#Nike Stride

[freshthoughts2020]

[usedtronicsplus]

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[hees-mine]

DESTROYED - L. HEESEUNG

Pairing: heeseung ⚥ reader

Warnings: suggestive, crying, blood, violence, touching without consent, reader says no. This is rushed so i apologize in advance for errors.

Genre: 18+, smut, Minors do not interact!

WC: 2,533k

PART ONE PART TWO

⟱⟱⟱

Avoiding heeseung was now a daily routine for you.

It went from trying to get as close to him as possible to keeping as much distance from him as possible.

You nearly skipped your shared class with him everyday cause his aura alone made a chill run down your spine.

The most you’ve seen of him was a small glimpse of the worn Nike’s that’d he’d wear to school everyday.

You know you probably shouldn’t even notice him or look for him at all but avoidance was easy acceptance wasn’t.

Avoiding him was easy cause the last thing you wanted to do was run into him alone again.

But acceptance was hard cause you didn’t want to believe the guy you secretly loved from afar wasn’t a guy worth loving.

The scenarios that you made up in your head about him were so far from reality.

There were polar opposites and even knowing what kind of person he is it’s still hard to move on from something that’s been a part of your life for so long.

But eventually, you’ll have to come to terms with it cause this wasn’t another one of your unrealistic scenarios. He was someone to stay far away from, and the bruises on your neck were proof of that.

-

Heeseung watched you walking the school halls pitifully a smile creeping up to his lips cause now you’re smart enough to know better than to get anyone near him.

He must admit it is a bit strange that you even approached him to begin with cause since he’s been in the neighborhood you’re the first and only person to acknowledge him or try to befriend him.

He kept his distance from people purposefully cause he simply wanted to be alone.

It’s better for him that way.

He doesn’t want to talk or even to be seen if he had a choice then he’d stay hidden away from everybody.

Heeseung had just wrapped up his classes for the day and stepped out of the school building heading in the direction of the woodsy path that led back to his home.

You weren’t the only one that took that route he’d often see you but he’d never show himself for obvious reasons.

The path was his favorite cause not only was it a shortcut to home, but he also avoided all the other schoolgoers as well.

As he walks the path, the sound of small twigs cracking under his shoe gives him a sense of satisfaction.

He took a few more calculated steps listening to the dried up leafs crunching with every stride there was one big lead in particular and he was anticipating the sound right as his foot came in contact with the aged leaf the sound of laughing in the woods ruined the suspense of his endeavor his head snapping up toward the sound.

There was nothing in his line of vision. He stopped and listened, looking around for something or someone in the distance, and then he heard it again, but this time, he also heard the sounds of someone crying.

He walked in the direction of the noise getting closer and closer to the sounds until a group of three men entered his vision.

It had been a full month since you had been avoiding heeseung, and you thought it was safe to say he’d leave you alone for good now, so you started to take your old trail back home, assuming he wouldn’t be bothering you out here again.

And Well, there was no sign of heeseung. There were three older men standing in front of you, blocking your path when you got maybe halfway into the woods.

There was never anyone out here ever.

Until today.

And today just so happened to be your lucky day.

You tried to politely tell them off, but they didn’t listen. Of course, they didn’t listen.

They badgered you continuously despite you telling them you were not interested. They circled you like hungry wolves against their prey, poking and prodding you, pulling your hair, and saying the nastiest things to you.

You were paralyzed with fear, praying someone would save you, and just when one of the men was going to grab you and do, god only knows what, you heard a male voice shout. “Hey!”

The three men look up in the direction of the voice, your eyes soon following there’s, and even though Lee heeseung had just assaulted you in these same woods, somehow, you’ve never been happier to see his face.

“What do you want boy can’t you see we’re busy?” One of them says and you cringe slowly backing away from them.

“Can’t you see I don’t give a fuck? Leave before I run out of patience,” one of them scoffs, and heeseung is just waiting for them to give him a reason to do what he’s been itching to do since the moment he saw them.

“See, unlike you, we don’t have patience. We see what we want, and we take no matter what’s in our way,” the ring leader says and pokes heeseung on the chest with his index finger. Within a second, he’s face down on the ground, groaning in pain.

You flinched from the sudden show of violence and coward down next to a tree, your eyes flicking back and forth from the men and heeseung.

Everything flashed before your eyes so quickly you spaced out, and when you finally got to take a second to breathe and take everything in, heeseung was the only man standing. The rest were covered in blood, rolling in pain, and you’re sure some of their bones were broken with the way heeseung repeatedly hit them with a thick wooden branch.

He didn’t even have a scratch on his face, just the look of pure rage in his eyes as his bloody fists shook with anger.

Your eyes were riddled with fear looking at him. You never thought a savior could look so deranged.

You backed away from him when he came near you and reached his hand out for you to take.

He stood up straight, looking at you with a hardened expression. He didn’t wait for you to take his hand. Rather, he took yours, yanking you off the ground as you kept your distance.

Just cause he saved you, that didn’t mean you weren’t still frightened by him cause you knew he was capable of harming you, too. He’d already done it once.

He walks within a foot’s distance his arm attempting to grab at your waist so he can lead you out of the woods and you pushed his hands away fearfully.

“Are you fucking kidding right now? I save you from a group of fucking assholes, and you push me away?” He says as if he hasn’t harmed you before.

You took calm breaths and never made eye contact with him.

Your silence ticks him off, and he forcefully grips your face. “You know, I thought you’d be smart enough not to take this path again after what happened last time.”

Tears well in your eyes at the thought of what happened last time and your body is filled with even more fear as you try to move your head out of his grip.

“Fucking mute thought you were a bit smarter than that” he turns around, leaving you in the woods with the unconscious bodies on the ground. You took a peek at them, got up, and ran home as fast as possible.

-

Despite earlier events and your better judgment when nightfall hit you decided to take a walk cause you just needed a break especially after your mother tore into you when you showed up late.

Your life had just been terrible recently, and every small thing felt magnified from the way heeseung treated you.

You didn’t tell your mom what happened you know she wouldn’t care the only thing she cared about was how quickly you’d come home so you could run to the corner store and buy her another bottle.

It has always been that way since you can remembe-

Your train of thought was broken when you heard loud voices in the near distance. They were screaming sounded, almost like fighting.

You stopped in your tracks a few blocks down, and you could see two men standing outside in front of their house. “Mom, go inside,” heeseung says.

“Yeah, go inside, dear. I’d hate for you to see me wreck your boy,” his dad drunkenly chuckles.

What happened today was just a Kickstarter for heeseung to do what he should have done a long time ago, but now he was ready to do what needed to be done. Him and his mother had endured enough stress and pain at the hands of his father, and it was finally time to put an end to this.

Right here.

Right now.

You saw one of the men throw a punch landing straight on the other man’s face and you flinched.

Flashes from heeseung fighting off those men earlier rushed through your mind as you watched the two unknown men fighting each other.

It wasn’t long until one was dropped, the other jumping on top of the body on the ground, pummeling the other's face in, and you gasped quickly, covering your mouth as the assault took place.

You heard a woman’s voice sounding panicked. “Heeseung, don’t he’s still your father.” She turned on the porch light and ran down the steps to cover what you assumed was her husband.

No way, you thought as you heard what she said, was it really heeseung?

You know what he was capable of doing to you, but he treated his own father the same way. Was he really that sick and twisted in the head?

Heeseung never understood why his mother would always defend his father, but her wishes always came first, so he withdrew himself for his mother’s sake. If it wasn’t for her, he might have killed his father tonight.

When all the other lights in the neighborhood came on, they revealed him perfectly, and it was indeed him.

It was heeseung.

You were shocked to your core. You didn’t stick around for anything else, and you bolted back home, tucking yourself in bed for the night, trying desperately to erase the image of bloody heeseung from your mind.

-

Since that day, you have practically been running from Heeseung whenever you sensed his presence was near.

Except today at your locker when you felt a hand tug your wrist.

You looked up, and when you saw him, your body shook immediately with fear. You tried to pull away from his grip, but it just got tighter.

“Look at me” he commands but you kept your eyes low. “Fine” he yanks you to that same empty classroom where you both did unspeakable things things you wished you hadn’t. “Look” for the first time in weeks you dared to look at him in the eyes.

“Y-you told me not t-“

“I’m telling you now!” He shouts. “Don’t act you know the first thing about listening” he pinned you against the door.

You quickly lock your eyes with him, fearing what he might do if you didn’t listen.

He looks between both your eyes they looked so familiar he’s seen that look more times than he’s comfortable admitting. “Why are you looking at me like that?” His expression faltering for a moment. You don’t answer your body shaking in fear.

“Heeseung, stop you’re scari-“ he cuts your words off quickly, pressing a finger to your lips so the words don’t come out.

“If you feel that way, then why do you let me do this?” He puts his hand under your skirt, skimming your inner thigh with his fingertips.

You writhe under his hold, pulling your body away from him. “No!” You shout, but he quickly covers your mouth.

He holds you in place, lowering his hand and putting it on your throat. “Be fucking quiet. Yeah, don’t act like you don’t want this.” he grips your thigh while you struggle to get out of his grip.

“Stop!” You gasp out for air, and he squeezes tighter.

“Shush, just let me,” he whispers in your ear. “Be real quiet,” he continues, touching you under your skirt, his hand moving from your throat down to creeping down to your chest, and you winced. “Come on, I know you want. It got so wet for me last time,” he hums and licks the side of your jaw.

“Heeseung, please stop,” you whimper, hoping he’d listen.

“You say that, but I know you don’t mean it. You loved it last time. Your fucking pussy was just dripping and begging to be fucked” he nudges his forehead against yours, pressing himself closer to you.

You shrink back, your face contorting in disgust, and you can’t believe you ever liked someone like him to begin with. “Get off!” You yelled, using all your strength to push him off of you, and he stumbled back, finally letting you go.

You quickly reached for the doorknob but he was quicker. “Don’t” he easily picks you up hoisting you on the teachers desk spreading your legs and situated himself between. “Keep them open let me have you the way I want” you obey too scared that he might hurt you. “The way we both want” he whispered pressing a soft kiss on your neck.

He starts to roll the bottom of your skirt up, and that’s when he hears you sniffling softly. You want to close your legs, but you keep them open, remembering that you could possibly be hurt in this situation at any given moment.

His eyes travel to your watery ones, and his hands freeze at the look in your eyes. No wonder why your eyes looked so familiar. You were looking at him the same way his mother looked at his father before he’d hit her.

There’s no other way to describe the look other than fear.

He realized you were scared of him, and as much as he hated his father for what he’d done to his mom, at this exact moment, he could see his father in himself.

His breath catches in his throat and there’s nothing but pen drop silence in the room as he retracts his hands.

When he took his hands off you, you looked at him, your eyes red and watery. Through your blur of tears, you saw the look of confusion on his face mixed with something else.

“Go,” he whispers and backs away from you, freeing you from himself.

You stood up from the desk, your mouth parting to utter something, even though you should have just left as quickly as possible.

Before a word comes out, he shouts. “GO!”

You jumped slightly and rolled down your skirt, running to the door, leaving without looking back.

He stood alone in the empty classroom catching the reflection of his face in the glass window and he was staring back at himself there was nothing behind his eyes and he realized that he was destroyed.

⟱⟱⟱

Thanks for reading please reblog and leave feedback.

[sluts4matt]

Could you make a fic where its Chris (or Matt) and you forget something in the tour bus because you were busy trying to find a top to match your pink fresh love sweats (He is also wearing sweats ofc 🤭). he is a little upset/mad at you and he starts walking to the bus and you run after him to help find it. you have a small attitude when he says he doesnt need help finding it. he gives you a little attitude adjustment and the both of you walk out of the bus with what you forgot but you got caught afterwards because somehow you put on the opposite pants

i cant write for the life of me but if i could i would make this so toe curling and sheet gripping

ty @mattsfavwh3re ily

BACK OF THE BUS - CHRIS

pairing: dom!chris x latina!reader

summary: as if you taking a while to get fully ready didn't irritate chris enough, the small attitude you catch with him when you forget something on the bus pushes him over the edge.

warnings: SMUT, p in v, spanking, hair pulling, dirty talk, pet names (use of ma and princess), semi-public, degrading, rough sex, praising if you squint.

word count: 1457

author's note: this is why i sucked in school because deadlines were not my strong suit. back of the bus is finally here though, so i hope you enjoy reading it.

the tour bus had arrived in salt lake city a few hours before the third day of the show. your boyfriend christopher had invited you on his, nick, and matt's tour 'the versus tour'.

the boys each had an associated color and would be going against each other in mini games. "hurry up, ma," he huffs, pressing a kiss to the side of your head as he zips his camo pants up.

the two of you were in the back of the bus, getting dressed. "i can't find a top," you pout, crossing your arms over your chest. your bright orange bra standing out against your tan skin. after all, you had to wear your boyfriends color.

"what about this?" you sigh, holding a small black top up to your body. he glances at it, nodding his head. "yep, just hurry, i'll be out here when you're done," he gives you a quick kiss, before sliding the door open enough for him to squeeze out.

he slides it shut once again and you huff, pulling the black top over your head. it landed just below your boobs. you slide on a pair of white and black nikes, sliding the door open.

"you ready?" the three boys ask in unison, their attention on you. you nod your head, humming at your friends.

the four of you were walking through the parking lot to the venue. the three boys had been talking and messing with each other the whole way, you had just been walking behind them quietly, texting.

chris nudged you with his arm, "who you texting?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. "my mom," you mumble, shivering slightly as the wind blows. you shut your phone off, wrapping your arms around you.

"cold?" he asks, wrapping an arm around you. you nod your head before feeling around your pocket for your lip gloss. you patted each leg, frowning when you didn't feel the tube.

as a safety measure your hands go to your boobs, squeezing them. chris looks at you funny, "i left my lip gloss on the bus," you state, a pout on your lips. he sighs, rolling his eyes slightly.

"your strawberry shortcake one, correct?" he asks, already turning to walk away, not waiting for an answer. "yes," you say, quickly catching up with him, which was quite hard because his long legs were taking such large strides compared to your small one.

"i can go get it," you breathe, finally catching up. "don't need your help," he huffs, continuing to the bus. "but it's my lipgloss," you state, rather confused, though there was slight attitude in your tone.

chris stops, causing you to bump into him. he turns around, his hand gripping your jaw. "watch who you're copping an attitude with ma," he growls. you bite your bottom lip, looking up at him.

you bat your eyes innocently. "yeah?" he asks, tilting his head to the side, "gonna listen? or do i need to teach you a lesson?" he asks.

"teach me a lesson," you say, an innocent smile on your face. he harshly tugs you closer to the bus, tugging you up the stairs to the back where the two of you got ready.

he bends you over, your hands going to the wall to steady yourself. his hand collides with your ass, rubbing at the pink fabric. his other hand pulls down the fabric, revealing the thin fabric of your matching orange thong.

his hand collides with your ass, a moan falling from your lips. his hand goes to your ass cheek, rubbing it, trying to soothe the pain. "daddy's little pain slut," he mumbles, making a makeshift ponytail with your hair.

his hand connects with your ass again, causing a moan to leave your lips. his hands land on either side of your hips, his bulge pressing against your ass.

"please, daddy," you whimper, wiggling your hips against his. he hums, leaning down to place open mouthed kisses on the back of your shoulder. "daddy's little slut, so impatient," he says, his teeth tugging at your earlobe.

he tugs the thong off your hips, letting it fall down your legs, resting on your shoes. he spits onto his hand, rubbing the spit all over his cock.

his hand collides with the soft, tan, skin of your ass again, a moan escaping your lips.

his cock pushes into your warm hole, a gasp leaving your lips. "so big," you whine, pushing back into him. his hands grip your hips, a low grunt falling from his lips.

"i'll never get tired of that," he groans, beginning to thrust into you. "you like that baby? when my cock stretches your little pussy out?" he asks, his thrusts beginning to become faster.

a series of moans and whimpers fell from your lips, his thrusts bringing tears to your eyes. "yeah?" he asks, grunting, his grip on your hips getting tighter, "gonna cry? gonna be daddy's little slut and cry?" he asks.

you nod your head, whining. he smirks, his hands moving to the small of your back. he leans forward, his head pressing into the side of yours. his thrusts become rougher, his grunts sounding through the bus.

"so pretty and tight for me baby," he groans, his head dropping against the nape of your neck. you gasp, feeling his cock hit deeper inside of you. "d-daddy," you whine, his cock hitting against your g-spot.

"c-cumming," you sob out, your body shaking. your orgasm washes over you, a loud cry falling from your lips. "good girl," he mumbles, pulling out. you think you're done before chris is spinning you around, hoisting your body up.

your legs wrap around his waist as the tip of his cock prods at your soaking entrance. "you're so beautiful," he mumbles, thrusting his entire length into you.

your head falls against the wall, a low moan falling from your lips. "feel so good baby, so wet for me," he says, his mouth pressing against the side of your neck, his teeth biting and nipping at the skin.

your hands grip his shoulders, "cum in me," you moan, your head thrown back, giving him the perfect access to your neck. "yeah? want me to fill this pretty cunt?" he asks, his voice deep, vibrating against your skin.

you nod your head, biting down on your bottom lip. "use your words, ma," he grunts, his cock thrusting in and out of you. "mm, g-god," you squeak, not able to form them.

he tsks, a frown appearing on his face, "i know you can speak baby," he coos. "use. your. words," he grits out, his thrusts becoming rougher with each word, a cry escaping your lips.

"yes," you pant, his cock hitting against your g-spot, another orgasm washing over you. a high-pitched scream falls from your lips, your body shaking.

he doesn't stop thrusting, the overstimulation making your thighs shake, and a pool of heat settle between your legs. "yeah?" he asks, thrusting particularly rough, another scream coming from your throat, black mascara-stained tears stream down your cheeks.

"d-daddy," you moan, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your tear-stained cheek. "almost there baby," he mumbles, his forehead pressing against yours, his eyes fluttering closed.

his cock twitches, warmth filling your stomach, a low groan leaving his throat. you hum, wrapping your arms around his neck, your head falling against his shoulder.

his cock pulls out of you, the mixture of your cum dripping down your thighs. he held you against the wall as your legs twitched, still coming down from the high.

"you did so well ma," he mumbles, setting your legs down. your knees buckle, being able to feel his cum dripping down your thigh. he grips your waist, holding you up. he walks you to the couch, pulling a new pair of panties from your bag.

he slides them up your legs, kissing his way up. "gonna walk 'round with my cum in you, yeah?" he asks, a smirk on his lips.

he slides your pink pants up your legs, helping you stand before fumbling with the button. "so pretty," he mumbles, pressing his lips to yours. he grabs you a jacket, to which you gladly except.

he grabs your lip gloss and your hand, pulling you back out of the bus. he stops when you get to the last step. "get on my back," he tells you, knowing your legs were probably sore.

you climb onto his back, wrapping your arms around his neck. his arms come under your thighs, holding you up.

he begins walking again, not paying mind to the crowd of screaming girls.

tag list:

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[goodstuffhappenedtoday]

It seemed like it should be an easy win for Des Moines Superintendent Ian Roberts to dust off his racing shoes and compete against a team of elementary schoolers.

The 47-year-old Guyanese runner's skills had taken him around the globe, after all, even competing in the 2000 Summer Olympic Games in Sydney.

"I showed up to the school, and I'm waiting there. And I saw the principal and teachers and they brought the entire school out to the track. And I'm thinking, 'oh,'" Roberts recalled with a laugh.

What was initially going to be a race between Roberts and Everett Clark, a lucky second-grader who won the chance to race Roberts in a raffle, had grown as more students decided to join. Soon the student body flanked the track.

Roberts keeps himself in shape, running several miles, five to six days a week. Before the race, he ran drills with the students, teaching them how to stretch and showing them proper running form.

The day of the event, Roberts was in a maroon three-piece suit and a matching pair of tennis shoes. Roeder said the suit might have been a handicap, but the sneakers should have covered the gap.

As Roberts, the superintendent, sheepishly put it: "I decided, you know, I can do this in my suit. Why not? So here I am in my suit and my bow tie and some Nike Air Force One tennis shoes, and I felt that would be sufficient."

Instead, when the 100 meter dash began, Roberts saw how committed the students were to the race – and his eventual loss was all but decided.

It was fifth-grader Amayah Vilmael who sailed to victory, crossing the finish line with her eyes straight ahead as her former Olympian competition trailed steps behind.

"All of those students, especially Amayah, who – based on her form, based on her stride length – she definitely has a really promising career in track and field if she so chooses," Roberts said.

The superintendent has had a chance to speak with the parents of Amayah and Everett, and he said both of them are overjoyed to have gotten to race the former track and field star.

"Everett, for example, yesterday and even today, he is still walking around the house talking about his race. Amayah is still on cloud nine because she beat an Olympian," Roberts said.

"I am humbled and I stand proud in defeat to elementary school students, all of whom have very promising careers academically and athletically. And I will do it all over again if I can."

[macfrog]

ghost

when i wrote jet, she was always a two-parter to me. two characters, two horses, two stories. equal and distinct. you guys loved the first part so much that i figured i'd leave it as it was, but recently i hit 2k and thought this could be a cool way to mark it. think of this as jet's sister story. walks right alongside her; same universe, same joel - but still very much a standalone. she can be read with or without her predecessor. thank you a million times over for all the love y'all show me on the daily. writing for you guys is so much fun. love you all the most. 🤎🖤 dedicated to @hellishjoel whose love for this pair inspires me daily

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

summary: your loyalty to joel - and your ability in yourself - are tested in st. louis. the reward might just be worth the risk

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) post-outbreak!joel, graphic violence, moderate threat, a horse is shot and killed (though i don't think i made this too graphic, more gutwrenching), reader and joel are separated, badass stealthy reader, near-SA (more intended than attempted), very protective & very violent joel, unprotected piv sex, like...bloodplay i guess? lil bit of consensual choking and spitting, creampie, possessive!joel, dom!joel but also softdom!joel, big fluff at the end, age gap (late 20s reader, late 40s joel), strong language. this fic is not sponsored by nike. lol.

word count: 10.1k

main masterlist

It’s been weeks. Weeks of just the two of you, shoulders brushing together, hips moving in stride. Horses parallel to one another, heads nodding in unison. The time you’ve spent without Joel since leaving the QZ amounts to a grand total of about ten minutes. What if something goes wrong? If he doesn’t cover himself properly? If you clear the building, come back, and you’re not only a horse down, but a partner, too? You’re standing by the hole in the wall, trying to convince yourself to duck under the bare brick when Joel’s urgent voice does it for you. “Go now. Now!” And you do.

St. Louis is quiet, still, but fruitless.

It’s been two long days of wandering around and you’ve found one building safe enough to camp in. One. The rest have either been inaccessible – boarded up, broken down, or otherwise already inhabited by infected – or Joel’s deemed them too close to the middle of town, too open, not safe enough.

Not safe enough in a world overrun by a brain-rotting fungal infection? you’d asked.

He shut you up with a sharp expression which you understood simply as: Enough.

It meant that you were wasting days, though. The night you arrived, Joel quickly combed the area surrounding the barber shop you were holed up in for supplies, and found none. He woke you at the crack of dawn next morning to set off, saying he didn’t like the fact nothing was around here. Meant someone had been through before you guys and taken it all.

Meant company, is what he was saying.

So you’d ridden around for – what, maybe three hours? You and Jet, following Joel and Ghost down cracked roads, under rusted street signs. Listening to the wind circle the buildings overhead, nudging traffic lights gently until they sang in distorted, off-key creaks to you. Always keeping your eye on the Gateway Arch between buildings, using it as some kind of north star – not for any reason other than you’d never seen it before up close, but when you mentioned this to Joel, his brows furrowed and he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

Which meant that no, you wouldn’t be paying it a visit anytime soon.

It was mid-afternoon when Joel pulled on Ghost’s reins, brought her to a halt, and held his hand out to you. Jet huffed to a stop, and you swear you felt her cock her hip angrily at him.

“Turn back,” he muttered.

“What?”

“I said, turn back. Ain’t nothin’ out this way.”

“Turn back ‘n go where?”

He jerked his head back in the direction you’d come, swerved the reins sideways and then clicked to the black-coated horse to set off. She nodded obediently, like she knew what he was thinking and she figured he was right, and began the long walk back to the barbers.

You muttered an expletive and Joel coughed a Ha, hearing you loud and clear. So you turned to silently praying for a rainstorm, for a horde of infected, for anything you could sling an I told you so in and whip it at Joel.

You followed him, though, deliberately a good few paces behind, knowing he’d keep twisting around to check on you, and letting him fucking do it. Asshole.

When you finally arrived back at your spot, the red sun low behind the buildings and bleeding skyward into twilight, you slept with your back to him.

He didn’t seem to mind. He never seems to mind when you’re distant. You wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t even notice. He knows you’ll come back when you need something from him – want his words in your ear, want his body on yours, want…him.

The splintered sunlight through the boarded-up windows of the shop stirs you from your sleep. It wasn’t much of a sleep, despite Joel’s promise late last night that he’d let you lie for a little longer; knew you had a long day ahead if you were to get out of St. Louis, and he’d already drained your energy with the travelling yesterday.

You’d woven in and out of unconsciousness all night, dreaming of creaky farmhouses with clicking children inside, their skin torn and swollen and sprouting in swirls of pale white, singed with raw red and rotten green. And you dreamt of Joel’s shotgun blowing their moldy maws apart, blood and bone splattering across the floral wallpaper behind them.

You’re lying on your stomach, flat out on the floor with nothing but a worn comforter separating your fatigued body from the dusty tile. Joel’s out front feeding the horses on the street. You push yourself up, stretching your back, and a red-hot pain licks around your wrists.

“Motherf–”

You wince, falling onto your elbows, and your fingers link lightly around the red skin. The marks from Joel’s belt two nights ago still haven’t eased, haven’t cooled down so much as a degree. They’re still glowing, still burning, still painful.

Joel’s rugged face appears through a busted window. “Y’alright?”

“’m fine,” you mumble, turning over and examining the sores in the sunlight. The sting as your fingertips trace over the skin draws sharp tears to your eyes.

He feeds Jet the last handful of the hay you’d stocked up on and steps in from the golden morning to the dim light of the shop, dusting his hands on his jeans.

“You want more water on ‘em? Cold flannel?” he asks, avoiding the sight of your pained hands.

You shake your head. “Don’t think it’s helping.”

