You remembered being scared, but not of him. Though, if memory serves correct, he wasn’t particularly of a warming or soothing nature upon your first meeting. The fear stemmed from yourself, from what your pain had driven you to and the devastating realisation that you would always feel that pain.
It gripped onto your throat with an iron fist, obstructing your airways until you gasped for air and clawed at your own throat. Through that fear, you burst; no matter which world you ended up in, you burst. The uncontrollable thing that spilled out of you felt all consuming, cloaking your vision in green and black until nothing else was left. Until you had ruined that world, just like your own.
Chasing the ghosts of the people you had loved, the people you had lost. Desperately clutching at any iteration you could find of them to only soothe that pain for a moment. Just a moment that didn’t make everything inside you disintegrate until all that was left was emptiness.
Because, in the end, that was all that was left.
You suppose, in that regard, he had saved you. Come to you when you had needed it most, though you were still unsure of whether he had set you free or imprisoned you. Perhaps both.
A princess, locked in a tower for her own good, because anything she touched shrivelled and died.
You knew now why he had come to you, the intent to capture and imprison you with a ferocity that you were yet to understand. You had just been trying to help, had just been trying to stop the events that you had witnessed in every universe before unfolding and take what had already been taken from you. For the most part, you were somewhat successful, but you left chaos in your wake. A rip in the fabric of their existence that he so desperately kept trying to stitch back together.
Your fingers had reached out, a trail of green smoke and lightning extending from your finger tips and weaving between the cracks of concrete and sparks of flames. It was a power you did not understand, a curse that had never bent to your will unless desperation choked you.
The ground would cement back together and the flames, encased in the green smoke that flowed out of you, doused it out. Each time, you watched from afar as your baby brother and sister were pulled away from the repairing wreckage, an untarnished version of yourself enveloping them and reassuring their safety. Then, you would retreat, momentarily settled.
Because in those worlds, you had stopped it. Halted and eradicated the possibility of pain, ensuring their lives went on untainted and happy. Jealousy, eventually, made itself known. Barging through your front door like an over familiar friend and seating itself in the place of elation. A cycle that continued on and on, like a broken record that only continued to remind you of what you no longer had. Then you burst; an inevitability in all your universes.
When he found you, that power overflowed, your screams almost deafening as your attempt to channel it hung by a thread. In the midst of that noise, he cut through, with overbearing shoulders squared and a stance that should have elicited fear. Cloaked in red and dark blue, claws extended and primed for battle.
‘I don’t know how to stop it.’ It was a plea, and you didn’t care for the look of contempt he held even with a mask.
Yet there had been one moment where that ominous gaze - amidst the pandemonium - had calmed. As if subdued by the realisation that you were not hostile. He seemed unaffected by the plumes of green that surrounded him, his armour providing a protection that you had yet to understand by then.
In silence, he reached out, the act only appearing momentarily gentle, before gripping your jaw with a ferocity and tightness that should have scared you. He lifted his mask, only by a fraction, and you watched as his pointed chin became visible. Your memory would latch onto the fangs, pointed and glinting. Full lips, pulled back as he bared his teeth, hollowed cheeks on brown skin.
The moment would shift quickly from that, until you felt his teeth sink into the crook of your neck. With a fleeting pain on punctured skin, something new would follow. Your veins would warm, heart descending from its accelerated pace as your body softened. The feeling of his fanged teeth embedded into your skin would ease your pain, your fear, and instead something else would eclipse it. Warm, honeyed and eliciting a soft gasp of relief at the sensation.
There was nothing.
An overwhelming reprieve of nothing, a silence that had seldom found space inside your head, was granted by him. As you became limp your burst of power quietened, and somehow through the haze you felt his arms wrap around your waist, gripping onto you as you lost feeling in your limbs.
It could have been seconds or minutes that you had been held by him, arched in his embrace with his fangs embedded into your skin as the feeling of his warm, wet tongue faded away.
When he stood, pulling you back up with him, he replaced the shades of green in your vision. Before you slipped into unconsciousness, you caught a glimpse of his own eyes; red, formidable, and an anger almost potent enough to taste. Yet it was layered with sadness, something you could detect even in your state of delirium, as the rest of your body numbed.
