#disruption steven

[minijenn]

Fuck it this isn't an actual preview but I like ths exchange a whole fucking lot so enjoy me stirring up shit between my boys only 5 chapters in:

 “Steven,” he began, the slightest edge of frustration in his voice. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but… how much do you really know about the Gems anyway?”

“Uh… I know that they’re really cool and strong and protect humanity from monsters and-”

“I don’t mean any of that basic stuff,” Dipper quickly cut him off. “I mean the actually important stuff, like where they came from, how they got their powers, how those powers even work, what they even are to begin with. Doesn’t it bother you that you know so little about them? I mean, it bothers me and I’ve only known them for a few days, but you’ve known them for your whole life, right? So why haven’t you tried learning more about them?”

“I-I…” Steven hesitated, swallowing hard. “The Gems… they don’t like it when I ask them too many questions and I don’t like upsetting them.”

"Well, maybe you should,” Dipper countered, his voice and expression both hard, bitter. “Because it seems to me like maybe they’re not giving you as much truth as you deserve.”

[c0mmander-rudboys]

STEVEN DO NOT WORRY DUDE YOUR MOM IS OKAY, SHE'S ALIVE AND WELL, THAT NEWS REPORT WAS JUST EDITED, YOUR MOM IS OKAY, SAW HER AT THE GROCERY STORE TODAY AND I THOUGHT I WOULD BRING HER TO YOU

“huh?????”

[robertreich]

Should Billionaires Exist? 

Do billionaires have a right to exist?

America has driven more than 650 species to extinction. And it should do the same to billionaires.

Why? Because there are only five ways to become one, and they’re all bad for free-market capitalism:

1. Exploit a Monopoly.

Jamie Dimon is worth $2 billion today… but not because he succeeded in the “free market.” In 2008, the government bailed out his bank JPMorgan and other giant Wall Street banks, keeping them off the endangered species list.

This government “insurance policy” scored these struggling Mom-and-Pop megabanks an estimated $34 billion a year.

But doesn’t entrepreneur Jeff Bezos deserve his billions for building Amazon?

No, because he also built a monopoly that’s been charged by the federal government and 17 states for inflating prices, overcharging sellers, and stifling competition like a predator in the wild.

With better anti-monopoly enforcement, Bezos would be worth closer to his fair-market value.

2. Exploit Inside Information

Steven A. Cohen, worth roughly $20 billion headed a hedge fund charged by the Justice Department with insider trading “on a scale without known precedent.” Another innovator!

Taming insider trading would level the investing field between the C Suite and Main Street.

3.  Buy Off Politicians

That’s a great way to become a billionaire! The Koch family and Koch Industries saved roughly $1 billion a year from the Trump tax cut they and allies spent $20 million lobbying for. What a return on investment!

If we had tougher lobbying laws, political corruption would go extinct.

4. Defraud Investors

Adam Neumann conned investors out of hundreds of millions for WeWork, an office-sharing startup. WeWork didn’t make a nickel of profit, but Neumann still funded his extravagant lifestyle, including a $60 million private jet. Not exactly “sharing.”

Elizabeth Holmes was convicted of fraud for her blood-testing company, Theranos. So was Sam Bankman-Fried of crypto-exchange FTX. Remember a supposed billionaire named Donald Trump? He was also found to have committed fraud.

Presumably, if we had tougher anti-fraud laws, more would be caught and there’d be fewer billionaires to preserve.

5. Get Money From Rich Relatives

About 60 percent of all wealth in America today is inherited.

That’s because loopholes in U.S. tax law —lobbied for by the wealthy — allow rich families to avoid taxes on assets they inherit. And the estate tax has been so defanged that fewer than 0.2 percent of estates have paid it in recent years.

Tax reform would disrupt the circle of life for the rich, stopping them from automatically becoming billionaires at their birth, or someone else’s death.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not arguing against big rewards for entrepreneurs and inventors. But do today’s entrepreneurs really need billions of dollars? Couldn’t they survive on a measly hundred million?

Because they’re now using those billions to erode American institutions. They spent fortunes bringing Supreme Court justices with them into the wild.They treated news organizations and social media platforms like prey, and they turned their relationships with politicians into patronage troughs.

This has created an America where fewer than ever can become millionaires (or even thousandaires) through hard work and actual innovation.

If capitalism were working properly, billionaires would have gone the way of the dodo.

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

Moon boys after NNN

Moon Knight system x fem!reader

Summary: The boys barely survived the NNN challenge and december has arrived.

Can be seen as a sequel to -> [X]

CW/triggers: NSFW, smut, fingering, oral (m! + f! receiving), spanking, cum eating, p in v, brat taming(?), thanksgiving mentioned. Let me know if I missed some!

A/n: I'll be sent straight to prison for this. Life sentence into an asylum wearing a straitjacket aswell.

December finally arrived, November is no more, meaning you can get comfortable while it's snowing outside, christmas feeling everywhere, get some hot chocolate to enjoy and...

The boys.

Last month was a bit entertaining. For you atleast. But the boys? Not so much. Not at all.

Jake was the only one who was acting normal, whistling and acting all professional.

Steven had some days where he acted like being seconds away from snapping, even biting his fingernails to suppress his needs.

Marc wasn't afraid of staring you down like you were his next prey he's going to chase down and enjoy for himself. Seeing him act like that made you afraid of even saying one word or make a remark about his behavior, fearing he might just pounce on you.

You haven't talked to the boys yet, it was only 4 AM and you didn't want to disrupt their sleep if they even were sleeping and not plotting their revenge on you.

It was only seconds after you came back from a raid on the fridge that you heard a knock on your door.

"Mi amor?"

You froze. It was Jake.

"Don't try to hide, you're not sleeping, we heard you in the kitchen." Jake chuckled, before he slowly opened the door, poking his head inside. "Oh hey, there you are." he grinned.

*Who's gettin' her first, guys?*

*Jake.*

"Jake? Why are you awake? It's 4 AM."

Jake closed the door behind him and slowly walked towards you. "Well," he shrugged "thought we will start the day early, eh? Maybe a nice wake up call?"

He sat down at the edge of your bed while you eyed him with tiredness and confusion.

"Alright hermosa, why don't you bend over my knees?" he patted them invitingly, grinning like the cheshire cat.

You swallowed, obediently getting up to bend over his knees. You knew you're in trouble now.

"So," he started, running his hand over your butt, giving each cheek a squeeze. "you had one month of just having yourself." he spanked you lightly. "But you know what?" he leaned down. "Steven, Marc and I are so pent up rightnow." he said, giving another spank, harder this time.

"You could have said something!" you gasped.

Jakes hand slipped underneath your clothes, squeezing your thigh. "Oh you didn't notice us? How the other two were acting?"

"I'm sorry!"

Jake chuckled, his hand found it's way to your hole, finding it already wet. "Look at that, you're wet! Couldn't wait either, hm?" he teased, his fingers probing into you and pushing two inside.

"F-where are the other two?" you half moaned, half gasped.

Jake thrusted his fingers in and out of you. "Don't worry, they will get their share too." he undressed your lower half, spreading your legs for better access while finger fucking you. His other hand moved to stroke his hardening cock through his pants, this time Jake isn't being as patient now that he's got you.

He pulled his semi-hard cock out, stroking himself a few times before looking down at you. "Why don't you go ahead and give me a head start?" he asked gently, but there was a demand in his tone that couldn't been overheard.

Leaning in, you licked the underside of his shaft, moving upwards while Jake finger fucked you faster, he was already starting to leak, you licked the tip, gathering the precum on your tongue before heading in, taking his throbbing cock into your mouth and swirling your tongue around it.

It caused Jake's leg to twitch at the sudden warmth of your mouth and your tongue magic.

"Fuck," he threw his head back, his hand cradling your head "you have no idea how good that feels after so long."

Your moans around him made him shudder at the pleasure. His thumb moved to rub your clit, making you almost drool all over his cock before his fingers dipped back into your needy pussy, curling them just right to make you arch your back.

Jake pushed your head down further on his cock, urging you to take more of him. He felt his control slipping, his hips rocked gently as he held you captive on his cock with his fingers stuffing your needy pussy.

Your eyes rolled back when Jake curled his fingers and hit a sweet spot. His breathing was getting heavier, the thrusts of his fingers harder and his cock throbbed inside your mouth.

"Shit, sweetheart, I'm getting close." Jake groaned, guiding your head faster. Jake pulled his fingers out of you, rubbing your clit in fast circles and pressing down, only to dive his fingers back into your cunt, making you moan uncontrollably around his cock, your teeth grazing his shaft which made him almost cum but he held himself back.

"Fuck, -ah- keep going sweetie." He grunted.

You felt his fingers curl inside you again, making you see stars when finally you coated his fingers in your juices. Jake didn't hesistate, using his free hand to join his other on your head, making you gag multiple times as Jake just used you like a doll.

Finally, when he came down your throat, he came hard, holding you in place while you obediently swallowed his load and catching his breath.

"You're okay down there, princesa?" Jake asked, gently pulling you off of his softening cock and cradling your face. "Phew, I'm afraid I enjoyed that way too much." he chuckled softly, moving in to kiss your forehead.

"I'll leave you be now, okay?" Jake cooed, but he knew you're far from done.

He stood up, leaving you sitting on the bed. Jake stopped with his hand on the door handle, turning around to face you. But it wasn't Jake anymore.

"Hi there, honey. Missed me?"

Your ears perched up. "Marc?"

"Mhm."

You bit your lip. "You're going to-?"

He made his way over, smirking. "What? Thought after Jake you'd be done? No-ooou, not gonna happen." he flipped you over, making you bend over the bed and pushed you up on your knees.

Marc's eyes roamed over your body, landing on your pussy seeing the wetness from Jake's handiwork still there.

His hands roamed your back, waist and hips before landing on your butt, squeezing firmly. "Fuck you had really no idea what you made us go through?" he asked, sounding as if he genuinely wanted to know.

"You could have stopped anytime, you know?"

"Yeah but you challenged us. And we don't shy away from a good challenge when we know what's our reward going to be."

You couldn't help but chuckle. "Geez."

"Baby it's going to be like thanksgiving for you. But you're the turkey getting stuffed." He slapped your cheek, marking it up with a faint handprint.

"Who's doing the stuffing?" you teased.

Marc's eyebrows shot up, he leaned down until his lips brushed your ear. "Oh honey. You're about to get stuffed up so good and in the end get devoured."

He ground himself against your ass, you could feel his soft cock hardening once more. The way his clothed shaft rubbed against you just right made you go all fuzzy.

"Fuck, sweetheart, sorry but I can't fucking wait." Marc rasped, quickly pulling his pants down, stroking himself until he was fully hard again and pressed the tip against your still wet pussy. He pushed inside in one swift thrust until he was fully sheathed.

You gasped at his thickness entering you so suddenly.

"F-f-fuck, I missed this so much." his eyes rolled back into his skull at finally feeling you again after so long.

His hand moved to your spine, encouraging you to arch your back for better access. He set a steady pace, increasing it step by step.

Marc couldn't keep his control up for long though, your insides felt like heaven to him, he don't want to cum, he wants to keep pounding into you until you're a broken mess.

But his thrusting increased heavily, the grip on your hips thightened with almost every thrust before he released them to slow his thrusts, grinding his hips slowly against you to regain his control.

"Mmh, fuck you just feel so fucking good." He bit his lip hard enough to almost make it bleed while looking down at you.

Your pussy at this point was so slippy, Marc nearly thought he'd broke your insides somehow. But he loved the feeling.

"Listen if you wanna cum, you better do it now before I choose to fuck this pussy into oblivion." he threatened, squeezing your ass cheeks firmly while he was hammering into you, desperate for his release.

Your poor pussy couldn't take any more of this, your orgasm hit you so hard you were on the verge of passing out.

"Oh god- oh fuck!" Marc groaned deeply, his cock throbbing inside you before he released his cum into you.

Panting, Marc pulled out, running a hand through his hair and face and sitting down next to you on the bed.

You looked like a fucked out mess and Steven didn't even had his round with you.

"Okay I need a drink. Need one too?" He breathed out.

You huffed, your mind was as blank as it could possible be. "Later." you smiled.

Marc nodded, getting up to leave your room to get a drink while you were still in the same position - ass pushed up on your knees, overstimulated with Marc's cum leaking out of you and nearly falling asleep.

After Marc had his ice cold refreshment, he made his way back to your room, expecting you to be out cold.

But you're not out cold yet, only about to when he entered again, padding softly over to you and running his warm hand soothingly over your back.

"Marc?"

"Hiya, love." Steven introduced himself lovingly despite his inner need to to devour you.

Steven gently turned you around on your back, seeing your messy face and getting a good view of your fucked out pussy. Beautiful.

"Gonna clean you up now, yeah?" he simply said, kneeling down between your legs.

Before you could question him, he dived his head in and latched his greedy mouth onto your pussy, not caring about slurping up Marc's load aswell.

"God, I couldn't wait to get my mouth back to your cunt, love." he moaned around you, the vibrations making you lose it despite already having had two orgasms.

Steven's tongue dipped into you all the way, already raising up your pleasure once more. Your hands found their way to his head, your fingers ran through his curls while Steven ate you up like he was seconds away from starving.

That's what Marc meant by getting devoured like you were some turkey getting served on thanksgiving. Marc and Jake only did the stuffing, now Steven is going to devour their meal.

Steven felt himself getting hard, his hand slipped inside his pants to jerk off while devouring you.

Normally Steven was able to eat you out without jerking off, but now, after that stupid challenge it was impossible for him not to.

He loved loved the way you tugged on his hair everytime he hit a spot with his tongue, loving how desperate you were for another orgasm.

While Steven continued his tongue swirling on you, you felt the familiar knot build up, your moans getting needy, letting Steven know you're close.

But he was close too by the time you were, his hand had squeezed around his girth to mimic your pussy before he suddenly stood up, looking down at you with his mouth glistening in your juices and his curls a mess.

"You taste heavenly, love. So, so delicious. But I need t' feel you 'round me."

His cock was already free, leaking precum as he positioned himself between your legs.

Needy Steven speared your pussy on his cock right away, desperate to feel your tightness around him.

"Oh god, fuck- almost forgot how your cunt's feelin'!" he grunted, his hips slamming into yours, getting lost in the feeling.

Your hips bucked into him, chasing your imminent orgasm once more, Steven's fingers digged into your flesh, his cock was ready to explode inside you.

Both of you shared a mutual orgasm, your pussy clamped down just as he released his load into you.

After Steven pulled out, he collapsed down on the bed beside you. Both of you panting from the intense experience.

"Holy shit," Steven panted. "love, now if you know what's good f' you, you better not make us accept some stupid no sex challenge."

You laughed.

"Oi, 'm serious. You were extremely lucky Marc and I didn't lash out on you."

"Yeah I know." you smacked his shoulder playfully.

"We're definitely not made for those challenges."

You giggled. "Mhm, all three of you belong into horny jail."

Steven glared at you, a dirty smirk on his face.

[sarahghetti]

there's only one bed; m.k.

pairing: marc spector x reader, steven grant x reader, jake lockley x reader

summary: how the boys handle the "there's only one bed" situation.

warnings: mild angst.

moon knight masterlist | all masterlists

marc

ironically suggests building a wall out of pillows.

“how am I supposed to know that you aren’t going to latch on to me in the middle of the night?” he raises an eyebrow, the mirth in this voice betraying his otherwise serious expression.

you groan, shoving him playfully as he laughs. “just go to bed, marc.”

generally, he takes no issue with the situation—you’re both adults here, you can act like ones too. he takes the side closest to the door and faces away from you from the start.

falls asleep as fast as he usually does unless you’re being really disruptive, in which case he’ll just say your name as a warning without even bother to turn over to look at you.

for all his jokes, when morning comes, he’s the one who latched on to you.

marc stirs awake with his arms wrapped around something warm and a sweet smell in his nose. he doesn’t process it right away, and ends up pulling you closer to fill in the gap between you.

you shift in your sleep, the movement waking him up a little more, and that’s when the realization hits him like a truck.

he rapidly blinks his eyes into focus. while sleeping, he’d travelled across the bed to curl around your back, holding you close to his chest with one arm snaked under your neck, the other around your waist.

immediately, he tries to slip away but to no avail as you grab at his arms and press back into him, sighing contently.

despite how marc might feel for you, he doesn’t let himself enjoy the moment for a second. excuses pile on doubts pile on insecurities, and he proceeds to lay there, perfectly still, mind a whirring mess as you doze away in his arms.

this isn’t his life. he hasn’t felt this way for anyone in who-knows-how-long that he didn’t realize just how much he yearned for the connection, the contact until now.

when you finally wake up, he gives no indication as to what’s going on in his head as he gently untangles himself and sits up. no matter what reaction you have towards him cuddling you, all you get is an apologetic little smile that doesn’t reach his eyes before he starts talking about the day ahead.

as if he hasn’t felt so rested in years. as if he were unaffected by it all, by you, and wouldn’t be thinking about this for nights to come.

steven

unironically suggests building a wall out of pillows.

when you furrow your brows at him, really?, he starts fidgeting on the spot.

“I’m just saying!” steven raises his hands in defense, face flushing a deeper and deeper red the longer you look at him. it takes everything in you not to smile, but ultimately, you can’t help it. “oh, you—you’re absolutely terrible, you know that?”

he keeps going as you both settle into bed because you can’t help but giggle in response, which only makes him playfully insult you some more, which makes you laugh, and the feedback loop goes on for a while until you’re both under the covers, grinning at each other in the dark.

it’s quiet now, and you think that it’s time for both of you to turn in for the night when he pipes up— “seriously though, should we start gathering pillows or are you good?”

your cheeks hurt; you can’t do this again. “god, steven!”

“what!”

it takes a bit for either of you to fall asleep after that, but you stay facing each other as you do.

steven opens his eyes the next morning and sees your face far, far closer than you were last night, your noses lightly pressed together along with the rest of your bodies.

his arms hold you close, and your hands are gently fisted into the front of his shirt. one of his legs is trapped between your own.

“oh.” steven can’t help but to take the opportunity to admire you, especially since it’s not like he’s going to be moving anytime soon. the way the light catches in your hair, the slow rise and fall of your chest, the heat of your breath against his skin.

he has half a mind to go back to sleep; he’s so relaxed just from laying here with you.

when you finally stir awake, he holds his breath, waiting to see how you react.

“morning,” you smile, and don’t pull away.

that sends his poor heart into overdrive, and he just barely manages to reply, “morning.”

you’re unexpectedly cuddling in bed, yet neither of you are willing to move. it’s a shift in your relationship, you can feel it with every brush of his finger against your back, and with the way he’s looking at you—he knows this, too.

the sentiment hangs in the air, daring either of you to mention it until you finally throw caution into the wind. your voice is barely above a whisper. “I’m kinda glad we didn’t build that wall.”

the smile he gives you is warmer than the sun streaming through the curtains, and you think, yeah, you could get used to this.

jake

immediately turns to waggle his eyebrows at you suggestively, which makes you snort.

“get your head out of the gutter, lockley.” you roll your eyes, but smile despite yourself.

he doesn’t cause too much of a fuss after that, and you both quietly settle in soon after.

he’s flat on his back, eyes closed, so still that you think he’s already out for the night. just as you start to drift off, his voice cuts through the silence.

“if you get cold, just let me know.” his tone is innocent but you know better, especially when the smirk on his face is very much the opposite.

you kick him under the covers, and fall asleep with his laughter ringing in your mind.

jake wakes up in the same position except with a line of warmth all along his side and something tickling his neck.

when he looks down to see your head on his chest, hair splayed out and arm wrapped around his middle, he grins.

it’s stupid and cheesy but he can’t help himself—how could he? this is everything he’s ever dreamed of, and he’s going to bask in it while the moment lasts.

and it’s not about being close to just anyone, it’s about being close to you.

because he might joke around a lot and come off as brash at times, but there’s a genuineness behind it all—his true feelings always left unsaid or veiled behind several layers of sarcasm and wit.

so, yeah, maybe he has a bit of himself to blame for the fact that your relationship remains at a standstill, barely veering on the precipice of something more because jake’s too scared to admit any of his actual feelings.

but he’s bolder now as you slumber, shushing you softly when you nearly stir awake. “it’s still early, cariño, go back to sleep.”

he traces patterns into your back to try to lull you back to sleep, and while it is relaxing, something sticks out in your mind.

“what did you just call me?” you mumble, not even bothering to open your eyes.

jake goes quiet for a while, hand still moving absentmindedly against your skin before finally responding.

“cariño.”

he’s used that endearment with you before, and always with that smirk of his. you blow the air out of your mouth, a skeptical pffff.

“yeah, okay.” but you’re fighting against a smile anyway, trying to hide it into his chest.

jake doesn’t call you out on it for once and just holds you tighter, memorizing the scene with every fibre of his being before you both inevitably have to get up.

one day, he thinks—one day he’ll call you that, and you’ll smile and believe him.

[ask-whitepearl-and-steven]

So, White Steven, unlike the original, is pretty balanced with his abilities. Classic Steven had sooo many powers.

So if you had to choose the same amount of unique abilites that you gave to your Steven, what abilites would you conserve?

Well, alright, let's get into this.

Currently, WD!Steven has displayed the following Standard Gem powers:

bubbling other gems

using warp pad

summoning weapon

shapeshifting

Excluding these, we can deduce he has the following Unique Abilities:

glowing like a nightlight

TrueSight (seeing a gem's intended or desired form)

Power Word Poof (poofing blast from end of season 3)

Geas (limited control over a gem's actions, without compromising their overall personality)

electromagnetic telekinesis (controlling tech)

STILL TECHNICALLY A SPOILER

SPOILER

Canon Steven, at the end of Future, had the following:

healing

phytokinesis (plant control)

stronk (arguably a general gem ability)

bubble shield (debatable, this may be a variant manifestation of his gem weapon)

Dream Communication with gems

Floating/Doublejump

Angry Blast (as per Pink Pearl's wall-shattering yell)

Superspeed (activated in Future when Smokey fuses)

So TEEECHNICALLY speaking they have a pretty equivalent amount of powers.

