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caffeinewitchcraft · 7 months ago

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AITA for telling my boyfriend’s coworkers that he’s lying about his body count?

I (35f) have been dating my boyfriend (32m) for four years. It’s honestly been the best relationship until last Friday when it all went down. I feel like I’m in the right, but now I’m wondering if I overstepped.

For context, my boyfriend has been a professional Slasher for about eight months now. He’s always really admired Cryptids, Monsters, and Nightmares so when his application was finally accepted, he was over the moon even if he was starting in a lower position than he initially applied for.

At his company, being a Slasher requires a lot of travel which we knew when he accepted the position. The end goal is for him to get a promotion to at least regional Nightmare (he wants Cryptid, but that position doesn’t have a lot of turnover) but to get that he needs to be in role for at least 12 months OR meet his goals for three months in a row. Once he promotes, we plan to relocate to his new region and “start talking about our future.”

(Side note: no this isn’t about him not popping the question yet. We are both in agreement that marriage comes after financial stability. I run a small business doing scare consults and, while it’s been growing, I wouldn’t call it stable yet. So neither of us are ready.)

I told him it’s completely normal for it to take a whole year before he’s ready to promote and he really should focus on adjusting to the company before thinking about next steps. I used to work for a competitor (I’ve been retired for five years now) and I know it can be hard to go from only taking the occasional human life to having to take over half a dozen a week. It’s not a light workload, no matter how easy it looks in the movies. One of my best friends Slashes part-time and she still only averages about five lives a week despite having done it for years. Especially these days, it can be really hard to meet quota. Humans are getting smarter, no matter what the Council wants us to think.

Anyway, boyfriend didn’t do as well as he thought he would in his first couple months. Totally understandable, of course, which I told him. I suggested he ask his boss if he could be put on a couple team assignments or even a duo until he got the hang of it. That was our first real fight. He thought I was doubting his ability to kill. He brought up how I told him it would take over a year to promote and how I said that this job wasn’t for everyone (His first assignment ended with a 0% kill rate, but that’s a different story). He said it felt like I didn’t believe in him and he said that if that was the case then maybe we shouldn’t be thinking about marriage so soon.

It got pretty messy after that. I felt like he was forgetting that I’d worked in the same field and, arguably, had a lot more experience (not to brag, but I averaged a 98% kill rate). Also, four years is NOT too soon to talk about marriage. He said I didn’t understand how he needed to focus on his career right now. I told him I thought he was taking Slasher too lightly just because it wasn’t Cryptid. He accused me of not respecting him and then things spiraled from there.

We both said a lot of things we didn’t mean and I’m embarrassed that it turned into a bit of a fang measuring contest. I ended up sleeping under the bed for a few nights until he coaxed me out to apologize.

It was a rough patch, but we talked it out. We agreed that, going forward, I wouldn’t offer advice unless he asked and he would try not to take so much of his frustration home with him. He took a weekend off and we went on a recreational haunting trip in the Montana woods.

Things did get better after that. I tried not to give him consults every time he came back from a work trip. He started bringing me souvenirs like roses and cursed puzzle boxes his work said he could have. It became easier just to hang out with each other and it felt like we were back to normal.

But then, four months ago, he came home super pissed because his boss put him on a PIP. (A performance improvement plan.) Apparently, boyfriend had not been doing better at work, he had just stopped telling me when he had a bad assignment. I saw the paperwork he got (he left it in the dungeon under the house, I didn’t go through his stuff) and he’s been missing quota by a LOT. As a junior Slasher, he was supposed to be executing at least 6 people a week, but he’d been lucky to be maiming half that.

Obviously, I had to talk to him about that. We rent our house and, even though I could have afforded the rent on my own, I didn’t want to jeopardize the investments I was making in my business (I was in the process of hiring an assistant to handle my scheduling). Plus, we agreed from day one that we would be 50/50 on rent and I would take care of the rest of the bills because I earned more. I felt that if his financial situation was in jeopardy, he needed to talk to me about it.

I tried to approach him a bit differently than last time. I asked him if there was anything I could do to help. I told him about my slasher friend and how maybe she could give him advice if he didn’t want any from me. But he said he needed to figure stuff out on his own and that if he couldn’t get himself off the PIP then he would go back to work for his dad’s janitorial company.

I let it go. I was worried but I didn’t want to fight again just after patching the holes from the last blow out. It really bugged me that he thought I didn’t believe in him so I committed to giving him the benefit of the doubt. I said okay and asked him if he needed me to meal prep for both of us that week. He offered me grocery money, but I said it was fine since I’d had to deal with a lot of humans breaking in lately and I still had some leftover in the dungeon.

Fast forward a month. Boyfriend got off the PIP super fast. He worked his way off of it over Spring Break and started taking on a lot of extra assignments. In just four weeks he went to Miami Beach twice, New York City twice, and to three separate summer camps. I missed him and it was hard not having him around but I remembered how he said he needed to focus on his career and I tried not to nag.

It was hard not to nag though. With him gone, all the housework fell on me. We rent a 19th century manor, and its upkeep really does need two people. Doing all the chores plus running my business started to really drain me. Even when he was home, he forgot to banish the ghosts (my chore is to kill all invading humans, and his chore is to banish their ghosts) and he never took out the trash. I think he cleaned blood off the dungeon walls once, but then I had to basically redo it because he missed a lot of spots.

But still, I didn’t say anything because he was doing really well at work and I didn’t want to ruin that for him. Even when Humans started breaking in every week, I didn’t complain even though it interrupted my work day.

Last month though, I did ask him if we could move somewhere that needed less maintenance. There were just way too many Humans breaking in and I didn’t have the time to deal with them anymore. Even if I don’t do all the theatrics I used to as a Cryptid, killing humans through fear still takes a lot of time. He asked me if I didn’t appreciate the free meat, and I said I would appreciate it more if I wasn’t the only butchering it.

He said he didn’t want to move because he was really close to getting promoted to regional Nightmare and he didn’t want to take time off work to move. I was so surprised that I couldn’t hide how surprised I was. He saw and got offended. He asked if I still didn’t believe in him. I said that I did, but it was a huge jump to go from an 8% kill rate to getting promoted.

He got even more mad at me for bringing up his stats and he said that he had nearly 80% kill rate since being put on the PIP. I asked how many humans a week he was slashing and he told me I was being too nosy and that was proof that I didn’t believe in him.

I asked him if we could at least hire a ghoul then to keep the humans out of my office and he said he didn’t want to waste the money that we should be saving for our new house. I asked him what he wanted me to do then? I had to take phone calls for my consulting business and it was really hard to stalk humans all around the house while trying to sound like a professional to my clients.

He asked me to be patient for one more month. He said if he met quota for one more month, his boss said he’d get promoted. So I said fine and let it go.

Fast forward to now, almost a full month later.

Last Friday, I attended the Eldritch Conference. For those not in the scare field, the Eldritch Conference is the most prestigious event in our industry. It’s invitation only and is a chance to network with all the big players in the field. Mothman, the Jersey Devil, Bloody Mary and Bigfoot all spoke this year and both my former company, Grudge Industries, and my boyfriend’s current company, Forgotten Summer Solutions, were invited.

I was surprised to get an invite as a solo contributor to the field. However, my consulting firm has really been doing well and I did land a seasonal contract with the Yeti Co-op which I guess is how they heard about me. Plus, I’ve been a speaker before so I think the organizers knew I would behave myself.

I was planning on telling my boyfriend that I was going, but he was out of town on a co-ed sleepover assignment. He usually doesn’t have his phone on during his assignments, so I didn’t bother calling him. I just figured it’d be nice if we ran into each other at the conference if he made it back in time.

Which brings me to what actually happened (apologies for the long post).

So everything went great for my part of the day. I got to network with a lot of individual businesses and even got to reconnect with Blood Mary who I knew back in my Cryptid days. I told her I was dating a Slasher from Forgotten Summer Solutions and invited her to come with me to check out their booth. I thought it would be fun to grab dinner with her after since I assumed if my boyfriend was there, he’d be going out with coworkers which he often does. Plus, I admit, I was showing off a little. I don’t often get the chance to brag about my Cryptid days.

She agreed and we went over to see if my boyfriend was there.

I introduced myself to the people manning the booth. My boyfriend wasn’t there, but a few Slashers recognized my name and greeted me. They were definitely in awe of Bloody Mary (she came in full uniform) and invited us to look at their displays. They had portfolios for each Slasher on the desk as a sort of preview of what their services looked like.

While Bloody Mary looked through the portfolios, I chatted with my boyfriend’s coworkers. They said they were thrilled to work with him and that, even though he had a really rough start, it was impressive how quickly he started meeting his goals. Something about how they talked about his work kind of didn’t make sense. They were talking like he was killing a dozen humans a week, but he’d told me that he was at 80% on his assignments which typically only offer about ten humans each.

I asked them about it and they said that he’d been Slashing during After Hours which is a new goal supplement program his company launched a few months ago. Basically, anyone can sign up for After Hours and the company counts human kills done in uniform as part of their quota. I asked them if this was available to them while they were on assignment and they said no, it had to be done when they had down time. I asked them how my boyfriend was part of that when he was traveling all the time and they looked confused. One of them said that my boyfriend is still getting one assignment per week and is then supplementing his kill rate with After Hours.

At that point, I was even more confused. It sounded like my boyfriend had been lying to me then, because he told me that he was getting at least two assignments a week. If he was only getting one, then where was he going when he said he was traveling?

Bloody Mary interrupted before I could say anything and asked how their Slashers did their kills. They said that every Slasher at their company is required to use a standard issue weapon (like a machete or axe) for their kills to count. They said their company doesn’t count accidents as part of their quota (like falling or heart attacks).

Bloody Mary pulled me aside and showed me the portfolio she was holding. She said that she was going to give me a chance to explain without them overhearing and showed me the book. She said that a bunch of kills in it looked Cryptid kills. And she said, specifically, it looked like the kills I made when I was a Cryptid. I took the book from her and flipped through it and she was right, they really did look like Cryptid kills. Worse, I recognized a few of the Humans from the past few weeks. They were actually my kills!

Kill stealing is a major taboo in our industry.

I told her I didn’t know anything about this. She looked really relieved at that and said that even though I wasn’t a Cryptid anymore, it would look really bad for me if I was caught helping a Slasher cheat at their job. It could affect my business which she’d only heard good things about.

I’m embarrassed to say that I tried to defend him. He’s new to our industry so I thought it might be a mistake. He might not be trying to cheat, this could be a misunderstanding.

She said she didn’t think so because a mistake would be one or two of my kills mixed in with his, not the entire book.

I counted up how many photos were in the book and, all told, of the 146 kills, at least 100 were mine. I couldn’t really say it was a mistake at that point and I was just staring at his portfolio like an idiot. Bloody Mary asked me what I was going to do because, mistake or not, this looked really bad and could damage my reputation if it got out.

At that moment, another man walked up to booth and asked us if there was a problem. I knew that if I said anything, I would be jeopardizing my boyfriend’s job, but if I didn’t say something, I was jeopardizing my business.

I told my boyfriend’s coworkers that he was lying about his body count. I said I didn’t think that they knew he was doing it, but over half of the kills in his portfolio weren’t his and I suggested they remove it from their display before another Cryptid came by and realized it.

The other man thanked me for bringing this to his attention and asked how we knew. Bloody Mary said that she knew another Cryptid’s kills and I had to tell them that I was that Cryptid, though I was retired now. He asked me if I knew my boyfriend was doing this, and I told him no.

I told him I really didn’t want to get my boyfriend in trouble and suggested that maybe he didn’t know those kills didn’t belong to him because they happened in our house. I was grasping at straws and Blood Mary even looked sad for me. His coworkers looked skeptical but tentatively agreed. The man – who turned out to my boyfriend’s boss – said that they would investigate this thoroughly and apologized personally for his employee’s misconduct.

I was spiraling at that point so I thanked him and said I wasn’t mad, I was just looking out for both of our reputations. He promised to keep it between us and I agreed.

Then I apologized to Bloody Mary because I didn’t feel like eating dinner anymore. She said she understood and wished me well.

I went home and did a quick perimeter search of the property. Sure enough, there were human summoning stones ALL OVER the yard. Which means my boyfriend was intentionally luring humans to our house to get me to kill them so he could take credit. It wasn’t a mistake at all.

