It’s only been an hour?” He’s exaggerating his surprise to make you smile, and it works.

“I think we should go,” he says lower.

You stare at him, bemused. “You still have a whole room full of guests.”

He shrugs, “They’ll filter out on their own eventually.”

He clocks your hesitation easily, accurately noting it to be more out of politeness than actually wanting to stay at the party. “What, you’re not ready to leave?”

You look around at all the mostly old, posh guests, disinterested small talk evident all across the room. You take a breath, “Alright, yeah. Let’s go.”

He smiles and leads you out a side door and through a corridor that’s significantly longer than you’d expected.

“Do you always ditch your parties this early?” you ask, following closely.

He makes a sharp right at the next doorway, “If I can manage it.”

You look around at the high wooden ceilings and grand furniture. “Aren’t some of them friends of yours?”

He shakes his head, “My friends aren’t here.”

You frown at that, “Then why do you throw them at all?”

“Why did you show up last weekend?”

You nod slowly, understanding. “It’s your job.”

He returns the nod, adding, “Only difference is, there’s not a chance in hell you get paid enough for the work you do for Mullins.”

For the sake of maintaining your wishful facade of professionalism, you’re going to not acknowledge that incredibly accurate statement. Instead you smile politely and continue on walking. He seems to get the implication, returning it with an even brighter adornment.

“Well, money’s money,” you say wryly.

His smile fades a bit, “You shouldn’t have to worry about things like that.”

You shrug, “A day in the life,”

He looks sullen upon hearing that, with more sympathy than you’d have expected from someone of his stature. He’s done nothing if not surprise you, though.

“Here,” he says, taking hold of the handle of a glass door. It opens to a garden, lit up beautifully by the moon and outdoor light. A fountain sits in the middle, water rhythmically gushing out of the top and trickling down the sides. The bite of the Gotham night air burns at your cheeks a bit and you find yourself thankful the dress you’d chosen is so long.

Bruce leads the way to an expensive marble bench positioned nicely in front of it, allowing you to sit first before following suit. Your hands find a place in your lap, clasped together awkwardly in an attempt to find warmth through contact.

It takes Bruce less than ten seconds to stand, remove his suit jacket, and drape it over your shoulders before sitting back down. The material is thicker and warmer than you would’ve expected, surely reminiscent of the perks of being owned by a billionaire.

He doesn’t look at you to acknowledge the grateful expression on your face, simply carrying on like it didn’t happen. “Was hoping it was warmer,” he murmurs.

Your focus momentarily goes to the icy cold stone of the bench under your thighs, initially finding it uncomfortable before deciding the coolness actually felt quite soothing. You remove your gaze from the gray stone and turn your head to find Bruce already focused on you.

You start to say something, though you’re not sure what it would’ve been, when he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down.

Well, he certainly knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he?

His eyes stay on your lower lip as he murmurs, “You’re a pretty girl, you know that?”

God, he’s a professional.

You look up at him and refrain from saying anything, waiting to see if he follows it up with something that will make you regret agreeing to coming out here with him.

He doesn’t.

You shift, moving your hands off your lap to rest on the stone under you. “You can’t just do this—”

He smiles and lowers his chin to look you in the eyes, “Then what can I do for you?”

“You—” you blink rapidly, “Stop it.”

His coy beam persists, “Stop what?”

You raise your gaze up to him ever so slightly, a pouty expression across your face that you’re trying to sell as serious. “You’re trying to make me nervous.”

“Do I make you nervous?” He tilts his head down further, a ghost of a smile echoing on his lips, “I don’t mean to, sweet girl.”

Your eyes drop to the ground, biting your tongue. “Yeah.”

His simper grows, “I’m serious. I’d hate to scare away a new friend.”

You laugh at that and he perks up a bit at the sound, “What? We’re not friends?”

You cock your head to the side, “You’re the one who said none of your friends are here.”

He hums, “Maybe I spoke too soon.”

“You think so?” You should probably stop flirting so much.

“Yeah,” he leans in a bit closer, “I do.”

“Why’s that?”

“Maybe I want to be your friend,” his hand finds a place atop yours.

Your eyes flicker across his face as he closes in, “What if I don’t want to be yours?”

His eyes are on your lips, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

You take a slow deep breath, “Your intentions are blurry.”

He smiles lightly, amused. “We’ll have to clear that up then, won’t we?” His lips are inches away and his voice is soft as he says, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

You look up at him eyes wide, barely processing his words as you nod. He gently grasps your jaw in his hand, tilting your head up. His other hand finds the back of your head, holding you in place as he kisses you with intention. Your hands hover in the air for a second before holding onto his forearms.

He breaks the kiss only to give you another sweet one right after. Your mouths remain close when it’s over, eyes still shut, trying to catch your breath. You stay like that for a moment until he kisses you once more on your cheekbone before pulling away. His hands drop to rest on your knees, the weight of them gentle.

He hums lowly, “Sweet thing..”

Being under the heaviness of his gaze leaves you feeling vulnerable. It’s starting to get you concerned with the potential levity and implications of kissing him. The expectations.

“You…” you stare down at where his hands meet your skin, not quite sure that you actually meant to start that sentence.

“What?” he frowns, brow pinched. Your chin lowers further as your mouth forms a tight line. He shakes his head, “No, it’s alright. What is it?” he asks gently.

It takes a surge of willpower for you to get the sentence out, “You just want to sleep with me..”

He frowns harder at that, pulling back a bit. “No. I’m…” he sighs, “I’m not trying to lure you in just to toss you out right after.”

That makes you look up again. His voice has a sincerity to it that you weren’t prepared for.

He continues, “I would like to, yes. Yeah. You’re beautiful, of course I would, but..” he looks down at his hands before looking back up at you, “No, that’s not the most important thing to me.”