The reason Steven feels OP is because a lot of his powers are... Extreme. He doesn't only heal, he heals OBJECTS as well as people. He doesn't only control plants, he gives them sentience.

His powers actually make sense, and I think the only thing I would ostensibly change about him is his doublejump/flying ability and his superspeed.

Not because they're OP, but because he doesn't really... need them? And they don't tell us anything about his overall character.

Then again, I love the fact that Rose floated, and it could be explained away by the fact that gems naturally need to be able to adjust to any planetoid's surface gravity - and Pink may well have figured out a silly way to disrupt that natural rubber-band effect in order to goof off by floating.

The superspeed also seemed a bit overkill, but maybe that's just me. Afterall, Future was all about Steven pushing himself to his limits. Maybe that was really what was happening, and not a new burgeoning power.

[luveline]

Jade my dear I just had an idea for prince Steve… what if he got hurt (fencing or something??? honestly idk) & reader freaks out even though their relationship is fairly new? Or idk how your soulmate au works but maybe she can feel it too? Or idk!! I’d just love to see what you could do with that, but no pressure either way 🫶🏼

ty for requesting!! fem!reader, 1.1k

“Holy fuck!” Steve says, yanking his leg back from the doctor’s cold hands, and hurting his knee worse than ever. “Fuck!” 

“Steven,” she says with an eye roll, used to his lack of carefulness by now. 

“What the fuck.” 

“It’s not that bad. You haven’t even torn anything. It’s a sprain at worst.” 

“I will never walk again.” 

“Fingers crossed,” Robin says, kicking her legs up onto the end of his medical bed. Her hat slips down into her eyes, her naked knees red from ten minutes in the grass trying to persuade Steve into standing again. 

“It hurt so bad. Are you sure I can’t have morphine?” he asks. 

The doctor tightens the bandages one last time around Steve’s knee. “Absolutely not. I’ll make you a peppermint tea for the inflammation. You’ll be better by tomorrow.” 

It throbs evilly. Steve doesn’t believe even for a moment that his knee will be better by tomorrow, he can’t walk without help. “I want to see another doctor,” he decides. 

“Sure,” the doctor says. “Tomorrow.” 

Steve sinks down into the pillows unhappily. What kind of royal life is this? Nobody ever takes him seriously, they couldn’t care less that he’s injured, and now he’s doomed to sit inside for who knows how long in the suffocating heat and the smothering presence of his attendants. Worst day ever. 

“Where’s Y/N?” he asks, because if he’s going to suffer, he’s going to be spoiled about it. “I want to see her.” 

“She’s in her political etiquette class,” Robin says from under the hat, unmoving. 

“That’s dumb. She doesn’t like politics or etiquette. Can we have her pulled out?” 

“Sure, Steve, we’ll disrupt her entire day because you slipped on dry grass.” 

Steve tries to catch the eye of one of the serfs lining the room and by the door, but they’re smart to his ways, and they look away. He doesn’t care. He’s a prince. “Hello? Can someone go and get her, please?” 

They all stand still but uncomfortable for a moment, and then one says, “She’s coming down the hall as we speak, your highness.” 

“Aw, yes,” he says, propping up on his elbows to look out the doorway. There you are, in a pretty, breezy dress you aren’t used to wearing and your hair in one of the new fashions, silver bracelets tinkling on your wrist as you speed walk to the door.

“Hello,” you say, breathless, still shy despite having married him and kissed him more times than he can count (seventeen).

“Sweetheart,” he says, “I’ve been grievously harmed.” 

“They told me, and I–” You rub your index fingernail between the thumb and index of the other hand. “I can feel it,” you say, an embarrassed and adorable smile on your lips as you waver in the door. “Are you okay?”

“You have to sit down and have some morphine too,” he says quickly. 

“You aren’t having any morphine,” Robin says. 

You weave around servants and the dressing table to stand by his bed. He’s pleased to realise you want to sit hip to hip with him, moving over despite his screaming knee, and putting his arm behind you as you hoist yourself onto the bed. “Hello,” he says, audibly charmed by you as he kisses your cheek. He rubs the kiss with the back of his finger. “Didn’t hurt you too much, did I?” 

“It feels like I’ve had a cramp,” you say. “But it’s not– I can’t imagine how it feels for you.”

“I’m sorry to hurt you,” he says.

“Ew,” Robin grumbles, covering her face with skinny hands. 

“Sorry, Robin.” You wipe your forehead. “I freaked out.”

“Don’t say sorry to her,” Steve says, putting his hand on your hip just to watch you fluster, “she’s bitter. Let me rub your knee.”

“What about your knee? What did you even do?”

“I fell. A little. A minor fall.” 

“Will you be alright?” 

“Honey, I’m in agony, and they won’t treat me, and you’re sitting with me, so I’m already fine.” 

Confusion in your gaze melds to sweetness. You’re practically heart-eyed leaning into his side, wrapping your arm around his stomach. You rarely initiate hugs from fear of being overbearing, and he can’t believe his luck. He’ll be eating grass more often. 

“I can feel that you aren’t fine. Are you going to be okay? Seriously, Steve, are you hurting?”

Your soul mark burns a light blue. He’s narrowed your colours down, he thinks, maybe, though they tend to change. Blue means love and affection. He’s a more classic guy —when he’s in love, his soul mark burns a gaussian pink just as it does now. 

“Oh, you can feel it?” he asks.

“Don’t start.” 

“We’re so connected,” he says quietly, teasingly, a flirtation for your ears alone. “It’s almost like we’re soulmates or something. Suns, I wish. I’d be a lucky guy, huh? Connected to a girl like you?” He draws a line from just below your ear to your chin. “I’d feel like a prince among men.” 

“Stop,” you whisper, in a tone that suggests you’d very much like him to continue. 

Nonetheless, he drops his hand in favour of kissing you instead, pressing his lips softly to your cheek. His leg throbs with angry pain and a headache brews between his eyes, but he’s not kidding about being fine. Everything feels better when you’re with him. You truly are the half to his whole, no matter how new your relationship might be. 

“How was your morning?” he asks. 

“Being a princess is awful.” 

“Yes, but it suits you.” 

You turn your face to his, close enough to kiss. It’s very tempting for Steve, but he lets you say what’s clearly on your mind. “I had a funny feeling about you this morning, like something bad was going to happen, and I wanted to be with you in case but they wouldn’t let me out of meditation. Do you think I was having a premonition?”

“Maybe. They wouldn’t let you out?” 

“Morine said I need to have better discipline if I’m going to be queen.” 

He laughs and wraps his arms around you completely for a full, loving hug. “You will be queen, no ifs about it, so you need to start acting like one and have more hissy fits to visit your pathetic husband.” He kisses your cheek three times in quick succession. 

Your soul mark intensifies slowly, until it burns a beautiful, coruscating blue that dances over the skin of your wrist as you hug him back. “You’re the opposite of pathetic.” 

“No, I was. Ask Robin.” 

“He was,” Robin says. 

“But I’m totally cooler now,” he promises. 

You let your face fall into the curve of his neck, tickling him with your smile. “You’re so cool, Steve.” 

“My lovely liar.” He kisses the top of your head. 

“As touching as this is, I have your tea ready now, young Steven,” the doctor says. 

Steve pretends he can’t hear her. 

[libraryofgage]

Addams Family Steddie AU Part 3

Part One | Part Two

To preface, a bitch is sick rn so if you see any typos, no you didn't lol

"Robin, this is serious."

Steve can perfectly see Robin rolling her eyes through the phone as she says, "Oh, right, I'm so sorry your fiance-to-be is the perfect boyfriend who takes you on wonderful dates and romances you every single second you're together."

"I'm starting to think you're jealous."

"I'd only be jealous if Eddie had tits."

"He'd probably get some if I asked."

In the silence that follows, Steve can imagine Robin's scrunched face: her crinkled nose and curled lips and generally disgusted eyebrow furrow. He counts down from six in his head and then mouths along as Robin says, "I'd hang up if I weren't so invested in your love life."

"For someone so invested, you're not helping."

He hears a put-upon sigh through the speaker and returns it with a sigh of his own. Steve gives up on sitting properly and collapses back onto his bed, staring at the unmoving ceiling fan Hulyet is currently hanging from to nap.

"Fine, fine, what's the actual problem again?" Robin asks, her question followed by the sound of her shutting a book (one of her science textbooks based on the sound it makes when closing) so she can give Steve her full attention.

"Eddie is always planning our dates, and they're always really good, right? So I want to plan a date in return, but I have no clue how to plan something we'll both equally enjoy. In fact, I have no clue how Eddie plans our dates in the first place."

"Just start with something he likes and try to find something you'll like in it."

"Okay, say it again, but pretend I'm five."

Robin sighs again, and Steve hears the creaking of her bed as she collapses onto it. "Okay, the last date he planned, it was a hockey game, right?"

"Yeah."

"So, you like sports. Hockey is an obvious jump from there, but was Eddie also having fun at the game?"

Steve hums, reviewing their date from the week before. He hadn't expected Eddie to pull out hockey tickets, but he'd looked forward to it nonetheless. The game itself was fun, and the rink was cold enough that Steve had been able to scoot closer to Eddie and complain about being chilly.

Of course, Eddie's immediate response was to pull out a lighter, open it, and flick a flame to life while asking, "How big of a fire do you want, Stevie?"

For a brief moment, Steve had considered the question. But then he'd realized a fire would disrupt the hockey game, so they probably shouldn't start one.

After grabbing the lighter and stuffing it into his own pocket, Steve leaned closer and whispered, "Wouldn't you rather put your arm around me?" Eddie had lit up, and his smile was wide enough to make Steve feel blinded as he wrapped an arm around Steve's waist and pulled him closer.

It had been wonderful and romantic, right up until both of them got way too into the game and completely forgot about cuddling in favor of shouting at the players to hit harder and actually draw some blood to get the puck.

Steve smiles a little at the memory. "Yeah, he enjoyed the violence."

"Well, we all enjoy seeing buff people get a little bloody," Robin says, and Steve can see the way she's nodding like a wise man. "Anyway, he probably knew he'd enjoy the whole violence part of the sport. So, follow that formula."

"What formula are you seeing here?"

"Thing fiance-to-be likes plus a small part of it you could probably enjoy equals romance. If that's too hard, just get him a gift and plan the date around that."

Well, it sounds easy when she says it like that. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because I'm the genius here, obviously. Now go plan a date so you can tell me all about it later. And I expect details, Steven. Sordid details. If I'm not quivering in my bodice, what's the fucking point."

"You don't even have a bodice. And my name isn't Steven."

"I'll get one, and your name is whatever's comedically appropriate."

"I found a good website for bodices and corsets, actually. I can send it to you."

"What are you doing on that website, Steve?" Robin asks, her voice light and eager.

Steve smirks, pulling the phone away from his ear and saying, "Wouldn't you like to know," before quickly hanging up. The phone stays silent for three whole seconds before Robin immediately calls back, but Steve is too busy laughing to actually pick up.

Part of why the Munsons moved to Steve's neighborhood is the cemetery within walking distance. The cemetery is at the very back of the neighborhood, hidden from people who don't actually live there. The front of the cemetery is perfectly presentable. The gravestones are clean and new, and flowers decorate most graves while others hold pebbles and stones of various sizes and colors.

The back of the cemetery, however, is a Munson paradise. The grass gives way to brown, under-watered weeds and dirt, the faded gravestones are covered in moss and plants climbing them, and the trees are perpetually leafless and spindly to create the perfect horror movie atmosphere. It was like that even before the Munsons moved to the neighborhood, but Steve doesn't actually know why.

The back of the cemetery is where Steve leads Eddie, occasionally looking back to make sure the blindfold covering Eddie's eyes is still in place. "You know, I was expecting more than walking when you pulled out the blindfold," Eddie says, squeezing Steve's hand.

"We're almost there," Steve promises, looking around them until he spots the picnic blanket and pillows he'd laid down earlier in front of a blank gravestone. There's a small projector on the edge of the blanket, facing the wall of a mausoleum, with a DVD player connected to it.

Steve stops at the edge of the blanket, takes a deep breath, and moves to stand in front of Eddie. "Okay," he says, reaching up and carefully pulling off the blindfold.

When it comes off, Eddie looks straight at Steve, not sparing a glance at the set-up behind him. "Are you the surprise?" he asks, sliding his hands around Steve's hips and pulling him closer.

"I'm not much of a surprise," Steve points out.

"You're the best gift I could ask for," Eddie says, sealing the words with a kiss that would be too easy for Steve to get lost in.

And he almost does, but he pulls away before Eddie's tongue can get too far into his mouth. "No, wait, you haven't seen the actual surprise," he mumbles, putting a few inches between them and gesturing to the picnic blanket.

Eddie's eyes light up, and he pulls Steve to the blanket. He sits against the headstone and tugs Steve down next to him. "Movie date in a graveyard? Very romantic, sweetheart," Eddie says, leaning close and kissing Steve's jaw.

"Well, that's not the whole surprise," Steve replies, leaning his head on Eddie's shoulder. He hears a quiet hum from above him and adds, "This is our spot."

"What? Like a make-out spot? We gonna sneak out in the middle of the night to make out right here twice a week?"

"Only twice?" Steve asks, his voice teasing as he tilts his head back to see Eddie smile. He doesn't give Eddie the chance to answer, though. Instead, he takes Eddie's hand and plays with his engaged-to-be-engaged ring. "I mean, this is our spot. We're leaning on our gravestone."

A few seconds pass before Eddie seems to actually process the words. When he does, he straightens up, tugging Steve away from the gravestone with him so he can see it. "Is this...a couple's plot?" he asks, his eyes wide as he looks from the stone to Steve.

Steve flushes, heat rising in his cheeks as he looks away. He takes a deep breath, deciding to just verbalize his thought process when he'd bought the plot. "I figured, well, we wouldn't want to be apart even in death. So we'll be buried together, you know? Our corpses will be embracing as we rot for eternity, becoming skeletons and dust that will only know each other."

The words are followed by silence, making Steve wonder if he somehow fucked up with his gift. He braces himself and glances up at Eddie to ask if he doesn't like it only to be pushed back on the blanket. Steve blinks, his brain barely catching up as Eddie kisses him. This is, by far, the most desperate kiss Steve has ever received from Eddie. It's a kiss that's practically begging Steve to give Eddie permission to swallow him whole, tuck him securely into the marrow of his bones, and hold him there so they'll never be apart.

Steve is a little confused, but he's far more interested in kissing back, sliding his fingers into Eddie's hair and tugging playfully as he bites Eddie's tongue. A rough growl in response sends shivers down Steve's spine, goosebumps spreading across his arms as Eddie pushes his hands under Steve's shirt.

Surprisingly warm fingers trail across Steve's abdomen before Eddie's hands settle on his hips, his pinkies teasingly pushing past the waistband of his jeans. Steve sighs softly, relaxing at the familiar sensation as he hooks one of his legs over Eddie's waist, pulling him close until their hips and chests are flush against each other.

Eddie grins against Steve's lips, his left hand trailing down Steve's waist to rest on his thigh, holding it in place as he teasingly grinds their hips together. Steve jolts, a surprised, quiet moan escaping him as his hands start to tremble with adrenaline and...well, sheer horniness if he's being honest.

"Please tell me we can fuck on our future grave," Eddie says, his voice low and husky as he speaks against Steve's lips.

Steve groans, fully agreeable to the idea only to realize two very important things. One, he doesn't have any lube, and two, he was actually looking forward to watching movies with Eddie, which wouldn't really happen if they got too distracted. Plus, you know, the whole sex in public thing, but that's not as big of a deal. Who's going to be visiting the cemetery on a Wednesday?

But Steve doesn't want to completely dash Eddie's hopes and the sheer joy in his eyes at the idea, so he presses another kiss to his lips and promises, "Later, Eddie."

Despite his disappointed expression, Eddie doesn't argue. He just sits up, pulling Steve with him so he stays in his lap. "I'll hold you to that, sweetheart," he whispers, kissing down Steve's neck until he reaches the point where it meets his shoulder. He bites down there, causing Steve to inhale sharply as he licks and sucks a hickey onto his skin.

Steve shakily exhales, biting his bottom lip to keep himself grounded. When it feels like Eddie is about to start on another hickey, Steve uses his grip on his hair to pull him back. "Stevie," Eddie breathes, his eyes dark as he looks up at him, "you know what pulling does to me."

Steve snorts, kisses his cheek, and climbs off his lap. "Keep it in your pants for now, babe. I actually want to get to the other part of this date," he says, moving over to the projector.

"And what's that?" Eddie asks.

"Classic monster movies," Steve says, grinning at the excited gasp that comes from Eddie as he turns on the projector. Once it boots up, the mausoleum wall shows the opening menu for a Monster Movie Collection DVD. Steve puts on Frankenstein, making sure the movie actually starts and the opening credits begin rolling before climbing back into Eddie's lap.

"I love you so fucking much," Eddie says, wrapping his arms around Steve's waist and hugging him close as he rests his chin on Steve's shoulder.

Steve grins, leaning back against him and idly playing with one of the rings on Eddie's fingers. "I love you, too. Now shut up and watch the movie. No more making out until at least this one is over."

"Yes, sir."

Steve can't help a soft laugh. He takes Eddie's hand, raises it to his lips, and playfully bites his palm before lacing their fingers together and focusing on the movie.

Tag List: @estrellami-1, @justforthedead89, @starman-jpg, @abstractnaturaldisaster, @sugartin, @ashwagandalf, @xjessicafaithx, If anyone else wants to be tagged in potential future parts, just let me know!

[probablyasocialecologist]

The flotsam and jetsam of our digital queries and transactions, the flurry of electrons flitting about, warm the medium of air. Heat is the waste product of computation, and if left unchecked, it becomes a foil to the workings of digital civilization. Heat must therefore be relentlessly abated to keep the engine of the digital thrumming in a constant state, 24 hours a day, every day. To quell this thermodynamic threat, data centers overwhelmingly rely on air conditioning, a mechanical process that refrigerates the gaseous medium of air, so that it can displace or lift perilous heat away from computers. Today, power-hungry computer room air conditioners (CRACs) or computer room air handlers (CRAHs) are staples of even the most advanced data centers. In North America, most data centers draw power from “dirty” electricity grids, especially in Virginia’s “data center alley,” the site of 70 percent of the world’s internet traffic in 2019. To cool, the Cloud burns carbon, what Jeffrey Moro calls an “elemental irony.” In most data centers today, cooling accounts for greater than 40 percent of electricity usage.

[...]

The Cloud now has a greater carbon footprint than the airline industry. A single data center can consume the equivalent electricity of 50,000 homes. At 200 terawatt hours (TWh) annually, data centers collectively devour more energy than some nation-states. Today, the electricity utilized by data centers accounts for 0.3 percent of overall carbon emissions, and if we extend our accounting to include networked devices like laptops, smartphones, and tablets, the total shifts to 2 percent of global carbon emissions. Why so much energy? Beyond cooling, the energy requirements of data centers are vast. To meet the pledge to customers that their data and cloud services will be available anytime, anywhere, data centers are designed to be hyper-redundant: If one system fails, another is ready to take its place at a moment’s notice, to prevent a disruption in user experiences. Like Tom’s air conditioners idling in a low-power state, ready to rev up when things get too hot, the data center is a Russian doll of redundancies: redundant power systems like diesel generators, redundant servers ready to take over computational processes should others become unexpectedly unavailable, and so forth. In some cases, only 6 to 12 percent of energy consumed is devoted to active computational processes. The remainder is allocated to cooling and maintaining chains upon chains of redundant fail-safes to prevent costly downtime.

[scarlet-bitch]

Her Perfume's Holding Me Ransom  

4k words, Office Siren - Steve Harrington X fem!reader, 18+, MDNI, set in '88 Steve aged up accordingly, no use of y/n & no physical descriptions apart from clothing/makeup, no mention of upside down. A/N: Recently watched Henry Gamble's Birthday Party, so had to piggy back off the dialogue from that opening scene! Fic inspo songs: No Control, Espresso, Bed Chem, Jackie & Wilson Feedback/likes/reblogs are all greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading & as always, I hope you enjoy! XO, Scarlet 💋

A year ago, Steve Harrington traded his Family Video vest for a blazer when his father hired him. The transition was rocky but with help from receptionist Shirley, he earned his father's respect and even his own office. Then Shirley announced her retirement, and in came her replacement: you. With cherry red lips and nails that matched, you strode into the office like a siren, and Steve wasn't immune to your charm. 

"Lost My Senses, I'm Defenseless"

Steve was always one to pride himself on his ability to stay focused, but you tested that the moment you walked through the door. You were the type of beautiful that prompted a double take. Pair that with your naturally sweet and helpful demeanor, and it was a recipe for disaster.

Every time he tried to concentrate on his work, you would appear at his door with another offer of assistance. While you were just doing your job, it was a tantalizing interruption. He suddenly found himself stumbling over tasks and struggling to concentrate, just like when he first started. 

Your arrival didn't just effect him, it had turned the heads of everyone. Suddenly the break room became reminiscent of high school, where the guys' suggestive remarks about you made his skin crawl.  The worst part? Sometimes he thought them too. Like every time you asked him questions, all he could focus on was the plumpness of your pouty lips and how pretty they would look wrapped around —fuck. He didn't want to be that guy, and yet these thoughts constantly crept into his mind.

But sometimes, an even worse thought would cross Steve's mind: that you were taunting him on purpose. Because yes, since your arrival, nearly everyone had focused on you, but it seemed like you were focused on him. That's ridiculous though, right? Of course, it is. He should be ashamed of himself for even entertaining the idea.

And yet, he kept going back to it.

Steve couldn't help but notice you made a habit of bending over when you were around him. Whether it was your cleavage or your backside, every day you were giving him a view. The first few times it happened, he looked away, but curiosity got the best of him when it began to feel more than coincidental. He hasn’t stopped since, often looking forward to it.

Every week when you handed him the new reports, he couldn't get over how you managed to make the exchange of a manila envelope seem seductive; batting your lashes, grazing his fingertips. You constantly had him rocking a semi, and it all felt calculated.

