#more private or covert feelings

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Elite Serial Killer (3)

Part 1 + 2

Of course, his family congratulates him, offering to just abduct you then

But he’s much more sadistic in the way he decides to claim you

It’s not entirely just to see you make faces he’s never seen

Part of this prolonged delivery is meant to watch you up close

By having you in his study group he finally gets to watch you in public without the distance his masked security team could report

Without encroaching ‘too much’ on your private space that’s only for him

He can also give you the first-hand experience of what he goes through

It’s important you know what his world is like

As well as how some of these monsters don’t deserve your kindness

It irked him to see you come with peace offerings to the emotional nut job

He knew her smiles and confiding in you was all a guise

He just hoped she’d save it until the hunt

But despite what you might believe he doesn’t want you to die

He does put a tracker on you  and he sends a covert servant of his to trail you

In his defense, he didn’t want you to feel left out

Because of the vengeful group he had amassed had he shown too much favoritism they surely would have attacked you by now

But you made it 

with some minor scratches and scrapes sure

But you made it

And that’s all he could want 

The cherry on top of it all is that ‘Piggie’ had survived the initial bullet from the shotgun

So he makes a point to save her for later

Experimenting with some of the new ‘gifts’ he’s been given from a manufacturer of military weapons

When he’s not torturing her playing

He’s bathing in the afterglow of his new life with you

Explaining his twisted version of events to you

he becomes your hero

Dressing you in the finest silks while he pretends it’s his sorry task to gather victims for his family’s vicious hunt

Providing you with a fake chunky folder filled with their crimes 

And making his family out to be the bad guys helps in gaining your trust

Oh how he loves it

Oh how he loves you

The way you praise him for standing his ground on a decision that was already made

Or how he takes care of the distant family of one of the victims and you dote on him

He doesn’t want you to find out 

At least not now

He makes up some other bogeyman more likely his family who could honestly care less

Saying that he needs to put a ring on your finger in order to save your life

tie the knot and give him all you can offer 

If not I’m sure whatever friends or family who are looking for you would love to play a certain game at the vacation mansion

“Come my prize! I want to share my world with you! “

Let him show you all manner of things you don’t have to lift a single finger for 

“Now that I have you, I’m going to spoil you beyond your wildest dreams.”

[glasvera]

Fool Me Once...

Loki x GN!Reader

Description: You've been sent on a covert mission to distract the God of Mischief himself long enough to foil his plans. Unfortunately, this task becomes much harder when your target proves incredibly disarming.

Continues in ...Shame on You

Warnings/Disclaimers: Nothing, really. Gender neutral reader, reader is an expert in covert operations and deception.

A/N: Whaaaat!? It's not another Adam Warlock fic???? Yeah, that's right. I've got range. Sometimes. I swear. I do intend on making at least one more chapter to this, but figured I'd use this as a way to gauge interest in the idea.

Word Count: 1.2k

You had an impossible task on your hands: distract the god of mischief himself long enough for your compatriots to destroy the base of operations for the Yggdrasil tapping devices. The method was left up to you. 

Making it into the palace had been the easy part. The right whispers into the right guard’s ear, a turn around the right alley, and Yggsgard had itself one less conscious citizen. At least you had covered them with a nearby tapestry after divesting them of their uniform. It was a little loose, but it would have to do.

The key to gaining access to restricted areas is to simply act as though you belong there. You strut along, head held high with your pilfered weapon at your side, and no one bats an eye. A friendly nod here and there, which you are good enough to reciprocate, but otherwise, you make it through undetected.

The mission’s window was ultimately indeterminate. Instead, the follow-through hinged upon your discretion and signal.

Put simply, you had all the time in the world to do what you do best.

You settle into your new routine, falling into step alongside your fellow guards and performing your daily patrols. A wave of your hand here, a forged document there, and after day three you were assigned every detail that could get you closest to your target. You knew what you were looking for: golden horns, garbed in the finest green and blue silks, adorned in even more gold.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t expected him to have the regal face and features to match. 

Still, you had a mission to accomplish. And even sooner still, one of Loki’s personal servants had mysteriously vanished. Tragic, really. Whispers float down the gilded hallways of a terrible illness or some other horrible thing that might be keeping them away from the palace, but it seemed easily accepted among the rest of the staff. Perhaps that should worry you more than it does, but as long as it makes your job smoother, so be it.

And what a wonder that the most recent guard addition finds themselves promoted to private attendant?

Ironically enough, it was a much more grueling position than guard duty ever was. Loki was quite the demanding and particular sort. He wasn’t necessarily quick to anger, but he was certainly quick to irritate.

“No, no, not like that at all! Did your mother never teach you how to brush hair? The absolute indignance of today’s youth…” he complains after you accidentally snag a gilded comb in the bed-headed tangles of his raven locks. He was always worse just after waking, though you suppose most people were when you really thought about it.

“A thousand apologies, my lord,” you offer with a bow of your head. At least he can’t see you roll your eyes at him that way. He simply scoffs and waves his hand, allowing you to continue more gently this time.

“Ah, well… at least you’re pretty enough to look upon,” he says nonchalantly. “I’ve always had a weakness for the pretty ones. Like looking in a mirror,” he adds with a mirthful twinkle in his eye.

You shouldn’t feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, and yet they warm all the same. He notices when the comb halts against his scalp and stares at the ceiling before letting out an exaggerated groan..

“You know, when your god compliments you, the least you could do is thank him for such generosity,” he chastises you with a curled lip. He crosses his arms and glowers at you through the mirror, and for a moment you feel as though he could see right through you.

You clear your throat before your tongue wets your suddenly dry lips, quick to correct your mistake. “R-Right, of course. Thank you, your benevolence.” That tickles him, at least.

“Hah! Benevolence. Yes, I suppose I can be quite benevolent when it suits me,” he jokes, speaking more to himself as he glances at the back of his hand to admire his perfectly trimmed nails. “Yet I prefer to have benevolence acted upon me rather than the other way around. It’s so tiring being nice to people. Don’t you agree?”

You purse your lips into a thin line, biting back the bile rising in your throat as you nod. “I couldn’t agree more, my lord.”

Slowly, Loki closes his eyes and sighs. He catches the wrist that combs through his hair, and you drop the instrument in surprise before it clatters to the tiled floor. He turns and stands from his ornate vanity stool then, capturing your attention, and appraises you thoughtfully. Those emerald eyes seem to bore into your very soul as his lips part curiously. 

You were good at your work. The best. It’s why they hired you in the first place. So why has this one man, this god, rattled you to your very core?

“You seem to be the agreeable sort, don’t you? Good.” His gaze traces along your features, and for a moment you could have sworn they paused at your lips. You find yourself frozen on the spot. He doesn’t hold your wrist tightly at all. In fact, he cradles it gently, brushing his thumb over your pulse point. “But your heart is racing, my dear. Whatever could be causing you such turmoil?”

His voice is charismatic, you’ve learned, and even now his tone is almost flirtatious. But the way he toys with you effortlessly while eyeing you with such scrutiny allows doubt to fester in your mind. What if he’s known your game the whole time?

No… who would ever allow their enemy this close willingly?

Instead you play the part of the blushing maid, letting the half-truths spill from your tongue like a fine mead.

“I-I must apologize, your greatness. I fear I’ve admired you for quite some time, and…” you stammer, quite proud of your performance as you add the pièce de résistance by dramatically averting your gaze in embarrassment.

“Ah… the forbidden attraction,” he purrs, allowing his ego to inflate. Those pearly white teeth of his flash with an almost threatening smile. He leans in and runs his index finger along your jaw, and that does elicit a genuine shiver from you. “It’s only natural, my sweet. That you have such exquisite tastes speaks volumes of your character.”

By the gods, how can this man go from turning you on immensely to making you want to relieve the contents of your stomach in just a few simple words?

He releases his hold on you, satisfied, stepping away to retrieve his fur collared cloak and throwing it over his shoulders with ease. Unsure of what to do, you remain standing in that very spot, awaiting his next commands. Loki shoots you a glance over his shoulder with a raised brow.

“Well? Aren’t you going to pick up after yourself?” he chides with a smirk as he kicks the dropped comb towards you.

You find yourself scrambling to grab it then, fumbling a few times at procuring a mostly flat object from off of the floor. This seems to amuse Loki immensely.

“I think I’ll quite enjoy your company. As I said, I do enjoy the pretty ones.”

He chuckles and, with a wave of his cape, departs the room, leaving you stunned and speechless as the clacking of his golden heels disappears down the hallway.

[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!

[imadhatt3r]

There's a sort of small personal story arc happening in Koujaku's route that I haven't seen talked about much, and it is one relating to Aoba's struggles with his masculinity and his perception as a man by others.

This story arc heavily deals with cultural gender norms and expectations, and so I will be working with them; This doesn't reflect my personal view on gender roles and expectations in real life. This is also not for or against any headcanons regarding any character's gender- I have no opinions on them or problems with people seeing any character as trans.

Okay, without further ado:

The moment where Koujaku and Aoba canonically meet for the first time happens during their childhood. Aoba was bullied by other children for his long hair and for "looking like a girl". Koujaku stepped in to protect him, thinking that Aoba's a girl, and was allegedly suprised when Aoba turned out to be a boy, but his attitude towards Aoba never changed.

This event clearly had a big influence on Aoba, on how he views himself, Koujaku, and how he thinks Koujaku views him. When we first meet Koujaku in-game, he is seen defending himself from a woman's overly protective boyfriend and being a charmer to her in turn when she apologizes for his behavior. It's established that Koujaku has a lot of female admirers, and a bit later it's revealed that he attracts a lot of men too, but moreso as a kind of role model/aspirational figure- that's why benishigure exists in the first place.

Aoba is shown to be annoyed or downright kinda scared of Koujaku's fans; Of course, it makes sense- Aoba is shown to be a private person that dislikes attention, but I believe that there is a second layer to all that- jealousy.

Aoba identifies as a man in-game and asserts it multiple times. He is aware of his gender. Koujaku is shown to be both flirty and chivalrous towards women around him- he spends time with them, initiates physical contact, compliments them etc. Aoba is always annoyed whenever he sees Koujaku doing that, but his reasons aren't fully clear- it seems like he feels like Koujaku's behavior is, in some way, fake, or that he just dislikes PDA in general. Aoba isn't jealous of the female attention Koujaku gets- he doesn't want to be in his place, because, as we established, he doesn't like being the center of attention. This isn't a dick measuring contest with Aoba being salty that he's coming up short.

Aoba is jealous of the women. He's the one who wants Koujaku to flirt with him, touch him, be chivalrous to him, protect him, but he believes that it will never happen, because Koujaku only acts this way towards women. Men want to be him, women want to be with him, but Aoba is neither; He's not a man who wants to be him, nor is he a woman who wants to be with him- there's not a place he can comfortably occupy, in his mind.

Mind you, I don't believe that he is aware of his feelings- hence his clusterfuck of an attempt to make Koujaku's flirting with women a bad thing. It's not coherent, it doesn't really make any internal sense, because Aoba has no idea he's even trying to lead himself away from something.

In the good ending, Koujaku briefly mentions that he thinks Aoba sleeps in so much because he wants to get his attention, and I can 100% see it as being true- Aoba doesn't know how to get Koujaku to treat him like he does women around him, so he chooses more covert ways to get that desired attention and care.

I also see Aoba's haircut to be symbolic/meaningful of his relation to his masculinity being percieved by others. Aoba's hair was the reason why he and Koujaku met as kids and established their friendship and later relationship. When they were cut, Aoba started to look more conventionally "masculine", and yet the haircut is also, in a way, representative of the beginning of his and Koujaku's relationship. It's because Koujaku doesn't care that Aoba is a man- hell, in the CD drama, he even admits that he's straight up attracted to Aoba's masculinity. If Koujaku liked Aoba BECAUSE he saw him as female-like, wouldn't he want to keep his hair long/feminine?