You break eye contact again, thinking over his words. If that’s not the most important thing to him, what is? You can’t think of what else he could possibly want from you, a billionaire who could have anything he wants..the only thing you could have to offer in his eyes is sex.

Right?

He exhales, “If you want to leave, I’ll call you a car. No hard feelings.” He nudges your chin up gently so you’ll look at him, but he gives you the freedom to fight against it if you wanted to.

You let him move you.

“I don’t want to leave,” you tell him, looking into his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you want,” he says it like it’s automatic. You physically can’t help but roll your eyes at the corniness of it. He doubles down, though, “Seriously. Anything.”

You smile in disbelief, shaking your head.

“Alright,” he returns your smile, straightening, “Here’s what we’re going to do. Do you need a ride home?”

You blink at him, “I’m going home?”

“You are,” he nods softly, “Do you need a ride?”

“No.”

He nods again, more like he’s working through something in his head. “Okay. You’re going to go home and think through what you want. If you decide you want to, come back here next Saturday.” he stands up, extending his hand out to you, “Then you can let me know what else you want and we can get to work on that too.”

You start to shake your head, “I can—”

He drops his chin seriously, “Think on it.”

You relent easily, taking his hand and coming to a stand.

“Alright?” Again, his question is genuine. He does really want to know if you’re on board with this plan.

Already going against his request, you agree without a thought, “Okay.”

He starts to lead you back over to the garden door with a head nod and a kind smile.

It ultimately was not a decision you had to think very hard on.

You’d considered every scenario of how this could play out and none of them ended with regret as far as you could guess.

You’ll still admit though, there was one scenario you had missed, apparently, which is why you were immeasurably confused when you showed up and he invited you to play chess.

He’s not wearing a fancy three piece suit this time, but his clothes are still very nice. With the sunlight peeking through the windows, you’re able to see the manor more clearly than you had been the other night. It really is a beautiful home, clearly very old and charmed, but there’s a lot of little details of character and history scattered around. There’s portraits and photographs of his parents from when he was young and furniture decorated with trinkets all throughout, kept absolutely spotless and dust free. Everything is neat and tidy but there’s still traces of the house being lived in with the patched throw pillows and worn carpets. Still, it’s very, very placid.

You’ve met new money plenty of times over the course of dealing with countless businessmen for Mr. Mullins but old money is something entirely different. You don’t really have a frame of reference here. New money is almost always brash and demanding, they like things done quickly and correctly the first time around. They’re usually not very interested in hearing what you have to say (even if it would save them a lot of trouble) and prefer it when the assistants women keep their mouths shut. Bruce has proven to be very different from these standards already and you’re not sure where to begin with placing new ones.

You’re about halfway through a second game, and while you’re not awful at chess, you get the impression that he’s easing up on you considerably.

You sit on the floor in front of a short coffee table, the game having no clear lead so far.

“I think this is stressing me,” you mumble, no actual weight behind your words.

“It’s just chess,” he says, not looking up from the board.

You watch him move his knight forward as you ask, “And that’s all we’re doing?”

“As it stands, yes,” he looks up at you, though you don’t return his gaze.

“Yeah,” you sigh, sliding your rook, “But later?”

“Later?”

“Well, you said...” you meet his eyes, “You said you wanted to sleep with me.”

He nods slowly, “I do. Is that alright?”

You consider it for a moment. You already knew that, if you really weren’t okay with it you wouldn’t have come here. And yeah, the idea makes you a little shaky, but in a good way.

“Yes,” you tell him, moving your queen forward two spaces.

“Are you sure?” he presses, moving to sit on the side of the table rather than behind it.

You do the same, sitting on your knees. “Yeah, I just..” you shift your weight, eyes wandering. “I’m not…overly experienced.”

He just smiles at that, like it’s endearing. Your words didn’t quite convey your meaning but your tone did. In any case, he understands the implication. “That’s alright, sweetheart. I’m not going to throw you in the deep end.”

You nod, looking down again.

“You’re nervous,” he comments.

“No, I’m—I mean, maybe,” your voice is barely a murmur by the end of the sentence.

He’s quiet for a moment, observing the way you fiddle with your rings. “What if we get you something pretty to wear? Something that makes you feel pretty. Whatever you want.”

He fishes his wallet out of his pocket, opening and pulling out a lump of cash without even looking. He holds the money out to you wordlessly and you can see from the bill on the outside that it’s at least a couple hundred dollars.

You shake your head instantly, “I can’t take that.”

He doesn’t put the money down but his eyes turn to begging. “Please. I just want you to feel good.”

“Bruce—”

He wavers a bit at that but it’s more of a falter than you’ve seen from him before so it’s easy to take notice of. “What?”

He shrugs barely, “I like when you say my name.”

Your eye contact holds for a moment and your resolve starts to shake almost instantly.

You exhale, “I’m not taking more than a hundred.”

“Two hundred.”

“Bruce.”

He smiles and picks out some of the cash and pockets it, handing you the rest. You don’t comment on the fact that it’s a hundred and fifty more than you’d agreed on.

You look down at the money in your hand like it’s a foreign object, shaking your head. “I don’t even know what to get.”

His thumbs start to rub reassuring circles by the bend of your knees, “Anything you want,” he tells you. “What do you like? Silk, lace, cotton, anything.”

You look up, tilting your head at him with a furrowed brow. “It doesn’t matter what I like, th—”

“It only matters what you like,” He says seriously, lowering himself to meet your gaze. “I’ll love it, no matter what you pick. Don’t worry about that.”

You lean forward a bit instinctually, “Okay.”

His eyes scan across your face in something that you can only recognize as awe.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you whisper.

