Summary: Homelander tries to teach you a lesson—only to realize you’re not so easily broken.
Warnings: sexual assault past trauma, obsession, possessive behavior, power imbalance, harassment, implied dark themes, smut, sexual themes, violence, age gap relationship, choking
Homelander waits until he hears the latch click into place.
It’s cute, really.
As if a locked door could stop him.
As if a flimsy piece of wood could keep him out if he truly wanted in.
This is the right thing—punishing you.
Denying you his touch.
His attention.
You deserved worse, if he was being honest.
What you did to him? No one would dare.
Even Starlight, when he forced her into a relationship for the cameras, never had the nerve to defy him like this. And she hated his fucking guts.
But you? A brand-new member, still trying to find your place, had the audacity to turn him down.
On live television.
You should be afraid. But you’re not. And worse?
You wanted him to react.
He knew the second you touched his arm earlier, clinging to him in front of that reporter.
Knew how much you hated the idea of someone else having his attention.
Knew how much you wanted to push back, to test him, to teach him some kind of lesson.
So he let you.
Let you think you had the upper hand, that you were in control.
Let you flash those coy smiles, let you dodge the questions, let you deny him in front of millions.
And now it’s his turn.
At least, that’s what he tells himself.
Homelander breaks away from his thoughts, his gaze lingering around your apartment.
Your presence lingers in every detail—the half-empty glass of water on the nightstand, the scent of your perfume still hanging in the air, the slight indentation in the couch where you sat this morning, hair fanned out against his lap.
You. You. You.
He strides over to your bed, picking up your pillow and inhaling deeply. The scent of coconut and vanilla rushes through his senses, stronger than any high he’s ever had.
And this is why he never wanted to feel anything real.
Because, twenty-four hours ago? Life was easier.
He knew you were joining the Seven—he chose you after all.
He figured he’d get to taste you, maybe even keep you. But he didn’t think you’d consume him.
Didn’t think you’d turn him into an addict.
His eyes flicker toward your laundry hamper.
Slowly, deliberately, he pulls out the panties you wore last night.
Presses them to his face.
Inhales.
He groans, tucking them into the back pocket of his suit. Something to take care of later.
His fingers run through his hair, frustration mounting. He’s starting to realize…
The problem isn’t that you humiliated him.
The problem isn’t that you challenged him.
The problem is that he liked it.
Liked the fight. Liked the way your pulse quickened when he leaned in too close. Liked the way your lashes fluttered when you tested him. Liked the way you pushed just enough to make him want to take.
Because that’s what you want, isn’t it?
Homelander exhales sharply, heading back to your bed. He pictures you, just on the other side of that door.
Pacing. Thinking. Wondering when he’s going to snap.
Maybe he should go in there. Maybe you’re hiding.
Maybe—maybe you’re afraid of him.
That thought doesn’t sit right.
His reflection in the mirror catches his eye again, and for a moment, something uneasy creeps into his chest.
Maybe he is a monster.
Maybe he’s trying to sabotage the only thing that makes him feel alive.
Maybe he’ll succeed.
He shakes the thought away.
No. This is what he has to do.
This is what you deserve.
You caused this. Now, you’re in there thinking about him.
Thinking about what he’ll do next.
Thinking about how long he’ll keep ignoring you before he finally breaks.
But here’s the real punishment—you don’t get to know.
Minutes pass. Maybe more. He listens to everything—the water running, the shift of your footsteps, the shaky breath you take as you turn off the shower. He doesn’t need to see you to know exactly what you look like right now.
Dripping. Flushed. Frustrated.
He smirks, stretching out on the bed, resting an arm behind his head. You’re suffering.
But without your head on his chest, he is too.
—
You grip the edges of the sink, your breath uneven.
You know what he’s doing. You know this game.
But what’s worse?
He’s winning.
You turn the faucet on, letting cold water run over your hands before splashing it onto your face.
Deep breaths. Steady hands. You can’t let him see how much this gets to you.
That’s what he wants.
You hesitate before reaching for the door handle.
Your fingers hover, nerves twisting in your stomach.
When you finally open it, stepping out into the room, he’s exactly where you knew he’d be, sprawled out on your bed.
You stand in the doorway, dripping, wrapped in a towel. Homelander barely moves, just lifts his head slightly.
His smirk is slow, lazy. “Took your time.”
You don’t respond. Instead, you take measured steps toward the dresser, back turned to him, determined to ignore the weight of his stare. You pull open a drawer, grab fresh clothes. Act like he isn’t stretched out across your bed, all smug arrogance and control.
Act like your heart isn’t hammering.
Homelander shifts, the bed creaking as he moves.
You feel him before you see him, the heat of his presence pressing up behind you, lingering, waiting. He’s close enough that if you lean back even slightly, you’d brush against his chest.
You swallow hard.
“I didn’t give you permission to ignore me, sweetheart.” His voice is low, controlled, but underneath it—something darker. Something desperate.
You let out a slow breath, refusing to turn around.
“Didn’t realize I needed permission.”
The moment the words leave your lips, his fingers brush over the back of your neck, featherlight. You shudder before you can stop yourself.
He notices.
“Careful,” he murmurs, voice dipping into something dangerous. “You keep testing me. I might have to remind you why that’s a bad idea.”
You squeeze your eyes shut.
“Why are you like this?”
His grip tightens, but not in a way that hurts. Not yet. He leans in, breath warm against your ear. “You don’t really want an answer to that, do you?”
You whip around before you can stop yourself, towel still clutched to your chest, eyes flashing. “You act like I’m some… thing you own. Like I don’t get to make my own choices.”
Homelander just tilts his head, blue eyes flickering over your face, amused, hungry.
“Oh, you made a choice tonight.” His smile turns sharp. “And now you’re facing the consequences.”
You scoff, turning back toward the dresser, shoving your clothes into your hands. “Move.”
His hand snaps out, catching your wrist before you can walk away.
Your breath catches.
“Look at me.”
You hesitate. His grip isn’t forceful, not really. He isn’t dragging you back, not this time. But there’s something in his voice, something raw, something almost pleading beneath the command.
The frustration, the possessiveness, yes. But underneath all of it—an aching desperation.
“You think I want to be like this?” he mutters, voice quieter now. “You think I don’t know I’m fucked up?”
You don’t answer.
“I don’t do… this. I don’t feel like this. But you—” He exhales sharply, shaking his head like he’s trying to rid himself of a thought. “You make me weak.”
Something shifts inside you.
Homelander, the most dangerous man alive, is telling you that you are the thing that brings him to his knees.
His grip on your wrist loosens, sliding down to your palm, fingers barely ghosting over yours.
You could pull away.
You don’t.
Instead, you step forward, the fabric of your towel brushing against the red and blue of his suit. His breath catches.
“If I make you weak,” you murmur, tilting your head, “then why do I feel like I’m the one losing control?”
Homelander exhales sharply, his forehead pressing against yours. “Because you are.”
His hands shift, sliding around your waist, careful, waiting for resistance. There is none.
And then he kisses you.
You melt into him, towel slipping from your grasp, arms winding around his neck. His hands tighten around you, one sliding up your spine, pressing you flush against him, as if he could pull you inside himself if he tried hard enough.
A small sound escapes your throat, and Homelander groans, swallowing it, fingers digging into your skin. You’re still damp, water pooling between your bodies, soaking into his suit.
Neither of you care.
He moves, guiding you backward until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. You gasp as you fall, and before you can catch yourself, he’s on top of you, hands bracing against the bed on either side of your head.
He hovers, eyes scanning your face, expression soft but intense.
“Say it,” he breathes.
You blink up at him. “Say what?”
“That you’re mine.”
The demand should make you angry. Should make you push him away, tell him he can’t own you. But the way he looks at you—like you’re something sacred, something only he gets to worship—it makes you feel so good.
You cup his cheek, thumb brushing over his jaw.
“I’m starting to think I was yours before I even knew it.”
The moment the words leave your lips, something inside him snaps.
His lips crash into yours, all hesitation gone, all restraint burned away. His hands roam your body, fingers mapping every inch like he needs to memorize it.
The fight, the tension, the punishment—it all fades into something raw.
Something consuming.
Something inevitable.
You lay beneath him, breathless, your fingers tangled in his hair as his lips trail hot, reverent kisses down your throat. Every touch, every glance, every whispered word between you carries a weight neither of you fully understand.
It’s too much. Too soon.
You blink up at the ceiling, your chest rising and falling in time with his, your fingers still gripping the fabric of his suit. The reality of it all comes crashing down on you like a tidal wave.
You’ve only known him for a day.
Twenty-four hours.
And yet, here you are.
Homelander shifts above you, his lips hovering just above yours, his eyes sharp, calculating.
“I can hear that little brain of yours working.” He smirks, voice lazy but knowing. “Go on, say it.”
You hesitate, biting your lip. He notices, because of course he does.
“This is crazy,” you murmur finally, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I barely know you.”
“Yeah?” He hums, tilting his head. “Then tell me—do you feel like you don’t know me?”
Your stomach twists because… you can’t answer that.
Because, somehow, you do.
You know the way his voice changes when he’s pleased versus when he’s seconds away from breaking something.
You know the way he touches you—possessive, reverent, like you’re the first real thing he’s ever held.
You know the way his mind works, the calculations running behind those sharp blue eyes, the way he shifts between predator and protector in a heartbeat.
You know him.
And he knows you.
That should scare you. Maybe it does.
You swallow. “That’s not the point.”
Homelander just exhales sharply through his nose, something between a laugh and a scoff.
“Oh, but it is, my love.”
His fingers skim along your jaw, tracing the line of your throat, his touch featherlight but firm.
“You think time is what matters? That’s cute.”
His grip tightens, not enough to hurt, just enough to keep your focus solely on him.
“You think if we had met a month ago, I’d feel any fucking different?”
