Insatiable

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

no bitch i do not lmfao

when youre tired on public transit and start thinking "let me rest my eyes a bit" thats the devil talking

A Second Chance PT 1/10

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

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

I really hope you guys like this one<3333

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

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

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

Oh right, and you're 4 months pregnant.

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

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

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

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

"Just move"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day 8

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Move"

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

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

Day 14

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

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

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

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

"You left them in your mailbox"

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

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

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

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

•°~°•

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

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

•°~°•

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

“Running the Spider Society is taking over your life”

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

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

“You need a break”

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

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

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

It’s you.

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

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

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

Shit, you’re going to jump.

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

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

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

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

"You were going to jump"

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

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

 Oh for fucks sake. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

•°~°•

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

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

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

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

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

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

“2099”

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

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

“How?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Come on baby Mommy's tired"

•°~°•

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No no no this can't be happening.

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

•°~°•

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

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

"And which dimension does he belong to?"

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

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

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

Of course, it's you.

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

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

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

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

“I-I was trying to help-” 

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

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

"Oh no….I think….I think-"

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

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

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

Fuck… you're pregnant?

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

"Lyla scan her to see if anything is wrong" Lyla appears in front of him and gives him a salute. Turning around to face you she fazes in and out to get closer to you.

"Hey, pretty lady can you stand straight for me pretty please" He watches as you wipe your eyes before standing straight with one hand under your stomach. Lyla scans you from head to toe twice before going closer to you.

"You're baby is fine their right under your ribcage so that's why your feeling some pain. Your vitals are normal for someone who was just saved from a collapsing building but you need to take it easy maybe lie down for a bit"

"So they're okay?"

"They're okay" Lyla turns to Miguel and gives him a look. "Maybe you should take her-"

"You're dismissed"

"Thank you so so much I really appreciate it I-" Miguel cuts you off raising his right hand to stop you.

"I have to go….go over to the EMTs to double-check things" He watches as you nod before he runs off going back to help the others. Amidst the chaos he goes to deal with the anomaly subtly glancing over his shoulder to make sure you followed his orders.

•°~°•

It's been 5 hours since you’ve been discharged from the hospital the doctors said it was fine for you to leave. To say you were scared would be an understatement. If anything happened to your baby…..Sighing you place a gentle hand on your stomach blinking rapidly to keep your tears from falling. Crying won’t do you or your baby girl any good. Since you were already at the hospital it only made sense that you'd have your ultrasound appointment early and you found out you are having a baby girl. You cried the moment you heard the news you’ll do whatever it takes to give your baby girl the childhood you never had. A childhood filled with love and support from everyone around her. 

Forcing yourself out of your thoughts you walk over to your kitchen to get yourself something to drink. Since this grocery run was a complete disaster you’ll have to do it again tomorrow. Pouring yourself a glass of water you stare straight ahead at the clock. In about 45 minutes you’ll have to get ready for work. Since you came home you have done nothing but focus on making sure you stayed calm. For your sake and the baby’s. You’ve played calming music, cleared your thoughts, and done self-care you did it all. You know the little hologram told you to rest but you need the money. Since it’s a Monday night the bar shouldn’t be that packed. Maybe you’ll take a day off on Friday so you’ll have a long weekend. You quickly wash and put away your glass cup before making your way into your bedroom to get ready.

•°~°•

You should've known that it was going to be packed tonight. It’s a full house not a free chair in sight. You're convinced that the bar has turned into a club. People are dancing 3 fights have already broken out and you are only 4 hours into your shift and you unfortunately have 5 more to go. Your curls are pulled back into a low ponytail as you feel sweat dripping down the nape of your neck down your back. You're wearing a simple black top with a low v-neck paired with a black pleated skirt. Thankfully your top is loose so your bump isn’t visible plus 

An hour later your feet are aching and you’re really hungry. You need to take a break maybe sit down for a few have a drink of water or something.  You stare at the clock sighing as you read the time. It’s 2 am and you won't get off till six you won't make it that long. Grabbing a rag to wipe your hands you call for another bartender to take over while you take a break.

•°~°•

Miguel doesn’t know how he allowed them to talk him into this. After a long day of doing his job instead of being at HQ Ben and a few of the spiders that were working on the supermarket mission dragged him to a bar. Out of all the places they could’ve dragged him to they chose a bar…..He’s not really a fan of loud and crowded places he never has been. He doesn’t even know why they invited him he has nothing to add to the conversation. Staring at his drink menu he reluctantly looks over the options as he decides on what to get. It isn’t until he hears a few low whistles that he peeks over his menu. His eyes almost bug out his head when he sees you. 

What the hell are you doing here?

No matter how hard he tries he can’t seem to shake you off. It’s like everywhere he goes you’re there. His eyes follow your movements as you make your way to the customers. He watches as you move exceptionally fast taking orders while making drinks. You should not be working as a bartender as a pregnant woman. What in the world are you thinking? When he got back to HQ after dealing with the anomaly he asked Lyla to pull up any information she got from you when she scanned you for injuries. Not because he was curious only and only because he wanted to know who he was living next to. He found out your age, the school you attended, and the schools you attended before that. However, the most surprising information of all was that you’re married. You’ve been married for 5 years now. It’s weird because he’s never noticed a ring on your finger even now there’s still nothing he couldn’t even find out anything about your fiance. No name, no pictures, nothing. Even when he was brought inside your place against his will there were no signs of a man living with you. In fact, your place almost looked bare with only one 2 seater couch in the living room, and from the look of it, there was no TV either. 

But what kind of man would allow his pregnant wife to work as a bartender? Anyone should know that you shouldn’t be on your feet for long. Well…. you're another man's responsibility another man's problem so that has nothing to do with him. He is pulled out of his thoughts when he sees you making your way over to him. Turning his attention back to the menu he doesn't even bother to respond when you ask him for his choice of drink. 

When you don't hear him answer you move on to the next person which happens to be Ben.