“I want to kiss you again,” he says, voice even quieter.

Your eyes go to his mouth and you can only manage a nod, lips already parted.

He moves forward not a second later, kissing you with more fire than you’d gotten to see the other night. His hands grab at your waist, squeezing lightly as you hook one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

You hear the clatter of chess pieces falling over as he moves nearer to you, large frame leaning over you. You push up on your knees, meeting his lips up at his level. His hands caress around your hips as the kiss gets deeper.

You just start to fumble with the hem of his shirt when he takes your hands in his, pulling them away before breaking the kiss.

“Easy, sweet girl,” he smiles, nudging you back with little force.

You groan, “Why?”

He barks out a laugh at that, stroking your hips again. “I’m not fucking you for the first time on the floor.”

“Then let's go somewhere else,” you nod up towards the stairs.

He shakes his head, that soft smile still playing on his lips. “Not tonight.”

You sit back on your heels again, frowning.

He brushes your hair back, murmuring, “No. But for now, I'll kiss you ‘til you can’t think if that’s what you want.”

You really hope you didn’t perk up at that as much as you think you did.

🌾🌽 i heard a rumor that if you like without reblogging your crops will be cursed but hey what do i know 🌾🌽

More Posts from Saykaundermoon and Others

saykaundermoon

1 year ago

I’m down bad

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saykaundermoon

1 year ago

— EL TRATO (THE DEAL) miguel o’hara x fem!reader

step one step two step three step four

4.8k words

— EL TRATO (THE DEAL) Miguel O’hara X Fem!reader

— when you’re left alone in the tech room, many spiders out on missions, something unexpected happens. when miguel finds out his face falls and his claws twitch in anger. after the incident, you find miguel walking down the hall, calling to him he asks you questions, and you offer your help with something.

contains: violence + mentions of blood and injuries (this is quite visual ha); angry + kinda ‘blood lust’ miguel; someone gets electrocuted, reader kinda does (small amount—I’ll be honest I don’t know how getting electrocuted exactly works, so for the purpose of the story ignore if the way it happens isn’t realistic, thank you!)

It was silent. For what felt like too long. Besides the tap of your fingers on the keyboard—which had begun to slow.

Usually you’d hear distant conversations or the sound of web shooting, but instead only silence greeted you. Unease began to make your body turn, your chair spinning with you.

You weren’t sure if you were just being paranoid. You were alone in the office. Which wasn’t anything strange, but it meant that your growing paranoia festered a little stronger.

You edged closer to the door, finally hearing what sounds to be rumbling. Low and too vague for you to decipher. Your hand reaches out to the door handle, but just as your fingers brush the smooth metal, you’re forced back.

Your body flies, coming to a bruising hit on your hip, making you hiss in pain. But you’re quick to get up, rushing to a clear wall, and away from the explosion. You breathe heavy as you slump against it, your ears slightly ringing, while your gaze stays blurry against the random scraps of metal and dust.

You look to the communal intercom, quickly rushing towards it. Someone or something that isn’t supposed to be here is. You have to warn the spider-people who are out on missions.

But where are the others?

Just as you reach the com, the sound of quick scuffling boots can be heard to your left. You snatch up the intercom, slipping under your desk, tucking your feet into the dark just as multiple pairs of unwelcome boots come into view.

Your shrink further into yourself. You couldn’t speak in warning to the spider variants or these guys would hear you. Your eyes narrow on the bottom of their legs. All black, but so far appearing humanised rather then some large monster. An anomaly?—you think to yourself—multiple?

You clutch the intercom mic tighter, your finger grazing the on button. And that’s when they begin to speak.

“Get the tech.” A gruff voice says. “Now! We can’t waste our time!”

You can hear more scuffling of boots as the sound of unplugging, or more so ripping follows.

“Boss, they’ll be back.” One of them said. You try to get a good look at them, but your movements will cause too much attention, so you grind your teeth and listen harder.

“If you pick up that damn monitor we might have a chance to get out quick enough.” What you assume to be the gruff voice of ‘boss’ says.

“Who even made you in charge?” One grumbles out.

“Who’s idea was it to lure those stupid spiders out on some fake mission, that, might I add, required a decent bunch of those freaks?”

“Not all of them, though.” One adds. You try again to peak out. You manage to scale the bodies of three, all in black, with…masks. Damn it. They looked worn out—handmade.

“Well, lucky for us the remainders are all too busy in the lobby. Now hurry up and pack the bags.” Boss agitatedly says.

And as if luck is still on your back-burner, your foot slips, only a fraction, but enough to knock a piece of stray metal across the floor.

“What was that?” One of the masked men asks.

The silence now following sounds threatening. You place your hand over your mouth, to quieten your breathing, as the scuffs of boots draws closer.

;;

“Peter P!” Exclaimed Miguel, just as static breaks through his ear. He hisses, not expecting it, as he holds the earpiece, brows furrowed. Then the static grows clearer.

“Get the tech. Now! We can’t waste our time!”

“Boss, they’ll be back.”

Miguel narrows his eyes as he listens, confused at first. When he looks to the other spider-people they’re are all holding their own earpieces, trying to comprehend what they’re listening to.

“Who even made you in charge?”

“Who’s idea was it to lure those stupid spiders out on some fake mission, that, might I add, required a decent bunch of those freaks?”

“Lyla, what is this?” Miguel asks. She appears by him, tapping away at screens.

“It appears to be coming from a communal intercom.” She says.

“At HQ?” He asks, already flexing his claws. “Which one.”

“I’m just finding out. The connection is muffled.” More tapping.

“Well, lucky for us the remainders are all too busy in the lobby. Now hurry up and pack the bags.”

