How Did He End Up In This Position? 😳😮

OH MY GODS i forgot about this AAAAA ok ninjago mando au!!!

Im still so proud of these designs,,,,,,

BASICALLY. Jay Cole and Zane r all in a polycule guild together run by Wu, and one day Kai shows up and is like "HEY GAMERS UH my sister got kidnapped by the Sith!"

So they all go to rescue her, and when theyre escaping they find this seemingly abandoned and scared kid, Lloyd, who they adopt into their guild as a foundling??

ANYWAY. turns out he's actually the son of the Sith Lord that captured Nya, and Wu is his uncle, and a Jedi????????

When they bring Lloyd back, Wu recognizes him and then reveals that all of their parents were Jedi as well, and they all have some power over the Force (instead of having elemental powers)

At least I THINK SO I honestly dont remember it's been so long HELP

resting after a mission

WOODSMOKE & LEATHER

pairing: albert wesker x transmasc!reader warnings: 18+ only (mdni), smut, gender dysphoria, slight violence, bathroom sex, p in v (unprotected), creampie, semi-public sex, house parties, alcohol, marijuana, wesker is his own tw, implied slight chris x reader also word count: 5.3k (oh boy) notes: requested by @angelrawrcyan: "S.T.A.R.S Wesker won't leave my mind lately, can I request for some Wesker x transmasc reader?" as always, rbs appreciated <3

[- ao3 link -] | [- masterlist -] | [- playlist -]

summary: your roommate chris throws a house party, at which many of his coworkers in S.T.A.R.S. are in attendance. including his boss, captain wesker.

The bass thrummed deeply, permeating your body so entirely that you could feel it in your chest, rattling your bones and piercing through your ear drums. It didn't matter how many times you sneakily turned the volume dial down on the stereo, somehow it always ended up cranked up even louder.

You stumbled over discarded plastic cups as you wove your way through the party guests in the direction of your kitchen. The apartment was barely big enough for you and your roommate, let alone… however many people he had ended up inviting to his house party. You lost count when more and more people streamed in as the night progressed. 

The door to the kitchen was blocked off by a couple you'd never seen before with their tongues firmly exploring each other's throats. Your buzz was fading fast. You needed another drink if you were to continue dealing with the music and the yelling and all these fucking people. 

You rolled your eyes. Anxiety wasn't going to permit you to ask the couple to move - not that they would even if you asked - so you had to take the road less travelled. Hitching your weight up onto the breakfast bar, you vaulted over it with care not to knock over the assembled alcohol bottles on the counter. You landed, feet planted on the kitchen tile, impressed with yourself but not resting on your laurels. Especially as you weren't alone in the kitchen.

Your roommate stood with his back to you, refilling a mixing bowl with corn chips. At least in here the music wasn't so loud that you had to yell to be heard. 

"Hey, Chris," you nodded to him, placing your empty cup on the counter. "What was the pitch you gave me for this party? How many people did you say? Ten max, right?"

"C'mon, dude. People invite people who invite more people. I can't control that." Chris held his palms up as if to absolve himself of any guilt in the matter.

You sighed and pressed your back against the kitchen sink, staring out across the living room from your side of the bar. Chris, cradling the bowl of chips like a newborn baby, joined you in your observations. Your party-girl neighbours giggled together, dancing drunkenly to the music. Some of your old college friends huddled in intense conversation, no doubt about their latest D&D campaign. The door to the hallway was cracked, where you could just hear the delightful sounds of someone throwing up over the pounding music. Your ex boyfriend, easily the person you were least excited to see, was getting far too into a football game on your CRT television. You still don't know why Chris invited him. Something about 'closure'. 

"Yeah, well what about your work buddies?"

You leaned your elbows on the bar and gestured with a tilt of your chin in the direction of the dining table, where a group was gathered separate from the rest. You remembered some of their names - Jill, Brad, Forest, Joseph-something - on the rare occasions you'd run into them before. Brad seemed to have brought a dartboard of some sort that Chris had helped him mount on the wall. They were taking turns in a darts competition that was ramping up in intensity. Chris had a good relationship with his co-workers, and you'd be lying if it said it didn't make you a little jealous sometimes. You were more of a solitary person. Chris was one of the few people you could count among your close friends, so you couldn't help the little part of your brain that was bitter that he was so popular.

"What about 'em?"

"... Like, they're cops. At a house party."

"I'm also a cop at a house party."

"Yeah, your own."

Chris put the bowl of chips down and grabbed your shoulders, dropping his voice slightly. "Listen, as long as you hid the weed where we agreed, there won't be an issue."

Laughing, you shake your head. The elite tactical service, S.T.A.R.S., arresting one of their own & his dropout roommate for smoking the devil's lettuce in their downtime was hard to believe.

"A little below you guys's paygrade." 

"Exactly. So relax. It's fine."

You turned your head from him to scan the living room once more. 

"And what about that guy?"

Chris followed your gaze to the blonde man, quietly observing the room from a corner and sipping from a glass tumbler of whisky - a stark contrast from the stereotypical red solo cups scattered amid the other party guests. At least, you guessed he was looking around - it was hard to tell by the dark sunglasses obscuring his eyes. A strange sight in any indoor setting, but especially when it was approaching midnight.

"Oh, that's-"

A realisation struck you as you unintentionally cut Chris off. "Oh shit, that's your boss! The sunglasses guy, right?"

You lowered your voice, trying not to make it obvious that you were looking at him. But once your gaze had locked onto the man, it was hard to turn your eyes away. He had a strange magnetism to him. It felt like all the chaos, the pounding music, the laughing, the shouting, the throngs of people crammed into your shitty two-bedroom Raccoon City apartment - all of it faded into static, unimportant background noise. 

You just managed to parse out Chris's voice through your trance.

"Yeah, that's Wesker. Captain Wesker. I was talking about the party in the break room at work the other day and he came in - felt rude to not invite him. Didn't honestly expect for him to show up."

Another guest, one of your pretty neighbours, crossed the room and started to engage him in conversation. Wesker tilted his head to listen to her, engaging instantly with her words. A smile rendered his handsome features even more striking. While the sunglasses looked stupid and out of place at first, you found it only added to his allure. He had such charisma about him, an unmistakable charm. The girl's fingers brushed along his forearm, bare and strong where he'd rolled up the sleeves of his blue silk shirt. Your jaw set and you glanced back at Chris, who you just registered was still talking.

"We don't really know what the deal is with the sunglasses. Barry thinks it could be a visual impairment thing but, it's not like we can ask, y'know?"

"Maybe he just thinks they look cool," you offered, trying to disguise the creeping disappointment you felt as Wesker tucked a strand of your neighbour's hair behind her ear.

You smoothed your hand over your t-shirt, a crisp white polo shirt you thought was dressed-up enough for the party. It wasn't your usual hoodie that you practically lived in, which was something. You felt your binder beneath, digging into the skin of your armpits. The compression on your ribs was starting to get hard to ignore. Probably had worn it far too long today. It was easy to lose track.

Chris noticed your motion and raised his eyebrows. Sometimes, he knows you too well - frustratingly so.

"Listen," he said softly, "If you wanna like, go to your room and call it a night. Just go, like, I won't be offended. How long have you been wearing it today?"

"Too fucking long," you admitted, "but no, I'll stick around a bit longer. Thanks, though."

And so, you did. Minutes stumbled into hours as you mingled with guests at Chris's request, while also getting to know some of his coworkers. You avoided even glancing at your ex as much as possible. Instead, you focused on Captain Wesker. He seemed to gravitate between social groups with flowing ease; able to find common ground with just about everyone. His presence was all-encompassing and, despite not being loud or ostentatious in any way, he seemed to be the soul of the party. Everybody wanted to talk to him, to flirt with him. And he talked to all of them, engaged them, with a comfort and fluidity you could only dream of having in social situations. It was fascinating to watch. There was, of course, the fact that he was incredibly handsome too; and every time he cracked a smile you wished it was you he was smiling at. 

But, like always, you faded into the background. You made an effort to stay as far away from the source of the pulsing music, oppressive in its cacophony. Pressing your back to the wall as you drained the dregs of your drink, you felt the liquid burn on its way down your throat. Your bound chest protested once more. Perhaps it was time to call it a night-

"Good evening." 

You nearly dropped your cup. Wesker seemed to appear out of nowhere, his graceful stride imperceptible until he was right next to you. This close, you picked up the scent of his cologne: a woody, somewhat smoky scent with undertones of vanilla and leather. Weirdly, his voice seemed to match his scent. Smooth, well-spoken with a delectable curl of an accent. You looked up at him, seeing the vague outline of his eyes from behind the shades.

"Oh, hi. Fuck, you kinda startled me."

The blurred edges of your vision crept closer in, and you blinked to maintain focus on his face. Perhaps you had over-indulged on the alcohol. 

"Apologies. I'll be sure to announce my approach further in advance next time." He smiled.

"Captain Wesker, right?"

You already knew the answer, of course.

Wesker nodded, taking another sip of his whiskey. Where did he even get that glass from? "And you're Redfield's boyfriend." 

He said your name then, drawing it out like a taste he wanted to savour.

"Boyfriend?" You couldn't suppress the laugh that forced its way past your lips,

"No, no. It's not like that. We're not, like, romantic partners. Partners in rental agreement, maybe."

"Ah. I'm sorry, I assumed…" Wesker waved a hand in the air to indicate the rest of the sentence, one that didn't need to be said.

"No, it's fine. Chris is a friend. One of the best. But that's it."

You would be lying if you said you hadn't considered it. But boundaries had been laid many years ago, a line that you respected Chris too much to even attempt to cross. 

"My taste in men is more like. Well, him," you added. "Up until recently."

You sighed as you reluctantly gestured to where your ex was standing on the couch cushions, making some sort of grandiose speech to onlookers that you mercifully couldn't hear over the music. He had a captive audience of drunk party guests with which to regale with his TEDTalk-adjacent ramblings. Wesker observed, lifting his glass to his lips with a sardonic quirk of an eyebrow - he clearly had thoughts but chose not to vocalise them. 

"Don't judge," you grumbled.

"Not even a little bit?" 

You shot Wesker with a withering look. He hid his smile around the rim of his whiskey tumbler, peering at you from behind the dark veil of his shades. 

A commotion behind you caused you to turn your head as, from the bathroom along the hall, a group of hollering men you’re sure neither you or Chris had met before stumbled out. With them billowed the unmistakable earthy, herbal aroma of marijuana. One of them held a glass of red wine, far overfilled, which sloshed dangerously.

You should have expected what happened next. As the men swayed past you and Wesker, the wine tipped over the rim of the glass as they nudged into you. A cascade of sticky, red liquid tumbled, seemingly in slow motion, all over your face, neck, chest and irreparably staining the one white shirt you owned. You yelped in horror, desperately trying in vain to wipe yourself clean and cover your chest, where the dampness was soaking through the shirt fabric and revealing your binder underneath. 

“Hey, what the fuck?!” You snapped, tears pricking at your eyes as your forearms formed an X-motion over your chest. Trying to put out a tough-guy persona proved difficult when you were on the verge of crying.

The man scoffed, set to simply walk away. He leaned back to face you, not even turning his head fully. “Hey, chill the fuck out, yeah?”

His hand shot out to shove you away from him, a hostile gesture meant to provoke a confrontation. Which it would have done, were it not for Wesker’s hand clamping around his wrist with a swiftness and finality that neither you nor your aggressor were expecting. Your eyes flicked over the subtle flex of his forearm muscle, the exposed skin sporting a defined line along his dorsal where he applied his strength to keep your attacker at bay.

With a tilt of his head, Wesker regarded the man calmly, undeterred by the miasma of cannabis and alcohol that he carried with him. Still, he held the man’s wrist tight, holding his arm in a suspended position, knuckles going white.

“I’d think very carefully about your next move, my friend,” Wesker uttered, a hint of danger lurking in the space between syllables.

You were suspended in disbelief for a long moment, before you found your senses again. Your legs moved of their own accord, propelling you to the bathroom and to perceived safety. Slamming the door behind you, you pressed your back to it as your fingers found the lock and turned it decisively. The weed smell was cloying in here. Combined with the peppery and overpowering wine you reeked of, you wanted nothing more than to sponge yourself clean. You stepped to the sink. Weakly, you placed your palms on the edge of the basin and stared at yourself in the mirror. The pinkish hue of the spilled vino dripped down your neck and collarbone, soaking your shirt to where the hem and edges of your binder defined themselves. 

“Fuck… fucking goddamn it…” You whispered, chest shaking, threatening to release a sob. There, you stood, trying to regulate your breathing.

A knock on the door. Your breath hitched in your throat. 

“It’s me.”

Woodsmoke and leather in a voice.

You unlocked the door. Wesker rested a shoulder on the doorframe. His hands pushed back some stray strands of blonde hair back into their styled position. 

