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theegoldenchild · 6 months
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Nobody:
Miguel:
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😭😭😭😩😩😩🤭🤭🤭 You brought new meaning to pissing him off heheheheheeeeeeeeeeeeee 100/100!!!
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Pranking Miguel
You thought stealing his serum would be a good idea. You were very wrong.
Idea: @theegoldenchild
Last one of the night you guys!!!! How y'all doing? Thanks for hanging with me this month 💕
Tags: Anger-bang, dominance, watersports
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"SOMEBODY GRAB THAT NIGGA," you shout, barreling by a grouping of Spidermen. "GET HIM!" You're zooming at your top speed through the halls of Spider Society HQ. "Oh my God. He's gonna kill me."
Miguel is on your ASS, tearing through like a beast in pursuit. He's PISSED.
"GET THE HELL OFF ME," he growls, palming two foreheads and crashing them together.
You hear bodies thrown and shit breaking behind you, but you don't look back.
You hear him grunting. People drag from his ankles and throw themselves around his waist to stop him, but if 30 or so Spiderpeople can't tackle, stop, contain him, or AT LEAST slow him down, you can't afford to look.
"GET BACK HERE," he yells after you. He almost claws into the back of your suit.
You feel that touch in the middle of your back and find a new gear, hyperspeed!
"STOP RUNNING!"
"STOP CHASING ME!"
You're too afraid to stop. He didn't see his own fuckin face morph like a gotdamn vampire demon. WHY were his eyes so red?! WHERE did he get fangs and claws?! WHY WAS HE SO ANGRY?!?!
"GET THE FUCK BACK HERE," he grits, chillingly.
All you hear is If you stop, you're dead.
Stealing his serum as a prank seemed like a good idea at the time. You'd laughed with Miles, Gwen, Peter, Hobie, and Pavitr about it. Now, where were they? Stuck in holding cells like the anomalies. He only got madder and madder like he was sick or going Hulk.
"AHhhHHhh," someone yelps before you hear another crash.
"Dear God, SOMEONE GET HIM," you scream. Fearful of stopping, you ditch the serum and keep running.
"DAMMIT! You little-"
You don't stick around. You turn the corner, locking yourself in one of the labs to collapse and breathe. Your chest heaves because it's the fastest you've run in your life. Thankfully, he's not behind you. When you catch your breath and open the door, he's not there. You calmly make your way back, finding an HQ full of Spiderpeople but no Miguel.
He took that serum with him though, fuckin druggie.
"He is the most cracked out Spiderman I've ever met," you complain, freeing the others from their cubes. "You'd think it was insulin or an epipen. No, it's freaking drugs. May as well be crack."
Miles sighs. "I didn't think he'd get that mad."
All of you were surprised.
"He's probably embarrassed," Gwen says after a beat, "Someone should probably check in on him."
Silence.
You all look at each other, waiting on someone else to volunteer.
"What about Jessica," you suggest. She's like the pet to his teacher.
"It should be one of us, someone who was behind the prank."
"I vote you," you stare, since Gwen seems to know who ought to go. She glares back.
"Technically, it was your idea," Pavitr says, looking at you.
"Shutup, Pavitr."
"Show of hands, who says Dawn should go," Peter blurts, raising his hand. Everyone but Hobie raises their hand.
"Personally, I dun think we've done anythin' wrung."
Silently, you thank Hobie for having your back. Still, the majority has spoken and continues to push.
"Ugh, fine."
You don't want to, but you go where you know he is hiding, in his office.
"Miguel?"
"What do you want," he sneers, not even looking at you. He's delved into working on yet another gadget. Work, work, work. It's freaking Halloween!
"Why are you SO mad? It was a joke."
"No! It isn't a joke. As it so happens, I need that serum, and guess what? It's expensive as hell. Alchemax is already having trouble keeping it in stock. I don't have the money to replace it."
"Okay, well, I gave it back. It was a prank, grouchy. What was all that creepy shit? You were on demon time."
