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monarchberrysblog · 29 days

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TOO SWEET

summary: you join a small ride along with Miguel...

content warning: once again, taboo content; proceed with precaution. semi-exhibitionism (miguel fucks the reader in the forest and on his car), brat-taming, rough yet soft dom! miguel, OOC CHARACTER MIGUEL the reader has nipple piercings, unprotective p-in-v (please, do your own research when it comes to stuff like this), cigarette usage, a little TABOO, AGAIN.

word count: +3.2k words

author's notes: thank you @lemon2099 aka @sweetlemongrove and the discord server for the encouragement to keep writing 💜. Y'all are my mini family and I love y'all so much!

PART TWO TO GATITA

Miguel found him a stray cat, you unironically. Once he gave you a lick of attention, you came back for more, the same way a stray cat would whenever a stranger gave it food to eat out of pity. It felt pathetic that you would conjure up any excuse to see him again. Changing your car’s air filter, replacing your windshield wipers, hell, even trying your best to act dumb to simple repairs that you can do on your own. It was almost laughable and pathetic for you to do this, but you couldn’t help it.

The man always made you melt and become sap, like warm honey on a cold kitchen counter—no matter how much you wiped it off with a paper towel, the stick and sweetness lingered behind. But it didn’t take long for Miguel to catch on—the man was intelligent, for God’s sake. It was clear as day as you always took your shitty 1970 Chevy S-10 everywhere, and he would always recognize that iconic blue truck every time you pulled up for a simple repair.

But the innocent visit was about to fall short as the excuses to see him began to fall short. So he decided to change things up, taking you out on a late-night drive.

“M-Miguel!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, clutching onto the glove compartment of the Impala, nearly snapping the fake acrylic nails off your actual nails underneath. “Shhh… You can take it, princesa.” He pats your thigh lovingly before lightly slapping the soft flesh. “Miguel, Miguel!” Your voice fell on deaf ears as you felt the wind knocked out of your lungs.

“Nothing wrong with going a little fast.”

Yep, you've accepted your faith that you were going to die from some freak accident with an extremely hot mechanic next to you. “But it’s so fucking fast!” You screamed out, clawing at the car's dashboard with your nails. Miguel glances over, chuckling at the sight he sees. He could have sworn that if you wanted to, he would have seen some parts of the acrylic break by how strongly you were grasping the dashboard before you. “But we’re barely hitting 100, princess.”

“What?” You whined, not believing his words, as it felt like the Impala was going faster than that. “Don’t worry, we won’t be on the road too long. I need to make a pit stop. Let’s tame that little heart of yours.” Miguel chuckles before taking an exit off the freeway, finally giving you a sense of relief in your veins. “Oh, thank god, thank god…” Your exasperations never failed to bring a smile to Miguel’s face as the Impala pulled up to a nearby gas station.

The white, bright lights at the gas pumps created an ominous aura in the space, but the ambiance of familiarity filled your soul. “C’mon, let’s get something to drink before we arrive at the meet, okay?” With trembling legs similar to those of a baby deer newly born, you stumbled out of the vintage car, clutching onto the vehicle's door. “Okay, I’ll catch up soon…”

Miguel walks ahead, stepping into the gas station while you stagger behind, taking slow, steady steps to the building. “Coming, muneca?” He calls out, holding the door open for you as you stagger in, feeling the cool, icy breeze against your sticky, sweaty skin from the summer heat. “I’m coming, I’m coming…” You mumble, stepping into the gas station to grab a small drink.

After taking a sip of the cold beverage, the sight of the forest slowly came to mind as the corner stores and gas stations slowly began to fade behind you. This late-night drive became nonetheless soothing, nothing but the long road ahead, along with the low ambiance of music and the car’s engine.

His hands grasped your wrists, and you felt his calloused hand engulf your wrist almost. “Please stay still, hermosa.” He croons to you. With his free hand, his touch roamed over your body, occasionally letting his hand caress your curves, soon letting his hand grope your breast gently before rubbing the side of his thumb against your clothed nipple, lightly grazing the sensitive bud. Your back arched slightly, moving your back away from the hood of his car and towards his body. His hand lets go of your breast before tracing your figure slowly. His hand raised your skirt slowly before seeing what awaited him.

The gusset of your underwear decorated a thin, wet line before him. “Seems like you were anticipating for this to happen?” Without letting go of your wrists, his free hand went down to your clothed entrance to trace the soaked, thin line with the pad of his thumb. A soft groan escapes from the back of your throat before his fingers forcefully grasp the gusset and move it to the side. “Do me a favor and don’t move, okay?” He lets your wrist go and gets down on his knees to see your fluttering, aching core. “Be still, okay?” He whispers, raising your skirt more, letting it rest on your stomach. Nodding to his words, you laid back on the low rider and waited anxiously.

The sound of fabric ripping filled the space, causing you to look down. The man ripped your underwear, specifically from the gusset, vertically with precision. At the sound, you propped yourself up on the car's hood and looked down. You can only see his soft, wavy brown hair between your legs, leaving so much to the imagination. “I’ll get you new ones, hermosa. Don’t worry, your pretty little head.”

His middle and ring fingerpad lightly traced the entrance of your folds, gathering the clear slick. He brought his fingers to his lips, licking off the clear arousal you left behind, and scooted you closer to him, dragging you down onto the hood of the car, bringing you down to his lips. “Miguel-” You panicked before his nose bumped into your clit. Your hands grasped his thick, wavy black hair, not following his words or demands. “I told you to stay still for me.” He demands, grabbing onto the back of your knees with a grasp that can be mistaken for alligator clips used to jumpstart a car.

“Sorry…!” The apology fell on deaf ears as you mewled to his tongue, licking a long strip on your entrance, letting the flat of his tongue rest on your clit. “Now, stay still, and don’t leave a mess on the hood of my car.” He gruffs.

“I just got this shit painted, princesa.” He pauses before giving your entrance a test lick before delving into you. You seethed through your teeth, feeling his mouth delve into your entrance. The bridge of his nose occasionally bumped into your clit, creating the perfect amount of friction for you to squirm your hips closer to his nose. “You poor thing…” He mumbled before licking a long strip of your core with a flat tongue. “You want it?” He croons, pulling away from your aching entrance. Your fluttering hole ached for his company again, the same sight he saw for the first time months ago. “C’mere…” He grasped onto the back of your knees, sliding you down the hood of the Chevy before your bare cunt made contact with his clothed erection. The heat from his bulge is almost too irresistible not to grind against his aching package, waiting to be accessible under your hands and control.

You looked up from where you were lying down, and the sight before you was a sight you didn’t want to erase. Miguel kept his grasp on you but grated the aching bulge against you. “Please, please, please.” You lingered on your last plea, reaching down to his belt buckle, poorly attempting to unbuckle. “Hold on for a moment.” His hand gently grasped your wrist and moved it away from his bulge. “Let’s prep you for a moment, okay?” You nod with a breathy sigh and lay back, expecting to feel his tongue, which you don’t mind.

But something else entered, enough for you to roll your eyes back in ecstasy and to scream out, allowing your voice to echo in the forest. “I know, baby, I know…” He quiets, planting soft kisses on your temple, keeping his ring and middle finger around your rapid, wavering walls. The soft grinding motions drew out soft mewls from you, enough to soak his fingers almost immediately.

“Let’s raise this.” With his free hand, he reached to the hem of your shirt and yanked it up with vigorous force. The sight of two silver dumbbells was the first thing he saw before him, showing off the sensitive buds. “I didn’t get to see these last time…” With a careful hand, he caressed the soft mound before directing his attention to the sensitive nub, tracing the pad of his fingers around the areola.

He lowers his head down and takes in a sensitive nub into his mouth, allowing his tongue to trace the silver jewelry along the sensitive nub. “Give me a second…!” You mewled out, feeling his teeth lightly tug at the barbell piercing but letting go. “I’ve heard that saliva is a good stimulant to heal this type of piercing…” He mumbles before suckling onto your nub before his fingers slowly thrust into your aching core, awaiting to be stuffed and abused. “Oh shit,” You paused, taking in a shaky breath, feeling his calloused fingers massage your gummy walls. “Oh shit…” You repeated, soon taking labored breaths. “C’mon, princess…” Miguel whispers as he pulls away from your nipple and moves to the other, keeping his fingers at the same slow pace. “Tell me… tell me that it’s too much…” He croons. “Is it too much, princess?”

“No…” You bluff, feeling like a puddle of sap against his fingers at the slow pace. “No? Let’s pick it up, m’kay?” He innocently asks, slowly increasing the pace and curling his ring and middle finger. “Miguel…” You whimpered, at the brink of finishing all over the hood of his Impala. “Don’t even think about it, princess,” Miguel commands, picking the pace up. A yelp escapes the back of your throat, and you soon feel your legs tremble against his hold. “Please, please, please…” You whine, feeling a bit of anticipation to gush out your release. “Don’t,” He croons. “You better not finish. I finished the paint job on this car.”

You looked up with pleading eyes at the brink of tears. “Please, please, please…” You continue the mantra, knowing you are getting on Miguel’s nerves now. “No.” He demands before the familiar, wet slapping noise fills the space around you. “Is it too much?” He pushes the question again, letting the forest area get overwhelmed with a wet slapping noise. “No.” You repeat, too stubborn for your good. “I refuse to believe that. Look at you.”

He paused his words and kept up with rapid motions. “Milking my fingers, your legs trembling under my hold, I think your body says otherwise.”

“Don’t finish on this car’s hood.” He repeats, keeping the same motion and pulling his fingers out of your aching core.

Miguel’s Perspective

The look on her face is enough to laugh at. Pathetic. The look on her face made it look like she was a stranded kitten left in the rain, wanting to seek shelter in a warm space away from the cool air of the piney forest. But that wasn’t the case. She was laid out on the hood of my car like a dish served on a silver platter, waiting to be devoured and consumed. Her nervous but anticipated look is enough to send me to the edge. The urge to just take off my pants and to make her drunk on lust came to mind immediately, but no, she needs anticipation and patience other than lust.

The sight of her glistening arousal coating my fingers soon drizzled down onto the hood of the Impala. “I told you to hold it in.” I fumed, seeing the glistening arousal pool onto the hood of the car, creating a small puddle. “God, you can’t even do this one thing correctly.”

