Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Warnings: slight spoilers, 18+ MDNI, violence, explicit language, nsfw content, weapons, this part doesn’t contain any smut.
Word Count: about 2k
Isabella had been on Armando's ass ever since the Mike incident. Shooting a man in front of a crowded cookout was not just sloppy, but a personal embarrassment that still echoed through their networks and whispered in the ears of rival organizations. Isabella’s voice had been sharp and venomous during the private debrief as she paced around her son like a predator. She hissed, her eyes cold and unforgiving. “No spectacles. No excuses. Or the next bullet comes from me.”
For weeks afterward, Armando and his most trusted crew shadowed you with relentless precision. They studied your quiet hits against men who deserved far worse than the swift deaths you delivered. They gathered every scrap of information they could, building a profile that grew thicker by the day. Then, just as the net felt tight enough to close forever, you vanished without a trace. But not quietly. Instead, you turned the hunt into a deeply personal and psychological game. Deliberately lighting fires near Armando to keep him constantly off-balance and seething with frustration. You wanted him angry because anger made people sloppy. You wanted him obsessed because obsession clouded judgment. Every single time his crew got close, you left him a message he couldn’t ignore, pushing him further and further each time until the chase became something neither of you could easily escape.
In Medellín, you waited until his team was only minutes away before acting. You had rigged a small but powerful explosive under one of their secondary vehicles. The blast was carefully calculated, nothing lethal to the men inside, but just strong enough to flip the SUV onto its side and send thick black smoke curling dramatically into the humid night sky while you made your escape through back alleys you had scouted days earlier. A single queen of spades playing card was taped securely to the twisted bumper. Beneath it sat a handwritten note that read simply: Boom. Too slow again, Aretas. Armando arrived on the scene only moments later. He stormed out of his armored vehicle with his pistol already drawn, his broad chest rising and falling rapidly as adrenaline surged through him.
When his eyes landed on the note and the damaged vehicle, he crushed the paper violently in his fist until his knuckles turned bone white. A low, guttural snarl escaped his throat, a sound his men had rarely heard from him. For the first time in years, his legendary composure cracked wide open. He raised his weapon and fired two rounds into the burning wreckage, the sharp gunshots echoing loudly through the night streets. His men stood back uneasily, shifting their weight and exchanging nervous glances. The calm, lethal Armando Aretas was visibly unraveling before their eyes. He breathed hard, his powerful frame tense, and his dark eyes blazed with a mixture of fury and something much deeper and more dangerous. You watched the entire scene unfold from a distant rooftop through high-powered binoculars. Your heart raced with a potent mix of adrenaline and dark satisfaction. Seeing the powerful Armando Aretas lose control in such a raw way sent a forbidden thrill racing through your veins.
You watched the entire scene unfold from a distant rooftop through high-powered binoculars. Your heart raced with a potent mix of adrenaline and dark satisfaction. Seeing the powerful Armando Aretas lose control in such a raw way sent a forbidden thrill racing through your veins. Hatred for everything he represented mingled with a sharp, electric awareness of the dangerous man beneath the killer. The sight of him unraveling because of you stirred something complicated and addictive inside your chest.
Another time in Guatemala, you deliberately leaked a false location through one of his paid informants. The tip led Armando and six of his best sicarios straight into an empty warehouse on the outskirts of the city. When they breached the door with tactical precision, expecting resistance, they found only a looping video playing on an old monitor. On screen, you smiled confidently, flipped them off with deliberate slowness, and spoke in a sweet, mocking voice: "Demasiado lento, perra. Esto es interesante ?verdad?.....no??......no eres divertido. vete a casa con las manos vacías a tu mamá."” Seconds later, the building’s sprinklers activated without warning, flooding the entire space with ice-cold water that soaked them to the bone.
You watched safely from a rooftop across the street, the rain mixing with the thrill of victory. Armando in pure fury and emptied half a magazine into the monitor, shattering it into sparks and plastic debris. Soaked and seething, he stood motionless for a long moment with water streaming down his sharp face. His jaw clenched so tightly that the muscle jumped visibly. His eyes burned with raw, unchecked rage. You could see the obsession growing stronger in him with every encounter. The way his powerful body tensed spoke of barely contained violence and a deepening personal fixation that went far beyond professional duty.
You struck again by blowing up a minor but symbolically important stash house of theirs in Monterrey. You timed it perfectly so you could watch his reaction later on a hacked security feed. The explosion lit up the early morning sky in a controlled bloom of fire and smoke. You even left a burner phone at one of the scenes with a single text message queued and ready for him: "How’s Mommy Dearest handling all these embarrassments, Aretas?" Each time he got closer, sometimes terrifyingly so. Each time you stayed just one step ahead, slipping through his fingers like smoke. And each time, the mask of cold professionalism cracked a little more on his face. You reviewed the footage obsessively, noting how his jaw would clench, how his eyes would burn with an intensity that went far beyond simple duty. You were no longer just a target to him. You had become the woman who made Armando Aretas feel genuine emotion, and that realization made you infinitely more dangerous in an entirely new and intimate way.
The closest call of all came fourteen months into the chase in Bogotá. Deliberate leaked conflicting pieces of intel. A decoy sighting was planted at an upscale nightclub on the east side of the city, complete with a paid witness who swore she had seen you there. Armando split his forces carefully but chose to lead the primary team himself to what he believed was the real location, a dimly lit industrial park on the west side where you were actually finishing off a particularly vile enforcer who had trafficked dozens of innocent people. He showed up exactly as you had hoped. You had just wiped the blood from your knife with a steady hand when the warehouse doors exploded inward with a deafening crash. Armando stormed in well ahead of his team, pistol raised and steady. His eyes locked onto you instantly across the blood-spattered concrete floor.
For one frozen, electric second, the entire world narrowed down to just the two of you standing there amid the chaos. His breathing came ragged and heavy. His usually impeccable hair was disheveled from the rain outside. His shirt clung tightly to his broad, muscled chest. Pure, seething fury burned brightly in his dark gaze, but beneath that surface simmered something far hotter and more complicated. Frustration, deep obsession, and a dark, unspoken hunger crackled in the air between you like live electricity. His gun hand remained steady, yet his strong jaw clenched visibly with barely restrained emotion. “Tú,” he growled, his voice low, venomous, and rough as he took a deliberate step forward. “All this time you’ve been playing with me like a cat with a mouse.” You straightened slowly, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs, but you kept your expression cool and taunting. A slow, confident smile curved your lips as you twirled the bloody knife once in your fingers with practiced ease.
“Took you long enough, Aretas,” you replied, voice steady despite the adrenaline. “I was starting to think you’d lost your edge. Disappointed you had to chase my ghost across half a continent just to get this close?” His men fanned out cautiously behind him, weapons ready, but Armando raised one hand sharply, halting them in their tracks. This moment felt intensely personal, almost intimate. The tension hanging in the air was suffocating, thick enough to taste. Two dangerous predators finally stood face to face after months of cat and mouse.
“You blew up my vehicles,” he snarled, taking another measured step closer, his presence dominating the space. “You humiliated me in front of my crew. You left your little notes like some lovesick teenager taunting me.” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “When I finally put my hands on you…”
“You’ll what?” you interrupted smoothly, your voice silky and defiant even as your pulse thundered in your ears. “Kill me? Fuck me? Both? We both know you’ve thought about it more than once, haven’t you?”
The charged silence stretched out heavily between you. His eyes darkened noticeably as they flicked over your body for a brief, heated second. Hatred and raw, conflicted desire warred openly across his handsome, furious face. You saw the exact moment his iron control began to fray at the edges. He lunged forward with surprising speed for a man of his size. You moved like lightning, throwing the knife with perfect accuracy so it embedded deep in the wall just beside his head as a distraction. Then you bolted hard for the side exit you had prepared days in advance. Gunshots roared behind you, filling the warehouse with deafening noise. Armando’s shots were deliberately wide, grazing the concrete near your feet rather than striking true. Whether driven by rage or something far more complicated, he missed.
You slipped swiftly through a narrow, pre-planned corridor, heart pounding wildly in your chest. A breathless, exhilarated laugh escaped your lips as you triggered the small smoke charges you had planted earlier. Thick white smoke billowed out instantly, filling the space and obscuring everything. By the time Armando kicked through the final door with a roar, shouting your code name in pure fury, you were already disappearing into the rainy Bogotá night on a stolen motorcycle, the engine roaring beneath you as freedom swallowed you once more. He stood alone in the heavy downpour for a long time afterward. His chest heaved with exertion and emotion. His fists clenched tightly at his sides. Rain streamed down his face, mixing with the sweat of the chase. The taste of fresh failure and a deepening, dark obsession settled heavily over him as your taillight vanished into the distance.
A/n: Hiiiyaaa, lowkey in this part Armando does appear like a lil bit of a bitch, but he'll even out. I hope y'all enjoy it. I already typed up the next part, but I need to check my grammar and etc... I can't be out here sounding uneducated nowwww..... I 'm also working on looping some more of the Bad Boys Plot in this series.
Tag List:
@viewtifulkey
@arielle4ever
@etheralmiamor
@blackgirlbloom
@kaystacks17
@slashervalley
@goldenfrenzyepitaph
@sperseo
@iamdraya
@kennedyweagle
@awollon
@alexanderleeeee
@kenbechillin
@leopardprettywings
@mariashane
@mind-somewhere-else
@pleasantdreamqueen
@badbadpuddytat
@tinysacrophagustreasure
@tinitaeyong
@lov4gor3
@lilmaruchan185
@mdd-klume
@xprettyprincess21
@cheezbot-109
@onlyforyuto
@theyscreamsannii
@halston123
Show me some love mf... plz.....like, reblog, comment or whatever to be added to my taglist so that you can know what's going onnnnn... Thank you lovies!!!!!!!
Warnings!: 18+ MDNI, violence, explicit language, nsfw content, this part doesn’t contain any smut.
Authors note: This is what my brain spit out at 2AM. I hope you enjoy it :)
Isabella’s office smelled of aged leather, gun oil, and the faint sweetness of her Cuban cigars. At 26, Armando moved like a shadow through it all—broad-shouldered, quiet, lethal. His mother had ruled the cartel with an iron fist wrapped in velvet, but lately she had begun to loosen the leash. She believed nothing and no one could pull her greatest weapon away from the life.
“You need to be quick and precise, mi hijo,” Isabella murmured, circling him slowly. Her manicured nails tapped the edge of the mahogany desk. “We must keep our feet on their necks. Always.”
Armando stood motionless, eyes fixed on the horizon beyond the bulletproof glass. “Understood.”
She handed him the yellow envelope, her fingers brushing his like a final blessing. “Hasta el fuego.”
“Hasta el fuego,” he answered, voice low and steady. He turned on his heel and left her behind in the cool darkness of the estate.
Outside, the sun baked the gravel courtyard. A handful of sicarios were killing time the way they always did—talking shit, measuring each other’s balls.
“Bet you $500 you can’t do it, cabrón,” one laughed, jabbing a finger into the other’s chest.
“Vete a la mierda,” the second man snarled, already reaching for the knife at his belt.
“Is there going to be a problem here?”
Armando’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. Both men straightened instantly.
“No, boss.”
“Gather the others. Load the van.” He didn’t wait for confirmation. He swung a leg over his matte-black motorcycle, the engine roaring to life beneath him. “We move out in ten.”
As the men scrambled, Armando tore open the envelope. Photographs. Addresses. A list of names already crossed out in red. Another night, another blood debt. He memorized every detail, then shoved the papers into his jacket.
He never expected the night would end.
Time skip to later that night after the mission…
Later that night, after the job, Armando stopped at a quiet cantina on the edge of the city. He was tired, still wired from the work, and just wanted a drink. He noticed you sitting at the end of the bar, but didn’t think much of it. You looked like any other woman unwinding after a long night— except for the bruised knuckles that were hidden from his view.
A few days later Isabella called him into her office again. She handed him a new yellow envelope, thicker this time.
“This one has been killing too many of my men,” she said coldly. “Find her. End it.”
Armando opened the envelope and froze for a second. The photos inside… it was you. The same girl from the cantina. You had taken out several of Isabella’s crew already — the ones who raped, trafficked, or hurt the wrong people.
He stared at your picture.
“Understood,” he told his mother.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Hey lovies, so sorry to cut this short, but that’s the start. Do y’all like this start or no?? Let me know. And I’m open to suggestions. Like, reblog, or whatever if you would like to be added to my tag list!!
>> summary: in between enacting his mother's revenge and running the Aretas Cartel, little did anyone know there was someone Armando had extensive plans for. They only had half the plot.
>> warning: explicit language, violence
>> author's note: hey y'all! Welcome to my first fanfiction on Tumblr! Let me know if you wanna be tagged :)
I really hope you enjoy. Please like, comment, and reblog!
1 | First Take
Great.
Traffic was just what you needed during another sweltering day in Miami, Florida. You were on your way to deliver some food because the hustle never stopped. You were in a lot of debt and your gig as a stripper wasn't cutting it lately.
So, Postmates it was. You were determined to not let the shitty circumstances of your life swallow you whole.
Ping.
Ping.
Ping.
Messages from your boss, TJ, kept flooding in and you rolled your eyes. He was going off in the group chat again and you knew it was over some bullshit, because he was just that dramatic. You swiped away the messages quickly so you wouldn't lose focus.
"Turn right after the motel," the GPS directed, and you followed suit.
The food from a fancy steakhouse had to be delivered somewhere in Biscayne Bay, near Miami Harbor, and it was a massive order. Damn near $200 worth and the customer had already tipped a good 40%. You didn't usually hang around Biscayne since you lived on the other side of the Causeway, but you were in the area to say a final goodbye to a girlfriend who was moving out of state. You were already here, so you figured there would be no harm in taking some orders. It was tourist season after all. But this part of the Harbor looked a little…unkempt.
You expected to see at least one yacht in the distance, but there was none. Just cracked concrete and no signs of life. A long coated chain held the sign "Keep Out" restricting access to the pier. So you did as your GPS instructed and turned into an abandoned-looking gas station just before it.
The grass was overgrown, the roads were cracked, and everything felt so desolate. There hadn't been a human being present in the last several miles.
"You have arrived."
You frowned. There was nothing to arrive to. Just graffiti and trash.
"Bitch…what the...that can't be right," you groaned. You put your car in park to message your customer. Hopefully, they wouldn't be agitated.
A reply quickly came in.
Stephen: Sorry, mami. There's a gate just after the pump. Just wait there, I will come out.
You read it twice more and sighed.
It was slightly giving a lead up to The First 48.
You looked over at the big bag of food in the passenger seat and slowly blinked in frustration. The tip was too good to pass up. And you wanted a good delivery rating. If it turned out that this wasn't some human trafficking ploy, your account could definitely get shutdown for not delivering what this man paid for.
"Get rich or die tryin', I guess," you murmured hopping out of the car. You had your keys, wallet, and pepper spray in one hand and food in the other. You did as instructed and walked down less than a block to get to the rusted, sheet metal gate.
Male voices that were conversing in Spanish started approaching. The gate pushed open and you peeked inside like a mischievous cat testing the waters to see how safe it was to proceed.
You were met by a very nice looking guy.
He seemed to be your age, with sun kissed skin, full lips, and the most enticing dark brown eyes. He was dressed in all black, his biceps peeking out of his fitted shirt nicely.
Then your eyes dipped to the gun tucked in his waistband. Each guy on either side of him had the same. All three looked menacing.
Oh, okay. You were delivering to traffickers of some kind. Criminals, either way.
You weren’t too nervous...but there was always the possibility of this going all the way left.
"Delivery for Stephen?" You held up the heavy bag to show you came in peace.
The fine one narrowed his eyes at you then looked over at the man on his right.
"Es comida," the one you assumed to be your customer, shrugged. He leaned around Mr. Fine, who was still giving him the death stare and took the bag from you. "Thank you, mami."
"You're welcome. Have a nice day and enjoy your meal," you beamed, because your friendliness always earned you a five star rating. Before you were about to leave, Mr. Fine spoke.
"Don't come 'round here again." He slammed the rusted gate shut before you could respond.
There was a wrinkle in your brow when you turned to leave.
What a fucking asshole. Why did it always have to be the fine ones that had no home training?
The walk back to your car was a blur. You weren’t a stranger to rude customers, be it food delivery or at the strip club so you let it go because at least you got a fat tip out of it.
That had to count for something.
***
"Perdón, jefe! Please!" Esteban wailed, his face leaking blood onto the concrete. Armando punched the shit out of him again anyway.
Esteban was one of many in Zway Lo's crew who had been working under Aretas for the last few days.
A few days too long. Armando was ready to send Esteban to meet his maker.
"Pinche cabrón!" Armando yanked Esteban up by the collar and angled the glock to the underside of his jaw. "You don't put the address of a fucking drug operation into a fucking app!" His growling of the last several words made the other man cower. Everyone else was dead silent as they watched.
"I didn't put the exact address. I put the gas station! I put the gas station!" Esteban pleaded. "I used a fake name!!!"
This motherfucker is stupid, Armando presumed. Any person with half a brain cell could link a Stephen to an Esteban. It was Miami of all fucking places, the unofficial capital of Latin America. Nobody on Miami PD was on their payroll yet, so they had to be careful. One wrong move and everything he’d been working hard on to re-establish his mother and the family name would be for nothing.
Armando shoved him into the ground, disgusted.
His right hand, still cradling his glock, ticked with irritation before he padded toward Zway-Lo. He pointed his gun at Zway's temple. This would be the second time Armando had threatened his life. The lack of tact from everybody agitated Isabel Aretas's son greatly.
"The next time one of your guys fucks up," he said slowly, "you'll be sinking to the bottom of the fucking ocean with them. Claro?"
"Claro."
A moment passed. Zway-Lo breathed a sigh of relief when the gun was pulled back and holstered.
"And clean yourself up," Armando barked at Esteban, who was still on the ground. He was whimpering and nursing what might have been a broken nose. "Deja de estar chingando."
Armando strode to a backroom that was now his makeshift place of rest. All that decorated the small area was an air mattress, a few go bags of carefully folded clothes, and a door that led to a utility bathroom. A hanging punching bag was there for Armando to de-stress during moments like this. He began laying into it. When he was done, he did fifty push ups, then another fifty one-handed. Huffing, he stripped himself naked and got into the shower stall.
The cold spray hit him and he closed his eyes, replaying the last 24 hours.
Besides being surround by a bunch of amateurs, his mother was angry with him. Apparently he'd fucked up by trying to take out that cop first instead of going down the list as his mother requested. For some reason, she wanted Mike Lowrey to watch the list dwindle, and Armando had foiled that plan. He'd planned to remedy it by continuing as she instructed, but now he had another problem.
You.
Nobody, except for those who worked for and directly with his cartel, should've known about this area.
When he saw you, what he should have done was yank you inside, threaten your life, and interrogate you until he knew for sure that you weren't law enforcement or one of their honey traps. But he didn't and he felt fucking stupid for it. He followed his instinct that you were innocent, and now he was regretting it. He didn't know what to do. This shit could come crashing down at any moment and he wanted to do nothing more than fulfill his mother's wishes and avenge his father.
Armando leaned his head against the wall as the water ran the soap suds down his body. His mind was racing a million miles a minute and he couldn’t relax. He was a perfectionist and prided himself in that. What was going on right now wasn’t what he was used to and it bothered the fuck out of him.
After getting dressed and collecting his thoughts, he walked out of the base without a word of where he was going. But he made sure to stare down a bandaged up Esteban who refused to meet his eyes.
“Try not to fuck anything else up.”
He planned to get some food in the city, and his car, like the others in the crew, was parked in a free for all lot that was several blocks down. But as soon as he closed the gate, Armando spotted a little card wallet on the ground. He picked it up carefully, observing its contents. There were loose $1 bills, a weathered debit card, and something else that made him feel like his luck was turning.
It was your license.
***
A day after finding your wallet, Armando finally found time to watch you. It was the logical thing to do before he could move on to anymore targets on his mother’s list. He had to make sure you weren’t a problem. And maybe he was paranoid, but he'd rather be safe than sorry. Your information had come into his possession for a reason, and he chose not to ignore it. His meticulousness with these things had kept him alive over the years.
You lived in a rundown apartment in Liberty City and he’d arrived just in time that early morning to you hopping into your Honda Civic.
He stayed two cars behind you as you both waited in the worst hour of Miami traffic. Armando much preferred his motorcycle, or his array of sports cars back home, but the Camry did its job. It was unremarkable, with tints that would barely raise suspicion and fake plates that were taken care of by his connect in the DMV. He used his blacked out bike for his executions and the Camry for everything else.
He watched you attempt to do some shopping at a thrift store in Little Haiti, which was cut short because you must have have realized you'd lost your wallet. Your sagging shoulders and pronounced pout gave it away as you walked out. You looked so defeated. When you drove back home, Armando patiently waited in his car. Hours passed and night came, and you finally emerged from your apartment again. He gazed at your little tube top and tight shorts until you got your car. It was unlike him to deny that he liked what he saw, but it was the wrong time for him to be distracted by the female form.
He tailed you again, right up to when you got into the parking lot of a strip club named Treatz.
Armando sat there unblinking, wondering if you were going there to be entertained or to work. His question was answered when you disappeared through the clearly labeled employee entrance.
The club was set to open just an hour from now.
Perfect.
a/n: This is a series that will eventually have explicit sexual content. It takes place throughout Bad Boys 3 & 4. I hope to fully release it before summer is over this year. Idk how I'll pace it though. Btw, series title is inspired by "Half the Plot" by Lil Tecca. I thought the lyrics and vibe fit. Anyway, what did you think? see you next chapter!
Credit to serxndgifites for the Armando gifs, cafekitsune for the dividers/banners
Can be read as platonic because ya know. Namor is a flirt lmao
AN: Was inspired by @chosentragedy s drawing of Namor helping Jeff dress up and just be an over all proud dad. So now time for some fluffy DILF action
SUM: While people were off to save the world, there was an incident that had left Jeff rather hurt. As one of the few ‘civilians’ that could be trusted you were in charge of taking care of him. Who would know Jeff The Shark was with you? His daddy, of course
Warnings: Canon typical violence, Namor being a number 1 dad, Flirts out the asssssss
“Poor baby. Hurt your fin real bad didn’t you?” You would sooth the poor little land Shark. Poor baby had gotten pretty hurt out there. From what Doreen told you he had jumped into the air to block an ultra pulse. How the hell was he alive?
Don’t worry about it.
You made sure he was as cozy as cozy could be in your living room. Found every pillow you could find, grabbed your softest blankets, and even let him pick out a stuffy to snuggle with. He’s going to have a long recovery ahead, but he’s a brave and strong boy. He’s got this.
He just needed a little hide out to recover in. They figured a civilian would work best. Hard for anyone to find out a little creature like him would be huddled in some humans home. Who would ever be able to find him? Besides maybe like Kraven.
A knock at the door said there was a person who could.
You looked over from the couch, having played a Disney movie for Jeff to enjoy, and tried to think back on if anyone was suppose to come over today. If it was someone like Doreen or Luna they would have texted you so you knew.
You would quickly turn down the TV, and listened again. Maybe you misheard? No, it seems you didn’t. There was another knock. This wine was a teeny bit more aggressive now.
Great. Who would want to see you now? Probably no one good. So, here you are. You were reaching under the couch for the gun that Miss Black Widow gave you. Wasn’t a gun with bullets, this thing shoots plasma bursts. A good way to knock someone out.
