#size 8 open toe

[susoriginals]

Vintage Black T Strap Sandals Strappy Open Toe by Van Eli Women's Size 8 Only $8

[biteyoubiteme]

perfect practice

soobin x fem!reader

warnings: 🔞!! size kink, size training, sex toys, belly bulge, breeding kink, no protection, creampie, prob forgot some sorry

wc: 800

an: short drabble <33 feedback is appreciated! [m.list]

he always starts by sloppily eating you out. not caring how your wetness drips down his chin; the lewd sounds accompanying your moans. He will make sure to get you off once maybe even twice depending on if he can stop himself.

His main goal was always to get you as slick as possible to be able to take any toy he had gotten for you. As soon as you two started dating, Soobin had gotten a set of dildos, four different sizes starting at 5 inches and going to 8.

Maybe he had been presumptuous about you being open to the idea but as soon as he saw the clear silicone set he couldn’t stop himself from imagining slipping each one into you training you to take his cock.

and as much of a perv he was in theory he wasn’t as open with you about that side of himself until he was knuckles deep into feeling your walls flutter around his fingers when he brought it up. “I wanna fuck you I just don’t think you can handle me right now,” your whining at the implication of not being stuffed full of his cock was nearly enough to make him ditch the idea all together but he held strong. “I got you a little gift to practice with first,” your hips were already rolling on his fingers ready for another round.

soobin had pulled out the smallest dildo in the set showing it off to you before making you cum hard enough to see stars. it wasn’t until the next time that you realized what was happening and you had been punished on the six-inch dildo, begging soobin to fuck you. “Only two more baby, you can be patient,” he didn’t even know how he was resisting watching the way you were being stretched out was leaving him straining in his jeans ready to burst with the smallest touch.

when you were finally down to the last dildo all eight inches slipped into you after soobin had been attached to your clit without remorse leaving you slick enough to take anything he wanted to give you. “I’m a little thicker than this but I’m sure you can take me now huh?” but it’s no use talking to you at this point already cresting on your third orgasm. your back is arching as you cum but soobins pulling away the last dildo the rivulets of wetness still stuck to the silicone making him groan as he pulls himself from his jeans.

Even with the training you can tell the difference in the stretch, the remnants of your orgasm sucking him in deeper as your walls flutter around the girth of him. you swear you can feel him in your throat, every thick vein pulsing as he pushes into you. you’re absolutely brainless as he fills you, the only sound leaving you are moans you’ve never heard yourself make before.

“oh you feel so perfect, sucking me in, taking my cock so well. perfect fit- fuck-“ he can’t keep control of himself slipping in and out of you at a delicious pace made much better from all the prep, the squelching sounds filling the room. soobin takes your hand to place over your lower belly pressing down so that you can feel the bulge of his cock. your moans mix as you feel him hitting your gspot the added pressure making you feel every thrust down to your toes.

“you feel how deep I am? now that you can take me I’ll be here,” he grunts pressing your hand down on your pelvis, “almost every night pounding into you,” he presses his lips to your ear, “filling you up. perfect practice for when we’re ready to have a baby,” your sweet whines music to his ears as you scratch down his back, “you like that huh? you want my baby?”

you’re absolutely squeezing him at the idea making it hard to keep thrusting but he’s already twitching ready to shove his hips as close as he can to yours. “no more practice to take my cock but practice to take my load, keep it as long as you can inside you, as far as I can get it, over and over again,” he doesn’t even know what he's saying anymore blabbering as your legs start shaking, hips sinking back as you arch orgasm taking over you for the fourth time.

when he cums he stills right against your cervix the warmth filling you up as you cling to soobin pulling him as close as you can get him. Neither of you can form sentences for a while taking deep breaths to try and bring your minds back. “we will definitely have to do that again, you know what they say practice makes perfect,”

[gladiatorcunt]

- # ROMANS 8:7 !!

“because the mind of the flesh is hostile to god: it does not submit to god’s law, nor can it do so.”

cw: implied plus size & southern afab!reader, xmen 1 coded logan but also different, large age gap (reader early 20’s, logan…. not), implied mental health & abandoment issues, drug & alchohol mentions, consensual somno (not discussed but logan’d be down with whatever you wanted), dad/father figure bf behavior and talk (kiddo, controlling your sleep schedule, heavy daddy kink & calling him your old man, calls fucking you “feeding you” etc.), heavy werewolf/animals in general allusions & imagery (?), reader is lowkey unhinged, reader doing some solo a/b/o roleplay lol, kind of self objectification/degradation vibes due to underlying trauma, gentle dead dove like if the dove perched on a bitter old man’s dirt covered shoulder and wouldn’t leave, more of a moment in time

1k event. / please consider commissioning me!

Stubble against your lips is a damn fine way to wake up in the morning, you think with a dazed smile. The scent of the beard shampoo you have Logan use smells better than a whole poppy field ever could. There are lingering traces of cigar smoke hovering over his slightly chapped lips, but not as heavy anymore, he’s trying to quit relying on them so much. A gruff sentiment about wanting to make sure he has a better chance of sticking around to keep an eye on you, or something like that.

You were falling asleep on his sweaty abs when he said it like he was getting his teeth pulled out, but there’s merit in the fact that he could’ve cut himself off. It’s important to him to try to be better at verbalizing the feeling burning in his battered gut like a glass of whiskey on the rocks. You’d take him with open arms and open legs even if he was a worse man than the devil.

You reach down and lift his hefty hands to your still swollen lips and kiss his knuckles like you’re trying to suck his claws out of his skin and into your mouth. A painless operation, you’re used to the feeling of blades against your skin, housing them in your stomach would mean nothing if it meant you could take some of the hurt away from him. It feels like that’s your job sometimes, to jump through as many hoops as possible so that you bear the brunt of the weight Logan’s forced to deal with on a daily basis.

He stops that train of thought in its tracks when you express it, what kind of dad would he be if he let you get even a single scratch? Maybe there’s to be said for a rough and tough kind of guy getting to nurse a kitten back to health, to keep it tucked away in the crook of their muscular arm never to see the light of day without them.

You don’t offer to keep his claws sheathed safely in your pussy either, you’d lick your own blood off the ends when they eventually push through your mouth. A cock sleeve in a different outfit, daddy’s little helper. But then you see the way Logan’s face belies a sense of peace, his forehead wrinkles and the fine lines around his mouth aren’t nearly so pronounced because this is the rare moment in which he finds no reason to scowl. You know you’re worth more than a nyquil infused pussy to him, but this is where you find your use. This is how you feel content, gummy walls suckling on his fat tip because even when you’ve put your old man to bed you can’t get enough.

Logan thinks he’s just so awful, the big bad wolf slobbering on an innocent lamb’s cherry pie-sweet cunt, but you might be worse. You’d your feet and throw a fit if his nose even twitched catching the scent of someone else, you’d do far worse things than what he’s already done to keep this toe curlingly grumpy man snoring a crater into your silk pillows. You feel like a rabid chihuahua nipping at his heels to keep him inside and with you, where it’s warm and wet and there’s no death other than the little ones you experience over and over like a perverted groundhog day. He’s the only one you trust with you doing you prone bone, having faith that he’ll shield you from all the things in the world that aren’t Daddy and the cozy sticky life he provides for you.

Calloused fingers strangling your tits in the morning, your ass bent over his lap in the evening while he sits back in his recliner and soothes the sting. You’d been sick to your stomach before you met him, wandering up and down the road in New York because you insisted you could make this big move and do it all on your own. Then his denim blue pick up rumbled its way down the broken road and you’ve never looked back since.

Your heart was beating faster than a hummingbird when he rolled his eyes and pushed the passenger side door open with one hand, like you were lucky he didn’t drive off and leave you in the dirt. You had the stray thought of offering him a blow job or a tit fuck to make it worth his while, but he was squirming around to tug off his brown leather jacket and toss it at you before you could move a muscle.

Poor little kitty, last one in the box all alone in the cold. Someone wanted you though, and over time your hisses and scratches turned to cat-that-got-the-cream-AND-the-canary wails and voracious frisking.

He ‘tsks’ and bites his cheek on the days where the guilt creeps in, and you know he just can't accept that this is what you want. That you saw his maw open wide and dripping with blood-cum-tissue-bone-spittle and hopped right on the center of his dusty rose pink tongue like a good bunny.

In your daydreams the appendage is so long he can choke you with the tip of it, wrap it around you and get his unique slime and grime absorbed into the hollow of your throat. You wish he had a knot too, so he could plug you up and you’d have no choice but to take it and be so grateful that Daddy thought you were worthy of being bred and speared and kept.

God, you’d never wanted to have somebody’s baby so much. But you’re selfish too, so you don’t mind this time spent together, just the two of you. That’s a blessing in and of itself and you’ve learned not to question the rare good things in life that you’re allowed to have. The powers that be decided he’s yours and you’re his and you’ll tie your leash to his hand if that ensures he can never change his mind about taking a chance on you. If he can’t run like you tried to do when you realized he might actually love you back, that he wasn’t content to just be a dirty fantasy you had when you were alone on your trailer bed. That for the first time in your life, what you need needs you too, or wants to entertain you at the very least.

You don’t want to run anymore, and all of the credit goes to Logan recognizing that you were just a stray cat who needed someone that wouldn’t let them dart out the door at the first sign of discomfort. He forced you to be known so you could be loved and there’s no going back to a life without that, not for you. Not without being to hold Daddy’s hand when that same feeling of flight or flight knocks on your skull. Maybe you’re spiraling again because you feel empty, you said no to cockwarming the previous night because you didn’t want to be too needy. You think your pussy might’ve bitten his dick off to keep inside of it like a trophy if you followed your usual routine.

Now you’re realizing why you hardly ever say no to giving your pussy time to breathe. How can you feel whole if Daddy’s not sighing in relief when he slides home for the first time again? You remember that you're your own person like this and you hate it, you don’t belong to you, you belong to him.

So you bite your lip and slowly bring yourself up to straddle his torso, humping his abs for a second before reaching behind you and lining up your aching cunt with his already half hard prick. You get overwhelmed already, so excited and antsy and ready to greet Daddy at the door that you bounce without actually bringing your plush hips all the way down.

‘Want that knot, want it want it want it want it, fuck fuck FUCK!’

You cry when the bulbous and thick fucking tip eases into you followed by the rest of him, you can’t help it. You missed him so much, and you’re not only thinking about Logan when you say that. Trust Daddy to actually have a horse’s cock most men overcompensate for not having, long and girthy and an angry purplish-red and surrounded by a black bush and more than deserving of never being left alone for a single second.

He woke up as soon as you started grinding against him in your sleep, but he knows you’d get embarrassed if he let it slip now. Logan could open his brown eyes and say ‘I told you so, kiddo’ but he can do that after his hardening cock pushes into your cervix. A welcome home kiss for his fussy little thing, he doesn’t feel right until he cracks his eyelids halfway and peeks through to see your own roll back in otherworldly rapture.

“That’s it, right where it belongs, ain’t it doll?”

Yes, yes it is.

“Fuckin’ cum on it and then get y’r ass back to bed, y’r gonna get cranky if you stay up any later. Gotta keep you fed, get some cock in that belly, keep you fat.”

- 2024, do not copy/translate/train ai with my work

[aquasoftware]

"I missed you." ୨❤︎‬୧

wc : 504/fic type: Drabble || cw : Jailbird! Toji x f!reader, missionary, creampie, breeding, dirty talk, pregnancy mention (?), pwp, pet names : (Doll, baby, princess), profanity, kissing, this is gentle 😞, unrealistic dick sizes & Mdni. Lmk if I missed sum + RB 2 support

After years of being locked up in jail, Toji promised to do his best not to continue getting locked up again, especially with the way your tight and sore pussy ravenously grasped his huge, veiny nine inches. How could he even dare to leave his pretty little plaything alone again?

Although your pussy felt like it was being stretched out solely to mold your boyfriend's fat cock, it still desperately grasped him like he was going to leave you again. "Mmngh, relax, baby; promise I'm not going nowhere." Toji teased in an effort to compose himself at how badly he was being sucked in.

"Shitttt, you better not." You whined, legs paired with curled toes wrapped tensely around his waist, sewing him in shut as the tips of your fingers clung to the muscles on his back.

The raven-haired man replied to your scolding with a short chortle while he began to plunge his length in your velvet walls deeper and deeper until you were about to break.

"F—fuck me just like that toji, oooh.." You softly moaned into his ear, the headboard banging, contrasting with your nature. You were almost upset Toji was pounding you this deep; if he kept going like this, you were going to cum quick.

"Yeah? I'm fucking my pretty doll that good?" He bit his scarred lip, grunting, but you somewhat couldn't hear him due to how his heavy balls smashed against your skin.

It's almost as if he heard your insanely foggy thoughts because the way his mushroom tip caressed every single sweet spot repeatedly was enough to send you over the edge.

It provoked your entire body to shake, squeezing the life out of his cock more than it already was. "Shit," you let out a choked sob. "M' c—coming.." was all you could declare before your lips finally formed a big O.

"Go ahead, princess, cum all over this cock, it's all yours." He encouraged between quivering breaths, continuously rocking his hips against your tender pelvis, laying sloppy kisses across your warm neck.

With those words of encouragement, your soaking cunt let out a sticky-white mass of cum chaining to your man's girthy dick as he rabidly thrashed up into you, chasing his own climax.

Toji soon began to feel even more stiff down there, rapidly throbbing as if he were a balloon overfilled with tons of air about to burst heat pooled in his lower abdomen, strings of curses flowing out of his lips.

Up until, without even asking, he fired an absurd load into your twitching hole, breeding you enough to hold quadruplets.

Your boyfriend pulled out practically fainting next to you, eventually letting both of your juices roam free onto the traumatized sheets.

After calm breaths, you decided to break silence. "I missed you, Toji." You confess, as the open windows allowed the cold air to swim over your naked bodies.

Toji lovingly sighed before responding, "I missed you too, baby." Peppering your whole face with tiny kisses.

8/5/24 12:13 pm masterlist.

Cough cough filler until I can drop this nanami fic 🌚

[skzdarlings]

03. sharing a bed series ; skz ; changbin

masterlist.

sharing a bed series part 3/8. because it’s the cheesiest most classic trope and it’s FUN. -

pairing: changbin/reader content info: explicitly plus size reader. sexual content. friends2lovers, sharing a bed trope. lingerie. teasing. reading and watching porn. a bit of spanking. not so much choking but throat-holding. penetrative sex.

;)

-

Oh god, you think, staring at your suitcase full of lingerie, what the fuck do I do?

You like beautiful things and you love lingerie.  Your suitcase is brimming with pretty nighties and delicate babydolls, a luxury indulged for your own sake but completely inappropriate given the circumstances. 

You thought you would have your own hotel room this holiday, but after a few friends dropped out of the trip, there was some last minute shuffling, and now—

“Yah! Where’s my toothbrush?”     

Changbin is your hotel roommate for the weekend.  Just you, him, and a single king-sized bed. 

Oh, and your suitcase full of lingerie. 

You slam the luggage shut, spinning around to look at him as he emerges from the bathroom in a frantic state of his own. 

It takes a second to register his question, your eyes wide as you look him over from head to toe.  His dark hair is damp from a shower and he is wearing nothing but a bath towel.  He holds it shut at his hip, a sturdy thigh flashing when the towel parts.  His body is one mouth-watering slab of big, broad bulk, and you find yourself clutching your own ample chest as if that will stop your heart from stampeding out. 

“Ah, there,” Changbin says, strutting past you.  Absent-mindedly, he says, “I’m almost done, then you can shower.” 

The few minutes it will take him to brush his teeth will not be enough for you.  Your efforts to find suitable sleepwear are completely futile.  In the end, you settle on the simplest nightie with the fullest body, even if it is a bit transparent. 

You take your turn in the bathroom after him.   When it comes time to change, you slip into the nightie and stare agape at your own reflection. 

Oh god, you think.  This is a disaster. 

This is your most conversative piece and it is still wildly sexy.  You love your bigger body and you love dressing to accentuate its features, and this piece is no exception.  Full thighs and fuller breasts and full curves spill up and over the tighter places.  The little panties are swallowed up by your plushy ass and no matter how much you adjust the neck of the nightie, it continues to fall in the most suggestive way possible. 

You look hot.  If anyone else was waiting for you in that hotel bed, you would be fine.   But it’s Changbin.  Your close friend Changbin.  Your close, hot, loud, insane, sexy, confident, drool-worthy, muscle pig friend Changbin. 

You sigh, resigned to your fate.  There is nothing more you can do. 

You pop open the bathroom door and stick your head around the corner.  Changbin is lounging in bed, dressed in a black t-shirt and grey sweatpants, an arm thrown over his head as he watches something on his phone.   His hair has dried fluffy and he is smiling at whatever he’s watching.

“Changbin,” you say.  “Close your eyes.” 

He does the opposite, like the stupid hot dummy he is, looking up at you.  You get a swoop in your gut just from his curious glance, his messy hair, the comfort he radiates laying in your shared bed.   It really is unfair how he is a hundred different styles of sexy at once.  This is the same guy who was working out shirtless on the beach lawn just an hour ago, the same guy who showed up to dinner in designer glasses and a form-fitting jumpsuit, the same guy who was cuddling you in a hammock wearing a big hoodie and board shorts.  Surely he could try and have the decency to look bad at least once.    

“I said close!” you repeat. 

“Ah! What!”  He does it, even if he is confused, lowering his arm and covering his eyes.  “There!  Stop yelling at me!”

“You’re yelling, not me!”

“I’m not yelling!”

You are both yelling.  But his eyes are closed so you make a mad dash for your luggage, tossing your day clothes haphazardly with a little wince for the mistreatment of your pretty things.  But you need to be fast, shoving your clothes in your suitcase so you can dive under the covers before Changbin inevitably gets bored and—

“What are you wearing?” Changbin says. 

“Changbiiiin!”  You turn around with a furious scowl, crossing your arms over your chest.  “I told you to close your eyes!”

“What, forever?  I thought we were done!”

“Well, we’re not!  Close them!”

“But I already—”

“Close!”

He grumbles a curse to himself but closes his eyes, laying back with his arms stubbornly crossed.  You turn away to zip your luggage, shaking your head.  You also fight down a giggle, one bubbling up from the tiniest bit of delight caused by Changbin’s dropped jaw and wide eyes as he thoroughly drank in the sight of you.   

You turn around to find him peeking, one eye open.  He is one second too late closing it again. 

“I saw that,” you say.

“Saw what?” he says.  “I missed it.  My eyes are closed.”

“Uh-huh.”  You walk up to the bed and fold back the covers, eyes on him the whole time.  You put your hands on your hips when he cracks open one eye again.   “Pervert,” you say, with a snort of amusement.

“Me?”  He opens both eyes and gestures wildly.  “Look what you’re wearing!  How am I the pervert?” 

“You’re in boy lingerie so be quiet.”

“What!”   

“The grey sweatpants with the dick print.”  You point to his lap.  “Boy lingerie.”   

“Ahhh! Ah! Hey!  Have some principles.  That’s reverse sexism.  You should be ashamed of yourself.”  He wags a scolding finger you at you.  Then, for good measure, he grabs a pillow and puts it in his lap.  “Stop objectifying me.”   

You laugh in spite of yourself, climbing onto the bed.   You put a comforting hand on his shoulder.   

“I thought I was sleeping alone,” you say.  “I’m sorry.  If you have a big shirt I can sleep in, I don’t mind changing.” 