My boyfriend came home later that night in his work clothes. As soon he got inside he started yelling. He said he was suspended without pay and that all his hard work was for nothing.

I said I knew he’d been stealing my kills and he almost ruined my reputation. He said they still counted as his kills because he did all the work of luring the humans to our house.

I told him that wasn’t how it worked and he knew it. He said it was the same as setting a trap and I was taking this too seriously. I told him that, as a Slasher, he has to use a weapon to get his kills, not me. He said I was basically the same thing since I had such a high kill rate. I asked him if he was calling me an object.

(My parents exploited me by selling me as a haunted doll through a lot of my childhood and he knows I’m sensitive to being called an object.)

He backpedaled at that point and asked if I didn’t want to buy a house together. He said he was doing it for us and I should’ve understood and not said anything. I told him that when I was a Cryptid I had my pride and would’ve never done this.

He said I needed to tell his boss that he was the one who made all those kills. I said it wasn’t me who recognized them as Cryptid kills and now his boss knew too. He accused me of thinking I’m better than him because I have telekinetic powers and can move through shadows and can possess people, while he’s basically a human himself. I told him of course not and that I worked hard for those powers unlike him.

He got really mad at that and actually charged at me with his machete raised. I don’t think he was going to actually hit me, but I reacted like he was. It was all instinct. I disarmed him and I swear I heard a crack when I grabbed his wrist. I shoved him into the wall.

He crumpled to the floor and started crying. He said sorry and sort of curled up around his wrist. He said he didn’t ever feel like he was enough for me and he didn’t even know why I was still with him. He called himself a bunch of names and said I would be better off without him.

I sort of awkwardly stood there for a minute. On one hand I wanted to assure him that he was enough and that I loved him, but, on the other, I wasn’t sure I could forgive him. He nearly ruined my reputation, and he embarrassed me in front of Bloody Mary. Plus, I still didn't know where he’d been going all those times he said he was on a business trip and apparently wasn’t.

So I ended up not saying anything. I went to our room and started packing a bag. He followed me. He was still crying as he begged me not to go. He said he would own up to his kill steals at work and he would make it right. He pleaded for me not to leave him and that he would give up slashing.

I told him I needed space to think. He tried to grab me, but I shadow walked out of the house. I heard him screaming from outside and I hurriedly drove away.

Now I’m at my friend’s house and I told her everything. She agreed I did the right thing walking away from him, but when I asked her what I should do she hesitated. She said that my boyfriend wasn’t right to kill steal but, as a fellow Slasher, she understood what he was going through. She said I wouldn’t understand the pressure to meet quota because I was always surpassing mine when I was in the field. She said that a Cryptid could never understand a Slasher.

She also said that nobody would have found out about his kills if I hadn’t brought them to his boss’ attention. She said the only time kills are on display like that is at the Eldritch Conference and by the next one, he’d have had kills of his own. She thinks that if I’d just confronted him at home, he wouldn’t be on suspension.

So now I’m worried that I overreacted when I told my boyfriend’s coworkers that he was lying about his body count.

AITA?

----

Thanks for reading! Several amazing supernatural citizens (aka my Patrons) gave great advice to our poor OP over on my Patreon! Please go check them out here (X)

(I will definitely be posting some of them here in the near future!)

My next supernatural AITA is already up to my patrons!

It's called "AITA for divorcing my vampire husband because he lied about his human job?"

Patrons get to see many of my stories a week ahead! If that interests you please check me out here (X)!

#my writing #aita reddit parody #third person #original fiction #supernatural #halloween #aita parody

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arolesbianism · 1 year ago

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The sadness and agony that emerges everytime I start a new oni save and am forced to remember what it's like to have a dupe without a hat only to put them in a hat because I think they'd look cute only to remember hats make half of them look bald but I spent this long maxing out a skill for them so Im too stubborn to back down and remove the hat

#rat rambles #oni posting #it wouldnt be nearly as much of a problem if dupes didnt all have the same like 3 faces that I suck ass at differenciating at a glance #the amount of times Ive mixed up my maes and nikolas makes me sad Im sorry mae no one should be mistaken with nikola #if I knew how to acess the animation files Id be tempted to make a mod to change it but I dont so Im not #but imagine how cute itd be if abe and nikola had their side spikes stiking out from the sides of their hats #couldnt save the super short haired ppl tho sorry ren ari travaldo turner ruby and probably others too #speaking of my ari I keep mistaking my hassan for ari even tho I dont have an ari yet sorry bestie #hes my main storage and cleaning guy which is the role ari is in my other save #anyways the new save is continuing to go well even if things have slowed down a lil #I managed to get my salt water guiser up and running even if its a very lazy approach of basically just cooling it in a tundra biome #but itll work for the time being until I can get plastic from either drekos or by tapping into my oil biome #Im going for drekos rn since I have a lot of them around but if I can get some atmo suits set up quick enough I might just dive for oil #mainly because I want natural gas for a gas range tbh especially since I started farming waterweed as well #along with duskcaps so I already have access to the ingredients for several high quality gas range foods if I can get one running #now that might be a bit hasty but also I havent actually set base on the teleporter planetoid yet and both the transporters are right there #and I managed to find the sender on my main planetoid so I could pretty easily send over high quality food as a nice start up #this mostly tempts me because theres also a distinct lack of particularly easy to farm plants in the immediate vicinity of the teleporter #which doesnt mean there Wont be food but it does mean that quite a bit of digging will likely need to be done #with is also made tricky by the lack of early settlement oxygen sources available #and while I could theoretically send oxygen from the main colony Id rly rather not until I can get a spom or two set up #which leaves oxyferns and rust as the main oxygen options there until reliable water is found #now one thing I could do is fully transition my main base to getting all its oxygen from a spom and then send the rest of my algae over #my main thing is just Im not rly sure where I wanna put my first spom #I just simply dont have as many options as Id like due to being surrounded by mostly swampy and jungle biomes #not that I couldnt build there or dig them out its just Id rly rather have atmo suits first #which since I am very early in my dreko farm will likely take a lil bit #which also brings up the problem of getting my metal refinery up and running so I dont have to keep using the rock crusher #Ill probably just slap one in one of my tundra biomes as a short term solution but long term Ill probably have to take a shot at a proper #industrial sauna once I get plastic

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societyfolklore · 12 days ago

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We Couldn’t Stop

Title: We Couldn’t Stop Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader x Steve Rogers

Summary: During a sweep of a forgotten HYDRA lab, you, Steve, and Bucky trigger an old aerosol dispersal system. No one realizes what hit you until it’s too late. Now stuck in quarantine- burning, aching, and caged in with two dominant, unraveling super soldiers- you’re forced to ride out the drug’s effects together.

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Sex Pollen / Drugged Lust, Threesome MFM, Dubious Consent (due to drug influence), Double Penetration, Oral (F & M receiving), Praise Kink, Rough Sex/Overstimulationm Fingering, anal ply, cum play, Competitive Doms

A/N: my entry for @avengers-assemble-bingo for April Kinky Bingo Square: A3- Threesome Card Number: KB003

The mission was supposed to be a simple sweep- an old HYDRA lab buried deep beneath the forest floor, long abandoned, just a routine retrieval run for leftover tech and encrypted files that could pose a threat if they fell into the wrong hands. You, Steve, and Bucky had done that sort of thing more times than you could count. Clear the rooms, grab the drives, secure any volatile tech, and call for extraction. In and out. Easy.

You should’ve known better the moment you stepped inside. The facility was too quiet, too intact. Dust settled thick on the floors, but the lights still flickered dimly overhead, and the security systems were half-alive, humming low like they were waiting.

You were the one who found the sealed door- reinforced, heavily protected, and drawing power. It was locked down tight, tucked at the end of a corridor where the flickering lights didn’t quite reach. You called the others over.

"You think it’s storage?" Bucky asked, frowning at the biometric pad.

"Locked and powered," you muttered. "Could be data. Or maybe just a lab they forgot to scrub."

"Let's not poke the bear," Steve said, but he stepped up beside you anyway, scanning the door. "Looks like it's sealed for a reason."

That should've been the moment you backed off. But your fingers were already dancing over the keypad, overriding the old security system. The panel blinked. Clicked.

"I’ve almost got- "

The door hissed. Not wide- barely a few inches.

A soft spray hit you all in the face.

It came fast. Silent. A puff of pressurized mist like compressed air, followed by the faintest scent- ozone, chemical sweetness, almost floral.

You stumbled back, coughing once.

"What the hell was that?" Bucky barked, wiping his face with his sleeve.

Steve grabbed your arm, pulling you away from the door. "You okay? Did you breathe it in?"

"Yeah, but- I don’t feel anything."

"We’re all covered in it," Bucky snapped, glaring at the faint sheen settling over Steve’s shoulders. "Fucking hell."

"Close it," Steve ordered.

Bucky slammed the door shut, sealing it again with a growl. "Old security measure. Shit."

"We’ll report it," Steve said, but his jaw was clenched.

The spray clung to your skin. Sweet. Heavy. And whatever it was, it was in all three of you now.

~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~

By the time the jet touched down back at the compound, you were already flushed and aching, your heart thudding too fast in your chest. Whatever had come out of that door- it clung to your skin, settled in your lungs, and made everything inside you feel off. You weren’t the only one affected. Bucky was pacing the perimeter of the quinjet like a caged animal. Steve hadn’t spoken for the last twenty minutes, but his white-knuckled grip on the back of a seat said everything.

You’d hoped the decontamination shower would be the end of it. But blood was still taken. Swabs run over your skin. Scans. More questions. Until finally, they left the three of you in the quarantine room- one sterile space, no outside contact, and cameras in every corner.

You wanted to apologize. This had been your mistake. But Bucky’s expression was pure storm as he continued to pace like a tiger in a zoo. Steve’s face was unreadable- steely, distant, controlled. So you kept your mouth shut and tried not to scratch at your skin like you desperately wanted.

Soft static crackled, and then Tony’s voice filled the room over the speaker. "It’s biochemical bonding serum," he said. "Looks like it's engineered to push subjects into a state of hyperarousal and submission, designed to override inhibition and drive instinctual behaviors."

Your stomach dropped. What kind of mess had you landed yourself in?

"How long?" Bucky snapped, voice sharp.

"We'll have to check back on the decay and metabolic rate, and we- "

"What Bruce means is- we don't know," Tony cut in. "For you guys, it might be a matter of hours. Little Miss Curiosity might be stuck with it in her system a little longer."

You flinched and shied away from the speaker, burying your face in your hands.

"We're working on it, don't stress. It shouldn't kill you," Tony added casually.

"Big fucking whoop," Bucky growled, pressing a fist into the wall. Steve shot him a look of disproval.

"Buck.." His tone warning.

"Just, try and stay calm, guys," Bruce said, trying to sound optimistic. "It'll be alright."

"Don’t make a mess," Tony said, his voice laced with sarcasm. "We’ll keep you posted."

And just like that, you were cut off again. Biochemical- engineered arousal.

"Well, you heard him," Steve sighed, leaning back against the wall, scrubbing a hand over his face. "We just have to keep our heads. It can’t last forever."

That was easy for him to say. Both Steve and Bucky had super soldier serum in their veins- enhanced bodies that could regulate, adapt, maybe even resist. You… you were human. And you could already feel your body reacting in ways that made your skin itch and your blood feel like it was boiling.

You didn't say anything. Just shifted your weight, trying not to squirm. The heat beneath your skin pulsed steadily now, like it was alive.

"This is fucked," Bucky muttered, pacing again. "They just dumped us in here like we’re some kind of experiment."

"They’re doing what they can," Steve said, tone calm but tight. "We don’t know enough yet. Getting worked up won’t help."

"Worked up?" Bucky turned on him, eyes flashing. "You don’t feel that?"

Steve’s jaw flexed. "Of course I feel it."

"Then quit acting like you don’t."

You glanced between them, heart racing. The tension in the room was building again, only this time it wasn’t from anger- it was something heavier. Thicker. Clinging to the air like smoke.

And under it all, that hum beneath your skin only grew louder.

Hours had passed.

You'd started pacing a little while ago, unable to sit still. Movement helped. Not much- but it was something. You were going through the water they'd left in the room like you were dying of thirst. You were hot, sticky, your tank damp and clinging to your body, and you were doing everything you could to ignore the throbbing pulse between your legs.