“Can I come in?” 

You should probably say no.

“Yes.”

He breezed in, closing the door behind him and locking it as you had. He crossed his arms over his chest with a sigh. “Chris is kicking that man and his troglodyte friends out as we speak. Looks like that old flame of yours arrived with them.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” you nodded, your voice quiet. 

You grabbed the front of your shirt self-consciously, pulling it away from your body so as to unstick it from your skin. Shoulders slumped, physically resembling as deflated as you felt, you perched on the edge of the bath. Wesker watched, unmoving for a moment, before stepping over to the sink. Your face cast to the floor, you managed to raise your eyes to watch as the S.T.A.R.S captain sought out a face cloth, wetting it under the tap with a streak of soap and wringing it out methodically. 

“Come now, head up. That’s it.” 

The pungent herbal aroma hanging stagnant in the air faded as he approached. Usquebaugh scented, underlying cedarwood musk. Wesker crouched before you and gently tilted your chin upwards with a brush of his thumb. The warm dampness of the cloth found your face as Wesker gently wiped at the wine with a methodical grace. His soft, slender fingers cradled the back of your head as the cloth moved to your neck.

Your breath came in halting, light gasps, unable to deny what stirred within you at his touch, the tender press of textile, zephyr-like, to your flesh. A light breeze tickled the nape of your neck from the ajar frosted glass of the window behind. In front, Wesker’s warm breath, hot on your jaw as he moved closer. 

Wesker’s fingers ghosted under the collar of your sodden shirt as he started to clean the viscous liquid more thoroughly - it had settled where your neck met your clavicle. You felt his fingertips meet the edge of the shoulder strap of your binder. You froze, as did he, for a brief, appraising moment. Underneath his sunglasses, you saw his eyes meet yours. The veil that separated the fullness of his gaze from yours was maddening - you wished you could tell what he was thinking.

“It’s not often I meet a man so multi-faceted.”

Wesker’s words were a whisper carried on whisky breath. Your heart pounded in your ears, defensive walls melted like ice to his warm smile. You closed the distance between you in the gap between heartbeats. You pressed your mouth to his and drank him in with each breath. The fingers on the back of your head began to card meticulously through your hair, light tugs and smooth caresses. You exhaled a scarcely suppressed moan into his mouth which he pushed through with his tongue.

All rational thought was discarded, leaving room only for unrestrained desire. Wesker tugged your sodden, stained shirt off over your head and threw it behind you, into the ceramic tub on which you sat. Clumsy fingers found the buttons of his shirt as you desperately revealed his surprisingly toned chest, pressing your palms to it and feeling the musculature beneath. Mercifully, Wesker did not even try to remove your binder, sensing your discomfort and pacing around it with respect. Instead, his hands sought your belt, unbuckling it with fervour. With your waistband loosened and his shirt hanging unbuttoned off his lithe form, he scooped you up, lips exploring every inch of exposed skin, and placed you with little effort on the sink. Once there, you assisted him with shimmying off your jeans. The cold porcelain of the sink's rim pierced your exposed thighs, making you gasp.

"Wesker, are you sure-?" You sighed, tilting your head back as his lips pressed once more to your jaw. Your mind cast back to the many guests you saw him engaging in conversation with, those that verged on flirtation. 

"Nothing feels more certain," Wesker responded with a lilt of need, his lips dancing along your neck. "You taste of wine, my dear."

"Wonder why that is."

You weren't expecting this to amuse him. And yet, the breaths of his laugh slid over your skin as he lightly nipped at your flesh. Grazing teeth and languid licks. You pushed his shirt off over his broad shoulders, coursing your fingers down the sides of his supple torso. Wesker's lips found yours once more. He stroked your swollen clit through the damp fabric of your boxers. Your hand reached to his dress pants, fondling the stiffening outline beneath his zipper. While you cupped his clothed length and slowly caressed it with one hand, the other hand unclipped the catch of his pants and tugged them down as far as you could reach.

Wesker pushed his sunglasses back up his nose. They had slid down enough that you could just catch his silvery-blue eyes beneath. "I must admit, I was rather pleased to hear that you're not with Redfield."

You raised your eyebrows in thinly-veiled disbelief before quickly recovering.

"Jealousy is not becoming of you, Captain," you breathed, the friction of his fingers pulsing against your clothed clit maddening in their slowness. 

"Hm. Nor you." He responded curtly, thumb increasing in pressure on your hardened bud. You bit back a moan and tilted your head, puzzled.

"Someone didn't like me talking to your party guests as I did,” Wesker elaborated with a quirk of an eyebrow. Leaning in, he tilted his head and nibbled on your jaw once more. Less gently this time. A hint of warning. "I find you attractive, your envious streak less so."

"I mean- mmf," you gritted your teeth, slowly feeling yourself succumbing to him. His natural dominance was starting to claw its way to the surface, and you were powerless under its sway. "Wesker…"

"Mm?"

"You got a first name?"

"Not one you need to concern yourself with now." 

Wesker responded so abruptly you felt an irrevocable instinct; like you needed to apologise. But before you could linger on this impulse, the captain had freed his cock from his underwear. The tip already glistened deliciously with precum as it sprung to attention. For a moment, not a single thought crossed your mind as your hand reached out and pumped along his length, warmth pooling in your cunt. It throbbed in its emptiness, begging to be full of him.

"Impatient little coquet, aren't we?" Wesker purred, his breath coming in ragged bursts as you stroked along his length. And yet, he still didn't let up on giving your emboldened clit the attention it craved.

"W-We can't be in here long. People will wonder-" 

"Let them wonder, my dear."

Wesker punctuated his words with a sharp tug, and you aided by lifting your hips off the sink long enough for him to yank your underwear off. Immediately, you shivered at the exposure, the heat of the slick coating your entrance biting against the cool surface of the basin.

"My, my," Wesker exhaled. He crouched slightly as he took in the sight of your cunt, swollen, pulsing desperately. He pumped his cock slowly as it twitched in his hand. "Your body is begging for me. Not a lot of begging from this pretty mouth of yours, though."

His fingers trailed upwards, over your abdomen and switching course to your arms so as to not touch your chest. Despite how commanding he was, Wesker seemed intent on avoiding the parts of you which made you uncomfortable - a level of respect certain others had not been so forthcoming with. The dominance he exuded was hot, but his attentiveness to your needs was somehow hotter.

Not one to let a hint lie untaken, you opened your mouth to beg: "Please, Wesker, I ne-"

By now, his hand had reached your mouth. You were cut off as he slid two digits between your parted lips. You let out a squeak of surprise but, not wanting to delay further, you closed your lips around his fingers and sucked fervently on them. Your eyes fluttered closed as he pumped them further into your mouth, grazing your tongue. A heady mix of alcohol and your own arousal sang across your tastebuds. Through the sunglasses, you could just make out his eyes fixated on you lapped appreciatively at his fingers. This image no doubt would keep him company on many lonely nights to come.

He removed his fingers from your mouth with a loud popping sound. Thankfully, the pounding of Chris's curated music mix coursing through the stereo speakers in the living room would conceal any such noises from outside ears.

"Now. What were you saying, sweetness?" His already deep voice was huskier now, laced with lust as his wettened fingers found your clit again, before sliding beyond and burying his ring and middle finger into your cunt in a beckoning motion.

The much-awaited intrusion forced a lewd whine from your throat. But it wasn't enough. God, it wasn't enough.

“Please, Wesker," you took your time drawing out the sound of his name, "I need you inside me. Need to feel your cock, need it in me, need you to fuck me, please…"

"Such a needy boy," Wesker drawled. He was trying to keep up the dominance game, power in his hands only. But his words were thick with a heated desire. Already, more strands of his blonde hair had come unstyled and were hanging loosely over his forehead. The slow erosion of his put-together appearance only served to dampen your entrance more in anticipation of him. He removed his fingers from your cunt, only to shift his weight forward to line up his dick to your weeping hole. 

A knock on the door.

Of all times, why now?

You and Wesker glanced to the lock in tandem, verifying it was indeed still latched.

Chris's voice on the other side of the door, calling your name. Chris, who was wondering where you are. Chris, whose boss you were about to fuck. If he only knew.

"Hey, you in here? I saw what happened, I- I'm sorry I couldn't do anything."

The part of you about to snap at him for his timing softened. An amused smile lifted the corners of Wesker's lips as he glanced back to you.

"Yeah- yeah, just getting cleaned up. It's okay. Really, it's fine."

You heard a sigh from beyond the door. "Alright. Hey, listen, have you seen Captain Wesker anywhere?"

His cue. The smile that was developing on Wesker's handsome countenance had morphed into a devious smirk. A barely suppressed chuckle followed as, the second Chris said his name, he sank his cock into you. His hands latched onto your ass and pulled your pelvis down so he was buried into you in one long, drawn-out thrust, leaving no room for you to adjust to his size.

Your mouth opened in a silent gasp which took everything in your power to suppress. Woodsmoke and leather, his presence unending, was swallowed inside of your eager body. And somehow, you had to respond. Wesker raised his eyebrows expectantly at you as he slowly pulled out, only to bury himself inside you once more, quicker this time.

Wesker's smirk was torturous. His cock twitched appreciatively inside of you, caressing your walls with each pulse of his hips and not letting up. This situation clearly both amused and aroused him to no end.

Chris said your name again, more of a question this time. 

"Say something, darling," Wesker leaned forward and muttered into your ear, words lilting like a taunting melody. "Chris will get suspicious."

You wrestled with every part of yourself that wanted to crumble into the cacophony of moans you could feel stirring in your chest. Instead, you fought for control over your voice, and spoke, in the most even tone you could muster. 

"N-no, no, sorry. No idea where he is. Maybe… uh… he went home?"

Wesker increased his pace, setting a rhythm not unlike a rushing heartbeat. Your body jolted from the force, unwittingly knocking over your hand soap dispenser and a few other bottles of assorted bathroom products. The tip of Wesker's cock kissed your cervix deliciously, and a moan escaped your lips before you could push it back down. Wesker's eyes widened at the unrepressed sound, his smile growing a tinge more ardent. Scrambling, you attempted to cover it up, a fake coughing fit being your choice of pantomime.

Chris's voice was tinged with concern at the sound. First the clattering, then your ‘coughing’.  "A-Are you okay?"

"Yeah, s-sorry. You know me, clumsy as always," you stammered, speaking perhaps a little too fast. 

"Should I come inside?" Chris asked, voice slightly louder.

A rattling of the door handle. Your heart jolted. Even though it was locked, you didn't trust the security of the room. And still, Wesker fucked you senseless, caring little for the implications were you to get caught, caring even less for how you struggled through your words.

"No!" You nearly shouted back. "No, no, I'm… not decent."

With Wesker's alcohol-scented breath hot and moist on your ear, he whispered: "You most certainly are not. Filthy."

Desperately, you willed Chris to leave, feeling your arousal reach its peak. Knowing it was only a matter of time before you went crashing over the edge. Perhaps there was something about the risk that you enjoyed, too.

Your roommate’s voice came through once more from beyond the door. "Okay, I'll talk to you later, yeah?"

"Yeah!" You tried not to sound too enthusiastic as you heard his footsteps retreating. 

Eyes wild, incredulous, you turned back to Wesker. "What the fu-"

Wesker crashed his lips against yours, swallowing your indignation. Slick with saliva, he pulled his mouth away from yours. You attempted to gaze into his eyes, to peel away the layers. The dark veil remained. 

You didn’t know why you asked when you did. Perhaps a favour to Chris - if anything, your salacious tryst with his boss could yield an answer to a question. Perhaps it would soften the blow, were he ever to find out about this.

“Why is it you always wear those sunglasses?”

Wesker, if he was shocked by your question, didn’t show it. His cock generated sliding friction along your walls as he plunged himself in and out of you.

“The eye is the window of the soul, the mouth the door. The intellect, the will, are seen in the eye; the emotions, sensibilities, and affections, in the mouth.” 

To effortlessly quote a philosopher while in the throes of carnal pleasure was a talent indeed.

“Who’s that from?” You asked through breathy moans.

Wesker grunted with effort, burying himself to the hilt in you and cradling your jaw with his fingers. “Unimportant. But it should answer your question.”

You didn’t know whether it was because your impending orgasm was rendering your synapses inert, but you were reasonably sure that you were more confused on the subject than before.

But that didn’t matter. Because Wesker had a question for you, too.

"Should I come inside?"

He echoed Chris's words, the meaning entirely different. Wesker's voice was throaty, losing its silky quality the closer he came to his climax. 

"Yes. God, god yes."

That was all it took, for him and for you. Your entire body collided with your climax, a leg-shaking affair which forced your head back in ecstasy. 

"Fuck, yes-"

Moments later, you felt your dripping pussy filled with his warm release. It coated your inner walls, mixing with your slick. Slowly, he pulled his cock free from your weeping hole.

