#It's so saturated on phone damn | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tonycries · 21 days ago

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Girl, I'm Into It!

Synopsis. Jus’ take it, girl, doesn’t matter if someone sees.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, EXHÍBITIONISM, cúmplay, the elders, Geto’s cúlt, creampíes, getting interrupted, cóckwarming, GOJO’S POWERS, face-sítting (fem), true form!Sukuna, dp, semi-public, spítting, VERY pússydrúnk Geto, overstím, spánking, bréeding (Gojo), marathons, showing off, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - A mouthful, woman!

“Mhm—” Toji’s babbling out a drawn-out groan, dragging the sharp bridge of his nose down your drooling slit. Veering slow and syrupy where your clit was just throbbing, “Yeah, that last job- actually. Gimme a sec, Shiu.”

And you can only gasp when he’s trapping that glaring phone screen between his ear and his shoulder, sliding the calloused expanse of his palm up, up, up your arched spine.

Curling gently around your throat, “Now, who said you can stop sittin’ on m’face, doll?”

It’s said low - dangerous - loud enough that it just reached your ears above those saturated squelches.

“B-but-” you shudder. “Shiu can-”

“B-b-but what?” He’s licking his slick-glossed lips, pooling your sweet sweet juices on his pinkish tongue. And oh just that one taste makes Toji moan, makes his eyes roll to the back of his head, thick fingers coming down in a swift smack! to hurry your honeyed answer. “S’not good to ah- leave someone hanging, y’know?”

His best friend on the other end of the line be damned, Toji was going to taste your pretty pussy one way or the other.

“Yo, Fushiguro- where the hell did ya go?”

That makes you just jump, earning a rough snicker from the man underneath you. Words puffing out against your hole in a feverish pant, “Relax, girl, m’muted already.”

And the rest of Shiu’s crackling voice can’t even register in his melty brain right now, can’t even be heard over that sudden gruff murmur ripping from his throat at the needy little drip! drip! drip! of your weepy cunt down his lolling tongue. Sliding all the way to the back of his throat. “For now.”

Toji’s prominent Adam’s apple bobs ravenously, before he’s just dragging your pliant body with a harsh tug - until your entire body weight is seated on his slutty mouth.

Exactly how he liked- no, loved it.

“See?” Sharp canines nip gently at your puffed-up pussy lips, you could feel Toji’s leering smirk widen, only plunging his pretty face deeper and deeper where you needed him the most. “Was that so hard?”

“N-no–” you’re mewling out, the truth babbling out of you when he slips past your swollen folds easily. Drinking in languid, calculated strokes up and down up and down up and-

“Helloooo? Ya better not have fucked off again, Fushiguro.”

Ah, yes. Toji’s rolling his eyes, taking his frustration out by giving you another stinging swat along your ass.

And it’s so messy - you’re so sloppy on top of him that it takes a few glissading taps down his phone before Toji can finally unmute himself. Eyes bleary, ears thundering, mouth so drunken that he could barely speak - your pussy coating him in a sticky sheen of your slick with each ounce of pleasure.

“Whaddaya say again, Shiu?” he’s slurring out - hoarse, strangled. The solid curve of his thumb gliding in a sopping wet dance across your sensitive clit, “Sorry was- eating.”

Toji laughs - he laughs - muffling the deep sounds by suckling on your leaky clit. Lapping at each and every pearlescent bead of your juices, high cheekbones hollowing out to scratch his obscene little taste buds roughly against the very peaked tip.

“You’re really eating mid-call?”

Shit, Toji can already feel the way you grow even more drenched at that, gushing out in a silken wave that dribbles down his chin.

Smack!

It’s as if he was taunting you to break - to whine loud enough that Shiu would hear. Toji’s free hand is tightening around your neck, hauling you all over his face to meet in the messiest French kiss. “Oh you have no hah- idea.”

It’s just about the last thing said before Toji’s bullying his long tongue past that taut entrance to your sloppy hole, only needing one, two tiny grinds before your gummy walls are sucking him up deliciously. Molding around each one of his hazy drags, every saturated swirl around your cozy channel.

“Well can ya be so fuckin’ loud-” You’re biting down on your lower lip hard enough to draw blood at Shiu’s little complaint. “Seriously- what are you even eating, you animal?”

“Jus’ a lil’ something sweet. The cutest of desserts.” Nosy prick, he’s musing half-deliriously. “Now are ya gonna t-talk business or do I needa hang up?”

But Toji knows he won’t be hanging up - not by the way every rattled-off detail about his next mission has you grinding your pussy down even more desperately onto his mouth. Snapping those delicate strings of spit and slick with each slobbering drag. Addicted. Hypnotic.

Enough so that he doesn’t even know the date of his next job - and right now, Toji didn’t care.

And you half-wonder how his tongue wasn’t cramping up right now, how his voice wasn’t just raw from those faint grunts of affirmation dragged out at Shiu’s conversation - non-stop, purposeful.

And so was he.

You didn’t know who wanted you to cum more - you, or him.

But when you do - you’re utterly sure that it’s your dear boyfriend.

“Sh-shit-” you whisper, breath hitching with each desperate moan threatening to break free. And your nails just claw down his sculpted abs, hips gyrating in drippingly wet swivels with his tongue. Sure Shiu could hear now- “M’gonna cum-” They grow longer - sloppier. “Toji, m’cumming m’cumming- f-fuck-”

All Toji can do is giggle, as if he was fucked-out already. Shakily dipping his head further to ride you through your high, his nose nudges past your spread folds, into the base of your pussy, pointed chin kissing up against your puffy clit. Placing wet thrust after thrust that have you convulsing on top of him, the tiniest ah! ah! ah! leaving your ragged mouth when you feel his big beefy biceps flexing in a vice-like grip around your neck to hold you still.

Addictive.

So much so that he’s barely even registering Shiu’s little, “You got all that?”

And you swear you hear Toji’s tough baritone crack at the very end, verging on a whine when he mumbles, “Y-yeah yeah- got all of it.”

“Alright, and- Fushiguro?”

“Mhm?”

“At least let a man join next time.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Over-overtime

“Ken-”

“Shh, my love.”

“But Ken!”

Immediately, you’re feeling the soft graze of all five of Nanami’s thick fingers curling over your jaw-dropped mouth. Your shared, golden wedding ring cool over your heated skin when he puffs out in a feverish heave, “Please ah- quieten down those pretty moans, unless you w-want to be caught, darling.”

Honestly, Nanami wouldn’t even mind right now - wouldn’t even care for anything other than swiveling his hips into yours in a slow, sultry cadence.

Angry, red tip pushing you further and further into those important documents he should really be working on right about now. Your tight silken skirt riding high, hands scrambling towards the ends of his cool office desk-

“B-but-” you’re whining, muffled through his digits. “-but it feels so hck! good-”

You little minx. Nanami can feel himself just gush out a trail of steamingly hot precum in response to your pretty moans, jaw clenching while he tries to hold back the deepest of guttural groans from breaking free.

It was the first time he’d ever ignored any form of overtime for something like this. But feeling the slight shiver in your thighs, the way your pretty tits heave with each gasping inhale - shiiit, did he wish he did this sooner.

Every night of overtime, every lunch break, every meeting.

“S-s’that so?” he’s rasping, and the desk rattles when he picks up the pace. Ricketing after every smack! of his thick, hefty balls against your ass, girthy cock stretching you out maddeningly. “My cute lil’ wife w-wants so badly to moan out? To scream my name?”

“Yes–” you sob, and your trembly fingers can do nothing but snatch the yellow velvet of his favorite tie. Hauling your husband even pressingly closer, “D-don’t care if they hah- hear, need you, Ken-”

Fuck, that’s enough to have him gasping, entire body wracking with an almost-violent shiver.

Moaning.

Frantically, his sweat-slicked head snaps towards the door - the shut door.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, he nuzzles down the tender column of your neck. Nosing into your sweetened spots, “Hah- wouldn’t- wouldn’t even mind being fired for this heavenly pussy, my love-” he confesses. But for all how sweet his words were toned, Nanami only pounds you deeper against the desk. Now clattering against the wall with how roughly he was spearing into your melty depths. “But I don’t want them seeing my wife.”

The hand around your mouth was nothing more than a little formality at this point, and Nanami himself was getting so dangerously loud-

Each grunt is punctuated by a meaningful slam into your drippingly wet cunt. Slurring out a little with each one, loosely whispering saccharine praises in your ear.

“So pretty-” he kisses the corner of your lips, your chin. Ravenous thumb reaching down to pull at your neglected clit, “So fucking sexy- ah you feel s-so good.” Leering smile too unlike him, growing at every one of your plush squeezes. “So- so loud-”

And, truly, the stuffy corporate room was so heady with the hypnotic smell and sound of sex - the sound of you two.

But Nanami still wasn’t done.

“M-move your hand, darling.” he hiccups out, and you already know what he’s talking about. Scrambling to shift away the now-sopping wet hand you’d cushioned to deter the wet thwack of his cum-filled balls against your ass, his toned pelvis on your ass. They ring thunderously in your ears, “Yeah- yeahhh, fuck- jus’ like that.”

Without the barrier of your hand in the way, he’s hiking up one powerful thigh onto the smooth plane of the desk. The change in angle nudging his fattened tip against your bulging g-spot, drawing swift, sopping glides. He was so out of control now.

And whatever’s left of his rational self knows that maybe he should slow down - be more mindful of the resounding squelches that your slutty cunt was drumming up.

But he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Not when your slicked walls are clamping down around him so tight. Your eyes fluttering shut, spine arching definitively, mouth dropping open with the most honeyed call of his name when you cum.

The noise so addictive - his favorite song - that Nanami isn’t too far behind. Overfilling your poor cunt over and over with thick globs of his cum.

And god it was so much of it that Nanami doesn’t even realize when his arm falls down limply to cup your cheek, messily kissing your puckered-up lips. You whine into the heated kiss of teeth and lips when he gushes out in velvety ropes of potent seed.

So fucking much. Enough to paint a glossy ring around his thick base, soaking those tufts of blond, dribbling down in a creamy pool at his polished work shoes, slippery.

“O-oh fuck yeah-” he’s spitting profanity after profanity. Twitchy cock still fucking you through the peaks of your own high, “Shhh- sh- c’mon now, milk me- milk fuck, take it all f’me–”

So caught up in his own bliss that Nanami finds his head lolling to the side when he’s finally cracking his eyes open - more to take a look upon that gorgeously fucked-out expression on your face than anything. When his gaze catches on something else-

The door.

Open.

A stunned Higuruma standing right by it, one hand holding a pile of documents that were sure to be the work he was actually supposed to be doing, the other adjusting his too-tight pants.

Which, while Nanami understood - hell, he could feel his still-cumming dick spurt out another gripping load of wispy white - didn’t mean he was going to let it slide. Not even for his closest coworker.

“O-on the other hand…” he muses, throat shot. Looking right into greedy, alarmed eyes when he rubs a lazy gyration on your throbbing clit, bring the glossy, sheened digits up, up, up to his mouth. Tongue lingering on his glistening wedding ring, “Why dontcha be as loud as possible f’me, my love?”

♡ GETO SUGURU - So? Let ‘em see.

“Fuck-” Geto’s panting out, dark brows knitting tighter together after each wrenched-out moan. “Fuck.”

God, it was just about the least he could word out right now - words a ragged pitch, head throwing backwards with each smooth squeeze of your sopping wet pussy around into his swollen cock. Slow, languid glides that only made him impossibly harder.

And part of him knows, he should keep up that cold, cult-leader facade in front of the group gathered around you two this very moment. To show off how calculating he really is when something is done wrong.

How no one’s safe - not even you, his sweet, special second-in-command.

But you’re looking over your shoulder at him with those glassy, tear-filled eyes and he’s already defeated. Nothing against you.

“S-Sugu–” you whimper, drool dripping down the side of your lips - which he cranes down to lick away with a lazy swipe. Pinning you down with the weight of his hulkingly sculpted body to prevent your mindless little gyrations.

But Geto already knows that won’t stop your trembly fingers from wrapping around the base of his pretty red cock, hot and heavy in your hand. Begging, “I need you to fuck me so bad- need you ngh-”

He was painfully rock-hard, cum-filled balls pulled so taut that he almost looked like he’d burst if he wasn’t pummeling inside your gummy walls this very second. And just squeeze of your soft palm has Geto’s thick, round tip coating down your wrist in a swelteringly hot coat of his precum. Glossy and translucent.

Needy.

“Heh, ya sick of cockwarming already, gorgeous?” he’s leering down at you with a sexily smug smirk, pearly white teeth biting his bottom lip raw to hold back his tiny grunts. “M’not sure you’ve m-made it up to us already-”

“Please!”

Smack!

His slender fingers soothe over the stinging imprint across your ass, Geto’s leaning back to take in that heavenly view with his half-lidded eyes. The way your greedy pussy drips! down onto the tatami mats, how you shiver so prettily on all fours for him.

Taking only a split-second to drench his slender digits on the mess you were trailing down his cock, bullying them unapologetically between your lips. Geto’s chest rumbles with the vibrations of his ragged whisper in your ear, “Watch it, pretty girl.”

You’re choking around his thick fingers - such a sweet, sweet sound that almost hurts Geto to talk over.

Turning to the rest of the eagerly-watching room- “So, d’you think my gorgeous girl deserves it? After she-” Swirling his digits around your tongue, pressing hard into the narrow back of your throat. “-failed our last mission?”

Your ears are ringing, eyes too bleary to look up at any of the expressions of your fellow members. “Sugu-”

“Shhh–” Geto’s deeply rich tone is soothing, though the way his leaky tip just twitches is anything but. “We’re holdin’ a vote- s’rude to interrupt a vote.”

And fuck, Geto didn’t care about a fucking vote, didn’t care what any one else has to say. Honestly, he doesn’t think he even got through counting half the hands raised - or what it was even for.

But you feel the way his achy cock swells up even thicker, expanding your clingy channel to your limits. His fat, bulbous tip only grows toastier inside of you, throbbing in a thrumming tempo. Faster. Desperate.

“Sh-shit- s-so deep-” you’re hiccuping, hands trembling with fatigue where you were holding yourself up. And had it not been for one of Geto’s big, strong arms circling firmly around your waist, it would’ve been absolutely impossible to stop yourself from collapsing into a needy mess right in front of him.

Ah, but right now Geto felt like a needy mess - having teased both of yourself to the ends of your insanity by now.

He has to blink back the overstimulated tears in his eyes, huff and puff that guttural whine in his voice, the sheer excitement in his eyes. “Well then…” Geto’s purring, planting a path of hot pecks down your neck. “Majority wins.”

And then it feels like you’re being split apart, like you’re being thrust all the way into the ends of your lungs with how hard Geto’s pounding into you. Not even giving you a split-second to accommodate before he rummages his heated cock around your tight pussy. The very outer rides of his prominent veins peeking into your sensitive spots.

You scramble to grab onto the carpet, the silken sheets, anything when his powerful hips reel back and forth back and forth back and-

“What?” he heaves out as a voice pipes up nearby. Taking a few sloppy seconds to actually register the words let alone the language, with how good you felt milking the fucking soul out of him. “Oh- you’re right-”

Suddenly, he’s sitting back on his knees, dragging you with him like some glorified ragdoll. Geto snickers into the tender crook of your neck, your body all limp and pliant on top of him, seated until you were spearheaded so thoroughly on his messy erection.

Eyes rolling to the back of his head, long strands of his inky hair sticking to his sweat-sheened forehead, picking up such a merciless cadence. Sharp hip bones dig into you, Geto’s hefty balls sure to leave a raised circular imprint on your thighs, his tip on your cervix - your lungs.

“Don’ be shy~ let ‘em see, they’re- they’re sayin’ you’re trying to ah- r-run away–” he’s whining in your ear, defined canines sinking down into your ear lobe. “Begged to be fucked n’ this is the th-thanks I get? M’heartbroken, gorgeous.”

But oh, he didn’t sound like it - not even close.

Dragging his wet, wet lips in a sodden kiss against your sagging mouth, Geto sounded like he was about to laugh. “Now- does everyone here think she deserves a lil’ punishment for that, too?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - “Sh-shh, baby…”

Choso can’t do anything right now, can’t even say anything other hushed, broken praises and urgent warnings in your ear to quiet down.

But oh he should’ve known that your teasing self wouldn’t listen. He should’ve known that you’d be toying with his sanity the second you slipped under those blankets with him for Itadori family movie night. That you’d run your greedy fingers across the sensitive curve of his dick - taunting. For just a second - before escaping towards the bathroom with a wink, taking his rationality right along with you-

“Spacing out, Cho?” you’re giggling from the smoothened marble counter, batting those sultry lashes up at him in a way that makes his overworked cock twitch. “Or are ya just thinking about me again?”

And, well, the movie probably ended hours ago.

The sound of your pretty voice is enough to make him whine, to have his thick fingers bunching up at the hem of your translucently drenched panties - still pulled just enough aside to have him grind up deeper into you.

“N-no-” His lower lip wobbles with that panted-out answer, burning cheeks hidden away when your sweet boyfriend swipes over the curve of his thumb to your leaky cunt. Smearing that glossy trail of cum from your sodden slit, “Jus’- hngh, don’ squeeze me like that, baby- jus’ thinking that maybe we should h-head back.”

He says this, but you feel the way Choso’s reddened cock just weeps out another sloshing gush of milky precum, stretching out your already-overfilled walls with another coat of his. Just once.

And then again. And again.

“Sh-shit-” He’s suddenly rutting his hips unsteadily, ferally, pulling out the most drippingly wet squelches when he bullies the very rotund tip of his fat head into your cervix. Sweat-sheened forehead drooping against yours, rosy red lips slacking open, “Shit shit shit shit- have to- have to go- but I’m so hngh! so addicted, ahh my pretty girl-”

Just one, powerful jackhammer was enough to get him pussydrunk all over again.

“Y-yeah?” you ask, struggling through fucked-out gasps. Your hands find their way around his broad shoulders now, tracing over those deep red nail marks clawed across his creamy skin. “What about the m-”

“Don’t you d-dare mention the movie-”

Choso finds it impossible to hide the broken sob in his words, to not let a big fat tear splatter onto your own lips when his furious cock massages your plush walls back and forth.

“S’probably o-over and-” And shit, he can’t hold back anymore, muffling those honeyed moans with pressurized peck after peck. Leaving your lips ragged and half-bruised. “And I ngh- d-didn’t even get to pay attention and-” Abruptly, Choso’s head is thrown back, brows scrunching, voice whimpering. “-fuck we’re gonna get- caught-”

It was so loud - those saturated slurps emanating out from your needy pussy every time you were milking him dry.

That sodden slap! of skin-on-skin echo across this snug, heady bathroom and making Choso’s cheeks flush with embarrassment. And he’s sure his family outside can hear it through the door. Fuck-

Yet, he’s pounding meanly into your gummy pussy, dewy eyes locked onto that heavenly view of his glistening cock disappearing with each one. Your swollen folds rubbed raw with every kiss against his thick base, bulging outwardly, snapping delicate strings of cum and you you you-

“Then- then why don’t we oh- stop, baby?” you’re purring, tugging on his damp strands of hair. “If you’re so scared of g-getting caught we can-”

“No!”

If it was any other moment, you’d have toyed with poor Choso just a bit more for interrupting you - and he’d apologize and apologize until you crack.

But right now, the only thing you could focus on was how he was fucking you into the counter even harder, to indent that cool surface onto your skin, to mark the round divot of his tip into your g-spot. Over and over.

“Then what do you w-want, sweetheart?” you gasp, feeling blood pump rapidly into every solid inch of him. Growing him even bigger, even girthier - stretching out your very insides until you could feel Choso brush over every single nook and cranny inside you.

“Want you-” he’s moaning. Voice lilting higher in pitch and volume with each wrenched-out word. “Want you want you want- want you ngh- d-don’t even care anymore.”

Drunk on your pussy, he barely even realizes it when he’s smearing his fingers across that sopping wet gloss of around your inner thighs. Pooling each thick dredge, before just plugging them back into your overstuffed pussy.

“Hngh!”

“Shhh sh-shh…” His mouth hovers agonizingly closer to yours, and for a second, you think that Choso is going to place a sweet kiss upon your lips. But, insead, he’s tilting his head ever-so-slightly to suck on your tongue.

