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azsazz · 1 year

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Unwrapped

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Anon Request: Ok, if you can write closer to Christmas (or now), reader and Az family Christmas and the kids fighting to open presents and we definitely want Zuzu yelling at Baz "DROP MY GIFT NOW"

Warnings: None. Fluff.

Word Count: 2,661

Notes: Note quite Christmas but Starfall. Happy Holidays to you all! 💙

_________________________________________

“Incoming in three…two…one…”

Each number closer to zero is met with a press of your mate's lips against your own. A blissful way to wake up, until your horde of children burst into your room, shattering the calm morning.

“Mommy! Daddy! Wake up! It’s Starfall,” Zuzu squeals, racing into the room with her brothers hot on her heels. She’s the loudest so she’s in charge of rousing her parents from their sleep.

You nuzzle your head into Azriel’s neck who holds you tighter around the waist in return.

“Do you think they know we’re awake?” you try and can feel his smile against your temple.

“Yes, mommy, we know you’re awake,” Baz answers for you, unamused. Damn those shadows.

You roll onto your back, keeping your hand tucked in Azriel’s as you assess all of your children.

The two oldest, Wren and Baz, are carrying the two youngest against their hips like they’d been doing so much more recently. Wren must’ve taken the twins out of their cribs to join in on what seems to be becoming a tradition; waking their parents up on Starfall morning to open their gifts.

Zuzu and Jax must be on waking you and your mate duty as they’re already climbing up into your bed. Your oldest daughter, ever the determined one, uses all of her strength to pull herself up onto the plush bed, only slipping once.

She bounds over to Azriel’s side, abandoning her younger brother, and steps on your legs in the process.

Jax’s face is scrunched up in the cutest way as he watches Zuzu maneuver her way across the strewn limbs of her parents before his wide eyes settle on you, staring at you just like Azriel does sometimes. The kind of look you get where you’re supposed to know exactly what he wants.

You counter it with your own stare, facing off with your fourth born. His eyes barely peek over the edge of the bed, little hands fisting the sheets in his grasp and you know he’s standing up on his little tiptoes by the way he wobbles every so often. You bite back your smile, leaning over to scoop him up from the floor.

“Is the sun even up?” you groan playfully, smoothing back Jax’s hair. He makes a sigh of contentment, immediately burrowing into the warm space he’d wedged himself between you and your mate. You know the rest of your eager children had woken him up for this. “Because I feel like it’s not.”

“Mommy,” Baz whines, readjusting Knox on his hip. You can’t help but puff out a laugh, sharing an amused look with Azriel. Your second oldest looks everything like you right now; hip jutted out with Knox resting there, the tranquil babe lying his head on his brother's shoulder. The knowing look he’s sending you is an exact replica of the face you make when they’re doing something they shouldn’t be. “We can’t sleep!”

Zuzu’s taken position, jumping on the bed by her father. Ever the safeguard, Azriel rolls away from you, his heart jumping in his chest because she’s not only being reckless with his wings so close to where her tiny feet are pounding into the bed, but how she’s so close to the edge and can tumble off at any moment.

She giggles when he snatches her up, pressing kisses to the apples of her cheeks.

Wren is the first to break because Malos makes a startling noise in his arms. His parents have already captured two of the six of them and their bed looks so warm and comfortable and he forgot to put on his socks this morning because he was too excited about presents and now he can hardly feel his toes. Maybe if he presses them against the warmth of his fathers back it will help drive his daddy from the bed…

“Wren,” Baz exclaims, watching how his oldest brother plops Malos down onto the bed before climbing up right after her. “What are you doing?”

Wren shrugs, sidling right up against Az’s side, lounging contently next to his father while he tickles Zuzu, “Sorry Baz, my toes are cold.”

To emphasize, he presses them flush to Azriel’s bare skin, which causes him to grab onto Zuzu and Malos as he flinches, which causes Jax in the middle to startle, whimpering in his cocoon of warmth, which in turn makes you give Azriel that exact look Baz had entered the room with.

Azriel laughs as your second oldest protests.

“But the presents–”

“The presents can wait Bazzy,” you respond, opening your arms up for the rest of your boys, “Come on. I know you want cuddles too.”

“I want presents,” he protests, taking a step closer to the door. He’s stubborn, you’ll give it to him, hazel eyes hard with determination. He looks down at the youngest sibling, murmuring into his mused hair, “C’mon Knoxie, you and me will go open presents.”

But when Knox makes grabby hands towards you there’s nothing he can do. Even though his older brother and Zuzu had been adamant about wanting to tear into the nicely wrapped presents without their parents, they’ve betrayed him and are cozied up in the large bed with them.

He should’ve talked her out of starting without you and Az.

“Traitor,” he whispers against Knox’s forehead, but he doesn’t mean it. It’s followed by a sweet kiss to his brother’s smooth skin who offers him a wobbly grin and a pinch to his cheek in return.

He passes Knox to you who immediately settles onto your chest, beaming at the rest of his siblings already tucked up with you and Azriel. He pats Jax’s head who’s almost back asleep again, gently brushing his hair with his chubby one-year-old hands.

Baz reluctantly follows, the last of the six to arrive. He tugs the blanket over himself, leaning his head against your shoulder, pouting. You rest your head against his, poking his jutting pink lip until he sighs, grabbing your hand to move it from his face and clutching it tightly in his own.

“I want to open presents, mom.”

“I know baby,” you respond just as softly because now he’s whispering like he doesn’t want his siblings to hear. “Let’s give it a few minutes, yeah?”

He sighs but agrees, “Okay. But I get to open the first present, right?”

“I think you might have to fight Zuzu for that honor, baby.” The two of you turn to watch your daughter who’s currently wrestling with her oldest brother. Wren’s laughing but you can tell it’s a bit nervous because his sister is not holding back.

“Cut it out, you two,” you scold, hitting Azriel lightly on the chest because he’s lying there watching the battle unfold, proud as ever.

“Hey,” he whines and your children have definitely picked that up from him. He carefully leans over Jax to press an apology kiss to your lips.

Your children groan in unison and it makes you smile against your mate’s mouth as they scramble from the bed. The cuddles were short lived because they’re dragging Knox and Malos out of you and Azriel’s arms, already cheering and yelling about opening presents once again.

Azriel curses softly against your mouth, “Sorry, my Love. I ruined it because I can’t stay away from you.”

You hum, reveling in the feeling of his lips on yours and the warmth down the bond. “It’s alright,” you brush the hair back from his face, admiring the loving look in his gleaming eyes and the soft smile on his face, “Just means that you’re on cleaning duty.”

Azriel huffs, “Think I can talk Wren into doing it?”

You laugh wholeheartedly because Wren would help his father if he asked. Azriel’s his hands tighten around your waist at the sound.

“We better go before Baz and Zuzu tear the house apart,” you sigh, a lazy smile on your face from your cheeky mate. It melts into a wince as you hear the two of them arguing loudly downstairs.

“Happy Starfall, Love.”

“Happy Starfall, Az.”

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

You and Azriel make your way downstairs hand in hand, sweet murmurs of your plans for the day. Presents, a nice big family breakfast, followed by cleaning up the strewn about present wrappings and preparing the food while your children play, waiting for the rest of the Inner Circle to come over later in the day.

You and your mate had always wanted to host a Starfall party for your family and friends and with Knox and Malos finally stumbling around on their own you thought it was the perfect year. Your home is still new and large enough not only for your own family but for the rest of it as well, a large yard with a nice patio to watch the stars shooting across the sky. To say that you were excited was an understatement.

You’d sat outside with Azriel under the stars plenty of times since you’d moved in, and with your home being on the outskirts of the city you were convinced that the stars were so much brighter out here. You loved to gather all of your children around on the warm summer nights and point out different star clusters, telling them stories around the bonfire while snacking on delicious treats.

And now you’ll have a winter tradition as well.

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

You walk into the room of pure chaos.

Wren has pushed the coffee table out of the way, sitting with Knox and Malos on the carpet who are clapping, your youngest daughter babbling as they watch Baz and Zuzu argue over a gift.

You share a look with Azriel, giving him a soft nod and a squeeze to his hand.

Ready to be in parent mode.

Jax pads up to the both of you, his lower lip wobbling due to all of the heightened emotions in the room. He’s attuned to the feelings of others and at his young age he doesn’t understand how to differentiate between his and other’s emotions, often resulting in an overwhelmed babe.

Rhysand had said he was showing signs of being an empath, being as introverted as he is and highly sensitive to how others are feeling, along with the fact that your fourth born seemed more content playing by himself rather than with his siblings and cousins.

The fact that the only other arms he felt content in being in are Amren’s was surely a sign, calm in the apathetic females hold.

“Come here buddy,” Azriel greets, scooping the babe into his arms and cradling him close. He runs a soothing hand through his hair and presses kisses into his hair, taking a moment just to be with Jax, letting the child feel his own undisturbed emotions, letting his love wash over the little boy, who you watch visibly relax in his fathers arms.

You love how Azriel is with the kids.

“It has my name on it,” Baz draws your attention, arguing with Zuzu, trying to rip the gift out of her hands.

“No, it’s mine! Drop it now Baz!”

“Hey,” you take action, mommy mode on, letting Jax and Azriel have their moment so maybe he’ll want to participate with unwrapping gifts. “No fighting or no one’s getting gifts.”

Wren spring up before you can make it all the way, snagging the gift from both of their hands. His brother and sister protest like yowling cats but he doesn’t care, reading the tag on the box instead. He’ll be damned if they ruin opening gifts for the entire family.

“Sorry, Bazzy, this one is for Zuz,” he hands the gift to his sister, who sticks her tongue out at Baz in response.

Wren’s already digging around in the pile of presents for one with Baz’s name on it though, pulling one out with a yelp of excitement and handing it to his younger brother, “This one’s for you, B!”

“Sweet,” Baz gawps, taking the gift from his brother before waving it in his sister's face, “And look at that, it’s bigger than yours, Zuz!”

The glare he gets in response makes him back down real fast.

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

Jax has fallen asleep again, curled up with the stuffed Suriel he was gifted, the sudden rush of emotions from the morning had exhausted him.

You worry for him, but know that Azriel will do everything in his power to make sure that Jax stays comfortable and safe, getting the help he needs when he’s old enough to understand his own gifts.

Azriel comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder.

It was an eventful morning, wrapping strewn about and six happy children. There’s nothing more you can ask for, this is everything you’ve ever wanted.

“I didn’t give you your present, Love,” Azriel’s voice is soothing and soft but the pinch you receive to your hind is not.

You yelp, hand automatically wrapping around his wrist to stop his cheeky antics. Your eyes widen with warning but the saccharine scent sweeping off of you betrays your true feelings, the swoop in your stomach, weak from just a single touch from your mate, even after all of these years.

“I need to get into the kitchen,” your cheeks pink up at the look he’s giving you when you turn in his arms, a suggestive smile to match that glimmer in his eyes, “I have seven hungry mouths to feed.”

You lean into his warmth, wrapping your arms around his neck to hold him there as you admire him, loving the feeling of his body pressed up against yours, that familiar hardening against your leg.

“Let me help you then,” he gives you a long kiss, thumbing across your cheek in a loving manner.

You pull apart as your oldest daughter comes running into the room, skidding to a halt where you’re tangled with your mate, looking up at the both of you with the face you recognize as the one Azriel can never say no to.

You wait, watching amused as Zuzu begs Azriel to play with her new dolls with her until her cousins come over.

Azriel looks at you helplessly and you can’t help but smile softly at him, “Go.” You pat his ass once, twice. He melts, giving you a grateful kiss in return before he reaches down for his daughter's hand.

“You sure?” he asks but Zuzu is already dragging him away.

You laugh, shrugging, “I’ll ask Wrennie and Baz if they want to help.”

“Help what mommy?” Baz perks up, cheeks going cherry red when you shoot him a look because he knows he’s not supposed to be eavesdropping with his shadows.

“Sorry,” he utters bashfully, waving a stuffed toy that rattles in front of Knox and Malos.

You approach your other children, the two oldest trying to distract the youngest so they can sneak away and play with their own new toys.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to help me with breakfast?”

They both light up at your question, beaming at each other. Baz is a natural in the kitchen, always wanting to help in some way, shape, or form, wanting to learn anything and everything about cooking and Wren just loves to be included no matter what the task.

You scoop up Malos, bringing her new toy with her. Wren helps by wrangling Knox into his arms as Baz races towards the kitchen, buzzing with excitement. Jax is still snoozing peacefully and you’ll put the twins in their chairs while you and your boys cook as you’ve done many times before. Jax will come find the rest of you when he’s good and ready, most likely he’ll be looking for sleepy cuddles, his and your favorite.

“So, what will it be boys, pancakes or waffles?”

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the141s · 2 years

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no bc the idea of könig letting his brain autopilot and blurt out petnames instead of your callsign.

he's done it a few times. in person. over radio. MAD embarrassed every time that he low-key spirals.

the other operators have a running bet daily if he'll do it or not.

#you better believe my own post made me think harder #könig #cod konig #konig x reader #malo // field notes.

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politemenacephd · 3 months

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Dadbod!Miguel O'Hara x GN!Reader

(+18)

❤️ You offer to cook for Miguel after a long day, and things go awry.

Content: Fluffy start, Implied age gap, Daddy kink, Size difference, Spanking, PinV sex, Creampie, Aftercare.

‘Babe—babe, I swear to— OYE! Off!’

With a soft thwap your raised hand came down on top of Miguel’s, forcing him to retract his fingers. He was trying to steal from the bowl of pre-cooked seasoned chicken breast you’d cut up and put aside.

‘Okay! Alright, I’m backing off. I’m backing off, see?' he promised, though you could hear him chuckling as he licked his fingers behind you. You shook your head in exasperation.

Miguel had come home exhausted after a hard day, so to cheer him up you’d agreed to cook one of his favourite meals. You’d anticipated just a peaceful, domestic night in, but Miguel clearly had other plans.

It was 7pm and you were in your little cosy kitchen together, just you and him in your own little private bubble.

The windows were blurry and splattered with rain as it stormed outside, the world dark and foreboding beyond the misty glass, but in here it was warm. The kitchen was lit with bright orange lights, and it smelled of garlic, spice and fresh uncooked dough.

You were wearing loose sweatpants and an apron over top while you were otherwise shirtless, something Miguel had specially requested. You’d huffed about it at first, but you couldn’t deny his eyes on you were intoxicating. His steely red gaze, the way his eyes narrowed and his tongue crept over his teeth when he watched you from behind, it made your stomach so tight it almost hurt.

So, you feigned annoyance, and you indulged him.

Miguel had also stripped off his sodden work clothes to put on his favourite old t-shirt and loose joggers, foregoing any boxers as he lounged about the house.

