#my body is buzzing/gotta Move and I need to Go

[nomoredying]

watch your six

bodyguard!sevika x popstar!reader

tags: age gap (9 years), unresolved feelings, cunnilingus, ex-military sevika, conversations, angst a/n: english is not my first language — please feel free to correct me, thank you

you’re late. one of many nice things about being a star is that no one says why are you late or where have you been to you except your agent. not to your face, at least. you’re moving fast, balancing a black coffee in one hand and phone with dozens of scratches on its screen in the other, muttering half-sentences to yourself as you cross the hallway of the studio building. 

and of course the moment you look down at your phone just for a second you slam straight into something. someone.

a coffee splash. a grunt. a low, deep “watch it.”

you think of yourself as a quite tall person. still, you have to look up. a woman. broad, scar down her cheek, shoulders squared like a soldier. you blinks once. nod politely, apologise and forget her face the next second.

the interview goes well. mostly. they ask about the tour. the new album. the rumors. you dodge all the personal questions like you always do — with wit, with charm, with a sharp little smirk that fans love. press eats it up. pr training did not go to waste. 

“i’ll see you around, ally,” you wink at the host, as she gives you her thanks.

put your sunglasses back on and start walking, as your assistant says something about invitation to dinner. and there’s this woman again. just behind you. like it’s nothing. like you’re walking together. you’re body tenses as you slows down.

“can i help you?” a polite question, but your hostile tone makes it clear that it’s more of a fuck off.

“no,” the woman says, tone flat.

and you thought you didn’t need anger management classes.

you stare, “you’re following me.”

“technically,” the woman shrugs, “you’re walking. i’m just doing my job.”

“your—“ you see your driver arriving, “i don’t care,” sometimes that’s all you gotta say to weirdos around you, open the car door and get in.

…unless the weirdo climbs in after you to the front seat. 

you look at the woman, collecting all insulting words you know before your phone buzzes and you pick it up. it’s your agent, “don’t drive yet,” you say to gillian, the calmest woman in her fifties you’ve ever met, who also happens to be your driver.

“did you meet her?“ she asks, curious, “apparently, she was in the military. one of the best.” 

you’re genuinely confused, “what? who are you talking about?”

you hear her intentionally loud exhale. you can almost see her rubbing the bridge of her nose, “i told you this several times. security. bodyguard. personal. 24/7. label’s orders. everything for your safety.”

you look at the woman sitting on the front seat, “right. yes. good. bye.” 

“you know that vesper is thinking about buying an island and leaving everything behind,” gillian murmurs. 

sometimes you suspect that she and vesper — your agent — are in a secret marriage. by secret you mean they’re hiding it from you specifically. it’s not hard to picture them sitting in kitchen drinking tea on some sunday evening as they talk about giving you up.

“drive.” you roll your eyes. 

surprisingly, your schedule is clear as a day so you’re being drove right home.

you penthouse is on the 28th floor, big windows, soft light, old movie posters framed and hung on the walls — metropolis, amadeus, les diaboliques. there are records tucked between stacks of vinyl, a guitar signed by someone long dead, a candle that’s been burning for five hours. your home is your safe space. artsy and clean.

and now you have a shadow. a very intimidating one, if you’re honest. the woman — sevika, apparently — stands near the door.

you watch her, “you can stop that. no one’s gonna leap out of the wall.”

“standard procedure,” sevika says. then nods to the hallway. “where am i sleeping?”

you scoff, “you’re sleeping here?”

“contract says on-site.”

“oh god,” you drags your hand down your face, then point, “spare bedroom’s at the end of the hall. don’t touch my shit.”

sevika just lifts an eyebrow, says nothing, and walks down the hall.

you slumps onto the couch and stare at the ceiling. well, you knew what you were signing up to ten years ago, didn’t you? it all comes with a package. constant attention, money, anxiety. 

out-of-their-mind stalkers and personal bodyguards.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

you’re walking home back from a little stroll you take to gather your thoughts. headphones on, instrumental playing. 

too loud, because you don’t hear a man calling you. he has to tap your shoulder so you finally look at him and take the heads off.

you recognise the face immediately. slightly rounded face, large eyes, full cheeks. fluffy blue hair. it’s peter. man in his twenties who says he’s been your fan ‘since forever’. you know him because past few years you’ve seen him almost on every public event you went. always in the front, with his big smile and a notebook he wants you to sign. you’re pretty sure he’s already got a collection of your autographs and selfies.

“hi! i’m sorry, i didn’t want to bother you. it’s crazy i’m meeting you here!” peter chuckles.

you raise your eyebrows, surprised, “it is crazy. do you live here?”

“no, but it doesn’t matter,” he brushes it off, “tell me, how are you? you look astonishing, really. really!”

“thank you. i’ve been okay. how about you?” 

peter starts rumbling, going on and on about him loving your new posts in instagram, going to gym every other day just like you, recommending you a movie he watched recently that he’s sure you’ll like, how he can’t wait for your new album, asking when will it be and if some crazy theory about it is true, and how he’s been wanting to approach you but got the courage to do so only now. 

wait, what?

you frown, “what do you mean? i don’t think we’ve personally met anywhere else.”

“well, no, you don’t see me, but i do. you know. on streets, shops, theatres.”

“no, i don’t know,” your heartbeat goes faster, “have you been following me, peter? what are you doing here?” you press. “you know where i live? what, you’ve got a stakeout somewhere near in case i get out of the house?” 

he looks at you, his puppy eyes widened in surprise, “no. i mean yes, i know where you live. but i would never rob you or anything like that, if that’s what you’re worried about! really, I’m more of an opposite,” peter’s voice absolutely innocent, as if you’re the crazy one.

it makes you frustrated. like the one thing missing in your life was a stalker.

“are you fucking crazy?” you rise your voice. people start looking, “get away from me.”

he doesn’t. no, he steps forward, raising his palm upward in a gesture people use to approach wild animals, “hey, hey. it’s okay.”

“didn’t you hear me? i said get from me!”

peter stops. he frowns, resentful, “don’t talk to me like that. why are you so unfriendly?”

god, sometimes you forget how people can be so…

“because you’re insane and i don’t want to see you anywhere near me.”

and that’s when he gets mad. and not in a i’m-not-your-fan-anymore way mad. no. he reaches in his bag and takes out a fucking gun. yes, you should’ve moved to finland.

“shut up! shut up! you don’t mean that!” he point the gun at you.

you can’t move, your body paralysed. you’ve imagined so many accidents that end up with your death but it’s the first time you might actually be close to that.

“why do you carry a gun?” the only thing you can squeeze out of yourself, your voice lacking any emotions.

“for you! don’t you understand? i want you to be safe.”

you can’t breathe.

“no. no. you’re insane. you need help. i’ll call the police.”

he laughs like a parent would laugh at something silly their toddler said.

“i always loved your humour,” peter takes another step forward. despite his smile, he doesn’t hesitate to hold the gun at your head.

“it’s not— i’m not joking.”

“really?” his smile turns upside down, “that’s too bad.”

and then the bullet goes right through you.

but you don’t feel it.

you wake up choking. 

skin clammy, shirt sticking to your back, heart trying to punch its way out of your ribs. it takes you a second to breathe, another to focus. the room is dark. you’ve had this very dream since the day it happened. which isn’t a long time ago, but you would’ve thought you’d get used to it. 

in reality, he didn’t shot you. a stranger knocked him down when he pointed the gun at you. and now peter with cobalt-dyed hair has a restraining order and you have a bodyguard.

you hear footsteps. precise, not stumbling. you’re quick to stand up and grab the first thing within reach — a solid, aluminum bat on your bedside table. a gift from someone who thought it was funny. now you have a use for it. your grip tightens on the bat. you inch out of the bedroom, bare feet cold on the hardwood. go downstairs.

the kitchen light’s on. then you turn the corner, bat raised—

“you planning on bashing my head in?”

sevika’s voice is calm and a little dry. she’s standing at the sink, drinking from a tall glass of water, completely unfazed.

you lower the bat. breathe out. her pulse is a drum in her ears.

“…sorry.”

the older woman shrugs. leans back against the counter. “you looked ready to swing.”

“yeah, well. it’s been a week,” you set the bat on the counter gently and rub your eyes.

“couldn’t sleep?” sevika asks, not looking at you.

you shrug, “nightmare.”

sevika nods. she doesn’t need any further explanations. you watch the way her throat moves when she swallows another sip of water.

“you smoke?”

she glances over, like the question surprised her, “yes,”

“not in my house.”

you’re not sure why you’re saying this like there won’t be no time for setting the rules other than the middle of a night.

“noted.”

you press your lips together, “everybody’s scared of something, right?”

sevika raises her eyebrows at your words, but she doesn’t hesitate when she says, “yes.”

“well, how do you deal with being scared?” 

a beat, “you don’t. you just become better at hiding it,” she’s honest and you appreciate that.

“goodnight,” you murmur finally, already turning back toward the hall, “turn off the kitchen light when you’re done being mysterious.”

“yes, ma’am,” sevika replies, deadpan.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

your alarm goes off at 7:00 sharp.

you jolt awake, already halfway out of bed before your brain catches up. eyes unfocused, limbs moving like wet cement. slow. heavy. zombie mode. 

the mirror doesn’t lie. hair sticking out in every direction, bags under your eyes. you make a face at yourself and head to the shower. hot water helps. not enough, but a little.

a clean towel, robe, moisturiser you hate the smell of but love the results from. then clothes. you in something simple. all black. not really a fashion statement.

you're sipping lukewarm coffee straight from the pot when you hear it — dull, repetitive, thump.  you walk into the living room, still barefoot, to find sevika doing push-ups. muscles on her arms flexing with each rise and fall. they probably could snap you in half.

"is this your version of good morning?" you mumble, voice hoarse.

“want a turn?" she says without looking up. 

“pass.”

no time for breakfast. your assistant texts you twice before you even reach the elevator. something about a rescheduled interview, snacks on the way, new edits on the press release. you type k with your thumb and call the elevator.

sevika walks behind you. just a four calculated steps behind. 

the day begins at 8:15.

first — a studio lot, morning show. the one with the overly enthusiastic host and bright colors that make your brain hurt.

you sit in the chair. smile on. makeup hiding the fatigue. they ask you what inspired the album. you say something about duality and fame. they ask about the tour. you say you’re excited. they ask about the rumors. you say “which one?” and they laugh. it’s all performance. always has been.

in the corner, sevika stands near the exit. arms crossed. eyes sweeping.

you get a coffee afterwards. someone from the show hands it to you like they’re offering a gold medal. you drink half of it. hand the rest to your assistant.

“you could eat something,” sevika says, typing mid-step.

“and ruin my diet of caffeine and paranoia? she doesn’t laugh. not her style, you think. or maybe it’s like with teachers. if they all use same lines their teachers told them, bodyguards look at the nearest statue to train their poker face.

next stop: recording studio. final tweaks, final mixes.

your producer, lena, has been with you since day one. she’s brilliant, chain-smokes like a noir detective, and only speaks in half-sentences when she’s focused. 

“vocals on track four still feel..” she waves her hand vaguely.

“thin?” you offer.

“plastic,” she decides, “you’re not angry enough. go again.”

you do.

sevika waits outside the booth. eyes on the soundboard, unreadable. someone offers her a water bottle. she doesn’t take it.

you take a break at 1:00. something vaguely healthy in a plastic box. you eat three bites while reading over the promo schedule. your assistant hovers, “vesper says wear the green dress tonight. it photographs well.”

“i don’t own a green dress.”

“it’s already tailored for you.”

“fantastic.”

at some point during the day, you start to forget she’s there. sevika. not gone. just part of the pattern now. background. it’s surprising, really, considering that you’ve only known her for two days and already got used to her presence. there is something calming about it. 

but when you’re leaving the building and someone calls your name — someone too close, someone you don’t see right away — she’s already between you and them. you smell gunmetal and smoke.

it’s just a fan. overexcited. loud. sevika lets go the moment she sees that.

you end the day in a dressing room with too-bright lighting and a stylist who talks like he’s auditioning for a soap opera. you wear the green dress. it does photograph well. 

and when it’s all over, when the cameras are off and the lights go dim and the city starts folding into night, you get in the car and let your head rest back.

“home?” gillian asks from the front.

“please,” you say, half-asleep.

and as always, you fall asleep in the car.

it’s not graceful. your neck at a bad angle, jaw slack, mouth probably open. whatever. you’ve slept in worse places. gillian keeps the ride quiet.

your head knocks softly against the window as the car turns. outside, the city glows in its neon hush. inside, your breathing slows. limbs heavy. mind a blur. the green dress itches a little under your coat, but you’re too far gone to care.

gillian parks.

“we’re home,” she says softly, like she always does. you don’t move, “hey,” she tries again, just a bit louder. “you’re home, kid.”

nothing.

she waits, sighs. then leans back over the seat and gives your shoulder the gentlest tap-tap-tap. “kitten. wake up.”

gillian always tries waking you up softly. she knows how much you work and she knows you don’t sleep well enough, no matter what she tells you. her principle won’t let her go full tornado just yet. though you’re pretty sure that’s because she loves you, not because of her ‘principles’. 

“sleepytime’s over.”

still nothing. she shakes her head, clicks her tongue like an exasperated aunt. 

and then—

“wake up,” two words. said low, steady. a command.

your eyes snap open. first thing you see is sevika, standing by the car door, door already open, looking down at you with that same unreadable expression she always wears.

you blink. once. then twice.

“what—“

“she talked,” gillian says from the front seat, cutting in, “she just talked, and you woke up. what the hell.”

you rub your eyes, sit up slowly. brain still fogged, “what time is it?”

“late,” gillian says. but she’s staring at sevika, eyes narrowed with admiration and dramatic betrayal, “you have no idea how long i’ve been trying to figure out how to wake her like that. i sang. i tapped. i played mariah. i once played screamo. nothing.”

sevika shrugs. “military.”

“girl,” gillian puts a hand to her chest. “respectfully, that was sexy.”

you snort. you’re not really awake yet, not really functioning, but watching gillian glare at sevika like she’s just seen a magic trick is funny.

you get out of the car, coat draped over your shoulders like a cape. sevika steps back, gives you space. gillian still watching her like she might steal her techniques while she’s not looking, “next time she nods off,” she tells sevika as they close the door, “you wake her. i’m retired from that nonsense.”

“wasn’t that your job?” you mumble.

gillian doesn’t even look back, “you pay me for the driving, baby. the rest is emotional labor.”

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

on saturday you wake up at 9.

no alarms. no screaming phones. no makeup callsheets or flashing lights. just sunlight and the luxury of silence. a miracle, really.

you stretch like a cat. everything aches in that delicious way because you actually slept.

your assistant texted the night before, informing you that tomorrow’s schedule is clear and asking if you have any plans she has to write down. your reply was short. hell no.

by 10:30 you’re in a black swimsuit, swim cap and goggles. the pool’s on the last floor of a building vesper once called “disgustingly bourgeois,” which is why you love it. the water is clear, cold and no one else is here.

except, of course, her.

sevika. she sits on the chair near the pool, dressed in black track pants and a plain tee. sunglasses. arms crossed. looking exactly like a soldier guarding a president on vacation.

you dive in.

the first stroke is cold. then rhythmic. you let your brain go quiet. water always helps. shuts out the static. just stroke, breath, stroke.

twenty laps later, you finally stop. hands gripping the edge, chest rising and falling. you glance up. sevika hasn’t moved. still watching. her eyebrows are weirdly judgmental.

you pull off your goggles and push the cap back slightly, “hey,” you call.

nothing. she looks down at you like she’s waiting for you to say something worth walking over for. so you motion her closer. serious expression. urgent.

she stands. approaches slowly. eyebrow raised. the shadow of her body stretches across the tile. stops at the edge.

“what?” flat voice. arms still crossed.

you blink. tilt your head, “come closer.”

“why?”

you don’t answer. you just lean one hand on the edge, the other slipping slightly beneath the surface. when she’s close enough — when she’s right there, looking at you with a mild suspicion — 

you grab her ankle and pull.

her foot slips on the wet tile. and for a second, she almost catches herself. almost. but the floor’s slick and her weight’s shifting and then: splash. like a cartoon. she goes under with all the grace of a brick.

you swim back half a meter, gasping. not from effort, but from laughter. the kind that starts in your throat and ends in your belly. uncontrollable.

her face when she fell— oh god.

you try to keep swimming away, but it’s hard to move when you’re laughing so hard you’re practically crying.

“you should’ve seen your—”

you choke, “your face—“

and then a hand grabs your feet. you shriek, but it’s too late. her grip is so tight. you kick weakly but she’s stronger, faster, annoyed.

“oh shit,” you yelp.

“you think that was funny?”

“yes— yes!” you wheeze, trying to wriggle free, “so funny..”

she pulls you under. not quite rough, just a quick dunk. the water swallows you in one gulp and you surface again sputtering, hair in your face, laugh absolutely unkillable.

“you’re insane,” you cough, wiping your face.

“you started it.”

“i will do it again.”

she gives you a look. unreadable. dangerous. you tread water beside her. chest heaving from laughter.

“you know,” you say between breaths, “for someone paid to keep me alive, you really look like you’re about to drown me,”

sevika shakes water from her face, already swimming toward the edge again, “you’re lucky i didn’t.”

“kinky,” you call after her.

she doesn’t respond. just climbs out of the pool in one fluid motion, water dripping from her shirt, pants sticking to her legs.

you float on your back, grinning up at the sky. for once, the world feels distant. quiet. safe.

maybe this whole bodyguard thing won’t be so bad. that, if she doesn’t quit, of course. you doubt anyone else would be this funny.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

paris smells like money and perfume.

not a metaphor — literally. everything from the airport lounge to the water in your overpriced hotel suite smells expensive.

the fashion show you’ve been invited to is held in an old theatre turned palace turned runway. vaulted ceilings. chandeliers. strange, wonderful things walking past you. you watch from front row. dressed in something sheer, structured, and definitely impossible to wear twice.

afterwards, you end up in polite conversation with camille bellamy. oscar winner. cinema icon. and now she’s complimenting your voice. and touching your arm. and saying she’d “love to work together one day.” you don’t know on what exactly since she acts and you sing, but you happily agree anyway.  nod and say thank you and stay cool, but your insides are confetti

you’re buzzing all the way back to the hotel.

you and sevika walk side by side. her in a black coat, eyes always moving. you in heels that you hate but you still refuse to limp. you’re just about to come in the elevator when a girl approaches.

young. maybe nineteen, maybe twenty-two.

hood up. pale eyes. too focused.

“hi,” she says.

you smile automatically. “hey.”

“i just..” she pauses, “i used to really like your music.”

used to? that doesn’t sound very good. your smile falters. you hear sevika’s steps slow behind you.

“thanks,” you say, cautious. “glad you—”

“but then you changed,” she interrupts. voice higher now. thinner, “you started pretending you were something you’re not. sold out. made everything about image.”

you blink, “i’m not sure what this is, but,”

“you don’t care,” she cuts in again, louder, “none of you ever do. i looked up to you.”

a second passes. then she steps closer. just a step, but fast. that’s all it takes.

sevika’s between you in a blink, “back off,” her hand’s on the girl’s wrist before she even lifts it.

the girl flinches. stumbles back. mutters something like ‘whatever, bitch, you’re not worth it’ and disappears into the night like smoke.

you don’t move for a second, “thanks.”

“that’s the job.” you get in the elevator.

your rooms are next to each other. of course. you throw your shoes off the second you’re inside. grab the champagne from the minibar. stare at the bubbles. then open the door again and knock twice on hers.

she opens it. doesn’t look surprised.

you lift the bottle like a trophy. “come drink.”

“no.”

“come on.”

“i’m good.”

“pretty please,” you drag the word out like a child, “i almost got yelled for being unauthentic. come mourn with me.”

she squints.

you press your hands together in exaggerated begging, “one drink. i’ll be so annoying if you say no.”

“fine.”

you smile. 

inside the room, you sit on the couch in your suite. she takes the armchair. you pour two glasses.

“so,” you say, “how old are you, really?” she gives you a flat look. you smile, “that’s not a weird question.”

still nothing.

“okay, miss mystery,” you roll your eyes. “come on,”

“forty-two.”

you gasp dramatically, “no way. i had you at thirty-nine.”

“thanks,” she says, bone dry.

you drink.

“you were in the army?” you ask, head tilted.

she nods.

“how long?”

“nineteen years.”

“damn, “you sip again, “kids?”

“no.”

“married?”

“no.”

“not even a passionate affair with a war photographer named margot?”

“definitely not.”

you lean your head back. “you’re boring.”

“i’m safe.”

you laugh at that.

“safe,” you repeat, swirling the glass. “yeah. i guess you are.”

you fill the silence with more talking. more drinking. something about modern fashion. something about the way parisians look like they were born smoking and judging. you wouldn’t call yourself particularly talkative, but it feels easy with her.

she listens. she’s good at that. at sitting still and letting you spill. somewhere between your second glass and third overly dramatic retelling of camille bellamy saying ‘darling,’ the idea happens.

cards.

you just mentioned something about playing gin rummy with your vocal coach once, and sevika tilted her head and said, “you play?”

you scoffed. “obviously.”

five minutes later, there’s a battered deck from your travel bag spread across the coffee table, sleeves rolled up, heels abandoned. sevika sitting across from you, sleeves also pushed back, legs apart, focused.

the first game lasts three minutes. she wins. you blink at the score, “wait,”

“next?”

you agree. and lose. again.

the third game’s closer. you’re convinced you’ve got it — nearly slam your hand down in triumph — but she cuts you off mid-motion with a play that wipes your whole setup clean.

“how are you doing this?” you gape.

“math,” she replies.

“no,” you shake your head, pouring another splash of champagne. “you’re cheating. that’s cheating.”

“that’s winning.”

fourth round. fifth. you even try distracting her. waving your arms, humming a random melody, even complimenting her forearms mid-deal.

she doesn’t break. you lose. again.

“this is criminal behavior,” you mutter, stretching out dramatically across the couch, arm flopped over your face like a dead heroine. “this is psychological warfare. you’re humiliating me.”

“you offered,” she says.

“you challenged me!” 

you groan and sit back up. you’re not even mad anymore. you’re— okay. maybe a little mad.

as she’s dealing the next round, your eyes flick up — and there it is. the corner of her mouth. a smirk.an actual smirk. not a twitch. not a shadow. a genuine curve of amusement.

you freeze mid-reach, “wait a second,” her eyes stay on the cards. you narrow yours. lean forward, “you’re enjoying this too much.”

“it’s satisfying.”

“you’re smiling.”

“i’m not.”

“you are! oh my god,” you put a hand to your chest, “is that a dimple?”

her gaze flicks up, sharp, “no.”

“oh my god,” you gasp again, full drama, grabbing a throw pillow like it’s a witness, “you smiled. i didn’t even know your face could do that.”

she looks back at her cards, “play your hand.”

“if i lose again, i’m calling the embassy.”

“you’ll lose.”

you do. 

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

117 unread messages

30 missed calls

a lot more mentions and tags 

your album is finally out in the open.

you don’t even open them yet. just watch the notifications roll in. promise yourself that you’ll answer them all later and lock the screen.

when you walk barefoot into the kitchen, sevika’s already there, wearing her hoodie. hair tied. eating something straight from the container with massive noise-canceling headphones on. doesn’t see you. doesn’t hear you.

but you see the screen on her phone. the song playing.

your song.

track four. the sad one with the violins and the breathy chorus. she’s listening to you. well, would you look at that. 

for some reason, you really care about what she thinks about it.

“if you’re not gonna buy the album, at least stream the deluxe version,” you tease and she looks up, slowly. you raise a brow, tilt your head, “so?”

she blinks once. removes one earcup. opens her mouth and your phone rings.

vesper. of course, “hello?”

“it’s out. you’re out. you’re a star! no, you’re supernova. do you hear me? you’re a fucking supernova!”

“hi, vesper.”

“shut up. you’re #5 globally in under three hours. you knocked out two men with guitars. spotify is having a meltdown. i’m having a meltdown!” 

you grin, covering your mouth, “really?”

“you’re going to cannes and i’m buying a horse.”

call ends. you look up again. sevika’s still sitting there, one brow slightly lifted. you try to act chill, “anyway. thoughts on the vocals?”

“they’re good,” she says.

“good?”

“you don’t need me to tell you you’re incredible.”

you roll your eyes and shove your phone into your pocket, “ugh. boring answer. get ready. we have to go.”

when you’re in the car, you hear your music playing.

“this one’s my favorite,” gillian says, tapping the wheel in rhythm. “you sound expensive.”

“i am expensive.”

“oh, i know,”

when you arrive on set of the music video for one of the tracks, it’s all black marble, velvet, shadows, opulence. you’re dressed in deep colours, silks, delicate chains draped across your collarbones. the song is the filthiest one you ever wrote.

gorgeous women with smoky eyes lying across divans and fur rugs. you strut between them. get fed a grape. press a kiss to a girl’s temple. let fingers run over your waist. cameras follow like they’re hungry.

the last scene’s the real killer.

you walk across the room. music loud. lights low. your eyes locked on her. the actress. sitting on the couch. legs spread slightly. smoldering. you’re supposed to straddle her, whisper the lyrics against her mouth, hold her face like she’s the only thing that exists. everything’s perfect.

almost everything.

“i need a second,” the actress mutters. and then she turns green. makeup artists rush. she clutches her stomach, apologizing, eyes glassy, “shit, sorry. something I ate,”

everyone freezes.

the director — a sharp-eyed woman in an oversized blazer and boots — looks around. assesses. calculates. then her gaze lands on the bodyguard.

“you,” she says, pointing at sevika, who’s minding her business near the monitors.

“no,” sevika says it instinctively, immediately.

but it’s too late.

“hair’s perfect. outfit matches. height’s right. you’ll sit. she’ll straddle. no lines. just hands on her thighs. we keep rolling. done.”

“i’m not—” sevika starts, already backing up.

“oh, you’re perfect,” the director says. “don’t move.”

makeup artists start working on her face. she looks very unhappy. you just sit on the edge of a couch, watching this unfold with a little chuckle.

“you good?” you ask when she’s finally dragged into place.

“not the word i’d use.”

you grin, “just hands on my thighs, soldier. you’ll live.”

the camera rolls. the track plays. you walk over, slow and deliberate. she’s sitting on the couch, jaw tight.

you step between her knees. tilt her chin up with two fingers. her eyes meet yours, unreadable. you lower yourself onto her lap, smooth. your knees on either side of her. your hands on her shoulders. her hands, resting on your thighs.

you lean in, lipsinking to the lyrics.

honey, i’d lie if i said i didn’t like it slow

her grip tightens just a little. the camera zooms in. your lips hover over her cheek. her hands are huge and warm and just barely trembling.

you don’t talk after the scene.

the set applauds. someone yells ‘that’s a wrap!’ the director gives you a proud little nod, and sevika disappears somewhere behind the camera with a face that says never speak of this again.

you smile politely. change into your robe. get your makeup retouched. you laugh with the stylist. hug the assistant director. get back to your dressing room. dim lights. lips freshly reapplied.

the door opens and sevika walks in. your bodyguard. your shadow. you look at her through the mirror. she shuts the door behind her like she always does — calm, mechanical. professional.

“are you going to say something?” 

because it looks like she does.

“i didn’t think i needed to,” sevika says. voice low. a little rougher than usual. god, that rasp.

you stand. walk to her slowly and stop right in front of her. your hand lifts, gentle. touches her collarbone. your fingers shake, but not from fear.

you grab her face, crushing your mouth to hers. smearing red across both your lips. oh, she doesn’t hesitate.

her hands land on your waist like they’ve always belonged there. like the scene was nothing compared to this. like she’s been dying to do this. you hope so.

her voice when she pulls back is hoarse, low, wrecked, “that what you wanted?”

you nod. breathe heavy. eyes locked on her mouth.

“yeah.”

you kiss again. slower now. deeper. her fingers flex against your back. she breathes through her nose, jaw tight.

“sit.”

you don’t question it. lean back against the vanity, legs parted just enough for her to step between.

sevika kneels, like it’s instinct. like that’s where she was always meant to be. on the floor, between your thighs, broad shoulders nudging them apart, eyes dark and focused.

“you sure?”

you nod. breathless. aching, really. you need this. need her, “yes.”

she drags your robe open slowly. reverently. eyes on you, never flickering. sevika gazed at the glistening pink folds before her, inhaling the heady scent of your arousal. 

then her mouth is on you. she starts slow and teasing, dragging her tongue along your slit, savouring the taste. her tongue is certainly skilfull. she knows how to treat your pussy just right. eat it all up.

sevika pulls a moan out of you that doesn’t sound like anything you’ve made on stage. pure filth. she smirked against your sex. 