“You wearing that,” Changbin says, giving you a very thoughtful once-over that makes your whole body tingle, “or you wearing my shirt.”  He lifts the pillow and looks under it.  “What do you think?” he says, as if consulting his dick. 

“You’re so stupid!”  You hate how much you are laughing at this goofball.  You roll your eyes even while giggling.  “I’m going to sleep.  Have a fun conversation with your little friend.”

“Ah! He’s not little,” Changbin says, as if very offended.  “He’s average height and girthy, like me.”

“Nice try but you’re not average height and ew, oh my god, don’t say girthy.” 

“Girthy.”      

“I can’t hear you,” you say, sliding under the covers.  You pull them up to your chin and lay on your side with your back to him.  “I’m already sleeping,” you say. 

“How am I supposed to sleep now!” he says.   

“That’s not my problem!”

He grumbles some more while you snicker.  Eventually he turns off the light and gets under the covers too.  You both go on your phones, the little white lights illuminating the bed.  You glance over your shoulder to see him laying with his back to you, watching videos on mute.  You turn back to your phone and open your reading app, deciding you can squeeze in a chapter or two of your current romance. 

You are reading about the latest duke’s pulsating member and his lady’s quivering thighs when Changbin turns over.  You are too slow hiding your phone.   

“Are you reading porn?” he asks, reaching out and snatching your phone. 

“It’s not porn!”  You sit up to grab it back but he holds it away.  “It’s literature!”

“It’s porn,” he says, bursting into peels of giggles that should be ridiculous coming out of that buff body, but they only make you laugh too.

“Changbiiiin,” you whine through your own laughter, rolling half on top of him to try and grab your phone.  “Give it baaaack.  It’s not porn.” 

“He throbbed as pleasure conquered his senses and ERUPTED LIKE A FORCE OF VOLCANIC NATURE—!”       

“Stooooop!”

“That sounds painful,” Changbin muses. 

You finally snatch your phone back and promptly toss it off the bed.  It lands with a little thump.  

Changbin is laying on his back and giggling like a child, poorly stifled teeheehees that do not relent even when you lean over him with your most intimidating face.   

“That’s not fair,” you say.  “You have to show me yours now.” 

That gets him to look at you with surprise, tilting his head.  You do not miss when his eyes go to your chest, especially because it lingers there for a very long moment.  He touches his bottom lip, flicking his tongue over his thumb absently before finally meeting your gaze. 

“What?” he says.  “Did you say something?” 

“Show me your porn,” you say. 

“My—what!  Get down.”  He bats you away and crosses his arms.  “I will remind you I am a man of principle.  I have convictions.  Unlike you, I don’t keep demeaning pornographic content on hand at all times.  I have too much respect for the human form and the sanctity of intimacy and lovemaking.”  

You blink at him.

“Fine,” he says, and picks up his phone.  “Don’t blame me for any volcanic eruptions.” 

Once he has his bookmarks open, you take his phone and roll over, ignoring his protests.  You hold the phone out and click a link at random, even with him pressed right up against your back as he tries to steal it back.  You wriggle in his lap, making him squeak, either because your ass is pushing at his junk, or because of the video that opens. 

“Oh my,” you say.  

It’s a point-of-view video, a man’s hand sliding down a very soft, curvy body.  Your own body perks with interest when his thumb glides down her wet pussy, teasing her lips apart before sliding inside.  Changbin makes a strangled noise that you hardly register, staring as the man in the video slowly fingerfucks the woman, a woman not unlike you in proportion and general appearance. 

“I can explain—ah, hey! Why are you skipping?”  Changbin’s somewhat embarrassed tone shifts midsentence to indignation as you tap to fast forward.   

“I wanna get to the good part!”

“The good—?  Yah! You’re so impatient!” 

You ignore him, fast forwarding until you see a dick then letting it play. 

Changbin has given up on trying to get his phone back.  He makes a sound of miserable defeat and thunks his forehead against the back of your head.  You bite your bottom lip, flushed from head to toe, your thighs especially squirmy as need gathers between them.   You watch the woman in the video turn over until she is on all fours.  The man pushes inside her and you watch the way her body moves when he thrusts deeply.  His hand comes down in a sharp slap, making you twitch with wanting.

“I like that,” you say, aware of Changbin growing hard against your backside.   You feel him twitch at your comment.   When you skip ahead in the video again, he doesn’t speak.  You stop when the man wraps his hand around the woman’s throat and you smile.  “Like that too.”  

He is rock hard against your ass.  Either he thinks staying still means you can’t feel it or he wants you to feel it.  Testing, you grind slowly against him. 

He grabs your hip through the blankets. 

“Ah, you.”  He squeezes your hip.  “No teasing.” 

“No?” you ask, wriggling just a little more.  “None at all?” 

There is a brief pause, then he slides his hand under the covers to hold your waist directly.  It is a slow, questioning motion, leaving you time to refuse.   When you don’t, he slides his hand down to stroke your thigh. 

You put his phone aside, the screen going dark, its contents forgotten as you turn your head.   He slips one arm under you, his hand cupping a breast at the same time his other hand goes between your legs.  When he kisses you, you open your mouth to immediately deepen it.  He does, licking at you and sucking your bottom lip, grinding in a slow circle against you.   It makes you ache, squirming in his strong embrace, his fingers only just hovering where you need him. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” he says when you start bucking and whining into his kiss.  He kisses you too deeply for you to protest his teasing, but then he finally hooks his fingers in your panties to draw them to the side. 

You get dizzy, either from kissing more than breathing or just his overwhelming presence.  When he touches you and feels how wet you already are, he makes a low sound and curses. 

“Ch—Changbin,” you say, breathy and a little senseless already.  “Please.” 

He moves swiftly, manhandling you with ease and care.  You turn over and he pushes the blankets away to get up behind you.  You whimper into the sheets when he tugs you into a better position, then he is drawing your panties to the side again and stroking your whole pussy from clit to entrance and back again.  His fingers are soaked by the time he puts them inside you, strong arm finding a steady rhythm quickly.  Combined with a couple sharp smacks to your ass, you come apart with a cry, whole body shaking as you grind back on his hand. 

You sink into the bedsheets, eyes closed, panting.  You feel his hand wet hand cup your thigh, then his fingers spreading your pussy open.  You clench around nothing and hear him curse. 

You look over your shoulder at him.  Even though you were the one who came, he looks completely wrecked, his fluffy black hair a dishevelled mess and his jaw clenched, shoulders tense.  You look a little lower, staring at the thick bulge in his sweats. 

It’s him who speaks first, his voice rough when he says, “You look… do you have any idea…” 

“You’re not wearing underwear, are you,” is what you end up saying, giggling.  “Boy lingerie.  Told you.” 

He snorts, grinning, looking more cocky than chagrined.  That expression morphs to curiosity and hope when you reach for a make-up bag sitting on the head-table. 

“Yes,” he says, when you pull a string of condoms out of it.  For some reason, it’s the funniest response he could have given, and you giggle a little more.  Those giggles come to a stop when he pulls your panties down, then rolls down the band of his sweatpants down too.  

Your mouth falls open.  “Wow,” you say.  “You are—”

“Girthy?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.” 

He mimes zipping his lips shut before taking the condom. 

You accidentally untuck the bedspread when he finally gets inside you.  One corner comes undone, and the second one follows when he starts fucking you in earnest.  It’s a good, full stretch, and you moan into the messy bedspread as he grabs your hips to pull you into every thrust.  You swear you see stars when he slides one hand up and around your neck, lifting your head and holding you by the throat as he fucks into you.  He slows down a bit to rub at your clit, making you come and spasm around him, before he drives himself quickly to completion. 

You end up sprawled facedown on the undone bed, your nightie in a state of disarray and your panties god knows where.  He flops down beside you, breathing hard, still pretty much dressed.  Once he’s caught his breath, he looks at you, smiling when he reaches out to brush some hair out of your face. 

You smile back, rolling into his open arms.  You rest your head on his chest and exhale.

Then, knowing it’ll get a reaction because he’s Changbin, you say, “That wasn’t bad.”

“Not bad!” he says, predictably loud.  “What do you mean not bad?  That was amazing.  Come here.”  He’s laughing now, pulling you close when you laugh and try to roll away.  “Get back here.  I’ll show you not bad.” 

[noxhawthorne]

Abaia

Imagine, if you will, that you’ve gone on a quiet vacation to the islands of Fiji. Feel the sand under your toes, the sun on your skin, the smell of saltwater. You take an excursion, and find a beautiful, deep lake, surrounded by lush greenery. It’s a sweltering day, and the lake looks so inviting.

You walk into the lake, the cool water stinging pleasantly as you go deeper. Eventually you’re floating, unable to feel the ground beneath you. It’s calm, soothing. The local birds sing, the breeze rustles the leaves… you’re relaxed enough to let your eyes close and just drift…

Your feet touch a slippery rock, slick with grime from centuries of being submerged. You pay it no mind… until you notice the layer of grime is thick enough to give, making the rock feel almost squishy. You open your eyes. The birds have stopped singing.

You realize that you aren’t touching the rocking. It’s touching you.

The Abaia. A massive eel of Melanesian mythology, said to live at the bottom of freshwater lakes. The legend comes from the Fiji, Vanuatu, and Solomon Islands, though the exact location varies. There’s not really a specific size given, but, for an idea of what we’re talking about, the average American Eel is 16-33 inches long and about 2.5 pounds. So… bigger than that. Much bigger.

The legend of the Abaia poses it as the guardian of the lake it dwells in, protecting the inhabitants from humans looking to harm them. If a fisherman were to try and get his daily catch from the lake, or if an ignorant tourist were to throw their trash in it, the Abaia will unleash its wrath. Thrashing and twisting, it causes impressive waves that will claim the life of the perpetrator, dragging them down to the depths to remain with the great eel.

There is another version of this legend that claims the Abaia holds control over the weather via magic. The story goes that a fisherman discovered a bountiful lake, full of critters and creatures to sate his village’s hunger. He led the village to this lake, and has them help plunder it of life. The Abaia, upon seeing this, causes a torrential rainstorm, wiping out the village and drowning everyone who had harmed the creatures. The Abaia is often depicted as a motherly being to the inhabitants that share its home.

As someone who knows the basics about various eels, I have to wonder if there is some electrical aspect to this creature. Perhaps its ability to cause storms is caused by a powerful electrical charge. According to the Smithsonian’s National Zoo and Conservation Biology Institute, the Electric Eel has three organs — the main organ, the Sach’s organ, and the Hunter’s organ — that produce electric impulses used for defense, communication, navigation, and hunting. At 6-8 feet long, this eel can generate up to 800 volts of electricity. Is the Abaia electric? Being so massive in size, could its electrical shock cause a storm? It’s unlikely, yes, but an interesting thought to consider.

[just-some-trans-nobody]

December Christmas Monstet stories

December 8.) Horny Krampus

Sorry everyone this one was supposed to br way longer than this but I'm having really bad writers block. I might try to rewrite it eventually I just had to finish what little I had if I want stick to the schedule.

Warnings: NSFW, spit as lube, bare minimum prep, swearing, possessive behavior, stalking behavior

Minors Don't Interact!

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Three weeks. 

You only got three weeks a year with him and then you had to wait longing for his touch until next year. 

It was like clock work. December 1st at midnight the sound of heavy hooves landing on your roof waking you. The last two years you would wake up a minute or two before the stroke of midnight in anticipation of his arrival. 

Giddier than a kid on Christmas day you threw the blankets off yourself and rushed to the living room. Some years he came down the chimney, sometimes the window. He always kept you on your toes never fully knowing where he was going to enter. You weren't sure how a man of such a large size could fit down a chimney but your brain always turned off when he was around. Too dick whipped to think about anything but him and the pleasure he gave you.

Hearing his low growl rumble from behind you, your body trembled in response. He had come through your bedroom window expecting you to be there. Seeing you weren't there made him mad, he wanted his cock in you immediately. Having to wait irritated him. Turning you smiled at him before letting out a gasp when he grabbed you pushing you against the nearest wall. “Fuck.” You moaned out, leaning your head back. He let out a low rumble hearing your moan. The sounds you make when he's with you calmed his raging soul, if only a little bit. Seeing that you were still dressed he growled before ripping off your clothes. His clawed hands tearing your clothes to shreds. You know you should be mad about it but the act had only served to turn you on even more. 

Heart pounding in your chest you reached out to hold onto him as he lifted you up pinning you to the wall with one hand. Your legs dangled, unable to reach the floor by a good foot or two. He effortlessly freed his cock from its restraints with his free hand. Lifting a leg up you rested it on his hip spreading your legs for the large man.

Biting your bottom lip you trembled at his touch as he held your chin. “Open.” He growled in a low voice that rumbled in your chest. Obediently you opened your mouth, lightly sticking your tongue out. His fingers immediately slide into your mouth causing you to close it around them. He hardly ever took the time to lube you up first so this felt special for you. Keeping eye contact with him you made sure to lube up his fingers with your saliva as much as you could before he finally pulled them out of your mouth leaving a trail of saliva from his fingers to your plump lips. The trail broke after a second landing on your chin causing him to let out a low rumble at the sight. 

Lowering his hand to your entrance he pushed the lubed up fingers inside of you causing you to moan. He wanted to take you so much it hurt but he knew you haven't had him in such a long time you would need to be stretched out first. By the end of the month he would be able to slip it in without reliance, but that was then and this was now. He would never admit it to himself or anyone else that he cared deeply about you to the point it scared him. As much as he loved making you scream out in painful pleasure he didn't want to hurt you so badly he scared you off. He needed you more than he realized.

Hearing you moan from just his fingers made him smirk in pride. He loved hearing how well he pleasured you, he wanted to hear more. Spreading his fingers wide he continued to pump them into you faster drawing out more moans from your lips. “O-oh oh fuck keep going! Gonna cum!” You moaned, throwing your head back against the wall. Your words encouraging him to pump his fingers harder. Reaching your orgasm with a cry you clung to his arms closing his eyes. 

You barely had a moment to come down from your orgasm when he slid his fingers out and replaced them with the tip of his cock. Gasping you opened your eyes to be met with his hungry gaze. Letting out a quiet moan you rolled your hips against his taking in more of his cock. He let out a low moan feeling his cock go deeper into you. It drove him mad. Growling he snapped his hips forward pushing all of his cock into you causing you to sob lightly. It stung but felt good at the same time. Whimpering softly you clung to him as tears welled in your eyes. He waited for a moment letting you adjust for a moment before he started to slowly rock his hips. Once your face started showing more pleasure than pain he sped his pace up thrusting faster into you. Pressing against you harder he pushed you against the wall even more making you feel a little squished. “Harder.” You moaned scratching at his arms. It was a request he was more than happy to comply with. 

The room was filled with the sounds of your needy moans and the relentless thrusts of Krampus. It was utter bliss being with him. December was by far your favorite time of the year and Christmas had nothing to do with it. 

[cheesycatz]

The Making of: Life-Size Malworm Plush

(Wormton AU)

STATS

16 ft 3 in (495 cm) long

Total time: 150 hours

Material Cost: $124

Theoretical minimum cost (based on seamstress wage): $2,524

(Progress photos and commentary below)

I'll be referring to my life-size wormton plush as "malworm" for convenience sake.

Unlike my Spamton NEO, Caine, and Fake Peppino plushies, I didn't spend a lot of time on concept art. Since I planned to make the malworm plush as close as possible to its 2D design, I didn't have to add much stylization, other than simplifying some details (no way in hell was I going to make 104 separate embroidered stitches for the segments of his toes, sorry). I mainly used the planning stage to calculate how wide the body pieces needed to be, plotting it out in 1/4 in : 3 in scale and using circumference formula to find the values I needed. I planned to make it around 10 feet long, the length of a young adult malworm. A lot of this project was improv, but, I mean, it wasn't my first or second or third time making a spamton centipede.

The head was quite a complicated shape, so I carved a tiny model out of craft foam, covered one half of it in masking tape, then cut the masking tape mask (hah) into flat pieces. I then traced the pieces onto graph paper and manually scaled them up by using the fact that I wanted the nose to be 1 ft long as reference. The rest of the pattern pieces were very simple, as wormton's teeth, body, legs, etc were very easy to translate into 2D shapes. I used old school notes as paper for the body, as I needed a lot of it. It was entertaining cutting exerpts of Moby Dick and English Renaissance biographies into body parts. I ended up making the body significantly longer; I had to spend $100 dollars on fur anyways, so why not make a maximum size one?

Making the pattern pieces took around 8 hours. While waiting for the fur to ship, I started cutting out the teeth, legs, and eyes. By the time the fur arrived, I had already sewn 36 worm teeth. I did an 11hr all-nighter to cut all the fur in one sitting the day it arrived. After a long vacuuming session and an uptake in the amount of polyester fiber in my lungs, I finished cutting the pieces, taking about 18 hours and 40 minutes.

As usual, the head was the first thing I worked on. It was...kind of wonky once I flipped it inside out. I trimmed some of the fur so that I could actually see what was happening. The main issues were the lack of any forehead, the nose being way too wide, and the cheeks being too flat. I did some ladder stitching as well as modifying the thing from the inside, and eventually made the head look much better. The cheeks still don't stick out that much still, but I'm happy with how the head looks now. I think it conquered the sopping wet owl resemblance. I inserted wire into the nose and jaws to help them keep their shape.

When I started this project, I wasn't sure whether to make it based off of Wormton or just a copyright-free malworm; I decided to do both. I went with red for the non-Spamton version, as I think it really fits the cartoony fly/mothman-style cryptid look malworms are supposed to have.

I sewed a square pouch into the throat and put in all those teeth. I used hot glue to wrap blue squares around a wire for the proboscis, because I think I would've gone bonkers cuckoo bananas if I had to hand sew that entire thing. The throat pouch holds the proboscis when it's not extended, as well as anything else I wanted to shove in there. I never measured it, but it's around 4-5 ft long. I finally made the Spamton... eye patches(?) and a pair of eyelids, though I didn't end up using them in the photo shoot. I also made a new pair of nostrils, as the old ones kind of got swallowed up from all the plastic surgery I was giving him

Now that the head was finished, I got to work on the body. I sewed the white belly and segments of the body together. I left most of the tail open, as the fur was too thick for me to flip it out at a certain point. I worked on the legs, next. After living out my cosplay dreams by putting the claws on my fingers like bugles chips, I grouped the claws together and sewed most of each leg and foot together, leaving me with many pairs of charred drumsticks (did not taste good)

I attached an extra long wire structure into each set of claws, then threaded the wire through each respective leg and stuffed them. I ladder stitched the claws to each foot, then stuffed each with some plastic beans in order to give the feet weight. I then finished sewing each foot shut. I now had a pile of disembodied limbs and one very long scarf.

I wound many long pieces of wire together to create an armature for the body. While the plush's body is way too heavy to be properly posable, the wire does still give some structure. I wrapped the extra long ends of the legs' wires to the metal spine, using the body's leg holes for reference. I then pulled the body up the metal armature like a sock.

I pulled the legs through their respective holes and stuffed the body. It was the first time the malworm was huggable! It's sort of like an oversized body pillow, in a way. I had to ladder-stich all the limbs, the head, and the rest of the tail, as it would've been completely impossible to flip inside out. It was quite difficult to do on furry fabric, and my thread frequently broke from the force I had to pull with to keep the stitches tight. Eventually, I got everything attached to some degree.