The voices still infiltrate Miguel’s ear. “Lyla.” He sounds impatient. “Which one?”

Then she stops tapping. “Y/n y/l/n’s.”

Miguel freezes, looking at Lyla as if she would be one to crack a joke. Then he hears the knock of something metal through his ear piece, followed by a ‘“What was that?”’. He can now hear your heavy breathes, slightly muffled, as heavy boots hit the floor.

Then all sound is gone.

He doesn’t wait for anyone, pressing his wristband to open the portal to HQ. But Jess stops him. “Miguel, think about this. What if it’s them?”

Miguel glances at her, shrugging her grip off his arm, as he taps at his wristband again, the portal opening up. His expression is downcast, one could easily say terrifying.

“Miguel! You have to think this through.” Jess persists. “We have spider-men and woman back at HQ—”

“Who are clearly too distracted to do something.” Miguel grunts out, webbing towards the portal. But Peter P intercepts this time.

“She’s right, Miguel. Don’t worry about the tech, we can get it back, or even get new ones—“

“The tech?” Miguel actually sounds in disbelief. “You think I’m fucking worried about the tech?!” His red eyes gleam, and Peter P gulps.

“Then what are you worried about, Miguel?” Jess asks, exasperated. “Because I don’t see anything else that needs urgent attention. The tech is the main—“

“¿Tú no? The tech is the last of my worries, Jess.” Miguel interrupts. But this time he isn’t yelling. This time it’s toned down, and somehow that makes him appear much, much scarier.

“Miguel.” Jess tries to calm him down, not understanding what he could find more worrying. Data had been saved on that tech, important data. She places one hand on his wrist, but he immediately shrugs her off, glaring.

“Get out of my way.” He snarls. She doesn’t move, crossing her arms. “The reason why you aren’t hurt against that wall is because you earned my respect. That’s slipping, Jess.”

“Miguel you’re frantic.” She says.

“Call it what you want. I’m getting to HQ.” He webs past her, and Jess finally has the mind to let him go. Though she still stands there worried, and confused about what could have made Miguel so urgent to get to the scene.

;;

You tighten your hold on the intercom, now switching to use it as a possible weapon, as the boots near. You prepare yourself by silent deep breaths and a focused gaze.

The boots stop in front of you, pausing for only a moment. Then the desk is being flung to the side. You choke a gasp, managing to slam the intercom down into the guys shin, the harsh metal side bruising and buckling his leg.

He exclaims in pain as you scramble to your feet. You can finally see the detail on the three mens’ outfits. A dark green weaved into the fabric. Then you see the claws for hands, and all three of their masks turned to you. Shit.

“Who are you guys?” You manage to get out, as you reach behind you for a keyboard.

One looks at the other before looking back at you. “Were you here the whole time?”

You say nothing, edging closer to the exit. It’s silent from them for a moment then “…kill her.” The gruff voice of ‘boss’ says. And they’re quick.

You try to rush away but one yanks you back by your hair. You angrily swing around and knock the metal keyboard across one of their heads. Some of the pieces shatter against his mask.

But then one is grabbing your neck, pushing you against the wall. “Sorry—boss says no tattle tales.” The guy tightens his hold, and your hands scramble against his in an effort to intake air.

There’s a moment where your vision blurs. But there’s also a moment where his knee shifts letting your leg harshly kick out. You’re glad to find him humanised in his pants as he doubles over.

You rush away from the wall, heaving. One of the masked men is already trying to grab you and as his clawed hand wraps around your arm, he’s pulled back, a shining orange web yanking him straight into a monitor, his head smashing against glass.

The speed makes his claws cut across your flesh but your adrenaline is far too prominent for you to care. You notice the other guy stalking towards you, making you swiftly gaze around at your environment, Weapon. Weapon. Weapon. You stop on a machine, wires poking out, sparking with electricity. Holding a certain point you pull two out, ripping the electric wires, before stabbing them into his stomach, the electric current making his body shake and twitch.

You soon have to let go as they grow unbearably hot, leaving scolding burns on your fingertips and palms. That’s when you notice the owner of the orange web. Miguel has ruined the guy he originally threw into a monitor, his body now a bloody pulp.

You have to quickly look away to the second guy who had obviously gotten up from your kick and landed straight into Miguel’s palm. Miguel is retracting his claws from the masked man’s body, blood tainting the tips of his fingers, as he breaths harshly but somehow still controlled.

Miguel looks to the guy knocked out in front of you, still occasionally twitching from the strong current of electricity. You feel light headed, placing your hands on your knees as you try to slow your breathing.

But then you feel a hand. And not a friendly one as the masked man passes on some of the electricity moving through his body into your thigh. You scream, the half electrocuted guy—his hair frizzed and slightly cinched—stumbling to a stance, just as you fall to the floor.

Then you hear a crash and a curdling scream—not from you.

Miguel inserts his claws into the guys neck, practically ripping his throat out, as the guy chokes on his own blood. The blood sprays across Miguel’s face, leaving slight speckles as he rips the rest of the man with his teeth, letting him drop to the floor.

It was animalistic in way, as his tongue licked his fangs, his breathing now harsher—angrier.

But then he sees you drifting from consciousness on the floor.

Miguel doesn’t know what breathing is, or the meaning of the word slow, as he reaches your side in a millisecond, his hand coming to grab your face between his fingers—maybe a little harshly but his entire being was still on overdrive.

Miguel tightens his hold on your cheeks as he slightly shakes your head. “Y/l/n.” He hisses. “Wake up.“

He’s gentle now, realising that you’re a human and not some villain he needs to hurt, as he checks your pulse not wanting his claws to cut you. “Y/n!” He finally exclaims, as you get roused awake.