“fuck—” you whisper, head falling back. “don’t stop,” your hands grip the edge of the counter even tighter.

sevika flicked and circled the sensitive nub with the tip of her tongue before sucking even harder on your clit. she gripped your ass, kneading the firm globes.

you come fast and hard — shaking, crying out, one hand pressed to your mouth, the other gripping her shoulder. 

but she doesn’t stop. not until you’re sinking back, boneless, eyes wet, mouth open. but she pulls back eventually, after sucking and slurping as your juices flooded her mouth.

“still want a review of the album?”

you laugh. a soft, broken thing. reach for her.

“get up here.”

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

once it starts, it doesn't stop.

the tour begins three days later.

city to city. lights. cameras. chaos. and in the middle of all that? her.

she's behind you backstage, arms crossed. she's beside you in hotel elevators, expression unreadable. she's outside your green room, earpiece in. professional. composed.

but behind closed doors? she’s everything but. 

you learn her habits. the way she always locks the door. the way her jaw clenches when you press up against her in a hallway. the way she growls when you whisper something filthy in her ear during a meet & greet. 

the first time she fucks you backstage, it's between outfit changes in a dark corridor.

you're still wearing glitter and nothing underneath.

"we don't have time," she mutters.

you pull her hand between your legs, “then you better hurry."

you come against the wall. thighs shaking. lipstick smudged. and she wipes your mouth with her thumb after, then kisses you like it's the last thing she'll ever do.

on a bathroom on the plane, your head hits the mirror. she’s got you pressed up tight, breathing in your ear.

“quiet,” she warns.

you fail.

you both exit fifteen minutes later. the steward looks away with so much awareness.

in paris, she fucks you against the window.

your handprints are on the glass, legs shaking, lips red and bitten. her voice in your ear, all low and commanding, “louder, baby. let the city hear you.”

in rome, she pushes your dress up the second the door shuts. no greeting. no pretense. just you, up on the desk, her mouth on your chest, your heel digging into her back.

“you can’t wait five minutes?”

“i’ve been waiting all day.”

in berlin, you ride her in a five-star hotel bed with floor-to-ceiling windows.

in prague, she bends you over a marble counter with one hand in your hair and the other over your mouth.

in florence, you beg. she loves it.

in vienna, it’s top floor. balcony. 2:13 a.m.

you’re in her lap. you’re in your robe. she’s in nothing but sweats, one hand gripping your thigh, the other lost in your hair.

she groans into your mouth. you bite her lip. her hand slides down.

neither of you noticed the camera flash.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

you find out in the morning.

barefoot, oversized t-shirt (hers), coffee in hand. you scroll through your phone.

until—

“Pop Star Seen Kissing Mystery Woman on Vienna Balcony – Internet Melts Down.”

you freeze. the article is short. the photos.. not so much.

zoomed-in shots from across the street.

your legs on either side of her lap. her hands holding your hips. your mouth on hers. and the headline is everywhere.

gillian walks in — you take her everywhere — sees your face. takes one look at your screen.

“oh fuck,” you don’t respond. just… blink, “does vesper know yet?”

your phone rings. you don’t need to check the ID.

“yes.”

vesper is screaming. very loud.

“you said no windows.”

“i didn’t think anyone would be aiming a telescope at 2 a.m. in fucking vienna!”

“they’re always aiming a telescope at you!” she breathes like she’s pacing, “okay. okay. we have two choices,” she says, “we ignore. ride it out. let the press come up with conspiracies. or we own it. post a statement.“

you rub your eyes.

“this thing… is it serious?” vesper asks. softly, “do i need to prepare for a whole narrative shift?”

you’re quiet. you want to say yes. god, you want to mean it. but you don’t know what she feels. you’ve never asked. you’ve just… touched. kissed. taken. been taken.

“i don’t know,” you admit.

vesper sighs, “okay. well. figure it out. i’m already writing four drafts.”

she hangs up.

so you find sevika outside.

on the hotel balcony. same one. irony’s cute like that. she’s smoking, hair damp. you lean on the doorframe. arms crossed.

“you saw it?” she nods. exhales smoke. doesn’t look at you, “vesper’s spinning.”

“figured.”

you walk closer, “you mad at me?”

“no,” she says, “my boss called. said we crossed a line.”

you sit on the edge of the lounge chair.

voice low, “i didn’t mean for it to get public.”

“i know.”

birds in the distance. wind through the railing.

“i didn’t want you to get in trouble,” you say. “i— i wouldn’t have kissed you like that if i thought—”

“don’t,” she cuts in. gently, “you didn’t do anything wrong.”

you stare at your hands, “vesper asked if this is serious,” you say softly, “and i guess… i wanted to ask you the same thing.”

her eyes flick toward you, then away. then she says it. flat. simple.

“it’s a mistake.”

you blink, “excuse me?”

she exhales through her nose. cold. detached. like she’s already made her decision and is just waiting for you to get it.

“you’re a global pop star,” she says. “i’m someone who got assigned to protect you. this—” she gestures vaguely between you “—was a slip. it shouldn’t have happened.”

your chest stings. you try to laugh. it comes out broken.

“you didn’t seem to mind it happening when you were between my fucking legs,” her mouth twitches, but she doesn’t rise to it, “that’s the reason? because i’m me and you’re you?” you snap, mocking. “what the hell does that even mean?”

she looks at you then. expression unreadable. like she’s been expecting this tantrum.

“it means you’re young. famous. emotional. and i’m a former soldier who was hired to keep you breathing,” she says, voice patient in a way that makes your blood boil, “i’m not someone who belongs in your life.”

“don’t talk to me like i’m a child,” you snap.

she raises an eyebrow, “i’m not. but if you don’t understand the problem here, then maybe you are too young.”

your voice rises — sharp now, hurt twisted into rage.

“stop acting like you know me. like you know what i need.”

“i know what this would look like,” she says. “it would look like me using you. sleeping with a client. taking advantage of a girl who can’t see the difference between obsession and affection.”

you stare. you actually laugh. but there’s no humor in it, “you think that’s what this is? obsession?”

she shrugs. stoic. bitter.

“i think it’s not going to last. you’re gonna meet someone your age, someone who doesn’t carry a gun and a file of your emergency escape routes.”

“i’m not sixteen. we’re nine years apart, not nine decades,” you bite.

“nine years is enough.”

“for what? for you to feel like the fucking martyr here? like you’re saving me from some grand tragedy?”

her voice stays calm. 

“i’m protecting both of us.”

“no. you’re running.”

that finally gets her. a muscle jumps in her jaw. she looks away.

you feel your throat burn. you nod. slow. then step back.

“okay.”

you turn on your heel. through the room and out the door.

you don’t look back. you don’t know if you want to cry, scream, or throw something off the damn roof and you don’t know where you’re going — down the stairs, through the hallway, out of the hotel into the cool air of vienna at sunrise. and she follows.

you can hear her boots behind you. always the four steps. you spin around so fast it startles a couple passing by, “are you seriously following me?”

her hands are in her jacket pockets. face unreadable. voice flat.

“making sure you don’t do anything stupid.”

“what am I gonna do? throw myself into the danube over a bad fucking breakup that never even counted?”

she doesn’t answer.

“jesus christ,” you say. “this is humiliating.”

you turn again. walk faster. cross a street. she still follows. you duck into a small park with an old stone fountain in the middle. a few benches. some pigeons. early morning silence.

you sit down hard. she stands a few feet away. watching. silent, “you can go now,” you say, not looking at her.

“no.”

you sigh. this is pathetic. you’re pathetic.

you sit there on that bench in the middle of some quiet vienna park while the sky slowly shifts from dark blue to pale gold. and she finally comes closer. sits next to you.

you can’t look at her. you just can’t. instead, you stare straight ahead. and when you speak, your voice is tight. cracked. real.

“you know what’s funny?” you laugh once, bitter, “you’re the first person in years i’ve wanted to actually talk to,” she doesn’t move, “not just fuck or flirt and forget about it. like.. talk. for hours. about everything. anything. nothing,” you swallow, “the first person i imagined waking up next to, not after something wild in hotel. real mornings. that domestic shit.”

she turns her head toward you. you keep going. eyes still forward. throat aching, like you’re about to cry.

“i’ve had more people tell me they love me than i can count. most of them don’t even know me. and i never cared,” you pause, “but if you ever said it, i think it would ruin me.”

that’s when you finally glance at her. she’s staring at you, her eyes wide. you don’t see it written on her face, but she’s shaking. you reach up. touch her arm.

“maybe you do think it’s a mistake. well, no matter how i’d like it, you don’t have to want me back, of course. i just needed to say it.”

then her mouth opens, like she’s about to speak. but nothing comes out.

you whisper, “sev,”

and suddenly sevika moves. she pulls you into her arms instead of trying to say whatever she wanted to say. you end up curled against her chest, her hand behind your head, holding you there.

you can hear her heartbeat. it’s fast. her hand strokes through your hair. over and over. you feel her arms tighten just a little more.

like maybe that was her answer.

tags: @riotstemple29

[ripcupid]

━━━ ★ something special . . . !

୨୧ literally just sevika fucking u in silco’s office, what’s the something special? SHIMMER STRAP OFC

୨୧ word count: 2.2k

( I’m ovulating so don’t mind 2 fics in 1 day)

୨୧ shimmer strap fanart if you’ve never seen it

“Just such a pretty girl, aren’t ya?” Sevika praises softly, making you nod as you rest your head on her muscular thigh, looking up at her with your pretty eyes as her mechanical hand comes down to gently stroking your hair. “Yeah, you were such a good girl tonight, didn’t complain not once. I think you deserve something special, don’t ya think?”

“Yes, please, Sevika,” you whine, lifting your head as you eagerly anticipate her “something special”. Sevika smirks at your eagerness as she reaches down, slowly unzipping her pants to let her shimmer strap string out. Your eyes go big at the sight of the glowing purple toy, chewing on your bottom lip as you stare at the size of it.

“This what you wanted, baby?” She asks, wrapping her hand around the base, already knowing the answer by the way you never take your eyes off it as it stands proudly between her legs. She lifts your chin, tearing your eyes away from the toy to make eye contact. “I asked you a question.”

“I want it so bad, Sevika, been waiting all night,” you whine with furrowed brows, your voice filled with desperation and need, whimpering when she squishes your cheeks together.

“You know what you gotta do first though,” Sevika chuckles lightly, guiding your awaiting lips closer to her cock, “give it a kiss, baby.” You comply eagerly, pressing a sweet soft kiss to the tip of her cock, looking up at Sevika with pleading eyes.

You kiss down the length of her cock, your tongue peeking out to trace the ridges. Sevika's grip tightens in your hair as you continue to worship her cock, a low laugh escaping her lips. "You like my cock, don't you?" she teases, spreading her legs wider as you eagerly nod in response.

"It's so pretty," you murmur, sitting back to trace along ridges, feeling how the shimmer gives the toy a slight buzz under your fingertips. You lick up the bit of shimmer that drips down the tip before taking it into your mouth. Sevika brushes back your hair from your face, balling it up into her fist, a smug smile playing on her lips as she guides you down her cock.

"Look at you, baby," she purrs, her hips bucking slightly just to hear you gag around her length. Your eyes water as you struggle to take her all in, but Sevika encourages you with a soft moan as if she could actually feel you. "You're okay, keep going," she whispers, gently pushing your head further down.

You feel a surge of arousal at her words, closing your eyes to focus on pleasing the woman above you. As you settle at the base of her cock, Sevika holds you there for a moment before slowly pulling you off with a soft tug on your hair.

She admires the flushed look on your face and the strings of saliva connecting your lips to her length, a satisfied smile playing on her lips as you pant softly. She strokes your cheeks, brushing her mechanical thumb across your lips making you kiss the cold metal finger. "C'mon," she says, moving back to give you room, "Get up here," Sevika commands, patting the desk in front of her.

You quickly scramble to your feet, sitting down in front of her as she leans back in her chair, a mischievous glint in her eyes. You can't help but press your thighs together as she stares at you, shying away as she scots closer, her hands resting on your knees.

"Gimme a kiss," she whispers. You lean down, closing the short gap between you as you meet her lips in a sweet kiss. She holds your hips as you hold her face, your lips moving in sync with hers. Her hands find their way to your shirt, pushing it over your chest to reveal your bare tits.

Her hands caress your bare back, sending shivers down your body as she traces your spine with her cool metal fingers. You moan against her lips as her hands find their way to your tits, kneading them gently as she deepens the kiss.

"Lean back for me," she whispers against your lips. You obey, leaning back on your elbows as she spreads your legs apart. You shiver as the cool metal of her hand holds your thighs open, exposing your damp panties to her hungry gaze.

"Fuck, baby, you're this wet already?" she chuckles, "just from sucking my cock and a few kisses?" You bite your lip, your face burning up with embarrassment as her human hand flips up your skirt. Your breath hitches as Sevika presses her thumb against your clothed clit, feeling the bud twitch under her touch.

"I can't help it, Sev," you gasp as she starts to slowly rubs circles around your clit through your panties, "You just make me so fucking wet."

"I can tell, baby," she smirks, dragging her thumb over your folds, feeling your wetness seep through the fabric. You can't help but whine softly as Sevika removes her hand from between your legs, pouting when she leaves you aching and desperate. "Calm down," she chuckles, pulling you to the edge of the desk.

You squirm against the desk as Sevika's tongue suddenly presses against your aching core, sending shivers down your spine as she soaks your panties. You let out a choked moan as she pulls back slightly to blow cool air against your wetness, making you gasp and your hips buck towards her face.

Sevika places soft kisses to the ruined fabric clinging to your cunt before pulling them down your legs, spreading your legs wider to get a better look at your drooling cunt. "You got such a pretty pussy," she murmurs, spreading your folds with her human fingers before licking a wide stripe from your entrance to your clit, causing you to moan loudly and arch your back off the desk in pleasure.

"Tastes so sweet too," Sevika adds before easily slipping two fingers inside you, curling them just right to hit your g-spot and make you cry out. "That easy, huh?" she teases, removing her finger before popping them in her mouth, savoring your taste before leaning in to suck your clit into her mouth, holding you in place with a firm grip around your thighs to stop you from trying to get away.

You fall back on the desk, your hands instinctively reaching for her hair, tangling your fingers in the short dark locs as you use her face for your own pleasure. As you fuck yourself on her tongue and grip her hair, Sevika moans in response, the vibrations against your clit making your thighs tremble and close around her head.

You feel the familiar tension starting to build in your belly, the feeling dissipates as soon as Sevika pulls back with an obscene pop. "No, no please, Sevy," you whine, sitting back up on your elbows as she smirks up at you, teasingly licking her lips before standing from her seat. "Shh, no whining, baby," she says, pushing your legs up to your chest, "Just tell me what you want… with your words."

"I wanna cum, please, Sevy," you beg, the desperation evident in your voice as you look up at her with pleading eyes. Sevika grins, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your pouty lips, "Where though, my fingers?" she teases, dragging her fingers down your stomach, "or my tongue, or I know, how about my cock?"

You nod eagerly, your cunt aching just at the thought, "Your cock, please," you whimper. Sevika chuckles, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she pulls your ass flush against her, "Good choice, baby," she grins, positioning herself between your legs, comparing the size of her cock to your body. "You think you can take it?" You nod eagerly again, reaching down to try and guide her inside you.

She chuckles softly, pushing aside your hands and teasingly tracing the tip of her cock along your slick folds, making you gasp with anticipation. Sevika watches the bit of shimmer that dribbles out of her cock with a smirk, enjoying the way it glistens against your cunt.

"If my girl thinks she can handle it, who am I to argue?" Sevika shrugs, holding your legs wide open as she slowly pushes into you. You moan loudly in response to the delicious stretch and fullness as she fills you completely.

"Wait, wait," you pant as Sevika settles all the way inside you, reaching for her hips to try and stop her as she pulls out, "I need a moment, please."

Sevika grins down at you, stopping her movements, "I thought you could take it?"

"I can, I swear," you assure her, "It's just so big and you're so deep." Sevika chuckles softly, leaning down to kiss you softly. You can feel her smirk against your lips as you wrap your legs and arms around her, kissing her back with equal fervor. "Don't worry," she whispers, "I'll be gentle with you, baby." Sevika stands back up, holding your hips firmly, "Ya ready?"

You nod eagerly, a long moan leaving your lips as Sevika slowly begins to move again, easing in and out of you with a steady rhythm. You grip onto her forearms, your nails digging into her skin and metal as she stretches you out on her cock. "Oh god, Sevika," you gasp, your jaw dropping as she picks up the pace, feeling each ridge and bump of her cock inside you with every thrust.

"I know, baby," Sevika grunts, her own breath becoming ragged as the harness presses against her neglected clit, sending jolts of pleasure straight to her cunt. "You feel me here?" she taunts, pressing down on your stomach as she continues to slowly thrust into you.

You cry out when she does, placing your hand on top of hers, "Yes, oh you're so deep," you moan, grabbing onto her hand. Sevika places your legs on her shoulders, her thrusts now deeper and hitting that sweet spot inside you that makes your eyes roll back. Silco's former office fills with the sound of skin slapping against skin and your moans mixing with hers, creating a sight that would leave anyone who walked in speechless.

Sevika leans down, folding her body over yours, pressing her forehead against yours as she grunts, "Love this pussy so fucking much, she takes my cock so well," she grips your cheeks in her human hand, catching your lips in a searing kiss before she pulls back slightly, locking eyes with you as she groans, "You feel so good, baby, swear I can feel you 'round me."

You cling onto Sevika, feeling the tension building once again in your core as she continues to fuck you with an pace that leaves you breathless.You stare into her eyes, holding her face in your hand as you whimper, "You feel so good, Sevy, please don't stop," your voice trembling with desire.

Sevika feels herself getting close to coming in her pants from the pressure of the harness against her aching and throbbing clit and your breathless pleas, dropping her head against yours again. She whispers, "I won't, baby, need you to come for me," her breath hot against your skin.

Her head nuzzles in your neck to plant soft kisses on your heated skin, her hand groping your tits as she continues to thrust into you with a relentless pace, driving you both closer to the edge. You arch your back, your clit bumping against Sevika's abs with every movement. Sevika leans in to capture your lips in a passionate kiss, swallowing your moans as you teetering on the edge.

"I'm gonna cum," you whisper breathlessly, your eyes fluttering shut as you clinging onto Sevika. With one final deep thrust, Sevika sends you over the edge, your legs shaking by her head with every thrust as you ride out your high.

Once you start to come down, Sevika slowly pulls out, watching the shimmer drip out from your quivering cunt as she slides off the harness. She pulls you to sit up, pressing gentle kisses along your neck and face as you catch your breath.

"You wanna make cum now, baby?" Sevika whispers in your ear, holding you close as you nod, a dazed smile spreading across your face. Your hands find their way between Sevika's legs, feeling her how she bucks towards you once you start to circle her neglected clit.

"Oh fuck, that's perfect, baby, " Sevika moans, her lips finding yours in a passionate kiss as she guides your fingers with a tight grip on your wrist. You grin as she twitches and shakes against you, your own desire growing with each curse word and moan that escapes her lips.

As she quickly reaches her peak, you feel a surge of satisfaction knowing you were able to return the pleasure she had given you. With a final gasp, Sevika collapses against you, her body still trembling from her release. You wrap your arms around her neck as she holds your hips.

"We should probably clean up," Sevika pants, pulling away from you slightly. "But that was so good, baby," she adds with a smile, planting a soft kiss on your lips before grabbing discrated clothes

"Thanks, Sevy," you smile as she hands you your shirt before she fixes herself.

-send request if you have any 🤍

[ovulationation]

Big Girl

Pairing: bfd!Joel x reader

Summary: Joel Miller gets called to pick you and his drunken daughter up from a party. With a week left before you leave for college, Joel doesn’t think you’re ready for it.

Warnings: 18+, unprotected p-in-v (wrap it up, folks), daddy kink, praise, kitchen, creampie, best friend’s dad, age gap (reader is 19, Joel is around 40)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Sarah had been inseparable since kindergarten. You did everything together. Every all nighter, every time you needed a new dress for a school dance, every new trend you did together. Sarah’s parents worked a lot so she spent almost all her extra time at your house.

When high school came around things started changing. Sarah’s mom left and her dad threw himself into his work. Sarah started going wild and you went right along with her. You started sneaking out, hooking up with boys, and partying every weekend. You both graduated high school (barely) and somehow made it into the same college. With only a week left until you moved into your dorm. Everyone was throwing the last parties of the summer, eager to get last memories with their high school friends.

That’s how you got where you are now, the loud blaring of the speakers as you danced in the random basement of the night. Sarah was beyond tipsy, dancing on the beer pong table while the guys all ogled her body in her short skirt and tight top. You were, unfortunately, the designated driver of the evening. Leaving you with the slightest buzz that had all but faded away.

You pulled out your phone, cursing when you saw the time.

“We gotta go, babe,” you yelled to Sarah over the thumping bass of the speakers.

Sarah look down at you with a pout as you grabbed her arm and helped her onto the dirt floor. Her white sneakers landed in a puddle of something spilled and you winced.

“Don’t wanna,” she whined, throwing her head back for dramatic effect.

You patted her back as you pushed her through the crowd in front of you.

“I know but your dad is gonna be getting home soon and we gotta get back before he realizes we’re gone.”

Sarah groaned as you push her up the stairs of the basement and into the backyard. You led her to the car as you fished around in your handbag.

“Fuck,” you groan and lean your forehead against the window.

Sarah didn’t hear you, too busy flirting with some grimy Super Senior™ to realize you had somehow lost the keys to her shiny new graduation gift.

You pull her away from the walking STD, and pull her back to the car.

“I lost the keys, I need you to keep your hand right here and Don’t. Move.” You spoke slowly, pushing her hand against the hood of the car. She nodded slowly with drooping eyelids then giggled.

“You look soooo funny when you’re serious.” She laughed and stumbled. You shoot her a half serious glare and head back into the basement to search for the keys.

After fifteen minutes of searching the dirty floor with your phone flashlight and trying to shout at people through the loud music, you come back up victoriously holding the keys in your hand. Your victory doesn’t last long when you see Sarah standing next to the car, and her dad next to her.

“Oh shit,” you groan as you walk up to them.

“Oh shit is right,” Joel glares down at you, Sarah draped against his shoulder.

“I called my dad to help,” Sarah giggled.

“I can explain-“

“In. Now.” Joel growls, pointing to his truck.

You just nod and walk over to the car. Joel drags Sarah into the back seat where she promptly passes out. You jump into the front seat and Joel gets into the driver seat, grumpily buckling up and peeling out of the driveway.

The drive back is tense. Only the sounds of Sarah snoring and the low grumble of the road. Joel occasionally glances at you then back at the road, his grip tightening around the steering wheel. You pull down your tight fitting dress. Maybe he’ll go easier on you if you don’t look like you belong on a street corner.

The car pulls into the driveway and Joel pulls Sarah out. You walk behind him as he carries her into her bedroom. Every glare he throws your way makes you duck your head more.

You can’t remember a time when you saw him this mad, but you were usually sneakier than this. You guys had never gotten caught, you always got home on time and made sure any evidence was gone before a parent could find it. Usually you would be back at your house with your sweet, but unfortunately super gullible parents who didn’t think you and Sarah could ever do anything wrong.

You helped Sarah into some pajamas and hoped to sneak out of the front door. You carefully walked through the living room, trying your hardest not to make any noise. The sound of a cupboard slamming shut behind you has you almost jumping out of your skin. You jump around, looking straight at Joel.

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Miller.” You immediately start.

“Look, I understand. You’re 19, you think it’s cool to go to parties,” Joel starts, his expression hard. He leans back against the counter, gesturing to the stool across from him. You scurry over and sit, pulling the hem of your dress down. “But this shit is dangerous. Y’all getting drunk and being around all those hormonal boys or God forbid getting behind a wheel.”

“I’m not drunk,” You argue, but one look from Joel has you shrinking back in your seat.

“You’re leaving in a week and you have no idea the shit that college boys think,” he crosses his arms across his chest. The sleeves of his flannel are rolled up to his elbows showing off his muscular forearms.

“I’m a big girl I can handle it.” You shoot back with a bite.

His eyebrows raise at your tone and he pushes off the counter to stand at his full height. Looking down at your smaller frame on the stool.

You can feel a wave of rebellion coarse through you as you look up at him. Sarah spent most of her time over the years at your house so you never really got to know Joel. You would see him in passing or at big life events for Sarah, but you rarely had to deal with him one on one. The fact that he could just stand there and scold you like a child when he didn’t even know you made anger bubble up inside you.

“You’re a big girl?” He steps closer to you.

You nod, suddenly feeling like prey being hunted

“Y-yes,” you stumble.

“You don’t sound too sure, Darlin,” he smirks down at you.

His eyes travel down, down to the hem of your too-tight dress that had made its way dangerously close to the top of your thighs. You cross your legs and squeeze your thighs together, hoping to shield yourself from his sight and hoping to stop the dull ache that had started to form.

“These aren’t the boys you’re used to dealing with, these are men. Can you handle a man?”

You bite your lip at his words. Maybe you were drunk. There’s no way q your best friend’s dad was standing less than a foot in front of you, undressing you with those brown eyes. There’s no way he was flirting with you after chastising you not even a minute ago. There’s no way you were enjoying it.

You nod up at him. “I can handle a man.”

He grins down at you, “prove it.”

Those two words set something ablaze in you. In a flash you’re snaking your arms around his neck and bringing his mouth to yours greedily. He returns it hungrily, wrapping his arms around your back.

You stumble off the stool and his hands are immediately on your ass. You let out a little yelp and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. You gasp into the kiss, breathing him in as he explores every inch of your tongue.

His hands grip your ass, supporting you as you jump back onto the counter, leaving him stand in in between your spread legs. The hard bulge in the front of his pants rubs again you and he lets out a low groan against your lips.

He detaches his lips from yours, dragging them down your neck. He ruts softly against your clothed core, making you whimper and close your eyes. He growls against your neck, continuing his assault. You reach down to the front of his pants, sloppily undoing his belt.

Your hand slithers into his pants, wrapping around his impressive length. Your thumb grazes over his silky tip and he hisses, pulling back. He grabs your wrist

“Not yet, baby,” he mutters, starting to slowly kiss his way down your neck.

“Need it,” You whine, trying to pull him back to you with your legs.

His hands move to your thighs, pushing them apart to stop them from pulling him in. He pulls back and looks down at you, his cheeks flushed, his lips swollen. He pushes the hem of your dress up to your waist, revealing the black lacy panties that you wore for the party.

He drops to his knees, staring at the little pretty pink bow sitting on the front. His eyes never leave yours as he takes the bow between his teeth, pulling it back and then letting go. Letting it snap back to your skin. You feel yourself clench around nothing beneath the fabric and bite your swollen bottom lip.

“Look at that bow,” he groans, pushing his face forward again. His nose rubs against the bow as he presses a kiss directly to your clothed clit. “You’re like a present, wrapped up for me.”

“Mr. Miler please,” you gasp, not sure how much more you can take.

“Please what, baby,” He presses another kiss to the same spot.

“Please just do something,” Your lips parting in a needy whine. You try to move your hips forward, desperate for more, but his hold on your thighs tightens, stilling your movements. You groan in frustration.

Joel slips his fingers into the side of your panties, stretching them and pulling them aside. He lets out a groan as he sees you finally. Your swollen pink folds slick with your own arousal. He presses another kiss, this time to your bare clit. You gasp and tug in his hair, he lets out a growl.

“You taste so sweet, darlin,”

His tongue darts out to tease around your bundle of nerves, licking circles around it but never hitting it where you want. You pant above him, letting out little whimpers as he teases you.

His hand moves travels from your thigh to your stomach. His fingers splay out against your skin and pushes you back until your back hits the cold granite.

Your fingers tug hard when his lips latch around your clit, suckling against it as his tongue massages the bud.

“Oh fuck,” you moan, bringing a hand up to your mouth to muffle your noises.

His hand that isn’t pinning you down into the countertop makes its way down. You feel a finger prod at your entrance and you gasp.

His finger slips in easily to your soaked hole. You bite down on your hand, trying to keep yourself from being too loud. You lift your head up, looking down at where he’s connected to you and find him looking directly at you. Your walls clench around him at the sight.

He slips another finger in, slowly thrusting them into you. Those brown pupils are blown wide in desire as he watched you whine, trying to grind down on him. He scissors those thick fingers inside of you and you moan, squeezing them.

He groans against your clit, sending vibrations up through your body like the best vibrator money could buy. You feel that ball starting to tighten deep in your abdomen.

“C-close, Joel, so close,” you gasp, groaning when that hand stops you from grinding against his face.