It was your favourite outfit to watch him in. His shirt was a little too small and tended to ride up over his stocky belly, creating a cute little window you loved to poke whenever you walked past him, and up top it stuck nicely to his defined shoulders and curved, weighty chest.

Despite the attempt to create a fun, relaxing environment, that kitchen was sweating tension. You felt like you were on a timer.

The moment you turned your back to him so you could chop more garlic he swooped in to kiss your neck, his finger trailing dangerously closer to your chest as he pushed your apron aside. You squirmed as he let out a breathy laugh.

‘Shh- off! Off! Go sit down, old man, before you choke’ you chided.

Miguel let out a low whistle. 'Old man? Really?'

'Mhm. Go. Shoo. I've had enough' you insisted again.

You could hear him chuckling to himself as he leant in against your back. ‘Mi amor, no seas tan malo. Hm? Don’t send me away, I’ll be good. Te lo prometo.’

‘Oh, you promise?’

‘Mhm.’ He snuggled in close with his hands around your waist, swaying you to the sound of the rain as it rattled outside. ‘Prometo.’

Yes, you rolled your eyes at his shenanigans, but you couldn’t help but lean in. You looked so small against him. His pecs on either side of your head were heavy and warm, squishy and thick, and his calloused hands were sweet as they grabbed you. He felt so powerful and yet so soft at the same time.

You sighed. With a giggle you gave in and put down the knife, wiping your hands on a worn tea towel covered in little pastel cats. You reached up to cup yourself a feel of his right pec while he chuckled. The way it weighed in your hand made you giddy.

‘Mm… You’re so annoying’ you murmured.

‘Oh, so touching IS okay, just only when you do it, huh? Good to know’ Miguel spoke with a mock tut as you waved your hand at him.

‘I’m the one cooking! So yes, I’m allowed.’

‘Well then let me help.’

‘Your idea of—helping—’ you paused to again tap his hand away as he grabbed at the pre-cooked chicken, ‘is just eating everything, and groping me!’

‘I mean I feel VERY helped by both those things’ he said. He smiled as he swallowed, flashing those thick fangs beneath his full upturned lips, and you forced yourself to not melt completely. You failed. The feel of his thumb gently rubbing back and forth over your waist got to you.

‘If you want to actually help, then actually help’ you insisted. He noted the little breathless whine in your words and grinned to himself; he knew where this was going.

‘Okay’ he said with a shrug. ‘I’ll help.’

His hands released you and he leaned around instead, taking your little hands in his. He started guiding them through the motions of chopping and pushing aside. You lulled into the quiet, domestic bliss of this moment, listening to the rain and the sound of his breathing, knowing that the knot in your gut would soon put it to an end.

‘You cut way too big’ you noted as he moved.

‘Mmhm, mhm.’ He hummed along with your orders while making it very clear he wasn’t listening, as he continued gently nudging his hips at your rear. You felt a strong heat starting to grow in your cheeks.

‘Mig—you’re, not even cutting anything anymore’ you said. You voice had involuntarily gotten softer.

‘Mmhm.’

His hips moved a bit harder, smooshing you into the hard wooden counter, and this time you felt his bulge push into you. Your face was burning at this point. It took every ounce of strength in you to not moan.

‘You—Miguel, come on. You’re terrible at this, just—let me do it’ you insisted, trying your best to cover up how flustered you sounded.

You ended up pushing his hands aside so you could try to take over, but you didn’t anticipate what being free would do to him. His hand came down and firmly squeezed your right buttock between his fingers and palm.

You squeaked aloud, much to his amusement. He leaned down and whispered into your ear.

‘Yes, chef.’

‘MIG—’

He ducked to the opposite side as you tried to hit him with the spatula, squeezing harder as you tried to get him. You felt the tension rising.

‘Mig, you—ah—’

You involuntarily moaned as he squeezed and spread your ass for his bulge to push into, eagerly giving one sharp grind to your backside. You pursed your lips, but it was too late.

‘Mm… Miguel’ you whined.

‘Ahuh?’

You failed to make a jab at his cocky attitude, and that was enough to let him know he’d won. You were overtaken by the pleasurable throbbing in your clit, the hot pulsing of blood through your veins. You couldn’t help it. He was such a gorgeous man.

‘That’s it’ he purred. He leant in closer as he started to grind. ‘That’s what I want.’

A shaky moan escaped you again as he started to grind harder. You felt his breath stirring against your neck.

‘That’s what I want’ he repeated. You felt him lick his lips.

‘Oh, mi amor… Fuck it—I need you, now.’

Miguel suddenly swiped everything aside with one swing of his huge, muscled arm, leaving the counter bare for him to drop you onto it. He lifted your body was terrifying ease.

‘Ah, Mig—’

You were dropped with your torso face down on the counter, hands spread flat to the surface on either side of your shoulders, but he quickly grabbed your wrists and held them behind your back with just one of his huge hands.

His hips hit you again; you were the perfect height, with your toes just barely touching the floor. He started to push your legs aside.

‘A-Ah—Mig—’

His thumb began to shimmy your loose joggers down. He was painfully slow, letting you stew in the tension as bit by bit you were drawn to nakedness against him. ‘Gorgeous, gorgeous’ he purred.

Inch by inch he slid them, inch by inch, until at last they fell unceremoniously to hang around your ankles. You shuddered as the cold air hit your wet thighs, and audibly gasped as he spread you wider. The cool air hit your bare pussy right as his calloused finger did.

‘Mi amor’ he breathed.

Your leg twitched as he spread your lips, coaxing just the tip of his finger against your clit. Your hips bucked and he chuckled.

‘Just—f-f, be quick, please—’ you panted. You heard him tutting again, but most of all you heard him shifting his feet. He was getting into a more stable position.

‘Okay, okay. Mi amor is impatient. I got it.’

His hand retracted and in seconds you felt the warm bite of his bare skin on yours. He yanked his own loose joggers down and let the thick, wet tip of his cock brush your clit, nudging at it with aggravating slowness.

‘You want quick? Alright, let’s make this a quickie then.’

With a rough grunt Miguel slipped his cock up into your cunt with one smooth thrust, bottoming out in barely a second. You were winded by the force.

You could feel his body was now taut against yours, crushing you hard into the counter. You could feel his muscled, fat thighs against your legs, his balls squeezing against your pussy lips, his pelvis squishing your ass up and his curved belly against your back.

Miguel sighed, hard, and then immediately went into pounding you against the kitchen top.

You lay forward and you took it, letting him unload all of the days stress inside you.

He started out fast and hard, with one hand on your hip over the curve of the counter and the other holding your wrists behind your back. He was grunting hard and breathing harder, open mouth panting so loudly that you could hear it over the rain.

Every two or so pumps he’d let out a sweet, low, husky moan, and you’d tense so hard he felt it.

The sensory overload began to spiral you into a brainless puddle of mewling pleasure. The hard smack of his hips on yours, the soft squish of his warm, thick belly on your back, the sound of skin on skin clapping as his hefty thighs dug you into the sharp counter edge, and most of all the embarrassing squishy noise of his cock bullying your pussy, it was euphoric.

Between the vigorous fucking and the sweet symphony of noise, you snapped.

‘F-Fuck, daddy—’

‘Oh, good, good’ he groaned. ‘Ay coño—say that again, please.’

‘Daddy—’

The word was beaten from your mouth as he thrust you into breathlessness. Every pump of his hips jolted you almost two inches forward, filling you with his thick shaft, and every quick snap back dragged you down with him.

‘Miguel, mm—daddy—’

Your toes tensed and scrabbled against the smooth kitchen floor, desperate for any kind of stabilisation as he threw your body back and forth against the countertop. He was hitting deep, desperately pounding and rubbing against your sweet, velvety cunt. He wanted to feel those muscles squeeze every ounce of stress out of his body.

‘Mm—one more time, one more time, come on—’

‘Daddy, please—’

You could feel sweat beading on his belly and on your back, which turned the erotic smack even more enticingly wet. Sweat dripped down your forehead onto the counter as you screamed.

‘AH—!’

‘You wanna call me old now, huh? Mm, fuck, take it— Take it—'

You started to pant in time with each thrust, a quick and rhythmic beat that just kept increasing in pitch. He was getting harder.

‘Uhn—uhn—uhn—uhn—’

‘F-Fuck that’s it—’

With a dreamy little smirk Miguel grabbed the used spatula and gently tapped your spine, indicating his plan. You moaned.

‘Please, fuck—’

The smack made you scream as he thwacked your right buttock with the smooth side of the wood. You felt his fingers squeezing and petting the little red mark as he continued to thrust, soothing out the sweet pain.

‘Good, good, well done’ he purred. ‘Is that good, mi amor? You want another?’

‘Please, please yes—’

Thwack.

You were drooling at this point, your thick saliva coating the counter in smears. He could feel your legs shaking, your cunt quivering as he thrust into it. You heard him groan.

‘I want you to cum for me’ he panted, dropping into his typical bark of a voice. He was ordering you. ‘You’re going—mm—you’re going to cum on my cock, you got that?’

‘Y-Yes’ you mewled back.

Miguel drew back until his cock was tenderly pushing only about three or so inches inside you. He took one good look here, admiring his veiny shaft slowly pumping in and out of your perfect, creamy little hole, before shifting his free hand down and beneath your belly.

He lay his own hefty body over your lower spine until you were nearly crushed, and he began to stimulate your swollen clit as he pulsed his cock.

Your hips jerked, your feet scrabbling at the floor. You screamed as he tugged on your wrists.

‘There, mi amor, así así’ he praised breathlessly. 'Así así.’

You physically stamped your foot as he drew his cock bath and forth over your g-spot. It was almost too good, too stimulating. Drool pooled and slipped from your wet lips as you pleaded for release.

‘Pl—please, please—p-please—’

You squirmed hard in his vice-like grip, but he wouldn’t let up. He pumped you until you squirted all over his soft, rounded belly, coating his hairy pelvis with pearly strings. He pumped harder.

‘Come on, come on—’

You blurted a few gibberish phrases before screaming into your own orgasm, and with a satisfied groan Miguel allowed himself to cum inside you. As you tensed and clenched and quivered he filled you up nicely, pumping rope after rope of hot, thick cum into all the space he could find. You tightened so hard you could feel every vein on his shaft pulsing as it expanded and relaxed.

‘Ah…. Ah, f—fuck….’

Miguel drained himself empty and then slowly slipped out. ‘Fuck... I needed that so badly. Thank you, thank you mi amor.'

You were left standing at the counter with shaky legs. The apron was now stuck to your skin by sweat, sticking to every contour, and your thighs were unbelievably wet. You felt something warm slide down your inner thigh to the floor and winced.

‘Ah…. A-ah…’

Miguel came in to kiss the crown of your head. You felt his hands helping to pull your joggers up as he pet your hips, soothing over the little red marks he'd left. ‘Mi amor’ he whispered affectionately. ‘Mi amor.’

You leaned into his touch as he rocked you. His kisses trailed down from your hair to your shoulder, smothering you in post-cum affection. You could feel the sweat on his shirt where it was clinging to his pecs. You giggled internally at how hard you'd made him work.

'Are you okay?' he whispered.

'Yeah. Yeah I'm fine, Miggy.'

'Are you sure?' he insisted. You let out a breathy little laugh.

‘I am, very sure. Well, I mean.... Look, that was, amazing, but—I-I don’t know if I can finish cooking'.

Miguel tilted his head and noted the way your legs were trembling beneath you, and slowly a sympathetic smile spread across his face.

‘Yeah…. Do you, want to maybe just order something in?’ he asked softly.

You eagerly nodded. ‘Yeah. Yeah. Let’s just order in.’

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #smut #miguel o'hara smut #atsv miguel #+18 or +adult only #dadbod miguel #smut fanfiction

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luceracastro · 4 months

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Sabia que ibas a volver

(Enzo Vogrincic x Reader)

Summary: you and Enzo get in a fight before the big premiere and end up ending your relationship, but he should have known that after years of loving him, you would never miss the biggest moment of his life.

Warnings: just loads of fluff and some angst and sadness at the beginning. (also literally a Spanglish fic but I am more than happy to do it individually in Spanish and english too) (Esta historia estará en spanglish pero estoy más que feliz de hacerlo individualmente en español e inglés.)

The mate you had made yourself had gone cold, and the shared apartment you and Enzo lived in was also freezing between the open windows and balcony, it was late and he still wasn't home, of course, he went out with the guys and you trusted him but he must've gotten carried away still out and about and even though you tried not to think about it too much you couldn't help yourself

a few moments later you heard the sound of keys rustling, the door clicking as it opened and you turned your head to the side seeing him slip in and take off his jacket "¿Ves qué hora es?" you asked as you looked down at your hands and he sighed "Si" it was all he said in a dry tone and it made you annoyed and angry but you were too tired to even try

"Enzo, ¿por qué me haces esto?" you asked with a ting of pain in your voice and he could only look down at his feet not even saying a word as he leaned against the counter in the kitchen, "¿Qué hice? ¿Hice algo mal porque parece que ya ni siquiera quieres estar cerca de mí?" you told him and he shook his head slowly and sighed "no, solo piensas demasiado" and that was it before you got up "Enzo! estas ciego?!" you yelled and he furrowed his brows confused

"llegas tarde a casa, cuando estás aquí estás en el juego o en tu teléfono, ¡incluso ignorándome si te hablo!" you told him and he stood taller "estoy trabajando y me canso!" he said and you sighed "Enzo, créeme, lo entiendo, pero también me gustaría que mi novio me preguntara de vez en cuando cómo fue al menos mi día, siempre te ayudé, estuve ahí para ti cuando llegaste a casa cansado y, por supuesto, planeo hacerlo todavía, pero Yo también quiero saber que estás ahí para mí" was all you could say as your voice cracked and tears streamed down your cheeks

"Ya no eres una niña, lo entiendo y lo siento pero estoy trabajando y también necesito ayudarme en este momento, créeme lastimarte es algo que nunca quiero hacer." he told you and you rolled your eyes "Enzo, literalmente sales todas las noches y vuelves tarde a casa, ¿en qué te ayuda eso? No me importa que salgas pero sería bueno tener una de esas noches dedicadas a mí tu novia" you said as your heart crushed

"nena, Llevamos cinco años juntos, te he dedicado mucho tiempo y ¿es tan malo que quiero un ratito de tiempo con unos amigos?" he asked but his tone had some bitterness to it and you sighed getting up "Nunca dije eso, pero sabes, si eso es lo que quieres, entonces como sea, tal vez deberíamos romper si me dedicas demasiado tiempo como dices tu" and he chuckled "Entonces tal vez deberíamos, si vas a intentar seguir convirtiéndome en el malo, tal vez deberíamos simplemente separarnos"

that broke you entirely, seeing him mean it even though you couldn't see the way his heart broke when those words left his lips you moved to get the bags and suitcases you brought when you moved in and started tearing your clothes from the hangers and pulling your clothes from drawers as his eyes rimmed with tears seeing you pack and the small sobs escaping your lips, he knelt beside you as you packed your belongings