You don’t answer.
He smirks. “You ever hear of animals that mate for life?”
You blink. “What?”
His thumb brushes over your bottom lip. “Some creatures… they just know when they’ve found the right one.” His voice is lower now, more intimate. “They don’t need time. They don’t need some bullshit ‘getting to know each other’ phase. They just know.”
You inhale sharply.
“And you, baby?” He leans in, lips ghosting over your cheek, your jaw, your ear. “I know.”
You shudder beneath him, torn between reason and the undeniable truth curling hot and electric through your veins.
This is insane.
And yet…
Your fingers tighten around his biceps, your body arching into his before you can stop yourself.
Homelander grins. “See?” He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You know it too.”
Your pulse thrums against his lips, and maybe that’s what finally breaks you.
Maybe that’s why you pull him down, crushing your mouth to his, letting him claim you all over again.
The kisses grow rougher, more urgent, each press of his lips bruising in a way that makes your breath hitch. The pain is sharp, electric—but you welcome it, crave it even.
Homelander hovers above you, chest rising and falling, his blue eyes locked onto yours like he’s searching for something—an answer, permission, maybe even salvation. He doesn’t know what the fuck has gotten into him, what it is about you that makes him hesitate. Makes him second-guess, makes him feel.
It pisses him off.
He should be taking what he wants. He always does. He could.
And yet—
His hands tremble slightly as he trails them up your bare thighs, his touch gentle, hesitant, so unlike him. You, soft and warm beneath him, your lips swollen from his kisses, your chest rising and falling with anticipation. You look like something out of a dream, something untouched, something meant to be worshiped.
And fuck, that’s the problem.
Because he can still hear your voice in his head.
You’re the only one who’s ever touched me.
That realization crashes into him like a truck all over again.
You—strong, confident, stubborn.
You—the only thing that has ever made him feel out of control, are innocent.
A blank canvas.
No one has ever been here before.
No one has ever seen you like this, touched you like this.
No one has ever ruined you.
And that knowledge makes something dark and dangerous coil deep in his gut, a possessiveness so overwhelming he nearly loses himself in it.
He could destroy you.
That thought alone nearly makes him come undone.
His fingers tighten on your hips, his jaw locking. Every twisted, depraved part of him wants to take, to claim, to own, to make sure no one else ever gets to have what belongs to him.
He wants to leave bruises, bite marks, make you scream his name so loud that no one in this fucking city will ever doubt who you belong to.
But then there’s the other part of him. The one that, for the first time in his entire life, wants to hold back. The one that looks at you and thinks maybe, just maybe, he shouldn’t taint you like this.
His grip loosens.
You look up at him, brows furrowed.
“What?” you whisper.
Homelander exhales sharply, shaking his head. He doesn’t even fucking know.
He should stop.
He should.
Instead, he leans down, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath ragged.
“Fucking hell,” he murmurs, almost to himself, “I just… I don’t want to hurt you.”
You blink up at him, eyes wide with something he can’t name. Confusion? Understanding?
He doesn’t know what he expects you to say. Maybe for you to push him away. Maybe for you to tell him this whole thing is insane, that it’s too much, too fast.
Instead, you whisper, “But you choked me.”
His entire body tenses.
Shit.
He forgot about that.
Or maybe he didn’t.
Maybe he just wanted to forget, because if he remembers—remembers the way his hand fit around your throat, the way your lips parted, the way your pulse fluttered against his palm—it’ll remind him that he liked it.
Liked making you gasp for breath. Liked watching the realization dawn in your eyes that no matter how strong you were, you weren’t stronger than him.
He’s hurt a lot of people. More than he can count. He’s lasered through bodies, shattered skulls, crushed bones beneath his boot like they were nothing. He’s ended lives and forgotten about them in the same breath.
But you? You’re different.
You have to be.
Because for the first time, he feels it—regret.
It sits like lead in his gut.
Homelander swallows hard, looking down at you with something he doesn’t recognize—guilt, hesitation, fear.
“I fucking hate myself,” he murmurs, voice low, rough. “I’m sorry.”
You push yourself up onto your elbows, your lips just centimeters from his.
“I love who you are,” you say, so fucking softly it nearly kills him.
He shouldn’t believe you.
He doesn’t believe you.
But then you’re reaching for him, your fingers tangling in his hair, your breath warm against his lips, and he forgets.
Forgets why he hesitated.
Forgets why he even fucking cares.
A sharp growl rumbles in his chest as he fists your hair, tilting your head back, his mouth devouring the sensitive skin of your throat.
You moan for him.
And fuck, if that isn’t the prettiest thing he’s ever heard.
Maybe he is a monster. Maybe he will ruin you.
But right now? You don’t seem to mind.
And then, his lips are on your throat, moving with slow, deliberate purpose—kissing, biting, soothing, worshipping.
You moan again, melting beneath his touch.
He’ll make sure you feel every inch of his apology.
He spreads your legs apart, his gaze dark and hungry as he takes in every inch of you—every soft curve, every slick, glistening part that belongs to him and no one else.
His fingers trace along your inner thigh like he’s memorizing the heat of your skin.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, almost to himself. His thumb ghosts over your center, teasing, never quite giving you what you want. “So fucking perfect.”
His eyes flick up to yours, watching the way your chest rises and falls, the way you struggle to hold his gaze when he looks at you like this—like you’re something to be worshipped, something to be devoured.
You watch as he slowly slides two fingers past his lips, his gaze never breaking from yours. When he pulls them out, a thin strand of saliva stretches between his mouth and his fingertips.
“Tell daddy exactly where you want his fingers,” he commands, his voice low and rough with expectation.
You give him that innocent look, massaging your breasts as you blink slowly. “I want daddy’s fingers in my pus-“
He doesn’t let you finish. In one swift, deliberate motion, his fingers are inside you, stretching you, filling you. A sharp gasp escapes your lips, your body tensing as he presses in deeper.
His movements are precise, calculated—like he already knows exactly how to unravel you. He curls his fingers just right, dragging them against the most sensitive part of you, feeling every flutter, every tremble of your walls as they tighten around him, pulsing with need.
“So fucking tight.”
He watches you intently, the way your breath hitches, the way your body clenches around him, instinctively trying to pull him deeper. His fingers are slow but deliberate, each movement precise as he coaxes a reaction out of you, pushing you to the edge but never beyond it.
“Too much?” he asks, voice rough, but there’s something softer underneath. Something restrained.
You shake your head, but your body betrays you, your legs trembling slightly as he continues his slow, torturous rhythm. He presses his thumb against your clit, rubbing lazy circles, drawing a whimper from your lips.
He groans at the sound, at the way you react to him so easily, so perfectly. He could lose himself in this. In you.
But then—he remembers again.
He’s the only one who’s ever touched you.
He wants to take. Wants to claim. Every primal instinct in him is screaming to make you his, to brand you from the inside out, to ruin you for anyone else who’d ever dare to touch you.
But he can’t.
Not yet.
Not when you deserve more than him losing control. Not when he knows, deep down, that he should be different for you.
His pace slows, his fingers still working you open, but his expression shifts—less animalistic, more reverent.
“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, his breath hot against your skin. “How fucking hard it is to stop myself.”
You reach for him, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.
“Then don’t,” you plead, your voice breathy, desperate. “I want this. I want you.”
Homelander groans, pressing his forehead against your hip, his breath shuddering. “Not like this,” he mutters, as if trying to convince himself as much as you.
“Not when you’ve never had anyone else. You deserve for it to be… fuck—special.”
You bite your lip, your head spinning as you try to make sense of his restraint.
Last night… this morning… he had no problem pushing you to the brink, no hesitation in taking what he wanted, in owning every inch of you that he could.
“So… earlier it was okay… but now it’s not?” you challenge, breathless.
Homelander exhales sharply, his fingers still inside you, still working you open at a slow, torturous pace.
“I got carried away. I let myself have too much,” he admits, his voice strained. “But I didn’t take everything. I didn’t ruin you.”
You stare at him, your body burning with frustration, with need. “And what if I want to be ruined?”
"Don’t fucking say that,” he warns, his voice dangerously low. “You don’t understand what you’re asking for."
His fingers press deeper, pulling another moan from you, and when he lifts his head again, his eyes are wild, hungry, but still—somehow—controlled.
“I’ll give you everything,” he promises, his voice thick with emotion. “But not like this. Not when you deserve for it to be more than just me losing my fucking mind.”
His words send a new kind of warmth through you, something deeper, something unexpected. You should argue, should push back, but the way he’s touching you, the way he’s looking at you—it’s enough.
For now.
His fingers keep working you, slow and steady, pushing you higher and higher.
“But that doesn’t mean I won’t take care of you,” he adds, his voice thick with want. “That I won’t make you fall apart for me.”
And then he does.
His movements shift, his fingers curling just right, his lips trailing heated kisses along your inner thighs, his voice a constant murmur of filthy praise.
He worships you with his touch, with his mouth, with the way he keeps you on the edge of pleasure, dragging it out, making you feel everything.
Because if he can’t have you completely—not yet—then he’ll make sure you never forget who you belong to.
You confront Zanka about him leaving you in bed extremely early, not knowing that he's been going through it. Figuratively and literally.
tags: porn with a little plot , dry humping , riding , subby Zanka , praise kink if you squint , making out , unprotected sex , fem reader
wc: 5.5k (I got EXTREMELY carried away 😭)
all characters are aged up
Zanka has been in a real predicament these days.
He has some ideas on when it started happening, he swears to his life that the reason behind Zanka's pain is the continuous nights of you sleeping in his room.
Not that he minds though, Zanka absolutely loves it whenever you sleep over his sometimes, cuddling to sleep with you is one of his favourite additional parts of his meticulous night routine (even if he won't say it outloud).