“And what can I get you”

“You're too pretty to be working as a bartender” Miguel rolls his eyes at his comment. You tilt your head at the man before opening your mouth to speak.

“Sir what can I get you” 

“A Long Island iced tea” Miguel watches as you immediately begin making his drink.

“What are you doing after this pretty, are you going straight home?” 

“Yes I am….and here's your Long Island iced tea”

“Say you got a man to go back to?”

“No” You make your way past the guy to take another drink order.

“A boyfriend, husband?”

“No and double no”

“Great so you're-”

“Ben enough” You're eyes snap to meet the face of the voice and you wait patiently as they lower the drink menu. He stares Ben down in order to “tell” him to stand down. It isn't until Ben sighs and mumbles “Yes Dad” under his breath that Miguel turns his attention back to you. He stares at you for a moment before telling you his drink order.

“Whiskey” You give him a quick nod before you move to make his order. When you hand him his drink you don't bother looking at him. Miguel has to turn all his attention to the dark liquid in his glass if he doesn't he'll accidentally end up staring at you the whole time.

•°~°•

You feel a hole burning in the back of your neck. Why would someone ever stare at you like that? His gaze never wavers you feel his eyes on you as you move around the bar, take orders slide glasses down the bar, and as you ignore some men's advances. His glares make you uncomfortable you hate working when you know someone is actively judging you. Truthfully you almost dropped your glass in hand when he lowered the menu. The last time you saw him was when you accidentally thought he was going to hit you in the lobby. To say you are embarrassed would be an understatement and plus he's been rude to you since the very beginning. He's just weird….or more so you can't get a read on him.

It's now the end of your shift and you're currently wiping the bar down and washing the last of the glasses to get it ready for the next bartender. But yet he's still here you walk over to him to tell him that the bar will be closed for the next 5 hours when he slaps down a $50 dollar bill. You close up the register and walk in the back to get your bag. 

When you walk back out you let out a sigh of relief when you realize he's no longer at the bar. You walk outside and begin to walk home thankfully it's only a few blocks away. You could use your car but you only use it when you have to get groceries. You want to stay active with your baby. As you walk home you hear heavy footsteps behind you it's 6 in the morning and the sun isn't up yet however you can see the sky beginning to take a lighter shade.

Once reaching the end of a sidewalk waiting for your light you subtly turn around to see if there's anyone behind you and you immediately lock eyes with your neighbor. Too embarrassed you turn straight ahead you thought he left already. He can't be following you because he's most likely coming back home like you are. Sighing you focus all your attention on walking back home. Now that you think about it you're really hungry you could kill for a toasted bagel with cream cheese right now maybe add some bacon and pickles and- 

Oh, she's moving.

You pause briefly to rest a hand on your stomach. Maybe she knew that you were thinking about food.

You lower your voice whispering to your stomach. “Did you know I was thinking about food?” A few seconds later you feel her move again followed by a small kick. You laugh to yourself as you continue your journey home.

Finally making it back home you're digging in your mailbox when you notice that your neighbor is standing a few feet behind you by the lobby doors. Is he waiting for you to go upstairs? He's making you feel uneasy. Before your brain can formulate something to say to him you're already facing him and you open your mouth to speak.

“You're making me feel uncomfortable”

………..

Oh God, why in the world would you say that?

“Sorry, I-”

“I’m waiting for you to move from the mailbox” You watch as he folds his arms across his chest while sending the same glare that he was giving you earlier.

You take a nervous step back. Dammit, you shouldn't have said anything. “O-Oh I'm sorry I didn't know-”

“Of course, you didn't know…I'm keeping my distance since you thought I was going to put my hands on you the other day”

“Oh right listen about that I didn't mean to it was just a reflex and I-” He puts up a hand to prevent you from going any further.

“You don't need to explain anything to me…can you move your taking up space and I have things to do” You watch as he points to your stomach and you immediately put a hand over it. Taking up space? You're not even that big yet….Eager to get out of there you immediately close your mailbox making sure to grab your keys as you start your journey upstairs wishing him a goodnight. Is it too early to say you hate your neighbor?

•°~°•

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Cece<333

I used to date an older guy (like mid 40s) a few years back and I always got stupidly turned on when he fixed stuff around his house?? Like, he just knew hot to do it and did it. No googling, just him and his tools. Feel like it would fit somewhere in your older bf Simon stuff.

god love a fully capable “fuck it i’ll do it” type of man 🫶🏼

you know that your older bf!simon doesn’t believe in hiring tradespeople for a service.

“why would i pay someone to fuck about in my home?”

“they’re not fucking about, si! they’d be fixing the sink”

“i’ll do it”

you have no doubt that simon was more than capable of fixing things around the house but you also wanted him relaxing when he was home.

turns out he couldn’t relax at the thought of another man doing something for you.

so you let him do it, you threw your hands up and waved your white tea towel in defeat as you heard him banging around in the garage for tools.

hearing the faint sounds of grunting and the occasional swear word coming from the bathroom, you thought it might pay to go and see how he was getting on.

fucking hell.

simon was on his back, arms stretched up above him as his hands dwarfed the pipe they were wrapped around. t-shirt riding up, lines of his stomach leading right to his belt, knees bent and boots firmly planted on the floor, you could honestly just-

“oi, you gonna’ stare or help me?”

now how the fuck?

“your heads in the cupboard, how did you know-“

“i always know where you are, pass me the wrench”

crouching down beside him, you handed it over and stayed down there to watch him work. scarred knuckles wrapped around the handle of the tool, other palm flat against the base of the sink so you could see the veins.

he was something else entirely.

“how d’you know how to do all this?”

“taught m’self, come hold this”

you reached over to replace where his palm was so he could have both hands back. “but why? surely other people don’t learn all this?”

“other people don’t care about their sweet’art not having to lift a finger- move your finger for me”

the more you stretched to hold the sink, the more you felt yourself losing traction with it. naturally, simon noticed before you did.