“Gotta be q-quiet-” he’s keening like a mantra, riotous digits now swiveling around and around your clit. Tired, sloppy but still never-ending - swollen twitching wildly inside your dripping cunt. “Quiet- ah fuck gotta-” Mouth running a mile a minute, you were so soft inside every time he was mashing into your sweet spots. He was out of control now. “Can’t be- caught- ah- please-”

And maybe at this very moment, Jin is turning up the volume to the tv even past its maximum, grandpa Itadori takes off his hearing aid - Sukuna just cackles.

Because in a split-second, Choso’s slamming his hand down on the counter beside you, groaning huskily into your ear, spitting out curse after curse when he cums and cums against your snug walls until he couldn’t anymore.

You feel his spazzing wet shaft heaten up inside you, pumping out blanks now. Heavy balls squeezing like he’d run out of his voluminous, thick cum. “W-wait did you just hah!”

“M-maybe….fuck-” Choso drags his lips down your jaw, sharply nipping tiny bites for everyone to see. “Y’know, baby- I think I hear another movie playin’.”

Shit.

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Queen of curses

Ryomen Sukuna would never admit it - would never even think to hint at it - but oh, how he loved having you like this.

With your bleary head lolling into his pecs, drool swiping a glossy glide across his smooth skin, hips squirming and just jittering atop where he had you sat all prettily on two matchingly aching cocks. Unmoving. Unrelenting.

All in front of them.

“Well- whaddaya think, brat?” Sukuna’s leering down into your dazed eyes with his devilish red ones. “You think they hah- deserve death?”

Everyone - everyone - in Sukuna’s decadent throne room flinches. All the way from the spattering of lower curses groveling at the much larger demon’s feet, to you. The staggering curvature of your spine bowing only deeper, batting your teary lashes up at him.

“I- I don’t-” Each gasped-out little answer catches in your chest at the rabid thump! thump! thumping of his furious heads against your gummy walls.

His true form was so incredibly massive. Pressing up thoroughly in an indenting little swivel - god, no matter how many times you took him, the intense stretch of his girthy shafts always left your clingy walls struggling to accommodate him, scrambling for your sanity.

“Don’t?”

And it comes out higher-pitched than Sukuna’s usual rumbling baritone. An almost-believable little look of shock splattered all across his handsome face as he tightens two beefy arms around your body.

“My queen is sayin’ she doesn’t know?” He’s bouncing his muscular knee in both annoyance, and to drag your slobbering pussy down each length. Tiny, punishing gyrations back and forth. “Can ya believe this?”

It takes you a few more sloppily spent seconds to realize with a jolt that he’s not addressing you in that last sentence - your glassy gaze fixated on how he tilts his head at the few curses behind you two. Snickering out a bout of dark laughter, “My lil’ human- the queen, s’too cockdrunk to even hand your sorry asses your fates.”

Huffing, you pound at his broad chest in a way that he thinks almost tickles. Mumbling with the sort of pout that makes him throb, “S’not m-my fault, Kuna!”

“Not your fault” is an understatement - because Sukuna’s hips were slowly but surely rocking upwards into your sopping cunt. Busying one of his hands with gripping your hips roughly, rummaging your insides with every thorough ram, one of his swollen cocks branding against your g-spot, the other making circular indents along your cervix.

“Awww, you’re absolutely right, woman.” he slurs out. “S’my fault you w-wan’ed to ride my cock while I hold court, hm?” Jostling you on top of him to manspread, holding on tight to the armrests of his throne to just fuck up into you. “My fault your p-pretty pussy’s too selfish?”

You can only keen when his hefty set of balls sting against your ass, and the tiniest of jolts to your body has Sukuna seizing the opportunity to dip his hand down to your throbbing clit.

Toying. Pulling. Rolling.

“P-please-” you’re whining out a syrupy string of profanities that make him titter, and the stupefied curses behind you gasp. Stupidly, “M’not selfish- hngh-”

Shit, your pretty moans were such music to his ears. And one glimpse at the scum behind you two revealed that they thought so too. Heh, which is probably what’s spurring him to slam into you even deeper, to thumb your pussy lips apart and show off how well you were milking inch after inch of him.

And those other curses could already spy the way Sukuna bulged even bigger inside of you, the way your dewy eyes rolled to the back of your head.

They almost had half the mind to be concerned if it wasn’t for that uncharacteristically sappy smile on their king’s face.

“Damn. Is that so?” his hips grind up into yours faster. Sloppier. The hard lines of his hip bones making themselves at home imprinting against yours. Sukuna cranes his head down to bite at your slack lips, dangerous. “Then why dontcha hah- give these little heathens their punishment for disrespecting your king?”

It’s just about all you can do to whirl your teary gaze backwards, meeting widened sets of cursed eyes. Watching. Waiting. Greedy gazes dipping down-

“J-jus’ finish them off-” you’re squealing, sputtering to get out your words in full when Sukuna’s thick fingers move inhumanly fast on your clit. Quick, taunting circles. “Jus- fuck-”

That earns you the tiniest of swats on your sensitive nub - and he was being nice. “Ah ah- what a naughty mouth. Honestly, m’thinkin’ you should be the one to be punished - wouldn’t you trash agree?”

You don’t get to hear their answer - but you don’t have to, either.

Because just then, two, thick fingers tap on the side of your cheek - and you already knew what that meant. You didn’t even have to think about it before letting your mouth fall open in haste, tongue lolling out perfectly.

His absolute favorite part when Sukuna spits - once. Twice. A thick wad of honeyed saliva right onto the middle of your taste-buds, splattering in a translucent puddle down the side of your mouth. All despite his famously perfect aim.

Sukuna grins, wiping another one of his thumb across your lower lip. On purpose, of course.

“There- one punishment down and…” In only a split-second, you feel yourself being flipped - easily, pliantly - to have your back pressed up against all the ridges and curves of Sukuna’s muscles. Two bulging cocks still spearheaded all the way into the very back of your poor pussy, rough palms weighted underneath your legs, spreading you open almost shamefully in front of your audience. “-one more to go.”

The audience that Sukuna was pussydrunken enough to half-forget by now.

“Ah, you pathetic scum are still here.” His chest vibrates with hissed-out words, breath hot against your ear. He’s whispering - to you, this time, “Whaddaya say- if ya squirt on m’cock I’ll finish ‘em off, my queen?”

♡ GOJO SATORU - POWA

Not one. Not two.

Not even the entire council of elders could stop Satoru Gojo from taking exactly what he wanted - you.

Not the way your joints were protesting at this rude mating press he had you folded into, how his poor, overworked cock was twitching a mile a minute trying to keep up with his vigorous cadence - not even the fact that the two of you were being heard.

“T-Toru–” you’re begging, but it comes out as more of a strangled little mess of moans than anything. Your nails claw rawly down his back - yards upon yards of red, red lines. “The elders are just- out- the- door-”

Oh, but it was so hard to spit out any coherent sentences with the way that your husband was ramming his swollen cock into your with reckless abandon. Each and every ragged thrust like his hips were moving before his very mind - like he was just chasing that toasty hug of your walls.

It takes a few more sloppy spearheads into the very back of your cunt before his pussydrunk brain can manage to find the words, “So what?”

You’re gasping when his palm comes down in a shuddering smack! right onto the smooth tatami of your living room floor. Too depraved. Too restless to have taken you anywhere else.

Those pressurized waves causing the tiniest of tremors in the ground underneath you - more to piss off the grumbling elders outside than anything, if those muffled whispers were anything to go by.

For them to hear, to imagine. But not to see - no, because Gojo Satoru was a possessive bastard over his dear wife.

“They sh-show up to my Estate-” he gasps out - voice dragged hoarse, each word spat with the utmost venom you haven’t heard Gojo talk with to even his deepest of enemies. “Interrupt my time with my wife to demand hah- shitty talks of clan politics and- heirs.” And you swear his cerulean eyes just glow in the dim lighting, biting down hard on your earlobe, “And expect not to get a firsthand experience on makin’ an heir, heh-”

You’re keening when it seems like he’s hitting all your sweetened spots at such an inhuman pace. Scrunched eyes tinging with slight blue lightning when he glides a splayed-out palm across your stomach-

“F-fuck, Toru-” your own greedy gaze widens when his long index draws an invisible line halfway across your stomach. Deftly feeling for that bulging nudge of his fattened tip denting into your g-spot, smirking at that feeble recoil. “Are- are you using six eyes?”

At this, Gojo’s babbling out a humorless bout of laughter - broken, higher-pitched, murmured into the corner of your mouth.

“And?” His aching cock was just sobbing swelteringly hot precum with every surging ram, and so was Gojo - the stimulation of your plushy walls and the use of his jujutsu too much that he can feel his eyes well up with big, bulbous tears. “Hafta- hngh! hafta give ‘em a lil’ lesson on how strong our heir’s gonna be, right, sweetheart?”

You finding yourself clinging desperately onto Gojo’s snowy locks, boring up into his half-lidded, red-rimmed eyes. “Y-yes- gonna hafta- hngh- just hafta have you fill me up, Toru–”

Clearly, that was not what he was expecting.

Because this little answer leaves the strongest heaving in deep inhales of air. Barely even realizing the slow, lazy nod he’s giving you - a fucked-out grin spreading across his pretty features when he tilts his head towards your firmly shut sliding door.

“Mhm- jus’- hngh-” he groans, head throwing back at the mess of gooey translucence that dribbles its way down from your snugly filled cunt. “Jus’ need ya to say it a ah- little louder f’me, my wife- p-please?”

“Wan’ you t-to give me an heir-”

“Louder, sweetheart.”

“Wan-”

“Louder-”

You scream - you moan. And you cum, crashing into your orgasm headfirst, faster than either of you expected-

“Fuck- fuck yeah, gonna fill ya up-” Gojo’s gaping in awe, unable to rip his eyes away from your beautiful face all twisted in ecstasy. Just the very furrow in your brows, the trickle of drool at the corner of your lips, the way your hot insides massage him so snug makes him fuck you into the tatami faster. “Gonna make ya a p-pretty momma- hngh- all round n’ glowing- Give you all my cum until all they can see is me- fuck- me me me.”

Forehead pressed up damply against yours, his abs burn at the fervent drive of his weeping dick. Sensitive shaft feeling his thick precum slosh around your insides with each aggressive grind.

And he’s fucking wondering already how you two haven’t broken bones yet.

Much, much later, he’ll figure out that it was his reverse cursed technique. That his cock runs red and raw after tonight, that the power bursts out in all prefectures in Tokyo when Gojo Satoru finally cums.

Halfway on purpose - letting loose of his jujutsu a bit more than necessary.

He snickers at the chorus of gasps from outside when shards of lightbulbs flow across the room, whimpers spilling from his ravaged mouth. “Heheh- serves ‘em right-” Drilling into you sloppily, so deep. “Gonna f-find out- gonna fuck a baby into ya- hngh- an heir- fuck serves ‘em right–”

Oh, he’s running his mouth a mile a minute with little nonsense - and you can’t speak at all. Feeling those darting spurts of his potent seed at your very lungs, the sheer volume knocking against your womb. Over and over in a silky white gloss. It drools out of your sopping wet slit, soiling a puddle underneath your sweat-slicked bodies.

“Oh, sweetheart-” Gojo simpers, and shit, you already knew his tone didn’t bode well for your poor, overspilling pussy. His eyes lock on the door, “I don’t think our guests have left yet-”

“Because you froze them with your jujutsu-”

“How about another round?”

A/N. These poor side characters do NOT get paid enough lemme tell ya that.

Plagiarism not authorized.

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chaotic-mystery · 1 year ago

Text

Better Luck Next Time

Pairing: dbf!Joel x f!reader

Summary: this was from a request I got recently asking for dbf Joel and premature ejaculation and I hope you like it!

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, porn w little plot, age gap but not specified, established secret relationship, handjob, fingering, nipple play, pet names (little one, good girl, baby doll, etc) Joel is over the fucking moon for you, premature ejaculation, embarrassment of shooting too early, mentions of masturbation and phone sex. LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED ANYTHING. || word count: 1.6k || photos are for aesthetics, reader is not described physically || no use of yn ||

“I missed you so much baby, god damn you’re even more beautiful than the day you left.” His words smashed against your lips as he grabbed at your waist to pull you on top of his lap, your legs slipping to either side of his thighs. You were only gone for two weeks on vacation to your friends but to Joel it seemed like two months.

“I missed you more, Joel. I really missed you.” You purr as your hands run down his sides and begin to palm his hardening bulge through the faded pair of jeans that was shielding you from what you wanted. The entire time you were away, he would send lewd photos of him playing with himself, building up this big talk about how he couldn’t wait to get his hands on you, he’d take you down all night, the stuff you heard almost every night for those two weeks when he’d call you in the middle of his alone time.

“Can’t believe the way you jumped on me in front of your dad, sweetheart. Tryna get me killed, huh? You miss me that much?” Joel's teeth sink into the skin on your neck and you chuckle slightly as you try to yank his zipper down and the button free. “I’m so hard for you baby, god damn it hurts so good.” You somehow manage to fish out his throbbing cock that was spilling pre-cum from the slightly swollen and red tip. His head tilts back against the couch as soon as you wrap your palm around him, tugging slightly and circling over the head before going back to the base of his shaft. “Of course I missed you, you made it hard considering you’d call every night and let me hear you touch yourself thinking about me.” The teasing tone in your voice had his heart racing and you kissed his exposed neck slowly, matching the rhythm of your hand on his cock.

Joel hisses as he grips your ass roughly, “f-fuck baby, keep that up and I’ll do anything for you, such a good girl.” The way his moans poured from his mouth made you impatient for that filling feeling of every inch of him inside of you, telling you how pretty you look as he splits you open.

His grunts grow louder and his arms extend over the back of the couch while the pair of dark brown heavy eyes stare at your hand that had all the power over him. Your breathing started to pick up and almost match Joel’s while your cunt was thumping inside your saturated panties just at the way you could see how needy he was for you. You subconsciously started to ride his thigh to give yourself a little release and he took note of it, grabbing the plush skin on your hip and squeezing for you to go faster.

“That’s it, baby doll -ohh shitt- you’re so beautiful, sweetheart. You do such a better job at this than me.” He huffed and adjusted on the couch cushion, scooting down just a bit for you to ride him better. Joel liked the feeling of your panties on his jeans, painting the fabric with your arousal.

The pair of you were panting harder with every motion of your wrist and hips, Joel’s name was drenched in lust as you moaned out for him. His chest rises and falls quicker the more you rubbed the underside of the head and he grabs your wrist, “Baby, wait hang on don’t-ahh-” without warning Joel’s cum was pooling in your fist and down your knuckles like a volcano.

Joel grunts through gritted teeth with every pump from the tip of his cock as he empties himself in your hand. You sit still while he finishes and he reaches over to the tissue box on the coffee table and hands you a wad, helping clean up the mess that dripped down onto his groin.

The room falls quiet as Joel sets the tissues to the side and tucks his soft cock back into his underwear. His deep sigh caused you to look at his face and you could tell by the redness of his face how embarrassed he was.

“I um..I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to..” Joel stopped himself as he clenched his jaw and met your gaze, his hand still on your hip and squeezed softly. This was new territory for the both of you. You had never been in a situation like this before but it was nothing to be ashamed about. “Baby it’s fine, really. It happens, you were just too excited to see me.” You try to lighten the mood but he wasn’t responding the way you had hoped. Reaching out and cupping his face gently, your thumb brushes over his cheek to reassure him you’re okay.

“Hey, cmon now. Don’t be embarrassed please..it was actually kinda fun seeing you so worked up over me and trying your best not to come.” Your words sandwiched between your lips and his cheek as you kissed softly, trailing to his lips until he finally pecked you back.

“It’s just so embarrassing, I can't keep up with a youngin’ like you all the time.” Joel tries to turn away from you but the grip you have on his face restricts him from doing so.

“Joel I don’t care, I just like taking care of you. The rest doesn’t mean shit to me.” More kisses are plastered on his lips and he wraps his arms around your waist to pull you flush against his chest.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He pleads as he trails his soft kisses down your jaw to your neck and chest, kissing the tops of your breasts. What started out as loving exchanges of affection turned quickly into lustful nips at your skin with faint groans every moment his lips touched you. Before you could react, Joel was yanking down your shirt and bra, exposing your beautiful breasts he looked at like a starving man.

Joel’s warm tongue licked a stripe up your hardened nipple and pinched the other one firmly as he closed his eyes and began to suck and bite, tugging with his teeth to get your attention. Yanking out moans from you was so easy for him, he didn’t have to do much. Hell, he could yawn and stretch and his shirt could ride up just a little on his stomach and you could moan at the sight of it. “You’re so good to me little one, what’d I do to deserve you? Should I make you come since you’re so good to me?”

His free hand unwraps from your waist and travels up your skirt to your aching cunt and Joel’s thick fingers start to taunt your clit from outside your panties. “Yes, Joel, please I need you so bad, don’t you feel it? You feel how turned on I am watching you come too fast and getting bashful about it?” You teased and with that he shoves your panties to the side, fingers instantly finding your clit and rubbing tight little circles over it. He growls against your breasts as he sucks on the other one, your hand cupping the side to help it in his mouth more. “Yes yes yes, that’s it, just like that, please Joel.”

You can feel the grin grow on his face as he plunges his fingers deep inside your entrance, the squelching making you blush while he starts to pump in and out of you, taking his saturated fingers to your clit to rub a few circles before going back inside you. “Oh, that’s my good girl, you like it when I touch you here?.” He rhetorically asks to be an ass, sucking on your nipple harder as he curls his fingers to get inside you.

“Y-yes, baby -oohh fuckk- please don’t stop-p” You sputter out, your body trembling the more he toyed with you. The thought of your dad coming back from getting food any moment was running through your head and only made this hotter. What would he say if he found you like this on Joel’s lap, his hand in your panties and his lips attached to your tits for dear life? His best friend taking his daughter like this?

Hips bucking with every motion of his hand, you could tell you were close and ready to let go all over him. “Joel-I’m gonna c-come- don’t stop don’t stop-ooo!” With a squeal and your legs trying to close shut, your pussy clenches around his fingers as you dissolve into pleasure while Joel’s tongue licks over both nipples, fingers just barely thrusting inside. The raging lust coursed through your veins and you kissed him passionately, still grinding on his fingers until you couldn’t move anymore. Joel pulls away and leans back against the couch, grabbing the back of your neck to pull you into him and take a second to breathe.

“Welcome home, baby doll.” He whispers with a chuckle and rubs your back.

The deadbolt on the front door in the other room brings you right back to Earth and you fly off Joel, shoving your tits back into your bra and adjusting your panties under the skirt that was riding up your waist. Joel hurries and grabs the tissues and walks them to the bathroom garbage, staging it to look like he just finished in there.

“Who’s hungry?” Your dad asks, walking into the room with a brown sack of warm take out.

Joel stood behind him and you two exchanged looks, big grins plastered on your instead answering your father.

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bluecollarmcandtf · 8 months ago

Text

The New Garbageman

Lance slowed from his run and glanced at the trash compactor sitting outside his apartment complex. He needed to catch his breath, but he hated being so close. The young man gave a disdainful look to the laborer who seemed wholly unbothered by his choice in career. 'Some men are just meant for menial crap like this,' he thought to himself, 'God knows I wouldn't be caught dead doing it.'

The jogger looked straight ahead as he passed, not wanting to make eye contact with the sucker lugging away a week's worth of his building's refuge. Lance thought the smell alone was enough to make him gag, but he was even more disturbed by the garbageman's indifference to the squishy contents leaking all over his clothes.

'At what point is that worker just considered trash himself?' Lance pondered with a grimace.

Just as he was about to escape into the entrance of the complex, a sharp ripping noise sounded behind him, followed by a clamour of things crashing to the ground.

Lance made the mistake of looking back, seeing a huge mess scattered across the sidewalk. It looked like a garbage can had exploded and now there was rotten food and crumpled papers everywhere, but that damn sanitation worker had vanished!

"The hell!" Lance shouted in anger, but his rage didn't last long.

A sudden pain stabbed him in the back and he crumpled to the ground like all the garbage had moments before. Everything went black...

Lance shook off the daze and found himself leaning against one of the garbage bins. The pain in his back didn't feel as acute anymore. All he could feel was an unusual warmth spreading from where he had been stung.