The biggest factor in it all was your fucking perfume. The lingering scent of warm vanilla would continue to flood his senses even when you returned to your desk. Your scent had him under a spell, making his mind wander to places it shouldn't: Your nails raking down his chest. You soothing the marks they'd leave behind with your kiss, lipstick print scattered across his skin. Your soft voice telling him he's doing a good job, just as you always do, but this time, you wouldn't be talking about work. Steve scolded himself for these thoughts, but only after he'd had his fist wrapped around his cock.

Three months had passed since you'd disrupted Steve's routine. The decline in his productivity was obvious. After a heated one sided argument, his father concluded, "I don't mean to be a hard ass, Steven, but there's no exceptions. If it were any other employee, I wouldn't let it slide! I just don't get it. You'd come so far... Maybe I underestimated Shirley's role in your success."

Steve couldn't admit to his dad that you were the real cause of his current predicament. If you were dating, or even fucking he'd feel less embarrassed but the thought of confessing that he'd let mere attraction derail his progress felt pathetic. In his entire life, no one had ever captured his attention like this. 

Steve knew he had to turn things around. He pinpointed the exact moment in every day that his focus goes off track: between 9:30 and 10a.m. When you made your first appearance, traipsing into his office with coffee.

While you delivered coffee to everyone -with them, it was a quick drop off. With Steve, it was never just about the coffee.

Your other check ins with him throughout the day were short and strictly work related, but this visit was always more personal and drawn out. It might have derailed his focus for the day, but it was also a highlight for him.

That’s why, as you walked in swaying your hips with coffee in your hand, Steve made sure to really take in the sight because it had to be the last time. 

“Mornin' Stevie,” you said, bending forward slightly, just enough to give him his favorite view as you placed the cup on his desk.

Steve sucked a breath in through gritted teeth. “Good morning.” He said, forcing his attention away from you and back on the paperwork on his desk.

You straightened up. “Did ya have a good weekend?” 

“It was alright,” he said, struggling to keep his eyes from drifting back to you. He stared at the paperwork in front of him. Focus. 

“Glad to hear it,” you replied.

Steve immediately regretted his choice of words. Normally, he would’ve engaged in conversation, the two of you exchanging playful banter with that slight undertone of flirtation that made his heart flutter. He thought it best to hold back today, but he didn’t mean to come off so cold.

“How ‘bout you?” he asked, looking back up at you. He couldn’t help it —if he was going to cut this moment short, he had to at least be present. And was he happy he did, you were just so pretty, his mouth fell slack, and he had to force it closed so he wouldn’t drool. 

“Yeah, good.” You said with a small, half smile. 

Steve felt his stomach drop at your answer -guess you’d taken the hint. He wished he had just let today play out as usual and given himself one last drawn out conversation with you. But he's come this far, might as well see it through. 

“That’s.. nice.” Nice? The word felt weak, insufficient. 

"Mhmm." You nodded, a hint of disappointment in your eyes. “Need help with anything particular this morning?” 

"Uh, no, I do-don't think so.” 

"Well if you think of anything, you know where to find me.” You said, as you turned on your heels to leave his office. 

As he watched you head out, it dawned on him that in his efforts to not let you derail his focus, he didn’t even thank you for the coffee. 

“Thanks, by the way!” he called out. 

You stopped in your tracks at the door, turning around with a smirk on your lips. "Alway’s my pleasure. Even when you’re... moody? Or whatever this is today." 

Steve couldn't contain the grin that spread across his lips. There was the banter that he adored. “Sorry. Just a bit distracted is all. These deadlines have me stressed.”

“Well, I could always help you relieve that stress if you’d like.” You leaned against the doorframe. 

Steve’s heart raced. Were you suggesting what he thought you were, or was that just wishful thinking? He could have sworn you winked, and the way you licked your lips —was his mind playing tricks? He hesitated to respond, undure what to say. 

“Y’know, take some of the workload off your hands, or I could always bring tea instead of coffee. It’s supposed to be calming or whatever.” 

Right, of course you weren’t suggesting anything else. 

Steve let out a slight chuckle, trying to play it cool. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m just whining, but thank you.” He wanted to leave it at that, but you had just handed him a perfect opportunity to finalize his decision. “As for the tea, I um, yeah I-I think I just need to cut caffeine out entirely. It, uh, it makes me jittery. So going forward, you don’t need to bring me anything in the morning.”

You raised an eyebrow, “You sure?”

"Uh, yeah, for now at least." Steve noticed the amused look on your face, as if you could see right through his lie. You simply shook your head and strutted back to your desk.

He let out a relieved sigh -the hardest part was over. He moved to the window, flinging it open to dispel the sweetness of your presence that your fragrance left. Then he grabbed the "Please Do Not Disturb" sign Shirley had given him when he got his office. The thought of spending the rest of the day without seeing you was a blow, but he didn't have much of a choice. 

“Soft Skin & I Perfumed It For Ya" 

This wasn’t some grand scheme. You needed a job, and they were hiring. You had no idea it was his father’s company, let alone that he’d be working here.

It’s not like you ever knew him. If you recall correctly, there may have been a brief interaction at a party, but all you actually knew were the rumors. You attended Hawkins High's rival school, and at every away game in Hawkins, the talk was always about Steve Harrington. When you realized he would be your colleague, you decided to up the ante. After all, you're an opportunist —curious to find out if those rumors were true.

Now roles are reversed, and all the talk is about you. You don’t mind what anyone's saying -crude or not, you couldn’t blame them. You've brought a little spice to the mundane duties of clerical work. What you do mind is that, from what you could tell, Steve wasn't engaging. While it’s nice to think he’s above objectifying women, it’s exactly his attention you were after. 

As you settled into the office's routine, you realized that you did in fact have an effect on Steve. He was just good at concealing it. So you began to make your intentions more obvious: offering cheeky views, lingering touches, flirty banter. You wanted him, and you wanted him to know that. 

Earlier, you were a little more outright with your behavior than you ever had been. Truth be told, you'd almost offered to blow him right there, but you chose to be allusive.  And while the look on his face implied he knew exactly what you were getting at, you backtracked. Hindsight’s 20/20 and you regret not giving him a chance to respond. Maybe if you had, instead of daydreaming about it, you'd actually be experiencing his pretty eyes staring down at you while his oversized cock -if those rumors were true-  was hitting the back of your throat. You needed him.

But as you marched your way to his office, you were stopped in your tracks as you spotted his door shut with a "Please Do Not Disturb" sign —and it stayed there the whole damn day. 

So the next day as you strolled into work, you were on a mission. One that quickly got derailed when that god forsaken sign was once again on Steve's door. 

Later that morning, during your coffee deliveries, a light bulb went off when you reached Laura's desk. As you set her coffee down, you noticed the stack of folders with a note from Steve asking for her to work on them. 

"Laura, I have a pretty clear schedule. Why don't I take these off your hands?" you offered.

"Oh dear, that would be fantastic, if you wouldn't mind! I wasn't sure why he didn't ask you originally, Shirley always helped with this... not that I mind but I still have a whole other stack to go through for James.” 

While this was an absolutely self serving offer you were happy you could actually be of assistance. "Gladly! It's no trouble at all!" You expressed, whilst grabbing the folders, and heading back to your desk.

You could guess exactly why Steve didn't ask you. It was clear yesterday, when he was practically drooling, all flustered as he told you the caffeine’s getting to him. All of these things, as well as that damn sign that’s taken perch on his door were pretty good indicators that Steve was struggling to resist your temptation. You had him right where you wanted him.

"Maybe it's all in my head...."

Steve heard a knock at his door.

"Come in," he said, eyes still focused on the work in front of him. He looked up only when he heard the familiar click of your heels against the tile. There you were walking towards him carrying the stack of folders he gave Laura. 

"Hey..."

"Good afternoon," you replied smoothly, setting the folders on the edge of his desk and taking a seat across from him. You crossed your legs slowly, making Steve's eyes follow every movement. The flush on his cheeks was unmistakable as his eyes roamed your figure. 

"You alright, Steve?” 

"Oh yeah, I was just expecting Laura," 

You shrugged with a playful smile. "Well, here I am. Laura had a lot on her plate, so l took these off her hands." Leaning forward slightly, you rested your elbows on his desk. "Why didn't you ask me for help anyway?"

Steve shifted in his chair, tapping his pen nervously. "She's familiar with this. I wasn't sure if you were."

You leaned back, crossing your arms against your chest, making Steve's breath hitch as your position emphasized your breasts. "Have a little faith in me, Steve. Besides, I need to learn, and I'm best when I'm hands on," you said, drawing out the words with a whisper as your lips curled into a smirk.

Steve felt his cock hardening, he just couldn't help it, you were utterly arousing without even trying. Pull it together. He looked towards the folders, nodding. "I'll check them over."

"Great," you said, standing and smoothing out your skirt. "I'm gonna grab a snack. Want anything?"

"No, I'm good, thanks.” 

Steve studied the folders until your return, about five minutes later. He could have sworn he heard the click of the lock when you shut the door, but chose not to question it as took your seat across from him once more.

"So, how’d they look?" you asked, peeling the banana you got.

Steve glanced back down at the folder he was reviewing. "Yeah, everything's in order. Good job."

"See? You shouldn't doubt me.”

Steve laughed softly and looked up at you. "Never again-"

His words were cut off as you slowly brought the banana to your lips. He watched as you wrapped your lips around the fruit, holding eye contact. You let your lips rest for a moment, hollowing your cheeks with a slight suck before taking a bite. Steve's gaze moved from your mouth to your eyes, as a groan escaped him. 

You giggled, “Wanna taste?”

"You're unbelievable," Steve chuckled. "To think I've been questioning if this was all in my head."

You tossed the rest of the banana into the trash. "I thought I was being obvious enough. Didn't realize all I needed was a visual aid for you to catch on."

Steve shrugged, a wry smile on his lips. "I caught on weeks ago, just seemed too good to be true."

"It's not," you said, rising and moving toward him.

Steve's eyes widened as you dropped to your knees in front of him. A breathy moan escaping him as you settled between his legs, your hands resting gently on his thighs.

"Let me take care of you," you whispered seductively. "Relieve all that stress."

"Honey, you're the cause," Steve mused. "You've never even touched me, and I haven't been able to focus on anything but you. I can only imagine how distracted I'll be once you do."

You let out a laugh, the sweetest sound Steve had ever heard. "Mmm, quite the contrary. It's all this pent up tension we have that's got you so distracted.”

Goddammit. You looked so eager, so tempting as you bat your lashes at him. He cupped your face with his right hand, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. You opened your mouth slightly, and he couldn't resist sliding his thumb in to press flat against your tongue. You took a soft suck, and the guttural sound that escaped him only encouraged you. You hollowed your cheeks before slowly sliding off with a pop. Steve shuddered at the feeling, and a smirk settled on your face. 

Within an instant his hands moved to unbuckle his belt. You slid your right hand further up his thigh, moving it to palm the outline of his cock.

"Aghhh," he groaned as he went to unbutton his pants. Just before he could unzip them, the phone rang, startling both of you.

Steve glanced at the clock. "Fuck," he muttered. "What time was that call, today?" 

You put your palm over your mouth, giggling as you stumbled to stand up. "Now." 

Steve's hand went to pinch the bridge of his nose as he breathed in, trying to regain some composure before he answered. 

You leaned forward, whispering into his ear, ”Tell your daddy I said hi," and nipped his earlobe gently before turning toward the door.

Steve grabbed your wrist, turning you back to face him. 

“I think you're going to be the death of me." He groaned. 

“Oh Steve, you have no idea," you said with a wink as you walked out of his office.

"How You're Looking At Me, Yeah I Know What That Means" 

Your desk felt like a prison. The ache between your thighs unrelenting as you kept replaying the look on Steve's face when you sunk to your knees. You were plagued by the unfinished business, taunted by the tick of the clock moving slowly toward 5p.m.

At a quarter til 5, you saw Steve making his way toward your desk, casting a quick glance around the emptiness of the front of the office. 

“Hey,” he said. “Can I borrow you? I need some help with some... filing. Might keep you after a bit, if you don’t mind staying a little late.”

"Laura can't help?” You teased.

Steve chuckled, rolling his eyes before they locked back on yours. “This requires your.... expertise.” 

You raised an eyebrow, “Well if that's the case, I guess I can make it work."

Steve smirked as he stepped closer, the look in his eyes was clear —he was going to fuck you. "I promise it'll be worth your time.” He whispered. 

Without another word you stood up from your desk, and followed him to his office. 

"Are You Free Next Week? I Bet We'd Have Really Good Bed Chem" 

All bets were off when Steve closed his office door. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and his hands gripped your waist as your mouths collided fervently.

His lips were soft and plush, his tongue teasing yours as you opened your mouth.

You tasted like the cherry life savers you kept at your desk, and Steve couldn't get enough. "Want you so fucking bad," He said between the breaths of your kiss.

You responded with a moan as his lips trailed across your jaw, burying his face in your neck. He groaned as the scent of your perfume enveloped him while he sucked softly at your skin.

You began tearing off his blazer, clawing at his dress shirt to grip his firm biceps, as his lips found yours again. 

When Steve pulled back, he was a sight to behold. Your lipstick smeared across his mouth, his eyes glistening —almost in tears from the strain of his cock. It was clear he needed this as much as you.

By next week the two of you will savor each other for hours. His lips will trail down your body, appreciating every inch. He'll have you writhing on his tongue as he tastes you, not just for your pleasure but for his own. His skin will bear the marks or your lipstick, love bites and scratches, as you stake your claim. You’ll take him into your mouth, where he will cum down your throat before he fucks you. When he finally slides into your pussy, he'll make you cum repeatedly on his cock until you can't take anymore, begging for him to fill you. Hair slicked with sweat, voices raspy and breaths panting, it will be nothing short of perfection. But this moment, here and now, with the slight implication that you could be caught, will be a fast, but fulfilling need for release. 

"Raincheck on-?" 

Steve cut you off, nodding profusely, "How do you want it?" 

"Take me from behind. Been dreaming of you bending me over that desk." 

Steve groaned pulling you into another kiss, before he moved you towards his desk. He pulled out a condom from his wallet, before he began to undo his pants. Your eyes trained on his hand's movements until he freed his cock, boxers and slacks falling around his knees.  

Steve chuckled when you let out a gasp. The rumors were true, Harrington's hung.

Thankful you'd opted for no tights today, you slid down your panties and turned to bend over the desk. Steve groaned at the view, your plaid skirt framing your ass as he spread you apart, taking in the sight of your dripping pussy. You looked more than ready for him, but he needed to be sure. He ran two fingers through your folds, gently pumping them into you.

You slapped your hand on the desk at the feeling, muffling the moans that were leaving you with your other hand. 

"Ahh shit," Steve growled. 

"Please, Steve, give it to me," you begged.

You didn't have to ask him twice. He rolled the condom over his cock, and lined himself up thrusting into you forcefully. He didn't offer you time to adjust but the initial pain quickly melted into pleasure. Steve couldn't contain himself, whispers of how good you felt falling from his tongue. 

"Harder Steve, harder, harder," you pleaded, trying your best to keep your voice to a whisper.

He obliged, his hands firm on your hips as he thrust relentlessly. After a few breathy moans from both of you, he slipped his right hand between you and the desk, fingers finding your clit.

You had to stifle a shriek at the dual stimulation, gripping the desk tightly, your ribs colliding with the wood, sure to leave bruises that you'd admire later. 

"Do you like that, baby?" Steve whispered.

"Yes," you moaned. "Fuck, yeah, yes, s'really like that."

"Fuuuuuck. Are ya free this weekend? Wanna take you out."

"Mhmm."

“Gonna fuck you properly after," he groaned. "You're so fucking beautiful, can't wait to see all of you.

His words brought you closer to your release, and he could feel it. "Fuck, baby, are you about to cum?"

"Y-yes."

"Me too," he whimpered.

"Sweet & Sour, Heart Devoured"

Turn’s out, you'd been right —it was all that pent up tension. After your first hookup, Steve’s focus immediately returned.

Your coffee exchanges resumed, but the drawn out moments were no longer necessary now that you were spending time together outside of work.

That "DND" sign was tucked away and forgotten until two months later, when he considered offering you a special birthday treat -an afternoon delight. But you both knew better than to hook up at work again.

At Thanksgiving, Steve and you stopped keeping your relationship to yourselves when he invited you to spend it with his family. You were apprehensive about his father's reaction, but it wasn't an issue. In truth, it wouldn't have mattered to Steve if it had been. Had his father disapproved, and insisted it couldn't continue, Steve would have quit without hesitation. 

Steve had fallen for you, and looking back, he realized it was inevitable. It took one glance for you to captivate his attention, so of course the more time spent together, he'd hand over his heart.

Now all the times you lay tangled in his sheets, your fingers running through his hair, and "Baby" softly falling from your lips —he reflects on the moment you agreed you'd be the death of him.

Because in those moments, he couldn’t think of a better way to go.

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

Could you do the mile high fox where the reader is slash’s gf and Steven is the one who joins in?

A/n: I’ve relearned how to write with this fic

Warnings: Smut, somnophilia, fingering(f receiving), oral(m + f receiving), if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

Touring with Slash was always fun, the concerts, the adrenalin, the vacations. You couldn't always join him but when you could you loved it.

You were on an overnight flight, Slash was crashed in your shared bed in the cabin and you were curled up at his side while Steven slept peacefully across the room.

You had been sleeping earlier as well in the airport, Slash carried you onto the plane and crashed when his head hit the pillow. But now you were awake. Wide awake.

You didn't want to move around too much, not wanting to wake anyone. You could technically sleep whenever you wanted but they were on a stricter schedule, getting most of their sleep on bus rides and flights. You didn't want to disrupt that... However, you were bored and getting needier by the second.

You noticed not too long ago that Slash was dreaming, mostly you noticed him getting hard and those soft moans he let out in his sleep.

You knew you shouldn't, but you couldn't help yourself.

You glanced back over your shoulder to make sure Steven was still sleeping before tugging the blanket down and moving down to Slash's waist, watching with hungry eyes as you pulled the thin blanket off his hard cock.

You trailed a finger along his length, watching him twitch at the featherlight touch before placing a few kitten licks on his already leaky tip.

You laid between his legs, gripping the sheets tight, bracing yourself before taking him into your mouth and down your throat. You gagged around his girth but pushed yourself to bob your head on him, helplessly bucking against the sheets as if it would provide some sort of relief.

You felt a hand on your hip, for a moment you didn't think twice about, then you did because there was no way it was Slash's hand.

Your head snapped back to look at who it was, Slash slipping from your mouth as you did. Steven, evidently, hadn't been sleeping and was now on his knees behind you, one hand on your hip, the other at your cunt, fingers running through your slick folds.

You opened your mouth to say something but all that came out was a moan when he pushed a finger into you. You knew you shouldn't but it felt so good and you were so desperate.

Steven took his hand off your hip and guided your head back to Slash, without another word you took the guitarist back into your mouth, moaning around him as Steven prepped your hole.

This was not the first time you've woken Slash up with sex, he's told you multiple times it's his favourite way to wake up and it worked the same way when it came to you. Always sweet and lazy, slow movements from being tired and then you'd fall back asleep.

Slash woke up slowly, not quite realizing this wasn't a dream yet. When he woke up a bit more he reached down to your head, not guiding you yet but just running his long, skinny fingers through your hair.

Slowly, Slash opened his eyes and smiled down at you, moaning out and rolling his hips. His eyes shot open and he looked back down at you, past you at his friend who kneeled behind you, two fingers scissoring your pretty pussy.

"What the fuck." He muttered, voice still soft and raspy from sleep. "Steven... you're fucking my girlfriend..?"

Steven looked up from where you and he met to look Slash in the eyes. "You weren't." Slash thought for a moment, he wanted to be mad but it wasn't in his nature. Also he was about to cum and that was more important in the moment.

You felt him pulsing and twitching on your tongue, low groans leaving him as hot spurts of cum shot down your throat, holding your head down on him, your nose shoved in his pubes, inhaling all his scent.

You could feel yourself getting closer on Steven's fingers, the way they curled and prodded your gummy walls. Before that knot inside you could snap the blond pulled out of you.

You looked back at him with a pout and furrowed brows, Slash slipping from your lips once more.

Steven chuckled softly and shook his head as he got off the bed, dropping his boxers to his ankles. "Don't worry, darling, I'll take care of you."

"I can do it." Slash said, slowly sitting up and reaching for you, when you were close enough he wrapped his arms around you and buried his face in your neck, ready for sleep again.

You whined softly. You loved Slash, the way he touched you, treated you, how he talked to you at any given moment, but you needed something more than this tired state of his. Steven was awake and full of energy, his dick was also pressed up against you and his arms were snaking around your waist.

Slash seemed to have given up on fucking you, letting Steven take control while he settled for sucking your neck. Steven could fuck you but you were his, his to mark, his to love, his girlfriend.

Steven pushed into you, drawing a moan from you while he threw his head back in a loud groan. Not sure what you were expecting, but Steven being loud just made everything better.

Slash wasn't quiet, per se... yes he was, unless he was overstimulated, he'd whine until he lost his voice. Usually it was just low grunts and groans in your ear, but when you heard him, fuck, did you hear him.

Steven's fingers definitely did their work and feeling him stretch you out, tip prodding your insides, it made your head spin. He started slow but quickly threw that out the window, trying to keep a steady rhythm but failing in his attempt to satisfy himself.

He often found it hard to focus on whoever he was with, once he got his dick wet he was done for. Slash, however, did not appreciate this approach, not when it was his girlfriend getting used.

He reached down and started rubbing your clit in circles, just the way you liked it. His plump lips pressing a mix of soft and rough kisses on the sensitive spots of your neck, nipping to make sure there'd be hickeys.

It wasn't long before you came, Steven following shortly after, hips rutting into yours as he dumped his load inside you. Slash glared at him as he did so, that was his hole, his fucking girlfriend.

Slash held you to his chest with one arm, using the other to swat at Steven. "Go get a rag or something, can't leave her like this." He grumbled.

Steven rolled his eyes but went with a smile to get something to clean you up.

Slash laid you back down, looking you up at down. Slash was fine sleeping naked, you preferred to keep something on and tonight that happened to be his Ramones shirt.