Your leg feels painfully numb, as your eyes flutter open. A thin layer of tears is making your eyes sparkle as you finally meet Miguel’s gaze. You try to slow your breathing, shutting your eyes to reassess.

Miguel tightens his hold on your cheeks. “No, no. Open them.”

You do, though they stay hooded. “I’m just…tired. No need to sound so harsh—shit.” The lasting electricity still spasms up your leg, as the hold of Miguel’s hand makes the tears fall.

You begin to shake your head, partially trying to get out of his hold. “Stop.” You say.

“Stop what?” Miguel instantly replies, his gaze shooting to your thigh.

“Just—“ you breathe. Then Miguel finds the deep scratch mark on your arm, his hand grabbing it as his eyes dart. “It’s fine. Just a cut.”

“Y/n, you just got attacked. You’re a weak human, don’t try to sound so tough.”

“You’re not helping.” You hiss, tilting your head back as you try to keep the tears in, not wanting them to fall. “And that was kind of mean.” You mutter the last part just for the sake of it. Using your pain induced state as an excuse to blurt out your annoyed feelings with Miguel.

Miguel grabs your chin, trying to pull your gaze back to his, but you resist, keeping it tilted away. “Stop.” You say again.

“No.” He answers, successfully pulling your chin back, and holding it there. “Why aren’t you looking me?”

Your eyes are darting around, before you choose to close them. “Y/n.” Miguel is stern, but underlying that he sounds almost desperate—almost.

You can feel him move closer to you and you place your hand out to stop him, your palm ending up against his chest. “Can you not—“

“What—not help you?” He asks harshly.

“Can you look away.” You say, finally opening your eyes. “Please.”

“Why?” Miguel isn’t budging, staying close to you. He’s already dialled in medical on his wristwatch.

“Jeezus Christ, Miguel! I don’t like fucking crying in front of people. It’s a weird thing I can’t get rid of. I hate it. It makes me feel embarrassed—“

“Embarrassed?” Miguel interrupts.

“Yes. Embarrassed.” You hiss harshly. You couldn’t find your filter, your tone far more aggressive then usual with the throbbing pain in your arm and the spasm of your thigh.

“Well, that stupid.” He says.

“Yeah, it is. But it’s not going away. So if you could just look away and let me…I dunno…recompose myself.”

“Recompose yourself?”

“Yes! Stop repeating what I’m saying!” You exclaim, only to follow with a groan of pain as you try to sit up.

Miguel knows your mind is frazzled and your body is reactive. He pushes you back down, grabbing your cheeks again.

“You got partially electrocuted and cut—deep, I’d think you’re a psychopath If you didn’t cry.” Miguel says, his volume dropped to one almost soothing—almost.

“Doesn’t make me hate it any less.” You mutter.

“Wow…I’ve never seen you this annoyed before.”

You narrow your eyes on him. His hand that was gingerly inspecting your thigh had slipped over your waist, partially caging you in.

You try again to sit up. But Miguel yet again, keeps you pressed to the floor. “O’hara.”

He leans closer to you, narrowing his eyes. “Stop moving.”

“I’m fine.”

“No your not.” He easily answers, which earns him a half hearted scoff. “You know I think I prefer you trying to suck up instead.”

You meet his gaze glaring. “I have not been sucking up, I just like—“

“This job. Yeah I’ve heard you.” He interrupts.

He can hear commotion behind him, but the voices of rushing spider-people makes his shoulders relax. The medical have arrived, and as you notice the new people you quickly wipe your cheeks, brushing against Miguel’s hand, as you get up.

Miguel finally let’s you, by slipping his arm around the back of your waist. You try to swat it away—any physical touch usually induces the waterworks you desperately wanted to keep at bay—but he tightens his hold, resulting in your side being flush against him.

The medical spiders inspect your bruised body. “It’s her thigh and upper arm…” Miguel begins telling the spiders. Then he grabs your hands holding your palms out. “And hands.” The burnt marks look raw, and you hiss as Miguel had to slightly stretch the skin to show.

He immediately lets go upon hearing the sound of pain. “Thanks Miguel, we’ll take it from here.” A medical spider says, already at your side checking your cut.

Miguel narrows his eyes on the spider variant, watching as you bite your lip as they inspect your wound. He sighs, finally getting up and letting your waist go. At the sudden shift your hand flies out to his leg, or more specifically his thigh.

Your quick, tight grip has Miguel stopping. You change your position, not having realised how much you were using Miguel as physical support, before you’re quickly taking your hand away and coughing.

You give him a brief nod. “Thanks for the help.”

Miguel scoffs. “Help? I did a bit more than help.”

You’re praying to get some anaesthetic soon so that your pain won’t make you loose your job. You press your lips together harshly. “Of course. You did spectacular.” You say.

The sarcasm isn’t lost on him. He eyes you once more before he’s walking out the exit.

You sat there, finally taking a proper breath. You don’t know why you were holding it for so long. …maybe you did have a clue. The image of Miguel ripping the guys neck out, blood staining his face is still fresh in your mind.

You’ll be honest, it scared you. He kind of scared you. But not in way you’d think he’d hurt you, just one that made him seem unpredictable. I mean what happened just then, with his touching and softer tone was something completely unforeseen.

If someone told you he would be do that today you’d actually laugh. Miguel was unpredictable and intimidating in general, sure, but what seemed to scare you more was the way he looked when his eyes shone with blood lust. His eye colour seemed fitting now.

You also happened to be scared of the way the sight made you feel. Something that settled far too low in your stomach.

;;

Miguel went straight to the lobby where a spider variant he kept high up in the ranks resided. “You. Get up. Now.”

The spider variant immediately stood, as he nervously followed Miguel to his office. The orange tech screens were the main thing lighting the place.