“y’need to get closer, cm’ere”

tools landing to the side of him, two large hands plucked you up till you were dropped in his lap. precarious situation but you couldn’t deny the sink was a lot easier to reach.

you stayed like that, letting simon work in peace as you enjoyed your view. honestly, he could invite you to the end of the world and you’d just be happy to hold his hand.

one hand splayed out on his chest, the other holding the sink, you suddenly felt a tickle forming at the end of your nose. before you knew it, you were pulling your hand back to scratch it- the one holding the sink.

you panicked, realising it could very well land on simon’s head. but it didn’t, it stayed completely still. face screwing up, you leant in again to give the sink a nudge only to find out it was totally fixed.

“what the hell, si? why’d you have me doing all that?”

you saw the smirk on his face as he flashed a look over at you. suddenly, you realised you weren’t the only one enjoying the view.

the hand that didn’t have the wrench came out to give you a pat on the side of your hip.

“c’mon sweet’art, i can’t get anything outta’ this?”

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

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

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

You nod, eyes fluttering shut.

"Yeah."

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

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

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

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

You shake your head.

"Please–"

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

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

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

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

"Thaaats it. Right there, huh."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I can't, oh my god."

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

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

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

>:)

Stylized Viktor Proportions

Did a simple guide of Viktor's body proportions (in a very stylized version) for myself. Figured I'd share here.

Someone sent an anonymous ask about Soap being all whiny and jealous, complaining to Simon about how lucky he is to have such a pretty, curvy girl and Tumblr swallowed it 😫 (This is gonna be a 2 parter)

Warnings: nsfw, threesome, sub soap and reader, dom ghost, training, voyeurism

But I can imagine Ghost would be so sick and tired of it. Johnny's constantly yapping like the mutt he truly is: "Yer a lucky man, LT. Findin' a pretty bird like that." "Where'd ye get her? Need to find one for myself." "She as soft as she sounds?"

Ghost wants to snap at him for talking about you like that - he shouldn't be talking about you at all. But he knows the poor man is just lonely, aching to have something soft and supple like you. Your smiling face smushed between Ghost's fingers when you come to drop off the lunch he forgot. The jeans that fit snuggly around your ass and thighs, the shirt that hugs the swell of your breasts, stretched thin as it barely contains them... poor Johnny boy can't help but whine at the sight of something so appetizing, so soft and warm right there - he's jealous of his LT. How did someone so hard around the edges pluck something so sweet?

Simon hates to see him so upset, pouting in the corner like a scolded puppy as you stare at your boyfriend with stars in your eyes. Johnny could have a girl, but he gets overeager: fucking them on the first date, leaving them sore and bitten and tearful. He's too rough, and they're quick to excuse themselves, fleeing the next morning and blocking him from all social media.

Johnny needs to learn to be patient and gentle with his toys. He's nice enough to let the sergeant practice with his own pretty girl, and you're more than happy to assist Soap with his green-eyed monster.

After a nice dinner at his LT's house, served by you - along with some bronze, liquid courage - Johnny sits on the recliner, chatting with Ghost, who's relaxed on the sofa. You enter the living room and stand next to Simon, biting your lip excitedly and staring between the two of them. Simon wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you to sit on the arm of the sofa.

"Y' think she's pretty?" He asks Johnny, who blinks.

Gorgeous. Comely. Ravishing. "Course I do." He responds plainly, trying not to get worked up over the way you're perched next to his LT so prettily.

"Yea, you do..." Simon mutters, squeezing the flesh at your thigh. "What's it you said? 'She must look nice, spillin' out my hands’?"

Soap is nothing short of mortified. His eyes are wide, staring back at Simon - he doesn't know what to say. He said those things within the secrecy of his conversation with his lieutenant - he didn't expect him to repeat it outside of that bubble, let alone in front of you, the person in question.

"N' what else was it? 'Need t' have a pretty li'l wife with a rack like that to lay my head-"

"Simon!!"

Soap finally glares at his LT, his fingers digging into his own thighs. His heart is pounding in his chest. Is Ghost trying to get you to hate him?

You giggle and stand upright. "It's ok, Johnny." You coo, slowly walking over to him with your hands behind your back. "I like it. It means you like me."

Soap has little time to do anything but grunt when you swing a leg over his thighs and seat yourself in his lap. Your cleavage is right there, just inches from his face, and he can feel the bare skin of your thighs burning through his trousers.

"Help me take this off?" You tug at the skirt of your dress, looking down at him with those innocent, glossy eyes.

He can't breathe. His clothes are too hot and too tight, his cock nearly choking in the confines of his pants. He looks to his lieutenant for help - Ghost just smiles, like he's watching his favorite porn. He might be, depending on how this plays out.

"Go on, Johnny. Slowly."

Johnny wants to be anything but slow, once he realizes his best friend is showing you off like a collectible toy. He looks back up at you, watching the way your plump lip catches between your teeth. He carefully reaches around, grabbing the back of your neckline and tugging the zipper down - slowly, as he was instructed. He can barely focus on the movement with your breasts right there, imagining what they'd taste like between his warm lips. The shoulders of your dress fall away, revealing the lacy bra you're wearing. He looks up at you, drool pooling under his tongue as you slide your hands over his shoulders, one coming around to play with the base of his mohawk.

"You can take it off." You whisper.

He wastes no time, his hands smoothing up your back and unclasping your bra in one motion. He helps you pull it from your shoulders - your breasts, round and full, now pressing against his chest. He wants to touch. He needs to touch.

He shoots a hungry, pleading look to Ghost - he nods back at Soap, which is all the sergeant needs to absolve his filthy behavior. He closes your breast in his palm, eyes hazy as he takes your nipple into his warm mouth. He hardly has to move his head forward because you lean into his mouth, your fingers grasping at his hair and your back arching deliciously. Johnny groans, using one hand to dig his fingers into the thick flesh at your hips, and his other to press his palm against your lower back. He shifts himself down as his tongue swirls around your nipple, groans leaving his throat and reverberating against the bud, quickly hardening from his ministrations. You sound so sweet, high-pitched coos and soft breaths pouring from between your lips as you press your weight against Soap, shoving your breast as far into his mouth as he can take. You kiss the crown of his head, whispering a good boy against his skin.