I yanked her aching core down to my bulge, seeing her glistening arousal coat a thin layer on the denim of my pants. “C’mere…” Her hands rush down to the belt buckle of my pants, moving in a manic manner to free my aching cock free. “It’s yours. You know what to do with it.”

“I don’t…” You replied, playing coy with his words. “I don’t know…” Your hands grasp the band of his boxer, yanking on it playfully. “You know how.” He croons as your hand yanks down his boxer briefs, freeing his aching cock. A low “fuck” escapes him deep from him, and it is enough for you to finish everywhere on the hood of the Impala, literally. The pink mauve-colored tip ached for your attention, showing tiny beads of precum accumulating on the head, with some sliding down his shaft, specifically tracking a prominent vein. “C’mon, you know what to do.” He repeats, wanting you to initiate these events instead.

With a forceful grab, you lead his tip to your aching core and grind it against your aching core. Your core began to kegel against the sensation of his length, feeling it rub against your clit gently. “Don’t tease me,” He insists, bucking his hips, feeling his cock free itself from your grasp. You grasp onto it again, guide his tip into your aching core, and slowly guide him in. “Shit…” You whimper, feeling the familiar pressure push up against your aching core.

“How do you feel bigger than last time?” You whined, slowly sinking into his length. “Take deep breaths for me, m’kay?” He hums, mused by the sight before him. “I know it’s a lot, baby, I know…” You take in deep breaths while he ground the tip against your cervix, to the point where it did hurt a little, but it was pleasurable. “Take your time, it’s okay…” He croons, moving a hand down to your clit, lightly grazing the sensitive bundle of nerves. A breathy whimper is the only response he receives from you.

The soft kisses against your temple are enough to ease you as the soft kisses make you giggle underneath him. “That’s enough,” He breathes out, soon grasping your hips with his hands. “Are we okay?” Miguel questions, allowing his thumb to trace the skin on your hips, specifically the stretchmarks painted on your soft skin. “Yeah, I’m okay…”

The slow thrusts slowly came to a steady pace, allowing you to get comfortable with his size. Soft mewls and whimpers escaped from the back of your throat as you laid back on the hood of the car and felt your breasts bounce a bit from the thrusting. The sight of the silver barbells decorating your nipples while your breasts bounced with his tempo displayed the sight for him. “There we go, you’re getting used to me more now…”

The feeling of the virgencita charm from his necklace lightly booped your nose, occasionally touching your lips, staining the golden charm with your lipgloss. “Is this bothering you?” He chuckles, seeing the charm bump against your lips and nose. “No, not at all…” It was a bluff; the sensation of the chain and charm tickled you while you chased the sensation bubbling against your core.

“You’re almost there?” The slight bulge in your stomach amused Miguel, seeing the bulge appear and disappear with every thrust. He lets go of your hip with one hand and pushes his hand down onto your lower stomach while keeping a steady yet hard pace. “How does that feel?” He questions, looking down to see your reaction. “Yes…” You breathed out, not giving him a proper answer as you squirmed under the pressure rise.

“C’mon, I know you’re almost close…” He praises, bullying his tip into your sopping cunt, no longer worrying about the hood of the car or the paint job that he’s been telling you about since you two arrived at an odd location in the forest. “Finish with me, come on…” He pushes, not caring how loud the two of you are. “Please, Miguel…” You scream out, no longer pleading quietly. “Finish with me.” He croons.

The chase slowly came to an end as the sudden splurge of you squirting everywhere on the hood of the Impala, following along with Miguel cradling you close in his arms, finally giving you a couple of last thrusts into your core. “There we go…” He mumbles, placing a shaky kiss on your temple and slowly pulling out. Your whine greeted his ears as he pulled out his softening cock, and a thin white line at your entrance decorated your cunt, no longer empty. “There we go, keep it in there.” You felt as if your body took a screenshot from laying on the car's hood while the sound of clothes ruffling and a belt clinking filled your ears.

The next few moments felt blurred. You felt Miguel help you off the car's hood and straighten out your now-ruffled top and skirt. “I don’t need anyone else to see you like this,” he mutters before making his way to the vehicle's passenger side. What are you doing?” You huff out, leaning against the side of the car for support. “Give me a moment,” he continues to rummage around before he grasps a small red box in his hand.

“Do you fuck with cigarettes?” He questions. You weakly nod, slowly coming down from your high. “Do you mind which brand?” The sight of the Marlboro flashed your eyes before Miguel nudged the box gently, allowing the two cigarettes to slide out a bit, enough for you and Miguel to grab. You grabbed the cancerous stick and placed it between your tinted pink lips, smeared with pink lipgloss at the corner of your lips. Reaching into his pocket, the lighter looked tiny in his grasp as he flickered on the measly lighter.

“Here,” You reach for the small lighter and take it from him with a gentle grasp, soon flicking at the small wheel. After a couple of flicks at it, the small flame appeared, emitting a tangy orange close to your hand, soon flickering along with the breeze. “Oh…!” You shield the small flickering flame with your free hand, allowing the flame to flicker about before settling its movements.

As he took a deep breath, Miguel reached for the small flame and brought the cigarette closer to it. Without removing the cigarette from his lips, he leaned down towards you and used your flame to light his cigarette. As he did so, he kept his gaze locked on yours, retaining eye contact for a moment longer than necessary. His eyes. His eyes are like embers of fire waiting to be ignited again, waiting for the next moment to be triggered.

“Here…” He grabbed the cigarette and pulled it away from your lips as he inhaled his cigarette slowly. Wary of the lit cigarette between his fingers, he gently grasps your chin and kisses you while exhaling the smoke into your mouth. He slowly pulls away from the soft kiss and lingers eyes on you.

For a moment, there was a glisten in his eye when they softened; it didn’t go unnoticed…

Tag List:

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#miguel ohara smut #miguel ohara x fem!reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman #across the spiderverse #miguel fanfic #miguel x you #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel x y/n #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel smut #miguel 2099 #miguel spiderverse #miguel o hara #miguel o’hara smut

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steddieas-shegoes · 4 months

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count on your courage

for @steddielovemonth prompt 'love is what makes you brave'

rated t | 1,508 words | cw: coming out (one goes horribly wrong offscreen, one goes perfectly right), steve gets kicked out | tags: wayne munson is the best uncle, secret relationship, steve has bad parents, hurt/comfort, wayne adopts steve

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Steve should've gone to Robin's probably.

But when you're in a state of shock after being kicked out of your house because your dad found a handwritten love note from your boyfriend, you don't always think clearly.

He was sitting outside the trailer, on the gravel driveway, rocks digging into his ass and thighs, thinking about how uncomfortable the back seat of his car was for sleeping. He managed to grab his sandwich bag of savings, which was barely enough for a motel for a couple of weeks, but maybe he'd find a place that would be more understanding.

After Vecna, most places were open to any arrangement on payment as long as they got something.

"Steve?" Eddie's voice filtered to him from the front door of the trailer.

It wasn't until he heard Eddie's voice that he realized Wayne's truck was parked next to Eddie's van, which meant Wayne was home, which meant Wayne would be confused as hell.

Eddie's hands were on his shoulders, worried and tugging him out of his own thoughts.

"Hey," Steve said.

"What're you doin' here, Stevie? You said you weren't comin' over because you have an early shift tomorrow," Eddie's eyes were wide, and Steve realized he must assume there's an emergency.

"Oh. I did say that." Steve sighed. "I actually don't know why I came here."

"Shit, Steve. Did you hit your head? Is it...you know?"

"No. To both. Just-" Steve didn't want to alarm him, but he did have to say what was going on. "My parents kicked me out. Well, my dad did. My mom just kinda...let him?"

"What? Jesus Christ, Stevie. Come inside, you're shivering," Eddie pulled him up so he was standing awkwardly in front of him. "How long have you been out here?"

"Dunno," he shrugged. Which was true. He knew his parents got home around five, and his dad had stormed out of his office around six, yelling about Steve's belongings being where they shouldn't be. It didn't take long after that for all hell to break loose. "What time is it now?"

Eddie looked down at his watch. "A little after nine."

"Huh. I guess close to two hours."

Eddie cussed under his breath, then wrapped an arm around Steve's waist.

It's not like they had to worry about being seen; What used to be a full trailer park now mostly consisted of the Munson's new trailer and Max's trailer that was only inhabited for a few hours a night, if that.

"Ed? Everthin' okay?" Wayne called from the porch.

Steve looked up, panicked.

It's not that he hadn't been around Wayne plenty of times, especially while Eddie was in the hospital. He'd run into him a few times at the trailer as he passed through the kitchen to pack his lunch for work or when he was heading to bed when Steve was picking Eddie up for work.

It was more like he felt like everything was written clear across his face, and if Wayne found out about him, he'd find out about Eddie, and what if he kicked Eddie out?

They couldn't both be homeless.

Eddie didn't verbally respond, but he must have done something to let Wayne know everything wasn't okay.

"C'mon in then," he gestured, opening the front door for them both to walk through. "Get that blanket off my chair for him."

Steve didn't know why he needed a blanket, it's not like it was even cold.

But as he was gently pushed down onto the couch, he noticed how much he actually was shivering, and realized he must've forgotten his jacket in his haste to leave his house. It wasn't winter, but the chill in at night was too much to be outside without a jacket.

The blanket was soft, and smelled a lot like Wayne's cologne, the one he insisted he didn't wear, but Steve could always smell just a hint of it lingering in the air after he left the room. It was a comforting smell, one he'd gotten used to in the background. One he'd come to associate with Eddie, and calm, and home.

He could hear Wayne and Eddie whispering by the kitchen counter, but couldn't quite focus on the words they were saying.

Wayne sat down across from him, right on the coffee table, like it wasn't a piece of furniture specifically designed for holding things that were never touched. Eddie sat down next to him, leaving no space, and no way to mistake how close they were.

He tried to scoot away, just leave a few inches of space so Wayne wouldn't question it. Eddie's hand on his knee stopped him.

"You wanna tell me about what's going on?" Wayne asked softly.