You kept moving. Pacing. Trying to shake it off.

Steve watched from the far cot, jaw tight. His shirt was damp, his breath shallow, but he was sitting like he was trying to pretend everything was normal.

Bucky was pacing again, eyes locked on you more often than not, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack. “She smells different,” he muttered. “Fuck.”

His words made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The rough, raw sound of his voice made your head twitch like it was a physical thing pulling at you.

"Gonna try and sleep," you muttered, not looking at either of them.

Maybe you'd be able to sleep through the worst of it. Maybe if you were lucky, your body would calm down. You slipped behind the thin curtain, stepping into the tiny corner of privacy around your cot. Laying down, the heat of your body only seemed to intensify. Your skin felt suffocated, and with a frustrated sigh, you peeled your tank top over your head, leaving you in just your bra, hoping the exposure would help you breathe easier.

It didn’t.

You curled onto your side, arms around your stomach, thighs pressed tight together. The ache between your legs was a constant, heavy throb now. Maybe… maybe you could just handle your own needs. Just enough to take the edge off. Anything to ease the ache.

Your hands trembled as you pulled the thin blanket around you and lay on the cot. There was a small curtain for privacy, but it did nothing to muffle the sounds when your fingers slipped beneath your waistband.

You tried to be quiet. Tried to hold your breath. But your body was on fire, and even the gentlest brush of your fingers sent you bucking.

A whimper escaped, broken and desperate.

And then you heard it- Steve’s voice. Low. Strained.

“Don’t- don’t do that.”

You froze. “I- I can’t- ”

Still, you didn’t stop. You rubbed faster, then slower, your fingers diving inside of you, pressing deeper, trying every angle- but nothing worked. Every shift of your hand sent sparks across your nerves, your breath hitching with each pulse of pressure, but the fire wouldn’t break. Your legs trembled, your toes curled, but it all stayed out of reach.

You changed angles, tried circling your clit with trembling fingers while your other hand held onto the edge of the cot like it could ground you. You rocked your hips up, whispered pleas into the dark, but it wasn’t enough. Not even close. You needed more- needed them- but all you had were your own shaking hands and the unbearable ache growing between your legs.

Your breath hitched again as frustration bloomed hot and frantic in your chest. You were soaking, your thighs slick, the air sticky with the scent of your arousal. Your skin was flushed and clammy, your body locked in this endless loop of need- and yet you still couldn’t fall over that edge. Not like this. Not alone.

"You gonna keep pretending you don’t want her?" Bucky asked, voice low and rough, growling on the other side of the curtain.

Steve didn’t move at first, but his voice followed, strained. "I can smell her arousal from here, Buck. You think I’m not affected?"

"She’s whimpering, Steve. Sounds like music to me."

"We’re not doing this. We can’t- "

"Fuck this. She needs someone."

"Don’t you fucking touch her," Steve snapped.

"Then you do something," Bucky fired back.

Silence followed. You pressed your fingers deeper, hips rocking, but it wasn’t working. You were going to explode- your body was wound so tight it hurt.

Your fingers weren’t enough. You begged, voice cracking, desperate and broken.

"Please... please someone- "

Someone pulled the curtain back. Bucky’s eyes were dark. Blown wide. He didn’t speak. It hurt. “I can’t…” you whimpered, barely able to speak. “It’s not working…”

Your hips shifted again instinctively, your fingers still caught between your thighs, but the tension was unbearable. You were so wet, so swollen with need, it was maddening- and yet release stayed just out of reach. Your body craved more than your own touch could give.

They both appeared, stepping past the curtain without a word. You could see it in their faces- this was affecting them just as much. Steve’s eyes were dark, jaw clenched. Bucky looked wrecked, barely human with how sharp and hungry his expression had become.

You writhed again on the cot, body shaking, and Steve moved first- his weight shifting over you as he pressed your shoulders down into the mattress with steady, unyielding hands.

"Stay still," he said, voice gravel-thick.

At the same time, Bucky grabbed your wrist and gently pulled your hand away from you.

You whined, hips arched up, as Bucky’s gaze dropped to your slick fingers. He looked transfixed. Obsessed. His mouth parted before he dragged his tongue along your digits, groaning low in his chest at the taste.

Then- without breaking eye contact- he brought your hand to Steve.

"Tell me again we shouldn’t do this," Bucky said, voice rough and knowing.

Steve hesitated, staring at your hand, your eyes, then your body.

"...Steve?" you pleaded, chest heaving. A bead of sweat slid down your ribs, slicking your skin as the heat inside you pulsed like a second heartbeat. "Help... please."

Steve’s jaw flexed. His eyes raked over your flushed, trembling body, lingering where your bra had ridden up from the way you were squirming, the curve of your thighs glistening in the low light.

Bucky didn’t speak. He just stood there beside him, wild-eyed and rigid, chest rising and falling with short, shallow breaths. The scent of you filled the air. Thick. Sweet. Desperate.

Steve exhaled through his nose, heavy and slow like he was trying to exhale restraint. It didn’t work.

"You’re going to regret begging so pretty, sweetheart," he murmured, finally moving closer, the promise behind his words like thunder rolling through your veins.

~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~

They were both on you.

You didn’t know who moved first- Steve’s hand slid up your thigh, firm and sure, while Bucky’s mouth was suddenly at your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. The tension shattered. Clothing came off in frantic tugs- your joggers peeled away, your bra unclasped and discarded. Steve’s tank was tossed aside. Bucky’s sweats hit the floor with a low rustle.

Heat and skin and breath surrounded you. Their bodies pressed in, solid and hot and overwhelming. Steve's chest pinned you down as he kissed you- hard and consuming- his tongue sliding against yours as he groaned into your mouth. His hands cupped your jaw, fingers splayed, tilting your head how he wanted it.

Bucky moved lower, lips trailing down your throat, teeth scraping along your collarbone. His hands gripped your hips, dragging you down the cot toward him with a roughness that made you moan. He kissed your stomach, your ribs, your inner thighs, worshipping each inch like it belonged to him.

You gasped, arching into the touch of both of them. Their mouths- wet and demanding. Their bodies- slick with sweat, grinding against you like they couldn't get close enough.

You'd all held out for so long. Now there was nothing but the letting go.

Every nerve ending in your body sparked like live wires with every touch- every graze of skin against skin sent jolts of unbearable sensation through you. It was impossible to stay still. Your limbs twitched, your hips rocked, your breath came in short, gasping pulls as your body tried to process too much, too fast.

“Don’t move,” Steve growled, voice rough but laced with something gentler beneath. “Too sensitive? No. You’re just not used to being handled right.”

Bucky pushed your legs open wider, guiding your knees apart until your calves hung off the edge of the cot, completely exposed, completely theirs. “She’s soaking,” Bucky breathed. “Fucking hell- she’s dripping down her thighs.” The cool air kissed your slick folds and made you shiver. Then his hand slid between your thighs again, and fingers plunged into you- two, maybe three. You didn’t even know whose they were anymore.

Steve’s mouth found your chest, teeth grazing over the top curve of your breast before his lips closed around your nipple. You sobbed, your body already arching upward from the overload.

The blonde growled against your skin, one hand gripping your jaw while the other tangled in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to bow your spine upward. You gasped, helpless, writhing between them, your body trembling from overstimulation.

“You’re taking it so well,” Steve murmured, voice low and rough. “Just like that. Good girl.”

“Look at her,” Bucky snarled. “That’s it, sweetheart- ride my hand. Come on. Take what you need.”

His fingers worked deep inside you, curling and thrusting, hitting that spot that made your legs twitch and your hips lift off the cot. His palm pressed against your clit with every motion, grinding you into the edge of bliss, holding you there with cruel precision. You could feel everything. Every ridge of his knuckles, every flex of his wrist. It was too much and not enough all at once.

You whimpered, your hands scrambling against the sheets, seeking something to hold onto as your body rocked with each relentless stroke. Steve bit gently at the underside of your jaw, his hand still twisted in your hair as he whispered praises that barely reached your ears over the rushing roar of need building inside you.

Steve’s mouth was on your chest again, sucking one nipple into the heat of his mouth while his hand massaged the other, groping you with a needy rhythm that only made it harder to breathe. His other hand had tangled itself in your hair again, gently tugging until your spine arched up off the cot, your body straining toward both of them.

Bucky’s metal thumb pressed into your clit, circling with just enough pressure to make your thighs jerk. Your breath hitched, head tipping back as you let out a broken moan.

"OH FUCK." you cried, fingers clawing at the side of the cot, knuckles white.

He didn’t stop. His fingers pumped into you, slick and steady, coaxing the sound out of your throat again and again. You felt like you were vibrating- nerve endings lit up with fire, each touch sparking through you like electricity.

“You hear that, punk?” Bucky’s voice dripped with ego. “That’s the sound of my fingers making her cry.” Steve shifted beside you, sitting up to watch, his eyes locked on where Bucky's fingers slid in and out of you. One of his hands moved down, low and out of sight, and you could see the tension in his jaw as he fought to keep control.

Bucky glanced back at him, grinning as he curled his fingers just right and made you cry out again.

"Look at her, Stevie," Bucky growled, his voice rough and ragged with arousal. He didn’t even look up, just watched his fingers slide in and out of you like it was the most important thing in the world. "She’s writhing just from my fingers. What happens when I put my cock in?"

"You’ll wait," Steve snapped, voice sharp, strained with barely checked control. He was flushed, jaw tight, clearly fighting the same battle Bucky was already losing.

"God, look at her," Bucky muttered again, breath coming faster. "Fuck, I want her mouth. I want every part."

You couldn’t answer. Your vision blurred. Every nerve in your body felt like it had snapped tight, vibrating with unbearable pressure.

And then it broke.

You came- hard.

Your whole body convulsed as the orgasm tore through you. Your legs kicked against the cot, arms flailing blindly for purchase. Steve had to hold you down, one hand braced across your chest, the other still tangled in your hair as your back arched and a strangled sob tore from your throat.

It didn’t end quickly. The drug made it last- your climax dragging on and on, crashing over you in waves so powerful they left you gasping, wrecked.

You felt Bucky’s fingers slow inside you, easing off just enough to let you ride it out without breaking. But they didn’t stop touching you. They didn’t let you go.

And worst of all, the haze in your head didn’t clear like you hoped it would.

You were still shaking. Still needy.

Still burning.

You were a panting mess, your skin still hot and your chest tight when one of them scooped you up and lay you out on the cool floor. The shock of it made you gasp, the chill a sudden relief against your fevered skin. You blinked your eyes open, dazed, limbs slack and breath ragged.

"You’re such a mess for us, baby," Bucky murmured, crouched above you now. His voice was low, ruined with hunger. "That sweet little body of yours wasn’t made to handle all this, was it?"

Your eyes found him- Bucky, kneeling near your face now, his cock hard and leaking, so close it blurred your thoughts. He looked feral, undone, lips parted like he was barely restraining himself.

Your tongue slipped out to lick your lips without thinking. The taste of your own sweat clung to your skin, but all you could focus on was him. The way his chest rose and fell, the way his fist clenched at his thigh.

Your mind narrowed to a single point of clarity.

You wanted him in your mouth.

You leaned forward slowly, licking the bead of precum off his tip before taking him in fully- hungry, needy, your lips stretching around the thick, velvet length of him. Bucky’s breath stuttered, and he let out a ragged groan as your mouth sealed around him.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he gasped, one hand flying to your hair, not to guide but to anchor himself. “So fucking pretty like this- taking me so deep. Look at those lips- look at that mouth.”

You moaned around him, the vibrations making him hiss. He was hot, heavy, pulsing against your tongue, and you hollowed your cheeks to take him deeper, until your nose pressed against the base and he swore low under his breath.

“Messy little mouth,” Bucky panted. “So eager. You needed this, didn’t you? Needed something to suck while we ruin the rest of you.”

You were lost in it- the taste of him, the heat, the way he twitched when your tongue flicked just right. Spit gathered at the corners of your mouth as you worked him with sloppy desperation, gagging slightly as you bobbed your head in a steady rhythm.

Just then, you felt Steve’s hands at your hips, steady and sure. He shifted your lower body, pulling your legs open and up until you were spread out for him on the floor.

“You liked Buck's fingers? Let’s see how you do on my cock,” Steve growled against your ear, his voice dark and thick with restraint.

