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peachesofteal · 7 months

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İ love! Love! Love! Love! The omegaverse au?!?!? How do you think the guys would react to darling still trying to take care of herself because while she recognizes them as safe she still thinks she has to çare for herself...like trying to self-soothe and cook or whatnot for herself or the other parts of heat y'know y'know while the guys are there an it's just aughhh like they want to take care of her and this is the perfect oppurtinty but she's still shying away from them because that's all her hindbrain self knows?

I see this happening after everything that’s going on currently in the omegaverse au, possibly for darling’s next cycle, first cycle with her mates after she's come clean about everything.

18+ mdni/ dead disco omegaverse au / mature and explicit themes

You're restless.

Johnny can feel you, fidgeting, muscles tensing and relaxing in his hold, where you're snuggled up against his chest on the couch. He blinks, perplexed, because you should be fully enthralled in this movie at this point. It's one of your favorites. You insisted on watching it.

Casually, slowly, he leans forward to give you a sniff, the movement not as subtle as he would like, but goes unnoticed by you all the same. He gets a good draw from your gland, lungful of you, the scent that he knows and loves, the scent that feels like home, underneath it something else lingers.

Something fruited. Something ripe.

His eyes widen. His body responds, blood roaring in his ears, muscles seizing in response, nostrils flaring, trying to get more, and more. Fuck.

"Darling?" He coos, edging closer, wrapping an arm around you to tuck you into his body. "Everything alright?" You must be in pre-heat. You must. You're not nesting, or exhibiting any other symptoms, but you have to be close.

"Mmm? Yeah." you answer, sleepily, not even looking Simon's way when he rounds the couch.

"What's goin' on?"

"Nothing." you snatch a reply from Johnny's mouth, and he shakes his head. Later, the motion says.

They put you in bed sometime after that. You go easily, curling up in Johnny's arms until you're softly snoring, and he's able to slip away, tucking you in tight with a glass of water on the table. Just in case.

"She's in pre-heat." He says in whoosh as soon as he closes the door, and Simon nods, like he already knows. "Ye knew?"

"I suspected. Caught her stockpiling some of our dirty clothes in the closet yesterday. Said she was doing laundry but, it didn't make sense." Johnny pulls at the neck of his shirt, the clothes suddenly feeling too tight, too warm, too itchy, and Simon's gaze narrows.

"You can't." He tells him simply, and Johnny blanches. "This is her first real heat with us, I don't want you in a rut."

"Ah know."

"Tamp it down."

"Ah-" Simon grips him behind the neck, bringing their foreheads together before pressing a long, sweet kiss to his lips.

"I love you. But I will send you to Kyle's if I think you cannot handle this." He's stern, and Johnny gulps. He knows what's at stake. He knows what it means, that you're going to into heat again, so soon, after coming off the suppressants. He knows you're going to need an extra gentle hand, gentle touch, encouragement the whole way. If he's in a rut, he won't be able to give that to you. He'll be too busy fixated on fucking you full of his come and getting you pregnant.

"It doesn't feel like a rut, ah just feel, uncomfortable." he assures, and Simon nods, placing another quick kiss on his lips and pulling away.

"I've called Price. Told him not to expect us for another week and a half, at least." Simon pauses, turning back, looking him up and down. "Anything I can do for this discomfort?" His toes curl, delicious desire heating up his spine, and he's nodding the whole way to the couch.

You're starting to lose your grip.

You can feel it. You wake in the morning a little more miserable, body starting to cramp, and with the pain, comes confusion. Delusion. You have to actively stare at both of the guys for too long, blinking and committing them to memory before you can get out of bed, reminding yourself that you're at home, you're safe. You're with them, and they'd never hurt you. You're okay.

They start to wake up once they feel you shift, and you tell them you're going to the bathroom, where you end up staring at yourself in the mirror for far too long. Who are you? Are you in there? What were you doing in here?

You touch your gland, feeling it beneath your finger, muscle memory trying to force your wrist upwards to rub, and rub, and soothe yourself but you beat it back. You're safe. You're with them.

Instinct drives you to the kitchen. You think you might be hungry, and if not, you will be. You probably need to put some things together, prep all the stuff you bought at the grocery anyway. Like you already knew, your trip earlier this week resulted in extra vegetables and fruit, your heat necessities, and you wash them robotically in the sink as the kettle heats, moving them all to the cutting board for the next step.

Your mind wanders as you slice, and you try to keep yourself on track, thinking about your life now, versus your life then, trying to stay present, keep a grip on yourself. You cannot have a repeat of last time. Not now. Dangerous thoughts grow in your subconscious, fear and doubt filtering through to the forefront of your mind.

Are you sure they even want an omega? Are you sure they don't find heats disgusting? Are you sure this is what they want?

"Darling?"

Why do you think they always spent their ruts together? Why didn't you ever tell them about the suppressants or your past, until you absolutely had to?

"Darling."

They're going to think you're pathetic. A pathetic omega who cannot control herself. Desperate to be bred, to be fucked. Disgusting.

"Darling!" Simon's shout jolts you, and the knife clatters against the countertop, freed from your hand that is now being held in another one, much larger. "Hey, you with me?" He ducks down to look at your eyes, but you can't look up. The room smells, like you, like heat, like panic, and you whimper involuntarily, heart thundering beneath your rib cage. "Alright, you're alright." He starts a rumble, harmonics that vibrate deep from his chest, and then pulls you into his arms, where you bury your face in his chest immediately.

"I'm sss-orry."

"Shhh."

"I don't think I- I- can do this." You cry. You're sobbing, wetting his shirt, your skin, and he picks you up like a feather, carrying you to bed and laying you gracefully back in your spot, between him and Johnny.

You cover your face with your hands, and Johnny matches Simon's purr with his own, emitting a honey sweet calming scent.

"What can't you do, darling?"

"My heat. I can't- I don't want it." You hiccup, breathing shallow, and look at both of them with wide eyes. "Please, can we c-call my doctor and see if, there's something-"

"Darling, no." Johnny hums, pressing a kiss to your temple. "It's alright, we're with ye now." You shake your head in denial, and then before you can stop, your wrist comes to your gland... rubbing. It happens for a second, maybe two, before Simon plucks it free and replaces it with his own. You try to protest, but you cramp, body curling in on itself, the pain making everything worse, slick starting to leak down your thighs. You whimper, hand trying to snake down between your legs, desperate to tuck your fingers into your cunt for some form of relief, body and hindbrain screaming at you to find something, your mates, anything-

"We're here." Simon coos. "Right here. We've got you. We're going to take care of you, I promise."

#peaches asks #dead disco omegaverse au #ghoap x reader #f!reader

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politemenacephd · 4 months

Text

Arachnophilia: (Part Ten)

Drider!Miguel O'Hara x Reader (+18)

Chapter Masterlist 🕷️

Content: Fluff and bonding, Monster/human relationship, Miguel is rutting, Reader goes into heat, Rough PinV sex, Spontaneous outdoor sex, Slight voyuerism/exhibitionism, Mouth covering, Rough biting, Creampie & web sealing, Little bit of angst at the end? CW: Mentions of & brief depiction of deer hunting.

Word count: 6060

One Week Later

‘Are you ready, arañita?’

Miguel’s voice drifted up and into the nest, turning your head towards the entrance. You were halfway through getting dressed and the distraction nearly toppled you to the floor.

‘AH- Yeah! Yeah, I’m- almost ready! Just a minute!’

You struggled into your new outfit; a suit made entirely of silk which Miguel had painstakingly crafted for you. It was super soft and strangely warm, but it clung to the contours of your body a little more than you’d have liked. You kept wondering if Miguel had consciously or perhaps unconsciously made it so form-fitting. After all, this was your third suit of its kind, as he’d ripped the other two to shreds during extremely passionate and wet sex.

You felt your face grow warm at the memory and physically shook it away. No, no time for that. If you slipped back into the heat again you’d never get to go on the trip, and you were excited to go.

As you rose to your feet you took a moment to admire how the nest was coming along. The first thing you’d done was make it homely by adding a window and doors, with the entrance now covered by a crude cut oaken circle that swung outward on a hinge and the walls now adorned with little wooden shuttered holes.

You admired the half-made fireplace in the centre of the room, next to the DIY wooden table and the slowly burgeoning food prep area, before turning to the bed.

The mattress was completely drowning in silken blankets and silken pillows, and the floor beside it was now adorned with the pelt of a stag he’d killed. You knew autumn was approaching and it would only get colder, hence the focus on conserving heat, and while you didn’t want to jinx the relationship you enjoyed planning for the future.

You did feel a little bad since almost all these changes were only for your benefit. You had to preserve heat in this empty forest, but Miguel with his soft fluffy abdomen could remain shirtless all year round.

Your eyes softened affectionately at just the thought. Such a beautiful creature. He was a sight to behold when he stepped out into the cold dawn, where the heat of his muscles created a misty sheen of steam and his white breath curling around his fangs.

‘Arañita!’

You jumped in place as Miguel’s voice echoed from below for a second time. Shit, you’d been daydreaming about him so much you’d forgotten to go down. With fumbling hands you grabbed your bag and rushed out the open door.

‘COMING!’

Where once there was only a short sticky rope to descend from his home there was now a generous ladder, allowing you to easily clamber down to the floor.

Miguel was waiting, patient as ever, his legs gently tapping on the dirt as you approached.

‘Alright! I’m here, sorry. Had some- difficulty with the suit’ you called.

‘Ah, arañita. There you are.’ The joy that lit up his face every time he saw you never failed to make your legs weak.

‘Yep! Here I am.’

‘You look wonderful in that suit, by the way’ he noted as you rushed to his side. You took the time to scoff as you grabbed handfuls of his fur, using it as leverage to drag your body onto his back. His fluff was soft where it brushed your skin, and he smelled like grass dew and wet hair.

‘Oh my god- I knew it, you designed the suit to be too tight on me, didn’t you?’

‘I- well, yes. Is that an issue? Is it uncomfortable?’

You landed on his abdomen with an ‘oomph’ and shuffled forward, settling on his back like a great horse. Your hands wrapped themselves tight around his broad waist.

‘No, but- come on. Little bit pervy.’

‘I thought that was the nature of our relationship’ he argued. He tried desperately to catch your eye but in doing so began spinning in little circles, chasing his back as you continuously ducked out of the way. You took great pleasure in making him spin. ‘I like to look at you, yes. I get great physical joy from admiring your form. You are my mate. I thought this was normal. Is that not normal?’

‘Oh my god Mig—alright, come on! No more wasting daylight hours! Go! Go! Git!’

You gently and playfully kicked his side, urging him onward like a horse, but a firm glare from his bloody red eyes quickly brought you down into an apologetic cower.

‘Sorry! Sorry, uh- shall we, shall we go, darling? At your own discretion?’

He gave a curt nod and began strolling upward into the forest.

Today, he was finally taking you hunting.

The woods, once terrifying and unknowable to you, were slowly becoming a comforting norm. You gazed up at the dizzyingly high pines as Miguel walked upward to where the trees grew sparse and wide.

The early morning daylight trickled down in thin rays, their glow highlighting the tiny specks of dust and flitting little bugs as they passed you by.

This place felt old, untouched. It was cool beneath the heavy canopy above. You could hear nothing but the distant chirps of birds and the occasional creaking of an old tree. As you passed beneath those silent giants you clutched Miguel a little tighter.

‘You were talking in your sleep last night’ you whispered. Mig jumped. You’d been walking for almost ten minutes now in abject silence, so your voice was a surprise.

‘Ah- what was that, mi tesoro?’ he whispered back once he’d regained his composure. You bit down the urge to giggle.

‘Oh, sorry, um- you were talking in your sleep last night. That’s all I said.’

‘I was?’

