#picking at my skin cause you know I can’t be saved

[doll3tt33]

Everybody knows I’m a good girl, officer ♡

(colin zabel x under arrest!reader)

Summary: once again, you find yourself being arrested by Colin, adding to his piling stress from an unsolved case. However, you discover that a tiny favor for the detective might bring him some much needed cheer…

Wordcount: 5.7k

Warnings: oral sex (m receiving), car sex, coaxing, reader is under the influence of alcohol, brief mention of a bar fight, aggressive and rude reader, rly vague implied age gap, technically abuse of authority (it’s obvious, but I’m still putting it out there. I advise not to read if any of this makes you uncomfortable)

A/N: sorry for the major inactivity guys, I’ve been busy! And this fic ended up being longer than I expected, but I hope it’s good enough quality. My first ever smut, so hope u guys enjoy <3 (also sorry if any typos btw T^T)

You stood motionless, reeling from the adrenaline coursing through your veins as the alcohol's effects faded. The rush of emotion receded to an eerie calm. As your vision adjusted in the dim light, the scene came into focus - onlookers surrounded you and a woman now being helped from the floor. Through the buzz still clouding your mind, one detail emerged with painful clarity: her bruised and bloodied face, a stark reminder of the harm just caused in a moment of impaired impulse and from your god awful temper.

Now the woman who you beaten black and blue, almost to the point of passing out, wasn't the focal point for dispelling the haze of your impulsive rage. Nah, this lady had it coming when she slut shamed you for being oh-so-bold enough to wear a tank top tonight. No, it was the bright flashing hues of blue and red seeping through the windows that acted as your wakeup call.

Just like that, a realization hit with sobering clarity - “Shit. Cops.” Without pause, you shoved through the crowd, desperation driving every move. Bursting through the door, the frigid night air raised goosebumps across your skin. Damnit, maybe the tank top wasn’t the best choice after all. Intoxicated or not, you were in no shape for an arrest. Stumbling at first, you found your footing and picked up speed, putting distance between yourself and the scene of the incident you started. You were gonna make it through! You were gonna outrun those pigs and they would never get their grubby hands onto you!

…That was until, a loathsome voice sounded from behind.

“Hey- hey! Where do you think you’re going?”

Before you knew it, you felt hands locked around your arms, yanking you to a halt. The telltale jingle of metal broke through your panic and with a sharp click, cold steel encircled your wrists. A glance back confirmed your dread. You weren’t being handcuffed by just any stinking cop - it was that good for nothing detective Colin Zabel arresting you once more, and for what, the third time this week? That’s one hell of a streak.

You sighed inwardly, the fight draining from your limbs, knowing any attempt in resisting would be in vain. “Goddammit Zabel, can’t you give it a rest?…” you muttered under your breath, as he hauled you back to the police car.

"I know, I know - save your excuses," Colin cut you off wearily, the smile not reaching his eyes. “Jus’… don’t start, ‘Kay? Do me a solid and quietly get in the car.” He opened the car door to the backseat, gesturing for you to step inside. Despite his perpetual mask of affability, you detected an edge of irritation - his good humor and patience clearly worn down by your repeated encounters.

“Whatever man…” you sighed as the door clamped shut with finality. Through the window you watched Colin slip into the driver's seat, releasing a long exhale as if to shed the stress of your latest encounter. At least you provided some diversion from his endless paperwork, though you doubted he'd admit as much.

True to his by-the-book nature, he slinked the seatbelt over himself, securing it with an assured click. Out of habit, he craned his neck over his shoulder, asking out of the goodwill of his heart. “Oh! Almost forgot. Do ya need a lil’ hand with fastening your seatbelt too?“ he offered warmly, “Don’t want any extra accidents happening tonight, am I right or am I right?” A hearty chuckle followed, dying abruptly once he took in your expression - eyes hooded and mouth set in a grim line.

“Fuck off Zabel.” you growled in response, fixing your stare out the window. He felt tension coil in his gut but forced it down with a hard gulp. As a veteran officer, he had faced far worse than you, yet something about your unpredictable defiance unsettled him. For a moment, under your glare, an angry retort rose to his lips but he bit it back, sensing it would only stoke the flames. Best to let the dust settle, he decided. Starting the car, he pointedly kept his eyes forward and drove in loaded silence.

“Alriiiighty then, no seatbelt it is. I’m just gonna… ah- y’know….” He cleared his throat, voice petering off into a nonsensical mumble as he shifted gears.

An uncomfortable hush fell over the car, only the revving of the engine permeating the stillness. Colin tapped the wheel, wishing for a distraction from the tension. His mind raced through possible conversation starters but came up blank. A stolen glance in the mirror found your stony profile unchanged. With a sigh, he focused back to the road, flicking on the radio more for the static noise than any musical preference.

Colin hummed softly to fill the silence, earning another kick from the backseat - your fourth such outburst. He was the pinnacle of what it meant to be a pushover, but he still stood his ground when needed to… in his own unique way. “H-Hey, Cut it out kid! And be nice,” he let out a weary sigh, peeking up at your vexed form through the rearview mirror “You know, I’m not a fan of this attitude you’ve got going on. Haven’t been for the past week.”

You sank lower into the seat, glowering. “First of all, old man, lay off the ‘kid’ crap. I’m not a child.” You rolled your eyes at his feeble attempt at reprimand.

Colin bit back another retort, clenching his jaw. Pride demanded he have the last word, if only to reclaim a shred of dignity in his own vehicle. “Hm no, I think I’ll call you a kid. ‘Cause you know why? You’re acting like one, like right now.” he replied evenly, bubbling frustration leaking through his amicable veneer, yet he still maintained some semblance of civility between him and your not-so-good of a temper.

As you drew your breath to speak, Colin beat you to it. “Look- all I’m sayin’ is, this isn’t good for you. This is the third time this week I’m haulin’ you in here. The third time!” Weariness tinged his laughter as he splayed his fingers out in front of him, only to reclaim the steering wheel in a swift motion. “Not only is this not doing you any favors kid—-“

“I said don’t call me kid.” You interjected sharply, cutting him off this time.

Colin continued on autopilot, fatigue chipping away at his usual cheer. “It's also not doing me any favors either. I've got a case to crack, but Mare - my partner - thought it’d be best if I dealt with you while she took charge of the investigation for the night…”

His shoulders slumped, eyes downcast as a cloud of disappointment settled in. As a county detective, he longed to prove himself with this investigation, not play referee to petty disputes. But saying no had never come easy, especially when others mistook his calm demeanor as weakness.

Silently, your eyes veered away from the passing scenery outside the car window, finally taking notice of his careworn features in the mirror. Attuned to the new lines of fatigue etched upon his face, you perhaps began to understand that this was wearing him too.

“Must suck being everyone’s errand boy.” You observed, tone lacking its usual bite.

Colin offered a tired nod. “Comes with the job, I guess…” his words trailed off, accompanied by a somber tone as his gaze returned to the road. “But y’know what they say- it is what it is.” he added softly, punctuating the statement with a self deprecating laugh.

Surprisingly, a twinge of sympathy tugged at your heart - a rare reaction to the shithead county detective. For all his attempts at camaraderie, which admittedly grated, you had to respect his resilience in the face of your unrelenting hostility. Hell, that time you clocked him during arrest, most would've thrown the book - but not Colin. His patience and optimism seemed a superpower, weathering your worst without breaking stride.

A strange blend of sympathy and guilt surged through you, as the realization struck you hard like a freight train - you had subjected the poor detective to a relentless barrage of undeserved hardship, oblivious to the weight of his personal burdens. Your chest tightened, and a foreign sensation stirred deep within as the reflection in the rearview mirror held your gaze captive.

The need for redemption gnawed at your conscience, but how could you possibly make things right? You've been a real pain in the ass to him for a good while now. Within the depths of your alcohol-induced haze, a daring idea began to take shape - could you perhaps make amends through a little bit of... shared pleasure?

It was pure insanity. Drunken impulses (and drunken you) are the epitome of idiocy. Vivid images flooded your thoughts, projecting the sheer horror that would contort his face if you dared to make a move now. It was likely that he hadn't experienced the touch of a woman in quite some time. And yet, that was precisely the point. The poor guy may have been deprived of any intimate encounters since his fiancée abruptly left him, and the growing urge within compelled you to do something about it.

Undeterred, an unwavering determination fueled your decision to make a bold move and test the waters. Shattering the silence, you adopted an uncharacteristically sweet tone to conceal your true intentions. "Hey Colin, think I could sit up front? It's kinda cramped back here."

Colin glanced over, clearly skeptical of your politeness given past rides. "Not sure that's protocol..." he began, ever the rule-follower.

Your lips formed a slight pout, an innocent plea. "Aw c’mon, I'm starting to feel queasy. Just to the station, what's the harm?"

“Uhh….”

Colin's head snapped in your direction, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized your expression. Despite his suspicion, a flicker of genuine concern crossed his face. The thought of you unleashing your 'gastric distress' all over his car seemed to be a genuine fear he really wanted to avoid. He did not need an extra pukefest tonight.

Reluctantly, he caved in to your request, his voice colored with a mix of resignation and caution. "Ah, jeez... Look, you're not supposed to sit in the front, but fine, I'll make an exception this time." He maneuvered the car to the side of the road, stepping out to open the door for you. As you settled into the passenger seat, he retook his place beside you.

"Jus' promise me you won't end up throwing up in the car, 'cause I'm not looking forward to cleaning up that mess." With a playful smirk, he wagged his finger at you, but there was an underlying seriousness to his words.

"Chillaaaax, Colin. Don’t even worry, you won't see me hurling tonight. I've got it all under control," you declared, gracing him with a reassuring smile. The unexpected warmth of your expression caught him off guard, contrasting sharply with your usual snarky demeanor and the piercing death stares he had grown accustomed to.

However, Colin’s initial reservations melted away, reciprocating the gesture as a warm smile played across his face. He resumed his position behind the wheel, ready to continue the drive. But just as he was about to press the gas pedal, you captured the moment and took action. It was officially reckless business o’ clock. You sank down from the car seat, your knees grazing along the surface as you shifted toward the detective.

Colin's eyes widened comically, his mouth agape, utterly taken aback by this unexpected turn of events. "K-Kid, what on earth are you—"

Cutting him off, your slurred words emerged with a hushed urgency. "Shush. And I told you not to call me kid. Just wait, let me..."

Your words trailed off as you grappled with the cramped space of the car. Hindered by the handcuffs that still restricted your movement, you struggled to find a way to support yourself without the use of your arms. Nonetheless, you persevered, inching your way beneath the steering wheel and between Colin's legs.

You released a sigh of relief as you settled comfortably onto your knees. “Phew! Crawling around is no walk in the park without some arms. Anyways...”

“Hi.” An impish grin spread across your face, your eyes flickering upwards, locking with his apprehensive gaze.

“Wow hi, haha!“ his smile, already awkward, stiffened further as he involuntarily sunk deeper into the car seat, attempting to create as much distance as possible between the two of you. “So um… is everything okay? I mean, what’s happening right now? What are you… doin’ down there, specifically?” His words tumbled out, laden with confusion and a touch of concern.

“What do you think I’m doing?” you giggled, thoroughly amused by the sight of the detective squirming uneasily in his seat. A delicate flush of pink tinted his cheeks, a detail that didn't escape your notice. Your voice dropped into a low purr as you continued, relishing in the tension that swirled between you. “Weeeell... I had this little thought, you see. I wanted to make amends. You know, for being such a pain to you over the past few weeks."

A coy little shrug followed your words, as if you were merely toying with the idea. “And I figured, what better way than to help my favorite detective relieve summa his stress off his shoulders.”

You awaited his response with a wide grin, but all that greeted you was a dumbfounded Colin, his face now aflame with a deep shade of crimson blush, eyes wide and unblinking. The sound of his breathing, short and heavy, filled the tense silence, leaving you to wonder if perhaps you had made him uncomfortable. Although a certain part of his body seemed to betray a different sentiment, stiffened and undeniable.

As both of your gazes inadvertently dropped, your eyes locked onto a conspicuous tent forming beneath Colin's slacks. A mix of surprise and amusement flickered across your face, mirrored by the silent murmuring of the word 'crap' that escaped his lips. “Hah… that’s uh- real strange. Don’t know why that’s happening,” He gulped. “Good ol’ keys in the pocket, huh? They’re a pain, especially when they decide to stick out in weird angles. It's like, whoa, things can get a little… funny, you know? Awkward, even.” He added, his voice revealing a hint of panic as he desperately attempted to maintain his composure, all while his raging boner was in plain sight.

“Oh for god’s sake,” you groaned, impatience tracing a light furrow on your brow as the restraint of the handcuffs exacerbated your frustration. "You're not seriously trying to play dumb with me, are you?" You said, annoyance and amusement bleeding through your words. The power dynamics had shifted, leaving you unable to take the lead, and instead relying on the nervous wreck of a detective before you.

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, taking in a deep breath to steady fraying nerves. Determined to take a gentler approach, you decided to navigate this delicate situation with care.

"Come on, Col..." you cooed, leaning forward as far as you could, resting your head gently on his thigh. Your voice took on a soft, persuasive tone. "Let me do this for you." With a subtle flutter of your lashes, you batted your eyes, mimicking the innocent charm of a puppy seeking its owner's attention. Colin flinched, his knees threatening to buckle under the weight of your sudden touch. Yet, he remained motionless, his eyes fixed upon you in mounting suspense.

A smile curled upon your lips as you sensed his lack of immediate resistance, emboldening you to press forward with your gentle coercion. "Just once," you whispered, your voice filled with earnestness. "Let me do this once, and I promise you'll feel so much better afterward."

“..Jesus, I don’t know ‘bout this… I….” Colin mumbled, trailing off with a heavy uncertainty.

He sat frozen in place, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. His bottom lip bore the marks of his nervous chewing, while his brows knitted together in a hesitant frown as he weighed his options.

He knew he shouldn't, he reaaaally should not. It was morally wrong, a breach of professionalism, and could jeopardize his career if discovered. His eyes darted frantically outside the car's windows, scanning the desolate darkness that enveloped the streets in secrecy. But technically, no one would find out, would they?

And god, it had been a long while since he had been with a woman, especially since the bitter end of his engagement. And there you were right now, on your knees, your eagerness to please him palpable. Just the sight of you pouting sent his stomach into a frenzy of uncontrollable flutters, a reaction unexpected even from someone with a volatile temper like yours.

Bewitched by your feminine wiles, he barely registered how his hand had crept onto the top of your head, his thumb caressing your scalp with a tender touch. The throbbing heat in his pants intensified, overpowering any remaining restraint. With cautious swiftness, he glanced around, scanning the surroundings for any prying eyes, before his gaze settled back on your face - your smile, a comforting anchor in the sea of his conflicting emotions.

He sucked in a sharp breath through clenched teeth, his voice barely rising above a whisper. "F-Fine... Jus’ promise me you won't breathe a word of this to anyone, alright?" His hands returned to himself, fingers trembling as he loosened the clasp of his belt. The once ironclad resolve that had held him together began to crumble like fragile dust, succumbing to the pull of the moment.

“You have my word Col.” you reassured, your voice a soft murmur teeming with exhilaration.

Colin proceeded to undo his pants, the sound of the zipper echoing through the confined space. As he shoved them down, the dim glow of a distant streetlight seeped through the car window, casting a faint illumination on the scene. You couldn’t see all that clearly in the dark, but you did catch a glimpse of the outline of his cock protruding beneath his boxers, the fabric adorned with a telltale wet spot. Needless to say, he was far more excited than he was letting on.

Your mouth watered in anticipation, your core aching with need. Your senses heightened, thighs instinctively clenching as you awaited his next move. But just as Colin's thumb looped under his waistband, he hesitated, uncertainty settling over him like an icy veil. Restraints confined your hands, the itch of frustration crawling beneath your skin. In this moment, the immobility of your arms felt like a punishment far worse than being thrown into a holding cell later that night.

Unable to physically intervene, you relied on the power of your voice to guide the hesitant detective. "It's alright," you coaxed, tone laced with soothing encouragement. "Shake those nerves off, just this once. No one will ever find out..."

Colin's response came in the form of a hesitant nod - quick, uncertain, but nevertheless a nod. With painstaking slowness, he mustered the courage to give his boxers a small tug, gradually lowering them at an agonizingly slow pace. The measured movements seemed almost teasing, as if he were intentionally prolonging the moment. However, the truth was he basically personified a bundle of nerves, as though he was a schoolboy experiencing the thrill of his first make out session, unsure and skittish in his actions.

"How about we ditch these stupid handcuffs and let me take charge?" you suggested, your tone cutting through the air with an assertiveness that bordered on demand. Colin's head snapped up, surprise briefly shadowing his features as he registered the sudden shift in your demeanor and the scowl that tugged your lips. He couldn't entirely fault you for your impatience - he had been taking his sweet time with dropping his boxers. However, a part of him harbored a lack of trust, as dubious as it may sound. The restraints provided a sense of comfort and security, keeping you in check.

Colin's throat bobbed as he swallowed nervously, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "Ehh... sorry, but that's a no-can-do," he deflected your proposal with his trademark easy smile. "You understand, right? It's nothing personal. Jus’ think it's... better this way."

“Ugh…” you grunted, eyes rolling in annoyance. You relinquished your desires, holding back any further comments or demands.

After what felt like an eternity, Colin steeled his nerves enough to continue, no longer willing to delay the inevitable. In a swift motion, he grasped the waistband, sliding it down until his cock sprang free, bobbing slightly in the air. Your gaze, once fixated on the crop of brown pubic hair adorning the base, now traced the veiny pathways that ran along his thick length, leading to the swollen tip—flushed red and leaking. For a seemingly meek police detective, he sure had a nice looking dick.

You smiled as you leaned in, tilting your head closer. Your eyes, brimming with excitement, darted back and forth between his face and his erection, gauging his reaction as you tested the boundaries. Despite his initial apprehension, there was a glimmer of delight in his gaze. Encouraged by his response, you inched closer, your lips ghosting the underside of his shaft, your warm breath teasing his sensitive skin, coaxing it to twitch in response.

Colin squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the moment. “Crap, look- in case it wasn’t obvious enough, it’s been a while for me,” he blurted out shakily, already roused by the sight of your pretty lips caressing the heat emanating from his dick, sending a wave of warmth sweeping over him. His legs parted further, an unspoken invitation for you to draw nearer. “So sorry if I…. Y’know.. too early.” He stammered with urgency.

“I mean, you already look like you’re ready to burst before I even touched you,” you shrugged with a light chuckle. “But I kinda like that.” You flashed him a playful smirk.

He remained speechless, his face flustered and turned away, a deep red painting his features in the stillness of the moment.

Regardless, you took the plunge, gently pressing your lips against the sensitive underside of his cock. A soft, almost inaudible moan escaped his lips, a clear sign for you to continue. From top to bottom, you peppered his length with tender, soothing kisses. His hand immediately reached for your hair, his fingers finding solace in the roots to distract himself from cumming too fast, careful not to exert too much force and risk hurting you.

"And sorry about the whole hair-holding thing. I, uh... need something to hold onto when I'm really focused," he confessed, his bashful laughter intertwining with his words. His face still burning a deep scarlet hue, the admission both vulnerable and endearing. "Habit," he added, his lips twitching with shy sincerity.

“You can grip my hair as hard as you want. I don’t mind a little rough treatment.” you shot a wink, a giggle escaping your lips. Lowering your head, you tilted it to the side, your tongue tracing a stripe against his sensitive balls. Eagerly, you pressed your face forward, your lips latching onto one of them, suckling on it with a gentle yet insistent rhythm, each release elicited a small pop.

“Mmff!— fuck..” Colin‘s jaw went slack, a deep groan rolling off his tongue the moment your mouth made contact, his resistance melting away under the spell of your touch. His dark brown eyes dilated, glazing over your form below him. “Yeah, jus’ like that… jus’ like that…” he managed to utter out, his heaving breaths punctuated by muttered words of approval. His fingers entwined with your hair, massaging the crown of your head in a visceral gesture of pleasure.

“Ooh, you like that don’t you?” you remarked, a playful lilt in your voice as you pulled back slightly, savoring the sight of the detective's face contorting with undeniable bliss. “I wanna hear it baby, tell me how much you needed this.” You crooned, face colored with a teasing grin.

“Okay-okay fine, I won’t lie…” Colin huffed, admittance causing eyes to flutter away. Amused, you chuckled, flattening your tongue against his length, gliding it along a long and deliberate path, coaxing the rest of his words to spill out. A delicious shiver of electricity ran down his spine, sending a cascade of goosebumps rippling down his skin from his erection being teased. “Agh!- y-yes I needed this, I really… really needed this.” he babbled out, his breath hitching with the weight of his confession.

Satisfied, you continued. Your kisses swept from the base and drifted all the way up to the tip of his cock, tongue salty with precum as it expertly caressed the ridges. Colin's body quivered, responding with an urgent jerk of his hips, a wordless plea for you to take his cock into the warm and wet comfort of your mouth. You could feel the urgency in his veins buzz with an electric fervor, beckoning you to go further. For the sake of soothing him, you pressed your lips right onto the swollen head, treating him to small kitten licks on his sensitive slit.

“You’re so goddamn gorgeous...” Colin moaned, teetering on the edge of a whimper. His hips bucked forward once more, ramming his tip deeper into your mouth. Each squirm of his body against the supple leather of the car seat produced a small squeak, almost serving as a subtle backdrop to the moment. “God, you scare the living crap outta me... but f-fuck, you’re sososo p-pretty!” He choked, another whimper caught in his throat.

“Mhm… that’s what I do best detective…” you mumbled with a full mouth, the warmth of his fluids clinging to your breath.

The evidence of your arousal was just as indisputable as his, your panties most definitely soaked from the act of using your mouth on the detective alone, cunt weeping from the lewd noises leaving him with each stroke. Your lips glided further down along him, accommodating his warm slickness as you relaxed your jaw. “Ohmygod- holy shit you feel so good...” he groaned. He slumped back against the backrest, head lolling over his shoulder as he fought to stifle a moan. “Ngh- so good f-for me…”

Despite the discomfort that knotted your knees and the soreness that gnawed at your back from kneeling on the unforgiving car floor longer than you should’ve (all while handcuffed too!), that fiery bundle of elation simmering in your belly powered you through it. After all, Colin was all you could focus on, eclipsing everything else. His raw groans, the incoherent praises that spilled from his mouth, and the way your name danced off his tongue like silk - it was all you needed in the moment, utterly invading every fiber of your being.

However, it wasn't just you who was losing yourself in the moment. Colin's mind short-circuited completely, overwhelmed by the mounting pleasure that had him seeing dazzling stars. Your heavenly skills had transformed his body into a molten state of arousal, practically dissolving into a puddle of liquid. In this state, his thoughts scrambled like a glitching, outdated computer, and your lack-of-hands situation compelled him to take the reins in a mindless frenzy.

"Hope ya’ don't mind if I jus’..." he mumbled hoarsely, his words stumbling out spontaneously. His hands cradled the sides of your head, anchoring you in place, hovering inches above his seat to steady his rhythm. His cock delved deeper into the confines of your throat as his hips undulated to the flow of his ragged panting. His heart galloped like a wild stallion, synchronizing with the rhythm you created, while he sunk himself further into the depths of your wet heat.