"Espera, espera, no, no lo dije en serio, bebé, para," he put a hand over your arm carefully but you shrugged him off "No, Ya no quiero estar aquí Enzo ya terminé me voy a casa con mi mamá no puedo" you cried louder and covered your face with your hands and you could hear Enzo sniffle "No, no, chiquita no te vayas, por favor quédate conmigo. Lo haré mejor, lo prometo" he said with his hands moving to hold you but you extended your arms to keep his away "No, yo me voy," you said and moved around to pack while he continued to follow you around and plead.

he tried to hold onto you and your stuff but to no avail and he couldn't forcefully make you stay so he watched outside as you drove off tears drenched his cheeks and eyes and his fingers intertwined with his hair as he sighed "Mierda, Mierda!" he moved to get his keys and went to his car, he couldn't stay there not at all he knew he's just remember you not being able to sleep so he just drove, where? who knew.

it had been around a few weeks now, you'd been moved back in with your mom who was there for you helping you unpack and what not, Enzo called and texted constantly and even Matias joined in trying to reach you and some of the others but you didn't answer anything, "Enzo ya levantate, asi no la vas a recuperar" Matias had walked into the room he was allowing Enzo to stay in, his girlfriend was making them food at the time and she herself couldn't make the boy eat anything as he only laid in bed most of the time

"entonces que mas hago? ya la llame y le mande textos y no se que mas hacer," Enzo groaned out and Matias sighed "Luego levántate y ve a la casa de su madre y pide perdón como un hombre" Matias told him and Enzo looked at him "No puedo, ella no quiere hablarme" Enzo's voice was low and his attitude was worse as he didn't even look like he had emotions anymore "La amas?" Matias asked with his arms crossed "más que nada" Enzo said as he sat up "entonces lucha por ella" was all Matias could say before leaving the room

and that's what Enzo was going to do, for once he finally took a shower and got presentable leaving to go over to your mothers house with hopes of taking you back home with him. but that was not the case as your mom stood at the front door a small frown on her face "por favor, solo dile que necesito hablar con ella" he said in a pleading manner but the woman sighed "Lo hice pero ella me dijo que te dijera que te fueras, no se siente muy bien" your mother did try to get you to speak to the boy at the front door but you refused

so Enzo left with his heart broken, he had to get used to the fact that you'd probably hate him forever and ever but it was a stab to the heart to deal with that fact, he loved you and now it hit him how it was pointless being without you, he didn't really have much without you.

so then the time for the premier rolls around, it was the night before and Enzo was sitting in his hotel room just thinking, the TV played in the background but as all he could think about was you everything blurred out for him, he could only have you on his mind and even though his castmates tried to reason with him and even reach out to you for his sake, there was no success.

however what he didn't know was that you were in a hotel a few streets down situating yourself and getting ready to rest for tomorrow, even though he hurt you and said some hurtful things, your love for him is bigger than any of that.

Enzo was getting dressed and ready, the day was here and he was prepared for anything or so he thought, the flashing cameras and lights as well as the loud voices of people, photographers, and interviewers was pretty overwhelming however one huge relief was seeing your face amongst the crowd wearing a beautiful dress made just for you, a big proud smile on your lips as he smiled a small giggle escaping his lips as he was himself again and in a better mood.

once Enzo was off the carpet he spotted you speaking to Matias girlfriend and he rushed over arms engulfing you as yours wrapped around his neck "viniste" the slight crack in his voice made you frown slightly "Obviamente, hablamos de este momento desde siempre y no me lo perdería" you told him a small smile on your lips as tears rimmed your eyes "Te amo," he said and you nodded "yo también, bueno ya no llores," you laughed a little cleaning his cheeks and eyes with your thumbs as he chuckled to himself

"Sabia que ibas a volver," he said with the biggest smile on his lips as you did too "Obvio, eres el amor de mi vida boludo," you chuckled kissing his lips, "vamos," you both interlinked arms and he guided you proudly presenting you as his girlfriend, the light of his eyes, his heart.

"que linda pareja," Fran's voice rang out a little teasing tone as both you and Enzo smiled "Entonces ambos volvieron a estar juntos?" Juani asked as he smiled "Si," Enzo said as he held onto you tighter "Entonces debemos de celebrar, vamos por unas cervezas," pipe's voice rang out as the others laughed "no me opongo a una cerveza" you shrugged and Enzo smiled, the night was well spent at the end.

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this as I did, I honestly have been listening to this song for a while and thought of this plot and enjoyed writing it so I hope you all liked it as well and I am open to doing any request :) (Espero que hayan disfrutado esto como lo hice yo, honestamente he estado escuchando esta canción por un tiempo, pensé en esta trama y disfruté escribiéndola, así que espero que a todos les haya gustado también y estoy abierto a hacer cualquier solicitud :)

#enzo vogrincic x reader #enzo vogrincic fanfic #enzo vogrincic #Spotify

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keenzinemugstudent · 1 year

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Miguel O'Hara x Black tall reader!

Miguel: *See's Y/n talking to Peter b and starts to mutter under his breath in Spanish* Nunca he querido subirme a algo tan malo en mi vida. (I've never wanted to climb on something so bad in my life.)

Miles: *standing next to him and heard what he said* What?!

Miguel: What?

Miles: What!?!?

Y/n: Why are you two yelling?

Miles and Miguel: It's Nothing!!!

Y/n: Ustedes dos son tan raras. (You two are such weirdos.)

Miguel: YOU SPEAK SPANISH!?!

Y/n: *Smirks* yep also I have excellent hearing *walks away smiling*

Miguel: *Starts to panic while on the floor crying in Spanish*

This is lame but it was a thought I had while working okay just bear with me! Tall reader's y'all need love! Miguel O'Hara and tall reader is a must!

#across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x reader #peter b parker #gwen stacy #chubby reader #black reader #tall reader #black y/n #miguel o'hara imagine #miles morales #marvel #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara smut

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baka-bakeneko · 11 months

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Bad Things - Miguel O'Hara

Miguel O'Hara x gn! Reader (afab biology)

tags: Black Cat (sorta) reader, canon-Miguel aggression, choking, fighting/canon-typical violence, hint to cnc, predator/prey, teasing, cute aggression, establishing dominance, dry-humping, brat behavior, oral (reader/miguel), doggy-style, animal-like aggression, creampie

part two here

word count: 4.68k

synopsis: You find yourself on Miguel O'Hara's canon divergence radar.

a/n: honestly, someone buy me a drink rn. someone sedate me, pls

Fuck a canon event.

Seriously.

You couldn't care anymore about a canon event than you did your next steal. So there was no way you were ever on any Spidey's good side.

Every Spider you encountered were none too pleased with your wry wit and quick-footing, making their job a little more difficult than usual. Unlike the many unhinged villains they encountered, you were both sane and a downright asshole.

Who cared about the balance of good and evil when there was so much fun in watching chaos? Everyday being the same was boring, sometimes the drama made it worth while.

After a successful heist stealing a jeweler parlor, you made your way back to your apartment to inspect your earnings.

Diamonds, while a girl's best friend, were nothing compared to sapphires and rubies. Gold was nothing compared to the most polished of silvers.

Slipping into your apartment window, you were greeted by one of your strays. A white kitten darted across your bare hardwood floor to the kitchen, stopping in front of the fridge and rubbing against the appliance.

"Aww, pretty kitty," you swooned, scooping up the frail feline and throwing open the fridge door. "Milk is bad for us. But a little won't hurt, right?"

You scanned your barren fridge for the nighttime snack of choice; when you found it, you grabbed the glass bottle then shut the door with your hip.

You weren't expecting the imposing Spider hidden behind the door. His presence didn't even peak your senses, his scent almost undetectable.

Tilting your head at him, you furrowed your brows. Definitely not like the other Spideys you've interacted with before. His mask was laced in bright rubinous inlay, his suit emitting a dull glow like a screen.

Your stray reared in your hold at the stranger, hissing even as you turned them away from the person's stance. Ignoring them, you climbed onto the counter with your kitten and grabbed a bowl from the sink.

Eyes still on the person in the dark corner of your apartment, you poured a bowl of milk for your stray then pet down its back.

You hummed softly at it, scritching behind its ears while you worked up a purr. When you were satisfied with petting, you returned the bottle to the fridge and came face-to-face with the Spider again.

"You know, you Spideys usually start with a--" you were cut off by the Spider's large hand gripping your throat and slamming you into the fridge door.

You blinked pointedly, your eyesight going dizzy in the moment before narrowing your gaze at them. Your stray hissed again, hopping from the counter and scrambling under the bed.

"Straight to the point then," you said, tilting your chin up to lengthen your throat. "No spiel? No Spidey-backstory?"

"Do they do that often?" the Spider spoke, he spoke, monotonous and strong. "Give you a story?"

You rolled your eyes dramatically, taking the gentle ease of his hand to breathe. "Most of them do. Gives me enough time to get away."

The Spider tsked, his fingers flexing at your throat. "Weak."

You smiled deviantly. "My thoughts exactly."

You brought your knee up swiftly, attempting to bludgeon the Spider's crotch; he stepped back and avoided your blow, then pressed his body to yours as his hold on your neck tightened.

"Gatito malo," the Spider chastised against your nose. "Should've been caught a long time ago."

You melted an inch, your purr returning by the utterance. Your brow quirked, leaning in to try and examine the Spider's face from under his mask.

"If only they were efficient like you," you offered, gasping in a breath from his palm flattening your windpipe.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Spider-Man noted with a scoff.

Your hands now went for his at your throat, attempting to pry him off with your claw-adorned gloves.

"I thought Spiders had a code," you squeaked out with a wiggle, trying to gain leverage from this man.

Your knees suddenly braced his waist, feeling the heat rush over your body.

"I'm not like the others..." he began, before you felt a sharp pinch on the side of your throat.

A puncture through your skin made you wince, baring your kitten fangs in pain.

"I do whatever it takes," Spider-Man grit out, tightening his hold on your neck further.

You hardened under his hold, your knees now squeezing at his waist to gain more leverage from him.

"You're telling me," you feigned a swoon, shutting your eyes to meter your breathing through pursed lips.

"You don't mess with canon events, gatito." He flexed his hold. His other hand was gripped onto your fridge, his claws sinking into the sturdy appliance like an opening a can.

Surprising yourself, you reached out for the Spider's face, clawing at his mask and taking the moment to wriggle from his hold. You sank down to the floor, ducked between the hero's sturdy legs to crawl away.

The hero recovered from your fake-out and turned to reach after your ankle. He grabbed you, pulling you across the linoleum as your claws scratched the floor.

You turned onto your back and kicked in the direction of his face once, twice before the Spider grabbed at your extended thigh.

You straightened up, using your core to pull yourself up. Your knees rested at his shoulders, his claws tearing into your dark jeans attempting to pry you off of him.

You squeezed your thighs at the man's throat, making him tilt his chin up as the moonlight pooled through your kitchen window.

His hair caught onto the night light, his eyes dark and beaming in the shadows of your apartment. You reached your hands out to grab at his hair, but the Spider grabbed onto your hips and threw you off of him.

Catching yourself on your feet, you skidded over the kitchen island and knocked over your stray's milk bowl. Ducking behind the island, you scrambled to search your pockets for a gadget to use in the moment.

"Nice try, gatito," the Spider called out, cracking his neck as he walked over to the island. "But there's no weaseling out of this one."

You waited a moment, thought of moving away from him but couldn't find a reasonable option. Instead, you flinched when he slammed his hands down on the countertop.

Glancing up, you met his eyes glinting a blood crimson. He lurched at you, making you scurry away and kick your shoes off. You rushed back to your window, ready to jump out and make your escape.

The Spider caught your ankle again and dragged you across the floor, earning a few more kicks at his chest and stomach. You flinched when he closed his legs over yours, took your hands in his.

He stretched you out under him, listening to your heart threshing wildly in your chest. The Spider leaned in and sniffed tentatively at the back of your ear when you turned your head in disgust.

The fear that rushed through you in that instant made his cock swell. He grit his teeth at the feeling, pulling back in an instant. You waited for your punishment in the form of striking, batting away your face in hopes he wouldn't break your nose.

Instead, you felt the sudden levity of the Spider gone. You flashed your eyes open, realizing he'd disappeared. But not without the jewels.

"Motherfucker," you pursed out, folding yourself upright then over your knees.

You tried to catch your breath in the short moment, attempting to map everything that just happened in the span of seconds. The Spider was in, then out, of your life in the blink of an eye and all you had to show for it was the now bleeding puncture on your throat.

You sat your head up over your forearms, steadying your breaths from the fight. But even when you did, you couldn't deny the warmth that pooled to your stomach.

You'd felt him against you twice, a stiff upper body and sturdy frame. He could've killed you easily. But he played with you. Much like you did to his Spidey counterparts.

Stupid canon events.

They were nothing. And how the hell were you supposed to know which decision of yours would bring that mean, old Spider back to you?

The thought alone was daunting, staring over New York with a new task at hand: bring more chaos to bring your Spider back.

"Don't do whatever you're thinking," his voice cut in through your thoughts.

You turned around on the rooftop to see the Spider, without a mask on, leaning against the door to the complex stairway.

"I'm already exhausted," he huffed, pinching at the bridge of his nose.

You narrowed your eyes at him, leaning against the ledge of the rooftop. "You've just given me a reason to do it. Not like you'll stop me."

The Spider growled out in frustration, his chest flattening with the exhale. He flashed out his wrist twice, distracting you with his speed to web you to the brick ledge.

"Gatito," he stressed, pulling his hand from his face and stepping up to you. The man leaned down to meet your gaze, allowed you to stare deep into his dim eyes and the dark circles that accessorized them. "Don't."

You openly pouted at his warning; your eyes cut to the sky as you cocked a hip in defiance. "But..."

"Ah, ah, ah," The Spider began, clamping his large hand over your mouth. At the same time, he held his index finger up to chastise you. "No excuses."

You screwed your jaw sideways, allowing your defiance to bleed through your stare at this man.

"What?" he asked flatly, pulling his hands back.

You took in his entire stature, much taller than you remembered and more built than you gathered in the dark.

"Why didn't you deal with me last time?" you queried genuinely.

This man could've easily flattened you, you realized over and over again. He'd made a note of letting you know too. He'd been the object of your dreams that night, the reason you cuddled extra tight at your pillow.