You gasped around Bucky’s cock, the moan caught in your throat turning into a garbled sound of pleasure as Steve aligned himself behind you. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you wide as his tip pressed against your entrance- already slick, fluttering, aching.

He pushed in slow, filling you inch by inch, and every nerve inside you lit up in electric spasms. Your muscles fluttered around him, clenching and pulsing as he stretched you open, the thick drag of him stealing your breath.

The pressure, the fullness, the stretch- it was overwhelming. You sobbed around Bucky, the vibration of your moan making him groan above you, his hips twitching as he fought not to thrust.

Steve bottomed out with a hiss, his hands gripping tighter like he needed the anchor. Inside you, he throbbed, deep and perfect. You felt stretched to the edge of your limits, your inner walls fluttering in frantic spasms around him, struggling to adjust and clench all at once. Your body didn’t know what to do- pull him in deeper or push him out.

It was too much. It was everything. Your head was spinning.

They started to move- slow at first. Steve dragging back only to sink in again, deliberate, controlled, while Bucky’s cock bumped the back of your throat as he rocked forward with a groan. You gagged, whined, clung to them both with your mouth and body.

You were stuck in it now. The lust. The drug. The heat. There was no thought left, only sensation. Only how it felt to be stretched open in two directions, trembling and gasping.

They didn’t talk to you anymore. They talked about you.

“She’s so sensitive,” Bucky growled. “Poor thing doesn’t know what to do with herself.”

Steve grunted, his pace picking up. “Tight as hell. She’s pulsing like she doesn’t know whether she wants to come or cry.”

You tried to moan but it came out a broken, garbled sound around Bucky’s cock. Your tongue dragged along the underside of him as he pushed deeper, your throat fluttering as you swallowed around the stretch. Spit dripped from the corners of your mouth, tears tracking down your cheeks, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

Bucky’s hand tightened at the back of your head, not forcing, just holding you there, gazing down into your wet, dazed eyes. “That’s it, baby,” he groaned. “Fuck, look at you drooling all over me. You love it, don’t you?”

Your hips rocked back into Steve without meaning to as he thrust forward again, harder this time, grinding deep. Your nerves fired like sparks, the friction of his cock dragging against hypersensitive flesh sending bursts of pressure low in your belly. Your insides coiled, pleasure building with every thick, deliberate thrust, your body wound so tight it felt like you might snap apart.

“You’re doing so well for us,” Steve grunted, leaning down, his mouth hot at your ear. “Such a good girl, letting us use you like this.”

He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, changing the angle, driving in deeper. The stretch made you cry out around Bucky’s cock, throat flexing as your moan turned to a sob.

"That's it," Steve growled, pace quickening. "Fuck, so fucking wet and warm... you gonna cum, sweetheart? Gotta feel you squeeze me while you swallow Bucky."

Your body arched, heat crashing through your spine as Steve hit that perfect spot again and again, each thrust sending a jolt through your core. Your throat tightened around Bucky's cock, the vibration of your desperate moans making him curse under his breath.

“Fuck- she’s so close,” Steve panted, driving harder. “You feel that? She’s fucking pulsing.”

You sobbed around Bucky, tears streaking your cheeks, the pressure in your belly a coil tightening with no escape.

“She’s gonna lose it,” Bucky panted, watching the way you writhed. “Look at how she’s trembling. She needs cock.”

And then it snapped.

Your climax hit like a bolt of lightning, seizing your body with white-hot tension as your inner walls clamped down around Steve’s cock. You wailed around Bucky’s length, the cry vibrating through him as he let out a guttural groan.

“Fuck, that mouth- ” Bucky growled, watching your teary eyes roll back. “I’m gonna- shit- ”

He spilled down your throat with a grunt, his cock twitching between your lips, his hand holding you steady as you swallowed every drop of him while he pulsed.

The clenching spasms of your climax milked Steve mercilessly, dragging his own orgasm from him with a ragged curse. He slammed in deep, staying buried as he came hard, filling you with warmth that only made the pleasure burn hotter.

“Take it,” he groaned, his breath broken against your shoulder. “Take it all. Good fucking girl.”

Bucky sat back on his heels, pulling himself from your mouth with a wet pop, still hard, his cock glistening with your spit. “"Fuck... you’re unreal..." he panted, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing..pupils blown as he looked down at you.

Steve finally pulled out with a groan, the loss of him sudden and jarring, making you whimper. His cum followed, warm and slick as it dripped from your stretched pussy, pooling between your thighs.

His gaze dropped between your legs, transfixed. His eyes went heavy-lidded as he watched it leak from you, dripping down to your slick, twitching rim. Slowly, his fingers moved to your core, smearing the mess down lower, spreading it deliberately to your other entrance.

You gasped, twitching from aftershocks, your body still sensitive everywhere. His fingertip teased your tight hole, rubbing softly, slicking it with a practiced ease. You whimpered, already overwhelmed, but the moan that spilled from you was pure need.

“Damn, Stevie- you didn’t fuck her right if she’s still aching like this,” Bucky drawled, voice hoarse and edged with a smirk, watching the way your hips shifted restlessly on the floor.

You whimpered, the heat still rolling inside you, every nerve ending alive and twitching. The aftershocks made your muscles flutter, your body too sensitive and still so hungry. Steve didn’t bite back. He was too focused- his fingers slick with his own cum as he spread it lower, smearing it over your pussy and then circling your tight, twitching rim.

And then one thick finger pressed inward.

You gasped, whole body jolting, a broken sound catching in your throat as your body tried to clamp down instinctively. But Steve worked slowly, steadily, easing the finger deeper, the stretch sharp and slow as he began to work you open.

You felt your core clench around nothing as Steve worked his finger deeper. “I need- please, I need more, I can’t- ” you gasped, voice trembling. Your head was a mess, fogged with lust and the aftershocks still sparking under your skin. Steve kept up the slow pump of his finger, pushing in deeper, working more of his cum into your ass to keep you slick and open.

“Hear that, Steve?” Bucky said, voice thick with amusement, already fisting his own cock in lazy, slow strokes. “She wants more.”

Steve’s gaze didn’t waver, his finger sinking deeper, curling. You whimpered again.

“Can’t say no, can we?” Bucky added, grinning.

“Oh, I think I know exactly what our girl needs...” Steve muttered, voice thick with heat and control, as his hand disappeared between your thighs.

Steve pulled his finger from your ass just as Bucky got down onto the floor, reaching out to haul you up into his lap. Steve’s arms hooking under yours, supporting your limp, boneless body as they moved you together like you weighed nothing.

“Let’s get you on Buck now...” Steve purred near your ear, voice thick and smooth, a slow heat curling down your spine.

Bucky’s cock was already there- thick, hard, and waiting. They guided you together, Steve steadying you from behind while Bucky angled his cock to your entrance.

As Steve lowered you, your legs wrapped weakly around Bucky’s hips, and you felt the first stretch as his tip slid inside. A guttural groan ripped from Bucky’s throat, his hands tightening on your thighs.

“Fuck, baby,” he gritted out, voice rough and reverent. “You always take me so damn good. Still so fucking tight- even after Steve blew you open? Shit.”

“That’s a girl,” Steve murmured, voice low with praise. “Nice and slow... Want you to feel every inch of him, don’t you?”

You just whimpered and nodded, the need to be filled consuming, overwhelming, as the pair of them helped you sink down onto Bucky’s cock, inch by perfect inch.

Your head fell back against Steve’s shoulder as you settled fully onto Bucky, who thrust up into you with steady pressure. The heat and stretch made your whole body tremble. You could barely breathe, still twitching from your earlier climax. Then Bucky's hands gripped your hips tight.

“Oh fuck,” he hissed, hips rolling upward as he began to move you, guiding you into a rhythm. “Look at you. Still aching. Like how I feel doll?”

The moan that spilled from your mouth didn’t even sound like you anymore- wrecked, raw, and desperate.

You were unraveling under Bucky’s rhythm- the way he filled you had your mind slipping, your thoughts scattering with every deep, slow thrust, how every thrust hit deep, high inside, brushing against that spot that made you shudder. Your head lolled back onto Steve’s shoulder, eyes fluttering, lips parted around desperate little gasps.

“She bites her lip when I go deep. You see that?” Bucky said with a rough chuckle, voice wrecked but smug. “She likes my rhythm.”

You didn’t even notice the way Steve bent you forward over Bucky, hands guiding your body like you were something precious and fragile and already ruined.

You didn’t have time to think too much before you felt Bucky’s hands grip your ass, pulling you open as Steve shifted behind you. It wasn’t until the thick, spongy head of his cock pressed against somewhere you’d never let anyone touch that your eyes snapped open in surprise.

The first inch pushed into your ass slowly, carefully, but it still stole your breath.

“It’s too much- I can’t- wait- ” you gasped, voice cracking with overwhelmed panic as your body instinctively tried to jerk away.

But Bucky rocked his hips upward, pushing deep into your pussy again, and the shockwave of pleasure was enough to paralyze your resistance.

“Shh... it’s okay,” Steve murmured, arms wrapping around you from behind as he continued to press in. His voice was thick and coaxing, his control iron-tight. “I’ve got you. You’re doing so good for us.”

You sobbed, your whole body fluttering around them as Steve sank in deeper, the thin wall between your holes trembling with every inch he took. The two of them groaned in unison, voices rough and reverent as they filled you together.

You were caught between them now. Two super soldiers, all three of you lost in lust and need. Your face twisted with sensation as they held you there- one thick cock filling your pussy, the other spreading your ass open inch by inch. Both sunk to the hilt. You were impossibly full. You were shaking. Overwhelmed. Unable to process the stretch, the heat, the drag of their bodies inside you. It was too much. And you needed more.

“You’re both so… big- I’m gonna- fuck- ” you sobbed. You couldn’t believe how sensitive you’d become- how just being filled, just being stretched, could reduce you to this. You weren’t even moving, yet your body was already bracing to come undone again. There was no going back. No holding on. Just surrender.

You came without moving, the sensation of fullness alone tipping you over. Your body seized in the middle, core clenching violently, squeezing down on both of them at once as pleasure ripped through you like a lightning bolt.

Your voice cracked into a scream. You were gone- shaking, convulsing, burning from the inside out as your orgasm dragged through you with devastating force.

Both of them groaned at the way your body squeezed them- tight and hot and trembling.

“Fuck,” Bucky grunted, rocking his hips once more. “Didn’t even have to move. Just had to be inside you.”

Steve chuckled darkly, voice low and wrecked in your ear. “She’s that sensitive. That fucking perfect.”

You couldn’t even answer. Your lips parted in a silent gasp as Steve’s hands slid up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing across your stiff nipples as he started to move again. Slowly at first, easing back before pressing forward, dragging against that thin wall with every thick stroke.

Bucky's grip returned to your hips, steady and possessive, guiding you to rise and fall on his cock. Your body jolted with every motion, your moans soft and slurred.

“That’s it,” Steve cooed, hips snapping gently. “We’ll start slow…”

“I-I can’t- ” you whimpered, but your body was already moving, driven by instinct and need.

“I know you can take more,” he murmured. “Look how beautiful you are when you come apart. It'll feel better- just gotta keep going.”

And it did. It felt better than the denial. Better than the ache that came from holding back. The pleasure rolled through you like a drug, heavy and all-consuming.

Your hips started to move again, slowly grinding into Bucky as your walls fluttered around him. You didn’t know if it was need or instinct- maybe both- but you couldn’t stop. You were cock-drunk. Barely aware of anything except how good it felt to be filled this way.

“Breathe,” Steve whispered. “Just like that. Hold it- good girl.”

Then Steve pulled your hips back into him and pressed all the way in.

“You think you’re fucking her deep?” Steve growled at Bucky, voice low and wild. “Watch this.”

Bucky shoved his hand flat to your lower stomach and lifted his hips with a brutal thrust. You cried out, the stretch making your eyes roll back as he ground up into you. It was obscene how deep he reached, how thick he felt. You pawed at his chest, clinging to him with trembling fingers.

“..fuck fuck fuck...” you gasped, the breath knocked out of you before he eased his hips again, smug and steady.

“Told ya,” Bucky muttered with a grin.

But it didn’t stop there.

Bucky answered your gasps with harder thrusts. Steve listened for his name and answered with praise. His mouth latched to your neck, nipping and licking along your skin as he squeezed your breasts roughly, molding them in his palms.