Wesker smoothed the rogue blonde hairs hanging over his face back into position. Teeth bit down on his lower lip as he beheld his cum slide slowly out of you, dripping onto the porcelain surface of the sink. Suddenly, you felt embarrassed, moving to close your knees together. His hand moved swiftly, as swiftly as it did when he prevented the man from shoving you. It blocked your knees from meeting, and he instead pushed them open again insistently.

"Now, don't deprive me of such a sweet sight."

Instead, he deprived you of a sweet sight as he pulled his underwear and pants back over his lower half, his cock disappearing beneath fabric. He set to work buttoning up his shirt once more, starting to rebuild his well curated outer persona. Meanwhile, you had never felt more fucked out in your life. You pressed the back of your head to the mirror, legs still straddling the sink. Your cunt twitched with ongoing aftershocks, feeling Wesker's cum gradually leak out of you.

Wesker regarded you up and down, securing the final button on his shirt but leaving some loose. Giving a slight teaser as to what lay beneath, but nowhere near the entirety of him that you had been treated to.

"You're even filthier than you were when you came in here, dear," he observed without a hint of irony. Fully dressed now, he stepped forward and graced your lips with a light kiss, nowhere near enough to satiate you and more than enough to leave you wanting more. 

"Wesker-"

Wesker strode over to the door, tilting his head back to watch as you slid slowly on shaky legs off the sink. “It’s been seven minutes,” he said. “People will wonder.”

Woodsmoke, leather. Vanilla, wine. No strong smell could override the undercurrent of risk that struck like a dagger in your heart as his eyes found yours. He slid his sunglasses deliberately down his nose. And, finally, you deciphered the look in his eyes that had been hidden from you all this time. 

Wesker looked at you like you were prey. 

And you loved it.

Bouncy Gwaystwipe!!! ♡♡♡♡♡♡

you: so who's the older twin?

vergil: me. whatever could make you think that *points to dante* could ever have been the older twin? quickly.

dante: *eating a strawberry sundae by using his teeth and tongue becuase he couldn't be bothered to find a spoon, smearing it all over his face and looking goofy doing so*

you: ...point taken.

headcanon atsushi’s ability the tiger does not know what to do when it likes someone

like in general atsushi is bad with knowing what to do with the ppl he likes and showing affection – like he tries to mimic others but he himself is still working on something that feels natural if that makes sense

but the tiger

the tiger is far worse becuz the only positive thing it can associate with positive emotions is food so every time it gets closer to the full moon the tiger starts whispering in the back of his mind that he should eat dazai and kunikida

then kyouka and junichiro

and ranpo and yosano and fukuzawa and kenji and naomi and haruno

at first atsushi panics (naturally) worries he’s a cannibal, thinks the tiger hates the agency, panics more, especially after dead apple when he and the tiger gained an understanding of each other and he realized that the tiger was protecting him so he’s like why r u trying to kill the agency members

but gradually he realizes that actually the tiger just doesn’t know how to deal with positive emotions and yeah

anyway:

atsushi: dazai-san is so nice to me :)

the tiger: yeah :)

the tiger: we should eat him

atsushi: NO????

//

kunikida, patting atsushi’s head: good job on ur report atsushi

the tiger: use his arm against him and eat him

kunikida: atsushi u look weird are u feeling unwell

atsushi: hahaha dont worry about no weird thoughts here hahahaha

//

atsushi, literally just working:

the tiger: the small candy one eats a lot of sugar. he would taste sweet. Eat him.

atsushi: NO??????????????

ranpo, looking up: i’ve actually always wondered what i would taste like-

//

and so on

is this incredibly dumb? yes but is it also funny, yes

atsushi realizes he likes akutagawa because at some point when he spots him the tiger immediately starts wondering what he’d taste like

atsushi, sees akutagawa: oh there’s that basta-

the tiger: i bet he’d taste really nice

atsushi:

atsushi: oh 

atsushi: oh no

//

akutagawa: how did you figure out you liked me?

atsushi: i couldn’t stop thinking about what you’d taste like

akutagawa, blushing: oh-

atsushi: yeah it was insane how much the tiger wanted to kill and eat u

akutagawa, slightly confused and horrified: oh-

//

eventually as atsushi learns to deal with his feelings so does the tiger but unfortunately it’s still an animal so its more like

atsushi: dazai’s so nice :)

the tiger: yeah :)

the tiger: lets hunt a deer for him 

atsushi: no??????????????

//

kunikida, petting atsushi’s hair: good job on the job atsushi

atsushi, not thinking about what he’s saying: kunikida i like u so much should i kill a bear for u?

kunikida, slightly confused, slightly flattered: uhh no???????

//

atsushi, at the store: lemme just get something for kyouka-

the tiger: we shall hunt until we find something suitabl-

atsushi: no.

//

atsushi: im sorry i transformed last night, snuck out of ur place, hunted down a goose, broke back in, left it in the living room table, and then climbed on top of u, still a tiger, and then fell asleep and only transformed back now, after u had to use rashomon to get tiger me off u 

akutagawa, dead tired: yeah i don’t know what the appropriate response is but ur cleaning the bloo-

akutagawa: wait wtf do u mean theres a dead goose in the living room

atsushi: do u not like goose :(

akutagawa: that is NOT the issue here

//

yeah

Burning

Pairing: Bobby Nash x Male!Reader

Rating: Mature

Summary: You’re finally cleared by your doctor for normal activities—not by your Captain of course—but Athena thinks you two can bend the rules a little bit. What happens when you finally run into the 118 team that Athena has mentioned?

A/N: My first 9-1-1 fic! It’s been a long time coming! Takes place a few months or more after the tsunami episode, so the timeline might not be all correct but…oh well. As much as I adore Bathena, it’s not established in this fic and for all intents and purposes, they’re just friends. There is art scattered in the fic and there is my interpretation of the main character but in no way is that how he has to look—there are no specific descriptors in the writing for hair, eyes, skin color, etc. By all means, if you’d like to create your own version of him, I’d love to see it!

Warnings: canon typical injuries, male!reader (no y/n), mentions of blood and burns, first kiss, Bi!Bobby, older man/younger man, meet cute

Groaning and flexing my forearm for the fourth time that morning, I sighed and closed the file on my desk and pushed it aside. I reached for my coffee mug with my good hand before pulling it back and reaching for it with the arm I could actually use now. I grimaced as lukewarm liquid touched my lips, having half a mind to get up and warm it up when I heard a couple short raps on the doorframe of the office I was inhabiting in the short term.

“Sergeant Grant,” I grinned with a sing-songy lilt to my voice, leaning back in my seat as I looked up at her.

“How’s the arm doing, Officer?” she grinned with her voice equally as playful while dropping my last name, with her own coffee clasped between her hands.

“Oh you know…” I shrugged, putting it through some motions. “Doc said I didn’t have to wear a sling anymore and I can start working it out again at a hundred percent, so that’s good.”

“If it's any consolation, you don’t look like you lost muscle in that arm,” she pursed her lips and laughed.

“It’s nice to know someone’s looking,” I chuckled, taking another disgusting sip. “So, what can I do for you?”

“It’s more like what I can do for you,” she sauntered in and took a seat across from me. “I spoke to Cap and she might have agreed for me to take you out on patrol with me.”

“No…” I breathed in disbelief, knowing full well the Captain had just told me I wasn’t cleared for leading field work yet or training any new officers.

“Unless you’re too busy, of course,” Athena dismissed, scooting her chair back and standing up, gesturing to the pile of folders on my desk with her eyebrows.

“Not too busy!” I exclaimed quickly, standing before she could leave the room. “It’s just busy work and evaluations anyway…”

“Are you su—“

“—very sure,” I responded before she could finish, grabbing my bag and vest for patrol from the floor next to me.

Athena simply gave me an amused grin and nodded her head for me to follow her out.

“Don’t laugh at me, I was going crazy stuck to a desk, Athena.”

“I’m not surprised, you hyperactive man-baby.”

—

We prepped her patrol car, making sure everything was situated and tossing my bag in the trunk of the Explorer. I hesitated in the back, looking at my body armor secured to my bag. Before the tsunami, I would have had it on as soon as I got to the station, but being on desk duty for the last few months, I hadn’t needed it. It was unlikely I would need it in Athena’s beat, but I knew I would feel less uneasy with it on.

Now, I just had to get it on without completely disrobing or jostling my shirt-stays. As I contemplated my predicament, I undid my uniform shirt all the way down to my belt. I opened the Velcro flaps on my vest and began an awkward shimmy of sliding the back of the vest underneath and behind my collar, sliding my head through the middle, and letting the front flap over my chest. I rolled my shoulders to let it fall in place on its own and tugged my open shirt to get any material stuck underneath the vest out. When I was situated, I closed up the Velcro sides snuggly and buttoned up my shirt.

“Are you lost or—“ Athena asked impatiently—having already checked to make sure the vehicle was in order—coming around to the back of the patrol vehicle while I fussed with my buttons.

“Sorry, one sec,” I offered apologetically.

“I’m not taking you to any high risk calls, so don’t get too excited,” she laughed saying my name like that of an over-eager child. “Cap would have my head.”

“Hey, take it easy on me, Athena. I used to work narcotics and those calls were never chill, so this puts me at ease a little.”

“Alright, alright. Hurry up, before I tell Cap about that very non regulation patch on your body armor,” she gave me a pointed look, glancing down at the terrible sewing job I had done on my body armor that held a small pansexual flag. The Sergeant pushed her sunglasses up to her face but not before winking in my direction to let me know she was joking.

Piling in to the Explorer, Athena immediately got on the radio, “This is 727-A-30, we are 10-8.”

I tuned out the radio conversation after that, knowing Athena would be giving our info to dispatch quickly as we pulled out of the station. 

—

We started patrolling her beat, finding it fairly quiet but knowing better than to voice that out loud. Not twenty minutes into our patrol shift, did Athena’s phone start pinging messages in quick succession from where it hung in the dash mount. 

“Damn, ‘Thena, you got a hot date or what?” I snorted, trying to sneakily grab her phone but telegraphing my movements purposely so she’d slap me away.

“Oh shut it,” she slapped my arm. “Your doctor cleared you so I won’t feel bad if I have to hit you harder.”

“I expect nothing less, sarge,” I grinned. “But, come on, you know I love me some chisme, cough it up.”

“It’s nothing,” she rolled her eyes, quickly replying as we stopped at a red light.

“Oooh, is it about me?” I waggled my eyebrows, while she gave me a blank stare from behind her sunglasses.

The patrol car was silent for a few moments, the only sound being from outside the car and the radio faintly playing.

“Yes, it was about you,” I finally heard her mumble.

“I knew it! Let me see!” I made grabby hands for her phone.

“I’m gonna regret this,” she sighed and tossed the phone in my lap.

I laughed as I scrolled to the beginning of the conversation, someone by the name of “Maddie” starting off by asking who I was and why I was with Athena when she usually patrolled solo, with the eyes emoji to end the question.

The transfer from Pacific I told you about! - Athena

Ooh! Pics! I remember you talking about him! He sounds hot! -Maddie

Pics! -Hen

Show us! -Eddie

He’s a dork, but he’s cool. - Athena

Oh, he IS hot! -Maddie

Seconded! -Eddie

Hey! -Buck

Sorry… -Eddie

You’re right, though -Buck

I’m NOT asking out a subordinate, stop it -Athena

“Hey, I’m not a dork,” I teased.

“You so are.”

“How did this Maddie person know I was with you so fast anyway…?” I drifted off as another text came in.

“She’s a dispatcher. Everyone else there is from the 118. Her brother and boyfriend are with the 118, too. You’ll probably run into them a lot on patrol, that’s how I met them anyway.”

You definitely withheld the hot part from me, Athena -Bobby

Ooooo, Cap! -Hen

“Ooh, firefighters…mmm,” I sighed dreamily just to annoy her. “And who is Bobby? He looks fine as hell and he just called me hot.” I hurriedly clicked on his contact photo to get a better look.

“The 118 Captain. I knew your gay little heart wouldn’t be able to resist him,” she laughed and took the phone from me.

“I’m not gay, ‘Thena, I’m pansexual. You know this!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You just only talk about the guys, so I forget sometimes.”

“That’s because they usually have the most drama,” I snorted. “So, you’re forgiven.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s straight, though. Well, I’ve never heard him talk about going out with any men, so I suppose I’m just assuming.”

“Oh, I will be devastated if he is,” I rolled my eyes and sighed. “What about you?”

“Nah, after Michael…I’ve been taking some time for me. I didn’t want to jump into anyone’s arms, I’m too focused on my kids after the divorce, you know?”

“Aw, yea, I understand. But, you know I’d take you out in a heartbeat if you let me,” I shot her a smile.

“You are too young for me!” She scoffed and shook her head.