Spider furrowed his brows in slight confusion at you, his thick brows pinching the skin between them with a wrinkle. He gave you a once-over, met your eyes instantly.

"I thought the warning sufficed."

You exhaled, offering a long blink to dot the silence. "Guess not."

The Spider leveled his brow, casting a shadow over his gaze. "We're not going at this again."

You reached out to brace his calf with your sneaker. "Come on. Admit it, it was fun."

"Never," he spat, adjusting his stance away from your reach.

You prodded your tongue between your lips as you tilted your head at him. "Do you get hard when you fight all your villains?"

His face flashed with quick embarrassment before he reeled himself back to frustration. "You are not a villain."

It felt like he'd baited you with something good. "So I'm special?" You asked with a grin.

The Spider scoffed at you, cutting his eyes away as his hands braced his waist. Now you were paying attention to how he was truly built. Your knees had braced that waist, your chest had pressed against his.

"I feel honored, seeing how intimate we got," you pushed.

"Shut," The Spider bit out, his teeth gritted as he leaned towards you. "Up. That's not what happened."

You raised a brow at his demeanor, hiding the devilish grin that tempted your lips.

"Are you sure? I feel like you're overreacting at a little criminal."

The Spider peeled his top lip back with a snarl, revealing a much longer fang than your own. His nose scrunched, almost disgusted.

"Your..." his hand reached out to grab you, his claws already extended. He acknowledged your slight flinch at him and drew back with a fist. "I can read your thoughts. They're...a lot."

An ice spilled through your system then, every thought you'd had about this Spider flooding to the forefront again. Every thought made you physically shake it away, wading through your fantastical imagination.

When you'd worked through yourself, you met the Spider's avoiding gaze wanting to see if you could make his thoughts.

"Anything...you like?" you teased.

The Spider scoffed, the noise sounding much like a furball ready to be hacked. He turned away from you, shaking his head at you.

"That's not what I'm here for." he offered.

It felt almost too easy. With a gentle tug, you felt the web at your wrists give way and you sat up on the ledge. "Are you sure? What was it you were saying about canon events?"

The Spider glanced over his large shoulder back at you. "What're you getting at, gatito?"

You shrugged, feigning dumb, bringing your claw-adorned glove up to examine them. They were sharp, much like the Spider's, but made from reformed silver. Purely for the show of it.

"Why is it that I trigger a canon event with everything I do? Your other Spideys can't seem to fix the situation, but you can."

Spider's brows were now melded together. "I'm still not following."

"I just might be your match, Spidey. I might be important to you."

The stranger grit, his jaw tightening as his hands gripped harder at his hips. "You speak nonsense."

"Maybe," you offered with another shrug, glancing in the Spider's direction. "But that made you hard, didn't it?"

He growled, snapping in your direction. "Stop that!"

"I haven't done anything," you said. "But you can't deny the attraction, Spidey."

"Miguel," he barked lowly at you. "My name is Miguel."

You nodded slowly, dropping your hand to hold the ledge you were balanced on. "Nice to put a name to a handsome face."

Miguel raised a finger to you, ready to scold you, but forfeited and returned his hand to waist. You lounged on the ledge, resting your chin in your hand.

Drumming your fingers to your cheek, you ogled the Spider, Miguel, as he paced the rooftop.

"So," you drew out, finally letting your smile curl on your lips. "You ready to confess, Miguel?"

He scoffed outwardly at you, turning his back to you until he turned his head up at the sky with a groan.

Sitting upright, you kicked off of the ledge and stood close behind him. You ran a finger down his back, tracing over the dip between his shoulders while admiring the husk of his build.

"I'll say it first since you're scared," you taunted, skirting a hand over his waist before stepping away from him.

You slipped under his arm as he turned, now facing him and leaning in to veer up at him. "I'd very much like to pick up where we left off."

Miguel glanced down at you then smacked his teeth in disbelief. "Ay, gatito, give it a rest."

You purred, reaching up to rest your hand on his shoulder. You ran your claws down the length of his arm before running your fingers between his and intertwining them.

"You felt it there, Miguel," you smiled, leaning in to whisper. "If you weren't on a mission, you wanted to fuck."

Miguel's hand clasped tightly over yours, holding back enough strength to not crush it. His claws caged over your small knuckles as he leaned into your face.

"You're no good, kitty cat," he seethed lowly, his eyes flicking over your body and back to you. "I have no reason to waste time on you."

You leaned in, skirting your nose against Miguel's to breathe against his lips. "You trying to convince me? Or yourself?"

Miguel's eyes flashed with anger, his brows furrowing as his nostrils flared. His mind was plagued with the images littering your thoughts in the exact moment, his throat dry as he attempted to tame his cock from reacting.

"Puta," he spat against your mouth, his hot breath punctuating against your lips.

You cocked your jaw slightly. "I like a challenge, don't you? Let's see who bites first."

Miguel smushed his lips to yours, just to get you to stop speaking. You were effectively working his last nerve, and the thought of having you writhing on his cock was beginning to suffice the stress.

His hand clenching yours relaxed, sliding up to your wrist and bringing your hand to his crotch so you could feel the absolute need of relief.

You hummed excitedly against his lips, feeling the heat from Miguel's cock cradled in your hand. Slowly, you traced your fingers up his sheathed length; the more you trekked, the more daunting the task of fitting him inside you was.

Still, you were unnerved. The lilac feeling trickling down your back as you tilted your head back and opened your mouth to receive Miguel's tongue.

He followed your lead at that point, edging his tongue into your mouth before delving and scouring like finding new flesh to rapture.

His other hand grabbed at your bicep, pulled you into his chest and tenderly squeezed at your muscle; his handling bordered on aggressive, withheld just enough under the surface to feel the tension.

Miguel gulped when he parted from you, not without a tender nip to your top lip. He bowed his forehead to yours, catching his breath while his mind now shared the same depth as yours.

"Take me to your apartment," he ordered, his hold squeezing on you to get his point across.

You nodded, eyelids fluttering as your chest rose with his.

Down the stairs from the rooftop, Miguel kept close behind you. His steps held the same cadence, not picking up speed or trudging; he kept a respectful distance behind you while you followed your hummingbird-racing heart.

At the front door of your apartment, you fumbled with finding your keys. Patting your pockets, you attempted to find them as Miguel sidled up behind you.

He pressed into you, his hands finding your hips, rutting his sheathed cock against the backside of your suit. You fumbled a moment, each rock of his hips stalling your efforts to think. Miguel let loose an errant groan, his fingers pressing tighter into you and backing you up on him.

You reached a hand out to the door for stability, folding your lips together to fight back the noises earned from his bulge tempting against your heat.

"I-I gotta," you stammered, wiggling out of his hold to bend down and look under your floor mat.

Retrieving the key, you studied putting it in the lock as Miguel grabbed the top of the doorframe and leaned into your back.

"Don't make me wait now, gatito. Apurarse." His mouth pressed up to the shell of your ear, his breath trickled down your neck.

You hid a shiver, pushing the door open fervently and letting the stranger inside. Miguel grabbed the key from your door and tossed it to the floor, then slammed the door behind him.

He kept up with your heels, his shoulders rolled forward while he studied you like prey. You felt his eyes bore into you as you crossed the studio apartment, walking by the kitchen until Miguel shoved you against the kitchen island.

Miguel grabbed your shoulder to spin you around, eyed you over before landing at the buckle of your pants. He rested his hands on the counter, his fingers curling over the lip to hold back his eagerness to undress you.

"Get naked," he smattered against your ear, a trickle of his spit dotting his syllables. Miguel bared his teeth for effect, inhaling your scent from the close proximity. "Now."

You wiggled in place, feeling the nervous tickle across your back as the heat rose between your thighs. Miguel was pressed between them, no longer evading his deep interest in you.

Your breath caught as his swollen cock rubbed over your clothed sex, making your eyes cross at the thought of relief. Miguel huffed against your ear, taking in your shaken demeanor and pulled back.

"Did you not hear me?" He bit, taking dominant grip of your jaw and giving you a light jerk. "Strip."

Your hands went for your zipper in obedience, suddenly tame as could be; Miguel's eyes dragged down the length of your body with your zipper, holding back the driven hunger in his eyes when you shrugged a shoulder of your bodysuit and revealed your bare chest.

A mirthless scoff escaped his lips, his free hand grabbing at piece of the fabric and aiding it off of you.

"Straight to the point, huh?" he taunted, his voice toneless of joviality.

You sighed, smiled, and continued to undress for Miguel's approval. He tilted his chin up, looked down his nose at you revealing your body to him.

"Mira," he breathed as you pushed your bodysuit down from your waist and shimmied it to your ankles. Miguel dipped his fingers between your hips, feeling at the immediate wet along your folds. "Mierda..."

You fumbled out of your shoes and free from your suit as Miguel touched you. Your hand reached for his bicep, unconsciously spreading your legs to allow him further.

"You are a brat, wet like a bitch in heat," Miguel snarled in your face, drawing two fingers back and forth between your lips. He teased around your entrance, making you acknowledge the thickness of his fingers.

You squirmed, your knees almost magnetic to one another but Miguel stood closer between them. He chastised you with a click of his tongue, edging the tips of his fingers into you then back out.

Miguel's cock twitched at the feeling of you around him, velvet wet at the tips of his fingers. He put his hand on your hip, edging you onto the counter.

He followed you, pressing his cock to the side of the counter as he shifted your hips to the edge. You reached to run your fingers through his hair, give him a lick of attention, but he shied away from your touch and knelt before you.

"Spread it for me," he ordered, licking at his teeth.

Another chill shocked through you, following his order and using your fingers to hold yourself open. He swallowed thickly, drawing his hand over his mouth before swiping it down his chest to disperse his suit.

You stared down at Miguel as his suit glitched away, his shoulders revealed to be larger and rounded than imagined. His hands gripped at your knees, draped them over his shoulders as he sank his mouth to your sex.

His tongue lashed out hungrily, not wasting a second to savor you. You fidgeted in his hold, felt his teeth edge in and out of control. His lips kissed, mawed while his tongue lapped, dragged between your folds.

"M-Miguel," you tried, feeling him acknowledge you with a squeeze at your knees.

He drew back a hand, fumbled from behind his closed eyes to take hold of his throbbing cock. He stroked feverishly, his eyes rolling at the slick taste of you melting on his tongue.

Miguel broke away from you to bite at your inside thigh, not holding back as his incisors pinched your skin. You yelped, edging your thigh open further to evade him.

Miguel snarled after you, raising to his feet again with his cock in hand. The thought of engulfing you made the untamed heat in Miguel grow. He wanted to tower over you, make you cower from him just to feed off of your fear.

You stared unwaveringly in his eyes, acknowledging the deep red laced through them. You were tempted to blink, balk at his aggression, but you tightened your jaw and tilted your chin up.

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Suck my cock, gatito."

His order shot through your body, making you edge your hips on the counter. You moved carefully off of the counter, down to your knees before Miguel.

Your eyes gazed up the stranger's body, taking in every muscular divot and curve of him. His stature was domineering, the way he held his shoulders nothing short of menacing.

Miguel's hand reached for your cheek, caressed it softly before gripping your chin between his thumb and index finger. "Suck."

He pried your mouth open, guided your lips to the tip of his hard cock. Staring down the length of him, your hands went to his thighs to keep yourself steady.

Slowly, you pushed your lips down Miguel's cock; his tip pressurized your uvula, bringing tears to your eyes and spittle to pull in your mouth. You hallowed your cheeks, using your hands to slather his length with your saliva.

Miguel bowed his head back, holding in his groan as his hand rested at your nape. He seethed between his teeth, eyes rolling at the warmth you gave to his cock. His web pore under his free hand flexed in excitement, reminding him of the imminence.

He smacked his teeth, pulling his cock from your hold then tapping it at the front of your lips, over your cheeks before reaching to drag you up.

The look of your bed was calling your name, wanting nothing more than to share your intimate space with this man. Miguel thought nothing further than you, his gaze forced on you as he turned you around in his hold.

His hands gripped your biceps, weighed the thought of bruising you before folding you to the floor. Miguel followed you down, edging up on his knees to spread your legs.

He ran his hands down your sides, gripped your hips and ruthlessly tilted them in his favor. Without warning, Miguel guided his tip between your folds then in.

Your eyes fluttered hard, blinking and bracing your shoulder to the linoleum. Your arms bowed under your body, your stomach folded to your thighs tight.

Miguel was felt through every inch of your core, pushing more of himself inside until you were overstuffed with him. He stared down in disappoint, you speared on his cock but not taking him all the way in.

He growled, rocking your hips to meet his unmatchable thrusts. You yowled softly against the linoleum, your body burned with the ravishing heat.

Miguel's claws bit into your skin, holding you in place while he thrusted out of sync, no longer pacing himself.

A purr tore through your chest, rumbling the part of the floor and rattling back against your nipples. Miguel growled in response, his finger pads squeezing hungrily at your flesh.

He paused, allowing your throbbing sex to hug his cock. Miguel returned his thrusts, then paused in spurts to savor the bits of you.

You writhed under him, no longer feeling human but a vessel of pleasure. Your walls begged for release, your body shuddering with every edge.

"Please," you pleaded minutely.

Miguel inhaled deeply, then out as he thrusted his cock as far into you as he could; the jolting feeling brought you to your climax, eyes rolling as you released Miguel's name from your lips.

He clawed over your skin, bringing deep red welps and punctures to your skin. His web pores twitched to life, spurting short lengths of web at the same time he emptied his balls into you.

Miguel folded a hand at the small of your back, bowing you further onto his cock to keep his cum inside of you. Your body reacted with small twinges at the flex of his cock within you.

You woke up at sunset, in your bed. Looking around your apartment, you searched for your Spider. Miguel. But he was nowhere to be found.

Dropping your head back in defeat, you scoffed at the ceiling. The one time with him now felt like it wouldn't be enough. He was now itching under your skin, you felt his claws had left marks all over you.

Rolling over, you went to grab your pillow and hold it close only to see a note made from spider web. You quirked a brow, leaning towards the silveresque threads twinkling on the edge of the sunset.

'Get in trouble again, gatito. Don't make me wait.'