“Gonna cum on my fingers?” He asks, mouth still attached to your swollen bundle of nerves.

“Yes, yes, please,” you moan.

His fingers curl inside you, hitting that sensitive, spongey spot. That quickly sends you over the edge, your walls clamp down, fluttering around his fingers. You bite your hand, a few moans still coming through.

He continues to massage that spot inside you and suck on your sensitive clit, far past the last aftershock of your orgasm. You let out whimpers about him, your hands that were pulling on his scalp now trying to push him away as he licks up the last of your arousal. You pull him up and away from your sensitive core.

He brings the back of his hand up to his mouth, wiping away the slick left behind. His eyes never leave yours for a second.

You sit back up, your hands flying back to the front of his jeans. You push them down, his thick length popping out. You bite your lip at the sight.

“Like what you see?”

You look back up at Joel, a smirk on his face. You didn’t want to play, you just felt hot need pulsing through your veins.

You look directly into his eyes as you wrap your hand around him, pumping slowly. His smirk wavers at your light touch. You sweep your thumb across the tip, collecting the bead of pre-cum.

His breath hitches as he watches you bring your thumb to your mouth, licking the droplet. He groans deep in his throat at the sight. You grin up at him.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he growls, wrapping his hand around the base of his cock and resting it against your puffy folds. The underside of him rubs against your sensitive clit.

“Please fuck me,” you pout up at him. His face goes back to your throat, kissing and suckling the soft flesh.

“You want my cock, baby?” He groans at the base of your throat.

“Yes, please give it to me,” you whine. He slides through your slick folds, lubricating himself with your arousal. His tip hitches against your clit and you moan into his ear, clutching at his shoulders.

“Please, Joel, please,” you beg desperately.

He pulls back and grins at your flushed face, “love hearing you beg for me, sweetheart.”

He hands massage your thighs, pushing them apart. You grab the base of his dick, guiding the fat head towards where you need it most. You’re both panting, watching as he notches himself against your entrance.

He slowly starts to ease himself in, stretching you inch by delicious inch. You can’t remember the last time, if ever, you were stretched like this. He was right, you were dealing with men now. And you loved it.

You bite your lip to stifle your moan as he bottoms out inside you. He stills, panting but never taking his eyes off where you’re connected. His lips swollen in a pant as he throbs inside of you. You place slow kisses along his chest, urging him to move.

He groans as he pulls back, then snaps his hips forward. You whimper at the feeling.

“Taking me like a fucking champ, baby.” He praises and you clench around him, whining pitifully. “Taking it like such a big girl.”

You whine as he uses your earlier words against you. His hand pushes you back onto the countertop as he lazily thrusts into you. His hand wrapping around your dress bunched up at your waist. His other hand wraps around your ankle, bringing it up and over his shoulder, then the other one.

The new angle causes him to push his tip into that sensitive spot inside you. You let out a louder moan at the feeling.

“F-fuck,” you gasp, clenching around him. You feel that ball inside you start to tighten again.

“I’m not gonna last much,” you stop to moan again, as he kisses your calf. “Not gonna last much longer.”

The hand wrapped around your dress pulls you forward, making him reach deeper into you.

“Gonna cum all over my cock?” He groans down at you, using your dress as a handle to pull you back onto him over and over again as his pace picks up.

You nod and whimper.

His free hand snakes down to rub your clit in tight little circles, making you squirm under him and moan.

“Come on, baby, cum all over daddy’s cock.” He groans, his thrusts becoming sloppy and you know that he’s holding back on his own impending release.

His hand comes up to cover your mouth, his other hands still rubbing furiously against your sensitive nub. Something deep inside you snaps and send you tumbling over the edge, your vision going white as you clench around him hard. His thick cock still pistoning deep inside you.

His hand does little to muffle your moans and instead he pushes his thumb into your mouth. Your tongue wraps around him and you suckle greedily on the digit.

He groans at the sight, his hips snapping harder against yours.

“Not gonna last much longer, darlin,” his voice hitches when you graze your teeth along his thumb. “Where d’you want it?”

You let his thumb slip out of your mouth with a ‘pop’ and bite your lip. “Want it inside me, daddy.” You say, giving him a fucked out look.

His hips stumble as he looks at your pouty, swollen lips and wide eyes. “Want me to fill you up?”

You nod, his thumb still resting on your bottom lip, “please.” You beg.

He leans down, capturing your lips in his as he gives a few more sloppy, fast strokes. Then groaning into your mouth as he stills deep inside you, spilling his release into you.

You gasp as you feel the warmth spread through you, reaching deeper and deeper inside you. You swallow his moans, letting him rut inside you lazily as he comes down from his high.

He raises back up, pulling out of you. You’re so sensitive that you let out a quiet whimper at the feeling. He grabs a rag warm rag and starts slowly cleaning you.

Silence hangs in the air around you. You’re suddenly aware of everything that just happened. You just fucked your best friend’s dad. Your best friend’s dad just fucked you. Your best friend’s dad just made you cum twice on their kitchen counter.

And they were the best orgasms you’ve ever had.

He doesn’t say anything, just shoves himself back into his pants and fixes his clothes. You pull your panties back into place and shove your dress back down as far as you can while still seated on the counter.

“I’m on the pill.” You say, finally breaking the silence.

“Oh,” he grunts. “That’s good.”

“So we don’t need to worry about that,” you trail off.

The sound of a door squeaking open down the hall causes you to jump off of the counter. Fully pulling your dress back into place, you practically jump away from each other, standing on opposite sides of the island he just defiled you on.

Sarah stumbles into the kitchen, swaying back and forth. Running into one wall and pushing off of it just to run into another one. She stops when she sees both of you.

“I’m not drunk,” she slurs, pointing a finger at Joel. She pulls the handle of the fridge open far harder than needed, grabbing a bottle of water, and slams it closed again.

She turns around on wobbly legs, then stops and glares at him again.

“You weren’t being mean to her were you?” She points a shaky finger towards you.

He smirks and darts his eyes over to yours, his eyes raking back down your body. “No, I was very nice to her.”

You shudder under his gaze.

“Good,” Sarah stumbles over to you, grabbing you in a too-tight hug and starts to drag you down the hall to her room. Her drunken, tear-filled voice travels back to the kitchen “Cause she’s my best friend and no one is allowed to be mean to her or I’LL FUCK THEM UP.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Note: this is literally the first thing I have ever written, if you’ve made it this far thank you so much!! (I’m usually not this freakay I promise)

[r0-boat]

Sitri x AFAB!reader x Amy

They both fuck you

Cw: breeding, slight baby trapping(Sitri saying questionable things), porn with little plot, Threesome, spit roasting, arguing, slight choking.

Amy is calm and Sitri fucking loses it lol

You don't remember how you got here... Your poor cunt getting brutally fucked by a devil while the other devil who is arguing with him is stuffed in your mouth.

Wait...Yes you do.

You need a devil's energy, and since everyone in Gehenna Who could help you was in a meeting, You stumbled around your vision, getting dizzy as your breath grew shallow, trying to find anyone in the castle. Anyone! You are so desperate. You could even feel The heat pulling between your legs as your body screamed at you to find someone.

Trying to focus on steadying yourself, You didn't notice the big figure in front of you. You ran face first into him, You swore you feel your head bounce off his chest.

"HEY! WATCH WHERE YOU'RE FUCKING GOING!" The man snaps, but his eyes widen when he recognizes you. "Oh! I-I'm sorry. Please, you have to be more careful." His voice went from loud and demanding to soft and gentle in seconds.

But you don't answer as you try to keep your body from passing out. You cling onto the devil, your fingers digging into his white uniform that was half hazard tossed on his otherwise bare chest. You could almost recognize his voice, but you were too weak to think about it. The demon caught you in his arms as you almost collapsed.

"Oh fuck! h-hey take it easy! Are you okay?"

He asks as if you didn't just almost pass out.

"Oh yeah, you must be Solomon's child... Oh fuck. Shit! You don't look so good!"In preparation for scenarios like this, Satan informed everyone of your condition just in case you happen to be out and about and you need emergency devil's energy. Amy knew how urgent this was because he knew how important you were to Satan.

"So I just gotta put my dick in you, and you'll feel better? Okay, piece of cake."Amy muttered because he lifted you into his arms. He left papers he had prepared for the meeting scattered on the floor. Amy ran down the hall as fast as he could, cradling you in his arms in the first room he found clean and vacant. He practically kicks down the door, laying you on the couch.

Immediately, he begins tripping his clothing. He wasn't hard, not yet, But he did feel a little buzz looking at you, You're flushed face, and you're rising and falling chest, Your clothes that hugged your body just right yet leaving some for the imagination. Fuck... The two of you have interacted much, Not as much as Leraye or Piemon or even damn Sitri. But he knew why Satan liked you. Oh, he could absolutely see it.

His hands gently caress you as if stalling to rip your clothes off. He could feel heat flush to his face. You open your eyes seeing a familiar figure. "Amy, please... I need you so bad," You whisper in a breathy tone that stole his away. He nods his big hands beginning to strip you slowly.

It's been so long since he had been with anyone, let alone another human. They had different parts than the one he used to sleep with. Then a penis they had folds that looked rather inviting and quite tasty...

His body moved on his own as he left your legs up to run his tongue across your cunt. One lick, and you buck your hips, finally feeling some relief you desperately craved, but it's not enough. "Please, more!" You whine. Your fingers dig into Amy's locks, pulling him into you, which he happily lets you. His tongue slides inside your folds, and his eyes roll back at your taste.

'So sweet... So good...'

It wasn't before long that your juices so his tongue. He holds you gently yet firmly as he slurps at your gushing. He didn't even realize how close you were until your sweet juices flooded his mouth. His horns and cock were drooling, and his mouth was glistening with your cum. He licked his lips as he crawled on top of you. His lips meet yours as you taste yourself on his tongue.

"Tell me if it hurts. Please," He says. You nod. Your hands dig into his shoulders, bracing yourself as you watch his huge cock slowly begin to press itself inside you. When his cock glides inside you, you watch as Amy tilts his head up, His tongue rolling out at the tight squeeze. You wrap your legs around him, and being inside you becomes torture for Amy, but still, he is waiting, scared that if you move too soon, he might break you. But you are not having it. You needed his 'devil's energy' and you needed it now. "Move Amy!" You demanded, which startled him, but he nodded, moving his hips slowly at first until he started picking up the pace, a nice sensual, deep pace, each thrust going so deep, brushing against every spot, making your toes curl. It had been so long for the devil. He was a lot closer than he thought he would be. He tries to hold on and make you come first before he explodes inside you. He licks, sucks, and bites your neck, his hands running over and touching, manhandling your body, His rough hands scraping against your soft skin. You tighten around him and come on his cock, feeling your tight squeeze. He gives in, filling your cunt up with delicious devil's energy.

Amy holds you to his chest. He smiles at you. He opens his mouth to speak, but the door bursts again. A very familiar blue-haired devil stares at the both of you... In his office... On his couch, naked, smelling of sex. Hearing your heart pounding in your chest, he couldn't tell if it was from sex or the fact he caught the both of you.

"Explain." A single word falls from his lips, his tone just as icy as his gaze as he glares down at the both of you. Amy glared back, cradling you in his arms as if protecting you. Finally, coming back to your senses You fully recognize where you are and what's going on You take a deep breath, and your eyes widen, stunned for a moment. You stutter, trying to form words, but Amy cuts you off. "I found them in the hallway They looked awful and they needed devil's energy if I wasn't there they would have died."

Sitri gives you an unreadable expression. His eyes widen, but his face is blank. He looks at both you and Amy. You could steal your heart, jumping out of your chest as you see Sitri clutching his fist and his fingers digging into his palms.

"Solomon."

He smiles, saying his nickname for you in a sing-song tone. The click of his shoes fills your ears as he steps closer.

"You want more right?"

In one hand movement he rips Amy off of you throwing him to the ground.

"Because I can't imagine a devil-like this satisfying you!" He growls, ripping his clothes off; his eyes are wild with burning anger, lust, and hot jealousy. Amy could only watch from the floor as Sitri grabbed you roughly, pinning you to the arm of the couch. You let out a loud, sharp squeal feeling his cock enter you in one thrust. Amy watched your eyes roll back as Sitri's pace was immediately rough and fast.

"This is how you satisfy Solomon!" He hisses through his teeth. "I know them better than anyone to know that they like being fucked like a cheap whore!"

Amy wanted to help you. His heart raced at how rough his rival was treating you, but at the same time, he didn't want to be left in the dust. He didn't want to sit by and watch as Sitri took you from him. And with your mouth occupied, drooling as you stare down at him, licking your lips, how could he not give you what you're so desperately asking?

He could feel his cock already hardening once again as he stood up. Your eyes light up as his dick dangles in front of your face. You open your mouth obediently; Amy nuzzles his fingers in your hair as he slowly pushes his dick in your mouth.

Sitri was quick to notice. "That's why you'll never satisfy them like I do, too gentle, too soft! You're lucky that I'm letting your diseased dick even near them!"

Your eyes flash a little bit as you feel Amy's cock twitch in your mouth as Amy growls back. "You're too rough! If this is how you treat them, then you'll be the reason why they go back to Earth!"

Sitri lets out a dark, crazed chuckle that makes you clench. "They will not leave me. I will not let them; I will trap them here any means necessary-!"

He leans down, whispering into your ear, wrapping a hand around your throat, feeling your pulse along with the stretch of your throat around Amy's shaft. "If I have to breed you, pump you full of my spawn, then so be it!"

Your eyes roll back. His breath tickled your ear as he whispered something so heinous, so dark, so delicious You go over the edge, and coming on his cock, your orgasm rips through you as you moan on Amy's dick. You milk Sitri as he explodes inside your pussy. His hips are still deep inside you, making sure you take every last drop of his seed.

And Amy feels your throat vibrate against his cock. He cums, sinking his teeth into his lips, trying failing not to moan too loud as he grinds into your face. You eagerly drink up every last drop of warm demonic seed going into your belly.

Three of you collapse, shuffling to the couch to demons on either side, their hands on your thighs, touching you and snuggling against your body.

For the first time, they did not argue; they just sat there enjoying your company, too tired to say anything negative towards each other.

[passionxwrites]

Summer Romance 2

Pairings: ModernAU! Elias “Stack” Moore x BlackOC! (Cymone) x ModernAU! Elijah “Smoke” Moore

Warnings: MDNI, Cursing, use of the N-Word, Suggestive language, some flirting

Word Count: 4.0K

Masterlist

Smoke

Bookbag got the big pump

Like high school, you can get jumped

Can’t play me like a weak punk

Bend it over lemme see some

Bitch I’m a monsta, dumpin niggas like a Tonka

GD crazy like my uncle

“And you know what, we shoulda known Punkin was gone have all that body. Her mama had ass too.”

Smoke was snatched from his thoughts due to Stacks dumbass rambling yet again. He hadn’t shut up since the party at the park last week. Granted Smoke was just as in awe as him but damn she wasn’t the only thing on his mind.

She was on his mind though.

He had bigger fish to fry since they had finally bought back the house they grew up in and had officially settled back into being home. Now it was time to take over the city like they always grew up dreaming about.

“Whatever happened to her mama anyway,” Stack asked absentmindedly.

“Last I heard she was on that shit and wouldn’t get clean. Probably somewhere still on it,” Smoke finally answered as he observed his twin in the mirror.

“Make my shit straight bitch ass nigga,” he said to Stack with a smirk as his brother began lining him up.

Stack had always been the twin that was big on appearances so he was the one who learned how to cut their hair after they moved. He also bought most of they clothes cause if Smoke was left alone to get his own shit he would wear white tees and jeans everyday.

“I should make that shit crooked on purpose since you wanna play.”

Smoke let out a low chuckle before the music paused and the sound of buzzing filled the room. His eyes located Stacks phone on the sink counter.

Mary

“Uh oh, it’s the single white female,” Smoke said with a light chuckle knowing it would piss his brother off.

“Shut the fuck up damn,” Stack muttered with an attitude as he snatched his phone from the sink and ignored the call.

“I told you to leave that bitch alone but you wouldn’t listen. Now she obsessed with you.”

“She need to be obsessed with her damn husband and leave me alone. She don’t even live out here no more. Heard he moved her ass to a big ass house in Madison.”

“Gotta stop hitting that button with every woman you lay with potna.”

“Nigga please. I always gotta hit the button,” he said as he proceeded to finish cutting Smoke's hair like what he said was normal.

Smoke only shook his head as he looked at the reflection of him and Stack in the bathroom mirror. Since he was the oldest he always grew up trying to protect Stack whether it was from they own daddy or from niggas in the neighborhood. The problem was Stack could never shut the fuck up for his own good sometimes. He was always running off at the mouth to any and everybody and although now he was old enough to protect himself and could, Smoke was gone always be there ten toes behind him.

“Let’s hurry this shit up so we can meet up with Duke and Boom.”

They had finally found a spot downtown to put their club in and they had a meeting with the old owner to read over the contracts and sign on the dotted line. It was this building that sat smack dab in the middle of the city. It used to be a sawmill way back in the day in the 1930s and it was owned by some white folks. The twins not only wanted the place because of the good business they would get but also because they wanted to be the first black owners of the place. With the help of their childhood homeboy Lawrence “Boom” Jenkins, who was also their lawyer, they knew the building was basically theirs.

“Aight nigga damn. You always rushing sibling bonding time.”

“We can do that shit later. We got business to handle first and after that we need to go by Miss Etta Jean’s and take a look at her dishwasher.”

Stack continued to huff and puff but he eventually finished up Smoke’s cut and they both got dressed and headed over to the sawmill. Once they got there they saw Boom and Duke already standing outside talking.

“How yall boys doin,” Smoke spoke in greeting as he dapped both of the men up.

“Shittt, ready to get this place so we can get this crackin ya feel me,” Duke spoke as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

“Yeah, where this man at cause I’m on a tight schedule today,” Boom said while looking at his watch.

“There he go right there.”

The group of men looked up as a sleek all black Mercedes Benz S 580 pulled into the parking lot. Once the car came to a stop none other than Porter Keyes stepped out. Porter was your everyday preppy white boy who grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth from a fortune that was more than likely built off the backs of slaves. The sawmill had been in his family for centuries yet they hadn’t done a damn thing with it. They were instead too busy building up the whiter parts of Mississippi. When Smoke reached out to him about buying the building Porter all but jumped at the opportunity to finally have it off his hands.

The white man eagerly exited the car with his own lawyer in tow, a stuffy looking older white man, and walked up to the four men with a smile etched across his face.

“Gentleman, let’s make some history shall we,” he spoke as he beckoned the group on to go unlock the door.

They entered the building and Smoke walked around as he began picturing the place filled with bodies on the dance floor, people buying drinks and folks just having a good time. This place was everything he could have dreamed of.

“So! Here I have the title and the deed to the building as well as the contract,” shot out Porter as his lawyer pulled all of the documents from his briefcase and handed them to Boom to read over. After about 30 minutes of Boom thoroughly reading the contract and making sure the deed and the title were legit he gave a nod to the twins.

“Let’s sign,” Smoke spoke simply as he grabbed a pen from the table they were all standing around. Him, Stack, and Porter all signed solidifying the deal.

“I can’t thank you guys for finally taking this place off my hands.”

“Nah thank you bruh and don’t worry, we gone take real good care of this place,” Stack said with his signature grin as he wrapped an arm around his brother.

“What y’all plan to do with this old gal if you don’t mind me asking,” Porter inquired as he slid his shades back onto his face.

“We gone make this here a club. Calling it Club Juke after the Juke Joint our grandaddy owned way back,” Smoke said with a lil pride in his chest. His granddaddy was a true business man. Somebody to really look up to and be proud of. The twins had always idolized the man, taking every step they could to be just like him and they had just about done it.

“Hm, a club. Well I hope it works out for you fellas. Any questions just give me a ring,” and with that Porter and his lawyer were out of the door leaving the twins, Boom, and Duke.

“Mannn I’m so excited for this shit here ju. I can picture opening night already! It’s gone be so many bad bitches in here and you know with bad bitches gone come all the niggas wanting to spend some change. This gone be a gold mine,” Duke said excitedly as he all but bounced off the walls.

“We need niggas to spend more than change to make a profit. Before all that we need to get a liquor license, cooks for the chicken, and some employees. You still gone have your boys on security?”

“Yeah I done already prepped em on what they have to do. They just waiting on the word.”

“Good, good. Everything go right and we’ll be in business in about three weeks,” Smoke said as he looked down at his phone to check the time.

“Shit, we need to get over by your grandma. I promised her we would look at her dishwasher since your simple ass broke it.”

Duke immediately huffed at Smoke with a roll of his eyes.

“I told her I aint know nothing bout fixing no dishwasher anyway. I sell drugs I aint no damn handyman,” Duke complained as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Damn shame. Them D.A.R.E niggas would be real disappointed in yo ass. You was they favorite student back in the day,” Stack spoke as he shook his head causing the room to erupt in laughter.

Cymone

Cymone sat upright in her bed as she focused on the tedious task of painting her toenails white. Her favorite nail tech down at the shop was out sick til the next week and she refused to let anybody else touch her feet or hands so she had to lock in and do it herself. Just as she had finished and begun to let them dry the doorbell rang making her cuss under her breath.

“Somebody always coming round here at the wrong time man,” the girl fussed as she waddled down the stairs and to the front door. She looked at the alarm camera that sat on the table next to it and rolled her eyes.

“Of course it’s tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum,” she mumbled while unlocking the door and coming face to face with her two nightmares.

“I heard that shit. Yo ass never could whisper,” Stack said with that same grin on his face. A part of her wanted to slap it off his face but Stack liked to wrestle and she wasn't in the mood for all that.

“Whatever nigga. What y’all want and no we are not donating to the Broke Ass Nigga Fund.”

“Glad it aint no broke ass niggas round here. Yo grandma asked for us to come take a look at her dishwasher. Said it’s leaking water,” Smoke finally spoke up from behind his brother. She put her eyes on him which made her notice they both had recently got a haircut.

They look aight but I’ll never tell em that.

Cymone stayed propped against the door frame as she observed them through the screen door before finally letting them in. They weren’t lying because the dishwasher had been broken for about a month now and it had gotten worse after Duke called himself looking at it two weeks ago. She also knew Ganny had probably asked the twins to take a look because they would always fix on stuff around the house before they left. Cymone was also tired of being the dishwasher so if they could fix it she had no problems with letting em do it. She walked further into the house leading them to the kitchen before turning to see Stack holding a medium sized brown teddy bear and Smoke holding a big ass bouquet of roses.

Did they have that with them the whole time?

She must have been too focused on their faces to notice them obviously hiding something behind their backs. Half of her wanted to coo at the obvious “I’m sorry,” gifts but the other half was still pissed and that half was calling all of the shots right now. Cymone scrunched her face a little as she folded her arms at the two men.

“What? This supposed to soften me up,” she accused as her attitude heightened, ready to start a war if she needed to.

“Nah, you ain't gone never be soft. This just something to say sorry for how we left,” Smoke being the first to speak up.

She continued to hold them under her narrowed gaze before it softened just a little. She leaned forward and took notice of the roses being yellow, her favorite color. They still remembered her favorite color after all of these years. Something in her stomach stirred and she decided to finally end her reign of terror against them. She could never stay mad at em for long anyway.

“Well, thank you. It’s about time y’all learned how to apologize,” she said as her tone lightened up while taking the gifts from them.

“But y’all aint off the hook just yet. Still got a lil mo ass to kiss,” she said as she began to walk the gifts up to her room.

“That’s a lot of ass,” she heard one of them mutter, probably Stack’s degenerate ass, before a pop sounded off.

“Shut up nigga.”

Cymone smirked a little as she finally made it to her room. She sat the flowers on her dresser making a mental note to get one of Ganny’s vases to put them in and she sat the bear in the middle of her bed. Her attention was then drawn to her phone buzzing loudly noticing on her nightstand. Of course it was nobody but Reana calling. She snatched the phone from the charger and quickly hit answer knowing her girl hated to wait long for somebody to answer her call.

“House of beauty this is Cutie,” she jokingly greeted while laying across her bed.

“I’m finna come over so you can help me figure out what to wear on my date,” Reana rambled without even giving a formal greetung. Cymone took note of her flustered tone and the shuffling in her background which was a sign that she was probably running around her room like a chicken with her head cut off.

“What fucking date,” Cymone asked while sitting up in her bed. The two girls had talked everyday and almost every hour of the day and Reana had never mentioned anything about a date.

“Uhhhh soo you know yesterday I was at work and Sammie annoying ass came in there messing with me right?”

“Yes, what that gotta do with anything?”

“Welllll, we might have made a bet that if he could bench press 250 pounds I would finally let him take me on a date. Low and behold his ass is actually really strong for his size.”

Cymone sat there for a second slightly bewildered before she burst into laughter. She was laughing so hard tears were running down her face. Sammie was known around as the town player. He was the type of nigga that changed bitches like he changed his drawls. He was never one to keep a girl around for long but he had been sniffing after Reana something serious for years now. Her girl would never give him the time of day because she knew how he was and she aint have time to be knocking Sammie’s head between the washer and the dryer because he wanted to play with her so she always kept her distance. Cymone knew one day he would finally find a way to get her because he was clever like his cousins and it looked like he had finally succeeded but she knew this date was not gone go how he was probably hoping.

“Stop laughing damn! I’m mad enough,” Reana blew out angrily.

“Girl don’t get huffy with me, it aint my fault. Yo ass need to stop betting people too. You ain’t no damn gambler.”

“Whatever man. I’ll be there in ten minutes,” and with that Reana hung up the phone in her face making Cymone laugh once again.

“Girl always getting herself into something like a toddler.”

Knowing that Reana was on the way, Cymone decided to go downstairs and wait for her and maybe also see how the twins were doing with the dishwasher. You know, just to make sure they were actually down there working.

Once she made it downstairs she rounded the corner into the kitchen to see Smoke leaned over in the dishwasher and Stack standing beside him holding a flashlight. She stepped into the kitchen and walked to the refrigerator deciding to pull out some cut up watermelon. After putting some into a bowl she lifted herself onto the counter and began snacking.

“Y’all know what y’all doing,” she asked knowing full well that they did but it wouldn’t be her if she didn’t find a way to aggravate them in some form or fashion. Smoke was the only one who would seem annoyed by her but say nothing. Stack always wanted to argue back cause he forever had something slick to say.

“You supposed to be sitting on that counter,” Smoke shot back as he looked at her from the corner of his eye.

Cymone rolled her eyes at him before throwing another cube of watermelon into her mouth and then licking her fingers. As she pulled the last finger from her mouth she made eye contact with Stack who had been staring her down since her ass made contact with the counter. She smirked a little before flipping her middle finger at him.

“Take a picture next time. It’ll last longer.”

“You gone stay like that while I go get my camera,” Stack asked as his smirk matched hers causing Cymone to squint her eyes. The nigga literally always had something to say. She continued to stare at him until she heard the doorbell ring indicating that Reana had made it to the house.

“You always running that mouth Stack. Be a shame if somebody put some real use to it,” she said as she hopped off the counter and sauntered to the door while also doing what nobody could ever do, she had Stack speechless.

Stack

“I thought I’d never see the day somebody shut yo ass up,” Smoke said with a chuckle as he stood from the floor.

Stack could only shake his head as a smirk slowly began to form on his face.

“Guess Punkin aint the same Punkin no more like Duke said,” he said as thoughts began to swirl in his head and none of them were clean.

“Nah she aint,” making Stack turn to his brother and squint his eyes.

“Nigga I know that look!”

“Shut yo loud ass up. What fucking look?”

“That you intrigued look. Like you wanna see what Punkin talking bout,” Stack accused as he folded his arms.

“You got the same damn look nigga! If anything yo ass got the you intrigued actions,” Smoke said while walking up on his brother, looking him up and down.

“I’m Stack baby. I’m always intrigued by a woman,” he said with a chuckle making his brother scoff and brush past him heading out of the kitchen.

Stack followed him into the living room where they saw Cymone sitting on the couch and her friend sitting in the middle of the floor with a pair of shoes in each hand and two outfits laid out on the floor. Stack took the liberty to sit on one side of Cymone while Smoke took the other side basically sandwiching the poor girl in between them.

“What y’all in here doing,” Stack asked as he watched Smoke snatch the remote from Cymone’s hand and switch the channel from whatever reality tv show she was watching to a football game. Cymone quickly frowned her face up and thumped him upside the head causing him to grab her hand.

“Don’t put yo hands on me,” he gruffed while throwing her hand back into her lap.

“Don’t come in here snatching shit out my hand in my house!”

“Will y’all shut up damn. Somebody answer my question,” Stack asked again before they could start up into an argument.