The last details I worked on were the mane, tail tufts, and scopula pads. The mane and tail tufts were ladder stitched onto the body, but I decided to use glue to attach the pads to the feet. I think the extra blue details make his proboscis fit much better, and who doesn't love spider paw pads? I also glued some velcro to the eye patches so that they stay attached better. They slide under the black eye rings.

My malworm was finally finished! I tried to put a lot of effort into the photo shoot so that people who don't know about the AU can enjoy it. I wanted to make it seem like some weird entity whose only goal is obtaining more Spamton brainrot. Hence it making Spamton on Mario Kart DS under the bed, obsessing over the Spamton Plush, inspecting the Spamton Shrine, and just generally harassing the photographer (me, I guess?). I wanted to capture the silliness, creepiness, and lack of respect for personal space that Spamton is known for. I thought about giving him a bag of doritos under the bed like that one image of the isopods eating them, but went with the DS instead. I thought it would be funny to see this thing playing Super Mario 64 DS (or Super Spamton 64) and here the "buh bye!" sound effect when it closes the DSi XL.

That's all from me, for now. I have other Wormton related matter to attend to.

Don't let the parasitic Spamton larvae bite

[megamindsecretlair]

Mr. Black, Part 4

Pairing: Tre x Assistant!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. FILTH. PWP, cursing, PIV, fingering (fem receiving), oral (male and fem receiving) dirty talk, praise kink, dumbass reader, power imbalance, Tre is a boss, all consensual.

Summary: Tre invited you to his place. After pampering yourself on his dime, you're still not sure that this is what you should be doing. However, he can be very persuasive.

Word Count: 6,439k

A/N: Lissen, don't look at me okay?! This story is scratching a deep fucking niche. Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 - Completed

Taglist: @planetblaque @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @honeyoriginalz @blackerthings @sevikasblackgf @henneseyhoe @miyahmaraj @my1onlysenpai @darqchilddaydreamz @badassdoll @playgurlxoxo @eggnox @abeautifulmindexposed @theyscreamsannii @melaninpov @mcdesij @kholdkill @blowmymbackout @theunsweetenedtruth @monaeesstuff @cocoeffects @soft-persephone @duckiesfairy @slippinninque @westside-rot @prettypink-princesss @kawaiisadoglu @thadelightfulone @the-crystal-one

Getting pampered was exactly the remedy you needed. You got your nails and toes down in your favorite color. You couldn’t stop looking at the pretty color on your nails and squealing about it being on Tre’s dime. You felt slightly guilty, so you made sure to tip with your own money.

You went shopping for a sexy pair of black lingerie with all kinds of peek-a-boo straps that you imagined Tre uncovering. The front covered your boobs with an intricate flower design trailing down to the panties that covered your pussy. Straps connected to the underwire, middle, and over your hips. The back was a criss cross of straps ending up with a strip of fabric in your ass that was surprisingly comfortable. 

You took your time getting dolled up. Running a shower to get the gunk off of you and then hopping in the bath to truly soak. You massaged your favorite lotion into your skin. You felt dirty over such a simple task but you knew that Tre would appreciate the extra care.

You felt downright naughty as you shimmied into the lingerie piece. You checked your ass in the mirror while you adjusted the straps and made sure that your body was banging. Tonight had to be the last night you two got together. 

You couldn’t be held responsible for this thing between you. You had no idea what to call it. He wasn’t yours and you weren’t his, despite his proclamations otherwise. You didn’t need the extra headache of sleeping with your boss.

But how could you stop? When you got around him, you just wanted to hop to his every command. You loved the way he loved your body, playing it like a well tuned instrument in a prodigy’s hands. If you experienced such incomparable pleasure, who else could compete? 

You had time to think about how you were going to tell him that tonight absolutely had to be the last time between you. It had to be. You chanted that in your head as you pulled up to Tre’s house. 

You expected some huge mansion with fifteen bathrooms and a million bedrooms. His house was a modest two story that was picturesque in its simplicity. The house was white with black trim, clean lawn, and a wide brick front porch. There was even a tiny fence around the lawn, more decorative than anything else. 

Ascending the stairs was not unlike walking to your death as you knocked on the door and rang the doorbell. Your nerves skittered along your spine, twisting your stomach into painful shapes. 

Before long, Tre opened the door. You didn’t know why you kept expecting certain things about him. He defied expectations. Laughed in its face as he marched to the tune of his own drum. 

He licked his lips as he took in your sexy little black dress and fuck me heels. He stepped to the side and held his hand out so that he could help you over the threshold. You took his warm hand with a smile, letting him pull you inside. He closed and locked the door behind you.

The foyer area was spacious with dark features. The furniture was dark wood, floors cherry, and the walls painted a velvety blue. He helped slip your coat off of your shoulders and sighed in appreciation.

“Good evening, beautiful,” he said.

You lifted an eyebrow and turned to look at him. He said nothing as he continued to look you over. Wait till he saw what you wore underneath.

You dug in your clutch purse and handed him his card. “You have to take this back,” you said. 

He looked at the card in your hands. He placed his hands in his pockets and you pressed your lips together, preparing for a fight. You were a bit distracted by what he wore. He was in his signature black but pared way down. He wore a long-sleeved sweater with the sleeves rolled up three-quarters of the way up his muscled arms.

His pants were loose fitting, almost like lounge pants, but didn’t look to be so. He didn’t wear shoes in the house, opting instead for black house shoes. His glasses were perched on his nose and his beard looked just as soft as you remembered from earlier in the day. 

You squared your shoulders and shoved the card against his chest. “You have to take this back,” you said once more. 

He smirked at the card. “As much as I want you to keep them heels on, I will ask you to slip them off,” he said.

“Are you listening to me?” 

“Keep the card. It’s yours now. Spend all my money,” he said.

You sputtered and gaped at him. “I-I can’t. That’s…” 

The complete opposite to what you were trying to do tonight. Would it be completely wrong to wait till after you got dicked down to tell him that this was over? You wrestled with your morals. Yesss…

“Sir,” you said with a deep breath. Time to rip the band aid.

“I made us dinner and I want to discuss some things with you before you try to end this,” he said.

“How did you know?” 

Tre only shook his head, nodding down at your shoes. You scoffed as you finally took off your heels. You bit back a moan as your feet hit the cold wood. You wiggled your toes and Tre caught the motion with an amused smile. 

“We’re similar in a lot of ways. Stubborn to the point of obstinate,” he said. 

He grabbed your hand and pulled you deeper into the house. You put the card up in your clutch one-handed. To your left, there was a small living room with a few couches and chairs. More like a receiving room than anything people actually lived in. Next to it, there was a formal dining room with dark tables and chairs, a cabinet with fancy glassware. It was like you stepped into a magazine. Everything was decorated and gorgeous.

Further down the hallway, a staircase led up to the second floor. It was a subtle spiral staircase and you wondered if the tour would continue up there. You supposed not. 

The hallway opened up to a family room. Here, the furniture looked a little more lived in. The walls were paneled and matched the blue couches. The stone fireplace did not have a fire lit. There was a large screen TV on the wall with a wooden cabinet beneath it with game consoles, remotes, and DVDs stacked in the corner. 

It seemed instantly cozy, like you just wanted to sink down onto one of the couches and sleep for five years. On the other side of the staircase, the kitchen had a half wall separating it from the main living room. There were three black bar stools that Tre led you to. He pulled it out for you and you sat down.

He entered the kitchen and pulled a top off of a boiling pot. The food smelled divine. Like creamy pasta. 

The kitchen had stained cabinets with a stone backsplash. The countertops were a light shade of ash wood and he had every modern compliance on the market. You eyed everything warily. 

Maybe he rented this place. There was no way he was this damn refined. Not with the way he acted most of the time. You felt like you were out of your depth here. You were used to dealing with well-meaning men who just…weren’t grown in the grand scheme of things.

Half the time, you had to do all the work. Sure, they said the right things and did the right things. But sometimes, little things would bother you. If it was their decision to go to the chocolate shop, you would pick out some candy. At the register, they would ask if you were going to buy it. It was incredibly awkward pulling your wallet out for an unexpected expense.

It was why you hated asking for things. Fuck ‘em. You made your own money and you didn’t need anyone to buy you things. Tre’s chain around your thigh rubbed against your other thigh as you settled fully on the bar stool. You still felt incredibly guilty wearing it but it added to how sexy you felt.

You were a conflicted ball of nerves and you hated your brain sometimes. 

“You think that this is something I started on the spur of the moment. I’m not that spontaneous,” Tre said, breaking the silence. 

You snapped your attention to him. He had his back to you while he stirred the pot. He tapped the wooden spoon against the pot and then picked up a metal one. He dipped it into the sauce, tasted it, and then rinsed it off. 

He replaced the top and then turned to look at you, leaning his arms on the countertop. “I’ve never been a trees for the forest type of guy. I see the whole damn forest. I see beyond it. I see what I want and I go for it with a single-minded focus. It’s helped in business,” he continued. 

Your heart thundered in your chest. You had no idea where this was going, but it seemed important. 

“When you started, I knew I wanted you. You were so…good.” 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you said.

He shook his head. “Not bad. But it pissed me off. When you fire people for a living, you have to turn off that empathic part of yourself. You can’t see people, you can only see numbers. When you started, I wanted to stamp that goodness out if I could. Get you to quit on your own.” 

You gasped. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” 

Tre held up his hands. “Let me finish.” 

You wanted to climb over the table top and strangle that thick neck of his. But this was the most you ever heard him speak in one sitting. He was very much an action type of man. So you bit your tongue and waved for him to continue. 

“I needed you to quit because I couldn’t fire you. I promise you, you could have asked for all my life’s savings and I would’ve gladly handed it over. I didn’t need that shit if I was destroying people’s lives every twenty minutes.” 

You licked your lips as you digested this. You still knew so little about this man. He constantly surprised you. 

“I tried to resist you. I tried my hardest. I demanded shit. But the more you rose to the occasion, the more turned on I got. I don’t want to treat you like a sex doll, but half my day is spent bricked up just trying to get back in between your legs.”

Your pussy throbbed at his words. He shattered your world with these confessions. A world you carefully built brick by brick. Once you figured out how to interact with someone, you placed them in boxes. Tre was firmly in the asshole box, but now you weren’t so sure. 

“I just knew that the more I demanded, the more you’d get fed up and quit. So I could get you out of my system. I could get an ugly assistant and move on with my life. But then you kept calling me Sir, kept doing great work despite the typos and the lollygagging, and…I lost. I lost to you.” 

He stared at you with a crippling intensity. “When I called you into my office to address the typos, I didn’t know what would happen when I spanked you. I was ready for you to call HR or the police. But I had to know what your ass felt like in my hands. When you let me continue, it was like an early Christmas present. I had to see what else I could get away with.” 

He slowly walked around the kitchen, exiting it, and walking closer to you. Your eyes tracked his movements, unsure what to do or say. 

“The more you let me get away with, the more I want to try more and do more. Everyone else be damned. I’m not into feelings. But it’s clear that you need it to feel settled about this. I don’t know where this is going. But I know that I feel possessive already. You’ve been mine since you started and when I see you talking to another man, I want to kick his teeth in.” 

He got closer to you but didn’t close that final gap. You were close enough for his clean soap and airy scent to hit you. But far enough away that you’d have to lean to touch him. 

“I want to spoil you. I want to treasure you. I want to bend you like a pretzel and see if you break,” he said.

A laugh escaped you but there wasn’t a damn thing funny about the way he was looking at you. “You know how wild that sounds, right?” 

He smiled slowly and cocked his head. He was so deliciously sexy and being honest about his feelings was only turning you on more. The lingerie was a mistake. You were going to soak right through the little scrap of material and leave a puddle all over his nice, faux leather stools. 

“What I don’t know is how you feel. You’re either running away or trying to end this. But when you’re underneath me, I feel like you could feel something for me.” 

You bit your lip. Shit. You weren’t expecting honesty hour. Your throat turned parched and scratchy and you looked away from his face. 

“You scare me,” you said. You peeked at him and the only thing that changed was a raised eyebrow. 

“I don’t think you’ll hurt me in that way. I just feel like…this is what a well-adjusted adult looks like and that’s so not me. Like…you could have anyone you want. Why me?” You asked. You weren’t putting yourself down. You just knew you had to do a lot of work on yourself and no one was perfect.

“Why not you?” 

You giggled nervously. “Why me?” 

“Why not you?” 

Right. Stubborn to the point of obstinate. 

“I’m starting to think this is about control. Do you feel out of control with me?” 

You rubbed your forehead. “What are you, a therapist or something?” 

Tre smiled and rocked back on his heels. “I had an interesting childhood. I had to be an asshole to survive. My bull in a china shop routine isn’t going to get me anywhere with you. And if I haven’t made that clear, that is my goal.” 

“I never know what you’re feeling. Sex makes all the sense in the world. We’re both trying to get off. And you feel amazing. You know you do. But…me…” Was it about control? Did you hate that he made you unsettled, unmoored, and guessing for the first time in your life? 

You made it your mission to be prepared. To make up for your shortcomings. Your strength was in anticipating people’s needs and ensuring that you were as helpful as possible. To have someone like him trying to look after someone like you…it didn’t compute. He didn’t need anything. And you felt useless.

Tre waited patiently while you worked through your emotions. You hated that you couldn’t pluck them from your brain and explain it in a coherent way. 

“I’m scared that you’ll get bored with me. That this novelty will wear off and you’ll be fine while I’m jobless and embarrassed,” you admitted. There. You got that out.

Tre nodded. “I will not get bored with you. There is no novelty. I just want you,” he said calmly and plainly. 

“You say that now–”

“And I mean it now. I’ll mean it tomorrow and the day after that,” he said.

“You can’t make that promise,” you said. 

Tre smiled. Obstinate.

“What can I do to help you trust me?” He asked. He opened his hands. “I want to get to know you better.” 

“Patience. I need patience. You…consume. You take up the whole room when you’re in it. It doesn’t leave any room for thinking,” you said.

“Maybe you need to think less.” Tre walked back into the kitchen to check on the sauce. He turned off the stove and grabbed two bowls. He scooped pasta noodles into it and then ladled the sauce over it. 

He placed a bowl in front of you and on the place setting next to you. He fluffed salad in a bowl and then plated it on a smaller plate, placing it next to your bowl. He had different options for salad dressing so you pointed to your favorite one. He put some on your salad, some on his, and then he poured you some wine. 

 He rounded the kitchen and sat down next to you. He pointed for you to go first. The pasta both looked and smelled heavenly. Restaurant quality. You dug in, grabbing a big bite. You moaned around the taste.

“Good god, this is delicious,” you said. 

Tre smirked. “Been working on this sauce since last night,” he said.

“You knew you were going to invite me here last night?” You asked. 

“Beyond the forest,” he said. He dug into his own food. 

Conversation turned to lighter topics. He spoke briefly about that interesting childhood of his. He was rowdy, combative, getting into fights left and right. His estranged uncle stepped in, trying to be a father to him where his own wasn’t. Showed him how to “be a man”. 

It was beyond gender. It was how you carried yourself. How you spoke, how you dressed, how you interacted with others. If you were the biggest in the room, then it was your responsibility to protect those in the room. 

“That sounds impossible to live up to,” you said.

“Not when you really think about it. A man’s job is to protect those in his care. Cherish the people in his circle. To move with respect. It’s as easy as breathing,” Tre shrugged. “I know I’m an asshole but I’m not going to go out of my way to make someone else’s life miserable.”

“No, just mine.” You playfully rolled your eyes and Tre smirked. 

You told him about your family and how you always felt like you weren’t doing things right. You couldn’t compare to your siblings with amazing jobs and their heads on straight. The only thing in your life that made sense was school. 

After it, you just felt adrift. You flitted from one thing to the next, not knowing what you wanted to do with your life. It was dangerous to compare your life to others. But it felt like they knew exactly where they were headed. You on the other hand? You just wanted a fucking break. 

“You’re not doing anything wrong. Everybody is different,” Tre said.

“No, I know. I just…I don’t know what I want to do.”

“What gets you up in the morning?” 

“Money?” You giggled. When it came down to it, you wanted enough money to not have to agonize over your bank account week to week. To get money, you had to work for others. And you hated working for others. You hated being told what to do, what to wear, when to show up. 

“That’s a fair motivator. But what do you not mind doing for money?” He asked.

You shrugged. “There lies the rub,” you said. You finished up dinner, not able to eat another single bite. It had been one of the best dinners you had ever had. 

You and Tre moved over to the couch with your wine. You continued your conversation there, moving on to silly topics like video games and movies. You discussed the books you’ve read and he seemed genuinely interested in what you were saying.

This was a set up. He was seducing you. You eyed him over the rim of your wine glass as you listened to him speak about his favorite author. He had made no move to touch you. It was all you could think about. 

You shifted and placed one leg under you as you faced him. He copied your stance. You paid attention to his lips as he spoke. The way his voice played with sounds. You paid attention to his hands when he wanted to emphasize certain points. Hands that you had first hand knowledge could wring pleasure from you like wringing out a washcloth. 

“Are you okay?” Tre asked. 

“Huh?” You asked and blinked. The wine was making you feel airy and light. A light buzz. You felt good. Really good. And he was looking more good as you cataloged his movements.

Tre smiled. “I asked you if you wanted more wine,” he said.

“No, thank you.” The hell did he put in it? Because you were burning the fuck up. And you couldn’t stop thinking about his hands on you. His lips on yours. His dick sliding inside you. 

You scooted closer to him and placed your wine glass on the coffee table. He drained his glass and scooted closer as well, until you were breathing the same air. 

“Why haven’t you touched me?” You asked. The wine gave you a burst of boldness.

Tre smiled. “Do you want me to touch you?” 

“Why haven’t you?” 

“You can’t have it both ways. You either want patience or for me to steamroll ahead. I only work in absolutes,” he said.

You sighed. “Does that mean the sex stops?”

Tre chuckled. “Is that all I’m good for?” 

“Will you stop answering my questions with questions?” 

“Will you be honest with me?” Obstinate bastard. 

“I want you to fuck me!” You squealed. You bit your lip after but didn’t take it back. He couldn’t get you feening for his touch and then yank it away when it was convenient for him. 

Tre only watched you with an amused smile on his face. You wanted to smack it off of him. 

“Tell me what you really want,” he said. 

“I don’t want the sex to stop.” There, you said it. “I don’t want this to end. But you have to…let me adjust to it.” 

He kept looking at you. “Do you want me to say I want you? Is that it?” You asked.

“Do you?” 

You growled and Tre chuckled. “I want you,” you said. 

Tre ran a finger across your jaw. He lifted your chin and leaned down for a soft kiss. “Show me you want me.” 

You leaned back to look into his eyes. You should have known. Nothing about this man was easy.

You stood up and took the straps off your shoulders slowly. Tre adjusted his position to face forward as you moved to stand in front of him. You kept your eyes on his as you unzipped your dress and let it cascade down your body.

Tre hissed as he took in your lingerie set. “I buy that for you?” 

“You did,” you said with a smile. 

“Money well fuckin’ spent,” he said. 

You stepped out of your dress and picked it up. You placed it on the couch so it wouldn’t wrinkle too badly. Then, you slowly sank to your knees in front of him, rubbing on his legs. You rubbed on his thighs, getting higher and higher. His pants began to tent as you got closer to the waistband. He didn’t help you as you unbuttoned his pants. You gripped his hard dick and moved the tip across your lips.