Step by step you reached towards your door, with the gun whirling to life. With it on full charge you would yank the door open. The barrel instantly pushed against the persons chest.
“Excuse me-?!” The man blinked, with his hands up at more so surprise than anything else. Who would expect a gun like Black Widow’s pointing at your face in the late evening? Not Namor.
NAMOR?!
“Oh! Sorry your royal Highness! Uh-!” You quickly flipped the safety on the gun, and lowered the weapon down to cool off. Whoops. That’s one way to make an impression.
“What are you doing here? Is something wrong?” You asked, while he more so just stepped right into your home. You didn’t really take offense to it. He’s from a exteremly different culture, and not to mention he’s well…Namor. You have plenty of friends who have socializing issues. A little patience goes a long way.
Before you could ask the question again, you soon saw him kneeling down to Jeff. In turn Jeff made little noises or excitement at the sight of him. He couldn’t move much from the pain, but Namor did it all for him. Laid himself right there on the floor. Didn’t care if he got his tank top and shirts dirty. No sir. Jeff came first. Curled up with him then and there.
He was saying something to the land Shark, but you couldn’t understand it. It sounded like Spanish but it wasn’t? Maybe old Spanish? Pre colonized? Better not to touch a sensitive subject like that. You just knew that Jeff was finally smiling. That’s all that mattered.
You would close the door, locked it, and put the gun away, before going to sit cross legged next to the cuddling pair. To see Namor give such gentle touches to him. Perfectly mindful of the bruises and cuts. Just doing whatever he could to comfort him. Anything to have Jeff happy.
“Looks like someone missed you, your majesty.” You whispered. A means to not interrupt the moment for them. Jeff needed so much TLC right now. Seemed Namor being involved was needed. Little baby was able to smile. He hurt, but he could hurt a little less now.
“Yes. Yes he has. And I to him. He is my little world. He is my little Paal.” He smiled a grin that made you think of Jeff. His teeth weren’t quite as sharp, but you could still see the happiness that reached his eyes. He had been so worried for Jeff. You could tell. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had been hunting him down. You knew people can get attached to Jeff, but something told you this was more than just a cute shark being hurt.
“What does that mean? Paal?” You asked, as you would adjust the blanket that was on Jeff. Help him stay warm since he was a shark that needed warmth. You swore you saw the man’s hand twitch. As if he was gonna attempt to swat you away. Territorial.
“Hm? Ah. It means child. He is my little ‘child’ if you will. My little boy.” He explained, as Jeff gave a weak wag of his tail at such a compliment. There was a tight bond between them. One that could Rival the tether between him and Gwenpool. Now THATS saying something.
“That’s so sweet. A perfect nickname for him.” You agreed, before finally getting up. Welp, you now had a second guest to deal with. No big deal. Jeff was the main priority right now. Jeff clearly was safe and comfortable with Namor. Trusted him enough to curl up into him. That kind of mental relief does more for the body than people can credit it for. Jeff deserved to feel safe.
Everyone does.
You would fill up Jeff’s water bowl, so that he can remain hydrated, and also grabbed one of your larger water bottles for Namor as well. Should you offer food? What would he even eat? Fish as well? Would it be insulting to offer him sardines? Were you over thinking this?
Maybe just communicating with him will solve it.
You returned back over to the smuggling pair, seeing that now Namor was sitting up and leaning against the couch. Jeff was curled up in his lap, having abandoned all the pillows for such a safe haven. Namor really brought Jeff comfort. He was better than a pillow fort even! That’s love right there.
You would set the bowl near Jeff’s head, and then offered your bottle to Namor.
“Oh, thank you my dear.” He would take it from you. You then curled up on the couch and rested your head on its arm. Your arms were under your chin as you looked at the aquatic boys. The intense scent of salt water, sea weed, and something else was deep in your lungs. The third scent was hard to pin point. Maybe it’s just something you’ve never smelled before? He is from the bottom of the ocean. Fascinating.
“Jeff really likes you…..You two just hit it off?” You asked, as you would go to mute the TV for him. To your surprise Namor had the remote, and if anything had turned it up.
You’ll keep his dirty secret of loving The Little Mermaid.
“I suppose so. I’ll never forget the day. Lady Squirrel had come to ask me a question about if I could ‘speak to fish’ for she had a problem with this little land Shark here. Had himself quite a tummy ache he indeed did. Had to reach my arm in there and pulled out a slingshot. She wondered where that was. As the surface people say ‘the rest is history’ hm.”
That didn’t surprise you in the ever slightest. You found it rather sweet. He just shoved his hand in to save the day. No worry about the grossness and the sharp teeth. A shark was in trouble and he thought of their health first.
Why did everyone say he was an asshole again?
“So, is this just you and Paal?” He asked you, as he would keep gently rubbing the sharks head. Little thumb circles to sooth the headaches that were to come. His other hand would bring the water bottle to his lips. Taking in a much need drink.
“Yeah. Just me and the little guy. I’m one of Doreen’s friends. We’re pretty close but the friendship is kept under the radar. So who better to take care of him than a nobody?”
That got a scoff from the king.
“A nobody? Well then, you are a very beautiful nobody.” He would flash those shark teeth of his, and you promptly slapped a pillow into his face. Made him give a huff against the material.
One of Squirrel Girl’s besties is literally Loki. You can handle a sassy and flamboyant man.
“Focus on the child-“ You warned, as he happily did so. Gentle little pets and soft kisses to that big head of his. Got sleepy little mrr’s out of him. Oh you swore you would loose a tooth. Little Jeffy. Oh he saved so many lives and was still kicking. Truly the best boy.
“He is such a strong little shark.” You sighed, as Namor would give a small nod to what you said.
“It is a lonely life, for him. Not many like him after all. He and I relate to such. Land and sea, yet neither welcome us with ease.” He would admit, as he gave a small squeeze of comfort. For himself or for Jeff is for speculation.
“I bet….Well you got each other. That’s one extra person. Right?” You offered that positive view point for him. “-And this whole multiverse time line thing. Endless time lines of people like you guys. Different versions of you even….Wonder how many time lines have you and Jeff close? Endless if you think about it. Endless time lines where you and Jeff find each other. Right?”
That’s a heavy topic to swallow, but it seems he was able to digest it. Smiled even.
“That is a lovely thought, my dear. I like that thought….I hope there is time lines I’ve met you as well.” You rolled your eyes at such a comment. Flirts. Flirts will flirt.
“Pay attention to your child-“ You chuckled, as you would look back to Jeff. How safe he seemed curled up in his arms. Just fast asleep, and blowing little bubbles between his snores. The most relaxed he’s looked since he got to your place.
He needed that.
His little snores were soothing honestly. Like a whale song. You didn’t know when you fell asleep, but it happened. The three of you knocked out cold together. The trio taking a much needed nap all together.
Your hair nuzzled into green hair, his arms secure around Jeff, and that baby shark snoozing away. Little bubbles left to fly into the air, and pop like little stars.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Warning: SPOILERS FOR WAKANDA FOREVER!, war, blood…minor angst, but a happy ending.
The sky smells of ash and fire, colored red with billowing smoke—a distant scream withers in the wind. You do not smile upon your victory, a cost came with the fire of your people. A heavy toll of loss, for both sides as you sit upon the throne of iron. A chair fit for no one… Your finger thrums against the arm, chin lifting as you nod to each passing soldier.
They bow their heads and move along: “Lady Al-at…” You hum, closing your eyes and bowing your head in return. This city was known for its slave labor, its treachery and malpractice—now it is rubble at your feet.
That name no longer belongs to you, it has changed many times throughout your long lifetime. Evolving as religions shifted, allegiances begin and end, and empires rise—only to fall.
In some ways, as you sip your coffee—eyes locked on the beaches edge. You do not seem as prolific to the untrained eye, a young woman—no more than that.
A symphony of praise falls off the lips of mortals, above all else—their goddess Anat does not fail. A pantheon of gods and goddesses affirm their confidences. Yet as you look down on the mortal world below, you do not smile. For the bodies of the beaten and broken, are still chained.
Now you are just Y/N, someone who has lived far too many millennia. Tired of humanities endless cruelty, you begged the world to remember its history, but they never did.
The sweetness of the tart is comforting, familiar to the ones you’ve had before. The sound of waves opening and breaking on the sand, begins to become a rhythmic music.
“Lady Athena…” You look up at the soldier who is both wide eyed and bloody, too young, but still he followed you here with vigor. You imagine too much.
“Yes my child?”
“Did we win?” You nod, swallowing and looking away—trying to push away the image of how he held his insides in with his palm, they won. Yet you were not as proud as you once would be.
Cutting your eyes away, you turn your focus to your phone—mindlessly scrolling through Instagram. The world has changed more than anyone realizes, parts of you have changed with it. Eons of history built into a tiny black screen, and yet, war still continues. It is the only constant, the source of your strength, but their is no glory. No respect. It is as mindless as these screens, unable to tell who the real enemy is.
Echoes of prayers reach your ears, the people of Ireland often empassioned with raw confidence. You were seen as three deities, but you were only one—notably, you recall how war became filled with glory once more. It mattered. For the Irish were fighting for something, and then nothing at all… The same cycle that left you humming along to the prayers. Wishing they would stop altogether.
You often catch yourself wondering: is this it? Is the time of true war with purpose coming to an end? Am I?
Only you remained, the existence of war kept you young—even with your other interests, hundreds with every persona you took on. None of it held a candle to the power war gave you. The sand shifts as the seat across from you is pulled out, familiarity settles in your gut.
“K’uk’ulkan—” You bow your head, having met the Winged Serpent God quite a while back—you were shocked to receive a message from him. An intent prayer directly to you, to meet him here.
“It is I, who should bow to you, Y/N.” He gives a smile, it lifts his cheeks and then drops away almost instantly. “The Great War goddess.” Y/N was your chosen name, the one that was not chosen for you—one that was yours alone.
It silenced the voices, and for the first time since your creation… You were happy to finally be in the dark. To silence the prayers once and for all, maybe you should be thankful. Those prayers gave you life for so very long.
Instead, you welcome the quiet.
“I trust this is not a meeting to compliment me further?” Air escapes his lungs, as he nods—bowing his head a little.
“Perceptive as always.”
“There’s always a catch with you, Namor.” You emphasize the name given to him—the one that mirrors the many you have had yourself. It is the one that strikes fear into people.
“For many moons, my people have devoted themselves to the god, Huitzilopochtli—a name once given unto you.” A name familiar, the sacrifices of the past coming to mind. So much of your worship happened to be tied into blood. What once set you afire, sent you into the dark as you think of it now.
“I know your true name, Y/N and I call upon you one last time, to defend Talokan from the surface.” Something about the request is no longer of interest, it stiffens your resolve and heart to him.
“Do not request such things Namor. As a deity, I have asked to be left alone.” You take another bite, meeting his eye which does not shift. “Do not act above the rest, war is a complicated affair and no one wins anymore.” There is no victory when you’re living in a world of ash.
You stand, dusting yourself and straightening the sleeves of your jacket. “You will call me again, I am certain. But if it is at the expense of innocent blood I will not fight at your side.”
The prayer comes weeks later.
Not the kind hurled upward in desperation or sharpened into a weapon—but fractured, ragged around the edges. It reaches you in the quiet hours before dawn, when even the city seems to hold its breath. You are half-asleep on your couch, television humming softly, when the pull tightens around your ribs like a familiar ache.
Namor does not speak your name this time.
He does not need to.
Talokan answers you as it always has—water folding back in reverence rather than command. And then shielding you in a quiet embrace. Bioluminescent paths bloom beneath your feet as you descend, light brushing your skin like memory. Your feet never touch the sandy bottom, but you walk as if you do. The city is quieter than you remember. No songs carried on the current. No drums. Only vigilance—and pain.
You find him not on his throne, but in a chamber carved deep into stone and coral, guarded by none.
Namor kneels.
Blood—too dark, too much—threads through the water around him, drifting lazily like fallen banners. One wing hangs wrong at his back, torn and scorched, the skin along his ribs split where Wakandan steel and surface fire had kissed too deeply. His shoulders are rigid, pride holding him upright when his body clearly cannot.
For a moment, you simply look at him.
So many gods you have seen fall screaming. So many kings dragged into the dirt by their own certainty.
Namor looks up at you without shame.
“You came,” he says quietly.
“You called,” you answer, already kneeling before him. Your hands hover, not yet touching. Consent matters, even between gods. Especially between gods.
His jaw tightens. “I did not ask you to fight.”
“No,” you murmur. “You asked me to listen.”
At that, something breaks in him—just slightly. Enough that he nods.
You place your hands over the worst of the wounds, and the water around you stills completely. Power does not roar out of you anymore; you learned long ago that healing is not conquest. It is patience. It is remembering how bodies were meant to be before war taught them otherwise.
Warmth spreads from your palms, ancient and careful. Bone knits. Flesh remembers itself. The torn membrane of his wing trembles as it reforms, delicate as a newborn star. Namor exhales sharply, head tipping forward until his brow nearly touches yours.
You stay there longer than necessary.
Long enough for the quiet affection you have both denied to settle between you—unspoken, but undeniable. Two immortals who have watched eras burn, recognizing something gentler and far more dangerous than hatred.
When you finally pull back, he is whole again. Tired. Humbled. Alive.
He looks at you then—not as a god, not as a weapon—but as something closer to an equal.
“Tell me,” he says, voice low, stripped of command. “You who have been named for it… what is war?”
You lean back on your heels, considering him. Considering yourself.
“War,” you say slowly, “is what happens when grief is given armor and told it is righteous.”
His eyes never leave your face.
“It begins as protection. As love twisted by fear. It convinces kings they are gods and gods that they are necessary.” You glance at your hands, still faintly glowing. “It devours the innocent first, then the faithful, and finally the ones who started it—if they live long enough to see the cost.”
Namor swallows.
“There was a time,” you continue, softer now, “when war had rules. When it ended. When surrender meant survival. That time is gone. Now it is endless. Directionless. Fed by pride and remembered only by the dead.”
You look back at him, and there is no judgment there—only understanding.
“War is not glory,” you finish. “It is a wound that pretends to be a crown.”
Silence stretches between you, thick and heavy as the ocean itself.
At last, Namor bows his head—not in submission, but in acknowledgment.
“I thought victory would save my people,” he says. “I see now it would have only buried them deeper.”
You reach out, resting your hand briefly over his heart. It beats strong. Steady.
“There is still time,” you tell him. “For Talokan. For you.”
He covers your hand with his own, fingers warm despite the water.
“And for us?” he asks—not as a ruler, not as a god, but as something far more vulnerable.
You hesitate.
Then, just barely, you nod.
“For as long as we choose peace,” you say. “And not a moment longer.”
The light of Talokan brightens around you—not in celebration, but in quiet resolve.
For the first time in centuries, the war goddess does not feel the pull of battle.
Only the weight of a choice.
The chamber is dim when you wake.
Not dark—Talokan never truly is—but softened, the bioluminescent veins in the stone walls pulsing slowly, like a living thing at rest. The water beyond the open arches moves lazily, currents brushing the room in a steady rhythm that feels almost like breathing.
You are not alone.
Namor lies beside you, close enough that your knees touch, close enough that you can feel the heat of him through the thin barrier of sheets and water-cooled air. His bed is not ornate. No throne disguised as comfort. Just stone smoothed by centuries of use, layered with woven kelp-fiber linens that smell faintly of salt and crushed flowers.
You stare at the ceiling for a long moment, grounding yourself.
You do not sleep often. Not like this. Not deeply. Not without the weight of a thousand voices clawing at your mind.
But here—here is quiet.
Namor shifts beside you, careful, as if afraid the smallest movement might send you vanishing back into myth. One arm rests across his chest, the other bent beneath his head. His wings are folded tight, healed but still sensitive, the membranes catching soft light.
“You stayed,” he says quietly.
It is not a question.
“I said I would,” you answer, voice rougher than you expect.
Silence settles again, comfortable in a way that surprises you. Gods are not meant to be comfortable. You were carved for chaos, sharpened by worship and bloodshed. And yet, here you are, wrapped in sheets beside a king who once asked you to burn the world for him.
Namor turns his head to look at you. Up close, stripped of armor and ceremony, he looks… tired. Older than he lets his people see. Older than the legends.
“They will speak of this,” he murmurs. “Of you being here.”
“I no longer belong to their stories,” you say. “Neither do you—at least not the ones they tell.”
His gaze flicks to your mouth, then away again. Careful. Always careful with you. As if desire itself might be another kind of war.
After a moment, he says, “When I was defeated… I thought it would break me.”
You turn toward him then, propping yourself on one elbow.
“And?” you ask gently.
“It did,” he admits. “Just not in the way I expected.” His jaw tightens. “I have never known what to do with failure. Or mercy.”
You reach out before you can stop yourself, fingers brushing the back of his hand. He stills instantly.
“Neither did I,” you say. “That is why they made me into something terrible. It was easier than letting me be unsure.”
His fingers curl around yours, slow and deliberate, like he is learning the shape of trust.
“I have waged war for my people for centuries,” he says. “And yet… lying here, with you—this feels more dangerous than any battlefield.”
You almost smile.
“Because this requires you to be seen,” you say. “Not feared.”
He exhales, a sound halfway between a laugh and a confession.
“I do not know how to be soft,” he admits.
You slide closer, your forehead resting briefly against his shoulder. “You do not have to be,” you whisper. “Just honest.”
His arm comes around you then, hesitant at first, then firm—protective without possession. You fit there easily, as if some ancient geometry has finally resolved itself.
For the first time in your long existence, no one is asking you to fight.
No one is asking him to conquer.
The war goddess and the winged serpent lie entwined in the quiet aftermath of loss, not as myths or monsters—but as two beings choosing, for one fragile moment, not to be alone.
Outside, Talokan drifts on, unaware that something far rarer than war has taken root in its heart.
Summary: Between Wakanda and Talokan, you transform memories into provocation: photos sent in secret, calculated angles, memories that burn in the distance. Each image breaks K’uk’ulkan’s control, who feels the power—and the desire—escaping like an untamed tide. A queen, a silent game, and a husband on the verge of losing control.
Warnings: 18+ ONLY/ Minors DNI, Angust, Sex, Apologies, Crying, Creampie, Passionate sex, size difference, smut, soft!dom!, slight degradation, unprotected sex (do that wrap this thing), aftercare, curse words, breeding kink.
A/N: English is not my mother tongue. I apologize for any errors.
Work count: 6k
🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊
It wasn't in her nature to be so headstrong—nor so mischievous, daring, or delightfully brazen. That change began almost imperceptibly, during her monthly visit to her homeland: Wakanda . Seeing her family again, the familiar faces, the memories that never ceased to throb, always filled her heart with an ancient warmth. Even though she loved Talokan , loved the weight and honor of being queen, and loved her husband even more, her roots insisted on bowing back home.
With great reluctance, K'uk'ulkan had granted those visits: once a month, for a whole week. Enough for you to exist between two worlds—without belonging completely to just one of them.
Your time in Wakanda was always fruitful. Laughter filled the corridors, lingering embraces took place, and only the necessary diplomatic meetings were held. The marriage had sealed the peace between the nations; though still fragile, it grew stronger year after year. And you, firmly at the center of this delicate balance, remained as queen—always diplomatic, always a bridge between two kingdoms.
It was at that first dinner that his older brother handed him what would later prove to be his sweetest downfall.
A Polaroid. Old, scratched by time.
At first, you almost laughed. The temptation to mock was strong—after all, you had easily become accustomed to the silent luxury your husband offered you. Your brother, however, simply shrugged. He said it still worked. And, with a nostalgic smile, he recalled how much you loved photographing everything: people, landscapes, mundane moments that seemed eternal to your eyes. He even joked about the iPhones you hid in your teens—small acts of rebellion against traditions that, at the time, seemed too big to you.
The night wore on slowly, and dinner began to dissolve into quieter conversations and peaceful farewells. You walked through the hall with gentle smiles, touching hands, receiving goodnight wishes and affectionate words. Wakanda had always known how to welcome you, even now, divided between worlds.
"Rest, my queen," some said.
"Until tomorrow," others replied.
You bid farewell to everyone with the elegance you had learned early on, but there was relief in your shoulders when you finally turned towards the quieter corridors.
Two talokanil guards were already waiting, steadfast and attentive. It was a demand of her husband—non-negotiable. She had accepted with a mixture of resignation and affection; she knew it wasn't distrust, but zeal. They walked a few steps behind, silent as disciplined shadows.
Namora was walking beside him.
She still held the Polaroid camera in her hands, gazing at it distractedly as they walked. Every now and then, she turned the device around, as if trying to understand that ancient artifact on the surface.
"Your brother has curious tastes," she commented, with a slight smile.
"He always had it," you replied, chuckling softly.
Upon reaching the room, the guards remained outside, assuming their positions naturally. The door closed behind you with a soft sound, muffling out the outside world.
You entered first, letting out an almost imperceptible sigh, and walked to the dresser near the window. Without much ceremony, you removed your jewelry and adornments, let down your hair, and took off your heavy ceremonial dress. You put on a thin, pearly-toned linen and silk nightgown that reached your thighs; it was light, short, and comfortable.
The room remained enveloped in that soft, almost golden light, which made the shadows dance on the walls adorned with ancestral symbols. The silence was comfortable, broken only by the distant sound of the city falling asleep. Soft fabrics were piled on the bed, light perfumes still lingered in the air—and you felt, there, a rare sense of rest.
The Polaroid camera now rested between you, as if it had gained weight.
You watched Namora handle it carefully, his firm fingers contrasting with the almost youthful curiosity in his eyes.
“At first,” you said suddenly, breaking the silence, “I thought you would never like me.”
Namora looked up, surprised. "Because she's from the surface?"
You nodded, chuckling softly. “For everything. I was the foreigner. The wife. The bridge.”
She took a deep breath, setting the camera down on the table. “I thought it would be difficult too.”
She smiled slightly. “You represented change. And change is always scary.”
You leaned back, supporting yourself on the pillows. "And now look at us."
Namora laughed, a short, genuine laugh. "Now we're a problem together."
The two laughed, conspiratorially.
The friendship between you two didn't begin easily. In the beginning, there was too much formality, too much distance. You, a surface dweller, surrounded by protocols and watchful eyes; she, a general of Talokan , shaped by discipline and absolute loyalty to her people. But, little by little, small conversations replaced silences. Laughter arose where before there had only been restrained respect. Until trust settled in—firm, unexpected, and beautiful.
“You never treated me like I was fragile,” you said, your voice low. “That… meant a lot.”
Namora tilted his head. "Because you never went."
She picked up the Polaroid again, twirling it between her fingers. “And now… you underestimate how much he would miss this.”
She pointed at you. “You.”
You snorted, laughing. "You talk as if you know him better than I do."
“I know enough,” Namora replied calmly. “Even though he’s a god-king, he’s still a man.”
His eyes gleamed at the analogy. “And men… follow simple instincts. The compass always points to what they love. The spear always seeks the sweetest cocoa.”
You put your hand to your chest, feigning outrage. "You're terribly bold."
"I'm honest," she retorted, smiling.
She stood up and positioned herself in front of him. "Stay there. The light is good."
"Date someone, you're having too much fun with this."
“I am,” she admitted without guilt. “And so are you.”
Clack .
You watched the photo slowly emerge. You laughed as you recognized yourself there—relaxed, carefree, different from the formal queen the world knew.