He practically whines, bucking his hips upwards, relishing in how your body grounds him into the sofa cushions. He releases your breast with a pop and quickly takes the other one into his hand, sealing his lips over it with a hum. He looks up at you through wanting, begging eyes as you toss your head back, squeezing your thighs around his hips. His tongue undulates against your stiffening peak, slobbering around the underside of your breast as he gives you another experimental jerk of his hips. You gasp, rolling your hips back down onto him and staring at him with your lust-blown pupils.

His cock is demanding to be let free. He's going to fuck you hard, he's going to pound you into the chair until you're begging, showing his LT just how much of a good boy he is. He's never felt this blazing forest fire within his veins, setting off nerve after nerve and burning a trail right down to his hard, throbbing member.

He hooks his fingers into the hem of your soaked panties, fully intending to rip them off - but you quickly grab his wrist and yank his hand away. He looks at you, blinking through his trance as a look of confusion settles on his face. "Wha's wrong?"

You giggle his expression - the sound goes straight to his tip with another rush of blood. "These are for Simon." you whisper, slowly pushing yourself off of Soap's lap. He lets his arms fall to his sides with a desperate look, letting you back away, right into Ghost's waiting lap.

"Gonna show ya a thing or two, Johnny." he says, pulling you back to his chest. "Teach ya a few tricks, maybe you'll be able t' keep a woman longer than a day." he pulls a switchblade from his pocket and flicks it open. The blade drags down over your belly - you chew your lip as it electrifies your skin, the tip sliding lower and lower until he's running it over your pussy. The fabric is soaked as he lingers there, the sharp edge barely separated from your cunt by your flimsy, drenched panties.

You stare at Soap, not once breaking eye contact as Ghost slices through the fabric. Soap's mouth is agape in disbelief and lust, enamored by the sight before him. He can't tear his eyes from the view of your sopping, glistening pussy, watching as Simon slides his thick fingers over your folds. He catches his thumb under the hood of your clit and you jolt, shooting a hand down to grab his wrist - but he doesn't stop. You whine and mewl, leaning your head back against his shoulder as he flicks the bud, strumming over it slowly.

He stares Soap in the eyes, watching his reaction. "Alright there, Johnny?"

He's drooling, mouth hung open, hypnotized by the way your muscles clench with each stroke of Simon’s thumb. “… Aye…” he manages to say – his fingers dig into the cushions beneath him as he tries to control the urge to tear across the room and drive his cock into your cunt, fucking you against his lieutenant’s chest the way you deserve: rough and hard. Simon’s been teasing you too long; you need to be ravaged, orgasm after orgasm pulled from you, faster than you can think.

“Let me have a go, yea?” he says boldly, looking at Simon with desperation. “That’s what this is, right? Ye want me to fuck ‘er nice? I’ll do it. I’ll do it, sir – I’ll take good care of her-“

“No you won’t.” Simon interjects before the dog can get too riled up. His fingers are now strumming up and through your folds, and you’re panting and staring at Johnny with needy desire. “’S why you can’t keep anyone. You’re too eager.”

The truth shoots through Soap’s chest like an arrow, and he meets Simon’s gaze. He’s obviously rock-hard in his trousers, he won’t even attempt to hide it. Simon’s got a cocky, knowing smirk on his face, and you… poor you is just wishing Simon would spit out what he wants to say, so the three of you could get on with the show.

“Gonna teach you a few secrets, sergeant.” Simon says, and Soap isn’t sure what to think about having his rank used in this situation. “My girl needs to cum.” He pulls his fingers away from you – you whine in frustration, but are quickly silenced when two, thick digits are stuffed into your mouth. You obediently clean off your own slick with your tongue, looking back down at Johnny with a heavy, lidded stare.

“I’ll make her cum.” Soap says quickly. If this is a matter of whether or not he can make someone cum, he’ll pass that test easily.

“You’ll do it right.” Simon growls. “Need to understand the difference between getting’ your cock wet and pleasuring ‘er. ‘S my girl ‘n I won’t have you roughhousing ‘er. Got it?”

Soap’s throat bobs as he swallows. It was another task, another order from his superior. He clears his mind of any preprogrammed, lustful thoughts, sent straight to his brain from his achingly hard member – this wasn’t about him. It was about following instructions. He was a good soldier, he could do that much.

“Yes sir.”

Simon nods. He shifts hips, pulling his fingers from your lipsand grabbing your hips. You grab his forearms for support as he spreads his muscular thigs, forcing your legs farther apart as they rest on either side of his knees. Slick dribbles down from your pussy and onto Simon’s length, which is about to tear a hole through his pants.

“Then get to it. Sick of hearin’ you yap all day about not bein’ able to keep a girl. Put your mouth to good use – we’re about to fix that.”

If you have achieved something, please remember to observe a mandatory period of basking in the warm glow of your achievement like a lizard on a stone, lest you teach your brain that effort is futile, actually, because it didn't get to enjoy its happy chemicals, so, naturally, nothing good ever comes of trying. (And no, avoiding punishment is not a reward!)

I recommend, like, 5% of basking time in relation to whatever time you invested into achieving the thing minimum. And if you can't make your own bask, friend-brought is fine (= tell your friends!).

peristalsis - ii.

selkie!soap x reader. depression. suicidal ideation. strangers to "lovers." 4.9k. . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

previous

You sleep long enough that, when you wake up, you have enough energy to cry.

It’s a big one. The kind of cry that threatens to turn your throat out, with how hard you sob. Alone in the cottage, far away from anything resembling civilization, you wail like wounded animal, choking on your own tears and mucus, losing track of your body buried underneath the covers—

But it happens at a remove. You watch yourself implode from someplace deep inside, not entirely sure why it’s happening at all—but long past trying to figure it out.