Precum painted your lips and you licked your lips around the tip of him. He took a deep breath, jaw flexing. You stared into his eyes as you slowly swallowed him down. You struggled to completely get him in your mouth, but soon you were drooling on his dick.

Tre adjusted his hips, pulling his pants down a bit more as you began to suck him down. Your hands gripped the rest of him and you rubbed his shaft while paying attention to the head of his dick. You licked and played with the velvety soft head of him, flicking your tongue across the tip.

He hissed and jerked as he moaned. He moved his arms to the back of the couch, relaxing into the blow job. You watched as he threw his head back so all you saw was his luscious beard. You bobbed your head faster, the way you knew he liked. 

You were rewarded with his moans getting louder, deeper, with a rattle in his chest that had you clenching your thighs together. 

“I’m about to bust,” he moaned. 

You continued sucking him off, hollowing your cheeks. He tensed before he unloaded in your mouth. The salty musk of his cum splashed down your throat and you swallowed all of him down. You moaned and let him go with a wet pop. 

Tre blew out a breath as he rubbed his face. “Thank you,” he said. 

You smiled at him. His fingers traced the corners of your mouth where drool likely escaped you. You turned into a sex fiend where he was concerned. 

“Get up here,” he said. 

You stood up and moved to straddle his legs so you could finally get some dick. He shook his head, pointing towards the couch. He took off his glasses and put it on the coffee table. You laid down and Tre grabbed your ankle. He pushed it to the back of the couch, spreading you completely open for him. 

His hand found the chain around your thigh and his eyes briefly flared looking at the tiny “T” dangling from it. He wrapped his hand around it while he brought his face down against your pussy.

He licked you over the fabric and you moaned, gyrating your hips against his face. He licked the crease of the set, capturing part of your skin and you shivered in the warm room. 

“Please,” you whispered. 

“Please, what?” He asked. His breath fanned over your damp pussy and you shivered again. You needed relief right this second.

“Please, Sir,” you begged.

He used his free hand to move your panties to the side and finally bring his lips to your pussy. He moaned when he discovered how wet you were and how much he got to lick up. You were dripping with your essence, right onto his face and the couch. 

“Fuck,” you shuddered, the word shaky in your throat. 

“Mhm, get louder for me. Just me and you here,” he whispered against your pussy. And then he really went to town, digging his face so far into your pussy, you felt the way his jaw flexed. 

He was right. You were finally in an appropriate place to have sex. You could be as loud as you needed to be. You began to moan louder, encouraging him with a twist of your hips and roll of his tongue that he was eating you out exactly how you liked.

He paid more attention to your clit, sucking and slurping up your juices. You felt the burn in your thighs as you were nearing your peak. The tightening in your belly worsened until you were snapping your thighs together, screaming out your release. 

Tre was right there to feel you cum on his tongue. He hummed in satisfaction as you shook against his face. When you calmed down, when your back came back down to rest on the blue couch, he straightened up. He had your juices trailing down his beard and he wiped a hand down the lower half of his jaw. 

“Come on,” he said. He grabbed your hand and helped you sit up on the couch. Then, he headed towards the stairs.

The upstairs was just as well-decorated as the first floor. It was all a blur as he tugged you down the hall towards the master suite. You weren’t really surprised that his sheets and comforter were black. It suited him more so than the earthy tones throughout the rest of the house.

You moved to get on his bed, but he stopped you. He planted a wet kiss on your lips, taking his time to fully explore you. His hand wrapped around your throat, pulling you deeper into the kiss. The pressure on your neck made your eyes roll back in your head. 

“Wait here,” he said. He placed one last kiss on your lips before moving away. You watched as he went into the bathroom. 

You just came but it wasn’t enough. You wanted more. You wanted him. You wanted that dick between his legs to make you walk funny in the morning. Water turned on, sounded like the shower, and you wanted to walk in there to see what he was doing. 

He came out of the bathroom, taking off his shirt. You gasped softly. Fuck. He was beautiful. You openly ogled his body. Thick, rippling muscles. A sexy layer of bulk that you could bounce a quarter off of. 

He looked damn good in his suits. He looked damn good in casual wear. But shirtless? Your knees wobbled and you wondered if you were going to swoon. 

He approached you slowly, like a predator stalking a prey. His hands reached out to run across your lingerie that suddenly felt too tight. He began to unsnap, kissing the parts of you that he revealed. Inch upon inch of you was uncovered, covered in his kisses. 

He freed your breasts and rubbed sensation back into it. He plucked on your nipples and you moaned softly. “I need you to wear this again,” he said.

You giggled and turned in his arms so that you could face him. He bent down to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. 

“Did you turn the shower on?” You asked.

“Mhm,” he moaned against your nipple. 

You answered with a moan as well, biting your lip because it felt too damn good. “But…”

“I got a shower cap for you,” he said.

“There is no way I’m letting you fuck me with a shower cap on!” Oh god, how embarrassing.

“Do you think it would make you less sexy to me?” He straightened up and kissed you. “You are the sexiest creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. You could wear a sack and I’d want to fuck the coins out of you,” he continued.

You laughed, covering your mouth to keep from squawking like a chicken. Tre lowered your hands and looked into your eyes. 

“I’m in it. Are you?” 

Why couldn’t he make shit easy for once? You nodded. “I’m in it.” 

He pulled you to the bathroom, leaving your lingerie on the floor. His bathroom was gorgeous. The floors were cream tile with big squares. He had plenty of rugs inside so you weren’t stepping on the cold floor for too long. He had a walk-in shower with clear glass doors. The sink was at a comfort height, two sinks, with soft gray towels hanging from a bar.

He had a long cabinet that stretched nearly to the ceiling and you longed to rub your hands over it. You only dreamed of bathrooms like these. You didn’t think they actually existed outside of supremely rich houses where they were wasted on people with no appreciation. 

Steam filled the room, frosting over the glass doors and mirrors. Tre dropped his pants to the floor, picked them up, and threw them into a hamper you hadn’t seen. He handed you a shower cap. 

You took a deep breath and put it on, tucking your hair inside. Welp, here you were in all your crazy glory. 

He didn’t see you any differently. He pulled you in for a soft, tender kiss and then opened the shower door. You stepped inside and the warm water hit your back and you sighed. You usually liked it way hotter than this.

The devil himself needed to come out and lick your back in order for you to feel comfortable in a shower, but the point wasn’t to get clean at the moment. It was to get dirty.

You leaned forward, palming his dick and running your hands along his length. Tre moaned low in his throat before gripping your hips and pushing you against the wall of the shower. Your back hit the cold tile but you were saved by his warm, strong hands as they rubbed your back. 

He rubbed his dick, getting slick from the water. He began to kiss you and you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders. The shower cap crinkled and you had a brief stab of embarrassment. 

It quickly dissipated as Tre lifted you up. You squealed, wrapping your legs around his hips. He grinned evilly while you clung to him for dear life. He was doing a whole lot in this slippery ass shower. 

Panic and arousal drove your nerves through the roof. You took deep breaths, trying to focus on the water on your side. 

“I got you,” he said. He pushed your back against the wall and spread your legs to accommodate his hips. He shifted as his dick found your entrance. With the water and your arousal, he was able to slide in easily.

You groaned, your jaw dropping open. “Never get sick of that,” he said. 

He placed one hand on the wall behind you to brace himself. Then, he set to work thrusting into your wet heat. He groaned as he started to slide easier due to fresh arousal leaking out of you. 

“Oh fuck,” you moaned. 

“Mhm, feelin’ so good on this dick,” he groaned. 

Your thighs shook as he thrust into you slow and deep. He set a relaxed pace, making sure to get as deep as possible on every stroke. You felt every inch of him. Every last smooth glide of his mushroom head against your inner walls. 

Your hands gripped his smooth, deep onyx skin. Water droplets hit his head, beard, and arms. You gripped the back of his neck and held on as he grunted and hit you deep enough to bruise. You cried out, cumming immediately on his dick. 

“Fuck, let me feel it,” he said. He stopped moving as you convulsed on his dick, unable to form a sentence or thought. You squeezed the hell out of him, feeling incredibly full. 

“You can give me another,” he said.

“I can’t,” you moaned.

“Yes, you can. You can give me another before I bust all in this pretty pussy,” he moaned. 

“S-Sir!” You whined. You didn’t have another one in you. It was impossible. Your lips sloppily found his as his tongue mimicked what his dick was doing. Both speared inside of you and you moaned, thighs shaking, toes curling. 

He grunted and moaned in your ear, whispering filthy things. “Come on, I know you can do it. I know you got another one. I know you want to cum all over this dick again. You know you want me to feel how good I tear this shit up.” 

You cried, a wailing keen that sounded loud. It was amplified in the shower due to the tile. You sounded needy. You sounded desperate. 

“Give me another one. Let that pussy go,” he cooed.

“Sir, Sir, Sir,” you chanted. Somehow, that dick was able to pull another one out of you. You screamed as you came, growing deaf in one ear. A high, tinny ringing pierced your ear as you came once more on his dick.

He moaned and kissed your ear. “That’s it. Don’t that feel better? You did so good. So good lettin’ me feel that pussy creamin’ on this dick,” he moaned.

“Sheeit,” you moaned. 

Tre sighed and screamed out his climax, pumping you with thick spurts of cum. You shook and twitched as you felt him pulsing inside of you. He slipped out, letting you down to stand on wobbly legs.

He lifted your leg so he could watch himself slip out of you. “Sheit,” you moaned as you felt his cum leaking out.

Tre used his fingers to fuck some of it back inside you. You squealed and twitched. Your clit was entirely too sensitive. “I can’t,” you cried.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he said. Not sounding the least bit sorry. 

Who the hell was this man? You couldn’t figure him out. He cooked you dinner, ate you out, and delivered orgasms like some full service sex god. He unnerved you. He was an enigma. It was driving you crazy trying to puzzle him out.

Tre smirked as he grabbed a washcloth, soaped it up, and began to wash your body. His soap that you loved so much smelled even better up close and personal. He helped you flip over so he could get your back and ass. He was careful to clean your pussy, running the cloth back and forth over your clit.

You whined and shook as he did so and he planted kisses all over your face, enjoying your torment. Asshole. He helped rinse you off and then he stood under the shower. He grabbed a fresh washcloth and cleaned himself off. 

You grew sleepy watching him soap up that sexy body of his. He watched you, smirking and throwing winks your way as he lowered the cloth to his dick. You watched with rapt attention. 

You only wished you could suck him back down and make him scream and squirm like he had you doing. He rinsed off and then turned off the water. He left the shower first, grabbing thick, buttery towels. He wrapped one around his waist and then helped you out of the shower. 

He wrapped the towel around your body and helped you to the room. He dried you off completely. He made sure every last droplet was wiped from you and then removed the shower crap. He fixed a few fly away hairs.

“Sexy,” he murmured. 

You could only stare at him. You were out of your depth once more. Unable to sort through your emotions and give this a name. He leaned down for a kiss. His wet beard tickled your chin. 

He lowered you into the bed and dried the rest of his body off. He peeled back the covers and let you slide in. You sighed. You felt so warm and comfortable. Tre slid in behind you, pulling your waist into his hips. His dick settled into the crook of your ass and he nuzzled into your neck.

“Night, beautiful.”

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 - Completed

[eff4freddie]

Touch | Epilogue

Joel makes good on his promise to date you, at least once.

Words: 4k

Warnings: Just a slutty lil farewell to our resident Jackson masseuse and her grumpy-arse maybe sorta boyfriend, smut, vaginal fingering, sexy times, stockings that are far too thin for early Spring. Minors DNI

A/N: Another thank you for your support of this little story that ended up being a bit bigger and more complex than I expected. I went there because of your encouragement. Thank you, always.

Part Eight | Series Masterlist

The season was turning, but there was still a chill of a nighttime. It had been six weeks since Joel returned to Jackson, the medical supplies he and the second expedition managing to find and defend ensuring a healthy and safe Jackson for at least another two winters. The whole energy of the place, the optimism, was back in the community, and you had thrived in it, started to bloom alongside the wildflowers dotting the pathways into town.

You’d spent the time working, teaching Ellie, occasionally hanging around Joel’s place while he convalesced, first in his bed, then on the new-ish couch Tommy had found and dragged in through the back door. It wasn’t leather like his old one, and the springs stuck out in the centre so that you had to be very careful where you sat, but it was better than the rocking chair, and it was enough for him to sit still in for at least a few weeks.

He kept promising that he was going to date you, at least once if you’d let him, and each time you’d fobbed him off, telling him he had to get better first, that he was no good to you limping, that you wanted him marginally less grumpy if he could manage it. You weren’t sure why you were stalling, other than that you felt you were toes to the edge of a precipice.

When you were little your little family of four had driven out to the Grand Canyon, and you’d stood on the edge of the red dirt and been totally overwhelmed by the size of it, of all the negative space, the absence. You’d found yourself, aged eight and a half, ready to cry and even now, thirty years later, you remembered the howling wind, the echo of it.

You thought about the beauty of it, now. Now that you had seen so much worse, so much more, you reminded yourself that people used to travel entire countries to see the Grand Canyon. In your mind’s eye you entered your memories and stood beside yourself, your child self, and took her hand. You pointed to the sky, drew her eyes up and away from the ground beneath. Felt her pulse race under your touch as you showed her that the magnitude of it was the beauty in it, was the point of it all.

You accepted Joel’s invitation for the next Friday night. Then you ran to Maria’s to find something to wear.

--

You were supposed to meet at 8, a respectable time after dinner so as not to feel like you needed to have a meal; a more casual time, a more intimate time, when you could drink and chat and only stay an hour if you found it wasn’t working. It was both an in and an out.

Except that you were late, your last client having not only stored muscle tension in his fascia but emotional tension as well, and as soon as you had pushed into the glute he had unleashed years of mourning, of loss, of fears. You had stopped, wrapped him in a towel and pulled him upright, stood back and let him shake with the force of it. It wasn’t new, that people would come with muscle aches and discover trauma aches instead, but you lost track of time trying to put him back together again, trying to assure him of his safety. Tommy was right; sometimes it doesn’t come out until you feel safe enough to let it.

But it meant by the time you were pulling your door open you were about forty minutes late. Your cheeks burned with the shame of it, your timekeeping one of your strengths in the before-times, in the times when you had no other responsibilities other than the hell of being 15.

Joel was coming up your path and you stopped, nearly dropping the jacket you were still trying to pull over your shoulders. You couldn’t read his expression in the dark but his eyes were on you, and he was coming up, fast.

‘Joel, I’m so sorry,’ you started, as he strode towards you and up your porch. ‘I got caught up with a client, I couldn’t leave until they were…’ his hands were on you then, gripping you to him, your jaw resting in his warm palm.

‘You OK?’ he asked you, his eyes searching yours.

‘I’m fine, of course I am,’ you said, flustered, under the intensity of his inspection. ‘I just couldn’t…he was so sad, Joel. I had to stay.’

He nods at this, his jaw ticking. You resisted the urge to reach up and sink your fingertips into the masseter. ‘Were you worried about me, Joel?’ you asked, and he narrowed his eyes at you, then, suddenly freezing up.

‘Thought you weren’t coming, or that you were…thought maybe something had happened,’ he said, and you felt yourself soften.

‘I’m fine. And I would never stand you up,’ you said, moving to hold him around his waist, to circle him in your arms, only able to reach halfway around him, broad as he was. He avoided your eyes, the worry etched deep into his brow.

You still hadn’t kissed him. All of the things he had done to you, the way he had pulled you apart under his hands, his mouth, spread around his cock, nothing so intimate as a kiss.

‘I’m sorry,’ you said again, low and velvet in your throat. ‘I really like you, Joel,’ you went on, and he finally met your gaze, again. The naked vulnerability in it making you pause. You wondered how many people had ever seen this side of him. You suspected he could count them on one paw.

‘It’s late,’ he said, and started to pull away from you. ‘Maybe we should try again some other time.’ To your dismay he had nearly turned his back to you, and without thinking you grabbed him around the middle and tried to turn him back.

‘Wait,’ you said, and he hissed then, his muscles seizing. You let go of him, horrified.

‘M’ok,’ he muttered, raising his hand to stop you from rushing toward him. ‘Just…still gettin’ there, is all.’

‘Come in, please,’ you said, not touching him, not moving towards him, hoping your voice would be enough to get him to stay. ‘It’s cold, I have a bottle of whiskey Tommy slipped me when you were in the hospital, I can…’

‘You needed whiskey, baby?’ he said, and he had that lopsided grin on his face again, and you wanted to lick it off him. ‘Were you worried about little ole me?’

Never mind, you wanted to slap it off.

‘Oh for fucks sake,’ you said, rolling your eyes and turning back to your door. ‘Don’t get all cute just because I got scared when you nearly died,’ you said, and you heard him chuckle. You entered your house and turned to him, one hand on the door. ‘In or out?’ you asked, and you knew that you were talking to the both of you, knew that he wasn’t the only one facing the indecision, knew that you palming the responsibility off onto him, that you would accept his decision even if it meant never talking to him again. He hesitated, but only for a moment.

--

He was back in your kitchen, on the same chair from a more recent before-time, from before he’d found a place for himself somewhere under your skin. You were both sipping your whiskey, listening to the crackling fire in the other room, letting the silence seep out and blanket you. He was still enormous, still took up nearly half the space, and you ceded all of it to him.

‘Ellie speaks the world of you,’ he said, after a while, and you knew that this was important to him, that first and foremost he was her dad, her keeper and her protector.

‘She’s a lovely kid,’ you said, and then corrected yourself. ‘Not a kid. She’d fucking kill me if she knew I said that.’

He chucked into his glass. ‘Won’t tell her,’ he promised.

‘How’s that healing?’ you asked, gesturing to his wrist. It wasn’t in a splint anymore but it was still tightly bandaged.

‘S’just weak, aches in the cold,’ he said, and you nodded. You reached out and pulled it towards you, lay it on the kitchen table between you. You slipped the bandage away, watched the blood rush back in and pink up the flesh underneath it.

‘You need to stretch it, keep it strong,’ you said. ‘Bones probably healed but now the muscles’ll be lazy.’

‘Yes, doctor,’ he said, and you glanced up at him, at the crinkles in his skin and the warmth in his eyes as he teased you.

‘I mean it,’ you said, pretending to be offended, using it as an excuse to slip your hands around his wrist, his forearm. You felt the chords of the muscles there, the sinew and the veins. You rubbed your thumbs in firm circles, like you had shown him to do on your knee, all those weeks ago. You blushed at the thought of it, at the echo of the pleasure he had wrung from you not ten paces away.

He grunted a little, shifted in his seat, and you pulled his arm up at a right angle, so that his elbow was resting on the table. ‘Here, do this,’ you said, and you slipped your fingers between his, rested your forearm against his, leant in a little to ease your combined weight onto the joint.

‘I’m going to try and push your hand backwards, you push back,’ you said.

‘We arm wrestlin’?’ he asked, smiling again.

‘We will if you don’t behave yourself,’ you shot back, and he grinned.

‘Tell me when,’ he said, and you nodded your head. He grimaced at the strain through the joint, but you felt it stretch, felt it working under the force you were applying to it.

‘That’s good,’ you said, without thinking, ‘doing real well.’ He sucked a shy little breath in through his teeth. You stopped pushing, looking up into his pink cheeks. You continued to hold his hand, your eyes fixed to his.