‘Mhm. It’s very cute. You kept kicking your legs, kicking them and grunting, then you said something like don’t run so fast little one or wait for me and um- I think then you just kinda settled and went back to sleep. Like I said, very cute.’

Miguel rolled his shoulders as he continued strolling onward. You couldn’t tell from here what he was thinking.

‘Mm. I don’t- remember my dreams anymore, but, I know that they’re vivid. I remember the feelings but not the events. So- huh. I wonder what I dreamed about?’

‘I should stay up and keep an eye on you, try and sus it out’ you teased. He managed a breathy little snort of a laugh in response.

‘Ah, I’m not sure about that. What if I say something in my dreams that I shouldn’t?’

‘Oh, pft- like what? You gonna say someone else’s name? you don’t know anyone else, well except Miguel maybe, and if you said his name my first thought wouldn’t be that.’

‘I could still- imply something embarrassing’ he said with a shrug. You’d broached the top of the hills by this point and behind you the view was extraordinary, with small windows in the canopy giving you a perfect view of the city in the distance. Mig paused to turn and look at it with you mid conversation.

‘I could- I don’t know, admit some, sexual fetish I hadn’t even realized yet, some- deep interest in the back of my mind.’

You sighed as you rested on his bicep. With your arms still tight around his waist you gave him an affirming little squeeze. ‘You idiot’ you teasingly chided, ‘you admit everything to me anyway. This morning you immediately confessed that you designed my clothes for your own delight, and- wait, yeah, literally the FIRST day you started rutting you sat me down and told me in great detail your sexual fantasy. You are too honest to be worried about this.’

Another guttural choke escaped his throat, his strange little laugh that now filled you with joy to hear. ‘You are right, as always, my tesoro. I suppose it’s just my anxiety. I- suppose I’m just not used to anyone else being around when I sleep. It’s strangely vulnerable, no?’

‘Yeah, yeah. It’s weird, but, It’s nice though, right?’

You felt his fur bristle beneath you, the strands brushing your leg. Oh, you thought, that meant he was upset about something, right? But, why?

‘Is it?’ he murmured.

You turned and leaned around his torso to try and see his face more clearly, but right as you did so he turned himself and began walking deeper.

‘Hey, is something up?’ you gently pushed.

‘Ah, it… Sometimes- you pull away, at night, when we’re… cuddling.’ The way his voice dipped on the word cuddling, like he was embarrassed to be saying it in front of you. God, he was so sweet. ‘You shuffle away and I wake up without you. I- was worried you were uncomfortable with me.’

‘Oh, I love cuddling Mig! But doesn’t it bother you when you’re trying to sleep? I keep waking myself up because when I roll in my sleep you’re there and I keep thinking I’ll wake you up too.’

He let out a soft ‘humpf’ sound in response, clearly surprised by your response. ‘Ah- I don’t believe so. I haven’t slept any worse since you arrived, except, occasionally waking to check you’re okay.’

‘Oh. Huh. Well, you are… Big? I suppose is the best word? Big ol’ guy, you probably don’t feel me as much. But, like I was saying, I’m just not used to feeling something beside me when I sleep. I’m adjusting my brain to it, that’s all. it doesn’t mean I dislike you or dislike cuddling. We’re just uh- finding boundaries, now we live together.’

He seemed to perk up at the reminder that you were, technically, living together. Living together as partners, a concept he thought he would only ever dream out. He did a little rustle before bounding through the trees.

‘Alright, well, we’re almost there. Let me get you something to eat, mi arañita’

True to his word Mig became utterly focused on the hunt from that point onward.

He bayed you to settle down in the roots of a tree while he got into position, somewhere far enough to dampen your scent but close enough that you could see. He seemed desperate to have you witness him being productive, and you were curious enough to go along with his whims.

In this part of the forest the trees were sparser, allowing more vegetation to cover the dry earth. Miguel had said this gave him more cover for ambush, but you were still stumped as to how this giant man was supposed to hide himself even in the thickest growth. Even when pressed to the floor he was huge, as wide as he was long, covered in bright red and black fur.

Surely a deer would see that, right? Curiosity got the better of you, and you settled down in the roots to watch.

Mig started by feeling the vibrations in the dirt. He tapped at the floor, shuffling back and forth as he listened for something far beyond the scope of your own senses. You saw his eyes widen a few times, indicating that he’d felt something in the distance, and once he seemed sure he began the next unusual stage of this dance.

He dug. He dug into the earth with his enormous legs, filling out a small burrow in which his body could just about fit. He used his legs to drag foliage over his head, masking his scent and his body, until even you could barely see him at all.

And there, he waited. He waited, and waited, as clouds came to cover the sun. He waited in the gloom while you picked at your nails, waiting with a patience that frankly scared you to your core, until you both heard it.

A snap. A twig breaking.

A stag had entered the woods. Immediately you shuffled downward, lying as still as possible in the roots. Mig didn’t move an inch.

The stag was sniffing at the ground as it approached. You were certain that it would smell the enormous spider lying in wait, but somehow it just kept drifting closer and closer. You could see its head dipping to push through the grass, its snout flexing and snorting. Its breath condensed hard in the cool air.

Every muscle in your body tensed. You watched, your heart racing, as the stag went to sniff right over Migs head.

CRACK.

You jumped in your skin as he pounced.

It was terrifying. It was pure, primal, a spectacle of undiluted power. He moved with a speed that seemed impossible for something of his size, so large and yet so nimble, as his legs propelled him out of the dirt and onto the beast. It tried to run but his claws caught its neck.

With the sheer weight of his body he brought the bleating giant down. You saw a flash of his eyes, blood red with a single white pupil, right before he clamped his jaws on its neck.

It was over in seconds. The moment the deer stopped moving you scrambled out of the roots to join him.

‘Holy- shit, you’re so fast!’

Mig unclamped the catch with a soft grunt. You could see the blood on his jaw and neck which he immediately smeared with the back of his hand before facing you. He had such a strangely shy smile on his face.

‘Oh- you saw! You saw it. What did you think?’

‘It was… terrifying! Wow! You are- so, strong!’ you said with an awkward laugh. You left out how weirdly enjoyable it was to see him at full strength, to have witnessed the power and carnage he was capable of.

His grin widened as he took your comment at face value. ‘Thank you, arañita. That- makes me happy. I like showing you that I can be of use.’

‘Oh, Mig you idiot.’

You leaned in and affectionately touched his hair, gently brushing back the thick curls. He almost purred at the touch. ‘Now- jesus, let’s get you cleaned up and get home.’

You used a strip of silk from your back to try and clear his face, though he kept nestling into your hand which made it difficult to finish. Something about hunting for you seemed to make him especially soft. He would tap his feet for attention and rustle against you, and you would tut at him while secretly enjoying his touch.

That peaceful downtime did not last long though. As you were brushing yourself down, preparing to head back down, you noticed that Mig had stopped pacing. When you turned to check on him his eyes were wide.

‘Mig?’ you said softly. He didn’t move. You watched with ever growing curiosity as he began to dart his gaze across the forest line, almost as if he was looking for something. You followed his line of sight but could see nothing yourself.

It was only then, on the cusp of your lips parting to question Mig on what he was doing, that your senses picked up the same thing he had.

Your eyes locked in a moment of shared terror.

Footsteps. Distant footsteps, growing closer with every step. Idle chit chat that echoed in the trees, something about being lost and forgetting the map. You sensed a flask on an overstuffed backpack slowly clinking against a metal keychain.

‘Hikers’ you hissed. Mig gave a silent nod.

No, no, no. This was bad, you thought. What were people doing this far out? Why today of all days?

You didn’t want to risk a run in with civilians. You knew Mig was safe, but you also remembered how you’d acted the first time you saw him, and more importantly you remembered his distress at being seen.

Without another word you jumped into action, hopping his back in one fell swoop while he grabbed the kill by the nape of its hide. He lifted it as easily as a cat carrying a kitten, a feat you barely had time to appreciate, as he broke into a canter the moment you were mounted.

In silence you hurried back down the way you’d come.

For about half the way down it seemed to be smooth sailing. Mig made easy progress through the woods, his eight legs silently tapping back and forth on the mulchy earth as you descended to home. Your senses could feel the hikers getting further and further away.

In no time at all you saw the glade appear at the bottom of the hill, a tiny little circle in a sea of evergreen pines slowly sinking downward. You let out a contented sigh.

But then you felt it.

You felt It.

That foreboding tug in your gut. The gentle throbbing that sank down through your insides, the pulsing of blood as your heart sped up. The yearning, the need, the subconscious addictive pleading for satisfaction.

No, no, no, NO. You couldn’t stop here, right? The hikers weren’t far enough away yet.

You shuffled, trying to secretly suppress it, when Miguel abrupted stumbled to a halt himself. You heard him drop the stag with a thump.

Shit. You could smell it. It was heavy in the air, a smell you couldn’t describe with words but which you felt in your loins. He was rutting too.

Your eyes rolled. Oh that smell, it gave you goosebumps. That smell alone dragged you to him like a magnetic force.

‘Arañita?’

His words were soft as he spoke. Those were dangerous words, hungry words.

‘Mig?’

You felt so small on his back as his shoulders arched. You had to tilt your head to see his face, to see the bright glow of his eyes as his head instinctively tilted sideways. You balked. Those eyes were fucking starving.

‘Mig’ you breathed.

His abdomen vibrated softly, rustling against your skin in a way that sent pleasurable shivers through your thighs and spine. You shuddered against him. ‘Mig, don’t—careful—’

He breathed out hard, his breath condensing in the air. ‘Ah… Arañita …’

It curled like smoke around his bloody maw. His full lips parted and he breathed in through the mouth, releasing a dark and foreboding growl. ‘Ah…’

‘Mig—we need to get back—’

He was breathing heavier now. You could see his enormous spider legs quivering as he fought the urge slowly infecting his mind. The urge to pin, to fill, to penetrate, to feel. The urge to claim. The urge to see your pretty form, naked and sweating and shaking as you struggled to take him, as you were fucked to the brim with his very being.

When he huffed smoke for a second time a breathy moan escaped his throat. It was a mating call, plain and simple, echoing through the trees.

‘Mig… Mig…’

It was pitiful; your pleading had gone from genuine concern to depraved praise as you whispered his name over and over again. While you pleaded Mig struggled to focus on his senses. His body was begging, screaming even, to take you now, but he could just feel the hikers still approaching their location.

‘We need- to get back- to the nest’ he panted. You didn’t even respond.

At this point you were broken, involuntarily grinding your hips into his fur for any semblance of relief. Your body was burning to the point that sweat was sticking your suit to the contours of your skin, highlighting every little dip and curve.

‘Miggy—’

‘Arañita!’

His bark of an order made you mewl.

‘We need- to get back—’

‘O-Okay’ you whined. Slowly, painfully, Miguel began to continue his walk down the hillside towards the glade.

It was agony. You’d gotten so used to instant gratification that pushing through the need was now hellish, especially combined with the need to run.

It was an itchy heat, a prickling heat, and as your blood began to pump you felt your insides begin to pulsate. Throb after throb, each harder than the last, as every muscle inside you twitched and tensed around a cock that wasn’t there.

You could feel his body beneath you. You could sense him, feel him in every part of your body. All you could think about was feeling more, tasting more, as that desperate curdling need to feel his cock inside you flooded all of your senses. It was physically unbearable.

‘Don’t’ your mind screamed as you pulled at his fur.

‘Don’t do it’ his mind pleaded as he forced himself forward.

But you were no match for each other’s potent smell. No risk, not even death, felt important compared to that burning ache.

You collapsed from his body and into the dirt with a low moan, unable to maintain yourself any longer. Miguel descended on you in seconds.

You squeaked and squirmed as he gripped you in his claws. He pounced like you were prey. He flipped and thrust your body down onto its back, his gruff hands immediately pinning your arms to the floor. The frail little bones in your wrists screamed out at the pressure.

‘Mig!’