This is how it’s been for a while. There’s nothing special about it anymore. Nothing urgent. Most of the time, you are a blank space of a person, a vacuum where joy or rage or fear should be, but occasionally some maelstrom or another kicks up to fill it in, and your only course of action is to ride it out until it ends.

You’ve stopped trying to fix it. And you’ve stopped hoping anyone else can, either.

So you cry, until at last, you’re empty again. Or you’re too tired to continue. The difference is negligible, but functionally irrelevant. Once it’s done, you get out of bed.

The pressure in the shower is as weak as Johnny reported, but the water is indeed warm when you turn it on; you stand naked under the flow, arms hanging at your sides.

The day stretches itself out before you with nothing to occupying it, just as you’d planned. Nothing to work towards; no effort to put forward. Nothing, thanks to your choice of locale, to feel guilty about not seeking out.

A day of peace and utter quiet.

Suddenly—violent banging, somewhere in the cottage. It startles you; you jump so sharply at the noise that you smack your wrist on the soap caddy attached to the shower wall. The banging comes again—annoyed, you realize with no little bemusement that someone is at the front door.

You wrap yourself in a towel and hobble out of the bathroom to answer it, a piece of your mind on your tongue, dart-shaped and ready to fly—

Of course it’s Johnny.

Johnny, big and burly in a sweater, kilt, and pelt once again, two paper cups balanced in one large hand and a grocery bag hanging from the other. Whose dark brows shoot up his forehead as his eyes travel with surprise, and blatant appreciation, down the dripping length your body.

“Well, good mornin’, bonnie,” he purrs.

“What,” you grunt. A cold breath of wind chooses that moment to force its way through the door, gasping across the shower water still running in rivulets from your hair to the rolled edge of your towel. Goosebumps erupt from your bare skin in millions of simultaneous pinpricks—you flinch bodily at the chill.

“Ah, hell’s bells, don’t just stand there,” Johnny says, following the wind. “It’s freezin,’ go on, let me get in, hurry.”

You let him step inside, for some reason, and he shuts the door behind him with the heel of his boot. He wastes no time after that, heading to the kitchen to set down his things.

“Brought breakfast!” he says cheerfully. “There’s this bakery on Barra I thought you’d like, fresh doughnuts and coffee. Dunno how you take yours, but there’s sugar in the pantry and cream in the fridge.”

“I don’t want breakfast,” you say.

“What? ‘Course you do. I’m no’ takin’ you seal-watchin’ on an empty stomach.”

He starts unpacking the grocery bag and setting things on the counter while your jaw hangs open. Several things occur to you to say—I never agreed to that and what the hell is wrong with you, for starters—but your stomach growls at him before you can. The aroma of fresh-baked pastry wafts through the kitchen when he opens one box, and he turns to grin at you, cheeks dimpling.

“Do you get dressed, bonnie,” he says. “It’ll still be here when y’get back.”

It is less polite than he perhaps intends it to be, given that his gaze travels appreciatively across your bare shoulders. You cross your arms fruitlessly over your chest and, nothing else for it, retreat to the bedroom, feeling his eyes on you the whole way.

You return to the kitchen after having pulled on wool leggings and the same fleecy sweater from the day before. Johnny, one hip set against the counter, has a cup of steaming coffee in one hand and a half-eaten cruller in the other, crumbs at the corner of his mouth.

“Got anythin’ heavier?” he asks around a chewed-up mouthful. “Gets cold out there.”

You look down at his bare calves, broad and taut and covered in a down of dark hair. “You seem alright.”

“I’m used to it,” he says, shrugging—the muscles flexing under your gaze.

You purse your lips. “I don’t have anything.” You hadn’t intended to leave the cottage overmuch.

You approach the counter. Johnny does not move a centimeter, forcing you to stand close as you pick through the two boxes of doughnuts and feel the body heat radiating off of him, displacing the scent of fried dough with his musk.

“That’s all right,” he says. You’re close enough to hear the way his voice hums deep in his chest. “I can keep you warm.”

You snatch a plain glazed from the box and take two very large steps away from him. The hair on the back of your neck lifts as you press against the sink behind you. If he notices your reaction, it doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest—he lifts the cup to his lips and drinks, eyes sliding closed with simple, obvious pleasure, dark lashes curling against his cheek.

You take the brief respite from his gaze to stare at him. In the morning light, on a full night of sleep, you can almost believe that whatever you’d seen in him yesterday had been nothing more than a misfire of exhausted synapses. An overlay of a dream; a circadian prompt to rectify nearly seventeen hours of sleeplessness. You’d been cold, and tired, and hungry. That was all.

You bite down on your doughnut, not really tasting it. The nerves along your spine twitch and contract around the memory of his flashing gaze.

His eyes open again, and he smiles at you. “Good?” He flicks a look at the single bite you’ve taken, looks at your mouth, and then waits for your reply.

“It’s fine,” you grumble. Then, “How did you get here? I didn’t hear the truck drive up. Do you live close by?”

“Sometimes,” he says. He looks pleased that you’ve asked, that you’re interested at all, and you immediately regret inquiring. “Live on a boat, me. Moored in the cove right now.”

“A…boat,” you say.

“Aye.” A wisp of dark hair, something he must have missed when he gelled his mohawk this morning, flutters as he nods. “Nice and cozy. Not as grand as all this, mind.” He gestures around with coffee and doughnut at the less than five hundred square feet of the cottage. “But it’s still a sight nicer than some other places I’ve slept.”

He’s likely hinting at his military service. “Okay,” is all you say, unwilling to entertain it.

He smirk—undeterred. “We’ll take her out once you’re ready.”

“I never said I was going.”

Dark brows lift. “Got somethin’ else planned for today?” he asks, incredulous, as if he never imagined you wouldn’t want to hang out with him.

“No, I—”

You wrack your brain. You have no intention of explaining to this complete stranger that the last thing you’d wanted to do, when you booked this trip, was really anything at all—and in fact, you hadn’t even considered that that might be something anyone else would care much about.