“Reana got a date with y’all slow ass cousin.”

“Who? Sammie?”

“Yes,” Reana answered begrudgingly from the floor with a roll of her eyes.

“Don’t do my boy like that. He gone wine and dine ya real nice,” Stack answered with a little laugh knowing how his cousin could get down when he was pursuing somebody.

“That’s fine. A bitch love a free meal but that don’t mean I’m coming off no ass. I will be going home right after we eat,” she stated matter of factly while wagging her finger in the air.

“Yeah, okay. Um, you gone cook something,” Stack asked as he turned his attention back to Cymone while wrapping his arm around her shoulder. The girl immediately turned to him in disbelief.

“Why are y’all still here,” she exasperated while leaning from his arm causing her to lay onto Smoke’s chest.

Just as Stack was about to answer her question with something smart his phone started buzzing in his pocket. He held up a finger at Cymone as he pulled his phone out his pocket and quickly wished he hadn’t when he saw the name on the screen.

Mary. Again.

Stack frustratedly blew out a breath as he hit the ignore button for the umpteenth time just for her to immediately call back causing him to power the whole phone off altogether. He then turned to see Cymone looking at him quizzically being that she was watching him the whole time.

“Why Mary blowing your phone up like that?”

Stack only turned his head and purse his lips cause he didn’t wanna tell her or Reana that he slipped up and fucked Mary, a little too good, right before he left causing the woman to become obsessed. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Reana’s mouth drop and soon after he heard Smoke chuckling. He turned his head back to Cymone to see her leaned further into Smoke with her eyes wide and hand on her chest as if she was offended.

“Did you fuck Mary Elias?”

He cringed at her calling his government name cause she only said it when she was mad or disappointed in him. He could tell in this situation it was definitely the latter of the two. Everybody round here knew the type of girl Mary was. She was one of them white girls that stayed in the hood posted up round niggas hanging on to the lil drop of black she had in her blood cause her granddaddy was mixed. She had already been hit by so many niggas in the hood before him, word was she was tryna have a mixed baby, so he didn’t think she was gone be so hung up on him all these years after.

“Yeah man, damn,” he finally answered as he ran his hand down his face.

“That’s a damn shame you let that squirrel ass hoe get to you. You back here laughing, did you fuck her too,” Cymone asked as she turned her accusatory gaze to Smoke who was still surprisingly cracking up.

“Nah. I’m lactose intolerant,” causing Stack to squint his eyes at his brother.

“It was a mistake and it only happened one time. I don’t give a damn bout that girl and I don’t know why her married ass keep calling me.”

“You must have really put it on her Stack. Gots to be mo careful baby boy,” Cymone said with a fake pout on her pretty lips and she rubbed his back.

“I’m just a man who likes to take care of the woman he lay with,” he remarked as he looked Cymone right in the eyes, noticing her freeze up.

She immediately leaned up and cleared her throat before turning her attention to Reana who had been watching the three of them with a little smirk on her face.

“Girl come on and let’s go upstairs so we can figure out your outfit,” Cymone said and she stood from the couch and all but snatched Reana from the floor to head upstairs to her room.

Stack leaned back on the couch with a grin wide as the Mississippi River. He had gotten her back for her mouth in the kitchen.

“Checkmate.”

Note: Sorry for the wait guys. My plan was to have this part out by Friday but life kept getting in the way chile but here is part 2!! Next part will more than likely only be from Cymone's point of view and she adjusts to her feelings for the twins and not to mention Rashad is still around. Also it’s so hard finding pictures of Michael with hair so just know that Stack has a short fro and Smoke has waves. Let me know what y'all and think I hope y'all enjoy! Also let me know if you would like to be tagged. See ya next time!

Tag List: @angryflowerwitch @cleo92bitch-i-am-old @reci1996 @hoodpr1ncessdiana @cerya @rose-bliss @thickemadame

[manmuncher777]

Visiting kuna while he’s in prison. Eughhhh 😈😈😈 especially if he gotta go buzz 😩

Awh hell yeah nonnie, you just like me fr. Enjoy my love🌟🌟

18+ MDNI SMUT

“I-I” you stuttered out, unable to come up with an explanation that might soothe the feral man beneath you. Nothing good coming to mind

“You-You. You what sweetheart?” His gruff voice rings in your ears, snapping you out of your brain fog. Visiting your boyfriend in prison had it benefits. Especially when hes a well known gang member. It allows for certain perks. Like him being allowed to have your visits in his room, a room that he doesnt have to share. For this you were very glad, seeing as you were straddling sukuna on his bunk, having a very private conversation.

“Come on baby, use that big girl brain of yours and tell me, I wanna know.” Sukuna had been in prison for months now, and each night you were getting lonelier and lonelier. And of one of the nights you were missing him… badly. Deciding to write him a letter, describing exactly how badly you needed him, what you wanted him to do to you, and if that wasnt enough you included a few photos of yourself to show him how much you missed him. Only that had now backfired on you as you realised you had riled up an imprisoned man, and now you were going to have to face the consequences

“ I wanna know exactly what you were thinking when you sent that to me.” Huge hands that previously rested on your hips now travelling to your ass, holding the flesh tight through your skirt. Pressing you down onto his growing buulge that was highly visible in his orange jumpsuit

“Because to me, thats just not fair, teasing me with those fucking Polaroids, looking all pretty and shit when you come and see me.”

“Kuna…” your voice trailed off, unsure of what to say. No actual words flowing though your minds, only filthy thoughts of the man beneath you. Face flushing as he speaks. All you can do is try and focus on what hes saying to you, but that same feeling if need you had the other night is now crawling up your spine, soaking your little panties.

But Sukuna wasnt happy with that reaction, he wanted more from you. He wanted to get you as needy as you had made him that night.

The air in Sukuna’s cell is thick, charged, the tension palpable. His hands, lazily resting on your ass, don’t move—but his smirk? That deep, knowing smirk is a weapon in itself. He lounges against the cold wall like a king on his throne, utterly at ease.

And yet, it’s you who feels trapped.

Because his eyes, dark with amusement and something far more dangerous, trace the curve of your lips, the flutter of your lashes, the way your breath hitches every time he exhales against your skin. He’s enjoying this—enjoying you—and he hasn’t even touched you properly yet.

If you weren’t going to talk about the letter, he was just going to have to tease it out of you.

“So,” he purrs, tilting his head. “A little bird tells me you’ve been thinking about me.”

Your body tenses at his words, mind buzzing with so many thoughts, but you force yourself to answer him, doing your best to cling onto he little resolve you have left. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His chuckle is low, taunting. “Oh, don’t play coy now, sweetheart. Not after that filthy little letter you sent me.” His fingers flex against your thighs, not quite gripping, just there, a reminder of how easily he could control the situation if he wanted to. “What was it you said? You couldn’t stop thinking about me—” he drags the words out, watching your reaction closely, “—about my hands on you?”

Your stomach twists, heat rushing up your neck. “I—I didn’t—”

“Oh, you did.” His grin widens, razor-sharp. “You even described exactly what you wanted me to do to you.” His eyes darken as he leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “Such a dirty little thing, putting it all in writing. You wanted me to read it and ache for you, is that it?”

Your nails dig into his shoulders as you try to push away, but his hands slide up to your waist, keeping you firmly in place. Not squeezing, not forcing, just holding—a warning.

He tilts his head, feigning concern. “Look at you. All flustered. You weren’t so shy when you were begging on paper.”

You suck in a sharp breath. “I wasn’t—”

“You were.” His lips are so close now, brushing against the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “Should I remind you exactly what you wrote? Word for word?”

You shake your head quickly, a rush of embarrassment flooding through you, but he just hums in amusement.

“Mm. No? Shame. It was my favorite bedtime story.” His tongue clicks, mock disappointment laced in his tone. Then, with deliberate slowness, he exhales against your neck, letting his breath ghost over your skin. “I wonder… if I touched you now, would I find you as eager as you claimed to be?”

Your breath stutters, thighs instinctively pressing together, pressing yourself onto the bulge beneath you. And that’s all the reaction he needs.

His smirk sharpens. “Ahh… There she is.”

And you realize—he’s not done playing with you yet. Not even close.

“Now what was it you said?…:His hips subtly shifting upwards into your, pressing himself deeper into you. Knowing it was driving you wild. Fake pondering as he recalled your writing “You wanted my fingers, because yours couldn’t stretch out that pretty little pussy like mine do.”

“I- um” your eyes flit about the room, struggling to stay locked on his, his predatory gaze watching your every move

“How badly you missed my cock, deep inside” One of his hands trailing around to press on your tummy gently, right where his cock would show when he fucked you.

The words dying in your throat as he gives you a Cheshire Cat like grin. You were fucked.

“Tell me girl, did I get that right?” His pearly white teeth flashing as he spoke, fully aware he already knew the answer.

A small nod was all you could muster. But that was enough for him.

Sukuna’s hands slide lower, skimming the hem of your skirt, and you feel the ghost of his touch against your thighs—light, teasing, deliberate. He hasn’t even moved to lift it yet, but you swear your breath is already hitching, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach.

“What’s this?” he murmurs, dragging the tips of his fingers along the fabric. “Wearing something so short to see me… were you hoping I’d take it off?”

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

Sukuna chuckles darkly, his grip finally tightening, just enough to make you squirm. “Come on, sweetheart. You had all that confidence when you wrote to me. Tell me…” His fingers inch under the fabric, knuckles brushing against your bare skin. “Did you get wet thinking about me touching you like this?”

A sharp gasp escapes you as he pushes your skirt up, exposing more of your thighs. The cool air kisses your overheated skin, and you reflexively grab his wrist, a weak attempt at stopping him.

He laughs at the gesture—deep, rich, cruel.

“Oh? Now you want to act shy?” His other hand trails up your back, slow and possessive. “Should I stop?” His voice is a mockery of innocence, but the look in his eyes is pure hunger.

Your silence betrays you.

His smirk deepens. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

And then—so agonizingly slow—you feel him peel your skirt down, the fabric dragging over your thighs, your knees, your ankles until it’s gone, discarded on the floor.

Sukuna leans back against the wall, gaze devouring the sight of you. “Now, that’s better.” His hands settle on your now-bare thighs, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath catch. “You look much prettier like this, trembling in my lap.”

His lips curl as he watches you, his next words laced with dark amusement.

Sukuna hums, dragging his palms up your thighs, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath catch. He spreads his legs a little wider beneath you, making sure you feel the hard press of him beneath you, and fuck, you can’t stop the way your body tenses at the realization.

His smirk deepens. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His fingers skim higher, brushing over your inner thigh—light, teasing, barely there. “You were so bold with those little Polaroids… don’t tell me you’re already getting shy?”

You bite your lip, trying to glare at him, but it only makes his smirk widen.

Sukuna leans in close, lips ghosting against your ear. “Tell me,” he murmurs, voice dropping into something dark and syrupy, “when you wrote that letter… were your fingers between your legs?”

A sharp inhale. Your whole body heats at the question, and the moment you hesitate, his hand slides up—fingers just grazing over the heat between your legs.

Your hips jolt instinctively, and he fucking laughs. You can feel your mind slowly slipping with each passing moment, struggling to keep composure

“Ohh, you were, weren’t you?” He clicks his tongue, amused. “You really laid in bed, all alone, spreading your legs and touching yourself while thinking about me?”

You should deny it. You should push away that smug grin of his, but the way his fingers press a little firmer against your clothed core makes any coherent thought vanish. Prickles of pleasure flow up your skin as you finally get the touch you had been missing.

He watches you struggle, loves how easily he’s unraveling you. “Didn’t even have me, and you still came all over your own fingers, huh?” His voice is so mocking, so cruelly sweet, and then—without warning—his fingers slip beneath the fabric of your underwear.

Your breath stutters.

Sukuna exhales a low tch the second he feels it. “Holy fuck.” His fingers slide through the slick heat of your needy cunt, languid, slow, as if testing just how drenched you are for him. His smirk sharpens. “You’re soaking.”

You bite back a whimper as he drags his fingers through your folds, spreading your wetness, moving in agonizingly slow strokes that make your thighs twitch. His free hand grips your waist, keeping you still in his lap

“Fuckin’ knew it,” he mutters, mostly to himself, the edge of a chuckle laced in his words. “Knew you’d be a mess for me.”

And then, just when your body starts to tense, when you need more, he pulls his hand away.

You make a noise of protest before you can stop yourself, and he grins. “Oh? You want more?” His slick fingers trace teasing circles against your inner thigh, refusing to give you what you so clearly need. “Then ask for it, sweetheart.”

Your pride fights against the growing, unbearable ache. You try to grind against his thigh instead, desperate for any kind of friction, but his hands are there, holding you in place.

“Ah, ah,” Sukuna tuts, dragging his tongue over his teeth. “You’re not getting shit until I hear you beg for it properly.”

His fingers stroke your thigh again—so fucking close, but still not enough.

You shudder, swallowing your pride. “Please.”

His smirk darkens. “Louder.”

You glare at him, breath shaky. “Please, Sukuna—”

And fuck, that’s all he needed.

He shoves his hand back between your legs, two fingers sliding inside you in one slow, deep stroke—so smooth, so effortless, your walls stretching around him as if your body was made to take him.

You choke on a gasp, clenching down around his fingers, and he groans against your ear. “Ohhh, there it is,” he mutters, voice thick with satisfaction. “That pretty little cunt was just waiting to be filled, huh?”

His fingers pump into you at a leisurely pace, dragging along every sensitive spot inside you, curling slightly with every deep stroke. Your head tips back, breathless, aching, because it’s still not enough.

Sukuna’s fingers work you open slowly, deliberately, making sure you feel every deep stroke, every lazy curl of his fingers against that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble. His other hand is firm on your waist, keeping you exactly where he wants you, making sure you don’t squirm away from his relentless teasing.

“Fuck,” he groans, watching the way your body reacts to him, the way your walls clench around his fingers every time he drags them out just to push them back in, deeper, rougher. “You’re so tight. Haven’t been properly fucked in a while, huh?”

You whimper, clutching at his shoulders, your thighs tensing around his hips. He smirks. “Poor baby,” he muses, voice dropping, “Makin me feel bad for not being there to fuck you properly”

He buries his fingers inside you to the knuckle, pressing against the soft, spongy spot deep inside you that has you gasping, nails digging into his skin.

“Ahh, there it is,” he laughs. “That’s the spot, huh?” His fingers curl again, harder, pulling a sharp cry from your lips. “Yeah. I can feel you squeezing me so fucking tight. You gonna cum for me already?”

Your head tips back, your body rocking forward instinctively, chasing every stroke of his fingers, aching for more. But Sukuna sees it, sees you getting desperate, and instead of giving you what you need, he slows down.

Your breath stutters, a frustrated whine spilling from your throat as he deliberately drags out every motion, keeping you right on the edge without letting you tip over.

Sukuna grins against your throat, teeth grazing your skin. “Tch. Look at you,” he murmurs, amused. “So fucking needy.”

He presses a kiss to your pulse, almost mockingly sweet. Then, with a slow, devastating thrust of his fingers, he curls them just right—just deep enough, just sharp enough—

And you break.

Your whole body tenses, pleasure ripping through you as your walls flutter around his fingers, your breath coming in broken, stuttering gasps as the tension inside you snaps. Your thighs shake against his hips, your nails scraping down his arms as you ride it out, grinding helplessly into his hand as he works you through it.

Sukuna groans, his free hand gripping your waist as you tremble against him. “That’s it,” he murmurs, drinking in the sight of you coming apart in his lap. “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this. So fucking messy.”

His fingers don’t stop until your body jerks from oversensitivity, and only then does he pull them out—slow, teasing, dragging it out just to watch you shudder.

Then he brings them to his lips.

You watch, dazed, as he licks the slick from his fingers, humming thoughtfully as he tastes you. His eyes darken, tongue dragging over the pad of his thumb as he smirks.

“Always miss your taste sweets.”

He tilts his head, gaze flickering over your wrecked expression. “Think you’re ready for my cock now?”=

Sukuna’s fingers leave you aching, your thighs still trembling from the aftershocks, but he doesn’t give you a moment to recover. No, he just smirks, eyes burning as he watches you struggle to catch your breath, utterly wrecked in his lap.

Then, with a sharp grip on your hips, he grinds up against you, letting you feel just how painfully hard he is beneath you.

You whimper, hips jerking forward instinctively, and Sukuna groans low in his throat, his fingers tightening against your skin. “Ohh, fuck,” he drawls, head tipping back for a second before his gaze snaps back to you, hungry, dark with something ravenous. “You feel that, sweetheart?”

You can barely think, let alone answer.

He chuckles, teeth flashing. “Of course you do. You’re already rocking against it, huh?” His hands guide your hips, forcing you to grind against his length, the thick heat of it pressing between your slick folds. “Tch. So fucking desperate.”

Your breath shatters as he moves your hips again, forcing more friction against your already aching clit, and the sensation sends lightning through your veins.

“You gonna let me fuck you now?” Sukuna mutters against your ear, voice thick with amusement, but fucking starving at the same time. “You got me so hard, you better be ready to take it.”

He shifts beneath you, one hand reaching down to free himself, and when you feel the hot, heavy weight of his cock slap against your slick folds—thick, unrelenting, already leaking at the tip—your whole body shudders.

Sukuna smirks. “Ohh, I know you’re wet enough for it, but—” He grips his cock, dragging the head through your soaked folds, coating himself in your slick but not pushing in. “—I wanna hear you beg for it first.”

You whimper, grinding down against the head of his cock, desperate, but he just laughs.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Be a good girl and tell me how bad you want it.” He presses his tip just against your entrance, teasing, mocking, but refuses to give you more. “Or else I’ll make you sit here and fucking wait for it.”

His free hand tightens in your hair, yanking your head back slightly, his mouth grazing your throat.

“You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

His cock nudges at your entrance again, but still—still—he doesn’t push in.

And with the way your body is aching, the way his fingers are digging into your hips, the way his breath is so fucking heavy against your skin—

You know.

He’s going to make you beg for it.

And he won’t stop until you’re screaming his name

But you can’t help it—your body is on fire, still desperate for him, and every breath feels like it’s drawing you closer to the edge again. Sukuna leans back, his smirk never fading as he watches you struggling to even form a coherent sentence at this point

“Missed your cock so bad Kuna~” you whine out pathetically, hoping he would show you mercy and give you exactly what you had been craving

Sukuna chuckles, low and dark. “You really thought I’d let you get off that easy? Tch, you’re adorable.” His hand snakes around to your back, fingers digging into the soft skin there, and he pulls you closer—pressing your body flush against his. The heat of his skin, the weight of him, it drives you wild all over again.

His lips brush against your ear, his voice a gravelly whisper. “You’re going to take every inch of me, aren’t you?” His words send a shiver down your spine. “All that teasing? I’ve been waiting for you to beg for me. You wanted me, now you’re going to take it.”

With a sudden, fluid motion, he grips your thighs, pushing you higher up his lap. You feel the tip of his cock against your entrance, teasing, just barely brushing you. His smirk is cruel as he watches your face flush with the need. “Go on, sweetheart. Show me how much you want me.”

You don’t need him to say it twice. With a sharp, needy gasp, you push down onto him, feeling his length stretch you, fill you as you sink down slowly, painfully, inch by inch. The stretch is almost too much, but the ache is exactly what you’ve been craving.

Sukuna’s eyes close for a moment, his lips parting in a low groan as he feels you grip him. “Fuck, that’s it. Such a tight little cunt. So fucking perfect for me.”

You rock your hips, hands gripping his shoulders for support as you start to move, his body perfectly aligned beneath you. Each thrust you make is slow, deliberate, a mix of pleasure and need, the way his hands dig into your skin, urging you on. His grip tightens with every movement, guiding you, making you feel every inch of him as he shifts beneath you.

But he doesn’t let you forget he’s still in control. “You’re so fucking desperate,” he mutters, voice thick with lust. “Cumming on my fingers like that, and now you can’t even think straight. Pathetic.”

Your body shudders with each word, the way his cock fills you deep, pushing you to the edge of insanity. It’s all too much and not enough at the same time. You push harder, riding him, needing more, needing everything.

Sukuna’s hand finds your throat, squeezing lightly, not enough to choke you, but enough to make your breath catch in your throat as he pulls you forward. “Come on. You’re close, aren’t you?” His voice is low, commanding. “Beg for it. Tell me how much you need it.”

“P-Please! Kuna, need it so bad”

The way Sukuna’s hands grip your hips, guiding your movements as he watches you unravel, it feels like he’s claiming every inch of you—every piece of your will, your dignity, your ability to think straight. He’s controlling the rhythm now, forcing you to take him deep, making you feel every inch of him. His eyes are intense, burning with something darker than lust—something deeper, something possessive.

“Look at you,” Sukuna growls, his chest rising with every breath. “I’ve waited so long for this. You… you make me wait, tease me, and now you’re finally giving in. Isn’t that right?”

You can barely form a coherent thought, your mind spinning, body on fire, each movement more desperate than the last. But Sukuna doesn’t care. He’s not slowing down. He’s chasing his own pleasure now, pushing you harder, deeper, rougher, making you feel every inch of his cock, every thrust.

“You like that, huh?” Sukuna snarls, pulling your body flush against his, his teeth grazing your neck as he watches you struggle to keep up. “You love to tease me while im locked up in here”

His words only seem to make it worse, your body clenching around him with the reminder of what started all this. He remembers, and now you’re paying for it.

“I’ve missed you,” he admits, almost as though he’s surprised by it himself. His voice drops low, and for the briefest moment, there’s a sincerity to his tone that almost makes you forget he’s the King of Curses. “Missed how you taste. How you feel. How good you are to me. How you stayed with me”

He doesn’t give you time to process the weight of his words. Instead, he slams into you harder, faster, your body shaking with each thrust. He’s relentless—determined to take every ounce of control, making sure you’re his.

Your body is a mess of sensation, the pressure building, rising higher and higher with every thrust, every growl of his voice. The way his hands are gripping your body—like he’s scared you’ll slip away, like he’s afraid of losing you all over again—pushes you to the edge.

“You feel so fucking good,” he whispers against your ear, his voice thick with lust. “Tight. Perfect.” His grip tightens, and you feel him hit even deeper, the force of it pushing you toward the brink.

You can barely think now, only feeling—only craving the release that’s so close but seems just out of reach. His words—his confession of missing you, his twisted affection—sends something raw through you, unraveling every last shred of control you had left.

And then, without warning, he shifts his grip, pulling you harder down onto him, and that’s all it takes. The pressure inside you snaps. The orgasm rips through you in waves, overwhelming your senses, and you let out a ragged cry as you come apart in his lap. Your body shudders, spasms of pleasure wracking you as he holds you steady, refusing to let you go, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

Sukuna doesn’t stop, though—his thrusts become more frantic, chasing his own release, but he doesn’t let go of you for even a second. His fingers dig into your skin, pulling you closer to him as he moves faster, his voice rougher now.

“Fuck,” he groans, his movements becoming more erratic. “You’re so fucking perfect. Cumming on my cock like the perfect girl you are”

And then, with a final, brutal thrust, he’s there, spilling inside you, his body shuddering as he grinds against you, his breath hot against your skin. For a moment, he just holds you, both of you tangled up in the aftermath, trying to catch your breath.

His hand slides to your back, holding you close. “I’m not letting you go,” he mutters, almost like a promise—or a warning.

You can barely respond, your body still trembling from the intensity, but you feel him stiffen slightly, his grip tightening even more possessively around you. His lips brush your ear again. “You’re mine, you know.”

[tidetfs]

"Ugh, bro, pleeeeease?"

Max looked at me with those dopey blue eyes of his, staring dully through me and appearing to lack any kind of intelligence or perception.

"I told you, I have a very important club interview," I replied. "This could determine if I can network into a good job after college!" stressing the importance of a job, something my stoner roommate never seemed to understand.

"Just one hit, man, come on! You gotta stop worrying about that stuff and just chill out!" he replied, stretching his muscular arms over his head of greasy (probably unwashed) brown hair and closing his eyes, as if musing about something important. "You gotta try this weed bro, I just, I-" he stuttered as he took another hit. "I don't fuckin' know man, I think you just need this."

Exasperated, I dropped my heavy bag on the floor and strode over to his side of the room, switching to mouth breathing to avoid inhaling too much foot funk from his "clean pile" of clothes, as Max called it. Even three air fresheners weren't enough to keep the pungent smells of weed and sweat at bay.

"What the hell, dude, when's the last time you even washed those?!"

"Oh, I dunno, a couple weeks ago, maybe?" Max replied, shrugging.

I could see some of the dried crust still clinging to the fabric. I couldn't help but be amazed at the sheer size of his stash. The pile was easily four feet across, and it was clear Max was still working to roll his way through the rest. I couldn't even imagine where he got it all.

"Look, just let me finish my meeting, then I'll smoke with you, okay?"

Max's eyes lit up.

"Yeah, for real?" he replied, excited. "You promise? Pinky swear?"

Max stuck his hand out, his pinky raised and his arm shaking slightly. He looked like an overgrown child. I was so tired, I didn't even hesitate. I wrapped my pinky around his, then turned to walk out of the room. As soon as I let go, I felt a sudden, powerful wave of euphoria wash over me. It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. I couldn't even think straight, the sensation was so intense.

I collapsed against the doorway, unable to move. I could barely even think. The only thought that went through my mind was that I'd never felt this good in my life. Every inch of my skin tingled and buzzed, like a pleasant static that sent ripples of bliss through my muscles. I couldn't even control the way my body twitched and shivered.

"Duuuude," I heard Max say. "You feel that, man? I told you it's the good stuff."

I didn't know what was happening to me. My heart was racing and I couldn't breathe, and the feeling was getting more and more intense. "What..." I struggled to even sound out words. "I didn't even...take a hit..."

"Well, no, not technically," Max said, laughing. "But, uh, that's not what it was, actually. See, I sorta dosed your pinky."

I looked up at him, confused. My vision was blurry and I could barely see him, but he was grinning widely, and I could see the outline of his meaty, calloused hands rubbing the front of his jeans.

"See, it's like this, man. That wasn't weed. That was just, you know, a little something to get you to loosen up a bit. And, uh, well, there's this other thing, too. That shit I sprayed on your hand. It's not, uh, not exactly what you think."

The euphoria was fading, but it was still intense, and it was making my brain spin. "You sprayed my...hand?" I mumbled, barely able to understand what he was saying.

"Yeah, bro, I sorta had to, man. You kept getting me down with all your stress." He flexed his big biceps and gave one a kiss. "Now you're gonna be just like me!" He grinned wide, his perfect teeth glinting in the low light.

I couldn't respond. The sensations were still washing over me, but the euphoria was fading. As my brain began to work again, I suddenly realized that there was something wrong with me. There was a new, alien weight between my legs.

"Wha-what did you do?" I stammered, still dazed and confused. "What...what did you..."

I looked down, and froze. There was a huge, heavy bulge straining against the crotch of my jeans, stretching the thick material taut. It was huge. Like, absolutely massive. It was easily the size of my fist, maybe even bigger. It was so big and round, I could even see the outline of the individual balls.

"Duuuuude, bro, look at that fucking thing!" Max exclaimed, pointing and laughing. "It's totally fucking huge! Holy shit, man, it's the biggest cock I've ever seen in my life!"

I tried to speak, but I was still so confused, I couldn't get my mouth to form words.

"I didn't know they could get that big, man! Wow, bro, you're really packing a fucking cannon, you know that? Holy shit, it's so fucking hot." Max was practically drooling as he ogled the enormous bulge in my pants.

I could feel the heat radiating off of it, and I could tell it was pulsing and throbbing with each beat of my heart. The sensation was incredibly intense.

"It's...it's not possible..." I stammered, my voice cracking. "What...what did you spray?"

"Bro, I'm telling you, it's totally normal!" Max said, trying his best to sound reassuring. "My friend from home, he said, well, it's just that..." Max stammered again, his usually peaceful face betraying some shyness. "I've always thought you were cute, even without that package. You just needed to loosen up a little. And, I mean, I just wanted you to be, like, comfortable with me. It was just a little bit, man, and it was totally safe. Like, I swear, it's totally normal, dude." He grinned and shot me a wink. "Soon you're going to be just like me."

Max was still staring at the massive bulge, and I could see the outline of his huge dick stretching the crotch of his jeans.

"Dude, bro, I-" my hand shot to my mouth. I had never used those words in the same sentence before! "I...I didn't mean that!"

"Oh, yeah, dude," Max replied, not even noticing. "It's totally normal, bro. You're just a little high is all."

"High?!" I shouted, exasperated. "This isn't...I'm not...this isn't how people talk!"