He hissed and flexed his teeth on your neck, hot breath cascading over your skin as the smell of musky hormones and blood filled your nose.

‘I can’t- wait—’ he panted. You could already feel his abdomen rubbing and grinding on you, his slit unable to contain his erection any longer. You could feel the thick, warm shaft smearing your new suit with his thick, pearly pre-cum. ‘I need- you, please- I need it- it hurts—’

You knew it was dangerous, but your brain was a melted pot of red hot lust. You couldn’t fight it anymore. With a soft whine you lay back and turned your head to the side, frantically nodding for him to continue.

‘Okay, fuck—I can’t wait, fuck—just, be quick, please’ you panted.

He didn’t even bother to fully undress you. With a hiss he bent and ripped a hole in your suit with his mouth, a dangerous tactic as his teeth brushed your pussy lips as he tore the silk aside. He took one deep sniff of your pheremones before physically dragging your body into position.

He forced your legs into a mating press, his hefty torso straining the muscles in your thighs to bend to his will. He rustled slightly as he pushed into position, roughly edging his bulbous member against your slit, and as you felt the first inch spreading you open you knew it was over.

‘Okay, okay’ he panted, ‘shh- sh, stay still for me arañita, let me just—fill you—’

He thrust, hard, and with one excruciatingly tight stretch he was inside you again.

‘M-MM--!’ Your hips bucked and tensed, rocking from side to side as you struggled to adjust. Miguel gasped like he’d just avoided drowning.

‘Ah—ahh—that’s it, that’s it. I’ll be- quick, just- stay still, mi tesoro, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.’

The moment he entered you he started to frantically rut to completion, his abdomen jerking back and forth as he fucked you into the dirt. Your fingers dug into his arms.

‘MM--!’ It was painful to hold back your screams. You had to bite your tongue until it bled, until the taste of iron filled your mouth and nose, all in a vain attempt to not be caught. He was so fucking rough.

‘Sweet little spider’ he whined. You felt him thrust a little deeper and squirmed with joy at the familiar mixture of ache and pleasure.

‘It’s… ‘S so good’ you whispered in a needy, whiney breath. ‘So—good…’

Desperate now to finish quickly, Miguel angled himself a little further back. He needed the one thing that he couldn’t resist, his most primal indulgence. He wanted to see it. Your small, soft, sweet human body, perfectly impaled on his enormous shaft. The sight sent full body shivers through his spine.

‘So… tight…’

He looked utterly pussy drunk, mesmerised almost. He watched your slick coat his cock as he drew back, those translucent sticky strings hanging between his abdominal fur and your pretty little slit. They made his black veins glisten as they pulsed against your swollen cunt.

‘Mi… aranita…’

He stared, unblinking, as he moved his hand and began touching the spot where he’d entered you. He brushed his thumb down and across your swollen clit, those wet and messy folds, until it came to rest where his shaft was splitting you open. He watched you swallow him whole.

‘Pretty, pretty little spider’ he whispered. ‘F-fuck…’

He watched your hips jolt as he gave a few short pumps about halfway in, fixated on the way you stretched and wriggled with pleasure. His previous seed was now oozing out at the sides as he pumped in and out, just adding to the absolute mess you were making.

‘So, so… pretty…’

You felt his claws suddenly hit your neck, pressing you down until you were forced to be still. He continued to watch with wide and unblinking eyes as his thick rod squished back and forth, back and forth, filling you until you bulged before slowly slipping out with a wet pop.

‘Mm- mm—’

He was grunting hard as he moved.

‘So, fucking, pretty—’

‘Is it this way?’

Your whole body went rigid at the sound of unfamiliar voices, but you didn’t even have time to process your shock, because Miguel didn’t stop.

Even as the voices got louder he continued rutting you into the floor, his breathy grunts just barely audible in the rustling undergrowth.

You silently slapped at his arm but he couldn’t bring himself to pause. He impulsively clamped his hand over your mouth, his eyes deadly and starved as they stared down at your panicked expression.

‘Stay. Quiet’ he mouthed. Despite your fear, you were just as needy. You let him have you.

He bent your legs into your ribs just to slip deeper, his thick shaft eagerly kissing and smearing your cervix with pre-cum. Your breath was hot on his calloused hand as it muffled your desperate moans.

Despite his rational mind knowing that he needed to be quiet, Mig’s carnal desperation was driving him towards risky behaviour. You could hear the clap of his skin between your thighs echo with each wet pop as he pushed in and out, a symphony just as terrifying as it was erotic.

You watched him savor the feel of your body. You watched him as he experienced you.

‘Ah—ahh—ah—’

He flexed his jaw until it hurt trying to suppress his cries of pleasure, and in a second moment of impulse he bent down and sank his fangs into your shoulder. Your squeaks were silenced.

Now clamped by the terrifying power of his maw you were utterly surrendered. You could feel his teeth moving in tandem with his cock, filling and shifting inside you, flooding you with that same potent mixture of pain and pleasure.

You raked your fingers down his back, drawing red lines into his rough scarred skin. He dug his claws into the dirt.

The footsteps got closer, but there was no breaking free. You were trapped together. With a muffled grunt Miguel sped up to completion.

‘MMFF—’

He came inside you silently, with all his gutteral noises muffled by your skin. You felt it all the same. The heavy spurts, the hot seed flooding in and squirting against his soft underside when your cunt ran out of room. You were filled until you bulged.

In the high of that release you were nearly dizzy. Your eyes fluttered shut as your hormones overpowered any rational fear about being seen. All you could do was lull and whine, relishing the sweet gratification of being filled again.

‘Mig’ you whispered. ‘My Mig. You—’

Snap.

Your eyes shot open.

You tilted your head, slowly, just enough for your eyes to roll and spy the woods behind you. Two hikers were frozen in place, their bodies just barely obscured by the trunk of a pine.

They were staring at you. You, your body pinned beneath the torso of your half spider mate, still fully impaled on his monstrous cock, with your head in his neck and your flesh in his maw.

Your blood ran cold as your body tensed. To say you were mortified was an understandment, it felt like your heart might give out. You felt Miguel’s breath steaming against your shoulder as he panted into it. Did he know? Had he realized?

You opened your mouth but no sound spare a painful squeak escaped. Your brain was utterly fried.

The one to break the tension then was Mig, who decided to release your shoulder and stare directly at the two strangers. Mouth bloodied, eyes red, his naked body straining and panting for air.

Their reaction was swift.

‘FUCK!’

The two hikers almost fell over each other as they ran, both frantically fleeing for their lives into the overgrown brush.

‘JESUS- CHRIST, WHAT WAS THAT?!’

‘WAS IT EATING THEM?!’

‘F-Fuck, FUCK! I DON’T KNOW JUST- GO!’

‘We have to call for help—’

‘JUST RUN JUST- FUCKING RUN!!’

As the screams grew distant, you felt Miguel slowly pull out. His hands were quick to plug you up and carefully stitch your suit back together at the crotch, but you were too exhausted to move.

‘Shhiittt.’

It was the only thing you could think to say as you lay back in the mud, your head still a little woozy from the whole experience. Mig just grunted.

‘Shit, shit, shit. Ah…. I’m- I’m sure it’s fine. It’s fine. I- fuck, are you okay Mig?’

He grunted again as he lifted you up into his arms. His spider legs hooked the stag’s carcass and carefully manoeuvred it onto his back, allowing him to begin the short final trek back to the clearing with you still in his arms. The longer he went without saying a word, the more you began to worry.

‘Mig?’

You patted his cheek as he walked, trying in vain to get his attention. His only response was to sigh.

‘It’s okay’ you said, your voice now rather timid. ‘It’s fine, they- we probably won’t ever see them again. And hey, we didn't have to fight them! That's good, right? They just- left.’

‘It’s not that.’

You were surprised when words finally left his mouth, especially when they were delivered so sadly. He was blunt, yes, but not usually this melancholy, especially after sex.

‘What is it then?’ you asked. It took him a few more seconds to reply.

‘They thought… I was eating you’ he murmured. ‘If I’d been anyone else, they wouldn’t have screamed. We would have been- yelled at, perhaps, or chastised for being perverts. Maybe they’d have just, awkwardly moved away. But they would never have assumed I was eating you.’

The sombre reality sank in slowly. Somehow, you’d both forgotten the reality of what this was. What he was. You tried to shrug it off. ‘Wait, that’s what you’re worried about? I mean… If you were just, purely human, they might have still assumed you were murdering me. People can do murder too yanno.’

He managed a small, throaty chuckle at your light teasing, but it was strained. He looked distant, distracted, alone in his own mind. You gently shook his arm to drag him back down to reality.

‘Hey. It’s fine. You’re fine’ you repeated.

‘Does it not, bother you? The way they reacted?’

‘Mig I would have been mortified to be caught like that whether you were fully human or not’ you scoffed. He seemed unconvinced.

‘If they’d- seen us, holding hands’ he said, slowly musing over the theoretical aloud, ‘if they’d seen us… kissing, or even just sitting together, they would have run. They would still be terrified.’

It was hard to maintain a smile in the face of his dour prediction. You knew he was right, but you didn’t want to simmer in that pool of despair, and you didn’t want him to wallow in it either.

‘People- when they see something they don’t understand, they, react like animals. Sometimes they run, sometimes they fight. They squash it so you don’t have to think about it. It’s easier.’

That morbid thought made him wince, but you refused to let go. You leaned in and tilted his head back towards you.

‘And it’s horrible. It’s horrible, and it hurts, but then there’s other people. Other people, who- know what it’s like, to be the- scared little spider on the wall. And they know, Mig. They knew. I know. And I’m not scared of you.’

To your joy he managed to shoot you a ghost of a smile, just the barest tilting of his lips. It was enough for you, even if you’d only managed to distract him for a bit.

‘Besides, who do we have to disappoint?’ you said in an attempt to lighten to mood. ‘I don’t have friends to introduce you too, or family, or co-workers. You’re alone. We don’t need to worry about what people think.’

‘You say that now, arañita, but… I don’t know, I don’t feel like that will remain true forever. I also don’t appreciate you indulging my possessive nature.’

‘Awh, what? How, what did I do?’

‘Implying we’re all we’ve got’ he said softly. ‘It makes me- happy, but on some level, I know it shouldn’t.’

‘Well, hey! You know it shouldn’t, so- you know, that’s a start.’

Mig ducked his head beneath a row of branches as he re-entered the clearing. In the clear, bright light of the burgeoning sun he looked glorious.

‘Yes, but—I also know that I willingly ignore that fact and, pretend it is acceptable’ he confessed with a slight shrug. ‘Because- well, it comforts me, especially when I’m reminded that we are… different, to put it nicely.’

‘Well, as long as you’re not getting feisty, huh? I’ll just be sure to let you know if it ever gets annoying’ you offered. You pressed your face against his pec, right over his heart, and tapped it like you were making a promise. He gave you that sweet little ghost of a smile.

‘Very well, mi tesoro. I will hold you to that.’

You allowed Mig to drop the kill near the base of the nest before climbing back in with you still in his arms. You lulled a little in the sudden warmth, placated by the warm orange rays of sunlight warming the floor, and the moment he slid you onto the bed you collapsed into it.

‘Mmm… Yanno, that was the first time we were under such pressure from the heat that you didn’t make me orgasm’ you noted with a yawn. It was more a dry observation than a real problem you had, but it immediately caused Mig to bristle in horror.

‘I- oh, no you’re right. You poor little spider.’

‘It’s okay! I don’t blame you, it—HEY!’

You squealed with delight as he dove onto the mattress, his weight flinging your body a few feet into the air before landing back into his already outstretched arms.

‘Let me fix that’ he purred, his breath brushing your ear. ‘Please, mi aranita, let me taste you again.’

With an eager grunt his lips met yours, his abdomen rustling with excitement as his tongue went down your throat. You were smothered in seconds.