"I'm fine-"

"I didn't ask if you were fine. I asked if you wanted to tell me what was goin' on." Wayne's voice was gruff, but his face was open, his body leaning in closer to them so he could listen to what Steve had to say. "You ain't gotta tell me everythin', but if you're gonna be stayin', I'd like to know why you look scared outta your mind."

Eddie's hand moved to his back, rubbing in circles, comforting. "It's okay, sweetheart."

Wayne didn't even flinch at the pet name.

Maybe he was just used to Eddie being a bit too loose with his words, or maybe he actually knew.

"My parents um," Steve silently asked Eddie for permission to say more. Eddie nodded. "They found a note from Eddie to me. And they figured out some stuff about um..."

"It's alright. He knows about me," Eddie said softly.

"Go on, kid," Wayne said.

"They found out that he's my boyfriend from the note, and they didn't want their letdown of a son in their house anymore. I had to grab what I could in just a couple minutes and get out."

Wayne's hand rested on his knee now. "Thanks for tellin' me, son."

Steve broke.

The tears came so quickly, so viciously, he couldn't breathe. Eddie's arms wrapped around him, pulled him tight to his chest.

Wayne's hand was on his back, an extra comforting weight as he let the events of the evening sink in.

His parents didn't love him, didn't want him, didn't even care to hear about how lucky he was to finally have someone who got him.

But Wayne was here, showing him acceptance.

Eddie was here, holding him and loving him through this.

And when Robin heard, she'd be by his side, making threats that would make him laugh.

Eventually, he would tell the others, maybe even Hopper.

But for now, he held the courage Eddie gave him close to his chest, used this as a practice run.

"I'm gonna make us some hot chocolate. You got any stuff in your car to bring in?" Wayne asked.

"Just one bag."

"We'll get it in the mornin'. You can borrow some of Ed's clothes tonight. And you let me worry about gettin' your stuff. Me and Jim can handle it." Wayne stood up and started walking towards the kitchen. "And Steve?"

"Yeah?" he pulled away to wipe his eyes and look at Wayne, who was smiling at him.

"I don't expect ya to pay rent, but I do expect ya to help with chores. Your days for dishes can be Mondays and Thursdays and you'll be in charge of groceries one week a month. Sound okay to you?"

He blinked back at Wayne, confused.

"You can share a room with Eds, but remember the walls are thin."

"Wayne!" Eddie choked out.

Steve laughed, genuinely happy on a night when he was sure he'd be miserable for days to come. "We'll behave."

Wayne knocked once on the doorway and walked out of sight.

Steve turned to Eddie and kissed him once on the lips, a quick peck.

"You okay with me living here? Wayne kinda just invited me without talking to you," Steve felt himself blush.

"I want you to be safe and happy, right here with me. With us. If that's what you want."

"Yeah. I want that," Steve rested his head against Eddie's shoulder and sighed. "I'm tired."

"You were brave tonight. Takes a lot outta ya." Eddie kissed the top of his head. "I should know by now that I can always count on your courage, though."

"What do you mean?"

"Took me three years to admit to Wayne that I was gay. Took you three minutes," Eddie let out a quiet laugh. "You amaze me."

"You're being sappy," Steve said into his shirt.

"Let me be a little sappy."

Steve could hear the words he wasn't saying, had felt them plenty of times over the last couple of weeks, maybe months. The 'I love you' that was hidden under sappy words, hidden under the blanket wrapped around him being adjusted by worried hands, hidden in hands that were always touching him to remind him he wasn't alone.

They might be hidden now, but they wouldn't be for long.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddielovemonth #love is what makes you brave #coming out #secret relationship #hurt/comfort #wayne munson #steve has bad parents

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loomis5992 · 7 months

Video

youtube

2010 Chevy Express 3500 Air Filter Replacement

#youtube #duramax #auto maintenance #truck repair #chevrolet express #chevrolet van #air filter #filter

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madhurasharma975 · 1 year

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The Importance of Tata Truck Air Filters for Optimal Engine Performance

Tata trucks are designed to operate in challenging conditions, and their engines require clean air for optimal performance and longevity. Tata truck air filters play a critical role in preventing contaminants such as dirt, dust, and debris from entering the engine and causing damage.

#tata truck air filter

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the-kr8tor · 1 month

Note

Okay I had a fic idea and rushed to tumblr to see if your requests were open I'm lowkey shaking rn.

Anyway can we imagine hobie and reader who are friends but secretly having feelings for each other, and one night reader gets a little too drunk at a party and sends a confession text to hobie ?! And the way he would come to pick her up right after this and confess in return AAAAAAAKFODJODNXODBF do you think you could write something about it ? No one can write Hobie fics like you 💕❤️

Hi hi I combined both of your requests bc they were similar hope you don't mind. Changed it up a bit but it's basically the same! Thank you for requesting!! 😘❤️❤️❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 2.3k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW alcohol, fluff.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Getting wine drunk is a bad idea, getting wine drunk alone is an even worse idea. Your vision swirls whilst you watch the most mind numbing reality tv there is. Mind hazy, the smell of stale popcorn filtering in the air, blanket comfortably on your legs. You look at your phone right next to you like it owes you money.

With a narrowed glance, the screen blinks open like you commanded it in your mind. You don't miss how you quickly take it in your wobbly hands despite the alcohol warming your insides. Huffing, you're immensely disappointed to see a notification from one of the games you play to pass the time.

‘Your castle is under attack!’ it says in bold letters, and you wish it was him texting you instead. Your wallpaper doesn't help much with your pining, the picture’s a bit blurry but even the blurriness can't hide how deeply in love you are with your best friend. You remember when the photo was taken, and you remember how fast your heart was beating in your ribcage when Hobie yanked you towards him. Sweat still clinging to him from his energetic performance, adrenaline still flowing in his veins as he squeezes his face close to yours. He gives the camera his signature smirk, whilst you could only manage a lopsided smile. Eyes shimmering under the spotlights, arms bravely wrapped around his middle.

You still can't believe you fumbled that day, you thought you had your confession in the bag, but when he stared at you with those brown eyes you loved so much since year eight, the words got stuck in your throat. With alcohol in your system, flooding your nerves with courage, you open your phone to finally tell him your feelings.

> Heyyy boo thang <3

You giggle whilst you hover your thumb at the send button. Backtracking and drunk off cheap wine, you add more to your message.

> Heyyy boo thang <3 just messaging u how ur doing and also I love u so much like a lot ever somce you held my hand during pe when that ball hit my face I loveee u and not just a friend muah <3

Eyes scanning the message, a sudden realization hits you like a truck, as if sobering you immediately. The thought of sending a love confession to *your best friend has you sitting up right on the settee, moreso via text message. But before you could erase it and forget about it, a sudden scream startles you, jolting, the sound making you drop your phone on the carpet.

“Shit!” You glare at the fallen phone then at the telly where the reality stars are now pulling each other's hair like they're in the playground.

With an annoyed click of your tongue, you take your phone from the ground to check the damage. Sighing in relief, you see no cracks in the screen, but your heart falls on the floor once you see that your drunken message has been sent. “No! Motherfucker—!”

Hobie’s head is pounding from the combined powers of the pints he chugged and the loud music banging on stage. The old leather seats of the booth scratch at his jeans, the smoky and musty air entering his lungs, and the warm lights shining in his blurring vision. He usually doesn't mind it, he thrives in the environment. But his band mates basically dragged him into the pub when he was supposed to be hanging out with you tonight.

“Mates before chicks!” James said, earning a loud slap from Yuri a second later. “You hang around her too much, we miss our guitarist.” Ned mumbles with his puppy dog eyes that Hobie never thought would actually work on him. “Just one round with us! And you can come back home to your girl.” Riri added with a teasing grin. Hobie didn't even correct her at this point, and he knows it’s not just for one round.

After sending you a heartfelt message using Ned's phone, he rescheduled the weekly hangout where you and Hobie would watch the crappiest show you could find airing on cable, and whoever leaves the couch first owes the winner dinner. To which Hobie always sees as a win/win, he gets to hangout with you more, and he gets to see you smile when he purposely loses. Hobie invited you to the pub, even though he knows you'd reject his proposal, simply because he knows you hate the place, and how the carpet sticks to your shoes.

He knows you more than he knows himself.

It's hard enough to find the time to see you with all his responsibilities. He hates it when he could only settle with a quick phone call every night to check in on eachother. Especially when just a few years ago you were hanging out with him almost everyday.

He never thought he'd miss you this much when he agreed.

Hobie loves his friends, he really does, but you just have a very special place in his heart that he wishes he was in yours too.

Nursing a pint, he drowns his feelings with the amber drink and loud chatter with his band mates. Riri grumbles something about her landlord, while Yuri replies back with a ‘mine’s always open for subletting,’ she says in a singing tone. A minute later, the entire table looks at him with similar glints in their eyes.

“What?” He asks a little too roughly.

“You should get your own phone, mate, because I don't want to see your bloody messages.” Ned scoffs, his phone in hand. “Seriously, this one is sweet and all but this could take a turn real fucking quick, and I don't want to see that shit.”

“What the fuck are you talkin' ‘bout?” Hobie doesn't think he's that drunk yet, even though he doesn't notice how his words slur together, or how his tongue sits heavy in his mouth.

Riri and Yuri giggle amongst themselves, while James takes a peek at Ned's phone before making a dramatic shocked face.

His nerves shoot up when James mouths your name. Are you hurt? Are you mad at him? “Y/N, texted? What’d she say?” Hobie tries to snatch the phone from Ned, to which his friend pulls it away from him playfully.

“Oh I'm gonna need some popcorn.” Yuri snickers.

Ned, being equally drunk, clears his throat dramatically while leaning away from Hobie, who is too drunk to even win against James who's currently holding him back. James laughs like a hyena in Hobie's ear, while Riri takes a picture of the chaos.

“Hey! Boo thang! Heart emoji.” Ned reads unabashedly, the girls laugh louder at Hobie's expense. “Just messaging you how you're doing, and also I love you so much!” Ned tries to copy your voice, “Like a lot—!” Hobie has had enough, cheeks hot (not from the alcohol) he uses his spider strength to push past James, then grabbing the phone so quickly that not even the owner processed what happened until he sees it in Hobie's hand. “You're no fun, mate.”