Max just shrugged. "Bro, you've always been a nerd, and it's cool, man, I totally get it. But this is a big step forward. You're gonna love this. I swear."

I couldn't believe this was happening. I was still trying to process everything that was happening to me, when I heard Max's voice.

"Duuuuuude, check it out, bro," he said, gesturing to the bulge in his jeans. "We're, like, totally packing!"

"I can't..."

"Oh, shit, right. Dude, you gotta feel this."

Max quickly reached down and grabbed the bulge in my pants. As soon as he made contact, I felt a powerful surge of pleasure ripple through me. My body immediately responded to his touch, and I could feel my new cock throb and twitch. I groaned, unable to hold back the sounds.

"Dude, holy shit, bro, it's like, really sensitive or something," Max said, his eyes wide. "Like, really, really fucking sensitive, bro."

"No, it's...not..." I moaned, but I could tell it was a lie. It felt like Max's hand was squeezing my balls, and the pleasure was incredible.

"Fuck, bro, it's, like, really fucking sensitive, dude. Like, fucking, crazy fucking sensitive." Max was practically drooling, and his eyes were glazed over. He was clearly enjoying this a lot.

"Please, stop..."

"Fuck, bro, you're so fucking hard," Max groaned. He started to rub my bulge, and his other hand went to the front of his own jeans. "...and, you're so pretty too. I just don't want to lose you to all those meetings, bro. I want you to be with me."

"Wait, no, what are you doing?"

"I can't hold back anymore, dude, I gotta see your big dick," Max replied, unzipping my jeans and reaching in. He slowly pulled down, and my eyes widened as he revealed the huge, throbbing bulge in my underwear. It was so big, the fabric was stretched tight, and it was already soaked in pre-cum.

"Holy shit, dude, that thing is huge!" Max exclaimed, his voice cracking. He was staring at my huge bulge with a lustful expression, and his long tongue darted out to lick his lips. "It's, like, fucking, massive."

I looked down and was shocked by what I saw. It was easily twice as big as it had been just a few minutes ago. It was still growing, and it was stretching the fabric of my boxer-briefs to the limit. Max began to move closer, scrambling to take off his busted old t-shirt, meaty pecs and perfect washboard abs busting out as he did. He leaned forward, and his massive bicep brushed against my new rock-hard dick.

"Oh, shit, bro, fuck," Max moaned as he leaned in closer. At this point I could almost feel the waves of sweat and weed rolling off his huge body, and my cock was throbbing and leaking, straining against the tight fabric of my underwear.

"You're so hot, dude," Max said, reaching out to grab my huge bulge, wrapping his meaty hand around it. His hand was warm and rough, and his grip was strong, squeezing my bulge and causing a fresh burst of pleasure. "You're, like, fucking sexy as hell, man."

"What the hell, bro, no, that's not...that's not right!" I stammered, but Max's words sent a thrill through me. I could feel my cheeks burning, and I could feel the heat radiating from my skin. "That's not, I'm not a fag!"

"You sure about that, bro?" he asked, giving it a tug and sending a bolt of pleasure through my body. I felt the euphoria return. This time, it was a hundred times more intense.

"Fuuuuck," I groaned, leaning my head back. "Bro, it feels so fucking good."

"I know, right? And it's going to feel even better when you're a stoner like me, dude." Max replied, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Fuck, bro, I can't take it, I gotta get naked," Max moaned, frantically undoing his belt and shucking his pants. "I'm so fucking hard, bro, I can't wait to fuck you."

I looked down, and for the first time, got a good look at my new equipment. It was absolutely massive. It was huge and thick, easily the biggest cock I'd ever seen, and it was still growing. It was 10 inches long, and thicker than a beer can. My balls were huge, too, hanging heavy and swollen between my legs. I'd never felt anything like it.

The sensation continued to wash over me, slowly becoming heat as I began to sweat. It felt amazing. I couldn't control myself, I was already starting to moan and groan, and the euphoria was starting to mix with my arousal. My new cock was so sensitive, and the slightest touch made it throb and pulse.

"It's starting!" Max shouted, looking at my side of the room as my clean and organized things started to transform. My desk became cluttered with bongs and pipes, and posters of the periodic table were suddenly replaced by scantily clad men. My clothes started to change, too. My formerly neat shirts were suddenly full of holes and stained with various substances. My shoes were replaced with flip flops and Crocs.

"I can't take it, man, I'm too horny, I need to kiss you, right now," Max moaned, his voice shaking with desperation. "I've been waiting for this day, dude, and I can't hold back any longer."

Before I could protest, Max leaned in and kissed me, his big, thick tongue probing my mouth. The heat was overwhelming, and his kisses were passionate and hungry. His big, rough hands began to explore my body, rubbing and stroking and caressing every inch of me. He broke away from the kiss and buried his face in my neck, licking and nibbling and kissing. He was so close, I could feel the heat from his body, and I could smell the overpowering funk of stale sweat and reeking weed. It was so powerful I almost didn't notice my feet begin to ache and the pain in my lower back.

"What's...what's happening to me, bro?" I asked, my voice breaking. "I feel...I feel like...fuck, bro, it hurts!"

"You're changing, dude," Max replied, grinning. "It's the weed. You're finally becoming one with the bud."

"Fuck, bro, I can't hold back anymore," Max moaned. He reached down and began to stroke his giant cock, pre-cum pouring from the tip. It was easily 9 inches, and his massive balls were swollen and heavy with greasy, unwashed hair.

My feet continued to ache and burn as they stretched out, becoming bigger and broader. I could feel my bones shifting and rearranging, long tufts of sweaty hair sprouting out of my feet as they morphed into giant, hairy stumps. I couldn't believe it. The changes were getting more and more intense, and it was driving me wild. I felt like I was going to explode.

"I can't take it anymore," Max groaned, his voice a husky growl. " I have to make you mine."

Without hesitation, Max grabbed my shoulders and spun me around, pushing me face-first into my mattress. His hands were rough and strong, and he easily manhandled me.

"Holy fuck, dude, your ass, it's..." Max moaned, his voice filled with lust. "It's so fucking huge."

My ass was getting bigger and rounder, and it was stretching the seat of my boxer-briefs to the limits, and I felt a sharp, sudden pain as the fabric gave way and tore, leaving my huge, jiggly, fat, bubble butt exposed.

"I'm so horny, bro" Max moaned, his voice shaky and breathy, as my ass filled with greasy, oily stink, the air thick with the musk of unwashed flesh and reeking, unwashed funk.

"You're so hot, dude. It's so hot that you're getting stoned."

"What? Bro, that's not...wait!"

"Don't worry, dude, you'll get used to it. It's just the weed talking."

"No, wait, bro, you can't..." I moaned again as my legs began to push me taller, my thighs and calves widening and thickening. My feet swelled even more, filling to a size 13, and a sudden rush of heat swept over my body.

"Fuck, dude, you're so fucking hot, man," Max groaned, his voice thick with lust, rubbing my new, tick legs as dark, swirly hair began to sprout, quickly becoming matted with the sweat of hours upon hours of mindless smoking.

"Please, bro, stop," I moaned, as my body began to shake. "I can't take it, I'm gonna...I'm gonna cum."

"Dude, that's the whole point, bro," Max replied, his voice trembling. "Just relax, and let it happen. It's gonna feel so fucking good."

"It's too much," I moaned, my cock throbbing and pulsing. "It's too intense."

"I know, dude, it's just the weed, bro. It'll feel better after you get used to it. Trust me."

I could feel the hair begin to creep onto my stomach and chest, quickly spreading and covering me in a layer of greasy, foul-smelling, sweaty body hair.

"Dude, are you seriously not feeling this, too?" I asked, my voice cracking. "Bro, I can't take it, please, just stop, it's too much."

"Dude, chill, you're fine," Max replied, flipping me back over and rubbing his hand over my new abs and thickening pecs. "Just enjoy the ride."

"Wait, no, I'm not...fuuuuck!"

The sensation was so intense, it was driving me wild. I could barely even think. My pecs were growing larger and heavier, and my nipples were swelling and darkening, the areolae growing thicker and hairier.

"Fuuuuuck, dude, you're so fucking sexy," Max groaned, grabbing a fistful of hair and giving it a sharp tug, making me moan with pleasure.

My cock was throbbing and leaking pre-cum, and I could feel the heat coming from it. My balls were swollen and heavy, and they were aching for release.

"Fuck, dude, I can't take it," Max moaned, his voice filled with desperation, shoving his face into my pit as they began to grow and deepen, quickly filling with rank, musky body odor. As he licked, my arms grew longer and wider, my biceps and triceps growing thicker and bulkier. My forearms became thicker and more defined, and my hands and fingers were getting bigger and beefier.

"Bro, it's so fucking good." Max's voice was muffled by my armpit, and I could feel his tongue lapping up the stale sweat and musk.

My arms were now completely covered in thick, greasy, matted hair, and the same was happening to my back, the swirly pattern spreading like a wildfire. My shoulders were growing larger and rounder, and I could feel the muscles shifting and rearranging.

"Please, dude, don't...I can't..."

"I can't stop, bro, you're so hot," Max moaned, his face buried in my pit. I could smell our odors mixing together as our muscular bodies writhed against each other, slick with sweat and the stinking smell of weed.

I was so turned on.

"You're so hot, bro," Max moaned, his pre-cum leaking all over the place.

"No, bro, what?" I moaned, my voice trembling. "I'm not a faggot."

"That's just the weed, dude," Max replied, his voice low and husky. "You're gonna love it."

"Please, no," I moaned, but I knew he was right. I was so turned on, and the weed was driving me wild as my neck and jaw began to fill out and widen, my Adam's apple growing into a large, meaty knob.

I moaned as my voice deepened, the vibrations reverberating through me, causing me to shiver, my speech becoming permanently relaxed, just like my roommate's.

"Fuck," Max groaned, going in for a slobbery, wet kiss, our body heat generating enough stink to make me gag.

My body was now covered in matted, swirly body hair, and it was growing thicker and greasier, the same thing happening to my chest. I could feel my pecs bulging even more as my face was being smothered in kisses and licks, my nose cracking into a previously-broken shape and the skin becoming rough and scarred.

"Oh, fuck, dude, you're so fucking hot," Max moaned, burying his face in my thick neck, his voice muffled by the hair.

"No, please, bro," I moaned, my voice cracking. "I can't take it, it's too much."

"You can do it, bro, just hold on a little longer," Max replied, his voice shaky.

My tongue grew thicker and longer, and it started to loll out of my mouth, my face cracking into model-level handsomeness. I was so turned on, and I couldn't take it anymore. My balls were throbbing and pulsing, and my cock was throbbing and pulsing.

"I'm gonna cum," I moaned, my voice deep and slow.

"Do it, bro," Max moaned, his voice trembling. "Do it, cum all over me, bro."

I felt his fingers run across my short hair, sending a shiver down my spine. My body was wracked with pleasure as I felt ropes of rancid, stinking cum shoot from my cock, splattering his chest and stomach. I couldn't control myself, I was moaning and groaning, the intense orgasm rocking my body, my new, masculine frame shaking and quivering.

With each rope, my bright green eyes became dimmer and dimmer, coloring grayer and grayer as all of my worries and stress flowed out of me, and I fell into a state of bliss, my cock still twitching and throbbing as the last change began. My hair grew longer and thicker, until it was a long, shaggy, dirty mess, and a fresh wave of fresh musk rose off me.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck," I moaned, my voice deep and slow, my tongue lolling out of my mouth.

"Fuck, dude, you're so fucking sexy," Max moaned, his voice cracking. "I can't believe it, dude. You're, like, totally a stoner now, bro."

"Haha, yeah man...wait bro, haven't I always been?" I looked at myself in the dingy dorm mirror, and realized I looked like a dumb, stoned idiot. My voice was deeper, and my accent was different. My hair was messy and unwashed, and my skin was tanned. My pecs were massive and my abs were rock hard. My cock was huge and throbbing. My feet were hairy and stinky. I had a huge, round, bubble butt.

I laughed a deep, airy chuckle.

"That's right" Max said, staring into my dull eyes. He seemed like the hottest man I had ever laid eyes on until I realized.

"I love you, dude." Max giggled.

"Yeah man, I love you, too" I slurred, leaning in for a sloppy kiss, my tongue probing his mouth, the taste of weed and sweat overwhelming. He returned the favor, and soon, we were a mess of sloppy, stoner kisses, our thick, stubbly chins rubbing together, the sound of slurping and licking filling the room.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck," I groaned, the kiss ending, both of us breathing heavy and panting, a mixture of spit dripping from our chins. "That was, like, totally amazing, dude."

"Fuck, yeah, bro, it was fucking awesome," Max groaned, his voice trembling. "I've been waiting for this for, like, ever, bro. It's fucking crazy."

"Yeah, dude, totally," I replied, staring at his gorgeous, masculine features. His big, thick arms, his perfect washboard abs, his massive pecs, and his perfect, handsome face. He was fucking hot, and he was all mine.

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

✨Miss You✨

Summary: Lucifer can’t help but tease you with his sexy new outfit while you’re away; you decide he needs to be taught a lesson…

Yeah, that Valentine’s Day outfit got me barking like a dog, so I’m dragging you all back kicking and screaming!

Happy Father's Day ig, have fun fucking the devil!

Warnings: 18+, smut, sexting, teasing, masturbation, toys, orgasm denial, use of safe word, oral (f receiving), p in v, Lucifer is a bit of a brat

Ring ring ring

Your phone buzzed in your pocket as you walked along the streets of Hell. Pulling it out, you saw Lucifer's adorable rubber duck icon pop up on the screen. You smiled and hit the answer button.

"Hey Luci, what's going on?" you answered cheerfully.

"Oh, you know, just waiting for my darling to return home to me," he sighed dramatically on the other side of the phone.

"Hon, it's only been an hour!" you scolded playfully. "I had to pick out something special for tomorrow, you know."

Tomorrow was Valentine's Day; one of Lucifer's favorite mortal holidays. The chocolates, the flowers, the romantic setting, everything about it excited the little devil! And of course, he always treated you to a special candlelit dinner, complete with dessert and champaign. But you knew Lucifer always looked forward to the end of the night; that time he gets to worship you as the goddess he saw you as.

This year, however, you decided you wanted to spice things up a bit. Which is why you made it a point to visit the Entertainment District which housed the best collection of sex apparel in the pride ring. Lucifer insisted on giving you anything you wanted, but new lingerie wasn't all that you were looking for; some new toys were definitely needed. It took a while to convince him since you knew he didn't like being left alone for too long, but you promised him that you would be as quick as you could. Nevertheless, that didn't seem to stop him from calling you up after only a short amount of time.

"I knoooowwwww," Lucifer groaned on the other end. "But I miss you! Is there any way I can convince you to come home sooner?"

His proposition intrigued you, so you decided to play along. "And how would you do that, I wonder."

You swear you could almost hear him smile. "Well, my dear, since you got to go out and look for a special outfit, I thought I would try my hand at creating one just for me! Gotta say, I'm pretty happy with it! Tight in all the right places!" You heard the static-filled snap of the fabric hit his skin as he spoke.

"Wait," you paused, moving yourself up against a building. "Are you wearing it right now?" He was doing this on purpose, you knew he was. He knew how to tempt you. And picturing Lucifer in something less than decent did nothing to help keep your composure out in public. You could already feel the heat in your face begin to rise.

Lucifer chuckled lightly. "Would you like a sneak peak, love?" Before you could answer, there was a buzzing on your phone. He already had a picture queued up just to tease you. You opened the message with a gasp, fumbling your phone in your hands. The picture showed of his exposed stomach with the rest of his body covered in a lovely black. It looked as though he shot this photo from the waist up because you could make out his forked tongue that was sticking out through his sharpened teeth, smiling wickedly at the camera.

Quickly, you closed the picture hoping no one else had seen what was on your screen. "You ass, I almost dropped my phone!"

"Hey, you're the one who opened it!" he shot back. "But I can tell you like it, isn't that right?"

He was right, of course he was! How could you not?! But he was getting too cocky for his own good. If he wanted to be a brat today, you had no trouble giving him exactly what he wanted. Even if it meant cutting your outing a little bit short. You were going to surprise him with his favorite chocolate candies, but perhaps you could get them after you taught him a lesson.

"I'll be home in 15 minutes," you responded in a hushed tone, trying your best not to draw the attention of others. "If you aren't handcuffed to that bed by the time I'm back, you're gonna be in for it."

“Is that a threat or a promise?” Lucifer murmured, sending shivers down your spine. What a fucking tease, but God, did you love him.

“You have 14 minutes now,” was all you said before hanging up the phone as you pushed yourself away from the wall and began to walk back towards the Morningstar mansion, paying no attention to the onlookers who noticed your brisk pace as you passed them. There was someone who needed to be put in his place.

By the time you made it back to his place, you still hadn't decided how you were going to approach him. On the one hand, he was being a brat, but he was being a brat on purpose. It's like he wanted to know how many buttons of yours he could push. But on the other hand, you knew he couldn't be left by himself for an extended period of time. Even an hour seemed to be a bit of a struggle. Either way, you weren't upset, far from it. Spending any amount of time with Lucifer brought you joy.

You opened the door to his bedroom and placed your shopping bags on the vanity, not fully aware of your surroundings before you spoke. "I'm back! Okay, Lucifer, let me see this snazzy little outfit you-" You lost your voice when your eyes finally landed on the man shackled to the bedframe. Well, half-shackled. One hand was cuffed while the other laid across his exposed stomach. The innocent yet shit eating grin he gave you felt like a flashbang. Oh, this man was going to pay.

"Hi, honey," he greeted playfully, wiggling his fingers as he waved.

You took a deep breath in, trying to quiet the very loud voice in your head that begged you to pounce on him. "Is there a reason you have a free hand?" you spoke sternly, doing your best to keep up the disappointed facade.

"What do you mean?" he tilted his head, "How could I possibly handcuff both of my wrists by myself!" Both you and him knew damn well he could do so easily, he was an angel for Heaven's sake! He was magic incarnate.

If this is how he wanted to play, then it was game on.

You took a few steps closer, softening the scowl you had plastered on your face just a minute ago. "Hmm, guess you're right," you falsely agreed. You stood at the side of his bed, running your hand down his stomach, stopping just above his crotch. You could tell from a quick glance that he was already worked up in anticipation. "Eager already, are we?"

Lucifer laughed cautiously. It seems as though he hadn't expected the response you'd given. Before he could muster up an answer, you threw your one leg over his body, perfectly straddling him. A soft gasp escaped the angel as you began to shift your hips along his clothed length. His free hand found your hip, helping you steady yourself as your heated core began to rile him up even further. "I-I have to say, sweetie," Lucifer spoke up at last, "you're a lot gentler t-than I thought you might be."

You smiled and leaned down to press a soft kiss to his parted lips, removing his hat in the process. "Oh Luci, I just want to give you everything you deserve." Your lips left his as you began to trail kisses down his pale neck and collar bone, earning soft whimpers from the man beneath you. His hips stated to match your movements as he desperately used his body to beg for more friction, more contact. He was putty in your hands and you've barely begun. "You want more, my sweet boy? I can feel how hard you are."

"Y-Yes," he babbled, "P-Please..."

You hummed contently, shifting your body down further to straddle his legs. You reached for the hem of his pants and pulled them down past his waist lethargically, savoring the sight of exposing each inch of his engorged member. You pulled the fabric to his knees and moved your face inches away from his twitching cock. Lucifer nearly whined since you were taking longer than normal to touch him. You pressed a quick kiss to his leaking tip before crawling back up his body once more. Your smile turned wicked as you leaned down and pressed your lips to his ear. "I would love to give you more, Lucifer," you whispered teasingly, "but where's the fun in that?" Immediately, you removed yourself from the bed and sauntered over to where you had left your shopping bags.

"W-What?" the poor man sobbed.

"Aww, baby," you cooed cruelly, "you didn't think I was going to give in so easily, did you? If you don't want to listen to me, why would you think I would reward such behavior?" You watched as Lucifer gulped at your words that were laced with a certain intensity he was not used to. "And besides, you have a free hand, don't you? I suggest you use it, because I'm not going to touch you anymore until you've been properly punished. Do you understand?"

Lucifer's hand visibly trembled as he reached for his neglected cock, gripping it timidly as he began to rock his hand back and forth. Small cries emanated from the bed, but you weren't going to back down. You turned away from your saddened lover and began to rummage through your things for the brand-new lingerie set you had purchased; the white thin lacy fabric with red accents that left little to the imagination.

"Close your eyes," you commanded, holding back a smile as you watched your lover struggle. "It's indecent to watch a lady change." You could have easily locked yourself in the bathroom to throw on the new outfit, but torturing Lucifer by withholding your gorgeous form from him was much more entertaining.

"Love, p-please," Lucifer began to beg. "You're teasing me too much..."

"You know the safe word, Luci," you responded calmly, refusing to give him an inch. "What color?"

There was a long pause before he spoke again. "Green."

He was perfectly fine. The color system was the perfect way to gauge each other's boundaries, all discussed previously, of course. The man groaned as his hand continued to pump himself furiously, his precum now leaking over his darkened hand. "Ah, ah, not too fast now," you reprimanded. "Can't have you have too much fun without me." Lucifer whined but complied, slowing his movements at your command. "Now, be a good boy and close your eyes." He nodded and did as you asked, watching his eyes scrunched tight. You made quick work of discarding your dress, making sure to keep an eye on the ravenous man on the bed. You slipped into your lingerie with ease, giving yourself a quick glance over in the vanity mirror. Lucifer's colors looked good on you.

You began to go through the other bag and took out some of the new toys you had purchased on your very short outing, a small vibrating bullet and a brand-new vibrating flesh light. You sauntered over to Lucifer, who was behaving and keeping his eyes closed for you. You ran your hand gently down his flushed face before pressing a soft kiss to his needy lips. He forced his head up as much as he could, desperate to deepen this kiss. But you pulled away way to quickly to leave him satisfied. "Greedy," you mocked playfully. "Keep your eyes closed, I'm almost done."

You pulled a small bottle of lube from your nightstand, dabbing a generous portion to your fingers. You heard Lucifer's breath quicken as he no doubt realized what you were about to do. "H-Honey?" he squeaked.

"Relax," you chuckled as you made your way to the foot of the bed, placing your free hand on his pants and pushing them even further down to rest as his ankles. Lucifer's hand continued to keep a steady pace around his shaft even though your ministrations were pushing him closer and closer to the point of no return. "You're being so good for me," you praised. "Lift your legs for me. Don't stop stroking." Lucifer complied, giving you easy access to complete remove the bottom half of his special outfit, leaving the lower half of him completely exposed now.

"S-Sweetie, please..." he groveled, "Please touch me...I-I'm sorry I teased you! I'll do anything! A-Anything you want!" The strain in his voice was nothing short of tantalizing. Part of you wanted to end his torment, to satisfy your own desires as it became increasingly hard to ignore the pulsing between your own legs. But the other, more sadistic side of you was drowning out any sympathy you had for the little devil.

"Spread your legs," your ordered. "We've hardly begun. And I'm going to make sure you learn your lesson."

Slowly but surely, the devil's legs fell apart now fully exposing himself to you. You pressed your fingers against his tight hole before lethargically working them inside. Lucifer's strangled yelps only prodded you further, delighted by the needy sounds that escaped his throat. After a minute or two of preparation provided b your digits, you reached for the small vibrator, switching it on the lowest setting.

Lucifer gasped.

"O-Oh God, no..." the angel lamented, his eyes still closed. The soft sounds of the buzzing toy must have tipped him off. "My love, you're not going to-"

"Oh, but I am," you interrupted. "Now stay still, Luci."

“B-But…”

“Shh, behave now. I think it’s about time you started listening to me.”

You slipped your fingers out of him without warning and quickly replaced them with the bullet, pushing it inside of Lucifer's tight ass to the hilt. The man began to thrash on the bed, his hips jerking every which way from the new stimulation he was receiving. "Calm down, sweetie" you instructed, reveling in the way he was responding to your antics, "you can remove your hand, but keep your eyes closed. I have one more surprise for you." Your words echoed in his mind as more of a threat than a surprise.

Babbling out a less the coherent response, Lucifer's hand immediately gripped the bed sheets as he attempted to keep himself as still as he could. You hummed in approval, sneaking a quick glance at his dripping cock; precum now coating his stomach. He was was on the verge of losing control, you both knew it. But you weren't quite done with him just yet. You walked over to the side of the bed with flesh light in one hand as the other reached for his neglected dick. A breathless scream erupted from your lover as soon as you touched him. You pumped him a few times before lining up his cock with the other new toy. You forced the flesh light down his length slowly until it enveloped him completely.

"G-GAAAAHHH," Lucifer cried out in a state of overwhelming pleasure that teetered on pain. Almost at a torturous pace, you stroked the flesh light up and down as you watched Lucifer writhe on the mattress below you.

“How’s my little pet doing?” you asked, your voice laced with a sadistic tone.

Lucifer shook his head as he desperately tried to regain control of his body. “I-I gaaahhhh f-ffffuuaahhh…t-too much…”

“Aww, poor baby," you teased, "Do you want to cum, Lucifer?”

“Mm-hmm…” he whimpered.

You halted your movements immediately as Lucifer wailed at the loss of friction. “Hmm, let me rephrase…do you think you DESERVE to cum?”

“N-No…” Lucifer swallowed hard as he gasped for air.

Your hand began to move once again, pleased with his answer. “Glad that we’re on the same page, love. Brats shouldn’t get to cum, should they?”

Oh, the way Lucifer squirmed was something to behold. If you could replay this moment in your head for the rest of time, you would do so in a heartbeat. He was losing himself and it was all thanks to you. His demonic horns burst from his forehead as his tail found its way around your thigh. You had a thought of reprimanding him for touching you without your permission but putting him in this state was already more than enough punishment. Plus, you were starting to feel neglected as it was becoming increasingly harder to ignore the pulsing between your legs. His touch was a more than welcomed one.

“Y-You’re lucky I’m even doing this f-for you," you scolded, small stutters slipping through your dominant facade. "Given how you’ve acted today, teasing me while I’m out in public, making me come home early from my day out, not listening to my simple instructions…" You took your free hand and held Lucifer's chin in your fingers. "Now, what do you say?”

“T-Thank you, l-love…," the angel stuttered in response. "Thank you s-so much…you’re too g-good to me…”

“Good boy."

Lucifer nearly went limp from your praise. His babbling was incoherent now. There was a shift, but you couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was. When you looked at him, it was as though he wasn't all there.

"Color, Luci?" you asked. No response. At least, none that you could understand. But you did feel his tail tighten even more around you, to the point where you know it would bruise later.

Bad sign...

Your motions slowed as you waited for his answer. "Lucifer, can you give me a color?" Still nothing. Your heart sank when you realized he was in no condition to continue. Your hand completely stopped, removing the flesh light from him and tossing it on the mattress followed quickly by the vibrating bullet. His body continued to tremble as your hands flew to his face, wiping the excessive drool that spilled from his mouth. "Hey, Lucifer, honey, look at me. I need you to open your eyes for me now. Please..."

Finally, a sign of life. His eyes squinted open after having them shut for so long. It was hard to see, but you could tell his eyes were glassy. "H-Honey?..." Lucifer finally managed to speak, his tail at last loosening the grip it had on your thigh.

You breathed a heavy sigh of relief as one of your hands removed the strands of hair from his sweat covered face. "Shh, it's alright. It's okay. You scared me there for a minute. Seemed like you fell too far."

" 'M sorry..." he blubbered.

"Hey hey hey," you scolded softly, "none of that. You did nothing wrong. Are you able to give me a color?"

Lucifer sniffled, a single tear rolling down his cheek which you easily wiped away. "Red..."

"Okay," you breathed, your worry finally starting to dwindle. "We're done." You kissed his forehead before heading to the night stand to retrieve the key the unlocked his restraints. His hand feel to the bed with a thump. You picked it up and ran your fingers over his darkened skin. "I'll be right back, okay? I'm going to get you some water. Just relax for me. You did very well, Luci. Very well."

As you promised, you returned quickly with his drink along with a towel you doused with some cold water. Lucifer laid on the bed nearly lifelessly, his horns and tail had vanished as well. But at least his breathing was steady. You handed him the cold glass as he gave you a soft smile. But you noticed a twinge of sadness in his expression; you knew he still felt guilty about ending the session early. But what mattered to you was that he was alright, no matter what he would say otherwise. He gulped the water rapidly as you ran the cool towel across his forehead.

"Let's get this off of you, shall we?" You tugged at the black jacket that still remained. Lucifer nodded and let you remove the coat. "You must have been overheating, huh?"

He chuckled lightly. "Just a little. Maybe black wasn't the best color choice."