But the thing is, Zanka has... Zanka's been getting morning wood every time you decide to sleep over. Waking up in cold sweat very early in the morning just to see his raging erection over the blanket. And that happens like what? four times a week? That's a bit concerning, no? Well, it's also insanely embarrassing, Zanka would have to fight the urge to bury himself six feet underground at the thought of getting caught by his lover, jerking off in the bathroom first thing in the morning like the pervert he thinks he is.
Naturally, Zanka obviously can't control it. But he swears that if he can, a hundred percent he would've done it already. He feels really bad about it too.
It gets even worse when one quiet night, you tell him the cause of your frequent sleepovers.
"Zanka?"
"Mhm... Yeah?" he hummed beneath you, shifting slightly to raise his head that was buried onto your neck. You stared at his deep blue irises for a bit, his cheek now squished on your plane of your shoulder while his eyes were as wide as ever, looking up at you.
You sigh out, Fingers fiddling with his tassel earrings. "The thing is.. I can't really sleep well in my room these days, but when I sleep over here with you, I'm able to sleep peacefully. I think it's because my body feels at ease in your presence"
After a moment of silence, Zanka blinks. He didn't reply or say anything but before you fill the awkwardness, he suddenly lifts your torso up with his arms that were tangled up on your waist.
Now sitting on his bed, you get a good look at Zanka's state. His features are now illuminated by the moonlight that seeped through his blinds. Zanka was undoubtedly flushed from his neck to his ears, his funky eyebrows now scrunched with his lips in a small pout.
"If that's the case, then... Then ya can sleep in my room whenever ya want. Well— if it'll make ya feel better, I ain't gotta problem with it" Zanka murmured, his eyes shifting to yours and down his fingers fidgeting with your own. Still, the bashfulness remains in his face, Zanka would be lying to himself if he said that his heart's not beating a million times per minute because of your words right now.
In the midst of you, and Zanka's sweet little moment, one heavy line you dropped felt like a vinyl scratch. A sad frown was evident on your face, Zanka felt his heart drop to his ass.
"Then why do you leave me in bed so early?"
"I—"
"Is there some important activity you can't tell that you'd sneak out on me? In the crack of dawn?"
Zanka has never been this paler. His adams apple bobbed as his brain scrambled to decide on which words are right and which would lead to your relationship's demise. It's also ten times more difficult when an annoyed expression is apparent on his girlfriend's face.
He huffed out, a palm covering half of his face in shame, "Promise me ya won't laugh"
You raised an eyebrow at him, but decided to hear your distressed boyfriend out. "Sure. Go on"
Zanka exhaled dramatically, "I... I've.." he sighs for the nth time. "for some reason, every time we sleep together, I always wake up with a damn boner" oh God he actually said it. You're probably gonna think he's weird and perverted, a creep who can't keep his dick in his pants—
Soft giggles interrupted Zanka's train of thought. He can't believe it, he takes a peek from the gaps of his fingers. Your head lowers down, a hand muffling your mouth as a horrible attempt to save Zanka's pride.
Zanka could only fall back into the sheets in distraught. Both hands are now covering his face, your laughs still ringing in his flushed ears certainly did not help.
After a few more cackles on his demise, you crawl up at Zanka's body. Now leaning onto him with arms supporting you up, "Zan-zan? look baby, I'm sorry for laughing" you softly murmur, trying to lure Zanka out. The only response you got is his fingers twitching, but you've never met anyone as stubborn as your boyfriend. He refused to give in, the hands are still glued to his face. "Say something? Please?" this time, you purred on his ear, fully laying on top of him.
That seemed to do the trick
You knew he'd fold easily with a teensy bit of pressure. But the brat avoided eye contact, his head now in the opposite direction of your face. A little more push would surely bring him back.
Bringing a hand to grab his chin, he complied with no resistance, blue orbs now staring back at you. Faces centimeters away, Zanka's stuttering warm breath fans over your lips.
A smile formed on your face, "you're so cute"
You closed the gap between your lips, gently connecting them. It never fails to amuse you at the perfect fit of your lips with his, always feels like both of you were made for each other. The soft yet sensual pace made Zanka's head swirl, accidentally slipping out a moan on your lips in which you greedily swallow down. He feels like exploding.
Your fingers ghost over his wrists, feeling his pulse under your thumb made you grin a little. Having your usually cocky boyfriend under you like this felt euphoric. Obviously, you're continuing this til he breaks.
"Darlin'—" You barely give Zanka any time to talk nor breathe as your lips crashes back on him. Tilting your head to get a deeper angle, tongue sliding against his, Zanka was now only mindlessly obeying your ministrations, the warmth of your mouth is slowly melting him from the inside, the way your tongue swirls with his tenderly is making him weak in the knees, no doubt that you can feel his throbbing and already leaking cock twitching beneath you.
With that being said, your hips rolled down at the tent of his pants, Zanka choked on his moans, literally. The almost violent coughs prompted you to quickly break the kiss, finally giving the poor guy some air.
"Hey— oh my goodness, Zanka breathe!"
A hand surged panicked taps on his chest as if it'll do something to his choking. But with a shaky exhale, his breathing returned to normal.
You laughed dryly at his state, "You're such an idiot, Zan-Zan"
"am not!" he coughed out
It's not everyday that you're blessed with this sight of Zanka, laying beneath you, a soft shade of pink painting his cheeks, lips now chaffed, damp and shiny from spit. He looks so cute like this, so pliant.
Your hips started moving once more, "You know, you honestly could've just woken me up if your dick's bothering you every morning"
Zanka's eyebrows pinched together, mewling slightly as he tried to match the slow grinding.
"C-can't, ya always looked so peaceful sleeping. I can't get myself to— Mngh—! Can't get myself to wake ya up jus' 'cause I'm horny" Zanka clawed the sheets when you started to quicken your hips, his moans are getting louder, getting needier.
Low sighs have also been escaping your parted lips, the delicious friction was starting to get to you. "Yeah? How sweet of you. Good boys deserve to be rewarded right?" you coo at him. The slut nodded eagerly, tears now forming on his eyes.
"Yes! Please I've been s'good to ya!" he croaked out, voice now strained from his continuous wailing.
You put a halt to your movements, giving Zanka one final kiss to the cheek to cut his complaints off before scrambling your hand down to free his aching cock.
With his tip already leaking like a faucet combined with your slick, sliding down on him was a smooth task. You place your hands on Zanka's chest for leverage, he has his own on your thighs, unintentionally gripping them. A tiny whine left your lips, having him in this position is making you lightheaded
"So deep.." you muster before rolling your hips, picking up a steady pace, the sound of skin slapping was almost deaf to your ears due to your needy moans and Zanka's whimpering. The curve of his pulsing cock was hitting the sweet spots inside you, your eyes rolled back.
"Mngh! I-I wont last— fuck, please— keep goin'!"
You whine out Zanka's name, your bouncing getting sloppier, focusing more on chasing your release. "Z-zan, haah— feels so good, so good for me baby" your voice weak from your consistent noises, but still, your praises drove Zanka to the edge.
His hands travel to your waist to help your already aching thighs, his hips pistoning up to meet yours. Your cunt squeezed around him tightly, earning a hiss from Zanka and an urge to thrust up his lower body faster. "Ngh—! just like that, keep going baby!" You can feel your orgasam tumbling closer, feeling it build up as you meet Zanka's thrusts. His hands are definitely leaving marks.
You can also feel Zanka's nearing his peak, the steady rhythm of his thrusts stutter and get more desperate. He also somehow got louder, moans turning into shouts. Zanka cries out, "I— I can't anymore, please— fuck , 'm gonna cum!"
You throw your head back with a gasp as your orgasm crashes down, your slick gushing down on Zanka's pelvis. It's not long before Zanka's twitching cock spurts out his warm spent, back arching as he flooded your insides. After a few more pumps of his load, you collapsed in his chest, Zanka grunts but wrapped you up with his arms.
Heavy breathing filled the room, not a word spoken. The two of you silently bask in the aftermath, he's still inside you and you didn't mind one bit. All you need right now is Zanka's warmth, he seems to be thinking the same.
It's safe to say that Zanka had a good night's sleep and did not wake up once before his alarm. Thanks to his girlfriend, obviously.
I'm sorry if there are any mistakes, I was half asleep writing the ending 😭
"i don't know how you get over someone as dangerous, tainted and flawed as you."
tired blonde dilfs x the struggle of staying away from a girl far too young for them (you)
CONTENT WARNINGS : SMUTTY, unprotected sex, creampies, age gaps, heavy petting, fingering, oral f!receiving, dirty talk, riding, doggy style, overstimulation, two second spanking, implied blowjobs, mentions of f!masturbation, multiple rounds, forced orgasms, fucking in a headlock
TRIGGER WARNINGS : none that come to mind except i guess power imbalance between erwin and nanami and the reader, sliiiiiight angst with leon’s & erwin’s but it’s resolved. there’s a brief mention of blood as well anddd that’s all i can think of, but if i missed smth pls lmk!
includes : leon kennedy, nanami kento, erwin smith
word count : 7k
what's playing : million dollar man by lana del rey
*unedited
a/n : hiii princesses! im sorry i had to scratch my leon kennedy itch so plsss accept this while i work on my super special freaky post, its taking me a bit longer than i anticipated T_T i hope you all enjoy ! comments are always appreciated <3 hate will be deleted
leon kennedy
sleep has been hard to come by for the last few weeks, your chest is always too tight, your muscles are always too wound up and your brain is always too fast for your body to wind down from
so of course, of course you hear a knock at your front door right when you’re just moments away from finally slipping into sweet unconsciousness
you swipe your phone from your nightstand, groaning with frustration and nearly flinching at the harsh glow from your screen.
the hours illuminated before you read at 3:27 am and do nothing but burn into your tired corneas and make your irises sting. lovely.