“No, you’re just experienced,” I winked. “Also, I take offense to that. I’m in my thirties with two degrees and a career, ma’am.”

“Lord help me.”

—

“911, What’s your emergency?”

“My mother! She’s out of control! THIS IS A NIGHTMARE!” wild screaming arises in the background, “Get away from me! YOU’VE OFFICIALLY LOST IT!”

“This is dispatch requesting a unit at 294 Moreno Drive. Reports of a family disturbance and possible assault.”

“Dispatch, this is 727-A-30 handling.”

“10-4, 727-A-30.”

Athena flicked the sirens and lights on and sighed heavily as we sped off to the call, “Oh boy.”

—

“727-A-30, 10-97 on scene,” Athena announced into her radio.

“I’m just saying, thin crust is delicious but my fat ass will eat the whole thing. So, I never allow myself to get it!” I groaned to Athena.

“Or you could have some self control lik—”

I glared at Athena and smirked thinking my glare cut her off but saw her staring past me.

“You’re psychotic! All of you!” a high pitched yell sounded as the front door of the house ripped open.

A middle-aged woman wielding a brightly colored, tissue paper covered stick stormed out of the house followed by a flock of elderly people.

“I told you not to come!” a half dressed older lady shouted back at her.

Oh shit. I immediately averted my eyes at the sight, hearing Athena chuckle behind me.

“It’s your birthday! I was just supposed to ignore that!?” She flailed the stick around.

“Obviously!”

“Mom, did you order strippers!?” the woman screamed, finally noticing Athena and me.

“Honey, you called 911,” an older man, likely her father, spoke up from next to her mother.

“Well, Mom was stripping and doing body shots!”

“I just turned seventy! Let me live a little! Also, you hit me with that stick!”

“Yea, to knock some sen—”

“Okay!” I spoke up, ending the argument. “I’m flattered you think I could pass as a stripper but I’m going to have to ask you to put the piñata stick down, ma’am,” I held my hands out as non-threateningly as possible. When she didn’t immediately put it down, I cocked my head and gave a slower warning, “Ma’am…”

“Yea, yea, fine,” she rolled her eyes and thrust the stick at me. 

I jumped but grabbed it tightly and and took it from her hands. Athena took it from me and held it far out of reach.

“Now, are we pressing charges and do you need medical attention?” I looked pointedly at the mother.

“No…no…” the mother waved me off.

“Press charges against me? I called you!”

“You also assaulted someone, so it doesn’t matter who called us,” I sighed, resting my hands on my duty belt. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave the property.”

The woman huffed and stomped off, making Athena and me sag with relief. 

“I hope you have a nice rest of your party, ma’am,” I smiled and nodded my head to her, her husband, and the rest of the guests who had come out onto the lawn.

I turned back toward Athena, my eyes widening comically and mouthing, “Oh my god,” with an exasperated expression.

“Hey, you said you liked a little experience…” Athena laughed as we got in the car.

“Shut up,” I mumbled with a smirk.

“727-A-30, 10-98.”

“I need some bleach for my eyes,” I sighed heavily.

—

“911, What’s your emergency?”

“I’m trapped! There’s a—a huge pile up on—“ the caller wheezed, “—Wilshire.”

“911, What’s your emergency?” 

“The traffic lights! They’re all green! There’s a huge accident on Wilshire and Irolo.”

“911, What’s your emergency?”

“I’m the manager at Bank of Hope on Wilshire and Vermont, we just had a robbery take place. I think they hit Wells Fargo, too!”

“All available units in the vicinity of Wilshire and Irolo, please respond to a pileup in the intersection for traffic control. Firehouse 118 is arriving on scene shortly.”

“727-A-30, responding,” Athena answered immediately and made a u-turn while turning on the lights and sirens.

“10-4, 727-A-30. Please be advised, 211 just took place on Wilshire and Vermont. A unit has already been dispatched but witnesses report the getaway car heading toward the accident intersection. Suspect is 10-29FD possibly carrying a knife. Gun was left at the scene.”

“10-4, Dispatch. Patch me in to Captain Nash.”

There was silence before the radio crackled finally.

“This is Captain Nash.”

“Bobby, I’m on route to the accident, use extreme caution. Suspect is armed.”

“Athena, dispatch notified us that it was a knife. Have a little faith, I think we can take it,” he chuckled over the radio.

“Bobby…”

“We’ll be looking out, don’t worry. Just arrived on scene.”

Bobby cut out leaving us to listen to the sirens as we sped to the scene.

“Responders, please be advised the getaway vehicle was a black sedan.”

“10-4.”

“Dispatch, there’s three black sedans, proceeding with caution,” Bobby interjected.

We pulled up to the scene eight minutes later, seeing a horrific display of mangled cars, smoke, and flames. A couple LAPD units had already arrived on scene and started directing traffic away from the intersection. Firefighters, the 118 I assumed, were split up around the cars to attend to as many people as they could.

“You find one black sedan, I’ll find another. Clear it and head to the last one.”

“Copy that,” I clipped and opened the door, immediately dropping my hand to my taser to pull out if needed.

I jogged over to where one of the cars was, slowing down as I approached to be able to assess the situation better. I rounded other cars cautiously but didn’t immediately see anyone that screamed “robber” at me, nor evidence of a robbery in the car as I approached it.

I jumped as my radio crackled, “Responders, Station 122 is arriving shortly for medical back up.”

“Athena!” I called out in her general direction, “Clear over here!”

“Here, too! Dispatch, suspect has not been located yet.”

“I’m heading to the nex—” I called out, stopping when I saw an unresponsive woman in her car just a few down from the one I had checked.

The car next to hers had caught fire, which had spread near hers. Her car was leaking fluid, making me curse and not want to find out what it was until it was too late.

“I need an extinguisher here!” I shouted.

I saw a couple of the 118’s heads pop up and look in my direction. Captain Nash's distinctive helmet nodded to his other teammates before running toward the fire truck. 

“Don’t move the victim!” I heard one of them yell.

“She can’t wait! This whole this is about to go up!”

I tried for the door handle but it was dented and crushed. The front of the car was too close to the flames for comfort, so I hastily pulled out a knife and cut the seat belt off her. Leaning into the window to drag her out, my duty belt caught on the broken glass and twisted metal so I couldn’t fully clutch her. With a growl, I let go and unbuckled my belt, letting it drop to the floor and kicking it away from the flames. The fire had spread to the front of her car, licking and burning at my skin as I reached in again for her. I didn’t register any pain from the adrenaline, not stopping until she was fully out of the car and in my arms as I watched the car fully engulf.

“Officer, put her here,” Captain Nash instructed me, running up with a group of EMTs and heading straight to the fire to put it out. 

I placed the woman on the stretcher, making sure they took her to safety as I fetched my belt and strapped it back around my waist. It wasn’t until I cinched it closed that I felt a searing pain in my side just underneath my vest. My breath hitched and a groan of pain escaped my lips, causing Bobby to do a double take as he worked on the flames. I gulped—swaying on my feet as the pain fully registered and threatened to send me into shock—but clenched my teeth as I finished the buckle.

With a nod to Captain Nash, I waited for a responding nod before jogging off to find Athena.

“Sergeant! Nothing…” I slowed my run as I approached her, turning into a slow jog with a limp as it caused more chafing to occur against my wound.

“Nothing at this one either,” she sighed, shaking her head as she took another look in the car. “Either way, this car can’t have been it. It’s too close to the beginning of the pileup. The suspect would have been closer to the outside.”

“You’re right,” I grimaced.

“What’s wrong with you?” She furrowed her brows and stepped over menacingly.

“Nothing. I’m fine, I—,” I paused as her words hit me. “The first one I checked was on the outside…the door was open but it was empty inside I—.”

Shit.

Bobby was over there alone now.

“Captain!” I turned an ran, seeing him speaking with someone near where I left him.

The scene was loud, understandably so, but I slowed as I neared anyway to avoid spooking the potentially dangerous suspect.

“Look, sir, it’s my job to make sure you’re okay. That cut on the side of your head looks pretty bad,” Bobby held his palms out to the man who was clad in all black and clutching a gym bag to his chest. “At least let me make sure you don’t have a concussion,” Bobby stepped closer again.

From where the man’s back was facing me, I saw a glint of metal appearing from his back pocket and felt adrenaline surge through my veins. I took the remaining steps forward and lunged, wrapping my whole hand around his wrist and shoving it up so it was pinned against his lower to mid back.

“Drop it!” I growled. When he didn’t immediately comply, I repeated myself, “Drop it, or I will make you.”

At the lack of movement I bent his wrist inward with my free hand and used the pain of the wrist lock to force him to open his hand. When the knife clattered to the floor, I kicked it away and began slapping cuffs on the man. The bag was cut from his body, since I had trapped it on his body with his arms in cuffs, and Athena took the liberty of guiding him to a free unit to take him in while reading him his rights.

“Come on, I think I could have taken him?” Bobby chuckled as Athena dragged the suspect away. “But thank you.”

I shot him a glare that was soon diluted by a smirk. The smirk soon faded away as my wound throbbed, so I leaned my weight on the car next to me. Whatever the hell I did hurt. A lot. 

“Are you okay?”

“Mhm, just taking a second,” I groaned as I straightened back up. “I should help…”

“Whoa, there,” Bobby stopped me with a hand gripping my tricep, steadying me as I wobbled. “You’re not fine. And anyway, the 122 is here and helping. It’s under control.”

I slumped, watching the firefighters work, but knew he was right. Athena was going to kill me. Then, Bobby was going to resurrect me. And then, my Captain was going to kill me all over again.

“Let me check it out?” He asked, though it definitely felt like more of a gentle demand than a question.

I nodded and let him guide me to the 118 Paramedic truck.

He sat me on the edge of the truck and jumped into the back to clean his hands and find supplies. When he came back out, his hands were covered in black medical gloves and his arms were full of random items.

“You’re gonna have to uh…” he gestured to my torso with his head as he laid the supplies down in the entry way of the back doors of the truck. 

I stood, stepping out of his way as he opened the second door wider for me to place my belt and uniform. The duty belt came off first, making me wince. I watched the firefighter’s eyebrows raise as he saw the slashed front and tattered side of my uniform shirt. The belt fell to the metal flooring with a heavy thud. I paused, willing the pain to subside before moving on to my shirt but to no avail.

“Shirt, too,” Bobby stood with his hands clasped down in front of him. “Or I can cut it off.”

“No need, Captain, just give me a sec,” I grunted and started undoing the buttons.

The hard part came when I had to shrug the shirt off. The movements made me tense up and clench my teeth.

“May I?” Bobby offered with medical shears in hand. “Not like you can wear that shirt again, anyway.”

“Fair enough…”

Bobby made quick work of the uniform shirt, cutting away as much as he could so I wouldn’t have to twist at all. He dropped his hands to where the shirt met my trousers, tugging the material forcefully out of my shirt stays—causing me to wince as the elastic snapped down my legs. He undid the Velcro of my body armor and lifted it over my head. He paused, taking in the slashed material below my patch. Luckily, only the outer covering had been frayed a bit, but no damage to the internal armor.

“Good thing you had this on, could have sliced yourself when you grabbed him,” Bobby indicated to the slice. His thumb ran over the small pink, yellow, and cyan patch, “Nice,” he smirked before setting that aside with my duty belt.

“Yea,” I jumped as he lifted my undershirt, some of my skin catching on the cotton. “You know what that is?”

“‘Course I do,” he stated matter-of-factly and sat on the edge of the truck so he was eye level with my affected side, below where the body armor had covered. “Pansexual flag, right?”

Surprised, I was too shocked to react when he began cleaning the wound, only reacting with a hiss when the delayed sting of antiseptic sunk in.

“Don’t look so shocked,” he laughed, dabbing at the wound to make sure there was nothing foreign in it. “I’m Bi.”

Still speechless, I simply held my shirt up for him as he worked with my mouth slightly open in shock.

“Again, don’t look so surprised,” he chuckled.

“It’s just…sorry. Sorry,” I laughed. “Athena thought you were straight.”

“Talking about me, huh?” He chuckled, making my face heat up before he continued, “Don’t worry, we’ve all discussed you plenty. And, anyway, I mean I’ve never expressly said it. Nor, have I publicly dated a man,” he shrugged. “I wouldn’t be opposed to it, of course.”

By now, Bobby had stopped working on the wound and was just staring up at me with an amused expression on his handsome face. 

“You should close your mouth before you catch something with it, Officer.”

Without thinking, I blurted out my name and immediately apologized, “Sorry, uh, you can…yea you can just call me…yea.”

“Bobby,” he offered me. “Well,” he sighed my name, causing shivers to go up my spine. “Laceration isn’t too deep, you won’t need stitches, thankfully, but it’s also not going to feel nice because the area gets a lot of movement and creasing. The burn around it is pretty enflamed. You won’t need anything major done but this’ll take some time to heal. I have some burn cream if you want it?”