You gave in to his whining need to please and relished in the chance to scream again, your wet lips quivering his name with each breath as he tore your third new suit to pieces for just a lick of your cunt.

You were too focused on his mouth to notice anything as you tossed every item of clothing to the floor. Between his whiny moans and your own panting, you couldn’t have possibly heard anything else.

You certainly couldn’t have heard your society watch as it buzzed against the fur rug, the name ‘Jess’ highlighted in clear orange light. It was left to ring to voicemail instead, with neither of you aware it’d even gone off. Link to next part!

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #drider #smut #smut with plot #miguel o'hara fanfiction #read on ao3 #spider man 2099 #monster human relationship #miguel o'hara smut #miguel fluff

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hardly-an-escape · 3 months

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Stormy Weather, or: Outside, the Wind (Inside, the Light) | Dream/Hob | 1600 words | Rated T

tags: I recently spent an evening without power therefore I must put the blorbos in a Situation, love confessions, first kiss, getting together, power outages, Hob Gadling throughout history, gratuitious use of mildly accurate Middle English

The wind tears around London like a living thing, a wild animal, a predator, intent on the hunt. It chases birds into their nests and people into their homes, moans around corners and rattles shutters, sending piles of leaves whirling into miniature hurricanes and whipping branches into a frenzy, sharpening its claws on roof tiles and telephone poles.

Except in Hob Gadling’s flat.

The New Inn, and the cozy home above it, is in one of those old buildings that’s actually been loved and maintained – thanks in no small part to Hob’s own care and attention. The walls are thick and strong, the roof is solid. The shutters may rattle, but the windows are double-pane; the curtains and carpets are warm and soft, and no drafts encroach on the sanctity of his living room, where Hob and Lord Morpheus, King of Dreams, are having a movie night.

It’s part of Hob’s concerted effort to introduce the Prince of Stories to the stories he’d missed during his imprisonment. Tonight it’s Blade Runner – the final cut, of course – which isn’t necessarily one of Hob’s personal favorites, but seemed to fit the stormy, rainy vibes of the weather. They’re installed on the couch, with hot chocolate and wine and snacks, which Dream has deigned to pick at. Harrison Ford is eating noodles and wandering through wet, moodily-lit streets. The wind is howling outside, but they’re safe and warm and surrounded by soft things and life is about as good, Hob thinks, as it ever gets these days.

And then his lights flicker. Once, twice; there is the impression of a sort of electrical last gasp, and the room is plunged into darkness.

The wind whips and the shutters rattle. A volley of rain spits itself against the windows.

“Bugger,” says Hob.

Dream says nothing, merely brings his wineglass – which had already been cradled in one elegant hand – to his lips.

“Hang on,” says Hob. “I’ve got some candles around here somewhere.”

He gropes his way to the kitchen. In one drawer he unearths some beeswax tapers and several tea lights, which he arranges on a plate. He rummages in one of the deeper cabinets and makes a triumphant noise as he discovers his prize behind disused mugs and a fondue set from the 1980s: a pair of old-fashioned brass candlesticks equipped with round reflectors, highly polished to catch the light and bounce it back out into the darkness.

“You are remarkably well-prepared for an event such as this,” says Dream, as Hob lights his various prizes and returns to the living room with his hands full of flickering flames.

“Well, you know,” Hob demurs. “When it comes down to it, I’ve lived a lot more of my life without electricity than with it.” He arranges the tea lights on the coffee table and sets the brass candlesticks on a nearby bookshelf. “You never really get out of the habit of preparing for the worst. Although I will say, these beeswax ones beat the hell out of the old tallow jobbies we had when I was young. Got ‘em from a local bloke who keeps bees not half a mile away, isn’t that cool? A beekeeper in the middle of London. There, now,” he says, and having arranged the lights to his satisfaction he plops himself back down on the sofa.

Outside, the wind wails. The lack of lamps on the empty street below and the gentle candlelight within make the night seem even darker, and turn Hob’s living room into something even softer and cozier than it already is.

Dream’s face, in the flickering candles, seems even more otherworldly than usual; and Hob, for his part, truly looks as though he belongs in another century. The very shape of his face has changed, somehow, into something older; taking on a new appearance in the candlelight the way a man’s tongue might curl differently around the syllables of another language.

“I miss it, sometimes,” he says lowly. “This kind of world. Before the wires and the phones and the cars. It was… quieter.”

“You speak often of your delight in change and progress. Do you truly long for your past lives?” asks Dream.

“Yes and no,” answers Hob. “Some things are better now, no question. Antibiotics, wouldn’t want to live without those again. Vaccines and X-rays and chemotherapy and antidepressants – almost all the medical stuff. Mass transportation. Cars and planes have never been safer. Honestly, I’ve never understood the people who moan about the olden days and oh, life was simpler back then. Don’t they know how many people died? How many kids? Because they caught a cold or fell out of a tree or had a case of the runs that lasted a little too long?”

He leans forward to adjust one of the candles, which is dripping unevenly, and when he sags back into the couch there is just the hint of a frown between his strong brows.

“And yet…” he says, staring into the flames, voice quiet. “Nights like this. I do sometimes think…”

Hob trails off for a long moment.

“There was a rhythm to life, back then,” he says finally. “You counted hours by the church bells and days by the tasks that needed done. And there was so much that needed to be done… cows milked and fields planted and clothes knitted or mended. And it was all so important, so… necessary. Regimented. But in the in between time – Christ! your time wast thine.” As he speaks, his voice has slipped into an older register: his Rs grown rounder, his vowels longer, curling from his mouth to mingle with the candlesmoke hovering over his coffee table. “I remember fair hours as a lad, even into my manhood, of which I spent lyende in th’ fields, watching ants in th’ grass. And later, too, we’d hie us to bed with the sonne, the fire banked in the hearth. An’ it happen that if we awakened before dawn, ’twas a simple thing to pass the time in simple ways, be it in prayer or in pleasure…”

The innuendo in his words is clear, but Hob is not looking at Dream; his eyes are unfocused as he stares into the middle distance, revisiting the past via candlelight. Until one of the wicks lets out a small pop, and flares, and he shakes himself, coming back to the present.

“God, sorry,” he says, voice back in the 21st century. “Woolgathering. I’ll go on for an age, me. More wine?”

But Dream’s eyes have also gone unfocused, his lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling with unnecessary breaths as he stares – no, gazes – at Hob. He, too, must shake himself into the present moment at Hob’s offer of more wine. He silently holds out his glass.

“May I ask you a personal question?” Dream says.

“Anything. You know that.”

Dream pauses. Sips. Outside, the sound of the wind has not abated; has grown, if anything, even more dramatic. There is the muffled sound of branches scraping against the side of the building.

“Why,” asks Dream finally, “do you pretend to yourself that you do not want me?”

Hob chokes. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Why do you pretend thus to me?” Dream pursues. “Who has known you longer than any being on this planet or any other; who can know your innermost dreams?”

“What do you mean, other planets?” Hob demands. And then: “Have you been peeking at my dreams?”

“I need not peek, as you put it, to see the truth of the matter. It is writ plain on your face and in your every word and deed. I merely wonder why this truth has hovered before us for over six hundred years and you have yet to press your suit. Do you doubt, after all this time, my affection for you? Do you find me – unworthy?”

Dream sounds, impossibly, almost uncertain. Even vulnerable. Hob sighs heavily and leans forward, elbows on his knees and face in his hands.

“I – God. Dream,” he stammers. “Yes, Christ, I am full of doubts. You stormed away from me when I implied you might be lonely, I… I have never, once, thought I had a suit to press at all. What on earth has brought this on? Now, of all times?”

“I do not know,” Dream murmurs. “Perhaps… this darkness is working on me, as well. Perhaps I am as susceptible to candlelight and nostalgia as the next anthropomorphic personification.”

He smiles, a little quirk of the mouth that contains worlds, and Hob leans over, listing helplessly into Dream’s space as the tapers flicker.

“Fuck,” he whispers, pressing their foreheads together, turning his head to butt his cheekbone against the sharp line of Dream’s nose. “Art thou rēal? Speak you treue?”

“Aye, my Hob,” answers Dream. “Min herte is treue and bilongeth to you.”

A sob catches in the back of Hob’s throat at the words. “Fuck,” he whispers again, “Dream, I’m yours. I am. I always have been. My Dream, min sweven, my leof. Alwei, allesweis…”

Their mouths find each other, then, finally, lip against lip and breath against breath. They kiss for a long, long moment, desperate and hungry and soft all at once, as outside the wind howls coldly around the corners of the New Inn, and inside the light cast by Hob’s candles bathes their whole little world in a cozy glow.

“Take me to bed,” murmurs Dream against Hob’s mouth. “Make me your lover. Show me how you pass the time by candlelight, and in darkness.”

“Oh, darling. Dearheart,” Hob answers. “Nothing in this world or any world past could make me happier.”

And he suits his actions to his words.

#my writing #the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #a needlessly complicated title for a truly simple little fic #I've already written this basic premise so many times AND I'LL DO IT AGAIN #the archaic English Hob uses in this fic is based on the most cursory googling #just tell yourself it's all over the place because historically English is.... all over the place #my unpopular opinion is that I think Blade Runner is overrated and yes I will project my opinions onto fictional characters #as usual this started in one place and went in another direction entirely #may post on AO3 tomorrow if the spirit so moves me

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hawkinsbnbg · 1 month

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caged bird (love-trap)

It didn't mean anything, Steve told himself.

Sure, he spent his heats with Eddie all the time, built his nest with Eddie's clothes, lived under Eddie's roof, and well, fell in love the morning Eddie made him breakfast.

Steve was a fool.

Because Eddie had told him point blank when they first met that the alpha didn't do relationships, much less want a serious one.

Even when they had been waking up in the same bed for years, it still didn't mean anything.

Heartbreak was an old friend, one that Steve wished he never met but still welcomed anyway. And loving Eddie was a bittersweet thing that he couldn't seem to give up.

Every moment Eddie looked at him, smiled at him, and touched him, his heart would break a little, knowing none of that would ever be his.

Even a fool would learn his own lesson, but Steve never did.

He let himself be swept away in the warmth and protection Eddie provided him, and then, he would berate himself for falling too fast and caring too much.

It was pointless, however, when he kept letting Eddie claim him in every sense of the world but the right way.

Steve stared at the positive pregnancy test in his hand and trembled. Tears welled up in his eyes as he tried to think up something to make the cold dread go away.

His first thought was that he would have to leave Eddie to keep the new life inside him. And didn't that sound depressing?

But Steve considered it anyway because he loved his pup more than anything. And since he always listened to his stupid heart, he intended to do so again.

“Let's end this,” he said bluntly once they were done with dinner.

“End what?” Eddie raised an eyebrow at him.

“End this,” Steve gestured between them vaguely. “Whatever that’s been going on here.”

“No.”

Steve was taken aback at the alpha’s stormy face and flat tone.

“No? What do you mean No?”

Eddie stood up and rounded the table to cage him in his chair. Eyes dark and scent thickened, the man leaned down to whisper into his ear.

“It means you're not gonna leave me after I put a pup inside you.”

Steve’s breath hitched in astonishment. “You knew?”

“I planned it,” Eddie said calmly while holding his gaze. “Remember this: You're mine, now and forever.”

“But you don't do relationships–”

“But I do want a family,” Eddie stroked his cheek tenderly. “And I want it with you.”

Steve bit his lip until he tasted blood. This was foolish. He shouldn't–

“Put the bite on me.”

Smiling, Eddie leaned in to nose at his bonding gland.