your legs swing off the edge of your bed and you rise, struggling to maintain your balance as you trudge to the door, grunting at the unknown person when the sounds behind your door grow louder and more hurried
you grab the gun gifted to you by a man you see once in a blue moon, always keeping it safely tucked under the drawer of your vanity
you manage to clumsily grasp it just before you make it out of your bedroom, holding it behind the small of your back once you meet the door
“can you fucking hold on? god,” you groaned, cutting off the rapping fist against your door by swinging it open, your hazy eyes flitting up to see who had the audacity to try and break down your door at such an ungodly hour
“hey.” your heart immediately sinks the second your eyes adjust amidst the darkness and are able to make out the figure before you, the familiar voice above you ringing in your ears and echoing in your head like a church bell
“fuck off.” you spit, rushing to shut the door in his face
he shoves his boot between the door and the frame, forcing it open
he says your name softly, the sound coming out like a rumble sheathed in lace, and you’re infuriated with yourself at how much it disarms you
enough to where you’ve released your weight against the door to allow him entrance inside, watching idly as he shuts the door behind him
his eyes clock the wrist you have behind your back and he’s quick to tug the gun he left you the last time he saw you from out your hand, exhaling a dry laugh when he glances at it
“jeez, didn’t realize you were that pissed at me,” he jokes, setting it on the entryway table behind him as if it were set of keys in the bowl
your eyes meet his in a sharp glare and it silents him, your arms come up to subconsciously guard yourself, folding over your chest with a quiet huff
“what the hell are you doing here, leon?” you ask, voice sharp and wary
he frowns, wavering in front of you with an awkward amount of space between your bodies, not as close as he’d like to be but close enough to where it makes your body run hot from his warmth if you focus on it for too long
“i wanted to see you.” he says quietly, hushed in a way that reads as an admittance of something he shouldn’t say aloud
the pulse on the side of your throat jumps along with your heart, thumping hard against your chest cavity at his lack of a veil from his intentions, never quite used to his blatancy
“okay well… you saw me… you can go now.” you muttered, jutting your chin back towards the door
he sighs, taking the initiative to be the one to step forward, taking your arms in his large hands, scorching you behind his warm palms
he gently wrangles you in place when you try to squirm away, forcing you to look at him
“i’m sorry.” he says as softly as he holds you, tilting his head to meet your eyes
“you say that every time and then you just up and leave leon, the song and dance is getting kind of old you know.” you huff, trying to blink away the tears burning your waterline
his frown deepens at the sight, expelling a dejected sound from the base of his throat
one hand slides up from your arm and up to your jaw, grasping you with care and a delicate touch, unlike anything else that falls into his hands
he cups your cheek and swipes the tear that betrays your feigned indifference with his thumb, squeezing your arm with his other hand remorsefully
“it’s not safe for me to stay around for long, you know that but i—“
“i don’t wanna hear it leon, if it’s sooo unsafe for you to be around me, maybe you shouldn’t come around at all.” you bite back against his gentleness, his cushioned words and loving touch makes his inevitable absence so much harder than it already is, and you don’t need more difficulty in your life than what you’ve already been handed
regardless of that fact, deep down you know that you don’t mean what you say, leon knows you don’t mean it, but it doesn’t make the snip in your tone hurt any less
“i’m well aware that that’s the logical thing to do.” he utters in that gravely voice that makes you weak, a curt nod joining his words. and yet, he still makes no move to let you go
your heart falters for a moment, because despite your anger, you find yourself fearful of the possibility of him truly leaving you and staying gone for good
“but i’m not logical when it comes to you.” he murmurs, bending down slowly, inching towards your lips, giving you time to push him away in spite of his own hunger that begs for you to do anything but
you don’t move away, if anything you lean in, meeting him halfway with an upwards push of your tip toes, connecting your lips together
he groans quietly into your mouth, shuddering a sound of pure relief once your bodies connect and slot into each other
his arms don’t bother in hesitating for a second longer in wrapping themselves around your waist, holding you tight and flush to his chest
your hands cup his face tightly, lurching deeper into him
a subconscious need to be near him and cling onto him runs high inside you, stemming from the fear that he’ll evaporate sooner than he usually does if you’re not quick enough in establishing closeness
your body aches to map out the way his skin feels against yours once more, to just feel him close to you
you kiss him deeply, unable to contain your moans from the contact despite wanting to punish him by remaining silent, knowing that he hates it when you’re quiet during moments such as this
“hate you,” you mutter between kisses, your body utterly betraying your false sentiments by arching up into him, a shaky moan falling from your lips and into his when he chases after you, nipping at your mouth
“i know,” he breathes out, kissing you hard
“you’re an asshole,” you add, panting against him with your fingers tightening in his hair, his hands large and warm splayed behind your back, continually pulling you in closer and closer, not satisfied with how far away you feel
your chest was already pressed as close as can be to his, but it didn’t matter when he’d been away from you for so long, he’d never be satisfied until you two were melded into one being
“i know,” he nods mindlessly, falling back into you hotly
“hate that you do this to me,” you mumble against his lips, feeling his hands curl under the fat of your ass, squeezing you hard and pulling a gasp from the depths of your chest
“i know,” he murmurs, kissing down your neck with unhurried scorching kisses
“i missed you,” you finally admit defeatedly, with air slowly depleting from your lungs the more he kisses the side pane of your throat
he worked his way back up to your face, his eyes flickering between yours then down to your lips. “i know. i missed you too.” he utters, crashing back into your mouth, groaning thickly into you
you feel him press his bulge up against your clothed cunt, and you whimper something that makes his cock twitch in his tactical pants
he slips his hands a little lower until he’s got a firm grip under your thighs, rushing to lift you up with ease as his body falls into the routine of muscle memory and carries you into your bedroom
your arms wrap around his neck and your lips find his jaw, sponging kisses down the sharp curve desperately, toying with the ends of his hair that have grown longer since the last time you saw him
he cradles the back of your head and sets you onto your mattress, kicking off his boots before he’s on you again, straddling you with his hands grasped tightly around your waist, keeping you still when his lips meet yours once more
“thought about you every single day since i left,” he pants heavily, kissing down your neck, taking his time with feeling your skin on his lips
he’s unhurried in the assault down your chest, leaving wet and warm kisses over your collarbones but still moving with urgency, completely starved for you as if it were the first time
“how you’re doing, what you’re doing,” he murmurs, almost more so to himself as he tugs down the neckline of your tank top, taking your tits in his hands and groping
he squeezes your full flesh, sticking out his tongue to drag a hot streak across your nipples, chuckling quietly when you gasp and arch into his mouth
“if you’re being safe…” he nips your inner breast, soothing the little bite with a drag of his tongue
“you’re thinking about me as much as i do you…if you try touching yourself the way i touch you,” one hand abandons a breast and instead travels between your thighs to cup your pussy, the heel of his palm firm up against your clit
he adds pressure down onto your soft mound when you try to squirm, his teeth grazing your nipple warningly with his eyes flickered up at you from under his lashes
“or if you’re letting someone else touch you while you pretend it’s me.”