#miguel spiderman #miguel x reader #miguel x you #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara one shot #marvel smut #miguel x y/n #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099

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iaeriy · 9 months

Text

sleep well ; (alejandro balde x reader)

summary; your boyfriend misses you on an away barçelona game so he facetimes you but things get carried away

warnings- masturbation, dirty talk, spanish speaking.

note: this is very short, request anything if u want i’ll be working on the request nexts & i just finsihed this during school so.. request anything or even a part 2 to this! enjoy:,)

—

“como te fue en el juego?” (-how did your game go?) you said as you were laying down on your stomach, camera on holding the phone to show your face, “bueno va bien, es solo que..han pasado dos días sin ti.” (-it’s going well, just that it’s been two days without you.) he said sighing as you saw a small pout forming in his face, you giggled at his expressions. “no puede ser tan malo, me verás en unos días..no te preocupes.” (-it can’t be that bad, you’ll see me in a few days again..don’t worry.) you said moving the camera a bit as you shifted around the sheets finding a good position before your ass accidentally showed on the screen. “perdón.” (-im sorry) you said as you saw his eyes widened a bit, “bueno que estuviste haciendo ahora que no estoy en la casa contigo..” (-well, what have you been doing now that am not at home with you.) alejandro said as you hummed rubbing your thighs together, “hmmm well..it’s not bad just the bed empty pretty much.” you said as he chuckled through your phone, “you played so well tho baby, i’m proud of you.” you said as he smiled at you through the facetime call.

once the call had gotten quieter you looked over to your phone still seeing the facetime was still going, “ale? are you asleep?” you said as you heard a slightly faint groan, “yes baby..?” he said as you frowned knowing something was off, “what are you doing?” getting suspicious as you overthought two things. one, he’s falling asleep and it’s time to call it a night or..two, he’s thinking about you. it was quiet for a few seconds, that was until a grunt was heard. lour and clear. “just..thinking about you.” he says as you blushed heavily, “mmmm you are?” you said as you felt your heart fluttering. “can’t stop thinking about us and our private moments..” he said as you closed your eyes humming as your mind flooded dirty thoughts. thoughts that instantly gave you butterflies. you looked at the camera turning it on, “baby..show me what your doing right now..” you said your voice being calm as he didn’t hesitate to pick his phone up, showing you his half undressed self as your eyes dropped down to his veiny-hard dick. you blushed heavily as you rubbed your thighs together. “is that for me?” you said smiling innocently as you heard him grunt through the facetime again.

“fuck babe.. i miss you so bad.” he said as you put a pillow far from you grabbing your phone placing it far from you, your whole body and your face showing, “want me to help baby? it’ll be worth it.” you said chewing and sucking on the flesh skin of your bottom skin as you heard him say a groany ‘yes’ you giggled as you slid your hands under his hoodie rubbing your nipple against your cold fingertips as you bit down on your skin. “look baby..” you said as he looked at the camera before you grabbed the hem of his hoodie, lifting it up as your bare chest and half your clitoral area showed, he groaned as you giggled shaking your chest as you squeezed your breasts together. you looked at his reaction smiling innocently to him, “fuck..i want to touch them.”he said groaning as you saw his hand stroking himself up and down, “i want you here ale..letting your hands roam around my body, letting you do whatever you want..” you said as he chuckled biting down on his lip as he admired your body through the phone, “touch yourself for me baby.” he whispered loud and clear as you hummed in response.

you slid your hand down to your clitoral area, rubbing your folds as a small whimper slipped out of your lips, picking up the wetness from your fingers, spreading it around your clit as you began to rub yourself slowly, your breath hitching as a moan left your mouth. “a-ale..” you moaned out as you held onto the sheet with your free hand still rubbing yourself, “i want you..i want your cock to stuff me up and strech my walls..” you said in between your moans as he groaned through the phone, you continued rubbing yourself as you slid a finger inside you, arching your back as a whiny moan left your lips thrusting your finger in and out of you slowly, “f-fuckkkk..m-miss..your dick..” you whimpered out as you rubbed your clit with your free hand yet thrusting your finger in & out of you, as you leaned your head back hitting that spot, closing your eyes imagining as if they were his fingers.

“such a dirty little girl for me.. i just want to fuck myself into you and mark my territory everywhere on you.” he said as your stomach began burning up as you were close to your orgasm, you whined out loud thrusting your fingers in and out of you, “i-i’m..close..” you whimpered out as he chuckled through the phone, as you began to thrust your fingers quickly. moaning loudly as you kept hitting the same spot that drove you crazy, over and over. “please..i need your cock..s-so bad..” you cried out as felt yourself closer and closer. “you’re always doing so well for me..so adorable. i should reward you.” he said chuckling as that was all you needed for yourself to leave your peak, as you moaned out his name over and over as you came on your fingers with the thoughts of him. you slowed your pace down as you catched your breath pulling your fingers out slowly, as your thighs were shaking. you lowered your hoodie down as you laid on your stomach and sighed shakily.

“was that worth it?” he said chuckling as you rolled your eyes nodding your head, “were u masturbating the whole time?” you said letting out a hitched out giggle, as he chuckled, “of course, you showed half your ass out and you weren’t wearing panties, missy.” he said.

“don’t worry. it’ll be much fun when am home.”

#alejandro balde #alejandro balde imagine #alejandro balde smut #alejandro balde fanfic #alejandro balde one shot #alejandro balde blurb #alejandro balde x you #alejandro balde x reader #football one shots #football imagine #football x reader #football smut #soccer smut #soccer x reader

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morallyinept · 4 months

Text

Adrift With You - A Frankie Morales Series - Chapter 5

Summary: Heading away on a work re-location, Frankie embarks on a flight, but unbeknownst to him, his life is about to change forever. For starters, he will need to fight for it; harder than he's ever fought for anything else before.

Marooned on an isolated island in the middle of the ocean, still recovering from an addiction, his chances of survival are bleak; but he’s not alone on the island, and soon he’s running towards a different kind of life - a life with fellow survivor, Jude, fighting right beside him every step of the way.

And if they can both survive the island together, they can survive anything, right?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x OFC Jude

Chapter word count: 6.7k

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

☝🏻See Series Masterlist for full smut warnings & triggers in this story. Chapters that contain smut or triggers will be highlighted in the chapter notes below. 👇🏻

Chapter notes: Frankie and Jude team up to prolong their survival, and find something unexpected.

Enjoy! 🖤

Chapter 4

Day 3 on the island…

Being deprived of sleep practically for the last forty-eight hours, Frankie nodded off, eventually succumbing to that alluring pull into the murky depths of the unconscious dark.

A light snort of his breath being caught in the back of his raw throat jolts him awake some hours later; that and the nightmare of reliving the plane’s crash over and over again, like on some twisted replay just to torment him, even in his bleak dreams.

Being adrift on that piece of wing debris, and the suffocating loneliness and panic, replaced his usual black dreams and twisted them into something sharp with talons, which was biding its time in devouring him whole.

When he comes to, he’s lying down on the hard, uncomfortable ground inside the cave mouth; his arm numb from supporting his head whilst he slept like he was dead, and a small part of him wishes he was already when he remembers the reality as it all comes crashing back.

Jude’s absence is noted as his sight comes back into focus and the stark memory of another survivor pulls at the threads of his surly unconsciousness.

Frankie sits up slowly, but still feels dizzy and as though something heavy has sat on his head all night crushing it.

He turns and stares down into the deep pit of the cave and wonders if something is watching him back with rabid, hungry eyes, and it makes him shudder.

He then spies the bottle of water, almost full and waiting for him.

He knocks it over in his haste to reach for it with shaky hands.

“Fuck,” he mutters, as some of it sloshes over the ground.

The temptation to down it all in a few glugs is strong and he really has to stop himself from finishing it off as he begins to drink the warm, yet refreshing, liquid that coats his stagnant tasting mouth.

But then something in his brain tells him it's best to save it; slow sips and keep dehydration at bay for as long as they both can. Just a few days, right?

He puts the bottle down, squeezing his fists together with a silent resolve to will them to stop trembling.

Nausea gnaws at his empty stomach, waves of tremors wrack his exhausted body, and a clammy sweat drenches his skin under the layers of his clothes.

The physical torment, though excruciating, pales in comparison to the mental anguish that threatens to consume him, even faced with this dire situation of being stranded. Memories of past mistakes and the weight of unspoken regrets haunt his restless mind despite flicking between trying to remember his training and how the fuck he’s supposed to get off this damned island.

¡Vamos, piensa! Tú puedes hacerlo. No puede ser tan malo. (Come on, think! You can do it. It can’t be so bad.)

He squints up at the sky outside the cave and it’s still a little grey, but who knows when it’ll rain again?

“Fuck.” He grits.

On the rocky shoreline, a few metres from the cave mouth, Jude is sitting on some rocks with her jeans off and inspecting the laceration on the back of her right calf as best as she can.

Convincing herself it’s not infected, even though it’s obviously sore and hot to the touch, clearly signs of a brewing infection. It’s crusting over with that yellowish plasma sap and itches like a bitch with an inflamed red tinge around the edges, but at least it isn’t bleeding anymore.

Her clothes finally feel dry enough, but they smell of the damp, salty brine. She rinsed her jeans in the seawater to clear as much blood off as she could, and they were now spread out on the rocks drying in the faint sunlight trying to break through the grey clouds.

Despite the dark sky hovering above her, the swampy heat lingers harshly. Tropical weather holds that heaviness in the air; sweltering heat in the heights of summer, but typhoons and rainy seasons accompany it, along with possible snow and harsh winters, depending on what side of the equator they’re on.

Who knows what the weather could do out here and how quickly it could change?

Looking up at the sky, Jude is unsure what season exactly it is that she’s stuck in on this island, but thankful for the rain nonetheless - at least she can drink something, for now.

She’s mulling over in her mind the long term solution to water and how to collect more, just in case the rain does indeed stop.

It’s a terrifying thought and she keeps coming up with undesirable outcomes each time she pulls it apart, making her skin prick up and shiver.

What are the odds of surviving on a desert island in the middle of the ocean? Is it mere days? Months? Is it even possible to survive at all?

Her doom filled thoughts are interrupted by Frankie approaching in her peripherals; his desert boots crunching languidly over the rocks.

She grabs her jeans, slipping them on quickly before he can see; they still feel damp in patches around her butt.

“I’m sorry-” He mutters, fearing he’s interrupted her peeing or something as he notices her zipping up her flies, and he looks away quickly.

“It’s fine, don’t worry.” Jude reassures.

He clocks the tear in the calf of her jeans flapping about as she reaches for her Converse, and the red faded patch from the blood that’s embedded deeply into the fabric. Staining it like a flower has bloomed; it’s a stain that won’t wash away fully.

“That looks bad.” Frankie observes.

“It’s healing, but I’m keeping an eye on it. How’s your neck feeling?” Jude asks, noticing the pink, angry blisters on his skin that seem worse this morning.

“Sore.” He winces, reaching out the water bottle to her.

She declines him, shaking her head. “It’s yours. It filled up twice in the night whilst you were asleep with the rain. I’ve had my fill.”

Frankie smiles appreciatively and drinks slowly from it again. “How long was I out?”

“A while; I don’t have a watch so I can’t be precise,” she shrugs. “Guess you needed it.”

He glances down at his wrist at his own watch, and it isn’t ticking anymore. It’s stopped at twenty-five past one. Is that morning or afternoon?

He ponders it for a few moments with a stumped look on his weathered face and zones out for a second. “Did you get much sleep?” He then asks her, dropping his wrist.

“A little,” Jude replies nonchalantly, although truth be told she’d hardly slept a wink.

Each time she closed her eyes harrowing images filled them, and when it was too quiet she could hear those engines roaring again as the plane fell out the sky.

“How do you feel?” She asks him, resting her chin on her shoulder and regarding him carefully as he hovers awkwardly, yet so tall and broad.

“I’ve had some sleep at least. My body feels like it’s been fuckin’ crushed.” Frankie looks out at the horizon; the clouds seem meaner out there, perhaps another storm is brewing, or maybe it’s rolling away from the island - it’s hard to tell with this heavy, hazy head. “Any sign of any boats or anything?”

Jude shakes her head glumly and sits back on the rocks resting on her palms. “Nothing.”

They both stay in a subdued silence for a while, until he perches on the rocks next to her, with a gap, and offers her the water bottle once more.

“I insist.” Frankie presses, and she eventually takes the bottle, has a couple of swigs and hands it back to him.

After some more time of them both scanning the horizon intently, looking for any flash of a rescue, he speaks again. “Why were you on the plane?” He drinks from the bottle with chapped pink lips.

Jude sighs heavily and folds her legs. “I needed a break from life.”

Frankie baulks with surprise and drinks again. “I hear that.”

“You too, huh?” She snorts.

He swallows, nodding, and offers her the bottle again and she takes it tentatively. “Work contract. But also the same; kind of a time out.”

“You said you were in the forces?” Jude asks curiously, as the breeze whips around her scraggly, salt-stinking hair.

He looks at her and smiles a little shyly under long eyelashes, the snap of his cap shielding them in the shadows of his face.

“Used to be. I work in aviation now. I was going out to Madagascar on contract to fix some helicopters. I used to fly them on duty.”

“Really? You’re a pilot?” Jude smiles.

“I was. Not anymore. Retired. But, I uh... I just don't fly right now.” He confirms as he watches her eyebrows rise in surprise.

“I see,” she shrugs. “Your business is yours, Frankie. You don’t have to explain.” She says, and he’s thankful that she doesn’t probe any further, leaving them to ruminate in a contemplative silence for a few minutes.

“What do you do?” Frankie asks her in return.

“I’m a photographer. Landscapes mostly.”

“That sounds cool.”

“Living the dream. Or at least, I was. I do all sorts of media and advertising for vacation companies and travel blogs, that kind of thing. Freelance mostly. It keeps me away from home a lot, and well...” she trails off “hence why I needed to get away, because in the end my love of travel caused more problems than it was probably worth.”

The bitter memories of Nate in bed with other women sting the back of her throat, and heart in turn, until she swallows through it. But bitterness always tastes vile.

Perhaps if I wasn’t away a lot he wouldn’t have cheated...

Frankie listens carefully with a small nod.

“I’m sorry, you don’t need to hear all that.” She says, as he turns his gaze away from her and back out to scan the sea.

“No, it’s alright. I mean, what else are we gonna do?” He shrugs, trying to make light of their plight. “I get you about working away a lot. I do too. Sometimes for weeks.”

“What’s that like?” Jude enquires.

Frankie thinks for a moment. “Lonely.” He says as he turns back to her, and she notices his eyes are tired and dull, despite the brilliance of the hazel and gold colours that are spun inside his dark irises, glimmering in the dappling sunlight.

“Do you not have a partner or something to go home to? A forces sweetheart?”

“I did.” He takes the water bottle back from her when she offers it to him and drinks it again. It’s almost empty. “How about you, will there be anybody special missing you back home?”

Jude shakes your head and snorts. “Not anymore.”

“Ouch.”

“I mean, family sure, but like you I did have someone. Turned out he was a grade A jerk.” She tries not to sound so bitter about it, but it’s hard not to when that betrayal is still incredibly raw.