“He would love it,” Namora said with conviction. “Not as a leader. As a husband.”
You bit your lip, thoughtfully. "What if he thinks it's... silly?"
Namora sat down beside him again. “He’d find it intimate. Genuine.”
He paused and added, with an almost childlike smile, “And perhaps maddening.”
You laughed loudly. "You want to cause chaos."
“A controlled chaos,” she corrected. “One or two, maybe three photos a day. A small gesture. A great longing.”
You sighed, feeling your heart race. "And you promise to help me?"
“I promise,” Namora said firmly. “I deliver. I encourage. I watch the damage.”
You laughed together, leaning shoulders.
"That's crazy," you repeated, but now smiling.
"It's trust," she replied.
And in that room warmed by friendship, loyalty, and easy laughter, you realized:
what began as distrust between different worlds had transformed into something rare—an alliance between strong women, free to laugh, conspire, and care for one another. And perhaps, just perhaps, provoking a god-king was also part of it.
(....)
The great hall of Talokan seemed alive under the light filtered by the waters that fell in slow veils over the pillars of living stone. Currents of bioluminescence intertwined in the columns, snaking like liquid fire. Each breath of the ocean reverberated off the walls, as if the whole world were aware of its presence.
K'uk'ulkan stood erect, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the maps carved in stone. Advisors spoke, presenting reports, discussing borders, resources, signals from the surface. He listened to every word, every pause, every whisper of hesitation. Nothing went unnoticed. Nothing could escape his attention. Each decision carried the weight of generations, each choice was measured as if shaping the future of humanity and the ocean simultaneously.
Still… nothing truly mattered while you were away.
The mere thought of you ripped a tightness from his chest, a silent tension that no battle could dispel. He hated sending his queen away. He hated the distance that not even his spear or his power could bridge. Wakanda might be necessary, diplomacy essential—but the void her absence left burned within him like liquid fire. Each step he took in another world was a wound he endured with discipline … but with pain.
When the hall finally emptied, K'uk'ulkan remained alone. The sound of the bioluminescent currents seemed to whisper his name, reminding him that, even surrounded by power, he was vulnerable to you. He walked to the unfinished mural at the back of the hall, his fingers crossed behind his back. Each line of stone, each carved curve, carried patience, care, and devotion—a silent work made for her, so that she would know, even in her absence, that he revered her absolutely.
Then the water changed.
A talokanil soldier approached, his steps measured and precise, reverence in every movement. In his hands, a simple envelope, carefully sealed.
“ K'uhul “Ajaw ,” said the soldier.
“It was handed over by General Namora. It belongs to the Queen.”
K'uk'ulkan stopped. She was still somewhere else. Not even a full day had passed since she left. And yet… you had thought of him.
The idea ignited in his chest.
Something deep, dangerous, and intense stirred within him—a heat that not even the ocean could extinguish. He reached out and carefully took the envelope, as if touching a living flame.
" Yum" “Bo'otik ,” he murmured. “Thank you.
“ Ma ' a k'áat chi'.” I don't need anything else.
The soldier bowed:
“In wojel , Ajaw .” I understand.
Alone, K'uk'ulkan retreated to the side chamber. There the water was calmer, the light softer, and the silence seemed to envelop him like a blanket. No map, no decision, no report could compete with what was to come.
He broke the seal.
Three photographs.
The world seemed to shrink in size.
In the first photo, you were seated, your pearly pajamas reflecting the water's light in soft, iridescent tones. There were no jewels, no crown, no sign of ceremony. Yet, she was more of a queen there than in any ballroom. Relaxed. Confident. Whole. Personal. Just for him.
On Monday, a sideways smile. Intimate, familiar, devastating. The kind of smile that appeared when she allowed herself to exist without the world, without obligation—just being herself.
In the third, the gaze. Fixed. Direct. Defiant. As if she were crossing oceans just to reach him. Every detail reminded him that she belonged to him, that his compass would always point to him, and that his spear would always seek the sweetest cocoa—the taste of his queen, whom he loved more than any throne or sea.
K'uk'ulkan felt his breath quicken. Each photo ignited something that wasn't just desire, but reverence. His masculinity, his strength, his very essence as a god-king was suddenly deadly in your presence. A single breath from you sent him madness, consumed by the same silent fire that accompanied you.
He traced the edges of the photos with his fingers, almost trembling, reverent. It wasn't just physical beauty. It was presence. It was soul. It was the certainty that, even from afar, she held him, ignited him, consumed him.
You belonged to him.
Not in empty possession, but in total devotion.
K'uk'ulkan 's spear always sought her sweetness, and never missed. His body and heart were aligned with hers. He knew that, however much he ruled seas, battles, and destinies, his queen was his universe, and every gesture of hers pierced him as if it were unique.
He pressed the envelope against his chest, letting the heat invade his entire body, igniting everything that was reason, discipline, and duty. The silent, intense, almost obsessive passion consumed him. Every line, every shadow, every gesture captured in the photos ignited his heart in a way impossible to contain.
The king would return to his duties, to his decisions, to the ocean under his command. But deep in his heart, beneath the calm that everyone saw, burned something alive, tireless, insatiable:
His queen was far away. But she had never been so present within him.
Each of her breaths, even from a distance, was like a flame that burned his reason, his strength, and his very heart. Every gesture of hers bewitched him, every smile ignited his obsession, every glance made him bow before her as if he were a surrendered man.
You were beauty, strength, sweetness, fire. You were his. And he knew that no distance could ever erase that.
The following day was consumed by the obligations of a leader: endless meetings, decisions about borders, resources, and treaties. The advisors talked incessantly, but K'uk'ulkan barely listened. His mind was filled with another kind of anticipation, a silent fire burning within: the promise of another envelope, another fragment of his queen.
When the messenger finally approached, he extended his hands almost instinctively. The god-king's heart raced with anticipation. Each delivery from the queen was like receiving a piece of his own soul.
He opened the envelope.
And he immediately realized that he had made a "mistake".
The images weren't like the first ones. They weren't delicate, nor gentle. They were bold, erotic. Each pose, each gesture, each smile was a silent declaration: you knew the power you wielded over him, you knew the effect you had on his heart, his body, and his mind.
In the first photo, you were lying down, relaxed, elegant, and completely naked. A playful smile lit up your face, and the pose was effortlessly provocative—pure intimacy and mastery over your own image. He felt the heat rise from his chest to his erection just from contemplating you, your strength and beauty.
The second image showed her under the moonlight, in a lake. The reflection of the water caressed her lines with a pearly sheen. He could see her graceful, elegant, almost ethereal silhouette. The way the light touched her skin reminded him that she was a queen and a goddess in herself, and that no throne or mural could contain her essence.
The third photo was even more intense, provocative, brimming with personality. The queen was kneeling, confident, displaying control and power over her own body and presence. Her gaze seemed to pierce the paper, penetrate his mind, challenge his discipline, and seduce his heart. He felt his stomach churn, an almost physical tension. This was the queen he loved: audacious, self-possessed, irresistible, capable of setting his heart ablaze with her mere presence.
K'uk'ulkan pressed the photos between his fingers, taking a deep breath. Each image awakened in him obsession and veneration, desire and devotion. You were beauty, power, and sensuality condensed into human forms—and he didn't need to touch to feel dominated, surrendered, completely consumed. Every gesture of hers, every look, every smile was a reminder that he ruled not only seas and peoples, but also his own heart, given entirely to you.
The next day arrived, and with it, more photographs. This time he opened the envelope alone, and upon seeing that sin in the flesh, he almost came in his pants like a teenager. In the first photograph, you were facing away, leaning over the parapet while contemplating the sunset, and your ass, your beautiful, firm ass, was sticking out.
The second one was even bolder; you were still naked, but looking directly at the camera as you posed beautifully. Your nipples were hard and stiff, ready to be sucked, and your pussy, oh your beautiful, juicy pussy, was right there in plain sight, just for him. K'uk'ulkan licked his lips, eager to suck your breasts, lick your firm abdomen, and devour your beautiful pussy until only a wet, panting mess remained.
The third photo, by Chaac , the third photo, made him let out a groan that was too loud for his liking and his cock ache from being so hard. You were sitting on the windowsill, your hands firmly gripping the edges, your face turned to the sky and your legs spread as if you were waiting, waiting for him.
"Naughty girl." He cursed as he pulled his penis out and stroked it.
Seeing that beautiful pussy with its wet and glistening labia majora and minora, its swollen clitoris just waiting to be filled with your cock. K'uk'ulkan held the base of his penis with his right hand and with his left he held the last photo firmly in his hand, he groaned and writhed, while his hand moved up and down stimulating himself just for you. He moaned softly as the liquid filled impressively quickly, hard and throbbing as he continued rubbing.
" Shit ." The orgasm of K'uk'ulkan takes him by surprise. His legs spread shamelessly as his cock awkwardly spurts onto the hand that's wrapped around his body, lost in the sad illusion that it's his pussy holding him so tightly. He milks it until the last drop. He curses inwardly, but his mind is so confused that he truly cares.
Another day, and three more photographs. The young soldier seemed radiant with the position of official messenger to the queen—something that didn't exist until three days ago, but thanks to you and the effort of letting him indulge in his own lust, he became generous and rewarded the young man.
K'uk'ulkan grabbed the envelope like someone picking up a bomb about to explode, and in a way it was. He still kept the last three photographs and had used them quite frequently in the last few hours. He dismissed the young man with just a wave of his hand, and without delay, opened the envelope only to roll his eyes and sigh at the sight.
That one had been even worse. You . Wearing only one of your cloaks, carefully wrapped around your slender body. The second one, you posed beautifully in front of the mirror with your stiff nipples pointing at the reflection. The third one, by the gods, you. Completely naked. Lying on your stomach with your hips raised, giving him a privileged view of your open pussy waiting for him. His cock throbbed just remembering the heat that your pussy emanated around him.
He had broken down, he couldn't take it anymore. He was... K'uk'ulkan , and he wouldn't be deterred by mere distance and a few ill-mannered photos. He was a patient and refined man, but everything has a limit, and you had crossed all the limits.
" Attuma !" he shouted to one of his most loyal soldiers.
It wasn't long before the great blue beast appeared. K'uk'ulkan didn't turn around, he couldn't; his erection ached, crying out for release.
"Yes," said the soldier, awaiting orders.
"Go to Wakanda and bring the queen back. Now!"
(...)
You hurried out of the water, ignoring the distressed calls of Namora and the other servants, who warned you about the slippery ground and the excessive weight of your soaked dress. There was no time for caution—you needed to see your husband immediately.
The shock still reverberated in her chest from the moment Attuma had appeared in Wakanda , breathless, his eyes filled with urgency, demanding her presence in Talokan without delay. She had questioned him, but he had simply said that they were orders from K'uk'ulkan . Nothing more.
Her restless mind began to weave dark possibilities. Her husband had always respected her time in Wakanda ; he had never summoned her in such haste and desperation. No further explanation was needed. You simply followed the great blue warrior to Talokan , without even having time to say goodbye to your family or organize your belongings. Your entourage followed close behind, trying to keep up with your hurried pace.
"Stay calm," Namora pleaded, following her closely. "You could get hurt."
"Something happened, Namora." Her voice came out firm, though her heart was in turmoil. "My husband has never seemed so desperate."
You arrived at the cabin and paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, as if you needed to gather strength before crossing that invisible door. Then you turned to face her.
"Go. Leave me alone with him."
"My queen..." Namora began, hesitantly.
You stared at her.
"Something serious and private happened. He didn't even want to share it with Attuma ." You sighed again. "Go, Namora. Dismiss everyone. I'll call if I need anything."
Namora simply nodded in agreement. If you hadn't been so consumed by despair, you would have noticed the malicious smile hidden beneath the breathing mask she was wearing.
As soon as you stepped through the door, strong hands grabbed your waist and kissed you. It took you a fraction of a second to realize who it was—your husband. He devoured your mouth, taking your breath away, forcing his tongue inside, and you awkwardly reciprocated. He pulled away, and you breathed a sigh of relief.
"My beautiful wife," he murmured, pressing her waist tightly. "I think we have something to discuss."
You tilted your head innocently.
"What happened?"
He stepped back, resting his hands on the edge of the table, circling you. His gaze slid over your body, the curve of your neck, the fullness of your breasts, the slope of your waist. The dress, though wet and heavy, gave him a privileged view of your silhouette.
He turned you around abruptly, you let out a little gasp of surprise, he moved your head until your gaze was down at the table. At the photos you had sent him.
You swallowed hard.
"How audacious," he murmured in her ear. "A beautiful and scandalous display, indeed."
He slid his hand over her waist, pressing her buttocks even harder against his erection.
"Feel it, my beautiful wife. Feel what you do to me."
And then he turned you around again, leaned in, and captured your lips with his.
A moan escaped her throat as he pressed his tongue against her lips, the kiss hot and passionate. His free hand slid down the curve of her waist, gripping her thigh and wrapping it around her hip.
"You were very naughty, my love. Teasing me for days right under my nose," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her jaw, and then another, slowly sliding his lips down the back of her throat.
"Do you know how many times I've gotten excited thinking about your vagina, or those sweet, tempting lips around my cock?" He bit the sensitive spot where your neck met his shoulder and you moaned.
His hands gripped your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the table, spreading your legs and settling between them.
"And to involve a young messenger? That's cruel. What did I do to deserve such a vengeful and cruel lover?"
You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. "Are you saying you didn't like it?"
His fingers danced over your cleavage and, without delay, he ripped the dress. He tore the wet fabric off like a sheet of paper, leaving you in only your sheer panties. Your breasts sprang out with the action and he wasted no time; he held the soft flesh in his hands, massaging, kneading, squeezing until you gasped.
He hovers over chest, his breath sliding across her warm skin until he leans in to kiss her soft flesh. He cupped one of her breasts in his hand, gazing at her face as his thumb brushed her nipple. She gasped sharply, her mouth opening and her hips closing.
Moans escaped his mouth and their hips rubed together eagerly, his hard cock rubbing against wet center.
"Don't stop." You moan. "Please don't stop."
He alternates between breasts, using his hand to tug and twist your neglected nipple. You feel your stomach tighten and your breath quicken. His tongue swirls around your nipple before letting his teeth gently graze the turgid tip, biting softly. He is immediately rewarded with a sweet sigh.
He steps back momentarily, looks at you with glistening lips, then returns to your breasts.
"I'm going to devour you, wife," he purred, leaning in and trapping a firm nipple between his teeth. You whimpered, arching your back. Your fingers tangled in his hair, your nails scratching his scalp as he kissed, licked, and nibbled at the curves of your body.
" K'uk'ulkan ," you moaned softly as he knelt, parting your thighs and licking a warm, wet strip against the fabric of your panties.
He pressed his thumb against the moisture that was already seeping out, then intertwined his fingers at waist, peeling the delicate lace down thighs, leaving it tangled at one ankle.
"Tão linda", suspirou ele, beijando a parte interna de suas coxas, seus lábios subindo cada vez mais.
You gasped, your head falling back as his mouth found your pussy, his tongue sliding between your slits, a low moan vibrating against you.
Your hands tangled in his hair, holding him close as he feasted on you. You moaned, writhing as his tongue swirled around your clitoris. Your legs trembled, threatening to give way, but his firm hands held you tight. He groaned against you, the vibrations sending another pulse of pleasure through your body. He inserted two fingers inside you, moving slowly and deliberately, as if he had all the time in the world to undo you. His tongue moved, teased, circled, lifting you only to pull you back just before you could give up the edge.
His fingers curved just right, and his mouth returned to her clitoris, sucking hard enough to make stars explode behind her eyes. The spiral in her belly tightened, so tight she thought it might break.
That was all it took. Your body arched as pleasure washed over you, a muffled moan escaping your throat as the orgasm consumed you. He held you throughout, absorbing every shiver, every sigh, until you trembled in his arms.
Only then did he pull away, his dark, hungry eyes as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He placed a lingering kiss inside her thigh before rising to his full height, his body hovering above hers.
"You're so sweet, my love," he whispered as he showered kisses on her thigh. "Completely broken. And yet, we're not even close to being over."
You barely had time to catch your breath before he lifted you into his arms, his legs instinctively wrapping around your waist. He carried you effortlessly toward the padded reed bed in the corner of the hut, laying you on the bed and turning you over, face down with your bottom in the air. The position of a prostitute, and you couldn't be happier.
He stood at the edge of the reed, removing his gold-plated vibranium ornaments with slow, deliberate precision. "Tell me," he said, letting the large necklace slip from his shoulders. "Was all this worth it?" His eyes gleamed as he untied the ties that fastened his loincloth. "Because now, I'm going to make sure you remember exactly why you shouldn't mess with me."
You bit your lip, unable to contain the moan that escaped your lips as his palm slid across your buttocks, massaging and squeezing. He pressed his hips against yours, letting you feel the length of his hard cock through his pants.
You pushed yourself against him, rubbing against the bulge, your body aching with anticipation. You whimpered, burying your face in the sheets. You felt the heat spreading through your body, desperate and needy. And then the firm, burning heat of his cock as it settled between your thighs, the thick head teasing your vagina, covering itself in your arousal. He groaned at the wetness clinging to him, the way your body pulsed with need.
"Please," you whimpered, wiggling your hips.
He made a tsk sound , a dark laugh vibrating in his chest. You screamed when he finally entered you, his cock stretching you impossibly. Your toes curled, the delicious burning sensation of being overfilled all at once. He let out a low groan as he plunged in, his cock buried in your tight, wet heat. He gripped your ass, his fingertips digging into your skin, and began to thrust slowly.
He quickened the pace, his hips slamming against hers, the wet smudge of skin against skin echoing through the room.
"That's my good girl," he praised, tightening his grip, his hips quickening, fucking you harder.
You screamed, his cock hitting you deep inside, a series of moans escaping your lips. He let go of your hair and leaned over, supporting himself with one hand, the other trying to squeeze your ass and give you another hard slap.
You came, a cry of pleasure escaping your throat as you climaxed, the fire inside you roaring through your veins.
"That's it," he groaned, his hips slamming against yours, pushing you even further into the mattress. You shuddered, pleasure overwhelming you as the world melted away.
He shifts, pushing himself deeper inside, and with a brutal thrust he reaches that special spot inside you. Trembling and crying, you finally come again all over his body and the sheets, your orgasm hitting you so intensely that your vision blurs.
"Aqui está você. Me fazendo de bobo como a boa puta que você é." Seus dedos cruéis continuam a apertar seus quadris, esmagando sua carne. Ele te fode com força, com movimentos desajeitados e brutos, enquanto busca seu próprio prazer.
It's only a matter of seconds before he comes inside you, driven to the edge by the thought of finally filling you with his cum. His cock throbs inside you, and then the heat fills you as you sigh. You've never felt so full.
Your legs are now sore, your hips are sore, and your poor, completely wrecked pussy is the kind of pain that deliciously penetrates the skin all the way to the core, but you can't suppress a moan when he takes his hands off your hips and his cock out of you. Your body collapses onto the sheets. You were a complete mess, just a shadow of what once seemed to be a queen.
“Look at you,” your husband murmured, you were still lying face down, barely able to look at him. “It seems your audacity is limited to scraps of paper.”
You sigh. And with great willpower, you propel your body to stand. You turn around, still seated on the reed, only to find him still naked. Your eyes briefly scan your husband's sculpted body; his well-defined chest, thick arms, and muscular thighs. His limp penis lay still glistening with arousal. With courage, or perhaps stupidity, you dare to say:
“My audacity was enough to drive my lord, my husband, crazy.” You crawl through the reeds to him, kneeling until you are face to face. “Remember that it was you who took me from Wakanda, desperate to fuck me.”
His hand slides down her neck until it finds her scalp, where he squeezes lightly and tilts her head.
"Don't mess with me, girl. I can be very cruel when I want to." He places a kiss on her neck. "Do I need to remind you how ruthless I am?"
You sigh as he places wet kisses on your sensitive skin. His lips burned like hot coals.
“Yes.” You plead. “I need you to remind me how ruthless you are. I have far more where those came from.”
He stops kissing you and stares intently at you.
"Where are they?" You feel the grip tighten and you smile, loving to tease him.
"You received them, husband. Periodically, as I had planned. I still had a few more days in Wakanda , but your longing made me leave there far too hastily."
"You need to give them to me," he says, or rather, orders.
"You will receive them, my love," you say. "When and where will be up to me to decide."
He lets out a cold laugh, knowing he was completely lost.
"What a cruel creature I have by my side. The gods are punishing me by placing something so seductive and daring beside me."
You approach him and kiss him.
"You love this."
He let out a low laugh, and then with a sudden movement you were lying on the reed again and he was on top of you. He held you down beneath him, his eyes burning with desire and lust, his erect penis already clamoring for attention.
"You, my taster," he growled, his lips capturing hers in an intense kiss, "will pay for every provocation."
You simply smile, letting the feeling show in your eyes, before giving him another passionate kiss. This time, the kiss is slower and longer, as if the world around you disappears. Your lips meet delicately and intensely at the same time, allowing you to fully taste his mouth, feel the warmth of the contact, and the silent complicity that forms between you. It's a kiss that speaks without words, full of affection, contained desire, and a tenderness that makes the heart beat faster. You pull away, only to flutter your eyelashes and smile shamelessly.
Summary: K’uk’ulkan to eat your pussy and try to get you pregnant (+18)
Warnings: 18+ ONLY/ Minors DNI, Angust, Hurt comfort, Sex, Apologies, Crying, Creampie, Passionate sex, size difference, smut, soft!dom!, HEA, good ending, slight degradation, unprotected sex (don't do that wrap this thing), curse words, breeding kink, Namor loves to eat pussy
A/N:One day I was browsing reddit and I came across an interesting term "PILLOW PRINCESS" which refers to a person who only receives sex. I simply became obsessed with it! And I imagined myself being the little bird of the water daddy who only wants to receive sex and he, like a benevolent god, was willing to give it to me without hesitation. I hope you enjoy the delirium of a writer.
A/N: English is not my mother tongue. I apologize for any errors.
Work count: 2.113
🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊
Your body landed on the piles of pillows and cushions under the wet wooden reeds. You made sure to smooth out the hand-embroidery done by your servants, all to avoid looking at him.
“You’re beautiful, little bird.” He says, his voice coming out in a soft, sensual purr. You quickly catch his hidden message, a subliminal way of saying he wants to eat you.
In a single movement he throws himself at you and pulls you towards him, his lips rising to your chin and then, the kiss. His hands cup your cheek as his tongue penetrates your mouths. He tasted like honey and salt. It was intoxicating, it made you want more and more.
His hands left your cheeks to support his weight on his palms. He was getting bolder by the minute. He was still busy devouring your mouth and stealing your breath when he maneuvered his pelvis to meet yours. You broke the kiss to moan when you felt his hardness, protected by his checkered thong, slam into your wet, covered pussy.
“Do you feel it, little bird? Feel what you do to me.” He whispers in her ear, as he rubs their sexes together. “You, my little bird, can bring this God to his knees.”
“ K'uk'ulkan ” you moan. He continues the movement making you wet.
He slides one hand between your bodies and pokes your pussy over your panties, his fingers sliding up and down, teasing. But he was greedy and impatient. K'uk'ulkan was a man who enjoyed the sensual dance you engaged in before he penetrated you with his cock, but today he just wanted to bury his face between your legs and drown in your cum.