you shake your head, shivering a shaky breath when he slowly swivels his palm up against your clothed clit
“n-no, i-it’s only been you leon,” you whimper, rolling your hips against his touch
his stubble tickles your tummy when he travels lower, slipping his hand from between your legs to hold your waist as his lips trail kisses down your navel
“no?” he breathes out, kissing your soft belly
“not letting any college boys try their luck with you?” he rumbles against your tummy, kissing you where his breath fans out
you shake your head, hips bucking up desperately against his stubbled cheek
with a sudden aggression and force he tugs down your little shorts and panties, clenching his jaw at the sight of your glistening pussy before him, the moonlight creeping in through the slit of your window and catching your arousal like the sheen of a diamond
he pulls down your bottoms until they fall onto the carpet beside your bed, his wide palms coming up to smooth over your thighs, feeling your soft skin under his rough hands
he’s quick to push them up into peaks, spreading you open and groaning at the sight of your little cunt
“talk to me angel,” he murmurs, thumbing over your folds to spread you open
“you touch yourself while i was gone? ever think of me while you did it?” two fingers come up and circle over your clit, slowly winding you up
you nod dumbly, poor body trembling beneath him as your fists clench at the sheets
“tell me everything you thought about while i eat this pussy. spare no details.” and with that he went down, ducking between your thighs with no ritualistic preamble, too hungry and impatient to wait any longer
his tongue is hot and firm up against your folds, slowly dragging up to swirl over your clit, wet muscle rolling against it while his stubbled chin grazes over your hole
you cry out, grappling towards his hair and tugging, pulling a low groan from his throat and into your cunt
“i—i — fuck leon,” you sob out, your chest heaving and pebbled nipples still wet from his open mouth kisses arched into the air, hips forcibly being pinned down by his calloused hands
“i-i would think about this, a-about your mouth — haah, your tongue— mmgh,” you cry out, panting like you were mid marathon, his tongue flicking up and through your folds, circling your clit over and over messily
“h-how your stubble feels against me, how your lips feel on m-my clit,” you breath out, your eyes squeezing shut and head falling back when he sucked on your clit, swirling over it with his tongue and adding pressure right where you needed it
“god — i mmgh, i thought about the way y-you put your fingers in m—haah fuck!” you cry out, choking on your words when he slips his middle and index finger into your cunt, grunting against your clit at how you suck in his digits
you grip him in tight, already leaving a ring of creamy arousal around the base of his fingers, hips trembling and thighs tensed from the intrusion
he curls right up against your g-spot, a smug upward twitch of his lips spreads across his face and over your pussy when you whine at the feeling of him inside you
“fuck leon, feels s’fucking good,” you slur, eyes welling up with tears of overwhelming pleasure
“would think about how good you are at this, h-how your fingers go deeper than mine,” he hums against your pussy, pleased with your struggle in trying to verbalize the fantasies you busy yourself with in his absence
he’s rutting against your bed in slow rolls, trying his best to not cum in his pants
he refuses to waste a single drop until he can work his cock in you, wanting nothing more than to fill you up and watch his cum pour from your used pussy
“m-missed your cock, would try and ride m-my toy while thinking of you, but i-it never was as good as you,” you whine breathlessly, grinding your cunt into his mouth onto his fingers, slowly growing delirious from the buzzing sensations he’s fucking into you
he pulled his fingers back, pads of his digits still breaching your entrance as he slowly rose from your lower half, lips wet from your cunt while hovering above you
“my poor girl.” he grunts breathlessly, a little curl in the corner of his lips and a sudden thrust forward with his fingers deep inside you, diving down to kiss you hard and inhale your gasp filled moan
“tell me you need me,” he says, eyes drinking you in to watch the way your face contorts as he fucks you on his fingers
“i need you leon,” you sob, fisting at his fitted long sleeve. “please, i-i always need you,”
your desperate response makes his heart ache and his cock jump in his pants, pulling a groan from his throat and into the crook of your neck
all your begging, all your teary eyed mewls for leon got you right where you wanted, with you stretched out and taking his cock until you could barely answer him, until you could barely open your eyes
his clothes as well as yours were scattered across your room, completely ignored along with everything else except for the hot drag of his cock inside you
he had made you cum twice, and he was currently pulling a third one of out you, his stamina (which you conveniently forgot about until the first orgasm he drew out of you, noticing how he managed to remain rock hard afterward) would not give up until he made you finish once more
“cmon baby,” he panted, his fingers drawing over your clit while his hips slammed against your ass
“‘know you got another one for me, know you can do it baby,” he grunted, slamming into you hard as his bicep tightened around your throat
he had you face down ass up, unable to do anything but take his cock as far as it could go inside you
“c-can’t, s’too much,” you sobbed, your smaller hands gripping at his huge bicep under your chin
“yes you can, and you will.” he hissed, pulling back just to slam back inside, his fat cock ruining you for a third time
your poor little pussy weeped around his shaft, evidence of your previous two orgasms dripped down your thighs and left his cock soaked and slick, fat cockhead still red and eager to kiss all the sensitive spots inside of you
it’d been so long, too long since leon last had you, and he couldn’t get enough of you or your cunt that kept sucking him in regardless of your contradicting sobs
even now, he still figured that even after making you cum once more, he’d still want you again, not sensing an end to his desire for you
“you really gonna tap out before an old man?” he teased breathlessly, his arm squeezing around your throat just that much more, his mocking words falling into the back of your hair
before you could even respond, he shoved himself deep in your cunt, filling you until his balls met your clit, rocking in and out of you languidly
“fuck — leon!” you wailed, thrashing beneath him as he continually pistoned up into your g-spot, his fingers rubbing your raw clit until you came all over again
“that’s right, cum on me baby you got it,” he groans, thrusting inside a few more times, working over your clit until a strained, almost pained moan fanned into the bicep he has around your throat
he buries himself in you, kissing your shoulder blade and murmuring a choked out apology as he fucks another load in you, groaning loudly into your neck when the third wave of ecstasy washes over him just as good as the first one
he inches back to spread your ass apart, a low groan rumbling from his throat when he watches the way your combined cum he just fucked into you seeps out and trickles down his shaft and onto your sheets
he slowly unsheathes himself from you, his heavy body making itself available for your shaking and needy one to find comfort in, holding you tight when you shuffle around to lay in his arms
he holds you in his chest, big strong arms cradled around you while his hand keeps your head tucked into his neck
your bedroom is quiet save for the pursuit you both share in retrieving your breaths and the gentle tapping of rain against your window
“leon?” you finally speak, your eyes on the ceiling and index finger drawing small shapes on the arm he’s got around you
“yeah?” he answers just as softly, gently scratching at your scalp
“please don’t just…leave in the middle of the night again…” you plead quietly, the baseline of your voice wavering nervously
he frowns, immediately guilty at your plea, knowing that he’s the reason for your fear
“i won’t.” he promises, craning his neck to kiss your forehead
you grow warm in his hold, smiling to yourself as you let your body relax at his reassurance
“okay…because if you leave again and try to come back, i will kick your ass.” you huff, playfully punching at his stomach
he laughs, nodding with a feigned pain filled groan at your little punch
“i know.”
nanami kento
you’re too kind. it’s almost to a fault.
you are too helpful, too considerate, too young, too intelligent and wonderful — overall too good to be in the corporate world
nanami doesn’t understand why or how you’re satisfied with being his secretary
you could be out there doing things that are far more worthwhile
and he doesn’t think assisting him or the god forsaken company he subscribes his time to are anywhere near worthwhile
and yet there you are, making his life amidst the painful drone at work a bit easier to digest
because of this, of his quiet gratefulness for you, he found himself actually attending the christmas party thrown by the higher ups
the entire thing was put together to boost company morale and make everyone strive for something greater, completely unaware that nothing was going to happen except for a bunch of salarymen getting drunk at the office
nanami despises overtime almost more than anything, as well as the men he works with
he hates clocking in and seeing the faces of people who have no respect for anyone but themselves, to be surrounded by long figures with endless zeros while knowing he’ll only be making maybe a quarter of it
but seeing you there? smiling at everyone like they deserve the privilege of gazing at your beautiful face, or to be able to see the way you fill out that dress of yours?
despite the low hum of jealousy in his veins, seeing you there made the unpaid trip to the office worth it
he knows he has no right to be jealous to begin with, or possessive for that matter
you’re his secretary, and quite a young one at that
fresh out of college, baby faced and too sweet for her surroundings
you’re too young for him. he knows that, anyone who would hypothetically see you together would know that
and yet his heart thumped the same in spite of that when you came up to him, already a little tipsy from the wine that his peers all too eagerly fed you before he arrived
you leaned up even with your heels on to pull him in for a hug, a bright smile on your face sparkling in a way that made the lights strung along the office seem dull
he returned your hug, his hand resting high on your back as a means of trying to maintain respect, patting you with gentle affection before you pulled away
he attempted to lay low throughout the night, not bothering to go out of his way to talk to people he didn’t even like, he just hung back to ensure no one else tried to fill you up with anymore alcohol
but nanami keeping to himself was out of the question in your book, you pulled him into the midst of things, trying to ensure he didn’t feel left out or lonely, completely unaware to the fact that you were the sole reason he even showed up
and when you noticed the mistletoe hung above your heads, he knew he was fucked the second your eyes slowly dragged down to meet his, a little smile curling itself in the corner of your lips
he knew it was trouble, knew he should’ve denied you when your hands tugged on his tie to bring him down to your level
but he didn’t, he couldn’t
he held your hips and kissed you somewhat timidly, forcing himself to hold back
but then you flicked your tongue over his lips, giving him a taste of the fruity wine you’d been drinking earlier in the night, and in return the flavor of a strong whiskey he’d been nursing transferred on your tongue, and it left you wanting more
it left nanami wanting more
and before he could pause to take a moment and think before speaking, he leaned down and uttered, “meet me in my office.”
his hands that he had around your waist tightened enough to make you dizzy from the warmth
and that’s where you currently find yourself, straddling nanami in his office chair, dress hiked up around your waist and poor little cunt getting split open by his fat cock
your arms are wrapped around his neck, just loose enough to have the mobility to pull back and crash your lips back down onto his, kissing him properly
it’s messy, messier than you’d ever expect your boss to be
with how he’s fucking you, it makes you grateful for the lively chatter just outside the walls of his office, the sounds from the people whom you see every day are there to muffle the sobs and tearful moans that you pour into his mouth as he drives his cock in and out of you
he’s so deep inside you that your mind can barely compute it, can barely comprehend how good he’s stuffing you full of him
“n-nanami,” you cry, lips bumping into his with your forehead pressed to his temple, panting shakily as you bounce on his cock
“kento,” he chokes out, his head falling back against his chair from the weight of pleasure that comes with your tight pussy gripping him, your head falling in suit and resting just under his chin
“c-call me kento,” he grunts, his hands gripping your ass hard, bruising his hand print into your plush flesh, sending a particularly hard thrust up and into you
you whine at his response, cunt pulsing around him when you nod dumbly, fisting at his neat suit and wrinkling it in your hands, tugging with a backward fall of your head, groaning in the air at the way his pelvis grinds against your clit
“kento — you’re so…so good, feels so perfect in me,” you whimper, slowing your hips to sink all the way down on him, rocking back and forth to feel his cockhead smooch your g-spot
he shivers, his jaw coming down in a tight clench at your praise, embarrassed by how much it really turns him on, how it makes his cock twitch with the threat of spilling into you prematurely
he buries his face in your chest, baring his teeth over your cleavage, nipping and kissing you wetly
he pulls your dress down, throwing caution to the wind when the seams rip and split, exposing your bare breasts
he can just sheath you in his coat, and fuck, the thought of you limping out of his office with him, hand in hand, all buttoned up in his coat makes that possessive streak burn hot in him all over again
it makes him catch your nipple between his teeth and for his cock to strike right up against your cervix, colliding into it with desperation
you cry out so pathetically it makes him never want to pull out, makes him wish that he could just devote himself into a life of hedonism with you and live just like this, with you on top of him, pussy sucking in his cock and lips locked together in a perpetual kiss
“kento!” you hiccup through whiny moans, and he groans at the sweet sound and into your skin, assaulting your soft tits with his hot mouth
“you’re so tight,” he shudders, swallowing hard when he looks up at you, watching the way you take his cock like you fucking need it to survive, every drag of that cunt of yours sends him further and further into an addiction with you as the source
“please touch me,” you whimper so fucking endearingly he can’t help but tend to you, to bring his fingers to your little clit and rub
“that feel good?” he breathes out over your lips, unable to stop himself from kissing you between his words
you nod prettily, swollen lips puckering to meet each of his kisses like its second nature
“m’s-so close kento,” you moan under a trembling tone, bucking your hips on his cock sporadically, twitching every so often from how well he works your clit on his fingers
he doesn’t need to be told twice, he focuses on your pleasure, taking full control to fuck up into you, letting you lay boneless in his arms while he draws an orgasm out of you
he rocks your hips for you over his thick length, letting you use his leaking tip to nudge up into your g spot while his fingers circle your clit in tandem
he doesn’t stop the momentum he’s built up for you, only kicking it up higher when he hears the way your breaths come out shorter and more shallow, the way your sobs get shakier and shakier, rubbing your clit and fucking you through your shattering climax
he keeps you in his lap, rolling his hips up into you and coaxing you through it, kissing at your collarbones and slowing his fingers and thrusts when you start to tremble in his arms, pulling you by the back of your neck to capture you in another kiss
both hands find your waist again, and he uses you like a fucking toy, bouncing you up and down his cock despite the sensitivity between your legs, unable to slow down due to his overt eagerness to cum inside you
and when you moan in his mouth, pulling back for some air, your hands on his chest and nose nudging his, a soft little, “kento,” falling from your lips into his is what does him in
your poor abused cunt clenches around him one last time when he rams his hips up into yours, his cockhead spurting thick loads of his cum deep inside you
you weakly grind against him, helping him through his orgasm to make sure he lets out every last drop in you
he shivers, his face falling into your chest and hands gripping your hips hard when you fuck yourself onto him, your name escaping his mouth raspily
he pulls out with a wince, panting just as heavy as you
his hands loosen around your hips, and you bring yours to your cunt, laughing softly and lazily as his cum pools into your fingers
his eyes flit down and his slowly softening cock twitches at the sight, his adam’s apple bobbing hard
he brings his hand to your wrist, gently maneuvering you to wipe his cum over your pussy, making a mess of your used cunt
you whimper as he makes you rub his cum over yourself, squirming lightly in his lap from how sensitive you are
but when he releases you, and watches you bring your cum soaked fingers to your parted lips and sees the way you suck on them with your eyes never leaving his?