This is kinda explored in various extra material like the summer side story and valentine's day story- Aoba seems to believe that while Koujaku is with him out of love/attraction, he's being treated more as a novelty, a "girl-boy" that's going to be replaced by an "actual woman" one day. He's afraid that the chocolates he made for Koujaku for valentine's day will be seen as "gross", and he expects to see a mountain of chocolate given to Koujaku by women when he comes to his apartment. In the summer story, he expects Koujaku to deny their relationship when they're being harassed by drunk benishigure, and that he will be left behind when Koujaku is approached by female admirers. This never happens- Koujaku actually reassures Aoba that he's never going anywhere, and that Aoba has nothing to worry about. This is framed as Aoba being simply jealous, but I think that there is enough evidence to imply that his gender has a lot to do with it. We don’t know how would he react if Koujaku was approached by a man, but it's mentioned multiple times that it's seeing and thinking of Koujaku being surrounded by women gets Aoba down especially hard.

I feel like it's also important to look into the bad ending for Koujaku's route too, because if you look at it through that lense, you can see some interesting stuff. First and foremost, Shiroba is dressed in a sexualized version of the miko garb (miko are shinto shrine maidens, and they are exclusively women) that includes stockings, and his hair is just as long, if not longer, than Aoba's. He also has red tassels in his hair, right behind his ears, which sort of look like earrings. In short, it would almost appear like Shiroba is trying to look more "feminine" in order to appeal more to the way he percieved Koujaku's tastes- after all, Shiroba/Desire is all of Aoba's impulses, thoughts, and desires taken to the extreme. Aoba thought that Koujaku likes women and femininity, so Shiroba WILL make himself look as feminine as he can to make Koujaku like him more.

There's also the fact that, compared to their good end sex scene, Shiroba is much more... Placid. In the good end, Aoba speaks, he laughs, he laughs AT Koujaku, he tries to turn his head away but agrees to look at Koujaku in the end; He is an active participant who is willing to laugh at his partner (in a way) and make demands. In contrast, Shiroba mostly goes with what Koujaku wants to do; He participates to a degree, sure, but he allows Koujaku to bite him, lick his blood, and fuck him pretty violently without any sort of resistance. This might be a stretch, but it can be seen as Shiroba trying to play a more "feminine" role- which means being passive, allowing your (male) partner to do whatever he wants to do with you (even when it's painful or uncomfortable), and let him essentially use you as a receptacle of his emotions and bodily fluids.

This is a very narrow understand of conventional gender roles, but given that Shiroba is a being of extremes, it makes sense for him to see his own gender and dynamic with Koujaku as that simple and two-dimensional. This whole ending is all about misunderstood intentions/desires, so Shiroba is doing all he can to embody the most extreme conventional femininity in an attempt to appeal to Koujaku, while not having a clue that Koujaku was actually attracted to Aoba's masculinity.

The funniest part of it all is that Koujaku is actually a pretty feminine man himself; His very design blends masculine and feminine elements, which @asarigg points it out in her excellent essay on Koujaku, (among plenty other things), and the way he acts mixes masculinity and femininity too. However, Aoba either doesn't see it, or he treats Koujaku as a "special case"; It's probably the most clear in the scene in the CD drama where Aoba says that hairpins "usually" look bad on men (after Koujaku asked him if he'd like to wear one), but that Koujaku makes it work. The whole plotline/emotional core of this route centers on Aoba relying on his simplified image of Koujaku when it comes to how he thinks about him, only to be proven dead wrong and forced to confront how multi-layered of a person Koujaku is- to reject the image he made of him in his head as a child and make a new, more nuanced one as an adult.

When Aoba was a kid, he saw Koujaku as his hero, someone who protected him, watched over him; He was kind of his masculine ideal, someone he wanted to be when he'll be older. Now that they're adults, Aoba still sees Koujaku as someone hyper-masculine, whose feminine traits and behaviors are glossed over because Koujaku is "allowed to" be feminine a bit. The sad thing is that a lot of Koujaku's masculinity is kind of a ruse that was taken on as a defense mechanic, learned back when Koujaku was living in an abusive household, when he was a victim of abuse, saw abuse inflicted onto his mother, and was possibly forced to perform violence to some degree as means of "education" (things like learning to fight hand-to-hand or swordfighting).

Koujaku can fight because he tried to fight his abusive father and was trained to kill in the future, once he takes over the criminal empire. He flirts with women to fill the void he feels due to his rock bottom self-esteem and because he doesn't want to see women sad or mistreated after what he saw his mother go through. Koujaku's persona is carefully build and maintained, because all masculinity (or gender in general) is performed- this is what people around him expected him to be, that's what he was taught to be, and so he performs, even if it twists him up inside (we know he bottles up any negative emotions and doesn't share his struggles and trauma with anyone, which is also a part of toxic masculinity). It also seems like he's often out drinking with someone and he's a smoker- that's more of a theory, but people often find brief respite from their stress/unadressed emotions in substances, and while people of all genders do it, there seems to be a bigger social acceptance for men to indulge in order to "deal" with their problems and avoid showing "weakness" for just a bit longer.

The good thing is that Koujaku seems quite comfortable in his femininity. He loves his (stereotypically feminine) job, he remains kind and gentle to those who need it, he respects women around him and treats them well (even if that relationship is far from ideal of course), he's always considerate and caring towards Aoba, etc. It's interesting that despite liking and being attracted to Aoba's masculinity, he encourages him to branch out and seemingly embrace his own femininity more (he tells him he'd look nice in a hairpin, or that he'd love him no matter how he'd look like). I wonder if Koujaku found some kind of respite in his femininity back when he lived in his father's house and was potentially held to strict masculine gender roles enforced through violence.

It feels like one of these things that Aoba needs time to process and accept; In a couple years, he'll be doing deliveries with the most complex braid with flamboyant decorations and the most bitching eyeliner ever performed on Japanese soil.

[tinydefector]

STAR GALA DRESS 2

Starscream x human

Warnings: segestive, mention of prostitution, swearing.

Word count: 1.1k

Starscream masterlist

1

111

___________________

They rest against Starscream's shoulder plating as they enter the Gala, there are many bots from different cities and factions there. Many of them stare at the senator of Vos as he and his human companion enter.

Starscream held his wings high as he strode into the gala, his human consort resting comfortably on his shoulder plating. Optics from all factions turned to observe the formidable High Chancellor and Senator of Vos as he entered with his unusually small partner.   

The Seeker felt optics appraising his sleek armour and impressive wingspan with both respect and envy. As a high-ranking member of the Senate, his presence commanded attention among both allies and opponents. His human, however, drew curious and amused looks from many of the guests. Whispers are passed between many of the bots there. 

Reaching up they gave Starscream's audial a comforting pat. While he loathed these political shows, he intended to show off and display his charming companion. 

"Seems like you have a lot of attention on your high Chancellor '' they tease softly, low enough for only him to hear, their eyes darting around taking in the scenery. As they press their  lips against his audials, even more optics linger on the duo. It makes them smirk against his plating "How many of them do you think can understand me? I doubt many have the translation software " Mischief coated words flow from them.

Scanning the crowd with a discerning optic, the Seeker noted the many optics darting between him and his sinful tease of a partner who is already looking for drama. He's aware that rumours would swirl about the formidable Senator of Vos and his petite fleshling. But gossip did little to deter him. 

At their query, Starscream's mouthplates quirked in a subtle smirk. "Very few, I'd wager spitfire." He knew only a small few who actually understood human language or had the software to communicate, despite his distaste for humans originally it was now something he flaunted endlessly.  "Feel free to gossip and gloat to your spark's content, little one. Their befuddlement only amuses me further. I rather enjoy watching them struggle" 

Privately he relished such covert moments with his ambassador.  "Oh I was mainly thinking we can shit talk peoples paintjobs in English, and you can translate Cybertronian for me, mine still rather rusty" they offer with a smile. Starscream hums for a moment. “What can you say?” He asked with a raised browplate looking at them. 

They bite their lip as they lean into his audial sensor, “ Senator, I want you” They whisper in a lusty tone before they laugh lightly. Starscream's wings flutter in anticipation. “That was horrendous” he grumbles against their skin. “it got the reaction I wanted my dear chancellor” they smugly cooed at him. 

“behave scraplet” he states before their attention shifts, eyes roam over other bots. "Over there, who in their right minds has blue and Orange as a paint job, that one there looks like shit brown" they hum to starscream.

He vented softly in amusement at their commentary. 

"Their plating appears to have seen better days. Perhaps the rust has reached their processing units as well, to choose such a ghastly palette."  

Small giggles leave them. It makes Starscream's spark flutter as they press even closer to him. the jet inquired "Which unfortunate bot has earned your critique now?" Starscream took secret pleasure in this game much more than he originally believed he would. The two gossip back and forth before starscream is approached by another member of council. 

Ratbat smirks as he approaches, giving a slight nod to starscream.

 "Quite the pretty decoration you have found yourself Starscream, where did you acquire your 'pet’, they look rather delightful and soft" He asked as if trying to antagonise Starscream Over the human ambassador. Starscream's optics narrowed marginally as Ratbat approached, his oily smirk already grating on the Seeker's nerves. 

"This is the Human Ambassador of Earth, Senator Ratbat," Starscream replied coolly. "Their skills in diplomacy have proven most...beneficial in advancing our interests with the Earth colonies, along with the expansion of cross colony planets." His digits laid protectively against the human's back in a subtle show of possession. While he served Cybertron's ruling bodies, no mech would disrespect this human but himself, he wouldn't allow Others to disrespect the only human he actually respected. 

Starscream's tone remained polite but held an edge like a finely-honed blade. While power politics required playing games, none would diminish what had become most precious to the mighty Seeker. 

“ Hmmm such a shame they were placed in your care, I would have been delighted to show them the full hospitality of Cybertron. How much would one night with them be worth?" Ratbat hums while sipping on his drink of high grade, Mercury and crushed crystals. 

Starscream's optics flashed dangerously at Ratbat's insinuation. "Their care was entrusted to Vos, and myself as chancellor, they are not a side street please bot, though i wouldn't expect anything better from you Senator" he replied in a silky tone laced with warning to the Kaon senator.

"Besides, as my consort they are quite...fully occupied," the jet continued silkily. "Unless you possess something worthwhile to further Terra's interests, I suggest focusing your energy elsewhere, Ratbat. Wouldn't want any...unfortunate accidents to mar tonight's festivities, after all." Starscream's charming and deadly smile was like that of the cat who had gotten its treat.  

Ratbat stiffens up but excuses himself  before making himself busy with other members at the party. "What was that all about?" They ask with a raised eyebrow. Starscream met their gaze with a faintly troubled expression. "Ratbat's lecherous intentions seemed focused more upon you than our political dealings, I fear," he replied softly. It makes them raise an eyebrow to inquire more about what he wasn't saying outloud. 

 "His crass remarks implied a desire to...purchase your company for the night, as one might a pleasure doll." Starscream's optics flashed at the mention. “I asked his highest offer” Starscream lies trying to rile them up. It earns him an offended glare. 

"Rest assured, I did no such thing. as spitfire like I would ever let anyone else have you," Starscream rumbled. "Well I guess I owe you more than just a strip tease tonight beloved asshole " they state while pressing a soft peck to the side of his helm. "The sooner we get home the sooner you can get this dress for me" they teasingly whisper. It makes Starscream's plating ignite with want. “you foul little cretin, you know we are here for another few hours Pest” he grumbles feeling as if this whole event was interface blocking him. 

_______

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Taglist

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[godsandvillains-if]

How would ro's react if they secretly see the mc talking to someone about them, and just gushing about how head over heels they are for them. Oh! I love how kind/loving/good in bed 😏 they are ect. Especially that last one 😉

Love this!! 😍

Archon — I think Archon would be split between satisfaction and a little possessiveness about MC sharing such private information with someone like that.