‘Say it again,’ he said, and your mouth went dry.

‘Doing real well, Joel,’ you said, and watched as he blinked slowly, drinking it in. ‘Doing so good.’

He pulled you then, by the arm, out of your chair and into his lap, his mouth finding your neck and suckling, hard, as you struggled for purchase on his thighs. You could feel how hard he was through his jeans, the pulse of it pushing into your cunt as you settled yourself down on him, your thin little stockings under Maria’s borrowed dress doing absolutely nothing to provide a barrier against his throbbing for you.

He gasped, looked up at you as you perched above him. His pupils, blown wide with want, mirroring the ache you felt between your legs and in your heart for him. He tasted like peppermint toothpaste and you wondered idly if he’d brushed his teeth before heading to the Bison, if he’d hoped this would be the end result of the night or if it was just habit. You smelt the leather of his worn jacket. You reached up and let his salt and pepper beard scratch at the skin on your fingertips.

‘So good to us, Joel,’ you said, and you heard the gentlest whimper catch in his throat. ‘Looking after the town. Keeping us safe.’

‘Want to keep you, baby,’ he whispered, his eyes dropping to examine your lips. ‘Keep you tucked up all warm and safe, keep you under my roof where I know you’re protected.’ You shivered, at the heat of it, at the sincerity in it. ‘Be the one to shield you. All sweet and soft in your little kitchen. Wanting me, waiting f’me.’ He finished, biting his bottom lip.

‘I want you,’ you said, simply, feeling his cock jump underneath you.

‘Yeah?’ he asked, and you nodded.

‘Been waiting,’ you bit out, realising for the first time that it was true.

‘M’sorry baby,’ he said, playfully goading you. ‘Where did ya want me?’ he whispered, tucking his head under your chin and licking a stripe up your neck, chewing idly on your earlobe. You shivered again, a shuddering little thing that also came with a whimper. You took his hand from your waist and dropped it to your pussy, pushed his fingers to cup you there, gasping when he ran a fingertip along your seam.

‘Everywhere,’ you whispered, and he grunted, shifting his weight. With one warm hand splayed across your shoulder blades he leant you back, his eyes running up and down your body, devouring you. He kept his hand on your cunt, idly running a finger up and down where you ached the most for him, and you worried for a moment that he would feel how wet he’d made you just with his gaze.  

His breath was warm across your cheeks when he exhaled. He took the hand from between your legs and cupped your breast, rolled the nipple through your dress, made you whimper.

‘Joel,’ you whispered, and you watched as his eyes lit up, as the sparks caught on kindling and turned into a forest fire, as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing from the strain. You wanted to run your tongue over his bottom lip, nip at it.

‘Sssh, baby, I know,’ he said, pulling you up off his lap to stand in front of him, your knees shaking. His arms bracketed your hips, gripping the table behind you, so you were surrounded by him. He remained seated, watching you from under heavy eyelids.

‘Take it off,’ he said, and you felt your pulse in your neck, thunderous.

‘Which?’ you asked.

‘Maria’s dress you don’t think I recognise, those silly little stockings that ain’t doing nothin’ to keep out the cold.’

He leant back on the chair again, kicked his legs out so that you were standing between his ankles now, leant his arm on the back of the chair and scratched at his beard. ‘Well, go on,’ he said, and you felt so exposed to him then, vulnerable in the heat of his stare.

‘Help me,’ you said, feigning not being able to get to the zipper, just for the excuse of turning away from him, from his eyes that were taking you apart atom by atom, from his hands resting on his thigh, from his thick fingers you wanted to slip into your mouth, let him push down on your tongue and suckle at him.

You felt his hands on your back, the zip coming down, the way he slipped the dress from you like he was unwrapping a present on Christmas morning. You leant over a little, trying to slip your stockings off and you heard him moan, felt his hands on you again, his warm paw on your lower back pushing you into a deeper bend, the other pulling on your hips to bring you closer to him, his hands gripping you, positioning you. You heard his sharp inhale when you slipped the stockings over your bottom, felt your cheeks blaze when he reached up and slipped your panties off along with them, bent over and completely exposed to him, wet and glistening in the light of the kitchen, the sound of your gasped little whimpers mixing with the ever-present whir of your forty-year-old fridge.

‘Oh, my girl,’ he said, and you wanted to launch yourself at him, seat yourself back on his lap and bury your head in his neck but he was running his hands up and down the back of your thighs, edging himself closer on the chair, pushing you forward so that your breasts rested on the kitchen table, your cheek flush to the cold wood.

He bent his head and placed a single kiss at the base of your spine and you worried your knees would buckle, worried you would collapse onto the kitchen tile. As you gasped he brought his hands up to cup your bottom, spreading your cheeks enough to slip a thumb into your cunt, probe the warmth and feel the wet collecting on his fingertip. You startled, trying to buck away, trying to buck towards him, circling your hips to capture him inside you, and you heard him chuckle, felt his lips dip lower to your tailbone as he twisted his hands, his thumb still inside as his fingers came around to cup and rub at your slit, your poor little aching clit caught between his fingertips.

‘Jesus,’ you cried, finding religion despite never having set foot in a church.

‘Want to keep you full of me,’ he muttered, sitting back down on the chair again and pulling you with him, spreading your legs over his so you were open wide, obscene and dripping in his lap, pulling your legs apart with his and whispering filth in your ear, cupping your breast with one hand and the other sliding into your heat.

‘Want to keep you here, my pretty girl all safe and warm in my arms, full of my cock and my fingers, crying out for me when I’m not there.’ You were gasping, your vision narrowing, barely able to concentrate on anything except for his words, for his fingers stretching you, his legs pulling you impossibly wide. ‘Won’t let nothin’ hurt ya, baby girl,’ he grit out, and you felt a sob rip through your throat, the pleasure he was drawing out of you mixing with the comfort, with the intoxicating allure of him protecting you, of him standing between you and so many terrors.

In your right mind you wouldn’t have believed him. Would have known there were things out there even the great Joel Miller couldn’t topple, that there were threats known and unknown, seen and unseen, things out there wanting to spill your blood, the blood of the people you cared the most for. But Joel was inside you, in your cunt and in your ear, and his words were chipping away at your resistance, sliding under the door long ago locked tight. You were far from your right mind. You surrendered to the seduction of it, of the intoxication of it, of the myth this man was peddling that you would buy again and again and again.

‘There she is,’ he said, as you came on his fingers, your cunt gripping him and your hips rolling, his face pressed hard into your neck as you twisted into the agony of it, your mouth open and gasping, your face turned to the Gods.

You felt his fingers underneath you, one hand wrapped tight around your torso to hold you steady as he released himself from his jeans, and you felt him then, pressed against the back of your thigh, the velvet heat of his length, the thundering throb of it. You had barely caught your breath, had yet to fully come back to yourself, before he was pushing himself into you, pulling you onto him, your neck caught in his teeth as he bit down on the nape, tried to stifle the groan blooming in his chest.

He felt bigger this way, the stretch even sharper despite his best attempts to prepare you, and your walls fluttered, fought to accept him. You shuddered, the sudden sting slamming you back into your body, and you gripped his hands to stop him, to pause. He stilled immediately, his breath hot and gasping.

‘Give me a minute,’ you gritted out, leaning back onto his shoulder and burying your nose in his jaw, panting, placing a placid little kiss to the salt and pepper patches there.

You felt him reach around you, his finger finding your clit and gently circling it, collecting your slick and pushing it over the nub to rid you of any friction. You groaned, arching your back against him, your hands digging into the meat of his thighs underneath you.

‘So beautiful like this,’ he whispered into your ear as you felt the pleasure overtake you, the throb in your cunt synchronised to your thundering pulse. ‘Can feel you gripping me,’ he went on. ‘Stuffed fulla me, baby.’

‘Stop,’ you gasped, the moment suddenly too intense, a fear gripping you then that if he kept talking you would give him anything; the shirt off your back, the blood in your veins. He chuckled, watching you struggle to take the pleasure he was pushing into you, through you.

It was wrong but you couldn’t figure out why, because it still felt so fucking good, and you wanted more but couldn’t figure out how it was possible, not sated by him seated fully inside you, not close enough to him as you pressed your body entirely against yours. You huffed, frustrated, standing before he could stop you and pivoting to face him, straddling him again in the chair and sinking yourself down on him in one swift motion, so that he gasped and then groaned when the heat of you enveloped him, joined you in a harsh cry when your clit met his hipbone and you settled there, shifted your hips to press into the nub.

‘S’better,’ you said, and you watched his lopsided grin emerge.

‘My girl miss seeing me?’ he asked, and you rolled your hips to shut him up, watched any semblance of cogent thought leave him when you gripped him there.

‘Say it again, Joel,’ you said, sliding your hips forward and back in a way that you knew wasn’t enough for him, but was making your clit throb when it grazed over his skin. He grunted, suddenly finding it hard to think clearly, and his brows saddled.

‘Keep you safe?’ he said, uncertain but meaning it anyway, and you shook your head.

‘Keep who safe?’ he asked.

‘You,’ he answered, still not following, and you planted your feet on the floor, raised yourself up just to bounce back down again.

‘Who am I, Joel?’ you asked, nearly breathless, and finally, finally he understood, his little huffed out laugh sending a thrill through you as he reached down between your bodies, felt where you were joined.

‘My girl,’ he said, finding your clit and edging his fingertips across it, sending fireworks up your spine. ‘My beautiful girl, so tight and wet, so needy for me, cryin’ out for me in her kitchen.’

You groaned, feeling him grip you around the middle with one arm, lifting you up and down on his cock, rocking into you and always, always, always watching your face, nibbling at your chin when you leant back to gasp for air.

You were going to come. It was too fast. You still had so many other things you wanted to say to him, wanted him with every atom of you, with every fibre, the neurons in your brain lighting up just for him. Wanting to live in the torrent of pleasure he brought out in you, wanted to twist and writhe in it. You felt, again, on the edge of tears, but not for wanting, this time. Not for the losses.

For the having. Of Jackson, of the wildflowers on the paths pushing past the cold. Of the little family you had eked out at the end of the world, of Ellie, of Tommy and Maria and Robin. Of this man under your body and on your kitchen chair, calling you his and promising to keep you safe. Of this man, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of oblivion and clinging to him, willingly readying yourself to cascade over it.

‘Want you right here, always,’ he grunted, and you keened, felt it then, that you were wanted, that you belonged.

You didn’t have the words for it, vowed in that moment that you would spend the rest of your life trying to find them. For right now you did the only thing you could think of, leaning over and gripping his jaw, angling his face to you as you landed your lips on him, kissed him as you felt a tear streak across your cheek and onto his skin, as you shuddered and felt your cunt milking him, as he spilled into you and you joined him, the ecstasy and the pleasure and the warmth of it. In your little house in Jackson, behind enormous walls, to hold you.

Taglist:

@orcasoul

@archofimagine

@hiroikegawa

@ilovejoel-andjavi

@giggly-otter

@harrysrosetatto

@Hjzghi-blog

@daddy-dins-girl

@kathaaaaaaa

@anoverwhelmingdin

@pedropascalsbbg

[susoriginals]

Vintage Pink T Strap Sandals Strappy Open Toe by Van Eli Women's Size 8 Only $5 

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐑𝐮𝐡𝐧 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐚𝐧'𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

ISTP/ISFP

Gryffindor

Chaotic Good

Scorpio Sun, Aries Moon, Aquarius Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・You know when you meet someone, and you don't have to force your personality to fit into some kind of shape?

・That's what happened with you and Ruhn

・Ever since you met, there was a spark. You were both curious about each other.

・You were drawn into the way he looked. Not many fae tattooed themselves from nearly head to toe, or had so many piercings

・It made your heart beat faster and faster

・You knew you were attracted to him

・And he made you laugh within minutes

・But you didn't want to give him the satisfaction

・So, the one thing that has stayed throughout your relationship is the goddamn bickering. Which really is just another form of banter.

・This has caused a lot of angst between the two of you.

・But you both knew it was pure play. Flirting. Humour. Banter.

・Everything changed when you had a panic attack in front of him. You were so embarrassed. But the way he held you, cupping your face, moving your hair behind your ears, wiping away the tears.

・His purple eyes bore into your own and you felt instantly calmer.

・From that day on you thanked The Maker. Because staring into his eyes - something clicked. Like a piece was perfectly placed; one you never knew you were missing.

・Making you blush is one of his favourite hobbies. Seeing you duck your head, cover your face or roll your eyes makes his day.

・Very protective; is able to stop himself from taking a swing at the asshole. He's more of a rip him to shreds verbally and then wrap an arm around your shoulder and walk away.

・But don't think he won't get physical over you. Because Ruhn definitely will.

・Would rather take your last name when you get married - his holds too many bad memories

・He knows his smirk makes you weak in the knees but when you brush over his bare skin, he nearly gets on his own knees to worship you

・Would walk to the ends of the earth to find you. There's nothing Ruhn would not do for you. Kill, maim, avenge, even die for you.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Tough on the Outside, Soft on the Inside (Ruhn) x The Top (You)

Overly arrogant, flirty (Ruhn) x Pretends To Be Unfazed, But Is Dying On The Inside (You)

“Shut Up” x “Make Me”

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Intertwined Destinies

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Fire In The Water by Feist

Blood Moon by John Lunn & Eivor

The Lure by The Weeknd

𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞

・Every time with him is hot and heavy; it's hard to breathe when you're both in the mood. It's as if the world doesn't exist and all you can do is be in one another's arms

・You're both as dominant as each other, but when you tease him, gods help you. He'll have you bent over any flat surface, taking you from behind.

・Definitely an ass slapper.

・Growls in your ear both in the bedroom and in public

・Something turns primal in him whenever he's with you. Sometimes it feels like he's a hairs breath away from completely ravishing you

・Ruhn is definitely one to keep a naughty polaroid of you

・At times you think you're both insatiable; no matter how many times either of you cum, nothing is good enough.

・As Mates it's easy to explain. Your souls were made for one another, and so is your biology. Therefore, you both have high fucking sex drives.

・You're obsessed with Ruhn's hands and he knows it. Large, veiny and usually with a few rings. He rests his hand on your thigh, and will slowly move it closer and closer to your core - no matter who is around

・His cock is 8 inches when hard, veined, 3cm in girth. Circumcised; when he's horny the tip is a dark weepy red and when after orgasm it's slightly darker.

・As much as he can be serious and passionate, Ruhn also loves when you two can be silly while having sex. Talking about your day, or laughing when you two almost fall off the bed.

・The first time you had sex, Ruhn didn't last as long as he usually does. He was a whiny, whimpering mess, head in the crook of your neck, pumping in and out of you relentlessly.

・It was like fucking for the first time.

・Nothing compared to being with the person you were supposed to be with.

・Ruhn couldn't stop kissing you, and not just your lips. His favourite part was behind your ear. Trailing hot breathy kisses down to your neck.

・He apologised, but it didn't mean he was done. It just meant there was more natural lube for you.

[darlingmbappe]

The Loneliest | Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Epilogue]

Summary: Your fiancé missing your birthday is the icing on the cake to a horrible couple of months. Now, you’re left to pick up your broken pieces, ending the chapter in your life that includes Kylian Mbappé.

Warnings: Complete angst all the way through, Kylian being a bad fiancé, fighting, breaking an engagement, lots of crying, cussing, this one’s kind of long so beware. Spoiler: no happy ending. Let me know if I missed anything. — English is not my first language —

Mornings used to be your favorite.

You’d wake up way too early to the sound of Kylian’s alarm for your liking, but it didn’t even matter. The hour or so you got to spend with your fiancé before he left were sacred, it was special. They were filled with easy conversation, tired hugs and sleepy kisses on the shoulder, the occasional quickie, or at least a cheeky squeeze of your ass. It felt like very moment spent together was precious. You felt loved by Kylian so much it made your stomach turn with butterflies just thinking about him.

Now, it felt like those domestic moments were a distant memory. Sure, all couples gradually get less and less lovey-dovey the longer they’re together, but the change was drastic. It was like you barley knew him anymore.

You’ve attempted to start conversations with Kylian about this. Multiple times, in fact. Immediately, he’d get defensive, ending in arguments that kept getting worse and worse. It’s difficult to have to tip toe around your feelings in order to avoid a fight. He stopped making you feel special.

This morning, you woke up knowing it will be a hard day; all alone in your shared king sized bed.

Today is your birthday, and you don’t think Kylian knows this. After many weeks of deep reflection and thought, you know that today might be the last day of your three and a half-year long relationship with Kylian Mbappé — a man who stole your heart and still has it. Once treasured, now barely beating. The diamond sitting on your left ring finger had started feeling like a foreign object, like something your body wanted to reject. It’s lost it’s comfort, now you seemed to lug around old memories you clung onto for dear life.

Kylian didn’t come home last night, though you saw on his private Snapchat story that he was safe, sound, and plastered out of his mind at some club with friends you didn’t even know. He couldn’t find it in him to text you back after 9 o’clock, when that morning he said he would be home no later than 8:30. He found a simple ‘going out, don’t wait up for me’ to be sufficient communication for the night.

You called Kylian, instead it went straight to voicemail. Your texts to him weren’t going through, either. He didn’t have training this morning because the coaches had a conference in London, so you knew he had to be home soon.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you made your way to the kitchen for a bowl of bland cereal and coffee for one.

“Happy birthday to me.” You mumbled, looking down at your sad birthday breakfast. Compared to the last few years where Kylian prepared you a delicious meal, hired a chef, or took you out to the fanciest café in Paris — this meal actually made you lose your appetite.

Across town, Kylian was waking up with a pounding sensation in his head and no recollection of the night before.

“What happened last night?” Kylian grumbled as he woke up to the bright sunlight streaming in from the open shutters. His neck had a kink in it from passing out on his friend Paolo’s Airbnb couch in the early hours of the morning, his voice sounded like he’d swallowed gravel. “Fuck.” He covered his face from the blinding rays and felt around for his phone.

He hasn’t gotten drunk that heavily in so long, but when two of his old friends came to Paris for a few weeks, he couldn’t resist giving into their pleads when they’d asked him to tag along for a fun night on the town.

“Bro, you were so drunk last night.” He heard his other friend Bernardo chuckle, his voice almost gone as well from the festivities of the previous night. Kylian sat up, seeing both men looking half dead and clinging onto coffee mugs like a child would cling onto its mothers leg.

The guys chuckled in the kitchen. He smelled eggs cooking but they just made him nauseous. “What time is it? Where’s my phone?”

“Oh…” Paolo snickered and pointed at the bowl full of rice in the center of his kitchen island. “Yeah, man… I don’t know if the rice did much for it. It’s fucked.”

Kylian shot up toward his cell, not even remembering putting it in the rice last night. He carefully picked it up, the entire screen was shattered.

“Putain…” He attempted to hold down the power button just in case, glancing over to the microwave to see the time. 12:36pm. “Merde!”

He had an important meeting with his PR team about potential sponsorships for next years season at 2 o’clock, and if he showed up sweating whiskey with an obvious hangover, the brand reps might think twice before giving him any deals.

He bid his old friends goodbye but not before promising to go out again soon. A short taxi ride later, he was able to make it back home just a little after 1 o’clock.

Kylian bursts through the front door, booking it toward the shower in your ensuite bathroom, running right past you on the bed without a glance or even a hello.

You’d been trying to decide all day if you were pissed at him or just super sad, but seeing him ignore you that way made you realize that it didn’t matter. He stopped making you happy, making you both pissed and sad — a dangerous combination.