he feels the blood begin to rush to his spent cock all over again, his heart racing when you glance down at it, then back up at him with a mischievous smile
“do you want me on my knees this time, kento?”
erwin smith
you’re something of a stress reliever for erwin. something sweet he can sink his fingers into and allow himself to be messy with
he knows he should leave you be, he knows how the paper would eat him alive more than it already does if it were to come out that he was fucking his subordinate — a scout
no one within the walls of paradis respects the scouts for what they are, for what they do to keep everyone alive
and while erwin takes every punch they swing right on the chin unflinchingly, he’s still a man with a heart at the end of the day
and to see blatant disregard and disrespect for him and his troops day after day in the paper and out on the streets when they’re being sent off for an inevitable casualty filled mission, it can be more than disheartening
he’s promised himself more than once that he’d stop indulging in you, that he’d quit allowing his eyes to flicker over you a moment longer than he does with everyone else and that he will simply let you be
but that extra second his eyes get to lay upon you feels like torture to go without amidst the constant hell occurring seemingly every day
in addition to the preexisting struggle of maintaining his fast from you, when he receives the umpteenth paper slandering the scouts, he tells himself the promise can be fulfilled at a later date, and that his need for your presence momentarily overrules any concepts of a moral
“shut the door behind you.” he mutters, as you enter into his office, nodding towards the door
of course you obey, stepping towards him with your hands behind your back once the door was shut, eyeing the way he was hunched over his desk
his large hands that would soon be all over you splayed over the dark wood grain, his head bowed and broad back bent tiredly
“come here. i don’t want to have to repeat myself.” he utters through an exhausted rumble, raising a hand and curling towards himself without looking up at you
once again, you obey with no hesitation
he slowly rises up and takes half a step back, allowing you to slot yourself between him and the desk
your hands come up to cup his face, but he’s faster than you, he grabs your wrists and swiftly turns you around, bending you over and pinning you down against his desk
a shaky gasp ripped from your lips when your chest came into contact with the hard surface below you, your wrists held tightly behind the small of your back
“read that for me.” he orders, tossing the newspaper before you
you internally deflate when your eyes scan over the words, sighing to yourself before beginning
“scouts or scammers? where are our tax dollars really g-oh,” you suck in a sharp breath, your brows tightening together when his hand slips between your thighs, drawing two firm fingers up against your clothed cunt
“i didn’t say stop.” he grunts, his lips ghosting over your ear before pulling back and slamming a large hand over the fat of your ass
you take it in stride, knowing from past experiences that if you’re too loud the punishment only worsens
“wh-where are our ta-ax dollars r-really going?” you read shakily, your hands grasping onto the paper when he releases your wrists and uses both hands to undo your pants
“c-commander er-win smith’s l-leadership skills have recently be-en under s-scruti-ny — erwin,” you choke, your forehead faltering against the table, arching your back into him when his fingers slip beneath your panties, long digits running along your bare pussy, dragging up and down to collect your arousal and feel how slick you’ve become for him
“am i going to have to repeat myself?” he murmurs evenly, an unspoken threat wrapped in silky steel fans against the nape of your neck, his free hand gripping the side of your ass that he swatted just moments earlier
you shake your head, nails indenting in the dark wood below you to ground yourself
“n-no sir…” you mumble, swallowing hard before you continue reading
“s-since the last expedition. our s-sons and dau-aughters are se-eemingly being recruited as n-nothing more th-an — fuck — t-titan fodder…” his fingers sink into you at that, pumping his wrist behind you with slow but deep forward pivots, his left hand coming up to squeeze your breast through your uniform, gripping the soft flesh hard
“i-it begs the qu-question…wh-why fund such a m-military br-anch whose main o-objective seems t-to be nothing m-more than en-listing — haah —“ he curls his fingers right up against the spot that makes your knees buckle, but he keeps you upright, his broad front flush against your back with his hand splayed firmly across your chest, keeping you close
“m-mindless children w-with a death w-ish.”
“is that what you think you are?” erwin asks lowly, his lips brushing the space just behind your ear, pulling you closer and letting you feel his hardening bulge on the side of your hip
“do you feel like a mindless child with a death wish?” he questions, slipping his hand beneath your top to grope at your breast properly, pushing past your bra to pinch at one of your nipples
your teeth sink into your bottom lip, trying your best to muffle the sounds that still manage to leak through, shaking your head vigorously
“n-no sir, i do n-not.”
“hn,” he exhales, pushing you flat against his desk, withdrawing his fingers from your slick cunt
a soft sound of disappointment fans against the newspaper from the loss, but you’re quick to remain quiet, knowing better than to complain whenever he gets like this
you hear his belt unbuckle behind you, and your clit pulses with anticipation, unable to help the sheepish yet eager wriggle of your hips, desperate to get him inside you
he pushes down on your lower back, silently warning you into stillness, his available hand freeing himself from his pants
he tugs yours down until they pool at your knees, grabbing your hip firmly while he guides his fat cockhead up and down your folds, circling over your clit without ever focusing enough time on it, because amidst his frustration, he finds a sick kind of solace in teasing you
“do you think what we do here is a waste? that it’s all for nothing?” he pushes in, sliding inside you all the way and feeling a flicker of filthy satisfaction light his chest aflame at the way your hand slaps over your mouth, muffling your tearful gasp into your palm at the rough intrusion
“n-no sir.” you answer back shakily, slowly sliding your palm off your lips to grip onto the side of his desk
“do you question my leadership?” he grunts, pulling back just to slam all the way in, filling you to the hilt
your teeth sink so hard into your bottom lip you start to feel droplets of blood trickle onto your tongue, your nails leaving their mark on the underside edge of the wood grain as you shake your head a confirmative no
“words, young lady.” he orders, his hips starting to pull away and pivot forward hard, drawing back only to push deep inside you, his pace unforgiving and angry as he fucks you
“n-no c-commander i-i do not,” you sob out, sniffling with your cheek squished against the newspaper
“have you dedicated your heart?” he grunts in your ear, his back fully curved over yours with his cock lodged deep and far inside you, grinding hard against your sweet spot
he’s asking in reference for more than just the scouts and the cause, you can feel it in the heft of his words and the way his cock stretches you out and fills you entirely
in truth, you’re more devoted to him than you are for the mission to save humanity, that you love him more than anything, but you can’t say that, not now, not soon or ever you figure
but all that you can do is nod dumbly, with your poor cunt squeezing him and gripping him deeper inside as you pant out pathetic little sounds
“y-yes commander, m-my heart is fully dedicated.” you moan thickly into the back of your hand, your entire body jolting up and against the desk top, your heavy eyes lined with tears with every delicious stretch he fucks into your pussy
his heart grows in his chest at your declaration, shuddering a breath into the crook of your neck with a hand trailing to your front to rub your clit
“so wet,” he groans longingly into your neck, fucking into you harder with less of a deliberate rhythm, simply falling victim to his bodily wants and using you to draw out as much pleasure as he can
his hand never relents between your thighs, rubbing your clit in tight controlled motions, grunting hard into the warm crevice of your shoulder
the hand not focused on your clit presses up against your lower belly, feeling his cock fuck into you over and over behind his palm, knowing he’s stuffing you in such a way makes him twitch harshly inside you
the upward jolt of his fat cockhead grinds right up against your g spot, drawing a trembling whiny moan from your bitten lips
“erwin,” you mewl through a trembling breath, fucking yourself on his cock like an overeager puppy, panting hard
he just pushes you down harder, and fucks into you harder, his grunts coming out in thick bouts
his hips drive into you at an uneven but aggressive pace, his fingers on your clit moving the same, rendering you down into a mewling crying thing beneath him, spasming on his cock and clenching all around him when you’ve fully tilted over the edge
he fucks you through your orgasm, chasing after his own rushedly
your name falls from his mouth and into yours when he grabs your jaw and kisses you, his moans melting on your tongue as he cums inside you
you weakly kiss him back, barely able to keep up with his hurried pace
his grip rests tight on your jaw and between your legs, his fingers and cock thrusting you forward into a sea of overstimulation
he drinks in your cries until he can’t breathe, pulling apart and resting his forehead behind the back of your head, letting you slump against the table
his hands come around your waist to hold you tight while he pumps his cock inside you a few more times for good measure, drawing out and sliding right back in with lessened sense of urgency
he rides out his orgasm just like that, fucking your well used pussy nice and easy, draining himself in your sweet and accommodating hole
when he pulls out he’s quick to make sure you don’t fall to your knees, keeping you still while he grabs a few tissues from his desk to swipe away the cum beginning to trickle down your inner thigh
he pulls up your pants, gently redressing you before he does the same for himself
you’re still breathless even when he sits back down, pulling you into his lap and allowing you to fall limp in his arms
“thank you.” he breathes out, stroking your back like you were something frail, something delicate
you giggle lazily, your voice holding a lack of air when you lull your head upwards, tilting sidelong at him with a humorous stare
“why’re you thanking me?” you ask softly, finally able to cup his jaw
he leans into your touch, sighing with a tired shake of his head within your palm
he holds your wrist, turning slightly to kiss your pulse
“listen to me.” he begins, pulling your wrist gently and holding it firmly in your lap, staring up at you seriously
“you are not allowed to get killed out on the field, behind these walls, or ever. that’s an order. do you hear me?” he instructs, his voice stern and precise, his eyes focused on you as if his stare alone could will fate into obeying his orders
you soften at his words, nodding as you slip your wrist out of his weakened grip to cup his face once more, leaning down to press a loving kiss to his lips
warnings. 18+. mdni. fem reader. she/her pronouns. gendered terms. brief angst in the beginning. small misunderstanding. pet names. smoking. creampie. enjin friendly but loyal asf (true n canon u got him trained actually). established relationships. fingers in mouth. oral (f receiving). praise. squirting.