"Where is that goddamn garbage man," he growled, wincing at the litter surrounding him. He was ready to give that idiot a piece of his mind.

He put his hand on the concrete in an attempt to get himself up, but was surprised by the feeling of gloves over his fingers. Lance stared at his gloved palms with total confusion. He was sure as hell that he didn't put those old worn things on!

Then he noticed his shoes. They weren't the sneakers he'd been jogging in moments before. They were some kind of work boots!

"What the hell!" he exclaimed, wondering if he'd actually been knocked out and robbed.

Lance pushed his fears aside and began climbing to his feet, but as he did, he noticed something had appeared over his shoulders!

"Where'd this come from?" he cried, becoming more and more angry as articles of clothing just kept appearing on his body.

He was positive this dirty old jacket didn't belong to him. It was covered with stains and reeked like a public bathroom. Lance had a habit of always keeping his clothes freshly laundered and fragranced. He wouldn't even wear jeans two days in a row without washing them, so what was this raggedy work jacket doing in his back?

Lance frantically started to pull the thing off, but it seemed stuck on his waistband or something. No amount of thrashing could get him to pull the thing over his head!

He moaned in frustration and threw his fists down angrily. Then, he noticed why the jacket wouldn't come off. It took him a second to realize what he was looking at. The jacket was attached to the new pants he had on!

Lance shouted out in a state of confused panic. "Help!" he cried, not knowing what else to do, but even if someone did come over, what would he tell them? They'd never believe that his clothes were magically being replaced!

He couldn't even bring himself to look down at what he was wearing. Gone were his running shorts and tank top. In their place, a gross old jumpsuit had enveloped his body. Lance was struck by the itchiness of the course material, but he was even more horrified by how damp it felt against his skin. He didn't want to know what liquid those coveralls were saturated with; oil, sweat, or something even worse?

Lance couldn't find his phone in any of his new attire's pockets. He didn't know what was going on, but he was about to start screaming if he didn't find out soon. His breathing intensified while his heart raced out of his chest. He could feel the panic attack coming.

Then all of a sudden, he stopped...

That warm feeling in his back had washed over his entire body and told every tense muscle to relax. Lance's heart rate eased and his breathing slowed. The confusion, worry, and panic in his face was gone: a numb expression sat in its place.

Lance didn't understand why he had suddenly become so calm. Internally, he was still disgusted, horrified, and outraged, but he couldn't deny how relaxed his body had became.

Finally able to gain his bearing, the former jogger climbed up from the ground and gave his new outfit another look.

"What the hell is this thing," he wondered, but his voice had a comparatively lifeless tone.

Lance studied the clothing. The boots were caked with dirt and grime. He could feel his feet sweating inside them. In fact, his entire body felt like it was being cooked. He was completely covered from the neck down with some pretty heavy duty work wear. It was all clothing he would never be caught dead in, yet it looked kind of familiar.

Suddenly it, clicked.

"I'm dressed a goddamn garbage man," Lance spoke again with a monotoned voice.

Then his mouth moved on its own, "I am a garbage man."

The words chilled him to the core. He had not meant to say them! That warm feeling that started in his back had moved to his throat and taken over.

Before he knew it, his hands were moving on their own too. They were picking up the trash littered around him! His legs moved to, crawling his body across the concrete, and Lance couldn't do anything to stop himself.

His mouth wouldn't open when he tried! He wanted to scream! His arms and legs weren't doing what he wanted either. He was trapped in his own body! Lance couldn't speak; he couldn't run; he couldn't hide; he couldn't even panic. His own heart beat at a steady pace like he was the calmest man in the world! His lungs systematically drew in breath after calm breath, and his face was locked in an empty look of indifference...

Lance would have to get used to being around the trash. He was a garbageman now...

One Year Later...

Lance had never imagined he'd be trapped as a garbage collector for this long. His body hadn't let him look back once since he walked away from his old life. Who knows what happened to his apartment and family. He'd long since given up on the idea of ever going back to his old life.

His days were now spent being puppettered to take out other people's trash. It was disgusting hard work that he got no thanks for, but that didn't matter. He wasn't in control of his body, and his body just kept lugging rank bags of garbage day after day after day.

He'd been subjected to millions of dirty looks as people caught sight of him. Lance knew he must seem pathetic. He was sure he smelled even worse. How could anyone respect a man like him? Even after a year, his face still burnt red when someone looked grossed out by him.

The discomfort of his uniform has become normal to Lance. It was itchy and humid under there, which made sense since it hadn't been washed in the all the time he'd had it on.

Well, that wasn't entirely true...

Every night after work, his body would hop on the garbage truck and get dropped off at the sanitation department's parking garage. There he and the rest of the garbage crew would hose each other down. It didn't do much other than make him cold, but at least he got that.

After the makeshift shower, he and the rest of the guys would file into the garage. Lance assumed that every one of the laborers were being used as puppets like him, because they appeared just as numb and lifeless as he did. There was no chummy chitchat; there were no friendly waves or claps on the back; hell there wasn't even a smile or frown on any of their faces.

All the garbagemen acted like robotic slaves for unpaid labor, which is exactly what they were.

Lance's theory was that when he'd felt that pain a year ago, he'd had some sort of Syfy-futuritic-techno crap inserted in his back. It had to be controlling his actions. He could feel it on his spine, sending signals to the resto for his body for how to behave.

It was just a theory. He couldn't prove or disprove anything when he had no autonomy over his own body.

So he was stuck seeing himself play out the same awful routine everyday. 'At least the day's almost over,' he thought to himself. At least he could still dream of a life where he didn't wear this disgusting uniform and pick up garbage all day.

Lance's body joined the rest of the men on the floor. This was where they spent their nights. Whoever was controlling them was clearly too cheap to buy them beds let alone showers or laundry machines

It usually got pretty bleak in there: a whole room of men that aren't allowed to talk or interact outside of working together. There was nothing else to do but sleep, so Lance slid down to the concrete and closed his eyes, wondering if he would ever be anything other than a smelly garbageman ever again.

He thought back to his old life, dreaming about that last morning run he'd gotten before all this happened. He fantasized about what would have happened if he'd just ran around the block one more time.

Would he have avoided this fate or was he just destined for menial crap like this?

Thanks for the Ask, workgearfan

#mind control #blue collar #gay mind control #humiliated slave #meat puppets

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thatonebirdwrites · 1 month ago

Text

L-Corp and chilled scotch

The scotch pours into her cup, the chill saturates through the glass, and the temptation to just throw the glass and drink directly from the bottle taunts her yet again. She resists.

Unlike her ability to resist Kara.

Kara Danvers or rather Supergirl, the hero that is the beloved of National City.

And a habitual liar.

She throws back the scotch, the cool temperature a balm across the burn of the alcohol. Hope sits on her desk, a swirling cubical sculpture, that offers up yet another simulation for Lena to attempt.

Or would have.

The doors swing open with a bang, and Samantha Arias stands there, an expression of fury on her usually smug or gentle expressions.

"Lena Kieran Luthor," she snaps. "I am sick of you dodging my phone calls."

"Oh?" She pours herself another drink and wishes she'd told Jess to not allow anyone into her office. She'd forgotten Sam had full access to her still.

"Normally I'd just roll with it." Sam slams the doors shut, marches over and plucks the glass right out of Lena's hands. "But to ghost Ruby? Your goddaughter?"

So that's the source of Sam's fury. Lena crosses her arms over her chest.

"Now that I won't allow. Ruby adores you, Lena, and you do not get to ice her out like this."

"It's better for her," Lena starts to say, but Sam does the unthinkable. She dumps the scotch into the garbage. "Hey! That's damn good scotch you're wasting!"

"I don't want to have this talk if you're drunk." Sam sighs and presses flips her hair over her shoulder. "I think it's time Ruby and I returned to National CIty, Lena."

"No, you're will not." Lena scowls. "You have Metropolis."

"And what good is that if my best friend is currently ghosting her goddaughter, drinking her life away, and apparently mismanaging L-Corp's funds?" Sam stabs her finger at Lena's chest. "Don't think I haven't noticed that either. What the hell has you this worked up? Is it Kara?"

Lena attempts to school her face in time but the shock of Sam's very accurate guess slips out for a brief second. Long enough for Sam to catch it.

"It is Kara." The fury that Sam rode in with switches to concern. "Lena, whatever happened? You don't have to face it alone. I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you."

"You don't know what I've done, Sam," Lena says flatly. She doesn't want Sam's pity. "Would you want a murderer interacting with Ruby?"

Sam flips her hair over her shoulder again and does a rather dashing pose that reminds Lena far too much of Reign. "Guess whose body murdered dozens and destabilized Earth's climate? Yup, that's me!"

"It wasn't really you," Lena protests.

"Does it matter?" Sam gestures to the sofa, and when Lena doesn't move, she, far more gently than Lena deserves, pushes her down and settles next to her. "Reign, in my body, tried to kill Ruby. There are times Ruby looks at me, and I see fear in her eyes. That's not something we can just erase from her memory, Lena. My hands are coated in blood regardless of who did it. I must live with that, so whatever you've done? It can't be worse than that."

"I killed my brother, Sam," Lena blurts out, and is appalled at herself. She's never said it out loud like this before. Not since she shot Lex, saw his proof of Kara Danvers = Supergirl, and then lit the whole bunker on fire, sealing it forever in concrete and metal with the DNA lock. "Took my pistol, and shot him right in the chest. My own brother. And I did it thinking I was saving Kara, saving the world. But I was a fool." She looks away and reaches for the scotch.

Sam puts it out of her reach and grasps her hands instead. "You're not a fool," she says, softly. "You did what you thought was right."

"Right," Lena sneers. "What even is rightness? Do you know what it feels like to hold the pistol in your hands, Sam? To feel its heft? To smell the gunpowder, hear the bang, the gush of blood? What of that metallic smell? The acidic smoke of a body burning?"

Sam continues to hold her hands, her thumb rubbing back and forth, but she says nothing. Only tilts her head, listening.

It infuriates Lena, but she doesn't want Sam to let go. She feels unmoored, her entire body vibrating with a vicious energy, where she wants those that hurt her to bleed. But Kara can't bleed. She stronger than goddamn steel. No, she can only rip Kara apart, so that Kara has nothing. Just like Kara's damn secret did to Lena's heart.

"As he coughs up blood," she uses the most descriptive language she can in hopes it'll convince Sam to give up on her, "he dragged himself to his computer, turned on the TVs, and showed me exactly who Kara Danvers is. Lex with his dying breaths, his blood filled lungs, said I've been a goddamn fool. Unable to see what was right in front of my eyes." The tears sting her eyes, and that makes her even more angry.

Still Sam doesn't say anything.

"Say something, Sam!" Lena snaps. "Tell me that I'm a monster! A murderer. A villain! It's apparently what Kara thinks. She lied to me again and again, and this whole time she was Supergirl. Probably keeping me, the Luthor, close to make sure I stay in line. So let's be honest, let's lay it all out, don't we? I'm a villain. My family are villains, that's all I'll ever be."

Sam sighs. "No, Lena. No you were never the villain. You've always been the hero. I wouldn't be here if not for you. Ruby wouldn't be here. None of us would. You've saved so many a thousand times over." Her words rain onto Lena's desiccated heart, and the tears threaten to overflow. "And no you are not like your family. I don't know what Kara's deal is. Why she kept that truth from you, but I do know you. And you can't and won't ever be a villain."

"I killed my own brother, Sam," Lena argues.

"Yes, you told me. That doesn't make you a villain." Sam leans closer, her brown eyes intense. "I know that can change a person. Taking a life like that? It's not easy to bear. It sucks, I know."

"You don't even remember what Reign did," Lena says, irritated.

"I do actually. Not all of it, but..." The haunted look in Sam's eye floods Lena with guilt and a hint of disbelief. "When you were working to find the cure in your lab, before Supergirl barged in on us, I -- I started to recall bits and pieces. Then you somehow got both of us in that other dimension. Reign tried very hard to convince me to let go and embrace her. She pushed the memories on me. The crunch of bones in my hands, the nauseating metallic scent, the lifeless eyes still wide with fear. That -- that doesn't leave me."

"Oh." Lena's anger slowly fades into a confusing mire of bitterness and worry. "You didn't mention it."

"How could I?" Sam blinked away her own tears and gave Lena a pained smile. "I was panicking. I remember how you held me. How you reassured me that you would find a cure. You gave me hope that I wouldn't be just an alien weapon. So no, Lena, no matter what you've done, you can't be a villain. You saved me and the world, and I'm not going to let you forget it."

Lena looks down at their hands. She still hasn't pulled away from Sam's gentle touch. "Even if I'm plotting revenge? To make Kara hurt like she hurt me?"

"Even then."

"Revenge is for villains," Lena protests. Sam gives her a look that spells out how she definitely doesn't agree. Frustrated, Lena pushes forward. "Look, I've even dragged Andrea into my plot--"

"The one who viciously betrayed you?" Sam's eyebrows rose.

"The one and same. Gave her Catco." Lena couldn't hide her bitterness from her voice. "I bought it for Kara anyway. Might as well give it to someone who isn't qualified to lead it. Let it tank. Let Kara feel the pain of it. Then I'll unveil her true identity at her damn award ceremony, so the whole world can see her lies."

"Okay." Sam wraps an arm around Lena's shoulders. "So when is this ceremony?"

Lena blinks at Sam, surprised. "You're not going to talk me out of this?"

"I know you, Lena. And I know your heart. When the moment comes, you'll do the right thing. You always do." Sam smiles and the warmth of her arm melts some of the chill that had coated Lena's heart since her brother's death.

"So you're helping me." Lena isn't quite sure what to make of this development.

"I said I got your back, and I meant it."

That fractures Lena just enough that the tears escape. Sam draws her into a hug, and for the first time in weeks since her brother's death, Lena weeps.

***

The Pulitzer ceremony happens in the Art Museum downtown, their theatrical stage converted into a cocktail party. The dishes mostly variations of either French cuisine or potstickers. Thanks to Sam's assistance, Lena wove herself into the planning committee and convinced them to let her give the speech and the award to Kara herself.

Far too easy. At least for the planning portion. Andrea showed up several times to try to convince Lena to give away the surprise sooner, but Lena's firm handling of Andrea shut that down. She'd sent Andrea to Sam for an exclusive interview.

Sam, who would soon become the next CEO of the entirety of L-corp, while Lena stepped down into a pure research consultation position.

That had been Sam's idea, mostly to fix the hemorrhaging of funds issue, so Lena didn't end up investigated by the FBI. Last thing she needed right now, so instead, she'll use her private wealth and L-Corps science grants to fund her projects.

Today, she stands on the balcony, her fingers tapping through the evidence she'd found on the last of Lex's servers. The rest of his servers she'd hacked and deleted until all that was left was what she had stored in this particular tablet.

The rest of her plan involved a carefully written speech about honesty and truth, so when the news breaks, the juxaposition of her words against the truth of Kara's lies will surely destroy her like Kara's lie had destroyed Lena.

She'd practiced her speech in front of Sam and Ruby, though Ruby still had no idea why Lena was so bitter toward Kara. Sam didn't convince her to alter any parts of it, though she did ask one question that haunted Lena still:

"Is this your truth or a half-lie for Kara's sake?"

Lena had scoffed and said the latter, but Sam tilted her head as if not believing her. All her years of Luthor upbringing could not fool Sam, who somehow pierced through to her real feelings with just one look.

Now she overlooks the guests who mill about the extravagantly decorated room. The scent of savory food wafts up from below, the wine already heavy in her stomach. Kara keeps looking up at her from where she speaks with Alex and Kelly, and Lena does her best to ignore each glance.

Every time Kara looks away, Lena looks down at her and wonders. Was anything Kara shared real? Was it all an act? Those questions haunt her as much as Sam's, and she turns and walks into the backstage area.

To her dismay, Kara finds her there. Of all places for Kara to show up. Lena schools her features into delight for Kara as she speaks of how she plans to give the award speech.

Except Kara does the exact thing Lena assumed she'd never do.

She takes off her glasses. "I'm Supergirl!" Words tumble from Kara's mouth in an avalanche. "And I'm so, so sorry. I should have told you ages ago, but I loved being just Kara with you. And I was afraid to lose you, and I can't lose you. So I thought I could be just Kara with you, and I convinced myself I wouldn't lose you then.... but I've been a fool. So selfish. I've been lying to myself too. I thought I was protecting you, but I've been hurting you, haven't I? And I can't bear that. Gosh, Lena, I'm so sorry." Her tears smudging her makeup, and the repeated apology sear into Lena.

For once in her life, Lena has no idea what to say or think. Is this also an act?

"Please, Lena, say something," Kara begs.

And yet, Lena can't.

Kara apologized. Kara finally told her the truth.

What can she do with this? Surely it's not real. Just another ploy. Kara must know Lena knows. She must have slipped up somewhere, given away a clue.

And yet, the earnest grief in Kara's expression, the way she says "I just wanted to be Kara with you. Just Kara. I'm so sorry. I was wrong to lie to you all this time."

The way she begs Lena to speak, it all collides with Lena, and she feels breathless, on the verge of tears.

What does Kara even mean? To admit the wrongdoing? To admit she was being selfish?

Lex would never do such a thing. Lillian would scoff at the idea that she could be wrong.

So what does it mean for Kara to admit she was wrong? To admit she lied? To admit she had hung with Lena to play the role of human? The apology, the tears, the desperate longing in Kara's voice is unlike any apology Lena has ever heard.

She can't process it.

The host catches Lena's eye and taps his wrist. "It's almost time."

Lena takes the opportunity and steps around Kara. Her feet move for her, and she follows the host to the back of the stage, hidden by the red curtains. She hurriedly wipes the tears from her eyes, and touches up her make-up.

The truth in the tablet weighs heavy in her hands. She steps onto stage at her cue and places the tablet on the podium. The send button glares up at her, and her fingers hover over it.

The crowd lines up in rows in front of the stage. Kara stands next to Alex and Nia. Kelly, Brainy, and J'onn stand off to one side, and in the corner of the crowd, leaning against a pillar, Sam stands.

Kara's eyes are still red from her tears, her make-up fixed.

The speech rolls off Lena's tongue like sour candy. She's practiced it enough that the emotive moments come out as planned.

It's Sam's expression that cuts Lena far more than the rising hope in Kara's. Sam's expression burns with an intensity, as if she sees into Lena's soul, knows exactly her indecision.

Lena's finger hovers. One tap and the whole world will know the truth.

And yet her finger refuses to touch the screen.

Kelly glances between her and Kara, her brow furrowed. Does she know?

Alex knows definitely.

Does Brainy? He stands rigid slightly behind Nia, where the young reporter smiles up at Lena. Did they know?

J'onn has his arms crossed, and surely he knew.

Was any of her 'friends' real?

Beyond them, the crowd shifts and edges closer. Dozens of faces upturned to hear her speech, to hear her speak of the virtues of Kara, to listen to her extol on honesty and truth, and to lay that at Kara's feet.

As if Kara was truthful and honest. As if she truly deserved this award.

And yet, her heart betrays her. She drops her hand next to the tablet. Pauses to take a breath. This is it. She needs to do it now, but her hand doesn't hit send. Instead, she exits the program, picks up the award from its case, and steps out from behind the podium.

"And so I present to Kara, the Pulitzer Prize, for her truthful reporting of my brother's deadly actions, and for unveiling the reality of bigotry against alien communities." She stresses 'alien' and looks at Kara.

Kara, the one person who somehow broke through all her defenses, her stole away her heart faster than anyone prior. Even with Jack, the love had been a slow build, but with Kara? Lena had fallen for her in that first meeting in her office.

How could she not? Kara's warmth, how she'd admitted to understanding Lena's situation, an understanding Lena thought she'd never have beyond Jack and Sam.

Memories of their times together deluges Lena, and tears escape. She wants it all to be real so badly.

Kara steps forward, hope in her expression, and that tears Lena's heart even more.

With shaking hands she gives the award to Kara. In front of everyone, in front of the cameras, in front of the world watching this very moment, Kara grasps her arms instead.

"Lena," she says, her voice trembling, "Lena, thank you. I -- I couldn't do this without you. I can't do this without you."

The words leap from her lips, unplanned, unscripted. Her heart betraying her yet again. "You will always have me as a friend."