“Mmh!- ‘m almost there! Need a lil’ l-longer.” Colin sputtered out, throat straining to keep as quiet as possible. He could see the glistening of tears stinging your eyes, whimpers muffled out around him. He truly never intended to subject your poor mouth to such rough treatment, his tip bullying the back of your throat with each jerky thrust until it was sore, pushing so deep that your nose buried itself in the tufts of hair on his pelvis. Despite the guilt welling up in him, he couldn’t help himself at this point. His body was now like a machine, moving on its own accord to milk every ounce of pleasure he could get.

Even then, you didn’t even break eye contact, not even once. Not when this police detective who nursed a hidden disdain for your tempestuous presence behind faux smiles, was now coming undone right before you - His once neatly styled chestnut brown hair now clung to his sweat-drenched forehead, strands falling over his flushed, pale features. His lips, now parted and glistening, revealed a glimpse of vulnerability, while his doe eyes sparkled with a feverish glimmer. Everything about him in this moment was enthralling, leaving you no choice but to be mesmerized.

The rippling tremors jolting through Colin's frame reminded him that he was nearing his climax, fire pooling low in his abdomen ready to erupt. Between heavy panting, he plucked up the courage to voice his request, his fretful eyes scanning the confined space of the car. “Hey sooo uh- you um… y-you don’t mind if I don’t pull out… right?” he asked, vulnerability threaded through his tone. He definitely wasn’t eager to see his load spray onto anything inside his police car.

Your nose scrunched up in clear disapproval, a glare shooting daggers at him, clearly not a fan of swallowing. He clicked his tongue in disheartenment, head tilted to the side “C’mon, do me a favor will ya?… Not really lookin’ forward to making a mess in the car.” He pleaded breathlessly. To his relief, no signs of protest emerged, though a sullen mask adorned your face.

As he noticed your lack of resistance, he seized the opportunity to follow through with his words. “‘m sorry!- So sorry. I-I’ll make it up to you later. Really!” Colin bleated, tone brewing with guilt and that familiar undercurrent of pleasure.

Squeezing his eyes back shut, he rubbed the bridge of his nose in an attempt to quell the tightly coiled spring in his belly, yearning for release. His balls tightened, cock pulsing as his thrusts into your mouth turned sloppy. Consumed by a blinding, searing white that engulfed his senses, his mind completely blanked. With one final forceful pump, he held your head close, ropes of cum painting your mouth white. Trapped in his surprisingly strong grip, you gulped down the bitter torrent, suppressing the almighty urge to gag as your tongue battled with the assault.

Once you swallowed every last drop of his cum, Colin released his firm grip, withdrawing his now softened cock from your mouth. His hands fell limply to his sides, the air in the cramped car heavy with sweltering breaths, as though the two of you had just completed a grueling marathon on a hot summer’s day.

Gradually regaining his composure, Colin peeled his eyes open, his gaze fixed upon your chest rising and falling, your lips swollen and glistening with wetness. “Jeez uhh, are you okay?- I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Post orgasm clarity rushed over him like a gust of fresh air, his lips downturned with genuine concern. He hastily reached into his coat pocket, digging out and opening a tissue packet, gingerly dabbing away the saliva and residue from your chin and mouth.

You blinked in confusion, caught off guard by the unexpected act of care from the detective. Well, that was a first - no one had ever wiped your mouth for you after a blowjob, but then again, your hands were bound, rendering you immobile. “Yeah I’m fine, you didn’t really have to do that, but I appreciate the gesture.” you replied in a hoarse voice, head shying away from him.

Colin's face brightened with a smile, a wave of relief washing over him. You were right - the weight of his once overwhelming stress seemed to dissipate. In fact, he felt like a brand new man! It had been a long time since he had been intimate with a woman, so this encounter meant more to him than you could ever know.

In an unexpected twist, he scooped you up from the car floor, strong arms cradling your waist as he pulled you into a tight embrace, cocooning you on his lap. In that moment, the softie within him had taken over, aching to shower you with affection and gratitude for the pleasure you had shared.

Your shoulders tensed in his firm grasp, your wide eyes betraying a mix of surprise and alarm. You couldn't help but wonder if he always got this sentimental after engaging in intimacy, and you couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"Woooow okay, so we're hugging now huh? Someone's feeling affectionate tonight," you noted with a touch of sarcasm. Yet, despite your initial resistance, you allowed him to hold you, gradually surrendering to the warmth of his arms. Deep down, buried beneath layers and layers of pride, a part of you secretly enjoyed this, even if you'd rather be drawn and quartered than admit it.

“Yeah, hope you don’t mind. It’s jus’ that… you did such a good job.” Colin chuckled, his hand gently caressing the small of your back. “And hey, would ya’ look at that! I really do feel so much better now. So, genuinely, thank you.” His words resonated softly against the crook of your neck as he rested his chin there, his arms remaining securely wrapped around you.

You allowed the weight of the moment to sink in, basking in the warmth and tenderness enfolding you. Then, an idea suddenly sprang to mind, and you couldn't resist voicing it. “Say… since I did one hell of a job, does that maybe mean I’m off the hook now?” You pulled back, a sly brow raised as you awaited his response.

Colin let out an exaggerated huff, his smile filled with amusement as he ruffled your hair into a delightful mess. “Nope,” he replied teasingly. “You’re still getting your butt thrown into the station for the night.“

Your expectant smile swiftly dropped into a deep frown, prompting a hearty pat on the back from the detective as he erupted into a fit of laughter. “Sorry kid,” He said between chuckles. “Now chop-chop, time for you to get in the back!”

-------☆-------

I’m aware I made Colin more pathetic than he actually is and I apologize- Idk I just could resist 😭😭 Hope the aftercare made up for it tho??

🤍 only tagging one person cuz idk who else wants to be tagged:

@lacucarachapisser

[randombush3]

busco lo de antes

alexia putellas x reader

prologue, que te quiero

summary: you wake up but you're not sure where

words: 5200

content warnings: brief mention of alcoholism

notes: i realised halfway through this that everyone's name (bar eli) begins with an 'a'. bit stupid of me tbh

The day you leave the hospital begins with the man in the bed beside you dying. Bodies surround him, first to save his life, then to remove him from the ward, and, after that, you are no longer dreading the thought of returning home. 

Home. That might not be the word for it. 

Alexia picks you up, all tentative questions and awkward smiles, and walks you to a shining Cupra that looks just as futuristic as the iPhone she takes out to show the nurses something or other. You want to ask about it but figure it’ll make her turn that pale shade she goes whenever she remembers you’re not quite you. 

“Where’s Amaia?” you ask to distract yourself from the ache of your ribs where the cracks haven’t healed. The seatbelt of the car presses against the bruises on your chest, a stark reminder of what happened the last time you sat in a vehicle like this, but you can’t recall any of it and therefore it is almost like it never happened. 

“School,” Alexia replies quietly, as though she is afraid to speak louder and scare you away. You feel a bit like an idiot at her response, because of course she is. It’s a weekday and that’s what children do. “I thought it best that she stayed somewhere else tonight, so you’ll see her tomorrow. I didn’t want to overwhelm you.” 

A sense of protection befalls you. Even if you don’t remember her, she is your daughter. Yours. “Where is she staying?”

Alexia focuses on the road for a moment. Whether she is being cautious because of the accident or because she needs to stare broodily at something to fight off her tears, you’re not sure. She is turning into somewhere quiet: tree-lined streets and quiet curiosity. “Amaia,” Alexia takes a deep breath, “is staying with my mother, Eli. She used to look after her when you first moved to Barcelona.” 

“Five years ago,” you tell her, hating how hopeful she looks at the tidbit of information. It has been learnt along with other important things, such as Amaia’s birthday and the details of your job. They provide brilliant health insurance, it turns out. “From… London?” 

She nods. “Yeah. You told me once that you missed the sunshine of Spain as though you were from the south.” You can’t help the build up of guilt in your stomach as she smiles at the memory, choosing to watch as she parks the car in an underground garage. “Your firm has an office here.” 

You unbuckle the seatbelt slowly, the strap peeling away from your bruised chest like a second skin. The pressure of it lingers, a phantom ache that settles alongside the sharpness in your ribs that make you crave the satisfaction of painkillers. Alexia is already outside the car, standing by the open door on your side, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans. Her eyes flicker over you, the way they always do; cautious, worried, and like she’s afraid you might fall to pieces if she makes one wrong move. 

Having stiffened over the course of the drive, you clamber rather elegantly out of the car. She doesn’t offer to help – doesn’t say a word – but her presence hums with restraint. The lift is an even quieter affair, save for the faint whir of machinery and the tap of Alexia’s thumb against her phone screen. There is a pause as she twists a key in the lock of the lift’s control panel, but then she goes back to her text messages. Without looking, she presses the button for the top floor, and up you go. 

“It’s a penthouse,” she explains when the doors slide open into a spacious hallway. Her hesitation causes her to hang back, so you boldly take the first step towards a place you cannot recall. It smells faintly of lavender and freshly polished wood, and, despite not knowing much about Alexia, you fail to be surprised by the immaculacy of the place. The scent, however, stirs nothing in you. 

It’s warm, bathed in late afternoon sunlight that spills through large windows. You take another step, pushing yourself to move further inside, but a rack of shoes – sizes varying – catches your attention and you slip your own off. There is a gap between two pairs of Nike trainers, but you elect to place them to the side, just in case that’s not where they go. 

There are photos lining the walls, and the occasional piece of art (either child-drawn or watercolour paintings of various destinations you don’t remember visiting). And it’s nice. The kind of space you can tell someone loves because of the small things; plants thriving in mismatched pots, books stacked haphazardly on the coffee table, pens scattered on the floor in front of the TV. 

It feels like someone else’s life. That same imposterous sense you get when you walk through a showroom, wondering about the imaginary people who could live there. 

Alexia locks something behind you (you’re not entirely sure of the security system of this place) and seems to hover until you turn around to face her. “We bought it together,” she says, her tone careful and deliberate, like she’s meticulously placing each word into existence. “A little over a year ago.” 

Your stomach knots. “Together?” 

Her nod does not hide how her smile falters. “Yes, we–” She swallows. “I was pretty much staying over at yours every night, but you said you wanted something that was ours. We spent months searching for somewhere and this felt… perfect. Amaia was sold the moment the agent mentioned the pool. She spent most of the summer out there.” 

You pretend not to notice the cracks in her voice. You’re not sure for whose sake. 

“Do you… do you remember it?” she asks, and her voice is so small, so terrified, that you feel like a monster when you shake your head.

Alexia’s smile doesn’t fall all at once. It wobbles, withering in stages; a dam straining under its weight before it gives way. She nods too quickly, eyes too wide, face frozen in painfully forced understanding. “That’s okay,” she says, too brightly, voice contorting, twisting like a knife inside of her. “It’s fine. You’re still healing. That’s what matters.”

It’s brittle and raw, the way her words hang in the air. Her mustered conviction makes it seem like saying them out loud will make them true, and you want to say something, anything, to take the sting away, but the sentences tumble down your throat like loose pebbles on an unclimbable mountain. Your ribs ache as you shift your weight, and the pain feels almost deserved. Alexia clears her throat and gestures vaguely towards the leather three-seater in the middle of the living space. “Sit.” It’s not a question. “I’ll make us some coffee. Or–” She catches herself, her voice weakening. “Do you want a coffee?” 

And you hide your surprise at the question, because if Alexia and you have this life, this home together, she’d know you will always want a coffee. Maybe you are just as much a stranger to her as she is to you. From now on, at least. 

“That was stupid, wasn’t it?” She laughs with a coarse hack, as though her throat is sore. “You will never say no to that. I started switching it out with decaf because you’d be vibrating by lunchtime.” 

You offer her a smile although it feels like a betrayal to accept her kindness when your presence is clearly killing her. 

She disappears into the kitchen and you lower yourself carefully onto the sofa. It’s soft, comfortable, but frustratingly unfamiliar. Your gaze drifts to the photos hanging on the wall. A picture of a smiling child in Alexia’s arms, holding up a World Cup trophy (2010 is more recent in your memory than most people’s). You’re there too, one hand on Alexia’s shoulder, grinning with teary eyes. You exuberate pride, and Alexia does too, beaming at the photographer as she holds on tightly to the little girl. 

Amaia. 

You glance away quickly, clawed by a guilty terror. The books on the coffee table are a haphazard mix: novels, colouring books, one thick volume of the history of Catalunya. A pair of sunglasses rests atop them – chic but not gaudily luxurious. You wonder if they’re yours.

“We loved this place.” You look up as Alexia sets a mug down on the coffee table in front of you, holding another in trembling hands as she perches on the edge of the armchair opposite. “You said it felt like a dream being here. We hadn’t expected to… get on so well.” Her gaze fixes just over your shoulder, eyes just as anguished as the breath she draws in. “And we used to sit here every night, when you could no longer be called by clients and Amaia was asleep. We’d plan. It could be anything, what we were doing that weekend, what we were doing in ten years. But I like planning and you knew that, so we’d talk about everything we wanted to do. You wanted to take Amaia to Bilbao. She hasn’t been there since she was a baby.” 

You don’t know what to say, so you settle for an absent nod that lights a flare of agony. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, setting her mug down. Her voice breaks with the apology. “I didn’t mean to…” She swallows, the sound thick with tears she is trying to hold back. “I just… I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to look at you and not see the person who–” 

She cuts herself off, pressing a hand over her mouth as her shoulders shake. 

Your heart lurches. “Alexia,” you murmur, her name foreign on your tongue. It’s the only thing you can think to offer, although it is woefully insufficient. 

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, swiping at her tears. “I told myself I was going to be strong for you, but I don’t know how. I don’t know how to hold everything together when I feel like I’ve already lost you.” Her voice cracks and her hands clench into fists on her lap. “You’re here, but you’re not here. Do you know how–” She chokes on the words, her head dropping forwards. “Do you know how much that hurts?” 

“Everyone I thought I loved is gone.” It’s the first time you have said it aloud. “Everything I knew is no longer true, or it is outdated with painful hilarity. And I have a daughter whose name I couldn’t even remember.” 

“She’s named after your–” 

“My mother.” Alexia looks at you, curiosity dulling the strength of her sobs. “They told me.” You pause. “I tried to call my father the second day I was awake.” She winces at the incoming story, aware of it because of the doctors and unsuspecting that you would mention it. “No one had thought to let me know that he died.” 

“He–” 

“He was an alcoholic, I found out.” 

Palms rub her cheeks to clear the tears, and she sits up straighter. “You weren’t in contact by the time we met. You didn’t even go to his funeral.” 

“And yet my fiancée neglected to bring it up.” Standing, you ignore the ache of a battered body. “If you don’t mind, I need to rest.” You hesitate, the sight of her tear-glossed eyes rooting you to the spot for one agonising moment. You force yourself to snap out of it. “I’m sure I’ll find the bedroom.”

…

Amaia prides herself on being deemed a ‘clever girl’. The teachers at school search for her hand in the air when no one else can find the answer, and all the grown-ups in her life include her in places most girls wouldn’t belong. Like the changing room at the Joan Gamper, where people say words she is not allowed to repeat (where Alexia sometimes joins in, and asks that she be a superspy and not let it slip to you that she has engaged in such incivility). 

After training, when the mood is lighter and the air is heavy with laughter, the girls will ask why she hasn’t got her boots on, or chastise her for slacking on training when everyone else is muddy and tired. She always giggles at that, because it is a ridiculous notion that she’d be out there with them! But Amaia understands, even at her age, that this is special – sacred, even. She knows to be patient and wait for Alexia to finish leading, to switch back into Mamá Alexia, and to get on with her homework until she is given a reason to be distracted. 

The last time she was there, Mapi had joked about teaching her to take long, bendy freekicks. Amaia had scrunched her nose and declared, self-assured and stubborn, that she will continue to prefer goalkeeping. Alexia always needs someone to practise against, and she is determined to prove herself a worthy opponent. 

Alexia had laughed at that, a laugh so pure and proud that Amaia felt like the funniest girl in the world.

But tonight, Amaia isn’t at the training ground. She’s perched at the dining table in Yaya Eli's kitchen, her knees tucked under her chin, staring at a photograph stuck onto the fridge: herself, Alexia, and you. The picture is sunny and bright, taken on the beach last summer, but now, as she looks at her family, her stomach hurts. 

“Are you going to eat that, petita?” Eli’s voice breaks her train of thought. The older woman gestures at the plate of tortilla and salad in front of Amaia, her face tired but kind. 

She shakes her head. “Not hungry.” 

Eli hums softly, wiping her hands on a tea towel as she walks over. A chair scrapes on the tiled floor as she makes room for herself to sit down, and then she is resting her hands gently on Amaia’s knees, a silent request for her to sit properly. “You’ve hardly eaten all day, Maieta. Què passa en aquest cervellet teu?” 

Frowning, Amaia replies, “Do you think Alexia is sad?” 

A beat passes, Eli caught between the truth and the comfort a white lie could bring. “I think,” she begins carefully, “that Alexia is feeling a lot of things right now. Just as I know you are.” She brushes a hand down Amaia’s back, willing the solemn tension in her spine to dissipate.

Amaia stares at the photo on the fridge. “Ama is so different.” Your smile is familiar. Yours. And she can’t remember the last time she saw it. “It’s like she’s not even there.” 

The words hang heavy in the air, and two hearts ache because of just how much Amaia understands. 

Quietly, Amaia asks her second question. “Does she still love me?” 

Eli swallows her in a hug and cannot bring herself to ever let go.

…

A fortnight passes.

You sleep in your bedroom, Alexia in the spare. Amaia seems busy but, with no calendar on the fridge to tell you when things are, you have little idea as to what she is doing. You try to ask her about her day, making an effort to get to know her, but the conversation always turns stale, buckling under the weight of your guilt for its need and her discomfort at talking to someone so familiar like they are a stranger. 

With no work and strict instructions to rest, there is not much to do between the declining doctor’s appointments and episodes of wallowing. 

The penthouse is large and luxurious, but the walls soon grow tiresome. 

Alexia bought you a new phone when you had been cleared to look at screens again. She had come back with something else in the bag too, something lost in the accident, but held off on gifting it. It sits in the corner of the room, its presence almost accusatory. You’re not an idiot, you know what it is. You suppose Alexia wants to choose when to open Pandora’s box. You allow her that control, that comfort. The phone, at least, has proven to be a necessary tether, though you’ve hesitated to use it for much more than practicalities (like looking up who the current Prime Minister is, embarrassingly). Today, though, alone and finished with the idea of sitting in a silent home like a guest overstaying their welcome, you muster the nerve to call one of the few numbers you’d bothered to save. 

It takes three attempts to connect. The first time, you freeze when you hear the ring. The second, your trembling thumb threatens to cancel the call just as it begins. But on the third, a gruff voice answers. 

“Kaixo?” 

He sounds the same, you think, if not a bit older. He’s your brother and he is familiar, which is refreshing. 

You clear your throat. “It’s me.” 

A pause stretches, heavy and uncertain. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, disbelief blended with relief. “Is it really you? They said you– I mean, we weren’t sure…” His voice breaks off. 

“It’s me,” you repeat, softer now, guilt pulling at each syllable. “How are you, Asi?” 

The laugh you get is mean, because it does not hide the ridiculousness of the question. Asier is the eldest and he is the wisest, too, although you’d be loath to admit it. Beneath him are two other brothers, Ander and Adrian. The latter was who you last remember speaking to: a shouting match in your father’s house, both sides hysterical. You had walked out, then. 

“The last thing you should remember about me is how I asked you to get an abortion.” His voice is distant, emotions running through it no longer raw and real. For him, that was a decade ago. “You could’ve called sooner,” he then says. 

“I didn’t know what to say,” you admit. Anger bubbles inside at the thought of the three of them in Bilbao, residue from how things were left. Asier isn’t wrong about what he asked you to do. Even now, he refuses to lie. 

“Say you’re okay.” 

A lump forms in your throat. You almost choke on it trying to get the words out. “Ez, ez nago ondo.” 

“How can I fix this?” he asks, but for a while, the only thing you can hear in his voice is fear. 

He speaks for what feels like hours, attempting to cover everything that happened between then and now. He’s married. His twins turned six last month. They visited you and Amaia in Barcelona a year ago, and he gave Alexia enough shovel talk for her to become positively terrified of him. He skirts around the death of your father, a mystery he clearly doesn’t want to help you solve, and he similarly avoids the argument you had. “We’re… on good terms. All of us,” is the most you get. 

Finally, he exhales sharply, like he’s trying to let go of something heavy. “I don’t know how to help you forgive us again. It was hard enough the first time. But I do know one thing: you are not going through this alone. You’re never alone, not anymore.”

You haven’t heard him be so gentle, so caring for a long time. The Asier you remember was strict, stubborn, and destined to be just as great a man as your father. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, your fingers tightening around the phone, a desperate yearning rising in you. Something needs to change. You need it to. 

The air feels thick – too thick – and Barcelona is suddenly too far away. 

“I– Asier, I…” The words almost refuse to come out. Something rustles on the other end, his clothes maybe, and it’s like he has leant forwards. You clear your throat, steadying yourself. “Can I… can I visit you? Can I come home?” 

There’s a pause, and you regret asking. It makes no sense. Your home is here, according to the doctors and Alexia and the roots you have dug into the ground. But then Asier speaks again, his voice quiet but not unkind. 

“Are you sure?” His tone isn’t harsh but there is an air of caution in the way he proceeds. 

“I’m not really sure of anything.” And it is set. You know what you are going to do. This is the family you remember. 

That evening, you wait patiently for Alexia to have enough of talking at you about her day and her life and how ‘the girls’ – whose names you can’t seem to grasp – were wondering if you’d like to watch their next home match. (She detaches herself from the request. You’ve noticed that she’s stopped trying to ask things of you, focusing mainly on educating you about Amaia. Her selflessness is impressive.) When she leaves you with a wish for you to sleep well and an awkward space of time that you assume would once have been filled with a kiss, you open your phone onto Google and purchase a ticket for the first flight to Bilbao. Living in Sarrià and sending Amaia to an international school are clear signs that the ticket will make no dent in your bank account, and Alexia has already set up your cards for you on your phone, so all you have to do is double click and stare at the camera that can apparently recognise your face. 

It’s raining in Bilbao when your flight touches down. Alexia had left twenty minutes before your taxi to the airport arrived. It was a relatively seamless journey. 

Asier is grinning in the arrivals section of the airport. “Do you have a coat?” is his greeting. You match his expression, holding up one you’d bought en route. “The boys have taken the day off. We’re going for drinks.” You’re about to decline the alcoholic implication, but he beats you to it. “You can have lemonade.” 

He drives a nice car and his hair is clipped in a way that reminds you of your father. Military men. 

“You’re not in uniform,” you state as he reverses the car out of its spot, staring straight ahead in order to shake the feel of his eyes flickering over to you every now and then. 

“I’m on leave.” 

“Because of me?” 

He sucks in a breath. “My commanding officer wouldn’t let me argue with him. I’ll go back tomorrow. I’ve been posted here permanently.” 

“Like Aita,” you say proudly, because look at the man he has become. He was always on this path, but it is nice to see his hard work come to fruition. 

Asier’s nose, however, scrunches at the comparison. “That is something we need to talk about, actually. But I thought it was best to do it with the two nutters present. And alcohol.” He quickly adds, “For us.” 

After that, he doesn’t speak much. He’s still the same, quiet, authoritative figure you used to lean on, except now there’s a softness to him, an almost apologetic quality when he catches your eye. You try not to prickle every time you remember the last thing he had said to you, because it’s not a true telling of the past. It’s an uneasy feeling, not being able to trust yourself. 