That wasn't enough to put an end to Slash's frustration, his possessiveness. Not when he saw one of his best and oldest friends cum seeping out of you.

He moved between your legs, lapping at your folds as you whined, twitching until he held your legs in place, arms wrapped around your thighs.

He didn't stop once he was done cleaning you like a cat, he was leaving marks on your inner thighs, too, and he needed to make you cum on his own.

He pushed two fingers into you, his fingers were longer and slimmer than Steven's, hitting deeper inside but leaving out most of the stretch from the drummer's thicker digits.

While his fingers worked on your cunt his tongue focused on your clit, not stopping until he felt your thighs clamping around his head, whines echoing off the thin walls.

Your mind was a muddled mess, but you could function well enough to see Steven standing beside the bed and waiting for Slash to move so he could clean you, only Slash wasn't having it.

He snatched the cloth from Steven and gently wiped you down.

Steven didn't take the hint and crawled into bed, curling up with you. Slash was tired and couldn't fight it anymore.

That didn't stop him from playing tug-of-war with Steven, who thought it was just playfulness between brothers and not Slash planning a murder.

Come morning Slash was on his stomach, somehow you and him had switched places and Steven was sprawled over him, partially dangling off the bed while you cuddled a the blanket they'd discarded.

You obviously had to take a picture of it to push in their faces, Steven would laugh, Slash might kill you but it was worth the risk.

[uzumaki-rebellion]

"Ice Princess"

Ice Princess by Uzumaki Rebellion

Pairing: Erik "Killmonger" Stevens x Black Female OC

Warning(s): 18+, Explicit Sex, Murder, Mayhem, Blood, Violence, Action/Adventure, Thriller, All Dat Good Shit. Grown Folks Only.

Summary:

Portia Keith has it all. A rich boyfriend. An impressive sugar baby allowance. Shopping trips around the world on private jets and more. Every day is spent living in the lap of luxury. For a special holiday trip, her boyfriend gifts her with a private yacht cruise on the Aegean Sea to ring in the New Year with friends.

In order to keep the wealthy party-goers safe, private security is hired to protect the good times, and the spoiled diva encounters the gruff ex-Special Ops soldier, Erik Killmonger, who has no time to coddle a spoiled, coolheaded socialite. Chaos erupts when the yacht is hijacked by ruthless modern-day pirates, and Portia has to learn to leave her Ice Princess ways behind in order for Killmonger to get her back on land... alive.

Word count: 22.5K

"I'm so cold I'm dripping icicles

I go and take your man that nigga might miss you

Spent his whole commission on my neck and ear

To stand around me need to have ya winter gear

Pay me coats and benz's and that berg-ice

That's why I do not feel these bitches, frostbite

Grown money, ever since a youngin' made my own money

You broke honey, and they call me

Banks, cause I can loan money

Colder than December, my diamonds on

Anna WintourSo that's fly ice in my life"

Azealia Banks – "Ice Princess"

Erik Killmonger nearly turned down the job.

Floating around some Greek islands in and around the Aegean Sea for a week babysitting some rich bitches was not his dream gig. Some guns for hire might enjoy the laid-back assignment full of sunshine and sparkling azure waters, but he learned enough over the years that working for wealthy pampered civilians was a pain in the ass. They treated security like servant extensions, and he was not interested in an environment like that. He was accustomed to covert jobs that kept his blood pumping and his mind sharp. There were long-term goals that required him to be with a different mix around the Middle East and real action.

But his homeboy Clark wanted to keep the contract with James Quinton, the multi-millionaire from Silicon Valley who pioneered new bleeding-edge technology in computer processing. For about seven years, he had been a celebrated tech wiz, one of the few Black men successfully cashing out of the grind hustle culture. Killmonger kept up with the man's accomplishments and compared them with his own. As a graduate of M.I.T. and a certified genius with MENSA, the secret Wakandan prince would've probably become another James Quinton himself if his life hadn't been disrupted by trauma and loss. The chips fell where they did, and Killmonger bided his time searching for Ulysses Klaue and working as expensive hired security. Clark nagged at him.

"Man, I'm stretched thin. They want discretion and the best. That's you. I know you were supposed to start leave for a week to recuperate from that Lagos job, but there's some sketchy action happening around the Mediterranean, and your Navy SEAL experience is needed… just in case," Clark said on a satellite call.

Killmonger sat in his closet-sized studio that acted as a storage locker for his gear instead of a home. Constantly on the go, and on the grind, he listened to Clark reclining in his Lazy-Boy chair with a glass tumbler of prime whiskey in his hand.

"You'll ring the New Year in a beautiful atmosphere. Relaxed and peaceful. The bonus holiday pay is great. Please, I need this contract fulfilled. This man knows a lot of billionaires and I could use the referrals… new contacts. Plus, you're good-looking," Clark continued.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Killmonger said, sipping on his drink.

"Look over the file I sent you online. It gives details about the yacht you'll be protecting, and also the rest of the clientele."

"That still ain't got nothing to do with my looks," Killmonger grumbled.

"Pretty girls like good-looking men. That's all I'm saying. You might get lucky compared to the other goons I got," Clark said.

Killmonger closed his eyes and gave an exasperated sigh. The studio apartment felt cramped and joyless.

"I'll throw in another bonus for the short notice," Clark insisted.

"How many people onboard?"

"It's a private New Year's party, eight guests, and the yacht staff of four. You'll have your own cabin. You'll lead everything with Sherman and Banks working under you. Giving you the best—"

"Just three men?"

Killmonger lifted his laptop from a small table next to his chair. He logged onto his dark web email account and scrolled images of the yacht. Looking at the dimensions and pictures, Killmonger put down his glass.

"I need at least three more men."

"I can pull at least one more for you—"

"Gotta have five total under me to make this work, especially with us going to a new hot spot."

"The Greek government and the Turkish government have been doing extra sea patrols. James Quinton hasn't mentioned going anywhere for the holidays and I urged him to place his social media engagement on pause for the week until they end their holiday. It'll be a vacation for you. In fact, you could just supervise and chill."

Killmonger knocked back the rest of his liquor.

"Okay, I'll do it. Get me five men."

He hung up and checked the files of James Quinton on his own cryptic software. Quinton liked to stunt his wealth. The man posted photos and corny quotes at least ten times a day on all of his social media platforms. It was the ones with his girlfriend that worried Killmonger.

Portia Keith.

Online, she was known as the Ice Princess. Her beauty and personality were so cold that she had a reputation for being a femme fatale with a rich man's wallet. She had been linked to a few celebrities in the past but had moved her pampered ways to men with deeper and consistent pockets. She rarely spoke in public and showed up to haute couture fashion shows all across the globe. Killmonger couldn't figure out exactly what she did to make men clamor for her and pop culture gossip blogs to want to follow her daily jaunts as a sugar baby with James Quinton.

He stared at a few pictures.

Ma definitely had a face card that would never decline. Medium height, a medium copper brown complexion that turned a pretty darker hue in the sun. Body looked all natural and not the cringy build-a-bitch looks women paid top dollar for. Portia had tits and a nice ass that matched her thighs. She liked provocative looks and expensive things. Quinton gave her everything and baby girl wasn't denied anything according to the photos he peeped on her platforms. There was a crew of girlfriends she jaunted around with, and in every picture, Portia was the center of attention. The face of a model on par with Naomi Campbell, and the body of a vixen bent on destroying hearts and dicks. She stayed dripped in diamonds every day from head to toe. Most men couldn't afford her and several tried to keep her until Quinton snatched her up with the bank account that kept her flaunting her beauty and body.

That face, though? Killmonger couldn't stop staring at it. Her eyes were cool dark windows that gave away nothing. The kind of eyes that cut niggas down if they weren't on point. Her round nose was slightly upturned in a natural haughtiness, but her lips were the deadliest weapons in her arsenal. Killmonger's lips parted as he licked his canine slugs that matched the bottom ones made of pure gold. Portia's lips looked like they could make a dick cry if she sucked on it. Her nickname fit the vibe she gave off, and he wondered what Quinton had besides money to keep that sophisticated sugar baby close.

Killmonger checked the gossip sites and scrolled pages and pages of rumors that Portia and Quinton were having issues and possibly on the outs. He guessed the private New Year's trip was Quinton's way of keeping her, especially with the gossipmongers bubbling with sightings of her having lunch with an Italian billionaire.

Killmonger poured himself a fresh drink, then checked flight schedules on Delta Airlines.

Portia Keith pouted all the way to Greece on her boyfriend's private Gulfstream jet. Scrolling her social media feeds while holding her apricot-colored Pomeranian Mimi, she fumed at the gossip page listing her and Quinton on a site that criticized the super-rich for ruining the climate with their wasteful private flights and hoarding of resources. Her bestie Jodie patted her thigh and told her to ignore the haters.

One thing Portia always did was cultivate a scandal-free reputation. She prided herself on being a carefree Black woman leading a luxury movement for other Black women that had them raising their standards against unqualified men. Accused of only promoting hypergamy and a sugar baby lifestyle, she let people talk their shit because it only brought luxury brands her way courting her favors to use and promote their goods for free. Her exquisite face launched products like no other, and the quiet mystique she crafted with razor precision could not tolerate slander with her image. It wasn't her jet. It was Quinton's. Rich people had to protect themselves and taking commercial airlines with the poors was so… gauche. Especially for bad bitches like herself. The income brackets she played in were fifty million and above, and the low bar of fifty million was just being polite. Not bad for a country girl with tidewater roots and access to an excellent finishing school that prepped her for the lifestyle she led.

Portia left Charleston, South Carolina, with a finance degree from Clemson University and never looked back. Landing a job working under the Director of Finance and Operations for Conde Nast, she labored around the folks who ran Vogue Magazine. A chance encounter during New York Fashion Week launched her new career as a pampered princess. The paparazzi snapped a candid shot of her walking near Anna Wintour wearing a layered sable Balenciaga romper. They both wore the same dark Chanel sunglasses, and a fashion mag begged the question, "Who wore it better?" Before his passing, André Leon Talley exalted her style sense and overnight, Portia became the new "It" girl, the mysterious fashionista who was too short to be a model, but too glamorous to be a simple finance department worker.

She jumped on the parasocial relationship with the New York fashion scene and made sure she appeared at big events. Using a lame-ass rapper who liked to rock oversized ice, she taught him how to dress better, and spent his money on a better investment… her. She put him on to better fashion, better food, and better jewelry. It helped broaden his brand and snag a movie role. She bounced from him to a Hollywood Executive who flaunted her at Oscar parties and she kept her mouth shut and her eyes wide open for new marks. Stacking other people's paper and collecting custom diamond jewelry that became her signature trademark was a lofty career in her early twenties. Portia was nearing the end of her roaring twenties and she had to upgrade her prospects to older men with healthy long-term portfolios. Hollywood and celebrity wealth were fleeting, often feast and famine. New prospects were needed and her finance education led her to San Francisco and tech Daddies. The trade-offs were dull, less attractive men, but fatter pockets.

Then Quinton appeared on a Forbes magazine cover.

Dollar signs flashed in her eyes. She called in favors to get invited to a tech gala and projected her icy exterior onto a man who was rich and above average. New money cleaned him up, but her looks, nimble fingers, and optimum sex magic snagged her a baller on the rise. If she drank enough liquor and squinted her eyes just so, he could almost pass as a poor man's skinny Trevante Rhodes. But that squint had to be hard and the liquor extra strong.

She glanced over at Quinton.

He bored her now.

Quinton was thirty, only four years older than her, but he acted like he was fifty, worrying about his declining fortune all the time. He got caught up in some bad cryptocurrency deals and took a hit on some poor stock market advice. The man pretended that everything was okay financially, but Portia could smell the oncoming of poverty one hundred miles away. Yet she still ran his pockets one last time with the trip she wanted for herself and her girls. She had a couple of boyfriend replacements already on deck and planned to jump ship after the New Year. Broke didn't look good on her and she wasn't built for struggle love or struggle pockets. A baddie always had a graceful contingency exit plan. She sighed loud enough for Quinton to notice her restlessness. Her gaze glossed over his hairline, which was beating a hasty retreat to the back of his neck. What had once been a full head of cropped waves had turned into phantom follicles that gave up on him faster than she did. He had aged so quickly in the two years she'd been with him that she could mistake him for his own father nowadays. Pity. Portia thought she'd stay with him for at least a few more years to see if he could stack his paper higher past the eighty million he was worth when she met him. Alas, that was not to be.

Quinton put down the computer tablet he had his nose buried in and clasped her hand. His eyes were already bloodshot from drinking and anxiousness. Things were probably going downhill faster.

"We're about to land, baby. Have patience," he said.

Her girlfriends giggled and drank martinis behind them. Portia ran a diamond-studded finger up his arm. Mimi whined on her lap.

"Will you give me anything special for New Year's Day?" she purred.

Quinton grinned.

"I have a lot planned for you," he winked.

At least he was going out with a bang, she thought. He was spoiling her one last time, unbeknownst to him. A part of her wondered if she should feel pity for milking him dry until he went belly up. It was the nature of the game, and he knew fully that to keep a woman like her, he had to keep his coins up. She kissed his cheek and her stomach dropped. They were descending.

Their landing was swift, and they were all transported to a launch dock where Quinton's brand-new custom yacht waited for them on tranquil turquoise waters. Seeing the ship, Portia couldn't help but get excited and jump about like a kid with her friends as she held Mimi in her personalized pink Fendi doggy purse. Quinton's three male friends ogled the women through their sheer beach cover-ups. Their teeny-weeny bikinis left little to the lascivious imagination. Portia patted her designer cornrows studded with pink diamond hair jewelry that matched Mimi's pink diamond collar. The ends of her jeweled braids extended past her back, and she flung her natural hair around and waited to board the yacht.

A staff member waited on the main deck of the ship with a tray of mixed drinks in a crisp eggshell white maritime uniform of a starched shirt and knee-length shorts. Portia grabbed the first glass and her gaze drifted over to the tall Black man wearing a hot as hell black military uniform holding a colt commando automatic weapon. His glossy locs framed a gruff, bearded face with a scowl on his thick lips.

"Ohmigod, Quinton. Is this really necessary? Mood killer," Portia complained.

She released Mimi to run around and handed her purse to another crew member. Quinton shook the security's hand. Scoping the yacht, Portia saw five more similar men spread behind the first one.

"Killmonger, correct?" Quinton said.

"Correct," Killmonger said.

"Just Killmonger?" Portia asked.

"Just Killmonger," he answered in a rough tone.

Quinton turned to all of his guests as they mingled and admired the surrounding luxury. The five other security team members dispersed to their stations. Only Killmonger remained. Quinton held out his hands to show off his big, shiny toy.

"As I told all of you, we'll be completely protected. I know there have been rumblings of issues in this region, but I hired some serious security. Enjoy yourselves! Wander around for a bit and they will place your luggage in your cabins. Lunch in an hour!" Quinton said.

"Hold up," Killmonger said.

Everyone stopped chatting and froze with their refreshing drinks.

"We need to go over a safety drill," Killmonger said.

Quinton glanced at his watch.

"Now? Can it wait until after lunch?"

"No," Killmonger said.

"Where would you like us to be?" Quinton asked.

"Head to the stern, please," Killmonger said, pointing to the back of the yacht.

The others headed in that direction. Portia sauntered past him in the opposite direction.

"I'm going to settle in," she said, rolling her eyes.

Killmonger snatched up her arm so quickly that it knocked the breath out of her. She didn't know a human could move that fast. He held her close to his chest as his other hand gripped his weapon.

"See, you're the type of woman who makes the job difficult by being a brat," he snapped.

"You can't talk to me like that!" she hissed, trying to jerk her arm away. It was like fighting an immobile mountain.

"I'm here to protect your good time. We practice drills for a reason."

She exhaled hard when she noticed his teeth. Sharp gold canine slugs on his top and bottom teeth.

"I could have my man sue you for assault," she bitched.

"Do it," he said.

Portia blinked fast several times.

"Do you know who James Quinton is? He could ruin you!" she bellowed, squirming in his grip.

"I'm here to make sure you rich people don't get bothered. I'm the best at that and I'd appreciate your cooperation with the safety drill. It'll only take twenty minutes of your precious spoiled time," he barked.

"Portia?"

Her friend Chelsea called for her.

Killmonger released her arm, and Portia looked up into his face. Narrow, heated eyes peered down at her.

"Let's go, princess," he said, swaggering past her and slinging his weapon over his shoulder.

Portia stared at his wide back and clenched her teeth. She threw her martini glass over the side of the yacht in anger and balled up her fists. Prepared to raise hell with Quinton over the manhandling, she huffed under her breath in anger and stomped her Gucci slides when Killmonger glanced back at her and… smiled, flashing those gold slugs.

Portia halted her steps. The fuck was he smiling at?

And why was she getting aroused by it?

She was a piece of work.

Killmonger knew from jump that Portia would be a problem needing an attitude adjustment. He checked her real quick the moment she mouthed off about not following safety rules that had to be enforced in case of an emergency. She gave him a glacial stare during his short introductory speech on how the trip would run among the security team, and he took them down the stairs that led to a sunbathing deck. There was an emergency escape door that led to an eleven meters long military rigid hull inflatable boat under the yacht that could hold three crew and eight passengers. It had an M60 7.62mm machine gun, an MK19 40mm, and an M2 .50 cal. machine gun armament attached to it. The boat could do forty knots with six in-line cylinder diesel engines. It was an extreme weather craft and Killmonger made them all jump inside of it to get a feel of how they would ride it in case of an emergency exit. He pointed out life vests and showed them the scuba gear his men had available to check for underwater threats.

Once Portia realized they were the real deal, she fixed her face to look less bitchy and bothered. Killmonger was concise and professional and he impressed all the guests with his background and training. He spoke to his team to go over work shifts, breaks, and overnight watch duty. Taking the first shift watch on the main deck, he kept his guard up while the yacht started its adventure away from the Greek port and out into the open sea. The captain of the ship introduced himself and his staff after lunch and their first port of call was Athens, and then they would head to Crete. They would spend the rest of their time tooling around on the open sea and shooting off fireworks on New Year's Eve.

The women wasted no time throwing off their bikini covers and rushing over to sunbathe topless on cushy recliners. An annoying little dog ran around barking and finally jumped on Portia's thighs to sleep until it got too hot and it hid under her chair. He didn't mind watching the sea with binoculars and occasionally looking down at tits. They weren't shy about showing them, so he would not pretend he didn't notice. Quinton and his male buddies grabbed a bottle of top-shelf bourbon and headed to the other side of the yacht to smoke cigars on padded deck chairs. They were torn up by dinner, and by then, he was done with his work shift and free to relax and eat a meal in his cabin. A private chef brought him moussaka and white wine for dinner and galaktoboureko for dessert. It filled him up, and he took a quick shower afterward, then rested on his bed.

The party crowd became raucous and rowdy the later it became, and he changed into light linen pants and a cotton shirt to join them and check in with the night shift team. Music blared from speakers on the starboard side and he eased around to observe and also check out the night waters. The yacht had spotlights that surrounded the bottom of the boat, so there was a beautiful glow to the calm aquamarine water. The rest of the ship was lit up too, which concerned Killmonger. Nothing like advertising a luxury yacht filled with rich people. He was correct in requesting five men to work with him. They had various firearms, rocket-propelled grenades, and enough ammo to start a war at sea if needed. He relaxed after talking to the two men on shift. All was well.

He went for a stroll around the upper decks while the civilians headed down to the lower deck to spread out for cocktails on the main deck. A cool breeze blew past and ruffled his locs. He closed his eyes and faced it fully, luxuriating in the sensation.

"Oh… so you can look normal."

Killmonger opened his eyes and found Portia and one of her friends sitting on white barrel chairs with their legs kicked up on an olive green ottoman. She wore a short pumpkin-colored shift dress and her skin looked amazing from being in the sun all day. Playing with the hem of her extra short dress, he admired the elaborate diamond chips that decorated her long fingernails. She stayed adorned, and he appreciated the effort she took to look feminine and soft. Portia's friend looked cute in a short polka-dotted sun dress. Her hair was lifted in a high ponytail of cascading auburn curls that fell down over her slender shoulder.

He took the open seat next to the friend with a short table between them. There was a half-empty glass of red wine and a fresh unopened bottle next to it with a cork opener conveniently placed on top of it if she needed more.

"I can dress down when I'm not working," he said.

She smiled. The wine had relaxed her and she appeared less uptight. Crossing a seductive leg, he glimpsed her sexy thighs. She didn't have any panties on, and her mound was clean-shaven. He glanced away to pretend he saw nothing, but the smirk on her face told him she meant for him to see her pussy.

"Why aren't you two down with the others?" he asked.

"Needed a break. When you're always the life of the party like me, you need a little time off. Plus, they're talking about work and stocks. Tiana and I are not interested."

"That's so snoozefest," Tiana said, her light skin splotchy with sunburn marks.

"Your other friends seem intrigued by it."

"Those heffas?" Portia snorted. "They just want to appear interested to get attention. Carlos is worth half a billion. Ben two billion. Oh, and that loud mouth you hear right now? That's Stieg. He's a Scandinavian trust fund baby worth five billion. My girls are here to party with me, but make no mistake, they're fishing for a big fish of their own to catch up with me. They're bored out of their minds, but…."

Portia rubbed her fingers together to indicate cash. She stood up and walked down the stairs, leaving Killmonger with Tiana. He sat in silence for a moment before standing up to leave.

"You sure you'll be okay up here by yourself?" he asked, glancing over at the balcony.

Tiana looked heavily inebriated.

"I can hold my liquor," Tiana said.

"Alright then, I'll leave you to your bottle and privacy—"

He glanced over the railing and watched Portia saunter to the front of the yacht. For someone who stayed rude to him while he was on shift, her lax behavior at night intrigued him. Showing off her pussy had to be an amusing game to her. Killmonger liked what he saw and slid his wet tongue across a gold fang.

The rest of his rounds were completed, and he gave one of his men a twenty-minute smoke break starboard side once the guests had turned in to sleep. He took over the watch temporarily and cast his glances out toward the tranquility of the sea. Heavy breathing brought forth curiosity, and he strolled down to a lower deck to investigate.