When your eyes fluttered closed, his grip remained steady, secure enough to almost be perceived as comforting. He muttered a name that had been used for you countless times before. The words ghosting across your skin in a way that could have elicited shivers if your body had not felt so weighted.
‘Lyla, get me everything we have on chaos magic.’ A pause. ‘She’s a witch.’
Miguel O’Hara.
His name left a bitter taste in your mouth, one which provided sweetness in its after taste. Your resentment at that fact would never lessen, because despite his coldness, his complete lack of empathy, you couldn’t help but desire his presence.
Held at arm's length, and locked up in a tower that almost felt irritatingly poetic, he was your only company.
If you didn’t include Lyla as a real person.
With your home world in ashes, and a lack of understanding on how to maintain your abilities, he would not let you leave. Your ability to travel into other worlds had been seized by him, a contraption that you didn’t fully understand had been attached to your wrist and instead you were left in this tower. Left to wander the halls surrounded by people with abilities just like his, yet unable to create any form of attachment of value.
They feared you, just as Miguel did - no matter how hard he tried to conceal it - and you couldn’t blame them. What you were was centuries old, borne from aggression and a desire to hold the universe in their palm. To rip apart, stitch and bend into what they felt they were owed.
A chaos witch. That’s what Miguel had called you; a witch with the ability to bend and destroy the realms of reality. A being with the power to destroy the shred of order he had cultivated, and had fought with blood to maintain.
He couldn’t resent you for your curse, not entirely, because the deep sadness that etched itself across your features when you finally began to understand what you were cut deep. Like an open nerve exposed to anything that could bring it pain, and he recognised that sadness so acutely that he felt repulsed by it.
You were a monster, even if you didn’t mean to be. You were dangerous, unpredictable and weak. All reasons for him to keep you locked in his HQ, all reasons that he should have used to hate you. Except he didn’t.
Miguel held a sharp edged obsession over you. One that had deeply rooted itself into his bones since the moment he had sunk his fangs into your skin, had tasted that power for himself. The loneliness that ebbed out of you brought you closer than he wished you to be. Your fear of everything eliciting a protectiveness he would never admit to. Not even to himself.
He had found you in an explosion of emeralds and jades, encapsulating your being and bleeding into the world you occupied. Ripping it apart only to reshape it. And you did so accidentally, you did so with remorse, which was why he resented the emotions you provoked from him.
You were dangerous, unaware of the magnitude of your ability. That was why he kept you there, to stop you from hurting anyone and anything else. To stop you destroying every world you stumbled into.
But it was not just that; he imprisoned you for your protection. Because anyone could seek you out, anyone could destroy your magnificence and in its wake create a power so potently evil that he would long for the person you once were.
A soft creature, a delicate creature. Seeking only to fill the void of loneliness and pain that erodes you every day. A compassionate being who had only ever wanted to help people, because that’s how you started your damage. Each world you found, there was a reason for you to stay. A person who had been so evidently compelled to save - apart from your siblings - and because of that you altered its DNA, triggering its destruction.
Here, in his world, you were safe. You could be watched, be protected and be contained so that you could never destroy anything else - as well as yourself - again.
Miguel watches you a lot, not that you would ever know, but his gaze always drifts from his multiple screens of data to the camera that monitors you in your living quarters. His living quarters. These days, he often finds his gaze shifting from his daughter’s recordings to you, a back and forth of what he misses and what he desires. Neither things he was ever supposed to have.
But much like before - when his selfishness sealed the fate of his daughter's world - he finds his resolve hanging upon the edge of a knife. His chest splits open every time he finds you whimpering from your nightmares, his stomach ignites in heat whenever your skin glistens with the droplets of water from your shower, towel only partially covering what he hungers for beneath.
He imagines sinking his teeth into you again, tasting how you feel when you come. There is no scenario where he believes it wouldn’t be as addictive as the taste of your melancholy.