And as Spider-Man took a breath he lost it as soon as Miguel slowly turned to him. Blood still stained his skin and claws and suit, and the spider-man felt the urge to run.

“Where were you today?” Miguel asked, leaning back against a table and crossing his arms almost too casually.

“I was…here, Miguel.” He said steeling his spine. He knew where this was going.

“Were you?” Miguel asked, his eyes trained on the spider.

Spider man gulped. “I’m really sorry, Miguel. I didn’t hear any sort of explosion. I didn’t get any awareness. Which…shouldn’t happen.”

“You know what ‘shouldn’t happen’?” Miguel asks, now twirling an empty glass on the table. “Spider men and woman shouldn’t only rely on that “tingle thing”.”

The spider hangs his head lower in apology. “Someone could have died today.” Miguel continued. “And you would have what—been too busy playing poker?”

The spider variant winces at his words. Miguel knew of his addiction, always using his free time to gamble.

“Do you get that?” Miguel asks.

“I do. I’m sorry.”

“Sadly that’s not gonna cut it.” Miguel says, making spider man look up. “I left you in charge while I was gone. You failed miserably.”

“Miguel. I didn’t mean to only rely on my usual awareness, it’s a force of habit. That’s never happened before. I can always sense when danger is close.”

“But you didn’t.” Miguel says. “There’s someone in medical right now who got injured—badly. And she was all alone.” Miguel has stood up, stalking towards him.

“Now for personal reasons I may find her annoying.” He quickly mutters out. “But that certainly doesn’t mean you can let her die. Do you hear me?”

Spider man quickly nods. “Of course. This’ll never happen again.”

“No it won’t.” Miguel turns away, and the finality in his voice makes spider man’s eyes widen.

“Miguel—“

“Go home.” Miguel cuts in, stepping up to his screens. Anger still seeped from every pore.

;;

You woke up, feeling a dull ache in your body, but for the most part you felt alright. Better, a lot better. You swing your feet off the medical bed, realising that the lights were out.

Your feet hit the cold floor, before you quietly step towards the exit door.

Making it out to the hallway you were grateful you were already on the high level, no need for a long travel up the stairs.

You needed to rest. Alone. Not surrounded my medical items. You slowly headed to your room, but stop upon seeing a familiar body walking away.

“O’hara.” You say, making the figure freeze.

You quicken your steps, reaching him. He turns and you have to stop the intake of breathe at the reminded visual of the now dried blood.

“You didn’t want a shower?” You joked, forcing a chuckle.

Miguel just scans your body, narrowing his eyes, his expression is it’s typical, solemn and moody. “You should get back to bed.”

“I was actually heading to my room. But I just wanted to…thank you.” You say, finally making Miguel meet your gaze.

“You really did help me back there.” You spare him a small smile and a nod. Then your gaze gets caught back up in the blood stains, as you gulp.

“You saw, didn’t you?” Miguel suddenly asks.

You look up. “Mm?”

“The reason I’m covered in blood.”

“Oh.” You say. “It was…quite impressive.”

“No it wasn’t.” Miguel says making your brows furrow. He steps a fraction closer. “You didn’t think so.”

“What do you mean?”

Another step. “You thought I looked animalistic. Scary.”

You dart your gaze down to his slowly moving feet before quickly looking back up. You shake your head. And in return Miguel nods.

“You think I’m scary.” Everything he’s saying is statements. He knows, but you keep shaking your head.

“Don’t do that. Don’t lie.” He says, much, much closer now. “You’re terrible at it.”

You stop the shake of your head, blinking a few times. “O’hara—“

“Just be honest.”

“I am.” You say, straightening your spine. And as your eyes dart you notice a deep cut running across his thigh. The dried blood, his.

You step closer. “Why didn’t you get that check out?”

He glances down at his wound. “It’s fine.”

“Oh come on, don’t do that. Don’t act like your above it all, including pain, and infection.” Your blatancy makes Miguel raise a brow.

You pause for a moment, mulling over potential decisions in your head. Then before it could get later and before you could back down you speak. “Follow me. Let me help.”

Miguel stares at you. “It’s fine—“ he goes to monotonously repeat.

You just grab his wrist, pulling him towards your room. Miguel grabs your wrist in turn, preparing to pull your hand off.

“Hey. You made me go to your room, now I’m just returning the favour.” You say.

Miguel stares at you, scoffing. You let go of his wrist, knowing you don’t have the strength to pull him. “If you’re scared I don’t know what I’m doing, then know that I studied to be a nurse before I found out about…all this.”

“Why?” Miguel asks. “Why help?” He elaborates.

“I just told you.” You say, beginning to head to your room. “I feel weird if I’ve seen your room when you haven’t yet seen mine.”

“That’s not a good reason at all.”

“But your walking my way aren’t you?”

Miguel hadn’t realised that he’d moved to your door without the permission of his mind. He curses under his breath as your scent floods his senses, your room making it ten times worse. This is the last thing he needed.

But you’re already shutting the door and ushering him further in. “You can um…” you look around. “You can just sit on the bed.”

No—Miguel thought. God, no. But you were already getting out an older looking kit from under textbooks—your stuff having been brought to you from your universe.

He slowly sits, trying not to get one bit comfortable. You reach his side placing the kit on the bed, as you drop to your knees.

Miguel’s breathing stops at the visual. You’re directly by his thigh…kneeling. No, no.

Miguel clicks his jaw, looking away. He looks back down, to see your hand is midway from touching his cut thigh. “Why are you doing this?” He can’t fathom why you would actually want to help him.

You sigh. “I just feel kinda bad.”

“Bad?”

“Mhm.” You nod.

“For any particular reason?” Miguel pushes.