"You look really good in black, though," you teased, tunning the towel down his exposed chest. He sighed deeply as he watched you through half-lidded eyes.

"Thank you, love," Lucifer spoke softly as he put the empty glass on the night stand. "You're too good to me. I-I'm really sorry about-"

"None of that," you responded hastily, "Lucifer, you don't need to apologize for anything. If you're not having a good time, then neither am I. It's as simple as that. You did nothing wrong."

Lucifer sighed. No matter what you said, it wasn't going to change how he felt, even though you wish it did.

"It wasn't that it didn't feel good," he said, finally sitting up  "it did, it felt amazing! I just...spaced out, I guess. I mean, really spaced out. That's what scared me..." He pushed his knees to his just, resting his head on his arms. "But I know you're disappointed..."

You scooted over beside him and gave a tender kiss to the side of his temple. "I'm never disappointed when it comes to you, Luci. Never. I-MMPH!"

Your words were cut short by Lucifer's lips on yours. He dragged his tongue languidly across your bottom lip, begging for permission. And you happily granted him access. The way he explored your mouth distracted you enough to where you didn't even notice his hands grabbing a hold of your hips. You were hoisted into his lap before you could protest, earning a surprised squeak from you. Lucifer pulled away and leaned his forehead into yours as you both tried to catch your breath.

"You look beautiful, by the way," he praised, his fingers tracing the lacy hem of your panties, "especially in my colors. And to think you deprived me of this, now that was the real punishment." It was only then that he noticed the small slit in your garment that gave him free access to your needy core. "And what's this?" His digits traveled south, but his hand stopped just before making contact. "May I?"

You let out a small sigh. "Are you sure?"

Lucifer responded by pressing a chaste kiss to your supple lips. "You spent so much time taking care of me today. Let me take care of you now."

You bit down on your lip and relented to his request. There was no hesitation with his fingers after that as they quickly found their way your lower lips, already soaked in anticipation. You sucked in a deep breath when he finally made contact, goosebumps littering your body as he touched you where you needed him most. Your head fell on his shoulder within a matter of seconds. He knew everything about you and your body; it was child's play getting you to such a desperate state.

"So wet already and I'm only now touching you." You could hear the smugness in his words as he spoke. Truly the sin of pride. "Does torturing me turn you on this much, my darling?"

"Y-you know, f-fuck..." you tried to speak through your gasps, "you know I w-wasn't trying to t-torture you."

"I know you weren't" he cooed, his thumb now running gentle circles against your clit. Your breathing became rigid and your heart felt like it was going to burst from your ribcage. Your little whines only egged him on further, feeling him push two fingers into your aching hole. The air caught in your throat as he began thrusting the in and out of you a slow pace. "You feel so good, so warm. God, I could spend the rest of the day like this."

And you'd let him. He knew this. But straddling his lap and feeling his hard cock pressed against you did not make it easy. But you'd never push him for more, not after the state he was just in moments before. Not unless he-

"I want you," he pleaded. "Please, love..."

"Lucifer..." You knew what he was doing. He wanted to make up for what happened. Not that you didn't believe he didn't want you, in fact, he probably wanted you more now than ever before. He needed you, starving for you, if  the way his body reacted was any indication.

"Green," he murmured in your ear. You lifted your head and looked into his soft yellow eyes. "Green," he repeated. "Please..."

The last of your resolve faded away, now shifting your body to where your soaked folds teased the head of his cock. You both moaned in unison as you sunk yourself down his shaft, taking him to the hilt. Fuck, did he feel good, your neediness at last being satiated. The joy on Lucifer's face was unmistakable, elated to finally feel you after so long.

"You're still alright?" you asked still trying to remember how to breathe properly. The way he felt was dizzying, no matter how many times you've felt his cock buried deep inside you. It was a constant battle to stay conscious.

"More than alright," he laughed lightly, "now that it's just you and me. No toys, no games, just...you. All I ever need is you. N-Not that I don't enjoy the toys o-or the games! I like them! I-I just mean-"

"Lucifer!" you interrupted.

He cheeks flushed a soft tint of yellow. "I'm rambling again, aren't I?"

"Just a bit." You wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned in for a deep kiss. "Now be a good boy and let me fuck you."

Lucifer did a motion with his hand, simulating zipping his lips closed. He chuckled as you started shifting your hips. That non-existent zipper didn't last very long as soft moans and whimpers began to pour out from Lucifer. The man gripped your waist, steading you as you picked up the pace. Riding him was one of your favorite ways to bring him pleasure, because you were in control. Of course, Lucifer could more than easily overpower you at any given point and have his way with you if he wanted. But he didn't. He was letting you use him, and he loved every second of it.

"You're s-so good for me, Luci," you praised, your body slamming itself up and down on his thick cock. "You m-make me feel so good. Tell me what y-you want, baby."

"I-I...fffffuck..." he stammered out. His mouth latched onto your shoulder, his teeth sinking into your tender skin. He tried his best not to bite down too hard, but you loved when he left marks on you. He let go, his breathing becoming more and more staggered. "W-Wanna fill you...fuck, PLEASE...need to cum...s-so close, I-I can't..."

You were close yourself. Having Hell's most powerful being at your mercy and begging to cum filled you with such unholy desire that your body had no power to deny him. "I'm close too, Luci. I just n-need you to do one thing f-for...shhhit...for me."

"Anything! Anything for you!" he cried out. He was losing himself and it wouldn't be long before he reached the point of no return.

You smiled and pressed your lips to his ear. "Fill me, Lucifer."

That was all he needed.

He cried out your name in pure bliss as he finally came, filling you with his hot seed. At this point, your body was not moving on its own. Rather, Lucifer was using it for himself, making sure you finished with him. His actions had you barreling towards your own orgasm, your pussy clenching on his cock that continued to pour more and more cum into your needy hole. You could feel it leaking it out of you after a few more moments, sliding down your inner thighs and pooling onto his lap. The poor thing was denied for so long today, he had more than enough to fulfill your request. At last, the two of you stopped moving altogether, your head's resting on each other's shoulders as you both caught your breath.

"Lucifer?" you whispered.

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

Lucifer picked his head up, his half-lidded eyes felt as though they were peering directly into your soul. "I love you more."

You scoffed jokingly. "The nerve, sir! I don't think you can just-H-HEY!"

Before you could rebuttal, Lucifer has pulled you from his lap, shifting his body down in the process so that your full cunt was inches away from his ravenous mouth.

"What the hell are you doing?!" you asked, your flustered voice making Lucifer grin mischievously.

"Cleaning you up," he replied before his lips met your clit without warning. The near scream that escaped from you echoed throughout the room. Lucifer was insatiable. You couldn't fight back even if you wanted to, not with the way his clawed hands dug into your hips to keep you in place. Through your teary eyes, you watched as he devoured you as well as the mixed fluids of both of your cum.

You bit down on your lip trying to keep the little composure you had left. "Y-You...GOD-...why do you a-always have to one up me?" His forked tongue slithered across your tasty cunt, making sure not a drop  of you or him was left.

He smiled up at you, peppering kisses along your thighs. "I'm the sin of pride for a reason, dear. Can't have anyone out do me. Not even you." His tongue felt incredible inside you, hitting that little bundle of nerves that he knew drove you crazy.

"But I wanted t-to be full!" you pouted.

"Well then," he chucked, his lips ghosting your clit once more "I guess I'll just have to fill you again. Can't have my pretty girl empty now, can we?"

You spent the rest of the night being worshipped by the King of Hell in every sense of the word; truly it was the best Valentine's Day a girl could ask for.

****

You can stone me to death, it's fine, this shouldn't have taken 4 months...

@ask-theradio-demon @sonicwind-01 @thonethatflies620 @willoryn @a-okay-rj

@bat-boness @myhornybrainonlyknowsthis @misfitgirlwrites @the-other-soup @orbitinglumps

@ramenkitten @blaackbiird @lucisaspen @pvppybun @6esiree

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@rand0m-1diot @lonelynmisunderstood @redvexillum @yourmom132 @liveontelevision

@luci-lover-forever @lolalovesmorningstar @moonlight-readings @nayomi247 @citrusbatsandhoneybees

@yve-barr @s1nfu7h0r53f7y @leviskittywh0re @thornwolfy235 @qu1cks1lversb1tch @writteninlunarlight-years

@lauruoriii @annybah @jayyyayaysblog @sweet-radio @diffidentphantom

@sunflower-reaper @activesplooger @damsel-loves-machines @redfoxwritesstuff @shae-mermaid

[slowdrawl]

| Everybody Loves Contractors | AU NO OUTBREAK| JoelMiller X f!reader |

| 2/? | | Fragile | ~3.6k words | 18+ minors dni |masterlist|

She’s got a fixer-upper, trauma, and an attitude problem. Joel’s got calloused hands, a tool belt, and a soft spot for crazy. This is going to go great. "You’re nothing but a client. A mess of one at that. Some unhinged girl who moved to Texas on a whim, running away from god-knows-what, sending him cringeworthy late-night texts. And he’s just the man you hired to rip the walls open. He might even be married. You never checked for a ring." |a/n| I love them already, I hope you do too. home depot next!

| Warnings | Explicit language, sexual tension, mutual pining, age gap, a little angst, mentions of DV/Stalking mentions of PTSD, mentions of death, Joel being Joel, etc. Please read responsibly.

You wake up to a bird screaming outside your window and a throbbing in your head. You barely even drank. Maybe had three beers max, but you've spent the last two weeks struggling to acclimate to the hellscape that is Texas. 

The humidity in Austin is no joke, and you’ve been seriously underestimating how much sweat one person is capable of producing.

Back home in Washington, summers were a lot drier. You’re not used to the constant layer of sweat that covers your body, it’s like you could drink a gallon of water in an hour and not even pee. 

You groan and reach your arm over to the bedside table, searching blindly for your water bottle, refusing to open your eyes yet. 

But then the regret hits you, jolting into your brain like hot electricity. Spiky, immediate. 

You snap your eyes open, then squeeze them shut again, like if you cringe hard enough, you could will those text messages you sent last night out of existence. You drink half the bottle of water, it’s lukewarm and has some flavour you’re still not quite used to. Water in the south fuckin’ sucks apparently, you never thought you would be one of those people. You grab your phone to add ‘Brita filter’ to your shopping list, but stop before you get there. 

One unread text message from him.. 

(7:42 AM) 

Joel Miller: mornin’ psycho. 

Your face heats up instantly. He texted you first… technically. He called you psycho. You should really be insulted, but your dopamine-deprived brain decided to interpret it as affection instead.

(8:07 AM)

You: goodmorning contractor. how kind of you to acknowledge my existence after I sent you drunk and kinda mean texts last night.

You wait for a response, it’s agonizing. 

The phone buzzes on your chest. 

(8:12 AM) 

Joel Miller: figured ignoring you would be rude. manners and all. Huh. Okay. A little colder than you expected. You reread it, trying to decide if he’s annoyed or just…being himself.

(8:07 AM)

You: I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had ghosted me.

(8:08 AM)

Joel Miller: I wouldn’t do that Your heart rate picks up. (8:08 AM)

Joel Miller: can’t anyways, you still gotta sign the contract Ouch. Of course, this is business. Duh.

(8:09 AM)

You: ah! yes! Capitalism!! the true foundation of our new friendship. Almost forgot.

You: can we talk about that? wanna know how soon I’m going to be bankrupt, might need to go get a pedicure and snap a few photos of my toes for craigslist.

(8:11 AM)

Joel Miller: you good for a phone call around 10?

You hesitate.

(8:11 AM)

You: yeah, thats perfect. Thanks

No emoji. No more sarcasm. Strictly business. You put the phone down gently and stare up at the ceiling tiles for a while. He didn’t flirt. Didn’t call you darlin’ or throw in a wink like he did last night. He was polite. Blunt. All contract, no fun. And why wouldn’t he be? He doesn’t even know you.You’re nothing but a client. A mess of one at that. Some unhinged girl who moved to Texas on a whim, running away from god-knows-what, sending him cringeworthy late-night texts. And he’s just the man you hired to rip the walls open. He might even be married. You never checked for a ring. Oh my god, you never even checked for a ring. You fucking’ idiot. You’re fantasizing about being a homewrecker.You sit for a while, picking at hangnails, pulling half the stitching out of the hem of your t-shirt, letting your mind chew on it all for a while. You really should stop reading so deeply into things. Just because someone is kind…in a brooding way, or doesn’t ignore you, doesn’t mean they want anything from you. Not really. Not always. At 10:03, your phone buzzes. You’re lying down, flat on your back on the couch in the faux-living room of the Airbnb. You stare at the ceiling fan like you’re about to be sentenced by the royal court. You answer the phone on the third ring. “Hey,” You say, normal. “You sound alive,” Joel says, voice low and rough. “That’s debatable. But yeah. Morning.” You mumble, trying to sound like you don’t care he called. “I’m prepared to hear the details of my financial ruin.”

He chuckles, low and brief, like maybe—just maybe that was funny. “You asked for it, kid.”

You sit up right and swing your legs over the side of the couch. “Alright, alright, true. Tell me about it then.”

“Sent the paperwork over to the office,” he says. “Should have it back by Monday, early. I’ll walk you through it if you’ve got questions.” What if he talked me through it instead? Ha Ha…Ha “Okay. Cool. Thanks.” “You’ll need a 20% deposit before we start. End of next week alright?” You choke. He notices. 

“Still with me?”

“Yup… yeah. Just thinking about you draining my savings account…kinda hot.” You let out an almost believable laugh. “Okay, sign papers, 20% by the end of next week. I can do that.” 

Joel's voice softens a bit. “You sure?” 

“This is what I want,” you say quickly. “I’ll figure it out.” He doesn’t respond right away, just stays quiet. You can hear some background movement—maybe he’s walking. Or he’s searching for an excuse to hang up on you.

“I’m thinking we can do Wednesday through Friday, ten to six, give or take, depending on deliveries. Unless that won’t work for you?” “No, that's fine.” You’re dissociating, “Alright. Mondays and Tuesdays, I’ve got other jobs. Keeps weekends open for both of us.”

“Oh my god, it’s like you’re giving me custody hours, I’m like the mid-week mom.”

“If you want weekends too, you gotta make me dinner,” he responds. 

Your face heats up, you go silent again.

You clear your throat, “So. Ten to six, Wednesday to Friday, weekends maybe, but only if there’s lasagna.”

“I’ll see you on Monday, then,” he says, voice even. “We’ll go from there.”

“Okay. Thanks, Joel. Appreciate it.”

Another second of silence, it feels full, your brain feels like mud. 

“Alright then,” he says. “Try to learn how to behave before Monday.”

You laugh, “I’m making no promises.” You’re grinning ear to ear despite yourself. The line clicks dead a second later. And you’re left sitting there, phone in hand, wondering what you’re doing, and why the fuck you liked that so much. When you toss the phone down, the reality of the situation really settles into your bones. You’re really fucking doing this. Hell, you’re already most of the way through it. You left. You packed your whole life into your Civic and drove two thousand miles, from Bellevue to Austin. Alone. You left him there. Said absolutely nothing about it, couldn’t. Not legally, at least. Instructed everyone who knew the two of you to never tell him where you went. You chose peace. You chose yourself. And somehow, that still feels radical? Like it was an act of defiance instead of survival. You didn’t even cry until Oregon. Didn’t let yourself fully believe you were even actually free until you passed the Idaho border and realized nobody was following behind you. You’d been with him since high school. That kind of history doesn’t go away easy. He hurt you slowly, taking parts of you away month by month, year by year, until you were a shell of who you once were. He broke things inside of you that still rattle around sometimes when you’re not paying enough attention. His hands left burn marks that you’re worried will never truly fade. You sit there for a long moment, letting the silence press in on you. The Airbnb is too clean, sterile, too…impersonal. Like it's holding space for a version of you that hasn’t quite arrived yet. Eventually, you get up. You cross the room to the only thing that really matters to you right now. The box. It’s battered. Duct-taped around the edges. “KEEP SAFE” scrawled across every side of it in big, Sharpie letters like that would somehow protect it from fire, flooding, or the unrelenting hands of grief. It’s slightly smudged from rain, maybe tears, who knows. It’s the only box that’s never made it into a U-HAUL. You kept it tucked in the passenger seat on your way to Texas. Buckled in, riding shotgun the entire drive from Washington. You brought it in to sleep next to you in every motel. Just in case. Just in case he found you. Just in case the house burned down. Just in case the last pieces of you disappeared, slipping through your hands like sand before you could properly hold them again. You carry it over to the bed and pull the top open, hands maybe a little too careful. In it, his watch that hasn't worked since you were 12, his favorite ball cap that somehow still smells like him after all these years if you press it to your nose. And a photo. You and your dad from a birthday party a lifetime ago, you’re wearing a polka-dotted paper hat, blowing out 9 candles. He’s staring at little you like you’re the only thing that existed in his world. Even though it's a still photo, you can almost see his eyes twinkling. 

He’s wearing a hat with The Lion King logo embroidered in it, black with an orange bill, and one of his classic denim button-downs. You smile down at the photo, then your lips start to tremble when you think too hard about whose smile you're really wearing. He probably would have hated the heat here, he certainly would have had something to say about the humidity. Woulda cursed the mosquitoes, the grasshoppers, the very concept of Texas apart from the barbeque. But, he would have still come to visit… because he would’ve understood. 

He always understood. The only reason you could afford the move, the house, was because of him. Two months after you lost everything else, his life insurance check showed up. You never even wanted to cash it. Because it felt like if you did it would solidify it, he would really be gone. But eventually you did. Then you bought the most broken thing you could afford, hoping maybe it would be strong enough to hold the weight of starting over like this. “I’m gonna fix it,” you whisper to the box, voice small. “I swear, I will.” You fold the flaps of the box in on themselves and carry it out the door of the Airbnb with you, like maybe bringing it to the house is step one in bringing yourself back, as well. The air is already warm, the sun is still climbing into place in the sky, and cicadas are going feral in the trees. The street hums with quiet suburbia, children playing, and truck tires. You hold the box to your chest as you climb into the front seat and drive. You keep one arm wrapped around it firmly as you turn the corner to your home. You don’t play music, you just let the silence wash over you this time. When you pull into the driveway and open the door, you don’t put it down right away. You just sit on the floor with it, sunlight pouring in through the broken blinds in the kitchen window, your knees pulled up to your chest. You breathe deep, letting it ground you, hoping that somehow your dad’s things will pour some strength into you, because god, you need it right now. You look around, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about the way your dad might have reacted to the house. He’d probably shake his head. Probably mutter something stupid like, “Jesus, kiddo, didn’t know the Blair Witch house was in Austin.” He’d probably tell you that he didn’t raise you to be so damn impulsive. But secretly, he’d be proud. Because he’d know, he’d know that you had to go, had to start over. He wouldn’t have wanted you to dull yourself down. He’d hate knowing that you had become someone who kept shrinking herself to make someone else comfortable. And this house, for all its rot, imperfections, and ghosts, it’s yours. Your mess, your future. You tuck the box safely in the hall closet and head back to the car to grab more of your stuff. 

You spend the remainder of the afternoon cleaning the second bedroom, the only one that has windows that don’t stick in the tracks when you try to open and close them. It feels the least haunted, too. You vacuum and take your spot cleaner to a particularly ominous stain in the middle of the floor. It’s the color of rust, hopefully not blood. You wash the windows, wipe about an inch of dust off the ceiling fan blades, and fill a Swiffer duster with so many cobwebs it looks like cotton candy. Gross. By sunset, it finally looks like one of the after shots from an episode of Hoarders. Not perfect, but livable. You put a dehumidifier in the corner of the room and pulled out the air mattress you bought one year. Your ex decided that camping at The Gorge for a music festival would be a good idea. It wasn’t… You got heat stroke and threw up during Kid Cudi’s set. You blow it up and place it in the center of the room. When you flop yourself down on it, you hear a hiss, and you let out the world's heaviest sigh. Of course. ////

Joel was in the kitchen, reheating something from a takeout box that barely counted as dinner. He stood over the microwave, arms crossed, waiting for it to beep.

Sarah was perched on the arm of the couch behind him, legs folded, humming some song he didn’t recognize. Probably something from a playlist her roommate sent her. She didn’t look up until he passed by with his food and collapsed into the recliner with a quiet grunt.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

(7:42 PM)

Opengate Demo Girl: ten bucks says you’re gonna hate my ass by friday.

Joel didn’t answer right away.

He stared at the message, chewing slowly, unsure what to make of it—or her. She was already too much, even through a screen. But she was funny. Quick. There was something behind the sarcasm that kept tugging at him, even though he knew he shouldn’t let it.

He exhaled through his nose and replied.

(7:43 PM)

Joe Miller: by friday huh. do i get extra cash if I already do?

Her reply came fast, but it wasn’t a text.

It was a selfie.

She had one hand pressed to her chest like she’d just been mortally wounded, mouth open in mock betrayal. Hair messy. Eyes wide, dramatic, shining.

Joel huffed a quiet laugh before he could stop himself. Louder than he meant to.

Sarah’s head whipped around from the couch. “Who are you texting that has you laughing before noon?” she asked, eyebrow arched.

He didn’t look up. “Nobody,” he said, reaching for his fork again. “Just a dumb meme.”

“Mmm.” Sarah didn’t sound convinced. “You only figured out what a meme was last year. Don’t start acting like you’re fluent.”

Joel grunted, annoyed. His phone buzzed again.

He ignored it.

Sarah, of course, refused.

“What kinda meme makes you blush like that?”

“I’m not—” he started, cutting himself off before the sentence could hang him. He set his phone down, face-first on the coffee table. Kept eating like it would somehow defuse the conversation.

She was still watching him.

He picked it back up eventually. Couldn’t help it.

(7:47 PM)

Opengate Demo Girl: glad you’re pretending to be my best friend after a whole 24 hours. ur commitment to the bit is admirable. i’m moved.

He smirked. Barely. Typed out a response without thinking.

(7:48 PM) Joel Miller: charity work’s good karma. gotta get into heaven somehow.

Joel didn’t hear Sarah get off the couch until she was behind him, reading over his shoulder.

“Oh, so you’re going to heaven now?” she snorted.

He locked the screen and looked up at her, deadpan. “Gotta aim high.”

Sarah didn’t laugh. She crossed her arms instead, squinting at him like a bloodhound.

“Who’s Opengate Girl?”

He sighed. “It’s the address. New client.”

She made a face. “You saved her under the street name? Ew. That’s so sterile. You couldn’t even put her actual name?”

Joel shook his head. “Helps me keep track. You know how many houses I’ve walked through this month?”

Sarah was still watching him like he’d just confessed to a federal crime. “Okay but why are you smiling at your phone like that? Are you flirting with a client?”

“I’m not flirting,” he muttered.

“Right. Sure. And I’m not currently watching you act like a teenager.”

“Jesus, kid.”

“You’re blushing, dude.”

“Shut it,.”

“You are.”

He pointed at her with his fork. “Go do your homework.”

She rolled her eyes and backed away, still grinning. “Flirt responsibly, old man.”

Joel muttered something under his breath and went back to his food, trying to pretend none of that happened.

He didn’t open his phone again for a while.

Instead, he asked about her classes. TikTok. What she was watching. Tried to be normal.

Tried not to picture the shape of that girl’s mouth in the photo.

And mostly… he failed. ////

Meanwhile, your hands are full. You kick the front door of the Airbnb closed and make it most of the way to the kitchen before one of the paper grocery bags explodes. You almost break an ankle tripping over a can of soup and curse out the ghost of Campbell’s under your breath.

You throw the perishables into the fridge and glance at the clock. 7 PM.

Check-out for the rental is at 11 AM tomorrow. Thankfully, you’re mostly packed. You never really unpacked anyway—you’ve been living out of a suitcase since you left home three weeks ago. At least this place had a washing machine. You’re already critically low on clean underwear, and hand-washing wasn’t on your bingo card.

When you’re finished stacking your remaining belongings next to the door, you head back into the kitchen. It would be criminal to waste your last night with a fully functional kitchen on Top Ramen or mac and cheese straight out of the pot, so you don’t.

You stare into the fridge for inspiration. Reach into the crisper drawer and pull out whatever isn’t fully wilted or growing a second skin.

Stir-fry it is.

Something simple. Something comforting. You throw on a playlist and grab a cutting board from the cupboard, chopping carrots and peppers while singing No Scrubs at full volume, utterly disregarding the fact that this is a duplex. You cook the chicken that was dated for yesterday because it still smells…fine. You’re pretty sure you’re immune to food poisoning, courtesy of growing up on your dad’s questionable "experiments" in the kitchen. Stomach of steel. It's practically a superpower.

You miraculously don’t burn the rice. You eat dinner on the couch, scrolling through your phone, feeling— Not settled. But maybe… okay.

When you finish eating, you wipe down the counters. You let yourself stare out the kitchen window for a second, It's dark now. The only thing illuminating the yard is the moon; it's peaceful. You contemplate going to bed early, calling it a win, you’re exhausted anyway. But nope. You’re a dumbass with a maybe-kinda crush and too much flour. Plus, you already bought a bag of chocolate chips at Kroeger. Who gives a shit if it’s 77 degrees outside, you’re baking cookies. You throw together a batch, your grandma's recipe that you know by heart. You’re doing this half out of spite, half out of some unspoken womanly urge to nurture the world. But mostly you’re doing it for yourself, and maybe a grown man whose astrology sign you don't even know yet. I bet he's a Scorpio… Scorpios are always brooding. You hum to yourself as you fold in the chocolate, and by the time you’re putting them in the oven, you’re belting Bohemian Rhapsody using the spatula as an impromptu microphone. You burned the first batch, you were…distracted. Distracted googling ‘Can my contractor sue me for emotional damages?’, it was a joke at first, but there are a surprising number of Reddit threads that cover this topic. The second batch of cookies is perfectly golden. You let them sit by the open kitchen window to cool like you’re some housewife in a fairytale that’s bound to end with a wild animal eating your firstborn. You sit cross-legged on the couch, Sharpie and notebook in hand. HOME DEPOT: Hammer (not pink) Lightbulbs LED Paint Extension cord (the ugly orange kind) Coffee maker (duh) Snacks Duct tape (you can never have enough) The will to live You stare at the list for a hot minute, chewing the end of the Sharpie like a feral animal. Maybe you should buy a taser. Or a whole new personality. Or coveralls. Oh my god, what if he wears coveralls… I’m going to be sick. You flop backward onto the couch with a full-body groan, one arm slung across your face, the other clutching your phone. You might not survive this summer. You’re going to sweat to death, trip over all of your boxes, maybe die alone in a haunted house with no aircon and a hot contractor who absolutely doesn’t think about you at all and might be married. You are unwell. You grab the notebook once more, scribbling ‘ant traps, more duct tape’. You giggle to yourself as you write ‘vibrator????’ in bubbly script. Before you head to bed, you check the locks, twice. Not because you’re worried. Just… muscle memory. He’s not here. But your body doesn’t believe that yet. ps. if you like this fic please tell me because your comments are what keeps me writing

[mandoalorian]

the making of a king [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader

Synopsis: As Congressman Barnes steps into the political arena, he realises the battle for power is only just beginning. As he claims his place in the race, unseen forces move against him—forces that know exactly where to strike. The war for the presidency isn’t just about policy. It’s about control. And the only way to control Bucky Barnes… is through you.

Word Count: 6380

Tags/warnings: 18+ explicit content, employer x employee, anal, fingering, m recieving oral, buttplay/butt stuff, bucky eats ass, f recieving oral, biting, canon typical plot devices and politics

Masterlist

prev chapter <3 | congress & carnality masterlist

The soft hum of the kitchen fan filled the quiet safe house as you moved around, fixing lunch for Bucky. After the intense, heated moment you’d shared earlier, your body still buzzed with warmth, but your mind was steady, content. He sat at the small dining table, watching you with that quiet, observant gaze of his, elbows resting on the wooden surface as his vibranium fingers drummed lightly against the grain.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” he said, voice low and rough from the weight of the morning.

You glanced over your shoulder, catching the way his gaze softened when you met it. “I know,” you teased, “but someone’s gotta take care of you. And I like it being me.”

Bucky scoffed, shaking his head, but he didn’t argue. You finished plating the sandwiches and set them down in front of him, taking the seat beside him. For a moment, it was just the sound of the cutlery scraping against the plate, the occasional clink of a glass being set down. The moment felt… domestic. Safe. But there was something lingering in the air—something unspoken.

Bucky was the one to break the silence. “How are you feeling?”

You wiped your mouth with a napkin, looking at him. “Better,” you admitted. “I think I just needed a moment to breathe.”

His jaw tensed, but he nodded, accepting your answer. It wasn’t what he meant. “And… about Russia?”