Frankie nods with a smirk. “Hence the getaway?”

“Hence the getaway,” Jude confirms. “There’s just something so comforting in running away from your problems, right?”

“Yeah. That’s going incredibly fuckin’ well for us, ain’t it?” Frankie remarks, and Jude can’t help but laugh a little.

Then he laughs; his shoulders heaving up and down, making the pain across his skin pull tighter still, and they both find they can’t stop for a while.

Just guffawing merrily over the dire circumstances, because it’s either that or cry hysterically and wade into the sea possessed by the crazed delirium of suicide until they sink to the bottom.

They both guess that the other has already considered that unsettling scenario, because after a few moments their laughter dies out and they both go back to a solemn, bubonic silence.

The only sound to accompany their physical bodies is the sound of the ocean waves rolling in and out, a gentle taciturn.

“We need to work out a way to collect more water for the long term,” Jude begins, eyeing the water bottle through her peripherals inside Frankie’s hand.

She notices a small, round tattoo inked between his thumb and forefinger. He has stubby thumbs on large hands, and the skin on his knuckles seems dry and flaky in places from the salt.

Working hands, she deduces. And notes a subtle tremble in his fingers as he squeezes the bottle whilst they talk.

Frankie nods. “You think we’ll be here that long?” He’s trying not to think of the bleak answer himself.

“I hope not. But I think we need to plan for it, just in case?”

“You’re probably right. We can collect sea water, boil it somehow.” He suggests spitting out ideas.

“You know how to distil water? They teach you that in the Army?” Jude questions.

“No...” He replies glumly and she instantly frowns. “Kinda. But we don’t have anything other than this bottle to collect water in. It would melt if we tried to boil it.”

“Yeah. That would suck.” Jude says, feeling mightily protective of the crinkled bottle inside his grip.

“I was in Delta Force.” Frankie mutters.

“What’s that, like the Marines?”

“Kinda. More specialist.”

“Huh.” Jude says, and glances back at the horizon seemingly unfazed. Either that or Frankie assumes she doesn’t give a shit.

“What about that place you said you found?” Frankie enquires.

Jude shrugs. “There wasn’t much there, but I suppose it’s worth another look, I guess.”

“What about a tarp? We can use plastic to collect water.” Frankie explains, searching back through his turbulent mind for the schematic details.

“There was some plastic in there, I saw a bag?”

“Perfect.”

“How does that work exactly?”

Frankie bites at the skin on his lip and she’s instantly reminded of Nate doing the same thing, and shudders.

“It’s called a solar still. We dig a hole in the ground. It condensates. We should build a fire too. Keep it burning. Someone could see the smoke.” Frankie elaborates.

“Good idea.” Jude agrees; her levels of optimism climbing slightly, but even they’re suffering from chronic exhaustion too.

“We have shelter in the cave, for now. We need to find food. There might be fish in the water."

"Have you ever fished before?” She asks.

“Most weekends with Will before...”

Frankie trails off struggling to remember the last time he went fishing with Will. Those memories seem so far away now.

Far away in a simpler time where fighting for your life was a reality he’d never encounter. Just sitting in Will’s father’s boat enjoying the peaceful silence and the lush surroundings of the lake. Catching tiddlers and tossing them back and occasionally reeling in some pike. Yeah, they were good times. Before Frankie shit all over them.

He looks at Jude studying him curiously when he doesn’t answer. “Yeah. I can fish.”

“Perhaps you can teach me, pass the time a little?” She suggests. “Stop us from going insane and eating each other.”

“Sure,” he chuckles nervously.

The clouds have dispersed and the pair of them stand sweating and out of breath on the same ridge Jude had climbed when she’d first explored the island.

From up here, the whole of the island is in perfect view, and it’s a good lookout point as they both plan their route of exploration to gather food, water and anything else they can scavenge that will prolong their mutual survival in this hellhole until they’re rescued.

Frankie’s puffing heavily and scanning with his hand, shielding his eyes despite his cap visor, taking in the view of the dark wooded area.

“Those aren’t palms.” He says, scrutinising the tree species. “Shit.”

“What does shit mean?” Jude questioms warily.

He sighs, taking off his cap, shaking out and sweeping back chocolate curls, before placing it back on his head.

“It means it could get cold here. Really cold. We were on our way to Madagascar, which is in the southern hemisphere tropics.”

“Yeah, but it’s warm in the tropics, right?”

“Not always. Look at the vegetation, it's dense, but sparse. The island gets rain. Could also get snow.”

“Great.” Jude sighs.

From up here the trees seem thick, and he’s convinced there has to be some form of wildlife habiting on the island, or some edible vegetation at least.

“Where there’s vegetation, there’s gotta be animal life,” Frankie explains to Jude. There isn’t any sign of birds however, he notes.

“I hope you’re right about that.” Jude can feel her stomach rumbling, those gas bubbles fluttering under the muscles and sinew, and she hopes he can’t hear it.

“The water seems shallower and clearer over there, maybe an ideal place to fish?” He points a long, thick index finger to the north-west of the island on the other side of the wooded area. There are several rocks in the shallows, indicating rock pools.

“That’s where I washed up,” Jude says, remembering the welcoming sight of the sandy beach there and then remembering to her horror that the island was completely deserted.

Frankie drops his hand and looks down at her. “How long were you out there?”

“Same as you, I guess. The minute the plane sank, it felt like days I was on the water, but I think it was only one. I was here for another day alone before I saw you, I think.”

Frankie nods. “I passed out on the shore and I think I was out for the whole day.”

She squints in the sun looking up at him, he’s so tall. He looks back down at her through tired, yet kind eyes and messy curled hair that spills behind his ears under the cap, and smiles sympathetically.

Evidently the pair of them had some fight; they’d made it this far and Jude welcomes that they both have that in common at least.

“Perhaps we should split up? You look for tarp or anything to collect water. I’ll look for something to fish with and whatever else I can find that we can eat.” Frankie suggests after a while of more scanning across the island below them.

He steps forward and the drop from the ridge seems steep from up here. Bushes and boulders litter the bottom in clumsy zigzags.

“Sounds like a plan.” Jude agrees.

“We can cover more ground. But don’t over exert yourself. It’s hot and we need more water from the rain.” Frankie looks up above at the sky and not a cloud is in sight, the sun melting away any cloud cover that lingered from the morning. “Whenever that’ll be...”

“Meet back at the cave?” Jude suggests.

Frankie nods at her as they both begin the descent down the ridge before going opposite ways.

Jude gathers the rusted tins from the former shack, and the plastic bag that is in there will do as some kind of tarp.

Rummaging through the fallen planks, picking them up and moving them out the way, she makes a mental note to tell Frankie about them, because perhaps he can find use for the wood.

He’s a pilot, not a damn carpenter... She thinks, but then again, who knows what hidden talents he could have?

Who knows what anyone is capable of thrust into disaster and given desperate circumstances, right?

He could well be the one to get her through this whole awful ordeal, maybe even save her life. Or he could end up being a complete weirdo with a deadly fascination for wearing her skin and making her not want to spend a single moment more than necessary on this damned island with him.

Who is he really? He’s a complete stranger.

Nah. She didn’t get any cannibalistic creep vibes from him. But Frankie is still a mystery; a man of seemingly few words and not revealing too much about himself.

She’d established in her brief conversation on the rocks that morning that he was going on a work vacation because he needed a break from life. Seems genuine and plausible enough; she had that in common with him.

Jude ponders all this and more whilst she fingers through the dirt and broken body of the shack, careful not to get splinters from the wood.

There’s more plastic further under the leafy brush, and she pulls at it before falling backwards when it gets stuck on something and won’t give.

Hundreds of hairy spiders dash out, skittering across its surface and she cries out, scrambling up on her feet and brushing herself down quickly; panic stricken that spiders are crawling over her skin, face and in her hair.

“Eww no!” She squeals out and stamps her feet around in a weird, freaked out dance desperate to crush any that will dare venture towards her.

Once composed, she reaches for the plastic again; shaking it out and it’s all discoloured and opaque with filth. She shudders as she flick off a renegade spider and rolls the plastic up, shoving it in the bag.

Something that shines at her catches her eye, and reaching down, she sees a switchblade amongst the leaves.

“Well, shit.”

She flicks it open and although the blade looks a little dull and rusted on the tip, it’s still pointed enough at the end that it will most definitely be useful.

But she thinks about it for a moment, a creeping sense of unease prickling over her skin; this is proof enough that at some point, someone else had definitely been on this God forsaken island.

The only question is, what happened to them?

Frankie collects a few long and sturdy sticks as he walks the perimeter of the sandy beach outside of the wooded area along the shoreline of the island.

He figures he can probably find something to sharpen the ends to spear fish if there isn’t anything here that he can find for a makeshift fishing line.

His concentration is occasionally pulled towards the ocean where he’ll see something glimmer out the corner of his eye thinking it’s a boat, but then realising, disappointingly, it’s just the sun sparkling on the water like diamonds, taunting him.

He kicks at a few stones and pebbles along the grassy knolls as he traipses over them and notices how scuffed and dull his boots are.

An intense rush is felt, coursing through the veins in his arms and up into his shoulders.

He grits his teeth and stops for a second, breathing in and out slowly. He licks around the inside of his gums that are tight and dry and tries not to think about the desire prickling at the back of his brain for a line to sniff up.

“Ya no lo necesitas.” (You don’t need it anymore.) He tells himself in short, ragged whispers.

To distract himself, he contemplates the long term outcome for them both on the island, as his crazy mind does on autopilot when faced with a dire situation.

Although that path of thinking probably isn’t wise to venture down either. Historically, it's not really served him well.

He feels some relief that he’s found Jude; at least the loneliness won’t overcome him and drive him insane.

Isn’t that what happened to that guy on Castaway?

Jude appears friendly enough; full of determined grit it seems, especially if she made it overnight floating in the barren and dangerous ocean like he had.

Perhaps she’s a strong swimmer and the fact she’d allowed him to drink the water suggested she was kind and thought of others first. But what does he really know about her?

What does she know about him, really?

He tells himself that Jude probably wouldn’t look favourably upon him if she knew what he had done. He certainly doesn’t.

But something inside convinces Frankie that he’ll be able to count on her if shit hits the fan. More so than it already has.

Although he hopes it won’t - he hopes this fucking nightmare will all be over soon and he can go home and just forget about this disaster without any long term effects on his already fragile mental health.

Or, making it worse than it already is, at least.

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, Frank.

He can hear Eddie’s voice, even all the way out here. He thinks about the amount of missed calls he probably has from him on his iPhone at the bottom of the ocean.

He wonders if anyone will be missing him yet, if anyone has realised he’s not returning their calls or messages. Did Benny ever text him back?

He wonders if they’ll assume he's in the gutter again, strung out on the white stuff and barely clinging on through the manic highs.

He hopes that someone will question his disappearance. Although it’s getting harder to believe that these days. He's practically pushed everyone away.

Dustin. He’ll know I never landed. They’ll call in, reporting that I never showed up for the job.

Yeah, his employer will be his saviour. Make a few calls and soon a rescue team will be here looking for them.

Frankie looks about the ground for anything that can be of use, but it’s just littered with stones and more grass.

He looks up ahead of him and then stops dead in his tracks, dropping the sticks he’s collected in a heap at his feet.

"Fuck!"

Without hesitating, he makes a hasty run towards it.

Jude’s rinsing the tin cans down at the shore by the cave; crouched down with her jeans rolled up and bare footed, discarding her Chucks that seem like they’ll never dry out again.

She’s cleaning out the cans that aren’t rusted over completely that is. There are four that they can use for either water or food, and the remaining cans that are too rusty to risk eating or drinking from, she separates and tries to think of what other use they could have.

Perhaps Frankie will know.

She stands up when she can hear Frankie yelling, his voice ebbing in on the breeze, and turns to see him pulling along two small suitcases and a backpack slung over his back.

“Where did they come from?!” Jude exclaims, running up to him and taking a case from his hands. It’s a Samsonite brand with a clamshell outer casing and feels heavy.

“A part of the fuselage has washed up,” he puffs “it’s fuckin’ stuck in the sand on the other side of the bay."

"What?!" Jude gasps, hearing the words, but they have trouble going in.

"There might be more stuff in there. Come on!”

Jude follows after him as they make a brisk run through the trees and out the other side, following the walk along the shoreline he’d made earlier, before Frankie had looked up and spotted the wreckage of the plane embedded into the sand bank.

He couldn’t believe his eyes and suspected he was probably seeing things at first; a teasing mirage perhaps? His brain playing tricks on him - it wouldn’t be the first time.

But as he’d run closer to it, it dawned on him that it was really there.

They approach it, slowing down their pace and sweating profusely already in the scorching heat, and Jude’s overwhelmed by the sight of it.

“How the fuck did we not see this from the ridge?” She questions, befuddled, wiping at her forehead with the back of her hand.

She approaches it circumspectly as Frankie touches the sides of it.

“The trees cover this whole side of the bay,” Frankie says, glancing behind him and he can’t see the ridge either from this side. “It could’ve been here since…”

He trails off as they both realise that it could have been here from the very moment they'd both washed up on the island. Maybe even before.

“Be careful,” Jude warns as she watches him step forward with a long, thick leg, and hoist himself up into the cabin.

He reaches down and holds his hand out for her, pulling her up to meet him.

She clasps a hold of a seat that’s on a steep incline for support as he climbs further in and upwards into the eerie cabin shell, crawling on his arms and legs like a sinister arachnid.

The plane fuselage is empty of any living soul, and stinks of the damp; a briny waft of salt that’s just as isolating as it is pungent.

Jude notes the remaining seats that are intact on the plane are void of any bodies, and Frankie catches her worrisome gaze.

“Do you think anyone survived this, apart from us?” She asks, almost whispering.

He shakes his head bleakly, noting that the seatbelts are unbuckled. Visions of the people who were originally sitting in them, struggling to get out as they drown, make him shiver.

Essentially they’re both walking through a graveyard. One of the seats is faded with blood and there’s a lot of it dried into the fabric.

Frankie steadies himself against the slant and reaches up, pushing open the overhead and braces himself; covering his head with his arm for anything that might topple out.

Another case barrages out and he grabs a hold of it and slides it down to Jude. She picks it up and tosses it out on the sand. He repeats the process with some purses that he finds.

Frankie carries on further up towards the back of the fuselage and yells out for her when he disappears around the remainder of what appears to be the galley.

Jude scrambles forwards, crawling, and slipping somewhat up the slope, meeting him where he’s crouched down in front of a silver trolley, and inside he’s leafing through stacks of food.

Bags of sweets, chocolates, small bottles of liquor and bread rolls, all intact and water free due to the tight vacuum seal on the trolley.