Eyebrows close, crease between them deep, he lowers himself with an achy groan and says, “We’ll find somewhere. You ready to go?”

You nod, tight lips blocking any words you think you’d probably regret later.

Joel helps you up, hands you a bag of beef jerky from his back pocket, and tells you to go get settled on Jet. He’ll pack up.

As you walk by him, he runs a hand from the crown of your head down to the nape of your neck. Gentle as air. And you almost fucking turn back. Almost catch his hand as it leaves your hair, almost wind your body into his. Almost.

Almost.

You follow at Ghost’s tail for another two hours, this time west instead of north. Joel turns to check on you more than he did yesterday; asks a couple times if you need more water, if you want any food. Even asks once if you need a break.

Each time, you reply with a flat, No. It seems to come from your throat more than your lips, more a grunt than an actual rounded word. Teeth locked tight around it, barely separating to let the sound through.

And each time, Joel turns back wordlessly. A mutual understanding; an unspoken agreement – as most of them are – to not talk any more than absolutely fucking necessary.

You spend most of the ride hunched over, your palms pushing heavily against the horn of Jet’s saddle. The sleeves of your jacket rolled up to stop them from brushing against your wrists.

The horse whinnies softly, and you reply to her as though she’s actually speaking. As though you can understand her thoughts, your forehead pressed lightly to the crest of her neck. You tell her you’re fine; tell her she’s doing a great job. You notice Joel’s jaw turn whenever you speak to her.

And then he whispers, “Hey,” and you lift your head, following the flick of his head to a tiny, lone pharmacy up ahead. You could fall off Jet’s back in equal parts shock and relief.

Joel winds Ghost along the road towards the building, stops by the curb outside it.

Its windows are smashed, broken glass decorating the sidewalk in front. There’s dried blood painting the white stone exterior, and empty shell casings dotted along the paved ground. You draw your eyes from the sight to look at Joel, and he’s already noticed them. He’s staring around the street, eyes darting from building to building, looking them all up and down.

The back wall inside the pharmacy is blocked, rubble and rafters hanging loose from a huge hole in the ceiling. Dusty insulation hangs between beams, and through the tears in the candy floss material, you can see the metal grate of the dispensing area. Joel sees it, too; notes it with a grumble and a click of his teeth.

“You stay here,” he tells you, dismounting Ghost.

“’n what if you get stuck in there?”

“Stuck in front of the collapsed ceiling? I ain’t gettin’ anywhere close to bein’ stuck. Stay put.”

You slide to the side, rubber-toed sneaker angling toward the ground to jump off of Jet. Joel swings back around and shoots you a look like fire on your skin.

“You got a death wish, or som’?”

“You just said you won’t get stuck. The hell’s gonna kill me in there?”

“Me, if you don’t listen to my damn instructions. Get back on the horse.”

“I ain’t off it,” you snap, a little louder than you intended. Sure, you want him to comfort you sometimes, but fuck, he pisses you off.

Joel stalks off without another word, head low between his shoulders. You hook your foot back into the stirrup and shake your head, averting your gaze to the other side of the street where the sight of an ill-tempered man-child won’t piss you off more.

The street is lined with stores and cafes, a bar on the corner with torn-up leather seats spilling out of the door like someone’s barricaded it. Your eye travels further down, where faded, moldy bunting ruffles in the wind, hooked around a traffic light.

There’s a red-brick building directly across from you, a truck with green tarpaulin parked out front. The doors to the building creak as they swing back and forth in the wind. The windows are still intact – surprising for this deep in the city. Other than that, the place looks pretty damn abandoned.

Ghost shakes her head, ears flicking. A heavy, shuddered breath jolts from her flared nostrils in the form of two white clouds, lit golden in the sunlight. She moves from foot to foot. You pat Jet gently, distracting yourself with the feel of her long, ginger mane.

You hum quietly, filling an eerie silence. Something to the beat of your heart, quickening with each second. Trying to calm the horses, calm yourself. Joel’s still wandering around inside.

You read an article once before the outbreak that said horses can smell fear on humans. It was for a school project. Said it affected their nervous system, like, made their heartrate pick up, though they never concluded whether it made the horses more afraid themselves or not.

Feeling Jet’s body weight shift from side to side as you swerve around atop her, analyzing every movement, every sound, every change in direction of the wind on this street, you figure you know the answer now.

Yeah. She feels edgy.

The wind picks up, carrying leaves across the broken road, fluttering by burnt-out cars. There’s a scuff from the store and your head shoots back to find Joel emerging from the shadows.

“Nothin’,” he mumbles, giving the street a sideways look as he walks back over to Ghost.

“Nothing I need, or nothing at all?”

He lifts his hands to take hold of her. “Nothin’ at all. Place is ransacked. Whole damn city’s –”

It all happens in the blink of an eye. One minute you’re looking at Joel, watching his lips form the words, his fingertips coming to land on the leather strap of Ghost’s bridle, and barely a heartbeat later, there’s a deafening crack from across the street.

Ghost’s body falls to the earth like she’s nothing but an inanimate sack. Her front legs buckle first, her chest crashes down towards the smooth stone, and then she’s rolling onto her left side. She’s dead before she hits the ground.

Dust and dirt are thrown skyward as she slams down, head falling heavy and still on the sidewalk.

“Ghost!” you shriek, and then you feel Joel’s hands on the sleeve of your jacket – rough. Painfully squeezing, canvas burning against your wrists.

He’s gripping the material, hauling you down to him, only you won’t let go of Jet’s reins. You’re being tossed to-and-fro atop the now-panicking horse. Ghost is bleeding from her head; thick, dark blood spilling out like tar and dripping down the curb.

You scream at Joel, fighting his grip off, eyes never leaving the black horse. But then another shot fires, ricocheting off of the ground by the pharmacy window, missing his head by less than a foot, and you fall limp.

You let him drag you off of Jet’s back and hurl you inside the pharmacy, shoving you out of view and into the dingy shadows. When you turn, you realize she’s still out there, a chestnut-colored blur as she rears and spins, fleeing from the noise. You scream her name but Joel whips around and plants his palm flat against your mouth, smothering your cry into a muffled whimper against the curve of his calloused skin.

“Shut up,” he whispers, free hand reaching into his holster for his own gun.

You drag his hand from your face, dropping it. “Jet’s still out –”

“They ain’t aimin’ for Jet,” he replies, switching the handgun into his right. “They’re aimin’ for us, and they’re gonna be down here soon. I need you to listen to me.”

“But Ghost –”

“Baby,” he says, laced with frustration and desperation and panic. Your sentence falls flat on your tongue. “Listen – to – me. Now.”

You nod, tears forming in your eyes. The horse is still lying out front; you can see her past Joel’s shoulder. You think back to your agreement: Do as you say. He’s shaking you by the shoulders, forcing you to look him in the eye, repeating those words to you. Listen to him. Focus on him. Stay alive. You don’t survive this if you don’t wake the fuck up right now.

And then he has his hands either side of your face, shaking you back to reality. “Hear me?”

“What? No, I didn’t hear. I didn’t fucking hear!”

He wastes no time chastising you. Just says it again. Calm, clear. Every word its own sharpened shape.

“I need you to move, need you to get out of here. They’re across the street, in that red building. There’s probably a gang of ‘em, right? So we gotta take ‘em out.”

“Take ‘em out? We gotta fuckin’ run, Joel! We don’t even know how many –”

“You,” his voice sounds like he’s about to break, “are gonna head out of there.”

He points past you, behind an upturned shelving unit, where there’s a small hole blown in the side of the pharmacy. Unnoticeable from outside, though if the perps across the street have ransacked this place, they’ll know it exists.

“You’re gonna make your way around the street, head low, quiet, ‘n get in the back of that building. You got it?”

“What the fuck are you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna distract ‘em. I’ll cover you, alright? Just do it.”

Just do it. Just fucking do it. I tell you what to do, and you just do it, because it’s me. Because you trust me, because we’ve kept each other alive this long.

Just do it. Because right now, what the fuck else are you going to do?

Your head’s still spinning. Pulse throbbing in your ears. Lungs hammering against your chest wall for breath. You can barely think straight.

“What do I do once I’m in?”

He’s kneeling down, swinging his backpack off of his shoulders. “Take – them – out. You’ve done it before, you know what you’re doin’.”

“Real noble of you, Joel,” you hiss, taking the spare gun he offers and slipping it under the back of your jeans, “sendin’ me in alone to kill who the hell knows how many fuckin’ guys.”

You pull the switchblade he picked up from that farm in Nebraska and flick it once, letting it glint fiercely in the light from out front, then close it and place it back in your pocket, ready to hand if – and when – you need it.

Joel’s loading his rifle, unable to meet your eye. He sniffs. “Do it quiet, you hear me? Sneak up on ‘em.”

You shake your head in disbelief, feet starting to carry you over to the side of the room. Powered by adrenaline only, letting go of any emotion that might keep you inside this stupid pharmacy. Forgetting anything in you that might convince you to stay glued to Joel’s side.

Yeah, you can fucking do it. You’re not a kid. You’ve been doing this long enough.

This was life before the QZ. You were in a group then, a collective of survivors whose only interest was staying alive. At all costs. And you got good at it. You’ve told Joel about it before – you were the first wave. Whenever you came across another group – no matter if it was hunters, smugglers, fucking FEDRA – they’d send you in, alongside Mila. The two of you lightest on your feet, best with a knife in your hands.

You started to find it fun, after a while. Thrill of the chase and all that. Creeping up behind them, dragging the blade along their throat, dropping them to their knees as they choked and gargled and bled out. The two of you could clear an entire building in ten minutes, not a single bullet fired.

Mila preferred puncturing them. She’d lift her arm and bring the knife down with the weight of her entire body, sinking it into their necks, under their jaws, sometimes through their fucking temples. You’d seen that girl do some pretty fucked-up stuff.

You’d seen yourself do some pretty fucked-up stuff. Stuff that’d have you avoiding mirrors for weeks.

And none of it scared Joel away. None of it made him think twice about setting off with you.

Certainly never made him think twice about sending you on what can only be described as a suicide mission, just to rid St. Louis of a few bandits.

Doing it isn’t the problem, though, is it? You haven’t had to do it in a while, sure. Joel takes care of you well enough that you barely have to look twice at a threat before there’s a bullet, a blade, or an arrow through it. And you’re not scared, either. Not of those guys across the street.

No. You’re scared of leaving him. Parting with him.

It’s been weeks. Weeks of just the two of you, shoulders brushing together, hips moving in stride. Horses parallel to one another, heads nodding in unison. The time you’ve spent without Joel since leaving the QZ amounts to a grand total of about ten minutes. What if something goes wrong? If he doesn’t cover himself properly? If you clear the building, come back, and you’re not only a horse down, but a partner, too?

You’re standing by the hole in the wall, trying to convince yourself to duck under the bare brick when Joel’s urgent voice does it for you.

“Go now. Now!”

And you do.

You emerge into an alleyway, concealed from the street by a rusty blue dumpster. Overgrown weeds at your feet, you stay crouched and still until you’re sure there are no eyes on you from the windows overhead.

I mean, you’d be dead by now if there were. So that’s hopeful.

You slink around the jagged metal, slow, silent. More gunshots sound from across the street, and you know Joel’s tossed them a bone. Maybe he’s shown himself – a flash of his jacket or scuff of his heel as he settles to fire back. Maybe they’ve already killed him. Who fucking knows?

At the end of the alleyway sits a black gate, bent and contorted into an archway which separates you from the street. Still covered by knee-high weeds, you kneel down onto your stomach and peer between the wiry green plant to get your first scope of the street ahead.

There’s a long-abandoned nail bar on the right, a few doors down from that bunting you spotted earlier. And right outside it, cast in shadow from the awning: a chestnut horse, saddle hanging lopsided on her back. Waiting, patiently, watching the shootout before her.

You breathe a sigh of relief. Stay there. Stay right there.

Joel’s on his knees outside the pharmacy, crouched behind a Jersey barrier. He lifts his head every thirty seconds, fires one heavy shot at the windows on the top floor of the red-bricked building, and then ducks for cover when they send a burst of erratic bullets back down to him, pelting against the concrete.

You watch for a minute, studying the pattern, and then slip back between the weeds like a lion hiding in the bushes. When Joel fires at the window, you push yourself up and make a swift run for it.

There’s a truck in the middle of the street. Black paint scraped, shot, and sun-burnt off. You take three good strides, kneeling once you’re at the tailgate. You peer around the rear of the truck, huge tires flat and melted into the broken tarmac. You spot your opening.

A gray fence faded by the sun, a few slats missing from the bottom half, guarding an overgrown yard, and, sitting wide open: the backdoor to the building.

Bingo.

It’s an easy enough route. Looks almost like someone’s laid it out for you this way, a perfect path. You wait for your signal – Joel’s gunfire – and sprint over to the fence, back flush against the rotting wood.

You pull the revolver from your jeans and open the chamber. Five bullets. Not bad. You snap it back and adjust your grip on it, finger ghosting the trigger. And then you hear them.

“The girl’s still inside,” a voice grunts from over the fence. Your blood runs cold.

“He’s gotta run out sometime. What the fuck’s Nico doing wasting bullets?”

“How often do strays come through? Let him have his fun.”

Strays. Like a little pet name. Like it’s sport for them. It pisses you off, your adrenaline channeling into rage, white hot across the nape of your neck, growing into determination to put your knife through every single one of them.

So, you return the gun, favoring your switchblade.

Old dog, new tricks. Yadda yadda.

You bend down, peering through the gap like a dog searching for scraps.

It’s just the two of them. One, standing by the door; looks about six feet tall by six feet wide, buzzcut atop a puffy face, tattooed arms hanging loose by his side. The other, pacing around the yard; when his worn jeans pass the opening in the fence, you scan up the tall figure and notice dirty blond hair, scraped back from a gaunt face into a greasy ponytail.

“And if anything hears him? Runners? Fuckin’…we ain’t ready for that.”

Neither of them seem to have a gun. Scrawny doesn’t, anyway, and if Buzzcut does, it’s not in his hands. Which gives you a few seconds’ advantage.

Once Scrawny turns away, you slip through and hook your arm around his neck, holding your knife to the spongey skin under the ridge of his jaw. Buzzcut steps forward, hands reach into his waistband. Fuck.

“Make a sound, I’ll cut him.”

It’s not hard for your voice to fall back to that pitch, that same old tone. Muscle memory. Hushed, so no one inside hears; serious, flat, not a hint of fear. Even though this guy can probably feel your heart hammering into his back.

There’s still shooting on the street. Buzzcut steps forward, pistol between his fingers, silver reflecting the sun into your eyes. He’s unsure if he should lift it or not. Unsure if he should do anything or not. There’s panic painted across his face the color of crimson. He’s not built for this stuff, and he knows it. His free hand comes up, palm forward. Half of a surrender.

Not good enough.

“Put the gun down.”

“Fucking bitch,” Scrawny mutters, wrestling around, long legs bent awkwardly as he leans into your smaller frame.

Fucking idiot, you think. He doesn’t know that this is the fun part. This is why you chose the knife, and not the gun. Blade over bullets. It’d be too easy to rip his brain apart with the squeeze of a trigger. Too quick. Nah, you want to hear him. Want to feel him writhe against you.

You let the blade sink into his whiskered neck. Ever so slightly. He hisses and settles.

“Put – the fucking gun – down.”

“Patrick,” your hostage spits, “just do it.”

Just do it.

Patrick glances down briefly and then nods, eyes flitting back to you. Your eyes stay locked on him, your grip tightens around the knife, but you deafen to the heaving of the chest under your elbow.

Just do it.

Where’s Joel? Is he alive? His voice is ringing in your ears.

Just do it.

There’s a pause between the bullets across the street. Have they hit him?

Just do it.

Patrick’s gun hits the ground with a blunt thud.

Just do it.

And then you feel it.

Searing pain, hot as fire in your upper thigh. A sharp scratch just below your hip, teeth cutting through denim and flesh, then a rutting feeling, twisting and digging and fucking burning as the knife is pushed further and further. You let an angry groan pass your lips and dig your own blade deep into his throat.

His skin bursts open like a bag of water. You pull on him, letting him sink to his knees flush against your chest. Before he’s even on the ground, you’re lurching forward, retrieving the pistol and swiping your knife at Patrick’s outstretched hand. He gasps, clutching his split palm, and then backs away a couple steps.

This time, he lifts both hands. That’s better, fucker.

“Don’t – don’t gotta –”

“Shut the fuck up,” you cut back, staring him down while his buddy writhes at your feet, taking his last few gulps of air. Fresh, warm blood seeps into the grass. Your thigh is on fire.

You edge closer to Patrick, and Patrick edges further away. Until his back is pressed against the wall, his knuckles scratching against the brick; his own blood streaming down his wrist.

“How many are in there?” you ask, head nodding to the doorway, barrel of the gun pressed into his cheek.

He gulps.

“How many?”

“Th-three. Please.”

“Where?”

“One in the h-hall. Two upstairs. Please,” he says again, and you drop the gun, leaving a white ring in his skin.

Mila would sink it in deep, right into his neck. The trapezius. Her favorite spot. She’d just plunge the knife in, push until he collapsed, and then leave him to bleed out. But this is a big guy. He’s gonna need more than that to floor him.

“Alright,” you concede, stepping forward. “Since you asked so nicely.”

You pull your arm down to your hip, knuckles white around the handle and take a fistful of his shirt with the other. Draw him in real close, and angle the blade to the sky, shoving it up under his chin. Nice ‘n snug.

It glides through his skin like it’s butter, and you catch the butt of the knife in your palm, pushing further up. You watch as his eyes widen, his pupils focus on yours long enough to take the memory of your face with him – and then they relax, roll back to check out the metal intrusion behind them.

Patrick gargles, chokes on blood and blade, then gasps as you haul it back out, bright red gushing down his front.

His body folds, both hands come up to cup his torn jaw, and with one kick which cracks into his knees, he’s flat on his face, breathing in dirt and grass and…the blood of his buddy.

“You’re welcome, Patrick,” you breathe, limping over him to enter the building.

Shots are firing again upstairs. It’s dark, your eyes take a few seconds to adjust, but you’re in a derelict store. Place is empty, probably looted by these assholes.

Patrick told you there was one guy in the hall, which you assume is through the door sat ajar on your left. Patrick, however, was most likely a liar. And even if he was telling the truth, you don’t know what this place looks like. You have no idea when or where you’ll come across this one guy.

The only things you have on you are your gun and your knife. So you open the revolver again, your trembling fingers fish one bullet out, and you toss it, aiming for the sliver of light between the door and its frame.

It rattles through, rolling over the solid floor.

“Patrick?” a voice calls, and footsteps begin to approach. “Tucker?”

You duck behind a battered, empty shelf.

A third guy, long brown hair tangled across his shoulders, thick beard patchy with white and gray, pushes the door open and sidles in.

“Pat–”

You’re on him before he can finish his pal’s name, same way you jumped Scrawny – now Tucker, out there. Your blade glides across his throat and he buckles, much quicker than his predecessor outside did. You settle him face down on the tile floor, nodding to him as some twisted form of a thank-you, and slip out of the room, swinging down to collect your bullet as you go.

Patrick, as it turns out, was not a liar. The bottom floor of the house is empty. You’re in a long, narrow hallway. A bloodstained runner at your feet. There are muffled voices upstairs – roaring, cursing. The sunlight streaming in through the arch-shaped window on the front door draws you nearer.

Your breathing is labored, with stress, exhaustion, and pain. Your thigh throbs under your jeans, pain shooting like lightning from the wound anytime you put weight on it. You drag yourself to the bottom of the stairs.

More shots. You swear they’ve only been coming from this building for the last five minutes. Where the fuck is Joel?

You lift your foot hesitantly, hovering over the first step. Don’t fuck this up now. You line it up, applying your weight bit by bit until you’re pushing up off the floor with a whimper, balancing on one leg, bracing for the inevitable creak of the wood.

Nothing.

You’re about to step onto the second, when the door behind you bursts open. Light screams into the hallway, shining on you like a spotlight, and three huge figures stumble in the doorway.

“Wh–? That’s the bitch on the horse!”

You throw yourself up the stairs desperately, taking them two – three at a time, but a pair of fists are in your hair, dragging you back down to the man they belong to. You cry out, swinging around, and catch him square on the nose with your elbow. He swears, retreating only momentarily, before looking you dead in the eye, blood pouring down his lips.

“Fucking – cunt,” he seethes, arms darting out to reach up for you.

His attempt is short-lived, for a number of reasons.

First: you kick his chest before he can grab you, sending him hurtling back down where he came from.

Second: one of the two Patrick said would be up here is at the top of the stairs now, taking you by the shoulders and hauling you up.

And third: Joel just opened fire downstairs.

The bullets pelt around the hallway, coming from the side you just snuck in through. He must’ve followed you across the street.

The last thing you see as you’re dragged off into another room is the three of them ducking for cover, and then you’re being flung onto a cold, dusty floor, knocking the wind out of your lungs and the revolver from your waistband. You roll over and groan, staring up at two men standing over you.

One of them – the one whose vice grip dragged you in here – is big and bulky. Like a brick wall. You realize you’ve no chance of getting by him. His fists are clenched, face reddened, black beady eyes boring into yours. Then he lurches forward, steals the gun from the floor beside you, and points it at you. The safety’s still fucking on.

The other looks younger, but still built. Toned. His shoulders swell in the green canvas jacket he’s wearing, patches on the sleeves. Short, black hair, face sculpted and smooth, chin hairless. Lips pursed as he surveys you, tosses over what to do.

“Cute little game you were playin’, down there,” he muses. “Took out half my guys.”

“Wasn’t that hard,” you pant in reply, “you’re all fucking idiots.”

You can hear Joel fighting off the rest of them, grunts and growls of pain echoing up the stairs. You don’t know which are him and which are them, and it sends fleets of panic through your chest, tightening your breath.

“Sounds like your man’s losing.”

You laugh, masking your fear with a roll of your eyes, head leaning back. “I don’t think so.”

The two men look at each other. The black-haired one nods down to you, then turns on his heel. “Do what you want to her,” he tells Brick Wall, bored, and begins walking away.

A repulsive smile pulls on the man’s lips as he glares down at you. Putrid pink cheeks swell, eyes disappear. Your heels dig against the floorboards, beginning to push yourself in a dizzy haze backwards as his huge, beefy hand reaches down for your waistband.

Something of a scream, warped by the way your body so quickly jumps away from him, escapes your throat, but it only makes him laugh. Your hand slips up inside your sleeve, fingers clutch the cold metal handle of your blade. It flicks open under the fabric, and, just as the noise draws the attention of the man now fumbling with the button of your jeans, you take one good swipe and cut through his forearm. One clean slice, separating skin and soaking the tip of your knife in his blood.

He hisses, stumbles backwards two steps, clutching his arm. You throw yourself to your feet, backing into the corner opposite.

“Nico!” Brick Wall cries out, and the canvas jacket spins to face you.

You clutch your knife, hunched, panting. The room slowly tilts, resetting every time you blink, then begins rotating again.

Nico laughs, pulling a gun of his own and aiming it straight at your face. It’s a nightmare – two on one, both of them armed. But it’s better than what was about to fucking happen.

“Fucking – bitch,” Nico snarls.

“Y’all keep saying that,” you utter, eyes never leaving the barrel of the gun, “I don’t get it. I’m goin’ easy on you here.”

“You’re gonna fuckin’ get it,” Nico spits, apparently not paying enough attention.

The building’s silent. The fighting’s stopped downstairs. And there are no loud footsteps making their way up here, which means one thing.

There’s a quieter, deadlier threat on his way up.

A brutal shot fires from the hallway, taking your breath with it, and Brick Wall’s body flops to the floor. Bullet hole in his temple. Spray of blood across the wall. Only three beating hearts left in the building.

Nico seems to gasp, whether from fright or the way he lunges toward you, wrapping a tight, choking arm around your neck and holding the gun to your temple, both of you waiting for Joel to materialize for two very different reasons.

His figure creeps around the doorway, footsteps slow and soft. His eyes flit over yours, shoulders hunched, rifle aimed ahead. Your breath lets go in one huge, shaky gasp, feeling your muscles relax.

“I’ll do it,” Nico hisses, panic strung through his voice tighter than the bow of a violin. “One wrong move and she’s dead, asshole.”

Joel shrugs. “Do it.”

Nico doesn’t move. He shakes your body, pushes the gun harder into your skin.

Joel looks you dead in the eye. “Do – it.”

Your fingers run over the handle of your knife, lowering it until you have a good enough grip to lock your fist and tilt the blade, lifting your right arm and hammering it backwards, stabbing deep into Nico’s side.

Your head leans to the right as he screams out; he falls to the left. And Joel takes his shot.

Nico’s hand bursts open, blood spraying everywhere. The revolver is thrown from his grip, rattling against the floor as your fist takes one good swing across his jaw and then you fall apart from one another – you, rocking into the steady weight of Joel’s body, and Nico, collapsing against a desk.

Joel catches you in his arms and straightens you up, shifting you to aim his gun back at the threat – though there’s not much about him that warrants such a name anymore. He’s slumped against the dark wood, dark stain seeping through his shirt, head rolled back and groaning. One hand cupping what’s left of the other, blood snaking through his fingers and down his hand like vines on a tree trunk. He looks…pathetic.

Joel fires another shot at him without fucking looking; it lands in Nico’s thigh, and he screams. Mouth full of blood and loose teeth, it’s a gargled, drowned howl of pain.

“They try somethin’?” the fierce drawl asks you, brows low, eyes dark. You know what he’s talking about. The button of your jeans is undone.

You want to say, It’s fine, I’m fine. You want to tell Joel to leave Nico to bleed out. He’s the last one, he’ll be dead inside of ten minutes. You want to go, want to climb onto Jet’s back and let her carry your weak, limp body as far from here as her legs will gallop, and then, once she’s rested, further.

But Joel won’t hear any of that, you know it. Won’t leave this little son of a bitch to slip into a half-conscious drowse, the dripping of his own blood ticking down the seconds he has left while the sound of Jet’s hooves fading into the distance lulls him to hell.

He knows you. Joel. He can read lies on your lips like they’re words scrawled into your skin, so that’s a waste of time, too.

You nod. Joel’s jaw locks. And his eyes flood black like ink.

He hands you the rifle, pulls his arms out of his backpack, and paces over to Nico. The bloody, injured figure begins to back up, push himself further away from Joel, who’s reaching down for something.