summary. you find it’s pointless to argue with enjin over nonesense. he just drills logic into you, and not metaphorically. wc. 3.0k ˎˊ˗
an. i think contrary 2 popular belief he’d b a good bf (no proof only him bein’ a girl dad) + first long fic that’s not abt tamsy r u insane
You weave your way back from the restroom, eyes dropping every time you tug the hem of your dress back into place where it keeps creeping up the soft swell of your thighs. The bar’s lively, loud, and a little crowded. The type of place where the air tastes like spilled liquor. You keep moving, already picturing sliding back into the booth beside him. Another drink, maybe two, before you both call it.
With one last adjustment of your dress, just for good measure, you lift your head… and someone’s in your spot.
Some girl settled herself right where you were sitting, body angled completely toward Enjin as if he’s the only thing worth looking at. She’s short, long hair spilling over one shoulder, brushing the tops of her exposed breasts every time she tilts her head at him. Laughing loud, way too loud. And at nothing. Enjin’s never been that funny. You feel your face twist. He’s sitting there with her like it’s nothing, like you didn’t leave for two minutes. She leans in closer, long acrylic nails curling around his arm, pressing her chest right up against him, starving for his attention and bless her little heart, you can’t even blame her. It’s Enjin. However, your stomach still knots.
Enjin glances down at her, yellow eyes polite but distant, attention drifting. Then his gaze lifts, scanning the crowd, searching for you. When he finds you, your eyes lock. You’re pouting, arms folded tight, glare dragging across him, already peeling back excuses before he can make any. His expression softens, fond.
He moves like he’s about to stand, but you’re already turning sharp on your heel, hair swinging, shoving through the crowd with that prissy little walk you always do when you're angry—the one he secretly thinks is cute. You just want to get out.
“Wait—hey, where you goin’?” The girl asks when he shifts, voice high and uncertain. “Did I… say something wrong?”
Enjin shakes his head gently, sliding his arm free with ease, in a way where it isn’t awkward. “Nah, you’re good,” he replies, warmly. “I just…” His eyes flick toward the direction you disappeared, a lazy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “Can’t have my girl wanderin’ off without me.”
She blinks for a second, confused. And then her cheeks flush in embarrassment, she straightens instantly, realizing her intrusion. “Oh…Right. I’m sorry,” she mutters, shrinking back a little. Enjin gives her a small nod, it’s kind—no trace of hostility. “Thanks for keeping me company,” he adds softly. It lands sincere, not flirty.
Enjin finds you outside in the cold. The door slams behind him, muting the bar noise into a dull heartbeat. The air is sharp against your skin and your body’s trembling, you pretend it’s nothing. You’re never the brightest when you’re angry. You don’t say a thing when he drapes his jacket over your shoulders, you don’t even look at him. He doesn’t push it, leans against the wall and lights a cigarette, the flame catching on his sharp profile.
“Ya’ mad at me?” he asks, glancing over.
“Nah,” You reply, short and clipped, “Not even a little.” Your hands dig into the pockets of his jacket, curling tight around nothing cuz If not, you figure you might actually punch him. He arches a brow, blows out smoke into the night, “Uh-huh, Sure.” You watch the smoke curl up into the cold and fade, nothing left but the faint scent of burnt tobacco and the hiss of your own breath in the air.
He studies you far too long. Finally, a sigh and an awkward rub at the back of his tattooed neck. “You’re a presumptuous woman…’n a real pain in my ass. You know that?”
You almost laugh because that’s probably the longest word you’ve ever heard Enjin bother with. But the moment hangs, so you lift a shoulder. A small shrug, enough for him to catch. “Yeah? Well, you’re not exactly easy either.”
He smirks at that and flicks ash onto the concrete, jagged flecks scattering into the night. He hands the cigarette over. You take it, dragging in slow, tasting bitter at the back of your throat. The cold is gnawing, and arguing in public like your combined IQ is in the single digits is embarrassing. You let out a tiny exhale, shoulders slumping slightly.
“Let me take you home,” he mutters, “You’re freezin’.”
You nod, letting the argument blow over. Not because you’ve forgiven him or come to your senses but because you’re too cold to care right now. Enjin sees it as surrender, a little victorious smirk flickering. He wants to wrap an arm around your shoulder but he decides not to push his luck.
The victorious smirk on Enjin doesn’t last. It flickers out the moment you step inside and kick your heels off, one, then the other. The soles skidding across the floor like they’re trying to escape the tension clinging to your skin. His jacket leaves your hand in a lazy toss, a casual flick of your wrist. Too casual. It thuds against his chest before sliding to the floor between you. He doesn’t look at it. He looks at you, feels your attitude more than the fabric.
His keys hit the wooden counter with a clatter that feels louder than it should. The apartment swallows the sound whole, quiet and stale from being empty all night. The door clicks shut behind him, neat, final. You pretend not to notice the way it traps the two of you together in the same air. He stands there for a second, letting the silence settle. Watching you. Tracking every subtle twitch, your shoulders locked high, jaw clenched tight, the slight flare of your nostrils when you inhale like you’re impatient with the oxygen itself.
“You done?” he asks finally, voice careful like he’s approaching a skittish animal rather than you. Or maybe that’s the same thing right now.
You don’t answer. You hum some tuneless, half-remembered melody as you pick up a makeup brush you left on the table earlier, straighten the pile of clothes draped over the arm of the couch, busying yourself with the debris of your night-out rush. Petty and intentionally ignoring.
If it were anyone else, Enjin would have snapped by now, told ‘em to stop behaving so childishly. But it’s you. And he’s learned the hard way that raising his voice only makes you dig your heels in deeper. So he reins it in, runs a hand through his hair, breath rough enough to scrape the air. He moves behind you, footsteps quiet but intent. You feel the warmth of him before you feel his hands, his breath. Then his face slots into the crook of your neck, nose brushing your skin.
“You smell good,” he murmurs, voice going softer than he’d ever admit. His lips graze your neck, “Sweet. Always do.”
You stiffen and roll your eyes. But you don’t step forward. Or sideways. Or anywhere, actually. And he notices. His hands find your waist, they’re big, warm, and grounding. He waits to see if you flinch or melt or shove him off. You do none of those things. “I don’t want anyone else but you,” Enjin tells you. The words are plain, too honest to be manipulative. “Told her off, y’know?”
He presses a soft kiss to your neck, then another, slower. Your inhale is sharp this time, almost masked by your attempt to scoff. “Mhm. Sure you did.”
“I did.” He insists against your skin, lips dragging lazily. “Told her I got a pretty girl I can’t have wanderin’ off all alone ’n angry.” His grip tightens on your waist. You sigh, a very long, exaggerated and stubbornly dramatic sigh. Your body eases back into him an inch. Just an inch. But with Enjin, you give him an inch and he’ll take a mile.
He’s on you before your brain catches up, breath skimming the edge of your ear. His voice comes quiet and smug, already claiming the win, “Missed me already? Thought you were—“
“Not even close.” You cut him off, it comes out clean for a lie with the pulse still beating under it. He smiles against your neck, too familiar with the truth you won’t give him, “Then why’re you leanin’ on me like that?”
“I’m not leaning—”
“You are.” The tone drops into something softer. Not gentle, just intimate enough to drag heat to your ribs. “Been archin’ into me since I touched you.” Sometimes you really wish he’d go blind. Too observant all the time, seeing everything you try to hide.
Then he drags you back just a little but enough for your spine to settle against his chest. Enough for your breath to hitch. Enough for your attitude to crack right down the middle. His hands bracket your hips, intention bleeding through his touch. You feel him everywhere. The weight of someone who already read you before you read yourself.