And then bit down.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #omegaverse #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #idiots in love #unplanned pregnancy #dub con #sionewrites #steddiemicrofic #steddiemicroficapril

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urbanwood02 · 2 months

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#nest of tables #nest of coffee tables #nest tables for living room #nest tables online #marble nest of tables #round nest of tables

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maykenin · 8 months

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this lovin' i have for you, it'll never change

title inspo age ain't nothing but a number by aaliyah

18+ MDNI. (perverted) dbf!leon x afab!reader, age gap (reader is 21+ leon is 38), cunnilingus, deepthroating, choking/gagging, semi public sex, dirty talking, praising, reader has a father // wc;1.3k tags: @kennedyswhore (this was a reupload btw hehehe)

a/n: YEOWCH this whole thing has been eating my brain so either enjoy or watch as my parental issues worsen. btw this isn't proofread NOR has it been beta'd so enjoy the work i create out of sleep deprivation.

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You were at a bar nearby for your dad's daily work discussions— or whatever they were. For the boredom of it, you understood why they'd hold such meetings in places suited to give them a sense of boost in attitude, simply put, coping for the long, tedious hours.

You were bored out of your brains, not even in the mood to drink so you'd just stroll around the bar hoping to find some form of entertainment. Darkness overtakes the room, a gold light in each corner guiding you through each creaking tile.

Your eyes immediately turned to the pool table, you felt more confident than any other time, to know that the bar wasn't as crowded as you'd typically expect it to be. 'Why not go for a round?' You let the question linger before you grabbed a cue stick leaning against the mosaic tiles.

Preparations were done, you had yourself set behind the balk, arching around the edge of the table like a cat, you shut an eye to sharpen your precision, "Here, you have to pinch your thumb against your hands." A familiar voice hit your ears.

Slowly, you turned your head around to find Leon, his eyes were focused on the cue ball, his hand wrapped on top of yours, body pitted against yours before he let the stick hit it, strike. "Good girl, knew you were a fast learner." He coaxed, ruffling your hair, almost leaving it a nest-like mess. "Mr Kennedy— I didn't know you were here!" You replied shyly, fiddling with the hem of your skirt. "Came here on my own, aren't you too young to even be here?" He raised an eyebrow, handing the cue stick right back to you.

"Dad's right there, he's busy with whatever," You rolled your eyes playfully upon turning your head back at your dad, who'd been oblivious to Leon's presence. "Same as ever." Leon chuckled to himself, head faced down before his eyes pierced yours.

"Up for a new round? Or do you wanna.. finish this up?" He asked, finger circling around the billiard table, indicating to pick up where you left off. "Practice round, how's that sound?" He asked, a faint smirk painted on his face. "Yeah, yeah. Let's do that." You nodded in regards to his proposal.

"So you know to hold it like that.." He mumbled, body encasing you as his hand tugged on yours, letting him arch over you, letting himself feel you. A part of you didn't want to let this minute crush intensify and worsen what little feelings you've had for him. He's your dad's friend, for fuck's sake. You shouldn't even have your mind reeling over this. You shook your head lightly to shake the feeling off, focusing on the game. But how could you? When someone this fucking hot is right behind you, guiding you. Praising you. Strike. "What a smart girl you are, I might have to reward you for this later." He winked before heading back to his table for a brief moment, gulping his beer down, you observed as his adam's apple bobbing over the drink, watching intently as a drop of beer fell past his chiseled jaw, sharp enough to cut, followed with his stubble trailing past his neckline.

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Bending you over the sink, he whispers into your ear. "Your reward for winning earlier, and mine for teaching you." He grinned against your cheek, you could read onto it despite shutting your eyes closed. Gripping onto the shallow porcelain well was your only task.

Now that you know you have even scores to settle out, Leon starts, hands gliding under your skirt before the index and middle wandered through the now wet gusset of your panties. "Christ, didn't even do anything." He muttered under his breath. "Don't worry, 'm gonna take good care of you." Both pads of his fingers ran through your clothed cunt, rubbing it up and down before tugging onto your underwear. Unbothered and horny, Leon just let your panties sit on the side of your swollen cunt, throbbing and aching 'specially for Leon.

"Just gotta let me do all the work, 'kay?" He mumbled into your ear, a hand on your ass, dropping down to your cunt, stretching your pussy lips with his thumb. Getting on one knee, his tongue broad as he licked a long strip against your slick covered folds, darting his tongue in you, thrusting repeatedly as you struggled to hold yourself together. "Love tonguefucking this sweet pussy," He chuckled against your cunt before sucking your clit, tongue swirling routinely. Before you knew it, your orgasm came crashing. Your body was out of your own control, a hand tugging on his scalp, pulling him closer and closer in until you couldn't feel yourself. Moans and whimpers soft as you'd attempt to stifle them by burying your face deep into your forearm before briefly letting go.

It wasn't long before your body was craving Leon again, you'd long forgotten about why you were even here in the first place. "We don't have all day, sweetheart, 'fraid daddy might come in here looking for ya'." His words drove you to drop to your knees, hands lazily finding his zipper, undoing it before both hands pinched either side of both his jeans and boxers, letting it drop to his ankles.

You marveled at the sight that was Leon's cock, throbbing and engorged, waiting for you eagerly. Slowly, you pull the foreskin back, your tongue circled around his slit, laced with precum; taking him in gradually. Tutting, he mutters to himself, "This won't do," intertwining his fingers around your hair, thrusting you in with force, back and forth while you choke and gag over his size, eyes bulging as tears ran past your lashline. "Such a tight throat for me too," He groaned, "Gonna keep training this throatpussy, get her to take it over and over, even if she can't." He sputtered before a loud moan overtakes his words. "Oh, fuck, fuck, take it," He growls, pulling you in, nose against his pubes, filling your throat full of his cum, sticky and hot against your insides, he pulls back after a while. "Open." He instructs, you comply hesitantly, mouth agape, filled with his mess. You decide to fuck around, pouting your lips as you spit some of his cum out, letting it bubble around your lips, a sight straight out a porno at best. "Swallow." He concludes by pulling his hand away from your now tangled hair. You do as you're told, looking into him your messy state was rather enticing. It's been far too long since he's done something like this, with someone like you. "Clever girl, always attentive, obedient. Can't wait to find you again, fuck you like this, even if your daddy's here— can't resist a tight girl like you, makes me wonder if your pussy's just as tight." He muses. You're supposed to find his words wrong, but if anything; it just gets you all the more wet, you kept quiet rather than let your mind speak. "You'd let me do that, wouldn't you? Oh, sure you would; you were made for me to fuck." He snickers.

"Would love to fuck you, really would, but I wouldn't wanna wear my little girl down now, would I?" He murmurs, arms crossed as he leaned against the cramped bathroom walls, watching you fix yourself from the mirror. "Wanna taste those sweet tits too, bet those nipples are hard," He teases, his words weren't exactly false, too. "Mr Kennedy!" You yelped softly, "Don't mind me, sweetheart, there's only so much I can say about such a sweet thing like you." He replies, rubbing his hand across his stubble back and forth.

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You were absolutely afraid, hoping your dad hadn't run around looking for you, or even worse, left thinking you hitched a ride back home. Leon assures you just from the look on his face, pushing the bathroom door open before slowly walking out as if you were in a horror movie, you took a sharp right only to find your dad, still in chatterbox mode with his friends. "Still up for round two? I always have my mind set on things," He grins, watching the dumbfounded look on your face as you'd been worrying over nothing.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy headcanons #resident evil x reader #leon smut #dbf!leon #leon kennedy x reader smut #leon kennedy fanfiction #leon s kennedy smut

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huramuna · 3 months

Text

a maid's folly - epilogue. end.

dark aemond x maid ofc

work is 18+, minors do not interact, lest ye be smited.

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word count: 2k

follow & turn on notifs at @huramuna-fics for my fic postings!

a new maid from the Vale arrives at the Red Keep during a tumultuous time and becomes ensnared in the One-Eyed prince's web.

thank you for sticking with me while i struggled to get through the epilogue. i hope it tickles the itch that chapter 8 left with you and ties up everything with a nice bow. thank you for your patience, as always.

warnings: smut, power imbalance, religious guilt, dark Aemond, canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, Aemond being a touch starved weirdo, possessiveness, jealousy, this is going to be ANGSTY

am i dreaming of sunflowers - post malone & metro boomin, a$ap rocky, roisee

“Dracarys, Robyn.”

“Dwa… caways.”

“No, no. Dracarys!”

“Dwacawuys!”

“... good enough for now, little one,” Aemond hummed, picking up the toddler with his good arm and holding him to his hip. “Now, how do we greet mother?”

“Muña,” Robyn babbled, his chubby arms outstretched as he and Aemond approached Rosemary, who had an apron tied taut around her rounded belly. Her hands were dirtied with flour, which she pat down the front of her dress.

“Very good, little bird!” Rosemary exclaimed, darting over to her two boys, a gentle hand laid on Aemond’s arm, to which he leaned in slightly.

“What’s for dinner, then, muña?” Aemond purred, pressing his lips to Rosemary’s neck, eliciting a giggle from her.

“Venison stew and parsnip mash,” she responded. “‘Tis no sea bass, but it will do, shouldn’t it, husband?”

“I suppose it will.” he responded swiftly, placing Robyn down onto the floor as they walked into the small cottage. He stretched his arm and shoulder before perusing the kitchen table. “More letters?” he asked, thumb flitting over parchment that was strewn across the table.

“... yes. She is begging for your return.” Rosemary avoided his gaze, stirring the mash that was still cooking on the stovetop.

“I don’t understand why– I am useless to them like this.” he pulled out a chair with one arm, his only arm– the other one was amputated at the elbow, long healed and scarred over. His eye scar was speckled now with burns, the sapphire gone from his socket. He didn’t care to wear an eyepatch these days, his hair shorn short. He looked ghastly to everyone in the village besides his wife and son. He looked like his father now, how his face was sunken and the eye socket unadorned– just… there, with only one arm. When going to town, he wrapped a silken sash over the sullied side of his face, just so he wouldn’t scare the children. It was the least he could do.

“The war has been over for six moons, she says– they… they pray for you to come back to King’s Landing, Aemond.” she pointed out, taking the pot off from the heat.

“I have no dragon, I can’t fight– what use am I?”

“You don’t have to have a use, husband– you merely need to be alive. Your mother and brother think you dead still.”

“I’m better off to them dead–”

“Don’t,” Rosemary snapped, hands on her hips. “Do not ever say that to me, or around Robyn either. I won’t have talk of that in this house.”

Aemond bit his lip and tongue, eye lazing over the letter that was pursed between thumb and forefinger.

Dearest Marigold,

I cannot wait to meet my nephew, he sounds like the most wondrous little boy. But we are still not able to leave the nest. The folk are in uprise at the lack of food and resources.

Mother mourns him. Brother has erected a statue in his honor.

You must convince him. We need him here.

Please.

If you are unable to and do not return before the turn of Spring, I shall saddle up and get you all myself.

Best,

Lady Orbweaver

His brow furrowed as he read it over and over again until his lone eye strained and watered from not blinking. “You should burn these.”

“Aemond.”

“I don’t want to speak of it any longer.”

–

Spring had turned, the coldness of the nights bleeding into warm days as the flowered fields of the Riverlands finally began to recover from the war that had ended two years ago now. It had been two springs since Helaena promised to come visit– but she had not yet.

“Vaelaena, please don’t run so far ahead!” Rosemary called as she tottered down the wooded path towards the lake. Aemond was at her side, arm around her to steady the two of them as they walked. She was once again swollen with child, hoping for an early summer delivery date.

Robyn was now five years old, helping his sister along the path. Vaelaena, now two, was the spitting image of her mother with wide brown eyes and wonderment at everything.

“Okay mumma!” Vaelaena squeaked as she continued to do the opposite of what her mother asked.

“Vae, hold my hand!” Robyn smushed his fist into his sister’s, making her slow down.

They reached the pebbled beach of the God’s Eye lake and Rosemary sat down on a flat rock. Aemond had fishing poles strapped to his back, fiddling with getting them off with only one hand.