Portia was on her back naked, legs spread wide as Quinton exerted desperate dick strokes inside of her.

"You're so good, baby. Yes, that's it," Portia said with lukewarm enthusiasm.

Her eyes faced the sea, and she offered no effort to reciprocate affections or even movement as her man pounded her. The detachment on her expressionless face bothered Killmonger. Quinton gave her the world and she couldn't be bothered to give some passion? Even if it was a fake? A true pillow princess, Portia laid there with minimal effort to even wiggle her hips. She managed to push her breasts together and jiggle them, but she refused to look at Quinton's face. The man stared at the fat titties and pumped his way to a sad orgasm. When he collapsed on top of Portia, she took her expensive nails and raked them on the back of his neck and cooed phony words of praise. A smug look painted her face.

Killmonger gripped the railing, and a surge of anger sparked inside of him. He wanted to wipe that petty smirk off Portia's face. He knew fully well that her relationship with Quinton was a transactional one based on the rules of patriarchy. Men bought women as commodities and arm candy all the time. Killmonger knew what the game was, and Ma played it like the pro she appeared to be. However, it irked him that Quinton didn't fuck the shit out of her and make Portia earn all of her riches from him.

Quinton rolled off of her on the wide sectional couch and pulled off the condom that sheathed his average-sized dick. He balled it up and tossed it onto the table next to them. Within seconds, he was fast asleep, and Portia rested her head on a throw pillow. Her eyes squinted in surprise when she noticed Killmonger looking down at them. She slid a finger to her pussy lips, teasing Killmonger by opening her legs wider so he could see all the wet pink of her succulent entrance. His lips twisted up and there was a tightening in his pants. She traced a finger in a wide circle around her folds, then licked her fingers, dropping them onto her nipples to tweak the tips. He gripped the front of his pants to adjust his dick, thinking of all the ways he would fold her body if he had the chance to teach her a lesson about teasing a nigga like him. Her writhing body was doing all the things she should've been doing for Quinton if she hadn't been a lazy fuck. Portia dipped her fingers inside of her pussy and pursed her lush lips as she watched his face grow more aroused watching her display of ridiculous seduction right next to her snoring boyfriend. But he couldn't look away. Her fingers spun magic as they played in her slick folds. She flicked her clit and widened her legs for him until she raised her arm up and flipped him off with a moist finger. Portia cackled and clutched at her stomach, delighted at her teasing. She grabbed the shift dress she had on earlier and put it on, leaving Quinton behind by himself on the sectional. Tossing the used condom in the sea with the flick of a diamond nail, her laughter floated up to Killmonger as she headed to her cabin.

"Bitch," he grumbled.

She had him going, toying with him by using her physical blessings against him long enough to tell him to fuck off. Portia wanted to play cat and mouse, thinking he was the silly little mouse. Little did she know she had a vicious panther on her hands.

They docked in Crete at the crack of dawn.

Killmonger had two of his team stay behind to watch the yacht, and the others dressed in civilian clothing to blend in and trail the women who went shopping and out for lunch with the billionaires and Quinton. The blistering heat didn't let up. He wiped the back of his neck and under his chin several times while tracking Quinton. Portia stayed on the yacht to sleep in late. Her man seemed to find his balls again when he wasn't around her. The passive energy disappeared, and he took on a personality with bravado, impressing Tiana, who laughed at his corny jokes. Their lunch break was long and Killmonger took time to smoke a cigar near an open market. He played tourist watching the surrounding activity, checking the time on his watch constantly, and checking in with the yacht.

In his peripheral he caught Quinton slinking out of the high-end restaurant and entering the luxury hotel next to it. Killmonger stayed put hidden behind a marble statue of Athena, keeping his steady gaze on his client. Quinton checked his surroundings before dashing into the hotel. Killmonger entered the hotel and discreetly shielded his body from the other tourists. Moments later, Tiana walked into the lobby and headed toward Quinton. The tech wiz grabbed Tiana's hand and they entered an elevator together. Killmonger grinned and left the hotel.

The pillow princess's man was getting better pussy elsewhere with her bestie. Killmonger shook his head and checked on the people milling around the hotel lobby. He stayed put until the illicit couple came back down the elevator twenty-five minutes later, fixing their rumpled clothes to look presentable again.

"Quick ass," Killmonger mumbled, sticking a piece of gum in his mouth to chase away the taste of cigar on his tongue.

The trip back to the yacht was uneventful an hour later, and Portia's girlfriends carried plenty of gift bags to commemorate their visit. Portia stood on the top deck with a martini glass in her hand wearing an alabaster knit bikini. A giant floppy sun hat shaded her face. She pranced around on her chunky platforms, waiting for her friends to share their bounty with her.

"Fuck," Killmonger uttered, staring up at her.

Her body was insane. The bikini top only covered her nipples, and the bottoms barely shielded her vulva. He licked his lips again, staring at how fat her pussy looked up there. Tiana was nothing compared to Portia, but Killmonger knew that a lot of beautiful women had trash box and men fucked with women who made them feel good. Looks had nothing to do with keeping a man in the long run. Plenty of mid-looking and ugly women had snatched away prizes from bombshells. Perhaps Portia needed a man with good dick to turn her out correctly. There was no way all that body was going to waste because some rich dude couldn't handle her spunk.

Portia caught him checking her out, and she leaned over the railing to eye him back. Killmonger sauntered to his cabin to change back into his serious work clothes. He checked in with the mercs left behind on duty and all reports were good. The ship's captain updated him with a weather report and soon they were back out at sea for the rest of the trip.

Quinton and Portia threw a costume-themed dinner party and everyone wore Mardi Gras masks and sipped champagne before devouring salty caviar, Kobe steak, and lobsters. The yacht staff hustled to please, but Portia became a bitch when things didn't go as smoothly as she wanted. She reamed one female server so badly for stepping on her dog Mimi by accident that the woman slunk away in tears. Quinton said nothing about the bullying and everyone else was too drunk to comment on anything. Portia snapped at two mercs while moving into their next party area for charades and Killmonger had enough of the poor attitude. When Portia went for a restroom break in her cabin, he followed her. She caught him waiting for her in the narrow hall.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

Her icy tone and polar stare made him want to flip her around and spank her ass like an insolent child being reprimanded by a fed-up parent.

"You need to check your tone with the staff and my men. These people are working hard—"

"Shut the fuck up, you simpin' bitch," she said.

Portia lifted the Mardi Gras mask onto her forehead and glared at him. Her little cat woman bikini costume showed off every curve, and he became distracted for a second by the veracity of her tone and demeanor. No woman had ever tried to come for him like that, especially one who didn't know him from Adam. Her breath smelled like the expensive French wine she had drank all night, and he considered her drunken state before speaking. He leaned in, and Portia leaned back until she was jammed against her cabin door. Killmonger bared his teeth at her and she acted as if he had snarled like a beast. Her eyes darted toward the stairs that led to the top deck, expecting someone to rescue her.

"Treat people who cater to you with respect. They don't get paid enough to take your verbal abuse," he demanded.

She looked away from his heated glare and gold canines. He caught the subtle tremble in her body, but then she turned her face back to him and smirked.

"Those people are paid well and competed to get this job—"

"You ain't paying 'em," he said.

"My man is. His money is my money—"

"You sure about him being your man?"

Her eyes narrowed and her lips curled into a tight grimace. Killmonger decided to blow up her spot and teach the brat a lesson. Every bully needed to be humbled in their life. There was no better time than the present for her.

Portia put a hand on her hip and waited for him to run his mouth some more.

"He had a little quickie with your homegirl Tiana at a hotel while everyone was having lunch."

He cocked his head and waited for the explosion and waterworks to begin. Portia stared at him hard, then started cackling.

"Think I'm joking? I followed them there," he said.

Portia snorted and grabbed her stomach to control her laughter. He waited for her to notice that he was serious. She patted his chest with her right hand and he rolled his eyes with impatience.

"The look on your face right now… as if you got me with something!" she heckled.

Portia wiped her almond eyes and touched her chest. Her diamond nails glittered and that cool exterior returned in full effect.

"I sent that bitch there myself," Portia said.

Killmonger's brow wrinkled, and Portia gave him a little twisted lip pout. Then she grinned.

"Aw, I'm sorry boo boo. You really thought this was a gotcha moment. Ever hear of keeping your friends close, but your enemies closer? Tiana is a free-loading cunt… yeah, I said cunt like the white girls do. She's not my homegirl, just competition who has been trying to be me from day one. I let that heffa into my inner circle to keep her on a leash. Quinton is going broke and all of this…?"

She waved her hand above her head.

"All of this shit is about to disappear soon, so to teach her a lesson about coming for what I got, I'm letting her have that limp dick brokie. She thinks she's on the come-up sneaking around with him, but I fed her fake bread crumbs to that nigga. Lied, and told her we were having relationship problems, and that I was worried that he wanted someone else. That little worker hoe really thinks she's better than the queen bee. I stayed on the yacht on purpose so she could make her move on him. Now she knows shiny things aren't always diamonds with that weak peen. In her mind, she thinks she has him and his money. The reality is, she's with a broke faker. Checkmate, bitch."

Portia guffawed and pointed to Killmonger's face.

"I respect you for trying to break my heart to humble me, but you can't play a player," she said.

She shoved him out of her way and strutted up the stairs, tooting her ass out so he could see it jiggle as she walked. Stopping halfway, she looked back at him.

"I'll act nicer with the staff just to make you feel better," she said.

Killmonger chuckled and shook his head. Baby girl was cold-blooded. Respect. He eased his big body up the steps and did quick surveillance all around the ship. Portia acted better with the servers, but she was still icy with the other mercs.

The next few days were dull and humid.

Boredom set in with the women, as the men only drank, ate, and slept for hours on end. Killmonger observed how Portia maneuvered around Tiana. Deadly sweet. It was like watching a scorpion slowly poison a frog as it rode the weaker creature's back. The shine of being with Quinton wore off Tiana, and he caught her brushing off the advances of her secret lover when they thought no one else saw them around the yacht. Portia knew everything that went on between them, orchestrating their dismal affair right under the noses of everyone present.

New Year's Eve rolled around and the trip was nearly over. He had to admit that the assignment wasn't as troublesome as he thought it would be. Quinton hired a fireworks crew to meet them on a separate boat at a rendezvous point in the middle of the ocean. Killmonger sent his mercs over to check out the other smaller ship with metal detectors, heat sensor devices, and a thorough inspection of the crew while he scuba-dived under the boat to sweep for explosives and hidden weapons. They inspected the fireworks being used, too. When one of his team helped him out of the water, he pulled off his scuba gear, and Portia watched him undress. Her eyes grew enormous when his scars came into view. The shiny lumpy brown flesh decorated him with a deadly artistic beauty, displaying every life he had taken in his line of work. He walked across the deck, dripping in seawater and muscles. A hunger grew in her aroused eyes to see more under the wetsuit.

"All safe," he said, whisking past her, carrying his air tanks to a rack.

He took his time pulling off the rest of his wetsuit, shaking his thighs, and grabbing his dick through his tight trunks to adjust the weight there.

Quinton walked over, clapping his hands together.

"All good?" Quinton asked.

"You can have your show tonight," Killmonger said.

Portia flounced away, shaking those ass cheeks, and his dick jumped in his trunks. The last few days she'd been a lot more suggestive with her behavior toward him, teasing him with flirty glances, and tugging on her swimwear suggestively in front of him that had Killmonger undressing her in his mind at night. He jerked off on his bed after taking a shower from scuba diving, imagining himself bending her over a railing and spanking her ass, rubbing his dick tip against her while she glanced back at him with those spoiled eyes and luscious, pouty lips. She needed to be punished. Needed to be on her knees and sucking his dick. If she complained about his length choking her, he would slap her and train her to show some respect for the gift of having his length stretch her mouth.

His erection was harder than steel and he kept playing an image of her begging forgiveness for being such a bitch. Killmonger wanted to cum all over her face and mess up that illusion of perfection she had about herself. Knowing what he did about her for nearly a week, he already understood that she would try to break his resolve and manhood down to control him. She needed a strong Daddy to put her right, and the thought of her sucking his balls while she stared at him with insolent eyes sent him over the edge, and ribbons of hot cum shot all over his hand and midsection. His dick was still hard as he beat it again, thinking of her pussy contracting all over his erection. She just had a way about her that made him want to tame her. Break her down. Force her to submit and sit that plump ass on his face.

He rolled over, groaning into his pillow, angry that she had reduced him to playing with himself when he was supposed to be overseeing his men. Cleaning up quickly, he went topside to check on the action above. Quinton and his guests had all retired for late afternoon naps to prepare for the evening's festivities. A fancy seven-course Mediterranean meal was planned for the New Year's celebration and they invited all the mercs to join in the fun with their shifts.

Portia wore her alabaster bikini again with a coral beach wrap skirt. Diamond earrings decorated her ears and a huge blue diamond necklace sat on her neck worth more than Killmonger made in a year legally. She toned down her make-up, going for a natural look, and the switch-up was extraordinary. It softened her face more, and she became even more beautiful.

Killmonger ate his fill of the gourmet food and allowed himself one glass of champagne before changing shifts with another merc. He kept his dark clothes on and strolled alone along the uppermost deck. The ship captain ate from a plate and Erik glanced over at the fireworks ship. He lifted the work binoculars from his chest and stepped back outside to observe the water and sky. No moon. Just stars stretched across the heavens, sparkling the jewels all over Portia.

The fireworks show started at eleven-thirty for a slow countdown to midnight. Killmonger positioned himself on the deck overlooking the stern. Below him, the rich guests gathered with more champagne and small desserts to watch the show. It was spectacular. Fireworks had never impressed him before, but he found himself looking at the sophisticated light show over the sea. Dazzling shapes and styles of explosives brought a magical ambiance all around them. Portia squealed and clapped her hands like a child, often pushing her face against Quinton's shoulder whenever an explosive boomed too loud and scared her. She looked cute while enjoying herself and Killmonger wondered why she couldn't be like that all the time. A certain type of sweetness exuded from her, as if she had put away that mask of cool she always wore, just to be a regular woman having a good time.

A server approached Killmonger with a tray of champagne.

"Why not?" Killmonger said, lifting a glass.

He drank it down and kept his eye on Portia, enjoying the fireworks.

Portia gulped down another glass of champagne and watched a firework turn into a rose in the sky. She clapped and oohed and ahhed to her heart's content. It was a beautiful way to end a relationship. A part of her actually felt a little bad about dumping Quinton after the trip. He would find someone new with a lower income bracket, hopefully, someone who loved him for who he was and not his wallet. The poor schlep was the type of dude who used money to buy his way into the quality of woman he wanted, which was not who he needed. Perhaps if Portia had remained a small-town girl working finance at a bank or small business in her old hometown, Quinton would've been deemed, in her mind, the catch of a lifetime. Alas, that was not the ocean current she rolled in. His ego was big, and he felt entitled to beautiful women simply because he had a dick and some money. Cultivating a personality, hobbies, or real solid friendships was not in his wheelhouse. Trophy girlfriends would never bring him happiness.

The champagne bubbles in her flute tickled her nose. She glanced over at Tiana who looked seasick from too much liquor in her system. Maybe there was some hope for Quinton being with her enemy. Everyone deserved love.

Portia was about to go check on Mimi in her cabin before it hit midnight. She gave the Pomeranian a doggy sedative to keep her from anxiety with all the fireworks noise, and she worried her fur baby would be frightened without checking in with her. The crackle of a spectacularly loud firework drew her attention to the sky again. A chain of enormous fiery lights popped off, and she glanced at her dainty Patek Philippe watch. It wasn't midnight yet for any kind of grand finale. Unless something bigger was about to erupt in the sky after that volley of bright multi-colored lights. She clapped and heard a loud popping sound.

"Did a firework not go off?" she asked.

Her girlfriends shrugged before a gigantic explosion rocked the bow of the ship that was not part of the show. The yacht lurched, and Portia fell to her knees off-balance with her platform heels. Smoke and flames filled her shocked eyes. Everyone nervously headed toward the front to see what the hell happened and more popping sounds commenced from behind them. Tiana fell on top of her with Carlos. Portia's two other friends shrieked and ran, cut down by a hail of bullets through their backs. Portia pushed the limp and bloody woman off of her legs and shoved Carlos away too. The man's eyes looked up at her with a lifeless stare, and Portia screamed. She stayed on her hands and knees to keep low while looking up toward the higher decks. Killmonger had a modified M249 up and shot toward the sea targets. The fireworks ship exploded into a reddish-orange fireball, blazing the night sky with more flames and thick smoke. Parts of that ship flew over onto the deck of the yacht. One of Killmonger's men shot a grenade launcher from his weapon, aiming for some enemy Portia couldn't see on the dark water.

"Portia! Stay down!" Killmonger called out to her.

She did what he said and hid under Carlos and Tiana again, trying not to lose it as their warm blood dripped all down her legs and pooled at her feet. She swiped some of the cooling blood from her limbs and wiped it all over her throat to make herself look injured and played dead on the deck. Quinton ran toward the side of the yacht, and Portia wanted to follow, but the volley of intense bullets whizzed over her head. She covered her face, hearing loud splashes of water and yelling. The mercs around her scuffled with people who had climbed aboard. A powerful arm lifted her up by her waist.

"You been hit?" Killmonger asked.

"No!"

A merc near Killmonger took a shot between the eyes and dropped in front of her.

"Let's go!" Killmonger yelled, helping a server go with them.

The attackers cut the server down in mid-step and Portia realized with horror that all the guests except for her and Quinton were in a dead bloody heap all across the deck. She only lucked out because two bodies fell on her, shielding her from becoming human Swiss cheese. Another of Killmonger's team ran past them to fight, giving cover. Killmonger led her to the secret emergency door that held the military boat.

"Wait! I have to get Mimi!" she yelped.

"Fuck that dog!" Killmonger yelled.

Portia pushed back on the tears that welled up in her eyes. Her poor baby was locked inside her little travel kennel. She'd die all alone in her crate without her Mommy. The yacht tipped to the side, knocked by another explosive. Killmonger helped her into the emergency boat and made her put on a life vest.

"Wait here," he said.

"Don't leave me!" she shrieked, clutching his free hand with desperate fingers.

"I have to check for other survivors on the yacht's crew."

Her heart thudded in her chest so fast it made her gasp for air. She sat inside the boat and grabbed one of the gray emergency blankets and pulled it around her, hiding down low in the boat in case an armed pirate burst in. Portia was small enough to look like a lumpy seat. The odor of smoke crept down to where she was, and after some time, she worried Killmonger was dead. She wanted to wait another ten minutes for him, and then figure out a way to get the boat out onto the water by herself before the entire yacht sank into the sea.

It became hard to breathe under the blanket. She made a little breathing space for herself where she could still be covered up, but the smoke from the fires above seeped down to where she was. The sounds of shooting had stopped. Silence took over, and she debated about going out to see if the pirates had left. Time kept ticking, and the boat listed. Adrenaline had kept her going. But now the tears flowed.

The emergency door burst open, and Portia held her breath and stayed perfectly still. Mimi's woozy and weak bark yapped for her. She threw off the blanket and Killmonger was there, carrying Mimi's travel kennel and a backpack. He handed Portia the dog and tossed the backpack on the boat. Pressing a few buttons on a side wall of the yacht, a release ramp opened and slid down toward the water. He pushed the boat more, and it slid easily with a quiet splash. The yacht leaned further over and they would have to hurry to avoid being sucked down with it.

Killmonger untied ropes that secured the boat to the off-ramp. His face was full of concentration and determination to get them out of there. He put the safety on his weapon and leaned over to drop it in the boat when a masked man wearing dark clothing similar to Killmonger's uniform charged him, jamming his AK-47 under his throat and choking him.

Killmonger flipped the man over onto his back, punched him once and whipped out a Glock from his waist, and blasted the man's forehead. Blood and brain matter splattered, and Portia was too shocked to scream. Killmonger leaped into the boat and started the quiet motor, guiding them away from the yacht. She watched the burning luxury boat slowly sink as they bounced across the water. The pirate boat that attacked them sat on the other side and she thanked God there was no moon because the flames from both ships burning distracted their attackers from seeing them. Portia closed her eyes and let the cool sea breeze dry the sweat of fear all over her. The further away they were, the safer she felt. Her breathing returned to normal once the yacht and the surrounding madness became a tiny shiny speck on the horizon.

Killmonger checked some guidance apps on his military watch computer and took them toward some uninhabited Greek island chains. After about forty minutes, they hid their getaway boat on a small rocky isle inside an island littoral cave that made Killmonger feel secure staying there until he could contact help. Waves had eroded away an opening in the limestone, creating a sea cave that hid and protected them from the elements. He stuck a small headlamp on his head, giving them the only light source to look around. Killmonger handed her one too, and she placed it around her forehead. He dragged the boat once they hit soft sand. The cavern was dark and warm, like a womb. There were flares and a bulky charged satellite phone on the boat.

"I'll use the phone tomorrow and shoot off a flare for rescue when it's safe. We may have to stay out here a few days," he said.

"A few days? Why that long?" she said.

"That was a coordinated attack. They'll be looking for survivors all night and tomorrow. They knew exactly how many people were on that yacht, and you and I are no longer there. It was a hit… on everyone," he said. "There's also a storm moving in and that will hinder rescue efforts."

"Maybe they'll think we drowned and just go," she reasoned.

"They will sweep for floating bodies. Trust me."

He stopped and looked at her hard. She had opened Mimi's crate and held her frightened dog on her lap.

"Portia… Quinton set this whole thing up. I saw and heard him talking with the hit squad when I grabbed Mimi. He left with them on the attack boat."

Portia shook her head.

"No… that's not true… Quinton's a tech guy. He doesn't know pirates and shit…"

"He's going to disappear like he's dead, too. Collect on all the insurance he had on everyone there and that yacht. You told me he was going broke. He fixed his financial problem by getting money for you, your friends, and his billionaire buddies. The men he hired are going to make sure you and I are dead, so we don't snitch on what really happened."

Portia looked down at Mimi and felt the blood rush to her head like she was going to pass out.

"I can't believe this. He killed all those people to save his ass financially."