He pulls his finger away, and you protest, only to scream in surprise when he pushes his body up to kneel between your feathers. He places your knees around his waist, leaving you open, and then rips your panties in one motion. You gasp as you feel your pussy exposed. It was wet, so wet. It took little for your K'uk'ulkan to make you gush like a waterfall.
Then he goes for the final blow. He thrusts two fingers deep, sliding effortlessly past your lubricated lips. Your knees buckle, your eyes roll back, and you scream too loudly. K'uk'ulkan groans along with you, he moistens his lips with his tongue and speaks:
“Always so tight.” He sounds hungry. “My little bird can barely take my cock, but you’re a good girl, aren’t you? You always manage to take it.”
You lift your torso a little just to see his long fingers sliding in and out. His thumb brushes against your swollen, neglected clit, and you fall back against the pillows. He fucks you with his fingers and presses your clit in circular motions; K'uk'ulkan has always been good at multitasking.
“God...” You gasp as he presses against your G-spot.
“Yes! God.” He murmurs. “Pray to me, little bird. Ask K’uk’ulkan to cum.”
“I need to cum. Please, please, please. K'uk'ulkan , let me cum...."
He doesn't let you finish your prayer as his thumb speeds up and his fingers inside your pussy are pressed with more intensity. This is enough to throw you off the edge. Your lower abdomen tingles, starting from the tip of your foot to your head, and then you explode. You come, screaming and crying out for him. He continues to stimulate you as the intense pleasure runs through your body. He only stops when your body falls, relaxed, onto the reeds and the relief of tension perspires across your skin.
He pulls his fingers out and your pussy gushes with your excitement staining the sheet below. When your senses return to your body, shame bathes your senses as you realize how wet the blanket was. You realize he was smiling. The bastard was smiling after giving you pleasure and humiliating you by shamelessly exposing how good he was at making you cum. The wet sheet was proof of how that man knew how to handle your pussy.
“Beautiful,” he growls. “I will keep this sheet forever, little bird. Maybe I will hang it up to see the result of my love for you every day.”
“Stop it.” You beg in a weak voice, perhaps from shame, perhaps from pleasure.
K'uk'ulkan barely gave you time to think as he made sure to rip the thin fabric that covered your torso, he got rid of all the cloth leaving you completely exposed to him. You were planning to protest because he was still dressed - with his thong and jewelry and you were so naked. He pulls away, lifting your leg with ease and resting it on his shoulder.
“Fuck my face while I eat you, my little bird.”
“Yes...” Is the last thing you say before he puts his mouth on your pussy.
You thread your fingers through his soft, thick hair. K'uk'ulkan groans and licks your sensitive clit; the wet sensation makes you flinch slightly from the sensitization of your previous orgasm. He grips your hips and looks up at you briefly in a clear warning, "Don't walk away from me." And so you do. Your hips move forward, not as smoothly as you would like, but your lover seems to like it. Your wetness coats his lips and stains his beard with each movement of his hips, and you feel that heat building in your core.
“Oh... ah....! ” You don’t bother to formulate a sentence with his lips and tongue so good in your pussy.
K'uk'ulkan 's hands press harder on your hips, encouraging your movements, then move up towards your right breast, squeezing and groping the soft flesh and lightly pulling on your nipple. Your heart pounds in your chest as your moans turn into needier sounds. You briefly hear a groan from him as he eats your pussy, he was having so much fun fucking you so hard that he left you on the edge of the cliff. You are squirting. You scream when he uses his tongue to play with your clit.
Then the sensation comes again, but this time stronger, more aggressive. It’s as if the entire body has become skin. Each touch reverberates deeply, like a note tuned to the limit between control and abandonment. The breathing loses its rhythm. Time slows down. Everything concentrates on one point—hot, pulsing, urgent. A wave comes. First soft, almost shy… then intense, invincible. It’s as if everything physical expands in an internal glow, a sweet tremor that spreads in spirals inside. The muscles contract, the chest heaves, the eyes close—sometimes with a sound, a sigh, a moan that escapes without asking permission. And then… comes the peak. The world stops for a moment. A burst of pleasure, release, raw and complete vulnerability. Then, relief. A smile. A warmth that lingers.
He pulls out of your pussy with a wet pop. You spurt with excitement, leaving even more obvious traces of your cum on your sheets.
“Sweet little thing.” He wipes his mouth slowly as he crawls on top of you again. “Now, my little bird, I’m going to fuck you. I’m going to leave my cum deep inside you.”
You were still floating in your sweet haze of pleasure, barely able to assimilate what came out of his lips. Your distraction was so great that you barely saw him take off his thong and jewelry. When some sense – and dignity – returned to your body, your eyes could only see his large, long member; hard, rigid and dripping, crying out for attention. His cock briefly pokes your belly, leaving a trail of his excitement. Your mouth exclaims a curse when your pussy easily accepts his cock.
Thanks to your excitement, he slides in easily. But there was still a small discomfort inside. K'uk'ulkan was big. Even after so many years and so many nights of love, adjusting him could be slightly uncomfortable, but it was an discomfort that you welcomed with happiness. Even the pain he caused turned into pleasure. You curse as you adjust yourself to him. K'uk'ulkan barely gave you time, grabbing your soft thighs and keeping your legs wide open for him.
“It’s so big.” The words are out of your mouth before you can think. “So big...”
He smiles. He always smiles. He reaches out to cup your face like a false symbol of pity.
“You can handle it, my little bird. Your pussy was made to take my cock and your womb to carry my children.”
“Yes, God, yes...” and then the words are replaced by moans and screams of pleasure as her lover begins to penetrate her.
You could feel it deep in your cervix, your walls vibrating around his rock-hard cock that hit every sensitive spot. Your toes curled and your eyes rolled back; that damn feeling was taking over your body. You were going to cum again. K'uk'ulkan 's cock was thick and heavy, hitting every crevice. You felt the pressure deep inside, more intense upwards, hitting right at that spot that made you gush with pleasure. Small moans mixed with screams and meaningless babbles of pleasure.
“Cum again, my girl. Cum on my cock. Cum for your God.” He sighs, thrusting with desire this time.
You sob, you cry, you moan, unable to contain the wave of excitement that pours from your cunt. K'uk'ulkan doesn't stop fucking you, until your pussy clenches around his cock, your back arches and your breathing becomes ragged. You come, screaming for him, crying out, begging for him. Your body relaxes and a sudden wave of sleep washes over you. Coming three times had finished you off.
Suddenly your lover pulls away. You feel empty with the sudden movement and were about to protest – even though you didn’t have enough strength to do so, since he hadn’t come yet. He pulls back slightly, without saying a single word, he puts his hands on your waist, and without much gentleness turns you onto your stomach. Before you can say anything, he puts his hands on your waist again and pulls you up, placing you on all fours.
Your back arches, your hands support your weight and your thighs open to receive him again. A heavy hand slaps your right ass cheek hard . You scream. He laughs. Bastard. You can't see what he's doing behind you, but his cock slides back into your pussy.
“Kan, cum inside me. Deep inside.”
The moment those words leave your mouth, a hand grabs your hair and pulls. You are forced to look up at the low ceiling of the hut and the paintings on the wall made by K'uk'ulkan . His thrusts become sloppier and more aggressive as he rides out his own release.
“Ask, little bird... ask for my cum.” K'uk'ulkan hums and you moan louder with his violent thrusts. “Ask for my baby. Come on! Ask for it!”
"Yes yes yes ...” You babble nonsensically. “I want...I want your babies. Give them to me, K'uk'ulkan .”
The sound of your pelvises grinding against each other became even louder. His movements became erratic, he fucked you without shame or care. It hurt, but it was a good pain. Deep down - maybe not so deep down - you loved how aggressive he was when he was about to cum; thrusting his cock deep into your pussy until he spilled all of his cum without ever wasting a drop.
“Take my seed, little bird. Carry my heir.” He hums loudly. With one last hard thrust he spills himself inside you. He groans and risks sloppy thrusts to ensure nothing is lost. With the last drop spilled inside you, K’uk’ulkan pulls away and collapses, exhausted, beside you in the reeds. You gush with your arousal and his mingling inside you. Your body slumps; tired, satisfied, fulfilled. Stickiness drips down your thighs and you feel glad for it. The room smells of thick, intoxicating sex.
Aside from the body spasms, you barely noticed how quiet your lover was. When you turned around you noticed that his eyes were closed, his back was rising and falling in a calm breath, his once hardened penis lay softened and glistening with your lubrication. You smiled and allowed yourself to rest next to him, because your lover was insatiable and after the brief nap he would want to eat you again.
The main thing here is that the Rainbow Serpent was the being who brought water to the land and the Aboriginals. So like- another serpent based water diety???
I am incredibly sorry for this long post/Request. I would very much look forward to either or if you so choose to do them.
If not it's fine! I just got a little excited finding someone recent who might post for namor ;-;
- Sincerely, 𓅬
Sex Pollen: Namor x Fem!Reader
Author's note: Heyy! TYSM for this request and I'm hype asf to write it! Also: requests are open but I want to write more for shuri
Warnings: SMUT, mentions of kidnapping, cursing???, badly translated Yucatec Mayan, implied consent, yandere Namor???, mentions of blood and choking, sort of br33ding?, I think that’s it
Summary: you belong to the surface world until one day, Namor doesn’t allow you to.
Translations: “Yaan wáaj u ma'alob?- will it/he be okay?
Má in woojel- I don’t know
Má tin naátik- I don’t understand
yaan u yantal jump'éel k'iin meyaj tu yéetel.- it/he will have a day working with it
“kin éejentik”- I agree
Waves crashed against the chamber as the rain poured from the sky. You had always known what that meant: Namor was in the middle of a battle. The last time it was this bad, he fought a water serpent across the Atlantic but something about this time felt different.
Namor had captured you a while ago during a raid against a nearby beach villiage. You had been visiting family when all of a sudden, waves began to crash against the shore and a man with winged ankles approached you:
“Who are you?” You asked
“I go by many names, my people call me “Kul’k’ulkan” but my enemies call me Namor.” The man answered
Your breath became ragged as he came closer
“I don’t want you to call me the former, princess” he said. His voice was as smooth as butter.
“Yeah me neither” you whispered
“Then come willingly. This place is no good for you” he declared
You couldn’t believe your ears. This random water bird man came from the ocean just to ridicule your home and attempt a kidnapping.
“I’m okay. My life and my family is here” you said modestly
A flash of anger came over the man’s face before it was replaced by faux confusion:
“What family?” He said.
Before you could look back, he dragged you under the water. All you heard before your breath caught out was the sound of an explosion and screaming that sounded like your mother’s.
From your recollection, that happened two weeks ago. Since then, you had been caged in an under water cave, having people with blue skin treat you like a queen, while Namor comes once a day to see your face:
“You’re acclimating I trust?” He said, raising an eyebrow
“I hate you, bring me home!” You protested
“Your home is here, mi amor. Everything up there is polluted. Keeping you up there would be like letting a flower stay in a garbage bin.” He said gravely
“Please” you begged
“I cannot do that princess” he said before walking away.
That was two days ago and you hadn’t seen him since.
You heard the frantic footsteps of Attuma and Namora and their hushed whispers:
“Yaan wáaj u ma'alob?” You heard Namora say. You started picking up bits and pieces of Yucatec Mayan for Namor ever since you had been kidnapped. You understood however that this couldn’t be good.
“Má in woojel” replied Attuma.
“Má tin naátik” said Namora incredulously. Almost as if she was sure something was supposed to happen
The cold breeze flushed against your skin which made you let out a sneeze. That one sneeze caused Namora and Attuma to turn around and look at you, before turning back around.
“yaan u yantal jump'éel k'iin meyaj tu yéetel.” Namora said while looking at you. You didn’t know what she was saying but you knew it was directed at you.
“kin éejentik” Attuma said before walking away with Namora.
Your skin began to crawl as a sense of impending doom washed over. Something didn’t feel right about this whole situation.
Suddenly, loud pats on the ground echoed throughout the chamber as Namor began shouting,
“How could you let this happen??” He shouted
“I-I didn’t know it had reached you, Ku’ul’kan” said one of Namor’s guards
“My skin…it’s on fire. I need someone, anyone” he said before his eyes landed on you.
His usual brown and regal gaze had turned into something more sinister. His eyes felt like endless pools of hunger and thirst that could not be quenched without the touch of someone else.
“You.” He pointed with his staff
“Me?” You questioned playfully
“Here. Now” he pointed to the ground in front of him
One of his servants dragged you by the arm out and dropped you at his feet. He held his blade to your neck
“Do you want to live?” He said gravely
You gulped and said:
“It would be nice”
Namor’s eyes flashed red with rage. You spoke out of line at a time when he could kill anyone for looking at him funny.
His breath became ragged as his boxers tightened. A growl escaped his lips and his words fell like dumbbells:
“Take her to the chamber”
You were scooped up and thrown onto his bed. It was adorned with jade jewels and seashells, propped up high off the ground, and was stuffed with pure white feathers. Drapes covered the mattress as a way of feigning privacy though they were sheer.
You had heard screams coming from Namor’s room for the past two weeks but you didn’t know who they were from. Part of you envied whoever it was but another part of you feared how loud those people screamed.
Namor walked into the room, presence booming louder than a war drum:
“Remove your clothes” he said, voice dripping with power
You stood confused. Confused as to where the audacity came from and confused as to why he was asking you this:
“I won’t ask again” he demanded
You did as you were told. The salty air hitting your breasts with a chill.
Namor closed the distance in two strides, grabbing you with his strength and throwing you onto the mattress. You bounced as you landed and he quickly followed, fumbling with his boxers:
“Get them off of me!!” He yelled, like an animal begging to be freed from chains
“Yes, sir” you said instinctively.
You obediently took off his boxers and his cock sprang free, dripping with anticipation.
“Open your mouth” he ordered, pulling your hair into his big fist
You did as you were told and he pushed himself inside of your mouth. You gagged as his length filled your throat and tears pricked your eyes as the surprise washed over you.
His hips snapped in and out frantically. You could feel how desperate he was for relief in the way he pushed himself inside and out with such force. Lewd sounds escaped from your lips as he continued filling your throat.
“Fuck, you’re perfect” he breathed. His speech slightly slurring from pleasure
You could manage a few more sounds before he pushed himself so far inside your throat you almost couldn’t breathe. A loud, lewd moan escaped from Namor’s lips as warm liquid began to pool in your throat.
He pulled out carefully, his eyes still frenzied. Your lips still connected to him by strings of spit and cum. He looked at you before saying:
“Open your legs”
You did as you were told, looking up at him through big eyes.
You felt a hand slide across your throat and him pushing himself inside of you with a deep groan. His lips found yours as he began to rapidly use you. His free hand steadily held your leg as the other stayed flush against your throat:
“Mmmm need.” He said. His eyes closed and his mouth searching for relief in yours.
Your legs shook as his size filled you just to be taken out and pushed back in. You felt like a doll compared to his massive size. Tears still falling from your eyes from the sheer size of him, you breathed out a few moans before scratching his back.
It seemed that was like adding fuel to the fire as he let out an even deeper, louder groan. You felt blood pool on your nails as his grip on your throat got tighter. Vision blurring as sounds of your mixing bodies permeated the room.
After what seemed like eternity, he pushed himself into you with such force that his hips stuttered and you felt a deep filling sensation. He groaned tightly and let out a breath that filled the room. You felt yourself reach your high as his hand slid down to your clit, rubbing small circles as he continued to grip your throat.
“Come for me, princess” he whispered in your ear, gruffly
You did as you were told. A wave of pleasure washing over you like the tide on a seashell. Legs shaking as if you had climbed the highest mountain and body sweating like you had ran a marathon.
As your breathing slowed, his arm found your waist and he collapsed, saying:
“Thank you, mi amor. I came across a mysterious substance on the surface that made me feel intensely aroused.”
You breathed a giggle and said:
“I guess the surface isn’t all that bad, huh?”
He let out a small chuckle before pushing his head against yours and replying:
Summary: You are a hostage of the god-king, and he decides to make you the origin of his entire dynasty.
Warnings: 18+ ONLY/ Minors DNI, Angust, Sex, Apologies, Crying, Creampie, Passionate sex, size difference, smut, soft!dom!, slight degradation, unprotected sex ( do that wrap this thing), aftercare, curse words, breeding kink. Dark!Namor. Namor with baby fever
A/N: English is not my mother tongue. I apologize for any errors.
A/N: I went back! And to celebrate my return, here's a story about the dark water father
A/N:It's my birthday!! To celebrate with me, here's this story about the water daddy.
Work count: 6.300
🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊
The icy wind kissed your skin, raising goosebumps on every exposed inch. You could have worn more clothes, covered your arms and legs—but he didn't like it. He was impatient. He demanded less fabric and more skin. And for that, you hated him a little.
The cold sea at night was excruciating. For him, nothing changed. You even objected once, murmuring about how the wind bit your skin as you waited for him. The look he gave you was enough to silence any further attempts. So, like a good little lamb, you began going to the seaside in the early hours, wearing only a too-short, almost translucent dress, jade necklaces adorning your waist, hair loose in the breeze.
Your feet followed the path to the water. You shivered as the cold foam reached your heels. You released the small shell and watched it drift away. You waited. And waited. And waited.
He emerged from the water. Beautiful. Ethereal. Like a god coming to claim what was rightfully his. You stepped away, your back to him—part of a now-familiar ritual. He followed you. He always followed.
You climbed the porch steps and opened the wooden door. He stepped in close behind. You took a deep breath, inhaling the salt and musk scent he exuded. It was good. Exciting. Damp. You turned and smiled—like you always did. This time, he smiled back. He rarely did.
“Hi,” you said in a whisper.
“Hi,” he replied, his voice firm.
“You took your time this time.”
He walked around the small room, examining the photographs on the table: smiling faces, happy moments from a life that seemed so distant. Now, everything was about him. For him. Only him.
“I know,” he said. “Ruling a nation takes a lot out of me.”
“I see.” You didn’t understand, but you said it to comfort him—as you always did. He stopped and stared at you.
“I need to ask you something,” he said, approaching.
You hated it when he talked like that. He didn't ask. He demanded. And you could never refuse, not when you depended so much on him.
“Of course,” you replied automatically. “Ask, and it shall be done.”
He smiled, showing all his teeth.
“Good girl. My good girl.” His hand rested on her cheek and caressed it. “My battle with Wakanda opened my eyes to something frightening.”
“What would it be?”
“If my spirit were to meet my ancestors today, Talokan would have nothing of me. Nothing. It would be vulnerable to invaders from the surface.” His hand slid to the back of her neck, tightening its grip on her hair. It wasn't painful, but enough to keep her trapped. “It made me realize I need to start a dynasty. I need heirs to protect what I love most if I'm gone.”
Your heart raced. You knew exactly what he was getting at.
"I need you, my girl. I need you to close your mind and open your womb to me. Receive my seed and let it grow strong. Be the fertile soil of my lineage."
Your body froze. You couldn't. Not under these conditions. Prisoner of a god-king, at the mercy of his whims. Your breath faltered. Your blood ran like fire through your veins. A child would mean eternal imprisonment. You took a deep breath and, with a trembling voice, tried to escape.
“We’ve been together for three years. You always... come inside me, and I’ve never conceived. Maybe I can’t.”
He smiled—not that gentle smile, but the cynical, cutting one. You knew it was a lie. He gripped your hair, tilting your head. You grabbed his wrist, trying to ease the pressure.
“You’re young and healthy, my love.” He leaned close to her ear. “We just need to get rid of that contraption in your arm. And I’m going to do it. Even if I have to rip it off.”
“Please,” you begged, breathless. “I’m just a woman from the surface. Your people would never accept a child of mine.”
“Silly detail.” He smiled. “They’ll accept it. If I order it, they’ll love it.”
“Lover...”
You tried to argue. In vain. Begging never worked. He always took what he wanted, ignoring your wishes.
“Is that what you call me? Am I your enemy? Is the father of your children your enemy?” He growled, tightening his grip on her hair.
"No no..."
“Good girl.” He released her hair and caressed her face. “Now come on. Let’s get this damn thing out of your body.”
You hesitated ... but your feet already obeyed, moving on their own, submissive, like puppets guided by hands that weren't yours. You were no longer inside your own body—only the mold he'd sculpted with time, fear, and desire. As you walked across the wooden floor, each creak beneath your footsteps felt like a lament coming from the depths of your soul. And it was there, between one step and the next, that you sank into the bitter reflection of your own misery.
So young—still with a newborn soul—she was called a prodigy. She entered university before her breasts even appeared, before she could understand what it meant to have a body. Then came the government job. Then… him.
The memories of the moment you met him seemed shrouded in a dense fog, as if the memory had been ripped away with cruel delicacy. Trauma? Or had he poisoned your memories with some kind of charm, hypnosis, domination? You didn't know—and that hurt more than any answer.
Only echoes remained: fragments of innocent curiosity, smiles offered with affection, promises whispered in a language that seemed sweet before turning to poison. After that… darkness. Like a forest overtaken by fog where each tree is a distorted reflection of something you once were.
Your family? You remembered them because of the photographs he'd given you. But even those images seemed fake now. You wondered: were they really your memories... or just memories he'd allowed you to have?
The small scar on her arm was the only concrete clue to the woman who might once have existed. The device… you knew it was there. But how had it gotten there? Was it before… or after? A protective measure? A demand from her mother? A final gesture of autonomy?
You asked yourself these questions in the rare moments you still dared to think. But you already knew you would never find the answers. Because now… you were just a shadow of what you might once have been—if you were anything more than a vessel waiting to be molded.
A shell with borrowed memories.
A busy body.
A name that no longer meant anything.
You walked to the bedroom as if each step were taken with someone else's body. Your consciousness watched from afar, separated from your body, a prisoner of itself. The sound of his feet behind you—wet, firm, possessive—filled the silence like a tribal beat. The wood floor creaked under the weight of inevitability.
The room was plunged into darkness. The candles lit at the ends cast flickering shadows on the walls, like specters dancing around what was about to happen. You stopped beside the bed. You didn't dare sit up, or speak. You just waited. Waiting had become your silent language.
He approached from behind, his fingers tracing her spine with the lightness of someone who knows he's in control. Her hair stood on end again, not from the cold, but from the defensive instinct her body insisted on activating—even as her mind pleaded for escape.
“Let me see,” he murmured.
Her hand trembled as she pulled up the sleeve of her dress, revealing the thin scar on her left arm. Discreet. Invisible to many, but not to his. It was what protected her. A simple device, implanted by friendly hands, that suppressed her fertility. A last thread of autonomy.
He looked at the spot with disdain, as if it were a personal offense. As if each month without conception were an affront. His finger passed over the spot, and for a second, there was a reverent silence. Then, the outburst.
With restrained strength, he grabbed her arm, bringing it to his eyes. The smell of salt and fury mingled with the sweat that now beaded on her skin.
“You lied to me, my girl,” he said, too calmly. “You lied with your mouth and with your body.”
You tried to pull your arm back. He wouldn't let you.
"Please…"
He didn't answer. With a swift movement, he cut and pulled. The pain came fast, searing—as if a piece of you had been forcibly severed. You choked on your own scream. You fell to your knees. Blood gushed. He hadn't been gentle at all; he'd cut too far and too deep.
The sound of your own blood dripping was too loud. The pain came dull, hot, a wave of red running down your forearm where he had ripped away, with divine fingers, what was yours. The cut hadn't been clean. There was no precision, only will. And his will always hurt. You fell to your knees, dizzy, the world spinning around you as if the ground were sinking. Blood ran in thin rivers, staining your pale skin and mingling with the tears you no longer noticed as they began to fall.