“Did you hear that one? That was mine,” Steve muttered against your skin when you gasped his name.

Bucky answered with a sharp thrust that made your breath catch. “She moaned louder for me, sweetheart. Don’t get cocky.”

Each of them was locked into the game- testing reactions, adjusting pace, trying to claim the sounds that spilled from your lips. One made you cry out, the other drew a gasp. They used your body like a live wire for their competition, and you were helpless in the storm.

“She whimpers when I kiss her right here,” he growled, biting just beneath your ear.

Bucky’s hands gripped your hips tighter, fucking up into you hard enough to rock you against Steve’s chest. “She clenched around me when you said that,” he rasped. “Bet she’s trying to pick a favourite.”

You couldn’t keep up. Couldn’t think. You only managed to gasp whatever name escaped your lips first, and they both heard it- every time. And they responded with sharper thrusts, filthier praise.

“You’re so cock-drunk, you don’t even know who’s making you come anymore, do you?” Bucky said, voice rough.

“She’s beautiful like this,” Steve murmured, licking the sweat off your throat. “All wrecked. All ours.”

Then Bucky’s metal hand slid between your thighs again. His fingers brushed your clit, the coolness of steel a shocking chill of metal against your heat made you jolt, gasping as sparks danced up your spine.

“Oh- god - fuck- ” you sobbed, trembling uncontrollably as sparks shot up your spine.

“Breathe,” Steve ordered again. “Just like that. That’s our girl.”

They started to move faster now- driving into you in sync, pistoning in perfect rhythm. The slap of skin echoed, the slick sounds of your soaked cunt and the obscene wet pressure of being filled from both ends breaking whatever was left of your mind.

“You want to make her come, punk?” Bucky growled. “You gotta fuck her harder than that.”

“Shut up, jerk,” Steve snarled, thrusting harder. “We don’t need to break her. Just ruin her a little longer.”

“She’s shaking so bad. You keep her steady, Steve- I wanna see her face when she comes again.”

Your next orgasm ripped through you with a small wail, your features contorting as your body locked up tight. You clawed at them both- gripping Steve’s forearm, Bucky’s shoulder- as your walls fluttered around their cocks, milking them, begging for more without a word.

They didn’t stop. Didn’t give you time to come down. Steve groaned, his thrusts picking up as he rolled your nipples between his fingers. Bucky cursed, gripping your hips tighter, lifting and dropping you into him with growing urgency.

You felt them both losing control- felt their restraint slipping with every second you squeezed around them, heat and slickness pouring down your thighs.

“Fuck- fuck, she’s doing it again,” Bucky grunted.

Steve’s voice was a low growl in your ear. “She wants it. She’s not done. Not till we are.”

Then the pace shifted- harder, rougher, deeper. Their moans grew louder, matched only by the slap of skin on skin. Your head spun, your vision blurred.

And then they were coming again- Steve first, pulled tight to your back, his groan muffled in your shoulder. Then Bucky, buried deep beneath you, eyes locked on yours as he spilled inside you with a strangled moan.

You collapsed between them, limp and boneless, your body a trembling wreck held up only by their hands. You didn’t even try to move. There was no fight left in you- only the slow hum of satisfaction and overstimulation. Somewhere in the haze of your mind, a flicker of disbelief passed through you- how had you endured that? How had you survived the storm of them inside you? But there was no room for shame or second thoughts. Only surrender. And the quiet, overwhelming hum of being utterly, deliciously wrecked. You were too dazed to understand what was happening at first, the haze still thick behind your eyes. The humming under your skin hadn’t stopped, but it had dulled- muted to a low thrum that echoed in your bones. They were careful, even if your overstimulated body didn’t register it that way.

You whined, squirming, as they slowly pulled out of you. The stretch reversed, the heat slipping away, leaving you empty and raw. It wasn’t pain, but your body protested the loss with soft whimpers.

Someone pressed a water bottle to your lips, coaxing you to sip. You obeyed without thought, the coolness trickling down your throat a small mercy.

Another set of hands gently wiped you down. A cold, damp cloth slid between your legs, easing away the slick mess with slow, tender strokes.

Then your head was lowered into someone’s lap. Fingers carded through your hair.

“You did so well,” Steve murmured. “Look at you- perfect.”

You blinked slowly. Steve’s voice again, closer now: “Easy, sweetheart. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

Your limbs twitched weakly, still responding to phantom pleasure. A quiet laugh came from Bucky.

“Still twitching. Still fucking gorgeous.”

You felt him kissing up your leg, mouth trailing along your calf, your knee, your inner thigh.

Then your legs were being moved again- lifted, spread with a gentleness that contrasted starkly with the earlier frenzy. There was no rush now, no urgency- just the soft reverence of Bucky's hands as he cradled your thighs like something precious, something breakable, as though he hadn’t just wrecked you minutes ago. You blinked, barely aware, as Bucky settled himself between them, laying flat, his breath hot against your oversensitive core.

He pressed a kiss there, soft and reverent, and your whole body jolted in response.

“And I’m not done tasting her,” he muttered, voice thick with need.

“Buck- she needs to recover,” Steve warned again, but his voice had softened to something indulgent.

“I’ll be gentle…” Bucky promised, his mouth already lowering, tongue dragging slow and careful over your aching folds as your head lolled back into Steve lap, eyes fluttering closed, lost to the warmth and the wetness and the impossible pleasure building again

TAGS: @buckybarnesfic, @ruexj283, @yesiamthatwierd @trojanaurora, @hextech-bros

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littlemissprettyprincess · 4 months ago

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void state challenge

Hi! I know I stopped posting on Tumblr, but I wanted to post this! I was having a conversation with @gorgeouslypink, and we were reminiscing about 2022 void/loa Tumblr when there were so many success stories because there were a lot challenges and methods, and there was overall just a very motivating and good atmosphere on loa Tumblr! Of course you don’t need a method or challenge, but they definitely are helpful and fun to follow! So for anyone who has been struggling with entering the void, I have a fun and easy challenge for you!

Practice deep breathing. The website linked has 10 different breathing exercises that are helpful for minimizing stress. Pick one that you like and do it until you feel calm and not so affected by your circumstances.

Listen to this audio either once or a few times. It's super helpful to clear your mind and it puts you in an ideal state for meditation. (Credit to @gorgeouslypink for finding the audio) It does have music though, so if that's distracting to you, here is a non-music alternative.

Do this meditation. If you look through the comments, you can see that this meditation has gotten a lot of people into the void state or into very deep/relaxed states!

Once the meditation ends, if you don't find yourself in the void, you should anyways be in a very relaxed state of mind. Remain in the position you are in with your eyes closed, as it is likely that you will fall into SATS, and just affirm for the void from there! Try not to force anything, just let yourself relax and fall into the void state.

Don't ever forget, you are the creator of your world! Now, have fun entering the void and getting your dream life! ♡

#void state #void challenge #the void state #law of assumption #loa

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thecoochiefairy · 3 months ago

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juno. onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 8.7K word count. blackfem!reader, pregnancy!kink, onyankopon, football player!onyankopon, sweet!onyakopon, dominant!onyankapon, arrogant!onyankopon, unprotected sex, creampie, vaginal penetration, lil bit of sweet talkin’, creaming, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, kinda aggressive dirty talk, oral [f], just a fine ass black man, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ to the anon that wanted this idea, i was already on that before you said anything, baby. teehee! this is a continuation of baby phat.

𝓐ᥫ᭡ :: onyankopon wins the super bowl.

visual. visual. visual. visual.

THE SCENT OF STRAWBERRY MILK DAUB'S YOUR SKIN. Suds captured along your curved figure, the warmth from showering now turning your ochre complexion a tone of russet. You were at peace, even with the upcoming excitement of the day thrumming in your chest.

Maybe your heart wasn’t beating fast. The vibration could’ve been coming from the song, BACKSTREETS, by DON TOLIVER, playing from the speakers instilled in your oversized marble bathroom—a place you complained was nonsensical to have so much square footage—but you couldn’t complain too much of your husbands desires, as he worked hard to achieve the exact lifestyle he wanted.

Back to being in the bathroom, your peace was interrupted by a sound that made your plump lips release a sigh. Your baby boy crying in the arms of his grandmother as he searched for you. Typical.

You try to finish getting ready anyways, annoyed with yourself as you feel tears welling within your eyes. Being six months postpartum hadn’t been easy—you loved your baby, attached at the hip like Velcro, as he was to you. You cried when he cried. But maybe it wasn’t all about you. Your baby was his father’s son, missing him just as much as you did.

Everything happened in the blink of an eye the moment Onyankopon was signed to the New Orleans Saints. He was the team’s youngest quarterback in years. The title produced a leadership the team never had before, calling dominating plays, the ball always within his control—and now, he was leading them to the Super Bowl.

With this big event coming up, you saw less of him. He only had a day or two to come home, and in that time he’d either sleep, spend as much time as he could with you, his mom, the baby, or sleep.

Through those frustrating times, you didn’t complain. You always supported his dreams. The minute he knew his team was in the game of champions, he promised to take time off after, and marry you in the Maldives as you dreamed. So you were patient.

The day had finally arrived—Super Bowl MMXXV. This was your first time being at one of his games in months, used to watching him from home. You were with him up until your pregnancy, Onyankopon not wanting to put you or the baby at risk as he traveled from city to city—in honesty, you were upset at first, and constantly expressed how much you missed him. He just wished you understood that all of this was for you, and your baby boy, Salem.

You clasp the golden charm bracelet along your wrist, short French tips glossing under the bathroom light as you’d just gotten them done. Shading your lip line with your favorite mixture of dark brown and mauve over your heart shaped lips once more, you play around with burmese curls of your sew-in, letting the hair frame your round face, freckled complexion blush from rushing the finishing touches of your makeup.

Adjusting your top, the alabaster material drapes effortlessly off your shoulder. The butterscotch crochet of your shorts mold along your round hips, a weight brought on since giving birth. Onyankopon glared at the glow you’d gotten from motherhood—your breasts were more full, your curves were curvier, and your skin was smooth, the scent of vanilla and baby products always wafting. If only you knew how much he craved you.

You wouldn’t call your mother in law dramatic. But you take a deep breath as you can hear her yelping from the kitchen of your condo, making your way downstairs to see her attempting to feed Onyankopon’s Dobermans. She holds the baby in one hand, dipping down and tossing the food into the bowls, the dogs actively watching her panic as they pant excitedly.

You sigh, “Momma—What are you doing?”

“These damn dogs—I can’t handle them!” she stutters, adjusting the baby in her arms as he begins to cry even louder from the disruption of sound.

She coos, “Oh lawd—Grandma didn’t mean to scare you, baby,” she bounces on her foot, trying to calm him down.

She then turns her irritation back to you, “Why the hell did Onyankopon get these dogs if he knew he wasn’t gonna be able to take care of them—They’re two big ass horses! They’re trying to attack me!”

“Sit,” you snap your fingers to the dogs, leaning down to clean the spilled chow from her panic, “I already fed them, momma. You ain’t have to let them inside. I know Zulu and Roux scare you.”

The dogs hike up, sitting properly as they wait for another command. She continues to bounce the baby in her arms, sighing “—I was doing fine ‘til my grand baby started crying for his mama,” she smooches Salem’s face, still a bit frazzled, “I was just trying to help.“

“And I appreciate that, okay? I just wanted you to change Salem before we leave, I know the pre-game starts soon.”

You open the patio to let the dogs back into their play area, sliding it closed as you question, “Did he poop?”

“Just a little—but I changed him a second time. I don't know what's wrong. I’ve been trying all morning while you were getting ready. Boy’s just like his father, don’t know what he wants when he wants it.”

“He wants you, momma. I swear—He just wants some milk. I promise he’s fine,” you open your arms out to take him, “C’mere, pookah,” you playfully pout, “Why’ you doing all that?”

He coos, reaching for you as his grandmother gives him over. His crying immediately subsided as he rested against your chest, tiny fingers playing with the gold pendant around your neck.

Still in a sour mood, your mother in law reminds, “I hope you bottled up all that milk he’s looking for. Can’t be giving a free show at the Super Bowl.”

You’re a bit more patient with her since having Salem, but she still managed to annoy the hell out of you at times—she was so adamant on making you do things her way.