“Robyn, come help your father.” Aemond asked, much to his own chagrin. He hated to ask for help– especially from a five year old, but this was his life now.

Robyn took the fishing poles from Aemond and baited the hook– they had mulled around in the dirt a few hours earlier in the garden for worms. Mostly Robyn and Vaelaena, but Aemond kicked the dirt around, too.

“Now, cast it like I taught you, boy,” he sat down on the shore, knees bundled up in front of him as he watched his son cast the fishing line out into the lake. He blinked, remembering all too well when he had been bleeding out, dying on this very spot– his arm shredded to nothing but muscle and sinew, and his dragon drowning, sinking to the bottom of the lake. He had watched when they fished Vhagar’s corpse out of the lake, now nothing but a host of bones. They were looking for his body, he knew– they found Dark Sister and Caraxes, too. But they did not find Daemon’s body, nor did they find his. When he looked up at the sky above the God’s Eye, he was there again, swirling in a fight to the death against his uncle– it was suicide, it was… stupid. The despair he’d felt seeing them haul up Vhagar’s remains was immense. He was the cause of her death, a dragon who’d survived from the Conquest and beyond. Only to be brought down by an ugly bloodwyrm.

But it had won the war, in short. Rhaenyra had surrendered after she heard of her husband’s untimely death and fled to Essos with her remaining children. Aegon and Helaena remained in the Keep and Jaehaerys was named heir. It seemed things were finally as they should be– and to them, Aemond was dead. At least, to everyone but his wife, children and sister. Helaena knew the entire time that Rosemary was alive and did not say a thing, and mayhaps Aemond was still cross about that. He had been furious at Rosemary for weeks after she saved his life. He was a terrible patient, in truth. All the while being angry at Helaena and Rosemary, he couldn’t be mad at Robyn, who aided in his recovery, the best a toddler could, of course. He didn’t even have to ask if he was his son, the boy was a spitting image of himself, of the portraits that had been done of him as a child, still hung in his mother’s rooms, he guessed.

Rosemary and Aemond had wed shortly after he regained most mobility, about six months after he arrived in her cottage. They had paid a septon in the town in fifteen copper stars to wed them in the Sept– the Sept of the small village just being a one-room hut with a dirt floor.

In town, they were known as Marigold Rivers and Torrhen Waters. They were nameless, just two bastards in love– and Aemond wished for it to stay that way. Despite his love being alive, his son– he couldn’t help but feel this was his punishment. To lurk in the shadows as a nameless bastard cripple while his mother and brother thought him dead. It was his punishment for starting the war, for being a Kinslayer–

“Papa, look!” Robyn squealed, hauling up a small trout from the lake. “Papa!”

“Good job, son,” Aemond hummed. “Bring it here, let’s see.” he gestured with his one hand as his son wrestled the tiny trout with two hands to bring it over. Despite it all, despite his despair he felt at his current state of being, he still wanted to be a good father. Better than his father was, at least. He had to be. He made every effort to be there, to teach, to nurture, to do what his own father never did. His son would never know that his father was a prince and he wouldn’t know he had the blood of the dragon in his veins– but he would be loved.

Rosemary had Vaelaena on her lap, combing her fingers through her unruly blonde curls, wrestling them into a braid, humming a tune. Her tune was muted, suddenly, as the sound of wing flaps echoed through the air.

Aemond’s chest bubbled in panic and elation, half expecting to see Vhagar from over the horizon. ‘Twas not Vhagar– of course.

It was a giant blue dragon– Dreamfyre. Atop her was Queen Helaena. She landed gracefully upon the pebbled beach. Robyn was frozen in fear or amazement, Aemond could not tell– Vaelaena had her face buried in her mother’s bosom, sniffling.

Aemond rose to his feet, legs shaky like a newborn fawn’s. His sister was here, as she had promised– two years late, perhaps but…

“Aemond!” Helaena called, trotting across the beach in her blue and black riding leathers. She looked radiant, hair windswept from the ride. Her face was plastered in the biggest, dumbest smile ever.

“Hel…” Aemond echoed softly, trudging across the rocky terrain and meeting Helaena in the middle, wrapping his one arm around her. “Hel…”

“I’ve missed you so– my dear brother,” she sniffled. “We’ve all missed you terribly.”

“... how is mother?”

“As well as she can be, considering the circumstances…”

“Aegon? The twins? Maelor?”

“All very good.”

“... Helaena?”

“Yes, brother?”

“Why are you here?”

“To ask you to come back. And I will not take no for an answer.”

Aemond opened his mouth to speak, but saw a flash of white go past him as Robyn walked towards Dreamfyre. “Robyn, don’t!”

Dreamfyre trilled a soft noise at the tiny human coming towards her, who stopped about three feet in front of her snout. Robyn reached out his hand, offering the fish he had just caught. The dragon looked at the little boy, letting out a huge sniff (which almost knocked over the poor boy) and opened her maw, slurping up the fish in a fell swoop. Robyn giggled and was thrilled, despite his hand now dripping in dragon slobber. He trotted back to his father, clinging to his pant leg. “Who’s this, papa?”

“This is… your aunt. Helaena. She is my sister, just like Vaelaena is your sister.”

“Vaelaena?” Helaena asked softly, brow perked.

“... Mayhaps named after you and Vhagar.”

Rosemary approached with the aforementioned toddler on her hip, already teary eyed from seeing Helaena. “Vae, this is your aunty Helaena– this is Lady Orbweaver I talked about.”

“Lady… Owbweaber…” Vaelaena repeated, astonished. “Like in… my stories?”

“The very same!” Helaena exclaimed. “I see that you haven’t given up your talent as a storyteller, Rosemary?”

“Rosemary? … I thought mumma’s name was Marigold.”

–

Fifteen years after the war between brother and sister had ended, the infamous feud dubbed by historians as the ‘Dance of the Dragons’, the realm was peaceful and quaint, still ruled by King Aegon II Targaryen, and his wife, Queen Helaena Targaryen.

By his royal decree, Aegon had bestowed the ancestral island of Dragonstone upon his brother Aemond Targaryen, who had returned five years after the war, thought to be dead after the battle over God’s Eye.

Dragonstone is resided by the prince, Aemond Targaryen, his wife, Rosemary Targaryen, and their five children. Robyn Targaryen, Vaelaena Targaryen, Baelon Targaryen, Daehaerys Targaryen, and Mheya Targaryen, the last of whom was supposedly named for Rosemary’s late mother, who had ancestral roots in the Mountain clans of the Eyrie.

The lamb survived the dragon– the lamb, in fact, saved the dragon.

#aemond fic #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #house of the dragon aemond #aemond x fem!reader #prince aemond #aemond one eye #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfic #aemond fandom #my writing #the maid's folly #aemond x servant

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hellishjoel · 4 months

Text

tequila!

6k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter

summary: a night off and some well deserved drinks put you and frankie in the same spot on a friday night.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), food and alcohol consumption, intro to triple frontier friends, reader is mentioned having hair and wearing perfume, swearing, pet names (princess), jealousy, angst, hot girls cry in the bathroom, smut, fingering (f! receiving), cum eating, discussions of men being douchebags. if I missed anything, please let me know!

A/N: it’s been since halloween! how are we doing?! here’s more frankie and princess figuring out their shit and actually communicating! can we get a round of applause? thank you to @undercoverpena for the emotional and plot support! thank you to @saradika-graphics for the dividers!

follow hellishfics and turn on notifications to see the next time I update!

The town was small, but you guys knew how to kick it.

Pool balls clattered, people cheered, and butts of beer bottles clinked in celebration.

This was exactly what you needed, a night off and a fucking drink.

You tried to tell yourself that your spat with Frankie a month ago hadn’t taken its toll on you, but he was plaguing your thoughts. The fastest way to forget your inhibitions? To forget Frankie?

Tequila.

Sideways was known for breaking health code violations and overserving its customers. Despite their negative Yelp reviews, they were the only bar in town packed on this Friday night.

You were two and a half drinks in with your girlfriends, the ones you never get to see from working late shifts. They were sweet and funny as hell. They were the pick-me-up that you really needed after what happened with Frankie.

It was still sitting in the back of your mind, playing on a loop like Christmas songs do in the winter.

“What do you want from me, huh?”

“I don’t know.”

Heat scorches your throat, burning and scraping at the inside as you accept a shot from a stranger. Not your smartest decision, but you suppose you haven’t been making a lot of those as of late anyway.

Just as you take a deep sigh, you see it. That stupid hat and nest of dark curls accompanied by broad shoulders. What was Frankie doing here?

You try to drop your head, avert your gaze, but it's pointless. The moment your eyes meet, time warps into slow motion. His usual honey-brown eyes look oaky-brown in the low light ambiance Sideways provides. His face softens at the sight of you, taking you in. Even as he walks past your small table, his head cranes to keep you in sight.

Then his friends slap his back and keep him moving, their large and loud group weaving through the sea of strangers. And it’s over. He’s gone, probably somewhere tucked in the back of the bar ordering drinks. Time returns to its normal pace, and the loud hum of drunk twenty-somethings returns.

“Jeez, Fish, that’s like the second bullseye tonight.” Frankie’s friends playfully clap with mustaches tickled with white foam from their beers.

Frankie shrugs a shoulder, glances at your table, sees your pretty smile and the way your hair swishes before his eyes return to the dart board. An angry huff leaves his lips before he raises his arm, eyes narrowed on the dart board a good seven feet away from him, before he releases the dart like a lightning fast whip and he sinks it right into the center.

His friends howl, a little smile on his lips at their approval.

“Make that three!” One chimes in. “He’s hot tonight, folks! Get’em while he’s hot!”

Despite being with his friends and cheap alcohol, Frankie didn’t feel very happy. Not after what went down after the last time he saw you. And now, you were here, which was making the pistons in his brain fire a whole lot faster. He wonders what happened, why you threw up your hands that night and pushed him away.

Work has been hell trying to avoid you. Nothing more than giving him orders and brushing past him with your pretty smelling perfume that has put him in a trance since the first day he started at the diner. Now you were here, huffs of people in between you two, and he could still pick out the sweet blossomy smell he considers to be your own.

“I need a fucking drink,” Frankie mutters, plucking the darts from the board as he slaps them in the hands of his buddy for his turn.

Frankie pushes through people to the bar, gently rapping his knuckles against the dark wood of the bar for a beer. His head dips down to look for his wallet, pulling it from his back pocket. The last thing he expects when he looks up is… not you.

“Do you know that girl or something?” Your friend nudges, eyes still locked on the glowing redhead who had approached Frankie at the bar.

“No.” You mutter, sucking in at the side of your cheek as you watch her put the moves on an adorably awkward Frankie.

“You sure seem to act like you know her, you won’t stop staring.” She teases before she’s distracted by one of your girlfriends spilling off her barstool.

All you can see is the way she blocks your view of Frankie, doing all the typical flirtatious moves you can get away with when you’re hot. Twisting her hair around her finger, smiling at Frankie like he was the funniest guy in the world, leaning into his front. She had a gorgeous body, tight waist, glowing smile, and a huge fucking rack she purposely accentuated when she threw her head back in laughter.

First off, you hate the way she looks at him like he’s already hers. Second, when did Frankie become so goddamn funny?

You huff out a sigh and throw back another tequila shot as soon as it’s delivered.

Jealousy wasn’t your thing. Frankie just knew how to pinch your fucking nerve. It’s so fresh still, you know? Now here he was, talking to another girl. Part of you feels like you deserve it. You cut him loose, there were no more strings that tied you two together. So why did you feel like this? Angry, annoyed, sad. Jealous.

Fuck that.

“Another tequila?” The bartender perks up upon seeing you nudge your way to the front of the bar’s counter.

You give him a tight nod and a blank mhm leaving your mouth, leaning over the counter as you wait.