It was then that he knelt too. Namor. The god-king . The warrior who split empires in half.
Kneeling before you.
“ Shhh … it’s okay now,” he whispered, his voice deep as the sea before a storm. One of his hands, still damp from the ocean salt, touched her injured arm. Warm. Strong. Resolute.
You shivered. Not from pain—not anymore. But from something deeper, more confusing: that moment when a predator caresses its prey after a blow. When love disguises itself as care, and the victim forgets, for a second, that they're bleeding because of him. With slow, almost tender movements, he tore part of his own robe and wrapped the fabric around the wound. Blood darkened the blue silk, staining the throne's insignia with his suffering.
“You should have told me, my girl,” he said, tying the cloth tightly. His fingers pressed, knowing just where to press to stop it but not hurt too much. “Hiding something from me… hurts me more than you know.”
You tried to say something, but your throat burned, dry of words. So you just looked at him. A look that said it all: You hurt me. You hurt me more than this cut.
But he didn't see it. Or he pretended not to see it.
He finished the bandage and ran his red-stained fingers through his disheveled hair, brushing away the strands that stuck to his sweaty forehead. That touch. That gesture. It was almost sweet. And that was what hurt the most. Because a part of you... wanted to believe in that sweetness.
He tilted his head, and for a moment, his face was too close. You could smell him—salt, iron, and something ancient. His eyes shone with something between adoration and possession.
“Look what they did to you,” he murmured, as if he himself weren’t the executioner. “Fragile. Broken. But I will fix you. I will make you whole again. And this time… mine alone.”
That sentence pierced her flesh like a needle. Because you knew: what he called "cure" was just a new form of imprisonment. A gilded cell. A womb sealed with promises. He took her by the shoulders and, with superhuman ease, lifted her. Her feet floated for a brief moment, not touching the ground. He laid her on the bed with the reverence of someone offering sacrifices to the gods—even though he himself was one of them.
You felt dizzy, feverish, empty.
“Rest, my girl,” he said, sitting beside her. “Tomorrow, when the sun rises, your body will finally be free.”
“Free.” He said that word as if he never knew what it meant.
You closed your eyes, your arm throbbing beneath the soaked cloth, and whispered to yourself, Maybe I need to bleed out to remember who I am.
(..)
You woke up like someone rising from an abyss.
He couldn't tell if he'd fallen asleep or passed out. His body felt too light, but his mind… felt heavy. Everything was a blur, as if time had melted away overnight and memories were slipping through the cracks in the mattress.
Pain was the first thing he knew for sure. A slow, deep throb in his left arm, as if something inside still insisted on remembering what had been ripped out. The cut no longer bled—not openly—but the sheets spoke volumes. Stained dark red, stiff and dry in some spots, still damp in others. A silent signature of the violence that had occurred.
You turned your face with difficulty and saw him there.
Namor. Lying beside you.
He slept on his back, one arm folded over his head, the other resting loosely, almost touching his waist. His chest rose and fell with absurd calm, as if the world weren't in ruins—as if he himself hadn't caused the ruin.
His serenity was an affront.
You stared at him for long seconds, trying to make sense of what you saw. That face... so beautiful, so sculpted, almost celestial. How could something so divine carry such power to destroy? How could it love and wound with the same hand?
She felt lost. More than ever. It was as if she were living another woman's life. One who was desired, yes, but used. One who belonged, but owned nothing. Not even herself.
You slid your fingers down your abdomen, feeling around as if searching for something. You didn't know what. Maybe traces of who you used to be. Maybe a sign that there was still something there that belonged to you. But everything felt contaminated. As if every part of you had been marked by him.
“Are you awake…” his voice broke the silence, hoarse and warm, like the morning breath at the bottom of the sea.
You shivered. You didn't answer right away.
He turned and leaned closer, leaning his weight on his elbow. He smiled. That smile that confused tenderness with power. His dark eyes held the gleam of a man who believes he's saving the world—even as he consumes it.
“I took care of you,” he said, gently touching her face. “You slept soundly. It was a bit much for your body … But you were strong. As always.”
His thumb caressed her cheek, a touch so tender it almost made her body forget the pain it had caused hours before.
"Tonight is a special night, you know?" she continued, whispering, as if sharing a secret with a lover, not a prisoner. "Full moon. The gods will be watching. Blessing. They will listen to our bodies… and hear my request."
You looked at him as if you were watching a man about to offer flowers to the grave he dug himself.
He sat on the edge of the bed, gently held her bandaged hand, and kissed her fingers, taking his time. The touch of his lips was warm, intimate. Unacceptably gentle.
“ Tonight, my girl… I want you clean. Purified. Whole. I want you ready.” He smiled, his eyes shining feverishly. “I’ve prepared something special. A bath with salt from the Talokan caves , sacred seaweed oil, and hot stones. It will ease your pain. It will open your body. They will sense your openness.”
You felt your stomach churn, but your face didn't move.
“Why are you doing this to me?” her voice came out small, fragile, almost childish.
He tilted his head, as if the question were strange.
"Because I love you. And you belong to me." He brought his lips to her forehead and kissed with a slowness that seemed ritualistic. "And because you were born for this, even without knowing it. To create the future. To be the mother of my dynasty."
You closed your eyes and held back your tears. Because if you cried now, he would think they were tears of emotion. But they weren't. They were tears of grief. You were lying next to a man who believed he was creating life…
But all he did was slowly kill his own.
You sat up in bed with effort. Your body still felt heavy, as if carrying more than flesh and bone—as if your soul were being dragged along with it. Your feet touched the cold floor, and your toes ached as they gripped the worn wood. The morning silence was broken only by the sound of the sea, always there, always calling, like a memory that could not be forgotten.
He approached without a word, helping you to your full height. His hand rested firmly on your waist, as if the mere act of touching was already asserting dominance.
“Come. I want you to see what I have prepared for you,” he said softly, but with unspoken intentions.
Walking beside him was like crossing a minefield. With each step, fear and wonder intertwined within you, difficult to distinguish.
The bathroom was in the back, separated by a wooden door carved with ancient symbols, circles, and intertwined serpents. Pushing it open revealed a space that seemed to exist between two worlds.
It was rustic, but not shabby. The walls were black stone and greenish coral, and the ceiling was openwork, allowing natural light to filter through in golden shafts. In the center, a tub carved from volcanic rock steamed gently, filled with warm water. Ceramic bowls were scattered on low tables, scented candles lit, and herbs dried on hanging ropes.
He turned to you with a look that mixed reverence and desire.
“May I?” she asked, but the question was just a pretense. He was already beginning to undo the laces of the dress that barely covered her body.
The garment slipped from her shoulders, and his fingers ran over her skin with the familiarity of someone who believed they had a right to everything. He felt her shoulders, the curve of her back, the sides of her breasts, as if checking to see if the object was still intact. His touch was careful, but not gentle. It was possessive. Ritualistic.
You tried not to react.
As she stepped into the water, the heat enveloped her like an embrace that wasn't her own. She let out an involuntary sigh. The pain in her arm eased. Steam rose, caressing her scarred skin.
He watched her. Standing, his dark eyes fixed on you like a predator contemplating its offering. The desire in his gaze was restrained, but present. Dangerous. Almost sacred. With calculated delicacy, he began pouring ingredients into the water:
“ Iximte , sacred corn leaves,” he said, throwing handfuls of crushed leaves. “For fertility. So that your land, your womb, may flourish.”
You just stared at him. It was hard to hate him in that moment. There was something pure in the way he spoke of his culture. He seemed to believe it was all beautiful. That he was doing something right. And you found yourself asking—a question that tugged at your heart: Was that what made me love him? The way he was passionate about his heritage? His burning faith in something greater than himself?
He continued:
" Balché ," he poured an amber liquid into the water, releasing a sweet aroma. "It's an infusion used in mating rituals. It connects body and spirit."
Then he took small greenish crystals and threw them around the tub:
“Chak Lu'um ... red clay from Talokan . The ancients said it removes what is dead within us.” His eyes locked with hers. “You must let die what prevents you from flourishing.”
You sank a little deeper into the water, trying to hide your breasts, your body, your soul. It was all too much. The scent of the herbs, the heat, his gaze, the hidden pain in your arm. He knelt beside you, watching silently. Then he dipped a linen cloth in the hot water and gently wiped it over your shoulders, your neck, your collarbone.
“ Tonight... you will be light under the full moon,” he whispered. “The gods will see in you the mother of my lineage.”
After the bath, he wrapped her in a white, almost ceremonial cloth. The water was still running down her hair as he sat her on a stone bench and, with almost surgical precision, removed the makeshift bandage from the night before. He cleaned the wound with a warm tea, blew gently on the skin as if calming a flame, and applied a new bandage with braided linen ribbons. This time, clean, firm. Caring for you seemed part of the same ritual.
You didn't speak. Neither did he. He pulled your hand and led you to the balcony.
There, a carved wooden table awaited. Two chairs, also carved, adorned with snake and spiral motifs. The table was set: small plates of corn tamales stuffed with fruits and seeds, toasted pepitas, slices of pure cacao with chili, and a glass of fermented balché . All this faced the vastness of the sea, now glistening in the morning sun.
He sat down and motioned for you to do the same.
"Eat," he said. "They are sacred offerings. The ancients said the body must be nourished before it can be consecrated. Corn strengthens the flesh. Balché sweetens the blood. Cocoa..." he smiled, "awakens the instincts."
You picked up a nugget with trembling fingers. Light. Small. But it tasted like something that didn't belong to you. Across the table, he ate slowly, as if everything was in balance. As if this morning were perfect.
And you? You chewed in silence, the taste of the past stuck in your throat.
And with the terrible certainty that, that night, the sky would be too bright…
And the gods would have their eyes open.
Night fell like a slow veil over the house.
The sea wind blew warm, carrying the scent of salt and something ancient. The large window in the room remained open, as he had instructed, and the full moon spilled its liquid light onto the stone and wood floor. It was a pale, silvery light, almost sacred. Almost complicit.
You stood barefoot, clad only in a light white fabric that streamed down your shoulders like mist. The cloth danced in the wind, and your skin—once so scarred by pain—was now merely warm, sensitive, waiting for the inevitable. The room was silent except for the sound of the sea. And then... he walked in.
Namor walked toward you like a feline who knows every step of its territory. His body covered only by a sash of dark fabric, adorned with jewelry made of bone and jade. His hair was damp. His skin was slicked with scented oil. His eyes were filled with something more than desire—it was devotion mixed with possession.
“My girl...” he murmured, as he approached from behind.
You didn't move. You just felt it. The heat of his body. The electricity that trickled from his palm as it rested on your waist, firm, like an anchor.
“The moon is full.” His voice slid down her neck like a warm breeze. “And as beautiful as you.”
Your eyes were fixed on the moon's reflection on the ground. Silver. Untouchable. But he was there, touching you with fingers that didn't tremble.
“Do you feel it?” he whispered, pressing his lips to her ear. “The gods are here. They are watching. They know who you are. What you are destined to become.”
His other hand moved slowly up your stomach, as if holding something delicate, alive. It moved up, circling the side of your breast, but didn't rush the touch. It simply sketched. It studied. As if you were sacred territory.
“They want you to blossom,” he continued, low and soft. “They want you to let fear die. To let the legacy be born.”
You closed your eyes, your body wavering between the cold of fear and the heat of touch. It was wrong. You knew it. Something inside you was screaming. But another part... silent... gave in. Not out of love. Not out of pleasure. But out of exhaustion. Out of a desire for peace. Out of a desire to resist no longer.
“Do you love me?” you asked, your voice fragile, almost invisible.
He paused for a moment. Then he slowly turned his body, making you face him.
“I love you more than the sea loves its own fury.” His eyes were sweet abysses. “I love you as the gods love their offerings. Because you are this…” he leaned his forehead against hers. “…a gift the world has given me. And I will protect every part of you. Even from yourself.”
You swallowed, your heart beating so fast you couldn't tell if it was escape or surrender. He cupped your face in both hands and kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips—not hurriedly, but reverently. The kiss was warm. Slow. Velvety. A prayer. His hand slid down your bare back, and you let yourself be led to the center of the room, where the cold floor contrasted with the warmth spreading between you. The moonlight spilled over you like a silent blessing, watching.
He knelt before you, as if in devotion. He pulled the fabric down from your body with both hands, and the sound of it falling to the floor was like the trigger of a spell.
“Today, you will become more than a woman ,” he said , his eyes fixed between her thighs, but his face lifted solemnly. “You will be the land where my legacy begins.”
And you...
You let him touch you. Not with desire. Not with love.
But with that kind of sad surrender that happens when the soul just wants to rest. A rupture has occurred within you, but not to free you.
To accept. And it was in that instant that you stopped resisting—not because he won … But because you lost yourself. And under the moonlight, silver as steel, you cried without sound.
The room was plunged into darkness, and the light of the full moon streamed through the window like a sacred beam, illuminating the stone floor, their bodies, and their unspoken intentions. The air was thick and warm. There was a scent of salt, of burning oil from candles, and of something else—something primal, ancient, emanating from him.
His body still ached in spots. His arm throbbed beneath the new bandage, but it wasn't the physical that weighed him down: it was the emotional. The exhaustion of existing between fear and fascination. Between the desire to escape and the desire to belong.
He approached slowly, as if time itself obeyed his steps. The dark cloth covering his hips fell before he touched you, and then he was naked, before you—a sculpted, taut body, with eyes that never left yours. His eyes, those of a hungry god.
“You’re beautiful,” he said softly, pressing his chest against yours. His hand slid from the curve of your neck to your waist, holding you tightly, pulling you against him. “My temple. My offering.”
You felt his erection against your belly. And you didn't pull away. Not because you wanted it. But because you were tired of resisting. Because, somewhere, you still sought meaning in that devotion he insisted on showering upon you. He kissed you. Deeply. His mouth was hot, precise. He didn't ask—he took. His tongue invaded your mouth with cruel calm, and his hand moved down, cupping your buttock, squeezing with dominance. You let out a low sound, somewhere between a moan and a whimper. And he smiled against your skin.
He took her by the waist, his delicacy belying the fire in his eyes. He guided her to the soft floor, where cushions and fine fabrics were spread out like a makeshift altar. Silk, linen, and cotton mingled beneath her body, enveloping her like a sacred bed. She lay down, feeling the cool, smooth texture of the fibers against her warm skin.
The evening light filtered through the gaps in the flowing curtains, golden and warm, bathing her bare skin in almost ethereal reflections. Every curve of her seemed to glow—her shoulders, her belly, her hips—as if the sun itself were touching her in reverence. The glow caressed her breasts and highlighted the soft contours of her waist, making her seem like a living sculpture, made of heat, flesh, and light.
He hovered over you, his eyes fixed, absorbing the sight with reverent silence. There was no rush. There was fascination.
“Let me... make your body the beginning of our lineage,” he murmured.
His hand found her breasts, his thumbs caressing her nipples, which were already hard from anticipation, the cold, or the ache of being there. He sucked one fervently, biting lightly, leaving a hot trail of saliva down the center of her chest. His other hand moved between her legs, parting them with dominance and reverence.
“You’re wet,” he whispered, his fingers dipping between her intimate lips with an almost reverent slowness. “Your body knows. Even when your mind resists… it calls to me.”
You shivered. It wasn't just from his touch—it was from his low, husky voice, which seemed to blend with the heat of the night. A short moan escaped you, involuntary, sincere. He smiled with his eyes, as if receiving a secret.
“Tell me, my girl...” he begged, his fingers moving with mastery. “Tell me what you feel. What you want.”
The silence was heavy, but your body spoke—in your legs that gave way, in your goosebumps, in the way your breath was lost in the air. He didn't need your response in words. He felt every subtle contraction, every involuntary tremor. Desire was an ancient language between you two—one he knew well, like someone who knows the way even with their eyes closed. Your gaze met his—and there was something more than surrender there: it was conscious surrender.
“You don’t even know how beautiful you are like this… given over to the light,” he said, his voice low, almost a prayer.
Her hair spread across the fabric like a dark veil, her lips parted in anticipation. And he descended, bracing himself with his arms on either side of her, never breaking the moment, as if he were about to inhabit something sacred.
He leaned in close, brushing his lips against the corner of her mouth, breathing in with her. “You’re mine,” he murmured, as if it were an ancient truth.
He knew how to touch you, how to stimulate your pussy until it was nothing but wet, sensitive flesh. He was skilled, stimulating your swollen clit and your g-spot simultaneously, and he smiled as you writhed with pleasure.
“Oh my god!” You cried out as he pressed your clit hard and moved his fingers faster.
“That’s it… let it come,” he whispered against her skin, his fingers delving deeper, soaking, dominating every beat of her pleasure. The wet sound of his movements was lewd, too intimate—and for that very reason, utterly irresistible. Her body arched involuntarily, her hips seeking more contact, more friction, more of him. Each thrust of his fingers was precise, as if he’d mapped every nerve ending, as if he’d been born for this—to discover you, to tease you, to possess you.
He brought his lips to your neck, leaving a hot bite in the curve between your shoulder and throat, and you moaned again, louder, more surrendered. You felt on fire, melting inside. His breath was coming in ragged pants now, his desire almost as wild as yours.
“Look at me,” he commanded, and her eyes searched his, clouded with pleasure. “I want to see you come. I want to see your soul escape through your mouth.”
You gripped his shoulders tightly, your nails digging into his skin, trying to hold back the wave that was building inside you like a raging sea. He felt it. His voice was a dirty, sweet promise. “Come for me, now. I want to feel everything.”
And then your body shattered into spasms, your inner muscles contracting tightly around his fingers. A hoarse moan tore from your throat, uncontrollable, as your body shook in seemingly endless waves. He didn't stop. He only slowed his pace, riding you on the tide of your own ecstasy.
When the climax passed, your knees could barely support your weight. He held you tightly, tenderly. He kissed your forehead, then your lips, as if sealing a pact.
“You were born for this,” he murmured. “To be mine.”
He pulled back a little, just enough for you to see—and what you saw made your belly contract again, in spasms still alive. His member was there, thick, firm, large. So erect it throbbed, the glans glistening, red, dripping with desire. A drop trickled slowly down the warm skin to the base, and your body reacted as if that liquid had touched you.
“Look what you do to me,” he murmured, his voice thick with hunger, but with that touch of affection only he knew how to inject into the chaos. “You make me so... desperate.”
Your eyes couldn't tear themselves away. The size, the hardness, the way he held the base with one hand, as if trying to control his own momentum—it all burned inside you. You felt a blush creep up your neck, your cheeks burning. It was embarrassment, yes, but it was accompanied by something deeper... an undeniable excitement.
You bit your lip, halfway between embarrassment and impulse. The wetness between your legs grew by the second—and he knew it. He smelled it. The scent of the two of you mingled was already filling the air. And then he positioned himself between your open legs, looking at you as if he saw everything she was: desire, fear, courage, and surrender.
He gripped her hip firmly and, with his other hand, guided his own member to her warm, wet entrance. The tip brushed against her inner lips, spreading the already accumulated liquid, sending a sharp shiver up her spine. He rubbed slowly, savoring the moment when they were both still on the brink, about to cross a threshold of no return.
Then he pushed in—just the head first—and you moaned softly, your body contracting around his invasion. He was thick. Hot. Alive. Your channel molded to him with effort, as if your flesh needed to make room inch by inch. The sensation was too intense, almost unbearable... and yet, good. Good in a torturous way.
“ Shhh ... let... let me,” he whispered against her lips, panting.
Another inch. And another. You arched your body, your hands gripping the cloths. beneath you , his eyes clenched between pleasure and something bordering on pain. But it was a good pain. A hot, heavy pain that throbbed between his thighs like the beat of an ancient drum. It hurt, yes—the muscle stretched, the body surrendered, almost begged—but that pain seemed to have a purpose: to open you up completely. To make you a home for him.
“You’re so tight… it’s like your body never wants to let me out,” he said through gritted teeth, now almost all the way inside your pussy. You bit your lip, a louder moan escaping. And then, in one slow, deep movement, he filled you completely.
You felt everything. You felt how big he was, how he seemed to touch places no one had ever reached. How your body filled and, at the same time, lost itself. It was stretching, pressure, pleasure—a pleasure that burned at the edges and left you gasping, as if your own body were trying to adapt to what it wanted most.
“It’s too much…” you managed to whisper, your voice breaking.
He stayed there, buried in your pussy, his eyes fixed on yours. And then he began to move. Slow. Deep. And the sweet pain became an addiction. You felt him coming and going, each thrust ripping the breath from you and returning it in the form of moans and tremors. It was intense, raw, and yet reverent. As if he were worshiping something sacred. And you wanted more. Even when it hurt. Even when your body begged for rest. Because in that pain lived the deepest, wildest, most genuine pleasure you had ever known.
Each thrust was measured, deep, rhythmic. His hips slammed into yours with controlled force, as if performing a ritual. His breathing became heavier, sweat trickled down his temples, and his eyes... always on you. As if he wanted to imprint his existence within yours.
“You are mine,” he whispered. “My queen of the surface. My fertile womb. My eternity.”
And you, with your head thrown back, wept silently. Because part of you wanted to believe it. That you were loved. That you were chosen. That there was something beyond domination.
Your orgasm came like a forced confession. A pleasure taken, ripped from within, as if it were his—not yours. And his came right after, with a deep, possessive groan. He trembled inside you, his hips still pressing, as if to seal his seed with his own strength.
Then he lay down on her chest, panting, and whispered between kisses:
“The gods saw. They know. It is done.”
You looked at the ceiling. The moonlight was in your eyes.
And for the first time…
He wondered if there was still a place inside him that wasn't his.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
tw: afab reader, p links, rough sex, dp, threesomes, oral (fem and male receiving), size kink, anal, breeding, toys, monsterfucking(?), general horniness
! rivals women p links here !
make sure you're logged in to twitter/x to view the links!
ADAM WARLOCK
↪ adam loooooves taking it slow, not even bothering to slip you out of your panties, rubbing himself against your puffy clit. your slick heavily coats his tip, and he indulges you by putting just a little bit of his dick in shallow stokes before pulling out, just to do it all over again.
BLACK PANTHER
↪ it’s like a symphony in t’challa’s ears – the rhythmic clapping of your ass alongside your deliciously sweet moans. the man owns an intergalactic empire, and yet his favorite place ever is right under your body where he can plunge deep into your cute holes while holding you tight.
BLADE
↪ when you feel like taking charge, eric just lays back and enjoys the view. your confident smirk hovering over his face while you set your own pace – slow and deep, just like he likes it. it’s even better when you reach a hand down to help your pussy out in stroking his fat dick.
BRUCE BANNER
↪ bruce is the definition of a munch. this man will press your legs against your stomach and bury his face in your pussy without you uttering so much as a word. lapping at your leaking hole, drooling on your sensitive clit, there’s no doubt he’s in this for the love of the game.
CAPTAIN AMERICA
↪ steve’s entire body underwent a massive upgrade thanks to the super soldier serum, and his dick was no exception. it’s so hard for him to get past the tip inside you despite how badly he wants it :( next time you better slobber over it some more before trying to take on his monster.
CLOAK (+ BONUS DAGGER)
↪ you can’t have tyrone without tandy, whether anyone would want to or not, so why not make the most out of it? you and tandy take turns on his cock, helping each other take as much as you can, the sight of both your faces enough to help him release a thick, gooey load into your mouth.