You answer, “I pumped some milk last night—three times, so I can make it easier to feed Salem later. Lawd, momma—you being more fussy than the baby! You’ not excited for the game? You know Usher ‘supposed to be performing—that’s your man. You gotta’ jump down from the box, roll on the stage and give it to him!”

You place the tip of your tongue on your upper lip, playfully rolling your body as you bump your hip with hers, trying to lighten her mood.

She couldn’t resist chuckling, “Don’t be tryna’ show me how you got that baby in the first place. I’m excited—I just wanna make sure we don’t forget anything. Are you ready? Did you pack snacks for that baby? Some extra clothes if he spits up? You know there’s gonna be traffic in the business district.”

You reach over to the black diaper bag, golden fleur-de-lis symbol along the front as you place it over your shoulder, “All his milk is packed, extra diapers, clothes—he’s set for the next five days, momma. Can we go?”

“Alright, alright. I’m done fussing. I’m ready to see Ole Miss get they’ ass whooped, and see Usher! You think he’ll perform "There Goes My Baby?””

Your mother in law and baby were dressed similar—her wearing one of your fiancè’s jersey with his name and number, Salem wearing the tiniest jersey to match, miniature army cargos and Nike Dunks on his feet, dark hair already beginning to fro on his head, brown skin and freckled features pulling from both parents—although, Onyankopon’s genetics were much stronger.

“He better perform that song,” you smack your lips, “That’s the one that got me pregnant! Blame Urshers ass.”

You were essentially on black people time, planning to make it before the pre-game show, but arriving thirty minutes after it began. The entire street was blocked. Cameras, fans, extensive amounts of media coverage, everyone came together in pure excitement. Security motioned you towards the back of the stadium, having you all on a golf cart as they sped to the higher levels of the building.

You mentally prepared yourself to run into the group of football wives and their children. It’s not that you had an issue with them, they were just a bit too—bougie for your liking. Most of this group consisted of blonde hair and blue eyed smiles, flipping their locks and popping their gum as they spoke to you.

However, you could appreciate their excitement to see your baby. You put on a smile as you lean Salem towards the group of gushing women, a unison of “Awe!” as he chewed on the small bracelet on his wrist, blubbering nothings as he slobbered on his fingers.

Onyankopon’s mother stood beside you, watching the women crowd your baby boy, some asking to hold him only to have your soft no as an answer. She’d always try to convince you to make friends—but it only made you want to avoid it even more.

Requested by your fiancè, he made sure that everyone was comfortable as you had a private box at the top of the arena. A large sofa, on the other side was a balcony to look out on the field, close enough to the Jumbotron, with an additional tv on the inside to watch the game from any angle.

A table full of food from tenders, fries, sandwiches—to more southern orientated dishes like beignets, jambalaya, king cake, yakamein and even shrimp etouffee. When you stepped out to the balcony, you could see as people came flooding into their seats from below, watching as the players were on the field practicing, sports reporters talking through the intercom.

The chaos of the stadium was electric. People stood in their chairs, faces painted black and gold, the lights atop glowing purple, green and yellow, hype men throwing beads from the field, dancing along to the cultural music.

The noise of stomping, booing and cheering ensued as players came upon the screen. It made you anxious, but excited as well. You weren’t one for crowds, but you loved Onyankopon so much, being in the stadium made you feel closer to him.

Player after player, they appeared along the screen with a reaction from the fans—and there he was.

His hair was freshly braided, lineup sharp along the tight style. She could imagine how he complained in the chair. Facial hair around his full lips, dark pink as he reflexively clenched his sharp jaw, pulling his helmet to hold in his palm. The crowd roared at the sight of him.

He was constructed almost too perfectly. Tall, broad frame, tats swarming along his body in places that only you knew, even the ones that could be seen to everyone else. His lucky number, 74 along the countless other tats on his neck, religious cross on his cheek praising the man he constantly talked to throughout his career.

The black and gold jersey clung to the gear on his oversized frame, making him bigger than he already was. When he realized that he was on screen, he looked up—and that damn smile appeared. His tongue stuck out towards the camera, raising a muscular arm to pose, hyping himself up as he howled, the crowd returning the noise even louder. It was his signature—they loved him. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, watching as ’ONYANKOPON’ appeared brightly with his stats.

The entire building was roaring so loud, you could barely hear your mother in law as she shook her head, “That damn boy.”

You hated to admit it—That smile always made you swoon. He could turn you into a completely different person with one look. You watched as he walked towards his teammates who began to slap his helmet, hyping him up with the crowd's excitement.

Not only were the fans of your fiancè excited, but his biggest fan seemed to give a blubbering screech— Salem recognizes the face of his father as he jumps in your arms, the sound making you flinch.

“We’re looking through the crowd of familiar faces today—Oh, look at that! It seems the quarterback's fiancè is here with their adorable baby boy!”

The Jumbotron shows you, leaning against the balcony as you hold the baby in your arms. The cheers continue as you see yourself, a faint flush on your cheeks as you have no choice but to give a shy wave, heart shaped engagement ring glittering under the lights. You raise up your baby boy’s arm as you swing it back and forth, pointing to the screen for him to see himself.

The Jumbotron shifts from you to Onyankopon. He can’t get enough of you—jeweled smile, dark hair sprawling to your hips, almost able to inhale your scent when thinking about you. You hate how fine he is, running his tongue over his plump lips that turns into a boyish grin at the sight of his family.

That was the last camera on Onyankopon you’d see before it was all on business— he wasn’t just a quarterback with a family anymore. He was leading his team to a championship.

The coin toss was the lethal decision at the beginning of the game, determining who had control of the ball. You heard his voice choose heads, watching as the coin was thrown in the air, dropping down in the same second.

Tails.

Onyankopon’s team was defensive at the start, giving you the opportunity to calm Salem’s light fussing, startled by all the noise. He laid with his head resting against your chest, looking up at you as he tried to stick his fist inside his mouth.

Your mother in law sat beside you on the sofa, leaning over to ask, “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you answer softly, brushing a curly strand of hair away from Salem’s face as he tugged at your shirt, “He just doesn’t like all the noise. Should’ve bought him some ear plugs.”

“He’s looking for that nipple—“ she interrupts herself, gasping at the screen, “Look! There he goes!”

Onyankopon forms a stance as both teams break, searching for where to pass the ball from the line. A wide receiver manages to sneak through a guard. Onyankopon sees this and chucks the ball towards the player, him catching it perfectly in stride as security attempts to tackle him—he’s moving, fast, the both of them on the same wavelength as he runs yards across the field.

“WE HAVE OUR FIRST TOUCHDOWN OF THE GAME!”

Your mother in law was yelling his full name, jumping up and down in the air at his first point scored, going off with the crowd that rumbled the entire stadium with their cheers. She leans down to shake your shoulder, making you giggle at her excitement.

Your anxiety had spiked from that coin toss, but you had no doubt in your fiancè—especially as you saw him have control of the ball for a second time, and now, he was running himself down the field. Your eyes went wide as he ducked and dodged players flying towards him, everyone rising to their feet in doubt that he’d make it all the way to the end.

You hand your baby over to his grandmother, flying to the balcony with wide eyes, unable to help yourself watch with everyone else.

He was moving at full speed down the pitch, a ball tucked underneath his right arm as the offensive line covered him, blocking the way for opposing players as they attempted to tackle him down. He runs with ease, barely able to register his surroundings as he makes it to the end zone, the entire stadium screaming his name, shaking the floor beneath you. He’s able to dodge yet another tackle, diving down into the end zone— the crowd went insane.

“TOUCHDOWN!—And that’ll put the Saints in a two-point lead as he scores! Now if that’s not the sweetest thing I’ve seen!”

He’s standing there, cocky in the best way as his teammates run towards him—celebrating as they slap his helmet, hug his large frame, slamming their palms together in repetitive applause. You’re jumping in your spot like a schoolgirl, clapping your hands with a shout, unable to contain your excitement.

The other team was pissed.

It was a good game for the next couple of hours. It was up and down, both teams playing to their best ability, unfortunately being trumped by your home team. They were just too good, especially being led by such a quarterback. Salem’s fussing had also subsided, now more playful than anything, his grandmother unable to take her eyes off the field while her grandson attempted to stand in her lap.

“Say-Say, baby. Stay down, you can try to stand up later,” She pushes gently on his shoulders as he throws his body up, babbling nothings, the noise almost blocking out the roar of the stadium.

Nearing towards the end—things were beginning to change. Your fiancè was on the bench as they called a timeout, begrudgingly wiping his face. He could feel his body begin to burn from the physical activity. His chest heaved, but his eyes were still focused in the game.

The opposing team was up by a single touchdown and the timer was coming to an end. Onyankopon was pissed. He wants the ball. He needs it as the defensive line goes on the field. His deep voice rumbles as he calls out his players, knocking sense into them, cussing in ways you heard when he was incredibly serious. Competitive was an understatement.

When the timer begins, he calls for a pass, a deep ball down the field to his wide receiver, who was covered by one of the best defenders in the entire league. The crowd yells, his teammates doing the same, Onyankopon being doubled by one of the defensive players.

It doesn’t matter—he’s caught it. Down for one, at the three yard line. The stadium goes crazy for the pass. One more time—the play clock ticking down, he calls for the ball again. Another pass on the opposite side of the field to a wide receiver, caught perfectly. No one could move at this point—the clock running its final seconds, the crowd chanting the same three numbers. Onyankopon’s heart is pounding in his chest so harshly, he can hear his own blood pump behind his ears.

Two seconds on the clock, he calls for the ball again.

The snap, Onyankopon drops back into the pocket, he scans the field before tossing the ball towards a receiver at the back corner of the end zone. You watch as the entire stadium erupts. His teammates are on the field, running towards him with screams of victory as they run for the end zone. You can hear his deep, joyous laughter over the roaring spectators as he stands there, arms raised in the air as he gives the biggest bellow he’d ever made. The stadium is trembling.

They’d won.

The moments of world renowned joy—it was rare to feel something like that. Your mother in law is so busy screaming that you take notice at the last minute of the security wanting to guide you downstairs to the field, and you’re itching to get to your fiancè. Your hands practically shake as you scoop up your baby boy, rushing over to the golf cart to be taken where everyone celebrates.

They’re hollering like schoolboys, roughhousing with each other—tossing Gatorade onto their coach. Black and gold streamers drop down onto the field, emotions in every part of the arena.

As you’re taken outside, you hold your baby close to your chest as it’s like a mosh pit. The security has to lightly shove people out the way to get you towards the middle of the field where the team stands, your free hand holding your mother in laws.

That’s when you see him. It’d felt like months, even if it was only three days. He’s being interviewed by multiple people, hand reflexively holding the top of his gear, leaning down to meet the height of the woman that politely talks to him. You can see the way he makes anyone nervous, the woman smiling and giggling as he answers her questions, a giddy smirk on his face like no other. It made you happy to see him in the spotlight. He belonged there.

You were never afraid to let him have his shine. You were patient, watching as he was on his fourth interview. On the other hand, your mother in law wasn’t so graceful about waiting.

“You just carried your team to a Super Bowl win, Onyankopon. How do you feel?”

He’s sweating bullets and out of breath, but he keeps his composure. Pulling the bottom of his jersey up, exposing his toned stomach as he wipes his face.

He lets out a deep, breathless chuckle, “Shit is crazy, not gon’ lie. I can only thank my team, the people that support me. My family, god. He’s always gon’ keep me together. A nigga is grateful for everything in this life.”

You can’t help but smile at his words, hating that you feel yourself becoming emotional. You loved this man so much.

“And how will you be celebrating tonight?”

You didn’t think he’d seen you standing there. But he looks directly at you, that hungry grin along his face as he grunts, “I’m gon’ start by seein’ my baby, lovin’ on my wife. That’s really all the shit I need.”

He leans closer to the camera, “Y’all be safe out there—and don’t be acting like niggas, tearing up the city—ion’ wanna see none of that shit!”

The interview gives one more congratulations, leaving him be. You allow your mother in law to trap him in a hug first, swinging him from side to side, “I’m so happy for you, sweetheart! Give thanks to god!”

“All praises to the highest—“ he lets out a chuckle, pulling her into his arms, her head only reaching his chest. In his mothers fashion, she begins rambling as she grabs his chin, “You gon’ keep all this hair on your face? Did you even get a haircut?—“

“See, I knew you was gon’ act like this. Imma’ give you one more hug, and you gotta let me see my girl, momma.”