Much less proactively address.

“No,” you repeat, sulking.

Johnny considers you, chewing. His eyes do not stray, this time, to places they don’t belong; but there’s an insight to them. A sharp awareness. A perception in his gaze that is just as undressing, as if whatever is going on with you is visible to the naked eye.

“I figure,” he says, slowly, as if to coax, “you put your wee shoes on, an’ I’ll pack this back up, and we take it along.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you grouse. “I don’t need you to, like—be my tour guide.”

“Aye, but that doesnae mean I don’t wanna,” he retorts, smiling.

He shoves the last bite of cruller in his mouth and gazes patiently at you as he works it with his jaw, the muscles flexing along his temples as he chews.

Exhaustion, your constant companion, stares you down alongside him. It would take so much more energy to fight him than to go along with whatever he has planned. Energy you just don’t have anymore. And going along doesn’t mean you have to pretend to enjoy yourself—it’s not like you care enough about Johnny’s self-esteem to conjure up a happy face to show him.

You can go, and be a bitch about it, and once you do maybe he’ll realize you’re not at all worth the effort he’s making, and then finally leave you alone.

“Fine,” you say, which is how you end up on a fishing trawler headed south toward, ostensibly, a colony of breeding seals.

It’s an old vessel—that much is obvious. Its edges and corners are dull with the passage of time and constant maintenance, scuffed by innumerable passes-over with cleaner and cloth. Mildew competes with the aroma of fresh varnish as Johnny leads you onto the bridge, which is mercifully closed in from the ocean wind.

The interior is mostly wood of a warm, orangish variety—you can’t tell if that’s a decision made with aesthetics or function in mind. The space comprises a kitchen, surprisingly well-appointed with a stove, sink, countertop, and fridge, and a small sitting area with both couch and booth seating. Surrounding windows allow in the grey light of the morning.

“Bought it off an old bloke on Lewis,” Johnny says, taking his place at the wheel, which is in a little alcove off the kitchen.

If you’d thought steering a boat would have curtailed his chatting, you’d have been wrong—he seems to have no trouble with that and talking, incessantly, at the same time, as he pulls the vessel away from the cove and into the open water.

“All his family moved to the mainland, he told me, an’ this is after generations fishin’ these islands, even makin’ it through the Clearances! No money in it anymore, he said, not like you could make in some office somewhere countin’ someone else’s money.” He checks something on the dashboard in front of him, but it doesn’t distract him for long. “Held on for a while, but people just kept leavin,’ an’ he was gettin’ too old to go out on his own. Got such a good price on it, I think he was just happy someone else was gonna take up the tradition.”

“Did he sell you the cottage too?” you ask, and then dig your nails into your wrist for encouraging him.

“Yup,” he says. “No one else wanted it, but me? I saw somethin’ special about it.”

He turns to smile at you—no doubt pleased you made the connection. You avert your gaze.

“Imagine someday I’ll have my own family here,” he continues. “Good place for it. Nice and slow, not like city living. Can hear yourself think out here. Perfect place to have a few wee ones.”

“If people stop leaving,” you mutter.

He turns to you again. “I’m no’ worried about that,” he replies. He’s still smiling. “You came here, after all.”

You have nothing to say to that.

The trip is a short one—Johnny brings the trawler alongside an island he informs you is called Mingulay, a square mile smaller than Vatersay’s tiny dot in the North Atlantic. Unlike the latter, he says, this island has not been inhabited since 1912, and has been completely reclaimed by the ocean and its wildlife.

After he drops anchor offshore, Johnny disappears down a steep flight of stairs below deck, which he had not offered a tour of, and emerges a short time later with a large, bulky coat.

“Didn’t I tell you?” he says proudly, holding it out by the shoulders. “Here, turn ‘round.”

You pause in the middle of reaching for it. You don’t know exactly why you comply—it occurs to you that if you grabbed for the jacket, he could simply not let go of it, and you would end up exactly where he wants you anyway. So you lower your arm and, resigned, give him your back.

He steps up behind you. Warmth pours off of him, more than you think any human body should be able to generate.

You hear him inhale, deeply, as he brings the jacket to your back. As you slide your arms into the sleeves, you feel his exhale on the nape of your neck, teasing through individual follicles of hair.

“There w’go,” he murmurs, much closer than you expected.

You can hear the low hum of his voice in his chest; his hands linger on your shoulders far longer than they need to, heavy, big enough that his index fingers brush along your collarbones.

When his hands make to slide down your back you step away from him and fumble to zip the jacket up; he chuckles lightly behind you. When you turn to face him, his lips are curled—smug.

“Alright then,” he says. “Let’s get out there.”

He rows the two of you to shore in a small kayak, two pairs of binoculars in your lap as you huddle away from the wind. You’ll be walking to the haul-out, he says—getting too close to the breeding grounds, which he calls a rookery, would spook them, possibly causing a stampede.

“It’s grey seals we’re gonna see,” he explains as the two of you pick your way across the rocky landscape. “Not the biggest haul-out you could see, some colonies get into the thousands, but we’ll have it all to ourselves.”

He insists on taking your elbow every time the two of you cross particularly uneven terrain, even though you don’t need it. You think he takes your attempts to shake him off as proof of your lack of balance, because he grasps you all the tighter every time.

“I’m not a child, Johnny, I can walk on my own,” you finally snap at him.

“Just bein’ a gentleman, bonnie,” he replies nonchalantly. He does not let you go.

As you get closer, you hear the seals before you see them, and when their voices reach you across the open island, you stop dead.

Groaning, grunting, hissing in a cacophonous chorus. Some part of your hindbrain double-takes, reshuffles itself—some ancestral instinct always on the lookout for predation. If you’d been given a chance to guess what a colony of mating seals might have sounded like, you’re not sure you could have guessed what they sounded like.

Certainly not like what you hear now—

Like people.

Johnny grins at you when he notices. “Aye, it’s a right ruckus, innit?”