You’ve only touched him once since then, tentatively and with such intense care that it simultaneously painfully singed his skin and alighted him with a feral arousal. You had only wanted to heal him, and placed your fingers on his bicep, eyes alighting in an unnatural shade of green as your fingers glowed the same colour. When he felt your magic, its purest form of gentleness, accelerate his healing, Miguel hardened until his cock throbbed. His thoughts whirred as he almost reached for that same hand, so that it could wrap around him.
He remembers hissing, yanking at your wrist and shoving you backwards until his face met your own. Your breaths mixed, and he smelled it at that moment. His heightened senses seeking out your arousal as your wetness pooled between your thighs, as his forehead pressed into your own, red eyes alight with a rage that wasn’t directed at you but at himself.
He leaves you there panting, startled at his aggression. He doesn’t turn back, he can’t.
When Miguel succumbs, it’s with feverish abandon; like a man starved of water. His grip painfully tight and his cock hard, pulsing against your hip as he takes you against his desk, screens illuminating your skin as your eyes alight with that same glow of emerald he finally admits to adoring.
He can’t slow down, he can’t be gentle, it’s not in his nature. Though he doesn’t voice this, you can sense it, can feel it in the way he is unable to look at you as he rips your clothes in half.
‘It’s okay,’ you pant, pulling his clawed hands so that it rests against your hip. ‘I can take it. I can take all of it.’
When he looks at you, it’s with a stare that you cannot decipher, one that only slightly begins to pool into anger. Anger, that you now realise, is directed at himself. Because he cannot hold back, cannot contain what he feels, and in that regard almost resents you for it.
He nips at your inner thigh, refraining from what he really wants to do until the end. Until he has mined every last scream from your throat and emptied himself inside you. His webs bind your hands together, latching to the edge of the table above your head, using the sticky substance to keep your knees bent, wrapping around the calf and thigh. Leaving you open, vulnerable, yet an eager anticipation that makes you drip almost risks drowning you. You can’t breathe, don’t want to breathe until you can feel him.
His tongue pierces your centre without warning; sharp and hot. Lashes unforgiving as he grumbles with deep satisfaction. As if the taste of you is appeasing to him. Yet the way his fingers grip onto your waist, with claws only just breaking skin, indicates more than just satisfaction.
Miguel’s lips latched around your clit jerk your body, the sensation searing and almost electric in sensation as she begs to have her legs freed, desperate to wrap them around his head. When his finger slips inside her, it is once again without warning, a second and third following in quick succession.
‘Need you ready.’ He ground out, anger on the precipice of unleashing. ‘You need to take all of me.’
He curls his fingers only just as he gets to the last knuckle, as if he knows by senses alone where you need him to be. His eyes are blazing crimson, when you look down at him, a possession so feral you involuntarily shiver while watching him devour you. A man starved of nectar that would bring him immortality.
There’s an almost familiar coil beginning to wind up from your pelvis; yet it has never felt like this, has never once been able to wrap around your nerves and eat away at them until you begged for me in a way like this.
Miguel senses your impending orgasm, his fingers pushing on with a relentless pace. Refusing to bend to the tightness of your walls wrap as they around him and try to force him out due to the overstimulation. When you come, it’s with such a visceral sensation of burning all over that your mind and vision momentarily blank. Your wetness dripping down his wrist, and flooding his tongue as your back convulses and his name is a broken prayer on your lips. The sensations pulsing through you, down to your fingertips, and sending such an intense shiver up your body that you are unaware of when he pulls his tongue and fingers away, shocked back to your senses when he slams his cock into you.
The action so abrupt, and his size so earth shatteringly large that you can’t help but release a scream. Your walls squeeze around him, unfamiliar to the invasion but your wetness sucks him in until he’s buried to the hilt. A groan rumbles so deeply within his chest that, in that moment, you liken him closer to a lion than a spider. His eyes are such a violent shade of red as his brow furrows and he grinds his teeth. Angry and simultaneously addicted at how he has fit inside you.
‘Move,’ you demand, though the breathlessness of your voice would indicate it was more of a plea.
Nevertheless, he frees one hand from your waist, which has undoubtedly left bruises and indentations from his claws to wrap around your throat.
Miguel pulls you closer to him, releasing your bound wrists from the table only to string them high above your head. Buried deep inside you still, he draws his other hand to the small of your back, forcing you forward and closer to him as he settles between your thighs.