Stardom — Would be completely and utterly insufferable the next time they talk to MC, throwing them the most smug smirk you can think of. Would also be secretly touched and even more in love.

Paladin — Paladin would be notably reassured, they have a lot of self-doubt and insecurity in the relationship because of past events. Btw, their love language is words of affirmation.

Ace — Would feel more proud than anything else, happy to see that they still got it even after a decade of gathering dust and being alone in their apartment. And they are not crying at all, it's just allergies.

Zodiac — Zodiac would feel like they were intruding on something personal and not meant for their ears, however, they would still hear snippets of it, and they would have a satisfied smile on their face.

Mars — Mars would be delighted, of course, although they would have a talk with MC after the fact about sharing such intimate details like that...

Wildcat — Wildcat would definitely be spotted right away, they are terrible at covert missions for a reason. They would squeak so loudly that the MC would have to pretend that nothing was happening.

Thank you for the question!! 😍

[multiplicity-positivity]

Here’s some positivity for systems with covert switches!

Not every system has switches that are obvious with members that behave in unique or distinct ways! Many systems may find that their switches go unnoticed by others, and may even experience switches that the system themselves struggle to detect! There is absolutely nothing wrong with being a covert system or experiencing covert switches - this post is for systems who fit this description!

☘️ Shoutout to systems whose members share the same handwriting, mannerisms, tastes, interests, or tones of voice!

💠 Shoutout to systems with members who look, act, and feel very distinct on the inside, but who appear very similar when fronting!

💙 Shoutout to systems who try to mask their plurality or switch covertly for their own comfort and/or safety!

☘️ Shoutout to systems who have been fakeclaimed in the past due to the covert nature of their system and switches!

💠 Shoutout to those who wish that their system could have more overt switches!

💙 Shoutout to systems who used to have more overt switches, but who became covert suddenly or gradually over time!

☘️ Shoutout to systems working towards final fusion whose switches have become more covert as they work towards their recovery goals!

💠 Shoutout to systems who love the covert way their system functions and have no desire to change the way their plurality presents!

💙 Shoutout to systems who feel isolated or left out of the plural community due to how often overt system experiences are centered, uplifted, or treated as then norm!

☘️ Shoutout to covert systems who regularly don’t notice or realize they’ve switched until afterwards, and to those who don’t notice their switches at all!

💠 Shoutout to covert systems who keep their headmate information private and don’t let outsiders know who’s fronting or when a switch has occurred!

💙 Shoutout to overt systems who sometimes choose to present covertly, and covert systems who sometimes choose to present overtly!

Systems of all origins and experiences can present in all sorts of different ways! If your system is covert, or often presents covertly, we want to remind you that you are real, your plurality is beautiful, and you will always belong as a cherished member of our spaces and the plural community just the way you are. You don’t have to have overt switches or present overtly in order to be recognized as a system worthy of respect and kindness!

Please don’t judge yourself or your system too harshly for the way your plurality presents. Whether your system is covert naturally or by choice, know that we’re rooting for you and wishing you the very best in all that you do! Thanks so much for reading, and have a great day!

[hyunjin-amore]

Peter Parker x Top male reader -  A Steamy Encounter

Note: The content of this article is intended for mature audiences only.

Peter Parker, the amiable local Spider-Man, was drawn to the appearance of an enigmatic stranger in the busy metropolis of New York. This best-selling male reader had a magnetic quality that pulled Peter in like a moth to a flame. One fateful night, their paths intersected, and the sparks between them sparked an intense bond. Peter and the top male reader took comfort in one another's arms as the moonlit night enveloped the city in a gentle radiance.

As their bodies entwined, they danced with hunger and passion. Waves of ecstasy shot through their veins with each touch and kiss. They ventured into the depths of their mutual passions, and the air crackled with electricity. In the solitude of their private meeting, Peter found a previously unknown aspect of himself. When the M/N touched him, a long-dormant sensuality sprang to the surface, and he gave in to the seductive feelings that surrounded them.

They were both left speechless and wanting more as their bodies moved in perfect unison, creating a symphony of pleasure. Peter and the top male reader said their goodbyes as the evening came to an end, their hearts heaving from their newfound bond. Their meeting was a covert event that would live on in their memory for all eternity. The passion they shared would endure forever, serving as a constant reminder of the exciting possibilities that lie beyond the boundaries of desire, even though their paths may never meet again.

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Can I get a, e, j, k and y for Smoker.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Smoker does not know how to be affectionate. Bless him, he is completely clueless. This frustrates him because he does want to be close and loving with his darling, he just genuinely has no idea how to approach the subject. For a long time, his most direct way of displaying his love for you is by following you around like a guard dog and making sure no one messes with or harms you.

Once he has made the leap and finally has his darling in his clutches, he starts to figure out how to approach affection and what he likes. He enjoys having you in the same room as him while he's working and eventually develops a fondness for having you in his lap. If you light his cigars for him, he'll short-circuit. Over time, he'll get in the habit of kissing you goodbye before he has to leave to do his job.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

This man is the king of being stone-faced and closed off. Y'all could be together for years and you'll still feel like you know nothing about him. He isn't intentionally icing you out, this is just how he is.

Occasionally, he'll sit down and explain that he loves you more than anyone else and would do anything for you, but that will only happen if he believes that it will further his relationship with you.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

He doesn't get jealous of your platonic relationships. With how busy he is most of the time, even as a yandere he can acknowledge that it's unreasonable for him to expect you to have zero relationships outside of himself. It would only become a problem if the friend or family member tried to convince you to not be with him which would be unlikely to happen since he is the most covert yandere in all of One Piece.

When it comes to romantic rivals, he's much less forgiving. Smoker is painfully aware of the fact that he isn't a very romantic man, and he's insecure about it. He worries that you're going to be swept off your feet by someone that actually knows how to woo you. In his mind, he can't risk having any competition, so he'll do anything to get rid of them. Arresting them is the easiest course of action, but he isn't afraid of beating or killing them if he gets desperate enough.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

In all honesty, he seems completely normal. No one can tell that he's a yandere, not even his darling. He hides it perfectly. His naturally stoic demeanor masks his much more intense feelings, and he makes sure that no one sees his more extreme tendencies. He finds easily explainable reasons to be in your presence and cross paths with you until he's established enough of a connection to be able to openly seek you out without it seeming odd.

Once you're together, he doesn't change that much. He's just around you more often and will sometimes bring a small gift for you. If you're in private, he gets a little more affectionate. Like having you in his lap as previously mentioned, or simply sitting next to you with an arm draped over your shoulder while you're relaxing together.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

This man will wait for years before making his move because he ideally wants you to never know about his yandere tendencies. He wants you to be with him because you genuinely love him, not because he forced you. The only scenario where he would force it is if he felt like he needed to for your safety, and even then he would be desperately trying to convince you that this is strictly for your well-being and has nothing to do with his own wants and desires.

[mischiefmanifold]

I believe I found the article that talks about modular DID (Clinical Presentations of Multiple Personality Disorder by Richard P. Kluft), and it also has a bunch of other presentations such as:

Classic DID

"The overt and readily observable behavior of such patients fulfills diagnostic criteria for MPD on an ongoing basis for periods of months or years, or even for a lifetime."

frequent changes of executive control (switches) cause easily observable memory gaps and altered behavior

includes "amnesia for amnesia" (forgetting that you forgot)

Latent DID

"patients whose alters are generally inactive but are triggered to emerge infrequently by intercurrent stressors, many of which are analogous to, symbolic of, or trigger memories of childhood traumata."

examples include patients who become overt when their children reach the age(s) at which they were traumatized, or when their abusers become ill or die

Posttraumatic DID

covert until the patient experiences an overwhelming contemporary event

Extremely Complex or Polyfragmented DID

"occurs when there is a wide variety of alter personalities and their comings and goings are so frequent and/or ephemeral that it is hard to discern the outline of the MPD behind the rapidly fluctuating and switching manifestations."

subjective experiences of confused and fluctuating identity and memory is an indicator

Epochal or Sequential DID

"occurs when switches are rare—the newly emergent alter simply takes over for a long period, and the others go dormant."

often missed, and can be suspected in patients with dense amnesia for periods of their adult life

Isomorphic DID

"a group of very similar alters are largely in control, and/or the alters try to pass as one."

only overt manifestation may be an unevenness of memory and skills, a fluctuating level of function, and inconsistency that is striking in view of the patient's apparent strengths

can be seen as puzzling due to the apparent lack of alternating personalities

Coconscious DID

confusing for its apparent lack of amnesia (patients with this presentation would be diagnosed with DDNOS in the DSM-IV)

"Such cases present with apparent alters that know about one another and do not demonstrate time loss or memory gaps. Usually there is amnesia, but it is covered over or relates to events long past, and becomes apparent only in therapy."

Possessionform DID

"occurs when the alter that is most evident or the sole manifestation presents itself as a demon or devil."

Reincarnation/Mediumistic DID

"presentations in which the presenting alters are egosyntonic within certain unique belief systems but are found to overlie more typical alters."

Atypical/Private DID

many patients are quite high-functioning

"occurs when the alters are aware of one another, and the isomorphic presentation is consciously adapted to pass as one."

Secret DID

closely related to Atypical DID

"the alters, although classic, never emerge except when the host is alone, and unlike the private form, the host is unaware of the alters."

Ostensible Imaginary Companionship DID

"occurs when a patient is found to have an apparent adult version of imaginary companionship with an egosyntonic entity that is coconscious and copresent and engages in friendly and supportive dialog with an otherwise socially constricted host. Examination reveals, however, that this entity does assume executive control, and that (usually) other entities are present as well. "

Covert DID

the truly classic form of DID

may be subdivided roughly into Puppeteering (hapless or accepting), Phenocopy, Somatoform, and Orphan symptom varieties

Puppeteering or Passive-Influence Dominated DID

"occur when the host is dominated by alters that rarely emerge. If the host is unaware of what is transpiring, he or she feels him or herself the hapless victim of influences that force behavior in ways not willed or chosen."

Phenocopy DID

"most important of the covert forms. It occurs when the final common vector of the alters' influences create phenomena that are similar to the manifestations of other mental disorders, or when the urge of traumatic materials overwhelms the patient's ego strength."

should be considered when a patient who appears to have another mental disorder fails to improve with the application of a therapy appropriate for that condition or if the condition is associated with a prolonged therapy or a poor prognosis."

a useful approach to suspected phenocopy presentations would involve the DES and an interview

patients with high scores on both the DES and Hypnotic Induction Profile (HIP) are much more likely to have DID than any other condition.

Somatoform DID

very common

"occur[s] when the discomfort associated with a painful event is reexperienced, with no conscious connection between the symptom and the historical event."

Orphan Symptom DID

closely related to all covert categories

"Dissociating patients are prone to divide their painful experiences along the behavior, affect, sensation, and knowledge (BASK) dimensions described by Braun. The intrusion of any such element into the ongoing mental life of a patient should initiate the search for a DD—an unwilling motor act, the unexplained intrusion of a strong affect, a sensation for which no medical cause can be found, or intrusive traumatic imagery."

Switch-Dominated DID

"In this form the switch process is occurring so frequently and/or rapidly that it rather than amnesia or the clear emergence of alters dominates. The patient appears bewildered, confused, and forgetful."

most common in extremely complex DID with a large number of alters

patient may be thought to have an affective disorder, psychosis, or a seizure disorder

Ad Hoc DID

very rare

"a single helper alter that rarely emerges persists and creates a series of short-lived alters that function briefly and cease to exist. The helper may speak to the host inwardly to advise on how to frustrate inquiries."

Modular DID

quite uncommon but most intrusive

"occurring when usually autonomous ego functions become personified and split and when personalities are reconfigured from their elements when mobilized. More standard alters may or may not be present. Such patients have an "MPD feel" about them, but once one has talked to qn apparent alter one may appreciate its vagueness and may never encounter it in exactly the same way again."