“Has anyone ever told you not to read someone else's messages?” Hobie hides the screen on his chest.

“It's my fucking phone!” Ned gestures wildly.

Hobie glares at his bassist, he peeks down at the bright screen, your name up top and caller ID smiling at him. He can't help but smile back.

He might be drunk, but he's not drunk enough to hallucinate you confessing your love to him. Via Ned's phone nonetheless.

He feels bodies crowd around him, Yuri's chin is pressed on his left shoulder while Ned on his right. Riri pushes James away to get a closer look at the screen while James settles to loom over everyone like some muscle-bound shield.

“What the fuck are you lot doin’?” Hobie asks, hands gripping the phone like it's about to be snatched from him.

“We're dying from anticipation here, bruv.” James says above everyone.

“‘Anticipation’, that's a big word, James.”

“Eat a bag of dicks, Yuri.”

“You first—”

“Would you all shut up?” Hobie hisses, eyes glued to the tiny dots at the bottom, indicating that you're currently typing.

“She's typing.” Riri whispers.

“We can all see that, Riri.” Ned whispers back.

Hobie shushes them both when the three dots disappear without a new message. His heart hammers at his chest, he feels like he's back in high school, way back when you could just smile at him and his day will be made better.

“Just tell her, mate.” Ned says a lot softer than Hobie thought he was capable. “We all know you love her, just bloody tell her because I'm gonna need my phone back to call a cab real fucking soon.” And he ruined it.

“D’you have a curfew, Neddy?” James asks teasingly, earning a scowl from Ned.

Ned rolls his eyes. “I'm just saying, she might appreciate it if you actually reply to it.”

“I think she's drunk.” Riri pipes up, everyone looks at her. She roams her eyes towards each of their faces. Rolling her eyes she points at the message. “Look, there's so many mistakes there and I've texted with Y/N before, she doesn't text like that.”

“What's wrong with texting with spelling mistakes? I do that.” James smiles.

“Because it's just you, you ding dong.” Yuri teases, and James fakes a deep frown.

“Being drunk doesn't mean she didn't mean the text. The alcohol might've just helped her send it.” Ned reassures Hobie.

“I did it.” Hobie half exclaims, bleary eyes repeatedly reading his text. I fucking did it, shit! He thinks to himself. Hobie's suddenly incredibly sweaty.

“Oh shit! That's my guy!” Ned punches Hobie's bicep. The rest look at him with bewilderment.

“What did you even say?” Riri scooches closer to read.

> I love you too I might be drunk right now but I wasn't when I first realized it I have loved you since you gave me hot chocolate when I was freezing my ass off trying to win that stupid selling contest

“Holy fuck.” Yuri pats Hobie's cheek. “Can't believe you're capable of being sweet.”

“Shit, bruv,” James sniffs, his tears falling on the screen. “that shit is awe inspiring— don't even start, Yuri”

“Wasn't gonna,” she shrugs.

Ned pokes Hobie's side when he realizes his friend hasn't moved an inch from his position. “You okay, Hobs?”

Hobie inhales shakily, a smile slowly spreading across his lips once your message pops up. He swears that fireworks suddenly lit up inside him.

“Oh my god—” Riri tears up, but before the rest of the band reads the message, Hobie jumps out of his seat, even forgetting his own jacket in the process.

“Hobie—shit! Wait!” Ned tries to call him back, but Hobie's already out of the pub, sprinting fast. “My fucking phone.” He could only scratch his head.

The wind nips at his bare arms, lungs heaving whilst he runs at full speed. He should've brought his web shooters with him, but he unfortunately left it in his jacket pockets. If he had them he'd be swinging to your place so he could get to you faster.

Hobie's glad that it's late, or else he'll be dodging people left and right. Boots thumping loudly across the pavement, hand gripping Ned's phone, getting closer to your familiar street, he curves around the corner, almost bumping into you.

He stops your momentum with his arms. He feels his own jacket against his arms, you wear his hoodie well. Your chest heaves, grin slowly appearing on your wind whipped lips.

“Hobie?” You ask and everything clicks together in his mind.

All the tentative touches you two shared, all the hugs that lingered a few seconds longer, all the times that you looked at him like he fished the moon out for you. And all the times he looked at you like you're made out of stars. It all comes together in that dusty street corner where you both have crossed a thousand times before.

“Looks like we had the same idea.” Hobie softly says, clammy hands sliding down to your own sweaty palms. He doesn't mind, it's you, so he would never mind it.

“I guess you read my message.” You hold him close, hands squeezing at his hands that you've mapped out in your mind.

He chuckles, sliding his hand out from yours to show you the screen. “‘Say it to me in person and I'll say it back,’ doesn't give me much leeway, love.” The streetlight above perfectly aligns above you, giving you both a spotlight.

You mirror his smitten smile. “What are you waiting for then?”

Hobie pockets the phone, then he holds your face gently, eyes staring at you like he always has. “I love you.”

You pull him closer by his collar. “I love you too, Hobie Brown.”

“Since when?” He rags you on.

You roll your eyes with a smile. “Ever since I got hit in the face with a basketball and you deflated it with your spiked bracelet and then called the jock who threw it a wanker.” He smiles wider at every word you utter. Leaning closer, he smells the wine on your lips. “The hot cocoa, really? That—” you fight the tears from flowing. “That was years before we became best friends.”

“And I've continued to love you since then, and will love you as long as you let me.” Hobie presses his forehead atop yours, a kiss would suffice better, but for now, he'll settle for this.

You know him better than you know yourself. “Save me a kiss once we're both sober?”

“They're all reserved for you, love.”

#request done #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #the kr8tor's creations #atsv x reader #atsv fluff #atsv fanfiction #x reader #hobie fluff #hobie brown x fem!reader #spider punk x fem!reader #hobie x reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk x you #cw drinking #fanfic

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undercoverpena · 8 months

Text

iii. build me furniture

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter three of i like the way you

best friend! friends with benefits! frankie morales summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

chapter warnings: friends with benefits. fwb! rules. illusions to smut. frankie builds you furniture, and like that deffo needs a warning.

an: thank you to @thetriumphantpanda for letting me bother you countless times about this.

wordcount: 3.7k

He knows he should check the calendar, but he doesn't.

Frankie, instead, throws his hat on the seat, phone into the cup holder, and shoves the key into the ignition before sparking his vehicle to life. Waiting, and waiting, until he hears the distinct beep of his phone connecting before his finger is seeking your name on the dash, pulling out of the car park.

The dial tone echoes through the bed of his vehicle. The silence between each allowing the sound of tyres crunching the road to fill his ears until your voice soon plugs the quiet.

It’s heavenly, all sweet, layered ever so slightly by an edge of sarcasm—What do you want, Morales?

After some back and forth, a slight deviation in his journey, you’re buckling yourself in beside him. His hat in your lap, your perfume filling the car as he pulls away from the front of your house.

He hopes it soaks into the fabric—clings to the interior of his car. A thought, he suspects he shouldn’t have, but allows to swirl and twirl in his mind all the same.

“Bit spontaneous of you, Mr Calendar.”

Shifting in his seat, he checks the mirrors, watching from the corner of his eye as you did your usual. It starts with checking his glovebox, for what—he’s never quite sure—to closing the vents, to fiddling with the station or volume of his radio.

If it were anyone else, he’d kick up a fuss. But, not you—never you.

“I can’t believe you was gonna ask someone else to take you to IKEA.”

Rolling your eyes, you lean back in your seat—eyes doing that thing. Where they warm him, sizzle his skin under his clothes. “I wasn’t asking anyone, I was asking Will.”

“Still.”

“I thought you were busy. Your calendar was blocked out.”

“So, you’d have asked me first if I was free?”

It leaves his tongue teasingly, and a part of him means it as such. But another, a darker-tinged part—one forever covered in shade, where things fester, and happiness has wilted—means for it to be tainted with bitterness. The embers of jealousy brimming, licking, nipping at the words as they filter out into the air.

“You’re my best friend, Frank. Of course, I’d rather go pick out an entryway table with you.”

“Good job my day opened up then, isn’t it?”

You only hum. It being followed by a smooth, almost comforting silence that falls across the vehicle as he drives. His elbow leaning on the door, fingernails tapping against the window to the beat of a song which thrums through him.

He can’t help it, but his eyes flit back to you—finding you staring out the window, lips moving, whispering along to the words of whatever song filled the truck.

And he shouldn’t think it—shouldn’t even entertain the thought—but fuck you are something.

His hand gripping the steering wheel as the thought undoes itself, it opening itself up within his chest, releasing butterflies and confetti that, in time, will fall absently to the base of his stomach. Because—

“I don’t want anything too big,” you announce suddenly. Your head turns, rolling on the seat as you lift your leg up, present, but eyes unfocusing as you think. “Just near the wall, where the chest currently is—think it’ll look nice.”

Swallowing, he nods. “It will.”

He’s not sure what to do with the way you smile. The way you beam. Illuminating the world on what is already a nice sunny day, adding something extra to it. So, he does nothing. Letting the vehicle fall into silence again. Your foot occasionally taps the floor, muttering lyrics as he lightly thuds his fingers against the roof until he enters the parking lot, hunting for a space.

Frankie has been here countless times.

For his place, for yours—for ex-partners who over-romanticised a trip here. But, it was furniture. A warehouse full of pre-arranged rooms and ideas, accessories flowing out of bins and plants swirling around light fixtures in a zone they try to make look close to a jungle.

“You know what you’re looking for?” he asks, walking in step with you.

Shaking your head, you nudge him with your elbow. “Good job your day opened up, right?”

Nudging you back, he turns on the spot—facing you, walking backwards. “Shotgun pushing the trolley.”

“You’re such a big fucking kid, Morales.”

And, he’d let his cheeks burn under your words, but he sees the look on your face. The unfiltered delight, how it glides from you and lands straight in the centre of his chest.

He’d scribbled the aisle number on the piece of paper three zones previous.

Your fingers had been running over the display table—a little smile etching itself across your cheek as he flicked up the paper, writing the information he needed.

“The pencil looks tiny in your hand.”

Smirking, he stuck it behind his ear before poking your side. “It’s a tiny pencil.”