His intrinsic wariness continues to exist; the same kind he bore a decade ago, only heavier, more experience. You don’t know why, and you’re not sure you care to. You’re still angry at them, at the way everything was left, and it begins to build the closer you get to the house you grew up in. 

The streets of Bilbao are slick, puddles splashing at curbs, the air growing fresher as you move through neighbourhoods you recognise for once. The city here has a pulse that Barcelona’s neat. Sunny streets can never match, and that pulse settles something in you, even as you silently brace for what’s to come. 

Asier pulls into your road. The houses are still large, still intimidating and orderly, with gates that hint at important secrets being kept within the walls. He must have inherited your childhood home, but only the colour of the brick echoes what it once was. There’s a swing on the front lawn, tall enough for the top bar to be seen above the wrought iron gates, and when the gates open, you can tell a happy family lives here. You get the sense that your mother’s absence was more obvious than it felt.

The gravel crunches under the tires of his car as he parks. “We moved in three years ago, had the whole place redone. We tried to rip out that sense of regime and… severity.” He hesitates. “And the stench of alcohol.” Your interest is piqued by that, taking the bait like a stupid fish. He’s amused by it. “Come on.” And he gets out. 

You smile faintly and follow him onto the porch, stepping over the deflated basketball discarded on the tiled stairs. 

The inside has colour now, no longer so uniform and stark. As much as you love – loved – your father, the man struggled to design a home. It’s nice. Really, you like what he’s done with the place. 

Asier gestures for you to follow him into the living room, electric blue and full of pictures. Your two other brothers, Ander and Adrian, are seated on the sofas, both sprawled out and lazily watching a recap of the football as though this were a normal visit. Hesitantly, you make your presence known. 

Adrian is the first to notice, his face lighting up at the sight of you. You don’t know what you expected to see, but this isn’t it. His expression softens immediately, and for a split second, you see a glimpse of the little boy he once was, sheepish and guilty of crimes he hasn’t yet committed. 

“You’re not too banged up,” he says after a beat, his voice gentle and impressed. The rest of the room goes quiet and you can feel the tension rise, but it’s not as sharp as you thought it would be. Maybe it’s because time has passed for them. You can’t say the same. 

Then Ander leans forwards, far less subtle. “You forgave me. So before you shout at me again, make sure you keep that in mind.” He doesn’t seem irritated or put off, just a bit inconvenienced and… bored. It takes you by surprise and kills the fight in your throat momentarily. He pounces on your silence: “Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft.” 

You shake your head, both to disagree and snap yourself out of the blip of absolution because that is something you don’t remember yet. You don’t feel soft. Not at all. You feel sharp, like the ache in your chest won’t ever leave, like you’ve been carrying something for a long time and it needs to be addressed. You look away. 

“I kept the baby.” It’s an obvious statement. Asier already said he’s visited you and Amaia. “I moved away and I had a child, and what did you three do?” 

“You told us you were leaving. You asked us not to follow, not to reach out.” Adrian is referencing something you can’t recall. “And you nearly didn’t keep her. Asi was coming from a place of reason.” 

“It doesn’t need justification,” Asier says calmly. You’re not sure whose side he’s on. “Adrian is right. You asked us not to interfere. It’s not that we didn’t care, but you made it clear you didn’t want us to. We respected that.” 

The room feels colder with the weight of his words, but there’s no bite to them, no condemnation. It’s just the truth. And the truth stings more than you anticipated. “I was a child.” 

“You insisted you weren’t. That was your main point, actually,” says Ander. 

Adrian fidgets in his seat, his gaze darting between you and Asier. “We were stupid and we regretted it. Dad regretted it too, though he never admitted that.” The boys grow more pained at the mention of him. “I don’t know how we could’ve helped, even if we’d tried. None of us were ready to hear that our baby sister was… not a baby anymore.” 

It doesn’t reach you in the way they should. Your mind spins, but it’s not in anger anymore. It’s a sort of blankness, a weariness that comes from unnecessary strife and grief and rupture of a network so strong. “I never asked you to leave me alone,” you say quietly, and the boys hear your voice from six years ago layered on top of it, a mirror of the past. This took place over the phone, then, stemming from an argument about your absence from a funeral. “I asked you not to judge me for my choices, but that was never the same thing. And yet, all of you let me go without a word.” 

Asier shifts uncomfortably, the glug of a bottle breaking the silence that follows you statement. He hands you a glass. “Lemonade,” he says. 

“I’m sorry. For everything. I don’t know how else to say it,” blurts Adrian, who has always been impatient and far too close to you to drag these things out. 

Your legs tremble but Asier is there to steady you. “Sit down, txurru. Let’s talk.” 

Over drinks, they recount it all. Fight by fight, death by death. No one cries as Asier carefully details your father’s descent into alcoholism; how he lost his footing, how he left his life’s work with no apparent reason, killing himself slowly until one day, there was nothing he could do but actually die. Unflinching, they tell you about the late-night arguments, the doors slamming, the silence that followed. Your father’s temper had fractured the family over the years, though you’d been too blind to see until the day you left, and it did not subside in the years you spent estranged. 

They talk about how much they missed you, how they’d send texts to a number you no longer used, or tried to find you on social media. Pride fills the room when Ander talks about finding you on your firm’s website. 

For the first time since the accident, you feel tethered to something, something that feels like it could belong to you. These boys – men, really – share your face and they share your past, and, as the lump in your throat falls away, you realise that this is what home feels like. 

But that tether is violently yanked away when your phone buzzes. 

“Where the fuck are you?!” Alexia’s voice is sharp, teetering on the edge of fury and desperation. 

You squint, confused at why she is so upset, then remembering that Alexia isn’t some random woman who reminds you to take your pain medication and drives you to your appointments. 

“Bilbao.” 

The seconds tick on before Alexia musters the restraint to reply without blowing up your ears from six hundred kilometres away. “You should’ve told me.” 

“Sorry.” 

“You don’t sound it,” she replies bitterly. For a moment, Alexia seems like she hates your guts. And then she takes a deep breath, leaving the silence to fill the gap between you.

[nosyrobin]

|| WHEN UNCLE!READER GETS SICK AND THE BATBOYS HEAR ABOUT IT ||

Coughing, sneezing, raspy voice, achy body. Oh dear, you got a cold. Shaking like a damn leaf on a windy day, you called your brother. Bruce immediately picks up the phone, you knew he was in the bat cave. Hearing the bat-computer keys and talking. You could only roll your eyes as you talked to him. “Can’t make it. I’m sick” you said. He responded it with a “sick? Stay home. I’ll send Alfred to make you some soup Y/N.” You could only nod before coughing a storm up. If you could see your brother now, he would be frowning with concern.

“It’s not….deadly is it?” “What?! Bruce, no. It’s a cold. Yknow how I get.” You said closing your eyes about to hang up and rest. Bruce only sighed for the other side of the phone. “Alright.” “And Bruce.” “Yeah?” “DONT let the boys know I’m sick. Yknow how they get when I’m sick…” sadly they found out. You didn’t know how or when. But of course you knew who found out first.

Tim found out first, first because you didn’t show to the manor on the daily time you always do. Tim notice Alfred picking up your favorite soup you eat when sick when you use to live here at the manor when he was Robin. Tim frowned, you’re sick. You’re sick, alone, withering away in bed. What kind of nephew would he be if his dear uncle is not with company. So with that, he grabbed some doctor gloves, a face mask, hand sanitizer and Lysol. He was prepared. When Alfred went away to secure the packed soup, Tim took the packed up soup and ran out the door to drive to your house.

Jason surprisingly was the second to find out. He lives with you, like a roommate kinda of thing? So why in the world would he be second? Because he was too busy bleeding out in the manor after a fight and he had to stay in the same manor over night before you had gotten sick. Jason had seen Tim run out the door when he came down the stairs. Narrowing his eyes in suspicion as he also sen that the packed soup was the kind of soup you ate only if you were sick or terribly hungry. But since he knew you weren’t in the manor, he went with the former and immediately dressed up to go see his sick uncle.

Damian, he always knows when something is going on. But he definitely knows when something is going on when he sees his two brothers leave the manor. “Uncle’s sick Titus. Drake has his favorite soup and Todd has his favorite book. Pathetic, they forgot uncle’s heated up blanket.” Damian says with a smirk. Certainly holding it as Titus barks at his owner. “Guess we will pay my uncle a visit, I’ll see you later.” The brown skinned boy said as he pats his beloved dog. Leaving the manor with a shortcut to your house.

Dick was last, and was mad knowing that no one informed him that you were sick! Like cmon, he’s the first Robin and he had more of a bond with you when he was little! So how could his brothers leave him in the dust like that! He immediately got off work and speeded over to your house. He got some of your snacks, a “get well soon” card. And just some flowers, it was perfect. Perfect for the “favorite” nephew of course.

Tim was first at your door and entered using a copy of your spare key, then Jason shoulder rushed Tim like a football player, Damian was going through your window, and dick…dick just stood there watching his little brothers cause havoc. The soup was saved by Damian sliding to catch it, Tim almost had a heart attack as Jason just glares at all the brothers in his “home.”

Damian smirks, ready to get the “best nephew” award by handing you the soup you desire when sick. That was before Jason picked him like a stray cat. “What the hell you’re doing here demon?” “I’m just doing what needs to be done. Helping uncle.” Damian says with a glare. Dick takes Damian out of Jason’s bear grip and then helps Tim up. “Well, arguing isn’t going to help. Let’s just see how unc is doing guys.” All the boys nod in agreement, going inside your room. Tim still looks like a doctor so he was the last one in.

You were surprised, very surprised to see all four of your brother’s kids and your nephews at your house smiling as if they didn’t just break in. You heard them, but you thought you were just hallucinating. Damian gave you the still hot and ready soup on your night stand and your blanket. He wanted to get on your bed and lay with you, but you shook your head no. Not wanting to get him sick. Jason just sat down in a chair you have in your room, watching you closely like a hawk in case something happens. Tim was taking your temperature, asking you about the medicine you have taken. Basically a worried baby worried for his poor “old” uncle. Dick just lays the basket of things he bought for you. Smirking as he made a comment about how he is obviously the “favorite” nephew. That made everyone mad, cue to loud arguing and Damian ready to jump his brother.

As much as the boys loved you, they acted as if you were on your death bed. Which made you kinda mad, but at least they care for you a lot. But the constant arguing was not helping you as headaches started to attack. You coughed loudly as you felt your eyes droop more. You hated being sick, but you mostly hated your peace being ruined.

“Out! Out now!” You yelled with a raspy voice, all the boys stop. Frowning before leaving, except for Jason who stood there with crossed arms. “I live here unc…” you glare before throwing a box of tissues at your buffed up nephew who didn’t seem phased at all. “Not as of now mister, you stay at the manor or whatever you go until I get better.” Jason stayed silent before leaving. Not before putting a bottled up medicine by your bed, with a small note that says “get better.”

[lipglossanon]

Day 8

Kink: Spitting & Overstimulation

Pairing: Corrupt Cop!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, a slightly softer CC Leon (don’t ask me how it happened lmao), dirty talk, possessive Leon, spitting, overstimulation, praise, daddy kink, fingering, pussy slapping, multiple orgasms, squirting

not proofread

The night’s breezy, sending chills across your body and making you regret your choice of wearing a cute skirt to meet up with Leon at the local carnival. Surprisingly, the date has been sweet. He’s only touched your shoulders and lower back to guide you around the stalls and rides. 

You split a funnel cake and share a messy, powdered sugar flavored kiss afterwards. It’s enough to let your guard down, which is your second mistake of the night (after the fashion choice). It all starts with some people from out of town, a couple of guys who more than likely have had too much to drink. 

They say something to you, but you’re not paying attention. Leon is though. Leon’s head is always on a swivel when you’re out together. He leaves you standing next to the basketball game, hands clutching the plushie he just won you as he walks over to the pair. Your heart rate picks up, seeing the look on Leon’s face—nothing ever bodes well with that look. 

A group of teenagers stop in front of you, blocking the trio from view. Standing up on your tiptoes doesn’t help and you don’t really wanna move and have Leon be disappointed you didn’t listen to him. The teens shift and you see Leon walking back to you, bypassing the noisy group to stand in front of you again. 

Glancing down you see blood on his knuckles and you gasp.

“Are you okay?” You reach for his hand but he pulls away. 

“Of course,” he uses his clean hand to cup your chin, thumb smoothing across your skin. “Let’s head home so I can clean up.”

You nod, “Okay.”

His lips tic into a half smile, “Such a good girl.”

Heat sweeps through you and you bite your bottom lip, letting him wrap his arm around your shoulders and lead you out of the carnival grounds to his car. The ride back to your place is quiet save for the radio playing on low volume. You squeeze the plushie to your chest, eyes watching the landscape pass you by until he’s pulling up to your place. 

Once the door’s unlocked, Leon disappears into the guest bath to use the first aid kit tucked under the sink. You kick off your shoes and wander down the hall into your bedroom. Gently sitting the stuffed raccoon on your dresser, your shoulders drop, tension leaving your body now that you’re home.   

“Is this where you’re gonna keep him?” 

Leon’s thick arms wrap around your body, hugging you back against his chest. 

“Mmhmm,” you smile although he can’t see. “It looks cute here.”

“Sure does, sweetheart,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear. “Know what else is cute?”

A breath hitches in your throat as he slips his hands down your body, one pulling up your skirt so he can run his other hand over your panty clad mound.  

“This soft pussy,” he groans, fingers delving underneath your panties to rub against your slit. “Cutest little pussy I’ve ever seen.”

He bites down on your neck and you mewl, hips rocking into his hand. Moving your hands behind you, you tangle them in his hair with a sigh. 

“Oh,” you pause, body stiffening, “how’s your hand?”

“Aw, are you worried?” He chuckles and it makes your skin prickle. “It’s fine, just a few cuts. Won’t stop me from playing with your hot cunt, pretty girl.”

Shivering, you whine and relax back against him. 

“That’s it,” he coos mockingly, “you like me taking care of you, huh? Yeah, you do.”

“Leon, please,” you whimper, slick filling the gusset of your panties. 

“Spoiled pussy,” he grunts. “Nothing but a spoiled little pussy.”

Three of his fingers sink knuckle deep into your drippy hole. You whimper and rock down against his hand. 

“But this is my spoiled pussy isn’t it, baby? She’s only crying so much cause daddy treats her so nicely.”

“Yes, yes, please, Leon,” you hiccup a whine, thighs trembling. 

“My pretty girl,” he sinks his teeth in your shoulder and you cry out, clamping down tightly on his fingers buried in your cunt. 

Curling the digits, Leon rubs against your g-spot, heightening your pleasure until it’s too much for your body to handle. He pulls his fingers out suddenly and your orgasm teeters on the edge before tapering off. Frustrated tears slip from your eyes as your cunt flutters around nothing. 

“Daddy, please, ‘m so close,” you moan softly, fingers tugging his hair.

He cups your throat with one hand, angling your head back onto his shoulder. 

“Open your mouth,” he growls, fingers tightening on your neck. 

Dropping your bottom lip, you loll your tongue out, heart pounding in your chest as arousal blazes through your veins. He laughs down at you. 

“Don’t have to tell you to swallow, do I, pretty girl?”

Not letting you answer, he spits down on your tongue, watching with dilated eyes as you swallow with a moan. He shakes his grip when he feels your throat bob against his hand. 

“Again.”

Your lips fall open eagerly and he drools a line of spit down into your mouth. Whining, you swallow down the saliva, mouth dropping back open without Leon saying anything. 

“Good girl,” he spits on your tongue one last time before manhandling you over to the bed. He pushes you down onto the mattress and shoves your skirt up, yanking your panties down and off. 

His hand comes down and smacks your clit, the flat of his fingers stinging in the best way. Your hips writhe, torn between wanting more of those rough slaps or reprieve from the sharp pleasure. Leon decides for you, gripping one of your hips and pressing down on the bone until you whine. Once you still your movement, he rains slaps down across your thighs and cunt, catching your clit with his fingertips. 

Crying out, you tangle your fingers in the sheets, leg muscles twitching and jumping. 

“God, look at this wet mess you’re making, baby,” he croons nastily. “Love getting this fat pussy slapped, don’t you?”

He lands a hard smack across your cunt and your whole body shudders, slick dripping from your hole to saturate the bed spread. His fingers part your pussy lips and he fucks the digits into your fluttering walls, scissoring you open before curling upwards to rub across your g-spot. 

“Leon, oh that’s so good,” you keen, head grinding back against the pillow. 

He fingerfucks your pussy fast and hard, thumb pressing against your clit to circle the swollen bud. With his fingers constantly rubbing the spongy spot at the front of your pussy, your orgasm winds higher and higher. 

“Soak my fingers, sweetheart,” he grins, eyes dragging up from your spread open pussy to your blown out gaze. “Show me how good it feels.”

He leans over your hip and spits, a hot glob of saliva dripping down over your clit that he rubs in with his thumb. That’s enough to push you completely over the edge. A low cry spills from your lips, toes curling while your body jerks as you cum. The wet sound of Leon fingering you through your orgasm meets your ears—the loud plap plap plapmakes you whine, cunt fluttering and milking his fingers even more. 

“Give me another, I know you can,” he goads, the pads of his fingers grinding against your g-spot. 

On the heels of your first orgasm, creeps the second. It doesn’t take as long as you think before your back bows off the bed, climax creating fireworks in your brain as you moan and whimper. Leon still doesn’t let up and the pleasure begins to become too much. He pins you down against the bed, roughly fucking his fingers into your sopping wet cunt. 

“Leon, I can’t—“ 

Your voice cracks, a sob breaking free as tears fill your eyes. 

“Please, daddy, s’too much.”

“One more,” he murmurs. “One more and you can rest.”

Openly crying, you nod, knowing that when he wrings out your next orgasm it’s going to make you pass out. Your cunt pulses at the thought and Leon groans, thumb rubbing your slippery clit. 

“C’mon, pretty girl, you can do it.”

He lets go of your hip and brings his hand down to pinch and lightly smack your clit. The pain is enough to trigger your third orgasm of the night, pussy squirting so much it soaks the bed and Leon’s arm. 

 “Fuck, good girl, that’s my good girl,” he hums, pleased as punch. “God, look at this messy fucking pussy.”

Blood rushes through your ears and your dazed eyes meet his before they flutter shut in empty bliss. 

[stepbrorafe]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

The hot water hits you in a stream, steam fogging up the glass door of your shower. Your hands run through your hair, soaking up the way the scalding water soothes your tense muscles.

You let out a hum from the pleasant feeling, before suddenly turning towards the glass door as you heard shuffling on the other side. Your brows furrow as you attempt to see through the steam, only coming up with nothing. You shrug it off as just being tired from your long day.

Letting the water fall over you for a few more minutes, you finally open your eyes once more to the sound of the shower door clicking open.

Your stepbrother stands in the doorway of the shower, towering over you with a dark look in his eyes. His hair falls over his forehead as he looks you up and down, his lips pulling into a devious smirk.

“What are you doing?!” You shriek, covering your naked body as best you can.

“I need to shower.” Rafe shrugs as if it’s not big deal.

You gape at him, “Um, clearly I am right now.”

He chuckles, “Come on. We can save water.”

Before you can object, he’s taking off his shirt. You stare in bewilderment, appalled by his carelessness. Your mouth parts as you take in his physique. You’ve always thought he was panty dropping, but now that he’s getting in the shower with you, you’re suddenly very aware of the fact.

He closes you both in the shower, turning to you with a small grin. You’re frozen in place, mouth still slack, completely thrown off by his presence like this. His grin only grows as he takes in your awkward stance, arms still clinging to your body in a futile effort to hide yourself.

“You gonna share some water or what?” He quips, inching closer to you.

You rack your brain in an attempt to find something to say, anything, but you’re left dumbfounded. His arms meet your elbows, softly moving you to the side, so that he can get under the stream.

Swallowing the dryness in your mouth, you manage to speak, “You shouldn’t be in here, it’s not right.”

His brows furrow as he faces you, “Relax, kid. Not like I’m feeling you up… Unless-“

Before you can get a single word out, his hands are cupping your waist and pulling you flush against him under the steaming fall of water. Your heartbeat quickens as you feel his member growing against your stomach.

“Rafe-“ You whisper, only for him to cut you off as he grasps your jaw.

Before you know it, his arms are hooked under your knees while he holds you up as he drills into your sopping pussy. Your back is pressed against the cold glass, providing the perfect balance to your burning skin.

“Oh my fuck.” You cry out, tits bouncing against Rafe’s chest as he thrusts in and out of you.

Your legs shake in his grip, your pussy tightening around him every so often. He attacks your mouth with a string of feverish kisses, two of you panting into one another.

“Always knew you’d be a slut for my cock, sis.” He groans in your ear, lowering you in perfect timing to meet his rough strokes.

You can’t help the loud moans that emit from your mouth as he continues to deliciously bruise your cervix. The sound of your skin slapping as his hips viciously slam into yours fills the bathroom, louder than the water pellets hitting the floor.

“Raaafe.” You cry out in staggered moans, your voice quivering with every thrust.

“Gonna cum for me? Hm?” He hums, “Wanna cum on my cock?”

You gnaw on your bottom lip to prevent the screams from spilling and furiously nod your head. He smirks down at you and picks up the brutal pace, completely wrecking your sweet little cunt.

Without warning, you’re clenching around him as your body shakes. The band in your stomach snaps, unable to hold back any longer, coating his throbbing dick in your juices with a pornographic moan leaving your mouth.

His thrusts don’t stop, only growing deeper and harder as he grunts, causing you to squeal, “Too much!”

He slams you down hard on his cock, the imprint of him bulging from your stomach as he cums, painting your walls a milky white. He keeps pumping in and out of you, filling you up until he has nothing left to give.

Placing you down on wobbly legs, he roughly squeezes your cheeks and plants a sloppy kiss on your lips.

“You belong to me now.”

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

tags : @sunkissedrafe @wickedtactics @bunnycvnts @butterflyoceandreams @rafesgiirl @yourenogoodforme @marvelfanfics1recs @cini-mini27 @pinkribboncoco @drewsphswife @laniirackssss @ditzyzombiesblog

[steddielations]

Steve doesn’t know if he should say something.

He knows, he obviously knows that Eddie’s been taking his clothes.

It’s like a routine at this point. They’ll be hanging around Steve’s pool or up on his roof getting high, Eddie will say he’s cold no matter what he’s wearing or how warm it is. And if Steve’s not wearing a jacket to give him, Eddie will go ruffle through Steve’s closet and at the end of the night, he always “forgets” to give it back before he leaves.

Steve’s not sure if Eddie’s just doing it to fuck with him or if it’s an actual reason. Like Eddie doesn’t have clothes, or his washer is broken and he can’t afford to fix it, or he doesn’t have money for the laundromat or something serious that Steve does not want to be insensitive about, but he’s seriously running out of clothes.

For fuck’s sake, he’s wearing his Christmas sweater from two years ago, he literally had nothing else in his closet.

He’s starting to think that’s the endgame here, that Eddie’s just waiting until Steve shows up bare ass naked so he can laugh in his face.

Finally, Steve decides to get some answers while they’re hanging out in Eddie’s room, wearing his too-small Christmas sweater that Eddie’s already teased him about.

“Eddie, is… is everything like… okay?”

Steve asks carefully, picking at threads on Eddie’s comforter.

Eddie’s fingers pause on his guitar strings, joint hanging out of his mouth as he gives Steve a curious look.

“You mean just in general or…? Because I’m far from what someone like yourself would consider “okay” but that’s normal for me.”