"Oh, you don't know?" He crosses his arms. "It's called a MUTATION. It happens when you get hit by a radioactive spider."
"No, THAT shit ain't normal. THAT shit was giving exorcist."
"I'm done with this conversation," he turns. "I can't keep allowing myself to be interrupted by an immature brat who thinks medical theft is a prank."
"Brat!?" You stare at the back of his head.. Maybe so... "Well, you are the ANGRIEST, CRABBIEST Spiderman I'VE ever met."
"And you're the laziest and most immature. Are we done?"
"NO," you approach. "I'll tell you when I'm done."
He ignores you, set on making the arm cuffs he's been working on electrify the webbing. Even you can see that his mind is distracted because YOU could make it work given a good 15 minutes.
"You're so jealous of Miles," you blurt, causing him to cease his tinkering.
"Ex-cuse me???"
"Miles has lightening," you say like it's a no brainer. "You don't, and he's also too fast for you." You didn't stutter.
He turns around slowly, walking closer and towering menacingly over you.
"You know, you ought to tread carefully because that neutralizing cube? I left one specifically for you."
"Ohhh, I'm SO afraid of the cube. You'd better HOPE I don't put YOU in a cube. Stupid ass cubes..." You knock over a hunk of junk that he calls a creation. It's easy to rebuild, 5 minutes, but it's the principle. He'll have to do it over is the point.
He hems you up like you knew would happen.
"Do you get off on antagonizing me?! Is that it?"
"Maybe," you admit, watching his face turn to stone.
"I will tell you this once and once only. I do not LIKE games. I do not LIKE you. Leave me alone now, before I MAKE you."
He releases his grip on the front of your top.
"Looks like you're gonna have to make me," you tease, fixing the wrinkles flat. You nearly yelp as he lifts you by the neck and pins you to the nearest wall by your throat.
"Don't.. Test me."
Submissiveness flashes in your eyes as you grip his thick wrist so as not to choke. This rage filled Miguel is kinda sexy... violent and hateful, but attractive. "Look at you channeling the Hulk."
He leans in closer to your face, staring down, his glare cold and sharp.
"You really enjoy this, don't you?"
You bite your lip, intrigued by his boxy dark brows and darkened features. "Maybe..."
He scoffs. "You don't enjoy it, maybe. You crave the abuse, don't you? Look at you squeezing your thighs together. You enjoy it too much."
You're already folding, clinging for more with a deep sigh that you don't have it in you to communicate. You have too much pride to say you want to be slutted out, but you're thinking it and hoping.
"You little vulgar animal."
'I am. It's me,' you think. You don't resist when he brings you down to your knees by the neck and gets out his dick with the rosy tip, shoving it into your mouth.
"That alone is enough for me to know how to use you." His hand palms the back of your head as he uses your mouth like a toy, hearing you slurp and gurgle. "This what you wanted? You feel like a slut yet? Come here," he pulls back with a controlled smack against your cheek.
He pulls you up by the hair, watching you assist by climbing up to your feet. He tosses you over the high-tech work table triggering a hologram, which he instantly disengages.
Was that Spider Byte? Did she just see y'all? It was only a second, but still. Can't NOBODY know this shit. You're ready to lock the door now before some bullshit like the Spider & Spider Mystery Agency busting in happens, but Miguel has already found a path past your mom jeans and bikini briefs. He's been busy back behind that wagon.
When the backshots begin, you can feel how much you be pissing him off by how tight he has your arms pinned behind your back with no mercy on his stroke, just straight dick ravishing your insides. No protection, no warnings, no warm-up.
"Fuck yeah," you moan taking it all like the good girl you're being forced to be.
"Yeah? This what you want?"
"Yeah," you mewl, your cheek pressed to the cold surface as you let yourself be used.
When he pauses, it's to spread your cheeks and spit between them on your ass letting it drip down to his dick to add lubrication, not that you aren't wet enough. He fucks you just like that with an asscheek spread in each hand before releasing them with a quick smack.