“No.” You sarcastically scoff. “You’re just generally a person everyone feels bad for.”

Miguel narrows his eyes as you chuckle. He shifts on your bed. “Stop doing that.”

Your hand stops by his cut, thinking it’s the touching of his wound, when in actual fact it was the way your ‘chuckle’ had sent a strange vibration through him to somewhere he desperately didn’t want you to notice. He was right. This was a terrible idea.

Then you’re touching him. Delicate and gentle, as you pull away his ripped suit. You begin to dab what looks to be an alcohol cloth onto his wound, and in response Miguel snarls, his grip tightening around your sheets.

“Sorry.” You mutter.

“Dios.” He mutters, closing his eyes a moment. “Stop being nice.”

You look up at him. “I have to say, I’ve never heard someone say that. Usually it’s ‘stop being mean’.”

His face is tight as you continue to clean his cut. “Someone said that to you?”

You pause. “No actually. But I just mean in general. And I’m not being ‘nice’ to you. I’m returning a favour.”

“Ah.” He hums, before all his muscles tense. “Can you hurry up.”

“You’ve never let anyone touch you up before, have you?” Catching onto the fact that he’s clearly cleaned his past wounds himself.

Miguel glares at you. “So, you can stop.” He reaches to take the cloth from you, but you lean away resting your hand on his knee for support.

“You can just sit on the bed.” Miguel grits out. He couldn’t watch you being on your knees for him any longer. Not unless he’d do something he’d end up regretting.

“That’s okay, it’s an easier angle here.”

God. You had to stop. ‘Easier angel’? Yeah, Miguel definitely wasn’t thinking about you cleaning his cut. He runs his hand through his hair.

You quickly reach out grabbing his wrist. He looks at you, expectantly. “You have uh…blood on your fingertips…claws.”

Miguel darts his gaze across your face. “And you’re worried about it getting my…hair dirty?”

You shrug. “Well, now you’re making me sound stupid.”

“I don’t need to do that.” He quips, and you shoot him a glare. “But um…” he drifts off, as you look up at him, now waiting expectantly.

“Did you find me…scary, or whatever?” He asks, and surprisingly there’s a hint of…vulnerability hidden in his tone? No—you think to yourself—that can’t be right. “Before. With the anomalies.”

You dab a fraction harder, making Miguel hiss a groan. You ignore the way it vibrates through your body. You shake your head.

“Why do you keep lying?” He asks.

You sigh. “I just—“

“Just?” Miguel seemed to really want to get an answer out of you. He shifts closer. And when you don’t answer, continuing to focus on his wound, he grabs your jaw, pulling you up to meet his gaze. You gulp, his large hand nearly reaching to wrap around your neck.

“Do I scare you?”

Your chest picks up a quicker beat. He leans closer, pulling you towards him, your chest hitting his thigh. “Do I—“

“Yes. Alright.” You quickly say. “A little bit…yes.”

His grip tightens around your chin a fraction. “Because of what you saw?”

“And the way you talk to people.” You mutter out. Why were saying this? This isn’t something you say to your boss.

You hadn’t noticed at first but one of his claws had begun to brush back and forth against the skin of your jaw, his eyes not leaving yours. You were utterly frozen. And there’s a moment that you just catch where his gaze darts down to your lips, his breath feeling extremely close.

But then he’s leaning away, his jaw clenching as he looks to the door. “Are you done?”

You quickly look down to his cut, rushing to get out a bandage. “Uh, almost.” Your entire body was buzzing.

While you stayed focused on finishing him up, Miguel’s gaze went back to staring at you. He almost gave in—almost. He wouldn’t, though.

You were scared of him. He knew you were somewhat so, but now hearing you say it confirmed that you’d never see him how he had gradually started seeing you. He had to stop. Now, before he dove in far too deep.

He couldn’t let himself go any deeper. Because at this rate he’d certainly drown, and if he was going to die, it wouldn’t be from some silly little crush.

okay, I’m sorry, I lied. there is nothing sexual in here. but I didn’t think adding anything like that yet would work. since a lot of you guys asked for a slow burn <3

again, I hope this is up to a good standard for you guys to continue reading. I wanted to add something a little different then the usual Spanish lesson then Miguel’s end of the deal. I needed some action of some sort.

and ofc, part five will come soon x love you all MWAH

taglist: @dangerousdreamkitty @ale-maral @inosukesweirdwife @flooftoof @cynicallyaestetic @silassinclair @mariiyoushi @ilovedilfjake @toastlover21 @wlellsl @k1rbbo @bitchotine @guacam011y @blnk338 @wolfiepirate @kurxxmi @corpsebridenightamare @ohantonia @yunonaneko @irenered-20 @z3r0art @sunflowercandie @perilous-pasta @gloriouskryptonitecrown @whyamistillhere78 @ritzzzsblog @mm1sta @tealcoloured-murder @aweebsimp101 @livelaughlaurv @s0dium @roguepancake @sunshiines-stuff @internal-soundtrack @oscarisdaddy69 @clairacassidy @captainquake42 @nanaloverz @ilyless @sindulgent666 @shine101 @thebadasssass @hibeejibees @nirishin @ily2lia @lillunna @cinnamoncattie @futuristicpandakid @maroonobserver @thatsopanu @edgyficuselastica @kittekat420 @stararctic @maxi-ride @renn-pumkin-head @scaraza @justanotherkpopstanlol @fauxizs @cloudsandrenoswife @ilmovor @larissa-lolll @elliemm @httpkiyoomi @j2warren @arquiiva @ilovemiguelohara @a-monster-can-filled-with-cum @fandom-gal44 @elwyn7 @albiebright

taglist #2 taglist #3

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saykaundermoon

2 years ago

Or maybe..