Killmonger pulled out a cold bottle of water from the backpack he brought and handed it to her.

"Can we last for three days out here?" she asked.

He nodded and showed her a wide variety of goods stored on the boat.

"There's enough food on her for several days that could last a week if needed. Since there are only two of us, we can eat as much as we want and stretch it out if we have to. We have fresh water… blankets. Toilet paper, sunblock, bug spray. We're good. Just have to keep hidden from the clean-up crew."

Killmonger sounded confident, and Portia inhaled deeply. He saved her life and would protect her on their…

New home. She looked around the boat again. There was plenty of room on one end for them both to stretch out and rest. The weapons attached to the hull could thwart a small army. Portia sipped a little water, gave some to Mimi with a cupped hand, then placed the dog back in her kennel. She prayed her fur baby didn't bark after the sedative wore off completely.

Killmonger made soft pallets of extra blankets for them to sleep on while she turned off her light and stepped out of the boat. She walked back to the water. After rinsing the blood off of her body and shoes, she returned to him, and they both stretched out in opposite directions. She felt him move around on his end. Lifting to see what he was doing, she caught him taking off his uniform. He stripped down to his black boxer briefs and huddled back up under his covers. Portia changed positions and crawled to his end when her body spasmed. She rested against his back, spooning him to capture some of his warmth, hoping the shaking in her limbs would stop. Her body moved with uncontrollable, jerky movements and she felt cold. Killmonger faced her quickly and put his arms around her.

"What's happening to me? My arms and legs keep shaking," she whispered.

"You're going through adrenaline withdrawal. Shit was crazy that you went through, and your body was all keyed up for action. It's trying to get back to equilibrium."

"How do you seem so calm? Shouldn't you be shaking too?"

"I'm used to it. Don't worry. It won't last long."

He opened up his blanket to her, and she eased her face against his wide chest. The keloid scars were smooth and slippery-feeling against her skin. His heartbeat was a steady drumming to her ears. Her shallow breathing eventually evened out to match his, and she could rest calmly next to him. The scent of his skin had a soothing musk odor, some cologne mixed with his own sweat, giving off an intoxicating smell. He adjusted his body to give her more room, and she closed her eyes to sleep.

Waking up hours later, she opened her eyes to see him looking down at her with the softest brown eyes. For the entire yacht trip, he always wore a scowl on his face with narrow cruel eyes that held disdain for her. Now… she looked at another man completely. A roar of water drew her attention back toward the opening of the cave. The light pastel colors of dawn greeted them with shades of turquoise and honey yellow bleeding into a blood-orange tapestry. The rising tide rolled in, gently pushing their boat against the sand, rocking their bodies like a mother's hand tending to a cradle. Killmonger had the boat fastened to a stake that he pounded into the sand to keep them from floating out into the sea while they slept.

Sitting up, she admired the view. The clear, tranquil water sparkled as the sun rose higher and the colors in the sky changed into new brighter hues. It took Portia's breath away, bringing tears to her eyes. The rust color of the cave's roof seemed to glow. In the distance, she noticed other island chain formations that probably never had a human walk on them. She wondered if the awe she felt was the same awe that God had when the heavens and the earth were made complete. The scene before her looked like a painting. She spent most of her life drinking, partying all night, burning through rich men's money, and sleeping hungover until noon. When had she ever witnessed a sunrise like the one spread before her sober eyes? What a way to enter a new year.

Porta laid her head back down and noticed that her bikini top had fallen off in her sleep. She was topless in front of him. Throwing an arm over her chest, she glanced around for her knitted top.

"Don't trip," he said with a grin.

He reached above his head and handed her a small container of grape juice. She took it and drank down the sweetness.

"Hungry?" he asked.

She shook her head no, the fruit juice helping revive her blood sugar. Pushing the blanket away from her lower body, she luxuriated in the balmy comfort of the air. Tilting her head back, she noticed an opening at the top of the cave that dropped a beam of early morning light on her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, letting the inside of her lids turn red from the sun bathing her more. A calloused finger stroked down the side of her cheek. Portia's eyes popped back open as Killmonger dragged his index finger against her skin. She lifted a finger and traced one of his keloid scars across his right pec. He was her hero. During the shootout and explosions, he had his eyes on her, making sure she was safe.

Killmonger dropped his head down and kissed her. She could taste toothpaste and fruit juice on his tongue. A static sound interrupted their joining, and he pulled away from her to pick up the satellite phone. He spoke in a rushed tone, giving coordinates and relaying a warning about the attack and Quinton's hand in it. There was a personal locator beacon with a strong GPS tracker he was going to keep on so they could find them. She closed her eyes and rested her head on her hands, letting Killmonger deal with everything. Soon after, he shut the phone off to save the battery. Turning to her, he stretched his arms and sighed.

"It's going to take time to reach us. The storm is sitting over Crete and moving slowly. Rough waves."

"But they are coming?" she asked.

"Yes."

Portia fell onto her back and stared up at the cave roof with relief. People knew where they were and would find them.

"I want to eat now," she said.

Killmonger pulled out MRE packages and small disposable plates. She dumped out a packet of southwest beef with black beans and tortillas. There was a chocolate banana nut muffin and apple slices mixed in a spice sauce, a cheese spread, and peanut butter. Portia made herself a burrito, and the food gave her the calories and energy she needed. Killmonger made them coffee over a small propane stove he put together and joined her with his own meal.

"Not bad," she said, stuffing the muffin in her mouth.

"We can have a white meat chicken salad with crackers and pasta for lunch," he said.

She wolfed down her burrito and wiped her lips. Finishing quickly, she let Mimi out of her cage and fed her from the packs of fancy dog food stored inside the kennel with her. She let the dog run around in the cave's interior to relieve herself. Mimi stayed away from the water and occupied her attention quietly by digging holes all in the back of the cave. Looking around, Portia was happy to see there was nothing inside the small cave with them except sand and the tiny beach made by the water lapping inside gently. Killmonger pulled out a large tan camouflage netting.

"Step out. Grab your top," he said.

Portia stunned herself by noticing she had stayed topless the entire time eating. She tied her titties up and draped her wrap skirt around her neck into a dress. She slipped on her platforms and picked up Mimi. Killmonger covered the boat up with the netting, blending it into the background of tan sand.

"Put the dog in its kennel so we can look around and I can plant this tracker up high," he said.

"She'll bark," she said.

Killmonger rolled his eyes.

"Then carry her," he said.

He pulled on his pants, and she eyed the bulge at his crotch. His flaccid state was bigger than Quinton's erect state. Portia checked herself for thinking sexy thoughts in their dire situation.

Dire?

It wasn't, really. They had all they needed and good people were coming for them. He placed several water bottles, a Glock, the satellite phone, and the beacon locator, inside a small pack and slung it around his shoulders. She followed him out of the cave, stepping on vast rock formations on the side to keep from getting her platforms wet. Climbing up the side of a hill, they made their way through brush and mostly barren land. There weren't very many trees and the ones that existed were small, or dead, and had fallen over. She kicked a few on the ground and they crumbled from contact, drier than the heat cooking their skin. Killmonger was already a shade darker, and it looked good on him. His biceps were beefy and darker brown. Her own dark skin took on a red tinge with her rich color. At a glance, they looked like tourists ambling about looking for t-shirts to buy for back home, not shipwrecked targets for death.

"Ow!"

Portia tripped on some sand and eroding rocks, bumping into Killmonger and almost knocking him over.

"Watch it," he barked.

"Sorry! I wasn't trying to bump into you—"

"Take those ridiculous shoes off so you can walk better—"

"It's too hot."

"No, it's not—"

"Yes, it is—"

They fussed like an old married couple all the way to the highest point of the island. He stuck the tracker in the ground and checked to make sure it was working properly. Gazing out at the sea around them, Killmonger lifted binoculars from his chest and peered out further.

"See anything?"

"No."

"That's a good sign, right?" she asked.

Portia put Mimi down so the dog could sniff around and urinate. Mimi happily sniffed and marked territory. When she padded over too close to a drop, Porta scooped her back up. There didn't seem to be any wildlife at all.

"Do you think there are a lot of snakes on this island?"

"Maybe. I haven't seen much scat or midden left behind," he said, searching the sea with the binoculars.

"What's that?"

"Scat is animal shit, and midden is their refuse… the food they've nibbled on and left behind. I only spotted some anthills and one bird so far. Not much to sustain a lot of snakes."

He glanced over at her.

"Just walk hard. Your vibration will scare them off. Keep that rat dog in sight, though."

"She's a Pomeranian."

"Looks like a rat dressed in a hot ass fur coat."

Portia looked at her baby. Mimi did pant. She grabbed a water bottle from Killmonger's pack and poured some on the dog.

"Whatchu doin'?! That's for drinking," Killmonger scolded.

"She's hot. I don't want her to get sunstroke."

He held his hand outstretched.

"We're surrounded by cool seawater. Dunk her rat ass in that. Stop wasting what we need to survive!"

Portia pouted.

"I wasn't thinking about that. I just wanted to help her."

"Let me do all the thinking then…" he grumbled.

They explored more, trekking around the entire island in under an hour. She dunked Mimi in a pool of water that came up from a natural aquifer of fresh water near the cave entrance. Killmonger grumbled again, so she walked her dog into the seawater and cooled them both off. He shut his mouth when she removed her beach wrap and frolicked with Mimi until a small wave knocked her poor pooch over. She walked out of the water dripping with her diamonds glittering, making her look like a Black Venus rising to the mortal world. He licked his thick lips, and she shuddered at the thought of that mouth on her body. Killmonger was bossy and so easily annoyed by her. However, he was also attracted to her and Portia played into that whenever he gave a tired sigh with her antics spoiling her fur baby. She made a little condo property for Mimi with her dog kennel. Moving it far back in the cave, she gave the dog a bowl of water and dried dog food with space to call her own to keep away from Killmonger. She decorated the front of the crate with pretty rocks and shells she collected and doted on her little one until Mimi fell asleep, farting from all the snack treats Portia gave her to help with the stress of a new environment.

He checked in with the rescue team on the phone and made them lunch. She sensed he felt more relaxed after finding fresh water on the island that they could use if they needed to. They ate in silence together, sitting on the sand and staring at the water. To be stranded on an island with a trained killer wasn't such an awful experience. Underneath the rough exterior was a man who held her hand to help her move around the island, and who also made sure she was hydrated. He pointed out natural formations of some of the island's geography around them and double-checked for snakes as they stepped over fallen trees. She gripped his arm when they moved into questionable areas, and at one point, she slipped her hand into his as he guided her back down toward the cave.

She took a nap on the sand and woke up to a crackling fire. Killmonger had gathered wood and dried brush, making a cozy glow that couldn't be seen from the narrow opening of the cave from the outside. They watched a new sliver of moon rise and a blanket of blue-black sky rest over the island for the night. She grinned and nibbled on chocolate chip cookies, humming and rocking on her backside as she ate. He laughed at her.

"What?" she said

"You look like a little kid on a girl scout campfire trip," he teased.

"Funny, because I used to be a girl scout."

"A girl scout… and you didn't know what scat and midden were?"

"I must've missed that part. I just looked good in the uniform," she said.

He smiled, and the bright, genuine light it brought to his face made him even more handsome. Killmonger was fine, no doubt, but there was something else deep within him that made him even more attractive. She thought of the way he lifted her up with one arm, shooting with the other as he rushed her to safety. His eyes always slid over to hers, even before the attack, when they were floating in tranquility. Portia had teased him sexually, doing things to get a rise out of him. It had started as a dismissive act, letting him see what he would never have in life, and it changed into active taunting, daring him to step up to the challenge so she could smack him down and belittle his audacity to think he was ever on her level.

Sitting in a cave with a peaceful campfire, her gaze on him brought clarity. She had been attracted to him the moment he put her in check on their first meeting. People always did what she wanted, and he had been the first man to push back on her attitude. She picked at him every time he showed up in her face.

"Penny for your thoughts," he said.

"You couldn't afford my thoughts," she said in a playful tone.

He smirked, then added more wood to the fire. Her eyes drifted up to watch the smoke go through the hole in the high roof.

"You think they're done looking for us? Should we even have a fire with the smoke floating… they could see it."

"By now, they should think we're dead. They never saw us leave on the boat and the yacht is at the bottom of the ocean by now, so they can't even check to see about the emergency escape, even if Quinton mentioned it. I won't have this going for long," he said.

"I like it," she said, holding her hands and feet up, warming her fingers and toes.

They didn't need the extra warmth. The cave was already cozy, but it brought comfort to their predicament.

"I'll sleep out here tonight and keep watch," he said. "I'll have to hike around a bit too, to check in other directions from the top."

She looked around for a blanket or pallet on the sand. There was nothing to lie on. Perhaps his soldier ways let him sleep cross-legged and upright. Her eyes became drowsy. Standing and stretching, she stared out at sea, admiring the sizeable chunk of island rock that faced across from their private paradise.

"I thought a storm was coming," she said.

"It is. Can't you feel the temperature drop? The sky is changing too. Won't hit until later tonight, and it won't be as bad out here. The sheer rock of that island over there is shielding us, and the tide doesn't get very high in here. We're good," he said.

She nodded.

"Night," she called.

"Night," he said.

She checked on Mimi, then snuggled inside the boat with the blankets. Killmonger went and grabbed the solar lights that he sat out in the sun all day and brought into the cave, jamming them down in the sand near the boat. He even posted two by Mimi's kennel because Portia told him the dog was nervous about being in the dark. Her mind tried to stay positive. She wondered how bad the storm could be if the hole at the top of the roof flooded with rainwater. Killmonger didn't appear concerned, so she let the thought drop.

After an hour, a soft splash of water forced her to lift and see what the noise was. Mimi hated water, so there were no worries there. Portia spotted Killmonger on the far side of the cave, splashing his naked feet into the liquid heaven.

"Lord," she whispered into her own mouth, watching him.

He was totally nude and moved his body with an assured grace that made him look like Poseidon returning to the sea. She could not stop staring at his taut glutes and powerful thighs. His keloid scars were all over his back, too. Killmonger walked in waist-deep before dunking his head underwater and wetting his locs. He ran a hand over his hair and shook them, stretching his arms out wide, traveling deeper into the sea until she could only see his head. Going under a few times, he moved closer to shore, and she noticed the small bottle of liquid soap in his hand. He washed all over, rubbing his muscles, and cleaning between his toes and elsewhere. Rinsing off, he dropped the bottle of soap on the sand for later and put on his pants without his boxer briefs. He padded back over to the dying fire and stopped when he saw Mimi sitting near his previous seat.

"Getcho ass back in that kennel," he ordered.

Mimi only sat and stared at him.

He sat down next to the pampered pooch and placed Mimi on his lap. Portia giggled and hid under the blankets.

Smoke and flashes of a blazing fire blinded her eyes. The shouts of fear and the odor of fresh blood grounded her back on the yacht. She had moved so slowly. Champagne and the thrill of fireworks put her in a loopy mood and the horror of the attack froze her and probably saved her life. Tiana and Carlos ran and Portia stood there like a statue, her mind trying to fathom what was wrong with the scenario before she was tackled by the running dead and free-falling onto her back.

"No!"

Portia shot up inside the boat, her heart jackhammering in her chest. Her throat clogged with a scream as she relived the attack. Staring at her shaking hands in front of her face, she expected to see blood and brain matter again as another scream ripped from her lips.

"Hey, it's okay… shhh… it's only a nightmare…"

Killmonger jumped into the boat with her and the fading dream had her beating his chest thinking he was an attacker. The lucidity made her claw at his face and he pulled her into his chest, rocking her, cooing soft words into her ear to bring her back to reality and the safety of the cave. Mimi whined behind her and the sound of the dog snapped her to the present. She fell apart then, wailing into Killmonger's chest, her mouth wide open and unable to close as if the terror she endured would crawl out of her throat. Quinton tried to kill her. Her body could've been at the bottom of the sea becoming fish food and no one would know the truth of what he did to her or all of their so-called friends. Portia moaned and jammed a hand against her mouth.

"You're good, Portia. I'm here and we're okay. Just a bad dream…"

She looked up at his face, then wrapped her arms around his neck. He leaned back in the boat, letting her rest on top of him. He stroked her spine and his rough hands on her bare skin brought her back from the brink of totally losing all control of her emotions. She wiped her eyes and covered her face, weeping quietly against him.

"I was waiting for this. Some people take longer to process what happened to them. You tried your best to act like you were okay all day," he whispered.

Her breath shuddered as his soothing voice and hands brought her into a calm state.

"I was so scared," she said.

"I know."

"It was so fast and… I couldn't move…"

"You did well considering all that was happening at one time… even wiped blood on yourself to fool them. That's thinking on your toes, Ma. Most people just scream and holler, then get caught up in the shock. You ran and did what you had to do."

"Thank you for saving me," she whispered.

"That was my job."

His fingers dragged up and down her spine, making her skin feel tingly and warm. She crawled off of him and snuggled into his side, hiding her face in his chest. Portia enjoyed being there. It felt comfortable and safe. He stroked her arms and tried to leave her side to return to his post, but she gripped his arm and pulled him back next to her.

"Don't go," she said.

A soft sprinkle of rain fell on the water. The storm had arrived. The pleasant patter of droplets striking the sea eased her mind and body. Her nightmare faded, easily forgotten, while cozied up against him.

"Try to sleep," he said.

Killmonger rested his head on the makeshift pillow his work jacket made and she stared into his eyes. The solar lights gave her a soft ambiance to look at him with.

"By tomorrow evening, they should be near enough where I can shoot a flare so they can pick us up. Hang on to that thought," he said.

She nodded into his shoulder and released a final shudder that loosened all the tension in her body. Absent-mindedly, she rubbed her fingers across the top of his naked chest, feeling the slick contours of his keloids against the pads of her fingertips. Tracing her fingers under his neck, she took a bold step and ran her finger across his full lips. Raising herself higher, Portia kissed him, enjoying the sensation of warm plush fullness outlining her own plump softness. His lips smothered hers as he took over the kissing. She expected a feral roughness with him, but he was buttery soft and so gentle with her mouth. Even his large tongue surprised her with how seductively slow it was exploring the inside of her mouth. Their kisses were languid and so unrushed that she could almost fool herself into thinking that they had been lovers in some other past life together. There was no clumsy fumbling newness as their tongues sought an understanding of their changed physical relationship.

She tugged on his bottom lip with her teeth, and he smiled. He kissed his own trail down her face and onto her neck where he buried those sharp gold teeth and nibbled on her throat, shooting sparks of pleasure down to her toes and back. Groaning out loud, she delighted in his fingers pinching her nipples through her bikini top. She untied it and freed her breasts. His hand palmed their fullness, and she glanced down at his crotch. His dick tented his pants. She helped unfasten them, releasing his erection. It was a hot, rigid thing in her hand and his head fell back, allowing a deep groan to release from his mouth.

"Stroke that shit," he huffed into her neck while untying the bottom of her bikini himself.

She moved over as he wiggled out of his pants and gasped when she saw his dick and balls together. Her pussy throbbed while looking at the heft and length. Pre-cum pearled at his tip and ran down the sides and she helped slicken that big dick in a hurry, eliciting more guttural moans from him. She liked the pleasurable sounds falling from his lips and squeezed her fingers around the bulbous tip. The hole there opened wider and clear fluid drizzled onto the gap of her thumb and index finger.

"Fuck, baby," he gasped when she twisted and tugged under the ridge.

His fingers found her clit and her pussy wasted no time becoming slick and wet, her folds opening up for him like a blooming rose. He stared between her legs, licked his lips, and flashed those gold slugs. She lost control of the tremors making her body weak for him. Slick sounds met his fingers, and he played with her pussy lips until she was begging for him to do more.

"Play with your pussy. Lemme see you do what you did on the boat when you were teasing me," he huffed.

Her diamond-crusted fingernails made her pussy so pretty for him. She could see his arousal grow in his glassy eyes. She rubbed her clit, then held her folds open. He licked his fingers and stuck them in her mouth. She sucked on them, showing him everything she could do for his dick. He closed his eyes and his lips parted. Panting, he played in her mouth. His big dick twitched and jumped against her thigh, spewing more pre-cum.

"Lemme play in this pussy," he begged.

She opened her legs, and he inserted two fingers inside of her opening, gently testing the limits of what she could take. Portia whimpered when he started tapping on the sides of her walls, flicking his fingers back and forth like a butterfly fluttering away. He knew how to stimulate pussy. Killmonger wasn't rough or jerky with his movements either. He watched her face to read what she could handle from him and kissed her often, slow and steady, binding Portia to him like he was kissing a magic spell into her mouth, conjuring more pleasure from the nerves that woke up all over her writhing body. He fingered her pussy and sucked on her nipples, turning her body into mush that the sea could wash away with the tide.

"Listen to that pussy… fuck… I knew this shit was good… fuck…" he moaned.

"Killmonger," she cried out as his fingers hit spots in her that hadn't been touched in so long.

"You loved showing this pussy to me. So fat in this bikini. Letting me see these pussy lips all the time… teasing me…"

He pulled his fingers out against the clenching she began doing around them. He sucked her juices from his fingers and admired the frothy wetness that glistened all over her puffy folds. Slapping her vulva, he stood up and forced her to her knees.

"Suck this dick," he commanded.

Portia obeyed, jumping to her knees and swallowing his dick head like it was her last meal in life. He pushed his dick in further and her mouth stretched around it. She pressed her hand on his stomach to control the depth, but he slapped her face. The shock of the sting aroused her, and she stared up at him with heated eyes and a throbbing pussy.

"You gon' take this dick how I feed it to you… spoiled bitch. Now suck on it… put those fucking hands away. I want all mouth, Portia."

Portia opened her mouth wider, and he went in deeper. She gagged while trying to suck and slurp, and her eyes watered, but Killmonger slapped the other side of her face, disappointed with her performance.

"I thought you were better than this. You can't handle this dick?"

Her forehead creased with anger. She always gave world-class head. No man had ever complained about her oral skills. She gripped the root of his dick and he slapped her hands away.

"I said all mouth, and I meant all mouth!"