He leads you up a small rise, where he has the two of you settle belly-down over the machair to overlook the wedge of rocky coast that the colony has claimed for its own.

And when you finally see it—it’s underwhelming.

Perhaps two hundred long, fat bodies, in varying shades of brown and grey, lay indolently along the rocks, in groups of three or four, some heavily galumphing from one place to another while others roll occasionally from side to side. The shifting winds catch their scent and blow it uncaringly into your face; you nearly gag at the admixture of dead fish and ammonia.

It doesn’t escape you that this is a rare thing to witness; you are not wholly immune to the fact that you are only a hundred meters away from something most people only encounter on a screen. It’s just that without a swell of awed music in the backdrop, or a narrator’s breathless wonder at the miracle of pinniped life, what’s left for you to observe is a population of wet, stinking animals, shitting where they lay, vocalizing without cease while they laze about doing basically nothing.

Johnny does not seem to notice your disillusionment; he hands you one pair of binoculars, and directs your attention to activity along the shoreline. You follow to where he’s pointing; one larger seal is hassling a smaller one, which snarls at the aggressor as it thrashes around with its substantial bulk.

“Little one there—” Johnny says, “that’s a female, probably obvious. Big one knows she’s ready to mate, can smell it on her.”

The female bares her teeth and lunges at the bigger male, which flinches back but holds his ground.

“Doesn’t look like she agrees,” you mutter.

“She’s just givin’ him a hard time. She’s all in heat, see? Just makes her cranky,” Johnny says. You feel his eyes on you, and lower your binoculars to look at him. “She’s got to fuss to feel all in control.”

You flush. “Right.”

“You don’t think so?”

“No,” you say. “He’s—he’s just bothering her.”

He gazes at you for a moment, contemplative. Corners of his mouth quirking upward. He does not reply for a long moment, long enough that you have to avert your gaze from his.

“Nah,” he finally says, and you don’t think you’re imagining the low, sultry note in his voice. “She wants it bad as he does.”

You scowl, uncomfortably perceived, and return your binoculars—the pair is still facing off, gurgling and growling at each other. The female is slim, almost sleek, unlike most of the other seals populating the rookery.

“Is she sick?” you ask.

“Hm? Oh, no, she’s alright. The mums lose a lot of weight when they nurse. Takes three weeks, and they don’t eat in the meantime.”

“Jesus.”

“Be nice if the dads ever brought ‘em a bite, aye?” Johnny agrees. “Deadbeats, the lot of them.”

The two of you survey the colony in silence for a moment. As the morning wears on, the cloud covering thins overhead, allowing cool sunlight to filter through. The temperature doesn’t rise in response; begrudgingly, you tug Johnny’s jacket a little tighter around you.

Then, suddenly, his hand lands on your back, between your shoulder blades.

“Got some pups over there,” he says. “Look, by the kelp.”

You find them; smaller bodies, white dinged with wet sand and dirt, lounge near their mothers or wriggle with aimless difficulty. They’re fluffy and round as plush toys, with shining black eyes and noses, and once Johnny’s pointed them out you can differentiate the higher, sweeter pitch of their cries from the overall cacophony.

“Sometimes,” Johnny murmurs, “search and rescue’ll get called out because someone thought they heard a baby crying. Some kid stranded or lost, right? Turns out to be a baby seal.”

“That’s kind of scary,” you say.

“Aye,” says Johnny. “Always makes me think that’s where the old legends come from, about seal people or mermaids.”

A small ways away, some of the mothers lay with their pups far into the surf, letting the waves break over them. You watch as one mother thunks her large head overtop of her pup’s as the water rushes toward them; the pup wriggles, and then, as the wave engulfs them, it begins to thrash, whipping up a panicked froth.

“Time for swimming lessons already?” Johnny muses. “Seems early.”

You’re horrified. “She’s going to drown it!”

The hand still on your back pats you consolingly. “Just watch,” says Johnny.

The wave reaches as far up the shore as gravity allows, and then begins to recede. The pup’s thrashing calms as the air meets its face once again; the cow allows the pup to lift its head, and after a few sputters, the pup seems no worse for wear.

“They’re hardier than they look, bonnie,” Johnny says.

His hand, heavy and warm even over his borrowed jacket, slides down from your shoulders to your lower back, and then he rubs, slowly, side to side, as if to comfort you—but the knobs of your spine contract at his touch.

“Last of the births this season, looks like,” he says. “Mum’s getting ready to leave—probably not the only one.”

Something hard drops into your stomach.

“They leave their babies?” you ask.

“Aye. Once they’re done nursing, they mate, and then they go.”

You look back at the other cows with their pups. One baby has its muzzle to its mother’s belly, quivering and suckling, while she lays with her head on a patch of grass. She looks uninterested—more, she looks disinterested. As if how voraciously her pup is nursing has nothing much to do with her, and she’s bored of even having to think about it.

Bored—and already looking forward to the next part of her life without a baby in it.

“That’s horrible,” you say.

“They’re solitary animals, bonnie,” Johnny says, not ungently. “The only time they’re really all together is for this.”

A line tightens between your stomach and throat, and you feel it start to build between your ribs. A tremor—foreshocks. The wind picks up, bringing a sharp chill off the ocean and up the rise that cuts into your stinging eyes, abrades the naked skin of your hands and the exposed part of your neck.

When you look through your binoculars again, you wonder how many of the pups you see have already been abandoned.

“Aw, bonnie,” Johnny says. There’s a kind of pity in his voice that has your hackles raising.

“I want to leave,” you say, yanking away from his touch and shuffling down the incline. “Take me back to the cottage.”

“Bonnie, it’s okay!” Johnny protests, rolling to his back to look at you as you stand. “The pups make it, they figure out how to fend for themselves.”

You glare at him, vision blurring. “All of them?”

Some part of you knows you’re being irrational—knows that nature is a cruel home, and that many children face worse fates than the seal pups. Abandoning the young, the needy, is no aberration; it is, in fact, far more the standard than the human practice, which lingers for decades—

Most of the time.