Your fingers twitch toward his arm, reflex more than choice really and you want to actually kill yourself. He catches it, thumb sweeping over your knuckles, proving a point. He hums, satisfied, “See?”
You swallow it down, stubborn to the bone. “…Shut up.”
Enjin laughs, low, warm, right in your throat. “I’ll shut up,” he says, fingers tapping at your hips, “when you tell me you’re not mad anymore.”
You turn in his arms, acting like the timing is yours, though you both know it isn’t. His hands stay exactly where they want to be as you face him, your tits pressing up directly against his chest. Those yellow eyes flick down to the glossy plump curve of your lip—slow, deliberate—already picturing the next ten seconds. Then they lift back to yours.
You hold the stare, chin tipped up, voice a quiet blade. “Shut up,” you repeat. He grins like you just gave him permission. His hand slides up, hooking your jaw—gentle, firm, inevitable—and he kisses you like he’s been waiting all night for you to stop pretending. The fight melts on contact, heat swallowing whatever pride you had left. You kiss him back—slow at first, then sharper, like you’re done running from whatever this is. Your fingers knot in his shirt, pulling him closer without thinking.
He laughs against your lips, breath warm, chest rising against yours. “Yeah,” he murmurs, voice dragging low, “there she is.”
Your reply is the way you lean into him, letting the last scraps of anger burn down into something messy ‘n molten. His hands slip lower, grip your thighs, and lift you clean off the floor like it’s nothing. Like he’s been waiting all night to put you exactly where he has you now.
He sets you on the table, objects clattering around your body. Presses a kiss to your head before guiding you flat on your back, legs spread wide, dress bunched high. The wood presses hard against your spine, cold and sharp, and you feel it in every inch of your body. Vulnerable, exposed, pliant. It’s nothing he hasn’t already seen before. So you let it happen. Your panties slide aside and he’s met with the sigh of your plump pussy, little strings of wet clinging between your soft folds.
“Pretty pussy…did ya miss me?” Enjin hums low, lips brushing your twitching clit, tongue gliding over the slick traces left behind. “All that attitude, and you’re still so nice ‘n wet for me, aren’t you baby?” You whine in response, hips jerking against him, pressing.
Your boyfriend grows frustrated by the underwear that keep sliding back, so he urges you to lift your hip before he slides them off fully. His hands are big, spreading you open, puckering rim winking at him, glistening cunt dripping, pearly slick seeping out. Your thighs shake, stomach tight. His flat tongue finds your folds, wet, insistent, spreading your cushioned lips, chasing the honeyed centre, pulling it out of you until you’re gushing and trembling, messy, slick. You wonder how many girls he’s done this to if he’s always this good. Enjins teeth scrape, then tongue rolls, over and over, on your clit. Filthy praise spills from him, words falling into incoherence and your body answering before your mind can. His fingers follow, curling, pressing, hitting the gooey spot that makes you moan. Your hips jerks and your thighs clench. Your pussy shoots a clear stream over his face and shirt.
“Enjin…” you call, voice ragged and breaking, chest heaving like it just got kicked in. Heat pools low, slick spreading, every nerve alive, trembling under him.
“Baby,” he coos, wiping your juices off his face with the sleeve of his shirt, breath heavy, chest rising and falling with yours.
“Enjin, fuck me.” Not quite begging, just desperate. Enough to make him groan. Big, strong, tatted hands flip you onto your stomach and your legs hit the floor. Your back arches instinctively. His eyes trail down the curve of your waist, linger on the swell of your ass, soft ‘n sweet, taking it all in.
“Needy girl,” he says, tone honey-sweet but sharp underneath. “Couldn’t wait, huh? Spread ‘em for me. Lemme see what’s mine.” His throbbing cock presses into your ass, lips brushing your neck, teeth grazing lightly. You hook a leg onto the table, giving him the perfect view. He groans, filthy, and lines himself up. Then pushes in, slow only for the first inch before he bottoms out. You choke on a moan, muscles fluttering around him, slick warming his shaft. He just watches, eyes lingering on every inch of you, the way you stretch to take him, pliant and glistening. Even after countless times, he’s fascinated by how much your hole stretches to fit him snug inside.
“So deep—” you whine, voice shaking, walls gripping him hard.
“You can take it,” He leans in, kisses your neck, gentle, while his hands pull your hips back rough. “Always take it so fuckin’ well.” He thrusts, steady and heavy, every push dragging a sound out of you. Your thighs shake. His breath hits your shoulder, hot and ragged. Tears blur your vision, from the stretch, the fullness, the way he fills you like he’s trying to keep you. “Enjin…” you sob, voice cracking, “Big…s’so fuckin big—Feels s’good”
He palms your ass, squeezes hard, watches it mold under his hand before letting it fall back into place. “I know, baby,” he murmurs, tone softer than it should be, warm enough to crawl down your spine. “You’re doin’ so well”
You clamp around him so tight it makes him hiss. You twist your head, breath shaky. “‘m… doin’ good…?”
He laughs under his breath—quiet, cruel in that lazy way he gets when he’s got you right where he wants you. Sweet enough to make you melt, mean enough to make you clench down harder. “Baby,” he murmurs against your shoulder, hand dragging up your waist, fingers greedy, “you’re doin’ perfect.” Then, softer—warning dipped in affection, “You’re squeezin’ me like a vice. Keep that shit up ‘n I’ll blow.”
His hips slam into yours again, harder this time, and your whole body shivers like you’re trying to hold on to something that isn’t there. You’re just giving—everything you’ve got—without even meaning to. He reaches around, grabs your jaw, and pushes two fingers past your glossy, spit covered lips. “Open,” he murmurs, he knows you will. And you do.
Your mouth goes warm around him. You suck, messy, obedient. Drool slips down his knuckles, drips onto your chin in sticky beads. He makes a quiet sound—half moan, half groan—and his hips falter, jerking up sharp. The head of his cock taps your cervix and you squeal, voice breaking right in his hand. Your pussy clamps down so tight it almost hurts, slick spilling out of you in hot spurts, running down his shaft, his balls, all the way to the floor. Your thighs shake, mind glitching out under him.
“Fuck—look at you,” he groans, voice cracking at the edges. “Milkin’ me.” He thrusts once, deep, and it’s over for him—his load spills thick, warm, flooding you slow and heavy. His cock twitches inside you with every pulse, the cum leaking out around him, mixing with yours and sliding down your thighs in warm streaks.
Your head drops onto the table, heavy, spent. His cum slides out of you in a slow, humiliating drip, and you glance over your shoulder at him. He just lifts a hand, lazy little wave, grin crooked and foggy like he’s still halfway inside the moment. Something in you just… shuts off. Blank face, blank mind. You let your head fall again, forehead hitting the wood in this soft, pathetic thunk—real genuine defeat settling in your bones.
okay. okay, it was too quiet when you walked towards the kitchen in the cleaner headquarter. rudo didn’t yell about sweets. zanka wasn’t crashing out somewhere. no loud music blasted from riyo’s room. not to mention enjin was nowhere to be seen.
then you smelled it. smelled like butter and sugar. mmm. this was good, right? at least until you smelled the faint smoke under it.
“oh. oh no.” you hurried toward the kitchen only to stop dead in your tracks.
a whole ass disaster awaited you. flour covered the counters. one pan had somehow melted on one side. eggshells here. eggshells there.
rudo stood on a stool and stirred something aggressively while riyo decorated something that looked like burned pastry with pink frosting. poor zanka held dramatically on a plushie while trying to fan the smoke out of the window with his free hand.
enjin stood in the middle of all of it. apron on, sleeves rolled up, hair hanging into his face. man looked exhausted.
the moment they saw you everybody froze.
“surprise?” rudo offered.
you just blinked at them.
“oh no,” riyo gasped. “she hates it.”
“i told you we should’ve cleaned first,” zanka hissed.
“you literally dropped the batter on the floor,” rudo snapped back.
“you stepped in it!”
“kids,” enjin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
the sight nearly made you laugh. nah, you actually giggled softly. then a full belly laughter as rudo poked accusingly zanka’s flour covered face.
“you look ugly as hell.”
“shut up!”
“enough,” enjin interrupted their bickering.
your chest warmed painfully at the scene in front of you. because this chaotic little family had become yours somehow.
rudo looked away, being a little embarrassed. “we just wanted to do something.”
“yes. rudo had told us about mother’s day and so we thought we should celebrate you,” riyo added brightly.
zanka shoved the plushie towards you, and now you saw it was holding a single flower. “these are from all of us.”
fuck, your heart was so, so full of love. you felt all warm and fuzzy and this was the best thing ever.
“thank you,” you whispered.
riyo suddenly grabbed your wrist. “sit down! sit down! we made breakfast.”
you eyed the suspiciously blackened food. “is it edible?”
“probably,” rudo answered honestly.
“It’s edible,” enjin corrected, though less confidently.
you sat down and yes, it was awful. too sweet. too burned. it was still the most delicious thing you ever ate. one of the best mornings you ever had and you knew, in a few years you’ll still think fondly of it.
riyo kept talking over everyone. zanka pretended not to care but secretly pushed the least burnt pieces onto your plate. rudo argued with everyone every five seconds while watching your reactions to make sure you liked everything.
and enjin watched you quietly the entire time, because seeing you smile made the chaos worth it.
later, after you all cleaned the kitchen together and the kids scattered off to do their thing, you found him outside. he was fixing something on his umbreaker, a cig hanging loosely from his mouth.
gently you hugged him from behind and kissed his shoulder. “thank you.”
“you deserve it, mama.”
the nickname affected you more than you let on. because enjin said it and he never said things he didn’t mean. some might argue you were more like a big sister, but what you felt came closer to motherly. so it made your heart burst with happiness.
knowing that he got you emotional enjin turned around and kissed your forehead.
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