“Look, man,” Nico heaves, “you gotta see it from our point of v-view. You guys came walkin’ into our territory, you – you…”

There’s the sound of metal dragging across the bare floorboards, vibration strong enough that it rattles your entire body. You turn away, figuring you don’t need to see him pummel a man to death with a broken pipe.

You hear it, though. Every grunt from Joel, every cry from his victim. Every time the pipe bludgeons into him, the wet squelch of warm flesh and blood meeting cold, rusting metal. You wander off to the other side of the room, closing your eyes.

It’s like a pattern – like the shooting from earlier. Joel sucks in breath as he lifts the pipe above his head, groans as he hurtles it down. There’s the blunt sound, a ding almost of the metal whacking against Nico’s skull, the splatter of blood bursting. And repeat. Deep breath as the pipe winds back – groan as it uppercuts through the dusty air, crack of bone breaking when it makes contact.

Finally, he stops. Takes three deep breaths. Drops his weapon. You turn.

The limp body lies at his feet, a dent the size of Texas in the globe of his skull. Olive skin now splattered red, face unrecognizable. Blood pouring out of somewhere – everywhere in his head, circling his body in a thin, fast-moving pool.

Joel’s staring at you when your eyes lift. Sweat glistening on his forehead, lips apart. Shoulders tight. You’re standing face to face, both of your breathing heavy and labored. Exhausted. And yet…you fucking need him.

You take one step forward and suddenly Joel’s advancing, too, hands out to meet you when you collide into him. Your fingers scram for his collar, ripping his jacket from his shoulders while he messily tears apart the waist of your jeans.

His weight bears down on top of you and he pushes you to the floor, following you down. The floorboards are dirty, coated in a thick layer of dust disturbed by the scuffle you just had, and glazed by the blood of those who lost. You sit up only long enough to remove your jacket before Joel’s pinning you down, unbuckling his own jeans and taking a grip of yours.

You flinch when he tugs on the waistband, and he pauses. Looks up, watches your expression twist. Then follows your eyeline, down to your thigh, where the fresh stab wound oozes thick, dark blood.

Joel slowly peels your jeans down your legs and over the gash. When they pool loose around your knees, you bend them, angling your broken skin in the sunlight. It’s swollen, the cut, reddened and raw. Flesh dragged back and forth, torn and ripped around the edges. You can’t even feel the pain of it anymore, only a prickling heat leading up to the ridges of your broken skin.

And so, when Joel’s fingers run through the air directly above it, and he mutters something about cleanin’ you up, you grunt. Straighten your legs. Pull him by the shoulders back down to you. Reply with a rushed whisper, a Hurry the fuck up.

And he listens; he unbuckles his own jeans, sags them low on his hips, and bends your knees at his shoulders. His cock is already stiff, bead of precum at his wide tip, which he dips between your folds to collect your slick, and then fists himself slowly.

Hurryhurryhurry “– the fuck up,” you groan, watching your wet glisten off the smooth skin of his shaft.

He smirks, then pushes straight in.

Your head hits the floor, eyes rolling with it as he fills you up. His face buries between your breasts, voice muffled by the material of the fabric when he lets out an open-mouthed moan. You both adjust to the feeling – the stretch and the tightness – and then, with a couple more shallow thrusts, Joel begins really fucking you.

He drags his forehead up to yours, sweat mixing where your skin touches. Your jaw clenched; you’re hissing every time he hits that sweet spot inside of you. Holding onto him by the shoulders as he rocks his hips forward, pushing you closer and closer to your first release.

Joel lifts his hand, placing it flat on the floor above your head to steady himself. Then, he quickly glances up at it, an unusual look on his face. You crane your neck and follow his eyeline to find his hand gleaming wet with blood. Bright red. Fresh.

It’s the guy he shot. Bullet wound peering out from the other side of the desk you’re lying next to; his blood has travelled across the uneven flooring.

Joel studies his palm intently, thrusts slowing down some. His face looks…puzzled? As if he’s never had to physically encounter the result of him and his bullets. As if he doesn’t know where to put his hand, now that it’s covered in that result.

You do, though. You know exactly where you want him to put it.

You take his wrist in both hands and draw his gaze down to you. The blood drips from his almost trembling palm down your fingers.

His expression changes – softens, when he sees you looking up at him, watching him from under hooded lids. And then it darkens, when you pull his palm flat against your neck, and the red fluid stains your throat.

You can feel the warm wet between Joel’s skin and yours – the same warmth on the back of your head, creeping through your hair as it seeps further across the floorboards. You’re both covered in blood and dirt, anyway. Joel seems to consider the same, and his grip tightens.

His thumb and forefinger pinch, cutting into your windpipe. Your vision falters for a second, Joel blinks out of focus, and a tiny wave of euphoria crashes over your body. A sick grin pulls across your lips, mirrored in Joel’s.

He releases you and you gasp, oxygen surging through your throat like a burst of water in a dried-up pipe. You let go of his wrists to run your blood-soaked fingers across his face, through his hair. He’s still fucking you hard, and you need something to ground you as white-hot heat pools rapidly between your legs, and a knot begins to tighten.

“You like that?” Joel grunts, driving his hips harder.

“Mhm,” you reply, mouth falling open in a silent gasp when his tip punches into your cervix. The edges of the world start to whiten.

“You’re mine, you hear?” he says through gritted teeth. “Belong to me.”

You’re nodding, throat tossing out an, Uhuh.

“Ain’t no one gets this but me, h-uh?”

Joel’s hand is back around your neck, this time taking either side of your jaw between his fingers, keeping your eyes trained on his. Whatever the fuck makes you do it – the look in his eye, silently commanding, or maybe your own fucking desperation – you’re not sure. But you open your mouth wider, rest your tongue on your bottom lip, and plead with your eyes for him to do it.

So, he does.

His jaw slackens and a bead of spit falls from his mouth into yours. He watches as it lands on your tongue and you run it along your lips, coating yourself in him, before swallowing it.

Joel groans, lets a staggered, “F-fuck, baby,” pass his lips.

You smile in return, filthy, but needy, and beginning to crash hard as your orgasm bursts through you.

He fucks you through it, pace never faltering, still stringing wet saliva between your lips as he kisses you. You pull away when it becomes too much, burying your head in his shoulder and biting down on his shirt.

“Yeah,” he coaxes you, “that’s it. Fuck. Nice ‘n tight, baby.”

As soon as the room starts to return to your vision, the feeling back in your body, you’re rolling him over. Ignoring the burn of the wound in your thigh, you push him back down and straddle him, his cock still deep inside.

You roll your hips lazily, fingers coming down to toy with your clit as Joel stretches you even more from this angle. He groans, hands finding home tight on your hips, head rolling back. He bucks his hips and your free hand steadies yourself on his chest.

“Faster, baby,” he says, trying to move you with his hands.

“No,” you hum, “we go slow. I want to go slow.”

He grunts, pissed off. Good. Keep him that way.

You begin to slowly bounce, pads of your fingers drawing circles over your swollen clit, almost hurting with overstimulation.

“Tell me what you did downstairs,” you whisper, eyes falling shut.

“Downstairs?” Joel asks in a broken voice.

“Mhm. What did you do to ‘em?”

He catches on. “Shot one of ‘em under the jaw.”

You shake your head. “Next.”

“Ch-choked one of them out.”

“No. Not him.”

You want blood. You want Joel’s fists wrapped around someone’s vital organs. You want the sound of your screams in his ears, whether they were really there or not, driving him to commit acts so heinous he won’t look you in the eye when he confesses them.

That’s what you want: him to confess them.

“One of ‘em had a Bowie…” he breathes, knowing what you’re looking for.

You fall forward with a deep moan. “That’s it. Him.”

“…hangin’ from his belt. Shot his leg, right above his knee –”

You moan again, sighing as you sink down on his cock and that feeling creeps over you again.

“– then took the knife.”

“He on the floor?”

“He got up. He – fuck – he stood up, ‘n I put it between his shoulders.”

“Fuck, yeah?”

“Yeah. Ripped ‘im apart, baby.”

You cry out in pleasure, bouncing up and down faster and faster the more the image replays in your head. You’re leaning forward, hovering over Joel as your skin slaps against his every time his hard length fills you. Fucking him to the thought of him slaughtering anyone who posed any threat to you. Those guys didn’t make it upstairs, you’re not even sure they got a good look at you before you were hauled away. But Joel tore them limb from limb at just the possibility.

“Did he – did he scream?”

“Yeah, he fuckin’ screamed.”

Your head drops between your shoulders, hands splayed on either side of Joel’s head, and his fingers knot in your hair. He pulls your forehead against his again, whispering into your mouth.

“Begged me not to do it,” he hums, and you’re thrown over the edge for the second time.

Your hips stop moving to allow space for your high; a second blinding, screaming orgasm ripples through you. You’re gasping now, fingers clutching for Joel, but he’s already moving again.

He slips out from underneath you and lets you down gently on your front, taking your hips and pulling them up to him as he positions himself behind you. And then, without a second’s hesitation, he’s back inside you, chasing his own high. Your back arches as he fucks you, chest flat against the floor.

There’s blood fucking everywhere. On your clothes, in your hair, on the floor beneath you, streaming down your thigh. The entire room smells of it – that suffocating, sickly sweet bite of iron. The bitterness so thick that it coats your lungs with every desperate pant of breath.

And finally, fucking – finally­, all the adrenaline and momentum is brought to a climax when Joel releases deep inside you, and you feel yourself contract around him as a third orgasm pulses through you. Your cunt swollen, aching, you almost don’t feel it, but for the way your legs give as soon as he stills inside you.

He’s groaning, borderline fucking whining, before he draws out of you and slumps down beside you on the floor. You’re both staring at one another, almost afraid to touch each other – as if you’re made of glass. Fragile. Breakable.

Yeah. You’re his. And he fucks you like you’re his, like your only purpose is to relieve his stress, tire out his anger, but then…then he looks at you like this, the sunlight twinkling in his warm eyes, dust falling over him like snow. Then he shifts the hair from your face so he can take a proper look at you, study every detail on your face – the cracks in your lips, the curve of your nose. And you know you’re so much more than that to him.

Always have been. Always will be.

You lean over and run your fingers across his cheek, dried blood the color of wine all over your hands. Joel lies still, places a soft kiss to the pad of your thumb when it touches his lips. Your nails sift through his beard. His eyes close over, laying in the comfortable stillness as you trace his face, delicately drawing from his dark brows down to the patches of skin between the graying hair on his jawline.

He doesn’t move when you push yourself up and roll over onto his chest. Doesn’t flinch when you press your mouth to his neck, running from the bottom of his ear up to the tip of his chin.

And when you bring your lips up to meet his, he kisses you back.

His hand sneaks through your hair to the crown of your head and he sits up, rolling you onto your back and caging you underneath him, teeth grazing along your bottom lip, asking it to part. His tongue slips inside, wet and warm and comforting against yours. Your fingers lace at the back of his head, your own cradled in his hands on the hardwood.

It’s like he’s starving. Like he’s been holding off on doing this, for whatever reason. And now that you’ve been the one to open the floodgates – fucking, destroy them – everything comes rushing to the surface. Every time he wanted to, and didn’t. Every time he was buried inside you, and purposefully held his jaw apart from yours. Every minute he’s spent since he met you, without his lips on yours. It all comes rocketing up.

And before it gets too heated, before he begins winding that coil again, he’s pulling away. Lips leaving yours, noses bumping together as they part. You smile, and Joel breathes a laugh for the first time in what feels like weeks.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Hey.”

You glance down at his flannel: stained with dirt, with sweat, with blood. It brings you down a little from your sun-kissed, golden-rayed eutopia. You suck in a deep breath, and his finger hooks under your chin to lift your face to his.

“Should get that leg covered.”

You nod, and he pulls up off of you, letting you sit up. He wanders around the room, checking the backpacks of Nico and his guys, and pulls some gauze and a bottle of alcohol from a side pocket.

He kneels slowly by your side, offers you the white pad. You shake your head. He has to do it. You don’t know why, don’t know what’s stopping you from wrapping your own wound – something you’ve done hundreds of times by now. But it has to be Joel.

He tips the bottle over the dressing, dousing it in alcohol, and settles it carefully on the floor by your hip. You look at one another, a Ready? and a No, but do it anyway pass across your gaze.

The clear fluid seeps from the pad down his hands, thinning the bloodstains and dragging them in light orange streaks down to his wrist. And when your eyes are distracted, watching the stream of blood and alcohol, he presses the gauze to your thigh.

“Fuck – you,” you stammer, eyes screwing tight enough that you see stars.

“I know,” Joel breathes, and pushes the gauze down harder. Firmer. It shoots heat up your leg, flashes the image of that plank of wood named Tucker who stabbed you across your mind. Your teeth grit, the tendons in your neck leap.

Still holding the pad to your skin, Joel winds a dressing around your thigh. He knots it, gives it a little tug, and then sits back on his heels.

“Okay?”

You tilt your head, lift your eyebrows in form of a Yeah. A half-truth – it feels better to have it covered, but fuck is it stinging. You lift a roll of spare bandage and wrap your wrists.

Joel nods, and then passes you your jeans.

“We should go,” he tells you. Then, softer, kinder, “Gotta go back to the pharmacy. Still supplies in the…”

You push yourself to your feet, unable to listen to the end of his sentence. Ghost was carrying most of your food. The map is still in her saddlebag. Ammo, too. The thought of seeing her again turns your stomach, and Joel seems to figure.

“Why don’t you head out back, go get Jet? I’ll grab everything.”

You stare down at him. Your head shakes before words filter through it. You don’t want to be apart from him again. Not today, at least.

He seems to figure that, too. He nods once, then stands with a low grunt. He fixes his jeans, shrugs his jacket back over his shoulders, and his hand finds the nape of your neck again. He pulls you nearer him, your lips brush against the shoulder of his jacket, and then you split, grabbing your supplies and searching the room for any that these assholes might’ve left to you.

When your pockets are full, you limp at Joel’s heels down the stairs and outside, glancing down the street. The silhouette of a horse slowly meanders back over to you, head bobbing, hooves clicking across the asphalt. Show’s over.

Joel stops and waits for her to approach, lets you bury your face into her strong body when she reaches you.

You squeeze your eyes shut against her muzzle, your forehead between her glossy eyes, and hope the message finds a way through flesh and bone – strong enough and sincere enough to push its way through your skull to hers. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Joel’s hand leaves your back and he walks slowly over to the pharmacy.

Your hands run over Jet’s soft mane, combing her gently, reassuring her as if she’s the one covered in blood, bruised and pained. You hook a finger around her bridle and follow Joel.

As you slowly approach, he’s emerging from the shadows of the pharmacy, a backpack in each hand. He reaches the same curb you were stood on less than an hour ago, and looks up to check on you. Your stomach lurches, glancing down to his boots.

There she is. Black coat shining, chest not moving. Legs splayed out on the road. Pool of blood around her velvety soft ears. She seemed so lean, so fit and graceful when she was on all fours. Now, lying in a heap in the shade of some barren street, she looks huge and clumsy. It makes your eyes swell with tears.

You shift with Jet, turning her to avert her gaze. It’s stupid; she’s a horse. How would she know what’s going on? But then, the way she’s breathing – soft, quiet. It’s like – it’s like she fucking knows.

Joel does it gently – kneels beside Ghost, searches in each pocket for your belongings. He knows your eyes are on him. He pulls a box of bullets and the folded-up map from the bag, slips them into his jacket pocket. Collects the tins of soup and canned fruit in one hand, standing to roll them into Jet’s bag.

He turns to you. “You got your switchblade?”

You nod, and he holds his hand out. You drop the heavy knife into his palm, and he bends back down to Ghost’s side.

He uses your blade to cut the bridle by the corner of her mouth, slicing through the leather running from the bit up to the headpiece. Then pulls it apart, a single strap with a tiny buckle still attached, a silver hoop at one end.

He reaches for your backpack, drags it across the rough ground, and knots one of the canvas ties through the silver hoop of Ghost’s bridle. Triple knots it, to make sure it won’t budge. And then he leans back, surveys his handiwork, and turns to gain your approval.

You can’t do much more than nod, tears dappling down your raw cheeks.

When he’s sure he’s got everything, Joel passes you your backpack, slings his on, and then kneels by her side one last time. He places a gentle palm on her head, runs his hand down her muzzle. Sniffs.

A thank-you, you think. A Farewell, brave girl.

He stands again, turns back to you. Waits for you to decide it’s time to move on.

“I can’t do it…” you whisper, and Joel nods, taking a step closer. “I don’t want to leave her.”

And then you’re sobbing, and he’s taking hold of your shoulders and pulling you into his arms, and your cries are muffled by the soft fabric of his shirt. You wrap yourself close around him, bury deeper into his chest, and Joel tightens his grip. The steady beat of his heart pulls you back down, grounds you. You match your breathing with his and pull away.

You approach Ghost shakily, then crouch, fix her mane out of her eyes, scratch her silky ears one last time, and let her go.

Joel’s face is tight when you turn back. Eyebrows low. You bite the inside of your cheek as you pass him, and then hoist yourself up onto the brown horse’s back.

He pulls himself up in front and leans back into you, head cocked to wait for your signal. You snake your arms around his waist and feel a delicate hand rest on top of yours, interlaced on his belt buckle. His thumb traces your knuckles, and when you lean your ear between his shoulder blades, he clicks to Jet.

The horse swerves off, beginning your long journey out of the city.

----------

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[release-the-sheep]

again!

Rizzles, 47

hi again :)

(prompt from a list, it's been ages, I'm getting through them)

47 "Don't wanna come until I feel you in me."

"Hey, you wanted to see me?"

Jane steps into Maura's office and shuts the door behind her when Maura signals for her to do so from behind her desk. "Blinds too, please."

"You got it," says Jane uncertainly, frowning slightly. She turns when she's completed the task and strides over to the desk, which Maura has moved around and is now leaning against.

Maura looks conflicted, which does not unfurrow Jane's brow at all. "You weren't doing anything pressing, were you?" Maura asks, and it's sheepish.

Jane has very, very rarely seen Maura sheepish. Bashful, at times. Embarrassed, occasionally. Sheepish? Hardly ever. Jane's confusion only deepens. "I was looking back over the findings from ballistics for the Chang case, just 'cause somethin' might be different the seventh time I checked. No, it wasn't pressing. What's up, are you okay? What's going on?" She can feel herself getting worked up the longer Maura sits there, fidgeting with the cuffs of her cardigan and staring at her.

Maura takes a deep breath, flexing her fingers around cashmere. "You recall this morning?" she asks, proud of how normal she's able to make her voice sound despite the fact that she's practically shaking with need.

Jane immediately knows what Maura is referring to, and she smirks. She had spent last night at Maura's, and this morning had caught Maura looking over at her from the other side of the bed as they got dressed, rapt. Jane had felt a naughty smirk settle on her face and had decided to tease just a bit. She had turned fully toward Maura, dressed in just her grey Nike sports bra and black boyshorts, and locked eyes with her. Then, Jane had slowly slid first fingertips, then fingers, then her entire left hand under the thick band of said shorts. She had moved her hand around in there just enough to set Maura's mind reeling, before pulling it back out and reaching for the pants she'd laid out on the chaise longue. She'd even had the audacity to cavalierly wipe the pads of her fingers on the side of the shorts before going about the rest of her morning routine. Maura had felt her arousal light like a candle, flaring brightly at Jane's inciting actions, and then settling into a tamer but steady burn in their aftermath.

The candle had burned all morning and into the afternoon until at 2:17pm, Maura, now a puddle (of wax, or of something else), had decided she could wait no longer for Jane's touch and had sent the detective a quick, desperate text requesting her presence. It had included neither reason nor detail, and yes, Maura sees now how that might've looked to Jane. She spares half a moment for thoughts of repentance, but no more, as Jane appears now to be catching on. She always has been quick.

"You really been thinkin' 'bout that all day?" Jane asks, voice low and hips confidently cocked as she looms over Maura, getting right in her space.

Maura means to sound indignant but is aware she comes off needy and breathless instead. "Can you blame me? When you did it I could feel your fingers as if it was my skin they were on, and I've been feeling them since."

Jane's pupils dilate at her admission. "Well damn, that sounds like it must've made it hard to get any work done," she rasps.

Maura nearly stamps her foot in impatience. "You really are aggravating, you know."

Jane chuckles, dark and liquid and delicious, and Maura thinks the sound would taste like chocolate if she could somehow lick it. Jane takes the tips of Maura's fingers in hers and spins her so the ME's back is to her front. "You love it, though," she murmurs.

"Generally," Maura agrees, unwilling to risk hives and too caught up to think of a less incriminating answer. "Touch me, please," she nearly whines.

"With pleasure."

Jane begins by snaking a hand up over Maura's shoulder at her neck, pulling aside the collar of Maura's blouse slightly so she can leave a wet, hot kiss there. That hand continues over and down Maura's chest until it is cupping Maura's breast. Jane had recognized the strap of Maura's bra a moment ago when she revealed it, and she knows it does not have padding, just a wire and satin cups and a front clasp. She takes advantage, pressing the heel of her palm firmly against soft flesh and then curling her fingers around to knead.

Maura can actually feel some of the texture of Jane's scar through the two thin layers of fabric, and she shudders in pleasure. Her nipple is hard, poking, and Jane responds by loosing her fingers and caressing with her palm flat. It makes Maura twitch and gasp.

Jane does that melted chocolate chuckle again. Her hand glides lower down Maura's front, until she is cupping Maura between her legs. She can feel the heat and even a hint of the moisture of Maura's arousal through designer slacks, and it makes her hiss. She starts to rub, slow but firm, and Maura throws her head back against Jane's shoulder with a wanton moan. "Holy shit, you weren't kidding, you could come from just this, huh?" Jane asks, awed.

"Don't... want to," breathes the pathologist, pushing her hips into Jane's hand.

"What? Why?" Jane moves as if to pull her hand away but Maura clamps her own hand down against Jane's wrist, maintaining the delectable pressure. She gathers herself to speak again.

"Don't wanna come until I feel you in me."

Jane feels dizzy. "Well, then, I better get your pants open," she croaks.

Maura reaches behind her with the hand not holding Jane's in place and pulls Jane's face toward hers over her shoulder. She lays a searing kiss on Jane, messy and forceful. "You'd better."

Jane licks her lips where Maura's just were and undoes the clasp, button, and fly of Maura's slacks. She wastes no time sliding into satin panties and collecting Maura's arousal on her fingertips. Maura keens, rolling her hips and pulling Jane tighter against her. Jane starts to move her fingers then, dipping low to the base of Maura's entrance before coming back up again nearer her clit, without touching it directly. She repeats the movement a few times, thoroughly slicking up the area, though Maura hardly needs her help with that. It's almost exactly what Jane did to herself this morning while Maura watched, and it makes Jane ask, "Is this what you've been wanting all day?"

"Yes," mewls Maura, long and drawn out and sinful. "Yes Jane, oh god, fuck me, please, please," she babbles.

Jane places a hungry kiss on Maura's shoulder as she enters her. The dual sensations ignite Maura, causing her to moan again. Jane is being deliberate, tracing her finger everywhere along Maura's walls, stroking and bending and flexing before beginning a fairly firm, rhythmic rubbing of one particularly sensitive patch at the front. To say it is working for Maura would be an understatement; the ME is writhing in Jane's arms, pressing into Jane's assault, whimpering and moaning and sighing with each move Jane makes.

And yet it's not enough. "Jane, please, another finger," Maura pants, digging her nails hard enough into Jane's side to leave marks as she holds the pair of them as close together as she can.

"Yeah?" asks Jane, her voice coming out low from deep in her chest, knowing she's teasing.

"Please," begs Maura again, near crying from the sensation building at her apex.

"Okay, baby, I've got you," murmurs Jane, slipping in her ring finger alongside the middle finger she's already stroking Maura with, easily incorporating it into her ministrations.

Maura groans and bucks her hips, startling them both with the bang it causes their bodies to make against her desk.

The sound activates Jane. "You know what to do if you don't like it but I'm gonna try something, okay?" she warns on a growl.

Maura makes a sound that feels more likely to be acquiescence than anything else, and Jane moves. She grips Maura's hair at the back of her head, lays her forearm against Maura's spine, and bends the Chief Medical Examiner for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts over her own desk.

There's a muffled noise of pure pleasure as Maura bites down on her fist to stifle an honest-to-god scream at Jane's actions.

"You okay, baby?" asks Jane gently, beginning to slow down, "Bad scream or good scream?"

Maura scrabbles for Jane's hand between her legs, holding her in place. "So good, oh fuck Jane so good, so, so—"

But Jane has twisted her hand so she can circle her thumb around Maura's clit, and Maura comes. It feels like flying, every sensation completely tuned out except for the white-hot point of pleasure between her thighs.

The first feeling to return is the warmth of Jane's body as she's held, followed by the hard feeling of the desk she's still pressed against. Jane pulls out only now, having been slowly easing Maura down. She rubs broad circles over Maura's back. "That was good huh," she asks, and Maura feels her face form a sleepy grin at how self-satisfied the detective sounds.

"It was, yes," she agrees easily. "Wanna do it again later? I feel like we should christen my home office the same way."

Jane just laughs, and Maura thinks of chocolate.

[roeroe-world]

could it be or could it not be? (a different world edition)

As requested❤️: @notapradagurl7

starring: bumper robinson as dorian haywood, keke palmer as ruby jacobs

set in 1993.

warning(s): detailed smut, harsh language, adult situations

“I really don’t understand why out of all people your partner has to be her.” Lena sends the male an eye roll, not bothering to even glance in her boyfriend’s direction. Dorian and Lena strolled alongside one another into the lobby, annoyance pouring over both of their frames.

“Don’t start, Lena. I told you Ruby and I are just friends.” He sighs heavily.

The couple were having a slight argument over Dorian’s assignment. This appointed assignment isn’t just the issue, it’s who the assignment is being conducted with. In Lena’s perspective, she thinks her lover should have been paired with someone else.

“Just friends? Oh, please…” With a wave of her manicured hand, her petite body plops onto the couch.

Dorian’s head shakes side to side, occupying the space next to her before leaning in to place a kiss upon her lips. His arms snaking around her neck. Instantaneously, her head turns in the opposite direction as her tongue drags along her cheek. The scene caught the attention of a few familiar individuals.

“Oop, I’m sensing some tension over here. Y’all having a couple’s fight again?” Gina quizzes, eyes darting between the two nosily and carefully.