“Please, thank you,” I cleared my throat, hoping to get rid of the raspy, huskiness that had developed. 

Soon, cold, white paste was being gently applied to the burned area and then he was covering it with gauze and tape. I let my under shirt fall back down into place, catching a split second where Bobby’s eyes flicked to the rest of my abdomen before it was covered. 

“Thank you.”

“No problem,” he smiled, pausing briefly to look at his boots. “Would yo—.”

“Cap is going to murder me,” Athena groaned from behind me, startling me out of whatever trance Bobby had pulled me into. “What the hell happened?”

“I—I’m okay…”

“Just a cut and a burn, ‘Thena, he’ll live,” Bobby chuckled, standing and snapping off the gloves now smeared with cream.

“Next time warn your partner before you go gallivanting into a burning car?” 

“Sorry,” I smiled. 

“Mhmm,” she responded, entirely unconvinced. “I gotta get him out of here, Bobby. Is he good to go?” Athena asked, tearing Bobby’s attention from me to her.

“Oh, uh, yea he’s perf—good, he’s good,” Bobby stumbled, a flush creeping up his neck. “It was nice to finally meet you.”

“You as well, Captain Nash,” I smiled, biting the inside of my cheek. I hastily grabbed my duty belt and shredded shirt before following Athena to her patrol car, waving to Bobby with a wince as my skin stretched.

We sat in the silence of the car for a few beats before Athena burst into laughter.

“You damn flirt, I knew it,” she laughed at me.

“Athena, he’s hot,” I whined. “Did you really expect me not to?”

“How about, we don’t tell Captain the extent of your injuries and I won’t tell anyone how shamelessly you flirted with Bobby.”

“To be fair—” I interjected, “—he totally flirted back.”

—

After a stern talking to—in the form of shouting—from our Captain, Athena and I cleaned up, changed, and were confined to the station for the rest of our shift. Athena assured me that we weren’t in actual trouble before we left the station to go home, making me at ease since the last thing I wanted was for her to get in trouble for my stupidity.

Currently, I was too hungry to dwell on it.

I was salivating over a pot of sautéing garlic, crushed red pepper, and oregano for a quick and easy red sauce and stirring loosely so they didn’t burn.  Letting out a wild yawn and grunt, wiping my hands on the towel slung over my bare shoulder and turning to open the refrigerator, feeling my side twinge as I did. I yanked out a protein drink and downed it in two gulps, hoping to stave off my hunger while I cooked, before turning toward my designated medicine cabinet in the kitchen and popping a couple pain relievers. I got back to work and was just picking up a tube of tomato paste, ready to squeeze it in when there was a hesitant knock, followed by two firmer ones. 

I certainly wasn’t expecting any guests, but grumbled and shut off the flame under my pot just in case and moved it to a cool burner. It would be a tragedy if my garlic burned, after all. I didn’t even think twice about my state of undress, clad in only a pair of sweats and socks—with my kitchen towel over my shoulder—before I was yanking my door open to find the last person I expected to be on the other side of it.

Bobby. Dressed in jeans and a worn button down with his hands stuffed in his pockets, he immediately yanked them out and stood straighter like he had at the scene earlier.

“Hey, uh, hope this isn’t too strange—uh,” he scratched the back of his head. “I—uh—wasn’t sure if you had any burn cream and I forgot to sneak you some earlier.”

I didn’t know what to say, my mouth opening and shutting a couple times, “No—I—I was actually going to Instacart some so you saved me a few dollars.”

“Ours is better anyway,” he chuckled before his smile dropped again. “I—er—got your address from Athena, sorry if that was not…good.”

“It’s fine. I’ll give her a stern talking to about giving my address to strange men,” I smiled at his good natured laugh and opened my door wider. “Do you want to come in? I was just making dinner if you’re hungry.”

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude. You look…busy,” he cleared his throat, clearly avoiding looking at my bare chest.

I looked down at myself and chuckled, “Not busy enough to put a shirt on, clearly. But I could be…” I relished watching his neck flush up to his cheeks, “Come on in, I hear you’re the resident cook at the firehouse. I need a chef’s opinion on this sauce.”

Bobby perked up at the offer, “Well, if it’s a professional opinion you need…” He stepped through the doorway, shoulder brushing my chest as he tugged the towel off my shoulder and promptly slapped it over his own in transit. 

“Give me one sec, let me grab a shirt,” I said, jogging over to where I had a black t-shirt thrown over my couch. I did a three-sixty to make sure the rest of the living room wasn’t a complete mess.

“You don’t have to, it’s your apartment,” he mumbled. “Plus, I’m sure that hurts to put on,” Bobby finally looked over at me, his gaze unmistakably on my exposed skin.

“Ah, well,” I shrugged, tugging the shirt on the arm of the injured side, maneuvering my other arm in, and flinging the rest over my head. I smirked to myself when the material clung tightly to my body, probably one size too small for me. “It hurt more taking it off, honestly, and I don’t wanna be too underdressed,” I grinned.

I jogged quickly back over to the kitchen, sliding in my socks near the end and found Bobby gazing at me with an amused upturn of his lips with his arms folded tightly over his chest. Fuck. 

“Had to turn the flame off to answer the door, so let me get this warm again,” I hummed. “Alexa! Play my ‘Oldies but Goodies’ playlist on low.” I ignored her response and immediately began humming and swaying to myself as Billy Joel started playing while I brought the ingredients back up to a good temperature.

“Really? Is that because I’m here?” Bobby shoved my shoulder.

“Hey! I’ll have you know I was raised on this!” I pushed back before grabbing the tube of tomato paste off the counter. I was opening the tube when I stopped and just about broke my neck looking at him quickly.

The sudden movement broke him put of whatever trance he was in while watching me cook, eyes widening in surprise, “What?”

“I’m so rude. Can I get you something to drink? I have water, juice, and—er—protein shakes. I think that’s it.”

“Water's fine, I can get it. Fridge?” at my hum of affirmation he opened the refrigerator behind me and looked back at me in the small space, his voice suddenly very close to my back and neck, “Want one?”

I cleared my suddenly dry throat, “Please.”

Licking my lips, I set back to work and squeezed the paste in the pot before stirring it in. 

“Here you go,” he set the bottle on the counter before twisting his own open and taking a sip.

I fumbled with closing the tube of paste nearly dropping the cap, “Shit—ah!” I squeaked and snatched the cap as it fell. “Sorry. Thank you,” I finally responded, licking paste off my wrist and grimacing at the acidity.

Bobby smiled for the umpteenth time—and god I hope he never stopped—shaking his head as he took another drink, “Athena was right.”

“About what?” I asked, stirring so the ingredients wouldn’t burn.

“You,” he cocked his head at me. “You are a dork.”

“Rude.”

“Maybe,” he teased. “So, what brought you to that station?”

“Mm,” I hummed while opening the can of tomato sauce, “The tsunami actually. It did a number on my old station, I don’t even think it’s up and running yet, I think they’re still running out of another building. But, anyway, during some of the search and rescue, I broke my arm and I’d been in a cast for a while. They transferred me to this station to do more administrative work in the mean time, that’s how I met Athena.”

“Oh wow, I’m sorry.”

“It’s all part of the job,” I shrugged, pouring in the sauce and throwing the flame higher while I stirred. “It’s funny actually. Today, Athena convinced our Captain to let me out on patrol with her since my doctor cleared me for normal exercise with my arm and then that call happened,” I laughed.

“Luckily, you had a strapping firefighter to rescue you,” Bobby teased.

“Luckily, I had a strapping firefighter to rescue, I think you mean,” I teased back, flicking the burner to simmer. 

“Of course, how could I forget my knight in body armor.”

“Damn right,” I winked. “Now, come over here, Chef Nash, and let me know how I did.” I waved my hand in presentation to the simmering pot, “Shit, wait!” I stopped him with a hand between his shoulder and chest—wow, that was firm—to hastily pour some salt in my hand, pinch some, throw it in with a flourish, and toss the rest in the sink. I gave it another stir and stepped back.

Bobby stepped up, grabbed the spoon and dipped his pinky in it. Then, proceeded to push the spoon toward me to do the same while shoving his pinky in his mouth to suck the sauce off. I barely managed to dip my own finger in the spoon as I imagined his tongue lapping the sauce away. By the way his eyes swirled with playfulness, I knew that he knew exactly what he was doing. I could finally breathe again when he released his pinky, taking the opportunity to lick my finger and suck the end with a quick ‘pop’ and a moan thrown in for good measure. 

“It’s really good,” he praised.

“Thank y—”

“—But! We can do better.”

My mouth snapped shut with a pout as Bobby turned and opened my refrigerator with renewed purpose. He hummed to himself quietly before making a noise of success and coming back out with a sprig of leftover basil I had bought for a pesto I made a few days ago.

“You’re a genius!” I groaned, snagging the sprig from him and plucking the leaves off. 

I went to throw them haphazardly into the sauce when Bobby’s hand shot out and grabbed my wrist before I could let them go, “Woah, there.” He guided my hand toward himself, bringing me deliciously close to him. Close enough to breathe in whatever he had sprayed himself with before coming here, and definitely close enough to see the way his eyes dropped to my parted lips. “We can be a little more sophisticated than that,” he breathed, his voice suddenly huskier than it was a few seconds ago.

“Show me.”

“With pleasure,” he licked his bottom lip and plucked the leaves from my fingers. 

I watched as he stepped over to the cutting board where I had chopped the garlic, taking the time to stack the basil leaves on each other before rolling them into a cylinder. He fetched the knife that lay nearby and sliced the leaves with quick, light strokes, leaving green ribbons in his wake. Bobby lifted the cutting board and slid the ribbons into the sauce to simmer, giving me a smug smirk as he turned to face me after. I took the liberty of stirring the sauce while we waited for it to come together.

“It should be good now,” he nodded toward the pot, so I lifted the spoon and dipped my finger right after he did.

He sucked the sauce off his finger with a proud hum and a nod of approval, me not getting as distracted as I did the first time. I stuck my finger my mouth, my eyes immediately falling shut as I tasted the small difference the basil made. Letting my eyes flutter back open as I removed my finger, the air was sucked out of the room as I saw how dark Bobby’s eyes had gotten.

“I concede. You were right.”

Bobby didn’t respond, instead staring at my mouth.

“What’s wrong?”

Snapped out of his stare, Bobby blinked rapidly, “N—nothing, sorry. You have a little sauce…” He mimed the general area with his hand on his own face.

“Oh,” I furrowed my brows and wiped my face with my palm but didn’t feel any. “Did I get it?”

“No, it’s…” he mimed again, stepping closer.

“Whe—” my words were cut off as I felt warm lips on mine.

I sagged into his arms, a sigh escaping my throat as he pressed himself against me. In an attempt to not stretch my side so much, I kept my hands low and framing the sides of Bobby’s torso. It was nice—really nice—and I had to stop myself from deepening the kiss as I felt his hands clutch my upper arms. I let him pull away but kept him close since he didn’t step back.

“Bobby…”

“I’m sorry, that was inappro—”

“No…” I shook my head. I leaned forward again, just enough to feel his nose touch mine, “Can I…?” I felt him nod against me and dipped my head back in to touch my lips to his, letting my hand on my non-injured side come up to the back of his neck. This kiss was just as short as the last and just as nice, not wanting to overwhelm him so quickly.

“That was…” Bobby trailed off as we separated again.

“…Life changing?” I winked.

Bobby scoffed out a laugh, “I was going to say good, but you ruined it so…”

“Shut up,” I scowled playfully, tugging him back by the belt and kissing him sweetly once more. I furrowed my brows as I pulled back, tilting my head to the side in thought, “There wasn’t anything on my face, was there?” I squinted at him.

“Definitely not,” he let out a soft chuckle.

“Mm,” I hummed, “you’re forgiven.”

We pulled apart, somewhat reluctantly, and served two plates after making sure the stove was shut off. While the kisses were brief, I couldn’t stop licking my lips and remembering what Bobby's felt like on mine. Lingering glances and sly smirks permeated our conversation over dinner. I learned more about him than what Athena divulged to me and I’m sure the same went for him. Soon enough our plates were empty and we were idly chatting over the nearly clean plates. 

“Do you want more?” Bobby spoke up during a lull in the conversation.

“Yea, but I can—,” I stood to go get more, wincing as the skin pulled.

“Nonsense,” Bobby stood and grabbed my plate, balancing both on one forearm. With his free hand, I felt his fingers brush the nape of my neck before disappearing entirely. 

With full bellies, we sat on the couch and picked up the conversation again until it died off into a comfortable silence.

“You shower already?” Bobby muttered as he fished something out of his jean pocket.

“Mm,” I hummed and nodded. “Why? You trying to give me a sponge bath, Nurse Nash?”