“Holy fuck!” Jude gasps as Frankie tosses her a bread roll.

She scrambles with the package and bites into it. It tastes a little stale but is still damn good.

He pulls out two cans of soda and they chink them together; the bubbles fizzing over the rim of the can and over his hand.

“Salud!” He says, grinning.

Jude toasts to him and smiles approvingly.

“This is a fuckin’ treasure trove!” Frankie marvels, belching through a gassy burp after drinking his soda too quickly. “Sorry,” he laughs through pale pink lips that feel moist again.

Jude giggles and belches back, making the skin around his eyes crease as his smile drags wider across his face, laughing.

“I’ll see your burp and raise you a belch.” Jude howls in embarrassment.

Frankie rummages around further in the trolley and there are several bottles of water and more tasty goodies to be found.

“We should bag this all up and take this with us. I don’t think I can get the trolley out.” Frankie announces, standing up and reaching for the overheads.

Jude glances at the trolley and it’s on a diagonal tilt, wedged tightly between the galley walls.

They both set about opening more metal doors in the galley and find more food; several vacuum packed meals that seem uncooked and protected from the water by their plastic wrap.

“Jackpot!” Jude coos and Frankie turns as she pulls them out.

He reaches out a large palm and high fives her enthusiastically, a giant paw slapping against her own.

“Nice one, hermosa.”

Frankie and Jude make three round trips back and forth to the fuselage in total and by the end of it, they count a mixture of three carry-ons, one backpack and a couple of purses.

“I can’t believe this; this is like some kind of miracle.” Jude says, staring at the wonderful sight, completely floored and not really knowing where to start with it all.

They’d both stripped the fuselage clean of everything they could physically take during the remainder of the day, and stood there watching the outer shell, part of their doomed flight resting contentedly on the sand as the sun began its descent in the sky.

“Maybe we can take it apart somehow... Take the seats out, use it to build some shelter or something?” Jude suggested

Frankie contemplated it, eyeing it carefully and examining the areas where he felt he would be able to muster the strength to rip things out with his bare hands.

Without tools it would be a near impossible task though, and he hissed through his teeth at the thought of his tools slung in his Pickup back home.

"I don't know. The angle it's on isn't practical. It's too heavy for us to move. The cave is better for shelter. Warmer too."

“Maybe someone will see it from the sky if they fly overhead?” Jude had said, and Frankie seemed hopeful; it’ll be hard to miss it on a search and rescue mission.

“We can take the seat cushions out; make some sort of bedding to sleep on. It’ll be better than the ground in the cave.” Jude reached under the seats and pulled out all the lifejackets she could find too. “These might be useful?”

Frankie nodded as he had watched her gather them under her arms and tossed them out of the fuselage onto the sand with the ever growing pile of everything they could take from it.

Frankie reaches into the bag of food and pulls out two water bottles and tosses one at her.

She watches as he drinks from his own greedily and gasps out after swallowing; the bottle crumpling in his hand as he sucks the air out of it too.

“Let’s have a look at the cases.” Frankie suggests as Jude stares at it all taking it in.

She bends down and starts unzipping them eagerly. They both find an abundance of travel-size toiletries and clothing in different styles and sizes.

She pulls out some garish, floral shirts and holds them up for him, to which he smirks.

“These might fit you,” Jude replies and he laughs with mirth at them.

Frankie opens a case that seems stuffed with more clothes and a toiletry bag; there are some razors in there and some shower gel.

Frankie pulls out the razors and holds them up astonished.

“How the fuck did they get them in their hand luggage?” Jude questions, utterly perplexed.

“That’s the fuckin’ TSA for you.” Frankie rolls his eyes. “We can use ‘em.”

Jude then remembers the switchblade she’d found and fishes it out of her back pocket and tosses it at him. He catches it one-handed and examines it.

“Figured you could use it for fishing or something,” she shrugs.

“So there was someone here, before us?”

Jude nods. “I think so, yeah.”

“What happened to ‘em?” He asks.

“Perhaps they were rescued?”

Frankie nods, a fleeting sense of hope skimming across his frontal lobe. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t want to think of the other outcome.

He tosses the razors back in the case and finds some sun lotion. He spots a small tube of moisturiser and wastes no time in squeezing some into his palm and rubbing it gently into his scorched neck.

He winces and hisses through his teeth as the moisturiser stings his skin instead of soothing it. “Fuck.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I was hoping that would soothe it.”

Jude finds the tube and discovers it’s actually antiseptic cream.

“It’ll sting, but it’ll help for sure.” She says, examining his neck. It’s welted and the blisters look angry and swollen with yellow fluid. It’s too tempting to poke the little skin bubbles.

“Here, let me help?” She offers, as he nods and turns his head so she can apply the cream all over the burns. He hisses as she carefully dabs it on.

“Sorry,” she murmurs.

“It’s okay.” His eyes flick towards hers as she gently runs the cream over the welts.

She glances back up at his deep chocolate eyes, brooding and set in skin with lines around the socket.

“Where are you from?” Jude queries.

“El Paso.” Frankie says. “I moved out to the west coast though. Florida.”

“You speak Spanish.”

“My family is originally from Colombia. I was born in the US.”

She nods, smiling as she spreads the cream further over the burns.

“What about you?”

“The Big Apple. City girl.”

“Nice.” He says.

“It is in the summer. The winter, not so much. Better?”

He nods. “Thanks.”

Frankie touches his skin gently a few times with his fingertips after she steps away.

“You should put some on your leg too,” he encourages.

“I’ll do it later. Now we have some soap we can freshen up in the water. Take turns to clean up. God, I stink.”

“I don’t think you smell too bad. Me on the other hand…”

“Yeah, you smell pretty ripe.” Jude giggles.

Smirking, he comes across a make-up bag and tosses it to her. When she catches it, she finds a cosmetics mirror in there amongst some lipstick and eye shadows that have crumbled into a metallic sludge from being waterlogged.

There’s a pair of tweezers too.

She glances at her face in the mirror briefly and can see the large, purple bruising above her temple and examines it carefully, wincing when she touches it.

Frankie finds another baseball cap and offers it to her and she places it on her head; it’s still damp and cools her for a bit.

He finds a notebook with a pen. The pages of the notebook are crispy from being wet and he flicks through them to see the notebook is blank.

“Santa mierda!” (Holy shit!) Frankie exclaims suddenly, and pulls out a mobile phone and holds it up at her.

It’s an iPhone model and the screen is cracked.

“Fuck! Does it work?!” Jude rushes over to him.

They both stare at the screen, waiting for it to power up with severe anticipation, but it doesn’t.

Frankie glances down at Jude with a frown as she peers at it, seeming tiny inside his giant palm; willing it to come alive.

Please, come on!

He fiddles with the case, taking the battery out and it’s wet inside the phone’s internal chipboard.

“We could dry it out in the sun and then maybe it’ll work?” Jude asks him, hope swills around her eyes at him.

He nods with a thin smile. “Worth a shot, although I doubt we’ll get any signal out here.”

Frankie lays the phone in the sand next to the notebook and wipes the battery down with the hem of his salmon pink shirt.

Jude nods glumly. Probably best not to get her hopes up.

They sort through the cases, filling one up with the toiletries and separating the clothes between the remaining two.

“We should ration as much of this stuff as we can; make it last. Who knows how long we’ll be here, right?” Jude suggests to Frankie as she finally stands up, sweating and aching from being bent over in the sand sorting and organising for the last few hours of fading sunlight.

“Yeah, I think we have a few months’ worth of stuff here if we ration carefully. Although let’s hope we’re not here that fuckin' long. They’ll be coming for us real soon.”

Jude nods. “Yeah. We won’t be here long. They’ll be looking for us right now.” She agrees aloud and Frankies nods for a little longer, like one of those nodding dogs on a car dashboard.

He hands the sun lotion to her with a sympathetic crooked smile that is soft.

“Here. You’ve been exposed to the sun all day.”

“Thanks.” Jude says, unscrewing the cap and slathering it on the skin of her arms that feel tight.

Dusk approaches, and they both retreat into the cave mouth with the cases and the food in tow, clearing the beach in case it rains again and placing the empty water bottles into the sand to collect any rain water.

Frankie looks at the phone and battery lying on the ground near him. “I’ll try it again in the morning.” He yawns.

“Fingers crossed it works.” Jude says.

She reaches into the case with the food and pulls out a bag of Peanut M&M’s, which are a little squishy due to the heat, but still taste good nonetheless.

She watches as his hand barely fits inside the packet as he scoops out a handful of the coloured chocolates.

Jude murmurs out in sweet relief at the feel and taste of the chocolate melting on her tongue.

Frankie smiles in a pleasant response too, and as the fading light dies away, encasing them both in the blinding dark; his satisfied smile is the last thing Jude remembers before falling asleep.

To be continued...

SERIES MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

Thank you for taking the time to read my story; it really means so much to me. I'd love to know your thoughts, and I'd really appreciate a re-blog so others can enjoy this story too. Thank you so much 🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: If you'd like to be added/removed, please let me know.

Tagging everyone who asked to be tagged/commented on/re-blogged my initial teaser & prologue:

@suzdin @missladym1981 @magpiepills @millennial-teenybopper @legendary-pink-dot @linzels-blog @msjarvis @tightjeansjaviupdates @burntheedges @inept-the-magnificent @casa-boiardi @sin-djarin @rhoorl @disassociation-daydreams @quinnnfabrgay @chronically-ghosted @fuckyeahdindjarin @chiriwritesstuff @copperhalfcent @bluestar22x @5oh5 @gobaaby-blog-blog @myloveistoolittle @pastawench @maggiemayhemnj @secretelephanttattoo @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @thethirstwivesclub @seratuyo @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @toomanytookas @survivingandenduring @lizzie-cakes @sawymredfox @iloveenya @elegantduckturtle @covetyou @undercoverpena @connectioneverywhere @trulybetty @nerdieforpedro @thisneozonerecs @fckyeapedrothots99 @goodwithcheese @anavatazes @doughmonkey @lilmizmoz @76bookworm76

#pedro pascal x reader #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal #frankie morales #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales x ofc #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #frankie morales angst #adrift with you series #jett's writing #triple frontier fic

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frickingnerd · 1 year

Text

malos hating your boyfriend

pairing: malos x gn!reader

tags: jealousy, malos is in denial

malos had denied his feelings for you for the longest time

he didn't think he was the type to fall in love with anyone, especially not someone like you

but when you started dating mikhail, malos did not like that!

perhaps it was the fact that you were both members of torna and he didn't want any workplace relationships

or perhaps it was because mikhail was always flirting with anyone he crossed paths with, so malos didn't think he would be serious about this relationship

(or maybe it was simply because he was in love with you himself but in denial about it–)

malos would make sure that you and mikhail wouldn't be sent on the same missions together

he couldn't allow you two to get distracted and mess up your work!

at least that was what he was telling himself

whenever you would bring up mikhail around malos, he would ask you what you see in that guy

he didn't take you for the type to fall for mikhail's flirting that easily, so how could the two of you end up together?

whatever explanation you gave, malos would find a reason to bring mikhail down yet again

honestly, you deserved better than that guy!

you deserved someone like him!

at least that was what he was thinking. but he had too much pride to actually admit that he liked you…

#xenoblade #xenoblade chronicles #xenoblade chronicles x reader #xenoblade x reader #xenoblade chronicles 2 #torna #torna the golden country #malos x reader #malos x you #malos x yn #malos x y/n #xenoblade malos #xenoblade malos x reader #x reader #headcanons #fluff #angst #jealousy #boyfriend

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gardnhee · 1 month

Text

you’ll always love me - L.HS

✧₊⁺. warning(s)- fluff, anstyyy, highschool au, mentions of cheating, proofread, intentional lowercase, cursing - lmk if i missed anything !

✧₊⁺. student!hee x student!afab!reader

✧₊⁺. song rec. el malo - aventura

✧₊⁺. wc. 1.1k

✧₊⁺. note. when i was listening to this it reminded me of heeseung so here i am writing about it (੭˃ᴗ˂)੭

with your head rested upon your arms, you stared at the cup of milk your friend had brought from the cafeteria. long forgotten, melted ice creating a thick layer of water that easily mixed with just a swirl of your dainty finger.

faint chatter floated through the hallway in small murmurs, a stark contrast to the utter silence that enveloped the classroom. you sighed, gazing out the window, only to be met with girls laughing, boys - who swore were mature yet acted completely opposite to such statement - ran about, playing pranks on people like twelve year olds. your attention traveled to the clock nailed right above the chalkboard, 12:40 pm. you groaned, realizing there’s still a long, agonizing hour of lunch left.

as the door creaked open, you jerked in your seat, awkwardly pursing your lips when you made eye contact with whoever dared disturb your solitude.

tall, painfully bright smile, purple hair with a hint of orange, honey like skin, and grin inducing eyes.

“hi…heeseung…” you say rather glumly, rolling your eyes as a bothersome tickle blossomed in your chest.

you divert your eyes, ignoring the smug look on his face.

“where’s your boyfriend, pretty?” he questions, studying his surroundings as he walks to you.

“i don’t know where jay is, and don’t call me that.” you sneer, making the boy wince in faux pain.

“you hurt me, truly.” heeseung jokingly protests, resting his whole body weight on one arm, palm planted on your desk. he sends you an ear-to-ear smile, which you smack away with a frown.

“why do you want to know where he is, anyway?”

the anticipating male knits his eyebrows, “oh, i’m not asking for myself.” he continues, “he said he’d be back uh…..” checks his watch, then peers back at you, “right before lunch started?” heeseung tilts his head, “where is he now?”

“what? how do you know that?”

“we have the same class, did you forget?”

“oh. right.” with a dismissive nod, you keep your eyes on the window. he sucks his teeth, leaning forward.

“don’t go quiet on me now, i need you to think.”

“go away, heeseung. ‘m not in the mood for your bullshit right now.”

“i’m serious.”

“so am i, leave me alone.”

he sighs, whipping his phone out and placing it on the desk before you. “yn. look.” you didn’t, stare fixed on the window.

“yn! look! dammit…”

“fine! my fucking go-“

your lungs compressed as your breath hitched.

“that’s fake, heeseung. that can’t be true.” with a shaky voice, you grab the phone, this just can’t be fucking true - you hoped it wasn’t true.

“now why the fuck would i fake this? it’s so obviously jay with yet another girl.”

“‘yet another girl?’ fuck does that mean, heeseung?”

“it means you need to open your eyes.”

“no, you’re doing this because…” you stop in order to gather your thoughts, “because you’re not over me and you want me back. that’s right, yeah.”

heeseung scoffs at your dumb attempt to convince yourself, “you’re right, i still love you and that’s why i’m looking out for you. jay’s been jumping from girl to girl while you obliviously sit around looking stupid.” he shakes his head, “i can’t even begin to understand why you got with an asshole like him.”