Steve looks around the room, noting the usual piles of Eddie’s clothes, recognizing a lot of his own. Doesn’t seem like Eddie’s in any shortage of things to wear, and his laundry always piles up. Nothing looks out of sorts, maybe he just hasn’t felt like doing it lately, and Steve doesn’t want to be insensitive if that’s the case either.

He minds his words, “I mean like, are things okay for you? Like around the house, your refrigerator’s working, your washing machine isn’t broken or anything?”

Eddie smirks, “What if they’re not? Is Handyman Harrington gonna put on his little toolbelt and fix it all up?” He always makes light when he senses something uneasy coming.

“Real funny. I’m serious, Eddie. Is there a reason you haven’t done laundry? If you’re not feeling up to it or something, I don’t mind helping.”

Eddie sobers a little then, putting his guitar down and dabbing out the joint in the ashtray on the bedside table, “Yes my washing machine works. Yes I can do my laundry, I’m just lazy as shit and letting it pile up. What’s this about, Steve?”

“Because you—” Steve runs his fingers through his hair, pulling it, flustered, “I’m literally wearing my Christmas sweater in goddamn October because you have all my clothes, dude.”

Something registers in Eddie’s gaze but he quickly deflects, laughing, “Oh is that why? I thought you just pulled out that little number ‘cause it's skin tight, you minx.”

“Is everything okay?” Steve doesn’t let him change the subject, offering gently, “If you need to borrow some money or use my washer or something then—”

“No, no that’s not it,” Eddie shakes his head, smile gone, seeming kind of nervous now, “I don’t need anything like that, Stevie.”

Steve sighs, at a loss, “So why do you keep taking my clothes, Eddie?”

Eddie lets out a small laugh, almost sad, a little bitter, “You’re really gonna make me say it, Harrington?”

“Say what? You can tell me,” Steve scoots closer to him on the bed. He tries to meet Eddie’s gaze, to make sure he knows he can tell Steve. Fuck, they saved the world together, they almost died together, he knows he can tell Steve anything.

So it sort of hurts when Eddie won’t look at him, or answer him, but Steve tries to be understanding.

“Okay,” he sighs, resigned, “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me, but I’m just gonna need some of them back if that’s alright—”

“God, you really are something,” Eddie gives that same bitter laugh. It hurts, mostly because Steve knows there’s something deeper here, something’s hurting Eddie and he won’t tell Steve. “Of course, it’s alright. They’re your clothes, it’s not even… Fuck, it’s not even about the clothes.”

“So you were just fucking with me then?”

Eddie shakes his head, hands tugging his own hair, the way he does when he’s anxious, “No, it wasn’t a prank Steve.”

“You’re trying out a different style?”

“Definitely not.”

“Dustin dared you, or something?”

“No, it’s not like that—”

“So then why did you do it? I don’t—”

“Shit, Steve, I’m— I took them because they smell like you, alright?”

Steve’s mouth opens and closes several times.

“I… You… What?”

Eddie won’t look him in the eyes, sighing sharply down at the bed, “Don’t make me say it again.”

Steve blinks, asking slowly, “You… like the way that I smell?”

Eddie finally looks up at him, a heavy cloud behind his dark eyes as he admits, “Yes I do and not in a friend sort of way. In a way that I’m literally stealing all your clothes like a fucking weirdo just to feel like I’m hugging you at night, or something— I dunno, Steve. It helps with the nightmares.”

Steve’s heart is sort of doing flips in his chest.

That’s another reason why he waited so long to say anything. He doesn’t mind Eddie taking some of his clothes. He likes the idea of Eddie wearing everything that’s his, and not just as a friend helping out another friend. In a deeper way, in a way that he’s been suppressing because he didn’t want to ruin things with Eddie.

“That could still be a friend thing,” Steve says carefully, hoping that Eddie disagrees.

“It’s not a friend thing,” Eddie shakes his head, starting to move away from the bed and Steve’s stomach drops, “I don’t have ‘friend’ feelings for you, Steve. So I get it if you wanna walk out that door and never talk to me again. I’ll give all your clothes back, I shouldn’t have—”

Steve’s hand shoots out to Eddie’s knee, stopping him, rushing to say, “I don’t like you as a friend either.”

Eddie quickly looks up, expression careful, confused, “You— huh?”

“Fuck, that came out wrong, I just…” Steve sighs, bolsters himself up and rubs Eddie’s knee softly but with intent as he asks, “Eddie, can I hug you in a not-friend way?”

Eddie’s eyes flick up and down between Steve’s hand and his face about ten different times, gaze utterly wild, “Are you saying you have feelings for—”

“Just get over here and find out.”

Eddie’s grin mirrors Steve’s as he crawls across the bed. He’s tentative still, careful, so Steve just goes in, wrapping his arms around Eddie and pulling him against his chest. Eddie goes willingly, sliding his palms across Steve’s stupid Christmas sweater, his nose at Steve’s collar, breathing in deep.

Steve chuckles as Eddie burrows in, mumbling something about how good he smells.

Steve loves the way Eddie smells too, nuzzling into his hair, breathing in a hint of shampoo, smoke and something earthy, something Eddie. Steve loves the way he feels too, wants him impossibly closer.

“So why did you need so many of my clothes?” He asks softly after a while.

Eddie doesn’t lift his head when he replies, “Works best when the Steve smell is still strong. Had to get more when I sniffed it all up.”

Steve rolls his eyes, something like fondness tugging at his lips.

“You said it helps with nightmares?”

Eddie nods against him, admitting quietly, “On nights when my uncle works, it gets kinda creepy being alone here. Just having something that smells like you makes it feel like— I dunno, like you’re here with me. It’s weird.”

“It’s not. I wish I would’ve thought of that when my nightmares were bad,” instead of just not sleeping, or calling Robin all hours of the night. “Your uncle works tonight, right?”

“Yeah, he… yeah.”

Steve feels like he should be more nervous than he is, but Eddie hasn’t let up since the second Steve pulled him in, so he feels like he’s on the right track here.

“What if I stayed over? I have a feeling you’ll like hugging my sweater even more when I’m inside it.”

That makes Eddie burrow further into his neck, pressing a smile there.

“Already trying to get into my bed, Harrington? Should wait until at least the third hug for that,” playfully, Steve gives his side a little pinch, both of them chuckling, “Yeah, I’d like it if you stayed.”

Satisfied with that answer, Steve takes a risk, carefully wraps his hand around the back of Eddie’s legs, tugging a little to pull Eddie into his lap. Thankfully, Eddie wants it too. He sits atop Steve’s thighs and just melts into him, both of them sighing against each other.

Steve rubs broad circles across Eddie’s back, soothing the fabric of his yellow sweater that seems to be Eddie’s favorite to steal. He smiles into Eddie’s hair, feeling so warm and buzzing pleasantly all over.

It could’ve been hours gone by, Steve basking in Eddie’s body heat, in the weight of him, condensation forming against his neck where Eddie’s breathing him in. He pulls back a little, studies the blissed out look on Eddie’s face.

He blinks slowly at Steve, “Hey.”

Steve shakes his head, chuckling softly, “Hey, dummy.”

“Dummy?” Eddie parrots, grinning.

“Yeah. You’d rather steal my entire wardrobe than just give me a hug?” Steve squeezes him a little, “What if you wanted to kiss me, hm? Would you steal my chapstick?”

He lets his eyes linger on Eddie’s lips, hoping he gets the hint, takes the subtle offer.

Eddie’s finger toys with his collar, brushing the bone there as he murmurs back, “If you’d just kiss me I wouldn’t have to steal your chapstick to know how you taste.”

Steve tips his head back with a soft laugh before cupping Eddie’s face, “God, c’mere, you idiot,” then leans in and presses their smiling lips together.

It’s sweet at first, just gently pecking each other. Then the kisses last longer, grow deeper, tasting each other. Steve’s mouth falls open in a sigh, letting Eddie lick inside, sucking lightly on his lip.

Kissing Eddie is everything, a deep warmth simmering in Steve’s bones that he can’t get enough of. He wants it all over him, wants to clothe himself in it, burrow inside Eddie and never come out.

He leans back against the pillows, taking Eddie with him in his lap. The movement makes them rub together in a way that has Steve humming against Eddie’s lips, gripping his hips as a new kind of pleasure lights inside him.

Eddie pulls back then, laughing breathlessly.

“Okay,” he nuzzles their noses together, grinning as he mumbles, “We gotta relax or I’m gonna have to steal another pair of your underwear too.”

Steve playfully rolls his eyes as he moves his hands elsewhere, wrapping them around Eddie’s back.

Then, a beat later, it clicks and his brows furrow.

“Wait, what do you mean another pair, Munson?”

Eddie laughs and quickly dives back in for another kiss, silencing any more questions from Steve.

Ao3 Link

[lovebugism]

Hii can i request “It’s a brain freeze, you’re not dying, stop making a scene.” with steve for the fictober event pretty please

ty for requesting lovie!! — you and steve get too drunk at a halloween party and chief hopper comes to save you (tooth-rotting fluff, established relationship, tw for drinking and not being proofread, 1.7k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Steve opens the back door of Jim’s cop car for you, swaying in place and urging your drunken limps inside. “Thanks for picking us up, Chief,” you chirp, slurring slightly and smiling wide.

The old grump sends you a deadpanned look over his shoulder. He’s visibly tired, features blurred with exhaustion. His white t-shirt and pajama pants are still wrinkled with leftover sleep. The two of you are wearing two a.m. very definitely.

“Yeah, yeah. Just buckle up, alright?” he hums gruffly as Steve slides in beside you. “I’m just happy you two called me and didn’t try to drive yourself.”

He puts the car in drive and peels away from the curb. The bass pulsing from Tina’s house begins to fade. The man flinches dramatically when you lean forward to slap his shoulder.

“That’s ‘cause we’re responsible adults,” you quip, then turn to your right to look at your boyfriend. “Aren’t we, Stevie?”

The Stevie in question is on a different planet entirely. His hair is a wild chestnut halo on his head, the crown of it tilted to the headrest. The tendons of his neck are on display, as are the faint red lipstick stains you pressed onto his tanned skin. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. 

Cheeks rosy and eyes fluttered shut, you can’t tell if he’s sleeping or not.

“Right, Stevie?” you repeat with a gentle shove to his arm.

His eyes open, red-rimmed and glassy. “Hm?”

“We’re responsible.”

“Oh. Yeah. Totally. Look at us,” he scoffs without a second thought.

The two of you flash a couple of drunk, lopsided grins at Jim, who peers at you from the rearview mirror. He grumbles something under his breath neither of you can make out.

You get distracted by the amber streetlights flitting by until looking out the window makes you queasy. When you look at Steve again, his eyes are shut and his chin is tilted towards his chest. You feel an obligation to keep him awake — like he’s concussed or something and not just piss drunk.

“You with me, Stevie?” you mutter, reaching for his face and holding his stubbly chin between your thumb and forefinger.

His heavy eyelids flutter slowly open. His dark eyes are honeyed. They flit like syrup across your features. A smile pulls at the right corner of his plush mouth. “You look so pretty right now, you know that?” he murmurs in inaudible slurs.

You hear him anyway, equally as drunk and speaking the same language even though Jim can’t understand a word.

“Just right now?” you tease. “As opposed to, like, every other moment in time?”

His bushy brows twist in offense — nose scrunching and lips pouting, like you’ve pained him by even joking about it. “No. You’re pretty all the time, just… A little extra like this.”

You don’t know what he means. You look like a total mess — hair wild, makeup smudged, drunk and fatigued and wearing it all over. But Steve looks at you like you’re beautiful anyway. Like you hung the fucking moon sitting full in the pitch black sky.

His brows raise and his eyes sparkle. “’S kinda makin’ my heart race a little bit, actually.”

You scoff and roll your eyes, turning him away from you and letting go of his chin. “That’s just the alcohol, Stevie.”

“No, it’s love—”

You giggle at his slurred singing, louder when he leans across the backseat to kiss you. His aim is horribly off, wet mouth smacking at the corner of your lips down towards your chin. 

Hopper shouts at you anyway. “Hey! Uh-uh, no sucking face in my backseat— especially not in front of me, alright?” the man grouses, hands fidgeting on the steering wheel. “Spare me the emotional turmoil, will ya?”

You sneak a quiet peck to Steve’s pouted mouth when Jim’s not looking.

The boy grins with contentment a second later. “Mm,” he hums, tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip. “You taste like cherry.”

“It’s the punch. It tasted just like slurpees, I swear—” You’re about to start rambling, then cut yourself off with a dramatic gasp. “Hopper!”

“No,” the man montones from the front seat. It’s like he can read your mind. 

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say!” you whine with a pout.

“I’m not stopping for slurpees, alright? I’m taking you kids home so you can sober up and get the hell out from under me. That’s it.”

There’s a brief moment of silence. For that fleeting second, Jim thinks he’s won. Then you and Steve inhale a deep breath and beg at the same time, “Pleaseeee!”

He sighs so deeply his chest deflates like a popped balloon. He readjusts his grip on the pleather steering wheel and grumbles like a storm cloud.

“Jim, please,” you beg, dramatic and terribly loud with it. The man flinches when you reach forward to grab his arm. He slows at a stoplight and turns back to look at you, bathed in neon red and sparkling with desperation. “I need slurpees to live.”

Jim blinks at you for a moment, then turns away when the light goes green again. He shakes his head and mumbles, “God, you’re so dramatic…” 

You smile all giddy as you sit back because you know you’ve won.

“You’re lucky I need to get gas, anyway,” he tells you, just to make himself feel better, as he pulls into the nearest Seven-Eleven parking.

The intensity of the fluorescent lights makes you squint. The very distant headache you’ve been fighting off since midnight starts to creep back up again. Steve sees this — because there’s nothing about you he doesn’t notice — and swipes his sunglasses off his face to put them on you.

“Thanks, Zuko,” you joke as he pushes the plastic up the bridge of your nose.

Jim, seemingly less grumpy than moments before, unbuckles his seatbelt and looks at the two of you over his shoulder. “That’s what you guys are supposed to be?” he scoffs out a laugh as he fishes his wallet out of his pocket. “Those kids from Grease?”

“No,” you answer with a dramatic drawl. “I’m you. Duh.”

Hopper almost breaks his neck with the double take he gives you. He squints at your tropical-patterned shirt, unbuttoned at the chest and tucked into your jeans, and realizes you are him. He doesn’t know if he should be mad or honored.

“I was supposed to be Sandy, but then Steve ripped the costume,” you reason with a shrug.

Jim’s eyes narrow. “Was it too small?”

“Nope,” you answer in a monotone, popping the ‘p.’

His scruffy face twists like he’s tasted something sour. “You guys are disgusting.”

“It was a blessing in disguise, though. This is, like, a kajillion times more comfortable.”

Steve nods beside you, slow and sloppy and full of hubris. “This was a much better choice.”

“It’s super hot, right?”

“Total dilf material.”

Jim’s features scrunch. It’s like you two are speaking a different language. “What the hell does that mean?” he wonders aloud. 

You and Steve share a look before snickering and getting out of the car. 

He repeats, louder this time. “Hey. What does dilf mean? Hey! I’m talking to you—”

His only answer is the slam of the car door.

Like an annoyed father, Jim swears at the two of you under his breath while he pumps gas but eyes both of you attentively to make sure you get inside without busting your ass. 

When he follows you to pay, he finds you acting like a couple of unsupervised toddlers. You lick flavored ice from your fingertips while Steve leans back with his face beneath the lever, pouring blue raspberry slush into his mouth.

“What the hell are you two doing?” Jim scolds from the entrance, brows pinched and mouth agape. Your eyes go wide, still licking syrup from your fingers. Steve, meanwhile, is still trying to swallow his melting mouthful. Hopper shakes his head. “There are cups right next to you.”

The man escorts the both of you out after he pays. 

Steve holds one of your hands and swings it between your bodies. Your free hand is at your head, rubbing gently at your temples. The ache is distant and dull, like an ice pick has been shoved inside your skull.

“Ow…” you whine softly to yourself when getting into the car jostles the pain. 

Jim watches you try and fail to buckle yourself in. He can’t tell if you’re still just drunk or if your headache’s making it harder for you. Maybe both. He reaches over to help you anyway.

“It’s just a brain freeze, you’re not dying,” the man grouses over your whining, clicking the latch into place. “Stop making a scene about it. You’re fine.”

He leans back from you and is about to shut the door. Then, with a flat face, he asks, “Are you okay?”

“My head hurts…” you murmur, slurring like a sick child desperate to be babied.

Hopper sighs. “You’re okay…”

He shuts the door with a gentle push. He gets into the driver’s seat and resumes the drive home in a relative quiet.

You and Steve lean against each other in the backseat. He hogs the slurpee you both agreed to share, but you don’t mind. You’re still fighting off a headache like you’re fighting off sleep.

“Did you have fun?” the boy asks you, resting his cheek against your hair. You can smell the blue raspberry on his breath.

“I always have fun,” you mumble.

“At Halloween parties?”

“No, dummy. With you.”

“Oh,” he hums with a crooked smile you can’t see. “Sweet.”

Jim’s smiling to himself before he means to, shaking his head at how goddamn in love the two of you are. It’s so sanguine, it makes him sick.

He slows when he pulls up to Steve’s house. The mansion is totally empty — not a car in the driveway or a single light on. No one’s here, because no one’s ever here. 

“Alright, lovebirds. We’re here. Get out,” he announces, voice gruff with the sleep he wishes he was getting.

The car jerks softly when he puts it in park. When he looks over his shoulder, he finds you and Steve totally knocked out. Eyes shut, mouths open, lips stained purple from red and blue slurpees.

Jim huffs. “You gotta be kidding me…”

He feigns annoyance about the whole thing because he’s got a reputation to uphold. He’s the grumpy old man you come to for help — that’s his thing. So even in your sleep, he grumbles with a light-hearted irritation as he drives you back to the cabin. At least there he can keep an eye on you both.

[pinkmirth]

I think we need some headcanons of cowboy Reiner

— ( save a horse, ride a cowboy! )

༉‧₊˚. — synopsis: just a cluster of fluffy and smutty headcanons for none other than the love of my life, cowboy reiner!

༉‧₊˚. — contains: (2k words of…) cowboy!reiner x fem!reader, (black coded), fluff, nsfw/smut, modern au, southern setting, established relationship (married), fantasies of having a child, breeding kink (‘cause this is reiner we’re talking about duh!), mentions of pregnancy, bondage kink, oral (m!receiving/blowjob), cowgirl position, doggy-style, creampie, reiner calls himself “daddy”, use of the petnames (mama, sugar, darling, honey, cowgirl), reiner calls you “woman” once, lowercase intended, minors shoo!

༉‧₊˚. — mira’s note: oh absolutely, nonnie! here are some thoughts I have on cowboy rei-rei 💕 (check masterlist for other reiner fics!)

this man is always covered head-to-toe in classic cowboy attire— embroidered cowboy boots, blue denim jeans with a lasso hanging from his belt loop, and a trusty old cowboy hat. he’s got the whole getup, and he looks even sexier in it every time you see him! though, his best look by far is the shirtless one. it’s the highlight of your day when whenever it gets too warm outside, because he’s soon to peel off his top. from across the farm, he can feel your eyes burning into his lightly-tanned skin as he does the most mundane chores. his muscles tense and flex with every move, pecs gleaming with sweat. he shoots you a smirk, folding his arms across his bare chest. “y’like what ya see, honey?” you pray the weather’s even hotter tomorrow.

it warms his heart whenever you come around to watch him do his daily chores around the farm. your presence motivates him to work harder, so he can continue to provide for you and sustain your comfortable lifestyle. you try not to be too much of a distraction, but you can’t help wanting to be closer to your husband; so you tug at his leather belt and pull him in for a kiss. that gets him giddy like nothing else. “ya know how much i love it when y’do that… gimme another,” he puckers his lips, and you giggle. “i don’t wanna keep you sidetracked for too long, rei. you were busy before i got here,” you caress his stubbled cheek and he pouts in response, leaning forward to receive another pillowy kiss. “jus’ one more, mama.”

cowboy reiner loves to cook and bake! he often goes on farmer’s market dates with you, walking hand in hand as you help him pick out the freshest ingredients and spices. you chat and laugh amongst one another, dropping carrots and apples into the hand-woven basket that reiner made for you. after arriving back home, he allows you to relax in yours and his shared bedroom while he whips together a hearty southern meal for the two of you. he shouts from across the house, adorned in nothing but a short pair of checkered boxers and a flimsy apron, “supper’s ready, darlin’! come on down ‘n eat!”

he’s great with animals! reiner cradles an adorable month-old horse in his strong arms, feeding milk to the baby with a soft smile. it’s just about the sweetest thing you could ever see! all the little foals follow him around the ranch because they love papa reiner just as much as you do <3 he’s built something of a connection between himself and his beloved herd, which is why he’s able to bring the horses over to their stables with no hassle whatsoever. this man could practically be a veterinarian with all the animal knowledge he has!

he’s a locally known rodeo champion! reiner wins the prize for longest bull-riding every single year. he should allow someone else a fighting chance, at least 😭 but he’s just effortlessly good at anything he puts his mind to! he skillfully rides the beast with such ease, leaving the crowd in awe. courtesy of his natural-born strength, he hardly ever gets tossed off. reiner’s got medals galore hanging on his wall from every competition.

as a southern man, he’s very family-oriented. his loved ones are of the utmost importance to him, and he’ll always put family first before anything else. he utterly adores you, and can’t wait to start a tiny lil family of his own with you <3 when I tell you this man cannot wait to be a papa, I mean it! there’s no denying that reiner would be an amazing father, considering that he’s so caring and attentive. he knows the best tickle spots to target, and the silliest faces to make to get a child cracking up (both of which he discovered through spending lots of time with gabi when she was small.) he constantly daydreams about dressing up his little one in tiny boots and overalls and carrying them up on his shoulders. (yes, I’m pushing the daddy rei-rei agenda on this fine weekend!)

cowboy reiner has manners like none other— the epitome of a true gentleman! he’s a great listener, is always so patient, opens doors for you, pays for your things without hesitation, gives frequent massages, carries you when you begin to feel tired; the list goes on! he’s just so kind and selfless, and never fails to show it. cowboy rei-rei is truly the perfect husband. “your feet hurt? well c’mere, sugar. i’ll carry you. it ain’t too much for me, y’know i can handle ya! jus’ hold onto me. i gotcha, okay?”

cowboy reiner is a grown man who can wholly appreciate your body and every striking detail about it. he scrutinizes the small dotted beauty marks scattered across your skin, your cutely patterned stretch marks, the curves and crevices of your soft tummy and thighs, and he fucking loves it all. makes it a habit to kiss up and down your body, just to give you a well-needed confidence boost. this man right here surely knows how to make a woman feel special! “listen t’me— you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous, y’know that?”

(nsfw) — reiner loves when you treat him to a surprise blowie during work. he’s up to the usual, arranging things around the barn and tending to the animals. you then make your entrance, wrapping your arms around his waist to hug him from behind. your plump lips curve into a sensual smile as you ask him, “can I steal you for a moment, baby? it won’t be for too long, I swear it.” in an instant, he's allowing you to pull him away from his duties, unknowing of where you’re taking him, but also uncaring because he’d allow you to do whatever you please. he follows you with the goofiest smile plastered on his charming face, because he knows that he’s about to receive the most knee-buckling blowjob of his entire goddamn life. you bring him into the hayloft, pushing him against the red-painted wall until he’s flat against it. you drop to your knees and bring his jeans down with you. “fuck, darlin’… kiss the tip ‘fa me.” he moans lowly. you do as he wishes, suckling on his cockhead with the most beautiful, glistening eyes. you’re so eager to please, and it makes him throb on your tongue. with a hand at the back of your head, he guides you further onto him until you’ve swallowed the entirety of his fat dick. reiner ruts his hips, fucking into your wet mouth. you always know just how to make him feel so good, so loved. he adores you like nothing else. “oh, that’s it, honey, right there… atta girl.”