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saykaundermoon

2 years ago

@isolight as per your request after our underwear conversation 👀🤣

(MC joined the lads on a walk to the lake, it was a warm day, and some of them decided to go for a swim, stripping down to their underpants, MC watched with curiosity as she sat on the edge, dipping her feet in, with Ominis next to her)

Amit: *wearing a pair of navy blue slightly baggy silk boxers* These pants will be ruined..But I really want to go for a dip, oh well *chuckles and jumps in*

Sebastian: I wasn't expecting to be going for a dip today, and being in my underwear, and if anyone laughs, I'm throwing hands *chuckles as he pulls down his trousers, revealing fitted dark grey boxers with little green snakes on them*

MC: *giggles*

Garreth: *chuckles*

Sebastian: Listen Weasley, MC bought them for me, and I love them, so shut up *smirks*

Garreth: *kicks off his trousers, revealing a pair of fitted light grey boxers with a red waist band* god, I need this! *dives into the cool water*

Sebastian: *smirks over to MC, still on land at this point, almost like he was giving her a little show before he got into the water*

MC: *blushes and smiles at him giggling*

Everett: is it cold Amit?

Amit: Not too bad, come on Everett *smiles*

Everett: *takes off his trousers, revealing the tightest of tighty whities*

Sebastian: Jesus christ.

Leander: Baaahaha!

Everett: What?!

Garreth: Nothing, you do you, Everett *smirks*

Everett: Oh be quiet! All of you! *wanders into the water*

Sebastian: *waits until Garreth is close enough, then dives in on top of him, pushing him under for a moment while laughing*

Garreth: *pops up with a gasp* Sallow you fool!

Sebastian: *laughs*

Leander: *takes off his trousers, revealing Baggy brown boxers with the most hideous, BAD knitted jumper kinda pattern on them*

Sebastian: Those are the ugliest fucking pants I have EVER seen *laughs*

MC: Jeez Leander *laughs loudly* What ARE those?!

Leander: *frowns* shut-up!!

Garreth: *chuckles* sorry Leander, you're my friend, but those are....Different.

Everett: *giggles*

Leander: What are YOU laughing at? With your tiny little tight whites!

Everett: Would rather wear these than those.

Amit: *chuckles*

Leander: *quickly jumps in, embarrassed*

Garreth: Aw come on Leander *playful splashes him*

Leander: Dont talk to me *moody look*

MC: *turns to Ominis* out of curiosity, what's your underwear like? *smirks*

Ominis: *smooth chuckle* tsk tsk MC..But, if you must know, it's the ones you always say you like on me *smirks*

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saykaundermoon

2 years ago

Details

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saykaundermoon

2 years ago

Heya! I've recently found your writing and I've got to say I love your writing style sm <33! Also I'd like to request some headcanons about Ominous and Sebastian (separate please) about cuddling for the first time with the reader, if you are ok with it of course, also I'm planning on sending more requests in the future so can I be known as crow anon? Anyways have a good day or night :D and don't forget to stay hydrated!

Hi crow anon! I love this request, i was planning on writing something like this anyways!! 🤭🤭

Cuddling Headcanons! (Sebastian, ominis)

Heya! I've Recently Found Your Writing And I've Got To Say I Love Your Writing Style Sm

(Art not mine!) (p.s look at ominis he's snoozing 😭❤️)

Summary - cuddling for the first time with Sebastian and ominis! All fluff <3

Sebastian Sallow ⭐️

He's not necessarily nervous when asking you to cuddle for the first time

Naturally, he's flirty so he kinda just asks you honestly.

"Can you come here?" *yoink*

Obviously he will ask if you're ok with anything, but he just loves being able to hold onto you in any way

Somehow the most aggressive cuddler ever though 💀

"Get over here!!!" *pulls you aggressively to his side* (in a loving way)

Like for real man calm down I'm not going anywhere 😭

After you sit/lay with him he calms down quite a bit though

Immediately melts in your arms and becomes a baby

He loves to hold you, but more importantly, you hold him

It brings him so much comfort

Your body heat and the smell of your perfume/cologne is enough to send him to sleep

And he totally does by the way

He's out like a light within the first 5 minutes

The most adorably stupid sleeper ever

He's not cute or elegant by any means- sebastian will be snoring and drooling while he's sprawled out on top of you

Sorry bae, you're not leaving any time soon

And if you do have to go for any reason he's whining like a baby and begging you to come back to the comfort of his arms

He is the cutest thing ever in the stupidest way- he's such a dork 💀

Ominis Gaunt 🐍

Unlike sebastian, he's very nervous to ask you for cuddles

He's laying on the couch in the undercroft and Says "can... Can I hold you? I mean- can we.. Cuddle?"

He feels you sit down and immediately grabs on to you

He wraps his arms around your waist and puts his face in your neck, inhaling your scent

Slowly pulls you down with him

HE'S SO CUTE

You're laying on top of his chest and you can hear his heartbeat going wild

He'll whisper in your ear how much he love you and he'll run his fingers through your hair

Like sebastian, he's out

Immediately he's fallen asleep

Unlike sebastian, he's a very elegant sleeper

He looks majestic honestly

He's breathing softly, eyes closed and mouth slightly parted

He always wants to hold you, but occasionally you can be the big spoon

It makes him feel safe

He's so in love with you, he always wants physical contact so cuddling is the best option 😭❤️

A/n - THIS IS THE CUTEST THING I HAVE EVER WRITTEN OMGGGGG I AM SO IN LOVE WITH THEM

ty for the request crow anon!! Excited to see more!!! (P.s maybe you can tag the end of your requests with '-🦅' or a bird emoji :D only if u want ofc!)

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saykaundermoon

2 years ago