"The few patients in whom this form has been found have been seriously abused, brilliant, and creative... There are clear analogies between this form of dissociative defense and computer functioning, and it may well be that this form will be seen with increasing frequency in the future. In all cases thus far seen, the common factors have been stellar brilliance, bizarre symptoms, and an inconsistency in the manifestations of the apparent alters, who appear generally similar on repeated encounters, but never quite the same."

Quasi-Roleplaying DID

very rare prior to 1985

"A personality plays out what has been learned of the other alters as deliberately enacted roles, and then informs the interviewer that he or she is feigning MPD. In another form, the patient immediately follows up apparent alter behavior with statements that the patient is aware of what has occurred and has willfully generated it. With further assessment, it is discovered that the patient is upset about the possibility that the diagnosis is MPD, and is attempting to preempt the chance of receiving the diagnosis."

Pseudo-False Positive DID

quite common in the 1970s and early 1980s, but became more rare as DID became more widely recognized

"The patient makes a questionable presentation that is clearly based on a well-known case or is so flamboyant as to appear contrived. The presentation is dropped as soon as the patient appreciates that the clinician is competent, caring, and interested in him or her as a distinct human being rather than as a curiosity."

[sitp-recs]

Hello heart ! I love your rescs and was thinking of ordering something! Currently I have already finished reading your 4 voolumenes (possibly have a session for this couple) the fact is that I am looking for something specific. I adore dramatic declrations! I was wondering if you had any fanfic in mind with anything related! I love it when Darry surprises everyone! It also works if they are declarations of marriage or even declarations of change of sides in the war! Anything drarry that surprises the world!

Hello hello! Oh that’s a really interesting ask, I love that concept! I have a reclist for dramatic love confessions here, but I think you might also enjoy these fics. This reclist clearly got a bit out of hand (as per lol) so I’ve shortened the summaries to keep it clean, hope that’s ok!

I, Ferret by curiouslyfic (T, 2k)

Draco's embraced his inner Ferret. Now it's Harry's turn. Starring Veela!Draco, mpreg, an old wives' tale, and a Weddiwizard.

Game On by @pennygalleon (T, 5k)

Draco blows Harry a kiss and the press goes nuts. Harry suggests they use this to their advantage.

(Un)Calculated Risk by @l0vegl0wsinthedark (E, 7k)

He thought about the way Harry looked at him, smiled at him; about the way Draco’s head was nearly always full of him, all day every day, and about the way Draco sometimes deliberately went to bed still smelling of him, refusing to acknowledge what it meant.

Gravity Centered by carpemermaid (E, 7k)

Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are two of the best flyers in the International Professional Broom Racing League.

Silence series by RurouniHime (E, 10k)

It was his battle, yet he never hurt me, and he could have.

A Song, Incomplete by RurouniHime (E, 11k)

Draco’s photograph took up the entire top half of the Prophet’s front page. Below the photo: DRACO MALFOY DEFENDS SON OF FORMER LOVER. As if that were breaking news.

I'll never be your chosen one by @andithiel (E, 15k)

Draco doesn't know what exactly he’s doing with Potter, he doesn't know how their unspoken agreement even started, and doesn't know where it will end. The only thing he knows is: he's not in love.

Two Zinnias and the Scent of Lemon by @the-starryknight (M, 16k)

Between covert Legilimency links and Polyjuice disguises and running and running and running, Draco has forgotten what it is like to have a safe harbor that isn’t a person.

Reparatio by astolat (E, 17k)

Draco snorted. “I’m not reduced to penury. I want something considerably beyond money, and I rather think you’re the only one can give it to me.”

Touch Me Fall by @lqtraintracks (E, 23k)

Malfoy was such a ponce. And he was a complete snob. And he was so fucking fit Harry wanted to jump him where he sat. It would be too easy to forget his objective tonight: to really, really, really get Malfoy out of his system.

Expecto Patronum by @writcraft (E, 35k)

As Draco Malfoy negotiates his feelings for the wizarding world's brightest star, he becomes increasingly attached to Harry and unravels the secrets he keeps hidden from the rest of the world.

The Wand Slipped by @unmistakablyoatmeal (E, 35k)

After a messy, public divorce and a disgraceful exit from the Auror Department, Harry is trying to rebuild his life as a private investigator.

Rush (For A Gap That Exists) by @sleepstxtic (E, 42k)

A story of love and loss that grew amidst the most infamous rivalry in Formula One history: the story of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter.

The Greatest Game by @sleepstxtic (E, 45k)

The Greatest Game is something more. The drama, the tension, the narrative that the other games lack. There is a story here. Two rivals with a history spanning years; the oldest, most illustrious prize to be won.

Knockturn Soulmates series by @xanthippe74 (M, 60k)

Fate brought them together. Now the real work begins, as Harry and Draco try to merge their starkly different lives without being torn away from everything they hold dear.

The Compact by astolat (E, 64k)

Hermione frowned. “The real question is why the magic of Britain would be failing now, in fact.”. “That is not the real question!” Ron said loudly. “The real question is, how do we fix it?”

A Thousand Beautiful Things by geoviki (M, 104k)

Draco Malfoy struggles with changed fortunes, shifted alliances, an ugly war, and an unusual spell, with the help of a concerned professor, an insightful house-elf, and an unexpected Gryffindor friend.

Far From The Tree by aideomai (E, 112k)

The arrival of Harry Potter’s children—snapped back in time, the children themselves guessed, twenty or so years—was the most interesting thing to happen at Hogwarts for years.

When Times are Dire by @aibidil (E, 130k)

Magical Britain is screwed, and it's once again up to Harry to save it. This time, by marrying Draco Malfoy.

By the Grace by lettered (T, 139k)

Harry is an Auror instructor. Malfoy wants to be an Auror.

Things Worth Knowing by Femme and noeon (E, 164k)

After the Battle, Harry thinks he's left Hogwarts for good, but Minerva insists that all students return for an Eighth Year if they wish to sit for NEWTs in the spring, and Harry needs those NEWTs to go into the Aurors.

[darlin-djarin]

too many thoughts in my head so anyway consider deaf din djarin. he gets caught up in a lot of explosions and i feel like that impacts his hearing a lot.

his hearing loss started on aq vetina that day he lost his parents- some explosion threw off his hearing and he was too confused in the moment to realize his ears weren’t working as well. and then later when he gets adopted into the covert, he realizes his hearing gets just worse and worse over time. i’ve seen theories that the armorer is a tusken raider and so when din was younger, the armorer taught him tusken sign language. he relied a lot on it when he was little and hadn’t taken up the creed yet. the armorer probably also designed little hearing aids for him.

yk how din is very observant and silent? being deaf keeps you totally visually dependent so he watches people a lot for their mannerisms and behaviors and body language so he can understand context. din probably doesn’t talk a lot because he’s self conscious over the fact he might’ve developed a deaf accent since he lost his hearing when he was very young (the reason he talks more often with grogu privately is because he’s gotten comfortable enough with using his voice around the kid).

anyway, eventually, when he took the creed, the armorer developed a built in advanced hearing aid system into his helmet, so he could hear really well with his helmet on. that’s why he prefers keeping his helmet on even when he’s alone or in private. whenever he takes off his helmet, he pretty much can’t hear. his hearing only gets worse and worse as he goes off and does bounties that concern explosions and loud noises, to the point where he can barely hear anything without some sort of aid.

anyway yk that scene with din being helmetless where that imperial officer was talking to din and he asked him what his name was and din was hesitating and confused??? deaf moment. he couldn’t understand what the officer was saying. he was relieved that migs helped him out because he has no idea what was going on. and then that helmetless scene where he took it off for grogu? boy couldn’t hear anything as he watched grogu leave with luke, just like how he couldn’t hear anything as he watched his parents leave him underground. it hits hard for him honestly.

anyway that’s just me and my little deaf din headcanon that probably won’t leave my thoughts for the next billion years.

[in1-nutshell]

Hello! This is my first time with request, so if I'm doing something wrong, let me know. I noticed there is no Bumblebee Movie request, so I'll go with this one. The Ex-Decepticon abandoned the cause before Cybertron became unliveable because the Decepticons used to fight for equality became power-hungry. The Ex-Decepticon got to Earth years earlier in the middle of the human war - World War 2. The Ex-Decepticon helps the humans to prevent the same fate as their home planet. Years later, they saw Bumblebee getting dragged away by the military, the Ex-Decepticon stops them and vouch for Bumblebee and the Autobots and helped Bumblebee fight against Shatter and Dropkick. The Ex-Decepticon got killed in the end when they sacrificed their life to save Charlie's life. Their last words are, "I see humans in us...don't let them suffer the same fate as us," before they passed away. What does Bumblebee and Charlie feel about the Ex-Decepticon? Please and thank you.

OH... oh...

Haven't done one of these before, so this is a first! I will warn you the water works might come on while reading this. You have been warned!

Hope you enjoy!

Ex-Con Bot Buddy sacrificing themselves to save Charlie and Bumblebee

SFW, Angst, some comfort at the end, Buddy isn't making out of this alive (you have been warned!), Platonic, Familial, Cybertronian reader

The Bumblebee Movie

Buddy didn’t think they’d ever escape war.

Not even when they left Cybertron to find a planet to meet up with the rest of the Autobots, they were taken in only to fight in another war. A war that shook the world, literally.

Thankfully they made friends with the local natives of the planet. They were kind enough to offer a place for Buddy to take refuge, as long as they’d help out a bit with their war.

“What’s today’s mission Chief?”--Buddy

“Covert mission. You think you can handle it?”--Soldier

“Does Starscream want to rule the Decepticons?”--Buddy

“Ummm…”--Soldier

“Oh, sorry my bad. I’m good to go.”--Buddy

“You’re sure a strange one, alien.”--Soldier

“Oh, we’re on nicknames now. Chief I’m hurt.”--Buddy

“You started it! You literally started it!”--Soldier

“Maybe I did Burns. Now c’mon we aren’t going to smoke these Panzer tanks!”--Buddy

“If we get out of here alive I’ll make you my kid’s godparent.”--Soldier

“Neat. What’s a godparent?”--Buddy

“If I die your taking care of the little Burns at home with the Mrs.”--Soldier

After the war, the soldier was nice enough to let Buddy continue to live with him and his family. And yes, Buddy did get to become the godparent of the little one. Sector 7 would also house Buddy, but they felt more at home with their makeshift family.

Things were looking up for Buddy.

Buddy lived longer than their friends and loved ones on this planet. They buried each of their friends in private with their family.

Now in 1987, Buddy was staying and working with their godson.

“Hey kid—”--Buddy

“Agent Burns. Buddy we’ve talked about this.”—Agent Burns

“Okay then Agent Burns.”--Buddy

“Don’t say it like that.”—Agent Burns

“Then how do you want me to say it?”--Buddy

“Not like that!”--Agent

“Yeah I know, just messing with ya kid.”--Buddy

“How did you become my godparent?”—Agent Burns

“You want me to tell the story again?”--Buddy

“Wait no—”—Agent Burns

“It all started one drizzly day—”--Buddy

Buddy was out of the state when Bumblebee landed on Earth.

Never had Buddy sped down the highway when they heard Agent Burns’ message about a mechanical being that looked like Buddy on Earth.

“Buddy, this is Agent Burns.”—Agent Burns

“What’s up kid.”--Buddy

“Don’t—never mind, we have a situation down in the Bay.”—Agent Burns

“And, how does this concerns me how?”--Buddy

“We have a robot being that may or may not be related to your race of alien.”—Agent Burns

Tire screech.