DAREDEVIL
↪ patroling the streets is hard work, please let matt use your body to take out his frustration! it’s hard enough dealing with the evil in hell’s kitchen, he just wants to have some semblance of control. let him drive his cock deep into you and fuck you stupid so he can feel like he’s doing something right.
DOCTOR STRANGE
↪ stephen still knows how to use his fingers juuuust right when it comes to bringing you pleasure. two digits are all he needs to stretch you out, readying you for his thick aching dick. he uses his magic to create a makeshift cockring that is snug enough to swell his already large member that stuffs you full.
GAMBIT
↪ remy is a kinky motherfucker – sex is always something new with him. recently, he discovered just how much you moan and babble nonsense when he charges a bit of kinetic energy into his cock and drives it into your puckered asshole. a few thrusts in and you’re already begging him to let you cum.
HAWKEYE
↪ as much as he loves the act itself, clint gets a special kind of pleasure right after sex, when he pulls his dick out and finds his cum leaking out of you. he helps you clean up your messy pussy by pushing the mess running down your ass back up to your clit, giving it another little rub with his tip.
HUMAN TORCH
↪ even with all his experience, johnny still finds himself learning about what women like. ever since he found out how quickly you cum when he kisses you during missionary, it’s become like an addiction for him to lean down and make out with you while he drives his cock in and out of your sweet cunt.
IRON FIST
↪ lin is always so eager to do anything with you. sit on his face, rub him with your thighs, take his energetic thursts like a good girl and he’ll make you see stars. it’s not his fault you’re so soft and that your walls squeeze so tight around him every time that he always thinks he’lll cum too fast :(
IRON MAN
↪ only you knew how nasty tony could be. he’d already cum a couple of times, stuffing you full of his thick loads and soiling the sheets. the sight of your cunt taking him completely from behind, cum leaking and lube shining only makes him thrust harder and deeper to see how much bigger of a mess he could make.
LOKI
↪ what good are loki’s clones if he doesn’t use them on his pretty girl? it may take a lot of work to prep you every time to make sure you can take him in your ass and your pussy, sure, but it’s worth it when you moan like a pornstar every time he “accidentally” stuffs two dicks in one hole.
MAGNETO
↪ erik has some tolerance for your bratty behavior, but it sometimes gets to a point where he needs to shut you up the best way he can: using his large size to get on top of you and fuck your body into submission, just rough enough for you to stop your whining and start begging him to cum inside you.
MISTER FANTASTIC
↪ reed is one of the smartest men alive, and he uses this feat to analyze your reactions whenever he fucks you. he memorized the exact spot deep inside you that makes you moan the loudest and let out the most obscenities, focusing that one spot to drill into and overstimulate you.
MOON KNIGHT
↪ marc gets too into his head sometimes, often resulting in him muttering sweet praises in your ear while he continuously digs his cock deep into your cunt, far after you have already come twice. he doesn’t notice your fucked-out face or the fact that you’ve stopped responding coherently to his mumbling until after he’s buried a load inside you.
NAMOR
↪ namor is used to the royalty treatment as the king of the seas, and his authority extends to his favorite plaything: you. guiding your head down on his cock and stroking it against your cheek, he doesn’t miss an opportunity to remind you of your place and making sure you understand he owns you.
SPIDER-MAN
↪ peter may be too shy to admit it, but his favorite way to cum is after you’ve teased him to hell and back, stroking his cock and praising him for being such a gooood boy. he gets too loud, so be sure to put a hand on his mouth or stick your tongue down his throat to quiet his needy moans while his cum spurts out, tainting your hands.
STAR-LORD
↪ peter fucks you on the pilot seat of the guardians’ ship every time you ask him to. with the way you’re dripping at the thought of possibly getting caught and the quiet, shallow moans you let out as he moves your body up and down on his cock until you cum multiple times, how could he say no?
THE PUNISHER
↪ frank makes love to you in all kinds of different positions, but he always has his thick hands on you. he needs to feel you, to get as close as possible to you during this most vulnerable act to show you what he cannot always do with words: that he fucking loves you and the tight squeezing of your pussy as you milk him dry.
THE THING
↪ ben is HUGE. there’s no way to sugarcoat it, but the already large hunk of a man was only made larger after his transformation. thanks to reed and a specialized condom he designed for your pleasure, you and ben have been at it like horny teenagers every chance you get, making sure all you can think about is your lover’s thick cock splitting you open.
THOR
↪ size queens beware! thor has such a big, heavy cock that you can’t help but put it in your moth first thing when he takes it out his pants. his godliness shows in the way it hangs due to its own weight, like a trophy on display. don’t forget to play with his balls, hot and heavy, prepping the god-sized loads to come.
ULTRON
↪ ultron’s dislike of humanity comes through when he’s playing with you. he’s mean; he uses toys on you before he even thinks about letting you fuck him. hours go by with the vibrations on your clit pushing you to the edge of ecstasy until he takes the toy away completely, reveling in the way your tears flow down your face as you beg him to let you cum.
VENOM
↪ eddie tries his best to be gentle with you, but it’s so hard when he’s got you pinned down, balls deep in your warm holes. despite your incessant cries of pleasure, all he can hear in his head is the voice of a certain alien demanding him to breed her, breed her, breed her. we are insatiable.
WINTER SOLDIER
↪ bucky has been through so much that you take it upon yourself to take care of him. you eagerly do all the work, rhythmically fucking back into his dick with enough force to send ripples through the skin of your ass. he thinks you’re spoiling him with the way you focus on his pleasure first.
WOLVERINE
↪ when logan puts his mind to something, there’s no stopping him. that includes when he sets his mind to your pussy and demands you drop everything to sit on his face that instant. you leak your juices all over his jaw and hands as he alternates between prodding his tongue into your hole or curling his fingers into your soft spot.
a/n:
yeahhh I'm a huge pervert <3 i've been a fan of marvel in general for forever but there's something about the rivals' versions of these characters that make me feral
│ SUMMARY･ﾟ⎯ At Cypress Street Pool, Oscar silently watches Azaria from across the water before Cesar invites her to a birthday kickback, setting the night in motion—drawing Azaria and her friends to Oscar’s house, a place she swears she’s not ready to face.
│ WORD COUNT･ﾟ⎯ adult language, playful banter, taking shots.
THE HEAT WAS already getting to me, but nothing I couldn’t handle. Danica sat in my lap, rubbing her nails up and down my chest as I leaned against the wall inside the pool. It was a warm day, and I decided to come to the pool. Of course, she wanted to tag along with me, but she always did, so that was nothing new. She was talking about something I wasn't listening to. I felt her fingers trail down my stomach, trying to remind me that she’s here, but I could barely feel it.
My mind wasn’t on her; they were on someone else who walked through the gates and was laughing with her friends. Azaria walked with that slow, careless confidence she always had, and that's what turned me on about her. That’s what made me crave her. She didn’t let anyone tell her otherwise, and I found that attractive.
Danica’s touch stopped meaning anything at this point; hell, everything around me faded out.
Azaria stood at the edge of the pool, talking with Imani as the sun hit her skin just right, making it glow. Her hair, her milk chocolate skin, and the curve of her body looked all too good. She threw her head back, laughing at something Samara said, and that sound alone, her laugh, hit me harder than the heat ever did. It’s been years since I’ve seen her, and yet she still moved as if she knew my eyes were on her.
Danica shifted on my lap, putting her head in front of my line of vision. “Babe, are you even listening to me?”
“Hmm?” I mumbled, blinking as I dragged my eyes away for half a second.
“I said that we should go to Miami next month. You promised we would go.” She said, tossing her head back as she let out a childlike whine. That tone had a slight high pitch, one she used only when she wanted my attention or when she felt ignored.
“Yeah, sure,” I replied, nodding absentmindedly, but my eyes were back on Azaria, who was sitting with Samara and Imani.
She crossed her legs, slowly adjusting her sunglasses like she owned the whole fucking place. I stayed and watched the way she leaned into her friends whenever she talked, the way she smiled, and yet she didn’t look in my direction. Honestly, that irritated me a bit because she always felt it when I was around. Danica called my name but it came out muffled and I couldn’t hear her.
“Oscar, who are you staring at?” Danica asked, staring into my eyes.
When I didn’t answer right away her body stiffened as she turned to scan the big crowd of people. She didn’t see who I was looking at and huffed.
“It’s hot.” I sighed, shifting Danica off my lap.
“We’re in a pool.” She pointed out the obvious.
Ignoring Danica I dipped under the pool letting the water cool me off but it didn’t help. If anything it made me feel worse. When I came back up I saw Azaria standing with Imani and they walked toward the shallow end. Hooking my arms on the edge I leaned back against the tile watching the way the water clung to her legs as she stepped in. Azaria didn’t rush or look around nervously; she moved like she had all the time in the world.
Her confidence attracted me to her so much it was one of the reasons why we got together years ago. Honestly it made me think about the times we shared late at night driving in my Chevy Impala under the stars to having sex with the windows rolled down near the beach.
When Danica noticed she wasn’t getting my attention she rolled her eyes and climbed out of the pool. “I’m going to get a drink. Do you want anything?” I could hear the annoyance and irritation in her voice as she talked.
“Nah I’m good.” I replied, shaking my head.
The second Danica walked away I saw my little hermano Cesar sitting with his friends Jamal and Ruby. Those three including their female home girl Monse were always together no matter what.
I whistled, waving him over quietly. “Yo.”
He saw the smirk on my face and grinned. “¿Qué pasa?” Cesar leaned down so he could hear me clearly. ( “What’s up?” )
"When did she get back?" I asked, nodding my head to Azaria on the opposite end of the pool.
"Ayer." He answered, glancing towards her. ( "Yesterday." )
"Cool." I nodded, rubbing my chin.
I stared at Azaria as she continued talking with Ramon and Moises's girlfriends, who happened to be her best friends. My eyes stared at her longer as Azaria fixed her bikini top, making her tits move without a care in the world, and honestly, it made my mouth water. Damn, she had an amazing body. It's almost as if she never changed.
"You're sick," Cesar said, following my line of vision. "She got you fixated, and she doesn't even know you're here."
"Shut the fuck up." I chuckled, splashing my little brother with water.
"No, but for real, what's the move?" My little brother asked as if reading my mind.
Besides Ramon and Moises, my little brother Cesar was the only other person who knew how much I missed Azaria. They were the only ones who knew the impact she had on me and my life; from helping me through the dark and tough times raising Cesar when our father left us, to staying with me at night when I couldn't sleep. There were times when I honestly wanted to end it all, but Azaria talked me through it. She was even there when Cesar had nightmares, screaming for our mother after she died. It was the little thing that made me fall in love with her.
I took my hand and rubbed my chin before speaking. "Invite her to the house."
"What's the occasion?" He questioned, raising an eyebrow, confused.
"Shit, I don't know. Think of something." I said, raising my hand pretending to smack him. "Tell her we're having a kickback tonight."
"Am I inviting Samara and Imani too?" My little brother asked, arching an eyebrow.
"They're always there, so it doesn't matter," I answered, shrugging my shoulders.
Cesar stared at me before a smirk slowly appeared on his face. It was as if he already knew what was going through my mind.
"Orale." He nodded, mumbling under his breath, but I heard him clear as day. "You movin' fast, eh? Even when Danica's right over there?" Glancing over to the concession stand, I saw Danica almost to the front of the long line.
I grinned, shrugging my shoulders like what he said wasn't anything. My chest didn't feel tight watching the light of my life laugh from across the pool.
"Just do it, vato," I replied, waving him off.
“You’re sick, foo.” Cesar laughed quietly, shaking his head.
“Go before she decides to dip,” I muttered, nudging his shoulder.
“Aight, okay.” He said, holding his hands up in surrender.
Cesar stood up and walked away, weaving through people, leaving a nervous feeling in my chest, and a vato like me never got nervous. I leaned against the tile, but I wasn’t able to relax, not with Azaria sitting across the pool and not with the way she hadn’t looked towards me not once. Honestly, that bothered me, but then again, she doesn’t know I'm here. Watching my little hermano approach them, I said a silent prayer to god that she would say yes.
𝐀𝐳𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚’𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕
Samara, Imani, and I were mid-conversation about something random as hell. Suddenly, she stopped mid-laugh, her eyes stared at something or someone behind me. I turned around, following her gaze, to see Cesar walking towards us with a grin on his face.
“Why is he coming towards us?” Imani muttered, rolling her eyes.
“Cesar,” I said flatly, leaning back in my chair as his shadow stood over us.
“Damn, is that how you’re greeting me now?” He asked, smirking as if nothing had changed since meeting him the last time.
“Let’s not forget that you showed up at my house earlier today. Uninvited at that.” I replied, looking up at him.
“Right. It seems like Mr. Cesar used his daily allowance of audacity today.” Samara snorted, shaking her head.
“We're fresh out today, sorry.” Imani laughed, playfully smacking my shoulder.
“Anyway, I invited you guys over,” Cesar responded, ignoring my best friends.
“Invite us to where?” Imani questioned, arching her eyebrow.
“To the house.” The teenager said, crossing his arms.
“Little boy, do you know we will get thrown underneath the prison fucking with you?” Samara asked, scooting herself to the edge of her lounge chair.
“It’s not like that. We’re having a kickback for one of the homies tonight.” Cesar explained, shrugging his shoulders. “You two are no doubt going to be at the house since Moises and Ramon are always there, but I’m asking Azaria.”
“It seems a bit weird getting an invitation from a fifteen-year-old to come to their house.” I clarified, raising my eyebrows.
“It’s not like that. We’re having a kickback for one of the homies tonight.” Cesar explained, shrugging his shoulders. “You two are no doubt going to be at the house since Moises and Ramon are always there but I’m asking Azaria.”
“It seems a bit weird getting an invitation from a fifteen-year-old to come to their house.” I clarified, raising my eyebrows. “It screams pedophile.”
“It’s not like that.” He replied, shaking his head. “You know how it gets everyone’s going to be there.”
I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped my mouth but not because this minor is asking me to come to his house but because I already knew how Los Santos ‘’kickbacks’’ were. Good food, music, liquor, a little of cars showing out, and overall good vibes. Sometimes it turns into a block party but no one dares to call the police to complain about the noise.
“I’ll think about it,” I said, keeping my voice mellow.
Cesar stepped closer as I crossed my legs not in an aggressive way just staying there in a lingering or hovering way.
“You shouldn’t think so much.” He replied quietly, swinging his arms back and forth.
Hearing that Imani immediately shot up in her chair. “Excuse me? Little boy back away and gon’ somewhere.”
“Please don’t make a scene. We’re not trying to get kicked out.” Samara responded, grabbing her arm.
“If he doesn’t leave us alone, I'm gonna make a scene.” Imani snapped under her breath, crossing her arms.
As I opened my mouth to say something I suddenly felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up. It felt like I had someone’s eyes locked on me so hard my skin erupted with goosebumps. My chest tightened as I looked past Cesar around the pool area. When my stomach flipped I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.
“Azaria.” I hear Cesar’s voice pulling me back into reality.
“What?” I asked, looking at him.
“I asked if you're pulling up or not.” He said, crossing his arms.
Before I could say anything a new voice cut through our conversation. Cesar stepped back and saw a girl around my age walking up beside him. She had a cold-water bottle and a red Gatorade in her hand and sunglasses pushed up on her head.
“Hey, Cesar.” She replied, smiling at him.
Cesar straightened a little but I could see the look of annoyance on his face. “What’s up?”
Danica didn’t look at him when she answered while her eyes stayed on me.
“Nothing,” She said slowly, shifting her feet. “I didn’t know you were over here.”
From the corner of my eye I saw Samara sit up straighter while Imani’s smile turned tight. I remained unbothered but on guard, unmoved because I know who she was from how my girls talked about her
I tilted my head slightly. “We’ll see.”
Samara added shrugging her shoulders, “Depends on the vibe.”
Her eyes moved between all of us quickly taking all of us in before settling on me. I looked at Samara and Imani asking if this was the Danica girl they were talking about and they nodded. Oh, so this was the famous Danica who called herself Lady Spooky since she’s with Oscar? Good for her; note to sarcasm.
“Zari this is Danica. Danica this is Azaria.” Cesar nodded, introducing me to this Danica chick.
“Nice to meet you I’m his brother’s girlfriend.” The girl said, nodding toward Cesar. She reached her hand out and I looked at it before nodding.
A laugh bubbled up in my chest and I glanced at my girls seeing they had the same expression. They wanted to laugh so damn bad at Danica trying to assert some dominance but it wasn't working.
“Nice to meet you.” I nodded, smiling sincerely at her.
“How do you know her?” Danica asked, looking at me.
“She’s obviously Imani and Samara’s best friend.” Oscar’s little brother answered nonchalantly, rolling his eyes. “I was seeing if they were coming to the house tonight.”
I don’t know if Imani and Samara caught it but I saw something change in Danica’s eyes. It was something that when someone is insecure with themselves has: jealousy.
“Oh that's interesting I didn’t know.” She annoyingly replied, shaking her head. “Oscar didn’t tell me.”
“Didn’t know my brother had to ask you for permission,” Cesar responded, looking at her.
“Oh damn,” I whispered, looking at Samara and Imani in shock.
In a split second, Danica went from shock to anger to humiliation as she opened her mouth to speak. She saw they had the look on Cesar’s face and stomped away. He shook his watching her walk away and looked back at me.
“So is that a yes or no?” Cesar asked, cocking his head to the side.
“Listen little boy if my girls go I’ll go but if not then I’ll be at home,” I answered crossing my arms.
“Fair enough.” He nodded before walking towards the exit gate. “It starts at eight.”
For a while the three of us sat in silence. I looked at Imani and Samara and they looked at me with an expression of disbelief on their faces.
Suddenly Samara slowly held up a hand as she had a confused expression on her face. “HOLD UP WAIT A MINUTE! Did we just get asked out by a fifteen-year-old?”
I choked on my breath as I laughed and couldn’t stop while Imani threw her head back laughing also.
“OH MY GOD,” Imani guffawed, leaning back in her chair. “Pack it up. We’re done. That’s it for us.”
Samara who looked completely dumbfounded nodded solemnly. “No, literally because if we say yes? Straight to jail.”
“Girl, not even jail,” Imani added in, shaking her head. “The judge is gonna look at us and be like—” She deepened her voice dramatically, “‘No, no… take them under the jail.’”
My other best friend snapped her fingers. “Under it. Beneath it. Buried.”
Hearing them I covered my face, laughing. “Y’all are so stupid—”
Samara stood up, grabbing my arm as she hooked her bag over her shoulder. “Get up."
“Where are we going?” I asked, laughing as I looked up at her.
“To your house,” Imani said like it was obvious. “We need to shower, reset, and prepare.”
“Prepare for what?” I teased, staying seated in my chair.
“For war.” Samara smiled, shrugging her shoulders.
I busted out laughing because of her body language as I shook my head. “Y’all are so dramatic.”
Imani looped her arm through mine, already pulling me toward the exit. “Maybe but you’re about to walk into the house where your ex lives.”
“You guys act like I accepted only to see him.” I responded, rolling my eyes.
“Girl we know you did and we’re not doing casual tonight.” Imani commented, following behind us.
I rolled my eyes, but I was already letting them drag me out.
“Fine but y’all are not taking three hours.” I sighed, looking at the two of them.
“And we will.” Samara replied, kissing my cheek.
“What about it bitch?” Imani questioned, arching an eyebrow.
Laughing we got to my car and I unlocked it. We got in, fastened our seatbelts and I drove towards home. After parking in my driveway, my girls and I got out and I unlocked the front door before we stepped inside. I tossed my keys in the bowl and laughed as Imani pushed me towards my bedroom.
“Where are the guest rooms?” Imani asked, looking around my house.
“I have to admit your house is beautiful.” Samara complimented with a smile on her face.
“Thank you.” I smiled, smiling at her. “There are two bedrooms down that hallway.”
Imani and Samara nodded, walking to the guest rooms to shower and get ready, while I did the same in my bedroom. Turning on the shower, I searched through my closet while the water heated up to the perfect temperature. Once the water felt to my liking, I stripped off my swimsuit that smelled like chlorine and stepped inside, letting the hot water hit my skin. The water felt so damn good that it instantly relaxed me. As I grabbed my body wash, I squeezed a decent amount on my exfoliating glove and started washing myself.
After cleaning myself thoroughly, I turned the water off and wrapped my towel around my body. Walking into my bedroom, I sat on my bed and used my EOS Vanilla Cashmere 24-hour body lotion to moisturize my skin. I grabbed my EOS Vanilla Cashmere body oil and rubbed that into my skin so it was nice and smooth. Once I slid on a pair of black cotton panties before getting dressed in a light blue washed denim cargo skirt, a PLT petite white Jadore racer top, and Air Jordan 4 retro ‘Red Metallic’ sneakers.
“Red purse, white purse, or black purse?” I asked myself, staring in my bedroom mirror. This outfit consisted of white and red with a small amount of black in it. “Red purse it is.”
Before leaving my room I did my hair in a sleek bun and sprayed on my Kayali vanilla perfume and posted a few pics to Snapchat. I walked into the living room I saw that neither Imani nor Samara was ready yet. Sighing I went to the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of Don Julio reposado tequila out of the cabinet along with three shot glasses. Finally, after another thirty minutes, I hear two sets of footsteps walking down the hall.
Samara stopped looking into the kitchen seeing me standing there. “Are those shots I see?”
“Don Julio makes me a fool for you.” I smiled, holding up a shot glass with the liquor in it.
“Say less,” Imani said, coming over to the kitchen counter.
“Here’s to having an amazing night and possibly getting our backs cracked like some crab legs.” Samara cheered, twerking her ass on my counter.
“Oh come on we all know there’s still something there for Oscar,” Imani replied, looking at me out of the corner of her eye.
“Bitch please”. I said, downing the shot. “I'm not thinking about that man at all.”
The liquor burned as it went down my throat, yet it felt smooth. We chatted before taking another shot grabbing our purses and leaving my house. As we walked down my driveway I couldn’t help but think about Imani’s statement about Oscar. Honestly, I was thinking about him but they couldn’t know that, and besides he’s in a relationship with someone else.
a//n: Happy belated juneteenth, i dont really care about father days but I dont want to complety dissapear so here ✧ദ്ദി( ˶^ᗜ^˶ )
Father's Day was something in truth none of you cared about. Ash had no father figure beyond Fezco. You and Fez hardly remember celebrating with your so-called fathers. And when it came to Faye, you were simply too scared to ask. So the day went unnoticed for years until a ginger haired baby came along.
The first few years were spent inside, watching old movies and tv. Adorn in matching outfits picked and preplanned by Fezco. Introducing her to and rewatching favorites with his baby girl. Thanking you for making him a father and drowning your daughter in love. It ended the same, with you and Fez tucking her and Ash in bed before sneaking off to share a blunt.
With everyone getting older, this year you wanted to do something special. For both Fezco and your daughter. And what did the two of them love? Feeding birds, growing plants and watching Little House on the Prairie. A surprise visit to a nearby farm would make them both ecstatic.
But that didn't make it a one-person job. You wanted to execute this in a secretive and well put together manner. You equipped yourself with the one person you knew would make this a success. That being Ashtray. Not only would he be going to a farm for the first with his favorite people.
Ash could surprise his little sister and his big brother.