“How about you mind your business and go back to wherever you came from, big mouth.” Lena insults nonchalantly yet irritation present in her tone. Both Gina and Charmaine’s head tilt backward in pure offense.

“Dang, what’s the matter with you?” Charmaine butts in, the duo welcoming themselves amongst the couch as well. “Yeah, exactly. What is the matter with you? I keep telling you that Ruby and I being partners for this project was completely unintentional. The professor partnered us up. We had absolutely nothing to do with this.” Dorian’s gaze piercing passionately into his girlfriend’s canvas in hopes of her understanding his side.

“Ruby? As in fine Ruby Jacobs?” Terrell makes his presence known, catching wind of the conversation. He takes a seat along the arm of the couch.

Immediately, Lena sits up. “See—” She began frustratingly. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You can’t be just friends with a girl like that.” Her intense gaze falling upon the male, eyelids squinting. “Look me in my eye and tell me that you’re not attracted to her. You better not lie neither.”

Dorian finds himself laughing in disbelief. He couldn’t believe his girlfriend could be this way, so insecure. He’d never given her any reason to feel inferior nor intimidated by another woman. But all of that changed when Ruby transferred to Hillman.

Ruby transferred from Howard to Hillman for a fresh start. She also happens to be a long time friend of his, given they’ve even grown up together. They lost touch for a while after graduating high school but quickly reconnected after crossing paths— to be specific they were passing one another on campus before recognizing each other in a quickness.

Ever since then, things had shifted within his relationship with Lena.

She became a jealous, raging woman. Often speaking ill of Ruby whenever she isn’t around for no apparent reason. Dorian understood to a certain extent but it was growing extremely uncomfortable. Ruby rarely glances in her direction, let alone speaks of her.

“Lena, listen to yourself. You’re being extremely irrational right now.” Dorian argues.

“You can’t even—” Lena began, only to be interrupted.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt whatever this is. But Dorian it’s your turn.” The woman of the hour makes her appearance, butt-length individual braids swinging softly alongside her confident stride. The entire group’s energy shifts, their attention shifting upon Ruby’s frame.

The strap of her Rasta striped backpack chilling on her right shoulder. A purple and white tank top reading ‘Nike’ in white bold letters hugging her torso yet exposing her small waist, matching oversized nylon track pants covering her legs. A fresh pair of Nike Air Jordan 7 OG Raptors adorning her feet.

Gold compliments her skin tone and clearly she’s aware, rocking a plethora of gold necklaces and a few rings. Two of the necklaces being a nameplate necklace which spells out her name in cursive as well as Egyptian queen, Nefertiti. Notes of brown sugar and vanilla bean engulfing her natural being. She’s the epitome of fly.

Her aura was bright yet she was nonchalant and the facial expression amongst her canvas remained unphased. In fact, she doesn’t acknowledge the rest of the group. Her attention solely focused on Dorian’s being, handing the male the car seat.

“Cool. How was she?” He quizzes, referring to the infant simulator resting in the assigned car seat. The infant simulator happened to be the fake baby the duo were given for the sake of their project.

To be specific, their project happens to be a social experiment. The duo were to pretend to be young parents whilst tackling real world issues and college.

“A pain in my behind. I was able to get her to sleep so I could get some studying in thankfully.” She smiles weakly, ignoring the subtle stares they were receiving. “I gotta head to track practice. Good luck.”

“Thanks and before you leave I’m gonna need you to watch her tonight. I have an exam tomorrow morning. I need some sleep.” His pools of brown practically pleading for the young woman to oblige.

Her hands meeting her hips, sighing irritably, “I have an exam too, Dorian. Don’t you think I can use some sleep?”

“But—”

“No buts.” Before he could even get another word in, Ruby saunters out of sight.

“Okay, wow…” Gina starts with a mischievous chuckle. “So, Lena? You’re like the resentful girlfriend but Ruby is the baby mama that you just can’t seem to get rid of. Mm, I would pay good money to see this in a soap opera.” Her chuckles transitions into intense laughter.

As a result, Lena hops out of her seat and began to march away from the group. Charmaine sends a harsh slap to Gina’s shoulder earning a light gasp— the young woman no longer laughing as the duo began to follow closely behind an angry Lena to comfort their friend.

The moment the trio were gone, the infant simulator bursts into loud wails. Dorian’s tired eyes falls onto his friend, Terrell, whom instantly stands to his feet. A nervous laugh escaping his throat.

“You know, man. I would help you but, um, I gotta study for that uh… exam I got tomorrow too. So, uh, yeah. Bye.” He lies before quickly leaving the scene as well.

Dorian’s head tosses backward in pure frustration, a sigh passing his lips. His gaze falling amongst the crying electronic infant the second he lifts his head once again.

———

Now you want my love

Well that’s alright

Well, it will be there for you, morning, noon, and night

TLC’s “Baby, Baby, Baby” softly commences through Ruby’s apartment due to her handy dandy CD player. It happens to be a one bedroom, simply furnished but nothing too extra. It was just right, perfect for her accommodation during this point of her life.

She stays off campus, not because she necessarily had to but she chose too. After the horrific experience of having roommates at her old campus, she decided to purchase a place of her own. She needed her own space. Ruby liked it better that way. Besides, she doesn’t live too far from the campus.

Silently, she flips to the next page of her thick textbook which is seated upon her lap. Her legs indian style comfortably, basking in the solitude and tranquility of her space.

Until, a couple of knocks meets her door.

Her gaze travels to the door for a split second before sitting the textbook onto the coffee table and standing to her feet. Glancing through the peephole, she looks to the side with a lighthearted chuckle yet wasting no absolute time to welcome the uninvited guest inside.

“Did you need something, Dorian?”

“Yeah. To study.” Without protesting, she takes the car seat out of his hold as he closes the umbrella. It was storming pretty badly outside. The rain poured at an intense rate and it hadn’t shown any signs of stopping anytime soon.

“You didn’t walk over here in the rain. Did you?” Ruby places the car seat onto a nearby chair, carefully analyzing the infant simulator’s appearance to ensure everything is intact.

Shutting and locking the door behind himself, “I took a cab.” He takes off his red, black and white letterman jacket before neatly hanging it onto the coat rack. She grabs his backpack, laying it on the couch. “I know you’re probably wondering why I’m here. I’ve been trying to study but she keeps crying and the only way the thing seems to stop is when I hold her.”

“It does that to me too. Hence why I gave her to you for the night. You’re not the only one in dire need of sleep and on top of that I have to study too. As you can see—” Her arms motioning to the mountains of paper and textbooks scattered across her coffee table.

Dorian observes the scene. A sense of regret and guilt creeping upon his being. “You know what? You’re right. I should go. Sorry about this.” He reaches for his belongings, preparing to leave before Ruby halts his actions. “Stop. Seriously, what’s happening to us?”

His eyebrows furrowing together, “What do you mean?”

The male began to act oblivious. Though, he knows exactly what she means. Before their project, their friendship was great and they would rarely possess any disagreements. But with the assignment, the duo seemed to be growing slightly distant but oddly closer in the same note due to the infant simulator.

Sure, they were best-friends. But before the “baby” they had their own lives and friends so they weren’t obligated to see one another every day. Now, they had to for the sake of their grade.

“This thing—” The young woman motions to the infant simulator in slight frustration before plopping onto the couch. “drives me nuts. I can’t really hang out whenever I want. You’re starting not to like me anymore. I’ve become annoying. Haven’t I?”

“Woah, what?” Dorian laughs, taking a seat next to his friend. “Look, I’ve been worked up over this project too. You’re not alone and you are not annoying. You’re just… a young mother, technically.” He tries to assure her earning a light exasperated sigh.

“Well, in that case, I don’t wanna have children anytime soon.”

The male finds himself laughing causing Ruby to join him, “I mean, I can’t study. Oh and I can’t take long thorough showers like I usually do. One time, I was in the middle of a presentation and the thing started crying. It was soo humiliating.”

“Tell me about it. My Biology professor literally kicked me out of class.” The two relate to one another, their heads shaking in unison. “I’m so glad we only have a couple of more days left of this project. It has been a long two weeks. Though, I can’t lie, I feel for those who are juggling college and parenthood. It is not easy.”

“Yeah,” She began, her gaze softening the second she turns in Dorian’s direction. “Um, I caught wind of you and your friends conversation earlier…” Instantaneously, his attention falls upon the woman. “I don’t understand the issue your girl has with me. I mean, we’re just friends.” The young woman says with an eye roll, crossing her arms.

Not once did Ruby ever come on to Dorian. Despite the fact that she doesn’t know Lena well, she respects her enough to not interfere in their relationship. But Ruby isn’t an ass kisser so it is what it is.

Dorian sighs heavily, “I tell her that a million times. Lena is just… I don’t know. She’s never been this way. I’m not sure if I should be flattered or upset.” His mind going into deep thought.

“All I’m gonna say is, she has nothing to worry about. I also enjoy our friendship. I think she really needs to dive deep inside and find that insecurity so maybe she can stop taking it out on me. I’ve done absolutely nothing to her nor to you, Dorian.”

The young woman stands to her feet, walking to the other side of her living room to turn off the CD player. “Ruby…” Dorian slowly steps to her, grabbing her hand to gently turn the woman in his direction. “I apologize on behalf of Lena’s behavior. Okay? But I can’t control nor can I convince her not to be threatened by you… I mean… look at you,”

Ruby’s head gradually lifts, their pools of brown connecting, “You’re beautiful. Guys flock to you all the time.” She breaks their eye contact, disconnecting their hands due to her growing quite flustered as she saunters in the opposite direction of the area.

Dorian only follows right behind the beauty. Tension forming between the two.

“Can I be honest?” He inquires, swallowing his pride.

“Yeah?” Her gaze away from his being, avoiding any absolute eye contact.

“I’m glad we became partners because I’ve grown to realize something…” Suddenly, Ruby turns to look at him. “What’s that?”

“How I can’t do this thing called life without you. There’s no other person I see myself doing this—” He motions towards their surroundings. “with.” The duo being partners for the project gave the two a chance to view one another in a different light. A light they never once walked to.

“I… see you as more than just a friend. In fact, I’ve loved you since I was nine years old.”

Ruby grew speechless, peering deeply into his eyes. Derealization creeps upon her frame— nearly on the verge of pinching herself to figure out if she’s dreaming or not. But she isn’t… Dorian is standing right in front of her, live in the flesh. Confessing his longtime romantic feelings for her.

“This may come as a shocker but… I had to tell you before it was too late.” He further explains, stepping closer to the beauty.

“Lena. What about Lena? Did she ever come in mind when you realized you had these feelings for me?” Their chests meeting softly, her gaze peering upward due to their height difference.

“What about her?” Her eyebrow raises at his response. “I care about her but she isn’t you.”

“Could this be? Or… could this not be?” The beauty’s fingertips tracing along the material of his long sleeved shirt.

His face slowly dipping downward toward hers, his lips leaning closer to hers, “It will be.”

Without wasting another agonizing second, their lips connected for the very first time. Their union was fervent, zealous— in search of what was next to occur during this moment. Their tongues began to tango within the other’s wetness. The act creating a track of its own.

Both of their racing hearts thumped intensely as Dorian takes the initiative of positioning his hands along the top of her backside. He wanted to remain respectful, not wanting to overstep his boundaries in any way shape or form.

As a result, Ruby sends him the signal that his thoughts were okay. It was as if she read his mind given their undeniable chemistry, leading his large hands to her covered backside that sat plump and proudly in her shorts.

Her arms hanging loosely around his neck, their heads conducting every which way yet never breaking their steamy kiss. Unfortunately, the infant simulator started to wail loudly catching the duo’s attention. Dorian sends the woman a grip on her backside, his top row of pearly whites softly digging into his bottom lip. Hazy low eyes staring downward at her seductively.

“I got it.”

Suddenly, he snaps out of the trance she unintentionally lured him under. His mind traveling to his girlfriend for a split second.

“N-No, I got it.” He volunteers, tending to the infant simulator’s needs.

Giggling softly to herself, Ruby observes as he rocks and feeds the mechanical infant. Her gaze travels along to her sock cladded feet before lifting her head once again, finger twiddling the tip of one of her lengthy braids.

The second he returns it to its rightful place as soon as it halted its wails, “I should go.” He began to pack his things, preparing to leave once again.

Yet again, Ruby stops him right in his tracks. This time what she had in mind isn’t so innocent.

“You can’t just confess your feelings for me then up and leave. Besides, it’s pouring down out there.” She was enticing, practically seducing him with her eyes. “You gonna go out in the rain? Hm?” They were a deep shade of brown, lust and desire swirling within her orbs.

Her head tilts to the side, their pools of brown burning into one another. “I don’t think you should leave me, Dorian.” The woman confidently steps closer to his tall frame, exuding a femme fatale. A woman clearly comfortable within her sexuality.

He surrenders, “I suppose, I shouldn’t.” The thought of Lena being shoved in the back burner of his conscience.

With his consent, the woman takes his hand and leads him to her bedroom. Anticipation and excitement pouring over his frame as he watches her hips. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, observing the beauty undress while admiring her being. His member hard as a rock.

Ruby kneels upon her knees, unbuckling the fly of his denim jeans. “You don’t have to do that.” He says, though he doesn’t mind. He’d never received fellatio before so it would be a first.

“Stop worrying. Would you?” She doesn’t bother to even glance at him as his tongue drag across his lips, gaze directed amongst her breasts. He lifts his hips so she could pull down his boxers, he’d never been so ecstatic about anything in his life. He had no idea Ruby had it in her.

Slowly stroking his long phallus, her lust-filled eyes glances upward in his direction. It wouldn’t be long before her lips would be wrapped around him, slurping him up as if her life depended on it. Clearly, it isn’t her first rodeo.

His jaw falls agape, “Oh shit.”

Her hand skillfully strokes him. The beauty’s head bobbing upward and downward with absolute ease. Her skills were heaven sent, becoming a pleasure to the male. She was too good at this.

His head falls backward, fucking her face as his fingers tangles into her braids. “Ruby…” He calls her name, low gaze averting downward onto the sexual deviant earning her attention. Batting her eyelashes, she seductively drags her tongue along one of the veins of his thick phallus, making sure to maintain their hazy eye contact. “Yes, baby?”

Before he could utter another word— he couldn’t any longer. He’d completely lost his train of thought. She snatched them away of him as well as his soul, going harder than before due to his reaction. Ruby was giving him Grammy award winning head, a plethora of profanity escaping his throat.

She was showcasing one of her many talents, revealing that she’s unlike any other woman he’s ever been with sexually. None of his previous lovers offered fellatio and he never pressured them either. But Ruby was more than willing to with no absolute shame.

In fact, she was committed. Dedicated to make him come just with the handy dandy work of her tongue. It had taken much practice, though she loved it. The jaw aches, the tears cascading along her cheeks, her mouth being full, the slob surrounding her juicy lips, the moans— even screams. The aggressive face fucking— she abso-fucking-lutely loved it.

“Fuck, fuck…” Dorian groans aloud, releasing into her mouth without warning. She made him come in under a minute, leaving breathless and panting heavily. He wasn’t expecting that level of head.

She swallows whatever he produces with no complaints, crawling onto his lap. “Think you could handle some more?” Her center throbbed for him, throbbing for a good pounding and he possesses the perfect size for her dripping tight crevice. The woman always desired for something bigger than she could handle.

He was still up at attention. “Hell yeah.”

Reaching for a condom into her nightstand, she makes sure to secure it on him. The second she does, she hops off of his lap and lays beside his being. His eyes closely following the places she goes, watching her legs widen. He analyzes her wetness as if it’s his most prized possession, his trophy.

One of her hands drags between her breasts along onto her toned stomach, eventually between her legs. Her index and middle finger toying with her throbbing center, moaning softly. Dorian replaces her touch, a groan passing his throat due to how soaked she is. He barely touched her and he had her like this.

Ruby practically melted like putty in his hands, surrendering to whatever he had to offer. His fingers soon being replaced with his thick phallus, both of them moaning at the sudden contact.

She trapped him into her cavern and he couldn’t find himself desiring to escape. He was already hooked, longing for more and more and more.

Dorian’s strokes were deep, passionate yet slow. He wanted to savor each second, capture each second. His face no longer buried into the crook of her neck, lifting his head to analyze her facial expressions. Her lips were slightly parted open, low pools of brown flowing into his. “I love you.” She whispers before whimpering shortly after her confession.

“I love you.” He tucks one of her braids behind her ear. Orbs sparkling in admiration. Ruby’s deep brown eyes caught him in a daze. Her cheekbones sat high. Her glossy lips plump and suckable, begging to be ravished. Brown skin smooth and soft, her signature vanilla bean scent entering his nostrils yet again. “You’re so beautiful.”

The woman caresses his back, hips rocking into his. Her legs enveloping his waist. She didn’t want him to stop especially when he stretched her out so perfectly. Dorian already has her right where she wanted him to have her.

“Dorian…” Her feminine tone summons his name. It wouldn’t be the last time.

Natural nail beds digging into the golden skin of his back, the pleasure growing increasingly overwhelming. She felt every vein, every thrust, everything. “Shit.” The second he finds her spot— he seems to not want to leave it alone, deepening the tip of his phallus in circles.

Love marks being left upon her skin, biting and nibbling. His wet tongue sensually dragging along her chest then her brown hardened areolas, showing them the attention they were in dire need of.

The view of her breasts bouncing along each thrust, her reaction garnered another side of Dorian. Without a lack of hesitation, he flips the woman onto her stomach before entering her walls yet again. It catches Ruby off guard but she doesn’t disagree. Her legs shaking immensely.

The headboard bangs against the wall harshly. The couple pants heavily as the aggressive sound of skin slapping bounces off the walls. “Ah, fuck,” Dorian’s tight grip amongst her hips forces her body back and forth. His pace more rougher than before. His lust-filled gaze observing her backside clap against him, top row of pearly whites digging into his bottom lip.

No uncertainty, Ruby pumps herself back. “Oh, yes, yes!” Her body burning for him, sweat beads dripping along their melanated frames. She desired for more, no matter how much he filled her up. “Don’t stop… fuck me, fuck me.” The sexual deviant became a certified fein. So far, Dorian wasn’t a disappointment.

Her eyes rolls to the back of her skull for the millionth time tonight. One of her hands reaching behind her back to grip his hip while the other gripped the sheets due to the fervent impact of his strokes. Drool dripping along her chin due to her jaw hanging agape in pure disbelief yet bliss. She hadn’t had her world rocked like this in awhile.

Her arch remained intact, ass up in the air and face down just as he loves it. The view was a true sight for a sore eyes.

The second she looks back at him with that pouty expression upon her face, the throbbing sensation of his phallus intensifies. He isn’t prepared to come just yet. The effect of Ruby was something serious and Dorian hadn’t prepared for it.

Suddenly, an abrupt feeling of Dorian’s member slipping out of Ruby’s cavern earns a whimper. “Put it back in,” She drags out, high-pitched weak voice holding a slight crack due to the amount of shouting she was doing a second ago.

Dorian doesn’t respond. Instead, he lowers himself between her legs. The male figures he would return the favor. “So good.” He groans against her wetness, ravishing her nectar as if it’s his last supper.

“Ouu—” His thumb pressing against her anus. In result, more of her juices dripping along his chin. “Ah, fuck… just like that.” She encourages her lover, fucking his face.

His tongue dragging across her center passionately, not so rough but it was sensual. Soon enough, two of his thick fingers would enter her warm walls again before thrusting them in and out at a gradual pace. The amazing work of his tongue and fingers would cause the beauty to grow weak in the knees.

Dorian was dedicated given his eyelids were shut, his head moving side to side— up and down to lick every angle of her dripping goodness. He was quite adamant on pleasing the woman. He’s his own man and it showed.

Without warning, she squirts onto his gorgeous canvas with a shout, “Fuck!” He would continue his actions resulting in the woman to feel the urge to squirt yet again.

Her aching paradise would be filled to the brim with his love once more, digging in and out of the beauty mercilessly. She released the urge, squirting along his soaked pelvic area while babbling incoherent words. A flushed yet fucked out expression amongst her naturally captivating canvas. “Mhm,” He encourages her, despite not understanding a word she’s uttering.

A firm grip upon her braids would jolt her head backward in his direction as he continued to fuck her into oblivion, her brain growing completely dumb. “Unh, unh, unh, unh!” She shouts into the heated atmosphere. He sends a rough slap to her backside.

“Ah, shit!” Dorian groans, feeling his orgasm approaching. Though, he was about to come— he continued to give her all he had. He was a panting, sweaty mess but he was still incredibly sexy. “Fuck, I love you.” He meant every single word he said.

“I love you more, baby…” She began, tone of voice frail and shaky. “I love this dick.” Her mouth was absolutely filthy but so was Dorian’s. She brought out that side of him.

“I know…” His gaze averting to where their bodies connected. “You’re so fucking wet for me.” With each stroke, her wetness made its presence known— creating an mixtape of its own. Their sex was sticky and sloppy just as the couple loved it.

Their sexual chemistry was better than expected. It took a moment but eventually it transitioned into something unforgettable, ardent.

Her walls tightens around him causing his eyes to roll to the back of his skull, head tossing backward as his tongue drags along his lips. “Shit. I’m gonna cum.” He informs the woman, his thrusts becoming sloppy. Her nectar sloshing against his hardened member, squirting once more.

Their bodies began to shake violently. Oxytocin and Dopamine streaming along their veins as their love comes crashing down upon them. Dorian continues to pound his lover, unable to get enough despite his orgasm sending a slight jolt to his movements. In result, the couple began to grow overstimulated— fucking one another through their orgasm.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Ruby’s voice high-pitched cries out with a light crack before calling out for the most high. They ride out their highs, Dorian grunting aloud as his seed fills up the latex.

Panting heavily, the male’s arms wraps along her waist. His sweaty chest pressing against her back, lips inching closer toward her ear. “You know there’s no going back, right?”

The second their high came down, the couple was brought back to reality. What they did was absolutely wrong, the ultimate stab in the back. Both Ruby and Dorian understood that but neither of them could deny the burning desire of going there with one another. Though it was wrong, it felt right.

They love one another and Lena couldn’t stop that.

Turning to look back at him, a loving grin upon her lips, a twinkle of admiration and adoration in her eye as her gaze sets upon his captivating canvas. “Of course.”

[kekaki-cupcakes]

Hi uhm sorry if I bother you: could you please write Percy x daughter of Disciplina (minor Roman goddess of discipline) who’s very uhm well rules-oriented, similar to Jason and cold and military though secretly loves cute and chaotic things (though doesn’t partake) so it’s kind of a rival to lovers situation please? And they meet when Percy arrives at the camp Jupiter? Thank you so much and feel free to decline ofc! Bye bye! Ps: loved your Nike series and I can’t wait for the Hypnos piece too! Take your time though, ofc!

This was a cute idea <3 and I liked writing about Camp Jupiter I haven't had any roman demigod requests before! sorry it took so long I'm multitasking so much haha but this ended up as 2.1k words lol <3

rules orders kisses instructions---Percy Jackson x roman child of Disciplina

»»————-　★　————-««

-First of all, it wasn’t your fault that you managed to bring the most chaotic, rule breaking, cute, carefree, demigod into Camp Jupiter.

-You were posted just inside the borders, watching for monsters and the like, and though you’d never admit it, it was one of the quietest and therefore dullest spots for patrol. Nothing ever came through, and you spent most of your time sharpening your weapon and spotting cloud animals. Until something did come through, namely, the bane of your entire existence. 

-He came running over the hills with a panda pillow pet and a bronze sword, followed by a hoard of screeching monsters, telling ‘Perseus Jackson’ that today was the day he would die. At the time, rescuing this random demigod was the right thing to do, but looking back, if you had just let him be trampled by the contents of Tartarus, it would have fixed a lot of your problems. Instead you opened the gates to Camp Jupiter and let him in.

-Both of you stood beyond the gates, which were made out of some solid metal that the Trivia kids had installed. They had never disclosed what it was that vaporized the monsters the second they touched it. You should probably check in with that, now that you think about it. 

-Perseus had made quite the fuss when the first cohort and the praetors showed up, making giant hands out of one of the rivers that ran along the edge of the city and then being introduced by a god. He took it all in his stride, and even had the nerve to back-talk Octavian [something you’d never admit to wanting to do yourself]. 

-You hated him immediately.

-Well, maybe not hate, hate was a strong word for simple feelings. You would just rather if Percy [he had corrected the use of his name immediately. You were grateful. Perseus was a stupid name.] had a bit more respect for the way Camp Jupiter worked, and stopped teaching the younger soldiers swear words during meal times. 

-A few days into his stay, he approached you in one of the large canvas tents set up. You’d been mapping out which of the hills you were going to use as a base in the next war game with Dakota, when he tripped on his shoelaces and righted himself, grinning at both you and Dakota. 

-Apparently he wanted to thank you for not leaving him out the border to fight off the army of monsters on his tail, and volunteered to help out on your team during the war games in return.

-You told him you would consider once he learnt to tie his shoelaces properly.

-You’d then assumed that would be the last of it, thankfully, [although for some reason you’d scan the fifth cohorts section sometimes for a mess of black hair, but you were just trying to keep the younger soldiers vocabulary appropriate. Obviously.] and spent the rest of the day taking poisonous bows and quivers off the children of Mercury, and explaining to the daughter of Pluto that she wasn’t allowed to ‘have a go at summoning a horse skeleton for funsies’.

-Reyna marched between the canvas tents with her metal dogs, barking instructions and sending out a few Helios kids and legacies as medics.

-Ten minutes before the game officially started, when the opposite side were posted up too far away to see their silhouettes on the mountain ridge, and the children of Mars were untying the war elephant from its posts and readying it for battle, Percy burst back into the tent. One of the leopards getting a spiked collar attached to its neck growled, but settled back down when Dakota spoke sharply to it. Lavinia went to shoo Percy out, but something about the easy grin on his lips made you wave a hand, and Lavinia went back to instructing the Vulcan children. 

-Percy ran to you, and in quite the untimely fashion, kicked one of his feet up onto the battle plans, mud and dirt smearing across the maps and charts. Before you could yell at him, you spotted his shoes. 

-“How’s that for being allowed to fight?” Somehow, in the few hours he’d had spare, Percy had acquired a pair of purple velcro sneakers. 

-You stood there for a moment, and then narrowed your eyes at him, folding your arms as well, just to make your point. “If you left Camp Jupiter I will have to report you, you know that, right?”