“You wish,” he snorted. “Here.”

“Oh, bless,” I sighed, grabbing the burn cream from Bobby. “I’ll switch my gauze out before bed and put it on.”

“I'll do it for you. Bring it out here,” Bobby nodded in the general direction of my bathroom.

“You just want my shirt off again,” I teased.

“I will neither confirm nor deny,” Bobby murmured back with pink cheeks. “But I’m sure it’s easier than twisting.”

“You have a point…” I pursed my lips and headed off to grab my first aid kit from the bathroom. 

When I returned with the box, Bobby was fiddling with the cap of the tube absentmindedly. I set the box on the arm of the couch and reached my arm on my good side back to grab the back of my shirt collar. I yanked the material over my head and let it slide off the arm of my burned side and on to the floor. At some point as I took it off, Bobby stared at the skin revealed to him.

“Earth to Captain Nash,” I snickered at the dazed expression on the older man’s face, letting my hand slip to the back of his head to run over the soft hairs while guiding his head up to look at me.

“Sorry…” Bobby gulped, eyes tracing my form as he felt blindly for the first aid box. 

When he found it, he placed the box in his lap to distract himself, finding gloves, gauze, and tape with little effort. He snapped the gloves on with practiced ease and leaned forward as I stepped in between his legs and turned my side toward him. I winced as he pulled at one end of the tape, grabbing his shoulder with the hand on my bad side for some kind of support as he continued. When the cut and burn were open to the air, Bobby took a second to look it over to make sure it hadn’t gotten worse since the last time he saw it. Satisfied, Bobby twisted open the tube and applied more burn cream, making me shiver from the cold touch. 

I let my fingers curve around the nape of his neck, barely noticing Bobby pressing back against my hand in the slightest of ways. He quickly covered the wound with new gauze and tape and sat back a little to take the gloves off, which he deposited on the closed first aid kit with the other trash. He set the box and trash aside while I deliberated picking up my shirt or not.  

Deciding to leave it on the floor, I looked down at where Bobby sat waiting in quiet contemplation, “So, Captain…” I trailed off, stepping back into his space, which he gladly leaned in for. “…in your professional experience, does ‘kissing it better’ usually work?”

A smile lit up his face, followed by an incredulous snort, “No, never.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “Though, it might not hurt to try.” Bobby hooked a finger in the waistband of my sweats to pull me closer, glancing up at me once before pressing his lips to the undamaged skin next to the medical tape, “Better?”

“Mmm, no,” I sighed feigning dejection. “Maybe you’re administering it incorrectly.”

“Oh?”

“Mm,” I hummed, leaning forward until I had one knee pressed against the outside of his thigh on the couch cushion.

When he didn’t stop me, I closed the distance further and threw my other knee down so I was straddling his hips but not fulling sitting in his lap just yet. Garnering no complaints, if the way his hands squeezed my thighs were anything to go by, I draped my arms over his shoulders and gave him a playful smirk with my tongue running over my lower lip.

“Here?” He raised his eyebrows, and pressed a kiss to where his mouth height was at my sternum.

“Eh…” I teased, letting my fingers play with the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck.

Bobby hummed dramatically, letting his arm wind around my good side until his hand was splayed over my back. With a sharp tug from Bobby that I hadn’t been expecting, my ass was forced into his lap. A rather embarrassing whine slipped past my lips at the contact.

“Oh, here…?” Bobby murmured, tilting his head to press his lips where my neck met my shoulders.

“A—almost…” I sighed. 

Bobby tilted his head up higher to find a new spot, making me lick my lips in anticipation of feeling his once more. He surged up—finally—but my previous anticipation was wasted as my lips met his chin and a soft pressure pressed against my nose.

“Jerk,” I mumbled against his skin.

Bobby gasped softly, “You mean that didn’t work either?”

“You know it didn’t, Bo—” the words died in my throat as Bobby finally pressed his mouth where I wanted it. 

His lips meshed easily with mine, pressing just as softly as before but with more urgency just below the surface. I moaned suddenly as his lips parted and sucked my bottom lip between his, tongue laving over the skin and—oh—was he good at that. Taking his cue, I returned the urgency, parting my own lips and tentatively meeting his tongue; retreating with a quick flick to the roof of his mouth. Thick, strong fingers dug into my hips while I searched for any purchase on his head but his hair was far too short for me to do much. I settled for running a thumb across his jaw instead—oh that strong jaw—

Bobby suddenly parted, breathing just the slightest bit elevated with his normally thin lips now spit slick and veering on the side of swollen. His hands refused to move, keeping me close as he caught his breath.

“Better?” He panted, licking over his lips.

I was confused for a moment, so worked up that I had forgotten what he was referring to until his knowing smirk made me remember, “Oh! Oh, yes. Much better, Captain. You were definitely administering it wrong initially.”

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, “Good to know, I’ll take notes for my next patient.”

My eyes narrowed at his teasing, a small pout forming on my lips, “Next patient?”

“Well, unless you’re going to go getting hurt again…”

“A hot firefighter told me earlier this was going to take some time to heal…” I trailed off, pursing my lips to hold back a laugh while still running my hands over his hair soothingly. “Plus, I’ve been told I can be a danger to myself on the job—and—well, and off the job. I’m a bit of a klutz, okay?”

A brilliant smile spread over his face, eyes sparkling with humor, “Got it, so…you’d like me to continue being your care provider?”

“If you’re amenable, of course.”

“Would you be available for a consultation this Thursday at seven? No charge, of course, my treat.” 

“I can definitely do that and—” I brought my lips down for another kiss, “—I think we can agree to split the bill, I’m a big boy.”

“You…” Bobby trailed off, eyes looking down appreciatively and landing on my tented sweatpants, “…you sure are, Officer.”

I felt my face redden at the innuendo and the fact that I was very clearly tenting the sweatpants, “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. Because, believe me, if I wasn’t trapped in jeans right now…” Bobby trailed off with a chuckle. “And with that…I think it’s time for me to go before I lose whatever self control I might have right now.”

“Good idea. I suppose there’s a reason you’re a Captain and I’m most definitely not,” I laughed, pushing myself up and sliding off his lap until I was on my own two feet again. I just about giggled under my breath as Bobby stood, readjusting his jeans to a more comfortable position.

He followed me to the front door, stopping short when he saw the mess in my kitchen, “I should probably help you with that.”

“As nice as that would be…” I cut him off from the entryway, “…the longer you stay, the more both of us will be worked up and I kind of want to wait a couple more dates.”

“Good,” Bobby smiled, moving into my space, “me too.” He caged me in against the wall somewhat, not that I minded, “You should swing by the firehouse some time for food. If you—uh—if you give me your number I can let you know when I make something or need a sous-chef.”

“I’d like that,” I chewed on my lip while fishing my phone from my pocket and making a new contact. I preemptively typed his name out with “Bobby” being the beginning, followed by both a flame and a heart emoji.

Soft laughter bubbled up from Bobby’s throat as I handed the phone to him and he noticed the name.

“Let me know when you get home safe?” I murmured when he handed it back with the contact already saved. I shot him a quick text so he would have my number.

“Of course.”

Bobby pressed me firmly against the wall, stealing another kiss that I was all too willing to give. With a press of his hips against mine, my brain was short circuiting and I had to convince myself all over again that picking him up and carrying him to my bed was not what either of us wanted.

“Think about me later?” I winked as we pulled apart.

“I—uh—most likely will, “ Bobby murmured, his flush meeting his ears instantly. “I’ll see you Thursday, then? I’ll text you with the details,” he finally stepped back and grasped the door handle, twisting it as he spoke.

“You’ll see me Thursday,” I confirmed, following him half way out of the door as he opened it and stepped through.

Like a lovesick teenager, I pressed my back against the door after it closed, hoping to hear back from him like he promised. With a final glance at the mess in my kitchen, I sighed and decided to distract myself with cleaning until then.

Poly Bakusquad (romantic) x male reader

With a cat quirk. The chaos they would cause. He’s a cuddly person in general and will just climb on people, and maybe the squad gets jealous easily? Thanks.

I made him Mina's cousin. Hope you don't mind. I just don't write for female characters. Hope you enjoy!

When the students heard Mina's cousin is joining 1-A they didn't think anything about it. Until they saw a Pink haired male with cat ears and a tail. Not only that, but his red eyes were familiar. While the guy was adorable to many. Apparently he was already dating.

They were informed quickly of that as the first thing the male did upon eating the classroom was-"Suki!" The feline immediately ran to the bakusquad and curled into Bakugo's side. Everyone expect him to push the male away but he didn't. Instead he pulled the male closer and kissed his head. Which made the other males in the bakusquad whine.

"Hey! (Name) why not come to us for cuddles?!" Kaminari whined and trying pulling him away. Only to get an explosion to the face. (Name) had squealed and smacked Bakugos chest. "Suki! No! What have we talking about using your quirk to his face!"

(Name) quickly scrambled to the floor checking on the poor male. "Denki? Denki love can you hear me? Hana! I think Suki knocked Denki out again." Hana? The students watched Sero walk to the duo on the floor. "Well he knows better to mess with Katsuki when he's cuddling you."

The student were extremely confused. They watched Kirishima walk up to Bakugo. "Kat man. You gotta stop doing that. Your gonna make (Name) cry again. Then Mina is gonna kill us. You know how protective she is dude!" The bakusquad males shivered and looked in the females direction and were met with narrowed eye.

Honestly Bakugo might've forgotten about that...(Name) whimpered and his ears drooped. "Was it my fault? I was just cold and Suki's quirk makes his hands really warm..." Mina glared at the males and made a "I'm watching you" hand signal at them. She crouched down pet (Name)'s head. Scratching at his favorite spot.

"No (Name) its not your fault. Your boyfriends are just easily jealous. Especially Bakugo. Okay? I'll help you take Kaminari to the nurses office." (Name) purred slightly and nodded. "Okay Ash!" He stood up gave the males(who quickly hid from Mina's glare) a quick kiss. "Alright I'll be back boys. Please behave. Eiji your in charge!"

Bakugo yelled out wanting to know why he wasn't in charge and (Name) replied "Well Eiji's quirk is better against yours so if I'm not here he can best handle you when your angry." That confused the students even more. What could he do?

When the duo tried to leave the door opened revealing their Sensei. "Oh! Morning Papa!" PAPA?! Everyone but the bakusquads mouth dropped. "P-Papa? Wait so that means-" Aizawa smiled softly and rubbed (Name)'s head. "Morning kit. What's going on?"

(Name) huffed and showed him the unconscious Kaminari on his back. "Denki got jealous that I was cuddling Suki again. I got cold so I thought I'd cuddle with Suki bevause-" Aizawa sighed heavily. "Bakugo's quirk makes his hands warm. Yes I know."

(Name) nodded. "So when Denki tried pulling me away it upset Suki." Aizawa didn't need to know the rest. "Bakugo used his quirk on Denki knocking him out." When he got a nod in return he sighed even louder. He pinched the bridge of his nose and waved the pink haired dou off. "Alright but to the nurses office then straight back."

The dou nodded and quickly left while Aizawa turned to the class, glaring at the trio of male who looked like they wanted to be anywhere but there. "Don't think I didn't see his tail. Why do you always upset him. Especially so early in the morning."

The bakusquads punishment for upset (Name) had been extra cruel training. It was then the student made a rule of their own for the classroom. Don't upset (Name). Or they'd face the wrath of not only an upset Mina, but an angry Dadzawa.

Discreet

Kinktober Prompt: Dirty Talk

Relationship: Dean Winhester x Reader

Content: Sexual content, implied sex, sexting, Dean has a breeding kink, mentions of cum/creampies, exhibitionism fantasies.

Summary: While trying to focus on research, Dean executes a plan to distract you, shamelessly in front of his brother. Can you hold it together, or will you crack under the pressure?

"Hold on, I think we're looking at the wrong Louisville," Sam speaks up. You whip your head to the brother before opening your laptop to inspect for yourself.

Dean arches an eyebrow, "Sam, there are a million Louisville's, you gotta narrow it down."

In his lap, Dean begins to type into his phone. You shift in your seat, staring at your open laptop, opened to a list of different states that are each home to a different Louisville. In your back pocket your phone vibrates against your chair. You glance at Dean before opening the new notification.

I'm bored.

You stifle a laugh but roll your eyes, replying to Dean.

Another vamp case isn't enough for you?

You see Dean smirk out of your periphery. Sam's brows furrow as he mutters to himself, scrolling through different sites and resources, occasionally asking for your and Dean's input.

"We've checked Kentucky and Georgia already - I think Ohio should be next on our list."

"Since when do Vampires attack cities just based on its name?"

Sam clears his throat. Your phone vibrates in your hand; you swiftly check the message, but instantly forget the start of Sam's explanation.

You have no idea how badly I want to fuck you right now.