You hesitated, setting down your cutlery and thinking hard. “I wish I could tell you more, but… I don’t remember anything.” Your brows furrowed. “It’s weird. I know I was there, but it’s like someone took an eraser to my memory and just… wiped it clean.”

Bucky’s grip tightened on his fork. He set it down with a deliberate motion and leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly through his nose. “That’s not normal,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. Your admission sent shivers running down Bucky’s spine, and naturally, he thought about all the times he was put into cryo, every time he came close to remembering something he shouldn't have. And then, he’d wake up, be activated, and have no recollection of his life prior. It was haunting. 

You reached for his hand, your fingers sliding over the cool vibranium. “I know. But I’m okay now.”

Bucky didn’t look convinced, but he let it go.

When you finished eating, you stretched your arms over your head. “Alright, time for me to get dressed for the press conference.”

Bucky’s expression shifted immediately. “You’re not coming.”

You blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

“I need you to stay here,” he said firmly. “It’s not safe.”

Your lips parted, caught between offense and understanding. “Bucky—”

He reached for his phone, already dialing. “Yelena’s gonna come keep you company.”

You groaned. “So, I don’t even get a say in this?”

He arched a brow. “No.”

You crossed your arms, sighing dramatically. “The assistant in me wants to fight you for taking away my work duties,” you admitted, tilting your head. “But the girlfriend in me…” Your voice softened as you reached out, adjusting the collar of his shirt. “Well, she doesn’t want to do anything that would make you unhappy.”

You were really starting to like this domestic life with Bucky; a life that you never believed would have suited you. You loved waking up in his arms, basking in the morning glow of the sun. You loved cooking for him and having the house clean for when he gets home. Of course you missed going to work, those late nights spent in the office with the Congressman, but you would have never expected to love this calm and quiet life even more. Bucky took care of you, and made you feel good, and you found pleasure in doing the same for him. 

Bucky’s lips twitched, and then he leaned in, catching your mouth in a slow, deliberate kiss. His hand came up, fingers sliding through your hair, tilting your head so he could kiss you deeper, longer.

When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours. “I’ll be back soon.”

You exhaled softly. “You better be.”

He smirked, squeezing your waist before stepping back. “Don’t cause too much trouble while I’m gone.”

You huffed. “No promises.”

And with that, he slipped out of the door to the safehouse and out into the street. His personal driver was waiting for him a few blocks away, as usual, and as Bucky navigated New York’s bustling nature, he thought about you.

This fight wasn’t even about him anymore, it was about you. He wouldn’t let Hydra take away the most important thing in his life; but when you said you couldn’t remember, and when he saw you get injected with that unnaturally dark, syrupy serum, his stomach twisted. As Bucky slipped into the back of the car, his phone vibrated.

Bruce: I have Ross’ serum. I’ll be handing it over to Sam later today. Best of luck with this, Buck. You know you got my support. 

Bucky sighed an air of relief as the car spun down the road. He closed his eyes, thinking over the press conference, thinking over his life. Bucky’s life was cruel and long, filled with chaos and misadventure, from getting unwillingly drafted in the war, to spending seventy years in captivity, to being freed and forced to take time to recover, learning to navigate a world where he was hated. Feared, even. Entering the world of politics came as a surprise for Bucky too, but he was so glad he did, for if it wasn’t for being a member of Congress, he would have never have gotten this close to you. 

The air was thick with anticipation as the press conference began. The White House briefing room was packed—journalists squeezed shoulder to shoulder, cameras flashing, recorders held high. The entire world was watching.

Bucky watched from the sidelines. “Relax man,” Sam Wilson appeared out of nowhere, placing his palm flat against Bucky’s back. Bucky breathed an air of relief and turned to his friend who was doting the full red, white and blue hero get up. Bucky stifled a laugh.

“Nice outfit.” He sniggered.

Sam rolled his eyes, which were shaded by red tinged goggles. “Well someone had to go save the world before attending this conference,” he said sarcastically. “When duty calls.”

“Did Banner get the serum to you?” Bucky asked quietly.

Sam nodded silently. “I will deliver the package to him after the conference, on the condition that Ross does what is right.”

Bucky nodded knowingly and as the loud introductory music started playing, Bucky and Sam watched eagerly as Thaddeus Ross walked onto the stage. There was no telling how this was going to go. 

At the podium, President Ross stood stiffly, his hands gripping the sides like a man awaiting his own sentencing. His face was drawn, lined with exhaustion. He cleared his throat, the microphone amplifying the small sound before he finally spoke.

“Good afternoon,” he began, his voice steady but worn. “I stand before you today not as a leader, but as a man who has made mistakes. Grave mistakes.”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the room. Bucky stood off to the side, back in the shadows, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

Ross continued. “For years, I have served this country under the illusion of control. But I was never in control—not truly. Hydra was.”

The room erupted into shocked whispers, cameras flashing at a rapid pace. Ross was really doing it. He was telling his truth and reaffirming everything that Bucky had come out with. 

Ross held up a hand, silencing them. “I was a pawn, manipulated and coerced through means I do not wish upon any man. Their reach… it extended further than I ever imagined. And because of my weakness, because of my inability to fight back, I allowed their influence to fester within our government.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened as he watched Ross shift, his grip tightening on the podium.

“I will not stand here and pretend I am blameless,” Ross admitted. “But I will not allow Hydra to win. Effective immediately, I am stepping down as President of the United States.”

The room was chaos. Shouted questions overlapped, journalists scrambling to process the breaking news.

Ross exhaled, his shoulders sagging. “Before I go, I must do one last thing. I owe an apology to this nation. To every citizen I have failed. And to my daughter… Betty.”

A hush fell over the crowd. Ross’ eyes glistened, but he held himself together. “I know that stepping down does not absolve me, nor does it erase the damage done. But I promise you this—Hydra will fall. And I place my faith in the man beside me to make that happen.”

Ross turned to Bucky. “Sergeant Barnes.”

The weight of the moment was heavy as Bucky stepped forward. He and Ross exchanged a nod—one of reluctant respect, of understanding.

Ross leaned closer. “I sent you the coordinates,” he muttered under his breath.

Bucky gave the barest of nods before taking his place at the podium. Ross stepped back, the former President now just a man walking away from the mess he helped create.

Bucky let the room settle before he spoke. “I’m not here to clean up Ross’ mess,” he stated plainly. “I’m here to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

A tension-filled silence stretched across the room.

“For years, Hydra has hidden in the shadows, manipulating governments, infiltrating organizations, and turning good men into weapons. No more.” His voice was firm, resolute. “This country deserves transparency. It deserves leaders who will fight for them, not control them.”

A journalist raised their hand. “And do you believe President Ross was one of those controlled men?”

Bucky met their gaze. “Yes,” he said simply. “Ross acted under duress. But let me make one thing clear—this is not me defending him. This is me stating the truth. If we are to dismantle Hydra, we need to understand their reach. Their tactics. Their power.”

More voices piped up, more questions fired. Then, one cut through the noise.

“Congressman Barnes—will you be running for President?”

The room fell silent.

It was the question the world had been asking; the question that had hounded Bucky for days. It had been all over social media, the theories and conspiracies…

Bucky’s lips parted slightly, caught off guard for the first time. His steel-blue eyes narrowed, scanning the sea of eager faces. “Is that what you people want?” His question was almost timid as he measured it up in his head.

A roar of agreement surged through the crowd.

Bucky exhaled, staring at the podium as if he was weighing the weight of the world. Then, he straightened his spine and looked up.

“Then consider this my official announcement.”

The briefing room was in chaos. Ross had stepped down. Hydra’s grip on the government was exposed. And now—Bucky Barnes had just announced his candidacy for President of the United States.

The roar of journalists was deafening. Everyone wanted answers.

Bucky stood firm at the podium, gripping the edges like a man holding his ground in a battlefield. He let the noise settle just enough before he spoke again.

“I know what you’re all thinking,” he said, his voice calm but unwavering. “What qualifies me to lead? I’m not a politician. I don’t have a history in government. What I have is a history of fighting against tyranny. And I promise you, I will not stop until Hydra is wiped from every corner of this world.”

The flashes of cameras made the room flicker like a storm of lightning. Hands shot up, but Bucky wasn’t finished.

“I won’t turn my back on Ross,” he continued, his tone firm. “Despite his mistakes, despite the past, I will stand by him. Because I know what it’s like to be used. To have your actions dictated by someone else’s agenda. He may have worn the title of President, but he was never truly in control. And that’s exactly what Hydra wanted.”

Another uproar. A cacophony of voices. But this time, Bucky motioned toward the crowd. “Go ahead. Ask.”

The first journalist jumped in immediately. “Congressman Barnes, do you truly believe President Ross is a victim in all of this?”

Bucky’s jaw clenched slightly before he answered. “I believe in accountability. But I also believe in the truth. Ross was manipulated, same as I was. You all know what Hydra did to me. How they used me. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the world isn’t black and white. So no—I’m not absolving him. But I am choosing to protect him. Because that’s what I do.”

More questions fired at once.

“Speaking of your past—how can the American people trust a man once known as the Winter Soldier?”

Bucky exhaled slowly. “Because I am not the Winter Soldier. Not anymore.” His vibranium fingers flexed against the podium. “That name—it was given to me by Hydra. It was their way of erasing the man I used to be. But I fought my way back. And now I choose who I am.” His blue eyes scanned the room, daring anyone to challenge him. “I am James Buchanan Barnes. And I will fight for this country until my last breath.”

Another journalist cut in. “What about Russia? What happened there? Reports suggest you were involved in classified operations. Can you confirm or deny?”

Bucky’s face remained unreadable. “I can confirm that I was there. And I can confirm that Hydra’s reach extends far beyond what any of us realized. But details of that mission? That’s not information I can disclose just yet. What I can tell you is that we uncovered evidence that changes everything.”

Murmurs spread through the press.

Someone else shouted, “What about Steve Rogers? Do you think he’d support this decision?”

Bucky’s lips pressed together at the mention of Steve’s name. He tilted his head slightly, thinking. Then, he smirked—just barely. “I think Steve would’ve laughed his ass off if he knew I was standing here.” A small chuckle rippled through the room. “But yeah. I think he’d be proud.”

Another journalist jumped in. “Your past isn’t just linked to Hydra. You have… a complicated history. Criminal accusations, past assassinations, war crimes—”

Bucky’s smirk disappeared. His expression turned stone-cold.

“I’ve answered for my past,” he said evenly. “Every crime, every action I took under Hydra’s control—I have spent years making amends. You think I don’t live with it? You think I don’t remember every name, every face?” His voice hardened. “But let’s get one thing straight. I will never be controlled again.”

The room stilled.

Then, the next question came. And this one was personal.

“Congressman Barnes — we just love your relationship with your assistant. But don’t you think your candidacy as president will endanger her?”

Bucky’s fingers drummed against the podium. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he glanced down, lips twitching slightly before looking back up. “Next question.”

The journalists weren’t having it.

“Come on, Congressman Barnes—" “Is it true she was taken by Hydra?” “There are photos of you two—" “Are you together?” “Is she safe?”

Bucky’s smirk faded. His jaw clenched as his eyes swept across the sea of reporters, his patience thinning. Finally, he spoke. And his voice was low. Steady.

“She is none of your concern.”

Another stunned silence.

Then, a final question rang through the room.

“Congressman Barnes, you’ve spent your life as a soldier. You’ve fought wars, toppled regimes, dismantled Hydra’s operations. But can you lead a country?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly. He let the question settle, let the weight of it press against his chest.

Then, he exhaled. “I don’t have all the answers,” he admitted. “I won’t stand here and pretend I’m some perfect candidate. But what I do know is this—I will fight for this country. Not as a soldier. Not as a weapon. But as a man who refuses to let history repeat itself.”

His voice dropped lower, rougher. “I won’t let them take control again. Not while I’m still breathing.”

With that, he stepped away from the podium.

The room exploded.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The sound of fists meeting padded mitts echoed through the safe house’s underground training room. The air was thick with exertion, each strike sharp and precise. You threw a jab, followed by a cross, then a sharp kick. Yelena barely flinched, catching your movements with ease.

“Again,” she ordered.

You rolled your shoulders, exhaling before launching another attack. This time, Yelena let your fist hit the mitt before twisting, knocking you off balance with a quick leg sweep. You hit the mat with a sharp thud.

“You punch like my guinea pig," Yelena commented, standing over you. "If I was someone else, you’d be dead."

You groaned, pushing yourself up. “What does that even mean: I ‘punch like your guniea pig’?”

She smirked. “I don’t know, but it’s not good. I’m alive, which is more than I can say for you if you keep fighting like that."

You shot her a glare but took the offered hand, letting her yank you to your feet. “You’re annoying.”

Yelena circled you, assessing. "Something feels… off about you."

You frowned. "Off how?"

She tilted her head, scrutinizing. "You’ve always been strong, but now? It’s like you’re holding back without realising it. The way you’re fighting… it’s like something has shifted.”

Your stomach twisted. "That doesn’t make sense."

"Doesn’t it?" Yelena mused. Then, in a flash, she lunged.

Instinct kicked in before thought. Your body moved on its own—ducking, twisting, countering—until you caught her wrist, yanked her forward, and threw her.

Hard.

Yelena slammed against the mat with a force that sent a tremor through the room.

Silence.

You blinked, breathing heavy, realising what you’d done.

Yelena just laid there for a moment, stunned. Then, she laughed. "Oh. Shit."

You took a step back. "I—I didn’t mean to do that."

Yelena sat up, rubbing her spine. "Well, damn, sweetheart. If you wanted to kill me, you could have just said so."

Panic fluttered in your chest. You weren’t supposed to be that strong. That wasn’t—

Yelena squinted at you. "Okay. New plan."

She shot to her feet and before you could react, she grabbed a 25-pound weight plate from the rack and tossed it at you.

Your hands snapped up instinctively—catching it with zero struggle.

Yelena whistled. "Okay. Yeah. That’s not normal."

Your heart pounded as you slowly lowered the weight. "It’s just adrenaline," you insisted. You swallowed hard, setting the weight down like it was nothing.

Yelena crossed her arms. "So… when were you planning on telling Bucky that you’re basically a baby super-soldier now?"

You bit your lip. "I—I don’t think it’s anything. I’ve just been training harder."

"Yeah, no," Yelena deadpanned. "That’s not training. That’s serum level strength, babe. And unless you’ve been hitting the gym like Captain America on steroids, I think you need to face the fact that something is very wrong."

You stared at your hands, flexing your fingers. They felt the same. You felt the same.

But Yelena was right.

Something was off.

Before you could spiral, your phone buzzed on the bench nearby. You reached for it, flipping it open.

Bucky: I have news. Be home in 20 minutes.

You: Good news? I hope.

Bucky: Wear something I can tear off you.

You could almost hear his dark, gravelly chuckle through the phone.

Yelena groaned again, grabbing her water bottle. You hadn’t realised she was watching you text. “Is this your new thing? I didn’t know Bucky had it in him to sext. I’m impressed, I think.”

You slipped your phone into your pocket and shook your head, heat flushing your cheeks with embarrassment. “Hardly sexting.” You muttered.

“Alright, whatever. I’m leaving before he gets home. Try not to break the bed with your new freakish strength."

You shot her a glare. "Shut up."

She winked. "See you tomorrow, baby Hulk."

Then, she was gone.

And you were left staring at your phone, heart hammering, knowing that in just a few minutes… Bucky Barnes would be walking through that door.

And you’d be waiting for him.

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You adjusted the strap of your black lace lingerie, a different set to what you were wearing yesterday, exhaling as you checked yourself in the mirror. The dim lighting cast soft shadows over your skin, the anticipation humming through you like a live wire. You painted your lips a crimson red and looked at yourself in the mirror. You weren’t usually one to be modest; but you looked incredible. 

Bucky’s text was still burning in your mind.

Wear something I can tear off you.

Your stomach tightened, heat spreading through your chest at the sheer authority in his words.

And then—

The sound of the front door unlocking sent a jolt of excitement straight through you.

Heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. The air in the room shifted, like it knew he was here.

Then, Bucky stepped into the doorway, holding a boquet of roses in the crook of his elbow and a small, teal blue Tiffany’s giftbag.

And when he saw you, sat at your vanity, he froze.

His ocean-blue eyes dragged over you, slow and devouring, like he was drinking in every inch of your body. His suit jacket hung open, his tie loosened like he’d ripped it off in the car, his sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the solid steel of his forearm.

And his jaw—his jaw—ticked as he took a long, slow inhale through his nose.

A dangerous, predatory silence stretched between you.

Then, suddenly—

You let out a sharp gasp as Bucky crossed the room in three long strides, grabbing you at the waist and hoisting you up against him. His lips crashed into yours, all-consuming, as his body pressed you back onto the bed.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, his breath hot against your lips. His hands roamed, fingers tracing over lace and skin, like he couldn’t decide whether to worship you or devour you whole. “I love coming home to this.”

You giggled, bringing your hands to cup his face as he peppered delicate kisses along your jaw. “Bucky,” you said softly. “You said you had news?”

Bucky pulled away from you and handed you the bouquet of roses. “These are for you,” He announced. “I realised your my girlfriend and I have never bought you flowers and that’s just not right so…”

You beamed, your eyes sparkling at the gesture. “Oh, they’re beautiful. Let me go put them in water.” You went to stand up but Bucky’s hand came down to your shoulder and he pushed you back down into your seat.

“Wait, not yet, I have something else for you. Close your eyes.”

You heard the crinkling of tissue paper as Bucky dipped his hand into the bag. You heard the opening of a small velvet box and felt him move your hair out of your face, his warm fingers grazing your collarbones. Bucky delicately placed the thin gold chain around your neck, adorned with a heart shaped locket, and fastened it in place.

“Open your eyes.”

You looked at it in the reflection of yourself in the mirror. Bucky stood behind you, his gaze unable to leave yours in the reflection.

“Oh wow,” you whispered in disbelief. “This had to have been so expensive Bucky, I— you didn’t have to—“

“Do you like it?” Bucky asked quietly, his eyes filled with worry.

You turned around and kissed him hard. “I love it. And I love you,” You clicked open the locket to find it was empty. “I want to put a photo of you in it.”

Bucky chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “You don’t have to. Don’t ruin it with a picture of me…”

You gasped and feigned shock, playfully smacking him on the shoulder. “Oh don’t you say things like that,” you warned him with a soft smile. You stood up and wrapped your hands around his face, letting them drift down his body to his chest. “I can’t believe this is my life now.”

Bucky swallowed nervously. “I know,” he breathed, his ocean blue eyes not leaving yours. “I uh— my news though, it might change this…”

His voice trailed off and you felt your heart drop in your chest. “What?”

And then—casually—he dropped the bomb.

“I’m running for president.”

Your brain short-circuited. You searched his eyes for elaboration but got nothing. 

You blinked. "You’re what?”

The Congressman couldn’t help but smile. You were so cute when you were surprised.

Bucky sunk down to your level, nuzzled into your neck, and pressed open-mouthed kisses along your pulse. "President," he murmured against your skin. "Big office. Oval-shaped."

"Yeah, I know what it means, you idiot!" You smacked his shoulder, shoving him just enough to look him in the face. "You’re seriously running?"

He smirked, propping himself up on his elbows. “Well I did consider it for all of five seconds. And it’s what the people want.”

You gawked at him. "The people—Bucky, you just announced this today?"

He nodded, completely unbothered. "Press conference."

"You didn’t think to maybe run that by me first?"

His lips curved, that infuriatingly smug little smirk that melted you every time. "Oh, I didn’t realize I needed my girlfriend’s permission.” He was teasing. 

Your breath hitched.

Girlfriend.

The word settled between you like a spark catching fire.

Bucky caught onto it instantly.

His smirk deepened, his nose brushing against yours.

"I do have your permission, don’t I?" he teased, voice dropping to something low and dangerous.

Your stomach flipped.

He was serious. He was really going to run.

And he wasn’t asking for your support.

He was claiming it.

And god, it made sense.

Of course he was running.

Of course he’d take this fight all the way.

And of course he’d come home and sweep you into his arms like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

So, you did the only thing you could.

You fisted the front of his dress shirt, dragging him back down into a kiss so hard it made you both gasp. Bucky groaned, deep and gravelly, and picked you up in his arms before dropping you down onto the bed. He pressed his entire weight into you, pinning you beneath him like he never wanted to let go.

He moved his lips to your ear, his voice thick with something dark and possessive.

“You okay with being my First Lady?” he murmured the question, his pupils blown big and dark.

Your pulse jumped and you nodded wordlessly. His fingers traced along the lace of your lingerie, slow, purposeful.

“Yes, Mr. President,” you bit your lip, fingers tangling in his hair. Your breath hitched.

His nose brushed your jawline as he exhaled, shaky and desperate. Your stomach flipped as you tilted your chin up, brushing your lips against his.

"I’m yours, Bucky."

Bucky exhaled sharply, like you’d just knocked the air out of his lungs.

Then—

He kissed you senseless.

And you let him.

Bucky kissed you like he needed to prove something.

Like claiming you with words wasn’t enough.

Like he had to mark it into your skin, so deep that you'd feel it in your bones.

He rolled his hips against you, pinning you beneath his weight, and God—the sheer size of him made your breath stutter.

"You’re mine," he murmured between fevered kisses, voice rough, gravelly.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging hard, and his sharp inhale sent a rush of heat straight through you.

"You already won, Bucky," you teased, breathless. "No one else even stood a chance."

His blue eyes darkened, flashing with something dangerous.

"Say it again."

Your stomach flipped, something molten curling low in your belly.

"I’m yours," you whispered.

Bucky growled, pressing his lips to your jaw, your throat—anywhere he could touch, taste, claim.

Then, suddenly—

He bit you.

You gasped, fingers tightening in his hair as his teeth sank into the soft skin of your neck, just enough to make you feel it.

Heat coiled in your stomach.

"Bucky," you whispered, voice trembling.

He licked over the mark, soothing it, before pressing another open-mouthed kiss right over the spot.

And then he did it again.

And again.

Until he was satisfied—until your skin was littered with his marks.

"Good girl," he rasped, lips brushing against your pulse.

A shiver ran through you.

Bucky exhaled, heavy, slow, before pulling back to look at you.

"You don’t know what you do to me," he murmured.

You cupped his jaw, tracing your thumb along his stubble-roughened cheek. "Then show me," you whispered.

His breath hitched and he brought his hands down to his slacks, removing them, along with his boxer briefs, in one swift movement. He hung hard and you felt your mouth begin to water for him. 

Licking your lips, you took him in your hands, your fingers tracing the vein that defined his length. Then, you placed a kitten lick over his head, savouring the salty taste of his precum on your tongue. 

“Oh baby,” Bucky groaned, his cock twitching in your hand with agonising desperation. He brought one hand down to the back of your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair, and his other unoccupied hand down to your breast, cupping it through the material of your lingerie. Then, in a sudden movement, he yanked it down, exposing your skin to the cool air. His cold, steel Vibranium fingers brushed over your already hard nipples, pinching them only occasionally.

“There’s uh— there’s something I’ve been wanting to try,” you announced quietly, pressing a kiss to the tip of Bucky’s cock before standing up and pulling him up with you. You ran your hands over his chest, peeling off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. You took him over to your vanity and you leaned against it.

“Yeah? What’s that doll?” Bucky asked quizically, his eyes dark with lust. 

You took a deep breath before leaning over the desk of your vanity and opening your legs, your glistening wet folds on full show for your boyfriend who was behind you. You looked at your reflection in the mirror, and looked at Bucky who was totally and utterly mesmerised by you. He brought his hand down to his cock, fisting at it.

“You want me to take you from behind?” Bucky asked with bewilderment. “We’ve done that before.”

You giggled shyly. “No, Buck,” you said. “I want you to fuck me in the ass.”

Bucky swallowed, his eyes growing comically large at the realisation. “Oh. Oh.” 

You bit your lip. “Think you can do that for me, Mr President?” You asked, feigning innocent and fluttering your eyelashes. 

Bucky grinned, excitement flickering across his face before breaking the distance between you two. He started by running his fingers along your folds, gathering your slick so he could use it as lubrication. “Would be my pleasure doll,” he said, his voice rough with lust. “But I don’t wanna hurt you so lets start out easy.”

Bucky placed the tip of his index finger over your tight hole, rimming it teasingly before carefully sliding it in. He felt you clench around him as a small gasp escaped your lips at the pressure. Your back arched as you tried to press your ass back into his finger.

“Greedy girl,” Bucky muttered as you sinked into him. “Greedy girls get more than they can take.” He said plainly before suddenly sliding his middle finger in, stretching you open without warning. You gasped, air leaving your lungs as your fingernails scraped against your vanity desk.

“See, I can handle it,” you whimpered, your head dropping between your shoulders. Bucky curled his fingers inside of you, the digits hitting that sweet spot everytime. By now he knew your body like the back of his hand, but this was new, a journey he had not yet explored.

“Fuck, think I could just cum from doing this to you,” he chuckled darkly.

“Mm, not yet,” you moaned, your eyes fluttering shut as he built up your high. “I want you to fill me up.”

Bucky mumbled something incoherent before sinking down to his knees and pulling out his fingers with a pop and almost immediately replacing them with his tongue. Your stomach coiled with pleasure as he ate your ass, lapping at it like a starved man. He kneaded your ass, fingers digging into it so hard you know it would bruise, but Bucky wanted exactly that. He loved claiming you as his, making his mark. It was predatory and it was so very him. 

Bucky’s tongue probed at your hole and his fingers lunged down to your pussy, circling your clit with intent. “Cum on my fingers,” his voice was dark with command as he continued tongue fucking you. You didn’t think you had ever been this wet in your life, your thighs slick with the mess he was making of you. Lewd, wet noises filled the room. As if on command, you buried your head down into the vanity and released yourself on his fingers, a desperate whine leaving your lips. 

Bucky pulled off you with ease before positioning himself between your legs, pushing his achingly hard cock against your tight ring. “Tell me if it hurts baby, tell me if you want me to stop,” he said, placing a soft kiss to your neck.

You can’t do much more than a nod. Bucky hisses as he sinks into you, and you practically bite back a scream as pleasure jolts through your body like a bolt of electricity.

“Ah fuck— too much,” Bucky grits out, holding himself still inside of you as you adjust yourself on his thick girth. “Feels too good.”

His mouth hangs open and his eyes are squeezed shut. “Nuh-uh, open your eyes,” you tell him, surprised you even managed to bite the words out. “I want you to look at yourself in the mirror — I want you to watch yourself as you fuck me.” Bucky followed your instruction without any further words and lazily slung his Vibranium arm around you, holding you in place, the coldness of the metal stinging your sticky hot skin. 

Bucky double backs almost barely before cursing under his breath. “I won’t last.” He warns and you hum knowingly.

“Move.” You requested, your voice aching with desperation. Bucky just about abided, snapping his hips into your ass slowly and carefully. You could tell he was overstimulated from the way his face was scrunched up, from the whine in his voice. 

“Cum inside me,” you whispered. 

Bucky managed to get a few more thrusts in, his hand holding your neck, forcing you to watch him in the mirror as he fucked your ass. 

When he spilled inside of you, you let out a cry, his seed painting your walls. You clamped down on him, feeling his cum warm you up, but he was still inside of you, and you had never felt so full. Bucky towered over you, placing a sloppy, hot kiss on your shoulder. “I don’t think I can pull out.” He whispered, the curve of his nose brushing against your neck, his stubble tickling at you.

“It’s okay,” you smiled, turning your head slightly so you could place a soft kiss on his jaw. “You can stay in me for as long as you need.”

Bucky moaned. “You are so perfect.”

In time, Bucky softened inside of you. He whispered sweet nothings in your ear, talking about how he was so lucky to have met you, so lucky to have known you, and that he would do anything for you. All of this, he had already proven to you. When he finally was able to pull out, he picked you up in one sweeping motion and gently lay you down on the bed. He spread your legs open and sat in between them, peppering light, baby kisses to the inside of your thighs and watching as his cum leaked out of you. 

“I wanna get you cleaned up, sweet girl,” Bucky murmured.

“No,” you replied, holding your hands out and pulling Bucky down on top of you. “Just stay with me here. Lay with me. Please.”

Bucky obliged, wrapping you in his arms and pulling you into his chest. In this moment, nothing else mattered because he had you, and he was never going to come close to losing you ever again. 

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Ethan sat stiffly in his chair, nursing a glass of whiskey he hadn’t touched. Across from him, Tara twirled the stem of her wine glass between her fingers, watching him with thinly veiled disdain.

“You had one job,” she said coolly. “Get her on your side. And yet, here we are.”

Ethan exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of the table. “It’s not over.”