Kara sweeps her into a hug, presses a kiss to Lena's forehead, and she can't help but sink into the warmth.

She wants this to be real.

Oh god, she needs this to be real.

But the pain of the lie overshadows her, and she struggles against tears. Struggles to hold back her grief, her agony.

Her shattered heart cuts her to pieces, her body a betrayal, and yet she doesn't want to let go. Doesn't care who sees her. She wants this to be real.

She needs this to be real. She needs Kara.

And yet, Kara destroyed her. Destroyed her more than the gunshot to Lex's chest.

She pulls back, her body trembling, and she presses a kiss to Kara's cheek. Kara's sharp intake of breath slices deep, coils in Lena's belly. How can she resist Kara?

Why can't this be real?

The universe takes pity on her. An alien bursts into the room through a bubbling silver-blue portal. Energy arcs toward them, and Kara shifts them so it hits her back. They tumble in a heap to the ground, the wind knocked out of Lena's lungs. Her tablet goes skidding into the curtains. She gasps as pain briefly shoots up her back.

Kara sweeps Lena to her feet, and pushes her into the curtains. They stumble out of sight.

Kara rips off her glasses. Nanites ripples over clothes, and the supersuit -- pants edition -- blooms over her body. "I got this. Please, get to safety, Lena."

Alex and J'onn calmly give orders, while Kara -- as Supergirl -- bursts out from the curtains to tackle the other alien.

Lena snags her tablet and stumbles through the backstage, dazed. Her head spins from where she'd hit the floorboards. Her path takes her away from the clamor of fighting, and she tumbles into a side gallery. There a growing crowd, guided by Alex and several security guards, stream toward an exit sign.

Kelly reaches her side before Sam. "Are you all right?" Kelly looks her over with the practiced eye of a medic.

Lena nods, but when Sam wraps an arm around her as if sensing her unsteadiness. She lets herself lean against Sam. Lets her and Kelly guide her to safety. Behind her, the crashes shake the floor under them. The walls crack.

Alex orders the guards to continue evacuating, pauses only to kiss Kelly's cheek, and rushes into the other room.

This isn't real.

Whatever she has with Kara, it can't be real.

Kelly turns to her, and her question cuts through Lena's shock. "Where's Kara?"

Lena stares at Kelly.

"Wasn't she with you?" Kelly scans the crowd, worried.

Kelly doesn't know. The truth takes the breath from Lena's lungs. Kelly doesn't know.

Lena isn't the last after all.

Sam puts a hand on Kelly's shoulder. "I'm sure Alex reached her."

Kelly shook her head. "How? She was guiding the others out."

Lena watches herself say, "Kara is safe. She ducked backstage." A lie that protects Kara and only leaves Kelly further in the dark.

"I'll send security her way then. She needs to get out safely." Kelly turns and snags a guard.

Lena watches Kelly say, "Can you look for Kara Danvers? Last seen backstage." Watches and says nothing.

Sam's hand grips her shoulder. "You kept her secret," she whispered.

Sam doesn't know what Lena did with the tablet. Lena looks down at the tablet still in her hand. She could still do it. Andrea waits for her transfer at Catco.

Instead, she slams the tablet against the wall. It cracks the screen. Again and again she shatters it. The pieces tumble to the ground, only stopping when Sam grasps her hand and pulls the wrecked tablet from her grip.

Numerous people have turned to stare at her, but a guard breaks the sudden stillness with a sharp command, "Move now!"

Another boom shakes the side room, and the panicked whispering, the urgent rush begins again.

Sam takes her arm and leads her to the exit.

Kelly follows, and they tumble out of the museum into daylight. The chorus of the city saturates Lena's senses, and the words from Sam and Kelly are drowned in the rumble of engines, calls of birds, panicked cries from the crowd, the yelling of fervent guards.

Lena sees only the look of hope in Kara's eyes. She closes her eyes, sways, and the moment overtakes her. She faints.

***

Sam and Kelly sit on the lip of the ambulance, while Lena endures the examination of a paramedic. She says nothing, doesn't explain her faint, only deals with the tests.

The IV fluids chill her veins, but she doesn't refuse like normal.

Why did she lie to Kelly? Why did she keep Kara's secret?

Andrea will be livid. She has nothing to give Andrea now. The only evidence lay on the destroyed tablet.

Why? She has no answer to her own question.

Someone speaks to her, but the words dance around her. It takes several long minutes before the words collapse into meaning in her brain.

"-- possible shock." The paramedic speaks.

"I know." Sam sounds tired and worried. "But she's very much against hospitals. I can take her to her private doctor for those tests."

"I'm a certified medic," Kelly adds. "I can handle it if she won't go in." She gently puts a hand on Lena's shoulder. "Unless you are all right with --"

"No." The word comes with great difficulty. "I do not need the hospital." She feels as if she watches someone else speak with her lips.

Sam takes control and tucks her into her car.

Kelly rides with them, and they head to Lena's private doctor. Despite her worry for Alex, Kelly stays with Lena. Speaks to her gently. Offers kind words of support. Briefly texts Alex, but Lena sees the text and it contains nothing about Lena's situation.

"Thank you." Lena shivers and wraps the blanket tighter around herself. It's white, the fabric scratchy, but its from the ambulance so she doesn't expect any better. "I --" Lena can't finish the sentence.

She feels caught in a loop.

Why couldn't she do it?

The plan had been flawless. Perfect.

And yet, here she was, keeping Kara's secret. She was now an accomplice, and this time it was Kelly she kept in the dark. Unless Kelly too was an actress. No, she can't let that continue, can she? Can she truly do this to another?

Wouldn't keeping the lie only hurt Kelly like it hurts Lena now? No, she can't do that to Kelly.

She waits until the blood tests are taken, until after her doctor looks her over and orders to take a few days of rest, until Kelly and Sam lead her into her penthouse.

As soon as the door shuts, she turns to Kelly and asks the fateful question. "Did you know Kara is Supergirl?"

Kelly blinks and stares at Lena. "What?"

"Did you know too? Did everyone now but me?" She wants to be angry. To draw forth the pain into a blade of fury, but her words come out broken.

She wanted Kara to bleed and yet she'd failed.

Kelly shakes her head. "Are we talking about Kara Danvers? Her?"

Sam sighs. "I'm making us tea. Rest means laying down, Lena." She points to the sofa.

Lena frowns but dutifully sits down.

Kelly stands in the entryway still. "Alex never said," she says, finally.

"Kara only told me today," Lena admits. For that is the truth. "Right before my speech."

"I see." Kelly meets Lena's gaze. "I had no idea. I'm sorry, Lena. Are you all right? To learn something that jarring about your girlfriend? I -- I know how painful that can be."

Girlfriend? Lena stares at Kelly. Girlfriend?

Kelly thinks Kara and her are dating?

Lena's thoughts screech to a halt. "No," she says and lays down. She rests her arm over her eyes, and shuts out everyone. Whatever Kelly or Sam say, she ignores. She refuses food, refuses everything, and curls up under the shitty blanket.

***

Two days huddled on the sofa, and Lena feels like a truck has driven over her back again and again. Her sofa is perhaps the worst thing in the universe for sleeping, but Lena hadn't felt like getting up.

Sam stayed. Ruby joins them, and between the two of them, they coax Lena into eating and drinking some juice.

Sadly, no scotch. Sam hid it.

At one point, Kara shows up, but Sam turns her away. Alex comes by next, and Sam turns her away too.

"Aunt Lena," Ruby sits next to her as they watch a documentary on the wall television. "Are you feeling sick still?"

Lena looks at the thirteen year old. Is that what Sam told Ruby? In a sense, she feels like death warmed over, even if it's not a physical illness. The anger that had fueled her plan had collapsed into a malaise so deep that Lena wishes she could just cease existing.

"Yes." It's the most she's spoken in two days.

"We can make your favorite soup again. I've gotten better at it. Mom's been teaching me." Ruby attempts a smile. "And I made you something. Maybe it'll help you feel better?" Ruby digs into her backpack, that sits at her feet, and pulls out a framed drawing.

Lena takes it and tears overwhelm her.

It's a drawing of Sam, Ruby, and herself in the L-Corp office. The colors are vibrant, the expressions emotive, and it's beautiful. The last time someone had given her art was Kara.

"What do you think?" Ruby's words hold uncertainty.

Lena grasps Ruby's hand. "It's beautiful," she says, softly. "Thank you." The pre-teen grins, and the pain, for a little while, recedes. She lets Ruby pull her up, plays along with finding a home for the drawing, and together they hand it above the mock fireplace. The same place where her photo her herself and Kara had sat.

She doesn't deserve this kindness.

That evening, Sam convinces her to finally go to bed. "Your back will thank you."

Lena gifts her a faint smile. "Fine."

"And I'll handle L-Corp. Don't worry about a thing, okay?" Sam shakes a finger at her. "You need to rest. Doctor's orders you know."

Normally she'd scoff and dismiss it. Normally, she'd buckle up and go in anyway. Normally, she'd push aside her emotions and work herself to the bone.

But the malaise has sunk its fingers deep. Lena only nods, and slips under the covers to hide once more. For the rest of that day, she reviews events. Reviews emotions. Reviews what she can recall.

What is real?

Can she ever trust Kara again?

She loves her still, and it hurts so much. Hurts more than even her brother's death.

She's stained, her heart fractured, and she doesn't know what to do next.

If only she could cut the pain out of herself, to stop the dishonesty so no one else will suffer.

For the first time in days, she leaves her room and takes out her laptop. She types up a tentative plan, works out a simulation, and sends it to Hope, her AI.

Sam finds her deep in coding at the dining table. It's late, the sun long set, and shadows etch across her walls. The television hums with a game as Ruby plays in the other room.

The soup Sam sets down smells delicious, but Lena only glances at it.

"What are you working on?" Sam pulls up a chair.

"What if I could code a way to end suffering?" Lena asks. Her fingers dance across the keys as she looks over Hope's simulation data. It didn't go as she hoped, so she's altering the algorithms. "To make it so no one lies, no one hurts another."

"A code to end suffering," Sam repeats. "Lena, are you suggesting mind control?"

"As if." Lena frowns and glances at Sam. "People can still do what they want. This would just prevent them from hurting anyone."

"That's still mind control."

Frustrated, Lena slaps her laptop shut. "Then what do suggest I should do to end suffering?"

"I think you're asking the wrong question," Sam says gently.

"Oh?" Lena crosses her arms and glares at Sam. "And what should I be asking?"

"I don't know." Sam stirs the soup and pushes it toward Lena. "You should eat. Ruby says you haven't touched any food today."

"I'm fine, Sam."

"Are you? It's okay to not be okay, Lena. You don't have to be strong for this. That's why we're here. You can lean on us. You can be honest with us. We're not going anywhere."

Sam's earnest words sear into her, and Lena looks away, unable to bear the sincerity, the kindness.

"I'm a murderer, Sam," Lena murmurs. "And I'm running simulations that you claim is mind control. I think we should be honest. I'm a villain after all."

"No, you're hurting, and you being, well, you, you're trying to science your way out of the pain. But that's not how it works." Sam gently pushes a lock of hair from Lena's face. "How about this. Let's brainstorm new projects. The more ridiculous the higher the score. I bet I can beat you." She smiles. "I'll even wager money on this."

Lena stares at Sam. "Wagering money that you can beat me on generating ideas? Sam, you'll lose. I'm the queen of ideas."

"Oh? Then prove it." Sam stands and snags several pads of paper. She shoves one at Lena with a violet pen. "Get generating, Lena. Because you're about to be out..." Sam pauses then grins, "... out a hundred dollars."

"Two hundred that I'll leave you in the dust," Lena snaps, unable to resist the competition. She's the one with the two degrees, while Sam only had an accounting degree. How dare Sam claim she can generate better ideas than Lena herself.

"Two hundred and fifty I'll beat you in volume."

Lena growls and furiously starts to write. For the next four hours, she and Sam pit their wits against each other. Papers get taped to the wall, doors, and windows. Ruby cheers them on and makes popcorn as Sam and her shout more and more unhinged ideas.

When Lena suggests nanite-made clothes that instantly clean when dirtied, Sam shoots back an idea of nanite cloth competitions for the most dazzling display of fashion prowess.

Lena tacks to the wall an idea to build a massive portal to send ships to Mars or the moon for colonies and lessen the stress of overpopulation on the ecological systems of Earth.

Sam ups her with portals to other solar systems and documentaries to showcase the work of the mechanics and scientists.

Lena throws the suggestion of science competitions amongst other planets, and the winner gets a grant to build whatever they desire.

Sam suggests competitions to build the biggest train in the solar system, one so big that it fits the moon inside.

Lena counters with an engine that could power such a massive train.

Sam slaps onto the wall her idea of a massive party on such a train, to bring the wonders of pop and rock music to the corners of the galaxy.

By this point, Lena is laughing and tempted to tape her Sam's mouth shut. They've reached an impasse, for each idea Lena generates, Sam twists it to something silly, and even Ruby struggles to decide who wins the round.

"Fine!" Lena throws the last of her pad into the air. "We're tied."

"Are we?" Sam turns to her daughter. "Ruby, as our judge, what is your assessment?"

Ruby spends several minutes tapping her lip as if deep in thought. "I declare...." She pauses for dramatic effect, "A tie. Both your list of ideas are fantastic, and I kind of hope you do some of them Aunt Lena."

Lena looks at the mess that is now her penthouse, how so many unhinged schematics adorn the walls, the lines of ideas that overlap each other, and it's so against her Luthor upbringing that she laughs. Laughs and laughs at the absurdity of her situation.

She decides to keep the ideas where they are.

To remind herself that even in moments of great pain, nuggets of joy can still be found.

Though she will not be building a massive space train big enough for moons, just for all the celebrity popstars to host concerts for other solar systems. No matter how much Ruby and Sam beg.

She has some pride, thank you very much.

#supercorp #lena luthor #kara danvers #supergirl #I have once again brought Sam back because no one can stop me #Also Kelly and Lena broship is important to me too #I may or may not have another piece to continue this alternate Season 5a #supercorptober #supercorptober2024 #Also I find the idea of Sam and Lena having an idea contest so funny and Ruby makes the perfect judge

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its-in-the-woods · 6 months ago

Text

'Down the Rabbit Hole' Chapter 1

Chapter two chapter three Chapter four

Pairing: Walton Goggins x You

Rating: None for this chapter future ones will be adjusted.

Slow build like novel damn length okay, Very Fluffy, Pinch of Angst, Relationship Development, Hurt/Comfort, Older man/ Younger(30s) women, Alternative universe, fictional work (IDK WHY BUT I AM PUTTING IT) Probably more as I go.

Synopsis: Working in film as a make-up artist is hard enough, but then Walton Goggins requests you, well it's way too easy to fall down the rabbit hole.

Note: they are both single, all for fun.

WARNING I do not have this all written out, I do have it plotted out, but it may be a little slower for chapters to come out. Please bear with me. If you know a Beta to edit please send them to me.

Getting the phone call that you're working with Liz again is surprising. You had encountered Liz several times, mostly as a day call trying to get hundreds of extras through a small window of time. She was well-known in the industry as being a giant pain in the ass. Though you had gotten along somewhat well with her, you had never quite felt like the women would have picked you as a second.

Sitting down in the production office you start to fill in paperwork. There is always so much paperwork. Thankfully this would have you working for the next four months. Four months of not having to fill out forms or wonder when your next job would come. Granted you had made a favorable impression with several other heads of department. But if everyone was honest the biz was saturated with less skilled artists who would bend over backward, or forwards, just to get a day in. You flick over the paperwork refilling the same information for the fifth time.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a second,” It's Liz, done up to the nines as always. Touches of grey hair starting to show against the dirty blonde. She wears all black with a horrid mix of silver and gold jewelry.

You follow the woman back, completely prepared for her to tell you that you will not be seconded to her. That you'd be moved to 2nd unit or something much more fitting for someone with just “five years of experience”.

Walking into the little office you place the paperwork on your lap as you sit across from her. The walls have headshots of cast along with information underneath. You don't pay attention, if you're working a different unit chances are you'd never see them anyway.

“Nice to see you again,” Liz says, you get a feeling that she was putting on a bit of a show. She’s put on a weird smile that doesn’t meet her eyes, not that you could tell she won’t look at you.

“Likewise, hope you've been doing well,” You reply, you can't stomach being a kiss ass.

Liz makes a humming noise as she flips through the large binder. One of the the few things you both agreed on, is hard copy beat digital work.

“At the moment you're not going to be seconding with me, you've been requested by the lead.” She gestures over to the wall.

You look over and see Walton Goggins’ face staring back at you. You chew at your lip, you've worked with him twice. Mostly while doing smaller rolls, he had always been easy to work with and hilarious.

“Ah, I see.” You reply, trying not to act a little flustered. You'd never had an actor request you, it was probably one of the biggest compliments you could get.

“You and Trevor will be working together with Mr. Goggins. I've taken you've read the script?” Liz looked at you through heavy mascara eyelashes. You nodded at the question. “Good. It's pretty straightforward, anything with large amounts of blood will be dealt with by the FX crew. You're basically babysitting and making sure he doesn't wander off covered in gore.”

You can't suppress the laugh at the comment. You could picture the man getting driven away looking like he had murdered a small town. The Teamster would have a fit about cleaning that.

“Sounds good, I am guessing I can increase my pay and kit rental?” You push, requested or not you knew your kit was far better stocked than most. Whether Liz agrees or not would be a moot point. You could always approach production for a pay raise. Running it through Liz first just kept accounting from jumping down your throat.

Liz stares at you for a moment, her mouth a thin line. For a second you think she may try to argue the wage. Instead, she flicks her eyes back down to her binder.

“Yes, Production has already approved a pay raise for both. As well as sending in a small request for certain products he’d like.” Liz passes you the paper without looking up. On the top is your wage and kit fee, along with product allowance. It's much more than you anticipate, but you keep that to yourself.

“You can drop your stuff off at the trailer and then go grab what you need. Start things off slow.”

***

Paperwork done and handed in, you grab timesheets, start packs and, any other office stuff you think the trailer may need. Driving down the narrow alley you park your little Honda Accord beside the make-up trailer. You unload several bins beside the steps before parking. Inside the trailer is pretty sparse. You set out to fill your drawers, stocking the place with all the necessities. Trevor shows up as you're starting to finish up.

“Heyyyy,” He chirps, coming in with his own kit. The man is tall, slim, with a wicked smile, green eyes, and a riot of brown curly hair. He is a major flirt who loves to chat about anything and everything.

“Hey, Trevor. How have you been?” You give him a hug. The two of you had both started out at the same time and he was as close to a friend as you had in the industry.

“Oh yah know, just living the dream!” He rolls his eyes, waving his hands in the air.

“Nice we get some space to spread out. Feels homey” You smile as you place paperwork into holders.

The trailer was a newer model, with four stations, four chairs, mirrors, lights, and shelving. There was also a sink and hair sink. It was nice to have your own space. Often times you were allotted a small tent and much else. But here you had access to everything and it was warm against the never-ending rain.

“Not to mention getting requested.” Trevor wiggles his eyebrows. “Like I didn't think that would ever happen.”

You both chuckle at the situation. You finish up and make sure all your bits and pieces are laid out. You’d print any notes for tomorrow and get them into binders. Also, need to make sure you are connected with everyone’s clouds. Digital wasn’t your niche but it was necessary.

“Do you want me to grab anything for you? I am hitting up the usual haunts for goodies.” You ask, grabbing your purse. Downtown would be a nut house but having all the requested products was important.

Trevor pauses the comb on his chin. “How about I text you the list I need? I think I need like four things?”

“Yep, that sounds good. I will see you tomorrow for camera tests”

***

You do three days of camera testing and running over lighting making sure everyone looks their best. It’s always a flurry, trying to find an easy groove that you all could work with. Liz took the first chair, Katie took the second chair, you were in third, and fourth was slated for fx. It was tight once everyone was in there and warm, but it worked and that’s really all you could ask for.