“Buddy?!”—Agent Burns

“Wait what?! Describe them!”--Buddy

“Um… small yellow robot, mouth guard, doorwings, and… I think antennae.”—Agent Burns

“Wait, Burns this is a serious question. Does the bot have huge innocent looking blue optics—I mean eyes?”--Buddy

“Yeah—”—Agent Burns

“Oh, Primus almighty! I’m getting over there right now! Don’t hurt him!”--Buddy

“What?”—Agent Burns

“I said don’t—”--Buddy

Call ended.

“Oh… Oh Primus…”--Buddy

When they made it just in time to see a familiar looking scout holding a human female protectively in his servos as the army had circled around him. And their godson in the front.

“GET THE PITS AWAY FROM HIM!”--Buddy

“Buddy?!”—Agent Burns

“Agent Burns stand down!”--Buddy

“What—”—Agent Burns

“Stand down!”--Buddy

“There’s another you?”—Charlie

“Hi kids.”—Buddy

“Hi?”—Charlie

Bee waving cautiously and confused.

“…Stand down.”—Agent Burns

“Sir, you can’t seriously listen to—”—Random soldier

“Soldier, do you want to finish that sentence.”—Agent Burns

“…”—Random soldier

“That’s what I thought. Stand down.”—Agent Burns

It was a small reunion between them and B-127, as Buddy quickly realized that he had sustained head trauma and couldn’t recall most of his memory banks yet. Not until the full repairs had been placed. Buddy nearly chewed out Powell and some of the other generals for not contacting them before and for even giving Shatter and Dropkick any access to Earth communication systems.

“You’re telling me, while I was out of state for the first time in 15 years, you not only managed to get in contact with other Cybertronians; openly planned their extermination within ear shot; believed everything they said without taking it with a grain of salt; give them access to your satilites; let one of them seduce Powell—”--Buddy

“She didn’t seduce me!”--Powell

“Shatter seduced you Powell don’t lie to me. I’m having a talk with you later about that.”--Buddy

“But…”--Powell

“And on top of everything you all didn’t think about calling me about this?! Their names are ‘Decepticons’ for crying out loud! How did you not see the giant red flags waving in front of your faces!?”--Buddy

“Are you done?”—Agent Burns

“… When I’m done talking to Powell, I’m having a talk with you too kid.”--Buddy

“Why me?!”—Agent Burns

“ ‘Cause you didn’t tell me you went face to face with Blitzwing crying out loud! Though he did let himself go from the last time… kind of looks like Screamer.”--Buddy

Buddy made quick friends with the female, Charlie Watson. Thankfully, Buddy was able to access the rest of B-127’s memory banks after a bit of tampering with his processor.

That’s when the proper reunion happened.

“Hey kid.”--Buddy

Bee hugging Buddy.

Buddy gently hugging back.

“When this situation with Shatter and Dropkick is over, I’ll see what I can do about that voice box B-127.”--Buddy

“His name is Bumblebee.”--Charlie

“Oh, that’s the name you’re going by now?”--Buddy

Bee nodding.

“Well humans do have a habit of giving us names. Might as well continue some of the tradition, right?”--Buddy

“Wait so your name isn’t Buddy?”--Charlie

“No, not my original name. I don’t go by that name any more… it brings too many bad memories. Besides ‘Buddy’ is a much better sounding name than my old name.”—Buddy

“How did you know who those Con’s were? —Charlie

“… I used to know them. I used to be a Con, actually. I was fighting for change on our planet. Our planet’s government didn’t care for any of us. The Cons had the right platform at first. Change to make sure equality was spread to every class. But as the war went on, the goals suddenly changed from equality to having the most power. I didn’t want to be a part of a team that didn’t lookout for the little guy. So, I switched sides.”--Buddy

“Wow… I didn’t know.”--Charlie

“Heh, you’re not the only one Kid. Now let’s get back to fixing these chambers.”--Buddy

“You’re the boss Buddy.”--Charlie

“I know I am Charlie.”--Buddy

Together, the two bots started gearing up for the final fight.

It ended up with the pair of Autobot’s splitting up to cover more ground.

Bee would go after Dropkick while Buddy would go after Shatter.

Everything was going how it should have.

Things were looking up for them.

Buddy should have learned their lesson by now.

But nothing good ever lasts long.

Shatter had spotted Charlie and let out a round of fire to the human girl.

Buddy didn’t think twice when they moved to cover Charlie.

They quickly shielded Charlie’s body over there’s as the hail of rounds began tearing their body. Charlie started screaming in terror seeing what the blaster was doing to her friend.

“GAH!”--Buddy

“Buddy!”--Charlie

“It’s okay—AHH!—It’s okay, Charlie.”--Buddy

“No, no, no, no, no!”--Charlie

“Close—HURGH—Close your eyes kid. Close your eyes.”--Buddy

“BUDDY!”--Charlie

The screams were heard by Bee who had just finished off Dropkick. The scout tackled the Decepticon, beginning their fight.

Buddy felt as if their entire frame was on fire. Slowly they onlined their optics seeing a teary-eyed Charlie beneath them with some minor scratches on her face from the debris.

“You okay Kid?”--Buddy

“Y-yeah. I’m fine. But you’re not! You need help!”--Charlie

“Yeah—AARRGH!”—Buddy

Buddy weakly pushed themselves back, landing roughly on their back letting out a painful scream. The holoicons flash dangerously before their optics.

They knew.

They knew it was time.

They could barely feel the tiny hands on their faceplate looking at a shaking vision of Charlie.

Her words were muddled, but Buddy was concentrating on the little bits of warmth those little hands offered as their frame rapidly began cooling down.

Suddenly their helm was raised a bit.

Bee had raised their helm into his lap looking at them with those pleading optics to hang on.

But Bee knew.

Charlie knew.

“Hey now, its okay. It’s okay.”--Buddy

“No, it’s not!”--Charlie

“My—friend to the end.”--Bumblebee

“Couldn’t have said it better myself Bee.”--Buddy

“Buddy!”—Agent Burns

“Agent Burns!”--Charlie

“No, no, no! We need a medic! Someone get a medic here now! Someone--”—Agent Burns

“Burns… we both know I’m not going to last long. And here I was starting to think I was going to… bury the last of my family alone. I’m just sorry you’ll be doing…that.”--Buddy

“Its… it’s been an honor serving by your side Buddy.”—Agent Burns

“Likewise Burns… couldn’t have asked for a better godson. Bee…”--Buddy

“Yes—anything—my friend.”--Bumblebee

“I see humans in us… don’t let them suffer the same fate as us… can you do that?”--Buddy

“Yes—goodbye my friend—goodbye—Buddy.”--Bumblebee

“…”--Buddy

“Buddy?”--Charlie

“…”--Buddy

“Sleep well soldier. Your war is over now.”—Agent Burns

Buddy was given a proper funeral at dawn. Agent Burn, Charlie with her family, Bumblebee, and a few soldiers that were close friends of Buddy attended. Bumblebee took their spare Autobot badge with him before leaving. From there everyone parted their ways.

When Bee and Charlie parted ways, they both kept a comm link between the two. Charlie would leave for her garage to finally fix her father’s car, while remembering her friend’s smile.

When Bumblebee eventually reunited with the Autobots on Earth, he mentioned Buddy’s valiant stand against the Decepticon’s and how they fell protecting their human friend.

Bee was going to keep his promise to Buddy. These humans were not going to suffer the same fate as they did.

Not while he was around.

[lorebite]

             𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄

             𝐉𝐎𝐒𝐇 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐎𝐍 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: well, this took me an embarrassing long time to finish. lil context; I wanted to write something specific for my dearest friend (@kassiekolchek22) and I wanted to make sure she has some fun [and some involvement] in the creation of the fic as well. so, I made her a quiz and her choices determined the main love interest, the route of the story and the ending! this fic could've turned out a lot more gruesome and horrifying but Kassie unknowingly made the right choices. 😁 by the way, thank you, Kass, for all you do and are. you are one incredible mf! I hope you have fun reading this. 💖

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ minors dni. cursing. fem reader. roommate au. mentions of jealousy due to y/n seeing another guy... so, cheating maybe? explicit sexual material: Josh is a big perv in this. oh, a bit bratty, too. use of toys. small striptease. name calling (whore, slut, etc) and HEAVY degradation. use of the title 'Master'. praises and pet names. switchy Josh. unprotected p in v sex. face slapping. choking. hair pulling. blowjob. cunnilingus. all the filth.

You always tiptoed around that dangerous territory. Always only inches from falling beyond the crooked borderline. That had been the case since the day you took up a room in Josh’s apartment.

He was an instigator of many things but mostly, the spark of desire that spurted and flickered underneath the veil of common courtesy you bore for him as your best friend and also as someone who was kind enough to offer you a place to crash when you moved out of your parents’ house.

At some point, the lines seemed to have blurred beyond recognition. Maybe this was your doing. Maybe his. But in the end, the pull between you was undeniable and you were both sinking, both tugging on the other in an attempt to break the fall but reality approached you rapidly from the bottom with its swallowing grasp.

And it wasn’t until it burst in your face that you finally realized the true nature of your relationship. It was Emily who pointed it out first and as embarrassing as that was, she was the only one who gouged out the bristling attraction between you from the clipped, tension riddled words you exchanged together. Not that you caved in the beginning. You didn’t believe it yourself until you sat down and really thought about it. And surely, there it was, staring you right between the eye; the mortifying factor of your feelings.

That was when the gaping mouth of truth opened even wider. You got stuck in a limbo of flirtation and shame. A vicious cycle that you both fueled enough to make it rear its head with glaring obviousness every time you tried look the other way.

But of course, you never denied yourself in private. Oh, never!

In the confines of your own room, you were the master of creation; a blissful covert world that only you lived in with a hand between your thighs and a name on your tongue. Only you knew of the wants, the beckoning of desire that rendered you absolutely mindless for a tinge of its real, tangible counterpart. But this was all you had and you feared losing it if it ever became known.

But then again – Josh Washington was nothing if not a daring instigator. He was the codeine to the numbing ache that struck in your chest… and other unspeakable places. Sometimes you wondered if there was any truth to the sweet flirtation that made your head spin; if he also felt any ounce of that same crippling lust that had taken complete hold of you and made your nights into sinful rituals of messy sheets and silent moans into the pillow.

And perhaps, he did. Because in Josh’s mind, there unfolded a very similar war which in turn had him wishing he could have you on the very same nights. All the playfulness, the particular sweetness and deliberate touches of his fingers stamped all over what he tried to call a friendship; unforgiving stains that reminded him each time where really stood with you.

That was why he tried to be a part of any aspect of your life that he could and you allowed. Being best friends with you left space for something like that. So, when he found out you were seeing another guy, he never thought he could come to hate a person he had never met before. 

And then he really started to insert himself in your life.

It was quite a thing to watch as it happened. You could sense the jealousy seep from his words; those passive aggressive comments that made you roll your eyes and wave him off rudely. But all that was a simple ruse from the beginning and it was working in your favor perfectly. You scolded him when he was in your presence but in private, in the same four-cornered confines that was your lone world, you imagined an entirely different thing to culminate your nights.

However, Josh only had so much patience. Soon he was tired of your antics, the way you seemed to parade this new guy around whether he was present with you or not. And when you told him you haven’t made it official with him, yet… that was the final straw for him.

The evening you were getting ready for your date, like every other evening it seemed at this point, he stood just outside your bedroom door and watched you silently as you adjusted your clothes and fixed your makeup. 

He couldn’t help how his eyes roved your body. The chastising voice in the back of his mind did little to stop his wanton gaze. And somewhere from the depths of his psyche, his inexplicable envy jumped forward again. This was all supposed to be for him. Those dark coated lips were meant to kiss only him. But no. You had to have this other guy on your arm now. Ridiculous.  

“When are you coming back?” His tone came much more accusatory than he intended and he almost physically cringed when you sufficed to giving him a stern look from the reflection of your vanity mirror; a blunt mind your own business look that made the strike of his heartbeats sting in his chest. He swallowed thickly. “Just making sure if I should leave the front door unlocked for you.”