-He just smirked. “You like me too much. And don’t worry, I traded Octavian's diary for them, some Venus legacy guy had a spare pair. Purple isn’t really my color, but watch!”

-Thankfully, he took his feet off the table, but a moment later he was running across the cramped tent, and threw his arms out for balance as small wheels popped out of the soles of his shoes. A coat of shields crashed to the floor, and the leopard in the corner jumped to its feet and scampered out. Someone yelled and Percy proceeded to spin in a circle and then slip and fall.

-For the first time, you became annoyed that your reflexes were so good, because Percy was sprawled out in your arms, which were under his, keeping him from becoming impaled by a stray electric spear. You held your breath for as long as you could, pulling your expression into one blank of emotions, but then you couldn’t hold it any longer. 

-You laughed.

-Pery turned around, pulling his shirt down and skidding a little on the floor. His green eyes you only just noticed were the same shade as the lake near the stables were wide, and he was slack jawed. 

-Your stomach started to hurt as you giggled, “what?”

-“You can laugh!”

-“Of course I can laugh, Perseus, I am a person.”

-“I didn’t know you could laugh. And it’s Percy, don’t make fun of me.”

-You went back to glaring at him quickly, and he visibly dulled. You just rolled your eyes and began brushing mud dewy grass of the battle plans. He peeked over your shoulder, hair tickling your neck, so you planted one of the little markers Dakota liked to use to show where people would be patrolling. 

-Percy pouted, and you quickly looked away from his mouth [why were you even looking at his mouth?], “can’t I be the horse?”

-“The Pluto girl is the horse, she’s making sinkholes along the tracks to our base, trying to dilute the flow of soldiers. You can be the dog, it’s cute.”

-“You think I’m cute?”

-His smile when he said that was in fact, cute, but you didn’t tell him that. Instead you picked up another of the little coloured markers, and moved it to where you’d initially put the dog. “Fine, you can be the toucan, because you’re an imbecile.” 

-“No wait, I wanna be the dog now... And what did toucans ever do to you?” 

»»————-　★　————-««

-You became quite accustomed to the sound of smooth clicking, a scrape, and then Percy yelping and bumping into the back of you over the next few days. 

To the north, beyond the gods, lies the legion's crown. 

Falling from ice, the son of Neptune shall drown.

-You didn’t see him off. 

-You knew it wasn’t polite, the entirety of the army stood on the shore as Percy, the Pluto girl, and the boy who cared for the war elephant waved them off. But you stayed at your post by the border instead, watching cloud animals and pretending not to see someone sinking to their death in each one.

-But the army didn’t sit with him at every meal because technically, you were a superior and didn’t have an assigned legion, you had just usually sat with Reyna or Jason. You’d eat the breads and nuts and fruits the satyrs and harpies brought while Percy ate everything in sight that was even slightly blue. 

-The army wasn’t given a daisy chain as a crown when you showed Percy through the gardens, the trees and flowers acting as borders to the paths leading across the city in the direction of the universities and shops. The army didn’t find an old basketball in the weapons shed and learn to play with Percy, because he couldn’t remember playing before, but he was good. 

-The army didn’t sneak him into the stables because really you weren’t allowed but somehow the rearing black stallions calmed him when his breathing got too fast and uneven. 

-The army didn’t sit at the edge of the river bed while he ducked under and splashed around like a happy duckling. That stopped when the prophecy was first spoken. Percy skirted around puddles on the last day.

»»————-　★　————-««

-There was blood. Lots of it. Smoke wafting from the scattered fires and screams piercing the muggy air. 

-You held your weapon tightly in your hand, back to back with Dakota as he brandished a baseball bat wound tight with thorny vines that curled and writhed like snakes. 

-Monsters crawled over the mountain ridge in waves, at least half of them squashed by the giant stomping in circles and roaring, creating miniature earthquakes with each step. Alcyoneus was forty feet tall, his skin a metallic sort of color that shone like the sun Helios was bringing into the middle of the stormy sky. 

-The fifth legion ran into places, maps and diagrams you’d drilled into them, finally being put to use as they worked effortlessly. The war elephant had doubled, somehow, and both charged at the violent giant currently ripping the roof off the stables, knocking him sideways.

-For a short moment, you assumed maybe a finger had been cut off from the monster, as a bronze sort of color streaked across the horizon, but then it came to a stop in front of Lavinia, who was dragging an unconscious demigod across the battlefield in the direction of the hidden medic base by the university. 

-Hazel, the Pluto girl [you’d finally learnt her name] sat atop a stallion, her cavalry helmet over her curly hair. You made eye contact, and her shoulder sunk, but you weren’t sure if it was with relief or disappointment. You couldn’t see her expression from across the bloodstained distance, but you could see the blue harpy foaming at the mouth behind her, talons outstretched. 

-You turned to Dakota, but he was already kneeling a little, bracing himself as you stepped on one of his hands, and then he launched you forwards and up, up into the smokey air filled with screams and wails. 

-Time slowed a little as you positioned yourself, wind whipping your eyes and making them sting. Hazel ducked as you flipped over her and landed on the Harpies back, rolling it away and further down the hill. Talons raked your cheek, and you whacked it over the head, hard.

-The bronze streak was gone already. Somehow the horse was running vertically up the side of the giant, and then began circling its neck.

-The sleeve of your purple shirt was ripped free and you held it to your face, the deep cuts dripping down your neck and already staining your skin in dark red blotches. Pain prickled, but you felt a chill down your spine, and by the time you had turned, the horned snake’s jaw was already unhinged, fangs dripping with something dark and oily and ready to bite.

-Your heart slowed, or maybe it sped up, all you knew was that it was the only thing you could hear.

-You held your arms in front of your scratched up face and tried to roll, but the snake's tail was already heavy across you, pining you to the blood stained cobblestone ground. You reached for where your weapon had been lost in the wrestle a moment before, but then there was a dragged out squelching sound and a ‘shing’. 

-The snake froze, and then its head slipped off its body, landing by Percy’s feet.

-He launched forwards as quickly as the snake had, only he pulled you from the cocoon of scales, panting. Your hands shook, and Percy’s eyes widened when he spotted the splatter of blood on your neck, his face going pale.

-You shook your head weakly, “just my cheek, it’s not bad.”

-He nodded, and then you were once again wrapped up tightly, this time by Percy’s arms. You noticed vaguely that he was actually pretty buff, but then you felt your eyes prickle with emotion.

-He stepped back quickly, ducking his head, “sorry, I..”

-“You didn’t drown.”

- “I technically did but it’s all good now-” 

-You cut him off with another hug, your face buried in his shoulder, probably covering him in your own blood as well, but Percy didn’t seem to mind when he hugged you back, chest heaving. You sniffed, trying not to cry, hands tight around his hoodie, “you smell like incense and hay.”

-“That, yeah that explains a lot of it actually.”

-“You don’t get to go on another quest without me, that’s an order.”

-“Yes please.”

»»————-　★　————-««

[hairmetal666]

Steddie Notes Part 4 (Welcome to Steve's POV)

CW//small instance that could be viewed as internalized homophobia

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

In the bottom of Steve’s closet is a Nike shoe box. It’s full of a year’s worth of torn notebook pages, paper menus, receipts, envelopes, sticky notes, notepad sheets, invoice carbon copies, discarded things from dnd, and whatever else they could find to write on.

It's this box that contains every bit of Steve’s heart. 

✏️✏️✏️✏️

Steve’s at the school to pick up Dustin, Mike and Lucas, but they don’t appear at 9pm on the dot like they promised. Grumbling and annoyed, Steve heads down to the drama club room.

He hears Eddie’s voice even before he walks into the room. The low baritone, all husky and threatening, sends shivers down Steve’s spine. 

Steve strides into the room, ready to berate his kids for their tardiness, but he stops literally in his tracks when he sees Eddie. Eddie looming over the table, all that long curly hair framing his face; his expression uncharacteristically dangerous, his eyes flat and promising violence.

He can’t do anything but stare, mouth shocked wide. Eddie lifts his gaze, locks it on Steve. Eddie’s looking at him with such intense command, such focus, that Steve knows he’d drop to his knees for that look, give Eddie anything he asked, everything.

He wants. So hard and so fast it makes him a little nauseous. 

Eddie’s gaze flicks away, while Steve reels from the striking clarity of feeling that rewrites the year of their friendship frame-by-frame.

Steve hardly listens, still trying to come to terms with his sudden realization, with how right it is, with how obvious it’s been this whole time. He remembers, after Starcourt, the way Eddie made him feel safe, cared for. The way Eddie calling him baby echoed for hours, days, weeks after. 

Of course Eddie doesn’t miss Steve's distraction. He leans into Steve's space, murmuring softly, “You okay, sweetheart? Sorry we ran late. Lost track of time.”

“Just tired, I guess.," he says. And he is distinctly not okay, because Eddie is calling him sweetheart and how did it take him this long to realize how much he loves the pet names? 

He tries to tell Eddie. Can’t. Too afraid of losing his friend.  He keeps going out with girls; nice girls, pretty girls, but wishes that Eddie was the one sitting beside him in the movie theater, in the passenger side of his car, across from him at the restaurant. 

Eddie…I think I really like you

You’re my favorite person in the entire world

Some days you’re the only thing I can think about

I want to wake up in bed with you everyday

I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss you

Do you like me? Yes or No

✏️✏️✏️✏️

Steve’s in the Wheeler’s basement, leaning against Eddie's shoulder, waiting for the kids to finish up.

“What are they talking about?” He scribbles at the edge of Eddie’s campaign notes.

Eddie scowls at the note placement, responds anyway. 

“Halloween costumes.” 

“Wanna dress up together, Munson?”

“No way, Harrington, I’m not dressing up as Danny Zuko for you.”

“…obviously you’re Sandy.”

Eddie makes an offended noise. 

“I could do end of the movie Sandy. But face it, baby, you’re the pretty, fresh-faced innocent and I’m the bad boy.” 

Steve strangles back the sound he wants to make when his brain supplies him with an image of Eddie in those black, skin-tight pants.

“I could be a bad boy.”

Before Eddie can reply, the kids start shouting, and Eddie climbs on the wobbling card table, clapping his hands for attention. 

“Jesus, Eds." He grabs Eddie’s ankle to keep him stable. 

“I think a trip to the pumpkin patch is in order, what say you?”

There’s a blip where the whole room stills, every single one of them, aside from Eddie, remembering rotted fields and fetid tunnels filled with Upside Down spores and demo dogs. 

“Oh, yeah, we don’t go to the pumpkin patch anymore. You know, since the tunnels—”

Steve shoots Dustin the most intense silencing looks he’s ever given anyone, which is really saying something. 

They’d agreed, back in July that they would never tell Eddie what really happened at the mall. Eddie is too good, too gentle, brimming with too much pure kindness for Steve to want him anywhere near the Upside Down.

Eddie cackles. “Tunnels, Henderson?” 

Lucas laughs, says, “He means the maze. Don’t you remember? They set it up one time a few years ago.”

“We got really lost. Took us hours to find the exit,” Dustin adds. 

“Mike cried,” Lucas says. 

“Hey! I did not!” 

Mike’s anger at fake crying about a made-up crisis is enough to have them all in stitches, even Eddie who doesn’t know it’s a lie.  

“What about that apple orchard?” Steve suggests.

Eddie pokes him in the cheek, excited. “Ooh, yes, apple orchard!?”

✏️✏️✏️✏️

The orchard is a mad dash of fighting over wheelbarrows, shrieking sprints into the trees, Steve stressing at the kids throwing themselves across branches with zero regard for personal safety. 

Eddie nearly sends him into a coronary at the ripe old age of 19 by walking down a branch like he’s doing a tightrope. 

“Munson! Get your ass down from there!”

“I’m fine, Stevie! I’ve got reflexes like a cat.”

“The hell you do!” Steve shouts as Eddie wobbles. 

“Don’t worry, baby, I know you’ll always catch me,” Eddie yells back. He winks and Steve blushes about all of it. 

“You’ll just get us both hurt,” he says right as Eddie shimmies easily back to the ground. 

“You worry too much,” he scolds. “All this beautiful hair is going to go grey,” Eddie shuffles his fingers through the strands.

“You’re a menace,” he growls. Pushes Eddie playfully away. 

They pick apples and drink cider and it’s the best time Steve’s had in a while. He kids are spread out around him, Eddie and Robin on the quest for an apple that’s perfectly red, like you could poison Snow White with it, and he’s content. Happy. 

He lets himself bask in the moment, but it’s cut short by a familiar whooping yell and the crash of Eddie Munson clinging to his back.

He groans, almost loses his footing, but quickly hoists Eddie’s legs higher against his sides.

He runs and Eddie screams, giggling, and clutches his fists into the fabric of Steve’s sweater. 

“Can’t believe you caught me, sweetheart,” Eddie says once Steve slows to a walk.

“I’ll always catch you, Eds,” he promises.

Eddie makes a little noise, almost like a whimper, pressing his cheek against Steve’s.

And for just a second, the barest hint of a moment in time, Steve swears he feels Eddie’s lips pressed against the sensitive skin right beneath his ear. 

It’s right then that Steve knows he doesn’t just like Eddie. No, he’s positively, totally, and completely in love with him.

(Part 5)

Thank you all so much for your comments and reblogs and likes! I appreciate it more than I can say and am still so honored that so many people like this little series. Please let me know if I missed you in the tag list, and I'll make sure to get you added for future updates (I think we're looking at 3 more)!

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[jen-with-a-pen]

ALL TIED UP - FOUR

Previous ⊹ Series

summary: A look into the House of Sigma Beta Theta (ΣBΘ). Annoyed with the vague hinting at the party on Friday, Steve confronts Clint and stands up for once– and it only slightly backfires.

pairings: Art Student!Frat Brother!Steve Rogers x Film Student!Sorority Sister!Reader

word count: 1386

warnings: cursing, food mention, meeting the rest of the brothers, dudebro Clint, fuckboy Tony, singling out/exclusion, power dynamics, Steve's just trying to make it through the day man

a/n: we get to meet the rest of the fraternity! so sorry it's been a while. the holidays, seasonal depression, and work happened and i didn't really have the motivation to write for steve again until recently. hope yall like it ❤ p.s. thank you all SO SO much again on the continuing love for filthy impetuous souls. it means the world ❤

This chapter was not beta'd by anyone else. All mistakes in this chapter are my own.

gif by @paliaphrodite | additional graphics + dividers by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist | all tied up masterlist Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥ Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

Last Wednesday.

Dribbles of cereal milk splash onto the kitchen table as Steve switches between eating breakfast, drafting a perfect-but-also-not-too-perfect text to his barista, and reading the newspaper. The newspaper thing makes him feel like an old fucking geezer, but it reminds him of mornings with his Ma back home. He misses her.

He makes a mental note to call her this weekend. 

Munching on another spoonful, he nearly chokes at the sound of slow, calculated footsteps descending the stairs. Normally he’s the only one home on Wednesday mornings. Normally he can sit in comfortable silence in the kitchen without needing to sneak around the fucking house. However, this specific Wednesday morning was not normal– all the guys were hungover from the party the night before. Upon realization, Steve reluctantly swallows the half-chewed gob of Cheerios. It lands in his stomach like a rock as he frantically looks about the scene on the table; he can’t decide fast enough whether to hide the newspaper, or his phone– or himself– before whomever is around the corner sees him outside his bedroom, outside his element. 

Tony Stark is the first to stride into the kitchen. Jet-black hair slicked back with yesterday's pomade complimented by a face riddled with stubble. He’s a mismatched mess of a worn Yankees jersey, khakis, and the newest Nikes, all of which are covered by the stench of luxury cologne and seven types of vodka. Even with designer sunglasses on, he winces at the fluorescent kitchen lights while dragging his feet straight to the coffee pot. 

"’Sup, Rogers." 

As far as they are into the semester, it’s the first time Tony directly acknowledges Steve in a way that isn't sarcastic or followed by a snooty comment under his breath. Steve quietly tips his chin to Tony out of politeness. From his perch at the kitchen table, he watches Tony pour a mug of coffee before slyly taking a mini Fireball out of his shirt pocket, dumping it into the hot liquid. He stirs his concoction with a finger, tasting it with a faint grimace before sipping. 

To each their own, Steve thinks. 

"Are you really reading the fuckin' newspaper, old timer?" Tony remarks behind his mug. Last night’s party and lack of proper hydration makes his voice raspy, deeper than usual. Steve shrugs, nodding with a faint 'yeah' in response. Steve sips his protein shake.

Tony sniffs a laugh. "Soon enough, you'll be on it." 

Another slurp. 

"What?" Steve chokes, a chunk of unmixed protein powder lodging itself in his esophagus.

"Hm. Nothin'." 

“No, what did you–”

"Whoa! Sure is a party in here," Clint Barton jokes upon entering the kitchen, following in Tony's footsteps to the coffee maker. Compared to Tony, Clint takes his hangovers in full stride. It figures, too; the guy is a kinesiology-finance major with a nutritionist-business major of a girlfriend. Eyes full of light and mischief, hair already stylishly spiked even though he just rolled out of bed, he’s already in his usual workout shirt and sweatpants. Clint whistles to himself, taking a large tub of protein powder off the top of the fridge before fixing a shaker of protein coffee. Tony steps out of the way to the other side of the kitchen to lean against the stove, watching, lurking. 

"Not until you got here, Clint," Steve attempts. Clint doesn't turn around until he's shaking his protein shaker. Loudly. 

"You say sumn'?" He asks, smirking when Steve begins to shake his head and go back to his phone. 

"Steven, I kid, I kid.”

Steve gives a tight-lipped smile, looking down at his soggy Cheerios. The knot in his chest tightens. The milk smells sour.

“Hey, Steve.”

Steve looks up, locking eyes with Clint. He swallows, hands gripping the newspaper and crumpling the comics section– his favorite. 

“You have fun last night?” Clint asks, dropping more powdered supplements into his shaker. 

“Y-Yeah, it was fun.” 

“You see any cute honeys you like?” Clint waggles his brow. 

Steve’s face burns. His eyes dart to Tony, who’s hiding a knowing smirk behind his coffee mug. 

“I think, yeah,” he shrugs. 

Clint laughs, lips morphing into a knowing, dark grin. “Well if you think they were cute last night, just wait ‘til Friday. You’ll believe it, then.”

Another vague nod to Friday. Steve’s brow furrows, leaning forward in his chair. “What do you mean by that?” 

Clint blinks, surprised at the confrontation, and sets his shaker down on the counter before approaching the kitchen table, hands slamming into the wood. Steve’s cereal sloshes, splashing a bit onto the screen of his phone. 

“You wanna ask me that again, Steven?” Clint hisses with a challenging smirk. “Go ahead, y’know I can’t hear real well. I didn’t hear ya the first time.” He leans in with a hand cupped to his ear and a mocking face. “What’s that? Huh?”

“Nothin’,” Steve mumbles. 

“Sorry, what?”

“Nothing.” Steve’s knuckles are white.

“Sorry! Come again?” Clint’s smirk grows wider the further he leans in. 

Steve stands abruptly, slamming his own palms onto the table. “I said–!”

“You said what?”

Steve and Clint turn to the direction of Bucky’s voice as it drifts into the kitchen before he and Sam do. Hands pocketed, brow raised, ponytail bobbing, Bucky looks sternly between Steve and Clint. Sam mirrors him with the ghost of a smirk on his lips. Steve straightens instantly; Clint follows suit, stretching a hand out to Sam to exchange high fives. Steve’s eye twitches.

“Hm?” Bucky questions, stopping in the middle of the kitchen. He looks from Tony– who just nurses his coffee, checking stocks on his phone– to Clint– who lifts his hands in defense, acting confused– and finally to Steve– who sets his jaw, trying his best to level his breathing and frustration. 

Steve swallows, gritting his teeth. “I didn’t say anything.” He tries to keep his tone level, convincing. Bucky nods, gaze shifting to Clint. 

“Nothin’, boss, y’know me.” Clint’s lips twitch along with his brow. 

Bucky’s eyes dart between them before he turns back to Sam, who leans against the fridge with crossed arms. Steve locks eyes with him for a second longer before he turns to Bucky and shrugs. The moment hangs in the air, silent and tense, like every other time all five of them are alone in the same room. Steve’s always the one that feels the tension, though. 

“As you were,” Bucky concludes. The kitchen reverts back to normal as everyone resumes the start to their days. Steve stands idly by, looking down at his milk-coated paper and phone, his breakfast soggy and ruined. He sighs and begins to clean up. Before he leaves the kitchen, Bucky grabs his arm, stopping him in his tracks. 

“Forgot to ask. You inviting anyone?” 

Steve responds with a confused look.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “To the party, Stevie,” he clarifies, flashing a smile differing from his usual, knowing smirk. 

Steve hesitates, looking to Sam then back to Bucky. “Kinda, yeah,” he shrugs. All eyes are on him and the kitchen stills once again. Bucky’s brow rockets up his forehead.

“Yeah? Who?”

Steve’s Adam's apple bobs. “Uh, just–just a friend. From class.”

“But who?” Bucky’s grip on Steve’s arm tightens. 

“She’s just a–” Steve immediately bites his tongue. It's too late. 

“She? You have a she-friend?” Clint asks incredulously. Even Tony looks at Steve from behind his lowered sunglasses. All eyes are on the blond whose eyes dart around helplessly. 

“I–Wh–She’s just a friend from class, that’s it,” Steve defends, heat pooling in his cheeks as he stares pointedly into Bucky’s cool blues. Bucky holds him for a second more before releasing his arm, dusting off Steve’s shoulders, smiling. 

“We’ll make sure to give her a real warm welcome, then,” Bucky winks. 

Unnerved, Steve quickly makes his way out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his room while mixed conversations from the kitchen chase after him. He doesn’t bother listening. Once he enters his room, he triple checks the locks on the door before slouching into his secondhand office chair. Popping in earbuds, he hits play on the album he fell asleep to the night prior as his fingers fly over his phone’s keyboard, coming to a stop when the adrenaline does. 

He reads over the text, chewing his lip, and hits send.

Hey, it’s Steve

who?

Meathead.

oh i know just wanted to hear u say it

Don’t you mean see it?

damn. got me there

nice first attempt at texting btw. solid 8/10, good introduction

8/10??

What can a guy do to earn a 10/10?

hmm

come by the cafe later and try a new drink i made ;)

Deal.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Blue Dream

A mini series

Jacey is Erik’s new weed plug despite their dislike for each other

Warnings: Smut, Enemies To Lovers, Smoking Bi!Erik

The thunderous knock to her apartment door had Jacey taking long strides with her short, thick thighs and booty bouncing behind her. She took a look through her peep hole and quickly morphed the agitation in her features to that of guilt. When she opened her door, her down turned brows and slight pout didn’t get her off the hook. 

“Jacey, I’ve been calling you all damn day. Where have you been? You were supposed to drop by the tent today for the pickup. I had to drag my ass all the way down here to bring you the supply.”

Toni, Jacey’s cultivator and partner to her incarcerated brother, Duke, thrust a Nike duffel bag filled with that good dank— potent and indicating its freshness — before turning to leave. Toni took one final look over his shoulder at Jacey, his once perfectly gelled shiny black hair now a crop of waves atop his head. Jacey surveyed him up and down — body covered in tattoos from his neck down to his ankles — waiting for him to say whatever else he needed to get off his beefy chest.

“C’mon, Toni. Look, I’m sorry, okay? This isn’t all I do to make money. I have a remote job too, remember?” Jacey reminded him with a whine.

“Cariño, you aren’t the only one with a busy schedule. I have to make drops throughout the day on top of making sure the flowers are growing right. Got a new guy who fucked up a batch of wedding crasher.” 

“How did he do that?” Jacey questioned with a frown.

“Powdery Mildew.” Toni replied.

“Shit,” Jacey huffed, “And he’s still working for you?”

Toni gave her a one shoulder shrug, “I got my partner showing him the ropes. Shit’s been in high demand for us growers, Jace. I’ve been putting in double the time.”

Toni’s phone chimed back to back in his pocket, reminding him that he had other places to be. 

“Listen, just let me know in advance if you need a drop off instead of coming to pick it up, okay?”

Jacey nodded her head slowly, “will do. Thanks Toni.” 

“You know I gotchu, bebita. Until next time. Let me know if you like the new exotics.” 

Jacey waved a final goodbye to Toni before shutting her apartment door. She locked it and carried the duffel bag further into the apartment until she was settled in her living room. She made room on her glass coffee table covered in bags of buds and sat the duffel bag in the middle. Unzipping the bag, Jacey was hit with a whiff of the pungent aroma. Banana Cream Pie. a combination of Girl Scout Cookies and Banana OG. The top reported aromas of the Banana Cream Pie strain are lemon, vanilla, and bananas. It is said to taste of bananas and sugary pastries. 

She couldn’t keep her nose out of that duffel bag filled with plastic bags of nugs. The contact high she was receiving was astounding. She was already feeling aroused before Toni stopped by but the effects of Banana Cream Pie had her feeling like she was floating on a vibrational high. Her clit ached for attention and her nipples became stiff peaks. Jacey smiled and wiggled her ass before coming to the surface. She dragged her tongue over her top teeth ecstatically, more than ready to smoke some. She was so enraptured with the duffel bag of exotics that she hadn’t noticed a dainty hand reaching out from behind the couch, popping her on the ass. 

“Who was that, baby?” A melodic voice spoke.

“My grower, Toni. I was supposed to pick up the new supply today and got sidetracked because of YOU.”

Jacey came face to face with her weakness, Marcia. Marcia and Jacey had been together on and off for three years. They knew each other since high school but they didn’t become close until college. Marcia is a lesbian while Jacey is bisexual. She’s also Jacey’s fem dom. Jewel-like, cocoa-brown eyes, skin the color of cinnamon and satiny to the touch, lush lips, and unkempt curls that appeared wind blown with baby hairs. Her long, acrylic french tips sank into the flesh of Jacey’s backside when she reached around to grab her. Jacey gave Marcia a small smile before leaning in for a sloppy kiss. Their heads swayed back and forth, Marcia massaging Jacey’s cheeks from the front. 

Marcia broke her lips away from Jacey’s full ones and her sultry gaze scanned Jacey’s body in a charcoal gray robe that barely fit all her curves, the front of the robe revealing her cleavage and her sternum tattoo of a lotus flower. Jacey bat her hybrid lash extensions at Marcia with a slight bite of her lip. The Banana Cream Pie fragrance circulated their personal space and Marcia couldn’t help but to lick her lips. 