Now near the end of the week came the first shoot day. Liz barely makes eye contact with you besides a ‘Good Morning’. You didn’t care, you knew what you needed to do, a detailed email had been sent out last night. Besides Walton, you had three other actors to take care of. Not surprisingly they were all male, Liz’s actual second was Katie. A petite woman with pin-straight blonde hair, a heart-shaped face, and a big personality. She loved doing anything cute and fun. So you got stuck with the rough end of things, but if you were honest that was your wheelhouse. Bruises, cut lips, red-rimmed eyes, bloody noses, looking a bit more disheveled and run down. Yep, all things you could do quickly and efficiently. Hopefully, the AD wouldn’t be too pushy. The first two men are easy enough, you and Trevor fall into a rhythm. Blasting some 80s music as you both drink Red Bulls and dance away. Katie joins in the fun as you all pretend to sing karaoke

The third man doesn’t show, which is annoying as hair in cream blush. You radio the AD who already sounds annoyed. He tells you he will bring Walton over ASAP to you. You let out a sigh and rub your face. You crack open another redbull and take a deep sip. The trailer ran on redbull, which was the preferable alternative.

“Stepping up!” Yells a familiar voice. Walton comes in with a flurry, coffee in hand, sunglasses pushed up. He wiggles his way through everyone with polite hellos and hugs. He comes over and squeezes you into a tight embrace. You hug back your cheeks going a little pink. The man is striking both in looks and presence, his aura is calm and confident. His hair was jet black with silver sideburns, deep-set hazel eyes, and an infectious smile.

“Oh, it is so good to be back filming. Finally!” He flops himself into your chair crossing his long legs. He is already in costume well fitting jeans and a green button-up.

“Nice to see you again.” You smile and get to work, “How’s the day treating you so far?”

“It’s been lovely, though I do miss the sunshine. Does it ever stop raining here?.” He chatters on.

You finish skincare and get down to covering minor blemishes and making sure his eyebrows aren’t too wild. Trevor chitters back with the man as he sorts his hair into something a little neater than the fluff it was before.

“There you are looking fantastic as always,” You croon and step away from the mirror. The man makes a shocked sound and inspects his face.

“Darlin’ you always make me look as pretty as a painting,” Walton giggles in a higher feminine voice, looking himself over in the mirror.

“Oh hush,” You giggle back, “get your tight butt to set.” You shooed him out the door, he wiggled his butt and gave you a kiss on the cheek before swishing out the door.

“That man is hilarious, it’s going to be a fun show,” Trevor stated with a chuckle as he prepared his set bag. “Do you think number three will show?”

You let out a sigh,” Probably not at this point, the AD is going to murder us if we don’t get to set now.”

***

Number three was standing on set, you felt anger roll over your shoulder. He was of average height with a face that looked as if he had a permanent scowl. At least you had brought an extra set bag. You grab the man’s arm firmly, hauling him away to stand under a set light. Trevor immediately trailed after you. He huffs and stands mostly still. You can smell weed on him, and judging by his red eyes he was stoned out of his mind. You hand him eyedrops, and the man sneers at you but puts them in. Letting some of the liquid spills on his face, you sigh.

“Look, nerves are normal.” You mutter more to yourself than anyone. “But coming here stoned and avoiding makeup and hair is not going to win you any brownie points.”

“I don’t need a lecture from you,” The man bites out, walking away as you tuck your brush back into your bag. You grumble and move over to your chair, you make eye contact with one of the AD’s who scoots over to you.

“I apologize about Arnold not coming to your trailer, I didn’t realize he was here.” The man lets out his own sigh, “It won’t happen again.”

“He doesn’t like us at all. Going to make things a little tricky.” You reply trying not to call him a complete ass about him.

AD nods his head, “I know. It will be dealt with.”

You walk over to the video village peering at the screens as you say hello to familiar faces. Everyone looked good, even Arnold, at least his eyes weren’t completely bloodshot. You take a particular look at Walton who seems to be letting himself get into character. Something flits in your heart as he looks up at the camera from under his brow.

***

The day ends and you cycle through secondary actors, Arnold all but running out the door once he is done. You can’t help but glare at the man, the least he could do was say thank you for cleaning his dirty mug.

You flop down in the chair as the rest of your coworkers clean their things. The buzz of your coworkers is somehow relaxing, you take a sip of cold coffee and clean your brushes. Another knock and you turn to see Walton walking in, he has run his hands through his hair so that it stands straight up.

You let out a chuckle, “Did you stick a fork in a socket.” Getting up to let the leading man sit in the chair.

“Oh, this?” He says pointing at his head, “I thought it was supposed to look like this.”

The room erupts in laughter as he makes his eyes cross and sticks his tongue out pretending to be electrocuted. Shaking your head you get to work, skincare was just as important as the actual makeup. You were ever grateful the man thoroughly enjoyed being pampered and preened by everyone. Made your job so much easier.

*I am definitely nervous about posting this. But I hope it's fun and cute. It's going to be a slow build and a lot of back and forth. But I promise it will be fun cute and a little moody. Just a pinch of angst cause why not. *

Chapter two

#walton goggins #au #alternate universe #fictional #2nd person pov #fanfic #walton goggins x reader #fan fiction #fantasy #writer #down the rabbit hole

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lunarw0rks · 1 year ago

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price would be on his phone, laying in bed with you. his hand plays with your thigh before some subconscious part of his brain recognizes he needs something more. his hand travels up before going under your waistband to play with your hair (it’s not embarrassing. i also twirl that shit. what else is it there for? fighting diseases? 🤨) and at some point he’ll put down his phone, run his other hand through his (head) hair with a sigh before looking at you to find you staring at him like 👁️👄👁️ and then he realizes he’s been teasing you for like ten minutes LMFAO

a/n: okay good, bc i'll be laying there practically braiding it for fun LMAO this scenario is making my brain go brrr. it's not a want. it's a need atp ;))

warning(s): nsfw, fingering, fem!reader

alternatively; he's reading one of his stupid novels, all invested and hmming to himself while he does it !!! your back is facing him, lying between his legs as you attempt to occupy yourself.

enjoying silent quality time like any other evening, watching whatever movie/show that's playing. whilst price is skimming the pages, the hand that's been caressing your thigh subconsciously moves upward, until it's reached your undergarments.

he's done this before, so it's not exactly surprising. until it was.

he just kept going. for a solid ten minutes, he was twirling the hairs that had grown in down there. fingertips barely kissing along the smooth skin of your core while he does so. to him, it's just a satisfying sensation, the way the strands are soft and thin against his callouses. and it's you, his lover, being touched in places only he's allowed to see.

a win for him; a silent battle of temptation for you.

then he sighs, setting aside the novel. finally, an escape from this voiceless torture. you've turned to look at him, eyes conflicted and full of need.

it's only then that the clueless bastard realizes what he's been doing to you. he's gathered a mess between your thighs, coating those hairs in a thin layer of slick for how many passes his thick fingers made. and poor you, unsure of whether to buck your hips or stay as still as a statue.

however, now you're nothing but a needy mess that needs tending to. at least, that's all your lust-filled brain can muster right now.

suddenly, he can feel it too. the hand resting there, now with the pads saturated in your arousal. "was I teasing you, sweetheart? got you all hot and bothered, and you didn't say a damn thing about it." he leaned forward and spoke close to your ear, now actively letting his fingers glide along your soaked entrance.

they slip inside with ease, but just two of them still have to be crammed to fit.

price curls them inside you, pumping them just enough to make the squelches audible in the room, "suppose you deserve this then, eh? messy little thing, you are..."

#mw2 #call of duty #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #john price x reader #john price headcanons #captain john price #john price #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price x you #captain price headcanons #john price x you #john price smut #price x reader #price mw2 #141 headcanons #price smut

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redsrooftopprincess · 19 days ago

Text

Nightmare, Part 2

Part 1

Warnings: Reader death, graphic description of blood/throat trauma, PTSD, panic attacks, marijuana

You walk him upstairs like you usually do, following him up the fire escape to the rooftop. He has a few hours left on patrol, but he's working this side of town tonight, which meant he was able to stay with you a little longer. He was grateful for any time he could get with you.

You give him a hug, and a peck on the cheek, and hand him a thermos of coffee. ("Don't give me that look, the weather report said a drop of twenty degrees. Take the damn coffee.")

It's a practiced routine, you worry over him and he pretends like he doesn't love every minute of it. Like a housewife saying goodbye to their husband. No. Not like that. Shut up, brain.

Something feels different tonight. He can't place it, but it makes him uneasy. He hugs you a little longer. Hesitates before jumping the rooftop. Something in him is screaming to stay.

But you seem fine, and the night's been slow so far, and if he finishes his rounds early he can stop by before heading home.

...

It's ten past two in the morning. He's reaching the end of his run and about to loop back around when his phone buzzes.

There is a limited number of people who know this number, so seeing a text from "Unknown" sets him immediately on edge.

When he opens the message, everything stops.

The city is silent, imperceptible. Suddenly, nothing exists but the screen in his hand.

No text. Just a photo of the two of you saying goodbye, earlier.

Two hours. He's two hours out.

He forwards the photo to Don and hits his brother's number, starting the sprint back.

"Sup," says Don, distracted.

"Get to Y/N's apartment!"

"What?"

"NOW!!!"

"Raph, what's going -"

Raphael hears the vibration as the photo comes through.

"Shit."

Raph hears a crash as whatever his brother was working on is tossed aside. Seconds later, a loud alarm pours through his earpiece as Donnie alerts everyone to an emergency, but Raphael can't hear it for the blood roaring in his ears.

"How far out are you?"

"At least an hour and a half get OVER there Donnie!!!"

The line goes dead, and as he scales to the adjacent rooftop his phone buzzes again. It's a photo of you, asleep on the couch, shot from just inside the window that leads out to the fire escape.

He forwards the photo to Don and keeps moving. His lungs are burning, but they could be on fire and he wouldn't feel it. The only thing that matters is getting to you.

He doesn't stop. He doesn't even slow down. It's been over an hour and he is running on pure adrenaline.

They'll get to you in time. They have to. They have to because the alternative is unthinkable.

His phone buzzes again. He glances at the photo and stumbles. A familiar silhouette consumes your sleeping form, a Kabuto topped pillar, bladed pauldrons.

No.

Gods, no.

He's still twenty minutes out.

He makes it there in ten.

Leonardo is waiting for him at the fire escape, and places a hand on his chest as he tries to move past him into the apartment. The scent of iron hangs heavy in the air around the open window.

"Raph..." he says softly, holding his gaze.

No...

He bats his brother's hand away and pushes past him into your apartment.

The sweet, sickly smell is overwhelming as his feet touch down on damp, sticky carpet, twisting his stomach.

The couch is soaked in blood, the blanket he knitted you last Solstice heavy, dark, and saturated. A large hand-shaped bruise is around your crumpled throat, tipped in puncture wounds from a bladed gauntlet that have long since stopped bleeding. Your eyes are open and clouded, your face a mask of terror, and the blood that paints your body, dried and flaking at the edges, scatters with the breeze from his arrival. You were dead before the first message.

The scream that rips from his chest, sends him bolting upright in his hammock. Disoriented, he tumbles from his bed, hands flexing against cold concrete as he tries desperately to find something solid, real, to hold on to.

A dream. It was just a dream. He assures himself. They're fine. They're fine and safe and sleeping peacefully in their apartment. Just a dream. Saki is dead. You know he's dead. You SAW him die...

He's come back before...

A sob rips through him. The panic has him by the throat, and he can almost feel Japanese steel, frigid against his skin. His head is spinning. He's gulping air and and he still can't breathe. Fuck. He can't breathe.

He's vaguely aware of his door being thrown open and a pair of strong hands, pulling him to sitting. They come up to rest on the sides of his face. He fights it. He has to get to you. Something is holding him here and he has to get to you.

The hands tighten their grip on him, almost shaking him. "Raph. Hey. You're okay. You were dreaming." He feels someone grip his shoulder and his wrist hard, a bust of endorphins pouring into his veins with the activated pressure points.

"Raph," the voice says again, firmly, the sound and pressure finally enough to break through, "Raphael." Deep blue, familiar eyes slowly come into focus. "Breathe," Leonardo says, gently, seeing his brother's eyes begin to focus, "It wasn't real. Just breathe..."

Raph inhales quickly and deeply, breaking through the surface tension. He closes his eyes and covers his face with a trembling hand as he pushes himself away from Leo and back against the wall. "I'm good," he says, gasping, voice cracking, ignoring the hot tears streaming down his face as he tries to think of anything other than the look on yours. "I'm good."

Leonardo sits back on his knees and waits patiently for instructions.

Nightmares are pretty normal among the Hamato clan. Even the Patriarch is not immune to the occasional nightly demons. Under normal circumstances, comfort would be encouraged. In their case it's as necessary as disarming an enemy. They are skilled assassins that walk headfirst into danger every night. Whether by distraction or disassociation, a nightmare or flashback could be fatal. Lethal. In that state, they pose a danger to themselves and anyone around them.

They each have a general protocol for episodes like this, something to ground them and bring them back at least to reality, if not stability. Mike typically needs physical comfort, Donnie distraction, Leo needs someone else to call the shots, their father, their presence and a very hot cup of tea.

Raphael needs to feel in control, especially after being rocked this hard, so Leo's only job, now that he's broken through the panic, is to accept orders.

Ninety seconds. One-Twenty, and Raphael is still tense and shaking. Staring at the ceiling, unwilling to close his eyes for fear of seeing yours. "Do you want me to wake up Mike?" Leo asks gently. Phase Two.

Raphael doesn't look at him, but nods. Leo is on his feet and out the door in one fluid movement. He strides quickly down the landing to his youngest brother's room. The door is already open, and Mike is standing there waiting with a packed bowl and a lighter.

"How bad?" He whispers

"Bad," Leo whispers back, taking them from him, "I think it was Y/N."

"Shit," Mike sighs, "All hands on deck, or...?"

"Not yet," Leo shakes his head, "let me get him calm first. Just make sure D knows."

Mike nods as Leo turns and makes his way back to Raphael's room.

Something you said once comes to mind about knowing you were in a really bad place when you could feel the meds working. Over the next half hour he feels his mind quiet, but the underlying urgency remains.

Raphael looks at his older brother with exhausted, bloodshot eyes, "I gotta know they're okay," he says with a voice like sandpaper.

Leo nods once and leaves the room, returning minutes later with a tablet from Don, and a cup of coffee courtesy of dad. He sits beside Raphael on the floor and sets the coffee between them. A few taps and a nanny-cam live-feed comes up on the screen.

It's the middle of the afternoon and you're just waking up to get ready for work. As you walk by the entertainment center, you notice the glowing green eyes of the small turtle statue surveying the living room, indicating the live feed is active, and you stick out your tongue and cross your eyes at, who you assume to be, Donatello.

Raph can't help a shaky laugh.

You're okay. You're safe and alive and okay. Fuck. He let's out a breath he's been holding since before he woke up.

He watches you putter around the living room and kitchen for a while in silence, scanning every corner and shadow for anything out of place.

Leo watches him intently. "You love them, don't you?" He asks quietly after several long moments.

"Yes," Raphael says, too tired to even attempt denial.

Leo nods, brow furrowed, watching his brother watch you. There was always a chance that it could happen, however slim. That one of them could fall in love. There was a part of him that craved it just as much as the others did, and an equal part that prayed it would never happen to any of them.

In their line of work, emotions are dangerous. Strong emotions, like love, can be deadly. They pose risk. Liability. Leverage. Something beyond the dangers of someone merely knowing they exist. Something easy and accessible for their enemies to use against them.

Their bond with each other and their father is dangerous enough. They're lucky in that they and many of their friends are skilled in getting out of trouble. But you're a civilian. And always a little too ready to pick a fight. Used to being able to hold your own in an everyday bar brawl, but still a civilian, and their enemies aren't tired drunks.

The gears in his head are already turning as Leo begins to rework present strategies to allow for this new development. They'll need a plan to keep you safe at home. On the street. They'll need a plan if you get captured or injured. They'll need a plan if the worst should happen...

But, one thing at a time. Raphael's peace of mind is top priority. He'll be worse than useless on patrol until he's sure you are, and will continue to be, safe.

"Why don't you post up outside the bar tonight. Keep an eye on things. Walk them home." Leo says, looking down at the feed of the the now empty living room. You'd left down the hall to grab a shower. "We'll double up on their side of town for the next week or so. Make sure one of us is in reach at all times."

Raphael nods, eyes not leaving the screen, grateful that he doesn't have to ask. He's still on edge, but he can hear you singing in the shower, a song he sent you last week that he thought you might like, and it will get him through the next few hours.

He'll be waiting when you get out of work. He'll be quiet as he walks you home. You won't understand why at first, until he holds you just a little tighter. A little longer. Limbs heavy with equal parts relief and remorse.

Tonight you're okay. But tomorrow you might not be. You've become a part of his dark, violent world, and, selfishly, he can't let you go. His only light in a world of shadows. Everything in him clings to you desperately, despite everything in him screaming at you to run. You're here because he wants you here, needs you here. If the worst should happen, if that light should go out, there will be no way to pretend it isn't his fault.

...

Tag list

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @daedric-sorceress @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo

#bayverse raphael #raphael x reader #tmnt #tmnt raphael #bayverse raphael x reader #raph x reader #tmnt raphael x reader #tmnt bayverse #teenage mutant ninja turtles #Red's turn in the barrel

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girlsneedff · 7 months ago

Text

Tetris player!Chosou x f!reader (NSFW!!)

Minors and ageless bios please dni

Mating press, slight Tetris! babble, established relationship, breeding (slightly)

Author’s yap: ok ok so I basically sat and watched this Tetris tournament on TikTok and I got inspired… possibly one of the more unserious things I’ve written, but that’s ok!!

————

Tetris! is boring as shit.

How could someone sit there in front of a rickety old 8-bit, shitty quality game and have fun for hours? It was stupid.

Well, that was before you started dating an 8-time Tetris! champion. Now the game is absolutely amazing- a Heaven sent.

Chosou Kamo’s a man of few words. Even when he finally mustered up the courage to ask you out (you were in the same humanities class), it went like this:

“Hello, we- ………date?” The blush saturated his cheeks as he twiddled his thumbs while remaining eye contact.

Oh, those thumbs.

He’s cute, and you’ve been ogling him a bit (a lot) during class, so of course you took up his offer, regardless of how ill-planned it was.

Next thing you know, you’re at his place- always watching him prep for a tournament he’s competing in. Whether it’s an actual controller or on his pc- he practices for hours- at least 3. His hair is in his usual messy pigtails as he chews the inside of this right cheek.

Next Tetrimino is an O- he moves that to the left-most end of the field. Then it’s a T- he flipped it so it fits nicely into this little slot he had created with some past pieces. He gets an I- his face lights up as he gleefully moves it to the right-most end of the field, sliding it into the perfect position and boom: Tetris!

A line of 4 disappears with this completion, and the game continues, his fingers moving at rapid paces to keep up. His eyes flicker to you, to make sure that you saw his victory, then back to the game.

You must admit, when he first told you he was a multi-time Tetris! winner, you damn near laughed at him. You wouldn’t do it in his face- but you definitely have scoffed thinking about it before.

“Hi- oh yea this is my boyfriend. Oh what does he do? Well he’s a Tetris! Champion!”

Your peers would look at you sideways.

But you couldn’t give a rat’s ass what they think now. You’d scream it from the rooftops actually. He’s made you scream a lot more embarrassing things than that.

You owe Tetris! your sex life. Truly. In your vows, you might give Tetris! a shoutout. Because the way that this man knows how to work his fingers- it’s unnatural. How he works his everything- jeez he’s Heaven sent.

————

“Baby, I need an opponent.”

You sit up to look at your boyfriend. He’s sitting in his gaming chair, still working away at Tetris, while you lie on his bed, scrolling on his phone.

“Why don’t you call up your frien-”

“Play with me.”

You freeze. This was the first time he’s ever brought this up. You’ve been coming over for 4 months now, and never once had he asked you to play with him.

“You know I don’t really know anything about Tetris!, right?”

“I’ll teach you. I just need to practice for tomorrow against somebody. It will help get me in the mood.”

It sure as hell did help him get in a mood. Sitting in his lap, he hands you his other console, makes sure you’re ok, and presses play. His console rests on your lap, while you hold yours up a bit.

…

And he lost.

…

Because how the flying fuck did you two end up on the bed?

Lock down: When a Tetrimino is put into a place where it’s no longer moveable. Kinda like how you are now.

Choso supports himself on your bent thighs with knees damn-near touching your ears as he towers above you, sweaty strands of hair still sticking to his face as he keeps eye contact. There’s no possible way you could escape this- even if you wanted to.