“Don’t bother. I’m spending the night at Jason’s.”

Josh nearly gagged at the mention of the name. He knew it was childish but his jealousy was childish. You weren’t his girl. He didn’t have any rights to all these visceral emotions. He crossed his arms over his chest and bit the inside of his cheek, pretending to be suddenly interested in the contents of your room instead.

His eyes shifted back to you when your phone began ringing on the nightstand, following your movements as you reached for it and held it against your ear. Then in a voice so soft and sweet you responded, “hey, baby.”

He rolled his eyes but caught himself immediately when you turned around, his shoulder nearly slipping off of the doorframe. He recoiled away from you when you headed towards the door, the icy pinprick of shame spreading underneath his cheeks. You turned briefly with a hand plastered over the phone to address him once more, your head gesturing towards the chair in the bedroom. 

“Could you bring my jacket?”

Josh sighed and stepped inside the room with heavy feet, reaching for the jacket right before his eyes darted to the hot pink specifically shaped object on the desk.

“Holy shit…” He muttered breathlessly. A crude grin swept across his face, his previous bitterness quickly gone. “Holy fucking shit. (Y/N), what’ve you been up to?”

He moved slowly towards the desk as if maneuvering through a minefield, shooting a quick glance over his shoulder into the crack in the door. You were a safe distance away. He could see the profile of your body walking the span of the living room, lost to the conversation on the other side of the phone.

Josh chewed his lip. An array of perversion invaded his mind as he reached for the toy sitting idly on the old dark wood, practically begging for his attention. He picked it up and turned it between his fingers. Have you used it recently? He was curious to find out.

He mulled over the thought for less than fraction of a moment before he was nearing the dildo to his mouth, tongue slithering out to claim a taste – a long wet stripe across the silicone skin – before he sucked the rubber tip gently between his lips. He damn nearly moaned at the leftover saltiness that took over his tongue.

“Dirty girl,” he rasped quietly to himself. “Left this for me to find, didn’t you?”

“The hell’s taking so long?”

Your voice came closer than Josh had liked though he made no reaction to it, only slowly turning his shoulder halfway to meet the fierce look on your face with a smirk.

“That doesn’t look like my fucking jacket.” You sneered at him, folding your arms. The guy merely returned a grin as a response. 

“Well, you should’ve put this away if you didn’t want me to find it.” He tutted playfully and your fired up nerves crawled like bugs under your skin. “Cos I just fell for the bait. Whoops!”

He looked far too excited for somebody who had just been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. Your heart, in turn, leered with excitement. Your body trembled from the adrenaline that raced like molten iron through your blood. You couldn’t believe it was that easy.

Josh hummed. His gaze only briefly tore away from you to eye the toy in his hand. “So nice and big.” The toy bounced up and down on his palm, making a suggestive tapping noise every time it landed back on his skin. “That’s what you like, huh? You like having your tight little pussy filled. Can you even take a dick like this? Does your sweet little Jason live up to these bigexpectations?” He made an exaggerated gasp, eyes growing round. “Oh, wait! He doesn’t even fuck you.” He snickered. “Must be so hard. Poor thing.”

If one thing was evident, Josh would never stay down once taken a fall. You knew this was mostly his resentment doing the talking for him but the way he turned this around on you was baffling. You were at your wit’s limit. All the ways this conversation could’ve gone and all the responses you had prepared were completely pointless now.

Before long – before you could manage one single answer – Josh was pushing the toy onto your hand.

“Show me how you do it,” he smirked, jerking the object to urge you to take it when you hesitated. “Come on, little bat. Don’t go all shy on me now.”

The pet name made a delicious shiver run down your back and spill into a pool of heat in your core. You swallowed, gaze trailing from Josh’s long fingers around your used toy to the overtly mischievous look on his features. Back and forth. 

Once the dildo was finally sitting in your palm, he crossed the room and sat down on the edge of your bed where he could have all the reach to make his demands. His eyes drank you in as if he was seeing you for the first time. 

“What are you waiting for?” Your heart leapt at the low smooth resonance of his voice, deeper now that air had shifted into something less innocent in the room – now that you had given in to his will. “Take off your clothes.”

Your lips flickered silently. What were you trying to say again? You couldn’t remember anymore. All thoughts of reason had turned into nothing worth more than a string of vague noises on your tongue. Josh grinned widely at you, cocking his head. You would humiliate him for the growing tent in his jeans if you weren’t vibrating from excitement. 

Tossing the toy on the bed to free your fingers, you let them down beneath the hem of your dress and lifted it over your thigh. Perhaps you were moving too fast because Josh felt the necessity to insert his objection and wave a disapproving finger in the air.

“Ah, ah, ah! Slower. I wanna enjoy this.”

You choked down a snarky comment, glaring holes into that shameless look on his face before you relented and heaved a deep sigh. You began moving your fingers much more slowly this time – skin coyly and teasingly brushing over your body, layers coming undone one slow instance at a time until you were down to only your undergarments. It was enough to make your own breath hitch with anticipation of what he was going to make you do next. 

Josh whistled loudly and you felt your body flush as his greedy eyes devoured your form. A wolfish smile was on his lips as he propped his chin against his palm.

“Those, too.” He said, pointing at your underwear.

Your ears rang with your pulse. You only managed a small “what?” before his smile broadened into something truly startling; this once sweet boy turned into a ravenous animal within minutes. How that wild essence managed to fit in his gentle soul was beyond you. 

“You heard me. Get naked.”

You scoffed and crossed your arms over your chest; more so to hide yourself from your own emotions that were quickly manifesting themselves physically. You didn’t want to let on how easily he could have an effect on you – how you could already feel yourself become wet from his words and not even his touch. 

Josh merely tilted his head again, eyes flickering down and immediately noticing how you were pressing your thighs together. His smirk deepened and you fought back a frustrated groan.

“You’re just gonna sit there and boss me around like that?” You snapped.

“That’s about right,” he nodded slowly. “I’m gonna tell you what to do and you’re gonna do exactly as you’re told like the good little whore you are.”

The new nickname stung a bit as you didn’t expect to hear it. But soon it turned into a fluttering heat in your veins. 

“Now make yourself useful.”

It was embarrassing how quickly you reacted this time, refusing to lose any more to hesitation and ridding yourself of the last shreds of fabric that covered your body. Josh leered once the pieces fell to the ground and at your feet.

“See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it? All that fuss for nothing.”

He used two fingers to beckon you to him and you obeyed. His large palms sat on your waist and pulled you closer, his lips finding the slope between your breasts and inhaling your scent sharply. He hummed and smiled against your skin.

“Why hide all this, right? Pretty dolls like you are only made to be used like dirty little sluts after all – now say it for me.” 

You gaped, eyes blown wide. Josh’s nails dug mercilessly into your flesh and you hissed, a frown pulling at your brows.

“Say I deserve to be treated like a slut.” You hooked your lip between your teeth, gaze avoidant. He clicked his tongue, his fingers tapping impatiently against your hip to draw your attention again. “Look at me when you say it.”

You peeled your eyes off of the ground and forced yourself to meet his. You felt small under his gaze; so heavy you could feel yourself sink, the feeling of his warm hands on your skin the only thing anchoring you to reality. 

“I – fuck – I deserve to be treated like a slut.”

“Good girl,” he mused. “Now get on the bed and show me what you can do.”

A quivery breath flitted through your lips as you crawled over the soft linen sheets after Josh made space for you to join him. You leaned against the headboard, his arms wrapping around you and tugging you to his chest. His mouth hovered close to your ear, brushing the skin every now and again with his warm lips and uneven breaths.

Josh’s still clothed body felt uncomfortable against your delicate skin. But his hands were careful upon you, gliding over you with featherlike softness as you erected your knees on the bed and held your toy down below your stomach.  

You slid the dildo up and down between your swollen lips, its tip hardly pushing in and yet it met your entrance with lewd noises of your juices quickly gushing out of you. Josh sucked in a sharp breath by your ear, his fingers tightening on your skin.

“Fuck, so wet for me already—you dirty puppy.” Your walls gripped at air and you nearly kicked your hips up as the toy brushed over your sensitive clit. “Easy now. Easy.” He giggled. 

You began rubbing slow circles onto your clit, short bursts of breath escaping your slackened mouth as you fought hard not to arch your back. The close proximity wasn’t making it any easier for you. Not when Josh whispered freely under your ear. His orders spurred you further on and his praises and promises stoked the flickering sparks in your core to high flames. 

He pressed kisses to your jawline, his fingers dancing dangerously close to the swell of your breast. They brushed absentmindedly over you, eliciting jolts of pleasure that coursed like electricity through your skin. Your mind reeled from it all, weak with desire, trembling with need.

“Josh…” You choked out and he only hummed in response. “I need you.”

You felt his grin grow against your temple. “Already? Tsk, tsk. Fucking pathetic. What would Jason think, hmm?” He snickered and the mocking sound woke goosebumps on your skin. “The sweet girl with a face as pure as an angel’s – who would’ve thought a little slut’s been hiding in here all along?” 

You spoke his name again. More urgent this time. But he only continued to tease you. His lips ghosted over the hollow of your throat as you arched your neck, the vibrating toy slotted deep inside you, carefully pumping in and out.

“Go on, babe. Beg me for it.” Josh growled, his teeth clamped on the shell of your ear. “If you want my cock, you have to earn it first.”

You stammered; unintelligible words giving way to moans and whimpers as you fucked yourself faster. Josh slapped your hip lightly in warning, clicking his tongue.

“Now now, don’t be so greedy. Slow down.” 

But you didn’t listen. Your fingers continued to slide the dildo in and out of you rapidly, making yourself writhe and moan uncontrollably as you sped towards your climax. 

Josh put a hand down on yours in an attempt to pry the toy away but you fended off his offending fingers; and when he didn’t yield, you wormed out of his embrace and sat up, sacrificing your own pleasure at the expense of something else – something much more wicked – that you had in mind.

You turned upon all fours, core throbbing with a pending orgasm but you ignored it to glare at your roommate who was staring at you with a soft frown. His cheeks were flushed and his chest heaved erratically, the straight threads of his hair fallen messily over his forehead. 

You crawled closer to his open and susceptible form, his eyes falling from yours to land on your lips when you were a hair breadth away, his own mouth falling agape as if to follow after you. A smirk crossed your face.

“What are you doing?” Josh asked hoarsely.

He nearly jumped when you swung your leg over his thighs and sat yourself down on his crotch; taken aback by that simple action, his fingers immediately found purchase on your waist. Your palm moved along his body, trailing a path from his belt to his shoulder before pressing to the side of his neck. 

“I’m sick of you bossing me around,” you mumbled. “You really need to shut the fuck up.”

A challenging smile curved his mouth. “Oh, yeah? Make me then.”

The last of his words died right on his tongue when your lips collided with his, coaxing a muffled moan from him. A small noise that didn’t fall short of how surprised it sounded. You moved at a bruising pace, mostly fueled by the testing giggle that slipped from Josh’s lips to yours. It was as if he didn’t take you seriously. 

You buried your fingers in his hair and pulled. He hissed, his head pushing back against the headboard with the force of your hand. Your lips latched onto his neck immediately, not giving him even a second’s worth of recovery. 

His fingers dug and scratched at your body, his chest arched into yours when you sucked his skin between your teeth and he whined something almost incomprehensible – something about this change of course not being totally fair. Josh whimpered through the complaints; one after another as your kisses refused to cease upon his skin. He only became worse when you began slowly grinding against him.

“You’re such a bully.” He whined but his hands pulled you tighter to himself, a silent protest when you stopped to cast him an incredulous glare. “You’re so mean… Meanie. You’re a big meanie, (Y/N).”

“If you think this is mean, you haven’t seen anything, yet.”

You pulled away from him and he grumbled, one hand reaching out with curling fingers grabbing at air, urging you back towards himself. Your eyes remained on his as your hand began fumbling with his belt. 