You get up and follow him in there as he hopped around trying to take his skinny jeans off.

“I’m gonna be late.” He panted, sliding inside the shower.

You assumed if he knew he would’ve said something… happy birthday… I love you… I’m sorry…

Curious and resentful, you stand close to the shower door so he could hear you. “Where are you going? I thought we…” You blink tears back, sighing and trying to get control of your wavering voice, “… I thought we could do something tonight.”

This wasn’t even the plan, but you were trying to find anyway for him to redeem himself.

“No, (Y/N). I can’t today, okay?” He snapped. “I’m in a rush. Can you please just pick out a nice outfit for me, quickly.”

You shake your head in disbelief, wiping a stray tear that rolled down your face, sniffling once. Kylian hears this and pokes his head out. “Hey,” his barely softer, “Look, sorry but I’m in a huge rush. It’s been a shit morning.”

“Me too.” You mumble, disappointment laced in your words but Kylian didn’t seem to catch onto it.

“Also, my phone shattered at some point last night, so can you call Thérèse and have her drop me off a new one at the training center?”

You huffed, getting control of your emotions that were simmering into anger. One more chance, you thought as you were about to walk out of the bathroom, you turn. “Do you want to do something when you get home? Maybe even just dinner here, a movie?”

“Maybe.” He said back, turning off the shower. All you could do is roll your eyes and bite your tongue. You were trying to give him every opportunity to come back from this.

You didn’t want to end it, but you promised yourself that if he fucks up today, that was it. You can’t keep hoping he’ll become the person he was before. He won’t listen when you talk anymore or even meet you in the middle. You have too much respect for yourself to settle for someone who can’t appreciate you.

You dry laughed. “Maybe.” You mocked, another angry tear rolling down your face, storming back into the bedroom and getting under the covers, arms crossed.

You wanted to sob, but choked it down when Kylian stormed out of the bathroom, wet and holding his towel up around his waist. “Why are you so moody?” He didn’t even look at you, just shook his head and threw his hand down, exasperated when he realized you weren’t putting an outfit together for him. “I just asked you to help me out.” He tusks. “Are you just going to lay around all day, then?”

You knew this tone. The one where something else was bothering him except he expressed it by nitpicking at anything in front of him. Being with him for so long, you knew how to gently pry out the real reason why he was snappy. Right now, there was no way were you even attempting to help him out in any way.

“Looks like it, huh?” You gritted through your teeth. You could practically feel the eye roll he gave you even though neither of you would look at each other.

He muttered something you couldn’t hear as he walked into the closet, hurriedly throwing on some outfit. “I didn’t feel like fighting today, (Y/N).” He growled and threw on a white hat. “Today has been miserable so far.”

“Miserable for you?” You gaped, face getting angrily red.

“Oh, don’t start.” He spat, grabbing his keys and walking out of the room.

You jumped up and stomped out of the room behind him, seeing him almost at the bottom of the stairs. “Kylian.”

He groaned, continuing to run down the steps. “I don’t have time for a fucking fight right now!”

“Kylian!” You yelled from the railing just as he grabbed the door handle. With an exasperated turn around, he locked eyes with your teary ones. “When you get home… we need to talk.” You didn’t try and hide your sadness this time, knowing how the talk was going to end. The sentence squeaked out, like your forced it.

He paused, taking his hand off the door handle. “Fine.” He said this differently upon seeing your broken demeanor, shuffling in place. Kylian checked his watch, looking back up at you. You stared back, watching him hesitantly leave your shared home.

Kylian knew he’d been fucking up with you lately. Coming home late, forgetting to call or text back, paying less and less attention to you as the season progressed. He knew he was getting too comfortable and at some point stopped putting in any effort. The worst was that he’d been taking his frustrations out on you, shutting you out. He watched as you tried to smile through his snarky and quick comments, feeling bad immediately but he just didn’t know how to deal with that kind of guilty emotion.

Your engagement has been a long one. Nine months in and you guys hadn’t even set a date yet. Time kept slipping through the glass, he wondered when the last time you’d even brought up the wedding was — wondering when the last time he even thought about it directly after.

The whole way to work he watched out the window, lost in thought about how he needs to be better. So much so that his driver had to tell him that they’d arrived. He was actually early. With a big fake smile on his face, he did his best to set it all aside, turning on work-mode.

Meanwhile, you had a really nice cry. The kind where you just let it all out because you knew no one was around to hear or pity you. Once you pulled yourself together, you gathered your suitcases from the attic.

It was obvious you couldn’t take everything that was yours. You’d bought so many things for this place, for your shared home… so you focused on the things you were for sure taking with you. All your clothes, makeup, sentimental items, and the fruit bowl you found in a market in Spain were secured inside your bags. You stopped and cried so many times… over a pair of shoes that he bought for you or a picture that brought back sweet memories… all these momentos felt wasted.

Yesterday, you were certain that he would remember what today was. So certain that you convinced yourself you didn’t need to get a hotel. You wished you did, because doing it today felt so final, so depressing. And, upon looking at your empty side of the closet, vanity, side table, bathroom shelf… you had to pull yourself together and be strong. Remind yourself why you’ve resorted to this.

Back at the training grounds, Kylian snapped his last photo-op with the CEO of some athletic wear company, absolutely drained from having to pretend for hours. He had sent his assistant off for a new phone when he saw her, knowing you didn’t text her about him needing one.

He trudged over to Hakimi now that all of that was over, sitting down with a long huff, placing his head in his hands. He hadn’t talked to him all day, being occupied with offers and whatnot.

“Man, I’ve been texting you all day.” He patted his back once, turning to face him.

Kylian looked up at his friend, shaking his head. “It broke last night. Thérèse is out getting me a new one now.”

Hakimi sensed there was something bothering Kylian, but knew not to approach him too strongly. He nodded at his answer. “So, uh… I bet (Y/N)’s pissed, right?”

Kylian blew a raspberry. “Oh, yeah… so pissed…” He nodded with the most exhausted look on his face. “Wait, how’d you know that?”

“Well, I mean, Hiba would be pissed too.” Kylian raised an eyebrow, still confused on how he knew about your fight. “You know, if I had to work on her birthday like this.” He laughed at the thought. “I’d have a lot of groveling to do. Or, did you guys plan something on a different day?”

Kylian gazed up at Hakimi, eyes widening with the vague memory of todays date. “Wait.” He gulped, hands hovering over his head. “Is today the…” he flipped the calendar in his mind, praying that Achraf was mistaken about that. “Ah… merde! Putain! Shit!” Kylian smacked the table and bounced up out of the chair, heart beating a million miles a minute.

Hakimi stood too, watching Kylian pace with his hands cradling his head. “No… Kylian, you didn’t…”

He nods, panic settling in hardcore. “I yelled at her today. I asked her why she was being moody. I didn’t come home last night— ah baise moi, mec. je suis un putain d'idiot!” He cursed himself. Ah fuck me, man. I’m a goddamn idiot!

Thérèse speed walked over to the man in crisis, holding a brand new phone. “All your data’s transferred and everything!” She cheered. Kylian probably didn’t even thank her, going directly to his messages with you to text you that he’s so sorry and coming home right now. When he clicked on your icon, he saw all of the messages you sent him last night

You: Ky will u please come home — 9:25 pm

You: I know ur friends are in town and all but I seriously need u with me tonight — 10:48 pm

You: hello?? — 11:51 pm

You: are u okay? Do u need a ride? — 1:35 am

You: I’m getting worried. please just reply. I need to know ur okay Kylian — 1:40 am

You: nice Snapchat story. Good to know ur fucking fine. — 2:46 am

He ran a hand over his face, beginning to sweat with guilt. His eyes lowered on the screen, the small grey message by the keyboard truly making his stomach knot up even more.

(Y/N) stopped sharing their location with you.

His heart fell in his chest, churning… he felt like he was going to puke. Suddenly all of the conversations you tried to start with him about his behavior over the last six months came flooding back. The same conversations he moaned and groaned though, always deflecting until it turned into a fight. God, how badly he had been treating you… like you were a menace in his life — when really, without you, he wouldn’t be able to go on the same.

He began trying to call you and gathered his things, but his calls simply rang until it went to voicemail. “I-I have to go.” He stammered, almost tripping over his feet. Hakimi watched, shocked at the state of his best friend, knowing how he could get sometimes.

Kylian jumped in the town car as fast as his world-renowned legs could get him there, giving the driver instructions to get him home, and quick. The whole way he cussed at slow drivers, construction workers, red lights. He checked his new phone for the time; 10:37 pm and still fifteen minutes away from home.

God, please let her still be home.

He won’t know what to do with himself if you just left.

‘We need to talk’ rung over and over again in his head like a jinx. The way your voice cracked, the tears he saw you hold back. She’s so strong, he thought.

I raised my voice at her. I forgot her birthday and then treated her like she was the problem.

He pinched his leg to distract himself from crying. He has to be level headed, calm, logical, loving, and very apologetic— everything he hasn’t been for the last months. He knows he doesn’t deserve you, but can’t imagine what his life, his future will look like if he lets you slip through his fingers.

No girl has ever made him feel like this. Everything he looked for in a woman you embodied tenfold and he fucked it up. He has to fix this.

Kylian didn’t even let the car come to a full stop when he arrived, tripping over his own feet, realizing he left his coat in the back seat but really not caring at all. He just has to know you’re there. He looked toward the driveway, seeing your car still parked in its usual spot.

Thank the lord.

Fumbling with the keys, his shaking hands clicked the door open, seeing only the living room lamp on.

“Bébé?” He called. He saw your figure looking at him from the couch. “Oh, (Y/N)…” he breathed, walking over to get closer. You stoop up, meeting him halfway. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He heaved, breathless from his pounding heart.

The dull yellow light illuminating the side of your face showed him how puffy and red your eyes were, how downturned your usual smile was. He saw what he’d done to you, all the months you’ve had to walk on eggshells, the conversations that he’s turned on you, how he forgot your special day.

You still didnt say anything, keeping your arms crossed, looking him in the eye — the while begging yourself internally not to cave. His sweet eyes knew how to reel you in. You weren’t going to cave. You couldn’t.

“I forgot your birthday…” He whispered sadly, guilt drenched his tone, sending a cold depressing shiver down your spine.

Your eyes brimmed with tears again, but you bit your cheek and shook them away, having to be strong for yourself. “So, you finally remembered.” You sniffled.

“I’m so sorry, bèbè. Time just…” he stopped himself from making anymore excuses, “I’m just a fucking idiot. And I’m going to make it up to you. I promise, I’ll make it up to you.” He stammered, voice shaking from nerves.

“But, it’s not just about the birthday, Kylian. It’s been… it’s..–”

“–I know, bébé. I’ve been horrible to you. Truly horrible. You never deserved any of that.” He cautiously lifted his hand to yours, grabbing your fingers. All the words he was going to say suddenly didn’t feel good enough. No I’m sorry is going to feel sufficient.

You looked at your tangled hands, he played with your fingers anxiously, trying to catch your gaze, but it now stayed glued to the floor.

You took a deep breath and looked up at him with teary eyes — that of a wounded puppy. It broke him. “We need to talk.” Your words were laced in false strength, false confidence.

You didn’t know what the hell you were going to do once you leave him. Flying blind isn’t something you did very often, but you knew it’s what had to be done.

“Yes.” He nodded eagerly, trying to guide your hand toward the couch to sit. “Let’s talk. We can talk this all out, right?”

His hopeful tone made your heart break even more. The guiltiness that radiated off of him made it harder to do what you had to… his face fell when you let your hand slip back into your folded arms, turning away from him, sniffling.

“Kylian, I can’t… I can’t sit down with you and hold your hand and let you apologize to me. It’s not how this is gonna go.” Wiping your cheeks roughly, you turned to see his dropped face. “This talk… it’s going to be really hard. For both of us.”

He approached you, putting his hands on your forearms. “You’re scaring me, bèbè.”

Your lip quivered, not knowing how to tell him. You couldn’t look him in the eyes. “Kylian. I love you.”

“I love you too. I love you so much, (Y/N). I know we can work through this. I know it.” He pleaded, moving his face around to try and get you to look at him.

“No, Kylian. I love you, but…” You finally looked up, noticing he’d started crying as well. Ouch. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

He didn’t know what he was expecting. Sure, he was scared and sorry about what he did but the possibility of breaking up seemed impossible. Not like he was immune to repercussions, but you two just made sense. He loves you impossibly too much, but he’s forgotten to show you.

Kylian stood in shock, he felt his heartbeat in his teeth, his throat dry. “Don’t say that.” He whimpered. “Please, don’t say that.”

His hands traveled up to hold your face and he bent down to your level, needing you to look at him, to see how regretful he was, how much harder he will work at this. He touched his forehead to yours, wrestling with the temptation of falling down from anguish.

You shook your head between his palms, letting the tears fall freely, a small sob escaping. He wiped away the tears with his thumbs, attempting to hold you closer, squeaking out the smallest words; “Bèbè.” “No, no.” “Please.” “I’m so sorry.”

You grabbed his wrists, using all your strength to pull them from your face. Immediately, you turned around and grabbed a duffel bag he hadn’t noticed was sitting on the armchair. Your feet took you toward the exit.

“No.” His voice broken, his own face scrunched up and soaked with tears. “No, where are you going?”

It took everything in you not to comfort him, run into his arms, tell him it will be okay.

You pushed your instincts down and turning and shrugged instead, now feet away from the man you love, closing in on the front door. “I’m…” You felt a choking sob threatening to spill out of your mouth and had to look away, silently crying out with your hand covering you mouth. With a deep breath, you continued. “I’m leaving.”

“Well, when will you be back?” In just a few strides, he was back in front of you. He couldn’t help but hold your face again, wiping more tears with a gentle but pleading touch.

You gripped his wrists again, only this time, you weren’t strong enough to pull them away, instead feeling his warm skin one more time.

With a small shake of the head, you responded. “I’m not coming back, Kylian.”

“But… but this is your home. It’s our home.”

“I’m sorry, Kylian.” You finally ripped his hands from your face once more and adjusted the heavy strap on your shoulder. Turning around, your feet drag you to the front door. You reach into your back pocket and take out the house key that’s not longer attatched to your usual tassel keychain and set it down on the table.

He stood there and watched, now feeling helpless in this heart wrenching situation. It doesn’t seem like this is real, he has to be having a nightmare, just watching you leave his life and there’s nothing he can do about it — but it doesn’t stop him from trying, begging. “Amour, no. I can fix this, please just give me a chance to make this right.” He was desperate, once again approaching you.

Kylian sniffled, watching your every reaction, hoping for a glint of anything that would allow him to make it up to you. You looked down at your hands, then your left ring finger… everything in your body was holding you back from taking it off, but you mustered up every ounce of self control.

Kylian looked away as you slid the engagement ring off, hearing the light clink of it being set next to the keys. With his hands at his sides, back slouching, he looked back at your face, nodding in defeat.

“I’m sorry.” You repeated in a squeaky whisper.

“Me too.” He nods, looking down at your empty hand. He couldn’t but reach out, trapping your fingers delicately with his fingers, stepping closer.

His arm snakes around your waist, holding you, shaking with his suppressed cries. You allowed yourself to hug him back, to close the chapter, to feel his warm embrace again before you never would again.

The hug lasted for a while, swaying back and forth and crying into each others shoulders. He smelled like he always did, and you noted how hard it would be if you came across his familiar scent again. He also was getting high on your fumes, indulging in the coconut scented shampoo he had become addicted to. The touch of your hands clasping at his back made him cry harder, squeezing you tighter and lovingly.

You pulled back once your cries calmed, sniffling. He stayed close, lifting his eyes to look into yours. Before he knew how to stop himself, he closed in the space, landing his salty lips on yours, closing his eyes. You kissed him back, hating how much you’d miss him. The way his fingers dug into your hips made you lightheaded.

It’s too hard to stop, but you had to. Pulling away, you turned around quickly and left, sobbing all the way to your packed up car.

Kylian was glued in place. His heart had been put through a blender, his head throbbed, his chest was cold without you with him. He saw the flash of your headlights backing out and leaving the property reflect inside the dark and empty home.

He’s miserable, hollow. He’s angry at himself, maybe at you, even if he knows this was his own doing… the whirling in his brain wasn’t anywhere near as loud as the silence after you left — a deafening silence that followed him up to us bedroom, one he now only shared with his thoughts.

It killed him when he saw there was no longer a charger plugged next to your side of the bed, that your slippers were gone from their usual spot by the corner. None of your favorite books were displayed on the shelves, your skincare products left just a ring of residue on the sink. Stepping into the closet, he noticed it still smelled like you, but everything was gone. Everything but the shirts of his that you had stolen through the years, now neatly folded on top of one of his dressers. He wished you had taken them to remember him. He wished he could turn back time and do everything right.

Above all the sadness and the gaping hole is his heart was determination. He fucked up but he wasn’t about to do it again. You would not be the one that got away. It may be the last thing he ever does, but he’ll make it all up to you. He was prepared to go to the furthest lengths to hold you again. But, for now, he needed to wallow in self pity, feel everything that he needs to feel.

Not even on the chilliest Parisian night had his bed felt as cold as it did that day.

A/N: Okay I feel like I kinda dragged that out but angst! I’m contemplating a part 2 but I also kinda like leaving it at this… would y’all want another part? Also, the title is inspired by the song The Loneliest by Måneskin, listen to it after reading. Their new album is so fucking amazing. — Requests for Kylian Mbappé are open! —

[is-on-its-way]

My one Fictober post

(because im a slow writer)

Prompt: 22 why are we doing this again?

This is “au” for after season 8 || read on AO3

She stared out across the lake sized pond, they called lakes ponds here, making her wonder what Maine’s lakes looked like. She made a mental note to ask Mulder to take them to see one after. 

Everything was so vast and open and endless. Sun drenched mountains stood ancient and unmoving past the parting of the trees on the opposite bank. Their rocky tops colored an amber yellow in the sunrise. Tall pine trees hugged the shore but for the rocky beach she was standing on. The water was a clear shade of greenish blue, reminding her of his eyes in the light of a sunrise. 

Rocks as big as her feet under her bare toes were warm to the touch, baked in the morning sun. They felt wonderful in the chill air surrounding her, remembered from the night before. It was cold here in the evenings, the warning of winter came as early as late August. But they were cozy in their cabin, with a cast iron stove and a furnace and a fireplace to keep the chill out. 

She liked the wildness of it and loved feeling the cold prick her skin at the closing and opening of each day, chasing her and being chased by the sun. There was a comfort there, of the silent and unmovable force of nature after being pursued for so much of their lives by things much less impressive. 

They would all flee inside as their daily ritual, Mulder their shepard when she or their boy were inevitably stubborn. But he was being strict with her, and would never allow it. 

She wanted to sit outside around the firepit on occasion but Mulder wouldn’t hear it. He worried about her, insisting she come inside. Telling her there would be other summers and autumns when she could. And the funny thing was, she let him. She didn’t even have to fight herself and her independence at all really, she found his protectiveness, her cheeks reddened just thinking about it, sexy. 

He’d missed out the last time she told herself, he deserved to have this. So she let him herd them all inside and cuddle up as a family every night on the cozy couch by the fireplace and they would all take turns telling stories and adding new chapters to their favorite ones until one of them, usually her, fell asleep. 

Besides it made her feel a comfort she couldn’t describe or understand. His care for them, she couldn’t have imagined how good this could be.