You can feel he’s holding back, his grip on your throat only just tight enough to force you to shallow your breathing. The choking wouldn’t come until the next time, when he felt you were ready.
As he slowly drags himself out of you, the tip of his fangs begin to emerge as they grow, indicating the rapid loss of control as he slams back into you. The momentary slow pace that once pulled time to a stop is now gone, his face buried in your neck as he pumped into you relentlessly. Your skin slick with sweat, the heat of his own skin suffocating you with his chest pushed against your own.
His hips pushes back into you almost violently, and if the sting wasn’t swiftly followed by such a delicious sensation against your spot you would have begged him to stop. Except even then, maybe not, even then the fullness of his cock somehow slots into you in such a perfectly fitting way that you would only know loneliness once he leaves.
‘You take me so well, cariño.’ He mutters, his head pulled back to watch his cock slide in and out of you. ‘Sucking me in like a greedy little girl.’
The terms of endearment sound anything but affectionate; they’re dirty, filled with a heated want that mirrors the wetness that leaks out of you and onto the desk. A whiny groan tumbles from your throat, desperate to sink your hands into his hair. To wrap your legs around his waist and hold him there until he fills you up.
‘Do you hear yourself? Do you hear how much you beg for my cock?’ His thumb brushes against your lips, pushing a thumb in. ‘Suck.’
You do exactly as you're told, feeling the calluses around the knuckles of his thumb, but all too soon he pulls it out of you.
‘Good girl.’
You preen at the compliment, the walls of your pussy contracting in arousal and eliciting a growl from Miguel.
He uses the saliva on his thumb to rub at your clit, gently at first and a juxtaposition of how feral his thrusts are. Your thighs ache, your pelvis almost bruised at the force, but still you continue to suck him into you. You beg for more as he sets a pace with his thumb that could almost shove you over a cliff.
‘Miguel-’ You gaps, unable to finish your sentence. But what would you even say? More? Less? Harder? You don’t know.
Somehow, he knows. He always knows.
‘Come on, cariño.’ He goads, halting his movements with his thumb and focuses on pumping into you. ‘You can hold it, just a little longer.’
This time, that delicious burn originates from where he hits your spot, a flicker of a flame that keeps failing to catch light.
‘Miguel..’
‘A little more.’ He adds, shifting the position of his hips and snapping upwards. It sends your mind into a frenzy.
‘Miguel, please!’ Your voice becomes desperate, aching, an edge of panic inching into it as if you fear drowning.
And you do, because any moment the wave of all his thrusts and movement could cause you to sink into an abyss that you could never survive. Lost in the sensations of his cock, his hands, and his ruby gaze.
He heeds your begging, relenting only when he’s watched you beg and snap your eyes open. When he pinches your clit with his thumb and forefinger, it’s as if an inferno is unleashed, and stars erupt in your vision.
Simultaneously, he sinks his teeth into your neck, an action that would have shocked you in any other setting. Instead, it offers soft waves of calm as your orgasm ricochets through your limbs, your body convulsing at how hot it pierces through your veins.
It’s only as the venom slowly sinks in that Miguel finally unleashes hot ropes of cum inside you, his shoulders clenching at the rough and all consuming orgasm you drove him to. He tastes the euphoria in your blood, hot and almost electric. A new drug he would inevitably seek out over and over again like a bloodthirsty vampire.
But it is not the coppery taste of blood itself that triggers his need, it is what lies beneath it. The emotions that inevitably have tumbled through; a formula he is yet to solve. But he doesn’t want to.
He stays suspended in this moment, his cum and your wetness leaking out of you as he remains rock hard. Your salty skin is overheated as the taste of your orgasm recedes from your blood, and the softness of your body becomes too good to stray from. As the venom blooms across your bloodstream, your limbs begin to soften, going limp in the binds of his web.
When he unlatches his teeth, the reds of his eyes seem to dull as they look at you. As if momentarily subdued in their rage, hidden until next time. When your eyes close, he pulls you close, sensing the impending doom of this new obsession.
Because it had not been enough, and Miguel's spine stiffened as he realised neither would the next time.