You considered telling Faye, but there was no way she wouldn't end up ruining the surprise. Or forgetting about it.
Making a plan and fake plan to cover up the real one was the easy part. Getting Fez to agree to the fake plan though, was harder than you expected.
"Uhh, I don't know, I'm tryna stay away from carnivals. Don't want people thinkin' I'm selling with my baby. Either of y'all" Fezco stated honestly.
"No, no, it's one far from here." You assure him. "They have a small petting zoo, I wanted you guys to see the little ducks. We feed them too by hand."
Your excitement makes Fez smile, but hesitation can't help but hold him back.
"I don't know baby, I don't want her getting bit by no duck." he tells you honestly.
A happy huff of air leaves your nose as you smile. It's hard not to chuckle at him, but for the sake of this surprise, you hold back.
"Now you know they don't bite, and they're baby ducks. They see people all the time, so they're probably used to being petted."
In all honesty, you didn't know if ducks bite people. They probably did, but that was something to worry about at the farm.
"I don't know that." he says matter-of-factly "My baby ain't losing no finger to a duck."
A laugh leaves you with no control, and it's clear Fezco's insulted by your making light of your daughter hypothetically getting hurt. He and Ashtray never played or joked about that when it came to her.
"That's not funny y/n, why you laughing ?" Fez tells you in an overly serious voice.
His former "I'm not playing voice" and his now daddy voice.
"I'm not, I'm not laughing." you tell him through the hand that was covering your wide smile.
Well, you were trying not to.
"Yes you are, and I'm gon tell her too."
"Okay, okay, stop. No animal is gonna bite her or her fingers off. Or bite anyone, period." The last word is accentuated with a passion. "We won't feed the animals but we can look at them."
With a tilted head, you look at your lover with a soft, undeniable gaze. You knew that it was less about the animals and more about Fezco wanting to shield your daughter from the world. She was his angel after all.
"You right, but they start acting up we going straight to the car. I ain't risking it."
Getting up from your spot on the couch, you met Fez on the other side. Holding his chin you press a long kiss to Fezco's cheek. Showering him in thank you's. Between peppered kisses and his laughs. While beaming at his response you could still sense his cautious side.
"I love you baby, we're gonna have so much fun." You tell your man before gasping. "I gotta figure out what we're gonna wear."
Parents or not, the both of you loved dressing in matching or complimenting outfits. And being a family had only made the urge stronger.
"What's the color we going with ?" Fezco asks, pulling you into his lap.
He wraps his arms around you and holds you close. Fez's chin finds home on your shoulder and his nose delves into the crook of your neck.
"Hmm I'm thinking blue, sky blue."
"Blue and white would be cute. Yall can wear them bows we got at the store."
"Oh you just reminded me, we need to buy decorations."
"We don't gotta do too much."
Fezco loved to downplay the day. Wanting it to be a celebration of family more than fatherhood.
"Don't worry it's gonna be something light." you lie effortlessly. "Just some balloons, flowers... new shoes, new chain."
The last words leave you quietly yet nothing is missed by your ginger lover. In hopes of distracting the protest you knew was coming from Fez. Your hand finds the side of his freckled face, caressing the man's growing facial hair and jaw.
"Nah nah nah." he's quick to shut the idea down, shaking his head as he speaks.
"Yes, yes, yes." you rebutted simply.
"Save your money baby," Fezco's go-to response when anyone wanted to spend on him. "Matter fact, spend it on mini me."
He leaves your neck only for a moment to speak. Before returning to the safe, well known aroma of your soft brown skin.
"For what ? We both know that little girl is spoiled rotten, and you let her run your pockets like it's her job."
It was true. Everyone knew it. Fezco recognized Marie was too young to really know the value of money. But her smile and innocent "Thank you's" were worth the world. It made the cash feel like nothing.
"Shit it is, yours too though."
"Just this year let me do something special."
It slips out slightly with no realization. Yet he catches it with ease.
"Oh you gon do something special for me ?"
"I always do something special for you."
You answer quick on your feet and nervously look to the side. Hoping his silence was agreement and not speculation.
"Aight baby, do whatever you want." Fezco tells you calmly before pressing a kiss to your cheek.
The afternoon and evening before Father's Day you and Ashtray took time to set up decorations. While the rest of the house played dress up and picked tomorrow's outfits. Eventually of course coming out to join and "help". It started with Ash in charge of the helium tank, keeping it away from Marie and Faye to be specific. But it ended with all of you doing it the old fashion way and covering the floor.
There was something so special about watching him be able to lose his cold demeanor and have fun. Even if it was just blowing up balloons and letters for Marie. It reminded you of your younger years and past holidays or celebrations with your own family. Through a nostalgic lens there were certainly good times. As you grew older though and they grew more infrequent, a lack of care was clear.
With Fezco and Ashtray not necessarily seeming like the celebratory type. You expected a life of casual events and simply letting the days pass. But Fezco apparently remembered and liked your party throwing ways. Encouraging you at the time to continue doing what you were doing if it made you happy. Even shopping around with you and paying for all the ridiculously expensive supplies.
"Life is worth celebrating." he says, rolling up.
You wait in silence for him to add a "sometimes" but Fezco doesn't.
"Yea but not with a like full blow party every time."
"Why not ?" His icy blue irises look up at you for a split second.
"I have no one to invite."
It wasn't completely true, you could invite family and people from school. That didn't mean they would show up.
"You gon be there right ? Invite yourself."
You can't help but roll your eyes and respond dryly.
"Funny."
"I'm dead ass, make a lil invitation card for yourself." He brings the joint to his pink lips, using his tongue to wet it and fingers to seal the paper. "Guest of honor and the hostess."
You watch him in silent amazement. Not only could Fez roll up, he looked good doing it. It took embarrassingly months for you to learn. Even after watching him and Rue demonstrate multiple times. Maybe it was the weed, but his eyes made you nervous.
"And only person in attendance." You added sourly as he lit the joint.
But of course, he always had an answer for everything.
"That makes it even more special though, real exclusive."
You can't help but laugh. Unsure if he was being sweet or just messing with you. You were honestly becoming too high to care. He was right, you could just do it for yourself. But you weren't interested in admitting that tonight.
"Shut the fuck up." you joked, sitting up and taking the joint from his fingers.
"If you do another one imma come. Invite me. Ash too."
"No you won't."
Though it's said with a hazy smile and humorous tone, Fez knows you're serious this time.
"Yes we will."
His insistence is somewhat sweet. Yet the thought of another empty party held you back. You didn't want to keep being negative and certainly didn't want to be let down again. Instead, you just let it go and focused on enjoying your soon-to-be elevated high.
"Okay," you nod, "Imma hold you to that."
"You could do whatever you want. Just pass it when you ready."
You stay quiet simply smiling and rolling your eyes. Catching the ginger haired man clearly having fun with this conversation.
The next morning in the O'Neil house was rather cozy. Waking up to a decorated home on a holiday was nice. Even Grandma Marie's room was looking festive. You wanted Fez to stay in bed and eat his cereal, but little Marie was on a pancake kick. So everyone was up having breakfast and letting Fezco watch his favorite show in peace.
Knowing it wouldn't be long until he was on a farm, like "Little House on the Prairie". You danced happily as you flipped pancakes. Regardless of how graphic the older show felt at times. Today was his day, how he wanted it. So technically everyone's day.
Except Faye's if you asked Ashtray.
"Can I match with you guys today?" Faye asked, chewing her breakfast sandwich.
"Hell no." Ash whispered as he ate his Cheerios.
"Sure. What do you want to wear ?"
Your motherly side took over and you were hoping Ash would take the high road. She had a rather eager ear at times. Knowing and hearing some things she shouldn't. To make things worse Faye had an unpredictable mouth. If she knew, she'd eventually tell.
After eating, you and Fezco worked on dishes, and then with Marie you all got ready. You wore something unlike your own style. A long light blue gingham dress, It definitely screamed more farm than carnival. But Fezco loved it. Dressing his baby girl in a pair of overalls to match mommy's vibe.
"Oh the ducks gon love this."
At the sight of Fez's phone you instantly shift into posing and performing.
"Carnival ready. Happy Father's Day baby."
"Quack quack." Marie added, staring into the mirror with her hands on the straps of her overalls. "Quack quack."
Fezco followed your lead, only it was a light blue and white striped shirt. As always Ashtray kept it simple with a jumpsuit. Before a polo shirt suggestion and the thought of matching with Fez changed his mind. Faye somewhat matched with Marie, wearing a short denim shirt and blue cardigan. Which you wondered belonged to her or your daughter. Lastly Marie and Ashtray gifted Fezco with a new gold chain.
Marie handed him the small box, wrapped with a bow. While you felt gold was more his color. Maybe silver would have gone better with this shirt. Yet his pure appreciation and smile left no room for regret. He quickly let you put it on and thanked you with a kiss on the cheek.
Knowing you wouldn't get away with just giving him directions. You put the location into your phone's GPS and used his to play music on the way there. It didn't take long for the busy streets and buildings to become acres of land with lone homes. Beyond the smell, bugs, and narrow roads. It was so undeniably beautiful.
Pulling up to the gated driveway, you and Ashtray faked confusion well. Having Ash call the owners for "directions". With the sight of a ferris wheel in the distance uphill, it didn't seem like Fez was catching on. But he was growing cautious. You couldn't blame him, beautiful or not this type of area could be off-putting.
"They said we should keep driving up and we'll see an entrance."
"Aight, let's go."
This drive is a much shorter one. Only a few minutes up the road and you could all see the big, bright carnival sign with ease. Excitement fills the car, and Marie is already bouncing out of her car seat. Fezco quickly finds a parking spot, and the whole family jumps out. With a young child it was a joint effort everywhere, keeping an eye on and holding hands with Marie.
Approaching the carnival gates a certain overwhelming feeling consumed you. Being able to surprise and gift your family with an amazing day made you happier than they would ever know. And having Ash play a part in it only made it better. Together you and him pull the gingers aside, covering their eyes with your hands. When Faye notices, she decides to do the same to herself.
With a short countdown, you yelled "Surprise!" in unison, moving your hands and revealing a split path. The carnival on the right was active and loud, demanding attention. But on the left was green as far as the eye could see. You gave him a moment to read the sigh above. Watching his soft blue eyes light up as a joyful grin pinched his cheeks.
"Okay, I promise this is the last surprise today but I-" Fezco pulls you into a hug before you can finish speaking.
None of them could hold back. Marie and Faye jump with delight beside you before Fezco scoops his daughter up. Ashtray smiles in a way that puts his braces on full display, it's adorable to see.
"Surprise baby!" You told your giggling little girl. "Are you excited ? We're gonna go see all the farm animals and the farmers."
"We gon see the horses and-" Fezco happily names off different animals and characters from Little House on the Prairie for Marie.
"What about the ducks ?" Faye asked. "I brought bread."
'Yea... Yea we're gonna go see and feed the ducks don't worry."
"Okay good."
"What do yall wanna do first?" Ash asked, still smiling.
"I wanna ride a horse." Marie exclaims.
"I mean we gotta get down there first."
"We're not walking right ?" Faye questioned.
"No, there's a tractor coming to pick us up."
"Ridin' in style."
You can't help but laugh.
"Yea, riding in style."
"Thank you baby." Fezco's voice held an unmatched sincerity.
"You're welcome, Happy Father's day."
He kisses your cheek and pulls you into another hug, rocking with you before separating.
"I love you y/n."
You let his words linger in the air.
"I love you too Fez... and Ashtray helped me." You point to the blushing boy.
Fezco turns and shifts his attention.
"Thank you Ash." Pulling him into a bear hug and patting his back firmly. "I shoulda known yall was working behind my back."
pairing: Armando Aretas x Reader
word count: 1,045
notes: I apologize for any typos. There are mentions of weapons (guns, knife). This kind of takes place in Bad Boys, it's a specific scene, but then it veers from that. Enjoy the read!
“Zwwaaayy- Looooo,” you sauntered up to him with an arm wrapping around his shoulder. His body tensed at the sudden contact. “I heard that Taglin is about to come into a lot of money, and I want in,” you whispered softly in his ear.
Zway-Lo nods his head slowly, before slowly looking at you. You pat his shoulders before you take a few steps, without looking back you take your knife from its holster around your thigh and throw it precisely in between his legs. “You know how to contact me” was all you said as you walked out of the building.
Zway-Lo: time:00:00 location: Miami Harbor
You made it to Miami Harbor, an hour before the scheduled meeting time, scouting the place out, learning the entrances, exits, and any security. As you were scouting the loading dock, the click of a gun grabs your attention, you slowly turn your head and there he is Lee Taglin himself. “y/n hands where I can see them, I’ve heard all about you”
Your hands slowly make their way up “Good things I hope” you say with a cheeky smile. One that he didn’t take lightly to, he grabbed both your wrists placing them behind your back and zip tied them together, his gun never leaving you, as he looked away to his men giving them silent orders.
You turned your head counting the men, clearly outnumbered you knew you’d have to wait for your opportunity to escape. Taglin turned back to you, a hand grabbing a fistful of your hair “You y/n are just what I needed to sweeten the deal, come on” he says before letting your hair go and pushing you forward.
His gun stayed hovering behind your back, as you all walked onto the loading zone of the harbor “on your knees” he says, “and don’t do anything stupid.” Taglin left, and another man replaced him with a gun hovering behind your head. You knelt there for 20 minutes before everyone had come, you watched as people piled in, you saw Zway-Lo look at you and the men behind him,
But one man had you enticed, he walked in carrying himself with a predator-like demeanor, intimidating to most but intriguing to you. As you analyzed him your head slowly tilted to the side, he was around 5 '10 maybe taller, his skin a deep bronze, and when you realized his physique was strong, muscular, and intense, your eyebrows raised ever so slightly. You could tell just from his haircut and the way he dressed he kept things efficient and he himself was just intimidating.
You watched the clattering of the metal falling, and the money falling to the ground, the exchange from him and Taglin.
“This is what you get to keep” tagline said pointing at the man
“What did you say, we had a deal”
“Renegotiating, oops” Tagline said as he shrugged his shoulders and pulled out a gun pointing it at the man. Taglin’s men shifted all their guns to that one man.
“I’ll even throw in the girl,” Taglin said, as one of the men pulled you up off the ground and shoved you into the man. Your shoulder pressed against the man’s chest, his hand instinctively wrapping around your waist lightly helping you as you regained your balance. Your eyes glancing at him and then to the men behind him. Just as quickly as you high kicked one of Taglin’s men in the head, he pulled his karambit knife and finished the rest of them. “Oops” was all he said.
As Taglin was choking on his blood, the man grabbed his head “come here, look at me” the man pressed the gun to Taglin’s head and boom “ I don’t renegotiate” he said before he dropped the body and stood up. He looked at you, his eyes scanning you. He whistled to one of his men, he whispered something into his ear. His henchmen then lightly guided you to the empty space outside of the loading zone.
You stood there with his henchmen, overhearing the mumbles from the others, you stared up at the stars awaiting his return. You heard his boots as they clunked against the pavement “leave us” he said to the henchmen. You looked at the man, a gulp falling down your throat, up close he was even more handsome, his facial features are sharp, symmetrical, and his strong jawline framed with his groomed goatee, and his freshly cut hair.
He watches you analyze him and says nothing, he walks behind you, and you feel the heat of his body radiating against yours, his height overbearing you. “Relax” was all he said “What’s your name?” you ask ,as he cut the zip ties that bound your wrists together. “Armando Aretas” he says, placing his knife back into his holster.
You turn around facing him, eyebrows furrowed. “Aretas? Isabel never told me she had a son” You look up at him, his eyes returning the confusion, neither of you says anything just looking at each other, gauging the other.
“How do you know my mother?” He breaks the silence. The wind from the sea breezes against your skin, goosebumps forming on your arms.
“She does business with my father, I’m Y/N Ramirez" you say shivering, using your hands you run your arms, hoping the friction warms you up. He notices, and starts guiding you back into the harbor building. “Stay here,” he says. He leaves you instructing each of his henchmen. You watched as a few more of his men appeared and disappeared as they carried the bodies out.
The clunking of Armando’s boots catches your attention as he approaches you. “Come with me” was all he said to you before walking past you expecting you to follow him.
And you did, you stayed a few steps behind him, the gravel crunching against each step you both took. He stopped in front of a motorcycle, and he grabbed his jacket, holding it open for you. You slid your arms through. “Where are we going? You asked. “Somewhere we can talk in private,” he says as he zips you up, he places his helmet on you, before grabbing a spare and placing that one on himself.
to be continued...
a/n: I've had a story about Armando sitting in my drafts for months now, this isn't the one, but every time I reread it, something is missing. So I wrote this instead, which is essentially the first part of it. We need more Armando fanfics, Jacob Scipio is so underrated .a
I honestly got writer's block, and stopped writing mainly because of that, and life got busy for me too. I write for fun, so I will upload when I can. I usually hyper-fixate on a character and try to write all my ideas for them, but once that hyper-fixation has moved on, it's hard to write with the same motivation/passion.
Sage was partying late at night in a different club. She was shaking it with her girlfriend until around 3 am that's when the facetimes calls and texts from him started.
Rio mamas
Rio are you good
Rio ma hello
Sage checks her phone and gives him a thumbs up
Rio types bet
Sage as she mid dance saw rio walk in with mick one of his guys she ran out the club
Rio mamas slow down damn
Sage no
Rio caught up grabbing her arm
Sage winced hi mi amor
Rio dio mio woman you scared me
Sage sorry
Rio picked her up throwing her over his shoulder
Sage riooo put me down baby come on this ain't funny
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Good Girls belongs to Jenna Bans. My heart belongs to Mr. Slim Sexy & this story belongs to me.
Reblog! Comment! Talk to me like it sends me a thrill...cuz it does ;)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The Gift
Here we go.....
6:16 am…You opened your eyes. The world outside your vacation home was hushed by a thick blanket of fresh snow covering the furniture on the balcony and the trees across the ravine. Through the second floor master suite windows you could see the sun was not quite beginning to color the sky. The 6ft wide gas fireplace at the foot of the bed, encased in stone from the floor to the ceiling was still on. The flame was set on low, causing a soft, flickering light on the walls and just enough heat to keep the chill from all the glass in the room at bay.
Rio had slept with his arm locked around your waist and his face buried into the back of your neck ever since you slipped back into bed from your two am dash to the bathroom. The heat from his body against your bare back felt like home. Your eyes drifted closed but you knew returning to sleep was not likely. Your early rising couldn’t be avoided on your first day away - your internal clock still doing its job.
Feeling your movements, he began to stir, holding you tight against his nakedness. “Happy birthday, angel,” he murmured. “It’s your day.”
With a sigh, you squeezed his arm, thinking that the sleep-soaked version of his raspy voice was your favorite sound. Rolling over onto your stomach, you scooted back close to him, resting your head on the edge of your pillow with your arm tucked under it. He propped himself up on his elbow while you trailed your fingertips over his face, letting them come to rest where the shadows in the room highlighted his jawline.
He mirrored the soft, closed-lipped smile that touched your lips as you spoke, “Happy birthday to me.”
Taking your hand, he kissed it and rolled toward you and pressed a warm kiss on your shoulder. Sliding the covers down a bit, he traced over your shoulder blade and dipped down your spine - first with his fingers, then his palm. Closing your eyes, you relaxed into the feeling, humming out a sound as he dropped intermittent kisses on your exposed skin.
“Still thinking about getting that tattoo?” he asked, tracing a circle just below your neck. “It’ll look good here.”
Kissing the spot, he smiled against your skin when you giggled. Moving on, he traced more shapes on your skin, dropping warm, open-mouthed kisses along his fingertip’s path. “Or here.”
He pushed the covers down more, stopping just above the swell of your butt cheeks. You twitched as he trailed his finger from one side of your waistline to the other. “Plenty of real estate down here, too.”
The long, leisurely strokes of his hand over your back coaxed another deep sigh out of you. Reaching for the remote, he turned up the fan on the fireplace for more warmth to fill the room and pushed the heavy comforter down to the tops of your thighs. His firm, broad strokes on your skin now roamed lower, going across your two enticing globes of flesh.
Eyes closed, you mused, “I’m definitely not getting one there.”
“You sure?”
“Big time.”
Hearing his soft exhale of a laugh, you smirked, looking over your shoulder at him. Rio’s eyes were soft, smokey, teasing - his hand still in motion. Every stroke intended to bend you to his will. Shots fired.
“C’mon darlin’.” He lowered his eyelids, leaning in to nip your soft skin. “How you gonna tell me no, when I ain’t even ask yet?”
Dropping your head back onto the pillow, you laughed softly, heat rushing up your neck. It had been a while since he had loved on you this way and your hips shifted, undulating under his touch. You could feel him moving closer, his chest leaning on your arm tucked under your pillow, his breath warming your face.
“Hey.”
Lifting your head again, you were face to face, noses almost touching and he leaned in closer. His first kisses were warm and soft - his bottom lip plush on yours. The gentle nudging of his tongue that came soon after was laced with need. Where as yesterday’s lust had been sharp and able to be satisfied quickly, this morning’s tryst was calling for something different. He rolled you effortlessly, and your head sank into your pillow as his slow kisses deepened their intoxication. His hand on your cheek slid into him holding your jaw. Keeping you captive to his kisses, his licks, his suckles. He was in no rush.
Despite your nakedness, he still felt there was too much separating your skin from him. He sat up to push the covers all the way down, letting them slide halfway off the bed, a portion puddling on the floor. And from there, on his knees, he paused to drink in the sight of you. His woman. You on erotic display, on a canvas of bronze silk sheets.
He wasn’t the only one taking a beat. Your eyes trailed over his body from his neck tattoo to the saint pendant resting on his chest to the trail of dark hair framing his thickening length. Letting you get your eyeful, he raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side. His work didn’t keep him from his athletic lifestyle and dedication to the boxing gym. Fully naked, his slim physique flaunted the treasure trove of secrets that hid underneath the hoodies, t-shirts and straight leg jeans. His thighs were hard and toned, waist tapered - his arms and chest plates, beautifully defined. Backlit by the gold-tipped orange flames in the fireplace, he blinked slow, waiting.
Caught up in the lust that only he brought out in you - you sat up, reaching for him, dragging him up your body and back to your lips - loving the heat of his growing erection pressed into your abdomen. Never breaking your kiss you rolled to the side, needing more. Flinging your leg over his hip, you clung to his head with both hands while he traversed your neck and chest, leaving tender spots behind from the breath-stealing, hard sucking he was doing. Your mouth dropped open when he went lower, nipping at your nipple, rolling his tongue over the tip just the way you liked. Dragging him by his ears up from where he was latched onto you, your open mouth was waiting, needing one more kiss. His tongue slashing against yours along with the way he was grinding his hardness into your thigh, shot flames of desire through your veins.
Breathless, you looked into his eyes while you took his hand and put it between your legs, holding it there to cup you, moving it against you - letting him feel the hot slick escaping. He looked down to where you had connected your bodies and immediately his face transformed - softening, growing flush.
“Babe.” Your voice, a bewitching whisper, demanded that he bring his full attention back to you. “I shoulda brought my tiara…you coulda told the world you fucked a queen.”
Rio’s tongue appeared instantly to wet his lips so you knew you had hit your mark. Feeling your hand press his down harder between your legs, he swallowed hard. His dark eyes were bottomless pits of lust and his dick pulsed. He loved it when you dropped your natural babygirl ways and let your dirty girl come out to play.