A rush of red floods your cheeks before you shove the phone back into your pocket. You snap back to attention for Sam, though your mind is traveling elsewhere.

"The way I see it, vampires can have a pretty twisted sense of humor. It's possible that vamps from all of these different states thought it would be funny to go after their own Louisvilles."

Despite Sam's talking, Dean's attention is set on you as you try to pay attention. He smiles when he watches you falter over Sam's words, and laughs when you have to ask Sam to repeat part of what he said. Of course Sam pays little mind at first and simply reiterates, but still shifts his attention to Dean. You take a break to reply to him.

right now??? Dean we're literally in the middle of our research.

A swift reply from a too-cool Dean: I know.

You put down your phone with a short exhale and school yourself back into a research mindset. A few minutes pass without a disturbance, save for the occasional comment or question from you or Sam, but there was radio silence from Dean. Until he prods further, at least.

"Hey, check the link I sent you," after you perk your head up, you realize that Dean's focus is on you once again.

"Could you send it to me, too, Dean?" Sam requests.

Dean quickly changes the subject, "It's not for the case, it was somethin' we were talking about earlier. But trust me, if I find anymore nerd content, I'll send it your way."

Sam gives his brother a glare before he tends back to his laptop. You comply with Dean and look at your phone, and it takes everything in your willpower to keep yourself collected.

I would fuck you on this table right now, if I could. You're lucky I don't want to scar Sam for life.

You accidentally chuckle, bringing Sam to attention again. You mutter an apology at his confused look and you both look back to your computers. Hiding your phone behind your laptop screen and out of view, you watch the flood of Dean's texts come in.

You would sound so much prettier if I could hear your screams echo off the walls.

Warmth floods between your thighs - you instinctively clench onto nothing but the thought of Dean buried in you, splayed wide on the mahogany table. Your mind rushes to the idea of Dean bending you over onto the wood, holding you firmly at the hips as he juts his hips from behind.

Everything alright, sweetheart?

His teasing leaves you scowling at your phone. Hopefully your expression could be assumed to be directed at your research, which hasn't made any progress, no thanks to Dean. You debate your reply before sending it.

What else would you do?

You see a smile stretch Dean's lips as he prepares his response. You tense as you await, but his text is drawn out, making you wait. Dean was delivering this flawlessly - just enough to watch you squirm and lose yourself to the thoughts.

I would start out slow. Ideally you'd just be in a t-shirt and panties, sitting right here in front of me on the table. I would lean you back, and slowly pull your panties to the side...

It was all he gave you, for the time being. You shift in your seat again, clicking your laptop a few times to build the illusion of intent research.

Your phone buzzes with a new message.

I would start with my fingers. I'd tug your panties to the side, and slip a finger in. You'd sound so much better when you'd try to keep quiet. I would make you come with one finger, then two, then three.

The reply to him is short, but it's all you can muster as you've fallen under his spell, Would we be alone?

Dean clears his throat before he rises from the table. He holds an arm in front of his crotch and quickly turns to leave for the kitchen.

"Want a beer?" he asks generally.

Fuck, you needed more than a beer. To deal with this, he should've offered a handle of vodka for you to drown out the untimely advances.

"Sure," echo you and Sam, smiling at each other that you spoke at the same time. After all these months with the brothers, you all had really begun to mimic behaviors. It was a beautiful sign of the time you've shared and the intricate work you all put into your relationships.

It's a nice way to clear your clouded head. That is, until you see a new reply from Dean. You make a particular effort to watch Sam out of the corner of your eye.

Doesn't matter. If someone was home, they'd have a hell of a show.

You quip, You're feeling pretty bold, huh?

He reminds you, Again, you're lucky I don't want to scar Sam for life.

Dean comes back into the room, meticulously holding three beers in one hand, while he texts with the other. You're intently eyeing your phone as you await his reply.

I'd add my tongue, too. I know exactly what pretty sounds you make when I've got my fingers in your pussy, and your clit in my mouth. You'd look so pretty trying to grip onto the table.

The scowl stitching your brows together softens as you feed into the flirtations. A fresh flow of heat melts between your legs, reminding you immediately of the power Dean could have over your body, even without using his hands.

You'd be shaking by the time I was done. You would be begging like you always do. Begging for my cock, begging me to fill up your needy pussy. Cause my hands just aren't enough to fuck you dumb, are they?

Breath hitches in your throat. Are you seriously about to full-on sext Dean right in front of his brother? Surely, Sam would have to notice at some point, though Dean shows no sign of him regarding it.

No, sir, you admit. You prop your phone back on your laptop and 'continue to research', pathetically at that.

Sweet girl is always needing my big cock to ruin her insides, isn't she?

The image of Dean's length intrudes your thoughts, throbbing and leaking with beads of precum. You can envision its warmth at your entrance, and the way Dean notches the thick head of him into your tight hole before he eases himself inside. Your fingers ache with the effort of not shoving them into your slicked panties to toy with yourself.

Dean's teasing doesn't ease in the slightest. If anything, it seems like he's trying to have you undone. Begging.

You'd ride me in the chair, first. I would have you fuck yourself onto my cock, but you wouldn't be able to come yet. Not until I can watch the way I stretch you open on the table.

Sam's muttering saves you from falling too deep into the rabbit hole Dean's excavated for you. You steady your breath, debating the risk of replying back to Dean. If he's finding amusement in doing this, you can't tell - his expression is cool and collected, to your frustration.

Do you know that your tummy bulges when I'm inside you? I'd make you watch. You'd see how my big cock shoves into that tight pussy, stretching her wide open for me.

You squirm helplessly in your seat, crossing your legs to stifle the dull throbbing radiating from your clit. With your thighs shifting together, you brace yourself to finally issue a reply.

You're mean

Dean audibly chuckles. Sam inspects him and scowls, "Dean, are you even doing your research? We really need to work on this - we're leaving tomorrow."

The eldest Winchester trains his expression back to utter seriousness, "Y'gonna wring my neck for taking a break?"

"This is important-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Dean dismisses, zoning back in on his own laptop and ignoring his glaring brother. You ease slightly now that the heat is pushed to Dean. But, the texts don't stop. Dean assumes a stronger façade, steeling his poker face.

You like it, though. I don't think you understand how wet you get when I'm a little mean. You love being my perfect slut. I wish you knew how tight you feel when I call you a whore.

The answer was evident in your sex. Your walls flutter around the emptiness in your neglected pussy, longing for a proper filling. Lust glazes your eyes as you glance up at Dean, finding him smirking knowingly at you. Fuck him. He knows exactly what he's doing to you.

"Dean, I'm sending you some articles. These are from the Lousiville in Ohio - those deaths look pretty similar."

Sam's words fall on deaf ears. After a few moments, Dean finally opens the links his brother sent him, giving you a bit of a break from his relentless texts.

You direct your attention back to your laptop and ogle at the screen. The thoughts Dean planted in your mind run a rough course, battering you with each thrust and moan that could be happening if you and Dean were alone.

Assuming Dean's read the articles, you stare at his next text, heat rumbling in your gut.

Would you be a good cumslut? Would you take my cock like a needy little whore?

He needs an answer. Dean needs to know that his words are taking effect, and he wants to hear it from you - how eager you are.

You reply, I would. I'll be a good girl.

Because you know what I do with brats, right? Dean's reply shudders through your core.

This time, you don't reply. Ultimately, his question is rhetorical and answered immediately in your subconscious. Any sort of bratty behavior is quickly corrected by either Dean's punishment, or a complete denial of any stimulation until you were begging for Dean's forgiveness. You'd spent countless times on your knees, in front of Dean's cock, begging for him to absolve you, and fuck you senseless.

If you're good, I'll give you what you want. How does it feel when my cum is deep inside of you?

The drenched fabric of your panties rubs against your slick folds. You adjust your sitting position, sitting up to let yourself open onto the material of your underwear. Ever so slightly, you grind yourself in your seat, watching Sam intently out of the corner of your eye, hoping he won't notice the feeble attempt to get yourself off.

The reply is short, It feels good, sir.

Dean clears his throat, and pretends to open a web browser.

I know, sweetheart. Feels good to keep me in your sweet pussy, keeping all of my cum for yourself. It feels so good to breed your cunt.

A deeper strain aches at your arms, urging yourself to take your own break to relieve yourself in the bathroom. Dean can see you squirm in your chair, and intentionally avoid his stare.

He texts you again, trying to earn a visible response to his taunts.

After I'm done, I would hold your legs open and watch my cum leak out of you. One of these days, I want to see how many times I can do it in a day. You'd be messy all day long.

You envision it yourself - the foreign image of white, warm ropes of Dean's cum spilling out of your stretched cunt and onto the floor below, wasted. Tightness pulls your abdomen taught as you think about being bred for an entire day, all to Dean's satisfaction. Your pussy clamps down onto nothing, yet again, at the sheer thought of it.

"I'll send you the same articles I sent to Dean. Let me know what you think," Sam is honing in on you this time. You nod and keep an eye out for the incoming links, and click on them. Eyeing them intentionally, you try to shove aside the persistent fantasies from taking over your senses.

Another text pops up on your screen.

It would be a lazy day. In the morning I would fuck you slow, giving you your first load of the day. We'd make lunch. You'd still be sore, but not as sore as you'd be after we eat.

Your mind travels elsewhere. The computer screen fades out of your attention as your eyes glaze over again.

I would fuck you on the kitchen table. You'd pull your panties up right after I was done and sit in my cum for hours, waiting for more. I wouldn't let you take those panties off. You wouldn't waste anything I gave you.

He was exactly right. It didn't matter how many times Dean had spilled himself into you, you relished the feeling of his cum buried deep inside of your pussy, precisely where it should be.

You want to touch yourself, don't you, sweetheart?

Your fingers twitch at the screen, as if they want to follow Dean's question to provide him a swift answer.

I want you to fuck me.

Dean's smirk grows. Your breath grows strained as he replies.

Needy little slut.

It would've been your undoing if it weren't for Sam's company. You throw a pitiful look toward Dean, but it goes ignored.

You'd let me take you anywhere in this bunker, wouldn't you? I could fill you up in every room of this place.

You reeled over the number of room's in the bunker, listing them off until you lost count. The slick between your folds soaks your panties further as you writhe gently in your chair.

I know you will. You would love knowing that I've stuffed your cunt in every room. And no one else would know, but we would. It would give you plenty to think about.

The mere idea of it gave you more than enough to go off of. How Sam hasn't realized that something's amiss, you don't understand, but are silently thankful that he can't see your unraveling. Dean, however, cannot focus on anything else. The strain of his cock against his jeans is bordering on discomfort, but he intends to keep you under his spell.

He lowers a hand to his lap and slightly grazes the growing bulge. Dean seems to have teased himself just as much as he did you - all thoughts of research dissolved in the presence of his new fantasies.

I'll bet you $10 that Sam is gonna run an errand after this. We should see how well we can use the free time.

A new tension tightens in your tummy. There would be no telling how long Sam would be occupied for, but Dean didn't see any qualms.

Yes, but maybe not in the main hall, for everyone to see us?

Your compromise is accepted. Dean nods slightly across from you, still staring at his laptop screen, then glancing to his phone.

Prude.

Under the table, you kick Dean's shin. He yelps at the new pain in his leg, earning a confused look from his brother. Sam looks between the two of you quizzically.

"Do y'all need a room to yourselves, or something?"

Dean smiles at his brother, avoiding your new glare, "No, no, we're fine. Aren't we, baby?"

The glare doesn't let up, but you don't reveal the truth of your texts with Dean. You look to Sam and jab a thumb toward his brother.

"He's being a dick, can you punch him for me?"

Without question, Sam delivers a firm punch to Dean's arm. Dean's shocked frustration is met with a devilish smirk from you, satisfied that you're now blameless. A moment after the brotherly bickering, a new text lights up your phone.

You're mean

You giggle at the screen and send him a final reply, letting him sit with the thoughts he'd poured into both of your heads.

I know. But, you like it.

Hey everyone! If you enjoyed, please help support my writing by reblogging!

Apologies that this took so long. I appreciate all of your kind messages as I balance how busy life has been lately. Thank you for all of your love and support! Happy reading!

-Bunny

Sacrifice

Chris Redfield x Sherry Birkin fic

Summary: Chris and Sherry were on their way through the Rocky Mountains to meet up with Leon for an upcoming mission, but when they stop for the night at a quaint inn, Chris disappears in the middle of the night. The leaves Sherry to find him and rescue him from whatever may have happened to him. All the while trying to figure out how to tell him how she feels about him.

Warnings: kidnapping, cults, human sacrifice, bad puns, violence, blood.

For @lyndibs

Chris always insisted on driving. It was his one thing he did that he wouldn't let anyone else do. She figured it was a Chris thing. Kind of like how she was always had her eggs sunny side up.