When you look at him, you’re smirking—a thought running, all restless in your mind. He can tell. Can practically hear your mischievous wheels turning in your brain.

“We done?”

“Nope.”

The ‘P’ pops intentionally, your body turning to face him, hand on the base of the cart—walking backwards, an unreadable smile spreading out over the place your smirk had just lived.

“Need candles, plants—and I would really love your opinion on a new throw cushion.”

“Fuck. Maybe I should have let Will bring you,” he grins, nudging the cart into your side as you laugh sarcastically.

If he was honest with himself, Frankie knows he’d spend all day in here with you. Get to play house in your two’s weird, twisted way.

Because he'd liked it earlier when you called him to come and look at a display kitchen, hand pretending to fry the plastic eggs in the pan as you tell him to check the fridge for OJ. From the twinkle in your eye, you liked it when he called you honey and asked if you wanted to watch the sports channel with him—you hovering in the doorway of the display living area, shaking your head.

If anything, though, it made the knot in his stomach tighten.

The one that’s been loosening and binding since the moment in your kitchen, the moment in his, the bedroom and your sofa.

“Frankie, c’mere.”

Pushing the trolley, he finds you—of course—in a sea of shelves filled with candles. Various shades, an array of scents, some more overwhelming than others, as you lift a left and then a right to your nose, before jutting your head.

“Smell this.”

Lifting the candle to his nose, he inhales, watching you—before his face scrunches, yanking his head back as you burst into laughter. It flows out from your throat to your eyes, nose scrunching, hand clasping his forearm as you lean into him, muttering in half-breaths and laughing that it’s awful, right?

The scent is, but the moment isn’t.

Composure sets in, wiping the joy from your face gradually as you place another back. His hand finding one, a white pot—simple, plain, glass. Lifting it to his nose, he’s immediately transported to your place. A candle he smells so often, it unlocks a host of memories that suddenly balloon inside of him—pulling a smile across his lips, before he tilts it to your face, watching your fingers wrap around his wrist, gently, softly.

“This is the one you usually buy, right?”

Flicking from the candle to him, he almost loses his breath. More so when you let a different smile grace your lips, one that makes his heart skip a beat.

“Y-yeah. It’s my favourite.”

Nodding, he forces a swallow, before he puts it in the bag inside the trolley—your brow arching, smile fading. “It’s mine too.”

“You burn candles?”

Smirking, he tilts his head, he grabs another, and another. “What? I don’t strike you as someone who burns candles?”

“No, Morales. You seem like someone who’d accidentally burn their house down.”

“Yeah, maybe. But, maybe I can buy these and keep them at yours.”

If you’re conflicted, you don’t show it. Staring for a second, and another, until you shrug. Something there, desperate to glide over your cheeks, but he knows whatever it is, it’s forced back. He can tell.

It’s a thing he’s about to point out and poke fun at you for—especially when the two of you haven’t stopped staring. Focused. Entirely too much, if the next second is anything to go by. Because you clear your throat, avert your eyes, turning—rather quickly—not seeing it, the other shopper’s trolley full of poorly stacked packages.

And it’s instinct, he thinks. Tells himself.

The way his mouth curls around your name, but his arm is already reaching out. Fingers first, then palm, until he’s wrapping his forearm around your waist and pulling, twisting you into him. His other hand all quick to follow his movements, grasping your shoulder with the other until your body is flush with his—head, avoiding the other person’s trolley full of long boxes.

Your gasp hits his ears, as your eyes land on him.

They’re wide, wild—painted in surprise, fright and amazement. Your pupils having swallowed all the colour—until you blink, and he realises his chest is falling and rising in tandem with yours.

“Should look where you’re going, querida.”

If at all possible, your eyes widen. His fingers release your shoulder, hovering, half-tempted to brush his knuckles against your cheek—but he drops them to his side.

Even if all he thinks is: this is nice—holding you this close.

It pulsating within him, until he lets go. Watching you step back—eyes still on him, all unreadable and surprised.

“We should…”

“Yeah. Let’s,” he replies, quickly.

Pushing the trolley in the direction you’re heading, feeling his cheeks burn, his ears following not that long behind.

Fuck he looks good.

Your mouth goes dry for the billionth time in the last five minutes. Having already found yourself needing the reminder that you have a glass in your hand—even more so when he looks up at you from his place knelt on the floor.

The two of you had chosen to also buy a set of drawers to match—ones that would fit in the corner, and store the six thousand candles you own. As though he hadn’t played a part in why that amount had grown.

“You listenin’ to me?”

Not at all. “Hmm?”

“Where’s the toolbox I made up for you?”

It’s easy to let your face fall into a two-step. For your brow to arch as his question pulls it, and your lips slide into your cheek. “Wherever you left it when you made it me.”

Your name falls from his lips—satiny, yet laced with disappointment—as he slowly gets up, leaving his spread-out instructions, many screws, and bits and bobs he’d laid out before he could even attempt to build it.

Frankie has always been more sensible—more structured. You’d witnessed him build things before, always following the same pattern, the same checks he’d do—to the point you wonder if he has an order when he flies. Whether he has a to-do list in his head he has to run through, one that doesn’t beat to the same drum as what is needed, but rather a curated one by him, just for him.

By the time he’s back, you’ve downed half your glass, finding—like the last—it does nothing to quench you. Not in the way you’d hoped, least of all when he removes his hat, throws it to the sofa, and you see the dampened edges of his curls.

Your brain betrays you. Reminding you—in vivid shades and high-definition, how you’d liked the feel of them in your hand. How he’d like them tugged, pulled when he was deep, his thumbs digging bruises into the back of your thighs—your hand all desperate for leverage, for something. You’d liked the home they found in his head, earning yourself the trophy of a groan that shot sparks through your already overstimulated body.

Blinking, you shake your head.

Trying to think of something, anything—

“I need to ask you something.”

His eyes lift, fixing on you as he kneels back down—all vast brown landing on you, coating you, smothering you in warmth that only he ever can.

“I’m starving, Frankie. Please, can I order us food?”

It takes a second, two at most. His face shifts into a frown before it smooths out, realisation dawning, crashing out over him.

“To say thank you,” you add, fluttering your eyelashes, face smooth.

Sighing, he licks his lips. “I’ll let you order, if you can keep your hands to yourself.”

Rolling your eyes, you move from the floor. “Yes, Morales. Because cheese dripping down your chin really does it for me.”

Grinning, he wipes the back of his hand against his forehead. “I don’t know your kinks.”

Competency, you quickly think—almost hum it. Especially when he slides another wooden leg into place—not even glancing at the instructions this time. You, your brain follows up with, immediately banishing, forcing it away, storing it in some box marked do not ever fucking open.

His grunts as he builds being added to the same box as you order the food. They’re all punchy, low—and it sparks memories which shouldn’t be present when you’re ordering food.

Not if you want to keep a level head, because you’re not entirely sure what playing field the two of you are on tonight. Prior to today, it’s all been planned—blocked out in both calendars, clear, rooted in the rules the two of you had laid.

The boundaries all spelt out.

But this, today and tonight, is now two people—two friends—who are moving to the beat of their own drum. The same two who hung out like this before the entanglement had begun, and while you know this, something else whispers around the logic.

It isn’t drowned out when you’ve ordered, or when you’re hanging in the open doorway—watching him, ogling him, basking in how normal it is that he’s here.

“Can I build something?”

Smirking, he leans back on his knees. “You can build a drawer.”

“Because they’re the most important part?”

He smirks wider, more teeth—a flicker in his eyes.

Because you know why he’s left you with drawers. Your earlier mishaps with furniture building had set a rule that you should be nowhere near a hammer, nails or flat-pack furniture—especially if you wanted it to be usable.

“Or, you can pass me the bits I need,” he offers.

Simpler, you swear you hear him think.

So you do. You pass each tool, each fixing. Watching in awe as he slowly ignores the paper, not even bothering to turn the pages as the thing slowly becomes an entryway table—a thing which you can store and put things on.

In the time he builds, your face aches from smiling, and your stomach hurts from lack of food and laughter. So much so, you don’t realise the time until the pizza arrives—him standing, all but trying to force money into your hand until you kick him in the shin.

By the time the two of you are back on the floor, the box open, scent immediately filling your home, he’s still complaining.

“Bet I have a bruise.”

“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo. Eat ya damn pizza, Morales.”

Grinning, he takes a messy bite.

And you know what you said earlier. Are distinctly aware that the thoughts you’re having are crossing all sorts of lines, even if the two of you never specified rules. Because, you want to trace your tongue over his chin, catch the sauce that’s sat there, climb into his lap, grind your lap into his—

“You’re staring.”

Blinking, you swallow. “Forgot what an animal you are when you eat.”

“You’re rude, y’know that?”

Grinning back, you take another bite. Aware of the way he’s staring now. Feeling the way it runs up and down your body, your fingers brushing against your thumb to remove the dust.

Clearing his throat, he averts his eyes. Focusing on a spot on the floor, toying with taking another bite. You’re so close to asking him why, when his mouth opens, and something falls out you don’t expect:

“You think friends build each other furniture?”

You pause because it’s unexpected. A warmth floods your cheeks when he lifts his stare back to you. Waiting—for what, you’re not sure.

Clearing your throat, you lean back, palm pressing into the floor—rooting you, keeping you stable. “Well. I was gonna ask Will, remember?”

He says nothing. Doesn’t even move to eat the last two bites of pizza in his hand.

“I think friends as good as us,” you say, needing to fill it—the silence, “can do lots of things together, and still be able to…”

“Reap the awards of unlocked benefits?”

“Exactly,” you manage to croak.

Feeling it again. The way the air thickens. Something charging, all electric, lightning and thunder.

“I meant it earlier—about asking me.”

“Your calendar is rather full, Frankie.”

Wiping his hand on the box, he shoots a smile. “Nunca estoy ocupada para ti.”

Your smile pulls itself across your face, chin dipping, ears warming. It settling, the meaning of his words, sweltering in the tension that seems to double until you ask if he’s done. Excusing yourself, mumbling about tubbing up the rest. Letting him continue, not much left anyway, he’d said. It’s why you take longer, tidying—putting things away that have lived on your counters forever.

Because this is new and foreign. All of it.