She kisses him on the cheek as she pulls away, taking Salem into her own arms. You have no time to process before he lifts you off the ground, palms groping your ass with a grunt in your ear that you wrap your arms around his neck reflexively, squealing—“Onyankopon!”

He’s careless that there’s thousands of people around him, in your ear as he gruffly says, “I missed you bad as fuck. I missed this big ass,” he squeezes it in his hands, making you giggle even more, “Missed that beautiful face. You can’t be away from a nigga for that long. That ain’t gon’ happen again—you hear me?”

“I hear you,” you roll your eyes, “You won!” you shriek, wrapping yourself tighter around him, “Your first ring, baby!”

It felt surreal—he wasn’t sure what he felt, still stunned that they’d won an entire championship. His emotions were on a rollercoaster, his chest thumping like a drum as he pulled back, pressing his forehead against yours. His deep voice shakes a bit as he chuckles, leaning down into you to hide the emotions he feels.

It was extremely rare for Onyankopon to get like this. The last time you’d seen it, he held Salem for the first time. He was a man full of gratitude, and it was all hitting him at this moment. You quickly run your thumb under his eye, giggling as tears form in your own vision.

“I love you,” you say softly, in the midst of chaos around you.

He presses his trembling lips against your own, the heat of his breath making you dizzy as the butterflies in your body flutter wildly. He’s hungry as he takes every part of your lips, finding a grip on your throat as he’s dropping his tongue in your mouth.

“Boy, come hold this baby and quit tryna’ make another one!”

Your mother in law's voice comes between the two of you. Another soft giggle comes from you as you pull back, running your fingers along the braids in his hair as Salem reaches out to his father.

“I hear you, Momma. Lawd.”

He immediately pulls away, the most tender and gentle expression you’d ever seen on him as he scoops Salem out of his mother’s arms, cradling him close to his face as he snuggles him. This was something you wished you could put on pause. His big hand cups your son’s entire body, giving gentle kisses to his forehead, the baby cackling out giggles.

“You know he screeched when you came on the Jumbotron?” You tell him, attempting to pull Salem’s fist from his mouth.

He’s distracted, unable to tear his eyes from Salem as he pulls him in close, “Yeah? You see yo’ daddy, baby? What you’ think of this?”

He’s bouncing him in his arms, holding his head as he moves Salem to see everyone in the stadium, “Awe, baby—he ain’t gon’ remember all this.”

You rub his shoulder, “That’s okay, he sees you, Ony. He’s gonna remember that.”

His hand finds the small of your back, tugging you close to his side as he continues to coo at Salem, “I need to get y’all home soon.”

“You’re not going out with the team?” You question, a small frown on your face, “I thought you’ was saying all that for the cameras.”

He looks at you, “You think I wanna be with grown ass men over spending time with my family? Where’s yo’ mind at?”

You roll your eyes. Taking Salem back into your arms, “Whatever, nigga. Go do yo’ last little interviews, imma’ go call a car for your mom, I know she wants to go home.”

“I ain’t gon’ be long—like ten-fifteen minutes,” he presses a kiss under your chin, kissing the forehead of his baby boy before taking off to where the team took photos.

You look over to your mother in law, who has the same look as you, knowing that ten to fifteen minutes was damn sure a lie.

You raise an eyebrow, “You wanna wait?”

“Girl, call his driver and get me home. I’m not waiting on his big headed ass.”

You laugh, listening nonetheless.

When the chaos of the night comes to an end—you’re back where you imagined being for the past couple of days. You stare out the window from the top floor of your condo, seeing the city twinkling beneath the stars, colors flashing from business buildings to represent the city’s celebration. It could’ve been a completely different night—you and Onyankopon could’ve been with the city, partying, drinking until your organs collapsed.

But you were here. Within your shared bedroom, Onyankopon laid out on the bed, scrolling through twitter and watching the shit-show happening on Canal street.

“They go so crazy in the boot,” he chuckles, “You see this shit, baby? Niggas on street poles—they busted a window at a Chase bank!”

You continue brushing your teeth, staring out the window and watching the fireworks going off in the sky.

“Boy, don’t be acting like if I ain’t give you the green light you wouldn’t be out there acting an ass too.”

“That’s a big if. You ain’t never gon’ give me the green light. You like to keep me all cooped up.”

He gets up from his spot and walks over to you, taking a seat in the bay window as he pulls you in between his legs, “You think I’m lyin’?”

“So you wanna go out?” You raise an eyebrow, “I heard your players was finna’ go out to Visions to celebrate,” you refer to the gentlemen's club, “That’s what you was’ tryna do? Oh, aight. Go out with your lil’ funky ass friends then,” you roll your eyes, wanting to finish off your nightly routine.

“Come on, you gotta know I’m bullshittin’,” he tugs you back closer to him, “You ain’t gon’ be nice to me? I just won the damn Super Bowl.”

You briefly step into the bathroom to wash out your mouth, wiping the bottom of your now bare face. You sigh, “You could’ve gone out if you wanted to, Ony. I was just gonna come back and pass out with Salem.”

“I know you missin’ my touch. C’mere.”

Onyankopon had a bad habit of liking you more in this state. Freckles cover your nose and cheeks as you’d wiped all your makeup off, curls dangling around your face. The dark tresses hung from the claw clip you’d lazily stuck in there, trying to pull your hair out the way as you fed Salem earlier, wearing a white tee that hugs your upper half, midriff showcasing between your white panties. He couldn’t stop playing with the lace bow on the front of the cotton material.

Fuzzy Saints socks pulled the look all together—you were perfect.

He breathes low, fingers gently gripping your hips, “See, you got me feeling lonely. I need you with me, baby. Fuck allat’ club shit.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, giving him a hum as you lean close to his mouth, “You only want me, huh?”

“Don’t play. You know you’ my good luck charm.”

You’re too pretty in the moonlight for him to resist. He holds you close, pulling your mouth to meet his as he kisses you slowly—But of course, the moment is interrupted as you hear the sound of fussing.

You pull your mouth back, exhaling a bit. You sigh, “I didn’t pump tonight, so I gotta go finish feeding him.”

He groans, hands sliding down to cup at your ass as he holds you close, “Can’t you just let him cry a lil’ bit?”

You raise an eyebrow, “Would you like me to not feed you?”

His chuckle is slight, looking up into your serious stare, “That’s different, he ate not too long ago.”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t have given him the appetite you have, hm?” You give him a peck on the lips, “Don’t be talkin’ bout my baby!” You exclaim, disappearing out of the bedroom with that.

It takes longer than you anticipate to feed your baby, burp him, and finally get him in his crib. After a little bit of fussing, his eyes drift as he lays along his stomach, pacifier in his mouth as he drifts off, warm in a soft blue onesie.

You groan a bit as you make your way back towards the bedroom. Your chest was aching. The lights were now off, a box fan blowing comfortingly in the corner—the only light casting within the room now was from the moon. You can see the reflection of Onyankopon’s phone on his face, knowing this was his routine before he passed out. You couldn’t blame him for it.

You say quietly as you close the door, “Salem’s asleep.”

The comforting sound of the fan continues to blow. You then have a thought, slowly pressing your knees against the bed as you begin crawling towards him.

“Daddy…”

He immediately says, “Nuh-uh. You only do all that when you want sum.’ I just won the Super Bowl. Leave me alone.”

You roll your eyes, groaning, “I only had a question.”

“You got a question, huh?”

You’re already tugging at his arm until he caves in, tossing his phone to the side with a sigh, “Aight, aight. You got my undivided attention, all that bullshit.”

“Since you’re in such a good mood, can we talk about getting me a breast lift again? And before you say it—I don’t need all that self love bullshit,” you cover his eyes, not wanting to see his reaction.

“Girl, don’t start with me.”

His fingers tug at your hand until he removes it from his face, holding onto your arms, “I’m not tryna’ argue with you right now, forreal.“

“It shouldn’t have to be an argument,” you protest, “Salem is sucking me dry, all he wants is the nipple.”

“I told yo’ ass to take him off the titty, you ain’t wanna listen,” Onyankopon murmurs, placing his hands behind his head, looking up at you through the moonlight.

You flick his nose, “It’s normal for a six month old to still be breastfeeding, Ony!”

“Yeah, you’ right,” He sighs, glancing at you with a lazy smile, “I’m not sayin’ no, you got a point. I just don’t wanna have this discussion right now, aight? You gon’ have to give me some time to think about it.”

You roll your eyes, “They’ll still be my real boobs, I’m just gonna have them sit up. Although, wouldn’t I look good with some implants? Like them’ big ass anime girl boobs? Imagine!” You place his hands on your chest, “You’ll have so much more to grab!”

“You do like to be on bullshit, huh?” He squeezes softly, “You playin’ dirty, that’s foul. You gon’ have to come to me with a serious argument.”

“This is my argument. You’ not feelin’ good enough. Don’t they feel like two raisins? Exactly!” You blow out a breath, “You know, I wouldn’t be this difficult if you asked to get your dick bigger or something.”

“That’s ‘cause my shit fat,” your body jerks as he gives a smack to your ass, “You makin’ my head hurt.”

You giggle evilly, “Good,” as you roll onto your side of the bed, pressing your back against his chest, scooting back to spoon yourself into his body. You sigh at the immediate warmth, feeling as he nuzzles his face into your shoulder.

He hums, eyes closed as he wraps his body around yours, holding you close, “Go to sleep. I know you’ tired.”

“I know you’ tired.”

“Oh, aight. So we just gon’ argue all night.”

You roll your eyes at that. Silence goes between the both of you, and you think he might be asleep. You adjust yourself in his hold, turning yourself on your back to be able to face him, but still keeping yourself beneath his arms.

“You know how much I love you?”

Your voice is soft, barely audible.

A lazy kiss to your cheek.

A hum.

“Let me guess.”

“Mm?"

A sleepy, deep chuckle.

“As much as I love you?”

You smile a bit, “Maybe a lil’ more than that.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“You love me the most-est,” you kiss his nose.

“I love you the most-est. We’ cool?”

You find that in the darkness, it’s possible to find every little line and fold in his face. His eyelashes, his nose, and his lips. They’re all beautiful.

You lean your face down, giving him the softest kiss in response. Your noses brush together a bit, your soft giggle huffing through your mouth.

He kisses you back. His chest rumbles in a quiet, deep chuckle, eyes remaining closed as you pull away. You find them opening slowly, staring with a gaze that makes you feel like you’re in a movie.

“You tryna’ start sum?”

Your body goes warm at the question. Your lower half throbs, but you never knew how to…say that exactly. You adjust yourself, separating your thighs a bit as you shake your head, “No. Salem’s a light sleeper, you know that.”

You move an inch, but he’ll follow you with his eyes.

“Right. That’s why you doing allat’ movin’.”

The moon is moving away from your window, making it even darker than before. You can’t see him, but you can feel his body. His presence, his aura.

You exhale a bit, breath uneven as you say, “Go to sleep, Ony.”

His hand traces over your hip, up and down. You can feel his eyes on you, staring and searching the outlines of your body.

“You gon’ say what’s on your mind?”

It’s like he flashes in your mind all at once. His smile, his laugh, his arrogance on the field, the love he had for Salem, the glare he gave you when he—

“…Just a lil’ restless,” you say softly.

No response, nothing for a short moment. That’s when you feel your head being nudged up a bit, his lips beneath your chin, gently dragging his mouth over your neck. The feeling makes you swallow, frowning as you gently adjust yourself again.

You can feel his lips and tongue on your skin. He’s going agonizingly slow, not moving any lower than your neck, and it’s driving you crazy.

You attempt to press your hand along his jaw to halt his movements, but as you do, he finds that spot. It’s the area right under your ear, in between your neck. It makes your eyes roll, your body trembling in response. You’re unethical as you whimper, “O—Ony, I don’t wanna wake up Salem…”

He’s now on the other side of your neck, still agonizingly slow in his affection. You can feel his patience thinning, as his lips drag onto your shoulder next.

“You think you can keep quiet for me?”

That warmth in your body returns as Onyankopon lifts his face, meeting his tongue with yours, catching your lips under his mouth. You give a light gasp, pulling your face back a bit from the embarrassment of being that reactive—another unfortunate side effect that came after pregnancy.

”C’mon, Mama. Gimme’ yo’ mouth.”