Then, he does his next signature move: Hard Drop. When a player drops a Tetrimino right into Lock Down from its starting position- no alterations.

Well, save for the fact that he had you line him up with your cunt, he’s by the book.

Who knew that Tetris! players would be so good at multitasking? With every stroke, he plays with your clit like he’s moving pieces- this Tetris!-junkie really doesn’t quit. He keeps it at a steady pace, steady force. All the way to left field- down. In the middle- he lets it wait for a little bit before he moves it to the right and down. It’s dizzying.

The way his dick is stretching you, and how his lithe fingers work to bully your clit into submission, you felt like you were levitating.

Then he starts fucking drawing the Tetriminos on your clit. You swear you’re actually in Heaven, the angels singing choruses of Tetris! hymns and praises while perched upon fluffy white cumulus clouds. Your mouth is in a permanent “O” position.

He definitely felt you clench around him- he lets out a breathy moan- louder than the noises he was already making. He has an airy type of grit in his voice every time you have sex- one of the many things that you love about this man.

Chosou leans close to your right ear, deepening the position as he speaks:

“Z, I, L, O, J…”

Before you know it you’re creaming- babbling random nonsense that you definitely don’t remember, but definitely know it was embarrassing. Cumming from him saying letters? How pathetic. But you don’t give a goddamn fuck.

You dig your fingers into your own flesh, since you were propping yourself up properly.

Chosou kisses your cheek and your neck as he continues to fuck you through your high.

He finally succumbs to his own desire, pumping everything that he has inside you with a soft, yet kind of whiny moan.

From that moment onwards, you vowed that you will never disrespect Tetris! again.

#jjk #choso x black y/n #choso my beloved #smut #fluff #jjk x reader #choso x reader #choso x you #jjk x you #jjk x fem!reader

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trickphotography2 · 1 year ago

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Eeep!

I would LOVE to know what went through Jake’s head when he heard the word “pregnant”! I know he’s so loving and supportive and gives theeee biggest “family man” vibes, so was his first thought “she’s mine forever now and she’s having my baby!” or was it “oh fuck, we’re having a whole ass human” or maybe both??

Okay, this got away from me. You get some angst and additional Jake backstory (including why he stayed married to his ex even after they separated)! Here's 1.8K words of Jake's POV of finding out Darlin's pregnant.

Jake was drinking his coffee on the couch, trying to motivate himself to get up and shower when you called.

“Can you come get me?”

Those five words and your shaky voice made his heart stop. As you explained what happened, he was sprinting across the house to throw on a pair of jeans and grab his wallet and keys. It was only after you assured him a few times that someone was with you that he was willing to get off the phone.

His fingers drummed on the steering wheel as he waited in line for the gate guard to scan his ID, teeth grit as he fought against screaming at them to move faster. It took all his training to block out that little voice in his head that whispered something was wrong. He needed to focus on the mission - get to the hangar and the hospital. Point A to Point B. He couldn’t spiral because you needed him.

His boots slapped against the concrete as he bolted out of the truck towards the Bounty Hunter's hanger. As he raced across the parking lot, he heard someone call out his name.

Fucking shit. Admiral Tritz. Jake skidded to a halt as the uniformed officer approached, snapping a quick salute and standing at attention. Impatience warred with insubordination as he stood there, watching Tritz stroll closer. “Out of uniform, Hangman?”

“Sorry, sir… my girlfriend works here, and I need to… she’s not feeling well.” Tritz frowned.

“Another officer?”

“No, sir. She’s a civilian. Contracting specialist.”

“Ah. Well, don’t want to keep her waiting then. I hope she feels better.”

“I’m taking her to the hospital, sir. I… I’m not sure how long that’ll take. I’m due back for mids.”

“I’ll let Kennedy know he might be getting a call and to have another pilot on standby.”

“Thank you, sir.” With a jerk of his head, Tritz dismissed him, and Jake took off, mumbling apologies as he ran through the hanger to your office. The sight of you in your office chair, head in your hands with a trashcan between your feet, greeted him as he skidded to a halt outside your door. “Darlin’?”

Your watery gaze rose to meet his, eyes dark against your pale skin. “I’m okay,” you whispered.

“You still need to get checked out,” another woman said, and his eyes swung to the woman leaning against the wall. She waved before tipping her head towards you. “Going to need paperwork for the occupational health report, and worker’s comp is probably going to call to make sure they don’t need to worry about a lawsuit.”

“I’m not going to sue,” you grumbled.

“We’ll worry about that later,” Jake huffed, walking towards you and moving the trashcan away with his foot before kneeling in front of you.

“I’ll let the boss know you’re out for the rest of the day. Take care of yourself.”

“Thanks, Armitage,” you said softly. With a nod, the woman left just as Jake spotted the paper towel darkened with blood on your foot. He wrapped his hand around your ankle and rested your foot on his thigh, gently pulling away the towel and hissing.

“Damn it.”

“It’s not as bad now,” you observed. He ignored the droplet of blood that saturated his jeans as he rewrapped your foot.

“Let’s go.” The words came out like an order, and you shrunk back into your chair. He mentally kicked himself - you didn’t need Lieutenant Seresin right now. “Fuck, I’m sorry, darlin’,” he sighed, running his thumb along your ankle. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I… I don’t know what happened. I just woke up on the floor.”

“Let’s go get you checked out.”

“I need to clean up first. I can’t leave… that,” you said, glancing at the trashcan. He peeked into it and saw that you’d been sick. He didn’t hesitate before grabbing the sides of the bag and tying it off.

“I’ll get rid of this. You stay right here - don’t move.” He jogged to the men’s room, threw the bag away, and grabbed a few more paper towels for your foot.

You were leaning against the desk when he got back, work bag slung over your shoulder. Jake raised an eyebrow and darted forward when you took a limping step towards him. “I’m fine,” you mumbled. Without a word, he took your bag and crouched, bracing one hand under your knees and the other across your back as he swept you off your feet.

Red stained your pale cheeks as he carried you out of the hangar and across the parking lot.

Jake hated hospitals. Hated the smell of antiseptic, the constant overhead pages that never meant anything good, and the hurry up and wait.

He tried not to think about the other times he’d been in the emergency room - the night Lina fell off the roof and broke her arm trying to sneak back into the house drunk, the too-close calls with his friends nearly burning in, and when his ex had a bad epileptic seizure. He’d gotten a few calls from her needing to be picked up from work or a friend’s house after having a seizure, and getting that call from you had put him right back into it. So he held you tighter and pressed his lips to the top of your head, assuring himself that this wasn’t the same. Fainting wasn’t a seizure.

That didn’t mean he was less irritated when a medical student was sent to take your medical history. If they’d been on base, you would have already seen a doctor, not some kid in a white coat pretending he knew more than he did. You could have gotten to a hospital sooner, period. Because you weren’t his dependent, he had to drive back off base to the closest civilian hospital. If something like this happened again… if it was the start of something serious, he needed to know that there wouldn’t be a delay in your getting help. That was unacceptable. As much as you wanted to wait to get married, it would offer more protection. This wasn’t a matter of wanting you to have his last name and the promise of forever. It was a practicality. It was the rational thing to do - why put off something you’d both agreed to just because of the arbitrary decision about how long you had to be dating? You were a rational person.

That’s what he would argue when you got home. Getting married - the benefits of being a military spouse - would be his selling point. He’d be willing to trade almost anything else for you to agree to let him put his ring on your fingers and share his last name.

As you dozed against his shoulder after the EKG, he took out his phone and typed your symptoms into Google: headache, fainting, and nausea. The first result said it was low blood sugar. Others said it was a migraine, but you’d have known if it was that. It could definitely have been stress or anxiety. Vertigo was an option, and so was low blood pressure. He didn’t want to consider it a brain injury or tumor. Pregnancy came up a few times, which gave him pause, but you’d had your period.

So when the doctor came in almost three hours after you’d gotten to the hospital, Jake tried not to be too anxious. If it was bad, they would have done more tests.

Vasovagal syncope. Low blood pressure probably triggered by your hormone fluctuations. “So she’s okay?” Jake asked, squeezing your hand. The doctor smiled at him.

“Yes, she’s okay. I wanted to discuss some of the symptoms you were experiencing before the syncope. You mentioned being nauseous - was that just before the syncope?”

“No, it’s been a couple of days.”

“Have you vomited?” Nod. “Have you been keeping food down?”

“Not really. I’ve mostly been eating crackers the last couple of days.” Jake frowned, frustrated that you hadn’t told him what you’d been dealing with. If you’d been honest, he would have pushed you to go to the doctor earlier instead of waiting this long.

“Have you been more fatigued recently?” Brow furrowed, you nodded again. “How about any other physical symptoms?”

“Like?”

“Any tenderness in your breasts?”

“No.”

“Yes,” Jake answered. You’d turned down shower sex over the weekend, cringed when he’d brushed your nipples while reaching for shampoo, and shielded your chest from the water pressure. As much as he’d wanted to enjoy your being shirtless all day, knowing that it was because you were hurting put a damper on his enjoyment of seeing your breasts.

“The labs show that your HCG levels are elevated, which probably triggered the vasovagal syncope.” Her eyes darted between you before she added, “HCG is what we look for to confirm a pregnancy.”

The world stopped as Jake’s hand flexed around yours.

“P-pregnancy?” you stuttered.

“Yes. I would recommend setting up an appointment with your OB in the next couple of days…” Jake tried to listen to the doctor but couldn’t hear past the ringing in his ears.

Pregnant.

You were pregnant.

A baby wasn’t in the plans. It wasn’t even something you would discuss for another couple of years. There was too much you both wanted to do before having a kid.

Don’t be stupid enough to knock up some tag chaser, his father had ordered.

You’re married already - I want grandbabies while I’m young enough to enjoy them, Jacob, his mother had told him.

Come on, I want a baby, baby! His ex had begged.

But you, you were just as shocked as he was. This wasn’t part of the plan - the only part that hadn’t needed negotiations. No kids for a couple of years, if ever. It was you and him, a team of two. The Seresins.

A baby…

“I’m pregnant?” you asked softly.

“You’re pregnant.”

And Jake felt a mixture of terror and hope he’d never experienced.

Fuck. We’re having a baby.

We’re having a baby.

Your hand shook in his, and Jake forced himself to look at you. Your eyes were wide with shock as you nodded to whatever the doctor said. His gaze drifted down to where your hand pressed against your stomach.

That small, protective gesture told Jake everything he needed to know.

No matter how terrible a father he would be, the baby would always have you. They would have at least one parent in their corner against the world.

So if you were in, he would do it too.

We’re having a baby.

Jake’s hand itched to cover yours, adding his protection to the little person growing inside you.

Baby Seresin.

The thought made tears spring to his eyes, and Jake blinked them away, refocusing on what needed to be done to ensure you were taken care of.

-----------------------------------

Tagging the usual suspects, even though it's not a chapter because it gives additional backstory.

Tag list: @memeorydotcom; @alldaysdreamers; @kmc1989; @djs8891; @caitsymichelle13; @dempy; @midnightmagpiemama; @lovelyladymayyyy; @caidi-paris; @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby; @bellaireland1981; @lethargicluv; @mayhemmanaged; @tenderclio; @lucypaulette; @abaker74; @trhett21; @misshoneypaper; @schreksdoubledeckerhomechecker; @eternallyvenus; @mavrellover91; @chloeforde; @thatbitcily; @rest-of-brazilian-wax; @percysaidnever; @harperdoodle

#hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #top gun fic #top gun maverick #jake seresin #Hangman top gun #soft!Jake Seresin #hangman smut #hangman fic #D-Day fic #jake hangman seresin #Asks

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bijouxcarys · 1 day ago

Text

𝑻𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑩𝒊𝒏𝒅 (𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝑹𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒔 𝒙 𝑶𝑪) - 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑺𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏

Masterlist

Character Profiles/Face Claims

Playlist

A/N: Finally chapter 17 (the second half of chapter 16 that made it too bloody long)! I know you're all going to enjoy this one because you're all filthy little hobbits. Jokes, I love u all for all the support and love you keep leaving me. I love engagement with my work and it really helps with motivation, as I'm sure any writer would tell you. Anyways, as always, I hope you all enjoy this one ;)

CW/TW: S m u t central, pure filth, some angst

Tags: @empressdede @thetribalqueen @heauxvibez @bigsimperika

@cyberdejos2 @keyaho @headoftheetable @jstarr86 @southerngirl41

@tshepisho @cry1nwhileimcumm1n @maeb99 @thedesireds @dzdndcnfsd

@expert-texpert @niknakbucks92 @sillyteecup @trentybenty @pittieprincess22

@electronicwitchsandwich @thefairywithboots

(If you want to be tagged in any future Roman fics, just let me know!)

It took a little under an hour for Nate’s phone to buzz with the incoming text from Roman telling her he had arrived. In that time, she’d moved upstairs to grab a jacket, not entirely comfortable leaving the house at midnight in the December weather of New York.

She stood from her spot on the edge of her bed, smoothing out the tight fabric of her dress before stumbling ever-so-slightly in her heels. It would have been a smart move to just… change shoes, but she didn’t even think of that. All she could think about was… Roman.

Okay, okay, just walk normal, she reminded herself, steadying her steps as she quietly made her way downstairs, turning away from the direction in which Dimitri had his associates gathered. She almost couldn’t believe she’d managed to slip out the back door of the house without making a sound loud enough to alert someone.

The further away she got from the house, the more surreal the situation felt. She was sneaking out of her own home, half-drunk, to meet Roman Reigns—Roman Reigns, of all people. You’d think the shock of being somewhat civil with her family’s number one enemy would have dulled out by now, but nope. That shit was rampant when she let herself think too much about it. She couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh to herself.

The alcohol had fully caught up with her now, making everything around her slightly fuzzy, but not enough to forget what was going on. She followed the narrow path down from the estate, through the hedges and along the private road. Her phone buzzed again, another text from Roman.

Parked down the street. Just past the bend.

Nate squinted down the dark road. Of course, he wouldn’t park right in front of the house. He wasn’t stupid. Roman knew better than to make himself too obvious, especially in her family’s territory. A mafia boss meeting with the daughter of another mafia boss wasn’t exactly a low-stakes situation.

After a couple of minutes of walking—well, more like ungraceful, slightly wobbly striding—Nate finally spotted that familiar black sedan parked a little further down the road, barely visible under the faint glow of a street lamp. She could see the faint outline of him sitting in the driver’s seat, his headlights off but the dim interior lights on, just enough to catch sight of him.

Roman had a presence even when doing nothing. Broad shoulders, thick arms resting casually on the wheel. Profile perfectly illuminated in the saturated light. Damn. It didn’t matter how drunk Nate was, he always managed to look like he belonged directly in the centre of attention.

She approached the passenger side, swayling a little more than she would’ve liked, and when Roman saw her, his neutral expression shifted slightly. Narrowing his eyes the same way he did every time he focused in on something.

He gave her a once-over, his gaze travelling from her legs, up the tight-fitting dress that wrapped around every line and bend of her body, and lingering on the exposed skin where her dress dipped low in the front. His observation was slow, deliberate, and left no room for misunderstanding. Appreciation in his dark eyes.

With a grin through the window, she knocked lightly on the glass. He gave her a half-smirk as he leaned over and unlocked the door for her. Nate pulled it open, sliding into the passenger seat with as much grace as she could muster, which, given her current state, wasn’t much.

“You’re late,” she teased, turning to him with a playful pout.

Roman raised an eyebrow at her, clearly amused. “Takes time to sneak into enemy territory,” he said.

She sighed dramatically, leaning her head back against the seat. “You’re lucky I didn’t pass out waiting for you.”

Shifting the car into gear, Roman shook his head and huffed. “You’re buzzed as hell, huh?”

Nate lifted her head to look at him, her smile widening. “Maybe just a little. Or a lot. But hey, you’re here, so I must be doing something right.”

He gave her a sideways glance, his lips twitching up in that way that always made her stomach flip. “Didn’t think you’d be callin’ me up for a rescue mission. What happened to that tough act?”

She waved her hand dismissively, as if to brush off the idea that she needed rescuing. “I don’t need rescuing. I just… didn’t wanna be there anymore. Family’s being weird.”

“Weird how?”

Nate rested her hands in her lap, playing with the ring on her left hand that she despised wearing, but no more than she despised the fact she forgot to take it off after her perfect wife attempt tonight. She looked over at Roman, taking in the sight of his profile: strong. Beard creating the perfect frame around his chin. Hesitating, she wondered how much she should share. Then again, the alcohol had loosened her tongue enough tonight.

“Ugh, you wouldn’t believe it,” she groaned, throwing her hands up. “My dad dropped the bomb that Katya’s getting married to Alexei.”

“Who the fuck is Alexei?”

“A right knobhead,” Nate snorted, disregarding the need to control her less-than-subtle accent and strong British dialect. “It’s like… if you took Boris, made him even worse, and added a few inches in height. And reallyyyy bad teeth.”

“Damn,” Roman hummed. “Sounds like a piece of work.”

“You have no idea. Katya’s gonna lose her mind. Or worse, she’ll just… disappear inside herself. She’s not strong like that.” Nate leaned her head against the window, sighing heavily. “It’s all just so… so fucked.”

There was a period of silence, the car humming softly beneath them as Roman drove down the quieter streets. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself sink into the comfort of the seat. Her mind was still going a hundred miles a second, but being with Roman, here, away from the mess of her family, felt strangely… safe.

“Hey.”

She blinked her eyes open and peered over at Roman, who was staring straight ahead at the road in front of him.

“You ain’t your family,” he said quietly. “You know that, right?”

Nate swallowed, his simple statement settling over her like a blanket. She didn’t answer him right away, just nodded slightly, even though she barely believed that. When she was younger, there was nothing more she wanted than to follow in the footsteps of Dimitri Volkov. To be just like him. Have the kind of unmatched power that he had.

But now, at 27, she wanted to be… anything else.

Before she could dwell on it too much, Roman’s voice broke through her thoughts again.

“You wanna talk about somethin’ else?” he asked. “Or we just gon’ sit here all night with you bein’ all depressed and shit?”

She managed a laugh, her mood lifting a little at his jesting tone. “Fine… What do you wanna talk about, oh wise one?”

“Ain’t much of a talker, Princess, you know that.”

“Yeah, well, you’re talking to me now, aren’t you?”

He gave her a look, one that said she was pushing it, but the corners of his mouth tugged up in that signature smirk of his. “You got a smart mouth for someone who needed my help.”

Nate leaned back in her seat. “Oh, you love it.”

Roman’s stifled chuckle was low, rumbling through the car as they turned down another street. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

The silence that followed was comfortable, but after a few minutes, Nate found herself watching Roman out of the corner of her eye.

“You have a really nice nose,” she blurted out without thinking.

Roman’s head jerked slightly as he shot her a look. “What?”

“Your nose,” she repeated, gesturing vaguely in his direction before leaning closer, squinting at him. “It’s like… shapely. Strong. A good nose.”

“You’re drunk, Nate.”

“I’m not that drunk,” she protested, sitting back up, though she didn’t seem entirely convinced herself. “I’m just observant. Your nose is nice.”

Roman smirked. “It’s crooked.”

Nate gasped, her eyes widening in dramatic disbelief. “No, it’s not! It’s—” She reached out, her fingers hovering just inches from his face like she was considering touching his nose but stopped herself. “It’s perfect, Roman. Whoever told you it’s crooked is an idiot.”

“Well, I didn’t say anyone told me. I know it’s crooked. Had to have it fixed a couple times from being broken.”

She just shook her head vigorously, her wavy hair bouncing with the motion. “Nope. It’s perfect. Just like the rest of you.”

She wasn’t being subtle at all tonight. The vodka had completely eroded whatever filter she normally had, and it was obvious she was laying it on thick. He could feel the heat from her stare, and the way her gaze lingered on him was making his blood run a little hotter.

“You flirtin’, Volkov?” he asked somewhat playfully, yet seriously like he wasn’t opposed to the idea.

“Depends,” Nate grinned, biting her bottom lip. “You like it?”

Deepening his amused smile, he gave her a quick glance. “You know I don’t mind attention… But I don’t think your ass is in any shape to be making moves right now.”

“I am not that drunk,” she reiterated, leaning closer again. This time, her arm brushed his as she shifted, and he tensed slightly, more aware of her proximity than he cared to admit. “I’m just… I don’t know,” she sighed, lowering her head to look down at the centre console. “You’re easy to talk to.”