A wind blew off the water wipping her hair around her neck and she shivered pulling her sweater tight around her and glancing back to the hammock tied between two trees to make sure it wasnt swaying too much in the wind. He was warm enough she’d put a sheepskin down and then a wool blanket over top of him. The impression their little boy made was so tiny and she had a sudden wild feeling of joy and sorrow mixed together in the most confounding way. How small he used to be, with his little rabbit ear hat. How big he would seem in seven more months. Everything felt like it was going so slowly in this calm, but when she stopped to look she realized everything was going at the speed of light. 

The truth was he wasn’t tiny, she couldn’t really lift him up anymore, and they’d started transitioning to couch cuddles when he needed comfort. He was in the 94th percentile for height. Mulder had kissed her head and said “Thank those recessive Scully genes your brother got, huh?” at his last checkup. To which she’d muttered back “He's a Mulder.” Mainly to see the pride flicker across his face. He had started planning to put a basketball court in beside the driveway.

She turned back to the water chin dimpling at the passage of time. She’d always loved the fall, the shade of sunlight on her skin in the mornings and the sharp angles and yellow sunsets cast across living rooms in the evenings. This fall though, was the happiest of her life. The stillness of it was turning her world on its axis. God knows, she wasn’t one to remain in one place for long, neither was Mulder. She smiled at the thought. But they had soaked this in for two weeks now and she could envision seven months more, longer. Safe. Him safe. Together and enjoying each other for the first time… ever. 

It was like a honeymoon phase they never really had. They were like teenagers exploring their newfound freedom and the change in their lives for the first time it felt like, for the better. She couldn't stop smiling. Neither could he. Sometimes by the fire in the evenings, her, curled up in the big armchair reading, him, typing on the sofa next to their son fast asleep; they’d meet each others gaze and just grin dopily at each other.

Even Liam saw their newfound giddiness. “Momma you’re happy now?” Hed asked this morning, through a spoonful of oatmeal. They’d eaten a later breakfast than Mulder after he had left for an early morning hike. 

“Yes baby, I’m happy.” she’d said kissing the top of his sun bleached, sandy brown head.

“Are you happy my love?” She asked, playing with his hair.

“Yeaaaaah!” he’d exclaimed and wiggled in his chair and shed laughed.

Shed been saddened a bit by this. It had only been months that they’d finally been free.

Their son had grown up with both of his parents filled with worry, and anxiety, and serious conversations, and fights even, about the right thing to do, the time it would take them, the sacrifices they were making, even the moral thing to do. He’d spent his toddlerhood in an underground medical lab that was soulless and sunless and the bane of her existence for three hellish years.

Scully sometimes couldnt believe they’d gotten through it. Couldn’t believe she and Mulder had come out of it together and loving each other the same way, if not more deeply. 

She shook off her memories of that time determined to enjoy the world in front of her now. Mostly alien-less and beautiful and sunny and windy. Oh how she’d missed the wind. 

And people! Strangers, smiling as you passed them on the street. It’d taken them a couple of days to get used to the college town hospitality but how refreshing it was to see people. No weirdos, no cults, they'd employed the gunmen to double check, just students and parents and seniors posted up at the local coffee shop all day. Nothing but normalicy. Well except for the three of them. But she could live with that. 

She could live with a lot, she realized, once that low hum of anxiety, the constantly on guard state of being she’d become so accustomed to fell away. Mulder too, was more relaxed and happy here, just them, in their own universe. 

——————————

He’d been booked for a flight to a case he’d been working with the lone gunmen when it happened. It would’ve been a normal case with them otherwise, like he had done since they’d been freed. Free of the FBI, free of the conspiracy, and the group that had been a danger to them. Some in the government were taking the threat seriously and many of the survivors had been placed on the most wanted list. They were, more importantly, free of the colonists. They’d gone once the vaccine program had been rolled out, the earth, useless to them now. 

It felt like a weight that she hadn’t known she carried since she had woken up in the hospital in 1994 had been lifted off of her. No more experiments, no more women and children in danger. She could rest now. They could rest now. And rest they had.

She’d come back from the doctor in a daze. She’d been feeling under the weather and silently, she’d feared cancer, she hadn’t said as much to Mulder, but he had offered to drop Liam off at her mothers and go with her. She’d said no, it was probably nothing and if she needed him she’d call. He’d sent her off with an extra tight hug and a thousand kisses, whispering things that made her face flush thinking of them now. When the nurse had told her to do the standard pregnancy test before any imaging could be done she hadn’t even thought…

Mulder and Liam were dozing on the couch when she got home. She’d gone to the kitchen and turned on the faucet, hands shaking, mind blank, watching the water.

Mulder appeared at the kitchen door, wordless and waiting. She swallowed and managed a smile. “Not sick” she’d said.

And he’d been so relieved by this news he’d hardly noticed her fighting to remain calm while he woke Liam and they’d jumped around the kitchen shouting the lyrics to everything’s gonna be alright by Bob Marley. Mulder said they’d been waiting to have dessert with her, so she picked at the ice cream and watched her boys chatter and laugh for what she realized would be the last time as just the three of them. 

She’d waited until they’d put him to bed and he went to the couch holding a hand out, waiting for her to join him in their nightly cuddle. 

Instead she’d sat on the coffee table, taking his hand. She’d whispered “Mulder, I got some news at the doctor.” 

“I thought..?” He’d looked worried then and she’d wanted to beam her thoughts into his mind to stave off the five extra seconds of worry. 

“No its nothing bad, its…” She didn’t quite know how to say it, which if she wasnt so distracted she would find hilarious given this was the one thing she’d rehearsed in her dreams every single night the first time around. It came tumbling out of her mouth instead. 

“We’re going to have a baby.”

He’d blinked at her in complete shock and then his brow had furrowed and she’d wanted to say something else but he’d just leaned into her, took her in his arms and drew her into his lap.

“You’re sure? How scully..?” He’d mumbled from her neck. 

“I dont know” she’d cried, holding onto him like a life raft. 

They’d been overcome, trembling together, his tears wetting her neck. And she’d held him and kissed his cheek. 

He’d whispered ‘oh my god’ and found her hands and kissed each finger and then her face giving her little kisses all over, until the tears turned into giggles and they sat back and looked at each other faces red and puffy and happy.

The feeling that welled inside her then was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. At the chance to tell him. The second chance at everything. 

“What about the placenta?” he'd blurted out serious. And her heart could’ve shattered at his care for her. “Will they check it? Make sure you two will be safe not like last time?” His arms wrapped around her waist hugging her close to him.

“Well it was a great deal more stressful last time.” He squeezed her hand “but yes my OBGYN wants me to come in as soon as possible to do some testing.”

“Tomorrow?”

She nodded. 

“I’ll take you.” he said it with a finality that raised her deeply ingrained self suffient hackles and perplexingly turned her on a little.

Normally she’d have shaken her head. She almost did it automatically. But instead she’d smiled. “I’ll call to see if we can come in when Liam is at Bill and Taras.”

He’d sunk to the carpet, let her lie back on the couch as he rested his chin on her hipbone and whisped salutations to their child. Her fingers raked through his chinchilla hair. Trailing his fingers across her bare belly, asking for her to un button and unzip her pants so as to be as close as possble to where their baby currently inhabited her belly. He whispered about how he hoped they’d get her beautiful nose and come to think of it her eyes and the shape of her earlobes. She’d added 

“Tell them about your jawline and your soft hair.” 

“And your mom wishes you’d get my jawline so maybe work on that in there while you can, but I like her hair better so its up to you kid.”

She’d giggled, and they’d cried, and he’d carried her to bed. That night Mulder wrapped his body around her, entangling his limbs in hers, his hands placed protectively around her belly.

And when they woke up three days later and he’d prepared to go to the airport for the gunmen’s case, they both could barely look at each other. 

And he’d hugged her and said, “Don’t worry Scully, no monsters just run of the mill missing persons.” 

But her stomach dropped into her abdomen and stayed there as the door closed behind him, and as she’d started breakfast and cried silently at the stove begging god not to be so cruel. Not to take him a second time. Knowing he’d be okay but feeing deep down something would go wrong, the darkness would find him. 

And it jumped into her throat ten minutes later as the door crashed open and she heard him call her name and his long strides coming determinedly to her in the kitchen, catching her face in his hands, and wildly searching her eyes.

She’d cried his name as he’d asked desperately.

“Why are we doing this again?”

“I dont know” she’d broken down then; relieved, and so happy he’d come back to her. And he’d grabbed her and kissed her like he should’ve the first time, like he wanted a second chance, like they could relive the past and physically force it to change. 

“I dont want to miss a second of you this time.” he’d muttered into her hair holding her to him. 

“Mulder” she’d choked out, emotions too vast to put into words.

“Momma waffles” Liam had reminded her and she saved them before they burned

“Breakfast” she’d smiled weepily at Mulder, as they both wiped tears away.

“Yes, then let’s get out of here.” he’d said looking at her as seriously as she’d ever seen him.

She tilted her head in question

“Lets go to the maine house.”

She tried to hide a smile. “For how long?”

“The rest of it. A year. Forever. However long you want.”

She’d raised her eyebrows. This was her Mulder, all or nothing all the time. She’d fought a smile. “What happens when we get bored?” She crossed her arms, spatula still in hand, after putting the waffle on Liam's plate.

“I have a book to write that I’ve been putting off. You have a baby to grow and two full shelves of books you've been wanting to get through and…” he searched for more concrete reasons, “you wanted to decorate that house…Fall is the best time for antiquing” he’d said fluttering his eyebrows enticingly.

“We can stop at Brimfield on the way up.” he added in a sing song, knowing this would do the trick.

Her eyes lit up, he knew he had her, and he grinned.

“What about my training?”

“Can you take a sebatical?”

“Maybe, I can ask” 

“Ask”

“Okay I’ll call after breakfast.” She said excited at their new plan. 

“Good” his fingers found hers and pulled them around him spatuala and all, as he pulled her into a hug. 

“I’m so happy.” he mumbled in her hair “Its terrifying.” 

She nodded into his chest and said “I know exactly what you mean.”

And then he started laughing and she laughed with him and then Liam started his cutest five year old laugh and soon everyone had dissolved into giggles and hugs.

—————

The sun dappled her dappled cheeks catching a tree on its rise. She found herself smiling at the memories and she sighed.

He walked up behind her. She didn’t turn around knowing it was him from the sound of his footfalls. He stopped behind her and wrapped his arms under hers and over her slightly swollen belly, tucking his nose into the side of her neck. “Mmm” she hummed “Hi”

“Hi”

“Nice walk?”

“Very relaxing” he muttered into her, lips brushing against the top of her shoulder setting her skin alight in goosebumps. 

“Tomorrow we can all go.” She whispered, tilting her head so he could continue the path up her neck.

“Okay. I found a perfect little outcrop that looks over the lake. The trail is mostly flat.” His nose drifted across her jaw.

She smiled at his worry.

“Mulder” she said in that exasperated voice she knew he loved “I worked for the FBI the first time I was pregnant I can do a hike.”

He just breathed her in. “You smell different.” He murmured from the soft bare skin behind her ear.

“Better or worse” she asked, voice still playful.

“Just different. I love it. I love being here with you, watching you.” He breathed her in deep over exaggerating, and she giggled.

“You’re amazing. Have I told you?”

“Today? Not yet” she teased.

“You’re amazing Dana.” He said kissing her jawline.

“Thank you Fox.” she whispered as if his name was their secret.

“I have something for you.”

She turned in his arms looking at him questioningly. He dug in his back pocket and pulled a notebook out, opened it and on the page there was a perfect maple leaf in fall colors. The veins of it were still green but the colors faded outwards from them in a tricolor rainbow of brightest yellow to deepest red around the very edges.

“It’s beautiful” she said studying the way the colors merged from one vein into another.

“It wasn't ready to fall but it did and it ended up better for it.” He said. “Like us.”

She smiled earnestly up into his eyes. She twirled the stem in her fingertips the light catching it and illuminating the colors even more. 

“Fall always reminded me of you.” He said in a low voice still holding her. She reached up to his face brushing a finger across his plump lower lip. He answered her unspoken request, bending down to brush his lips to hers and allow her to open her mouth to him playing with them between her own, tasting the familiar taste of him on his tongue. Before parting, and pressing her cheek against his chest, looking out at the sun fully risen over the water now.

“I have something for you too” she said glancing up at him, finding his eyes a smile playing on her lips. She dug in her sweater pocket and pulled out a smooth stone and held her hand out with it lying on her palm. He took it beamused, then his eyebrows raised “Its shaped like a UFO” he said surprised. She laughed pleased he could see it too.

It was. It was oblong a perfect sphere from the top with a small hump on one side that could’ve been a cockpit.

“Don’t go imagining it actually is with tiny aliens inside, its just a coincidence in a stone.”

He smirked at her “Maybe” he said suggestively.

She shook her head staring back at her leaf 

“I think I can put this between wax paper and preserve it.”

He kissed her temple their presents held in each others hands.

“I can’t wait for spring, we can swim.”

“The babys due in May, I dont think I’ll be able to for a while after.”

He shrugged. “Then we’ll wait for summer.”

“You’ll take Liam, teach him to swim.” She said with certainty. “We can watch.” She spoke as much to him as her belly.

Mulder smiled and she saw tears flood his eyes threatening to spill over his bottom lashes. She put a hand to his cheek and asked for his eyes. 

He sighed and smiled “Yeah, that sounds perfect.”

@today-in-fic

[animasolaoriginal]

I n n o c e n c e L o s t 🟪 9

Under the scorching sun, Ben's mind wanders... until he and Nebbia find themselves on the run from a bunch of enemies that bring forth a whole new problem.

lonely cowboy/outlaw ✖️ prostitute who's so much more than that

Chapter 1▫️2▫️3▫️4▫️5▫️6▫️7▫️8▫️9▫️10▫️11▫️12▫️13 ...

GENERAL TAGS: NSFW! Explicit! Size difference, age gap, slow burn romance. Cowboys, outlaws, prostitutes. Historical inaccuracy. Horses, guns, violence.

WORDS: 4.4k 🟪 READ ON AO3

Chapter 8 🟪 Chapter 10

Additional warning: explicit sexual content ahead! (The smut tag makes sense now!)

Chapter 9: The Temptation

The constant sway of Thunder's strong steps through the plain have him quickly losing focus. With Nebbia pressed to his chest, wedged between his thighs, held securely in his arm, her feet bouncing slightly, her whole body rubbing against him with every up and down motion, Ben's mind starts to wander.

He sees her outside a small cabin, their cabin, deep in the woods, close to a lake, where she tends to the garden while he hunts or catches fish, where she hangs the sheets out to dry in the soft breeze, her long brown hair moving in the same flow, her skirt billowing around her. She has to stretch to reach the line he's spanned between the trees, balancing on her toes as she fixes the sheets to it with the wooden clothespins, her shirt riding up slightly, exposing just a sliver of soft, pale skin.

It's his shirt, he notices, the plaid one he's given her, so many moons ago. She's tied it around her waist, knotted in the front, the sleeves rolled up, just enough buttons undone to tease at the soft mounds beneath the warm fabric.

When she returns to the cabin, she finds him leaning by the window, watching her. There's a blush on her pale cheeks when she looks up at him. He doesn't hesitate when he grabs her waist and hoists her onto the kitchen counter effortlessly. A little yelp escapes her, then a laugh, her smile warm and happy when she extends her arms and pulls him closer, wrapping them around his neck, playing with his hair.

He obliges, indulges her, leans in and presses his mouth to hers. He can feel the warmth and wetness of her tongue when it moves between his lips, when it meets his, tastes him, licks him, makes his heart flutter, a sensual dance while he steps closer, caging her in, his hands running under her thighs to urge her to wrap her legs around him. She does.

She always does. He deepens the kiss, swallows her mewls when he moves his large hands around her legs and under her skirt to grab her rear, sinks his long fingers into her plump ass cheeks, kneads them, pulls them apart slightly, teases between them. She rubs her pelvis against him, and she must feel how hard he is for her.

He's always hard for her. It's almost a problem, if she wouldn't know how to help him with it. Her hands move expertly, down the back of his neck, fingernails scraping over his broad shoulders, snake around to the front, unbutton his shirt, all while her lips are glued to his, tongue sliding against his, accompanied by frantic little puffs right into his mouth.

When her tongue plunges deeper and he invites it with a gentle suck, her warm fingers scrape over his chest, down his toned abs, lower, lower. His belt clinks when she opens it, her delicate hands gliding down over the bulge, palming him, teasing him. One grips him through the fabric, the other slips into the thin opening between his warm skin and the waistband.

He groans against her, gripping her ass, groping it hard as she brushes her fingertips along his sensitive skin. Impatience makes him twitch, jerk his hips against her hands. She finally unbuttons his jeans completely, pushes it down enough to free his hard erection. He can only grunt into her mouth when she closes her small hands around his girth before she starts moving them up and down, in a twisting motion, how he's shown her, with just enough grip and strength, to make his stomach tighten up.

His hands slip upwards, sliding over her sides, over the front of her (his) shirt, palming at her small breasts, eager fingers playing with the buttons. He's tempted to just rip it open, but she'd be furious with him for destroying another shirt, telling him buttons are hard to come by.

A laugh rumbles through his throat as she keeps nibbling on his bottom lip, rubbing her chin against his beard, the scrape adding to the breathy little moans that tumble over her lips as he slips his big hands into her open shirt and cups her soft mounds, weighing them gently, kneading them carefully.

Her hard nipples press into his palms while she squirms on the kitchen counter, her legs tightening around his waist, feet digging into his lower back. He lets go of her breasts and moves lower, gathers her skirt and pushes it aside enough to expose her pink little pussy with the soft patch of hair right above. He breaks the kiss to look down at it, while she keeps planting soft kisses on his cheek and jaw and down his neck, still pumping his cock expertly in her small hands.

Her folds are glistening, she's so wet, he can tell, and when he tests the waters, literally, she mewls softly. His fingers slip into her slick, up and down, up and down, until he dips two of them into her tightness. She arches her back, tilts her neck back, moans softly at the stretch, and as he starts pumping his fingers in and out slowly, he finds her mouth again, plunging his tongue in, tasting her as breathless whimpers echo in his ears.

She's stopped stroking his cock, and he feels it throbbing in her hold, ready to feel more of her. Kissing her deeply, he keeps his digits buried deep in her cute little cunt, scissoring them, stretching her, massaging her soft insides, while his other hand gently pries her hands off his arousal before he grabs it and brings it closer to her heat.

A disappointed little huff of air escapes her when he pulls his fingers out, only to be replaced by a loud gasp when he presses the head of his cock against her entrance. It's taken her a long time to be able to take all of him, and he thinks fondly about the many times they've tried, endless nights and even longer days, holed up in bed, or on any other surface, each time an inch more, until he could finally bottom out inside her tight wet warmth.

She leans back on her arms, bracing herself as he moves his hips closer, closer, the tip plunges into her hole, sinks deeper, she moans softly, calls his name, and he gets lost in the feeling of being choked so deliciously. So tight... so warm...

“Ben...” Her walls clench around him, pulling him deeper. “Ben.” The heat is intoxicating, he can barely breathe. “Ben!”