“Toni? And you answered the door like this?” Marcia palmed Jacey’s ass harder, “what I tell you about that shit, huh?”

“He was banging all loud, what did you expect me to do?” Jacey quipped with a defiant roll of her eyes. 

Marcia clicked her tongue, “I bet he was looking. Don’t do that again, Jace…or I’m a bring out Miss Boss and you know what happens when I do that.”

Jacey fixed her face with an innocent smile, “you say that like I don’t want it.”

Marcia popped Jacey on the ass and wrapped a hand around her slender throat. Jacey’s breath hitched and she let out a shaky breath when Marcia’s braless breasts in a thin, white baby tee pressed against hers. 

“Such a fuckin’ brat…Now, show me what he dropped off that was so important,” Marcia let go of Jacey and her eyes fell towards the duffel bag.

“look,” Jacey reached in the bag, unraveling one of the plastic bags, the tips of her fingers securing a nug. She brought it up to Marcia’s nose, the multiple shades of green of her french tips contrasting beautifully with the bud between her pointer finger and thumb. Marcia inhaled deeply and then her eyes rolled shut. 

“Damn, what strain is that?” Marcia asked with low, wanton eyes.

“Banana Cream Pie. Aren’t you happy that your girlfriend is a weed plug?” Jacey boasted.

“Let’s smoke some of that good shit now,” Marcia reached for Jacey’s gold rolling tray and matching grinder. She grabbed a few raw cones and started making blunts for her and Jacey, “My mouth is watering to try this!”

Jacey took off her robe and she sat next to Marcia wearing a pair of Abercrombie & Fitch light gray boxer briefs and nothing up top; perky breasts with pierced nipples on display. Marcia reached for her yellow Backwoods lighter and sparked both of their blunts. Jacey watched as Marcia inhaled slowly, holding in the smoke for a second then gently exhaling the smoke from between her glossy lips. 

“Wow,” Marcia said, smoke constantly billowing from mouth, “it tastes like…like a pastry.”

Jacey wrapped her lips around the end of the blunt and inhaled. She held in the smoke for a few seconds and exhaled through her nose. She allowed her saliva to coat her tongue, remembering the flavor of Banana Cream Pie. Jacey took a few more tokes of her joint before giving her own personal review.

“And here I thought Pineapple Kush was my favorite. It’s right up there,” Jacey took another drag, “Yep…yep…this the one. Toni did that.” 

“Thank you papi! ” Marcia said.

They both giggled. 

“…is it just me, or is this weed making my pussy wet?” Marcia asked.

“Pussy is making a wet spot right now, no doubt.” Jacey said with a flirty wink.

“To be honest, all weed makes me feel like that. You?”

“Nah,” Jacey shakes her head, “depends on the strain for me.”

Marcia and Jacey sat in silence enjoying their blunts for five more minutes before ashing it out to take a break. Jacey turned on the couch to face Marcia, her head resting in the crook of her elbow and her eyes low from the effects of the hybrid strain. She wouldn’t be a good weed plug if she didn’t test the merchandise herself before selling. Soon, she’ll post pictures and facts about the new strain to her Twitter and Instagram for her customers. 

Being a weed plug was never Jacey’s plan, but she aspires to be an Herbalist one day, so she made it her business to know everything about weed. Duke didn’t hesitate to teach her everything she needed to know, she even shadowed Toni at his growing tent to see first hand how the process works. It was fascinating to her. She gained a lot of respect for weed growers after that. The knowledge and skill it takes to make a beautiful flower before curing it is miraculous. 

Jacey was born and raised in Oakland, CA. She grew up in Rockridge, east of Telegraph Avenue, south of the Berkeley city limits, west of the Oakland hills and north of the intersection of Pleasant Valley Avenue/51st Street and Broadway. She works from home during the day as a proofreader for Sodexo and took a break from college when she decided to take over her brother’s business. He only trusted her to oversee things. 

When Duke got booked on illegal gun possession, Jacey knew that she would have to take over for her brother to keep the business flourishing. He was known to be one of the best, if not number one, weed plugs in CA. Her brother had people traveling from Houston, Detroit, Vegas, Washington, Florida, New York, and many other places to buy from him. He was going to school to be a Chemist while raising four kids and being a full-time weed plug. Ten years. It hurt Jacey to see her brother in prison. He had already served two years, and she hoped that his appeal would be granted. 

“What are you thinking about over there?” Marcia asked.

“Nothing important.” Jacey said. 

“When you lie, you look off to the side like this,” Marcia’s cocoa-brown eyes flicked to her left and Jacey’s right, demonstrating what Jacey had just done, “So tell me the truth.” 

Jacey’s nose crinkled in agitation, “Fine. Just thinking about Duke. I went to see my nieces yesterday, and Bella, the mother of his four kids, she’s down bad, Marcia.” 

Marcia sat up, leaning forward to grab her blunt again. 

“Down bad how?” She questioned.

“She’s pregnant, Marcia. And we both know it ain’t Duke’s baby. I told him not to get mixed up with her. It doesn’t do good tryna hide who you really are…”

Marcia lit Jacey’s blunt for her again. The orange embers reflected in Jacey’s dark brown eyes with how close she was. 

“So, you’re saying that Duke only stayed with Bella to keep his other life a secret?” 

“Yeah,” Jacey looked across at Marcia solemnly, “And she made him. She said that if he ever left her, she would out him. But look what she’s doing! She’s messing around on my brother while he’s in prison!” 

“You should tell him about it, Jace.” 

Jacey shakes her head, faux locs falling over her shoulder, “I can’t. That would crush him. He doesn't need that right now. I talked to Bella and I told her that she needs to tell him.” 

Marcia starts laughing, coughing a little from the smoke, “If she wanted to tell him by now I’m sure she would.”

“Whatever,” Jacey ashes out her blunt, standing from the couch, “Let me get back into a better mood…with you.” 

Marcia chuckled, “And what does that entail, Jace?”

Jacey stood in front of Marcia, hands on her hips and a defiant glint in her dark brown eyes. Marcia smirked at her, unable to focus too long on her face when her breasts were right above her so mouthwatering. 

“I feel like…I could use something to make me feel better…this weed has me so turned on…can you help me with that, baby?”

Marcia dragged her top teeth across her bottom lip.

“Hmm…you have to be more specific. What EXACTLY is it you want from me, Princess?”

“Well,” Jacey straddled Marcia, taking her weed from between her fingers, placing it on the ashtray, “I think Miss Boss can take care of me.” 

Marcia couldn’t hold back her laughter. Jacey joined her, both women too giggly and high. Marcia reached for Jacey’s chin, pinching it before leaning in to drag the length of her curved tongue over her lips. Jacey’s motor skills were slow from being high, but the heat radiating from between her legs was astounding. 

“Feel it,” Jacey took Marcia’s left hand in hers, placing her open palm between her legs so she could cup her pussy, “It’s so hot and wet…fuck…this weed got me too far gone…you feel that?”

“Mmm,” Marcia hummed in Jacey’s ear, “Your pussy is so fuckin’ warm. It’s nothing compared to my pussy though.” 

Jacey elevated a brow sassily at Marcia, “Teh, I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

Marcia challenged her words with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “Get up and go to the room so I can show you.”

Jacey beamed excitedly. She untangled her generous thighs from around Marcia’s waist to stand and as soon as she did, her foot got caught on the glass coffee table and she tripped, almost falling on her butt. Marcia broke out into a fit of laughter, one hand cupping her mouth and the other slapping the couch cushion. Jacey righted herself and gave Marcia the finger.

“When trying to be sexy goes wrong!” Marcia said with a faux deep voice. 

“Bitch, shut up!” Jacey shouted while inspecting her foot. 

Jacey walked away with Marcia on her heels, giggling. Finally in the bedroom, Jacey climbed onto her all white platform bed with white bedding, lying back against the pillows. Marcia crawled onto the bed seductively before climbing on top of Jacey. They both felt light-limbed and euphoric, staring as if they were seeing each other for the first time. Jacey’s right hand pressed against Marcia’s left cheek, her thumb rubbing softly over the slight dimple there. 

“Who do you belong to?” Marcia whispered seductively.

“…You,” Jacey replied with a rasp in her sultry voice. 

Marcia stole a kiss, her tongue meeting Jacey’s in a sort of tango. Their glossy lips shimmered with spit and molded perfectly as their lips smacked. Sucking tongues, bottom lips, and nibbling. Jacey’s hands were in Marcia’s wild mane and Marcia was dragging her hands up and down Jacey’s hips. Jacey’s legs came up to wrap around Marcia’s waist and she thrust her nude chest into hers, her pierced nipples brushing across Marcia’s. An airy whimper escaped her mouth and Marcia reluctantly pulled her lips away from Jacey’s so she could look down at her. 

Marcia sat back on her knees and without a word she went to work removing Jacey’s briefs. Jacey elevated her hips and wiggled so Marcia could successfully take them off. As soon as they were past her feet, Marcia tossed them to the other side of the king bed before parting Jacey’s thighs. There was no point in waiting, she needed to see that hot, sticky pussy for herself. A hiss escaped her mouth when Jacey’s fat pussy void of hair and glistening met her lust filled eyes. 

If only her eyes could be for Jacey and Jacey alone. They’d been through this many times before. Things would be amazing between them and then Marcia would fuck it up because she couldn’t have just one woman in her life. Jacey was her weakness. And she knew Jacey also felt the same, because if she didn’t she wouldn’t be here with her right now. Marcia tried to shake those thoughts from her head so she could focus on the pussy in front of her. She didn’t even have to spread her puffy lips to see how wet Jacey is for her. 

“Your pussy is always so gushy for me, mami,” Marcia whispered with a sexy lilt.

“Stop talking and taste me,” Jacey looked Marcia directly in the eye.

“I can’t appreciate my meal first before I eat it?” Marcia replied with a playful voice. 

“Not when my clit is throbbing like this!” Jacey said. 

“Okay, brat, since you want it so badly, don’t run from this tongue.” Marcia commanded. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Jacey said with a wink.

Jacey spread her thighs further, and that’s when Marcia could see how swollen her clit had gotten. Her vertical clit piercing was covered in her arousal and Marcia’s tongue ached to lick it clean. With her thumb, Marcia rubbed between her inner lips and up to her clit, back and forth. With her piercing, Jacey is more sensitive there, and her inner thighs quaked with each swipe of her thumb. 

“Oooh, baby,” Jacey called out with a melodic voice.

 It didn’t take much to get her off if you knew how to please her. Jacey loved a lot of eye contact and nasty talk. Combine all three of those and Jacey would be putty in your hands. Marcia locked her eyes on Jacey’s bewitching one’s and told her how beautiful her pussy is. Jacey did that pout with her lips that made Marcia weak and next thing she was tonguing Jacey’s juicy folds. She gathered spit on the tip of her tongue and started off slow, warming Jacey up to the amount of orgasms she would be receiving. 

“Fuuck, just like that, baby,” Jacey smoothed Marcia’s hair from her face so she could watch, “Right there…stay on that clit…fuck.” 

“Mhm,” Marcia hummed while continuing to lick Jacey’s pussy. 

She didn’t even have to speak. She couldn’t bring herself to speak. The taste of her pussy had her tongue salivating beyond normalcy. The scent of her pheromones had an effect on her that she could feel in her own pussy. It was a work of art on its own. Marcia looked up between Jacey’s legs at her face and she’s pinching her nipples and nibbling on her sexy full lips. Marcia felt her body jerk from just looking at her. 

She spread Jacey’s outer folds more so she could get to her clit better. With her plump lips, Marcia trapped Jacey’s jeweled clit between her lips and began sucking. One of her hands came down to secure Marcia’s head between her thighs. Her hips started whining and grinding off of the bed to feed Marcia some more pussy. Marcia forcefully pushed Jacey’s thighs back and inserted two fingers into her now creamy pussy. Her pussy began making all the right noises and both of them moaned. 

“Fuck, you’re on my spot, shit,” Jacey yanked Marcia by the hair, “got my pussy so creamy, baby.” 

They locked eyes while Marcia pushed Jacey over the edge. She thrust her hips forward and with one final jerk of her hips, Jacey’s body went stiff and the meat of her inner thighs shook with intensity. Her moans were deep and intensified, unable to have any control over her body. Marcia finally released her clit with a wet pop and gently slipped her cum covered fingers from her warm, wet hole. 

“Damn, Marcia.” Jacey breathed out.

She sat up on her elbows to look at the mess she made all on her white sheets. A small puddle sat beneath her butt and her cum continued to trickle from her opening. Jacey gathered some of her essence on her finger and brought it to her mouth, sucking it off with a moan of pleasure. Marcia sat back on her elbows in front of Jacey’s open thighs and began taking off her teal green cotton panties. Jacey watched her, noticing a wet strip on the crotch of her panties. Marcia’s pussy lips swallowed the crotch and when she peeled them away to reveal her lower lips, sticky arousal connected to the panties. 

Jacey’s mouth parted slightly. Marcia gave Jacey a teasing wink while licking her own wetness from her panties. She tossed her panties over the edge of the bed and spread her thighs more, scooting as close as she could to Jacey so their pussy could be ‘face to face’. While Jacey’s outer lips and inner folds are more on the plumper side, Marcia’s is smaller; more delicate, with a tiny bud. Her inner lips were engorged and darker in color because of how turned on she is. She had a little triangle patch of jet black curls right above her outer lips but the rest was bare. 

They both explored each other's pussies; rubbing, tracing, and flicking with aroused curiosity. Whenever their low eyes would connect, they would lick their lips and whimper. Jacey dragged her nails through Marcia’s small patch of pubic hair and Marcia lightly stroked Jacey’s clit with her thumb. She increased the pace of her thumb on Jacey’s sensitive bud and gasped when she began to squirt, the juices landing on her vulva. 

“You know my pussy so well, baby,” Jacey spoke softly.

“And you know how to be such a good girl for me,” Marcia forced Jacey’s legs back before climbing on top of her, lining her pussy up perfectly with hers, “Time to bump coochies!”

Their giggles turned into cries of ecstasy when Marcia began to grind, whine, rotate, and thrust her hips at the right angle to make sure their clits collided. It was a wet, slippery dance that created music within the room. Sweat collected on Jacey’s abdomen, surrounding her belly button. Marcia’s back was covered in her own perspiration and it made the canvas tattooed on her skin more vivid. The pleasant musk of their scent made Jacey’s mouth water. 

“Oooh! Yes!” Marcia cried out.

“Are you gonna cum on this pussy, Marcia?” Jacey said, “Cum on my pussy, yes, just like that, right on my clit.” 

“fuuuck!” Marcia lowered her head to kiss Jacey and not once did she stop humping her pussy against Jacey’s. 

“I wish I could see how good this looks! Damn!” Marcia shouted, “Damn, bitch, you’re pussy is so fuckin’ juicy!”

“You’re making me cum again, baby…fuck, oh, shit,” Jacey’s thighs quaked, “Right there, right there, right there— Unh! Ah!”

Marcia grabbed a hold of one of Jacey’s titties and fought through the feeling of her body succumbing to her own climax. Marcia moved her hips in a circle and then lifted her hips to bounce her pussy against Jacey’s. Both of their juices made raunchy noises and the feeling of Jacey’s clit stroking Marcia’s from that angle led to both of them climaxing together. Their tacky skin clung to each other when Marcia collapsed on top of Jacey’s heated body. 

“I’m not finished with you yet,” Marcia spoke with a hushed tone, her warm breath tickling Jacey’s ear.

“Time to bring out Miss Boss,” Jacey said, still trying to catch her breath. 

Marcia fought to lift her body and she almost fell over again when Jacey’s fingers slid between them to rub on her drenched folds. She then inserted one finger, moving it around, creating a wet noise before removing her finger to taste. Marcia watched her with parted lips as she sucked her juices off. 

“Mmm…so good,” Jacey moaned. 

Marcia climbed out of bed and walked over to Jacey’s dresser. She opened the top left drawer and after moving some of her lingerie to the side, she found Miss Boss. The eight inch, purple crystal jelly dildo with realistic textured veins the dildo is attached to a pink harness by an o-ring. Marcia retrieved the strap-on and began securing it around her curvy waist and thick thighs. Jacey opened her side table drawer and grabbed some lube. 

Marcia took her position behind Jacey, fixing her arch and watching her cheeks bounce on the tip of the dildo. After lubing up the entire dildo, Marcia tossed the bottle to the side and without any more time wasted, she pressed the wide tip of the dildo against Jacey’s anxiously waiting canal and slid in with ease. It was a beautiful sight to behold. Jacey’s lips wrapped around the shaft of the dildo and the way her clit looked poked out from behind had Marcia groaning. Her pink and white ombré acrylics sank into Jacey’s booty meat for leverage so she could dig into her pussy deeper.

“Cream all over this dick,” Marcia commanded.

Jacey replied with a moan before throwing her pussy back onto the strap. Marcia slapped her ass each time she went low, praising her for taking the dick so well.

“That’s it…give me that pussy, bitch.” 

Jacey bit her lip and scrunched up her face. 

Her cream added more slickness for a better fuck. Marcia grabbed Jacey by the hips and went to pound town. Jacey’s ass cheeks jiggled out of control and her pussy leaked onto the sheets. Titties bouncing, asses shaking, and their sweet moans was a sight to witness. 

“I fuck you better than any nigga ever will, huh?!” 

“Yes! Oh, yes!” Jacey looked back at Marcia.

“Keep your eyes on me, baby,” Marcia rotated her hips, hitting Jacey’s pussy from a different angle, “That dick hittin’ the bottom of your pussy, slut?”

“Yes mami!” Jacey cried out, eyes tearing up.

Marcia continued pumping Jacey full with Miss Boss, making sure that she felt every inch to remind her who she belonged to. Jacey arched her back more like a good slut and gripped the sheets. She wasn’t running from that strap, and Marcia smirked smugly at that revelation. 

“Shit, I can’t hold it!” Jacey shouted while squirting all over the dildo.

“You tryna keep it away from me? While I fuck you like this?” Marcia questioned.

“Mami, it’s so big and it’s hitting my spot,” Jacey whined. 

“Don’t act scared now, baby. Whenever I bring Miss Boss out, you know what time it is,” Marcia popped Jacey on the ass hard, “Now fuck me back!”

Jacey sat up on her hands and made that ass move like it had a mind of its own. She tossed her pussy back on all eight inches of Miss Boss like she was the boss. Marcia cupped her breasts and thumbed her hard nipples. Jacey took it up a notch and reached back to hold her cheeks open. Marcia took her thumb and rubbed her booty hole before sinking into the tight hole. 

“FUCK.” Jacey slowed down her hips into a slow grind and more creamy goodness coated the veiny shaft. 

“I could cum right now from the way you look,” Marcia said.

“Cum for me, mami,” Jacey spoke seductively.

The friction of the strap hitting Marcia’s clit whenever Jacey bounced back was bringing her to a release. Marcia held onto Jacey’s shoulders and met her hips, the smacking growing louder and louder. 

“Yeah, make this pussy cum, oooh!” 

Jacey’s body seized up and her face smashed into the pillow, her cries and pleads muffled. Marcia lost control and one hand came around to grip Jacey by the neck as her entire body convulsed. The dildo sank deeper into Jacey’s pussy and with one final tug on the dildo, a stream of sticky liquid released all over the bed.

“Look at all this mess,” Marcia admired Jacey’s cream on the dildo and the large wet spot.

“Let me see your pussy,” Jacey turned around on her knees with lustful  eyes. 

Marcia removed the strap-on and crawled next to Jacey to lay on her back. Jacey settled between Marcia’s legs and spread her thighs apart. Her eyes lit up at the sight of Marcia’s slick pinkness and smooth brown outer lips. The further apart her thighs went, the more open her slit became and the more Jacey could see. Jacey’s clit ached at the sight of Marcia’s pretty pussy. Jacey arched her back and pressed her lips onto Marcia’s folds, smothering her with licks, sucks, and kisses. Marcia cried out and clutched for Jacey’s hair. 

“The taste of your pussy on my tongue is driving me crazy, baby,” Jacey whispered.

Marcia forced Jacey’s mouth back on her pussy and she cried out when she began sucking on her clit.

“Shit, Jacey, Fuuck,” Marcia threw her head back, eyes shut tight.

Jacey looked up at Marcia and watched her face contort into a defeated expression. Her hips rolled like she was moving her hips to a slow, freaky beat. Jacey followed her every move, sucking and licking her folds from top to bottom. 

“Keep that pussy in my mouth,” Jacey commanded.

“Marcia brought one of her titties to her mouth and sucked on her own nipple. She raised her hips from the bed and force fed Jacey the juiciest, creamiest pussy. 

“I’m making that pussy cum, Hm?” 

Marcia’s mouth fell open with a silent plea for more. Jacey wrapped her lips around Marcia’s tasty folds and sucked to her heart’s content. Marcia’s eyes rolled shut and her toes curled. 

“It’s coming…it’s coming, oh, fuck,” Marcia pinched and rolled her nipples, “fuck, you’re right on my clit!”

With the intense pleasure, Marcia came in Jacey’s mouth and some of her release slid down her throat. Jacey dragged her tongue between Marcia’s  folds and up to her clit, cleaning her off. Marcia’s head collapsed on the fluffy white pillow behind her, ragged breaths escaping her mouth. Jacey came up for air, wiping the side of her mouth to clean up some of Marcia’s cum. 

They both leaned in for a kiss. Marcia cupped Jacey’s chin and poked her tongue out. They touched tongues and then their lips collided with sloppy desperation. Jacey broke the kiss to stare at Marcia’s lips and then her eyes dragged up to meet her lascivious eyes. 

Six Months Later: 

Temptation. That’s what Erik is to Clayton, that’s what Erik has always been to him. A long distance relationship sadly withered away like ashes from a decaying corpse. To see him in person again overwhelmed him, but also saddened him. He knew they could never be again, and yet the way he stared at him made him weak all over again. Firstly, Erik has a reputation for being a man slag, and Clayton knew that Erik wouldn’t stay loyal for long with him being on the other side of the country. While he was getting bussy in Michigan, Clayton was doing his own thing too. 

Clayton was tempted to punch that fine man in the face for making him feel this way. He watched Erik from his porch lock up his all white Acura MDX, and with a gait that would make any man or woman weak, he strolled over to Clayton’s town home, dressed to impress with sneakers fresh out of the box. In the back of Clayton’s mind, he can hear his family telling him to leave Erik alone. But how could he when his fluffy lips felt so right against his? 

“You miss me, Clay?” Erik whispered.

Clayton’s eyes combed over Erik from head to toe. He loved the tapered locs and the temp fade; very stylish. He wore a cream-colored hoodie and black jeans that hung low in the crotch but tight at the ankles. The diamond studs in his ears matched the diamond tennis necklace around his neck. Erik only dressed up like this to throw Clayton off, make him fall for his seduction. 

“Yeah,” Clayton cleared his throat, “Do you miss me?”

“Do I?” Erik digs his fingers into Clayton’s waist to pull him close and then goes right for the gold, his hand reaching down between his legs. 

“E,” Clayton created space between them, “I’m glad you stopped by but…we can’t do this.” 

Erik elevated a single brow before licking his lips. His eyes roamed from Clayton’s freshly cut glossy black hair, to his full, moist lips, then down to the fitted white beater he wore and the light gray Nike joggers that left nothing to the imagination. He already knew what time it was, why was he acting brand new? 

“So, why did you agree to see me then, Clay?” Erik questioned. 

Clayton turned to open his door, waiting for Erik to enter. Erik gave him a lingering stare before stepping inside. Clayton shut the door to his new townhome, leading Erik inside to the living room. It was nice and cozy. Erik joined Clayton on a black leather sectional that sat facing a wall mounted fireplace with a 72-inch television mounted above it. 

“I haven’t seen you in almost a year, Erik. I’m not going to lie…I did want us to rekindle what we used to have…but it’s best we remain friends.”

Erik sensed how anxious Clayton was and the way he avoided his eyes told him everything he needed to know. Erik didn’t expect for him and Clayton to pick up where they left off, it was too late for that. They were in different directions now. Clayton is seeing someone new, a guy he met online. Erik is single and not looking for anything serious. Clayton was his last serious relationship. He just wanted to start over— new job, new crib, new whip, and a new weed plug. 

“You ain’t gotta explain yourself, bruh. I get it,” Erik rubbed at his nose, a habit of his when he was in an awkward situation, “So, how have you been?”

Clayton chuckled, “Decent. I mended my relationship with my father. Started dating this really nice guy. Too bad I never have time to go see him working two jobs.” 

“Damn, that gotta be tough,” Erik’s eyes landed on Clayton’s lap, “I’m sure he understands.” 

“Yeah…so how’s the new job?”

“I like it. Can’t complain.” Erik said.

“Software engineering, right? You were always tech savvy.” 

“Yep, it’s always great making money doing what you love.” 

Clayton nodded his head, turning away from Erik so he wouldn’t meet his eyes, “Want something to drink?”

Clayton stood from the sofa and headed towards his kitchen. Erik followed him, hands in his pockets and eyes on Clayton’s back muscles and tight ass. 

“Whatchu got?” Erik leaned his elbows on Clayton’s kitchen island. 

“Iced tea, alkaline water, orange juice, something stronger.”

I’ll take some wine if you got it. I don’t need nothin’ too strong, gotta get home in one piece.” 

Clayton laughs, “Since when do you care about that?”

“I’m gettin’ old, Clay. I can’t hang like I used to.” 

Clayton grabbed a bottle of white wine from his countertop and then two glasses from a cabinet. He poured their wine and handed Erik a glass. 

“Too much partying in Boston?” Clayton inquired.

“Way too much,” Erik took a sip of his wine.

“Sounds like you had a good time,” Clayton avoided Erik’s gaze.

“I did…listen, Clay, I’m sorry for how things ended between us. I wish it could have worked out…”

“All good, that shits in the past.” 

Clayton finished his glass and grabbed the bottle, leaving the kitchen. Erik met him back in the living room, kicking off his A1’s. He wouldn’t be able to get through this night on wine alone. He needed his weed and too bad he has the lousiest plug. Erik was expecting to get his dick sucked by the best to ever do it. None of the dudes or chicks in Michigan got a deep throat like Clayton. The thought alone had his dick brick hard. 

“Is it really? Or are you just saying that to avoid talking about it?” Erik questioned.

Clayton couldn’t hide his smile. Those lips.

“Why talk about it? What does it matter, E?”