He pushed her back, and the anger that sat on his face excited her. Killmonger wasn't pleased at all. She licked his balls and kissed her way back to his dick again to try better. Taking her time, she licked around the slit and under the head, coating her tongue with all the pre-cum that dripped from him. He dragged his tip across her lips, making them glossy, and nudged the seam of her lips back open.

"Let's see if you can do better," he said.

She adjusted her knees with the blankets and sucked on that dick tip, using her full concentration. Her suction with her lips improved, and she even grazed her teeth gently around him to switch up her performance. He treated her like a little puppet that needed her strings pulled when she didn't suck to his satisfaction. She worked her ass off to get a groan, a moan, or a "Good girl," to drip from his sexy lips. He patted her head and sometimes pulled her braids to force her lips to do better.

"How are you gonna pull that nut outta Daddy when you stay playin' like that? Huh? Is this your best?" he asked.

She popped his dick out of her mouth with a torrent of saliva falling onto her breasts and pouted.

"Not as good as you thought you were. Do better," he said, shoving his dick back in.

Portia wanted to cry. She gave him grade A head, and it still wasn't up to par. All the tricks she had used over the years to get men off failed her. There were moments when she thought she had made a breakthrough, but he grumbled and told her she was not even close to getting him off.

"Look up at me when you suck that dick," he said.

Frustrated, she gazed up at him as he deep-throated her neck. That gorgeous face and big ass lips had her pussy clenching on nothing but air. Her walls felt so swollen and ached for his dick to lay her out. A few tears streaked down her face as her frustration grew.

"That's a good girl. Now take some more of Daddy's dick. Show me you can follow directions," he said.

She wanted to please him so badly. He played with her nipples and breasts as she worked her neck, throating him down as best she could. Her loud gawking echoed throughout the cave.

"Jaws getting tired?" he teased in a mean tone.

He pulled his dick out and glared at her.

"Tell Daddy you're sorry for letting him down with that mouth," he demanded.

The gruff tone ignited the ache in her clit. He threaded the braids in the back of her head with the fingers of his left hand and tilted her head while fisting his dick. He gently yanked on her hair.

"What I say? Tell Daddy you're sorry for that trash sucking," he barked.

"I can do better," she pleaded.

"You had a long time to show me, and it didn't happen."

He grunted and stared at her ripe lips, his right hand working that length like he was ready to burst. Gripping her head with his hand, he bared his slugs.

"Sorry, Daddy—"

"For what?" he gasped, narrowing his eyes as he brought his tip closer to her whimpering mouth.

"—for not sucking your dick right. Please, I can suck your dick so good!"

Portia fondled her left breast and groped between her legs to flick her clit. Begging him for a chance to prove herself was the only goal she had in life. She needed him to cum… couldn't take her next breath until he was satisfied. Killmonger had scorn written all over his expression.

"Daddy, I'm sorry…" she whined.

"Oh fuck, dassit, dassit!" he shouted.

Hot cum shot out in thick ropes all over her cheeks and lips, accompanied by a roar from his throat that enhanced his release. She opened her mouth to catch the last drops of his orgasm and she came all over her own fingers while enjoying the pure ecstasy on his straining face.

"Damn, Portia… oh… baby… shit!"

Another streak of cum shot out, and he aimed it for the other side of her face. His ejaculate dripped down, and she rubbed it onto her chest, showing him how much it meant to have him all over her breasts. He gave a low laugh and stumbled back.

"Whew… damn, girl. I was tryna hold back for so long. Your head game is fucking superb."

She licked her fingers and then stared at him.

"You were playing with me?" she asked.

"Not at first. You're used to simps being satisfied with the bare minimum. I'm a grown-ass man who needs you to show and prove with this dick. It's not for the weak, and you showed the fuck out."

He lifted her up, and she didn't want him to do anything else until she had wiped her face and chest off with a wet wipe. Killmonger hugged and kissed her afterward. They stood in the boat, necking until she couldn't take any more. She climbed him like Santa Claus was bearing gifts and wrapped her legs around him.

"I want you sitting on my mouth," he said between desperate kisses from her lips.

She slid down his body and he situated himself comfortably on the blankets. Portia squatted over his face and planted her pussy on his lips. He let it rest there, feeling the wetness all over before humming and moaning into her flesh.

"Ooh," she moaned, scissoring her clit.

He slapped her fingers away, and she looked down at him. The glow from the lamps made his eyes a liquid brown dream, and he slathered that wide tongue up and down her folds, circling her clit with the tip. He held onto her ass cheeks and she mewled and bit her bottom lip to keep from hollering out his name. Killmonger slapped both of her ass cheeks before sliding his hands under and over her thighs to lock her down on his tongue. He made it stiff, and she lifted herself to let him insert it nice and snug inside of her. Cradling her breasts, Portia went up and down and he fucked her with tongue, lips, and groans that vibrated her folds.

"Killmonger!" she yelled, not caring if pirates, snakes, Mimi, the Coast Guard, or God heard her cries of pleasure.

His tongue was delectable on her pussy and inside of it. The strength of his hands supporting her, his burning gaze rooting her to his lips… everything about him gave her chills. The effort to cum was minimal. Her orgasm shattered her ability to think clearly anymore. She babbled something or other like she was talking in tongues at her old church back in South Carolina. Bucking and yelping made no difference. That man was going to turn her pussy out. She whimpered and fell forward, unable to move any limbs. His laughter at pleasing her bounced all over the cave and she joined him, reveling in the joy that their bodies could share with one another.

Killmonger held Portia carefully in his arms as they kissed.

The taste of the deepest part of her stayed on his tongue and he shared the gift of that with her. She clung to him as if she feared him disappearing into the wet, rainy night. He had to do a patrol and fished around for night vision goggles he found stashed in a sideboard on the boat. Putting on his pants and combat boots, he didn't bother to wear a t-shirt and just tossed on his black jacket. He stuffed the satellite phone into an inside pocket and strapped his Glock around his thigh.

Portia watched him under the blankets, staring up at him with so much lust that it tempted him to forego an island sweep to stay with her. Grabbing an unfinished water bottle, he knelt down next to her and pressed his warm lips against her forehead.

"Keep it hot for me," he said, winking at her.

He wasn't finished with her by a long shot. They only experienced oral sex, each taking turns to taste and learn the other's private parts intimately.

Killmonger trudged out of the cave with Portia's scent on his beard. He placed the night vision goggles on once he was out of her sight. He hiked around, searching the sea even as a light rain came down on him. Without Portia being with him, he could get around fast. He turned on the phone and checked for any missed calls from the Greek Coast Guard. They were operating under extreme weather conditions on their end, despite the mild display on their side. Killmonger was glad that they found a place to hide that shielded them. He hoped the bad weather stayed outside of Crete and didn't follow their rescue unit.

Nothing unusual appeared on the horizon. Confident that they were in the clear, he took a moment to let the soft rain bathe his face. He hiked back to Portia and rinsed himself off before getting back into their boat bed with her naked again. She threw her arms around him like she was his woman, greeting her man after a hard day's work.

Oh, how the tables had turned!

Hiding away turned her into a bubbly, humorous woman who sought beauty all around her. It mesmerized him, watching the glow on her face as the sunrise brought her to tears that morning. She was thankful for the plain food they had to eat, and she didn't complain too much about their situation or bug him about checking the phone more than he did. His leadership and take-charge attitude allowed her to fall back into a space of just living in the present. He liked that version of her and wondered if the ice princess persona would return once they were rescued. Killmonger hoped not.

He sank his tongue back in her eager mouth and they kissed for an hour, stopping to catch their breath and caress each other. Her eyes became dewy for him and she couldn't stop touching him or being hugged up next to him. He made her lay back and played with her clit, dipping his finger inside her pussy just to watch it contract around his fingers, trying to keep them inside.

His dick became a turgid beast and hung heavy between his thighs. There were no condoms available. He had some on the yacht where he thought he might need them if he found a babe to his liking, but the only woman who turned him on was Portia. On the ship, he knew there was no way they would ever hook up. He wanted to fuck the boldness out of her back then, just to wipe that bitch queen attitude off her face. It baffled him at how quickly she wanted to submit to his domination of her body with his. He had suspected she wanted to be dominated, but not that fast.

Killmonger could've busted a nut all over her from the first ten minutes of sucking she did, but he pushed her to the limit to see if she would fight his heckling of her throat game. How he was able to keep control over his release was a miracle. He was ready to blow his load when she spit on his dickhole and cradled his balls in her hand, staring up at him with those formerly insolent cat eyes. Killmonger kept pushing her until she broke and gave him what he wanted. Her apology made him cum so hard. All he could think about was her telling him to shut the fuck up when he told her about herself. That woman got on her knees and sucked the glory out of his dick. Begged to please him. That shit amped him up.

Portia held his dick in her capable hands. They both wanted to fuck.

God!

Nice tits. A dangerous ass. Mouth game beyond ridiculous. How was Quinton not in that woman twenty-four-seven the entire time on that yacht? Portia walked around with that prize pussy, advertised it to the world all week with skimpy swimsuits, and Killmonger regretted not throwing caution to the wind and just stepping to her. Game peeped game. They could fuck and fight afterward. She was most definitely throwing hints he could get it on the yacht, but he stayed professional.

He leaned down and sucked on her neck. She panted, squirming against him, and he fingered her pussy slowly until she squeezed her eyes shut and her mouth fell open in agony.

"Fuck… I wish I could give you what you need, girl," he groaned into her ear.

She touched his scars like they were precious to her.

"You can," she said in a hushed voice.

"Without a condom?" he said.

Her gaze didn't flinch, and she pouted those succulent lips.

"I almost got killed. I'm stranded on an island with a mercenary. A hurricane could blow through here and end us both tonight. I have nothing to lose," she said.

Shit.

Killmonger regarded her face to make sure she was serious.

"I'm checked for STIs every three months," he said.

"Six months for me. I've been with Quinton for a couple of years. We normally use condoms and have unprotected for special occasions only. He's a germaphobe and I'm pretty sure Tiana was his first outside fuck. I'm on the pill, and… well… like I said, tomorrow isn't promised. This entire trip taught me that."

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

"Trust. I want to. Been wanting to."

She grinned and ran her hand over his locs, rolling the end of one between her fingers.

"I have, too. All that teasing was to get your attention."

"You had it the moment you walked on board that yacht. I didn't like you… but I liked your confidence," he said.

He played with the end of one of her braids and fondled a diamond hair jewel.

"Are you like this in private, when you aren't being theatrical with all the spotlights?" he asked.

"Like what?"

"Unguarded. Open. Friendly."

"Sometimes. I run with a crowd that I have to have a protective shell with all the time."

"Sad life."

"What about you? You also put on an act. You're not mean all the time," she said.

"I'm direct. There's a difference. My job is life or death in precarious places with dangerous people."

"Have you ever lost an entire team before?"

"No. This was a major hit. Practically overkill. There were about ten men compared to my five, and they were using high-grade explosives. Most pirates want hostages or the ship itself. Those people came there for one thing. Do a wet job and bounce. You and I aren't supposed to be alive, Portia."

He cradled her in his arms. The scent of her hair was sugary sweet, like some exotic fruit and nutmeg. Their ardor cooled with their private thoughts and Killmonger listened to the rush of water lapping onto the cave shore. The wind picked up and howled down from the four-foot hole in the ceiling. He stayed awake and Portia slept deeply, the rise and fall of her chest soothing to him. If she had another nightmare, she'd wake up with him holding her. At two in the morning, he snuck away to patrol again. Heavier storm clouds accumulated in the distance and he expected stronger weather soon. A boom of thunder and spidery streaks of lightning zig-zagged across the sky. He popped the collar on his jacket and used his night vision goggles. A vast emptiness stretched out before him. For all he knew, they were the only people in the entire world. The cell phone had poor reception and the battery life was low. Hell, if no one showed up, they'd have to chance it back on the water. There were paddles and he'd get them to Crete one way or another with his own arm power once all the gas was used. He flipped on the locator beam's distress signal light. Survival was second nature to him. They would make it out.

Killmonger took his time going back to the cave. The darkness, the wind, and the rain comforted his mood.

No more civilian gigs.

He took the job as a favor to Clark, but he missed the offensive action of being in foreign countries. He'd give Clark a piece of his mind when he got back. The men he put together for Killmonger should not have allowed those killers to get that close. He had four men on water detail in all directions, and they allowed a boat to hit them swiftly and deadly. They were all executed, so he doubted they were in on the take. He would've caught on right away that it was a set-up when he first arrived. The attack crew had to have used a submersible to plant the explosives against the hull. It was something he would've done.

A heavier thunderstorm arrived, and he jogged back to the cave.

Portia was still asleep. Mimi was up, digging holes in the back of the cave, too distracted to bark or whine at him for attention. He took off his jacket and boots, climbing back beside Portia for warmth. She had curled into the fetal position under a blanket and looked so vulnerable. The cooler air and rain on his body made him shiver a bit, and he went to make another fire.

By early morning, the storm kicked up and the tide level in the cave increased. It wasn't enough to make them leave because the giant boulders and jagged smaller island formations surrounding the cave kept the larger waves from crashing to shore on them. The gigantic grayish-black clouds made the interior darker, adding to the dreary atmosphere as large raindrops showered their private beach.

Portia ate a cold-weather MRE of scrambled eggs, fruit bars, oatmeal, and a bland trail mix. He made them coffee again and ate his own meal before catching some sleep. With no phone reception and the bad weather making visibility terrible, he could afford to rest for an hour or two. He listened to Portia bathe on the other side of the cave. She hummed with a pleasant voice and spent some time by the fire alone with her dog.

The storm kept them quiet, and they became occupied with other things rather than each other until she found a kit of tiny board games inside a sealed bag. There were checkers, chess, Tic Tac Toe, and a deck of cards. They played speed with the cards and hunkered down to play checkers before lunch. Hunger and lunch skipped them as they got into a serious chess match. Later, they both played with Mimi, letting the dog chase them around the cave until Erik shouted bloody murder and flailed his arms around.

"What is it? What is it?" Porta shrieked, scared out of her wits.

"A spider dropped down on me!"

Portia blinked a few times, then burst out laughing. He swiped at his locs and a quarter-sized furry brown arachnid fell out of his hair and scurried on the sand. Mimi chased after it and they both beat pieces of wood on the ground trying to smash it. The dog gobbled it up and Portia grabbed her stomach from laughing so hard.

"Your big butt was scared of that little thing? I thought a tarantula fell on you!" she cackled.

"It's all the legs that creep me out, and they move real sneaky," he grumbled, embarrassed that he showed a weakness in front of her.

"Poor baby," Portia said, patting his back, "Mimi saved you."

He chased after Portia and lifted her over his shoulder, spanking her backside for teasing him. Another bigger spider dropped from the roof and landed on Portia. She damn near came out of her own skin trying to swipe it out of her hair. Killmonger let her run around like a chicken with its head cut off to teach her a lesson about making fun of him. She walked around with the heebie-jeebies afterward, terrified more spiders would come raining down on them like a horror movie. Rain, thunder, and spiders were forgotten when they crawled back into the boat together for a nap. She traced the shape of his scars with her fingers again, and he rested his chin on her head.

"I know this sounds crazy, but I really like it here with you," she whispered.

"Yeah?"

She nodded against his chest.

"I thought I would go stir crazy, but I'm actually grateful to sit still. Weird, huh? No TV. Internet. People. Just peace. No distractions. No one to impress or look good for. It feels like we're Adam and Eve here."

"No apples or snakes, though," he joked.

"What do you do when you don't work?"

"I sit still. Like this."

"Where?"

"That's classified information."

"Really."

"The less you know about me, the better."

"Is Killmonger even your real name?"

"No."

She never asked for his name. He was glad. She took the hint.

"We'll never see each other again after this," she said.

"No, we won't," he said with finality.

"You make me laugh, and you're a skilled chess player."

"You're not too bad yourself."

Portia sat up and took off her bikini again. Her eyes were loving and drank in his face. She helped him undress, then kissed him all over his face, touching his chin, and giving her lips to him before kissing down his chest, following the trail of hairs below his belly button until she had his dick in her mouth. She bobbed her head, and he said her name softly, praising her for how good she made him feel. Pushing him back, she held his dick upright and aligned it with her opening. He held his breath as she sank down on him. She grunted when she reached the bottom. His dick had her folds stretched all around him tight, creating a snug suction as she went up and down, taking her time. They locked eyes, and the arousal overwhelmed him. He gazed at their connection like he was in a daze and her pussy made his thickness shiny and slick. Portia rode him so well that his back arched and he lifted to press her against his chest as he thrust into her. Up and down she went, caressing her nipples, those expensive, icy-looking fingernails highlighting the hidden treasure that she was beneath all the posturing.

He had looked down on Portia before meeting her, his disdain at her Sugar Baby ways clouding his judgment on who she really was as an individual sans the glitz. Fucking him like that in a hollow cave on a lone island proved to him she was worth pampering and spoiling. If he had the money, he'd spend it on her himself. The pussy taking care of his dick was priceless.

"Turn around," he gasped.

Portia lifted and swung her legs the other way, leaning forward as she wiggled her backside for him. He palmed a fat cheek and her pussy swallowed his dick. She rocked back on him and he was blessed to watch her ass jiggle and his dick stretch her out at the same time. He whimpered in his throat with his entire face scrunched up at the intense pleasure. She rode the tip of his dick, and then placed those diamond nails on her ass cheeks, spreading them wide so he could see her pussy work. He slipped his thumb in her ass, and Portia moaned. She drenched his dick and the gushy sounds harmonized with his groans.

She showed out.

Circling her waist, she twisted her pussy on his dick and he couldn't take it anymore. He slapped her ass and forced her onto her hands and knees. Clapping her cheeks was the goal, and he made Portia call out his name as he gave her what she needed. Her pussy became disrespectful, and he tamed her depths, gripping her waist and deep dicking her nice and slow.

"Killmonger… Killmonger… Killmonger…" she panted.

The need to dominate surged in his loins. Flipping her over, he forced her to take the dick she so richly deserved. The pillow princess vanished and in her place was an erotically in-tune woman with full-body engagement. He threw her legs over his shoulders and cursed at how satisfying her pussy felt all around him. She had to have diamonds on her walls because whatever amount of money rich men spent on her wasn't enough. Her grip on his dick had him moaning and choking up his curse words in his throat. She took him deeper and his glutes clenched tight, helping him pump death strokes into her. The cave was full of squelching and grunts, and he watched their shadows moving on the cave walls from the fire. Her hips wiggled seductively, and he hunched down low to kiss her lips and feel her breasts smashed against his chest. They were beyond fucking at that point, moving into the primal state like they were the first man and woman to ever make love.

Scooting to her side, he held her legs up and stroked her walls from a new angle that knocked the sense out of her. Those pouty lips stayed open and her eyes took on a glazed look as if she couldn't believe what was happening to her. Her breasts bounced with each thrust and she glanced down to watch his dick ruin her. She chewed on her lip when she saw what was happening to her pussy. He snaked his hips and hit another angle within her and she called out to God. He stayed working that spot, stroking it until his body became a stiff plank focused on only one task: making her cum hard on his dick.

She rubbed on her clit, and those pretty nails had his balls moving.

"Baby… I feel it… 'bout to cum…" he gasped.

"You wanna cum in my pretty pussy?"

The wantonness in her voice urged him on.

"Pussy so good… fucking me so good… dick so hard…" he chuffed with abandon

"You want to make a big mess in my pussy?"

Her voice electrified him. It pushed him to give her his best and yet it challenged him like she was internally comparing him to others and he was coming up short. It was arousing, but it irked him too.

"Take it… take Daddy's dick," he grunted.

Her eyes changed, became coquettish, and it threw him off. His skin was on fire and dripped with sweat, and the sound of her voice encouraged him to tame that pussy. She dared him to. Portia's face transformed into a woman who wanted some Daddy dick to control her. Her right hand fondled the nape of his neck and those long nails scraped there with seductive pressure.

"I don't know if I can take all this dick the way you want," she taunted. "So big…"

He groaned, and she latched on to that sign of weakness.

"You're taking it… all this dick," he grunted.

"Are you sure? I'm trying to make it all fit for you," she said, all breathy.

"Oh, fuck!"

What was she doing? Playing coy? She acted like some virgin who had never had dick before. Her tone was ultra-feminine. She tucked the nail of her index finger between her teeth and looked down at his dick stretching those sweet walls. Her eyes were wide with wonder at the sight, and that coquettish energy fed him what he needed. Dominance.

"Nobody fuck you like this?" he grunted.

She shook her head and kept her eyes on his dick, with that finger still in her mouth.

"Fuck my pussy," she said.

She looked at him with sweet, innocent eyes.

"Goddammit!" he cried out. "Spread those pussy lips!"

Portia widened those sticky folds and the sides of her fingers glided along his dick as he gave her all that he had left. She kept her finger in her mouth with her other hand and her beauty pushed him to the brink. He mounted her again in missionary and his sweat fell on her like the rain falling on the water. She kept her legs up, that pussy open, and that damn lone finger between her lips. Her reckless eyes gazed at him and his dick swelled.

"I'm cumming! Oh shiiitttttt, I'm cumminggggg," he yelled.

He shoved his hips forward and Portia pursed her lips. She squirmed and lost the battle to hold on.

"Ohmigod… Killmonger!" she shouted.

Her head fell back and her pussy contracted with strong clenches all along his erection. Their shouts of pleasure intertwined and became one with the back and forth of their bodies squeezing and throbbing together. He caught himself before collapsing on her, pulling out his dick and fisting the last of his cum all over her clit. She was a pool of sweat and satisfaction, and they gasped for air, staring at the cave ceiling. The rain continued to fall.

Portia curled against his chest.

Sleep came fast.

He woke up, and she was gone. So was Mimi.

Killmonger called to them before putting on his clothes and grabbing his pack. It was only early evening, and the rain had stopped. Fat gray clouds still squatted over their island, but the storm's driving power had moved on. He found Portia and Mimi at the peak near the beacon.

"Went for a walk," she said.

He sat down next to them and pet the dog on the head. Mimi licked his hand. Pulling out the binoculars, he checked the sea. A cool breeze ruffled his locs. The wind was still strong, and the water had a few whitecaps.

Wait…

There!

A ship.