You listen—even as your body shudders, whining softly with a push back against his lips, his kiss consuming you. Your mind is fuzzy at this point.

“There you fuckin’ go.”

Your lips are met with a wet sound. He’s sloppy in his kiss. His tongue moves along your own, warm thumb brushing along your cheek, dragging over your throat, up until it’s at the bottom of your tee, tugging the fabric up to place along your collarbone. The top sits right above your breasts, Onyankopon already lowering himself, sucking your brown nipples in between his lips in repetitive pops, grunting each time the soft skin hardened below his mouth.

You attempt to slow him down as you arch yourself opposite of his mouth, which travels between the dip of your chest, tracing down to the ink scattered along your stomach. This position was a terrible idea—his mouth was all over you now, hands firm and demanding, your lower body tingling.

You can sense the pressure building within your stomach which makes your breathing grow more uneasy as your whole body tries to cope, but fails with each kiss he leaves—he’s going lower, lower…

It’s as if being in complete darkness somehow made things more intimate. You can’t see him, but you can imagine his eyes on you—lustful, coaxing—he’s scooting your lower body closer to his broad shoulders, your pedicured feet dipping in the sculpted muscles of his back as he spreads your thighs open, his warm mouth re-introducing itself as he’s dragging his tongue on your ankle, leading up to sucking your toes in his mouth.

“Got a nigga needing you.”

At his admiration, you give him your whimper quietly—secretly. He knows it was there as he starts between sucking your toes, teasing, causing you almost to wince as you bite against your bottom lip—the warmth surrounds your ankle from him sucking at the arch of your foot.

You move uncomfortably in your pleasure as he pulls his tongue over the same area again—the throbbing between your legs becoming more harsh as he tugs at the curve of your foot, giving you goosebumps.

He knew you loved his mouth. Couldn’t stand it, almost. His tongue could take you to heights only sex toys could've attempted, making his mouth a formidable competition. Yet, as amazing as he made you sound—his groans, his talking pushed you farther than anything else, leaving your ears constantly ringing.

As his mouth was your guilty pleasure, your scent was his. A milky vanilla, it was like some type of aphrodisiac pheromone. He circles his tongue over your ankle before pulling it back to his shoulder, lowering himself down to meet with your inner thighs.

He’s grunting, “Always smell so muhfuckin’ good, baby.”

Another baby gasp is taken as his beard tickles along the sensitive skin near the back of your knees, forcing shivers up your spine as his tongue explores further along, his grunt dragging a jolt up the soft flesh on your legs.

Your soft sounds echoed throughout the darkness as your lower lip became a captive against your own teeth. Ony was tasting at the edge of your inner thigh now, his beard brushing against the same spot on your skin, almost predatory as he dragged his tongue across the seam.

This was dangerous territory—especially when he growled at the syllables to his name from your lips, you breathily panting, “B—baby…”

The anticipation grew larger for you by each second, inch he moved, becoming too loud to be masked anymore within the silence that enveloped the pair of you. There would soon be tears coming, you knew that.

And here they were. They form lightly in your eyes, and you hate that. You sniffle through the darkness, clasping his braided hair as you spread your legs a bit, “Ony, please…”

The desperation within those words, mixed with your softness that clung onto his fingertips made him arrogant. His hand presses between the cradle of your thighs, pulling you up to a point where his warm breath huffs against the entirety of you. He can imagine your pussy—bubblegum pink, camouflaged by the brown of your outer lips—pretty.

“You gon’ be loud?”

You press your fingers into your mouth, shaking your head in the darkness. Your body jolts as his palm effortlessly pops your ass, the skin shaking as he grunts, “Use that fuckin’ mouth, girl. ‘Know you hear me talkin’.”

You shake your head as you whimper, “Can’t, Ony. Don’t wanna wake the baby.”

It’s right as you finish that sentence. He gives your clit the softest kiss, letting his lips hold the nub in between them, savoring the tremble your body does in response. He spreads his tongue over you slowly, almost testing the ripeness, grunting, “Ooh, shit. Why this shit tastin’ like that?”

His head tilted to consume more, Ony losing himself, his chin bobbing his mouth as he’s groaning, becoming lost in what he’s doing. The back of your palm meets with your mouth, turning your face into the pillow as your eyes screw shut. They roll all at the same time, feeling your hand tremble above your face as you whine, “O—oh my g…”

Each leveled sound causes his eyes to half-lid in satisfaction, making the pitch black around you almost rotate as he goes on. You were soft. Ony pushed against you to eat you better, lifting you off his shoulders at moments just to bring you down onto his face, chasing to smother himself in your taste.

Your folds are being spread open by his tongue, clit encapsulated by the raindrops of your saliva, hood pulled back as he sucks on it abrasively—your legs are shaking.

You hold onto his hair as your chest heaves, back to panting, “S—slow baby…mmph…”

“Quit allat’. Keep it up, I’m finna’ have you cryin’ on my face.”

He never told you anything twice. Even with his words, he gives into your plea. Slightly. Ony lets off for a bit, letting you drown in his beard, before he drags his tongue back up to its peak, latching onto your clit like a pacifier.

Onyankopon takes you slow, as slow as you like now as his eyes watch yours in the pitch black. His lower face is wet, your pussy catching the mess of your arousal, coating a sheen against itself, reflecting back in Onyankopon’s facial hair.

You hated how shy he made you, as if you weren’t going to marry this man soon. You’re bolder through the darkness as you beg, “Want your tongue in me, Ony…”

His tongue draws circles around your opening, your head coming up to watch, even if you can’t see. He’s pushing his tongue inside. He curses at the twitch in response—God. Your walls quiver, sucking around the thickness, molding in response to the texture of his tongue.

He could linger here all night—he’s moaning, overshadowing your whine of pleasure, his mouth plunging back down for yet another stroke into your pussy, arousal gushing around his lips, spurring fleshy sounds as your eyes roll back, “Fuck,” you almost sob, “Fuck…”

“Takin’ my mouth like some muhfuckin’ dick. Nasty ass bitch, just fuckin’ my face,” he can’t stop moaning to you, “Keep fuckin’ me.”

He continuously brings you onto the tip of his tongue, thrusting into your heat as if trying to get you to flood. He eats, slurping up your spillage like a dessert, a reward he could argue is better than his championship—he deserved you.

It’s as if the both of you are addicts—feening for another fix. He lifts himself from between your legs as he crashes his mouth against yours, able to taste yourself off his tongue.

You’re sloppy as you kiss each other, Onyankopon’s large frame hovered over yours in an almost terrifying manner, locking your legs back along his shoulders. His tip smacks along your clit, the weight of his length always leaving a presence against your pussy, even when it was gone, even when he was away.

This was always the most difficult part for you. But you were so wet, you hoped you wouldn’t do much complaining today. You pull your mouth back as you press your forehead against his, hand along the side of his face, breathing slightly into his mouth. He digs his forehead into yours as he takes one of your hands above your head, intertwining your fingers as his other is holding up your leg—Onyankopon dropping in, stretching your folds as he slowly sinks into your pussy. Your eyebrows furrow a bit, holding onto his face tighter. Your breathing is more labored than before, and the moment you feel him curving for your cervix, you gasp, pulling his face closer to yours, a sloppy moan rushing from your mouth, thighs trembling at the discomforting pleasure.

“Gimme’ my fuckin’ pussy,” he grunts, “This shit mine, actin’ like it’s not,” Another ravenous pull that caused him to grunt as he slowly bucked his hips—stretching your folds until he bottomed out, sinking in against your walls fully.

Your moans were chaotic. You found yourself reaching for his shoulder, digging your nails into the skin as he lowered himself more, growling, “Better gimme’ that shit,” tears within your eyes as you whined, eyes rolling back as you relaxed for him.

You had no choice but to let him get this deep into your stomach. You’re trying to tuck your face in your shoulder, his strokes long, the slowness making it all the more evil.

He had a hold of your hips, almost cradling you within his hold, slamming you down onto his dick. As much as you said he loomed above you, Onyankopon knew he encased you. He could smell his son off of you sometimes—just another reason to bring his hands underneath you—burying himself deeper, lips near yours, sucking against your chin in a feigned fashion.

You gave a pathetic cry, pulling him even closer, “Onyyy…”

“You got my dick in yo’ fuckin’ stomach,” he teases breathily above your lips, his fingers crusading against the plump flesh on your thighs, coaxing you to open wider for his greed.

“You feelin’ it, huh?”

He won’t stop talking. It’s because he knows he has you right where he wants you. You’re quieter than he’d want you to be, but it’s because you’re cumming, nearly pushing his dick out as you feel yourself coating his entire length. Your eyes haven’t resurfaced to the darkness as they’re still in the back of your head.

You pout, “You’re so fucking deep, Ony…I love you,” you promise to him, sniffling as you listen to your skin slapping against his, “I love you…”

“I love you too, Mama. Keep talkin’ to me.”

He didn’t care if you were already this stupidly drunk because of him. He needed you lost.

If you thought this was the hardest part of his offense, wait until he flipped you onto your side—your knees close to your chest, Onyankopon’s left arm holding your hip, beginning to tug you down onto his length, ass ricocheting off his abdomen. Your body feels exhausted, your curls masking over your face, unable to have the energy to move them as you could only take his strokes.

“You hear me?” He repeats, arrogance feigning, “A nigga love you. You’ gon’ give me another baby?”

Your eyes are rolled back for the umpteenth time, turning your head a bit to feel him from the darkness, frowning from how much pleasure fills your body.

You can’t help but ramble back to him, “Gonna give you another baby, Ony. Promise.”

His hips are smacking into your ass—hard, hard enough to send ripples of pleasure that course down to your ankles.

“You gon’ marry me?” He questions, sliding his hand up to reach your throat, using that as leverage to drop you down onto him, the connecting skin wet, slapping together in a symphony, “Ain’t finna’ give my pussy away?”

“This your pussy, Daddy,” you whimper to him, cheeks flushed, knowing he had you talking crazy. You hold onto the pillow below your head, “Gonna’ marry you, baby…so proud of you…”

“You proud of me, baby?”

“Mhm,” you whine softly in response, to which he replies,”I’m proud of you, Mama. Takin’ dick like a fuckin’ pro. Gon’ be a pretty ass momma all over again. Gon’ give me a lil’ girl.”

His words, the love he carries—being a father, being a husband, being a man. You wanna give him as many babies he wants. You want to spend the rest of your life with him.

You sob, “Cum in me. Cum in me, Ony…”

"Quit beggin' for my cum. Take it.”

He groans, speeding up, stretching you so wide with every hit against your cervix, even feeling that faint pain doesn't ruin the waves building as you cum again. He pushes himself forward, pulling your hair out your face as he nastily kisses you, moaning, an action filled with affection, lust, love.

The pleasure you give to each other is like no other this time around. It might’ve gotten so good—too good. He hovers atop of you, breathing heavily as you feel that familiar warmth fill your walls.

You pull his mouth closer as you repeat for the thousandth time, “I love you, Onyankopon.”

He’ll kiss you, a bit harder in response. His words are mumbled over your lips.

“I love you so much fuckin’ more, girl.”

When you go to return his kiss one more time—the baby monitor screeches—Salem’s cry interrupting you both. You press your forehead against his chest, giggling softly.

Onyankopon lets out a small sigh, chuckling in response to your amusement.

“I got him, Mama. Gon’ head and go to sleep.”

He finally turns on the lamp beside the bathroom, planting another kiss along your forehead before standing from the bed.

You lay your head along the pillow as you watch him search for his basketball shorts, unable to help but watch his bare body move around the room, back muscles flexing naturally.

When he turns back as he feels your eyes, you drop them directly to his dick as you innocently question, “What?”

Onyankopon smirks, amused at your lingering gaze—pulling on his shorts, concealing his lower half.

“I thought you was’ tired? I ain’t do my job?”

You were exhausted, but your tired daze had you smiling at him, and maybe you were still a little horny.

You give him those eyes, “I am. I’m just watching.”

“You gon’ keep getting pregnant with them’ eyes. You’ need another round? Cause we can really have a Super Bowl: Champions of Dick—“

“No, jesus. I’m going to sleep. Go feed my child.”

“I ain’t got no milk in my chest!”

“Onyankopon.”

“Aight, aight. You love me?”

“Mhm.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm.”

“Positive?”

“Onyankopon!”

“Aight, lawd. Bye.”

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