“Shut up.” You hissed and Josh’s pout twisted into a roguish smile. 

“Right, right. You’re in charge now. My bad.” He nodded animatedly. “Don’t want Master to punish me.”

You made a pause at the title as you undid his jeans. Then you began pulling his cock out. Much slowly than you initially meant to. 

That was an involutory movement, or lack thereof, really, but you couldn’t help it. That word immediately set your core alight. The soft wince that flashed across Josh’s features as you fisted his length didn’t slip your attention – as quickly as it had come and gone. However, He had noticed your small reaction as well.

“Oh, you like it when I call you that? You’re full of surprises, Master.” His eyes had a mischievous glint when you looked at him again, his tongue hooked inside his cheek. “What else are you hiding behind that pretty face, ha?” 

“I won’t repeat myself again, Josh.” You warned.

“Or you’re gonna hurt me? That’s the thing though. I don’t think you can.” You gave him a stern glare but he only continued to pummel you with his taunts. “I’m just too much for you, babe. I don’t think you can handle it.”

You narrowed your eyes, brows drawing close. “Say that one more time.”

Josh leaned forward, his hot breath fanning across your lips and his gaze burning deeply into yours with his smile permanently etched onto his features.

“I said, you… can’t… do shit. There. What are you gonna do about it?”

Your palm flew across his face, meeting his cheek with a stinging slap. His neck tilted to the side from the impact. He slowly turned his eyes back to yours, still broad and riddled with shock. 

“Did you just… hit me?” You responded with another strike of your fingers. He groaned, the rough sound morphing into a moan when you grabbed a fistful of his hair again and pulled harshly at his roots. “Oh, fuckfuckfuck! I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll shut up, I promise.”

But you knew better than that. Josh loved to run his mouth until it drove you up the wall. 

You wrapped your hand around his neck and squeezed. Gently, at first. Then the grip quickly grew more and more unforgiving. Josh gasped. His fingers coiled around your wrist but he made no attempt to stop you.

“Oh, fuck—okay.” He laughed breathlessly. “You’re really going for it.”

“Why are you still talking?”

That smothered the words in his throat. He stared at you with his mouth ajar, visible goosebumps running along his arms at the sudden raise of your voice. He nodded fervently as if to finally acknowledge what was being asked of him.

His eyes rolled up into his head when your grip tightened even more, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. He gagged and pushed his head back against the headboard. That was when you finally let go only to move down along his body to where his cock sat hard and leaking between your bodies.

You reached for your toy and turned it on again to put it to better use. Josh eyed your movements with a frown. He opened his mouth, almost blurting out the question on his tongue, before he decided against it. He was following your order. Wow. Fucking unbelievable. 

You shot him a grin as you held the dildo over his cock, its vibrating tip barely touching Josh’s flushed one and yet, it still managed to make him flinch. He sucked in a sharp gulp of breath, his fingers clutching at the bedsheets.

“Aw, you’re so sensitive,” you crooned mockingly. “Adorable.”

“This is so not fair.”

“Stop it, Joshy. You’re breaking my heart.” 

He groaned, bucking his hips as you began circling the head of his cock with the vibrator. He was panting and sobbing out frustrated moans; torn between wanting to let you have your way and taking back control. And he could just flip you over and take you like a starved animal but he was already long lost in the throes of pleasure to let his mind take control of his movement. He just needed more and more and more.

Josh’s lips moved slowly, his eyes roaming aimlessly across the span of the ceiling, fingers flexing and unflexing over the bedsheets. Your body uncoiled like a serpentine ready to strike, a knowing look in your glimmering eyes as you cocked your head and cooed at him.

“What is it, sweetheart? Do you wanna say something?”

The words were gentle but your tone – that was what made the hair bristle on the back of his neck. You didn’t mean to be merciful. You had every intention to ruin him and he could hear it seep through the soft glow of your face and your sweet smile. What had he done?

“No.” He croaked. Your brows rose on your forehead. “No?” You echoed. Then you shrugged nonchalantly. “Alright. Then you don’t mind if I use you for myself.”

He shook his head. He meant to say that you already had him; that at this point, whatever you wanted to do to him, he was going to take it eagerly. But you were already changing positions and he resigned to watching you move yourself over his cock. He gasped when he felt the tip of his cock graze your entrance.

“Oh—fuck!” He arched his back and pressed his nails into your waist when you slid to the hilt in one swift pump. “Holy shi—give me a fucking warning first.”

You only smiled and picked yourself up, your hands gripping Josh’s shoulders for balance as you did. He was already shaking; the ordeal of the entire night having taken its toll on him as he teetered dangerously close to the brink. His warm hands cupped your thighs and began guiding you back down, driven by his own impatience.

Quickly, you lost the rhythm as Josh bounced you up and down on his cock. You let him for a while. Until you noticed the telltale signs of his orgasm as his face crumpled and sweat beaded at his brow. That was when you grabbed his wrists and forced him to stop. 

“I was close,” he whimpered. “Why—why did you stop? I was so fucking close.”

You smiled, simply responding, “I know.” You took the buckle of his loosened belt and yanked it out, freeing the slip of leather onto your hand. “Give me your hands.”

Josh hesitantly offered his wrists, already knowing where this was going. You spared a small glance at his reddened face before you began binding him with the belt. Then you lifted yourself and he slipped free from your soaked walls with a groan. 

“Come on,” you patted a hand to the mattress. You were now standing over the edge of the bed, burning eyes staring down at him expectantly. “Lie down for me.” 

He obeyed, slowly shifting until his back was resting against the sheets. His eyes could never linger on you for more than a few seconds. You chuckled at the visible anxiety on his face and watched as the red grew deeper in his cheeks at the little mocking sound.

“Arms over your head. And you better keep them there. Am I clear?” Josh nodded, throat bobbing as he swallowed and raised his bound wrists over his shoulders. You grinned. “Good boy.”

You pulled Josh’s pants off of his legs and tossed them to the floor and he watched you through it silently. Brushing your fingers along his thighs, you eyed the trail of goosebumps racing across his skin from the cold of your touch before your gaze moved to his face and clenched jaw.

“It’s not fair if I’m the only naked one here.”

His eyes followed the graceful movement of your body slowly closing in on his as your shadow towered over him. He lifted his chin in an attempt to capture your lips against his when your face came inches apart but you drew back with a taunting smirk and began unbuttoning his shirt instead, your mouth, going instead to traverse the bare expanse of skin as you revealed them bit by bit – from his neck to his chest, all the way down to his stomach. You only stopped a few breaths shy of his throbbing cock.

You stood again and grabbed hold of his legs, fingers locked securely in the back of his knees before you pulled them apart. The redness had burrowed all the way down to his neck, his legs trembling with anticipation in your clutch. He was truly a sight; spread out so sweetly under you and right at your mercy, ready to be taken and used. All for your own pleasure. All for you. 

It flooded you with something carnal, filling you with such need to put your teeth and nails to his skin and make him cry out your name. You bit your lip and fought to will the raw ask of desire to quiet as you coiled your fingers around Josh’s cock and angled him with your opening. It was much too hard to resist the fast temptation but you managed. The beast should remain asleep for now.

Josh gasped and pushed his head back when your walls engulfed him once more, fingers curled into fists above the restraints. His stomach tightened and released, the muscles rippling gently with twisting pleasure. A strangled moan caught in his throat and his chest hitched with the broken sound. He still kept a sealed tongue.

“Not giving up, yet?” You mocked with a grin and Josh nearly groaned at the offensive quirk of your lips. “All you gotta do is ask, you know.”

His ankles were in your grasp as you thrust your hips against his ass in a long and slow rhythm, each stroke of your warm walls deep and wet and embracing him like a fleshy cocoon. It took him a good minute to shake his head in response to your question and you made an exaggerated moue of disappointment.

If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t trust his voice to not break in his throat if he spoke. This was a new side to you – a much bolder one. Maybe he would even call you cruel with the way you tugged so roughly at his skin and your features contorted into a scowl whenever you let yourself get carried away. It was as though you lost all sense of self in those brief moments and forgot that he was even there to begin with; using him only as a means for your own pleasure.

His eyes flickered to yours for a hesitant instance and found you watching him intently – as if he was going to suddenly collapse into nothing right there on the cheap messy bed; as if you could see the struggle to voice his want. All he had to do was ask. However, he wasn’t certain he was willing to swallow his pride, yet.

“Such a silly girl, (Y/N),” he managed a laugh through heavy huffs of breath. “You think I can’t just break out of this stupid fucking belt?” 

He began struggling against the restraint, his brows fixed into a determined frown. For a moment, you were wholly confident that he wasn’t going to be able to free himself until, much to your horror, you saw the leather grow loose and in time, a knowing smile creep onto his lips.

“Oh, would you look at that?”

Josh grasped the belt in one fist as he pulled his legs back and sat himself up, another hand coming to grab your arm and shove you down onto the mattress. His legs straddled your waist, fingers quickly working to wrap your wrists in the slip of leather as you fought for control. His mocking giggles followed you through your angry grunts and sharp exhales of breath. He leaned back to smile down at you once he was done. Your face was crumpled into a scowl.

“Oh, my god! You look so fucking pissed.” He gave another laugh. A louder one that made you growl and bristle but Josh was quick to pin your arms back down to the mattress. “No, baby. You’re staying down. It’s my turn. Now open your mouth.”

He clenched a hand around his cock and inched himself closer to your face. His tip pressed against your lips, gently prying into their seam. 

“Come on. Be a good girl for me.” He demanded breathlessly, one of his hands sinking into the crown of your hair. “Give me your tongue.”

You finally opened your mouth and let your tongue out right underneath the head of Josh’s cock. He was already leaking and you could taste the clear rivulets dripping down onto your chin. 

He lifted his cock and let it fall back down, the swollen tip meeting your tongue with a delicate wet sound. He repeated the action a few times before you decided to wrap your lips around him, quieting his crazed giggle into a quivery gasp once he sank into the warmth of your mouth, his hand in your hair tightening painfully. 

Your cheeks hollowed as your tongue dragged across the soft skin just beneath the head of his cock, wetness upon wetness pooling like a lucid halo where your mouth embraced Josh. A gentle moan rolled off his lips, his legs already trembling around your head.  

“Oh—fuck!” He sucked in a sharp breath, eyes squeezing shut as his head tilted up, lips ajar. “Your mouth feels incredible, baby. Keep—please keep going. Mmm, yeah, that’s it. Just like that.”

It was easy to ignore the vacancy of air and the growing sting of dryness in your throat as you watched him squirm and struggle for his orgasm. Your scalp burned under his fingernails; your mouth was so full you could only manage a string of muffled moans when he began moving his hips, carefully sliding himself in and out through your lips. 

“Good girl. You’re doing so fucking good for me.” Josh muttered, voice hoarse and quivering. “You can take it deeper, too, can’t you?”

You nodded and that was all the affirmation he needed to up his speed. Enough for your throat to constrict reflexively with every stroke of his cock that grazed it. Tears pricked the corner of your vision as you gagged, fingers twisting tightly over your head. Josh groaned heatedly as he drew hard thrusts. When his eyes met yours, they softened immediately. His hand released your hair to caress your cheek.

“Are you doing alright, sweetheart?”

Your head dipped in agreement as quickly as it could with your mouth stuffed full. Josh smiled softly, his thumb catching a stray tear slipping down across your temple. 

“Such a good puppy.” He sucked the damp pad of his digit between his lips. “Good puppies deserve treats, right? I think you earned yours.”

A soft frown formed at your brows. What exactly was he suggesting?

Josh pulled himself out of your mouth, heaving a small grunt when you released him soundly, thick ropes of glistening fluid oozing down to your chest in return. The sight was enough to make him want to fuck himself back into your throat but he swallowed dryly, reining in his urgent desire. 