In this instance she didn't mind too much. It was the middle of the night and they'd been driving for three hours already after a 12 hour plane ride from Paris. It hadn't been as romantic as it seemed at first, chasing B.O.W.s rarely is. There had been a few moments that she was sure Chris was picking up on her feelings or even reciprocating them.

But they all ended up being about something else. Like when he grabbed her hand and ran with her down the street, it wasn't because he didn't want to lose her, she had fallen behind and was nearly crushed by a flying car thrown by a tyrant. Or when he pressed them against a wall and they were so close they could feel each other's heart beat. His lips had been right there, a small push up to her toes and they would have connected. It was because they were being followed and were giving the stalker the slip.

It seemed every time she got her hopes up, they were quickly dashed away by work.

Who knew B.O.W.s could be such cock-blocks.

"Hey, I'm pulling over here for the night," Chris said, pulling Sherry from her dozing. Opening her eyes, she take a deep breath and stretched in her seat as Chris pulled into a small inn that had a 24 hour light on as well as a Vacancy sign up.

"Alright. I'll message Leon to let him know we're stopping for the night," Sherry said as she worked her head side to side to loosen her muscles up a bit. She pulled out her phone to send the other agent a message that they were stopping for a bit and would be there in the morning. In true Leon fashion he sent back a thumbs up emoji.

Sliding from the SUV, Sherry saw Chris already had their over night bags and was walking towards the office door. Jogging ahead, she grabbed the door for him, getting a nod of thanks.

"Oh, hello!" The pair were greeted by a small, older lady that had long gray hair tied back into a bun on top of her head and big, round glasses perched on her nose. "I was wondering if we'd have guests this evening. How are you two, dearies?"

"Tired," Chris said, giving her a small smile. The man of few words wasn't without respect and courtesy, especially with a grandmother aged woman. "We'd like a room for the night please. We'll be leaving in the morning."

"Okie dokie," the woman said, shuffling over to a large, leather bound book. Sherry was sure the book was bigger than the woman, but the elderly lady was able to open it with a bit of grunting. "Alright, would you like a king or a queen bed? Our Honeymoon suite is available as well if you'd like to show off for your lady friend," she said, looking at Chris expectantly.

Maybe this was it. They had never shared a bed together, so maybe Sherry could get the courage to say something with them curled up against one another. Chris was large, but he could be so gentle and she was sure he would be an amazing snuggler.

"Two doubles actually, please" Chris said, shattering Sherry's fantasy of them sharing a bed.

Damn it.

"Two doubles it is. Ah yes. Here we go. Room 12. It's just up the stairs and to the left," the woman said as she marked down room 12 as occupied. Turning to look at the wall of keys, she picked out the room key to hand to Chris. "There you go. We ask that you pay in advance in case someone isn't here for check out. It is $100 for the night." Chris pulled out his wallet to pay her, giving the woman a crisp bill. "Thank you. If someone isn't here for when you're checking out, please drop the key in box by the stairs."

"Will do, thank you for you help," Sherry said as Chris picked up the bags again then lead the way up the stairs.

"Have a good night, you two. Sleep tight! Don't let the bed bugs bite!" The woman called after them as they walked up the stairs.

"You really didn't want to share the honeymoon suite with me?" Sherry asked, meaning to tease but also to feel Chris out a bit.

"Honeymoon suites are usually cheaply made and are least likely to be cleaned properly. I'd rather take my chances with a double," Chris said.

"Then why not a king or queen?" She asked as they walked down the hall towards their room.

"Because I know you're a cover hog and kick in your sleep," he said with a soft snort.

"True. She was really nice about trying to up sale us at least. I mean usually they try to add in all the bells and whistles and it gets aggressive. She seemed like a really sweet person," Sherry said.

"Just because someone's older, doesn't mean they're a good person," Chris said as he set down a bag to open their door.

"Well, I think she was adorable," Sherry said, closing and locking the door behind them.

"I'm gonna take a shower then head to bed. I suggest doing the same. We've got another four hours of driving tomorrow," Chris said as he opened his bag to pull clothes out.

"Tell me again why we couldn't get a flight to Colorado directly?" Sherry asked with a soft sigh as she pulled out her sleep clothes.

"Budget cuts," Chris said, giving her a small, playful smirk.

"Of course. Isn't that always the case?" She said with a giggle.

Chris nodded before he turned to head to the bathroom. Once the door was closed and the shower going, Sherry changed her clothes. She had grabbed a shower at the hotel they had been out when they first landed while Chris had been in meetings nonstop.

Changed into a tee shirt and sleep shorts, she was bent over and touching her toes when Chris walked out in just a towel. Standing up straight, she missed his faltering step as his eyes had gone right to her ass.

"Forgot my shorts," he mumbled, digging in his bag again.

"You're good," she said, working her shoulders a bit as a strange scent began to fill the room. It wasn't Chris' soaps. Those weren't that strong. "Hey, what's that smell?" She said, catching Chris's attention before he shut the bathroom door. It took a second before it really hit her, making her vision swim as she stumbled towards her bed, trying to grab something to steady her.

"Sherry!" Chris cried out as he tried to get to her, but he was over taken by the sweet smell too. He got to the side of her bed before falling to the floor with a groan.

"Chris," Sherry mumbled as she fell to the floor as well, everything going black.

When Sherry woke up, her head was throbbing and she didn't know what was happening. Rolling to her back, she slowly sat up. Still in their room, Sherry looked around before realizing she was alone.

"Chris!?" She cried, scrambling up despite the headache she had. He was no where to be found. Their things were still there, but no Chris. All that was left was the towel he'd been wearing, so where could he have gone? Changing into more appropriate clothes, she found that their guns were gone as well as their knives, but they always had back ups. Digging in her bag, she pulled the zipper on the secret compartment to get to her guns, hip holsters, and knife before digging in Chris' bag for his guns and shoulder holsters to put them all on.

If Chris was gone, but the towel was still there then he'd probably need some clothes and shoes. Grabbing his bag, she extended the strap to sling the bag over her head and shoulder. Now she just had to find Chris. Her bag was useless so she left it behind as she walked out the door to creep downstairs. The old lady was still there, humming to herself as she puttered around small area behind the check in counter.

Chris had been right, just because someone was a cute, old person didn't mean they were good.

Gun drawn, she went down the stairs as the woman had her back to her.

"Turn around!" She snapped. The older woman turned around to see Sherry with a gun aimed at her head. "Where is Chris? The man that was with me, where is he?"

"Oh that Dennis," the woman frowned, grumbling like some kid had been naughty and didn't have a gun pointed at her. "I told him to take care of you, but my son said the gas would keep you knocked out longer."

"Listen lady, where's my partner!" Sherry snapped, not wanting to let her guard down.

"He's already dead, don't get your panties in a wad," the woman said with a sigh, waving her off.

"Dead? What are you talking about?" Sherry asked, refusing to believe Chris was dead. If the hoards of the undead couldn't wipe out Chris Redfield, some old lady and her son certainly couldn't.

"He was perfect for the sacrifice," the woman said. "You know, usually we get those hipsters that are so lean and gamy, but your friend was perfect for our Lord's first meal on Earth."

"Enough talking, where is Chris?" Sherry demanded, cocking her gun.

"Dennis! See, I told you that you can't lolly gag around," the woman said, looking just past Sherry.

Spinning on her heel, Sherry saw a large behemoth of a man. He was big, bigger than Chris even. His eyes were hidden behind a mess of black, stringy hair that hung around his head in a curtain as he stomped towards her with clenched fists that looked like they could be used as sledge hammers.

"Damn it," she hissed, not hesitating to fire on him. Six rounds had him stumbling to the ground as he screamed in pain.

"Dennis! My baby!" The woman cried as she launched herself over the counter at Sherry. "I'll rip your pretty, blue eyes out!" She shrieked. The woman didn't get far though as Sherry wasn't a damsel in distress and knew how to fight just as well as Chris.

"I don't think so," Sherry grunted, kicking the woman away. She was quick to get on her, pinning her down with her knee. "Where's Chris!?"

"It's too late. Our Lord Aries is on his way and soon the Earth will be cast into his red dawn and blood will rain-" Sherry pistol whipped the babbling woman, knocking her out.

"Why do they always have to talk too much?" She sighed as she stood up. Going to the counter, she moved behind it to try and see if there were any clues there. Sure enough, a squeaky, loose board could be pulled up. Under it was a button and when Sherry pushed it, the back wall with the keys slid to the side to reveal a secret staircase.

Time was running out and she couldn't risk second guessing. So Sherry kept her gun at the ready as she ran down the stairs.

There were four sets of stairs to go down and she wondered what the hell she would find at the bottom. Her question was answered when she got to the last step to found an open door way. She could hear people chanting in the next room as she crept closer to peek around the corner.

Looking into the stone room with dark archways on either side, there were at least 15 people that she could count, all dressed in dark red robes. Chris was at the front of the room, tied and gagged while nude to a pillar with wood surrounding it.

Were they going to burn him alive!? There wasn't any time to guess their end game as she heard screaming coming from above her. It was now or never.

"Hey assholes!" She cried, rushing in with her guns pulled. "That's my partner you're about to barbeque and I'm the only one allowed to roast him!"

The people turned to see her, pulling up their own weapons of staffs and large knives, but that didn't matter. Sherry was a crack shot and even running, she was able to shoot most of them if they stayed to fight or came at her. A few tried to surprise attack her, but she was not having it.

The annoyance at herself for not saying anything to Chris about them when she had the chance as well as him skipping out on them getting a king sized bed together, combined with the fact the first time she saw him naked was right then when he was trussed up like some Faye Ray wannabe ready for the rescue, it was all pissing her off. Which made it all the more satisfying to slam her fist into some idiot's face to knock him on his ass.

Once they were all lying on the floor, groaning or bleeding or dead, she hopped up through the gasoline soaked wood to Chris.

Oh, he was very naked and try as she might, she couldn't help but have seen him. 'Good luck trying not to think of that later,' she thought to herself.

"Usually you're the one pulling me out of harms way," she said, pulling her knife to cut him free. "Also brought you presents." Keeping her eyes averted, she held out the bag of clothes for him.

"Thanks, Sherry," Chris said, grunting as he took the bag then quickly dressed. "You're a life saver."

"Don't mention it," she chirped. As he pulled on his shoulder holsters and checked his gun, he looked to her.

"Look, Sherry, uh about the bed thing-"

"You bitch!"

The two of them looked towards the door to see the elderly woman standing there with a rifle.

"You ruined everything! Everything! I will do it myself!" She screamed as she raised the gun and fired it at Chris.

"Chris, no!" Sherry cried, jumping in front of him to take the bullet to her back.

"Sherry!" Chris cried out as he caught her. He pulled her gun from her hand to shoot the older woman. She tried to fire first, but Chris was faster, sending a bullet between her eyes. "Sherry, talk to me, come on," he said, laying her down on her belly as blood soaked her shirt in the back.

"It's okay," Sherry wheezed as Chris began to panic. His hands were pressing to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. "Don't worry about me."

"Not happening. I'm always going to worry about you," he said, pulling his jacket off to help soak up blood. "We're gonna get out of here. I promise."

"Chris, stop. It doesn't matter," Sherry said, trying to reach for his hand.

"No, it does matter," Chris said, grabbing her hand with his bloody one in a tight grip. "You matter, Sher. Please, just hold on, okay?"

"You gotta let go of me, Chris," Sherry said, trying to take a deep a deep breath under the pressure of Chris pushing on her.

"I'm not letting you go! I can't! I won't!" He cried, refusing to let up. "Please, I can't lose you."

"Chris. . ." Sherry said softly. "I love you."

"I love you too," he said, kissing her hand. "I love you and I should have said it before now and acted like it."

"I love you, but you have to stop pressing on my back. I can't breathe," she said with a groan.

"What?" He said, frowning.

"Chris, I can heal myself, remember?" Sherry said, looking up at him as he stared down at her. "I'm fine, but you're squeezing the air out of me."

How the hell did he forget that?

"Oh, uh, sorry," he said, letting go of her. As he did, the bullet sat in the small of her back like it hadn't been inside her at all. "Well, uh. . ."

"I meant it," Sherry said as she pushed herself up to her knees in front of him. "What I said."

"Yeah?" Chris said, smiling softly. "I meant it too."

"Good, because otherwise this would have been awkward."

Sherry leaned in to kiss him, resting her hands on his chest. It wasn't hard or needy, but it was perfect for them. His lips were rough, needing balm as he pressed back against her fuller ones, cupping her face to return the affection.

"Let's get out of here and go to a Holiday Inn. I'm pretty sure there's no cults in those," Chris said after pulling away.

"Yeah, I'm gonna need a shower," Sherry said, making a face down at herself.

"I'll help if you want me to," he said, raising a brow.

"I'm sure you would," she said with a snort.