The way things are flowing inside of you, bubbles of feelings you want to ignore but find them rising up in the sea that’s suddenly ever-present and just fucking there.

“I’m done.”

Your hands spread over your kitchen counter, taking in the cold of them—the feel of them—as you let a big breath fill your chest. Whether for courage or strength, you weren’t sure. But it fuelled you to turn to face him, but not quite enough to settle the fluttering in your stomach as you walk back to him in the living room—finding him standing, admiring it.

Just like you should be.

But your eyes are on something else—someone else.

Lingering up and down. Seeing him differently, things all mixed up inside, jumbled, out of sorts.

“It looks good,” you whisper, aware your voice has dropped an octave.

Even more aware that your shoulder is close to his, a gap barely there between the two of you. And it’s hard not to stare at him. To not marvel at him. How he’s soft and muscular, firm and strong—how you’ve seen his arms flex when he’s between your thighs and when he’s building your furniture.

Licking your lips, you don’t blink when his head turns, and he meets your stare.

You don’t fight the way your eyes drop to his mouth.

Instead, you just move into it. Slanting your mouth over his, tongue brushing over his bottom lip as your fingers slide around his neck, burying themselves in his curls as you become aware that his arms are around your waist. Then, you’re kissing him hard, dizzying.

Heat, all bubbling and ferocious, grows inside of you—spreading, beginning at the base of your spine, until it’s curling up and around everything it can to lick at your throat. Every sense, nerve and thought orienteering and honed in on him. How his body feels pressed against yours, how his mouth feels on yours.

“Frankie,” you moan.

It escapes, his name passing your lips as he buries the sound with a groan of his own. But, you've opened the gate—it flung open now, more escaped syllables and letters following it.

Want you.

Wanted you all fucking day.

Think about you all the time.

Your fingers slide up the front of his t-shirt, darting the tips of them over his stomach, resting your palm against his hip as he walks you back to the wall—stability needed as his hips find yours.

Dios mío, eres tan sexy.

The words have barely washed over you, when you feel his fingers under your chin, lifting your chin, forcing you to hold his stare. Proving a chance to back out. A momentary break.

A get-out to keep the night friendly, rather than whatever the two of you now call the thing you do. But, if anything, you want—

“Bet that pencil would look real small next to your—”

“Shh,” he whispers, cutting you off.

His grin spreading, all large and not easily contained or bit back—ghosting it over yours, the tip of his nose tracing yours.

His fingers sliding further up your neck, his thumb catching your chin and the fire in his eyes almost makes you forget how to think, never mind breathe.

“Really want to fuck you on your new table.”

“You think IKEA build furniture to support how we do it?”

He ponders, you can see it. Sweeping his eyes up and down your frame. The maths running, there suddenly an array of equations in the blown pupils of his eyes as his fingers circle and swirl on your neck and hip. “If I break it, I’ll replace it.”

“You’ll be doing that forever, Morales.”

You see it bloom, his cockiness. It swallowing whatever remainders there were of the shy friend you used to know, replacing him with the cock-sure person who regularly makes your thighs shake and your brain empty.

“Building furniture gets you going, does it?”

The hand on your hip drops, finding a place along the tops of your thighs—and even through your jeans, you can already feel him. The strokes of lightening up and down your body, the way he makes you become putty.

The point is proven when he slides his hand between your thighs, a gasp escaping, easily kissed from your tongue by his lips.

“Not usually,” you whimper, his ministrations halting. “Just you building it. Apparently.”

And fuck, you swear you’re swallowed by lava, from both the look he shoots you and the way his mouth crashes back to yours.

chapter three ->

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #Frankie morales x reader smut #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #jo: iltwy #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #francisco morales smut #frankie morales smut #triple frontier smut #frankie morales x f!reader smut #pedrostories

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minitruckpart · 1 year

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Japanese Mini Truck Parts

An air filter assists in preventing the entry of dirt, pollen, and poisonous particles, increasing the efficiency of the truck. Mini Truck Parts offers premium-quality Japanese mini truck parts at affordable prices. Visit us to place an order!

#japanese mini truck #minitruck #shopnow #air filter

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longing-for-the-past-times · 8 months

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Late night driving headcanons

task force 141 x reader

synopsis: late night drives with members of task force 141

notes: Ghost's part is inspired by this request; also wrote big parts of this during a night ride (going back to college). Hope you enjoy

warnings: none?

masterlist

Captain 'John' Price

He knows it the moment he steps out of the base, around midnight, and finds you parked next to his car, mindlessly scrolling through your phone in the driver's seat. You don't have to tell him anything, he just throws his duffel bag in the back and climbs into the passenger seat, putting his seatbelt on.

You do not meet his eyes as you turn on the engine and leave the parking lot with one hand on the steering wheel while the other one is resting on the gear knob, your fingers impatiently drumming against the hard plastic

Resting his head on the headrest, Price turns to look at you, his eyes filled with silent adoration as he rests his left hand atop yours and starts to rub circles into your skin. He does not miss the satisfied sighs that leave your lips.

The night is dark and the car is silent, yet his touch is loving and reassuring, his quiet presence being a constant you always can rely on. The city lights filter through the windows of the car, casting your concentrated figure in a fluorescent glow. Price wouldn't admit it in front of you, but in moments like these, you take his breath away, both figuratively and literally

It is when you are stopped at a traffic light that you eventually let out a deep sigh and start talking. At first, you have a hard time finding your words, as you usually do when trying to open up, but John's presence has a soothing effect on you, his soft, yet approving smile helping you to keep going

Like usual, Price keeps stroking your skin and listens to you carefully, nodding along to what you are telling him. Whether you had a bad day at work, the printer broke again or your professor at the university did not grant you an extension for the final assignment - he will pay utmost attention to the details that ruined your day and try to find the best words (and potentially actions) that will make you feel better

Is someone bothering you at work? He might swing by during lunch break with his full tactical gear on. Has the printer stopped working? He will carry the new one on his shoulders and lay it at your feet. And the professor? If he cannot change his mind regarding your due date, he will help you himself write that essay (and tear the local library apart in the process)

After you make your usual stop at the gas station for fuel and snacks, you roll the windows down to the cool and refreshing night air, one hand casually resting on the window's edge while the other is holding the steering wheel

You can't help but smile at the familiar scent of Price's cigar and you let out another sigh, yet this time it is a content one.

"Remember, things always work out, little one!", he eventually says when you park into the driveway, ruffling your hair and planting a kiss on your forehead. You place your hands on his shoulders and kiss him on the lips, closing your eyes when you feel his fingers in your hair.

"As long as we are together, we will both be fine!"

Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Ghost knows something is wrong when your messages stop containing emojis. While he is not an emoji person himself, he secretly enjoys the creative and suggestive ways you find to insert them in any of your messages.

But what makes him leave work earlier than usual (and spend only one extra hour on base instead of the usual three) is your clipped reply of "I'm spending the night in. I'm not feeling really well." which is devoid of any bed, sleep or whatever weird emoji he could think of.

And before heading to your place, he makes an extra stop at his, switching his pickup truck for his beloved motorcycle. It doesn't take him long to get changed into the black protective gear and make sure the spare, smaller-sized matching piece is stored in the top case, alongside a matching helmet.

Five minutes later he's at your door, his brows furrowing at the sight of your tired figure. Instead of giving him your usual reassuring smile, you just gesture him to come in and he has to place a hand on your shoulder to stop you from turning your back to him.

'You don't need to talk about it if you don't want to. But we're not spending the night in either.'

It's your turn to frown at his cryptic words, and he gently takes your hands and leads you out of the house until his motorcycle comes into view. He keeps his eyes glued on you and his heart skips a beat when he notices the faint grin that appears on your face, your hands still clasped tightly to his.

'And before you ask, yes, I took your protective gear to the dry cleaners. And you can borrow one of my balaclavas...'

He does not miss the mischievous spark in your eyes and he has to fight the butterflies in his stomach as he knows exactly what you are going to say.

'Can I have the one with the skull on it?'

Playing hard to get is his speciality, so he resorts to rolling his eyes dramatically, blinking rapidly for effect.

'I am wearing it right now-'

'That's why I asked.'

He takes off his balaclava with a loud sigh and gently pulls it over your head until only your smiling eyes are visible. The corners of his mouth quirk up at the innocent, yet grateful look you are giving him and he shakes his head in defeat as he reaches for an identical balaclava in his pocket

Eventually, Ghost can't help but beam at your wide-eyed expression, before helping you get into the protective suit and ensuring the helmet is firmly placed on your head. You do not miss the tender looks he gives you when he thinks you're not watching and you start blushing when he is busying himself with the strap of your helmet, his warm breath fanning over your face

Once his helmet is back on his head, he gets on the motorcycle and gestures for you to join him. It's not the first time you're doing this, but you still get lightheaded at the thought of being so close to him. Yet, as usual, you do not miss the way his body relaxes as you slide your arms around his waist and press yourself against his back, resting your head on his shoulder

The hum of the engine is a distant buzz in your ears as you relish in the friction of the protective costumes and the warmth the body-to-body contact has caused to course through your veins.

The city lights come and go so fast they turn into a blur, and the usual hustle and bustle of the city become a distant sensation as the cool night air embraces your figure the same way your arms encircle Simon's waist.

In that moment, his presence is what keeps you grounded and safe, your hands tightening their grip around his waist as you let out a sigh of relief. No day can be completely ruined as long as you have Ghost by your side.

Sergeant John 'Soap' MacTavish

He does not need a pretext or excuse for a car ride; he'll simply text you or show up at your door with car keys in hand

And you'll only smile at him, rolling your eyes at his sheepish expression and mechanically putting on your shoes as you ask him:

'Who's driving?'

If he had a long or exhausting day at work, he'll simply hand you over the keys, placing both of his hands on your shoulders and guiding you to the car.

But other times he would swing the keys around his fingers and extend his hand as an invitation, gallantly leading you to the passenger's seat where he would fuss over you triple-checking the safety belt and trying to sneak as many kisses as possible

'Not my fault your face looks so kissable!', he'd manage to articulate the words between pecks and your childish chuckles

There were a couple of times when the 'innocent' pecks turned into something more and you had to call it a night and move into the house.