“Turn around and get on all fours.” He demanded and you followed, albeit quite awkwardly, your bound wrists leaving very little room for comfortable movement.

You felt the bed sink behind you as Josh hovered over your back, his shadow filling your periphery and the skin of your behind tingling beneath his warm fingertips. Soon you felt the familiar throbbing tip of his cock prying into your folds and heard the sensitive, delicate moan that slipped past his lips. 

He was so fucking close. That much was evident for you. You could almost feel the needy twitching of his shaft as he burrowed deep inside you, his pace already maddening and erratic. He panted heavily behind you, his fingers digging imprints into your waist, nails scratching mercilessly at the skin. His once clear praises and curses turned muddled and strung lazily together.

Your walls fluttered as your core gave way to shuddering heat and engulfed you like a licking flame but Josh’s speed wasn’t enough for it to take over.

“Are you close?” He croaked. “I can feel you squeezing me. Say you wanna cum for me and I’ll let you.” 

No way you were going to do that. You were never going to be the first to beg and if tonight, Josh refused to give into you, you weren’t going to be the one who did it instead. You shook your head vigorously though you weren’t sure he could see it.

“Come on. Let me hear you beg for it.” 

But just as he kept a tight lip over the seemingly simple request earlier, you did exactly the same. Dignity blocking the opening for the floodgate. 

Soon he was brimming you whole with warmth, his trembling cry echoing in the room that followed immediately as his cum filled you in heaps. He fell into the grasp of his own climax before he could give you yours. But who was really at fault here?

Josh remained inside you as his breathing slowed, only pulling out when he calmed down enough for his vision to cease churning before his eyes. You heard his low hiss as his cock let you go and his fingers eased upon your skin; all before he was turning you around to face him again. His fingers gripped your chin firmly.

“So, you wanna be stubborn like that?”

“Two can play at one game, sweetheart.” You smiled, sickly sweet.

“Is that so?” He drawled. A mischievous smirk quirked his lips. It was the softest smile you’ve seen him don tonight and it made your heart stagger. “Lie down.”

You arched a brow at him but he met your defiance with a palm against your shoulder, promptly pushing you down against the mattress. 

Josh was between your legs again, now holding them apart and slowly descending his mouth to your yearning cunt. His eyes bore into yours, waiting for the flicker of reaction that was bound to sweep across your features once his tongue claimed you.

And sure enough, it did; face distorting with a flash of plea and need before you forced yourself to play indifference. However, you were well aware. You were just as desperate to cum as he was moments prior. But you were still too prideful to speak it. And Josh was too prideful to let you go without making you admit to it first.

His mouth was torture upon you. Each lap of his tongue slow and deliberate; each time he cupped his lips around you showy and intentional. He knew very well what he was doing to you and what you were denying yourself of. But pride was the heavy burden in the way. But it was getting harder and harder to resist its temptation as you hurtled towards your orgasm. That matter, he knew all too well as well.

“It’s easier to give in, baby.” He mumbled against you. “Just say the words and I’ll let you cum.”

Your lips fluttered, words wishing to escape but your tongue refusing to allow for any way. However, your resolve was waning frighteningly fast. You were quickly caving in under the pressure of your dire need for precious release. You were so close to falling over the edge and now, you could no longer even remember what was holding you back.

“I wanna – I wanna cum.” You squeaked out.

A playful hum vibrated on his tongue. “You can do better than that.”

“Please—” Your voice rose an octave, face burning with humiliation as you tried again. “Please let me cum.”

“Say ‘please make me cum, Master’.”

“You gotta be fucking with me.” Josh slowed almost to a stop at that and you nearly cried out in desperation, stammering to correct yourself. “Shit—okay. Fine. Please make me cum, Master. Please—just—just let me fucking finish.”

You felt him grin against you. “That’s better.”

Josh increased his pace and all the pent up pressure of the night leapt to the forefront, lurching like a rapidly webbing net within your core. You writhed and mewled as he accompanied you with the slick noises of his mouth and his own breathless gasps of moan. 

At long last, you collapsed into spiraling pleasure. The room rang with the aftershock of your orgasm; shallow breaths turning calm, rapid heartbeats growing more measured. Josh scattered gentle kisses across the length of your body until his lips were upon yours, pressing upon you with delicacy.

He pulled you on top of him as he laid down, his arm twisting around your back. His hand sank in your hair, the threads slipping in and out through his long fingers. The cool waft of his breaths brushed the top of your head in time with the even rise and fall of his chest and every light pulse of his heart. 

It felt oddly domestic lying with you like this. As if you’d done this many times before. As if you’d spent so many nights together on the same bed, counting the dark specks on the ceiling under a weak yellow light. So, Josh had to make sure he wasn’t the only feeling this way. 

“So, where do we go from here?” He asked, voice roiled with uncertainty. 

He continued to comb through your hair, only stopping when you lifted your head to smile at him – a genuine smile. It ignited a beacon of hope in the pit of his heart, making his reflect the sweet twist of your lips.

“I’m still going on that date.”

“What?” Josh shrieked, his face stricken with a look of horror. “Are you serious?”

You shrugged, giggling. 

“It’s not fucking funny.”

“It’s funny to me.” You grinned, your lip rolling back between your teeth. “You’re so cute when you’re jealous.”

His eyes narrowed into slits, brows drawing close with suspicion. “I fucking knew it.” He muttered before he was flipping you over and getting on top of you again.

Your eyes blew wide, hands pressed to his shoulders for darling balance. Josh glared down at you though the hard look seemed far from resentful. His eyes twinkled through his unkempt fringe, the green dark and mischievous. 

“You’re gonna give him a call now and cancel tonight’s plans.” He said as he took your wrists and held them by your head down on the bed. “I’m nowhere near done with you.”

“Is that a warning?” You chuckled.

A crooked smile sat in the corner of his mouth. “It’s a fucking promise.”

[slimeranch7]

How do you feel about a/b/o forced marriage/arranged marriage with female characters? If you like the idea, which of the Genshin characters would you like to go with that route? I felt like Eula(if she had any privileges of her family), Ayaka and Ninguang would be interested. It’s really interesting

ABO is ok at best by itself. But top that with forced marriage and it becomes a gourmet meal 🤤

- headcanons w/ eula, ayaka, ningguang and Kokomi (in that order)

Mild dead dove content below the cut!!

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Eula, before defecting from her family, would absolutely abuse her privilege and power as a Lawrence member to 'steer' you into her path. She would be ruthless in eradicating her contenders with any means possible. She would be persistent in pursuing you. She is educated, trained, resourceful and practical, seeking to use any means available to her to forcefully garner your interest.

Unlike the rest of your potential interests, she has no more reputation left to spare, so anything goes. Even underhanded murder isn't off the table. If she has to play the villain, saving you from those disgusting alphas, she would cultivate all that negativity and turn it into productivity. You don't need to understand her motive, because no one does but herself, and she's already gotten used to that. But you're not getting away from her, and she makes that abundantly clear when she corners you at a fancy ball, silent and imposing, but ready to waltz with your hands in hers- whether you like it or not.

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Ayaka would be so much more covert in pursuing your interest. It would start of far more innocent at first- extra make-up, inviting you for little dates, catering to your tastes whenever you visit the Kamisato estate. Even going so far as to rigorously studying your usual schedule and planning ahead for deviances when you begin to show signs of interest in someone that isn't her.

That's when it gets more intense. Her hands become so much colder and rigid holding yours. Her gentle disposition stays unwavering, and yet her gaze doesn't feel present. She's a tad bit more pushy when it comes to inviting you over to her home for tea and dango. Sweet little Ayaka is a gentle summer breeze, a generous breath of fresh air, but when winter comes-if you aren't prepared- the icy storms can entrap you in a deadly ballad.

-----

Ningguang is purposeful and upfront when she confronts you. At first, you can be in it for mora. Your life starts humble, but suddenly you're filthy rich and a hundred feet off the air, reigning over the city of Liyue. You get to enjoy all the fine food and wine imported from whichever region you ask for. Your clothes are silky smooth, jewelry sparkling, and you haven't seen the same dress twice. Ningguang is generous with her mora, but she is certainly not generous with her expectations from you. You can't leave the jade chamber. The only woman you can look at is her- not even her secretaries- and if you so much as glance up by mistake, you're punished and locked in solitary confinement until you 'understand who you belong to'. Your heats cannot be suppressed- she will take care of it for you in its entirety.

If- when you are expecting, she becomes even more controlling. Your diet and exercise become closely monitored by specialists (whom you cannot spare a glance at). You don't even get to choose your clothes anymore. You are an object of her affection. A mate, for her to love and cherish, but not to share. After all, the Tianquan likes to keep her private and work life separate.

-----

An honourable mention that I think would absolutely take advantage of her position to snag a little submissive and breedable cutie off the streets for themselves:

Kokomi: a stressed out (and admittedly pent up) tactician enthusiast turned war general and divine priestess of Watatsumi actually gets pressured into finding a mate (real; not click bait). She kind of just picks and chooses some random bloke minding their own business from the side and it happens to be you. You can't really say no, not in front of everyone, not in front of the divine priestess, so like, you're just forced to go along, back into the shrine with her.

You grow on her a bit, and eventually she kind of just uses you as a crash pillow after a long day of being a leader and doing leader things. It's not terrible- still technically forced, but she's open for suggestions on how to be a better, more communicative mate. A little awkward and too formal to be a spouse, but she eventually loosens up enough for comfortable conversations over dinner. Most of it is about your day, and the rest is just her being a nerd about war strategies, and stuff. Perhaps it's best you let her grow on you, too.

[tsvwords]

They tell me I’m in shock. No. 

First they tell me I’ve caused an international incident. Then they tell me I’m in shock.

This comes after:

some eight months of negotiating,

a temporary Peninsulan holding cell which begins to feel increasingly permanent over time,

a lawyer from my own country who holds his finger to his lips as if to indicate that our private interview room is not private,

a considerable amount of furious shouting,

assertions from Peninsulan policemen, policewomen and policepeople that I will never see my homeland again, and I should just come clean about my plot to destroy the town of Bellwethers with two servants of an illicit faith (and by the way, if it transpired that the Conclave of the Consolidated Linger Straits had funded or in any way enabled said plot, that would be useful information that would make things go a lot easier for me),

a final, frenzied agreement between nations,

a car to the border,

a hurried exchange,

and another holding cell on the CLS side of the border, with different flags hung over the supervising sergeant’s desk.

I’m interviewed by two detectives from the Nesh municipal force, as well as someone who introduces herself as a political attache and leans sourly against the corner of the cell when everyone else is talking.

You can see them frowning as they scribble on their notepads, trying to construct some, any kind of coherent narrative out of what I’m telling them.

Over time, they seem to acknowledge that I am probably not a covert member of the Parish of Tide and Flesh, but they continue to probe at me all the same, looking for other angles: what am I holding back from them? There has to be more to it than this, surely? Some final secret, some last revelation that makes sense of all this?

Eventually, they give up on me, and this is when the doctors come to run their tests, see if I’ve been brutalised or tortured in any way that could make for effective political capital.

And I begin to understand that there’s another, contradictory narrative emerging: that I’m in shock, a victim of horrific circumstance, and in some undefinable, whispered sense...a hero.

After all, nobody has forgotten the atrocities committed by the Peninsula in the last war. The disasters that transpire, year after year, when their gods go astray. The polluted islands, even now, that stand between our coastlines, a monument to their recklessness and callous disregard for our citizens.

It seems pretty clear to all concerned that Bellwethers was caused by one of their own experiments, and now they’re casting about for blame, trying to stir up trouble against us.

One of the doctors takes great care in smiling at me and squeezing my hand as he leaves. 

“I’m just glad we got you out of there in one piece,” he says.

And soon after that, the forms are signed, the doors open, and I stumble back out…home.

— Chapter 18: If My Hands Could Shape The Flow.