Johnny has no response. He holds your angry gaze, brows drawn low, mouth pressed into a thin line. It’s the first time that cocky aura, which seems to rest in every fine line on his face and every angle at which he holds his body, is completely absent.

He isn’t reflecting your anger back at you, though—he’s internalizing it. Letting it hit him, you think, and trying to use it to figure you out.

You do not want to be figured out.

You scoff again. “Take me back,” you repeat, and then you start walking in the direction you came, without waiting for him to follow.

Johnny drops you off in the cove, and thankfully does not linger this time before he departs—he bids you farewell after rowing you to shore, contemplation on his face, and then leaves you to yourself.

You retreat, seeking the cottage’s empty quiet.

As you perch on the couch you listen to the radiator hum—the wind blow over the reeds in the thatch roof—your own heart beating a drum in the arteries of your neck.

Percussive. Quick and hard. Like heavy knockers on a door. Pounding as if to burst through.

You realize you’re still wearing Johnny’s jacket, and you throw it off, disgusted with yourself. You get up and pace, and try to ignore it lying in a heap on the floor.

You do something you swore you wouldn’t do the moment you set foot on the island—you turn your phone back on.

True to Johnny’s word, there’s no signal. You picked this island, this part of the world, for a reason; for the past several years, a slow exodus from the British isles has vacated the need for dedicated cell towers or satellite or internet access, especially given that the only ones who remain are too old now to want it or need it or know how to use it.

It’s isolated. Cut off. Left behind by anyone with better options, and only clung to by those trying to preserve the only way of life they know.

Some kinder part of you belongs with that demographic; the part that was telling your mother the truth, before getting on the plane.

The rest of you holds your phone up and starts walking around.

In the furthest corner in the bedroom, you find a single bar of signal. A tiny chip of connectivity—a thin, frayed thread. Something you lied to yourself about cutting.

It’s a weak connection. Unstable. It could take a while—you stand there, waiting.

The screen dims. You tap it again.

Blank.

You unlock it, look through your apps. Wonder if maybe your notifications are bugged by your new SIM card.

Nothing—

No one.

You whip around and, with a cry, pitch the thing at the far wall—it hits the stone with a crunch, falling to the floor in pieces.

You’re out of the cottage then in a mad dash, door slamming behind you, driving yourself back into the wind. Far away—you want to be far away, far from everything, so far that nothing could possibly reach you. You trudge down the path toward the beach, banding your arms across your chest, shivering in the cold, and yet you hardly feel it.

Not worth it. No point. Waste of your time. Energy. All of it. Stop trying. Stop wanting. Nothing. Nothing. You want nothing.

You’re halfway down to the shore, not really knowing what you’re going to do when you get there, when you catch sight of a body on the sand.

You gasp, a sharp breath down your larynx, and freeze in a dead halt.

The body is completely still.

A swimmer? A diver? It’s dark, like it just pulled itself out of the ocean—or washed up—

Then, it moves. A twitch, a ripple across its bulk, and your chest rapidly decompresses.

A seal. It’s a large seal, lounging alone on the beach.

You stand motionless. You’re very close—much closer than you and Johnny had been at the rookery. You hadn’t contended with the sheer size of the animals, tucked safely up and away from them, but there is no illusion of distance now.

It’s the biggest one you’ve seen today, you’re sure of it. Bigger, you think, than most adult men. Its pelt is a riot of every shade of grey, splashy, like liquid paint thrown across a canvas. Black speckles scatter overtop of marbled white and cool slate, and down the center of its back is a broad, dark line, soft at the edges, which reaches all the way up to the top of the seal’s head.

The bull—it must be male—turns over. It lifts its head, and opens its eyes—

Fear suddenly zips up your spine as it looks right at you.

You stumble backward and trip on your own feet, landing hard on your ass. Johnny’s care with keeping enough distance from the colony rushes back to you, along with the warring couple’s bared teeth.

They can’t move that fast on land, right? They aren’t interested in people, right?

You scramble backward. It’s so much bigger than you ever would have imagined. If it got to you—threw itself over you—it could crush you with its weight alone—

The bull watches you placidly. Unperturbed.

You pause.

Its small eyes are dark and glossy—watchful and focused. The whiskers on its muzzle twitch a little as it takes you in. It breathes, deeply and evenly, huge body expanding and contracting at a slow, calm tempo. Its—his—nostrils flex, widening and narrowing, as he blinks docilely.

Unafraid.

If anything—curious.

Then he snorts, and wriggles in place. It startles a laugh out of you, more reaction than humor. Still watching you, the bull lowers his head back down, resting it again on the sand.

Your heartbeat abates. He doesn’t move again—nor does his attention leave you. Slowly, you sit up.

Wary. No sudden movements.

He doesn’t react; only continues to watch you.

You draw your knees up. Wrap your arms around your shins, and dust a bit of sand from your leggings. Rest your chin in the crevice between your knees.

There’s an intelligence in the bull’s eyes that is fathoms deep. There is a massive gulf between his experience of the world and yours, millennia of evolution separating your species from his—and yet…as you hold his gaze, you recognize the look in it.

Him, seeing you. And seeing you see him. The pendulum swinging between awareness of each other, and recognition of that shared awareness.

An empty space in the cloud cover passes overhead; sunlight touches the earth, warms it briefly before disappearing again. You wonder a little why this bull isn’t with the other seals.

Johnny would probably know.

“I didn’t come for you, you know,” you grumble at him.

The seal blinks. Awareness notwithstanding, you don’t share any language.

You sigh. “I guess you didn’t come to see me either,” you say.

But you don’t move away.

And you stay like that for a long while, you and he—regarding each other as the wind breathes out across the shore.

next chapter early access

a/n: follow for more seal facts™

Also huge thanks to Lev for trawler listings/info. Didn't explore it much this chapter but Soap's boat will show up more soon :)