Erik shrugs, “Because you’re mad tense right now. Like you can’t function around me without doing something reckless…”

Clay tilted his head in thought.

“I’m right. Listen, let’s be honest. You invited me here because you wanted one last taste, am I right?”

“…and it was a mistake,” Clayton shakes his head, “I don’t know why I can’t get over you. I figured if I have you one last time, we can be done with this.”

Erik smiled, “Clay, you know who you’re talkin’ to right now?”

Clayton finally met Erik’s eyes. 

“You ain’t done. Stop bullshittin’.”

“I am, E.” Clayton replied sternly.

“Who you tryin’ to convince? Your new boy toy ain’t enough to get your mind off of me.” 

Clayton shakes his head. 

“If you want it one last time, I’ll give it to you one last time.”

Erik grabbed Clayton’s wine glass and sat it on the table. He gently cupped Clayton’s chin, forcing his light brown eyes to meet his onyx ones. 

“…And I’ll make sure you never forget.” Erik whispered.

Enticement. That’s what Erik is to Clayton. That’s what  Erik has always been to Clayton, it’s just in a much different form now. Erik had hurt him, and he told himself that he wouldn’t go backwards, but when he’d gotten an unexpected call from him a few months prior, old feelings that he’d locked down came seeping through the cracks like a ghostly whisper. While Clayton should be tempted to punch Erik in the face, he couldn’t help but reminisce on the way his lips felt or how good he smelled. 

Erik turned his body causing the leather to creak beneath him, facing Clayton now. His wine glass was empty and Clayton could smell the moscato on his breath. His tapered locs fell over his unkempt brows giving him more of a wilder look. Clayton’s eyes disobeyed him and he glanced down at Erik’s succulent mouth and the way his slick, pink tongue swiped his bottom lip. 

Fuck it. 

Clayton closed the space between them and started sucking on Erik’s tongue. Erik felt blood surge south and he couldn’t help but let go of a shameless moan into the lust laded lip lock. The kiss increased in sloppiness and intensity, both of their hands fisting each other’s shirts and squeezing biceps. Erik digs his fingers into Clayton’s waist to pull him close and then goes right for the gold, his hands dipping past the waistband of his joggers to find his entrance, toying with it while he deepens the kiss. He teased his hole with his finger, causing Clayton to moan. 

“That ass is still tight,” Erik declared with a groan, “I can’t wait to get in that.” 

Clayton looked hesitant for a second but Erik’s finger rubbing his tight hole had him anticipating being bent over and dug out. 

“You know what I miss, Clay. Give me that sweet mouth, Clay…come on…show me you’re still my number one head doctor.”

Clayton’s lips hovered over Erik’s when he reached between them to rub his print. He took it up a notch and unzipped his jeans, reaching inside to pull his length out, stroking him in his hand as his tongue licks deep into his exes mouth. 

Erik’s dick swelled in Clayton’s hand, growing until it can’t anymore, but throbs against his slow stroking fingers as if it wants to. Erik began grinding his hips while pressing his finger right past the restrictive ring of tight muscle, wishing it was his tongue opening up Clayton’s saporous entrance. Erik got all the way down to the knuckle inside of him. 

While Erik’s lips were smothering Clayton’s neck with kisses, Clayton’s eyes were glued to the dick that was once his. It’s still just as beautiful as before. Perfect from the tip down to the heavy balls that Clayton loved to play with. A deep grunt escaped Erik’s mouth when Clayton started stroking the head of Erik’s dick with his thumb. He spread his pre-cum all over the bulbous head and felt Erik twitch in his hand. 

“You knew you wanted this again…Look at you…doing it exactly how you used to…you ain’t forget how to please daddy…”

“How could I forget when you’re the best I ever had?” Clayton whispered wantonly.

Clayton used his free hand to push Erik’s hoodie up, revealing his torso. Clayton eagerly drinks him in with his eyes. Erik had naturally oozing sex appeal. His body is ridiculously chiseled with smooth skin pulled tautly over muscles. Looking at those arms brought back memories of when Erik would easily lift him up and sit him on the edge of any nearby surface had him swooning, his own dick hard and throbbing. 

Erik removed his finger from Clayton’s ass to take off his shirt. Clayton watched with awe as Erik seductively peeled away his hoodie. He began peppering kisses all over Erik’s throat and down to his chest before licking his brown nipples. Erik hissed, his dick throbbing out of control in Clayton’s grip. He wanted that mouth. With his bottom lip between his teeth, Erik did what he used to. He brought one hand up to the base of Clayton’s head and began massaging him there with his fingertips before dragging his fingers down to his neck and back up again. Clayton got the hint and began to drag his kisses over Erik’s abs until he was on his knees between his legs. 

“You gon’ suck me good, Clay?” Erik questioned.

“Yes, daddy,” Clayton said.

“Daddy? I’m still daddy?”

Clayton gave Erik a look that caused him to chuckle.

“Don’t let your new man find that out. You think about me when he fuckin’ that ass, Clay?”

Clayton replied with his mouth sinking lower onto Erik’s dick. Erik thrust his head back and moaned. Clayton used his jaw muscles, tongue, and lips to suck Erik’s 9 inches deep. Working that neck, he would twist his mouth on the uptake, making sure to suck longer on his fat tip. Erik kept his gaze on Clayton no matter how low his eyes were. You’d think he was high by the way his eyes looked. His puffy lips were parted, and he couldn’t stop licking his lips. 

“You showing out, boy,” Erik said, “You suck other dicks like this while I was away, Clay? Don’t lie to me…”

Clayton’s lips popped off Erik’s dick, “I tried, but ain’t no dick like yours.”

“Damn,” Erik sucked his bottom lip into his mouth when Clayton started sucking on his nut sack, “You know that’s gon’ earn you a big nut down your long fuckin’ throat right, nigga?”

“Give it to me,” Clayton spoke between sucks, “Give me that tasty nut.”

“I’ll paint that pretty chocolate face.” Erik said. 

Clayton’s tongue swiped up the base of Erik’s shaft until his lips found Erik’s tip again. Erik brought his palm to the back of Clayton’s head and forced his head down over his dick, guiding him with one hand while his other hand was occupied with playing with his nipples. The guck guck and tight lips had Erik’s eyes crossed. He missed this. Sloppy top. Not one man or woman back in Boston did it like Clayton. He was convinced he’d never find another person to top him. 

“Clay, suck that shit,” Erik’s hips rose from the sofa so he could pump Clayton’s mouth. His teeth sank into his bottom lip hard and he watched with lustrous eyes while Clayton gagged and gobbled him up. 

“Fuck.” Erik thrust his head back, “Here it comes—”

Erik rolled his hips, working his dick in and out of Clayton’s mouth with all his might, body seizing up with his own climax. Clayton knew to stay on that dick. He swallowed it all and left Erik speechless. Dick still solid, Erik wasn’t finished. He raised his hips and pushed his briefs and his jeans off. Bringing his hips to the edge of the couch, he spread his legs and brought his knees up, exposing his smooth ass free of hair. His puckered hole sat exposed beneath his dick and balls and without a word Clayton went right into ass eating. 

He stroked Erik’s tight entrance with his tongue and he would drag it up to his balls. Erik jerked his own dick, focusing on the tip. 

“Put your face in it Clay, stop playin’,” Erik commanded, “Good boy…”

Clayton tongued Erik’s ass so good He had his dick saluted to the ceiling and rock hard. 

“Fuuuck, if you make me cum like this, I’ll return the favor.” 

Clayton gave it his all. Whenever Erik rewarded him with ass eating, Clayton worked overtime to give his daddy what he wanted. Adding a finger, Clayton went right back to sucking Erik’s dick and tonguing his balls. 

“That’s it…look at that juicy mouth…fuck, Clay…Fuuck…Clay I’m about to bust—”

Erik couldn’t even finish his words. It’s been months since he had his ass eaten. Last time it was an ex-girlfriend back in Boston named Cahtrina that he met at M.I.T. She faithfully ate his ass. The best to do it. She could make Erik cum off ass eating alone. 

“Gahdamn, Clay,” Erik let his legs down, “You earned it for sure.” 

Clayton slid his hands down Erik’s thighs, staring longingly at Erik. 

“Are we taking this to my room?” Clayton stood up.

“Whatever you want.” Erik said. 

The door to the townhome opened gently and Danny; Clayton’s boyfriend, entered. Takeout bag in his left hand filled with wings and fries, Danny kicked off his designer loafers at the front door before shutting the door behind him. Danny’s almond-shaped eyes scanned the foyer as he strolled ahead. He made a left turn into the kitchen, hoping to see Clayton there but it was empty. He smooths back his shiny, black, quaffed hair and sits the bag of food on the kitchen island. 

“Clay?” Danny called out. 

He had a busy day as a real estate agent and he wanted to celebrate closing on a property he’d been busting his ass on selling. First thing he did was call up his mom and dad in Korea and then he planned to surprise Clayton that evening. He hoped they could also discuss moving in together since Clayton gave him a key to his new townhouse. Danny left the kitchen to find Clayton and when he entered the living room, his footsteps halted. Netflix was on and the coffee table had two wine glasses on it — one empty. A pair of fresh A1’s sat next to the leather sofa.

Danny stared puzzled, his stomach doing somersaults. He took the stairs, the more he climbed, the harder it was for him to keep it together. When he made it onto the second floor landing, he traveled down the narrow hallway to the master bedroom, and he didn’t have to enter to see everything he needed to see. 

Clayton has a fancy ornate floor mirror overlooking his bed. The lights are dim and the ambiance of the room was purposefully set to compliment the heart wrenching scene before poor Danny. Clayton’s deep mocha skin slick with sweat was arched over the edge of his king sized bed. Danny could see through Clayton’s expression. His eyes were closed but his mouth was agape and spewing incoherent words. The gut-wrenching sound of Clayton’s firm ass cheeks clashing with dynamic thighs filled the room. 

Danny turned his hurt gaze toward the man responsible for his boyfriend’s cries of pleasure. While Danny is more of a slender build, this man before him had to be double his size. Broad-shouldered, well-knit, and dynamic. This is what Clayton wanted. Not some feeble, weak man. A powerfully built man with aggression. 

“Erik…Erik…Don’t stop!” 

Erik. Something in Danny’s mind clicked. The infamous ex boyfriend. 

Danny’s gaze fell to Clayton again, visibly hurt but also turned on. Eyes back on the mirror, he studied the way Erik’s strapping legs flexed. His burly figure Danny envied. He looked up and to his horror, Erik was staring right into his eyes. Danny stood petrified, Erik’s eyes the color of coal burning into his orbs. Despite his focus being on Danny, his hips continued to pump Clayton full of what Danny knew to be the best dick he ever had. A slow, sinuous smirk painted Erik’s mug and the gold slugs decorating his teeth didn’t help situations. 

Clayton wanted to feel disgusted by his boyfriend’s cries or the way his body quivered with pleasure. He wanted to feel disgusted by the way Erik looked slanging dick so good Clayton was professing his love. Danny couldn’t stand there any longer while Erik taunted him with his sinister smirk and unwavering eyes. Danny found the strength to escape and when he did he didn’t look back despite the sound of Clayton’s voice announcing his release. 

“I’m cumming!” 

Clayton came all over the bed sheets and Erik was not too far behind. After three intense thrusts, Erik withdrew his hips and looked down to find his condom filled with cum. Clayton collapsed onto his stomach and Erik stepped away to remove his condom. After tying it in a knot, tossing it in a bin next to Clayton’s mirror, Erik’s eyes lingered on the bedroom door, wondering if Their voyeur was still around. It was exhilarating in the moment to play in the poor man’s face, but now he had to get out of there before things got out of hand. He refused to be around if the boyfriend is still here. 

“Leaving?” Clayton asked, peeling himself off of the bed finally. 

Erik had his jeans halfway on when Clayton gave him a disappointed look. If the turn of events didn’t happen, Erik would be smoking some weed he bought off of a plug earlier in the day. Smoking after sex was his thing. 

“Yeah…I don’t think it’s good for me to stick around, Clay. We both know that.” 

Clayton opened his mouth to protest but closed it when he realized the reality of the situation. Erik excused himself to the restroom and returned to find Clayton putting on a robe, flaccid dick sticking to his thigh from all the cum that sputtered out. 

“I had a great time, Clay…best sex I had in a while…”

“I think it’s best we don’t make this awkward,” Clayton scratched the back of his head, “I’ll walk you out, E.”

Fully dressed — Erik in his clothes and Clayton in a black robe — Clayton walked Erik downstairs. Erik had his eyes searching from left to right for the boyfriend but from the looks of it, he left. Erik wasn’t gonna kick back and wait for him to return. He found his shoes and was able to get his feet in without undergoing the laces. Clayton was looking everywhere but at Erik, avoiding his gaze completely. Maybe he should apologize for being so abrupt with leaving, but what good will that do? Clayton was in for some shit. 

“I’ll hit you?” Erik said.

Clayton opened his door, “Maybe. This shouldn’t have happened…”

Erik chuckled, “Too late for that, Clay. Take care of yourself, homie. You got my number…don’t be afraid to use it.” 

Clayton’s eyes fell to his bare feet. Erik tilted his chin up with his finger, making him look into his eyes.

“Can I get a goodbye kiss?” 

Clayton hesitated, but his lips touched Erik’s quickly and he looked as if he wanted more but instead turned away and shut his door. Erik stood there for a moment while twirling the keys to his whip around his finger. A part of him knew it was wrong for what he did, but was it worth feeling that mouth and ass again? Hell yeah.

Erik jogged down the front steps leading to a concrete walkway. Climbing into his car, Erik cranked it up and the AC hit him causing him to shiver. Erik left as quickly as he could, and when he finally made it out onto the main road, his stomach started growling. After driving for ten minutes, Erik spotted a Wendy’s and quickly turned left into the drive thru. He ordered himself a chicken sandwich meal with a strawberry lemonade. Finding an empty parking spot, Erik sat in his car and enjoyed his meal. 

After a day filled with getting his new place together and last minute shopping, Erik hardly had time to eat. The last meal he had was an açaí bowl. If Clayton’s boyfriend didn’t show up to ruin the party, Erik would have kicked it a little longer and ordered some food. After eating the last of his French fries, Erik placed his trash back in the takeout bag and sat it in his passenger seat until he got home. Turning on the light within his car, he reached in his backseat to retrieve the half-o he bought off a weed plug that was recommended to him by an old friend of his.

Securing his rolling papers, Erik cracked his windows and with his rolling tray in his lap, he started grounding up his weed while listening to Brent Faiyaz. Laying the ground-up bud on a rolling paper, he gently rolled the paper over the top of his blunt cone and carefully added the grounded weed inside. Patting his jeans, Erik found his Zippo Ace High Skull lighter. He sparked up his blunt and hit it. The aroma of the weed was slightly musty and even the taste was off. Erik studies the blunt in his hand before hitting it again.

“Nah, what the fuck?”

Erik grabbed the bag with his free hand and took a whiff. How had he missed it? He knew a bad batch when he saw one. Even the smell would have given it away. The weed was compromised. The weed plug sold him a bad batch. Erik flicked his blunt out of the window and grabbed his phone. He called the plug, his jaw set and nostrils flared.

“Yo,” the plug answered. 

“Nigga, did you sell me some bad weed?”

“Who dis?”

“Oh, now you got amnesia? It’s Erik, fool.”

“I ain’t sell you a bad batch.” 

“Yeah you did. This shit is brown and it smells just like a bad batch.”

“I don’t sell bad weed, you got the wrong guy.” 

“Nah, you got the wrong one if you think you gon’ play me, cuz. I should have known to check this shit before I gave you my fucking money. I want my money back tonight.” 

“I don’t do refunds.” 

“Tonight you will. I want my money back. I ain’t saying it again. I’ll meet you outside and you better bring me my shit, bitch.”

Erik hung up and tossed the bag of bad weed in his passenger seat. He was so filled with rage that he almost drove over a cone in the parking lot. Erik tends to drive recklessly, especially when he’s pissed. On his way out of the parking lot, Erik was about to enter the road when an all black Jeep Wrangler came roaring down the road. Erik pumped on his brakes at the last second causing the Jeep Wrangler to miss his car by two centimeters. The Jeep Wrangler’s horn blared out continuously. Erik felt his chest grow tight and he stared at the Jeep Wrangler with fury. 

“WHAT THE FUCK?!!!” Erik barked out. 

The owner of the Jeep Wrangler sped off and Erik was right on their bumper. He skillfully came around to their front where they had no choice but to stop. They stopped with a screech of their tires, a lingering smell of burnt rubber in the evening air. Erik’s heart was racing with how fired up he was. He’d already been upset about the weed and now this driver wants to be an added pain in his ass, almost scratching and denting his new car. He couldn’t see the driver because of the tinted windows, but he could tell it was a woman with the rhinestone encased license plates. 

Erik opened his car door to inspect when the Jeep Wrangler swerved from behind him and sped past him again. Murky rain water from the wet road splashed up and dirtied Erik’s A1’s and the side of his car. Erik hopped out to get a good look at their license plate and although he badly wanted to chase them down, it was too late, they had already disappeared into the night. Erik slammed his car door shut and paced back and forth to calm himself. His fists were clenched and he closed his eyes to try and simmer down but he was seeing red. 

B-B-U-D-D-H-A

One Hour Earlier:

“GET YOUR SHIT AND GET THE FUCK OUT!”

Marcia avoided being hit in the face with a dildo that Jacey tossed at her head. Her body was still soaked from being in the shower and the woman she was caught with had rushed out of the apartment with just her red thong with her thing’s bundled up in her arms. 

“YOU LYING, CHEATING ASS BITCH!”

Jacey opened her narrow walk-in closet and any item of Marcia’s she could find she yanked it from the shelves and hangers to toss them at her. Marcia swiftly pulled on a pair of loose fitting sleep pants before she was smacked in the face with a denim jacket. 

“HOW COULD I BE SO STUPID?!”

“Jacey—let me explain—”

“Explain what?! How you ended up on your knees in the shower with a mouth full of pussy IN MY APARTMENT?! An apartment I pay rent in?!!!”

Jacey was a tiny ball of fury. The black hoodie she wore was swimming on her and hiding all of her curves. Marcia stood on the other side of the room with guilty eyes. She couldn’t explain. There was no amount of explaining that could get her out of this situation. 

“I THOUGHT I COULD TRUST YOU AGAIN! After everything I’m going through?! After getting into a stupid fist fight with my brother's baby mama! After the fall out between me and my mom! blaming me for Bella keeping my nieces away from me! And I come home to this?! You eating some bitch pussy?! And for what?! For me to take you back?! Forgive you?!”

Jacey tossed a pair of heels at Marcia who ducked in enough time. The shoes hit the wall hard and put a crack in the drywall. Jacey collapsed against the wall clutching her abdomen, trying her best to catch her breath. Her tawny skin is flushed and she could feel sweat rolling down her spine. Pushing her faux locs out of her face, she stood tall and glared at Marcia through her blurry vision. 

“Get your shit and get the fuck out!” Jacey yelled. 

“Where am I gonna go Jacey?!” Marcia argued.

“See if that bitch you’ve been fucking got a place for you to stay!”

“I can’t go back to my mom, Jace,” Marcia cautiously walked past Jacey to the closet where she retrieved her Puma gym bag to pack her things.

“I don’t care where you go. You can’t be here.” 

Jacey had come home unexpectedly after attempting to spend the weekend with her mom. She hoped to vent to her about the drama between Duke and Bella. Jacey had gone to visit Duke and confessed that Bella was having a baby on him. The hurt on Duke’s face mirrored how Jacey felt. Somehow, word got out to Bella and she showed up at Jacey’s apartment. They got into a heated argument that ended with both of them scrapping in the parking lot. Security had to split up the altercation and Bella didn’t leave without letting Jacey know that she can never see her nieces again. 

“You shouldn’t have done that, Jacey. Your brother is already facing so much. You didn’t help by telling him about Bella.”

“If this means I can’t see my grandbabies, we have a problem. Me and you.”

“When will you learn to mind your business, Jacey?”

“Don’t raise your voice at me in my house. You can get your shit and go.”

Jacey didn’t hesitate to leave. The one person she thought would be there to comfort her after a bad day was caught sucking pussy in her shower. She recognized the chick too. A ‘friend’ of Marcia’s that has a boyfriend. That probably wasn’t the first time Marcia brought a woman back to the apartment when Jacey wasn’t there. 

“I can’t take all my shit tonight.”

Marcia tried to get Jacey’s attention but she refused to look at her. If she did, she wasn’t going to fall into her trap. She was going to drag her by her hair out of the apartment herself. 

“Then I’ll leave your shit outside of the door for you to come back for. I want you out of my apartment, Marcia.”

Jacey stormed out of the bedroom and into the living room. She snatched up her white Telfar bag and keys, walking to the door of her apartment to leave. She needed some air and a drive to calm her down. Marcia appeared from the hall with two bags over her shoulders and one in her hand. She’d been crying, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. She had her phone to her ear and a somber expression on her face. 

“Ma, can I stay wit you tonight? It’s a long story…”

Marcia walked out of the apartment and Jacey slammed her door shut, screaming. A kick to her wall from a neighbor seemed to tick her off more. Walking up to her patio that overlooked the parking lot, Jacey could see Marcia lugging her bags to her red Kia. 

“HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY WITH YOURSELF YOU LYING ASS HOE!!!!”

Marcia ignored her and climbed into her car. A few of Jacey’s neighbors that were entering the building stopped to watch her shout obscenities.

“YOU DIRTY BITCH! DON’T FORGET THIS!”

Jacey picked up a rainbow 10 inch dildo and tossed it over the balcony. It landed on the pavement and bounced into the gutter. Her neighbors chuckled and pointed at the sex toy. 

Marcia reversed out of her spot and sped off as quickly as she could to avoid being seen. Jacey didn’t care about her neighbors laughing. That was the last thing on her mind. 

“Fucking dirty bitch!” Jacey shut her patio doors and left her apartment. 

She couldn’t wait to scrub her shower down and clean her sheets. The audacity of that bitch. Walking to her car, Jacey tried her best to fight back tears, but she couldn’t. She crumbled in her driver’s seat, gathering the sleeve of her hoodie to dab her eyes. If she was being honest, she was more so angry with herself about it. This isn’t the first time that Marcia played in her face. 

Jacey started her Jeep Wrangler and drove out of her apartment complex. She didn’t have any idea where she was going to go, so she just kept driving, the smell of rain from the fresh air filling her car calming her down. After ten minutes, her heart steadied to a normal rhythmic pattern. She turned into a nearby shopping center and parked across from a Wells Fargo ATM. 

Jacey opened her bag and grabbed a stack of money to deposit into her account. She locked her car doors and walked up to the ATM to deposit the money. She could feel her phone vibrating in her pocket and she knew it had to be Marcia. Exhaling, Jacey turned to walk back to her car and climbed in. Opening her glove compartment, Jacey grabbed her gold rolling tray and in her bag was a key of mandarin cookies, rolling papers, and a couple cones. The Mandarin Cookies strain is a sativa-dominant hybrid with a sweet, fruity aroma and a taste of tangerine and cookies. She snatched up her yellow Backwoods lighter from her drink holder and started rolling a blunt. 

Jacey toked on her weed and after five puffs she felt a sedating and calming high overcome her. She could taste the citrus and diesel from the hybrid strain and it relaxed her. Uplifted, Jacey ashes out her blunt to finish back at the apartment. Starting her car, eyes dry and vision hazy, she left the shopping center and headed back towards her apartment. Jacey wasn’t focused on how fast she was driving. Anybody in her way needed to make room. She maneuvered her truck like it was a buggie. 

Jacey made a swift turn going at 40 MPH when a white Acura MDX came zooming out of a Wendy’s parking lot. Jacey rammed her foot into the brake pedal, hee bag falling to the floor of the car. She swerved around the car and honked her horn repeatedly to get their attention. She didn’t wait around to see who it was and kept going, but the Acura MDX was right on her bumper. The luxury car came from behind and stopped right in front of her. Jacey gasped, pumping her brakes again just in time. 

“YOU ASSHOLE!!!!” Jacey shouted. 

She wanted to see who the fuck was driving that car. She wasn’t going to step out of the car. Luckily her windows are tinted. When the car door opened, she could tell that it was a man. Jacey quickly put her car in reverse and switched gears, speeding past the road-ragged maniac, sending a puddle of water onto him and his car. Jacey’s mouth dropped open in surprise as she watched her rear view mirror for the driver. When the coast was clear, Jacey broke out into a fit of laughter despite her rapid heartbeat and shaky fingers. 

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[st-armand]

Plug!Hobie x Fem!Reader Part 1

( Reposted from @armands-sanctum ) Authors Note: All fanfictions I make for Hobie are in the worldbuilding of him living in New London, a re-colonized NYC by British V.E.N.O.M. operatives. This is more like a vomit of words then a headcanon but all of my headcanons are like that. Might make the move to AO3 if I keep getting banned

CW: Weed smoking, suggestive imagery, detailed descriptions of a specific body types, fem!reader, terrible black british slang, not beta read

Word Count: 1.5k

Masterlist • Part 2

Plug!Hobie who you meet on a particularly sweltering day, relaxing with a group of alternatives smoking outside—your sweet perfumes and oils blending in with the droplets sweat that bead on your skin.You’re frustrated with work/school/life and all you need is a quick high, a joint, especially after going about your day smelling other people smoke, now you’re craving it bad, so bad in fact you lose all inhibitions towards going up to strangers and asking them to sell you drugs.

He's done up in dreadfully low waisted, tight black jeans—ripped and littered with patches, that compliment his long-limbed body, intricate belts that you know have to be a pain in the ass to take off when peeing, and a cropped band tee ‘Black Liver’— on summer days like this Hobie would exclaim, “ T’ hot to be all done up” opting for the easiest outfits, like a Nike tech-wear, or a pair of adidas sweats that you gifted him, since you despise the look of Nike clothing, he chided on you about buying from corporative fast fashion, you retort, “Hobie you KNOW I only thrift things, please don’t start that now.”

Upon that first conversation, or even the moment his eyes caught onto your figure, he’d fallen, well…into lust, head first, dead upon impact.Hobie is attractive, interacts with other hot people, but he can’t help but be particularly fascinated with your figure—from your equally as low waisted and tight jeans, so tight they fit like a second skin on your legs, a sliver of your midriff exposed from the cut of your top giving him unlimited access to the slopes of your stomach, and the natural arch in your back begging to be gripped, or the way your bra makes your shirt look exceptionally tight around your breasts, every step in your stride causes a ripple to glide through the supple flesh, and the best for last his favorite part of you, your ass, so large it’s almost disproportionate to your body shape, but your thighs constricted by the denim makes it fathomable you have an ass that large.