“Nah,” shaking his head he frowned, matching your tone. “You don' need that shit to sit on this throne.”
“No?” Pushing his shoulder back hard to pin him down, you climbed up to straddle him high up on his torso. Holding his jaw in your hand, you silently demanded his eyes again. “Why not?”
“It’s already yours, ma.”
His hands slid down your back to grip your butt, squeezing, gently pushing you down more, wanting to be inside you, but you were not finished. You pressed your hands into his chest to stand up and slowly came back down, effectively wiping the one-sided smirk from his face by positioning yourself into a squat above his now fully erect member, with your thighs spread wide, hovering. Rio stared, slack-jawed at your apex. It was both a tease and a threat. He ran his hands over your calves, needing to touch you in some way to keep control of himself during the game. Watching you take his dick in your hand, he fought the urge to arch up.
“Eyes up here,” you whispered.
You held his gaze while you drug his sensitive tip back and forth through your slippery folds, letting him feel the dip of your opening, daring to tease. He struggled against letting his eyes flutter closed, breathing hard through his nose with every pass. Rolling his shoulders back, he moved his grip to your hips, feeling how your skin was already coated with a light sheen of sweat.
The second your dark haven swallowed his tip, he turned his head to the side cursing softly, unable to watch anymore. But you? You had the opposite problem. You couldn’t stop watching him - the way his collarbones stood out as he tensed, how the muscles in his neck and jaw tightened. The way he had to tuck his plump, bottom lip in to stop any more sounds from escaping him. His pleasure being under your control thrilled you to no end, revving your arousal up several notches, sending another wave of suffocating heat over your body.
Sinking lower on his hardness, it was impossible to breathe. Your swollen canal was parting around him, coating him with your liquid love. Receiving him, caressing and fluttering, forming a tight hold on the slightly oval shape of his shaft. It was pure ecstasy for you both.
“Mmmmm, my throne,” you moaned.
“Yeah?” His raspy voice was so tight it sounded like his vocal cords may snap. “Come on,” he urged you, digging his slim fingers into your hips even deeper. “You were made for it. Made for me.”
Sliding down on the last bit of his length, you let out a high cry and that was all the invitation he needed. Sitting up, he took some of his control back, wrapping his arms tight around you while you rocked, rose and fell - adjusting your position, establishing your rhythm. Joining you in the push and pull of your passionate dance, his breath was hot on your chest and neck,.
“God,” you gasped in appreciation. Your head tipped back, a thick moan falling from your lips, “God, baaaabe.”
With your arms draped over his shoulders, you drug your nails up his back and up into the hair at the nape of his neck rolling a shudder through him. Using your palm under his chin, you pushed his head back to bite down on the left wing of his neck tattoo, dragging your tongue across his Adam’s apple to suck on the right side of it to his strangled moan. He pulled away only to capture your mouth in a searing kiss. Needing more of your pleasure-rocked sounds, Rio cupped both your breasts, dragging his palms over your nipples. He strained up to tongue and suck on your ear lobe, loving your trembles and the gasps you sucked in. The new flood of juices wetting his thighs and your tunnel’s reactive spasms were his erotic reward - but also yours.
Your pleasure was cresting, toppling over the edge without any warning to him save the long gasp you inhaled and the path your nails tore across his shoulder blade. His eyes clamped shut, one long arm wrapped around you and the other cupping your ass to hold you tight against him as your tunnel collapsed on him. A second later your milking spasms and fluttery cries, set him off. Releasing a long low groan, his body jerked hard - his hold almost crushing with each convulsion that wrecked his body as he filled you with rolling bursts of his thick cum, rasping out your name.
0.o.0.o.0
Still perched in his lap, you shifted to wrap your legs around him. You closed your eyes, holding him tighter while you came down, knowing your bodies would stay connected even while his dick softened. Even in your undone state, you still needed him. His skin, his arms locked tight around you, his smell - the security of him. The essence of him.
Christopher…
From your fog you mouthed his name against his ear. His breath was hot on your sticky chest and neck as he dropped kisses on your still tingling skin. The only sound was the hum of the fireplace’s fan and you both gathering your breath. There was no talking between you, but unhurried fingers trailing and lips brushing over skin in the quiet aftermath carried a tone of reverence. All time was lost while looking into each other’s eyes between the slow, soul-connecting kisses you gave each other’s lips…and cheeks…and chins…and necks.
The sun had begun its lazy winter rising to your whispered declarations of love as Rio’s dick began to return to a swollen masterpiece once again. The landscape outside your balcony doors reflected the sunrise in the snow, showcasing the colors. But its beauty was left unappreciated by you both between your low moans and hums of pleasure as he grew harder, filling you up. The slow rolling motion of your hips planted new seeds of connection, watered with panted promises of loyalty. With every hushed vow you were reinforcing your forever - re-dedicating your hearts to one another as you clung to each other, bodies twisting and arching to new levels of ecstasy.
It wasn’t long before Rio’s hands on you were asking for more - needing it. He exhaled a low, growling sound with each grinding buck up into you. Panting into your mouth, reestablishing his hold when sweat made his hands slip. You sucked hard on his neck, bruising his fairer skin intentionally. You bit down on his shoulder, desperately reaching for your second release’s arrival. Your nails dug into his sweaty back as he pushed you on with the raspy voice you would always hear in your sweetest dreams.
“Ma, you got me so damn hard.”
“Mmmm, you know I like that.”
“Goddamn, angel! You feel so fucking good.”
Every inch of you was tipping toward the mindless abyss that only Rio took you to. Thighs burning, shaking from the effort to keep up with his body’s demand. Rio grit his teeth, loving the way you were making his spine twitch but he still had something for you.
Dragging his mouth from your lips to your jaw, he rasped out, “Fuck! Lean back, baby. Lemme do the work.”
Obediently leaning back on your hands with your elbows locked, you let him take over completely, toes curled in anticipation. Seeking better leverage, he tucked a foot under his ass lifting you higher into his lap while pulling your hips into him. Bent back this way, the root of his dick was angled to scrub across that spongy spot just beyond your entrance. The spot that no man had found before him. He kept his strokes short for you, rocking just an inch or two. Your mouth watered as your head fell back, abandoning your body to his flawless massage. Minutes later you were gripping the fitted sheet in both fists, questioning the wisdom of letting him have his way.
There!There!There!…you chanted, begging him not to stop. Each deadly nudge had you swathed in heat, it was all sensation now. you could barely keep your eyes open. You felt like your body was reaching for a higher peak than ever before and you didn’t know if you would survive it. You could feel yourself trembling, your stomach muscles jerking but were helpless to stop it. Rio was biting his lip, frowning in concentration, knowing you were almost there. The overwhelming tease of a coming release with each perfect drag of his shaft had you babbling incoherently. Your center was coiled so tight it was almost painful…and then it snapped loose. A low-pitched wail scraped up your throat, bursting from you as your body seized, holding you captive for less than a second before the rush of sensation stole your voice. Your walls gushed and spasmed, clutching at his length forcing a deep groan out of him. Wave after delectable wave of pleasure crashed through you, overloading your mind. Lights flashed behind your eyelids and your whole body shook violently from the depth of your orgasm.
His body did as it pleased now, pushing you further by lengthening his strokes for his own pleasure. His hips snapped delivering relentless, deep power thrusts to the sound of his name pouring from your lips.
Your next full body spasm rendered you mute. Unable to hold yourself up another second, your arms went limp and your elbows collapsed but Rio caught you, holding you in place to finish fucking up into you. He was fully caught up, overwhelmed by the input to his senses. The feel of you, the smell of you, the sound and sight of you made him deaf to your cries. His strokes turned savage, battering - satisfying the urge for possession of you. His sacs tightened as his sweat dripped onto your chest. Fuckfuckfuck! His hips stuttered as he followed you into bliss with a single rasped out goddamn, before his back arched and you felt the pulse and heat of his release deep inside of you. Rio cursed through his spasms, shaking in your arms wrapped loosely around him.
Completely spent, Rio let you fall back gently, coming with you to rest on the soft security of the mattress. Dislodging from you, he rolled you both, draping the disheveled comforter over you both. On his side, he held you tight to his chest, dragging his lips up your neck, needing the salt from your sweat, the oxygen from your pantings. Needing to trace your lips with his fingers and kiss you again and again from a feeling beyond the possession he sought just moments before, from beyond love - it was from knowing you were bonded. You had chosen each other with your eyes wide open and now you were bonded so deeply that even as you lay there welcoming sleep overtaking you…each of your heartbeats and remaining shudders were synchronized.
I love you, angel.
His voice penetrated the satiated fog surrounding you - soft, breathy, honest. Your heart fell off its rhythm for a single beat in reaction. Without opening your eyes, you squeezed him even tighter.
A/N: Okay! Thank you for your patience...my brain decided that Part 3 was a complete rewrite. Part 4 WILL NOT take this long to update *crosses heart* Thank you for reading! I'm loving y'all's comments! 💜💜
Humble Tags: (if you would like to be removed, PLEASE let me know!💜) @oureternalbond @moonlightdivine @swaghumanoidnickelhero @mathle0matle @1xtral1983 @saturnville @nqobil3 @venomqueen2002 @roxytheimmortal
Good Girls belongs to Jenna Bans. My heart belongs to Mr. Slim Sexy & this story belongs to me.
Reblog! Comment! Talk to me like it sends me a thrill...cuz it does ;)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The Gift
Here we go.....
11:16am…Freshly showered and pajama’d, you sank into the couch in front of the fireplace where Rio had banished you to while he busied himself preparing your birthday breakfast. Despite your protest, he insisted that you leave everything to him and take some time to check your birthday messages. With delicious smells wafting from the kitchen, you snickered through watching the hilarious dance video your employees sent to you. You teared up reading the beautiful birthday messages from your three ride-or-die best friends in your chat. Then choosing to skip the dm’s you knew were waiting for you on social media for now, you began a facetime call with your mom.
A few minutes in, Rio’s voice floated over your head, “Hey, mom.”
Appearing from behind the couch to deliver your spiced tea, he sat next to you. You took the mug, rolling your eyes to the heavens as your mama’s eyes lit up.
“Good mornin’, Christopher! How are you, sweetheart?”
Rio ignored you nudging him with your elbow, taking your phone from you. Per usual, you instantly became the third wheel as she turned all of her attention to her favorite son-in-law. He knew your mom loved him to death and he soaked it up.
“I’m good. You taking care of your self over there?”
“I am. Glad to see to see you slowed down a little for this trip. You need breaks, sweetheart. You work too much.”
If she only knew how much, you thought, sipping your tea.
“C’mon now,” Rio’s mouth tilted up on one side, familiar with the lecture. “I gotta stay on this money, your daughter’s got expensive taste.”
“Nope!” You interjected. “Leave me out of this!”
“Too late,” he murmured.
“Mm-hm.” Nodding her agreement, your mother’s smile brightened. “And I hear you’re spoiling my baby just right.”
Rio glance at you was soft and smokey. Wetting his lips, he kept his eyes on you while he answered, “That’s my job.”
“And he’s good at it,” you commented over the top of your mug.
Your mother’s eyes twinkled and you both knew exactly what was coming. “And speaking of jobs…anytime you wanna work on getting me some grandbabies--”.
“Mamaaaa!” You groaned while your mother and Rio shared a smile.
“Hush child! I’m just letting the man know that my birthday is coming, too.”
“That’s a helluva gift you’re asking for, mom.” Rio shook his head just once, accustomed to her prodding him about having children. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Babe, don’t tell her that!”
Your mother threw up her hands in innocence, “That’s all I’m asking.”
Your father’s voice boomed in the background, “Woman, leave them kids alone! They’ll figure it out just fine when they’re ready!”
“Thank you, daddy!” you hollered back.
Your father’s face appeared over your mother’s shoulder, eyes crinkling on the sides in mischief while your mother fussed over his interruption. “Hey, baby. Happy birthday. You having a good time?”
“The best.”
“Then we’ll let you get you get back to it. Talk soon, alright? Chris?” Giving a conspirator’s nod of understanding, he smiled softly, “Good to see you, son.”
Rio smirked knowingly, giving your dad a nod of thanks in return. “For the save.”
“Any time.” Disappearing from the screen, his voice rumbled, “Say good bye, woman.”
Your mother’s eyes followed her husband before swinging back around to you. “Tuh! Acting like he’s the boss of me. You betta go on with that!” she hollered over her shoulder, winking at you. You burst into giggles as she grinned into the camera. “Alright, I better go see what that man is doing. I can hear him in my kitchen! I love you. Bye, baby. Byyyyyye, Chrissss!”
Handing the phone back to you, Rio’s smile lingered, he truly enjoyed your family. “Bye.”
“Don’t forget my present!”
You leaned back into the couch smiling while Rio made his escape. “Oh lord, mama! Bye!”
On his way to the kitchen with a tilted smile, he chuckled quietly. “Moms is wild.”
0.o.0.o.0
After a sumptuous meal of a spinach, bacon and mushroom quiche, with crispy, roasted rosemary potato fingerlings, you were sprawled out on the couch between your husband’s legs, finishing off a fruit bowl while a soccer game played in the background. Full and happy, you were almost dozing off when Rio stroked your arm to rouse you.
“Hey…we gotta get dressed. I wanna show you something.”
“Noooo,” you whined, not wanting to leave the cozy warmth of his arms. Shifting around to look up at him, you caught the focused look on his face. “Wait…what kinda something?”
“If you wanna see it, you’ll get up.” With a secretive smile, his Adam’s apple dipped in a chuckle at the look of suspicion you threw at him. Sitting up, he granted you another sliver of information to motivate you. “You gotta dress warm, yeah? Wear your boots an’ whatnot.”
Sitting all the way up, you prodded for more, “We’re gonna be outside?”
Unfortunately for you, Rio wasn’t having it. He swiveled his legs out from around you and stood up. “Maybe.”
Watching him head for the main bedroom, you scrambled to get up off the sofa and followed him. “Soooo…is this another birthday present?”
“It’s your only birthday present.” Amused by your confused expression, he wrapped his arms around you, kissing your forehead, nose and finally your lips before peeling off his shirt and tossing it on the bed. “C’mon.”
Tugging your pinky finger with his, he walked you to the closet with him. Pulling out his clothing selections, he laid them on the bed while you watched, waiting for him to explain himself. With a smug expression, he started dressing, completely ignoring you.
“Babe.”
“What?” he said, spraying on his cologne.
“Baaaabe,” you pressed.
Slipping his chain over his head, Rio released an exhale laced with faux impatience. Coming back to crowd your personal space, he rolled his shoulders back and planted his feet with his eyebrow cocked. “Wanna go get your real gift or not?” Immediately pressing a finger to your lips, he continued. “Yes or no, mama? And don’t ask me no more questions.”
Knowing he caught you about to do exactly that, you pressed your lips down on an embarrassed smile, rolling your eyes comically. Grabbing his wrist, you pulled back to kiss his finger, mustering up an apologetic look that had his cheeks raised and his eyes shining.
“Okaaay, yes. No more questions,” you relented. “How long do I have to get ready?”
Rio tucked you in tight, cupping your butt cheeks with both hands, giving them a pat. “Fifteen tops or I’m dragging you outta here. So hurry up.”
0.o.0.o.0
Holding hands on the short drive, you were filled with curiosity and excitement. Rio turned down an unmarked dirt road to a gravel driveway, then drove up an even rougher road to an opening between the dense trees. Slowing to a stop, he parked on the edge of a large, flat, treeless area.
“This is it.”
Looking around at the snow covered area, you turned back to him. “What is ‘it’?”
Rio took your hand again, his expression unreadable. “This is a lot is for sale.”
“Okay.” Looking out the window again, you nodded, still confused. “Okay, so we’re buying land in Canada?”
“No. You are.”
Your wandering gaze snapped back to his face. “Me?”
Without answering, Rio got out of the truck and came around to open your door. Holding out his hand to you, he jerked his head back softly, summoning you. “C’mon. Lemme show you.”
Walking you to the front of the truck in the biting cold, he leaned against it, allowing you both to appreciate the warmth radiating from the still-running engine. Shifting to stand behind you, he pulled you back to his body to talk over your shoulder.
“So we’re at the right corner of the property, yeah?” Extending his arm fully to your left, he said, “It goes from here to where those trees get thick again.”
“Okay,” you said following his direction with your eyes.
“And then--,” pointing straight ahead, he continued. “It goes all the way back to where those trees are with the yellow tape.”
You squinted, rubbernecking to see through the thick expanse of trees for dots of yellow. Giving you a squeeze, he continued, indicating the flat portion you were standing on. “Now, this part right here? They took down 13 trees to get this level. It already has the approvals for all the water and electricity shit. The trees they cut down were sent to a lumber mill. All you gotta do is decide how you wanna use it. It’s all you.”
With eyes wide, you scanned over the parcel again. The freezing air was already limiting your ability to breathe and now your heart was fluttering like crazy. You never expected anything like this.
“It’s so big,” you whispered.
Rio made a low sound in his throat of agreement, “It’s over six acres.”
“Six acres?” Standing up straight, you turned around in his arms, searching his face. “Seriously?”
He nodded just once, confirming, “Happy birthday, angel.” The tip of his nose and the apples of his cheeks were rosy from the cold, matching the blush on his plump bottom lip. His expression was serene and unmasked - exuding the deep love he felt. “The papers are at the cabin. It’s yours as soon as you sign. My name ain’t on nothing.”
This could be something wonderful, you thought. Turning your head to look at the lot again, the ideas and possibilities were flying through your mind. Memories of the wonderful times you had at your grandparents’ tiny riverside cabin when you were young brought a smile to your lips. Our babies could have those kinds of memories, too.
It was a dream come true that you didn’t know you had. Still, you couldn’t help but wonder about the particulars. “How did you get all this done without putting your name on paper anywhere?”
He chuckled, “Don’t worry, I made sure it was done right.”
“Mm-hmmm…” Aligning your body flush with his, you placed your hands on his chest. “And who taught me to never enter a deal if I don’t know all the details, Mr. Olivar?”
Rio looked down into your teasing eyes with pride and adoration. Your business acumen was one of the things that drew him to you. It turned him on that you knew how to hustle, make things happen. His ego didn’t require him to be the only boss in the house and you were a BossWoman by definition. Flashing a glimmer of his tilted smile, he traced your cheek down to your jaw. You leaned into his touch, watching as his eyes closed briefly - his long, dark eyelashes fanned out on his pale skin were beautiful. Wetting his lips, he nodded slowly, leaning down for a kiss - a light press.
“Aight, fair,” he rumbled against your lips. His hand was now inside the collar of your coat, slowly squeezing and releasing the back of your neck, relaxing you while his voice swept your remaining questions away. “On paper, it looks like you got a great deal, yeah? You even, ah… got a loan online for it.”
“Oh, I did?”
“Somethin’ like that,” Rio smirked.
“Okay…sounds good but--”. You paused noting the way he pressed his lips into a straight line and the slight tilt of his head. “What is it in reality?”
Rio’s dark eyes lost their playful sparkle and darted away from your face, settling on something over your left shoulder. His jaw tightened and ticked a couple of times. This kind of pause was familiar to you. He was deciding how much truth you needed to know, so you waited, knowing that pushing him never helped. His eyes slowly came back to your face, warm again, followed by two slow blinks as his face relaxed.
“The real,” he finally began. “Is he’s a friend of a friend, of a business partner. I caught wind he was liquidating to get outta the game. We met up and made a deal.”
Your ears perked up, “A deal?”
Rio studied your face - reading you to see if that piece of information made you uncomfortable before saying anything more. Satisfied that he could disclose the rest, he continued. “I paid him a slice in cash so the listed price would be lower. Made it more attainable for you and he don’t have to pay taxes on the full amount. Win-win, yeah? If anybody looks into it, it all looks normal. He advertised it for two weeks as a fire sale. Had other buyers come out and look at it an’ everything.”
Your smile got wider with every sentence. This is the brain you fell in love with.
“So,” he paused to wet his lips. “What do you think? It could be anything, ma. Your escape, your money maker. Your security. Your legacy.” His voice lowered in register, softening his rasp. “It’s yours, angel. It’s clean. No matter what, one can take this from you.”
No matter what happens with me…he didn’t say it but you heard it all the same.
This was your gift. Legitimacy. Always ahead of the game, he was giving you the opportunity to set up something in your life that his business dealings couldn’t ruin. Something for you and your future children that was protected. Quietly and purposefully, separating you from him for your safety and security. It was thoughtful and intentional, and your body responded to it just as much as your heart.
Overwhelmed by the care in his plan, your voice was barely above a whisper, “It’s incredible. Thank you.”
He cupped your jaw, lifting you closer. “What I say about thanking me?”
Looking up into smokey eyes, you cupped the back of his neck, drawing him down. “Stop telling me what to do,” you murmured.
Turning your face up a fraction more, your mouth met his. Lips stiffened from the biting cold soon turned warm and pliable as your kiss extended - softer as your kiss deepened, growing more heated. The thick layers of coats between you kept you from getting to him the way you wanted to. Frustrated, you reluctantly broke the kiss. The way Rio’s arms stayed clasped around you with his eyelids lowered told you that he wanted more, too.
His voice was a thick rasp as he dropped a kiss on your forehead. “Ready to go?”
Nodding, you grudgingly pulled away from him and headed for your side of the truck. Settled inside, you held your hands in front of the vent as he turned the heater to full blast. Putting the truck in gear, Rio drove forward to make the u-turn to leave.
Mid-turn, you twisted in your seat, turning fully towards him, settling your hand high on the inside of his thigh. “Chris, stop the car. We forgot something.”
“What?”
Letting his question hang in the air, you held his questioning gaze, letting him read your mood. His eyes dropped down to your mouth, watching as you ran your tongue over your top lip before you answered. “The back seat.”
As the heat infused in those three words hit his brain and nuzzled themselves into his lap, he wet his lips, adjusting in his seat a bit as your hand slid higher. You let him run his dark eyes over you in silence, raising your temperature even more. His chest jumped in a low, filthy chuckle, “The back seat, huh?”
Running your hand further up his thigh to cup his what was yours, you pressed your lips down on a sultry, smile. “Yeah.”
“Bet.” He cocked one eyebrow at you, taking your hand from between his legs and lifting it to his lips without ever breaking eye contact. “Whatever you want.” His sparse mustache pricked your knuckles as he spoke, “I mean, it’s your day, right?”
Letting you go, he put the truck in park, flashing you a look so dark, so devious - you knew immediately that you had lost the upper hand. Sitting perfectly still, Rio looked you over as if trying to decide where he would start, then leisurely unfastened his seat belt and sat back to unzip his coat. Oh shit. You clenched your thighs together while he freed his arms, both terribly aroused and slightly fearful of what you had just let loose in him.
His grating rasp instantly flushed you with heat from head to toe, as he reached for you, “I got you.”
A/N: And that's a wrap! Thank you for reading and reblogging and commenting!! It always makes writing more fun! See you next drop! Again, if you want on/off the Rio tag list let me know, no hassles no questions.
Humble Tags: (if you would like to be removed, PLEASE let me know!💜) @oureternalbond @moonlightdivine @swaghumanoidnickelhero @mathle0matle @1xtral1983 @saturnville @nqobil3 @venomqueen2002 @roxytheimmortal
kianamaiart
dailybridgerton
ellievsbear
prguitarman
blakekathryn
stormborns
gummygunk
origamiaround