His cologne shatters your thoughts. “Hey.”

You look up to see Frankie has turned away from his girl, eyeing you over. You couldn’t deny how good you looked tonight, taking advantage of your one night off to wear something that accentuated your figure.

And it was catching more eyes than Frankie’s. The woman beside him glares at you as if you took her favorite toy on the playground, as if she had dibs.

You hate to admit that your eyes drift as well, a certain sexually charged energy between you both. His classic khaki jacket and ballcap accompanied by a dark wash pair of jeans. His stupid hands are stuffed in his stupid pockets, and his stupid chocolate curls curve up toward the brim of his hat.

Frankie’s eyes fell to your sweet neck, then to the curves of your body, your mouth going dry at the way he was drinking you up.

“Hey,” you muster up, giving him a tight-lipped grin as you nod as a greeting.

You want him. He looks so fucking good tonight. But he already had a date going, you didn’t need to interrupt. You nip at your lower lip and force yourself to stare elsewhere.

“Rum and coke, please, Frankie,” The woman coos, an attempt to stray Frankie’s attention from you. She’s obviously seen the way he looks at you, both of you practically eye fucking each other right in front of her. You kind of got a kick out of getting under her skin, though.

“Hi,” you say as you reach your hand past Frankie, offering the woman a handshake and your name. “I work with Frankie.”

She gives you a snotty little hmph, nodding tightly instead of shaking your hand.

“I’ll meet you at the table with my drink.” She insists to Frankie, leaving the two of you on your own, but not without a squeeze to his broad arm and a certain look in your direction.

“Wow,” you fake applaud, “she’s a real keeper, Frankie. No, really, I mean it. Didn’t know you had a thing for girls with tits bigger than their face.”

“I just met her ten minutes ago,” Frankie mutters as he’s served his beer and the girl’s rum and coke, as well as your tequila shot being delivered.

You try not to roll your eyes too obviously. “Well, she’s certainly all over you.”

“What do you care?” He counters, finally facing you again, his eyes still lingering on your body for longer than you know he should. “You came up here to us, princess. If there’s something you wanna say, say it.”

A larger group comes in through the front door and pushes through to the bar, a light gasp leaving you as you’re shoved into Frankie, your fronts aligning. You feel his toned torso and smell his fresh cologne as his hand instinctually clutches your waist to keep you upright.

Both of you take one another in again, not being able to fight the tension between you both that could be cut with a knife.

The last time you were this close was Halloween. The last time he touched you was Halloween. Now, he was touching you again, and god, all you wanted was for him to flip his hat around, duck down, and kiss you. Kiss you hard, make up for all the time you had lost.

Have you ever missed someone so much you feel physically sick? You had no idea how much your little talks in the kitchen meant to you until you forced Frankie to let you go. You had the overwhelming urge to run away, like he was too close, he would learn everything about you, and he’d leave after finding out you’re just a broken plate that can’t be glued together.

You were unfixable. And Frankie was a fixer, down to his bones, and in his heart, he would try to mend you back together, only to be disappointed after many failed attempts. You wouldn’t put him through that, and more importantly, you didn’t want anyone to try. It would just hurt you more.

But you looked at each other a little too long to be just friends.

If there’s something you wanna say, say it.

I can’t.

Frankie’s eyes sink as you throw back the shot, feeling the liquid burn your throat and then your chest again. This is what you’d rather feel than hurt.

“Well,” you say, a bit raspy from the fresh alcohol. You gently push your hand into Frankie’s abdomen in an attempt to squeeze out from between him and a random drunkard, nails sinking into his toned torso. “Have a good rest of your night. See you at Tommy’s.”

Your shoulders swivel back and forth as you carve through the bar to the rest of your friends, toppling over people to get back to your seat as you sigh defeatedly. God, why are you torturing me?

It’s an hour later, followed by two tall water glasses. Your friends have ordered some appetizers off the menu to soak up the alcohol. And because you were all damn hungry. Your eyes stray to Frankie’s table every few minutes.

You couldn’t help it, you were overthinking. Was he looking at you when you looked away? Was he not looking at all, too into Miss Red? The more you thought, the more your chest felt like it wanted to give way. But you weren’t prepared for what you saw the next moment you looked up.

Big Red decided to make her move, her long fingernail catching Frankie’s chin and swiftly guiding him to face her as she leaned in and kissed him.

She kissed him, your Frankie, she kissed him. Put her pink lipstick on his mouth and marked him as her own.

Goosebumps flood over your skin, eyes sinking as you watched helplessly from across the room. Suddenly, it was all too much. The loud talking, the buzzing of people, the alcohol, her and him, it was all too much.

Your feet find the floor before you can stop yourself, you feel like you might shed a tear in your race to the bathroom. You tug on the handle, and it’s locked.

“Occupied!” Some snotty girl whines.

“Hurry the fuck up,” you shout amongst the crowd of people to ensure she can hear the urgency in your voice. Your throat feels thick with wetness.

Finally, the door opens, and the woman looks you up and down in annoyance. You don’t care. You put a hand on her shoulder to guide her out of the doorway, trying to push yourself in and close the door. Not before a familiar pair of thunderous boot steps echo in your ears.

You let out a grunt as you attempt to slam the door, but you see a hand curve around the frame. He speaks your name, it’s Frankie. Your stomach falls, and you quickly shake your head, feeling angry tears threaten to spill.

“Fuck off,” you say behind gritted teeth, attempting to use your body to finish closing the door. But he’s a hell of a lot stronger than you.

“Come on, princess, open up, just wanna talk.” He pushes himself in, tall figure looming over yours as you look away with annoyance. He flips the lock and presses his hand above the wall you’re leaning back on. “What’s wrong?”

Anger surges through your voice, planting your hands on his chest as you attempt to shove him away again. You find yourself confused when your own hands curl in on his shirt and bring him closer. “I told you to fuck off, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.” He says as his hands attempt to cradle your face, but you shove them down.

“Then stop looking,” You quickly shake your head, the heat of his hands making your stomach churn.

Suddenly, you don’t want to cry, you want to shout.

“I saw you kiss her!”

Frankie’s eyes met your glaring ones, your lips parting as you let out panted breaths.

“I didn’t kiss her,” he starts to say before you interject.

“I saw you! Why are you lying to my face?” You accuse, feeling your body flush with warmth as your hands gently push at his pecs. “Get away from me.” You mutter, but Frankie always returns despite how many times you push him away.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere until you listen to me, okay?” Frankie goes to cup your cheeks again, but the warning look on your face makes him groan in annoyance and drop his head before he comes back up to look at you. “She kissed me, I didn’t kiss her back, and-and I didn’t want her, okay? I want you, I want you, I want you, goddamit, I want you!”

You quickly shake your head, feeling your hoop earrings gently hit your cheeks. “No.” You whisper, feeling small under his gaze. And he’s looking at you again like you put the sun in the sky. You absolutely hate it in some ways, but he looks at you with such clarity that it makes your heart flutter. Like he knows his place is with you.

“No, what?” He challenges. You find yourself fisting at his shirt, both in comfort and also a way to keep him at a distance.

“No, you don’t want me, Frankie,” Your face is pinched in anger, eyes searching for his intentions. You watch as his face sinks at your words, hurt by what you’ve said.

“How can you fuckin’ say that? How can you say I don’t want you? You don’t get to decide that for me, alright?” His voice is stern, eyes narrowed in on yours as he fills the space between you two, no matter if you take a step back, he’s right there on your toes. “I like you.”

“You don’t know me, not really,” You say.

“I want to, though. I’m scared as hell to want you, but here I am, telling you I want you anyway because that’s how much I care. I want you more than I fear the rejection on Halloween happening all over again.”

All you can do is shake your head, feeling the mixture of angry sad tears start to melt at your eyes again. You hurt him so badly on Halloween, yet he was still here trying to say how much you mean to him.

“Frankie,” your lower lip wobbles, straying eye contact.

“No, listen to me, I’ve got more to say,” he says as he cradles your face once more, and this time, you don’t push him away. His beautiful brown eyes pour into your own, and you feel so drunk that he’s kissing your soul with his eyes.

“I haven’t even missed you,”

“Bullshit, I know you fuckin’ miss me because I miss you.” He sees through all your lies, you feel transparent as he holds you close, backing you up against the sink as he strokes a thumb along your cheekbone.

“No,” you start to say, shaking your head as tears cloud your vision.

“No, no, no,” he mocks, “Is that all you can say?”

You despise how much your throat feels swollen, and your words sound thick with wanting to cry. “I just wanted you to fuck me, but then I got greedy, and I wanted you to love me, too. But that would be a waste of your time, Frankie, you need to listen to me.”

The admission felt like a dam breaking inside of you, and Frankie only pulls you closer. Suddenly, the buzz of everyone else outside the bar died down, and all you could think or hear was Frankie.

“Loving someone is never a waste,” Frankie whispers.

You playfully scoff and wipe under your eyes around his hand. “You don’t love me.”

“No, not yet. But I could. I know I could. Because this past month has been hell without talking to you. I don’t wanna walk around the diner, pretending like you don’t exist or that you don’t do something to me. You do everything to me, you are everything.”

Frankie starts swiping away the tears you didn’t even know were falling, taking them away with the pads of his thumbs.

“I think of you at two in the morning when I can’t sleep, you’re always the first place my mind runs to. You stayed over once, once, and my body just fuckin’ craves the way I got to hold you. It was addictive, how it felt to finally be close to you, when you finally let me in.”

You force yourself to close your eyes and try to breathe, his words feeling like the powers a hurricane carries. Your shaky fists are still clutching his shirt at his sides, not willing to let him go after his confession.

After you gather a few breaths, you meet his eyes. “Frankie, once you care, you’re fucked.” It’s a warning.

Now, he’s the one shaking his head. “I don’t believe that for a minute. I’ve cared for you ever since I started working at Tommy’s, and even more when you kissed me at the Christmas party last year.”

You playfully scoff and break a smile. “We were both drunk.”

Frankie shrugs. “Yeah, and I wished I was sober so I could remember every bit of how good it felt. Now we’re almost a year later. It took me from December to August to make another real move on you, and I don’t want to let you go. Not after having the real thing. This feeling doesn’t just go away. I miss you.”

You nip at your lower lip, goosebumps flying across your skin away.

“I just don’t want to get hurt,” you whimper, your forehead gently leaning into the support of his large palms. Your glassy eyes make him melt.

He hushes you gently, your voices growing softer the closer he comes to you. Your noses gently brush, making your wet eyelashes flutter. Frankie sighs before he speaks. “If you promise to stay, I’ll promise not to leave.”

Frankie’s care for you was evident. You knew pushing him away was wrong, trying to save yourself only wounded you both. But what a waste it would be not to try with someone who was as good-hearted as Frankie.

The douchebag you once knew was long gone. In fact, it feels like he started to drift away after last December. Because he had made up his mind a year ago that he wanted to be with you, and he would change for the better to make it happen. He’s been showing you all this time what you mean to him, that he wouldn’t hurt you.

You must have left him hanging for too long because he parts his lips to speak your name.

“Stop talking,” you whisper as you lean up and crash your lips against his. No more words needed to be said.

You can feel Frankie’s cheeks perk up from his smile, both of your mouths upturned, happy to be in one another’s arms again. Being apart felt like a drought, and he was finally touching you. And both of you were fucking starved.

Frankie’s once soft movements turn greedy. As do yours. Hands are gliding over waists, teeth are tugging lips, and your core physically buzzes as Frankie flips his hat to face backward without breaking your kiss. Jesus Christ. His tongue glides against your bottom lip and you easily part your lips to grant the access he so desperately craves.

“Lemme make it up to you,” Frankie mutters against your mouth, tasting remnants of his ale and he, your citrussy-lime tongue.

“Please,” you beg.