Roman’s eyebrows scrunched together, not sure if she meant that or if it was just the alcohol talking. Either way, it took him by surprise. Nate wasn’t the type to get emotional with other people, and Roman wasn’t even sure they were close enough to be letting her guard down like that.

“You sure that ain’t the drink talkin’?” he asked.

“Maybe. But I don’t think it matters at this point,” Nate snorted, leaning back and closing her eyes as she rested her head back on the seat. Roman glanced over at her, once again taking in the sight of such a beautiful woman in his car.

Oh, the amount of times he would have had her laid out and begging for more if she wasn’t a Volkov. That time in the safehouse was one too many, but he needed more. There was still so much in his warped fantasies that he’d not yet made a reality. In every which way he could have her, he wanted it. He wanted to bury his face between those plush thighs of hers, savour every bit of her as she writhed and whimpered for him. Wanted to leave his mark on her, let Boris know that she didn’t need him to make her fall apart completely.

“Nah,” Nate cackled, opening her eyes. “You’d know if I was flirting.”

“Pretty sure this is flirting.”

“I’m just telling the truth!” she insisted, her voice rising in pitch and volume. “You’re all, like, perfect or whatever. All this,” she motioned to him with both hands now. “You’ve got that whole… big, brooding, alpha-male thing going on, and don’t even get me started on those fucking eyes.”

“My eyes?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” she nodded enthusiastically, leaning in as if she was imparting some great secret. “Your eyes are, like… intense. In a good way. But they’re also… kinda warm, you know? Like, you’ve got that look where you can either kill a guy or make someone feel all safe. Dual-purpose eyes.”

Roman blinked, obviously amused by her rambling, but there was something more there too. Though he didn’t say anything, the little smile on his face said enough.

“I’m serious, though,” she mumbled. “You’re… different from what I thought you’d be.”

“Different how?”

“I dunno,” she shrugged, lazily tracing random shapes on the ceiling above her as she slouched in the seat. “I guess I thought you’d be more of an arsehole. Like my dad made you out to me. All tough, don’t-give-a-shit-about-anybody kind of deal.”

Snorting, he squeezed onto the steering wheel. “Yeah? That what you think of me, huh?”

“I did,” she clarified. “But you’re not. Not entirely. You… I don’t know. You’re nicer than you let on.”

His jaw worked as he considered her analysis; she didn’t notice the shift in his demeanour, too caught up in her own world to realise how close her words hit to home. But he sighed gently, speaking a little quieter.

“Yeah, well… I guess not everybody gets to see that side of me.”

Nate turned her head toward him, blinking slowly as her tipsy brain processed his words. Her voice softened as she tilted her head. “But I do?”

What was it about late nights that got them both so… vulnerable? You’d never see them this calm with one another in broad daylight, where they could each see every change and glimmer of expression. It was… safer to do it where neither one could read the other’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Roman muttered. “You do.”

For a majority of the drive, the teasing resumed. Nate couldn’t stop herself from flirting with him, throwing out random compliments that had Roman laughing and subconsciously storing in his memory bank for times in which he needed a pick-me-up. But every time she said something he particularly liked, he’d respond with that same smirk, the same heated look that told her he was enjoying this just as much as she was.

Yet, it seemed like the more they drove around, seemingly with no destination in mind—the more her mind sobered up—the more she wanted to keep going. Keep poking the bear, as they say. She wanted him to snap.

She needed the night she got at the safehouse, and then some.

Nate had never been one to shy away from risk, but the idea that sprung to mind was something entirely different. Sitting next to Roman, she felt the tension between them building, thickening the air inside the confines of the car like a heavy fog. Tonight was already weird enough, so why not push it a little further?

She unbuckled her seatbelt and shifted in the passenger seat, carefully getting on her knees. The car was still moving. The low growl of the engine hummed beneath her as she moved to hover over Roman, her hand bracing on the console between them. It was dangerous, and she knew it. But the thrill of it—the fact that they could crash if either of them lost focus—only made her want it more.

Her lips brushed his ear when she leaned in close, warm breath teasing him. “Do you trust me?” she whispered delicately in that sultry accent, thick with desire as her body pressed against the side of his arm as he drove.

Trust. A subject that had risen multiple times during their time working together, all of which ended in some kind of argument. So when Roman shot her a glance and let out a smug laugh, followed by a very adamant “Not at all, Princess,” it didn’t surprise her. In fact, it just encouraged her more.

Encouraged her to prove to him that he could, in fact, trust her.

Sliding even closer, her hand came up to steady herself on the headrest behind him. With an excited smirk, she whispered to him.

“Ya pochti kazhduyu noch’ dumal o tvoyem vkuse vo rtu.”

His reaction was immediate. Eyes darkened, lips curved wickedly, the heat rolling off in waves. He didn’t stop her, didn’t tell her to sit back down. Instead, his free hand—large, powerful, commanding—slipped casually around her waist, the move so natural it sent a pang of arousal straight between her legs. His fingers dipped lower, sliding over the curve of her backside, and then beneath her dress, his touch rough and unapologetic against her skin.

“You gotta stop with these games, Nate,” he chimed with little to no genuineness behind his words. It seemed like he was about to say something else, but Nate had shut him up pretty quickly by returning the favour, allowing her hand to explore the hard expanse of his wide chest and further down to his abdomen.

Her breath caught in her throat as Roman’s hand explored further, squeezing, teasing, igniting her skin with every movement. Her body instinctively pressed closer to him, her knees digging into the seat, knowing full well that they were one sharp turn away from disaster. But right now, she couldn’t care less.

Especially not when his legs shifted apart, making plenty of room for her hand to settle on growing bulge under his black sweatpants.

His hand shot back up to her waist, holding onto her tightly as she began to slowly, methodically massage him. Her breasts pushed against his arm as her lips brushed the side of his strong neck. “I think…” she whispered against his heated skin, “That you love it when I get in your head.”

Roman turned just slightly, lips ghosting over her jaw, dangerously close to her mouth. “What’d you say back there? In that pretty little language of yours?”

She gave him an abrupt squeeze, causing him to jolt a little in his seat. She knew exactly what she was doing, and she enjoyed every second of it.

The words were a challenge, a dare. And Nate was more than willing to play along. She dragged her lips back up to his ear, so close that she could feel his pulse quicken under her touch.

“I said… I’ve been thinking about how you’d taste in my mouth almost every night.”

She rested the side of her head on his shoulder, peering down at where her hand had worked him over his sweats to the point of no return. His powerful frame remained tense and full in the driver’s seat, muscles taut under the dark, fitted t-shirt that clung to his body. His tattoos peeked out from beneath his sleeve, the tribal ink crawling up his thick arm, accentuating every ounce of his dominance, his control over everything in his world.

“How am I supposed to keep driving with you touchin’ me like that, huh? After tellin’ me somethin’ like that?”

A giggle left her mouth, followed by an amused hum as she tilted her head back to look up at his face. “Then I suggest finding somewhere to pull over so I can get that cock in my mouth…”

That was it. He snapped. His nose twitched, a grunt leaving his lips as he practically slammed his foot down on the gas, eagerly thinking of all the places he knew they could park up at. If she wanted to play this, then he’d happily go along with it.

She smirked to herself, feeling that familiar rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins. It was reckless. It was dangerous. But that was exactly what made it so intoxicating.

Shifting a little to the side, Nate braced one hand on the console as she slipped the other beneath his waistband, her fingers grazing over the solid length hiding beneath his sweats, swollen and aching against the fabric. Roman swallowed thickly, releasing a shaky breath.

“Wha–”

“Shh,” she gently hushed him, dragging her lips along his beard. “Just keep driving, moy vozhd’ plemeni…”

A low groan rumbled deep in his chest as she freed him from the confines of his pants, her delicate fingers wrapping around the thick base. Back at the safehouse, she didn’t get a chance to actually look at him. She sure felt him—the sheer stinging sensation as he sank deep inside of her—but now she was seeing, witnessing his size… God, it was intimidating. Even in the limited light in the car.

“Fucking hell, Reigns, how do you cope with this in your pants all day?” she asked with an air of exasperation, as though she had already gone three rounds with him. He didn’t answer, just let out a breathy laugh, trying earnestly to focus on the road.

Tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, Nate shuffled back a little so she could lean over his lap, collecting enough saliva in her mouth to let it fall right onto the bulbous tip of his cock. He hissed under his breath, hips jolting at the sensation.

“You’re gonna make me crash this damn car,” he muttered through gritted teeth. But he didn’t stop her. If anything, he shifted in his seat, giving her more room to work, his body leaning into her touch as if he couldn’t help himself.

“Then maybe you should pull over…” she teased, licking her lips before she reached up to press a small but heated kiss against the inked skin of his bicep.

But Roman was stubborn. He wasn’t going to pull over. Not yet.

“You think I’m gon’ make it that easy for you, Princess?” His voice was thickly laced with arousal and growing primal urge. “Nah… you want that shit so bad, you’ll have to work for it.”

Challenge accepted.

“Da,” she purred up at him, smiling innocently at his warning glare for once again speaking Russian when he couldn’t completely devour her whole. But she wasted no time, lowering her mouth over his tip, allowing her tongue to swirl in slow, strategic circles around the hot, salty skin. As soon as she closed her lips around him, his body jerked, hips lifting slightly off the seat as he let out another sharp hiss.

“Fuck…” His hand shot to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as she began her descent, taking in his length as much as she could. Inch by inch. The slow bobbing of her head, the pressure along the underside of his cock from her tongue, tasting him with a hunger that could only be matched by his own, had him breathing raggedly.

The car even swerved slightly, and for a moment, she thought he might actually lose control. But Roman was nothing if not determined—he managed to keep the car steady, though his breathing had become uneven, every exhale shaky and strained as she pulled back and lewdly spit on his tip.

“Goddamn it,” he grunted, unable to stop his hips from careening upwards, causing his cock to slide even further into her mouth, her throat tightening around him at the intrusion. “Shit, that mouth ain’t so bad anymore, baby girl…”

Nate hummed around him, feeling the wetness grow between her legs at his praise. The vibrations pulled another ragged moan from his lips as she continued to enjoy the taste of him. His body was coiling, tension building in every muscle, every fibre of his being as he fought to maintain control. His fingers tightened in her hair, guiding her, encouraging her to take him deeper, faster, until the car was filled with nothing but the explicit sound of her mouth sloppily working him over and his laboured gasps.

“Damn, why ain’t I used your mouth before?” he rasped. “Gon’ make me cum before we even get there.”

His praises only spurred her on. Hollowing her cheeks, she took him as deep as she could, throat convulsing as she gagged, choked. Her hand joined the effort, making up for the expanse she couldn’t fit into her mouth. Roman’s free hand slammed against the steering wheel, knuckles white as he tried desperately to stay focused, to keep from veering off the road entirely.

“You better cut that out unless you want me to nut all on that pretty face,” he growled, glancing down at the sight of her head nestled just under the steering wheel, her knees still planted on the leather of the passenger’s seat. Body curved and arched over the centre console. He could only imagine how soaked she was right now.

With a wicked glint in her eye, she hummed again and slowly pulled her head back up, releasing him with a pop. She watched as her own hand steadily gave him a few more pumps, admiring the glistening in the dim light, the spit and translucent pearls that had gathered on her hand and along his skin.

Licking her lips, she propped herself up on both hands, stretching out her back in the process and looking up at the Samoan god in front of her. She couldn’t quite place the emotion on his face. She didn’t know if he was angry at her for blowing him whilst driving. But his next words told her that wasn’t the case.

“You… are fuckin’ insane,” he muttered hoarsley. “You just wait til I find somewhere to pull over…”

Nate smirked, chuckling almost smugly as she pulled back enough to look at the road ahead of them. They’d ventured out into a more secluded part of the city, where buildings were few and far in between. And finally, with the mounting tension simmering around and between them, he slowed the car, pulling off onto a secluded dirt road.

It seemed like it was instantly after turning off the engine that he rapidly unbuckled his seatbelt, turned to face her and reached for the back of her neck to smash their lips together in a clumsy, needy kiss.

She was barely prepared for it, the lack of breath saved up heightening her senses as he rolled his tongue into her mouth, bit at her lips like he did the last time. It was like he was trying to crawl inside her via her mouth, large and strong hand pulling her forcefully against him as he grunted into her mouth. And when he finally broke the kiss, yanking at her bottom lip in the process, his eyes darkened fully. His fist tightened around the hair at the back of her neck.

“Get the fuck in the back so I can eat that pussy, Princess.”

Her heart rate raced as Roman growled out the command, his words dipping with a hunger that matched the fire burning low in her belly. The rough pull of her hair, the deep, guttural tone in his voice—it was everything she wanted and more. Her mouth was still wet, lips swollen from working his cock, her body vibrating with foretaste.

She shuffled back, fumbling with the door handle as Roman watched her, his eyes locked onto her with a heated, possessive glare. The moment she managed to climb out, he followed swiftly, already yanking at his sweats to pull them up just enough to walk as he stalked around the car. Nate scrambled into the backseat, practically hearing her own pulse as she leaned back against the seat, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

Roman was there within seconds, slamming the door behind him, the car shaking under his weight. A predatory gaze as he crawled into the space between her legs, guiding her back without much warning. His large frame took up the entire backseat, and he resorted to resting a knee on the floor of the car just to accommodate himself. She felt so small and vulnerable under his shadow, and yet a thrill coursed through her veins akin to the type that shocked her at Bunny’s compound.

One hand slid down to her bare leg, lifting it up so he could feel the smooth skin of her thigh, closer to the only thing in the way of his magical fingers.

“Take ‘em off,” he uttered, staring down at her with hooded eyes and an unmistakable nod to her panties with a sharp, delicate flick of his chin.

Normally, the speed in which she obliged to his command would embarrass her—disappoint her. But it didn’t. She didn’t even hesitate, fingers quickly finding the flimsy material under her dress, shimmying them down as far as they could go in the position they were in, before he finished the task, tossing them into the front seat.

All the commotion had already caused her dress to ride up, allowing for her glistening core to be ogled at from the man above her. Especially as he placed his hands on the backs of her thighs, pushing them apart to expose her even more. He didn’t even need to look for very long to see just how wet she was.

“Fuck, baby… all this for me?” he exhaled, his voice chillingly soft as his fingers dug into the plushness of her thighs. “This soaked for a man you hate so much, huh?”

Oh, but I don’t hate you, Roman…

Nate couldn’t say anything. Just shift her hips, grinding against thin air. He leaned down, bringing her legs with him so she had to deal with the little friction from his sweatpants.

“Needy ‘lil princess,” he hummed, glancing down at her lips. He’d be stupid to deny it; her beauty, that is. All dressed up for the night, her makeup a little worn by now, but still present nonetheless. And he had to admit it to himself, regardless of it being internal…

Nate Volkov was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever laid eyes on. And he’d laid eyes—and other things—on a lot of women in his time.

“You gon’ be a good girl and let Daddy do what he needs to do?”

Fuck…

He could have sworn he heard her whimper. He fucking knew it… he knew she’d responded to the pet name last time. Let’s see how far I can push this…

“C’mon, speak to me, Princess…” he whispered, his lips barely touching just below her lips. “You bein’ here, you already disobeyed one daddy, hm?”

Her eyebrows furrowed, unsure what he was getting at exactly through the potent arousal that continued to form between her legs. She was literally throbbing, clenching—she needed it so fucking bad…

His head dipped lower, edging his nose down her chest and down to the space just above the neckline of her dress. “Don’t disobey this one, baby girl. You want Daddy to eat this pussy real good, you’re gonna have to be good.” He lifted his head, looking straight at her. “You gonna be good?”

Nate let out a shaky breath, hand gripping onto the fabric of his shirt as she nodded earnestly. “Y-yes…”

He smirked, giving her legs another squeeze. “Ain’t the answer I’m lookin’ for, Princess.”

The thing was: she knew exactly what he wanted her to say, what he wanted her to call him. But her own stubborn streak, her own unwillingness to obey at the drop of a hat, despite the reward for complying, being a potentially mind-blowing orgasm, was too dominant.

That didn’t mean she didn’t want to, though. God only knew how she’d searched for years for something to fulfil the gaping hole made from a lack of… well, any kind of nurturing. And Roman had been good to her, really… Right?

Working with him, being around him and his family—the enemy—was, ironically, the only time she felt anything close to… acceptance.

And even if it would come to her own demise, even if there was a sliver of a chance that her next words would come and bite her in the ass… She. Didn’t. Care. She needed this.

“I’ll be good,” she managed to say, still grabbing onto his bicep even though he had already made a slow descent down her body, both knees on the floor now. “...Daddy.”

Her breath hitched at the tail end of the sordid word as Roman’s lips met the inside of her thigh, kissing, licking, biting his way toward her pussy with an agonisingly slow pace. “That’s right,” he mumbled. Nate’s back arched off the seat, her hips bucking slightly, silently begging for him to stop teasing her. But Roman was in control now, and he wasn’t about to let her rush him.

“Perestan’ menya draznit’... ty nuzhen etoy kiske, detka…” she whimpered as he blew little puffs of hot air right against her dripping folds, teasing her to the max.

Roman grinned, his lips brushing against her, barely pressing down on her throbbing clit. “I don’t give a damn what you’re saying in that Russian, baby,” he muttered as he kissed over her heat. “But I know you beggin’ for me.”

Her body jerked at the contact, and he saw her hand fly up to cover her mouth, trying to suppress the needy sounds bubbling up in the throat. But Roman wasn’t having it. “Don’t you fuckin’ hide those sounds from me,” he ordered, followed by a sharp nip to her thigh with his teeth.

Nate’s teeth clamped down on her lower lip, her breaths coming out in shallow pants. “Please,” she whispered, hating how broken and desperate she sounded. “Roman, please.”

“Please, what—”

“Please, Daddy!” she huffed, still with an air of defiance, but peered down at him with a softer expression. “I need you.”

Without another word, he finally dipped his head, his thick tongue slipping out to drag a slow, deliberate line up her slit. Nate’s entire body jumped at the contact, her hand shooting down to grip his hair, pulling at it despite its place in a bun. A moan tore from her throat, no longer able to contain it.

His tongue worked like a seasoned veteran, tasting her, teasing her, fingers digging deeper into her thighs to keep her from wriggling around too much. He wanted to take his time, to savour the way her body reacted to him, but the little sounds she made, the breathless moans and whimpers, were making it harder to keep his control.

“Fuck,” he grunted between licks, his voice vibrating against her swollen bud. “Pussy tastes so good… so fuckin’ sweet.” He wrapped his lips around her clit, sucking the hot flesh into his mouth to drag sloppy circles around it. Nate gasped, a choked groan leaving her throat as her back arched once again.

Roman didn’t stop. His tongue flicked over her sensitive pearl, focusing the tip of his tongue on the part of her that made her writhe and pant the most. He wrapped his thick arms around her legs, hands coming round her hips to spread her open even more for him. His body moved closer to her, practically pulling her lower half off the seat entirely as he divulged.

Nate barely registered just how painfully she folded in half by the sheer force of Roman’s form. She just revelled in the overwhelming sensation of his mouth slobbering all over her cunt, bringing her to unreal levels of ecstasy in the process. But it was the much-missed sensation of two of his fingers pushing their way inside her, broadly curling just deep enough to find that spot, that had her crying out even louder.

“There it is,” he muttered, more to himself than to her, as he felt her walls fluttering around his fingers. “Wanna make sure this pussy cums nice n’ hard for me, Princess. Right on my fuckin’ tongue.”

His mumbles were fuel to the fire. Mind spinning, torn between the intoxicating sensations bestowed upon her by this Samoan god, and the mess tangled within her brain. Thinking about how badly Boris Sokolov had wanted to be in this position for years, but here she was… doing that exact thing… with Roman Reigns. The enemy, the man she had known for barely three months—and how he had utterly consumed her every thought, every inch of her body.

Her head fell back against the seat, Roman’s fingers fucking her slowly, purposefully, in tandem with the sinful rhythm of his tongue. Her thighs quivered under his grip, his broad shoulders keeping her splayed open, making sure she had nowhere to go.

“You ever let him get this close, principessa?” he rumbled against her. “You ever let him taste this sweet ass pussy?”