You feel a sudden urge to pee, not squirt, pee. You start to push away, but he grabs you, thinking you're trying to run. Fuck it. It feels too good to stop.
His next grip is your hair. You grip the edge of the table, being shaken by his simultaneous pulling and thrusting as he delivers jolting strokes you feel in your stomach.
"Fuck," you pronounce sharply, drizzling onto the table, your thighs and him.
"What was that?" He stops completely. It was warm and too much for a simple squirt. "What the- Did you just pee?"
"It snuck up on me. It felt too good to stop, and I couldn't hold it."
"...How old are you???"
"Come on!" You keep your position having already done it. There isn't any going back now.
He steps back to think about wtf just happened.
"You nasty, nasty, NASTY little-" He sighs, hesitating. "The hell with it." He steps forward again, sliding back in to finish the job leaving you completed over the table. "Now get yourself cleaned up and get the hell out of my office," he growls, dismissing you with a slap on the ass.
You look at the mess you left.
"I should probably clean that up first."
"Just GO," he points to the door. "If anyone asks, you were just apologizing to me in detail for that show of stupidity you call a prank."
"That's not technically a lie," you admit, changing quickly into the Spiderwoman suit you always have on you. It came in handy BIG.
"How'd it go," Hobie asks as soon as you walk out. You flinch, already guilty. He starts sniffing around you, so you put distance between the two of you.
"Pretty well, I guess. He was mad... Very mad. Yeah, he hated everything, BUT we worked it out."
"Hm."
Hm? What Hm? You feel like you're getting paranoid, but you don't wanna ask or say too much, or you'll look guiltier.
"Well, ya might wanna stop by Spider Byte's station, yeah? I'd be quick."
"Uh, yeah. Sure." You do not pass go. You just get there, and nothing seems wrong initially. Everyone else is normal. No one's acting weird.
"So," you fold your arms on her tech station.
"So," she deadpans.
You don't know what you're supposed to say to her exactly. You drum in quick 3-count and step back. "Anything going on?"
"Nope. Something I should know about?"
"Eh, guess not." Smirking, you start to walk away.
"I knew y'all had to have something going on, all that fighting."
"I knew it, you piss ant. How much to keep you quiet?"
"You think I'd blackmail you?" She clutches her pearls. "Gross. I barely saw anything, thank God."
You sigh in relief.
"I did see enough... Replacing my headphones could make it alllll go away."
"How much," you glare.
"I paid $300, so you pay..??"
"$400." You wire it to her on the spot, and she checks for it, having received it.
"What were we talking about??? Hey, how are you today! Happy Halloween!"
You have a sarcastic smirk in your eye. The price of being seen with Mr. Demon Hulk. You'd say never again, but that's a lie. Pissing him off has been a rush, and now that you know you can get under his skin, you're gonna do it.
... You need a shower now.
@dashhoney25 @lettidarawest @soufcakmistress @ljstraightnochaser @princessstevens-blog @eye-raq @thiccdaddy-mbaku @destinio1 @iamrheaspeaks @hidden-treasures21 @bidibidibombaclaat @forbeautyandlife @blowmymbackout @misspooh @thotyana-in-this-hoe @purplehairgawdess @thegucciwaffle @goddessofthundathighs @theegoldenchild @thadelightfulone @sultanabby @mysticalblackhottie @baekhyunbabybunni @fd-writes @richonne4life @goldieccentric @thehomierobbstark @capswife @blackpinup22 @harleycativy @lishabaybeee-blog @playgurlxoxo @beaut1fulone-blog @blackerthings @syndrlla97 @ladymac82 @browngirldominion @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @uzumaki-rebellion
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theegoldenchild · 6 months
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😩😩😩 this couple is EVERYTHINGGGGGGGG!! I’m obsessed
ALL MINE. PART 2.
Pairing: Erik × OC (Courtney Rawlins)
Tags: Roleplay, Car Smut, Fall Rain
Part 1
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"Damn it all!" Courtney hit the steering wheel furious. "Big ol' pothole in this damn country road... And in the rain of all things." Her car had broken down. She was now parked on the side of the road with her hazard lights on in a no cell service area. "Now what?"