His eyes fly open, and he blinks in confusion, squinting at the bright sun, breathing heavily, trying to focus through the haze inside his mind. His stomach is tight and the strain on his jeans is almost unbearable. And against that very obvious bulge presses a cute little butt, clad in a brown riding skirt, tied in the waist, where his hand rests, big and heavy on her flat stomach. He swallows dryly as his gaze wanders higher until he meets Nebbia's bright green eyes.

Something warm creeps up his neck. “Huh?”

A shy smile curls her lips. “Are you okay?” she asks softly, watching him closely, a little too closely for his taste.

It takes him a long moment to realize he's sitting on Thunder's back, under the blazing sun, and an even longer moment that they're no longer moving. The horse's long neck is bent downwards, and he seems to graze peacefully.

“I think you fell asleep,” she whispers, shifting slightly against him. “Glad you didn't fall off...”

“M'sorry,” he growls, rubbing his face with his free hand. “Just a little... daydream, I guess...”

“I think you might have a sunstroke,” she says, tilting her head. “Should have thought to bring a hat after all, eh?” Her teasing tone makes his lips twitch.

He puts his hand on top of her head, feeling her warm soft hair, ruffles it playfully. She tries to squirm away with a soft laugh. Inhaling deeply, he lets go of her completely and pushes both hands through his messy hair, groaning quietly. “Why aren't we moving anymore?” he mumbles.

“Thunder must have felt that you weren't... really with us anymore, so he slowed down on his own and decided to have a little snack,” she explains, turning slightly back to weave her fingers through the horse's long mane.

Ben takes another deep breath and looks around, still trying to fight the remnants of that delicious daydream. Another grunt escapes him. Focus! The horse decided to stop near a little meadow off the path, and he can hear a creek bubbling close-by. When he looks back, however, there's more than a little sunburn prickling on his neck.

They haven't come far. Too close to town still, they shouldn't stay here. But he could use a break, a quiet moment behind a tree maybe... Rubbing his face once more for good measure, he then leans around Nebbia, grabs the horn and hoists himself off Thunder's large back, his boots thudding quietly in the soft grass beneath.

Without waiting, he grabs the girl's waist and pulls her off as well, gently putting her down in front of him. “Let's take five,” he says in a deep growl, already moving past her towards the tree line and the creek. “Stay close to Thunder,” he calls to her, shoving one hand into his pocket to adjust himself.

Goddamn daydream...

He doesn't follow through on his first instinct to relieve the ache with his right hand, instead he walks right into the creek, boots and all, crouches down and splashes the cold water into his heated face. It helps a little. But the guilt burns on. Imagining these things with her, so detailed, so real, it's wrong. He shouldn't be thinking this, not yet, not until he is sure that he's not her –

Another splash into his face. Not. Splash. Her. Splash. Father.

An angry grunt escapes him as he gets up and kicks his boot through the water, scaring away some critters. Fuck. Rubbing his wet face, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes as he groans a little more. What was he thinking, taking her away? Nothing, that's the problem, he didn't think a single thought. It was all instinct, as usual.

The same instinct that almost got him hanged.

Inhaling deeply, he pushes one hand through his hair, then lowers it and rolls his shoulders. A few more deep breaths through his nose, and he is walking back to her and the giant horse. She's feeding him tufts of grass, watching the animal with a loving gaze, patting his large head. Innocent. So fucking innocent.

Slowly, she turns her head towards him, frowning when she sees him – and the state he's in. “Did you fall into the creek?” she asks, a smirk playing around her lips.

He looks down at himself, shirt wet, boots and jeans wet, hair ruffled, water droplets still rolling down his temples. He only huffs a groan and walks up to Thunder, slipping his hand underneath the saddle. They should take a longer break soon, the poor animal's been carrying them and the heavy saddle for too long now. The brutal sun on his shiny black coat isn't helping.

But they have to get away a little further. Too close to town.

With his mind still spinning a little, battling dreams and memories and future scenarios, he puts his boot into the stirrup and hoists himself up the horse's back, settling into the seat once more. Nebbia stares up at him, surprised. And she should be, he usually puts her on first.

“Sorry,” he mumbles and holds out his hand to her. “Still a little fuzzy in the head,” he says with a tired smirk. She walks towards him, one hand on Thunder's neck, the other about to grab his fingers.

Suddenly he hears hooves in the distance. Dropping his hand, he turns around, instinctively grabbing the reins to make Thunder move. Nebbia steps away with a little yelp as the large animal bows his long neck and snorts loudly at the sudden command. Ben's eyes scan the horizon. The shapes of riders approach, three, no, four. Squinting at them, he can feel his skin prickling.

The West is vast, and meeting other riders in the middle of nowhere is never a good omen, no matter their intentions. He has to be careful. Especially now. Because of her. He pries his eyes from the fast approaching horses and the men on top of them, holding out his hand to Nebbia again.

“Come on,” he urges, looking down at her. Her eyes are wide, fearful, her lips trembling. She grabs his wrist, he grabs her arm, pulling her towards him.

The sound of hooves comes closer, his heart is racing. He leans down more, his other hand extending. The angle is awkward, he hooks his hand under her arm, grips at the fabric of her blouse, pulls her up.

She clambers forward, small hands gripping at his shoulders, and somehow she ends up facing him, her knees bent and pressing against his stomach, her skirt bunched up between them, the pointy tips of her boots tucked under his thigh. But there's no time.

“Hold on,” he says, wrapping one arm around her back, pulling her against him as she presses her chest into his, arms tight around his neck while she looks over his shoulder.

“Ben!” she gasps, but he doesn't have to see what she sees, he can hear them, circling around them. He tugs at the reins, presses his spurs into Thunder's stomach, urges him on. The large horse neighs in protest, but moves, turns in a half-circle, then falls into faster steps, away from whoever is catching up to them.

“Hey!” a deep voice calls from behind them. “We just wanna talk!”

Ben grunts, pushing Thunder forwards, tightening his grip around the girl on his lap. The horse dashes along the tree line, close to the creek, right beneath the low hanging branches. He ducks his head, putting his hand on Nebbia's to shield her as well. She grips at him, curling into a ball on his thighs.

He's white-knuckling the reins, maneuvering his steed into the forest as the hooves behind him become louder. “How many?” he grunts, then feels how Nebbia emerges from her cowered position and looks over his shoulder again.

“Three,” she breathes.

Where's the fourth? He looks around, ducking from another branch. Thunder's heavy hooves stomp along the soft forest floor, tip-tapping urgently as he tries to move him around the tree trunks. Bad idea to bring a large horse into a dense forest. But he didn't have a choice.

Low hanging branches grip at his shoulders, his arms, scrape over his head. He holds Nebbia tight against him, shielding her, her rapid breaths hitting his collarbone, her fingers digging into the back of his neck, causing shivers to rush down his spine, straight into –

Ugh. Not the time.

The noises behind him are quieter now, and he dares a look over his shoulder. They've fallen back. He looks ahead again, clenching his jaw. They're circling around. He pulls on the reins hard, making Thunder whinny angrily. With another tug and a sharp poke into his side, he makes the horse turn around, not the way they came, but further into the forest.

His heart is so loud in his ears, it's hard to focus on the surrounding noises. Nebbia's panicked little breaths aren't helping either. “It's okay,” he whispers, pressing her against him, large hand splayed on her back, fingers curling slightly around her small body. “Don't worry, we'll get away.”

She swallows hard, a little gulping sound against his shoulder. “What do they want?” she asks quietly.

Her, is his first response, but then he wonders why. Why here. Those men didn't look like they belonged to the Daniels family, he would have known. He'd recognize those bastards a mile away. No, those were different men, normal men too, not the law, no Pinkertons, so what do they want from her?

“I'd rather not find out,” he replies, spurring Thunder on more as the trees stand gradually further apart, opening up to a meadow beyond. Holding her in his arm, he leans in a little, grabbing the horn behind her, when the horse falls into a steady canter, the wind rushing in his ears.

He stays close to the edge of the forest, eyes scanning his surroundings. Are they gone? That easy? He slows Thunder and straightens up, turning more to look behind him, listening. Only the birds, the horse's loud snorts, Nebbia's breaths, his own heart. He's about to calm down, loosen his grip around her, but then he sees it.

Movement in the corner of his eye. To their left. He whips his head around, stares into the forest. The rider approaches slowly, stupidly confident, close enough that he can see the sneer on his face. Unfamiliar. Ben tugs on the reins, spurs pressed into Thunder's stomach. The horse neighs loudly, whips his head up, snorts, follows the curve of Ben's arm and turns right.

“Wait!” the man calls after him. “I don't mean any harm!”

Ben looks back at him, sees him raising his hands in a surrendering motion. “What do you want?” he shouts over the noise of his thundering heart, holding Nebbia closer to him. The curious thing turns her head slightly, looks back to the stranger. The hand on her back itches, inches closer to her hip, to his hip, to the gun in the holster.

“Just a look,” the other man drawls, chewing on the stump of a cigar, as his beady eyes wander over the sight in front of him.

The girl on his lap stiffens, grips his neck tighter, gasps, but doesn't look away. Ben stares at the rider. Well-fed horse, wealthy, not the typical cowboy look. A lot of blacks and reds, expensive looking clothes. His age or older. A fedora on dark hair, a clean shaven face.

“Why are you so skittish?” he continues, eyes fixed on Nebbia. “No need to run away from us...”

“I don't trust strangers,” Ben replies darkly, feeling his skin crawl by the way the man watches the girl. “And I don't like being followed, mister,” he adds, tugging gently on the reins, turning Thunder more, ready to bolt again. His hand rests on his gun now, ready to pull and shoot the bastard.

“My apologies, sir,” the other man says slowly. “We were just curious... haven't seen such a beauty in a long while, you know?”

Clenching his jaw, he feels shivers rushing down his spine, more so when Nebbia leans closer against him, holding onto him tightly. “Awful lot of hassle to take a look at a girl...” he grunts, fingers closing around the cold metal of his pistol.

The stranger leans back in his saddle, hands folded over the horn of it, a lopsided grin on his face. “Anything for one of Roberto's,” he says, his dark eyes wandering up to meet Ben's.

He frowns, something hot and heavy sinking into his guts. His mind is spinning. Fuck. It takes him three seconds, while his heart skips a beat, his hand moves back around Nebbia, his heels sink into Thunder's stomach, and then with a tug to the reins, he moves the horse along, spurring him on with a loud call. The animal snorts, neighs loudly, but follows the command instantly, turning and bringing his massive body quickly into motion.

He doesn't look back, but Nebbia does, as they gallop over the meadow, away from the stranger. “He's not following us,” she gasps against him, fingernails digging into his skin as she holds onto him frantically.

Ben only grunts, unsure if that's a good thing or not.

And as they dash away at breakneck speed, Ben's head is hurting from the sudden onslaught of memories. Faces, names, words, threats, cries and shouts and noises, tumbling over each other. Roberto. Roberto... The Daniels don't own the brothel, they're just henchmen, working for somebody else. There are always more layers.

He's been so fucking stupid!

With a sudden grunt, he pulls at the reins, forcing Thunder to turn right. The mystery deepens. He has to know. He has to know! They have to go back. He needs answers.

Nebbia clings to him, her soft but slightly panicked breaths warm against his collarbone. They reach another patch of forest, and he slows Thunder a little, ducking his head when they dash between the trees. His heart races, the horse snorts loudly, he's white-knuckling the reins. Left and right around the thick tree trunks, ducking under low hanging branches, a little jump over obstacles in the path, he's hectic, and they're not even being followed anymore.

Inhaling sharply he stops the horse abruptly. Thunder whinnies angrily, whipping his head up and down, stomping his hooves. Ben closes both arms around Nebbia and just holds her, feels her warmth, hears her surprised little gasps, the tension of her small body, breathes her in, relaxes.

“We have to go back,” he mutters into her soft hair. “I need to talk to your Madam Claire.” The plan is there, she must hold the answers he needs. (Was Keira already pregnant when she got there? If not, who knocked her up? Was it... who Ben fears it was?) But the way is long, and it's completely foolish to return, now that he knows who's really after her. But he needs to know.

“Why?” she whispers against him, moving her hands down his chest before she gives the gentlest of pushes to make him lean back. Their eyes meet, his hands slip to her waist, holding her firmly.

“I have to know, Nebbia,” he says quietly, licking his dry lips. “Have to make sure...” He must not make any sense to her, but she doesn't press, just stares at him with those big, confused eyes that glisten slightly, glowing in the sunlight breaching through the canopy above them.

“Who's Roberto?” she asks after a long moment of just looking at him.

“A very bad man,” he replies. “Pulls a lot of strings around here, his reach is far... I had no idea he'd be interested in a small town brothel... in you...”

The frown on her soft face is almost comical, definitely adorable, and he's tempted to grab her and shower her with kisses. But he inhales deeply instead, rolling his shoulders, swallowing the urge. “You're not bringing me back, are you?” she whispers, chewing on her lip.

His eyebrows almost meet his hairline. “No! Of course not, you won't step another foot in that establishment!” He tightens the grip on her waist, tilting his head. “I'll take you somewhere safe, I promise, then I'll ask your Madam some questions, and will be back with you in no time.”

Her fingers fidget with the buttons of his shirt as she listens, her gaze lowered, jaw working slightly. “What if... what if the answers are not... what you want to hear?” she asks barely audible.

Now his hands are on her cheeks, his thumbs pushing her chin up until she looks at him. “It doesn't matter, remember?” he says softly, leaning slightly closer. “Whatever the answer, it won't change anything. I promised you a better life, I swore to protect you, and I will, no matter the outcome. I just need to know...” It will change a lot, but not the way he'll always be there for her. He'll just have to learn to suppress his urges, control his fucking daydreams...

She licks her lips, he stares at the movement of her tongue, his stomach tightens. Her hands move up his chest, warm, scorching hot through the fabric of his shirt, until he feels her fingertips on his jaw, the scrape of his beard under her soft skin loud in his ears. “It doesn't matter,” she repeats in a breathy whisper as she leans up on her knees, brings her face closer to his, her hands snaking around his head, digging into his hair. “Right?”

He holds his breath, body tense against her. The fucking temptations! Her small fingers press into his scalp, her hot breath ghosts his lips. Her big eyes are full of expectations, desire, need. The exhale he issues through his nose rivals one of Thunder's snorts. Seconds later his mouth has captured hers, his hands pulling her closer, one behind her head, one on her lower back, her body molding into his.

She gasps against him, her small warm wet tongue quickly finding his, the moment heated and desperate, the dance wild and raw. Everything that happened earlier sinks into the kiss, his daydream, the chase, the revelations. And he just feels her, her heat, her body squirming into his, knees pushing between his thighs, just the right pressure. A groan escapes him, a touch like an electric shock.

And as quick and eager as it has started, as harsh and fast it ends, when his hands push down to her upper arms, grab her and lean her back again. She stares up at him, lips parted, trembling, red, rapid little breaths, her eyes big and confused, her cheeks flushed. He presses his own tingling lips into a thin line, tries to ignore the throbbing in his groin, the need burning through his stomach. Instead he focuses on lifting her up, uncurling her legs from his lap, and turns her around until she's sitting with her back to him, legs sideways, tucked between his thighs, but no longer as close, no longer as tempting.

He breathes deeply, leans down and presses his lips to her cheek. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he mumbles. “We need to keep going...”

She sighs, body slumping slightly, her small hands closing around the horn of the saddle as she settles in. He leans both arms around her and grabs the reins, gently spurring Thunder on to start moving again. The pace is much calmer as he maneuvers him through the forest, forcing himself to look around, take in his surroundings, look out for dangers, possible followers.

It's eerily quiet around them. But he can't relax, his mind still racing. They're after her, after them. One of Roberto's. Roberto... Roberto fucking DeLuca. This has gotten a lot more complicated all of a sudden.

Chapter 8 🟪 Chapter 10

End notes: I gotta say, this was my favorite chapter to write thus far, and one I'm particularly proud of. That daydream, finally some smut, and how Ben deals with it, then the chase, I love me some action sequences, I hope I got it across as I intended, hectic, fast, thrilling, unexpected. And the plot is finally going places, at least a little more specifically. Back to where it all began...

Thanks for reading! Next chapter on Friday!

AO3 -- MASTERLIST -- INSPIRATION POSTS

[eurafricafetish]

Sanaa has 20 years old, size 10 feet, 6 feet tall and sh'es mixed with english mom and nigerian father.

Sanaa is an Afro-English mixed race, she represents mixed race, she is tall, young and with big and long feet and toes, she is a foot model.

she accepted an interview about his cross-breeding and his relationship with his feet.

We are in 2044, 40% of Europe is mixed and foot fetishism is accepted in customs as well as mixed races.

Today sanaa answers 10 mixed girl tag questions, the latter is a series of questions on mixed race and mixed race people.

The questionnaire is proposed by Mixed mag.

Another interview will be done regarding foot fetishes. and proposed by fetish mag.

Mixed mag : Hi Sanaa , how are tyou and are you ready to answer of questions.

Sanaa : Of course.

Mixed mag :1. what are you mixed with ?

Sanaa : I'm mixed with nigeria and british a spicy mixed isn't it ?

Mixed mag : Like Afroland *

Afroland is the new name of England.

Mixed mag : 2. What ethnicity have you often been mistaken for?

Sanaa : None (she laughs)

Mixed mag : 3. is your hair curly or straight ?

Sanaa : Obsiously curly and there I made African braids.

Mixed mag : 4. Was coming from different backgrounds challenging growing up ?

Sanaa : In Afroland he has no challenge except to continue to support the Eurafrica of the future for a better world.

Mixed mag : 5. Which backgrounds do you embrace the most ?

Sanaa : I embrace my African side it's the future of Europe.

Mixed mag : 6. Have you ever been teased for being different ?

Sanaa : no ( she laught ) not in Afroland, Apart from a few closed-minded Europeans.

Mixed mag : 7. Have you ever been ashamed of being multi-racial ?

Sanaa : Never, Ashamed of what?

Ashamed of being healthy and sexy, having beautiful hair, beautiful body, beautiful voice, beautiful face and beautiful feet?

I am the future of Europe, I am a model of Afroland, I am part of those who will witness the complete advent of Eurafrika.

I am not ashamed of anything and am proud to carry the flag of Eurafrica and of crossbreeding.

Mixed mag : 8. Do you feel that being mixed has its benefits ?

Sanaa : Oh yes, a lot of advantages I will tell you 3 of them.

Firstly, compared to Europeans, I can wear my hair wavy, curly or straight.

Secondly, I represent the future and therefore that makes me Interesting.

Thirdly, crossbreeding strengthens and makes people more beautiful and healthy.

Mixed mag : 9. What makes being multiracial a beautiful thing ?

Sanaa : It is a beautiful thing because you are the future, harmony and tolerance, you have no hatred in your body, you are the symbol of love.

You are the fruit of anti-rascism, living proof that anti-rascism and interracialism produce healthy, happy and open-minded people.

We are the opposite of frigidity, we are not stuck.

Unlike English Europeans we have rhythm in our skin and for the fetishists our feet are prettier and spicy. (naughty smile)

Mixed mag : 10. Any advice to someone who struggles with their multiracial identity ?

Sanaa : Embrace it! Because secretly the ones who poke fun at you about it, are probably secretly jealous that they can't be different and beautiful like you :)

Do not hesitate to cross-breed to move Eurafrika forward more quickly and create this society.

Eurafrika is the future.

I will add in conclusion that we are the future so accept it, you are the beauty, health and future of Eurafrika.

Mixed mag : Thanks Sanaa for this Interview.

Sanaa : thanks to you.