Tara scoffed. “Please. She’s his now. He’d burn the world down for her, and you let it happen.”

Ethan’s jaw tightened, but then he smirked. “Doesn’t matter. My plan’s coming together. I’m running for president.”

That caught Tara’s attention. She studied him for a beat, then leaned in, interest piqued.

“You really think you can win?”

“I know I can.” He sat back, confidence creeping into his tone. “He’s not untouchable, no matter how much the world worships him.”

Tara hummed, swirling her wine. “Maybe not. But you’re thinking too small.”

Ethan frowned. “And what’s your grand idea?”

Tara’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Bucky doesn’t take orders. He follows one thing—her.” She set down her glass, tilting her head. “Control her, and you control him.”

Ethan’s smirk faltered slightly, like he hadn’t considered that angle.

Tara leaned back, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. “You fight him in the public arena. I’ll make sure he’s too distracted to stop you.”

She stood, smoothing down her blazer. “Sit tight, Ethan. This game’s only just begun.”

And with that, she disappeared into the night, leaving Ethan gripping his glass a little too tightly.

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Taglist: @imaginecrushes @maplepepperoni @sleepysongbirdsings @sunday-bug @bunnyfella @lktunes12-blog @bellamoret @mrsnikstan @greatenthusiasttidalwave@pancake-05 @theylovethesky @avengersfan25 @nydubs @abitofblues @ferretferretferret @helen-2003 @notreallythatlost @opheliagreenaway @flowerluvr @calzone-d @lil-riddle-kiddle @nameless-ken @ladyvenera @sky-full-0f-fl0wers @josis-teacup @marissa8208 @houseofaegon

[gothicflowers]

Pt.3 Continuing this Gaz blurb

Pt.1 Pt.2

MDNI 18+ only

“So like a date?” you replied to Kyle’s text asking if you wanted to go to this fancy steakhouse downtown.

Kyle smirks down at his phone “Ya, like a date. I’ll pick you up tonight at seven if you say yes”

“Of course” you quickly respond.

“What’s got you all happy” Price asks from his desk.

“Ah it’s nothing” Kyle nonchalantly responds.

Price chuckles “It’s a girl isn’t it”.

Kyle nods “Maybe sir”.

“Oh to be young again” price sighs.

You were buzzing with excitement. You had picked out a prefect outfit the accentuated your favorite parts of your body. This steakhouse was definitely fancy. Kyle who is sitting across from you is dressed in slacks and a fitted button up. He looks great, now if only he’d roll those sleeves up so you can see his forearms. He orders a bottle of your favorite wine and before you know it dinner is over and you’re both walking towards your home with arms linked together.

Your back was arched and your fingers weaving in Kyle’s hair as he placed little kitten licks on your clit. A breathless moan escape your lips as his tongue moves down and dips into your tight hole, fucking delicious. Your soft silhouette illuminated by the vintage glass lamp in the living room. The bottle of white wine on the coffee table was empty alongside the two crystal glasses.

“Daydreaming during training, come on now Gaz” soap smirks down at Gaz who’s laying on his back trying to recapture air into his lungs.

“Fuck off soap” gaz wheezed out. Two days ago Kyle failed in his attempt to gain you back, only to discover his own captain was warming your bed. The man that he had deeply trusted. Someone that Gaz to have considered a father like figure, fucking his precious girl. Gaz stands up after regaining his composure, noticing his captain in the corner his eye.

“Fancy a round Captain” Gaz crosses his arms, puffing his chest.

Price looks up from his clipboard “only if you insist Sargent”. Price knows that Kyle is pissed, and as much as Price wants to establish dominance he knows that maybe this isn’t the best idea, to egg him on while on duty. Fuck it he thinks to himself.

They meet in the middle of the sparring mat, Gaz being frustrated makes the first move to which price catches his Sargents hand. Price then twists Gazs arm but he lets go, just so Gaz knows he’s toying with him.

Price rolls his shoulders forward and get back into stance with a smirk “Poor girl was all by herself dolled up just reading a book at the speakeasy. Little angel got real red when I asked if I could buy her a drink.”

Gaz growls “You fuckin knew she was mine”

“Yours? Bold of you to say when my cum was spilling out of her this morning. Boy, you fucked and fled a month before I met her. You were long gone, not as much as a photo left of you in her phone. After all from what you said before, she was never yours.” Kyle throws a swift punch to which Price promptly dodges “I gotta thank you though, you fucked up so perfectly she needed a older man to come in a be her price charming” price smirks as he watches Kyle grit his teeth as he lunged forward towards his captain.

The move catches price off guard causing him to stumble back a few feet. “Atta boy there you go” price mocks him. “I could see why you’d be angry at me of all people for going after her, but Understand this boy shes mine now. Every tight little inch of her is” that’s when Gaz lunges at him, sending them both hurdling towards the ground.

“Oh so you’re enjoying the woman I fucked first” price launches Gaz off him.

Price scoffs “Oh don’t worry, not like you’re big enough to have stretched her out. Sweet thing is like a vice grip”

Gaz sits on the bench of the locker room sore beyond belief. Price had pinned him down into a submission, and it hurt his pride more than it did his shoulder.

Soap walks out of the shower area wrapped in a towel “so… what exactly was that about with price. Because that was a little more than sparring”

Gaz sighs “I went to go talk to her”

Sop cocks a eyebrow “ok, what exactly does it got to do with cap”

[chrissturnsfav]

Rapper! Chris being wildly drunk at a party and not listening to reader who wants to go home?? maybe like some angst

⋆.˚✮ rapper!chris and singer!reader argue at a party

you’re standing next to chris at this extra ass celebrity party, watching him laugh his ass off at some dumb joke someone made. he’s leaning on you like he owns the whole damn place, fingers dragging along your back, making your skin prickle.

the whole room is loud, and you can barely make out what he’s saying through the bass, but you catch bits of it between his drunken giggles.

“yo, baby, you feelin’ this? this shit’s wild. we’re in the right spot.” he’s swaying, and you’re trying to keep him steady, but it’s like holding up a fucking skyscraper.

“chris...i wanna go,” you say, not even trying to hide the frustration. you’re tired. he’s been all over the place tonight, and you’re starting to get that feeling in your gut like he’s too far gone. he’s not just drunk, he’s high too. you can tell.

“nahhh, we stayin’. baby, this my world, you gotta be in it,” he grins, pulling you closer, his hands landing on your waist. you swear, his touch makes your whole body buzz, but right now, it’s just annoying.

“chris, you’re fucking shitfaced,” you huff, trying to keep your voice steady, even though you're getting frustrated.

“so what? m’havin’ fun. you should be too, baby,” he slurs, flashing that cocky grin of his—the one that always gets to you.

you push him back a little, more out of annoyance than anything. “i’m not having fun. i’m worried about you.”

he stares at you for a second, eyes narrowed like he's trying to figure you out. “worried? baby, m’fine. always am. you just gotta relax a lil’ bit.” his hands are sliding down your hips now, and you can feel your patience starting to thin.

“chris,” you sigh, rolling your eyes. “i am relaxed, you're just...you're not listening to me, i wanna go...”

he stumbles, catching himself before he falls. “lemme have a lil’ fun, baby. i swear m’good. i just need you wit’ me. you’re my vibe.”

you’re looking up at him now, seeing that crack in his cocky demeanor, the one he tries to hide. he doesn’t even realize, but you can see it.

you soften for a second, but you're not giving in. “you’re a mess, chris. i don’t like seeing you like this. do you care how i feel?”

he pauses, his eyes softening, hands moving to your face, soft and careful now as he cradling your cheeks. “mama, of course i care. i care about you more than anything, you know that. m’just… fuck, m’just fucked up sometimes, but...m’tryin’.”

you stare at him, and for a second, everything goes still. you can see he’s being real. you exhale, running your fingers through his hair. “you’re lucky i love you.”

his grins back, all cocky, his hands dropping back to your hips. “oh, i know. you’re lucky m’fine as hell, too.”

you roll your eyes but smile. “you’re so conceited.”

"nah," he leans in close, his lips brushing your ear, “just full of you.”

you chuckle under your breath, rolling your eyes playfully. he’s still not totally sober, but at least he’s trying. “let’s go,” you say, taking his hand. “i’m not leaving without you.”

he gives you a look for a second, then nods, a little embarrassed but still smirking. “aight, fine. let’s go.”

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: i hateeee this it's so corny and not angst enough in my opinion😭😭but it's been rotting in my drafts and i know a lot of people love these two sooo hopefully it's not too bad

thank you for reading!! <3

tags 🏷️: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @sturns-mermaid , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @divinesturn , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03 , @snoopychris , @chrissweetheart , @slutformatt17 , @mattsturnii , @dominicfikeenthusiast , @chrisbratt333 , @ivysturnss , @tessasturns , @coquettechris , @courta13 , @sturniolo101 , @malsmind , @mattsleftball , @softhyunieeee , @whore4mattsturniolo , @tezzzzzzzz , @corspebridedelrey , @softhyunieeee , @sturn1oh0 , @riasturns , @u-didnt-see-this , @sturniolo-szn2 , @backwardshatnick , @lovesturni0l0s , @skye-44 , @chris444evr , @sturnsheart

@chrissturnsfav ™

[sosasturns]

valentine who?, shoota!chris

february twelfth, 9:59pm….

valentine's day items was everywhere-red and pink aisles full of stuffed animals, heart-shaped boxes, and overpriced flowers that would die in a week. couples all around, carts full of cliché gifts and last-minute surprises. you weren't the type to get caught up in the fairytale of it all, but the sight still made something twist inside you.

"you need anything else?" chris asked, pushing the cart with one hand, the other tugging at the hoodie he had thrown on before y'all left. he didn't even look at the decorations, didn't acknowledge the obnoxious love shit flooding the store.

you, on the other hand, were hyperaware of it.

"nah," you muttered, tossing a pack of gum in the cart. your tone was clipped, but chris didn't seem to notice-or maybe he just didn't care.

february thirteenth, 1:24am…

"bitch, i got my wax done before my shift, and let me just say, i'm feeling brand new," your coworker, maya, said as she leaned against the counter, adjusting her top. "smooth as hell. like a lil' dolphin."

you laughed, shaking your head as you poured a drink. "you so damn extra."

"whatever," she waved you off. "so, what's your man doing for you tomorrow?"

your stomach tightened. "not my man."

maya gave you a look. "girl, please."

you didn't answer. because truthfully? you didn't know what the hell chris was or doing for valentine's day-or if he was doing anything at all.

february thirteenth, 11:05pm…

you were over it. the silence. the avoidance. the way he acted like valentine's day wasn't even on the damn calendar.

"so, you really not gon' say shit?" you finally snapped, sitting on his couch, arms crossed.

chris, lounging in his chair, didn't even look at you. "say what?"

something small-a remote, a balled-up napkin, whatever was closest—left your hand and hit his chest. not hard, but enough to get his attention.

"don't play dumb, chris."

he sighed, rubbing his jaw. "you know i don't do that valentine's day shit."

you scoffed. "but you do every other holiday, huh? what, this one just don't matter?"

he finally looked at you. "you knew what this was."

your jaw tightened, heart pounding.

he wasn't wrong. but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

"whatever," you muttered, shaking your head. you pushed up from the couch, grabbing your bag. "i'm not finna sit here and-"

"yo."

your hand paused on the strap of your bag. you looked at him over your shoulder, brows raised.

chris stretched his legs out, fingers tapping against his thigh. "we still on for tomorrow night?"

you stared at him for a beat, then rolled your eyes and headed straight for the door, leaving without another word.

february fourteenth, 11:57pm…

you should've ignored his text. should’ve ignored his calls. but now you were here-pressed against his mattress, legs wrapped around his waist, breathy moans slipping from your lips.

"knew you was gon' act up," he murmured against your skin, lips on your neck. "you just needed some sense fucked into you, huh?"

your fingers gripped at his back, nails digging in as he rocked into you, deep and steady-like he was the one going through the motions all week. like he wasn't the same man who ignored every hint you threw at him all week.

“uh-uhn, move your hand.”

like he didn't just pretend valentine's day wasn't a thing.

“move your fuckin’ hand.”

and it pissed you off.

“take this shit.”

“gotta put your ass in check.”

“fuck.”

because now, now he wanted to be all over you. now he wanted to fuck you like he had something to prove.

he hadn't even said the words, hadn't even tried— and yet here he was, hands gripping your waist, jaw tight, eyes locked on your pussy swallowing his dick like he needed this.

like you were supposed to just let it slide.

and yeah, you were letting him fuck you. but that didn't mean you weren't still mad as hell.

some time later, your body was still buzzing, chest rising and falling as you laid beside him, the heat between you two still thick in the air.

you were barely catching your breath when chris shifted, reaching toward the nightstand.

then something light landed on your stomach and this time it wasn’t his cum.

you blinked, looking down at the small swarovski gift bag before flicking your gaze back up to him.

"quit bitchin' and take it," he muttered, arm draped over his forehead like he was already seconds away from a migraine.

your heart stuttered.

because he was paying attention the whole time.

but before you could even say anything, he was already getting up, sweatpants hung low as hell, grabbing his controller off the dresser.

you rolled your eyes when you saw the game load up, shaking your head as he sank down at the foot of the bed, legs spread as he adjusted his headset.

"you’re so fucking annoying," you muttered, shifting under the covers and placing the bag on the nightstand near your phone.

"yeah, yeah," he muttered back, a smirk evident in his tone. "ain't hear you say nun of that earlier."

you sucked your teeth in response, turning to lay on your side.

even though he didn’t say those three words, you decided to say them for him.

“happy valentine’s day.”

@ sosasturns

[jannythewriter-pt2]

Girl at the Club

Connie x black reader

You needed the money. A 9-5 wasn’t cutting it anymore, family were infuriating, and you wanted to be able to spoil yourself, so you found the club. One of your homegirls Peick had told you about the club she works at and she thought you’d be a perfect fit, so you went.

You quickly learned the ropes and you began to start racking in cash. You worked the pole beautifully while keeping it classy somehow. It was a packed night at club velvet, there were men and women meeting there just to see some ass shake and to throw some cash.

Connie and some of his friends were here, some came for the wings, and some came for…. Other purposes. It had been your turn to work the pole, you come out in a sleek black two piece and some black heels, captivating the attention of many.

As you worked yourself on the pole, moving your body into an in the air split and a few spirals, you caught his eye. Connie didn’t come empty handed, he was loaded, throwing ones, twenty’s, and hundreds at you. You kept eye contact with him for a little while, the way you were looking at him made his dick throb in his sweats.

He was looking at how beautiful your golden brown skin was, how your body moved, now pretty your face was, he couldn’t help himself. Once you were done you cleaned off the pole and went back to the dressing room.

You were counting some money when one of the managers, Levi, had told you that Connie wanted a private dance from you. You cleaned yourself up a bit, applied some lipgloss and some vanilla perfume, and went to the private room.

He was sitting in the chair. Smoking a blunt and eying you as you walked up. “Hey beautiful, I saw the way you were working that pole…. Show me something mama” and you do. You work your hips, move your body into a way that’s captivating to his eyes, he’s throwing money at you, watching you, admiring you as you show him your talents.

He beckoned you over to him, you went to him and gave him a lap dance. Hips grinding on his lap, his hands roaming your abdomen and hips, him kissing your shoulders… usually the customers weren’t allowed to do this but you let it slide this one time. “You to pretty to be working here…. Too many eyes mami” you shyly smiled at him and softly said “I have to pay bills sir, I gotta do what I gotta do…. You understand”.

He kissed your neck and whispered “you should be at home with your feet up, having someone please you and cater to your every need”. You turned to face him as you moved your hips “it’s not that easy honey…. It takes time” he got so much harder when you called him honey in that sweet tone, it made him want to take that two piece off you and fuck you to the floor like you deserve.

You looked at him and asked “and why are you here hmm… did you just come to get your dick wet?”, he laughed and said “I came here cause my friends wanted me too, but I didn’t expect to find someone like you here…”.

He was looking at your body, he couldn’t help but wonder what type of faces you would make if he had you on your back on his mattress…. Shaking, whining, begging him to give you what you wanted. You were trying to keep your composure but it was so hard when a 6’2 man with tattoos and a buzz cut was eying and touching you like he was.

You could feel your pussy getting wetter by the second, he was doing something to you but you wouldn’t give it up that easily. His dance was over and he asked for your number. “I’m not allowed to give that to you during work hours honey I’m sorry…. You’ll just have to come back and see me”. He hated seeing you leave, but he loved seeing you walk away.

Taglist# @madamechrissy (Got my inspo from her, go check her page out!)

[lnfours]

sunshine | l.n

summary: morning phone calls prompt from this prompt list

warnings: fluff, language, crying bc i want him so bad !!!

masterlist | feel free to send in a prompt!

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

you regretted not shutting your blinds last night as the sun shone brightly through the windows of your bedroom. you huffed, rolling over onto your side to try to go back to sleep, but there was no use. it was too damn bright.

you threw the covers off your body, immediately missing the warmth from the blankets and your bed. you grabbed your phone off your nightstand and slipped your feet into the slippers you purposely left by your bed. a shiver traveled through your body as you made your way into the kitchen, rubbing your eyes before your phone buzzed on the counter.

you looked down, lando’s name lighting up your screen with a text.

you awake?

you tapped on the notification, typing back a response before starting to make yourself a cup of coffee. desperately needing the caffeine and the warmth.

just woke up.

you were stirring in the sugar when your phone buzzed and lit up again. another text from your boyfriend.

can i call?

you smiled at your screen, he always made sure to call you in the mornings whenever you two weren’t together. he loved waking up and hearing your voice on the other end of the phone, or seeing your face if he chose to facetime you.

sure, ready when you are :)

after a few seconds, his contact picture popped up on your screen. you took a minute to stare at the photo, a smile on your face as you remembered when you had taken it. it was a picture of him smiling, walking through the mtc with a shoebox in his arms. he had looked too good in the natural lighting for you not to snap a screenshot.

you slid the answer button over, smiling as you pressed the phone against your ear, “good morning,”

“g’morning,” his voice was raspy and you could tell he had woken up not long after you had, “how’d you sleep? any better than the night before?”

“not really,” you sighed, “i think i’m going to run to the store later and grab some melatonin or something. how’d you sleep?”

“slept hard,” he said, before continuing, “i could come with you to the store later,” he said, trying to mask his desperate desperate need to see you after spending a couple days apart, “gotta grab some things, too.”

you smirked, knowing he was just saying it to so that he would be able to see you, “oh yeah? like what?”

he hummed, “things,”

you laughed softly, “okay, i’ve got a meeting at 10. wanna go after?”

“sounds good,” he said.

there was rustling on his end and you could tell it was him getting out of bed, “want me to just drive us back to mine when we were done at the store?”

you placed your coffee on the table in front of you, tucking your legs under your body as you sat on the couch, “i’m good with that. means i don’t have to drive.”

you could hear the playful eye roll, “lazy bones,”

“you know it,” you said, swallowing a sip of coffee down before you continued, “oh! are we still going out with max and p tomorrow?”

“pretty sure, i’ll double check with max though.” lando said, a clinking of pans echoing through the phone. he was making breakfast.

you moved the phone from your ear to look at the time, “i gotta start getting ready for this meeting,” you sighed, “even though i really don’t want to.”

“you’ve got this,” he said back, “show ‘em how badass my girl is.”

you laughed, “i’ll text you when it’s over.”

“sounds good, baby,” his smile was evident, you didn’t even have to see it to know how bright it was, “knock ‘em dead, i love you.”

“i love you, too,” you smiled, “see you soon.”

“see you soon, love.”

you clicked the red button at the bottom of your screen, shaking your head with a slight laugh as you grabbed your mug and made your way into the bedroom.

mornings were slowly starting to become your favorite time of day.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Hi my love, may I please request angsty/smut with either ghoap x reader or  John Price🤍

.⋆｡Almost Lost｡⋆.

John Price x plus size reader

The mission went sideways because of you but your captain is not going to let you go

Warnings: blood, injury/getting shot, passing out, older man/younger woman, power imbalance, getting stitches, no smut this time but maybe a second part in the future, insecurity and self-doubt, teeny bit of possessive price, angst, implied smut WC: 1.9k Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

You couldn’t stop shaking. The adrenaline, the pain, the miles you had to run to escape— you knew, subconsciously at least, the crash your body experienced would be bad but you didn’t think it would be like this. The concrete wall you were wedged against kept you from falling over but the rough surface was like thousands of little blades slicing into your back. You felt hyper-aware of everything around you, from the smell of gunpowder from the explosion that clung to your clothes to the way your captain was breathing heavily from his own corner of the safehouse.

Without meaning to, you focused on the older man, needing some semblance of comfort that his presence usually gave you as your captain and man you endlessly admired. A dark pink flush colouring the pale skin of his neck and cheeks, blooming out from his unkempt facial hair that was slowly growing into a salt-speckled beard. His eyes were squeezed shut, accentuating the deep smile lines that seemed to grow more prominent every year. He was hunched over, hands on his knees, somehow folding the mass of his muscular and hardened body into a tight ball leaning against the opposite corner of the room. Rusty brown blood was smeared up his left arm and onto the limp hat still somehow perched on his head. 

You tried to move your legs as your nerves buzzed angrily, but instead, you crumpled to the floor with a whimper. A flash of burning pain shot up your side, nestling into the back of your skull like a migraine. The world swam as you parted your chapped lips to call out to him, but no sound escaped you. Something warm pooled into your hand.

“Fuck.” Price groaned, finally straightening up. Even through the loud ringing in your ears, you could hear the way his joints popped as he stood. “Fuck.” He repeated, something in his back shifting. You knew somehow that he was thinking of how it had all gone sideways — there was nothing there, no target, no intel, only a bomb and a gunman with impeccable aim.

Black dots began to bloom across your vision. You had known that this mission was risky and you were nowhere near as skilled as it required but Price needed your knowledge and you were not one to say no to your captain. Perhaps you should have insisted that he take Gaz because now, as your fingers dig into your ribs where your flesh had been sliced open by a wayward bullet, you knew you would only be a burden to him.

Your boots caught on the rough ground, keeping your knees up and bent, pushing your hand harder against the steady flow of blood. 

Golden sunlight streamed through the ratty curtains at the front of the house, bathing Price in a warm glow. You could take some peace in the view of him, his solidness filling your tunnelling vision. “John.” The syllables of his name rolled over your chapped lips like syrup, sticking behind your teeth and clinging to your wavering breath.

Blue eyes snapped up, catching the light. Your lips quirked up as if to reassure him that you were fine or maybe that he shouldn’t have to worry about you but then the blackness curled around you, pulling you under as the night closed in.

——————

Pain was the best alarm clock you found. It rocketed through you, searing your nerves like acid and forcing you into consciousness even when your brain so desperately tried to keep you asleep.

“Fuck. C’mon you gotta wake up.” The whimper of agony that rattled through your dry throat seemed to redouble the pressure on your stomach and the vengeful searing of your torn flesh pushed in deeper. “Talk to me sergeant, I sure as shit can’t do this alone.”

“Thought you preferred when I shut up, cap.” Your eyes rolled around your head but you still spoke, unwilling to disobey him even now. You gasped as he down pressed, forcing even more pain into the softest parts of yourself and yet, Price’s constitution didn’t waver. 

“I only do when you’re bein mouthy during training.” Your fingers searched for anything to cling to when he pulled your body up and into his own. The smell of cigars and the tang of his sweat washing over the pain, letting you feel a tinge of something other than the slice of the bullet that had cut right through your side.

You slumped into his arms, letting the older man lift you from the ground without any more fanfare. “You love it.” You gasped as he readjusted his hold on you, sending another jolt to your overworked nerves.

Price grunted, the movement of his chest forcing your head to loll into the crook of his neck, your nose pressing against his fast pulse. “Sure as hell like it more than Soap’s jabbering.” He mumbled, the deepness of his voice rumbling across your pallid skin. Your body jerked with each hesitant step he took towards the only other room in the dilapidated safe house.

“That’s good to know sir.” You groaned, your voice wavering with the effort to stay awake.

Moonlight leaked into what you could barely call the bedroom; an ancient mattress rested on a hastily constructed bed frame that looked like it would give out with the slightest weight put on it. But Price didn’t hesitate to lay you down flat onto the creaking springs, his calloused hands tracing the length of your body as if he were checking that you were still physically there and not one of the ghosts that haunted him.

Your teeth sank into your lower lip, slicing through the cracked flesh to keep your screams at bay. Your stomach stretched uncomfortably, as if your skin was too tight upon your bones. Price settled to his knees beside you, thick fingers plucking at your blood-soaked shirt before tenderly pulling it over your head, finally seeing the extent of your injury.

“You didn’t say you were hurt.” He didn’t sound like himself, his words were as unsure and brittle as the wood beneath you. He sounded human.

You let him press your skin back together without protest, barely even wincing as he doused your skin in disinfectant from the small first-aid kit you religiously carried with you. You briefly thought about how he would’ve had to practically feel you up in order to find it in the discreet pocket in your vest next to your heart.

“Didn’t realise till we stopped.” He fell silent, his mind far away as he began to stitch the wound closed in the way he did when he was overwhelmed with rage. Tears pricked at your waterline. It was almost pathetic, you took a bullet and kept running, you faced death without so much as a sniffle but the second you realised that your captain was mad at your incompetence, you wanted to cry like a little girl.

If he had brought someone else with him, the mission would’ve been a success. You knew that too well, you were barely a part of the 141, an unwanted addition to the team because of politics and a favour Laswell owed you. It was clear that no matter how hard you worked, you wouldn’t be able to measure up to your teammates and this only proved it. “‘M sorry sir, it’s all my fault.” His head snapped up, blue eyes wide with something you couldn’t quite read. “I should've been more aware of my surroundings, of the mission. I’ll send in my transfer request when we return.”

“No.” With a particularly rough tug on the medical thread, Price tied off the stitch and shoved the supplies back into the bag he had pulled them from.

“But I messed up, the mission was a failure because of me.” You could have begged. You didn’t find the intel on Graves that should’ve been there, nor the bomb that was so plainly sitting outside the warehouse you had broken into. You didn’t see the sniper scope on the roof, didn’t listen to your gut. You had just followed Price like a lost duckling, watching his back in the most literal sense. You have to leave the 141, you have to leave him.

“No it didn’t. Mission was fucked from the start, just unlucky.” Price stood, his joints creaking audibly as he did so. He towered over you, casting a massive shadow across your broken body. “It happens.”

“But if Gaz-“

“No. Wouldn’t ‘ave mattered if the whole fuckin team was here. It was a trap and you got hurt. It’s my fault, I’m your captain, I didn’t keep you safe.” His face crumpled. “I didn’t keep you safe.”

Soft taps of rain onto the tin roof echoed hollowly through the room, steadily getting louder and louder until it was a white noise. Price’s shoulders fell with the rain until he was curled in on himself, his head in his hands, looking so uncharacteristically lost. The dulled pain in your side didn’t stop you from sitting up and shuffling closer to the man.

Proximity and closeness were two vastly different things in the special forces; you were constantly in the personal space of dozens of soldiers a day, you saw each other at your worst yet there was always a mental wall that had to remain standing through it all. But now, as the shock began to waver and the adrenaline faded, there was nothing left to keep you apart. Price was always closed off, he had to be when he shouldered so much responsibility. He was a captain, a soldier, a tool of the British government, in that order. 

Your shaking hands grasped at his own, making him look at you. In the grayscale of the storm descending around you, he was just a man.

“I kind of knew what I signed up for when I joined the SAS in the first place.” You attempted to joke but the smile died on your lips when his grip tightened. The bedsprings screamed in protest as he planted his knee in between your own, guiding you to lay back as he followed. “Price-“ 

“You said my name.” Your eyes widened but before you could begin a tirade of apologies, he let his knuckles run along the swell of your cheek. “You were dying and all I could think was how you had never said my name before and how badly I needed to hear you say it again.”

“It was just a graze.” You muttered and he grimaced.

“But it wasn’t. I chose to bring you here and I put you in danger just so I could have you close. I’m damn selfish and you got hurt. I almost lost you, I’m never letting that happen again.” His nose nudged against yours. “I’m never letting you go.”

As the bright white light of a lightning strike flashed across your bodies, Price finally pressed his lips to yours, silencing the roar of pain in your stomach and the venom of doubts in your mind. It didn’t begin soft or gentle, his tongue immediately delved into your mouth, stealing your breath. His shirt rode up, the skin of his lower stomach connecting with yours as he continued to remind you that your place was beside him.

“You’ll always be mine.” He grabbed your hips and, mindful of your injury, lifted them up so he could settle your legs onto his own hips before reaching for your belt. 

“I’m yours John.”

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