He doesn’t waste another moment, nipping at your bottom lip and making you mewl while his large palms find the back of your thighs. His strength makes lifting you look easy, gasping into his mouth as he sets you on top of the sink while his hands fasten on your waist once more.

You push his hand towards the button of your jeans and he pops it open with one hand.

“Fuck,” you moan out, jaw dropped as his hand pushes past the band of your panties, large fingers gliding down through your slick, then back up your valley. A breath catches in your throat, your back archiving off the mirror as Frankie takes the opportunity to bury his head into your chest, planting kisses along your breasts over your shirt. He eventually moves his lips up your body, across your sweet neck, to where he nibbles on your jawline.

Your jaw drops against his cheek, your faces smooshed together as you feel his familiar stubble scrape against your soft skin. It’s like there’s a non-stopping rollercoaster in your mind, with his fingers moving up and down your soaking pussy, you can’t fucking think.

A weak cry leaves your lips against the shell of his ear as he plunges two fingers into your entrance. You brace an arm around his shoulder and pull him into you, ensuring he keeps his damn fingers stay buried in your cunt.

“Please,” you whimper, grinding your hips with vigor against his hand, his wrist rolling with you.

“That’s it baby,” his silken voice purrs with praise, “let go for me.”

You become completely pliant under his touch, under the lead of his fingers. He was already filling you up, you couldn’t imagine being filled up by the girth of his cock after a month without it.

With two fingers inside of you and his thumb working sweet circles around your clit, you feel as if you might explode. He walks a line between kissing and sucking on your neck, the surface of your skin becoming clammy and raw.

There’s a sense of safety in his arms, his tense bicep that’s hardened from the one that’s working up into you.

You barely acknowledge the knock on the door, forcing yourself to bite down onto Frankie’s shoulder and his jacket flap to keep yourself from spilling out loose moans. Loud music and even louder chanter is muffled by the door.

“Fuck, fuck, Frankie-” you moan, mouth stuffed and jumbling your words.

Frankie clamps his free hand over your mouth, guiding your head to rest back against the mirror once more, your hot pants fanning against his palm.

“So fuckin’ loud, don’t remember you bein’ this loud for me.” He says with a wide cocky smirk. You will yourself to roll your eyes, but they end up staying at the back of your head as you continue to fuck yourself against his fingers.

He curls them inside of you, your back arching as you feel your stomach swirl with excitement. Your small hands clench at his jacket, gasping shakily as your high nears closer.

Your muffled moans stay concealed by Frankie’s hand clamped over you, letting your weak moans and cries land into his palm. It felt so good, the way your clit twitches under his control and his fingers work effortlessly to plunge deeper and deeper into your depths.

There’s another incessant knock at the door. Fuck, there was no way to be quiet.

Frankie smirks wider as your walls clench around his fingers, one long moan of his name landing muffled against his fingers as his eyes fixate on your own, spilling your orgasm across his fingers.

“Good girl, just needed to get off, didn’t you?” He belittles.

You sigh weakly against his hand, hearing still fuzzy from feeling so over the moon. A slow, tired smirk grazes your lips as you playfully push his face away.

“Such a douchebag.” You mutter, nipping at your lower lip while Frankie gently removes his fingers from your entrance. You feel empty, you hate it.

Frankie raises his two fingers to your lips, your eyes studying the pretty cream he’s gathered amongst the mix of your slick.

“Taste yourself, baby.” Such a fucking charmer. You can’t help the heat that gathers at the back of your neck, shyly leaning in and wrapping your lips around the tips of his fingers. You lock your eyes with his own as you flatten your tongue and hollow your cheeks, sinking your mouth lower and taking him to the knuckle.

Your heart pounds thinking about his cock angrily twitching against his thigh, desperate for his own release. But he’s always put you first. And you always make his loyalty to you worth his while.

Frankie’s cocky face slowly melts as you swallow around his fingers, lips parting as he looks over you in a sense of pride.

Another damn knock on the door. More like an incessant pounding.

He forces himself to release his fingers from your mouth.

“What?” Frankie protectively barked, voice laced with annoyance.

“Fish?” A voice called from the other side. One of his friends.

He looks at you apologetically, grabbing you by your hips and lowering you off the sink. His hands are already on the hem of your jeans, and securing the button while you zip the fly and hurry to make yourselves presentable.

Frankie puts his hand on the knob, ready to flip the lock. He feels compelled to kiss you one more time. He spins on the spot and cups your cheeks, meshing your lips together and pulling your chin up to face him. He savors it, lets his tongue tangle with yours to get that last taste of come on your tastebuds.

He forces himself to let you go, finally opening the door.

“Santi? What, man?” He asks in annoyance, seeing his friend on the other side.

“Sorry, sorry,” he pauses to look past Frankie, to you, a sly little smirk on his lips after he’s put two and two together. “Listen, uh, Benny’s been arrested.”

Frankie shares a look of confusion with you. Frankie and Santi both stand there a little dumbfounded, unsure of what to do.

“Well, come on, he can’t stay there all night. Let’s go.” You urge. It’s enough to snap the two out of their surprised trance. Frankie takes your hand and leads you towards the bar’s exit, pushing people aside with his arms and broad shoulders so no drunk asshole knocks you around in the crowd.

You’re surprised to see his friend, who you’ve gathered is Santi, doing the same. It felt like you had two incredibly handsome escorts. Or maybe a better term would be guard dogs, pretty and sleek Dobermans.

After saying goodnight to your friends and grabbing your purse, Santi catches up you both while Frankie drives his truck.

“This drunk guy came up and started hitting on this girl he knows from.. somewhere.. I don’t know, but then he started getting all belligerent when she rejected him, and Benny stepped in. They started knocking each other around, it was so fuckin’ crowded in there, and I didn’t know where you went. Surprised you guys didn’t hear all the commotion.”

You weren’t surprised you missed the whole fiasco. Frankie had you coming so hard that you saw Jesus Christ himself.

“So, what?” Frankie prodded, annoyance laced in his voice as he drove over the bumpy road, glancing in his rearview mirror every few moments to see you. “The police got called and they both got arrested?”

Santi makes an affirmative humming noise, looking out the window as they pull up to the town’s police department.

“Fuck,” Santi swears as he hops out the back of the truck. “I haven’t done this in a few years. Don’t remember how it goes.”

You jump in before you can stop yourself. “We need to go in, ask for his name, and figure out what he’s being charged with. We pay his bail, he completes his release paperwork, and as long as he didn’t bad mouth any cops in there, we should be in and out, bada-bing-bada-boom.” You say as you clap-wipe your hands in demonstration of how painless this process should be. But Frankie and Santi still look starstruck.

“Don’t ask. Let’s go.” You say as you hop out of the truck, the two men following suit.

You imagined their friend Benny to be this mean, big, bad guy. But you guys didn’t see the way this man smiled upon seeing his friends come to pick him up. He was the definition of a Golden Retriever if we’re still speaking in dog lingo.

Tussled dark blonde hair, big blue eyes, and a smile that would make any person melt. He just wasn’t what you were expecting when you heard that one of Frankie’s drunk asshole friends was arrested. Maybe you expected another stoner-type who didn’t give a fuck. You were wrong.

“Arrested for defending a woman’s honor,” Benny scoffs as he digs his possessions out of a large envelope. You eye the way he delicately places his watch back on his wrist before bumming a cigarette from Frankie. The glow of the lighter illuminates his face a mute orange before the end of his cigarette caught blaze. Then you were all surrounded by the blue of a midnight sky again.

“What, like you wouldn’t do it again?” Santi teases, stuffing his hands in his pockets as the cigarette slowly made its way down the line to Frankie.

“Fuck that, I’d do it again tomorrow if I had to.” He chirps with a laugh. “Fish, you should have heard the way this guy was badmouthing this woman, I mean, the most vulgar shit that came out of his mouth just because she wouldn’t let him buy her a drink.”

“M’glad I wasn’t there. There would have been two guys arrested tonight.” Frankie mutters, the cigarette passing from him to you.

“Wouldn’t believe how often that shit happens.” You mutter before you take a drag. Benny leans forward to take a look at you, maybe just now realizing you were even here.

“Yeah?” He probes for more as you slowly nod, tipping the ash off the end of the cigarette.

“My friend was called a cunt last week after saying no to a guy wanting to sit next to her at the bar. He knew the seat was taken, our other friend just went to the bathroom. He purposely waited until she was alone to make a move.”

“No shit.” Santi hummed curiously.

“Seriously. Called her a fat bitch, said he’d hope somethin’ really bad would happen to her. If I was there, I would have knocked his teeth in.”

Benny slowly smiles, nodding proudly. “I have no doubt. Just wish you didn’t have to do that stuff in the first place.”

You sigh as you glance at Frankie, who’s looking at you with sympathetic eyes. But he knows you don’t really like it when he looks at you like that, so he quickly glances at his shoes.

“Wait,” Benny whispers with a goofy grin. “Fish, is this the girl from the diner you always talk about?”

Even in the dark of night, Frankie’s sweet glowy blush tints his face. Or maybe it was the alcohol, but he wouldn’t have driven if he was that out of it.

“Yeah, yeah, Benny, this is her.”

“Oh shit, hi,” Bennys says as he stands in front of you and offers you his hand to shake. “I know this is kind of a bad start, gettin’ me out of jail and all, but I’m Benny Miller, nice to meet you in person. My guy here,” Benny pauses to playfully yank around Frankie’s shoulder, “he’s always tellin’ us stories about the diner. Can’t think of one you’re not mentioned or the star of the show.”

The smile on your face can’t help but grow as you playfully eye Frankie who is being all too quiet. You hand Frankie the cigarette as a distraction, shaking Benny’s hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Benny. And trust me, I’ve met guys under worse circumstances. Like working with them at a diner.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Frankie mutters playfully around the cigarette in his mouth.

The whole group erupts into laughter, Benny and Santi both taking the opportunity to say their proper greetings and apologies for busting up your night with their friend.

“I should probably get back to my brother.” Benny hums, motioning his head back to the bar’s general direction. “If he thinks I had to do another overnighter, I owe him twenty bucks.” He teases as you all start piling back into the truck.

Frankie drops Santi and Benny back off at the bar, the entirety of the building shaking with applause and whistles to see that their noble heroes have returned. A very specific pretty blonde rushes up to Benny and thanks him with a kiss.

“And he still gets the girl.” You hum, watching from the passenger side window.

“He always does, that one.” Frankie teases, his hand coming over to rest on your upper thigh, thumb making gentle circles over your jeans. “Lemme take you home.”

You swallow down a lump in your throat, gently resting your hand over Frankie’s. “Is home your apartment?” You ask, slowly raising a hopeful eyebrow as he nods.

“Can be.”

A nod to that, Frankie starts his truck down the road again.

You need to tell him the truth, that this didn’t make you official. That you were still wary, trying to learn how to ride a bike again, sort of thing.

“What?” He asks, knowing you’re thinking too loud in your head.

You part your lips to speak but realize you shouldn’t feel bad about what you have to say. “I’m not ready for a full commitment. You’re not my boyfriend, Frankie, not yet. I just wanna take things slow. See if this is what we both really want.”

The right side of Frankie’s mouth twitches up into a smile. “We’ll figure it out. If no label is what you want right now, I’ll wait.”

You can feel your heart swell at his understanding. The last thing you wanted was for Frankie to start announcing to the world that you were dating. Not when you didn’t feel fully ready. You had bad relationship habits, ones you were ready to finally outgrow. But you didn’t want him to be subjected to your learning process. So you both could wait.

Frankie’s hand rotates palm side up, fingers apart. You slip your hand over his, your fingers interlocking as he starts the familiar route back to his apartment. This would be a lot of work, and you both had to be patient.

“Take things slow...” Frankie slowly murmurs. “Does this mean we can’t have sex?”

“No, fuck that.” You both laugh, squeezing his hand in your hold.

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