But he usually manages to stop in time, both to yours and his dismay and get in the driver's seat without causing any more distractions

Soap's the kind of guy who would sing his heart out so you two have several shared playlists prepared for the occasion. Depending on who's driving, you or he would choose one of them, put it on shuffle, and let the chaos begin.

You like to sing along as well, but that does not mean that either of your voices actually match the rhythm of the music. If asked, you would both argue that your renditions are decent, but in reality...

There was this one time where you were stopped at a red light and Unchained Melody was the next song to be played. You two had a great time trying to hit the high notes that the original duo did, singing your hearts out in the car, with both windows rolled down.

Let's just say the group of bikers that were stopped on the other lane were not fans - neither of the song nor of your performance.

But the small altercation did not stop you from spending another hour just cruising around the city, and enjoying the overwhelming amount of neon signs and streetlights that filtered through the tinted windows of the car

Sergeant Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

It is a tradition that casually started the first time he came back from a mission. You were both lying on the couch, cuddling and watching some random sitcom

All was good and fair until you realized you had run out of snacks. And since it was one in the morning, ordering in was not an option.

So you hopped in the car and let Gaz drive around to the nearest gas station to see what you can get

Gaz is definitely the type of guy to say 'I know a place' and proceed to drive you to some hard-to-get, yet breathtaking place. That is what he did that first night, driving you to a quiet place from where you could see the entire city.

You opened the trunk and ate the snacks in there, resting your head on Gaz's shoulder and he on top of yours.

Since that night, every time he comes home from a mission, you go on a hunt for snacks and end up in your snacking spot, as you like to call it

'A snack with a view', you would often joke to Gaz as you huddled in his warm embrace

'Wait- I think the view's missing something...'

He would place his hands on your shoulders, turning you so you were face to face with him and against the nocturnal landscape of city lights

'Yes, it's better now!'

His grin would be impossibly huge, his chuckles eventually missing with yours as you would try to lean forward and steal a kiss from his lips

After the second time you did that, you decided to keep a couple of pillows and blankets in the back of the car

He will always be the one to drive - there's no point in arguing about that

'You do know I'm not a Sunday driver!'

'It's a male instinct, darling! You know, like the primal need to hunt down a bear, cook it and serve it to you!'

If you fall asleep in the passenger seat, he'll carry you inside and tuck you in against his naked torso, pulling you as close as possible to him

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starsofang · 1 month

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but does growing up just change your body? or also your soul?

the silver wisps of smoke dissipated into the chill of the night air. the butt of the cigarette created a dim glow along gaz’s face that you could see in your peripheral, reflecting faintly in his eyes as he stared forward.

your legs dangled carelessly over the tailgate of the truck, one that the two of you often found yourselves sitting in on occasion to destress after a long, grueling mission. your eyes were set on the sky, taking in the twinkling of stars that seemed to smile down on you in a way to provide you comfort.

in a world full of bloodshed and heartache, they were the only thing that could give you just that — like a security blanket over your battered body full of anguish.

besides gaz, of course.

your eyes shifted away from the moon to shoot a lingering glance at gaz, watching as he deeply inhaled the cigarette smoke and allowed it to filter out of his mouth moments later. his eyes were fixated on the sky, as if he, too, was taking in the quiet that the night allowed you.

the quiet was not unwelcome. in fact, it was your routine with gaz, the both of you too exhausted to talk all that much and instead seeking each other out for company. you liked it that way, as did he. it was like the world around you faded away into a muted silence, and it was just the two of you — no guns. no violence. no pain. no trauma.

“you’re staring,” gaz noted quietly, tearing his eyes away from the sky to look at you. his eyes were soft, with a slight quirk of his lips showcasing his amusement. “something’s on your mind.”

you blinked at the realization that you were staring, looking back at the moon that hung above you. you shrugged your shoulders loosely, playing off the turmoil that infested your mind.

gaz knew you too well by now. often times, you didn’t have to even say anything — he just knew.

“something’s always on my mind,” you replied back, huffing a small laugh through your nostrils.

gaz hummed in response, taking another drag of the cigarette before flicking it to the ground, crushing it beneath his boot. he shifted in his spot on the tailgate, resting both of his hands behind him against the bed of the truck so he could sit more comfortably.

“wanna talk about it?”

you glanced over at him for a brief moment when he asked. his eyes were still focused on you, you noted, and you couldn’t tell if he was trying to read you, or admire you. with gaz, you could never tell anyway.

you scrambled through your mind for what it was you were mulling over. there was plenty there, always living in your head, becoming a permanent resident and never quite planning on leaving. the thoughts plagued your mind like a virus, spreading and spreading until it consumed you. it was something you grew used to in this line of work, a side effect of being a soldier.

you remained silent while you picked apart your mind, and he didn’t push you, allowing you the time to gather yourself. he was always so patient, and it calmed the grueling thoughts and allowed you the chance to fully digest them.

“i’m thinking about when i was a child,” you finally confessed, unsure of how to properly execute your worries. gaz tilted his head in question, but said nothing, only offering a small hum to show he was listening. “i always wanted to be a grown up. every kid wants to be, at some point. but now that i am, i always wonder what it would’ve been like if i just stayed a child and didn’t have to grow up so early.”

“that so?” gaz asked softly, a faint smile curling at his lips as he stared at you. “had to grow up too fast, did you?”

you nodded your head in confirmation. you thought back on the past, on the life before military. a child, young and full of life, now apart of a world of so much… trauma. how had it come to this?

“it’s silly, isn’t it? to think that.”

“no,” gaz denied immediately, sitting up. he rested his elbows on his knees, head slightly tilted in your direction so he could provide his full attention. you couldn’t help but stare back, taking in the soft expression he wore — one he wore just for you, in these times where it was the two of you. “it’s not silly at all, love. go on, i want to hear about it, yeah?”

you couldn’t help the fondness that took over you at the way he spoke. always so considerate, so caring. so real. he was the anchor you desperately needed in a vast ocean of nothingness, keeping you grounded and secure, no matter where, no matter when.

you smiled at him, and he smiled back. a beautiful smile he had, really. in the lives you both lived where death and gore was on every corner, his smile was something you prayed you could protect for the remainder of your life.

your eyes made its way back to the array of shining stars. they continued to blink down at you, as if encouraging you to open up and speak your mind — telling you it was safe. that gaz was safe.

“i wonder how different things would be if we didn’t have to grow up so quickly. would we still be here, or would we have been on completely different paths?” you wondered aloud.

gaz was silent for a moment, taking in your words. he followed your gaze to the sky, and the both of you sat and admired, mulling over the endless possibilities of what could’ve been.

“maybe things would’ve been different,” he began, letting out a soft sigh through his nose. “but different isn’t always a good thing, hm?”

it was a strange thought, to imagine a life completely different from this one. one where you didn’t wield guns on the daily, or walk the fine line of death with no guarantees of making it to tomorrow.

you looked back over at gaz once again, taking in the sight of him. he seemed so at peace with what your lives had to offer, and you wondered briefly what he would’ve been like if not a soldier.

“suppose you’re right,” you sighed out with a smile. your words made him turn back to you, and for a brief moment, the two of you basked in each other’s presence.

“besides,” gaz started with a smile of his own, “different would’ve meant we never met. what’s a life without that, anyway?”

his hand reached out to gently grasp yours, giving it a small squeeze before he returned to gazing up at the sky. silence fell over the two of you, but it was far from uncomfortable — in fact, it was all that needed to be said.

“moon’s awfully pretty tonight, innit?” gaz broke the long pause of silence between the two of you. his calloused hand continued holding yours, his thumb lightly brushing along your skin as he smiled up at the glowing moon.

you huffed out a laugh, giving his hand a squeeze of your own.

“i love you too, kyle.”

—

if you saw this posted before, i’m embarrassed to say that i’m a grandma who doesn’t know how to work social media apparently </3 anyway, slightly projecting and idk what this is but i’m a gaz lover all the way so it doesn’t really matter

#cod #cod mw3 #cod x reader #cod mwii #kyle gaz garrick #gaz garrick #kyle garrick #drabble #idek man #cod drabble #gaz x reader

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improbable-outset · 6 months

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📂 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐨𝐫 𝐍𝐨𝐭, 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐂𝐚𝐧

Alan Orion x gn!Reader

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.6k

𝐀𝐎3 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐌𝐃𝐇𝐌 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Established Relationship, Yandere Lover Unprotected Sex, Fingering, Grinding, Dry Humping, Slight Fearplay. MINORS DNI!!🔞🔞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: In the midst of a game of hide and seek, you find yourself pinned by your hatchet man lover in the middle of the forest.

From a few hours ago up until now felt like a blur to you. You couldn’t pinpoint when you felt your heartbeat spike in your chest or the film of sweat that appeared on your forehead, despite it being cold outside. The temperature was low enough for you to see your breath forming misty clouds.

Having been surrounded by nothing but darkness and silhouettes of tree trunks was getting unnerving, and you were losing your sense of direction. Every path looked the same, and you lost count on the number of times you circled around the same area.

The moonlight that filtered through the leaves above you only served some sort of mockery, following you around as you continued to run aimlessly. The air was filled with the rustling of leaves and twinges that crunched beneath your feet as you filtered through the twisted maze of the forest.

However, your exhaustion was catching up to you, and you had to pause in your tracks. You knew it was a stupid idea to stop midway, but you had to catch your breath, leaning one hand on the tree truck as you lurched forward to recollect yourself while holding your midsection. You were panting heavily to the point where your mouth was becoming dry.

This all started with an innocent game of hide and seek. It was your turn to hide and you thought inside a hollow tree would be a good enough hiding place. The hole was big enough for you to fit through, and there was enough room for you to sit upright and wait until you were found.

However, as you got comfortable inside, you felt a chilling sensation of something crawling up your back, making the hair on the back of your neck stand and a shiver run down your spine. It didn’t help that it was dark — so dark that you couldn’t even see your own hands in front of you.

Panicking, you squeezed your way out of the hollow tree to find another hiding space. But as you emerged, a twig snapped in the distance, a sign that there was another presence nearby. Out of instinct, you fled, hoping whoever or whatever was behind the bushes, wouldn’t come chasing after you.