(nsfw) — the bondage kink on this man is insane, I tell you! cowboy reiner loves to keep your hands tied behind your back and watch you squirm against the rope. “rei,” in a breathless whine, his name falls from your plush lips. you wiggle your ass in the air for him, anticipating his next move. he takes you from the back, raw-dogging your pussy with a merciless pace. you truly wonder where he gets all this unparalleled energy to drill you into the bed, especially considering all the hard work he puts into maintaining the farm every day. one large hand of his stays planted on your waist, hastily grabbing, while the other holds onto your tied hands for leverage. he delivers harsh, deep-reaching thrusts, with his firm hips sharply smacking against you from behind. your wrists struggle against the rope, and he can tell just how desperate you are to touch him. his gaze is fixated on your soft body; every jiggle of your ass and ripple of your thighs is more hypnotizing than the last. you mewl for him, stuttering out something along the lines of ‘t—too much!’ … reiner leans down until his chest grazes the arch of your back, so that he can say, “quit alla-that whinin’, woman.” he clicks his teeth, flooding your ears with that sexy southern drawl of his. “y’can take it all, you’ve done it before.”

(nsfw) — we all know it, the entire goddamn fandom knows it: cowboy reiner has a massive fucking breeding kink! he wants nothing more than to get you pregnant by stuffing your pliant womb with his thick loads of cum. giving you a creampie makes him go completely wild; he watches his seed drip down your slit with hitched breath. a sight such as that is enough to get him hard all over again. the lust takes over, and he’s thinking with his dick for the next three rounds. plowing into you and rubbing at your puffed clit with calloused fingertips, reiner asks, “want me to come inside you? hm?” he gently holds onto your chin, directing your gaze to him. you dazedly look at your husband, pulsing around his thick cock. seeing how fucked-out you are makes his chest swell with the utmost pride. his greatest achievement is being able to please you. “tell me how bad y’fuckin’ want it, baby.” he rasps. your pleading moans urge him to release for you. his warm, pearly arousal seeps into you for the nth time that night. all he wants is to fill you up until you’re walking funny, with your leg shaking from all the stimulation. or, at least until that little stick comes out positive one day. having you grow plump with his child is his ultimate fantasy. “you’d look so stunnin’ as a mama, carryin’ my baby… don’t’cha think so, sugar?”

(nsfw) — reiner likes to let you wear his cowboy hat while you ride him. mounting onto your husband with your legs on either side of his hips, you straddle him. your dainty hands are planted on his broad chest for balance. he pulls off his iconic hat, hair cutely tousled from wearing it all day, before sitting up to place it on your head. “since you’ll be the one ridin’ tonight. giddyup, cowgirl.” he teases with a slick grin. you tip the hat with a breathy laugh before sinking down on his fat dick, maintaining sharp eye contact with him as your throbbing cunt takes him in little by little, until your clit’s grounded and snug against the dark-blonde tufts of his happy trail. his warm palms rub along your body as you swivel your hips, slamming down on all nine girthy inches that he has to offer. he watches your tits bounce, one manicured hand of yours squeezing at your left boob while the other holds onto his hat that rests upon the crown of your head. you rock back and forth with fervor, and he swears he can feel every spongy ridge of your contracting pussy. he throws his head back onto the pillows and gazes at you with the prettiest set of honey-golden eyes, hooded and lust-blown. gravelly moans fall past his agape lips as he spurs you on, giving your ass a thorough smack, “bounce on it, jus’ like that— yeah, fuck daddy’s cock.”

[theloveinc]

kirishima x reader - kiri really, really, REALLY wants a third child.

(warnings: afab + fem reader who is a mom with two bio babies, breeding, slight sense of dubcon but it really is con, slight voyeurism, heavy on the pregnancy, mention of sick baby + baby coming early (all is well tho), son = mister, daughter = missy, abrupt end)

1.5k+ words. enjoy!!

-

The conversation comes up on a sunny day in Denki’s backyard. His wife and their newest daughter in her lap sunbathing next to you, the baby reaching out for your sleeve every so often as the three of you watch Denki, Kiri and the older children—save for the oldest who claims she’s too big for such things—play in the sprinklers, screaming. 

“Have you thought about a third?” Denki’s wife asks, tipping down her sunglasses to send you an inquisitive stare.

“Oh, god, no. Ei and I are done.” 

“Really?” she seems surprised. “He’s such a good father, you’d think…”

You shrug, taking a sip of the mango slush that was provided to you when you first arrived. “We were considering it, but mister came so early that the stress of another seemed too much.”

“Ah, I know how that goes all too well. Has Kiri gotten, you know…?” She makes a snipping motion with her fingers.

You snort, the thought almost as implausible as Denki with a son. Doctors have recommended that most heroes remain unaltered, at least to reduce the chances of hormone levels fluctuating unexpectedly and causing changes in prowess… and though that didn’t stop Bakugo five years ago and nothing’s changed about his aggression or fighting style, your husband still uses the warning as an excuse to stay hesitant. 

“Oh, hell no. Have you tried talking to him about it? He goes nuts, and the man is stubborn as a bull.” 

“Are you guys using condoms, then?”

At that, you can’t help but laugh. Protected sex after what? Nearly ten years of marriage? Kirishima was far from the type even when you first met, if you tried bringing up latex contraception now, he’d practically consider it offensive, or a threat to his masculinity at the very least. 

“Pills for now. Surprisingly the side effects have been manageable.” 

“Aren’t you worried those might fail?” 

Her persistent concern touches you, and how could it not when she and her husband have to wrangle five, blonde, Kaminari daughters from sunset to sundown on the daily… but it’s nothing you don’t think you and Ei couldn’t navigate together if need be. 

The youngest starts squirming for you and you offer to take her in your arms, trading your slush to plop her on the warmth of your lap which immediately ceases her cooing. 

“Well,” you tickle her baby plump belly, the delighted squeal you get in response making you grin, “I guess an accident wouldn’t be so bad if they turned out like this one.” 

-

Little did you know, Kirishima overheard your little, half-joking declaration. It’s a wonder, given that you’d assumed if the water hadn’t drowned out your voices, the seven screaming children (and Denki) would’ve.

But he catches you the next morning, fresh out of the shower as you stand in the bathroom prepping your skin for the rest of the day.

“I heard,” he leans in behind you, his damp and loose hair reflected in the mirror, “you said you wanted another baby?”

You chuckle, the steamy warmth of his belly pressing into your back almost overwhelming, “I said, accidents happen, my love. I’m perfectly content with the three babies I have now.” 

Kirishima pouts, the hands on your hips tightening as they slowly turn you around to face him. 

“What if we…?” he starts, but you don’t let him finish.

“Haven’t we talked about this?” you yawn, picking a stray piece of thread off of the damp towel hanging around his shoulders, your other hand running down his bare chest. “I thought we agreed two was enough?” 

“I was just thinking, you know, it doesn’t sound so bad now that mister is older and all.”

You wave him off, nudging your way out from between the sink counter and his hips before pressing one quick peck to his cheek. 

“Shoo. You’re going to be late for work,” Kirishima doesn’t let you go so easily, his hands lingering and only falling when you’re finally out of reach. “There’s a lunch in the fridge. Don’t get hung up on it, yeah?”

-

But Kirishima is hung up on it.

He loves being a dad more than anything, feels as though it's one of the many reasons he was placed on this earth, and though he loves you now more than any other time in his life and would love you no matter what happened to your body, he can’t say he wasn’t extremely delighted when you were pregnant... nor that he doesn’t want to see another rounded belly on you again.

Besides, your daughter was so curious about it, so precious and clingy, but she was almost too little to understand what was happening in your belly when you were swollen with your son… that Kirishima really only has a handful of memories of you all together before one baby became two and two babies became children.

And when he spent their babyhood was spent half in a hospital and half with you out of commission, he just can't help but imagine that doing it over with a third would make his whole life complete.

It just makes perfect sense. 

-

It’s couple’s hot yoga the next time it gets brought up, Kirishima helping you hold the warm-up stretches as he ponders the questions out loud.

“Have you thought about it at all?” He whispers, hands pulling your thigh away from your face and into a stretch meant to straighten your hamstrings. 

“Thought about what?”

“Baby number three,” he lowers your leg and helps switch you to the other side. 

You laugh, disturbing the calm of the heated studio, apologizing to the other couples there softly after. “You seem pretty committed.”

Kirishima nods like a desperate puppy, knowing how he must look in his loose tank top and sweatband, his hair pushed back from his forehead revealing a flush that isn’t yet due to the steam in the room. 

“What’s so good about a third, anyway?” you as say as he repositions your leg from straight to bent at the instructors command. “You know how sick mister was. I can’t go through that again.”

“What if you didn’t have to?

You glare, straining your neck to make sure Kiri can get a peak at your angry eyes. “You say that like you know what would happen.”

"I just…” he shrugs, thumb rubbing your ankle. “We missed missy’s toddler years taking care of mister, and by the time he was walking, missy was using full on sentences and demanded that we start treating her like an adult.” 

The instructor commands you turn on your side and begin the same stretches that way. 

“You were also still recovering from the pregnancy, I had to go back to work… and I want to do it again but with just one this time. Savor the baby years the way we should’ve savored theirs.” 

Kirishima lets his palm brush the intersection between your thighs as he keeps your let from falling. Damp and warm with sweat, he can’t help but press his fingers into where your loins hide under your leggings and—

You stick your foot in his face, the other couples amongst the room already shifting. “Up. It’s your turn for stretches.”

-

“Shit.” 

“Ooh, mommy cussed!”

“You didn’t hear that, baby. I’m just—“ you squint at the notification on your device.

“What?” Kirishima asks, holding your daughter in his arms. The tops of her feet are pressing into his belly while they pass a large slice of dripping, red watermelon back and forth. Your son is preoccupied at the coloring table set up in the living room, drawing pictures of semi-naked heroes with enormous hairdos. 

“Pharmacy’s out of my birth control. Won’t be in for a few weeks.”

You don’t miss the way Kiri’s eyebrows immediately raise, though you glance back down at your phone to panic-click more buttons in the hopes that he gets the hint. 

“What’s that mean, babe?” he asks, feigning innocence about a subject you very well know he’s versed in. 

“What do you mean, what’s that mean?” 

“I mean, what are we gonna do about that? You know—“

You groan. 

“Hush. We’re just gonna pretend I didn’t say that and move on,” you turn on your feet to rush out of the room, calling over your shoulder. “And share the watermelon with mister. I’m calling the doctor.” 

“Ooh,” your daughter says again, her sticky hands going to Kiri’s cheeks which are pinched in a funny expression she doesn’t clock, “Daddy’s in trouble!” 

-

But honestly, Kirishima can’t pretend he hadn’t heard what you said… and truly doesn’t know what you were thinking when you suggested that he try. Birth control aside, on it or off it, you were bound to have sex eventually… that was never even the issue. 

Though when you bring up condoms to the whiney redhead barely a few days later, he barely manages to open one before accidentally flinging it across the room in trying to see how well it stretches. 

“I can’t do this,” Kirishima frowns, sitting back down on the bed after pulling his briefs back on to throw away the slimy piece of latex. He curls an arm back around you to pull you in between his legs, hands moving to grip your waist while he admires the cute black, mom panties you’re wearing that sit over the handles of your hips. “I don’t wanna wear a condom.”  

You sigh, your own hands scratching the tops of his shoulders. “You’re not planning on pulling out, either. Are you?”

“No,” he doesn’t even say it shamefully, “I’m not planning on pulling out.” 

“And you’re gonna hope that it sticks?” 

“Yes,” his eyelids flutter looking up at you. You’re so cute frowning like you’re not gonna let him have his way and then pretend it’s all his fault. An accident. “I’m gonna hope it gets you pregnant.” 

That makes you roll your eyes, though it also has you squeezing your legs together. 

“You’re such a dog.”

Kirishima nods, but you don’t stop him from slowing pulling your panties down. 

“Only for you.”

[mountttmase]

Winter Sun - Chapter 1

Note - I can’t tell you how excited I am to finally post this 🙊 it’s honestly one of my favourite things I’ve written and I really hope you love it. I wish I could find the original anon who inspired this but I hope you all love it 🩷 feedback is appreciated as usual 😘

Pairing - Mason Mount × Reader

Word count - 6.6k

Warnings - series will contain fluff, smut & angst

Masterlist

‘Thanks for saving me in there, Mase’ you smiled as you squished yourself in the back of the taxi. Whoever thought it was a good idea to order a 7 seater you had no idea but Mason managed to steady you as the pair of you sat practically in the boot.

‘Don’t worry about it. It’s like a jungle in there sometimes, they look like animals on the hunt. Makes my skin crawl’ he laughed, his body turning to face yours slightly in order to give you a bit more room before you slung your legs over his. ‘You alright there’ he chuckled, his warm palm pressing to your thigh but you just gave him an enthusiastic nod.

‘Perfect’ you winked before the car finally jolted forward.

‘You two got enough room back there?’ Ben asked from in front of you, turning in his seat to check on you both before your best friend, and Ben's girlfriend, Carly turned to face you too.

‘Just about’ you laughed before they turned away, leaving you and Mason to talk amongst yourselves.

‘I’ve been meaning to complain to you actually’ Mason started, his hand is travelling down your leg to massage the soft skin of your calf. ‘Why haven’t I received any baked goods delivered to my door recently?’

‘Because I’ve been selling out’ you laughed, catching on to his impressed expression before he shrugged. ‘Christmas is my busiest time of year’

‘Well you need to make me extra then’ he winked, causing you to chuckle. ‘Christmas is over now anyway’

‘Two weeks ago yeah’ you laughed. ‘Don’t worry I’ve made you something extra special for your birthday’

‘Cute’ he laughed but you didn’t miss the subtle bite of his lip. ‘Can’t you still make me some of those Christmas tree brownies? I like those’

‘Thought Christmas was over?’ You told him, brows raised as you tried to use his words against him and you could tell by the twinkle in his eyes he was enjoying your teasing.

‘You know if I could live in your bakery I would but unfortunately I have a job myself’

‘Well that’s just not a good enough excuse really is it?’

‘I guess not. You wanna be my sugar mumma in more ways than one then yeah?’ He joked, causing you to roll your eyes before laughing loudly. The joke was unexpected coming from him, considering you were only friends and he never spoke to you like this but you also knew he was as cheeky as they come and Mason always liked to make a joke about the name of your business no matter how much he told you he loved it.

Sugar Mumma was a concept you’d dreamt up at school. Wanting to put your baking talents and love of sweet treats to good use, you’d always wanted your own bakery and two years ago after lots of grafting and selling your bakes from home, you’d finally been able to open your own shop.

It wasn’t anything huge, but it was yours and you loved it more than anything else.

Mason loved it too by all accounts, in fact the first time you’d ever met him was there. When Carly had first met Ben she took him in a few times to grab some treats for various date nights so you knew him well and around six months into their relationship Ben had bought Mason in so they could pick up her birthday cake.

You remembered that day fondly, you’d been rushed off your feet for most of it. Flushed, sweaty and covered in flour when they’d arrived but you’d blushed at the sight of him. Oh he’s cute you thought, suddenly realising what a state you must have looked but his gentle smile and kind eyes relaxed you.

Mason seemed impressed by everything and his sweet tooth had clearly got the better of him. Not wanting to wait until later for cake he was looking at your basically empty display to try to curb his cravings but all you had to offer him was the last triple chocolate muffin.

You knew they were good, but watching the way his eyes rolled around in his head as he took a bite filled you with satisfaction. The sinful moans and groans pouring from his lips telling you how much he was enjoying it without any words as Ben watched on with mild embarrassment at his friends' antics.

That had been a year ago and it was pretty safe to say you’d all formed a pretty strong bond since then. Mason was alway nipping into your shop to get his sugar fix, in the end striking a deal with you that you’d give him a box of leftover items from that day in exchange for tickets to his games and you’d often be caught leaving them outside his front door with a silly note attached. That was until he’d moved away around five months ago now and you barely got to see him.

You knew he was a bit homesick so you began sending his sweet treats up to him in the post and you still remember how happy and excited he sounded when he called you that first day he’d received them.

You liked Mason, he was fun and kind and just someone who made you feel good when you were around him. You both grew to be great friends as you hung out with Ben and Carly and soon enough as you met more of their friends you had a pretty nice friendship group going even with him being further away.

But you weren’t blind. You knew how attractive he was and you couldn’t lie you had a soft spot for him but you loved the way it was so platonic between you both. He was never over the top with you, if anything he always came across as soft and a little shy. A true gentleman that was never inappropriate with you and you truly treasured having him around.

There had been a weird and unfamiliar tension in the air since he’d stepped in to save you earlier though. You weren’t sure what it was, maybe the alcohol and some new found confidence, but his eyes were focused on your lips constantly when you were talking and the times you did make eye contact, his were dark and sultry.

‘Come on then, Muffin. Let’s get you out’ Mason laughed quietly and you shook your head even though your heart was fluttering.

Muffin.

What had started out as a cute nickname he’d given you after the first treat he’d tried from you had become a small inside joke. You pretended you hated it as you really had at first, but now you’d grown fond of it. The fact he seemed to be using it as more of a term of endearment now made your insides melt every time the name passed his lips but he didn’t need to know that.

You allowed him to help you out of the car, stumbling slightly in your drunken state but he was there to catch you. Hands tightly gripping your waist and you held onto his strong shoulders, laughing into his chest before he turned and bent slightly. You could never seem to say no to this man so you let him help you on his back, arms around his neck as his arms looped around your legs so he could carry you up the drive and into Ben's house.

He was straight into the kitchen, popping you down onto the counter so he could scour Ben's fridge for snacks and you laughed as he absentmindedly wiggled his hips as he assessed his options.

Sober Mason was one of your favourite people, but tipsy Mason was something else. His bleary eyes and dopey smile tugged at your heart strings and you watched on with a fond look as he was seemingly lost in his world. This was the first time you’d seen him like this and the more you were, the softer you were feeling for him.

‘Hey Mase? Why don’t you check in the box on the counter? 'Carly called as everyone started filtering in and you watched him shimmy over to the box of treats you’d bought over earlier in the day.

‘Ooo, muffins’ he giggled, lifting one out before making his way back to you. You watched as he practically shoved half of it into his mouth before offering you some, where you awkwardly managed to take a bite. His eyes were on your lips the whole time, a fond smile playing on his as he watched you intently. ‘Does it ever feel weird eating the stuff you’ve made? I’d imagine it feels like eating your own babies’

You wanted to laugh but you were frozen. The feel of his thumb running under your lip to gently brush away the crumbs made you stop until his eyes were back on yours. Your heart melting at the gesture but also at the crumbs all over his face so you reached out yourself to do the same to him yet the smile on his face made it difficult. You didn’t miss the way his breath hitched in his throat at the feel of your fingers though, eyes carefully locking as he took down a nervous gulp before you couldn’t take the intensity of it anymore.

‘You’re a weird drunk, Mase. I can’t believe this is the first time I’ve seen you like this’ you commented as he scrunched his nose up at you adorably.

‘Well I like to let my hair down on my birthday but what can I say, I’m a good boy usually’

‘I’m not so sure I believe that’

‘Yeah I don’t think I would either’ he laughed before his hands found your hips and he winked at you seductively.

This Mason was different to any Mason you’d seen before. Wondering where the hell he’d been hiding the extra cheeky and flirty form of himself but you couldn’t say you weren’t enjoying it. It had been a while since you’d been paid any male attention and the fact it was coming from someone like Mason was making you giddy.

‘You two coming in?’ Ben suddenly called from the doorway, motioning to where everyone else was in the other room and you watched in fascination as Mason shoved the rest of the muffin in his mouth before nodding.

‘Coming now’ he called, holding a hand out to you to help you down but you shook your head at him.

‘You go, I just need to get my shoes off and I’ll be in’ you told him but his hand was on your thigh instantly.

‘I’ll do it’

‘No Mase-‘

‘I can do it’ he told you sternly and before you could stop him, he was getting down on one knee in front of you so he could rest your foot on his thigh. You weren’t quite sure what he was up to but you felt a shiver roll through you as his fingers trailed down your legs. He must have felt it too, you could see the cocky smile playing on his lips as he delicately traced your skin.

You let him carry on, enjoying his soft touches as your skin tingled in the wake of his fingers before he finally made it to your ankle strap. He was quick to unbuckle it and pull your shoe off before manoeuvring the other leg so he could do the same, your heartbeat quickening with every second that was passing and as soon as your other shoe was off his eyes were on yours.

You were frozen under his seductive gaze, unsure of what to do next as his fingers gripped your ankle but even in your wildest dreams you couldn’t have foreseen him breaking eye contact so he could place a small kiss to the inside of your calf.

It was like the wind was knocked out of you, but you didn’t have time to react properly. He was up on his feet again, hands on your waist so he could help you down but you felt yourself wobble slightly as you hit the floor. Thankfully Mason's hands were still on you to steady you and you shot him a small smile that he returned as you ran your hands up his arms to grip his biceps.

‘Thank you’ you whispered, making Mason smile as he bit his lip to try and suppress it. You couldn’t take your eyes off of each other, trapped in a trance until the booming sound of Ben calling for Mason made you flinch.

‘Mase! Get in here!’ He bellowed, causing Mason to playfully roll his eyes at you before nodding his head in the direction of the living room.

‘You coming?’

‘Yeah, I’ll be there in a sec’ you told him and with one final squeeze of your waist he was gone.

Where the hell has this boy been hiding? You thought to yourself. Mason had always been a little cheeky but this was something else. He was sexy and alluring in a way you’d never seen him be before. You could feel the atmosphere between you becoming thick and electric but you were unsure about what it all meant. In the end you pushed everything to the side and padded into the living room to join the conversation in hopes of distracting yourself.

Mason was sitting in the arm chair, his legs spread wide and you unconsciously licked your lips as you fantasised about crawling into his lap.

‘Ah there you are,’ Carly called, patting the seat next to her as an invitation for you. ‘Saved you a seat’

‘Thank you’ you smiled, plonking yourself down next to her but immediately you felt too far away from Mason and his cheeky knowing smirk thrilled you.

‘I swear to god, I’m never going out again, those rude pricks ruin it every time. I’m trying to dance with my girls not get touched up’ Carly suddenly moaned, and you nodded in agreement beside her. ‘Sorry we ruined your birthday night out Mase’

It was true, the whole reason you were all home so early was due to the fact you and the rest of the girls couldn’t seem to enjoy yourselves at the club you were in. At first you didn’t care, if they wanted to look they could, but as time went on you could feel the lingering touch of countless men. You’d pushed all of them away, moving in closer to Carly and the other girls but it was no use. It was only when Mason appeared out of nowhere and wrapped his arms around you did you start to feel a little safer.

‘Don’t worry about it, I think I’m happier here when I can hear myself think’

‘Maybe we’re getting a little too old for clubs now. I don’t know about you but the whole thing stresses me out’ you laughed and thankfully everyone pretty much agreed with you.