But your face makes your body look like a present wrapped in luxurious foils, with an intricate bow on top.

Now it’s uncomfortable for him to wear those skinny jeans.

Hobie watches you intently as you saunter your way through other pedestrians, fixated on a single goal, he thinks youre coming up to chat them up maybe giving him the chance to get your contacts, until he follows your line of sight—oh youre looking at his joint…

“Bro! You got any to spare? I need a joint so fucking bad, I have cash so I’ll happily buy some off you.”

He’s slightly put off by your ice breaker, “Why? You a pig?”

Now you’re fucking pissed, after a long arduous day, when you want the most is to smoke a flat blunt, and this beanstalk, bastard is calling you an opp.

“Get your head out of your ass, or ill do it for you.” You bite backThe group tenses, waiting for Hobie to speak—who cooly replies,

“ leng ting ‘ot a mouth on her,”

he LAUGHS boisterously in fact—his chest heaves and he slinks into himself with just how fucking hilarious he thinks this situation must be, you want weed and you want to go home.

“Got a lot t’ spare, actually, but I ‘otta go back t’ my flat.” Hobie drawls his replies, languidly letting the words slip through his tongue, slurred from the high, lean frame against the stoop of the store their loitering about, he gazes down at you to gauge your reaction.

“I ain’t going to back to your ‘flat’, so let’s compromise. How much can I get for $120, and a few containers of food?”

Hobie quirks a single pierced eyebrow, the sterling metals on his face reflecting the light, even under the shade making it hard to even focus on his face for too long—that and how attractive he is, it breaks your own mask of intimidation (He’ll break it more once you start developing a relationship with each other).

“ ‘pends on how good the food is luv.”

Hobie’s had a few people offer food in exchange for weed, so you’ve already gotten him with your proposition, even if you rejected the insinuation that he wanted you to come with him back to his place.Other people love to use favors of other kinds which he rejects, he’s finds it completely unnecessary, but he is still kind, a community-oriented person he doesn’t mind giving people weed for free.

But he DOES enjoy getting gifts from his peers for weed; trinkets, porcelain dolls, customized instruments, accessories, and clothing that they tailor for him—forcing him into their studios to get to measurements right, and letting Hobie customizing the clothing to the way he desires, with no interjections or complaints even. All these things are decorated precisely around his place, he might not clean the mess in his apartment but he will ALWAYS make sure these things are safe, and dust-free.

“It’s pretty damn good! Alright lemme get your number, I’ll tell you where we meet.” During the conversation you contemplated the best course of action, do you go to his apartment—no. Let him drop off at your place? You’d rather eat glass then let a strange man have your address. But you want weed so meeting around the corner can’t be the worst choice.

Hobie wastes no time whipping his phone out of his back pocket, you exchange contact information, and with nothing but a curt nod, walking away from the draining social interaction, before a firm, slightly sweaty, ringed hand on your shoulder, whipping your body around, you watch a slow impish smirk grace his facial features.

“See ya’ later ‘orgeous.”

You retained a deadpanned expression, but your mind races and it isn’t from the secondhand high your getting from being around them. Weak kneed but you don’t falter in your perfectly constructed veneer, this is why you stay 10 feet away from attractive men.

The conversation is over now, at least to you, you give him a thumbs up, but Hobie persists even knowing he will be seeing you later, and he has patrol immediately afterwards.

“Want a joint for the road? ‘s on me luv”

Now this perks you up exponentially, and you invade his space like a cat yearning for its meal early in the morning.He’s reeling from the closeness—inebriated from the sweet smell of your body oil, and the crisp red rose perfume you wear, even the smell of the sweat gathering on your skin has him shaky

(I also headcanon him as a huge pervert, im talking panty thief levels. If yall vote on it will be graciously provided.)

Try his bet to focus on letting his lithe fingers play the edges of the paper like he would his guitar, meticulously stuffing the herb into the folded valley of the parchment, before joining the ends together with quick reels.

Hobie places the semi wrapped joint in front of your lips, glancing down at you with an expectant look, your brows furrow, not entirely too sure what he’s gesturing you to do.

“Mind sealin’ it f’ me? Your joint after all”

You wordlessly comply, letting your tongue tease the laminated edge of the parchment activating the adhesive, your eyes wander to his for approval an ‘Is this good enough?’ kind.

But for Hobie the vision of your tinted eyes, and the moist muscled appendage carefully coating the sealant edge has his cock twitching in his jeans.

He tightened it into a cone-like shape, before twisting the end closed, lightly shaking the tip to stuff the herb down farther, then passing it into your hands.

With that you exit, giving a coy wave in their direction and a mischievous “See ya later.”

Comments, Concerns?? Im still looking for beta readers so message me if you're interested. Pushing this out for traction since my other blog got shadow-banned.

[accio-victuuri]

This will be a short discussion of what I originally planned regarding yibo endorsing national / homegrown brands recently and what it all means when talking about the bigger picture. and by that I mean, the connection between celebrities in CHN & nationalism as well as the increasing tension between CHN and other countries. As much as we all wanna live in a bubble of fandom where it’s all pretty boys & happiness, real life isn’t going that way.

I think Yibo knows that too and it’s influencing his choices. He had a personal experience with this — the whole NIKE fiasco in 2020 definitely was a lesson to him and his team. The risk of endorsing big international brands as a Chinese celebrity is real. It happened before and it may ( or will ) happen again. You never know what issue is going to pop up and suddenly, it’s all gone. We have seen time and again how the CCP can quickly direct these celebrities to sing and dance in whatever tune they like.

Let’s start with the biggest one he signed on to right after the whole nike fiasco. ANTA. It’s on record that as soon as WYB dropped Nike, there was a bidding of sorts on who is the domestic brand that will get him. ANTA wasn’t the highest offer, but he chose them because they are a national brand.

Then the list just goes on. A couple of these are due for renewal this year but just to illustrate which brands he is working with since 2021:

(In no particular order)

Redmi, Lenovo, Youku, Pechoin, Chunzhen, Super X, Bananain, Master Kong Iced Tea, Kelly One, Linsy, Bottled Joy, IKIDE, Helen Keller Glasses, SKG, Stride, Tokit, Chando, Unicharm, Rotai

I could be missing 1 or 2 but it’s a lot. for someone who averages 25-30 brands in a year all holding his name as endorser, the number of domestic ones is a lot.

This trend became more evident when looking at his new endorsements this year (2023):

5 out of the 6 brands are domestic.

It’s the reason why I had the urge to make this post, especially with him being announced as YAYA’s chief spokesperson. Personally, the last domestic brand surge I remember was 2021 and there were a couple of articles written about that. This year, the domestic brands are at it again and tapping celebrities to get more attention. It says a lot that these brands picked Yibo to represent this growth. It’s easy to sign on to a well known brand with a string of high profile endorsers before you, so this is again, a testament to Yibo’s character. He is not afraid to lend his name and reputation to the Nameless/Unknown ( i had to reference it i’m sorry lol ). He takes into consideration not just his growth but also his people, these Chinese companies who are fighting with brand titans.

He is also the go-to choice because his good reputation and appeal to the younger generation.

I think Wang Yibo’s age is more in line with this social group. He is a very positive young man. Recently, Wang Yibo is in the process of transforming from an idol to a powerful actor. He is more in line with the youthfulness of our future brand. (quote from tailing’s president )

I have taken this screenshot from an article by jingdaily that is worth a read. another factor is the general population’s preference as well. whether this is something that yibo & his team is taking into consideration, we don’t know but with the choices they are making i guess the answer is obvious.

This year too, I have noticed a shift in c-ent with celebrities being courted by international brands who thinks it’s safe (for) now to be visible in the CHN market again. I have no beef with these celebrities, you gotta do what you gotta do. International brand deals are hella lucrative and some luxury ones are considered an honor to be a part of. I mean even Yibo is very visible in promoting Chanel.

I get the lure of big brand endorsements but that doesn’t take away the reality of what could happen and that planning ahead is important. Yibo is more capable than people give him credit for. I think a lot of people underestimate his ability to look at a situation and make decisions that will benefit his career in the long run. To put it simply, if and when things go south in the political side of things he is prepared and there won’t be much of a loss in the endorsement side of things. It’s a very smart business move and you can add patriotic points too so that makes it perfect.

Yibo is really the one who walks the talk. This saying really applies to him more than anyone cause that is his essence as a person — you will see the truth in him with what he does. His actions speaks volumes. He will take a stand on what he believes in even if everyone else is going the opposite direction. 🤍

DISCLAIMER: This post is very much about Yibo if you couldn’t already tell, and my observation as a fan. It’s not meant to compare him to other CHN celebrities cause I don’t have the time and interest in making a comparison study of who has the most domestic brand endorsements. If another stan finds this and is somehow offended in behalf of their fave, it’s not my fault. Feel free to make your own post talking about how great your fave is. Thank you!

[tearfallpixie]

Trust and Love - Side Chapter: Disaster Concerts

(This is post Accidents and Acceptance)

Double Post today because I'm going to start condensing the Master list!! Enjoy 🫡🫡

Tags: @nerdraging4point0 @thesazzb @synthetic-wasp-570 @circle-with-me @beaker1636 @itsjustemily @witchyweeb34 @agravemisstake @cookiesupplier @cncohshit @faceless-mirror @nonamessblog @yournecessaryevil @black-damask1999

@lyschko666 @vinyardmauro @skulliecadaver-blog @some-daniela @latenightmusiclover @rye14-blog1 @somewhere-diamond @Shilohrosechicken @abiomens @awkwardalex @rumoured-whispers @miss570

@Lexiscyberhex: God Olive is such a whore. How did she even score Rick in the first place? Let alone Vinny. She’s not even that pretty.

Liv let out a whimper. She wasn’t sure how many times she’d read and re-read the tweet, the words weren’t going to change, it wasn’t going to disappear from the internet, nor would she ever forget it. The throuple had been public for several weeks now, they’d been met with both support and hate from all sides. Chris had been quick to squash any hate towards them, threatening it wouldn’t be tolerated in any way and if they were true fans they would be supportive. His words of wisdom must have fallen on deaf ears to this one.

Quickly tucking her phone in her pocket, the doors to the venue were about to open and she had a job to do. Standing on the stage she made sure her camera was set properly to accommodate the lights for that evenings show. She didn’t need the band fussing over her, she didn’t need the performance ruined.

“Hey baby girl, ready for another amazing performance?” Ricky wrapped his arms around her waist pulling her body firmly into his chest. Denim vest and eye shadow on he was ready for tonight’s show, his big grin causing wrinkles in the foundation around his eyes. Liv forced a smile trying hard to shake off what she’d just seen looking sideways up at the guitarist.

“Of course. You will be amazing as always.” She murmured. Rick’s lips tugged into another smile as he leaned down kissing her lips gently, still tethered, he took her hips and spun her around letting her arms fall onto his shoulders locking up her arms to pull him closer. As they parted, she let her face fall into the studded shoulder of his vest, nuzzling into him letting the safety of his arms ground her.

“Are you okay? You’re being super cuddly.” His hands pushed on her hips trying to pull her out to face him but she clung to the vest tighter. She wouldn’t allow herself one look into his grey eyes because she knew she’d never be able to keep herself together.

“I’m fine I promise.” She reassured him. She could feel him nod his head as he held her again, gingerly as if she were going to break in his hold. She pulled away from his shoulder putting her face into the middle of his chest letting the Versace cologne overtake her senses.

“Hey mama,” a familiar voice called out “How do I look?” She twisted slightly and peaked open her eyes to see Vinny give a twirl on the other side of the room, dressed in his black and white Nikes, chained pants, and his cut off dress shirt, the exposed skin decorated with the latex paint he’d become so fond of over the years. Liv grinned watching Vin brush the hair out of his face without smearing the red and black make up Angela had worked so hard on.

“Like you fell into a tar pit.” She teased, making him pout.

“So mean.” He whined. Striding over to them and pulling her out of Rick’s arms to plant a kiss on her lips. Lost in the kiss with Vinny she barely heard the call out for the boys to prepare for the show. She pulled away slowly, Vinny still had a hold on her waist, an expression on his face like something was off.

“Be safe.” Rick whispered in her ear. His hand resting on her lower back as the boys guided her to the edge of the stage. They’d been touring for the last month or so and she’d been in the pit for every show to get the best shots, each time Rick was concerned she’d be hurt. There had been a moment or two that she’d been shoved and a sneaker from a crowd surfer caught her in the back of the head, but she’d never tell him, he’d keep her out of the pit permanently if that were the case. Trials of the job are all she saw it as.

Crowded between the fans in the pit she stood through the opening acts taking some shots for their scrapbooks. Having additional shots of other acts would broaden her portfolio maybe even reaching other fans that hadn’t yet seen her work. Waiting in the break for Motionless she readjusted her lens all of her worries and feelings from earlier were gone, the life of the crowd brought new life for her, and she was back ready to take on the world.

‘Motionless coming online…’

The screen lit up and the EDM music blared through the speakers drowned out in seconds by the screaming crowd. Meltdown lit the crowd on fire, Liv captured shot after shot, Rick playing his guitar, Justin eyeing the crowd, Chris twirling on stage in his long trench coat-she even snapped multiple photos of the Cherry Bombs with their cyber glowsticks. As an indoor venue pyro was limited, but the show was a hit already.

Sign of Life concluded the stage going semi-dark as the boys each grabbed a drink from their bottles of water. Chris strolled out, trench coat discarded, requesting the house lights be fired up. He scanned the crowd, seeing the faces looking back at him, the man in his element. “Wow. You guys are insane. How are we tonight Atlanta?” the loud scream from the crowd his response.

“Hmmm, no, I asked. How. Are. We. Tonight. ATLANTA?” He screamed into the mic. Raising his arms to hear the crowd go wild. She turned to the crowd hoping to catch some of their reactions, a few snaps here and a few there, she caught a fan with a sign and turned her camera to capture the shot. Her finger hovering over the button when she froze.

‘Give me a chance Vinny. I can fuck you better than Liv can’

The neon pink words obvious against the neon green poster board. She felt her stomach drop to her feet and the heat of embarrassment flood her cheeks. Suddenly she felt like the entire room was looking at her, judging her. A gasp from the crowd and a loud commotion caught her attention to the stage, Vinny was leaping from his stand, intercepted mid stage by Rick. The guitarist holding him back with both hands on his chest. Vinny pushed past him, and Rick wrapped his arms around the drummers waist to pull him back, Justin moving to assist the guitarist in holding Vinny back. Chris’s scowl immediately overtaking his face, jumping from the stage the fans cleared a path for him as he reached forward tearing the poster out of her hands ripping it up in front of her.

Rushing over to him, Liv gripped his wrists, stopping him from ripping the board anymore. The dropped the remnants of the poster, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.

“Her name is Olivia, and Ricky and Vin love her and wouldn’t drop her for some two-dollar whore like you any day. I made it perfectly clear that any disrespect of them would not be tolerated.” He spit a single finger jostled in her direction.

Liv had a hand on Chris’s chest trying to push him back to the stage, desperate to stop the madness and embarrassment she already felt. She scanned the faces of the crowd seeing many who were dumbfounded and some who were scowling, but not at her, at the fan in question.

“Why are you so defensive?” the girl slurred back obviously slightly drunk “Are you fucking her too?”

Liv felt the muscles under Chris’s chest tense up and she immediately pushed herself between him and the fan, forearms crossed over his chest pushing him back with all the strength she had. He finally budged stepping back in slow strides eyes still locked on the fan. Two security guards soon flanked him, and his attention was detoured.

“Get her the fuck out of here and take her name. She is banned from any more of our concerts.” The men nodded in response moving to remove the girl swiftly. Chris wrapped an arm around her shoulder again turning her towards the stage. She turned to bury her head in his chest as they moved to the stage. Hearing the fan screaming obscenities and insults as she was drug from the venue.

“Do you want to have Ichabod take the photos for the rest of the concert?” Chris asked softly. She could only nod in his chest feeling the tears pour from her eyes. She took the hands of Justin and Rick as they pulled her onto the stage, Chris leaping up with his own upper body strength. A quick pat on the shoulder from Justin and she was pulled to the side of the stage out of the sight of fans by Rick. Vin hot on their heels.

“Are you okay?” Vinny asked peppering her face with kisses holding her cheeks between his calloused hands. She tugged her face trying to get him to release his grip, but the adrenaline was coursing through his veins, his muscles trembling as he held his grip on her.

“Yeah, fine.” She mumbled the lie.

“Liv, don’t like to me.” He scolded.

“Then why did you even bother asking?” she snapped. Pushing on his chest, the motion making him let go of her face and stumble back. “Go back to your concert. I’ll be on the bus.” She pushed past the two of them seeing Vinny try to follow, but Rick’s quick reflexes taking the man by the upper arm to stop him.

“If anyone else has a problem with Ricky and Vinny’s relationship with Olivia, I suggest you leave now.” Chris barked to the crowd through the mic, his words drowning out as she moved through the halls of the venue to the green room. A loud scream from the crowd seemed to satisfy whatever rage he was in. “We are here to have a good time and put on an amazing show for you and I won’t have that ruined because people are still stuck in high school. Now can we continue with the concert?”

Immaculate Misconception’s intro started as she put the remainder of her camera gear away pushing her way past the opening acts hanging in the halls and out of the venue. The whispers she heard as she walked past only made matters worse, she wasn’t sure if they were out of pity or disgust, not like she cared.

Back on the bus she settled into the back lounge, pulling herself under the quilt with a choked sob, miserable and exhausted from crying she drifted in and out of sleep. Only coming back when she heard the door to the bus open and close. The small bed she’d been on dipped at her head then at her feet, her eyes slowly fluttered open to see Vin sitting at her head and Rick settled at her feet. She sat up slowly feeling Vinny wrap an arm around her waist and pull her close to him, she crossed her legs and Rick scooted across the bed towards her running his hands over her thighs.

“Hey baby girl. How are you feeling?” Rick whispered. She could only shake her head before he pulled her into his arms in a hug. He’d tossed the denim vest, but otherwise the two of them were still in their stage get ups, his black shirt damp from all the sweat. She didn’t care. She just needed to be enveloped in them both.

“I’m sorry.” She whimpered between sobs.

“Don’t you dare apologize.” Vinny growled, she felt him shuffle around before pressing into her back, two arms wrapped around her waist. He buried his head into her neck and her sobs rolled over into groans. “That fan was out of line.”

“No, I’m sorry for yelling at you. I’m sorry I’m not good enough. I’m not even pretty enough for either of you.” She tried not to wail but the realization of the words being spoken only made her feel less worthy of both men wrapped around her. When they questioned her about where she would ever get the idea, she confessed she’d read some of the comments and posts on Twitter.

“Baby girl.” Rick sighed. “I told you not to read that crap.” She shrugged her shoulders as if that advice was any good now. When fans tagged her in things it was hard to filter through what was an attack and what was praise.

“The hottest alien babe wouldn’t even compare to you mama.” Vinny mumbled, pressing kisses to the exposed skin of her neck. Her tears slowed as she let the sensation of his lips on her skin carry her away. She tried to hold back a giggle at his dorky statement, but it slipped out anyway as her head lolled back onto Vinny’s shoulder letting him have more access to her neck. She opened her eyes and saw the grey eyes of her guitarist dazed as he watched Vinny kiss her neck. Grabbing the collar of his sweaty shirt she pulled him to her lips in a filthy deep kiss, arms wrapping around whatever he could as he kissed her back.

“Rick,” her drummer’s voice drawled “I think our lil mama needs us to show her how much we love her. Don’t cha think?” he sucked at the back of her neck making her gasp breaking the kiss she and Rick were sharing.

“I do.” Untangling his arms from her waist he reached down to her jeans popping the button open pulling the tight material down her legs. Vinny’s hands roamed her abdomen riding up to cup her breasts in each hand squeezing and massaging through her clothes.

“Everyone’s up front.” She protested through sighs and moans. Vinny released her breasts dropping his hands to her hips before pulling her back into him hard, feeling her ass grind against his hard cock straining against his stage pants. Rick dipped down to take the skin of her neck between his teeth nipping as he pulled making her squeal.

Her hands braced on Vinny’s thighs as Rick slid his leg between hers his thigh pressing into her core. She started to grind against his jeans leaning up to tangle her hands into his hair, they groaned in unison as Vinny started to slowly rut against her ass.

“Vin,” Rick rumbled between kisses “Lock the door.”

The drummer leaned up one foot on the floor another still on the bed as he reached over to press the latch locking the three of them in and the rest of the world out. Rick discarded her shirt; someone took off her bra and hands started to tangle and get lost among themselves. One Of Vin’s still painted hands dipped between her thigs rubbing her clit in slow circles, she arched her back head falling onto Vin’s shoulders, Rick seized the moment to take one of her breasts in his mouth pulling her nipple between his teeth before flicking at it with his tongue.

Vinny’s fingers dipped inside her stretching her walls around his fingers at a slow torturous pace. She started to grind on his hand looking for relief, her movements slowed when Rick took her hips and firmly held her in place.

“Please,” she begged “I need-I want-both of you.”

Her words broken through heavy panting, both men’s lips smirking against her skin.

“And you’ll have us, baby girl.”

“Who do you want first?” The voice in her ear made her body jolt like she touched an electric fence, his name falling from her lips in a pleading moan.

“I’ll take good care of you mama.” He growled.

Lying back on the bed he worked his pants down to his ankles as she turned around and positioned herself over his hips. Vinny took himself in hand pressing into her entrance before letting her sink slowly onto his cock, her moan cracke,d her voice turning into a keen the sound swallowed by Rick smashing his lips into hers.

“Need to be quiet baby.” Vin’s voice strained as he took hold of her hips. Rick pulled away from her lips licking the tip of her nose.

“Wouldn’t want anyone to hear you.” He teased.

Vinny lifted her up to thrusting into her as he brought her down on him through the thrust. Her walls stretching and pulling with each movement, the pain slowly turning into pleasure. The sound of lips smacking together drew her attention, she looked down seeing her guitarist and drummer locked in a tango of tongue and teeth the sight turning her on even more. She pushed down onto Vin’s cock rolling her hips making him break away from the guitarist with a moan. His hand collided with the skin of her ass in a smack.

“Sorry, mama. This is about you.”

Rick gave a teasing grin as he moved behind her, his hands wrapping around her body to cup her breasts in his hands again, kneading the soft mounds pulling her nipples between his nimble fingers. Assaulted by lips, hands and teeth from multiple angles her body and senses were overloaded.

“Gonna come for us, baby?” Ricky’s smooth voice in her ear as his hands threaded through her hair pulling her head back to look up at the ceiling. “Yeah, I know you are. I know those sounds.” His tongue licked a stripe up her neck to the shell of her ear.

One of Rick’s hands slide down the front of her body reaching the point where she and Vin and entwined, his fingers pressed firmly into her clit as he starts to apply pressure and rub in circles. She’s closer with each circle as he presses firmly into her. When her walls suddenly clench over Vin’s cock, he folded himself up to bring her lips to his. Her screams swallowed by his kiss as he released deep inside of her.

“Such a good girl.” Rick praised. He took her hips in his hands bringing her up off Vinny slowly. “My turn.” The emptiness of Vin sliding out from under her is soon replaced by Rick sliding into her from behind.

“Fuck. Still so-ahh-tight even after taking Vin’s cock.” Rick groaned biting into her shoulder blade, his arm braced on the bed as the other wrapped around her waist to keep her steady.

“Fuck baby girl, you take us so well don’t you.” He praised her as his lips moved along her back and up her neck. Her hair was starting to fall in her face her wrists turning red as she held herself up on all fours for him. Vin’s hands pushed her hair aside taking her face into his palms stroking her cheek with his thumb.

“Look at this face.” He hummed “So pretty-those eyes-fuck their fucking blown.”

She wets her lips with her tongue, little good it does, her mouth has run dry from all the moaning and panting she’s been doing. A smug voice inside her says the fans should hear the way Vinny and Ricky are talking to her right now, how they praise her, her not anyone else. Her.

She can feel strands of Rick’s hair brush over the skin of her back as he ruts into her from behind the soft groans with each thrust coming behind gritted teeth.

“Vin-baby-mm’gonna.” She can’t focus, her eyes fluttering closed and open again refocusing on Vinny in front of her.

“I think she’s gonna come for you, Rick.”

“That right baby girl? Gonna come on my cock?” two hard thrusts and she is falling apart on him. He’s close, the hard panting increasing as his movements get sloppy.

“Vin, babe, kiss me.” Ricks’ voice begs before the drummer closes the space between them hand cupping the back of the guitarists neck as he brings their lips together. A few more broken thrusts from the guitarist and hes spilling inside of her too, any noises he released claimed by the drummers tongue that was terrorizing his mouth. “Fuck, shes so good for us. No one else could ever compare.” Rick murmured, running his callused down her back. Vin eased their girl up into a kneeling position as the guitarist pulled out of her.

“You still with us mama?” Vinny chuckled. Liv gave a slow nod with a lazy smile. He grabbed his discarded shirt and cleaned her up a little before they all arranged themselves on the bed and under the quilts. None of them cared that Vinnys black paints would stain the sheets or that they were all covered in it at that moment. That was a problem for tomorrow.

“Baby girl, please never think that we would drop you for someone like that. You are our one and only. Ok?” Rick whispered as he nuzzled into her neck. Truthfully he wanted to go after the fan just like Vinny but he knew that would cause more trouble than it was worth.

“I know. It just hurts sometimes that they tag me in that shit and then have the audacity to come to a concert with a sign saying as much. I know you two wouldn’t do that to me and I love you for it but sometimes it just builds up and I hate it.” Liv grumbled, drawing patterns in the smeared paint on her drummers’ arms.

“Well you know that we will always be here to remind you just how much we love you every single time. Fans be dammed.” Vinny snickered. They finally settled into each other’s arms and felt the tension of the day melt away. No matter what they had each other and the band and that’s all they needed.

[athenepromachos]

Lady Athena striding into battle accompanied by Nike, goddess of victory. Suggested reconstruction of Athena from the frieze of Great Altar of Zeus at Pergamon which shows the Olympians and their allies engaging in battle against the Giants 🏛