Nate shuddered. The sheer taboo of it made her brain short-circuit. The fact he seemed to have known what she was thinking… It was control, dominance, a pure primal claim. She couldn’t hold back the moans, whole body vibrating as he dragged his fingers in and out of her.

“Answer me.” His command was sharp, fingers curling into her spot harder.

“N-no…” she choked out. “He’s never had me—oh, fuck, right there,” she cut herself out with a strained groan, her fingers tightening on his hair, inevitably pulling out strands from the bun.

Roman chuckled darkly, the vibration of his laugh pressing into her clit as he sucked hard on the sensitive pearl. “Good,” he muttered, pulling his mouth off her just long enough to smirk up at her, eyes gleaming with sheer satisfaction. “This pussy still mine.”

“Shit…” she whined as he resumed his work, salivating and slobbering all over her pussy, the sound of it lewd but a contributor to the orgasm welling up inside her. Throbbing against his tongue. Juices continuing to flow, making a mess of his perfectly groomed beard, and whatever else had the misfortune of being within immediate range. She could even see the movement on his cheeks as he ate her out like a starved animal.

Digging her high heel into the centre of his back, he careened forward ever so slightly, growling against her. The action was entirely unintentional, but the payoff was divine. She couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t hold on for much longer.

“Prodolzhay, ya konchu, chert voz’mi, Roman…” she panted, clenching her fist into his hair as she started to buck her hips up against him.

“God, you sound so fuckin’ good like that,” he breathed out, before pulling his head back, removing his fingers only to have them come up to rub erratically at her clit. He peered up at her, smirking at her dazed state, how she whimpered a little at the lost contact. “You gonna cum for me, Princess?”

“Fuck! Yes,” she answered through a strained whine.

Roman didn’t answer, just shot back down to finish what he started. And before she could blink, her orgasm hit her with violent force, a broken moan of pure ecstacy exorcised from her chest—thighs attempting to clamp down around his head, but firmly kept apart by this man’s ridiculously strong hands. Her whole body seized, her hips jerking off the seat as he growled low in his chest, continuing to lap at her relentlessly. Prolonging every shudder that wracked through her.

When she finally collapsed back against the leather seat, panting and gasping for air, Roman didn’t let up, moving to shift over her, lowering his face just inches from hers as he leaned into her. She could taste herself on his lips when he kissed her roughly, one hand grabbing the back of her neck while the other fumbled with the hair tie that did little for the mess she’d made. He yanked it out, snapping it around his wrist.

Nate kept up with him, her hands feeling around his waist, tucking her fingers under his shirt to feel the hard, defined muscle of his back, his abs, anything she could get her hands on. She could feel the outline of his hard cock firmly pushing up against her, and the thought of him inside her again made her throb with desire.

She’d even forgotten, in the midst of her erotic haze, that they were in a car that provided limited space to move around. The fumbling of his sweatpants, and his attempt of positioning himself became too frustrating, and eventually, he adjusted his position, pulling her with him as he settled behind the driver’s seat. Fingers, digging into her skin, he held onto her waist possessively as he locked eyes with her. “Turn around, Princess,” he rasped.

Nate blinked up at him. “What?”

“You heard me,” Roman growled, giving her backside a firm tap. “Turn the fuck around. I want you to ride me… But I wanna watch that ass of yours while you do.”

Her heart stumbled in her chest. The raw yearning in his voice made her pussy convulse and shudder along with her whole body. Swallowing hard, she shifted on the seat, her legs shaky as she turned to press her knees into the leather seat, facing away from him. Her hands braced herself on the headrest in front of her.

Roman leaned back, sliding down into the seat as far as he could go, his thick thighs spreading wide to accommodate her. Large hands gripped at her hips tightly, thumbs digging into the fleshy curves and pulling her closer to him as his mouth hovered hear her ear, his breath hot and heavy against her skin. Almost as hot and heavy as the tip of his cock gliding across her slick folds.

“You feelin’ this, baby girl?” he whispered. “Feel how fuckin’ hard you make me? How bad I need to be in you every fuckin’ time I see you?”

Nate’s head fell back slightly, a soft moan falling from her parted lips as she reached down, guiding the thick head of his cock to her slick entrance. He had to have been the biggest she’d ever had… And even though she’d had him before, it was insignificant in preparing her for another ride—so to speak.

Roman groaned low in his chest as she lined him up, holding onto her tightly. “That’s it,” he muttered. “Nice n’ slow, baby. Take me all the way in.”

Biting down on her lip, she lowered herself onto him, her body stretching around his girth inch by inch. The pressure, the fullness, it was all so overwhelming, and she couldn’t stop the breathy whine from leaving her mouth as she sank down onto him completely.

“O bozhe…” she gasped, gripping the back of the driver’s seat for support. “Roman…”

“Fuck,” Roman grunted, his hands roaming from her waist to her backside, squeezing the soft flesh as he helped guide her movements. “That’s right… every fuckin’ inch.”

Nate’s response was a choked moan as she tried to lift herself up, but Roman’s hands were still on her hips, pushing her down again, forcing her to take all of him. The angle was intense, his cock hitting deep inside her with every slight movement. Her breath came out in ragged gasps, her body trembling as she began to ride him, the tight space making it harder to control her movements, but he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, it fuelled his need.

“Fuck, yes…” he hissed, his head falling back against the seat, eyes rolling shut as her tight core enveloped him. “Goddamn… Fuckin’ perfect body…”

She could barely breathe. The sensation of him filling her completely made her dizzy. “Oh god, Roman—fuck,” she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut; this position definitely made his size all the more intense to take. Impossibly thick. Stretched to the limit. “Feels so fucking good…”

Hands back on her ass, he rocked her gently, urging her to pick up the pace of her movements. “Yeah? You like how that feels, Princess?” His voice was low, strained. “Like the way I fill up this pussy, huh?”

“Yes,” she breathed out with an earnest nod, rolling her hips over his, feeling every inch of him drag against her sensitive walls. It was too much, and yet somehow not enough.

Once she had settled into a rhythm, one that had her enveloping him completely, hitting her spot each time he sank back inside, Roman couldn’t help himself. She just looked so good like this, and her ass… Fuck, she was so fucking hot.

“Look at you, baby girl,” he grunted behind her. “Ridin’ me like that… like you fuckin’ own me.” His hands guided her, pushing her up and down on his cock. “You been wantin’ this again, huh? Been thinkin’ ‘bout me since the safehouse?”

All she could do was nod, unable to speak as she rode him quicker, greedily taking him at her leisure.

Big mistake.

Without another word, Roman’s hand came up to the back of her head, twisting his fist into her hair to yank her backwards until her back made contact with his body. Forced to let go of the driver’s seat headrest, she was lost as to what to do with her hands; she grabbed at anything, the uselessly small ledge on the window, the seat they were on. But she eventually found his hand, the one that wasn’t painfully grasping at her hair, and held onto that instead.

“I asked you a question,” he hissed into the skin of her neck as he inhaled her scent. “You been wantin’ this dick again, ain’t you, baby girl? Wanted me to pound this tight lil’ pussy…” The more he spoke, the more he took control of their speed, starting to throw his hips up from beneath, fucking her silly. “Say it, Nate.”

Her pants got quicker, and the pitch of her moans heightened. She could feel tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “Yes!” she choked out, eyes rolling to the back of her head as the tip of his dick hit a particularly sensitive spot deep inside her soul. “Holy shit… Roman—right there, right there…shit, fuck!” she groaned, lifting her hand to grab onto his shoulder behind her. It was awkward, trying to hold onto him how she wanted.

“Mmm,” Roman rumbled, letting go of her hair and bringing both his hands around to the front of her, trailing them up until he reached her breasts. He disregarded the value of the dress she wore and practically ripped the fabric down so the warm skin made contact with the rough palms of his hands, exposing her. “Fuckin’ perfect,” he moaned, his lips hovering over her shoulder. “This pussy was made for me…”

The car creaked beneath them as her ass bounced on his lap, as their skin collided, obscene sounds coming from her pussy taking him over and over.

“Turn around, Princess,” he rasped, giving her chest a final squeeze. “Lemme see you.”

With a whimper, she weakly slid off of him, his dick sliding out of her and leaving her empty for only a moment before he pulled her back on top of him, this time facing each other so they could see the absolute state they put the other in.

“Keep ridin’ me, baby, fuck yourself on this dick,” he encouraged, wrapping his muscular arms around her body, assisting her in her movements. He met her downward grinds with a sharp upward thrust, taking a moment to appreciate the body of this woman. He needily captured one of her stiff nipples into his mouth, holding her against him as he proceeded to swirl his tongue around the erect nub, dragging his teeth over the sensitive skin. He swore he felt her pussy jolt at the action.

“God,” Nate gasped, her breath hitching as his dick slammed into her repeatedly. “So fucking good.”

“Yeah?” he chuckled darkly, peering up at her. “That feel good?”

“Yeah…” Her hands moved from his shoulders up to his hair, pushing it completely from his face so she could feast her eyes on his intimidating features, the arch in his brows as he leered up at her like she was the most despicable human he’d ever seen. Yet, all the while, he’s balls deep in her, fucking her from underneath like he’d never get to have sex ever again.

“Mne nravitsya chuvstvovat’, budto ty razryvayesh’ menya popolam… moy vozd’ pelemeni,” she purred down at him, purposefully tightening herself around him as she did.

“You keep talkin’ to me like that, I’m gon’ nut in this pretty pussy,” he growled at her, lowering his hands to grab onto her ass, spreading her out and picking up the pace with his own hips. She cried out, clenching her fists into his hair. “That what you want, Princess? You want Daddy to nut all in that pussy? Get her nice and full for Boris stupid ass, huh?”

Now, that shouldn’t have brought her closer to the edge. But, God, did it…

“Yes, Daddy,” she panted, “Please… Please, please… Please, moy vozhd’ plemeni…”

Considering that Roman practically had his brain inside her, it was quite the impressive feat that he picked up on one of her Russian phrases. A phrase she had used three times tonight…

“What’s that mean?” he asked her, starting to pant himself.

“What?”

“That… what you just said.”

Nate smirked a little, humming as she laughed breathily. “Moy vozhd’ plemeni?”

“Shit… yeah, that…”

“It mea—oh, fuck, fuck…” she gasped, her entire body twitching and tensing up as her orgasm hit her so suddenly, so intensely that she had to push her forehead up against his in a feeble attempt to steady herself. “I’m cumming, fuck, I’m cumming…”

“Damn, baby, no warnin’ or nothin’?” he leaned his head back, lids hooded as he watched her writhe on top of him, feeling her pussy throb and convulse around him, soaking him in her sweet release. God, he wanted to taste her again already… “So fuckin’ pretty cummin’ on this dick. Ride it out, Princess…”

She really did. She rode it out, using every ridge and curve of his cock to draw the final drops of her climax from within. But now… all she wanted to do was make this gorgeous creation beneath her come undone and fill her up.

“Hmm…” she hummed, ignoring the sensitivity as she continued to roll her hips. “Your turn now, Daddy…”

Roman groaned, practically turning inside out as he heard that name on the tip of her precious tongue, in that precious accent. That reminds him…

“Tell me,” he breathed.

“Tell you what?” She dug her nails into his shoulders, tilting her head to the side.

“Tell me what it means.”

“Moy vozhd’ plemeni?”

“Fuck, yeah, tell me, Nate…”

With a sneaky little smile, she lowered her face down to his, bringing a hand up to place it on the side of his face, locking her eyes with his. “It means…” She glanced down at his lips, barely brushing hers against them, just before whispering very gently:

“My Tribal Chief.”

Her words hit him like a bolt of lightning. Roman groaned, his grip on her bruising as his thrusts became dangerously erratic. “Fuck,” he snarled. “You gon’ make me cum, baby girl… You ready for it?”

“Yes,” Nate whimpered, feeling him pulsing inside her. “Cum inside me, Daddy. Fill me up… please.”

He let out a guttural moan as he came hard, trembling as he emptied himself. Nate’s breath hitched as she felt the hot rush of his release, helping him ride it out whilst she rode out the tail end of her own, nails digging into his skin. Breath a mixture of gasps and moans.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, her forehead resting against his, both of them panting, chests heaving, trying to catch their breaths. The air in the car was thick, the windows fogged from their insatiability. Neither of them spoke, too consumed by the moment to ruin it with words.

But the silence didn’t last long.

Nate’s phone, tossed somewhere in the front seat, began to ring obnoxiously, breaking the bubble they had created. She groaned, reluctantly sliding off Roman’s lap, her body immediately feeling the loss of him. She pulled her dress back into place, wincing at the soreness between her legs, before crawling over the centre console to reach for her phone.

Roman’s hand came down hard on her ass, a loud smack echoing in the enclosed space. “You really gonna just leave Daddy like that, huh?” he teased, his voice deep and satisfied.

She smirked, but didn’t respond. She grabbed her phone, pulling it up to see who was calling—and then her heart stopped.

Ten missed calls. All from Becky Lynch.

Her blood ran cold. Her earlier calm, her sense of control—all of it vanished. “Fuck,” she muttered under hear breath.

Roman leaned back, watching her with a smug grin until he saw her expression shift. “What’s wrong?” he asked, still lazy with post-orgasmic bliss.

Nate whipped her head around, glaring at him. “Why didn’t you tell me my phone was ringing, you twat?”

He raised an eyebrow, completely unphased by her sudden shift in mood. “Didn’t hear it. You were a little busy ridin’ my dick, remember?”

“Are you fucking serious? It’s Becky!” she snapped, panic rising in her chest. “I’ve been waiting for this phone call for a fucking week, Roman, she’s the only one who can help us right now! Chert voz’mi…”

Nate muttered a few more curses under her breath, finally finding her panties tangled up on the edge of the driver's seat in her comedown back to reality. She brushed past Roman as she crawled over into the front passenger seat, not even bothering to get out and walk round; it felt like the whole world knew she’d fucked up. Even something as minor as missing calls. It didn’t matter how small or meaningless something seemed—if Nate felt like she’d fucked up… then, by God, she fucked up.

Roman gave her a raised eyebrow, as though he wanted to say something, but she shot him a look that made it perfectly clear she was all business now.

“I’m calling her back,” she said firmly, pressing Becky’s number. Roman seemed like he was about to protest, but her warning glare, and his own common sense in knowing this really was important, kept it at bay. She hit the speakerphone button, ignoring his expectant look as the line rang.

All the while, Roman took the mature approach by leaving the car to walk around to the front seat. She caught a glimpse of him adjusting himself as he did, through the thin fog that settled over the driver’s window, before he smoothly slid back in. He proceeded to push his hair back up and tie it in a lazy little bun that still allowed half of his hair to hang down in what can only be described as a mini ponytail.

“Nate!”

The Irish twang caught Nate’s attention, and she swiftly turned her head away from Roman and back to her phone.

“Finally, ye answer. Thought I was wastin’ my time here, callin’ nonstop.”

“Sorry, I was….” she croaked, taking a moment to clear her throat. “I was with someone helping me on this.” She darted a quick glance at Roman, who watched her with mild amusement. Smug prat.

“Right…” Becky said with a note of curiosity. “Listen. I talked to my contact. He’s willing to share what he has. Says he’s got some files, things he’s kept to himself for almost a decade now.”

Nate felt a flicker of hope, despite the awkward start. “And… you believe this person to be reliable, yeah?”

“He might have the information you need,” the redhead replied somewhat hesitantly. “He just… doesn’t want anyone to know it’s come from him. So… for now, ye not going to find out who this person is, ‘kay?”

She furrowed her brow, once again glancing at Roman, who shared her perplexion. “I’m supposed to trust this guy, but I can’t know who he is? Is this a joke, Rebecca?” She could almost feel the cringe from the other end of the line at the use of Becky’s full name.

“I’m sayin’ ye can trust him, so ye can trust him, Natalka,” Becky bit back. “I know for a fact he has things nobody else does, and it sounds like ye need serious help.”

Huffing and sitting back, Nate thought for a moment, running her tongue over her teeth. She wasn’t even sure why she was so concerned about the identity of this contact. She already snuck out of her own home to meet Roman Reigns, and then proceed to fuck him a second time after she specifically promised herself she wouldn’t do that, so why the fuck should she care about where information comes from anymore?

Well, the answer is simple. Becky Lynch. The Irish. Even though she wasn’t even connected to her family’s dealings anymore, information Nate had only just learned a week prior, it was still a sore subject. Too many betrayals. Too many friends lost. Too many… too much… death.

“Becky,” Nate sighed, “Please just tell me who the guy is, I don’t know what you think I’m gonna do with his name.”

A pause lingered on the line, along with some rustling, before she heard a long exhale from Becky. “My husband. It’s my husband, Nate.”

“And his name would be….?” Nate trailed off.

“Seth. Seth Rollins.”

The name meant absolutely nothing to Nate, but she noticed Roman’s reaction out of the corner of her eye—like he’d just seen a fucking ghost outside the car.

She tried to focus on Becky’s reassurances that it would be fine, even as the energy in the car shifted dramatically. Roman’s expression had darkened into something bordering on feral, his jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles twitched in time with the pulse beating in his temple. His hands rested on the wheel, but his gaze was distant, staring ahead like he was seeing far beyond the windshield. His eyes were sharp, glacial, the look of a man consumed by something deeper and more dangerous than mere anger—a buried intensity that might shatter given the slightest push.

“So,” Becky’s voice crackled through the speaker, “if I told you who I’ve got over here, I think it’s only fair you tell me who’s on your side.”

Glancing at Roman, Nate knew shit could go south fast if she said the wrong thing. But he was somewhere else entirely, locked in a place she couldn’t reach or… predict. With her only option being to think on her feet, Nate cleared her throat, injecting a hint of authority into her voice. “Becks, I can promise you this person’s very resourceful. He’s already done enough for me to know he’s being honest,” she took a quick look down at her leg, right at the area on her thigh that now bore a scar from a bullet and had once been tended to by the man in question. “No reason to worry.”

Becky paused, then pressed, only slightly more serious. “Nate… do you trust this person?”

Nate looked at Roman again, lingering this time. The question felt a little heavier than she wanted it to, but she had no choice but to answer honestly. Why wouldn’t she?

“I think I do.”

For a beat, the answer suspended in the space between them. It came out a lot softer than usual, almost vulnerable—a state she rarely allowed herself to fully fall into, not even when by herself. Certainly never around Roman. Good job he was still in his own world, distantly staring daggers into nothing ahead of him, but she did feel the shift in atmosphere. The way it seemed to… bend around the truth she had just spoken.

Just like that, Nate’s usual edge returned as she added dryly, “Besides… he doesn’t have much of a choice. He’ll go along with things whether he likes it or not.”

“Fine,” Becky replied, satisfied for the moment. “Then we’ll meet—all four of us, some place quiet. Can’t be havin’ too many eyes on us.”

“Trust me, I’m more than happy with that,” Nate laughed ruefully, once again reminded of the repercussions of being caught mingling with The Bloodline.

“Good. Seth will run through what he thinks is important, it might be relevant, it might not, but it sounds like it’s worth a shot… So, I’ll set it up, yeah?”

“Yeah, we’ll be there,” Nate nodded, and with a quick goodbye, she ended the call, her attention snapping back to Roman. His silence now seemed like an echo.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Alright, what the fuck’s wrong with you now?”

He didn’t answer. His jaw clenched tighter, and he gave her a sharp side glance, before starting the engine. “You wanna go back to that mansion of yours, or you wantin’ me to take you to Tribeca?”

Nate crossed her arms with a shrug. “Just take me home. Can’t be gone lo—”

“Wasn’t askin’ for your life story,” he cut her off.

She glared at him, unimpressed. “Right, didn’t expect you to care to listen to me anyway. Chertov pridurok…”

As they drove, her eyes tracked the streets and landmarks, noting that he wasn’t heading toward the usual route back to her home. The building started blurring into unfamiliar territory.

“Uh, are you lost, or just getting creative?” she muttered, half-joking, half-over this night.

“We’re takin’ the long way,” he curtly responded without paying her the respect of a glance.

She rolled her eyes, but her curiosity got the best of her. Before she could ask why, Roman’s voice came, low and gravelly, cutting through the silence like a knife, just as harshly as it did through the scowl on his face.

“Think it’s time I tell you a lil' somethin’ ‘bout Seth fuckin’ Rollins.”

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