Now, you lost track of how long you’ve been running for. Your heart was thudding in your chest and you could hear the blood rushing in your ears from the adrenaline.

You quickly realised that you weren’t alone. In the distance, you could hear the bushes rustling, slowly at first before it got louder and more aggressive. Whatever was behind there was getting close and your legs were too exhausted to carry on.

Yet, you still forced yourself to move, even if you were staggering. You felt your fight or flight instincts activated with a surge of left over energy brewing in your system. However before you could move forward, a large hand grabbed your arm, pulling you backwards before pinning you onto the tree trunk.

The rigid tree bark pressed against your back with your wrists were pinned besides your head. You could feel hot breath fanning against your neck and unruly hair brushing up against your face.

Your eyes adjusted to the darkness and his face was becoming clearer now. It wasn’t until you saw the familiar scared face and the heterochroma eyes staring back at you that you recognised who was in front of you.

“Holy shit—Alan?!” You shrieked in annoyance. His face shifted from intimidating to a sweet smile after hearing your voice.

“Found you.” He teased, lowering his face closer to you. You grumbled in annoyance at his blissful expression; he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“Don’t…don’t do that again. You scared me to death!” Your mouth was still dry from how much you’ve been panting like a dog and you couldn’t moisten it no matter how hard you swallowed. You managed to steady your breathing, however. His face was so close to yours; the misty clouds that formed from both of your exhales merged together.

“But it was fun watching you run like that, trying to hide from me.” He chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent a tingling sensation down your spine and reached to your core.

The air between the two of you crackled and he was close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from his body. His fingers, that gripped around your wrist to keep you from getting away, spoke a controlled power over you.

You tried to maintain your composure while holding a stern gaze, but his proximity made it hard to ignore the magnitude of the situation you were in.

You were sure he could feel how hard your heart was pounding beneath your ribs the way he was pressing his body against you, the uneven barks of the tree digging further into your back. The aroma of fresh cut wood intertwined with the earthy fragrance of the forest floor lingered around him.

“Maybe you should think twice before scaring me half to death in the middle of the game…” you resorted, trying to sound as controlled as you could, but your wavering voice betrayed you, making you sound powerless. A playful grin played on Alan’s lip he was amused by the effect he had on you.

“Admit it, doe-eyes. It was exhilarating. And you were just too tempting.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from shaking beneath him, not from the cold, but from the newfound vulnerability you were feeling against him. You were suddenly acutely reminded of how much taller he was, and how his figure was looming over you, making you self-conscious about how small you were against him. His eyes bore into you and you noticed a hint of something dark emerging from beneath his gentle demeanor. The realisation of being alone with him in a secluded, dark place now settled on you.

“What’s wrong, doe-eyes? Are you scared?” He murmured, his tone carried something almost predatory. You always knew that the fear in your eyes excited him and as twisted as it sounded, seeing him dominate you like this sparked a fire in your gut too. You trusted Alan. Who knew being scared like this was also a turn on for someone?

Alan’s proximity that would always offer comfort, now carried an undeniable menace that made your skin crawl in both excitement and anticipation. There was a sudden jab that could be felt between your legs coming from Alan pelvic area.

He pulled himself away slightly, enough for both of you to see that familiar bulge beneath his pants. Something you were used to seeing by now, more often than not, when you’re both alone in his cabin. And it wasn’t a surprise to you to see him get turned on by this.

What you didn’t expect was seeing him grind his hard on against your crotch, earning a sharp gasp from you.

You quickly looked up at him to see his reaction and he gave you an innocent smile back, as if this whole predicament wasn’t happening right now.

“Alan…”

“Yes?”

“What are you…what are you trying to do?”

“What does it look like?”

His vague response and his gaze, that held a possessive edge, didn’t help with your nerves. The forest that was once a familiar place now felt alien and ominous.

He leaned in again, this time pressing his lips against yours in a feverish kiss. His tongue lapped your lower lip and teeth lightly grinding on the soft skin. He was needy for you right now.

His calloused hands still had your wrists anchored in place, a rugged sign of his labour as a hatchet man, while your hands trembled beneath his firm hold.

You felt him grind himself again repeatedly in a steady rhythm between your legs, his hard on pressing eagerly against your clothed sex making you whimper into his lips.

Even with how uneasy you were feeling right now, you could still feel your sex throbbing desperately under your clothes. A whirlwind of emotions was running through your mind right now and it was getting hard to focus. But despite that, you knew your body wanted this too.

He pulled away from your mouth, more misty clouds emerged from your lips. He buried his face into your neck and continued rolling his hips onto you. His breathing became ragged and it was fanning against the sensitive area of your neck.

The heat from his breath was getting closer to the neck until you felt his teeth sink itself into your skin. There was a momentary pain from the shock which made you hiss from the sensation, before you felt him suck on the area.

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling the initial sting morph into something more blissful. As he released his mouth from your neck, you opened your eyes and noticed the string of saliva that was connected from your neck to his lower lip.

He stopped grinding himself against you now, and you watched him intently as he pulled himself away, releasing your wrists. Your eyes were glued on his hands as they reached down to unzip the flier of his pants before pulling him down.

You continued to watch the scene fold in front of you as his cock sprang out from his pants. Pre-cum was already dripping from the tip and was now starting to fall on the ground.

You were already aware of his size and how he could reach every crevice inside of you. Yet, you couldn’t hide the agitation that was written all over your face and body language. Alan was quick to pick this up.

“Are you okay? We don’t have to do anything now if you don’t want to.” His attentive tone quickly kept you grounded, all of the uneasy sensation quickly vanished. His question settled in your mind as you tried to articulate what to say next.

You knew that if you denied him, your body would hate you for it. Getting yourself riled up and ready only for you to say no. Pathetic.

Swallowing hard, you took a few steady breaths before you spoke up. “I want this Alan. Please.” You didn’t expect to hear yourself beg, especially given the fact that he was more confident about this than you were.

You knew no one was going to catch you out here fucking, but there was still an underlying nervousness you couldn’t ignore. Nevertheless, you still went along with this because there you trusted Alan and sharing a moment like this in a forest sounded hot.

After hearing your confirmation, his hands reached for your pants to pull them low enough so he could bury himself deep inside you, before lifting your legs up to wrap around his waist and pressing himself close to you against the tree again so you wouldn’t slip.

From your perspective, you couldn’t see where his cock was going but you could feel the tip brushing against your heated skin before nuzzling over your opening.

There were times where sex with Alan would be intimidating — he would start off with slow kisses and words of affection. But you knew this time wasn’t like that.

After the chase you just had and having you pinned against the tree, the adrenaline and thrill he felt earlier would morph into something more primal. There wasn’t going to be foreplay to prepare you to take his length this time. He was desperate to be inside you already.

You felt him inserting himself inside, eagerly pushing your walls open. You felt a dull pain as the walls of your muscles stretched out for his size. It was all happening too fast. With each inch of his cock that was inserted inside you, there was a fresh wave of the initial sting before it subsided.

The grip you had on his back was intense as you tried to relieve the tension. If he wasn’t wearing his jacket right now, you would’ve definitely left a few scratches on his already scarred back. He came into a halt, a sign that he was all the way in. You could feel how full he was making you, how much he was overwhelming your heat which coaxed a shaky breath of approval out of you.

You took this second to adjust yourself to the position, feeling his hands gripping firmly into your hips that were holding you upright.

You felt his cock slide out before slamming back into your swollen hole, forcing you to cry out and throwing your head back against the tree trunk. Heat ran up to your cheeks where you felt his cock throbbing and twitching desperately while moving in and out of you.

He buried his face into your neck and continued moving inside you. His pace was sporadic and desperate. The barks of the tree continued to dig further into you again with each relentless thrust he threw at you, making you utterly helpless under him.

The forest provided its own backdrop with wind continuing to howl through the branches and the leaves rustling in the trees. But the grunts and groans escaping him, muffled against your neck in response to how tight you were squeezing his cock, were the only sounds that you picked up from your earshot.

“Alan…Alan-!”

Your mind was slipping into a haze and all you could focus on was the feeling of Alan’s cock abusing your hole and the sounds he was making.

You couldn’t stop yourself from crying out his name like a chant that echoed in the emptiness of the forest. You squirmed under his touch but his grip held you in place, preventing you from slip away from him.

“Look at yourself doe-eyes. Taking me in so eagerly.”

Alan’s movement always held a control forecity. Every action and every step reflected his raw energy and the primal instinct that coursed through him.

His thrusts were becoming more and more harsh and primal. You could feel his balls slapping against your ass every time he pushed his cock into you. His cock was twitching eagerly now and you could tell he was coming up to his peak.

With a few more pumps, he held you closer, relying on the tree and his arms for extra leverage before he pushed himself as deep as he could into your core, before he unraveled.

His hot release started to fill inside you, making him moan desperately into your ear. Even after his balls were drained into you, he still kept his cock inside you and forced his cum to sit inside. He didn’t want a drop to go to waste.

Soon, you felt him pull out and you immediately felt a withdrawal from his dick. There was still a sticky string of his cum that leaked from your hole. Alan released your legs, gently putting your back down and gave you a chance to regain your balance.

He noticed the cum dripping out of your sex and used his two rough fingers to push it back in, making sure it stayed there.

“All the way in…”

You still had your grip on his but now you leaned into his chest. His arms wrapped around you, enveloping you into an embrace.

“That was pretty wild.” you commented, smiling up to him.

“You did enjoy it, didn’t you doe-eyes?” He chuckled. “But I think it’s your turn to seek now.”

“Can we go back to your cabin instead? It’s getting cold.” You asked, shivering slightly in the chilly night air. There was another part of you that wanted to go back inside because you were craving the safety of the fireplace in his cabin and the forest was starting to become an eyesore now.

“Of course.” Before you could say anything else, Alan lifted you off the ground again and carried you in his arms. His nurturing side emerged as he navigated his way through the forest.

You just hoped his boss wasn’t lurking and watching the both of you right now…

#my dear hatchet man #alan my dear hatchet man #mdhm #mdhm alan #alan orion #alan orion x reader #doe eyes #mdhm game #mdhm x reader #Alan orion my dear hatchet man #mdhm fanfiction #♦︎— spicy #★— ayrus writes

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