‘I still want to go to a few clubs when we’re away’ Carly told Ben, referring to the big group holiday all your friends were going on to Portugal in a few weeks.

From what Carly had told you it was her and Ben, Dec and Lauren, Woody and his new girlfriend Kayla who you’d met a couple of times and Mason. You had been invited from the start but due to low funds and a shop to run you’d had to pass and even though it was your decision it still stung a bit to hear them talk about it. ‘I really wish you were coming, y/n’

‘So you’re really not coming then?’ Woody asked as he popped himself on the arm of Mason's chair and you shook your head lightly.

‘It’s fine, I’ve got a lot on’ you shrugged, trying to play it off but you knew deep down you were disappointed you couldn’t go. You hadn’t had a proper holiday in years and you could feel the pit of jealousy in your stomach at the thought of seeing everyone’s holiday snaps. ‘I’m just gonna grab a glass of water’ you mumbled before jumping up to go to the kitchen.

You took your time, hoping by the time you were back the conversation had moved on but you could hear them all still talking about the villa so you popped yourself on the stairs and had a quick check of your emails.

‘Who are you texting? Anyone I should be worried about?’ You suddenly heard, looking up to see Mason walking towards you and you smiled as he took a seat next to you.

‘No I was just checking some work emails’

‘Ah yeah, sure’ he winked, bumping his shoulder into yours. ‘So, still no Mr Muffin on the scene?’

‘I don’t really have time’ you told him but he just scoffed at your answer.

‘Everyone has time. You just have to make it’

‘Fine, I haven’t met someone I’m willing to make time for yet’ you countered, watching the way he raised his brows at you. ‘What about you anyway? Is there a Mrs Mount lurking about?’

‘The only Mrs Mount you need to be concerned about is my mum. And she loves you anyway so I wouldn’t worry about it’ he smiled, your heart fluttering as you thought back to meeting her at a few games. She’d always been super sweet to you and you were glad to know she liked you back. ‘So in answer to your question, no. I haven’t met someone I’m willing to make time for either’

‘Considering you could probably pull half of the population I'm surprised’ you laughed and you couldn’t help but notice the blush that settled on the bridge of his nose. ‘Are you blushing?’ You teased, laughing as he hid his face in his hands. ‘Aww been a while since you received a compliment?’

‘Been a while since I received anything’ he joked, his words clearly having a double meaning and you felt yourself now redden at his words but the alcohol in your system shut off the sensible part of your brain and you felt yourself agreeing.

‘Oh tell me about it, I feel like I’ve forgotten how to do it’ you giggled, watching his eyes crinkle adorably as he nodded along.

‘It’s like riding a bike, you’ll be fine when you give it another go’

‘Yeah but it’s finding someone to help me, you know… get back on the horse’

‘Are you kidding me? Did I or did I not save you from a long line of men who clearly wanted to get in your pants tonight?’ He teased and you rolled your eyes at him playfully.

‘Well yeah, but if you think I’m taking some random man from a club home then you’re very mistaken. I don’t know where he’s been’ you laughed and you watched him turn on the step slightly so he could face you a bit easier. You took this as your cue to do the same with both of your elbows resting on the step above you, smiling happily at him.

‘Okay so hypothetically, if you were to take someone home. What’s your type?’ He asked, his fingers delicately tracing your knee and you felt your breath catch in your throat at the intimate gesture.

‘I mean pretty much what everyone else wants’ you said lowly. ‘Tall, dark and handsome’

‘Well then look no further. I may not be overly tall but I’ve got the other two on lockdown’ he winked and you felt your face heat up. Not sure if he was being serious or not, thinking maybe it was the alcohol talking but you shook your thoughts away and tried to move the conversation on.

‘Well what’s your type then?’ You questioned and he looked at you thoughtfully before speaking.

‘Nice eyes, pretty smile’ he started and you rolled your eyes at his generic statement, thinking that’s what all boys say but you stayed silent and let him continue. ‘Someone confident but a little shy, feisty around the right people’ he carried on, pulling back to look at you properly and your tummy dropped. Is he talking about me? You wondered, your thoughts somewhat confirmed when his fingers started trailing up your thigh and it took everything in you to keep up eye contact with him when all you wanted to do was watch where his fingers were going.

‘Anything else?’ You whispered

‘Good eye contact’ he smiled before reaching up to tuck your hair behind your ear. He let his hand trail down your neck until he was holding you just under your ear so he could gently tip your head to the side before leaning over like he was about to kiss your cheek.

He didn’t, but you felt your legs go to jelly and he gently rubbed his nose along your cheekbone whilst a low hum poured from his lips. ‘Smells nice’ he whispered, pulling back so his lips were an inch from yours. Your foreheads nearly touching as his eyes scanned your face. ‘Probably tastes even better’ he finally uttered, causing you to take a small shocked breath in.

You were hanging on his every word, heart pounding as he was seeming getting closer to you and you subconsciously tilted your head up to meet him in the middle. You’d never understood the concept of being drawn to someone like a magnet but you finally felt it as you were pulled in his direction. Your lips so close they were almost touching but at the last second he backed up with a knowing smile across those pretty lips of his.

‘Not here’ he whispered, tilting his head so he could lightly kiss your cheek and you couldn’t lie you were slightly disappointed. You saw him go to say something else, yet the words never made it out of his mouth. You both jumped at the sound of Ben's voice calling him from the other room, scrambling away from each other when you heard his footsteps and you knew you were blushing hard when he eventually rounded the corner to see you both.

‘Woodys setting up the ps5, you coming?’ He asked, not really looking at the pair of you or waiting for an answer before heading out causing the pair of you to chuckle.

‘I’ll come find you in a bit, yeah?’ He promised and all you could do was nod. You sat wondering what the hell had just happened. This ultra flirty sexy version of Mason obviously only came out when he was drunk and you were a little bit disappointed this was the first you’d ever seen of him.

You went on the hunt for Carly though, hoping he would come and find you soon but you’d been separated from Mason for about half an hour now and your eyes rarely left each others. Even when he didn’t know you were looking you could see his eyes all over you in a way he never had before and you couldn’t lie and say you weren’t loving all the attention he was giving you. When he was distracted for a while you made your way upstairs to the bathroom so you could sort yourself out as you knew you probably looked like a hot mess. The combination of Mason's flirty antics and the alcohol in your system had made you flustered and you needed some time out just to collect yourself.

‘Hello? Who’s in here?’ You heard, Masons voice booming through the door suddenly as you’d just finished washing your hands and you smiled instantly as you dried your them off.

‘It’s me’

‘Hi me’ he chuckled, clearly pleased with himself and you quickly opened the door to reveal his dozy smile and kind eyes.

‘Hello you’ you laughed, stepping aside and back over to the sink in hopes he would follow you inside and you smiled as you heard the door click shut. ‘Missing me already?’

‘Maybe. Missed looking at you in this dress at least’ he commented, positioning himself behind you with his hands on your hips as you caught eyes in the reflection of the mirror. You were trying to act unbothered, touching up your makeup like you didn’t care but his teasing attitude was making you crumble.

‘Oh yeah?’ You giggled, unsure as to what to say to him but the need to clench your thighs together was growing stronger and you watched him eye you up with his bottom lip trapped in between his teeth.

‘Mmhmm’ he teased, squeezing your hips softly before his eyes returned to yours. ‘I mean you always look good but I like this one a lot’

‘I’ll make sure to wear it more often then’ you told him quietly, watching him gather your hair and move it over one of your shoulders so he could expose your neck. You knew it was coming, but when his lips finally touched the base you felt your whole body erupt in goosebumps.

You didn’t say a word, just watching him in the mirror as he slowly peppered kisses up and down your exposed skin as you tried to regulate your breathing but you could tell he knew how much things were affecting you. The smile on your lips telling him as much but the hard length that was pressed against you bum was telling you how much he himself was enjoying too.

‘Easy there big boy’ you laughed, squeezing his hands that were gripping your waist and he buried his face into your neck with laugh before pulling back. His eyes were basically black as he turned you round to face him, pressing his crotch into yours and you had to hold back a moan.

‘I’ll show you big boy’ he whispered, lips dangerously close to yours and as much as you loved his teasing you’d had enough now and were ready to have him. Luckily for you, the pair of you seemed to be on the same page because as soon you wrapped your hand around the back of his neck his lips were on yours.

It was one of the softest kisses you’d ever had, lightly brushing your lips against each other but it was growing heavier by the second until the pair of you appeared to have gotten the giggles. Laughing onto each other lips until it was becoming impossible to carry on

‘What is happening’ you giggled, your hands coming to grip his jaw so he wouldn’t part from you but the firm grip on your thighs already told you he wouldn’t be.

‘I don’t know’ he laughed, peppering kisses across your jaw and cheeks. ‘I don’t wanna stop though’ he breathed and you had just enough time to nod your head in agreement before he was back kissing you. Deeper this time as his hands travelled up your thighs and to your bum, pushing your dress up with him so he could grip your cheeks with his thumbs under the waistband of your underwear, stroking your skin gently. A contrast into how aggressive he was being with his mouth.

You didn’t know what came over you but you pulled back, resting your hands behind you so you could shift your weight onto them. Raising your hips in order for him to rid you of your underwear and even though he was taken aback you could tell he wanted to rip them off of you.

‘Come on Mase. I thought you were gonna show me your big boy’ you laughed, watching his expression turn shocked before he was smiling devilishly at you.

‘Don’t start something you can’t finish, sweetheart’

‘Try me’ you whispered, knowing he wouldn’t be able to resist as soon as the words left your mouth he was blushing before he pulled your underwear from you as quickly as he could, kissing you frantically.

You knew what you wanted, reaching to undo his jeans but he pulled you away before placing your hands in his hair. Thankfully he knew what you wanted, his thumb connecting to your clit suddenly and you moaned into his mouth at the sensation.

‘Mase, please’

‘Shhh’ he breathed, his lips trailing down your neck before biting your shoulder. ‘Easy baby. Let me take my time with you’

‘We don’t have time. They’ll coming looking for us soon’

Mason let out a short breath, knowing you were right and you couldn’t risk it so when your hands flew to his trousers again he didn’t stop you from unbuttoning them. His hands were back on your hips to pull you forward so your core was closer to him and when he tugged his boxers down so he could free himself you shivered at the sight of him.

You both knew you had to be quick, but you thanked the lord he was slow and careful with you to start with. Lining himself up with your entrance as you sat back on your hands before he hooked your legs over his forearms to give him better access.

It really had been a while, the stretch of him delicious and by the look on his face he was clearly feeling the same. His thrusts slow and steady before he picked his pace up, the sound of skin slapping against skin only making everything feel more intense and when he moved his hand to play with your clit again you swore you were seeing stars.

‘Mase’ you moaned, your head falling back as he drove into you but the low moan that fell from him made your head snap up.

‘I know, you’re so tight. Fuck’ he breathed, hips slamming into yours and you knew it wouldn’t be much longer as he’d been turning you on all night. He looked wild, dark eyes intensely on yours with his bottom lip trapped in between his teeth and the blush across his nose was proving how into it he was. You tried holding your moans in, not wanting anyone to hear you but he was making it difficult. It was like he knew your body intimately already and the way he was making you feel was like no one else ever had. ‘Come on, cum for me’ he whispered and it didn’t take you much more convincing, whimpering below him as he fucked you through it before pulling out to cum over your thighs.

Your eyes were on each others instantly, uncertainty settling inside of you but the sight of Masons pretty smile settled you instantly.

‘Sorry about the mess’ he laughed, grabbing a towel and cleaning you up before picking your underwear up off of the floor and helping you down. ‘Well that was unexpected’

‘You can say that again’ you blushed, pulling you underwear up your legs and readjusting your dress. You weren’t sure where to look but you felt his finger under your chin so he could make you look at him and as soon as you saw his kind eyes you felt settled again. ‘Happy birthday I guess’ you joked and thankfully he laughed along.

‘Thank you, you okay?’ He whispered, dropping a kiss on your forehead and you nodded shyly. ‘Good. We best go or they’ll get suspicious’

You agreed, following him out the door before he pushed you forward a little and you turned to look at him when a confused expression.

‘I’ll come in a bit. Make it look like we weren’t together’ he told you and you wanted to leave but the overwhelming need to clarify somethings before you left took over you.

‘Hey, Mase? I um- I’ve never, you know… this isn’t what I um’ you stumbled, and the heart melting smile he gave you made your tummy flip.

‘It’s okay, I know. We’re just having a bit of fun yeah?’ He told you and you felt your shoulders relax instantly. ‘We can talk about it another time if you want but don’t worry, I’m not getting down on one knee just yet’ he winked, causing you to roll your eyes with a laugh. ‘Now go, I’ll see you in a sec’

You did as you were told, trying to act as normal as possible when you went to join the others but they were back talking about the holiday and you felt your heart sink again.

You didn’t want to be a misery though, helping them find clubs and restaurants to try without trying to appear too bitter about it and when Mason finally came back you tried to avoid his eyes as to not be too suspicious but you knew he was looking at you. You were also trying to to not over think what had just happened with Mason just now. It was so unexpected, you didn’t know what had come over the pair of you and it was like you could still feel his touch on your skin.

When it all got a bit too much you went back to the kitchen, no longer wanting to hear about all the exciting things they had planned while you slaved away in a hot kitchen. You knew you were being moody and it was your choice not to go but it didn’t make it hurt any less having to hear about it.

‘I’ve been thinking’ Mason announced suddenly and your heart nearly jumped out of your chest from the sound of his voice. ‘This holiday, it’s not right you not coming. I know you wanna be there so I’d like for you to come with me’

‘You know I can’t Mase, I can’t afford it for one’ you told him, finally admitting to someone the real reason for you not going but by the look on his face you could tell he knew it already.

‘That’s why I’m asking for you to come with me. You don’t need to worry about that then’

‘What?’ You asked, your face scrunching up in confusion ‘Mase, no-‘

‘Before you say no, just listen to me’ he laughed coming over to you so he could trap you in between his arms by placing his hands on the counter either side of you. ‘You know me, you know I’ll do anything for the people in my life and if anyone deserves a break it’s you’ he told you sincerely before his face turned cheeky. ‘Plus, I think I can make it worth your while’

‘What do you mean?’ You asked skeptically

‘Just let me look after you a bit, yeah? We’re both stressed out and need a break. I’ve only got a couple of weeks before I need to get back to training and I need to let off some steam. I’m not saying this has to be anything you know? But there’s obviously some level of attraction here and I’d rather spend my time with you than go through all the shit of trying to find someone else. You get that right? I’ve got a rep to protect’ he winked.

You were confused to say the least, not sure exactly what he was getting at but if it was what you were thinking then couldn’t lie, you were tempted. If you were understanding correctly he was willing to whisk you away with him for a week of sun sea and no strings sex for nothing. The tipsy part of your brain was willing to accept straight away, eager to get to feel more of him again yet the sober part knew it sounded too good to be true.

‘So you mean…?’

‘We keep it casual you know? You scratch my back, I scratch yours. You said you don’t know where these boys have been but you know exactly where I’ve been cause it’s just with you. Then at the end of the week we go back to our normal lives. I just need someone who I can trust and I know that’s you and I hope you know you can trust me. And we both know we can be sneaky sneaky now so it’s a win win’

‘I don’t know, Mase…’

‘If you don’t wanna, you know, that’s fine I’m not asking you to come for that reason only. Just turn up. That’s all I’m asking. If anything else happens then cool but I hate the thought of you being here when we’re there. You’re meant to be with us’ he reasoned and even though that took some of the pressure off he could still tell you were unsure. ‘What’s holding you back?’

‘We’ve been drinking Mase. This may sound like a good idea now but what about tomorrow when you’re wondering why the hell you even kissed me, let alone anything else’ you asked but he looking at you like you were talking rubbish before he shook his head with a laugh.

‘Stop talking shit. If it makes you feel any better I can text you tomorrow cause I know for a fact I’ll still feel the same. This isn’t just some weird thing I thought of off the cuff, I’ve hated the thought of you not coming with us since Ben told me’

‘It’s a lot of money, Mase’ you whispered ‘I’d never be able to pay you back.

‘I’m not asking you too. There’s plenty of other ways to repay me’ he teased and you rolled your eyes with a smile. ‘Not like that’

‘Like what then?’

‘I’ll let you buy me an ice cream’ he smiled as you laughed into your hands. ‘Or you can make me lunch or help me with my sun cream. I’m not bothered about how much it costs or you paying me back. I just want you there’ he huffed and you couldn’t lie, you were convinced. ‘Please muffin’ he pouted, bumping his nose with yours and you smiled up at him softly.

‘It’s not just the money, I can’t leave the shop that long’

‘What about Nads?’ He asked, referring to the girl you hired a few months ago to help you run things. ‘Think of it like a trial or something for her. If she does a good job then you can leave her in charge more often and you get a bit more of a life. I know it’s your baby but you have to learn to let go sometimes’ he told you and you hated how reasonable he sounded.

‘Can I think about it? I’ll let you know tomorrow’ you asked quietly and with a small nod he closed the relatively small gap to place his lips on yours in a soft kiss.

‘Take all the time you need’ he nodded before wrapping his arms around your shoulders so he could pull you into a hug. ‘You staying here tonight?’

‘Yeah’

‘Well I’m gonna head home with Woody in a sec’ he told you gently, the pout in your face evident even though he couldn’t see you. ‘We’ll talk tomorrow yeah? About all of it’ he suggested and you knew he mean the holiday and whatever had happened between you earlier.

‘Okay’ you whispered before he dropped a soft kiss on your forehead.

‘Have a good sleep, yeah? I’ll text you in the morning’ he smiled before giving you one last squeeze and pulling away.

y/n

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Y/n mission take a picture in focus has failed

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carlywlms_ my sparkly sister ✨

y/n the brightest star in my sky 💫

benchilwell Why do I not remember any of this

y/n that’s cause you’ve got nothing in between your ears

masonmount thanks for a lovely evening 🩷

y/n happy birthday masey moo 🥳🎁

jorginhofrello happy bday papai ♥️

woody_ you’re missing out on a week of this

y/n that’s fine I don’t think my body could physically take it 😩

okaylaaa pray for me ☹️

y/n 🙏🏼🙏🏼🙏🏼

masonprivate nice shoes 😏

y/n you too 🤫

yungchalobah 👀🤔

y/n 🫣

Tagged: @footiehoemcfc @prideofpd @yoursselo @chelseachilly @willow-writer-ivy @mm-vii @katharinanadiaa @mmountseb @carlottawllms @saltyheartnightmare @masonmtxo @harvestmount @chillymountsjess @treblebluesblog @pulisicsgirl

[topazy]

Tomorrow’s promise

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader

Warnings: Swearing

Chapter: 4.07

The more you got to know the people who saved you, the more you understood why they saved you. Abraham explained that he and Rosita are on a mission to get their companion doctor Eugene Porter to Washington, DC, safely because Eugene knew how to stop the virus and Abraham wanted you to join them. What they were doing was courageous, but you needed to find your family.

You look over at Glenn who was carrying Jace and nod appreciatively. You, him, and Tara were taking turns holding him to try and keep the strain off your shoulder.

The atmosphere is awkward as you walk in almost complete silence. Abraham and Glenn got into a physical fight because Abraham made a comment saying Maggie was most likely already dead, and the noise from the fight attracted a horde of walkers. While five of you fought, the walkers off Eugene tried to help, but the accident ended up shooting the army rank several times, causing it to stop working, which meant the only option now was to travel by foot.

Abraham slows his pace to walk beside you; he nods his head in the direction of Glenn. “He’s a persistent son of a bitch, I get while you’re following him.”

“I’m not following him just to help find Maggie. Our people were more than just someone to survive with; we are a family. My brother, nephew, and Daryl are still out there, along with the rest of our friends. Me and Glenn can’t stop looking for them.”

“Do you really think you’ll find them?”

You don’t answer his question. The last few days have been hectic, and you couldn’t allow yourself to think that you won’t ever find them.

Abraham changes the subject. “I didn’t have you down as a hunter, but damn those squirrels you caught last night went down a treat. Your father taught you to hunt?”

A small smile pulls on your lips. You found hunting extremely difficult morally, but when Daryl had his arms wrapped around you to show you what to do... It was the safest you’ve felt in a king town. “No, Daryl taught me to hunt skin and gut animals, so you can thank him when we find him. I used to be vegan before the world went to shit.”

He laughs, “Well, those days are long now.”

Abraham was right; you ate whatever was possible now.

You make polite small talk and learn more about the mission until Tara starts laughing. “I can’t believe I still have this,” she pulls a wallet out of her jacket pocket. She chuckles to herself while opening it up, “Three dollars and an expired voucher for grocery shopping.”

“Never know, it could go up on a museum wall one day.”

Her smile fades when she pulls a Polaroid photo out of one of the slips. Tara goes to say something, but her breathing becomes shaky. “I never saw her after... I kept thinking she might have ended up like my sister, or she’s alone and hurt, or…”

Glenn gives her a sympathetic look. “Who is she?”

“My girlfriend Alisha... I think I saw her body at the prison, but the more I think about it, the more I’m unsure if it was her.”

You understood how awful not knowing where everyone was felt. With the attention of somehow trying to comfort her, you walk closer but come to an abrupt halt when you see the picture she’s holding. You feel warm, a painful knot forming in your stomach. Tara’s girlfriend was the woman who put Hershel on his knees; she was the woman you shot and killed at the prison.

—

When night falls, you take turns keeping watch, and right now it was currently your turn. Abraham picked a spot that was surrounded by thick trees and bushes, keeping you out of view of anyone who may walk by the train tracks. You had bundled Jace up in a T-shirt and your jacket to keep him warm. Your back was pressed against a tree so you could securely place him between your legs.

You let out a deep sigh. Rosita, Eugene, and Abraham had all fallen asleep while Tara and Glenn spoke quietly. Finding the picture earlier had really upset the brunette, and you felt so guilty that she was continuing to torture herself by imagining all the different things that could have happened to Alisha. If it was someone you cared about, you’d want to know the truth.

“Tara, I need to tell you something. I... I, Alisha, she's gone. She’s dead.”

The look in her eyes, she knew. She knew it was you before you'd even told her. “How would you know that?”

“I killed her.”

Tara blinks away her tears, then shoots you a death glare. “You killed my girlfriend?”

“I didn’t know who she was, not until I saw the photo earlier.”

“So you just killed someone and didn’t think about them again?” Tara scoffs; she shakes her head and looks away from you. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Hershel was a good man. He was a stranger who saved my nephew's life. He let us into his home. Your girlfriend dragged Hershel, an old man with one fucking leg, from the back of a car and forced him to kneel on the ground to be slaughtered by that sociopath in front of his own daughters!” Your vision becomes blurry with tears. “When I came face to face with her, I didn’t think twice about killing her, and no, I didn’t think about her again, not until I knew who she was. I’ve only told you so that you wouldn’t spend the rest of your life wondering what happened to her.”

She takes a moment to process everything you’ve just said. “If you could, would you have done things differently?”

“I found my baby alive next to the body of a boy who had been shot in the chest. Some asshole who attacked us in our own home put a goddamn bullet in a child and then continued to attack my people.” Using the sleeve of your jacket, you wipe at your eyes and nose. “I don’t know who killed him, but I don’t regret doing everything I could to stop my son from being one of those kids.”

Silence falls over the camp; nobody dares say anything. Tara walks off, and Glenn follows her. Feeling eyes on you, you turn your head to see Rosita, Abraham, and Eugene staring at you.