Killmonger honed in for the telltale signs of Coast Guard markings. There was a Greek flag waving from the gray and white ship. Greek lettering in big white caps spelled out Hellenic Coast Guard. He watched it approach to make sure it was the real deal before pulling out the flare gun and shooting it. Dark orange smoke shot up high in the sky.

"It's them?" Portia squealed.

"Yep."

She hugged Mimi, and he turned on the emergency cell. The power went out, but he didn't care. He held Portia's hand, and they walked down to the cave. There was nothing to do but push their emergency boat into the water. It had just enough gas left to power them out into the open sea. Killmonger didn't want to wait for them to send a smaller boat. He needed Portia in a safe place fast with Greek government protection.

They sped out on the water, bouncing on the choppy waves. Porta kept looking behind her like she wanted to keep the image of their island in her mind. He gave her his outer shirt to wear on top of her bikini. She curled her legs under her wrap dress.

Killmonger aligned their boat against the large Coast Guard ship and the crew helped Portia up on a side ladder. He tied their boat to the larger one and knotted a rope around Mimi's dog crate so a crew member could help the dog get on board. Finally, he climbed up himself. The captain of the ship greeted them and gave them both blankets and hot coffee. Portia was damn near teary-eyed and she pressed herself against Killmonger, afraid to leave his side.

"Come inside," the captain said when the weather picked up outside.

They followed the man into a busy interior and sat down on cushioned seats that felt good after sitting on the sand and a hard boat bottom. A crew member handed them mugs filled with a thick Greek soup. They ate and Portia asked to use the head. She was led away further into the interior. The weathered-face captain asked him some questions and Killmonger's sixth sense kicked in.

Something was wrong.

There were too many men on the ship not dressed appropriately. Only the captain and a lieutenant had on a proper Greek Coast Guard uniform with their ranks on them. The others had dark clothing without rankings or insignias. The captain gave a weak smile and the perspiration on his forehead didn't go with the cool interior. Killmonger kept his tone normal.

"How soon can we make it back to the mainland?" he asked, thrusting his empty mug out for more hot coffee.

"It will take time. The weather has been tricky. We almost lost your signal," he said.

Killmonger nodded and moved over to a window. He counted the other men outside to get an accurate assessment of what he was up against and thanked his lucky stars that he opted to keep his Glock under his jacket. When he contacted the coast guard for help originally, he kept his identity vague, pretending to be a guest of Quinton. The attack team must've intercepted the Greek Coast Guard for their own nefarious use as a getaway ship. It had become a death trap for him and Portia.

Portia returned, all chipper. Her ice princess personality snapped back like a rubber band. She glanced at him and he pretended things were all good.

"Hey, baby, put Mimi back in her cage. We don't want her running around," Killmonger said.

The forced affection in front of the others surprised her. She walked over to the dog kennel near him and bent down to place Mimi inside it. After she locked the crate, Killmonger slipped an arm around Portia's waist and gently had her sit next to him.

"More soup?" The captain asked.

"No, thank you. When will we get back to Crete? Or is Athens where we're headed?" she asked.

Portia looked at Killmonger, and he sipped on his coffee to keep from answering right away.

"Would you like to rest, Miss Keith?"

The nervous lieutenant sensed the tension that had risen in the galley.

"There's an empty bunk you can sleep in until we reach port," the man said.

His name badge said Makris.

"You should go lay down. I'll check on you later. Take Mimi with you," Killmonger said.

Portia caught on that something was off. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

"If there's a door, lock yourself in there," he whispered in her ear.

She kissed his lips and picked up Mimi. Portia showed no fear as she followed Makris. She played it cool and calm, like an iceberg. Good girl, he thought.

Killmonger had fourteen rounds in his Glock. He counted seven false crew members and only two regular ones. The rest of the original crew were dead somewhere on the ship or tossed overboard. He assumed Quinton had escaped on some other watercraft to separate himself from the killers. They wouldn't rush to kill them all until nightfall, with darkness as a cover. Something must've happened to their ship in order for them to risk hijacking a Coast Guard operation.

"She has heart medicine she needs. I forgot to bring it up from the boat we used," Killmonger said. The lie rang true to the men.

"We can have someone go down and get it for you," the captain said.

Vlachos. The captain's name badge gave Killmonger a second to look away from a bulky merc who sized him up.

"It's in a side slot in the back," Killmonger said, following the man out onto the deck again.

The bulky man climbed down the side of the ship and rooted around.

"The back," Killmonger called down.

The man held up his hands.

"Hold on," Killmonger said.

A few more killers came out to watch him as he climbed down. One in the boat. Six up top. Perfect.

"That boat has a lot of tricky compartments," Killmonger said.

A wave buoyed the boat, and they both lost their balance for a second. Killmonger pretended to dig into a slot near the side of the ship and unlatched the boat, letting it float away. He dropped low, pulled out his Glock, and shot the bulky man dead. The man fell over the side with a soft splash. Shots from above popped over his head, but he turned on the motor and glided around the other side. Once he reached the gap he needed, he slammed his hands around the front M60 7.62mm machine gun and blasted at the men. He ripped through four right away. One caught him slipping and clipped Killmonger in his shoulder. It wasn't enough to stop him, but the distraction gave Vlachos and Makris the opportunity to jump the last two killers and wrestle them. Killmonger zipped back toward the ladder again. He hooked the boat and hustled back to the top. Vlachos took a shot in the chest but apprehended one assailant. Makris knocked the gun out of another merc's hand and bashed his head against the deck floor, knocking him out.

Blood pooled and cooled all over the deck with the other dead men.

Portia ran out of seclusion and grabbed him so hard that it knocked the wind out of him.

"Your arm," she said, touching his bleeding wound.

Killmonger shrugged it off.

"We gotta help him," Killmonger said, nodding over to Vlachos.

Vlachos waved them away.

"Bullet passed right through," Vlachos said.

Makris helped the captain back into the galley and tended to both injured men with a first aid kit. They revealed to him the sordid story of how they ran into the armed men on their way to find them, coming across their distressed vessel that had stopped working because an engine fire left them stranded. The hijackers shot their initial crew of eight down to only two when they tried to fight back.

Killmonger was exhausted by the time he tried to rest on a bunk bed. Blood loss tired him out and so did Portia, who fussed over him with tears streaming down her face, thinking she had heard him being killed. She crawled on top of him despite his pain, too frightened to leave his side. He fell asleep to her soft humming and stroking of his locs.

Portia, Makris, and Vlachos arrived in Crete the next morning.

Killmonger had disappeared.

The military boat they escaped with was gone. She relayed the deadly adventure to the press and her photos were blasted worldwide. First came the press tours, then the exclusive paid interviews. A book deal followed along with a movie deal and three-part docuseries. She milked every opportunity to tell her story as the only survivor and was paid handsomely for it.

Returning to New York, she hid out in a penthouse for months, searching all over the internet for any trace of Killmonger. If it had not been for Makris and Vlachos corroborating that the man did indeed exist, she may have convinced herself that he was a figment of her overactive imagination. Two of the killers that survived the Coast Guard ship confessed to being hired by Quinton. A global manhunt seemed never-ending. When billionaires were murdered in cold blood, people cared. She attended memorials to all the victims, making sure she looked fabulous in Thom Browne and Prada fashion with her signature Chanel shades. Portia wasn't close to any of the people she partied with on the yacht, aside from Quinton. However, leaked photos from her private social media account showed merry faces prior to them leaving Athens on the first day of the New Year's trip. It brought comfort to the families, and they invited her to spend weeks in various billionaire enclaves where she spun stories about their rich sons being brave and attempting to save the women. All lies. But it gave the loved ones a sense of closure and peace.

After a year, her life returned to jet-setting and fashion weeks all over again. Her misadventure bolstered her popularity because of the glamorous photos of her being escorted from the Greek Coast Guard ship in her knitted alabaster bikini. For someone experiencing a traumatic event, Portia looked fashionable as fuck.

Media ate up the haunting tale of Quinton living a double life somewhere. Media blasted his life history around the world as the biggest true crime story to come along in years. Many speculated that he had drowned or killed himself because he couldn't be found anywhere. Portia guessed he lived in a country where he couldn't be extradited. The hoopla died down until her book came out. Then there was a buzz about the casting for the movie. Depression set in then.

Portia visited a few therapists, but none could help her cure the anger that sat in her spirit like venom that she couldn't spew out. She wanted Quinton's head on a plate. He needed to pay for what he had done. It didn't matter to her that the people he killed weren't her genuine friends. He ended human lives because of greed. She couldn't get over that he took the bitch route to jumpstart his fortunes. As smart as he was, he couldn't develop or create something new and amazing that made him rich in the first place. An existential dread lived in her gut. Portia couldn't free herself from the lack of justice. Jetting around the world with Mimi in tow didn't heal the pain. New diamonds, furs, and fancy cars lost their luster. Revenge burned in her soul.

She turned toward the dark web to search for Killmonger. Using some of her movie money, she hired the best ex-CIA and former Black Ops agents to help her find her mercenary lover. One former field agent told her the best that could happen was Killmonger would catch wind of her search, but no one could actually contact him. That was good enough.

The Swiss Alps looked like he imagined.

Cold, white, and jagged.

The job called for a remote location and this was as remote as it got. Killmonger rolled the late-model SUV into a long, isolated driveway that hadn't been plowed for a while. He parked when he couldn't drive any further, and dragged a large black duffel bag out of the trunk, along with an arsenal of small weapons in a backpack. The thick powdery snow cushioned and muffled his steps. All the lights were on in the mountain luxury chalet he came to. His target was inside. The cloudless night sky made the snow glittery with the moonlight and security lights surrounding the property.

Cold air made puffy clouds of his breath. His lungs burned from the exertion and altitude. He tapped his wrist computer and all the security cameras shut down within the chalet. The woman inside had a wineglass in her hand and talked on a cell phone, clueless that he was outside approaching with stealth. The lights in the interior winked out, then came back on suddenly. She turned her head and stared out through the large glass windows. Her eyes glossed over the valley below that was filled with snow that would have more dumped by midnight. Flakes had already fallen down on his way up a winding road.

He waited.

The front door opened, and the beauty stepped out in a long white fur coat reminding him of Goldie from the old Black flick, "The Mack". She still rocked expensive diamonds, and Ma carried herself like the ice princess she would always be.

Portia.

He stepped into the light and she grinned, relief creasing her brow and her lush lips spreading into the biggest smile. His heart dropped for a moment. She almost looked like she did back on their island.

"Killmonger," she said.

Her voice made him move toward her. She helped him with the small backpack and he hauled the duffel up the steps and into a cozy, warm interior. A fire burned in the fireplace and Mimi jumped around his legs.

"Hey rat dog," he teased.

He dropped the duffel near the door and lifted the dog. Portia took off her coat, revealing the slinky silver dress with the low-cut front he admired before he came in.

"Bring yourself over here," he said, dropping Mimi to the floor.

She sauntered to him, walking like a runway model, exaggerating her hips as she moved and draped her arms around his neck. He inhaled her lovely scent and memories rushed back of him and her alone… making love. Killmonger kissed her first, and she opened her mouth to envelop all the warmth of his tongue.

Two years.

They hadn't been in contact with each other in two years since he disappeared from her life. He went back to work for Clark and dropped off the radar soon after. The fame of their adventure dazzled his eyes when he went to a movie theater in Morocco and watched a film that was almost true. The actress that played Portia was gorgeous, but she lacked aloofness and sublime sensuality. Their sex scenes were amplified and gratuitous. There were long scenes of them fucking in water that never happened, and also one of them screwing on the Coast Guard ship. Also, untrue. The actor that was supposed to be him wasn't even a close approximation of Killmonger, but women loved him at the box office and the film became a blockbuster. The docuseries blew up, too. Portia became a media star and super-rich by doing nothing except being beautiful and caught up in some greedy foolishness. Some girls had all the luck with pretty privilege. The anomaly was her being a beautiful Black woman with an intriguing action-adventure-romance story. It did not shock him when Hollywood tried to white-wash the film by recasting Portia as a white blonde. That idea dropped, but they did cast a Black biracial British actress to play her. Think pieces blew up around that.

He got word of her searching for him.

It was only a matter of time. He thought of her often as he worked throughout the Middle East and West Africa. His notifications blew up during fashion weeks and he scrolled timelines to see what she had on and found out how her life was going. She dated often, but nothing serious. Her mystique intensified and everyone wanted her at their major events and parties.

He sensed her unhappiness.

Quinton, getting away with murder, rubbed too many white, rich people the wrong way. A Black man double-crossing billionaires and profiting from it... alive somewhere? Unheard of. Portia survived with the sting of betrayal hovering around her.

Killmonger smacked her ass, and she gave him the glass of wine in her hand. He drank it down, and she took it away, resting it on a side table.

The duffle moved.

Mimi growled and barked at the large black canvas bag and Killmonger knelt down, unzipping it. Stuffed inside was Quinton, tied and gagged. Portia picked up the smaller backpack she carried into the chalet for Killmonger. She opened it and he moved his hand around in it.

"Your choice of weapon, Ma," Killmonger said.

Portia lifted a modified Maxim 9 with a built-in silencer.

"What a way to ring in the New Year," she said, kissing him.

She dropped to one knee and peered at her prey.

"Hello, Quinton. Long time no see, baby," she said.

The iciness of her voice chilled Killmonger. Quinton's desperate eyes pleaded for mercy. She would give him none.

Portia zipped the bag up and stuffed the Maxim 9 back into the pack. She grabbed Killmonger's hand and pulled him toward some stairs.

"I'll save him for midnight when the fireworks go off. Right now, I want you," she purred.

Killmonger followed his ice princess. They had some reacquainting to do in the privacy of a luxury bedroom with fresh snow falling outside.

"Happy New Year," he whispered before kissing her all over.

A.N.:

Brought an oldie but goodie back! I first published this on here back on October 11, 2022, a month before "Wakanda Forever" came out. I thought I would expand this into a longer piece and indie publish it with some other stuff I took down from here, but I decided to put it up again because we need fun things to read in these daunting times with Cheeto dust back in office. Enjoy and please reblog!

[nathanbatemanfucker]

NOISE with any member of the system, and make it dirtyyyyy 😏😏😏

White Noise

summary: when Steven hears a sound in the night, he thinks he’s coming to your rescue.

pairing: afab!reader x steven grant (mentions of marc and jake)

contents: 18+/nsfw/MINORS DNI, reader listening to spicy audios, masturbation, embarrassment, kissing, fluff, get together

wc: 1k

an: here you are my loveee, i hope you enjoy this. it turned a little softer than I’d anticipated but i see potential for something a little spicier in the future 😏😏. also yes reader is listening to a quinn audio, @/quinn SPONSOR ME. (banner below is @cafekitsune)

sumner blurbs masterlist | moonknight masterlist

Steven is a light sleeper. Marc could sleep through a nuclear war, and Jake…well he hardly ever sleeps. But, Steven stirs at the softest of sounds.

It’s not often these days that the system switches without permission, especially not in the middle of slumber, but while Marc has fallen asleep earlier in the night it’s Steven who wakes to this noise in the middle of the night.

Despite its obvious disruption the noise is soft, a simple hum that comes from the shared drywall between your room and his. The next sound is a little louder— it comes from your mouth, he’s sure. A muffled cry, one that has his heart racing and his worry up.

He jumps out of bed with grace— a grace he’s still growing accustomed to. That and the other to men in his head, the old pigeon that rules parts of their lives. He slips into the hallway, starting the short walk to your room. As he gets closer the sounds get clear, louder.

Are you crying? Did you hurt yourself? Or watch another sad romance film that brought you to tears?

Yes, as he gets closer the sounds do get clearer— especially to Marc. His mind always goes straight to the gutter with you even though he tries his best to be respectful. But he’s imagined what you would sound like during sex time and time again and right now, you sound pretty close to the edge. Where he wants to lead you over and over.

Wait Steven, Marc calls out in the headspace but it’s too late.

He’s opened the door, and his eyes find you immediately. He opens his mouth to say something but it dies in his throat at the sight of you splayed out in bed.

The moonlight must be made for you, the way it feels like a spotlight, lighting up your skin. His eyes slowly travel down your body, drinking in every detail about you.

There’s a white set of overhead earphones on your head, your eyes squeeze shut as you moan softly. It must be the reason why he could hear you, the reason you haven’t moved yet to yell at him. You’re in an oversized t-shirt that’s seen much love— it would go down your knees if it wasn’t currently scrunched up at your belly. Like this he has a view that has only ever lived in his dreams, in their dreams, Marc and Jake’s too. They can all deny it to each other all they want, but at the end of the day they share a brain. And though they’d all discovered it differently, they all share a deep desire for you.

God, he shouldn’t be doing this. He should close his eyes right now and walk back into his room. Apologize to you and forget this ever happened. He’s about to do just that when you whimper his name. His eyes fly to your own once more, he’s sure he’s caught now but your eyes are still closed.

Are you…thinking of him? Getting yourself off and thinking of him? The idea has his knees weak.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Steven,” You whine, back arching as you reach the peak of pleasure. He can see the your slick on the head of the vibrator, and reflexively licks his lips.

There’s no mistaking it now. You’re thinking of him, cumming and thinking of him. He shifts on his feet, all too aware of how hard he is right now. It seems Marc and Jake are nowhere to be found, they must be in just as much shock as he is.

You shriek, sitting up and covering yourself, the moment causing your headphones to fall off your head. “What the fuck? What the fuck are you doing in here?”

Steven’s cheeks burn, turning a bright red as he stumbles over his words, “I—I’m sorry, I— you— I thought you were crying and I— I should go.”

“You thought I was crying?”

“Well, yeah, I sort of…heard you whimper and I thought you might need some…comforting. But that is obviously not the case, you’ve just taken quite good care of yourself,” He says, wincing as he regrets the words immediately.

“That’s um, that’s sweet of you. Did you— you heard I imagine.”

“Heard? Oh, um, not if you didn’t want me to. I’ll change my name. Actually, I don’t even have a name anymore. Taken care of,” He jokes, fiddling with his fingers.

“I’ve made things so awkward, I’m sorry. I know it’s not like that for you. For any of you.”

“You think…you think we don’t feel the same?” He asks incredulously.

You stare back at him, completely confused. Is he saying what you think he’s saying? Your mouth opens to ask but nothing comes out, your throat dry.

“You drive us mad, love,” He says once he realizes that you won’t speak.

Jake and Marc immediately start to protest, but what’s done is done. There’s some twinkle in your eye, a glimmer of hope that what Steven says is true. And while this is scary for all of them, when met with the thought of rejecting you, neither of them could stomach it.

“Really?”

“Really. Can I?” He points to the edge of the bed.

“Oh, uh, sure,” You awkwardly move your vibrator and phone to the nightstand to clear some room for him.

He comes to sit, not too far but near enough to reach your hand, squeezing it, “I know we’ve skipped quite a bit on the standards of dating. The whole living together, and well now this. And I know there’s…three of us but would you—“

“Yes,” You say easily, not letting him finish.

He chuckles, “I haven’t even asked completely, love.”

“It doesn’t matter, I’d do anything with you.”

Your words warm him from the inside out, breeding confidence. He cups your cheek, leaning forward to press his mouth to yours in a sweet, tentative kiss. You melt against him, hand raising to rest over his own. He smells good, like pine and citrus and the feeling of his lips against yours makes you feel like you’re floating.

“I’m sorry that I walked in on you like this,” He mumbles into your mouth through a smile.

You lean back, a wide grin on your face as you shake your head a little, “I’m not.”

[gallifreyanhotfive]

Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 37

When Mel was 18 months old, she accidentally caused her older sister Anabel to fall down the stairs, which ended up killing her. Mel repressed the memories of her sister's death, and her parents decided to keep Anabel a secret from her. (Novel: Spiral Scratch)

When Leela eventually died, she was reborn as a girl named Emily. (Audio: The Child)

The Seventh Doctor visited Ace when she was a baby to apologize for many of the manipulations he would one day put her through (and that he would continue to put her through) because he thought it was easier talking to a baby than a teenager. He stole a baby picture of Ace and replaced it with a playing card while he was there. (Short story: Ace of Hearts)

Oliver Harper joined the First Doctor and Steven on the TARDIS because he was running from the police, who were chasing him because he had been outed as homosexual. (Audio: The Perpetual Bond)

Martha Jones met the Thirteenth Doctor while she and the Tenth Doctor were stranded in the 1960s after being attacked by the Weeping Angels. (Comic: A Little Help from My Friends)

The Fifth Doctor can go between referring to the TARDIS as "old girl" and as "flying deathtrap" incredibly quickly. (Audio: Zaltys)

Dodo Chaplet's funeral was attended by only two people: James Stevens and the Doctor. Her entire life after leaving the TARDIS was a shitshow and became dark enough that I will not elaborate here. Feel free to do some digging, but it is not for the faint of heart. (Novel: Who Killed Kennedy)

However, there are other accounts of Dodo's post-TARDIS days that do not end as terribly for her!!!! :D

The Doctor's frequent trips in a damaged TARDIS during the 1970s and 80s disrupted Earth's timeline to such a great extent that the two decades folded in on each other, making 20 years worth of events happen in 10. This is how the UNIT Dating Controversy was addressed. (Short story: The Enfolded Time)

The Brigadier once bullied the Third Doctor into getting his metabolism checked over because he didn't believe the Doctor would be safe in Bessie or the Whomobile. While this was all happening, Sarah Jane helped foil a Dalek plot. (Audio: Glorious Goodwood)

Adric does not speak English. He hears Alzarian through the TARDIS translation circuits. (Audio: Zaltys)

Ace has a younger brother named Liam but didn't remember he existed for a long while because their father took him when their parents separated. (Audio: The Rapture)

While on a school trip to the Natural History Museum, Ryan and Yaz helped the Second Doctor fight Myriapods, which are insect like in nature. (Short story: The Myriapod Mutiny)

For a while, the Tenth Doctor traveled with Heather McCrimmon, descendant of Jamie McCrimmon. (Comic: The Chromosomal Connection, et al...she's in a lot of comics)

Rory Williams became Caesar of Rome as an Auton after the death of the Empress Augusta. (Audio: The Unwilling Assassin)

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