“you’re pathetic.” you violently seethe as you stand and try to walk away.

“seriously?-“

“yes! who the hell do you think you are coming in here and telling me this?”

“hey, what are you getting mad at me for?” heeseung is visibly upset, and much to your luck, also right. he’s not at fault nor does he deserve your anger.

“why are you doing this…?”

he sighs in frustration, taking his headphones from his neck and setting them down on your desk, “look, yn. this is not the first girl he’s-“

“then why didn’t you tell me sooner? hm?”

“because you never let me get close to you anymore! how was i supposed to tell you?!”

“you’re my ex, hee, of course i don’t want you anywhere near me!”

“you don’t mean that.” his voice is low, solemn, as he looks at you with soft eyes.

“how would you know that?”

“look at me in the eyes and say it with your chest, then.” heeseung steps closer, driving you to stumble back against a desk.

“i mean it.”

“and i don’t believe it.” he scans for any sort of emotion on your face, and finds it. god, he can read you like an open book.

“i refuse to believe that he loves you better than i did. i refuse to believe he knows when, where, and how to kiss you. i refuse to believe he knows all the spots that make you see stars. i refuse, yn.”

you open your mouth, but nothing comes out, so heeseung took this as an opportunity to speak again. “you’ll always love me, i’ll always love you. and whether you want to believe what you just saw or not, deep down i know you don’t care because your heart belongs to me.” he cages you in until you’re half-sitting on the wooden surface.

“can you grab my phone, please?” you quietly instruct.

“yn-“

“please?”

heeseung nods, rummaging through your school bag and handing you the phone.

“thank you.” you quickly open jay’s message, furiously typing as heeseung tries to peek at the screen. you tsk, bringing the phone to your chest.

“what did you send?”

“he’s not my boyfriend anymore.” you shrug, snorting at the way he tries to keep his excitement at bay.

“you’re right, you know?” he hums as you bite your lip, “i’ll always love you. i mean…it was 3 years, after all…” heeseung nods in agreement, leaning back on your desk as you’re both facing each other, long legs on either side of yours.

you gaze into his eyes, so sincere, so beautiful. why did you ever let him go? yes, he failed you at times and vice versa, you’ve had arguments like any other relationship, but it was nothing major like… well, cheating. heeseung always stayed loyal to you no matter the circumstances.

he glances at your lips, then your eyes. a calm silence fell between, nothing to say except, “can you kiss me?” you utter just above a whisper. he seizes your waist, eagerly pressing his lips to yours. the kiss was demanding, dripping with longing, regret, euphoria.

you sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck as he hoisted you onto the table. heeseung pulled back, caressing your thighs.

“can i be your boyfriend?… again?” you giggle, hugging him.

“of course, silly.”

“one more thing.”

“yes, heeseung?”

“i love you.”

“oh, i know!” you beam, earning an unsatisfied grunt from your boyfriend. “i’m joking, dumbass.” you lightly punch his arm, “i love you more.” he smiles like a child, pecking your lips and backing away.

“last one to the cafeteria buys food!” he takes off running as you yell after him, laughing hysterically.

your heart swells, and for the first time in months, you’re in love all over again.

✧₊⁺. big thanks to my proof reader @heartryuu !!

✧₊⁺. please leave a like, comment, and repost!! i would highly appreciate that (∩˃o˂∩)♡

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azsazz · 5 months

Text

Little Sneak

Daddy!Azriel x Mommy!Reader [Zuzu Centric]

Summary: Anon Req: What about a part 2 to Sticking Together where all the children are older and Zuzu is upset about not being able to go to the camps like her brothers and cousins. Maybe she ends up sneaking off and gets hurt or something. Some lovely angst would be appreciated. Only if you want to of course, pls and thank you.

Warnings: Angst, suggestions of a child going to be harmed (child is not actually harmed)

Word Count: 2,357

_________________________________________

“Why must all my children defy me?” Azriel questions, pacing the length of the room. You’re almost dizzy with it, how long his strides are and how short the path he’s making is. He’s nearly turning in circles now, wings flared with agitation, growing larger and larger the more he works himself up. When he nearly knocks a lamp burning low with a single faelight over, you slip from the bed.

You halt your mate with a soft hand to his shoulder. His wings tuck in tight, not because you’re going to touch them, because his body automatically moves to give you room. You take it, curling yourself against his chest, hands snaking around his waist and thumbing soothing patterns across the dip of his back.

You can feel his muscles contract as he shifts his wings to cocoon the both of you. Darkness shrouds you, but the light casts red through the membranous skin.

It’s a safe place for the both of you, tucked away from the rest of the world without actually removing yourselves from situations where you’re needed. You and Azriel had found yourselves in this position many times—when you first found out you were pregnant with Wren and Azriel was worried you’d have trouble delivering a babe with wings, when Baz nearly burned his hand on an unattended fire. When you had found out that Knox wasn’t going to be able to speak, and when your eldest sons wanted to be allowed to train in the Illyrian camps.

It’s funny that you find yourself here for the exact same reason. Your daughter, Zuzu, Mother bless her, yearns to join her brothers. Both Wren and Baz have completed a year, along with Nyx and Gideon. The four have formed a group just as their fathers had, not taking anyone’s shit no matter how much larger in size they may be. With the High Lord on their side, the young boys got away with much more than they should, though Rhysand does his best not to stick his nose into matters that should be left to camp leaders.

They’ve found their places as young warriors, and though they often get into trouble, you and Azriel are able to spend more time in Velaris, working on a schedule with both Cassian and Rhys, so that one of them is always staying in the family cabins when the boys are in training.

The beat of Azriel’s steady heart is strong, comforting, even though you know he feels as helpless as you do. Each and every one of your children are as stubborn as their father, even the more stoic of the six, like Jax and the twins. Malos could hold a grudge for ages, even against her own siblings. And poor Azriel refuses to admit that it’s a trait he’s bestowed upon the shadowsinger clan.

You squeeze your mate tighter, breathing in his comforting scent. Night-chilled mist from the long fly he’d had to take when Zuzu had told him the news. He hadn’t wanted to hear any part of it; his firstborn daughter wanted to train with males in the camps that will do nothing to look after her well-being. They won’t care if she’s beaten into the snow until she’s unable to move, if she can train as hard as the males, if she can do aerial maneuvers better than them. All they’ll see is a little girl who should be put in her place by the only means they know how.

The females won’t take kindly to her either. They’ll likely be jealous of the girl who’s wings are in perfect shape, who has the ability to fly and train and doesn’t have to spend back-breaking hours washing or cooking. No one but her brothers and cousins will be nice to her.

But she’s determined and headstrong. She’d confided in you first, and while you’d tried to talk her into joining Valkyrie training, she insisted that if there were young girls here willing to fight and join such a cause, why wouldn’t they extend the opportunity to those in the mountains? Your heart aches for your little girl, who wants to see the best in people, give them the chances they’ve long since needed. If she can encourage a single girl in the camps to join them as warriors, she will be proud.

“She means well,” you sigh against Azriel’s chest, hugging him tighter.

“Does she have to mean this well?” he asks, exasperation lining the frown on his face. He rubs your back in a soothing motion, and you know it’s helping him as much as it helps you. His chin rests on top of your head and a moment of silence stretches on as his shadows crawl from the walls, whispering in his ears, reporting back to him on how all of his children are under one roof, sleeping peacefully in their beds. “In a few years, Asteria will want to follow, and I think Rhys will actually kill me.”

“I won’t let him,” you grumble stubbornly, but it doesn’t carve a smile on Azriel’s face like it normally would. “And neither will Zuz.”

All your mate can do is sigh and hold you closer. “I hate that they’re growing up.”

“Me too,” you answer sadly, rocking in place with Az. He caresses the nape of your neck, tilting your face to meet his sad, hazel gaze. “Why didn’t anyone prepare us for the part where our children start growing up?”

Azriel shakes his head, dipping down to kiss you softly, tenderly. You are always his rock in the storms of his life. Always will be.

“I don’t know,” he pecks you on the mouth again, and there’s a glint in his eyes that has your body growing warm. “I do know that we can have another. Then we’ll have a little babe. It will make me feel like I’m not so old, that our youngest aren’t five-years-old.” He says it with a grimace.

The time is flying by, watching your children grow. Wren is a teenager now. A teenager, Mother help you all. And Baz is only growing rowdier with age. Zuzu wants to join her brothers and cousins in the camps, and Jax is still the stoic little boy you’ve ever seen, focused on working through his powers daily. He still struggles sometimes, needs to cuddle up with his father or you for a moment's peace, and he hasn’t shown any interest in being a warrior like his elder siblings, though if Azriel allows Zuzu to join, you’re sure he won’t be far along after. The twins are as inseparable as ever, stirring up mischief with their pesky little shadows. It’s nice to have them all still so close, but you know it won’t be that way soon.

“Can you imagine another one?” You ask, amused at the thought. More chaos, and you’re not entirely sure how your six children would react. You already have so many, what would they think?

“Yes,” Azriel answers, tone heated. He presses his hips more firmly against your own and you can feel the hardness of his cock in his pants. It makes your thighs go molten, especially when he’s looking at you like that. Like he’s going to both devour and worship you all night long. “Let’s put this conversation on hold.”

You can’t disagree with that.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

His shadows wake him up.

Azriel has gotten used to their presence, but his body is accustomed to them, awakening at the slightest sort of unease from them. Like right now.

He bolts from the bed, awakening you in the process. He almost feels bad at the hammering of your heart he can feel echoing in his chest, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s been alerted that one of his children is currently missing from his home, and she hasn’t been located in the darkness of the camp yet.

“What’s going on?” You’re alert now. There’s something seriously wrong, by the look on Azriel’s face. The way that it’s set in stone yet his brows are furrowed with worry. Not the kind of worry where something is amiss in Velaris, but it looks like he had when Knox had been taken from you, the horror riddling his hazel gaze makes your stomach plummet.

“Zuzu isn’t in her bed,” Azriel answers, and he’s already dressed and heading out into the cold. You don’t expect him to wait for you, the both of you have a way of attacking these things as a team now, and you’re safer here with the rest of the children, anyway, and he curses himself once again for allowing his children to train at the Illyrian camps.

He doesn’t know how she’s managed to evade his shadows this time. His children are sneaky, quickly learning and testing how to keep from his radar, but Azriel is 500 years old and prides himself on his alertness.

Up until now.

He doesn’t even know where to begin. His mind is a mess with ‘what if’s’ and he can’t allow himself to begin pulling at that thread or he might very well decimate this entire camp.

He very well might, anyway.

Azriel’s already reaching out to Rhysand, waking him from his deep slumber and alerting the Inner Circle. He knows the High Lord will be here within minutes on a plume of black that no one wants to see. Zuzu has been Rhysand’s favorite from the moment she decided to toddle behind him into the longest meeting he’s ever had the displeasure of attending. But Zuzu had made it bearable, sitting in his lap and cuddling up in his arms like he wasn’t discussing convicts in the Prison nor how his armies might be able to help Springs.

A soft yelp is carried on a wisp of darkness from his shadows, his head whipping to where they’re alerting him. It’s Zuzu, and she’s whimpering a little as sharp nails dig into her coat, despite the thick jacket she’s pulled haphazardly around her shoulders. Her boots are untied, and the powdery snow is downtrodden with her footprints.

Azriel moves as quick as the night. He’s known for being undetectable, a whisper of a chilled breeze chasing through the trees. Tonight, though, he doesn’t mask the crunch of his boots in the snow, doesn’t smother the bright blue beaming from the seven stones adorning his armor. His knives are unsheathed at his side, steel singing for the promise of blood.

There’s a soft sound, like his daughter's cry has been muffled, and it fuels his anger, letting his body fill with black ink. It spills off of Azriel in waves, a death god come to seek his vengeance.

The clearing is a circlet of trees and fresh snow. The moon drips down into the open field, where Zuzu scratches at her captor. The female trying to pin his little girl to the ground hisses as her skin breaks beneath Zuzu’s nails. Azriel’s heart swells with pride as his daughter fights back, but this moment alone has made him realize that she does need proper training, and if she wants to join the ranks with her brothers and show all of these Illyrian swill what she’s made of, she will get that.

Azriel doesn’t recognize the female as he rips her away from his daughter by a fistful of hair. The female yelps in surprise, then screams in fear as she topples backwards, the avenging shadowsinger towering over her.

As if she thought she could get away with attempting to harm one of his children.

He feels the night air shifting behind him as he makes sure that his daughter is okay. Rhysand and Cassian appear before the female can gain her footing and take off, Cassian planting a foot in the middle of her back to keep her pinned to the frozen ground while Azriel consoles his daughter. Zuzu’s sniveling, fat tears rolling down her red cheeks as they escape. She doesn’t want to cry, she doesn’t want to show her father that she’s scared, but they fall without her permission anyway.

“I’m sorry, daddy.”

Azriel’s heart cracks a little, molten lava of anger filling the cracks. This female won’t last the fucking night. And if she does, it’s because he’s going to make her death last as long as possible for even thinking of touching his daughter. For making her cry.

He hushes her, a soft noise that makes her clutch onto his shoulders tighter. Azriel’s not wearing a coat, but he’s used to the temperatures, and the adrenaline rushing through his veins helps quell the bitter chill. He sends a reassuring feeling down the bond to you and your relief flushes his body tenfold, his shoulders dropping slightly.

“Are you okay, my love?” Azriel asks her, wiping the tears from Zuzu’s eyes. He swings her up into his arms, pressing gentle kisses to her forehead as he pins the female to her spot in the snow with furious golden eyes. “Are you hurt?”

Zuzu shakes her head and his knees nearly give out with relief. He sways them back and forth, whispering reassurances into Zuzu’s ears until she’s calmed down, before passing her off to Rhys who holds her just as tightly.

“Uncle Rhys is going to take you back to mommy, okay, Zuz? I’ll be back in a little bit.”

She agrees, blinking up at him with her big eyes. Azriel watches her try to look over her uncle's shoulder to see the female spitting vitriol at Cassian. Rhys doesn’t allow her gaze to see what’s going on over there, instead drawing her attention to him, shifting her so she can’t see, and disappearing into the night to bring Zuzu home.

Cassian crouches down to the female, grinding her face into the snow to stop the comments spewing from her lips. He whispers something so low that makes her entire body freeze, then thrash as if she actually has a chance of escaping.

Azriel steps up to her, a murderous look in his eyes, and he lets his blades do the talking.

#azriel x reader #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #azriel #azriel/reader #daddy!azriel #azsazz zuzu

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