—

The next morning, everyone remains quiet as a mouse as you continue to follow the trail tracks. The only real noise was Jace babbling while you tried to get him to say mom or mommy. You decided it was best if you hanged back from the others, just close enough that you wouldn’t fall behind.

Glenn looks and observes you for a moment before slowing his pace to match yours. “Can I ask you something? It’s about Jace.”

“Sure.”

“Did Hershel ever check his ears out?”

“He did," you didn’t like thinking about it. “Hershel thought Jace’s eardrums got damaged from being exposed to so many gunshots and explosions when he was first born, but it’s hard to know for sure. He thinks his right side is more damaged than the left.”

Glenn’s brows pull together with confusion. “How’s that possible?”

“Maybe a gun went off on his right side... I should have done more to—“

“Don’t,” Glenn cuts you off. “Everything you do is for him.”

—

You can’t help but smile proudly at Jace; hearing him say mom filled your heart with so much warmth. You kiss his cheeks multiple times and say, “I’m so proud of you, little man.”

Daryl and Rick would be so proud.

You look from Jace to see what was in front of you, and you gasp in surprise. There was a wooden post with a map pinned to it, leading the way to a location called Terminus.

“Holy shit,” the map had a message written on mud left on it. “Glenn, Glenn. It’s a message from Maggie. Her, Bob and Sasha are alive.”

“Oh my god!” He comes up to look for himself and notices you are crying; he kisses you on the cheek. “If they are alive, then so will the rest of our people.”

Tears of happiness brim in your eyes; all you needed to do now was make it to Terminus.

[funnyexel]

delusional water king

“They’ll see you as my goddess.” Shaking your head, you back away from the man. 

“I’m not a goddess. I’m an experiment.” You show him the number on your lower back, accompanied by scars along the skin you displayed to him. Staring at your figure, he noticed the scars were pink in your dark skin, most likely scabbed up and picked away by the strong currents. Shoving your shirt down, you cross your arms over your stomach, looking down and away from him. 

“I am grateful that you saved me, I am but...I don’t want to destroy the beautiful city you helped build.” His eyes bore into you, even as you’re not looking, the chance of intimidation being too great. 

“I can’t control it, Namor.” The way his name moved off your tongue and into the air made him tispy, it echoed in the cave, bouncing off the walls. 

“You saw what I did. I killed so many people.” Glossy eyes stared up at the feathered serpent god. He squinted at you with a smirk playing at his lips, was he finally seeing the real, troubled you? Turning to the hole in the ground that leads to the endless body of water, you fully intend on leaving. 

“I’m sorry, if this is disrespectful to you. Please understand that everywhere I go destruction tends to follow.” 

“Go ahead.” He responds after listening to you, biting your lip and moving a hair from your face, you sigh. 

“I will disregard the disrespect. Only because it is coming from you, in reina.” Giving him a shy smile, you nod not quite understanding the last bits of what he said.

Standing off the edge where rock meets water, you step onto the liquid, turning to him and giving him a small wave. Submerging into the water, a small bubble tracing around your body that keeps air flowing while the water propels you through the small tunnels and out of Talokan. The feeling of guilt tugs at you for leaving your savior but the guilt of killing hundreds of people where you were held captive ate you alive. Reaching the surface, the bubble of air slowly deteriorates as you walk up to the sandy shore. Moments to dawn, you catch your breath as you walk away from the beach, taking one hesitant look back before disappearing into the dense forest. You needed time. Time to figure out your powers, time to find yourself and forgive yourself. It didn’t take long for you to forgive yourself for the unfortunate events at the hell hole, in the matter of days you thought and realized that losing your temper had to have been the best case scenario. 

You spent time in an abondoned hut alongside the oceanside. It was peaceful, the waves were a natural lullaby and helped with the unease of sleeping. Being self-efficent gave you the chance to fool around with your powers, learn what you can do without causing a catastrophe. Sitting elevated above the waves, you meditated and wondered if he would try to find you. 

“In reina.” You whispered opening your eyes, looking across the blue mirrors that connected with each wave, you could’ve sworn you heard someone say it before you.

Refraining from saying ‘hello’ or any of the sort. You’d rather not know if someone is here with you. Moving closer to the edge of the small cliff, you sway your hand in a circular motion, the waters pushing itself into a dance. Watching closely as the water formed a small cone shaped tornado that sunk to the bottom of the shallow floor. In this it showed, the particles of sand and small plants being swept into the current. Putting your hand in your lap, the mini tornado, slowed to a stop and transitioned back to the usual current of the ocean. Looking around your surroundings once more, you get up, dusting yourself off and go back to your hut.

If you could say something different to Namor, what would you say? Ask him what ‘in reina’ means or what he meant by ‘my goddess’. You were so shocked by what you’ve done prior that it didn’t register how handsome the man was, his tan skin, fit physique, raven hair and darkness that hides in his brown irises. A clear portrait of the man was painted onto the walls of your mind, and you were repeatedly looking at the painting, thinking of him after days of being alone. Laying down, you get comfortable on the floor bound cot, closing your eyes, your body relaxes on the soft surface.

“Y/n, in reina.” The voice deep, meaningful and close. Opening your eyes, your rest felt like it only lasted a split second. Looking around, you were surrounded by turquoise looming lights. The scenery definitely unfamiliar. Standing to your feet,

“Nib óolal, waal mía,” you turn to the sound of feet shuffling behind you and catch a glimpse of a blue skinned person leaving. Dark messy hair enters your view as you shake your head. Convinced that you’re hallucinating about this man, this dangerously attractive and hot man.

“What are you doing here?” You say in complete disbelief. A slight furrow in his brows as he gives you a small smile and honestly you could’ve dropped your panties for him right there. Wait what?

“I have changed my mind.” He reaches behind his neck, taking off one of his necklaces.

“Changed your mind?” You relay back to him in confusion, at this he smiles and nods.

“Can’t someone have a change of mind?” Your mind is fogged with confusion and its clearly displayed on your face.

“Yes, but I’m not following. I don’t understand what you're saying.” The small sounds his jewelry made as he rests them down on the nearest surface, echoes in the little pauses of silence.

“Am I not speaking english?” He asks as if you literally couldn’t understand. You realize he’s joking and chuckle.

“You are. I mean- ….What did you change your mind on?” You lose your train of thought mid sentence, his muscles suddenly having more definition now that its no longer covered by the many necklaces he wore.

His masculine stature compliments his collar bone and defined jaw thats hidden under a well kept beard. You need to get a hold of yourself, zoning out while observing his body and objectifying him when given the slightest chance. What would he do if he found out? Something bad you hope. Blinking yourself out the trance, bare chest is in your eyeshot. Looking up through your eyelashes, he’s already looking down.

“You.” Watching as his palm rests along your cheek, steadily tracing down your jaw and stopping by your chin.

All the while your breathing hitches, his thumb rubs along your lower lip. Most alarms are ringing in your head for you to stop but whats a simple kiss? Your hand slides up his waist, toned stomach and rests on his shoulder. His gaze shifting for a moment to your hand and back to you, by then you were already pushing yourself up. His lips pull you into a hypnosis of only wanting him, only wanting to kiss him, wanting to climb in his skin. His lips stray from yours to your cheek and neck in a rushed manner. His arm capturing you in an embrace to keep you from stumbling backward.

Your chest heaves excessively as you realize what you’re going to do. Failing to release you from his embrace, he guides you to a soft patch of the cave. It was odd, grassy and soft as he laid you down. The space made you wonder about the deep sea of unknown even more, if there’s possibility of healthy gardens thriving underwater, what other possibilities are there? Your hands glide over the greenery, feeling the cushiony plants and enjoying the pleasant sound it made as your hands moved through. All your senses were being satisfied, especially your eyes. The sight of him kneeling in front of you can make any women weak. He observes you and your fascination with the scene. His hands compliment your skin, when they stroke your thighs, goosebumps rising on your skin. Despite your body growing hotter and hotter with each passing moment. Leaning down, he kisses up to your core. Kisses alternating from right thigh to left thigh, your hips accidentally jerk once he’s two kisses away. His gaze shifts to you once more and he smiles. His dimples peaking through.

Your excitement is getting the best of you as he pulls your pants off, his finger tips gracing your lower stomach. Lowering his head to your core, you close your eyes and he kisses you. One long slow swipe of his tongue from your hole to your clit. His tongue teasingly licking at your clit, small and kitten like. You hum a moan, your hand hovering over your lips in upmost disbelief. Sucking on your folds like a starved man, he hooks his arms under your thighs and his hands grip at your thighs. Sweat beads down your forehead, mixing with a tear of pleasure. Finally opening your eyes, he is totally indulged in your pussy. Your shiny wetness on his cheeks, his head moving from side to side to make sure nothing is left untended to. A broken gasp leaves your chest when he nips at your clit sharply. Fanning yourself, you take in deep breaths at the realization that your body is overheating. You attempt to plead his name but his tongue slips in your hole at the right moment and touches your g-spot. Making you shriek.

“namor…” You mutter, breathing heavily. Your pussy squeezing his tongue and legs clenching on his head, demanding more. Shaking your head, your moans leave your throat in a struggle.

Cumming all over his cheeks and chin, he laps up the mess and unhooks his hands from your thighs. Your eyes follow his stature as he sits up. Your chest heaving up and down, he holds you in a compelling trance.

“What are you doing,” His voice dips in a jagged tone, warning you and stopping you in your tracks. You were scooting away from him.

“take me home, please.” You trembled as he shifted close.

You cross your ankles and shield yourself from him, “we can’t, namor please, listen to me.” He shakes his head, his playful manner gone.

“I hear you, but I won’t listen.” His hands uncross your ankles, opening your legs to him once more, “I’ll fuck you until you beg to stay with me.” You gasp, his hard-on rubbing against you as he raps your legs around his waist.

The waistband of his shorts gone and your eyes dart everywhere. This is what you want, it is, but this is one of those journeys that you can’t turn back from once you’ve begun.

“Look.” He commands your body with a word, this brings a soft smile to his lips.

“I deserve you. I knew I did when I first saw you,” he moans softly when he uses his fingers to part your soaked lips.

“I waited this long, can’t you give me something I deserve, hm?” His attention was on you, his tip moving between your lips and squishing around your come. You moan as nod to the man, cursing yourself at your wordless affirmations.

a/n: don't mind the title I'm just having fun at this point...and here's the translations cause I know some of y'all lazy asf

in reina - my queen

Nib óolal, waal mía - thank you, my child

more of my writing

[moodymisty]

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙| 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author’s note: Send help. Send a therapist I don’t know I just need some form of mental health assistance.

Relationships: Typhus/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW (god save me), Disgusting Nurgle stuff, Fingering, Like 72 degrees of unsafe sex, Implied sex pollen/aphrodisiac, Noncon, Stockholm syndrome, Tentacles,

It’s a massive room, at one point it might have been a cathedral; To Mortarion, to the Emperor, or who else else the Death Guard worshiped before falling to Nurgle. Slime leaks from the walls and rusts away at the metal, eating holes in piping and supports alike. Tentacles, spores and other types of biomass litter it, with little botflies fluttering about. What they're doing you don't know, but they catch your eye every now and again.

It's not as if you can do much else. He's taken your hope, your energy, your home.

In the center of all this rot and decay is your place; A flowerbed of sickly blossoms and blooms, moss and mushrooms all infected by Nurgle.

A beautiful flowerbed for his own little Isha, Calas had said. Though he’s no longer Calas, is he? Typhon has become Typhus, and you've become prisoner.

You now lay on your bed of rotten blooms, picking at flower petals. You can’t escape him- even if you escaped this massive rotten cathedral, where would you go? This ship is his, and you’re deep in what is now heretic space.

He won’t let you die; He won’t let you leave. Bare skin lays against the sticky moss, spores brushing against you.

He’d taken your clothes after the last time, other than the thin cloth that serves as a near useless, dress. You suppose he finds a sort of elegance to it- a maiden in white amidst a pit of disgust. Another parallel to Isha. He's been meticulous in recreating it all so he has his own glimmer of light betwixt a defiled cathedral and a ship of the most putrid diseases.

You can only lay hopeless, displayed on your flowerbed underneath corruption forming a mockery of trees with budded flowers, rotten petals falling to the floor. Typhus’ own altar to whatever desires he has in his head.

Suddenly movement causes you to raise upward, restoring your sanity and consciousness. You’ve never heard even close to this much noise before, not even when the Death Guard were forming up to invade a poor, hopeless planet.

“In here!”

You turn your head to the massive cathedral doors, watching them shake before giving way and pushing apart with loud creaking. Your heart pounds in your chest with more hope than you’ve ever had before, at the sight.

It’s Astartes! A squad of them. You don’t know where they’re from or what they’re doing here, but they’re here to save you from this. Save you from him. To finally either pull you from this rotten ship or kill you here, and finally end this state of undeath Typhus has you lingering in.

One of the Astartes comes closer and reaches for you, and you weakly reach out a hand for him. You try to touch it, but you don’t make contact; it’s like your hand nearly falls through.

“What happened?”

He says, and you wish you had the ability to explain. How Calas has changed, the ship becoming nothing more than a vessel of disgust and disease.

“Help me,” You weakly say, but it feels like you’re trying to speak underwater.

Where did the other Astartes disappear to?

The marine’s armored hand reaches down to grasp your bare arm, and you think you hear him say your name. But how would he know it?

He says it again, and again…

And then your body jolts, legs straightening as your eyes open. Your lips part as you gasp, taking in so deep a breath you almost choke on the air.

“There you are, my girl.”

The man once called Calas looks over you while on his knee, the grill of his helmet hiding what is left of his face.

You’ve seen it; How the Nurgle infection has eaten away at his skin, changing was left to sickly yellow, green and purple. His armor seems entangled with his flesh, becoming one and the same. His appearance horrifies you, and makes you yearn for what once was.

“Were you having a nightmare?”

His rusted gauntlet scrapes across your skin, nicking your cheek. You try to avoid shivering, hands pressing against the ground below you.

It wasn’t a nightmare, it was the brightest glimpse of hope you had since Typhus doomed all of the Death Guard, and it was little more than your imagination.

“My sweet girl, you were asking for help.”

His hand drifts from your face, you wonder why it smells sweet, down your neck then the rest of your body and you whimper, trying to move away from him. His armor feels warm like it's almost alive, and perhaps it is- they're one and the same now.

His massive gauntlet slips between your legs, armored fingers diving between your folds as you writhe and attempt to pull away from him.

“I can grant your every desire much like grandfather does with Isha, you only need to let me in.”

He already is in; You feel his rusted gauntlet prod at your entrance. Your whimper and push at him, in some futile attempt to escape.

“Stop, please stop,”

Calas- Typhus, forces his armor finger into you and feels the way you tighten, pressing your hips down into the mossy flowerbed. Tears prick your eyes as you feel him sink into you deep, cold armor pressing against your cunt.

“You don’t want me to stop; I can smell you. The honey you’re making.”

You want him to stop, you want your skin to stop buzzing and heating up, as you feel your body begin to betray you. The flowers, the spores, Typhus himself, you don't know what he does that makes you lose control over yourself, but you hate every moment of it. It makes tears roll down your cheeks as your stomach tightens in knots over the feeling of his now two fingers deep inside of you, the palm of his gauntlet pushing against your clit.

“Please…. Stop…”

You try to turn away from him but his other hand grasps your jaw, turning you right back. Your body feels so hot, you can feel the brushing of little tentacles across your inner thighs, your breasts, your neck. Whether they’re from him or the flowerbed you don’t know, but they only serve to spark trails of fire as your body heats up like a furnace.

Typhus removes his hand from your cunt to push your thighs wider apart, the bottoms of your feet almost touching. They stay fallen apart, and your hands reach down to grasp at his decayed gauntlet as he pushes his fingers back into you.

Just finish, give him what he wants and then he'll leave. Ignore how good he makes you feel.

He hears you let out a whimper, finally broken. He laughs, the fingers of his other hand stroking your cheek.

“Good girl, just let me gift you all that you desire.”

You can hear the wet squelches of your own cunt as you leak over his rusted, decayed armor, weeping for more without your permission. You can hear in the back of your mind the no no no no no, but it's so chained by whatever sweet scent had filled your nostrils that you can't touch it.

You just want to be filled, by anything.

Your thoughts become your own for a moment as you feel how much you hate when he does this; It’s like your body and mind detach and you can no longer control yourself.

Your hands grasp his gauntlet tighter and try to pull him closer, arch closer to him, begging for more. The disgust of mushrooms and slime and rotten petals falling on your skin fades as he fills your mind with nothing but forced desire for him.

“It took Isha many years to realize Grandfather was her savior,” He pulls his fingers from your tight heat to tease your clit and make you gasp, before sinking them into you again. Your hips jerk upwards, tears in your eyes from how much you want this and how much you don’t want this. “And now you see, as well.”

You feel the tickle of flies landing on your skin, it makes you want to vomit. They always hover around him like he has a gravitational pull.

You cum against his hand as he thrusts his armored fingers deep into you, crying out with a voice now hoarse from your whimpers and cries. He hums pleased behind his helm, as you lay limp in front of him. Your inner thighs are slick, and you feel something tickle against them that isn't his hand.

He pulls his soaked hand from between your thighs, putting it on your stomach as his other hand slips underneath your shoulderblades. He raises you slightly up off the flowerbed removing his hand from your stomach to take off his helmet.

You want to look away, to preserve the memory of Calas. But he’s gone, rotted away. You feel his hand cup your jaw to force you to look at him, your lips brushing against his dried, rotten mouth.

His hand returns to your stomach again.

“My beautiful little flower in her beautiful little garden; Begging to be pollinated.” You feel your mind returning from its foggy state and you weakly kick your legs wanting to get away.

“You are in bloom, my beautiful little flower. I can’t wait to make so many more.”

[cocogum]

The Great Wave - Chapter 7 Review

‼️SPOILERS FOR THE CHAPTER‼️

Warning(s): unhinged behavior, fat shaming, unnecessary use of foul language, osamodas slander

This chapter made the stupid decision to edge me.

We come back to Yugo having an episode from the poison he just drank and he is going through it hard.

My guy is coughing up blood, eyes are turning red, body is shaking like a mad man, screaming in agony, and his wakfu antlers are even going crazy…

To top it all off, he’s now having a series of igniting explosions because of the dofus residing in him. Like you can’t make this shit up, my guy is literally creating explosions from the inside out. Look at the damages.

(damn, amalia is carrying this whole banquet. look at her saving these ppl what a queen ✨)

Which clown decided it was a good idea to poison a demigod in charge of six dofus and expect nothing abnormal or deadly to happen?????

Oh yeah, the blue-skinned cows.

I don’t care what anyone says. The osamodas family was in charge of the poison attempt, I don’t care if it was that Sadida woman’s idea since it’s obvious she’d know more about poisoning. The osamodas are at fault, the osamodas king told Aurora that they should wait and let them enjoy this last happy occasion. He also told Aurora that they knew about the marriage but weren’t invited?? Come on, they’re clearly at fault here!! They’re the ones who told the Sadida servant to do something about it and she improvised! But what these two bozos didn’t know, was how it would backfire on them. This is stupid to think about because they KNEW Yugo wasn’t a normal person. Poisoning Yugo is like trying to poison a deadly cobra. Or in this case, A FUCKING DEMIGOD. Either way, you’re gonna get jumped.

Like, OF COURSE Yugo’s gonna have a freakout and fuck shit up when his body had been messed with a deadly substance.

OF COURSE, he’s gonna hurt a lot of people around him if he’s around anyone.

OF COURSE, he won’t fucking die cuz of his divinity status.

OF COURSE, he’ll start ruining the kingdom these two fucking dumbasses want for no reason.

You can’t make this shit up.

These two are so bad at being villains, they don’t even know what the fuck they’re doing to people they don’t bother knowing more about. They don’t even know who their target is.

After understanding what kind of poison Yugo drank, which was the belladone, we now know why Amalia knew what was in the cup. She probably recognized the smell of it.

Amalia: “Adamaï…The belladone is the worst of poisons…”

According to how she describes it, this poison is so deadly that it kills the person or animal who drinks it in under ten seconds. The victim first drinks it and then foams at the mouth before collapsing and dying.

We’ve seen the same thing happen in another era of the World of Twelve and that was back in the Cire Momore backstory which was an event around the Dofus era.

The daughter of a queen tried poisoning her for all the suffering she’s endured and had the help of a painter to do it.

Gustave (painter): “I found the berries at the exact place you indicated.”

Princess: “Perfect. Do not forget to carefully wash your hands. The belladone is highly toxic.”

Based on this passage alone, we’ve learned that the belladone are purple berries that are so toxic, that they can even damage you if you don’t properly wash your hands after you pick them.

After that, during the banquet, the princess secretly poured the poison into her mother’s wine. But just before she could drink it, her dog suddenly jumped at her, causing her to drop the wine, which made the pet drink it from the ground instead.

The results were exactly what you expected to happen.

Once the dog drank it, he foamed at the mouth and collapsed, immediately dying from the drink.

So when we compare this instance to what happened to Yugo, we can see a huge difference.

Unlike what happened to the dog (or any mortal), Yugo is still standing but is terribly shaking, coughing blood, and having an episode. His body is trying to get the poison out of his system by coughing but his body is still alive.

The only thing Yugo can say while in this situation is “It hurts”. My guy is in severe pain but he’s still breathing, I don’t think anyone in the history of the krosmoz has ever taken the poison like this, let alone a divinity of all people.

Yugo: “Sor…ry. The…pain.”

Bro even has the time to say sorry while kneeling on the ground and holding his stomach. He’s literally at death’s door, grasping for life, his body trying and struggling to reject the poison, and he still finds the time to apologize for something that wasn’t even his fault.

What a chad.

Amalia: “Yugo…He should already be…”

Adamaï: “My brother isn’t like everyone! He possesses the six primordial eliatrope dofus, if he manages to take hold of himself, then he can take it…”

Even Amalia is shocked that Yugo is still breathing. But Adamaï over here is telling her that he WILL survive this if he can perfectly control it with the eliatrope dofus.

And we all know how that ended up for him the last time he used them…

So Adamaï flies in and takes Yugo away from the banquet before he actually hurts somebody.

Adamaï: “Yugo, you have to focus. Or else you’ll destroy your kingdom or end up killing someone!”

But bro is not listening cuz the second Adamaï pulls him up, dude just overcharged himself before exploding AGAIN.

JUST LOOK AT THE DAMAGE!! THAT LITERALLY LOOKS LIKE A CRATER!! You can even see how perfect the circle looks from this shot.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for.

AMALIA FUCKING GROWING SOME BALLS AND JUMPING ON THE OSAMODAS.

Nah cuz this scene was what we needed! THIS was the moment we wanted to see ever since that blue-skinned woman started breathing in front of our screens!!

As soon as Yugo caused another explosion, this was it for the stupid clown ‘royal’ family. They signed their death sentences and Amalia is fed up with their bullshit.

Cuz trying to make her marry one of their relatives, being disrespected by them while her brother did nothing, getting told to leave her home and kingdom, being told that she should be replaced, sure she could manage all that.

She can take it. But seeing her husband being poisoned like that on the same day that a wedding was supposed to happen AND having the osamodas randomly being there to witness it, was the last straw before she finally fucking snaps.

She had just lost her whole family in a short period, she wasn’t going to lose her husband to some clowns.

(Also what the fuck were they thinking of poisoning her husband when she had already lost so much?? Did they really think this whole thing wasn’t going to backfire on them??? What a bunch of amateurs.)

And look at them just standing there looking 😮😱😱😱😧😮 LIKE OF COURSE SHE WAS GONNA KILL Y’ALL, YOU BOTH LOOK LIKE THE ODD ONES OUT HERE ‼️‼️

They even looked caught off guard when they saw Yugo causing explosions.

You got Aurora over here with her dumb ugly bat pet looking all shocked, covering her mouth as if she was surprised to find out her dad’s shenanigans wouldn’t work. And then you got animal king over here realizing he fucked up.

And right when they get confronted for their repetitive bullshit, they see literal death looking back at them with the most bloodthirsty eyes they had ever seen before.

Amalia’s so pretty in this shot ready to rip them apart 🥰🥰

Like yes queen, cut them to pieces, we’re about to have a barbecue 🤤🤤

As soon as they get caught red-handed, that’s when they suddenly turn soft and act like victims.

Fatty: “Stay back my daughter, this girl has lost her mind.”

“StAy bAcK mY DAUghTEr, ThIs gIrL hAs-“

Shut yo dumbass up little boy you knew something like this would’ve happened stop playing with me.

He’s over here acting like a random passerby when a second ago he told Aurora that they should wait a little more for something to happen.

So when he gets cornered by the very same girl who he had disrespected and ignored in Season 4 and wanted to be replaced so his useless trophy daughter can take the throne, now she’s suddenly “lost her mind”???

Fuck you.

Amalia: “YOU MONSTERS! I WAS READY TO CONFIDE YOU MY KINGDOM!”

Fatty: “I don’t know what you’re imagining, girl, but…”

That useless fat fuck KEEPS PLAYING THE CARD VICTIM EVEN WHEN SHE HAS EVERY RIGHT TO BLAME HIM.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME????

WTF IS WRONG WITH THEM?!!?

She has EVERY RIGHT and he’s over here HEARING HER say that she was ready to give him the kingdom but this fatso is too high up his own ass to hear her cuz he’s still delusional and telling her he didn’t do shit. Even when she was this close to giving it to him, this guy was not budging from the victim card.

If I could spit at anyone in my life, it’d be him. What a sad excuse of a man. I bet my own kidney Chibi can take him in a fight.

This is literally my favourite panel of this WHOLE volume so far.

Amalia: “You poisoned my husband.”

I love it so much ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

LIKE YES FUCKING KILL THEM RIP THEM APART THEY’RE JUST STANDING THERE LIKE PROCESSED MEAT READY TO BE CUT‼️‼️‼️‼️

DO IT ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

I just love how the more Amalia becomes enraged, the more her speech bubbles tremble and shake, implying that she’s slowly but surely becoming more unhinged and losing it.

Fatty: “Crazy girl…”

Takes one to know one, bitch.

This chapter genuinely edged me, I WANNA SEE SOME BLOOD ALREADY‼️‼️

YOU’RE CO CLOSE JUST KILL THEM‼️‼️‼️‼️

DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DOT IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DOT IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DOT IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DOT IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DOT IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DOT IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DOT IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT DOT IT DO IT DO IT-

I PRAY that these poor excuses of antagonists DO NOT appear in volume 2. The chapter cover of the tenth chapter only features the Sadida servant who poisoned Yugo and she looks completely calm, almost like Yugo’s explosions and Amalia and Aurora’s fight have calmed down.

SO PLEASE TOT PLEASE DON’T PUT THEM ANYWHERE ELSE ANYMORE.

Seasons 3, and 4, and the great wave’s first volume are already enough. So cut it out. Let me have a day where I don’t get a migraine just thinking about what kind of dumbassery these fake osamodas will do in the next chapter.

[vodika-vibes]

Cowboy Casanova

Summary: When you decided to move to the middle of nowhere to get some perspective in your life, you expect to be bored out of your mind. You definitely don’t expect Bacara.

Pairing: Commander Bacara x F!Reader

Word Count: 4123

Warnings: Smut, dom/sub dynamics, biting, hints of a breeding kink

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @dukeoftheblackstar @kimiheartblade @mire-draws-things

A/N: This started out at one thing, turned into another, which turned into a third thing, and anyway it's now what it was supposed to be so I had to change the name, which makes me sad. The Original name was Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy. Anyway! I hope you like my sin. Also, this is a western au because...I don't have a reason other than Bacara with a cowboy hat. I'm sorry. Anyway, no requests got done today because of this. Note, this isn't edited - so if you see any errors, no you didn't.

“You’re staring,”

“Am not.” You reply absently as you drag your gaze across Bacara’s bare chest, your eyes lingering first on his dog tags and then on the nipple piercings that he got when he lost a bet.

He chuckles, low and deep, “You’re still staring.”

“If you don’t want to be stared at, then you should put on a shirt.” You counter, unrepentant.

Bacara arches a brow and flings a rag at your face, making you sputter and scrunch up your nose, “You wouldn’t say that if I was staring at you.”

“Of course not. Double standards are a thing after all.”

He rolls his eyes and walks over to you, leaning into your personal space as he picks up his rag again, a smug smirk crossing his face when your gaze drops to his chest and then his waist, before snapping back to his face, “See something you like, city mouse?”

Your face heats, but you keep your gaze locked with his, “Just worried that your pants are going to fall down since they’re hanging so low.”

“Fashion choice,” Bacara replies with a shrug, as he walks away from you and back over to the machine he’s trying to make work, “Besides, it’s hot as balls out here, and I hate the feel of my shirt sticking to my skin.”

Well, he’s not wrong about that.

Bacara leans back into the engine block and reaches in, “Why don’t you just pay someone to come and fix it?” You ask.

“You have the money for some repair man from the city to drive out here and fix this? Cause I sure as hell don’t.”

“You own, like, a dozen cows.”

“There are three dozen of them, actually.”

“That’s not the point that you think it is.”

He laughs and pulls back, “Yeah, yeah. I know. Come here, I need a small hand.”

“I don’t fix things, Bacara.” You warn, though you do hop off the bale of hay that you’ve been sitting on and walk over to him.

“You need to learn, city mouse. What happens if something breaks in your home?”

“Uh, I’ll call you.”

“What if I’m not available?”

“Why wouldn’t you be available?”

“Believe it or not, I don’t exist to come running at your beck and call.” Bacara replies dryly.

“What? Wow! Really?” You marvel sarcastically, and then you yelp when he pinches your side. “Rude!”

“Alright, Little Miss Sass, I need you to reach into there and feel around for any loose wires.” Bacara explains as he presses his chest against your back and points where he needs your help.

“Wires? I’m not going to get electrocuted, am I?” You ask as you try, really, really hard to not get distracted at the feel of him pressed against you.

He shoots you a look, “Of course not. It’s totally safe.”

“Fiiine.” You sigh out as you reach into the opening and feel around blindly, “Um...okay, I found a wire.”

“Excellent work,” His voice is low against your ear, and you can’t help but shiver. Embarrassingly, he notices and a quiet chuckle falls from him, “I need you to follow the wire and tell me if it’s connected on both ends.”

You ignore him, as best as you can, and feel around for a moment, “I...think so? It doesn’t feel loose at least.”

“Damn, I was hoping you’d say the opposite. Alright, pretty girl. You’re done. This is now, officially, someone elses problem.”

You pull your hand out and make a face at the oil on your fingers, “I thought you didn’t want to pay-”

“I don’t, which is why I’ll have Neyo come and fix it.”

“Ripping off your own brothers, shame-”

“What are brothers for if not a little unpaid labor every now and then?” Bacara asks rhetorically, “Come on, you can come inside and get that stuff off your hand.” He picks his hat up off his work table, and pauses before setting it on his head.

He shoots you a small smirk, and drops his hat on your head, it immediately tilts over your eyes, and you use the back of your hand to tilt the rim back so you can look at him, “Well, how do I look?” You ask with a small grin.

Bacara lazily drags his gaze across your body, his smirk growing, “Hot as hell,” He drawls.

Your face heats again. Still, you’re not able to stop the delight from sliding across your face, “Well, thank you~”

He stares at you for a moment longer, and then motions for you to follow him. It’s kind of unnecessary, you could navigate Bacara’s ranch blindfolded and drunk, but you do appreciate being able to walk with him.

After you get yourself cleaned up, which takes a lot longer than you anticipated since the oil just did not want to come off your hands, you meander from the guest bedroom, down the hall, and into the kitchen.

He’s still not wearing a shirt, and you’re beginning to think that he’s walking around like that intentionally. “Did you manage to get the oil off?” Bacara asks as he turns to face you.

“Yeah, eventually. The bottle of special soap was empty, so I had to make some more real quick.” You shrug easily as you sink into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. You don’t mind, you normally make it for him anyway.

Your parents would be so proud. Thousands of credits spent on a fancy Chem degree...and you use it mixing oil removing soap.

“Sorry about that, I should have checked earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You fold your legs under you, and your attention lands on something interesting on the table.

Now. Bacara is a rancher, there’s always new and interesting things laying around his house that he needs to explain to you. Over the year that you’ve been friends with him, you’ve learned a lot about ranching and about the things that he needs to do his job well.

This, however, is new.

“Bacara?” You sound slightly bemused as you reach across the table and hook a finger under, surprisingly silky, maroon rope, “What’s this for?” You ask as you turn your gaze to him.

Unless your eyes are deceiving you, there’s a hint of a blush on his face.

“It’s a joke gift. From Cody.” Bacara replies as he walks over to the table and picks up the rope, only to hesitate for a moment, “Although-” he murmurs quietly, as if to himself, as he pulls some of the rope out and lays it across your wrist, “It would look amazing wrapped around your wrists.”

You tilt your head and your mouth is slightly dry, you’re pretty sure that his comment was meant to be an inside thought, not an outside one, but it’s not like you can unring that bell.

“I think it’d look better wrapped around yours.” You blurt, and his gaze snaps to meet yours, “The color would look amazing against your skin tone.” You add, sheepishly.

He stares at you, and you stare right back at him.

And just as you’re about to apologize, Bacara smirks.

“Alright.”

You blink at him, “Alright?”

“Alright. Lets see what you’re capable of.”

You blink at him again. And then a third time as his words process, “Wait! Really?”

“Really. Unless you think you can’t handle it.”

“I can handle it,” You shoot back, “The question is can you?”

He folds his arms across his broad chest, “Let’s make this a little more fun-”

“-more fun then you getting tied up?”

His grin is predatory and sharp, “I don’t beg. Ever. For anyone.” He advances on you, “However, if you can make me beg in say...an hour, you win this little challenge and I’ll do whatever you want for a week.”

“You already do whatever I want, Bacara.” You point out.

“Unimportant.” He replies, “But when you lose-”

“-if. If I lose-”

His gaze locks with yours and his grin becomes even more predatory, “When you lose,” Bacara repeats, “I get two hours to make you beg for me, and when I win you’ll do whatever I want for a week.”

“Hold on now! How come you get two hours and I only get one?” You demand.

“Because I’m going to spend the first hour with my face buried in your pussy, that’s why.”

Your entire thought process screeches to a halt as your train of thought derails. “...oh.”

“So what do you say, city mouse? Do we have a deal?”

And, really, there’s only one thing you can say to that, “Deal.”

Bacara advances on you again, essentially crowding you, as he walks you through his home and into his bedroom. His eyes a glittering with arousal, but he doesn’t touch you, as much as you can tell that he wants to.

He kicks the bedroom door shut and turns on the lamp so there’s some light in the room, and then he folds his arms and waits.

You gaze at him thoughtfully, a small smile on your lips, “You’re wearing too much. Strip.”

His gaze is hot as it lingers on your face, “Yes ma’am,”

You consider watching him strip for a moment, but instead turn to the bed and start setting up the rope, while pulling out your phone to look up safe ways to tie him up.

“Alright,” You murmur to yourself as you make sure the ropes are secure around the bed frame, and you climb off the bed to focus your attention on him, “Pick a position that’s comfortable for you, Bacara.” You say as you carefully don’t take your eyes off his face.

“Not even gonna steal a peek, kitten?” Bacara asks, as he moves passed you and settles on the bed, with his back pressed against the headboard.

“I lady doesn’t peek, Bacara,” You sniff.

“Oh? Do they tie up their friends.”

“I can leave you know.”

He laughs and grabs your wrist to tug you onto the bed, you tumble against him, your hands settling on his shoulders, as he reaches around you to settle his hand on the back of your neck, “I want you to look, kitten. After all, I need to know if I meet your approval.” You have to shift to get more comfortable, eventually straddling his thigh so you’re not twisted uncomfortably.

You roll your eyes, but slowly drag your gaze down his chest, a nearly silent sigh of delight falling from you when you see that he’s still wearing his dog tags. Bacara chuckles lowly, and you hurriedly continue your visual perusal of the man beneath you.

He’s solid, your Bacara. Oh sure, he has a belly, but you’re pretty sure that he’s solid muscle, like the professional weight lifters you used to know in college. Big, beefy, and could lift you with one arm if he was so inclined.

Absently you trail your fingers down his chest, teasingly skirting around the nipple piercings, and down his stomach, and then your gaze lands on his cock.

Already erect and with precum leaking from the head.

He’s gorgeous.

But that’s not what catches your attention. No. What catches your attention is the golden piercings.

You blink at the piercings dumbly for a moment. “Holy shit Bacara.” You blurt, “Why didn’t you say that you had cock piercings?”

“Not really something that comes up in polite conversations,” He counters with a grin.

“But...If I had know then my-” You cut yourself off before you finish the thought, and you snap your gaze to his face, “Never mind.”

“Oh no, you definitely need to finish that thought, kitten.” Bacara practically purrs, “Come on, your what?”

“Nope. Not going there.” You shift your weight slightly, and reach down to grab his wrist, but Bacara doesn’t let you move it. “Really?”

He smirks, “Tell me, and I’ll let you tie me up.”

“Don’t you automatically lose if you don’t let me even try?” You try to bargain.

His smirk widens, “No, because I saw that look on your face. You want my face in your pussy.”

Damn him for being right.

“Fine,” You drag the word out, “I might have fantasized about you before. Maybe.”

He smirks smugly, “Knew it. Alright, you may continue.”

“I’m pretty sure that I’m supposed to be the one in control right now.” You counter, even as you bring his hand to the headboard and carefully loop the rope around his wrist.

Bacara hums and his still free hand comes up to caress your hip, “Oh, kitten. I need you to understand that I’m letting you do this. But I need you to know that I’m the one in control here, not you.”

Your fingers slip on the rope, “I’m going to pretend that you didn’t say that for the sake of the challenge.” You finally say once you finish with your knot, “How’s that? Too tight?”

Bacara tugs at the rope experimentally, “Good enough.” He finally says, as he lifts his other hand to the headboard.

You’re a lot faster this time, now that you know what you’re doing, and you sit back on your heels as you look at him. “I was right,” You finally say as you climb off of him so you’re able to peel your own clothes off.

“Bout what?” Bacara asks as he watches you strip with hungry eyes.

“That color does look amazing against your skin.”

He hums his understanding, tilting his head so he’s able to watch you push your shorts and panties down your legs. “I can just about guarantee that it’s going to look much better against yours.”

You set your clothes on a chair and climb on the end of the bed, settling yourself between his feet.

Bacara looks completely relaxed, and you’re beginning to accept that he was right, he is the one in control here, as much as it might seem like you are. “Just gonna sit there and stare at me, kitten?” He drawls.

“I’m thinking.”

“Do you need some direction?” He offers, “Because I can do that.”

“I’m not giving up yet, Bacara.” You counter as you slide up so that you’re better able to reach him, your fingers feather light as you glide them across his thigh.

His muscle twitches under your touch, “Yet, huh.” Bacara says with a small smirk, “Good to know.”

Finally fed up with his comments, you surge up and crash your lips against his. Your hands wander across his chest, lightly flicking his piercings, as you trail your tongue across his lower lip.

You’re almost surprised when he takes control of the kiss.

Almost.

He catches your lower lip between his teeth, and nips you roughly enough that a squeak falls from you. Bacara then soothes the sore spot with a lazy swipe of his tongue, and the moment you part your lips for him, his tongue slides against your own.

He maps out your mouth with a single minded intensity that leaves you moaning, and encourages you to straddle him again. When you break the kiss, you’re slightly breathless, and his gaze is dark as is slides across your face.

“You should give up, kitten.” Bacara purrs.

You shake your head, “I can still win.”

He laughs, “You’re already straddling me, and we haven’t done much more than kissing.”

“That-”

“I’ll make you feel so good, kitten.” He purrs as he tugs his wrist once, causing the knot to unravel. He presses his hand against the small of your back, and pulls you closer, and you shiver when you feel his hard erection pressed against you.

Unthinkingly, you grind against him, the head of his cock pressing deliciously against your clit and a moan fall from your lips as you do so.

His arm hooks tightly around your waist, and he pulls you closer so that he’s able to trail his lips against your throat, “Say you give up, kitten. And I’ll give you exactly what you need.”

Your lips turn down into a small pout.

“We can try this again later,” He promises, very temptingly, “After you’ve had some time to prepare properly.”

You peer at him, and then release a heavy sigh, and reach up to untie his other hand, “This isn’t me giving up.”

“Of course not.” Bacara agrees, suspiciously easily, “But, it is you forfeiting, which means it’s my turn.”

You squeak as he flips you so that you’re under him, smoothly using one hand to pin your hand over your head and tying them together and to the headboard.

Bemused, you tug on the ropes, but there’s no give whatsoever, “How-”

“Practice. I’ll teach you properly for next time.”

“...this game was designed for me to lose from the get go, wasn’t it.”

He grins and leans over you, his lips hovering just over yours, “Good girl, I knew you’d figure it out eventually.”

“You’re a dick.”

“Not gonna deny that.” He replies before he kisses you deeply, but quickly.

And then he’s moving down your body, biting marks into the soft skin of your neck and throat, across your collar, and down your chest. You squirm and writhe under his attention, biting your lower lip to keep yourself quiet.

He takes a quick moment to lavish your nipples with attention, before he’s moving again. At this, you’re unable to keep yourself from gasping out his name, and you feel his lips curl up into a smile against your breast.

Bacara litters your stomach and sides with possessive marks and then he leaves a trail of bite marks from your hip to your thighs. By this point, you’re a moaning mess, you don’t care if this means that he wins, you just don’t want him to stop.

And only then, when he’s sure that you’re covered in his marks, and when you’re whining for him, does he spread your legs to make room for himself between your thighs.

“Look at you,” Bacara praises lightly as he drags a single finger between your folds, a pleased smirk crossing his face as your hips twitch towards him, “You’re already wet. Do you have a biting kink, kitten?”

Your face burns at his words, and you stubbornly press your lips together to not say anything.

Bacara clicks his tongue, and his hand lands, heavily, on your outer thigh. It surprises you more than it hurts you, and you blink at him wide eyed, “I asked you a question.”

You know what he wants to hear. Even though you’re so horny that you almost can’t stand it. Even though his large, calloused finger is circling your clit in a way that is kind of driving you insane. You still know what he wants to hear.

What he’s expecting to hear.

Your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips, and you plaster on your most innocent expression, “Did you?” You ask, slightly breathlessly as you clench around nothing from his teasing, “I wasn’t listening.”

Bacara stops. His fingers stop moving, and his hand, which was caressing your thigh and the red mark blooming there, stops moving as well. He searches your face for something, and then a slow smirk crosses his lips.

“Safe word or color?”

Your heart racing with excitement, you breath out, “Color.”

He hums, “What color are you?”

“Green.” You blurt, “Very green.”

For a moment, there’s a glimmer of something warm and soft on his handsome face, before it’s gone. “So, it sounds like you are able to listen.”

“When I want to.”

“Then it sounds like I just need to teach you that you need to listen to me, doesn’t it?”

You feel a thrill of delight, “If you ever said anything worth listening to-” You words get cut off with a ragged moan as he suddenly thrusts a finger into your pussy and curls it, almost instinctively finding the spot deep inside you that makes you see stars.

“I’m going to tell you how this is going to go,” Bacara says, a hint of promise in his voice, “I’m going to give you as many orgasms as I want, you are only allowed to cum when I allow it.” He eases his finger out of your pussy, and licks it clean with an appreciative hum, “And, if you don’t obey me, I’ll have to punish you.”

“Punish?” You ask.

He just smirks, “Do you understand? Answer verbally.”

“I understand,”

“Good girl,” He gives himself a couple of lazy strokes as he examines your splayed out body appreciatively. “I did say that I was going to bury my face in your pussy, didn’t I.” He muses, loud enough that you’re able to hear him, “But I don’t think you’ve earned that.”

That pulls an unhappy noise from your lips, and he chuckles, “Only good girls get to have their pussy eaten, and you haven’t been a good girl.” He releases your legs, letting them fall back to the bed, before he reaches up to check the ropes one more time, and then flips you, making sure that the ropes didn’t twist in such a way to hurt you. “There we go,” Bacara murmurs as he smooths his hand over your ass and then squeezes roughly

You squirm under him, but settle when you feel his hand press against your lower back. He quickly eases a pillow under your hips and adjusts your legs so that you’re spread wide for him.

He doesn’t touch you for a moment, though you can feel his heavy gaze dragging against you body. Just as you start to squirm, a little self conscious about being so exposed, his hands are on you again.

His hands are calloused and heavy on your body, and you’re sure you’re going to have bruises from his hands covering your body, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to care as his hands press into you.

And then you don’t care about anything as the blunt head of his cock presses against you. Slowly he eases inch after inch inside you, and you’re squirming and whining before he’s even halfway sheathed.

The piercing feels amazing inside you, and you find yourself clenching around him.

Bacara groans and bites down on the back of your neck, “No cumming, kitten.” He warns as he slowly pushes the rest of the way in. As soon as he’s bottomed out, he presses a light kiss to the mark on the back of your neck.

He doesn’t move for a moment, and then he slowly eases out, until only the head of his cock is inside you. Bacara waits a beat, until you squirm to try and get him to move again, and then he thrusts in hard and fast.

He keeps the rapid pace, his breath hot against your ear, his hand fisted in your hair to keep your head down.

The sensations of his hand in your hair, and low groans in your ear, adding to the amazing feeling of his piercings dragging against your walls and the delicious stretch of his cock, are too much to handle.

And try as you might, you’re not able to keep yourself from cumming with a cry of his name.

You feel him laugh, “That’s punishment 1, kitten.”

“Not my fault-” You gasp, “Feels too good.”

“Oh? What’s that? Harder you said?” Bacara asks, as he adjusts himself slightly, before he leans in and catches your earlobe between his teeth. Before he does exactly as he warned, thrusting hard enough that you release a noise that is something between a moan and a sob of sheer pleasure.

“Good girl,” Bacara purrs, “You’re taking me so well.” He smooths his hand up your spine, “Such a willing little thing,” He coos in your ear, “I’m going to ruin you, kitten.” He catches your lips in a deep kiss, his tongue sliding against yours.

“Please,” You whisper, “Please ruin me.”

For half a moment, Bacara’s hips stutter, and he releases a deep groan. “Oh, princess. Gladly.” He pulls out completely, pulling a disapproving whine from your lips and then he flips you back onto your back, before he thrusts back into you hard and fast. “I’m going to stuff you full of my cum, princess.” He promises, “Over and over and over, until I’m good and done.”

“Cara-” You whine his name as you arch against him as best as you can.

“So, be my good girl and take all of me,” He orders as he leans in and catches your lips in a passionate kiss, “Be my good girl, and I’ll ruin you.” He promises, his gaze dark.

And, really, how can you do anything other than obey him after that promise.