A gentle tap came at her back window. A man who'd pulled over behind her was walking to her door. "I noticed your lights were dim, and your car was stalling. You look like you need a service."
"What's it to ya," Courtney leaned, her face nearly against the glass to eyeball him up close. The nerve of the nigga to be fine in a situation such as this. She cracked the window, her eyes narrowed. He was getting wet out there in his hoodie, his thumbs hitched in the pockets of his distressed denim jeans.
"I'm a mechanic."
"Are ya now?"
"Yes... Country ass. I gotta shop not too far from here," he gestured to the road ahead, "I stopped when I saw you were broken down, stuck out here in the rain."
"I'm not in the rain, sir, you are."
He smiled, long lashes fluttering. "Ok. Let me help you out."
Courtney muttered to herself as he briefly poked around under her hood, letting it back down and leaning into the now half down window with a sniff. "It's the alternator."
"Alternator?" She frowned. "Can't you jump it or something like in the movies?"
"I could jump something," he looked her up and down.
"Aht! You ain't getting in this, I assure you... I'm a LADY."
"K, Lady. Your alternator's dead. Fixing in it costs as much if not more than getting a new one. You're looking at $400-600."
"Where am I supposed to get that kinda money?" Courtney's hands flailed, hitting her knees in frustration.
"You're driving an Audi, you'll find it."
No one else had stopped, and Courtney couldn't call anyone. Not even data worked. He was a handsome guy. She squinted hard, appraising him. "Eh," she bit her nail, hesitating until he turned back to his car. She rolled the window down all the way.
"Wait! You're gonna leave me?"
"LADY... I'm getting soaked, and you don’t have any money."
"Not sitting around!"
"I accept other forms of payment." He shifted his nuts with a grab.
"Or you could help me for free," she murmured, her lip in a pout.
"In the next few seconds, I plan on getting back into my car and driving away."
"Alright, fine!"
"You change your mind?" He walked around to the ditch. "Unlock the door."
"Ugh... YOU'RE ALL WET," she rolled her eyes as he sat in her leather passenger seat. When he pulled down his jeans to free his dick, it was already pointed to the ceiling.
"Whose fault is that?"
"Yours."
"Bring that neck." He palmed her head, bringing it down over his tip. Her body turned, knee in the seat.
She wrapped her fingers around his base and took in the first couple inches, getting it wet with her spit, spread with her tongue. Her tight lips sunk down, spreading the bubbling wetness down an inch from the base. Almost instantly, her head bobbed up and down, her hand on his thigh. The gluck-gluck-glucking of her wet mouth, the zoom of cars passing, and the sound of falling rain on the windshield filled the vehicle. He laid his head back, going hands-free until she took a gasping breath, spit stretching between her full lips. He palmed her head once more, growling lowly until he came.
It was on her tongue, a pool of opaque white that she swallowed easily.
"That's enough?"
"I'll tell you when it's enough. I'm a get you real right. Climb in the backseat."
Traffic had not stopped coming or shaking the car each time another vehicle whooshed by. Courtney watched through the back windshield as the wayward mechanic exposed her ass while it was tooted.
"See, I would've helped you for free, but for getting me soaked, I gotta charge you some way. This the best way." He wrapped a hand around her low natural bun, his pelvis thudding skin to skin with her ass. She braced herself against the back headrests, taking dick and throwing it back to her own pleasure. The back of her thighs were wet from him dragging along his wet clothes, but when he hit the right spot from the start like he knew her, she no longer cared.
"Men are pigs," she muttered, looking back. He grabbed her chin, tilting it back and holding on as he continued to stroke, the thud of their colliding bodies another sound on the rainy day.
"Erik," she breathed, caught in a rhythm of meeting his hips.
"Who?"
Her smile spread, her breath on his face. He sucked her top lip between his before kissing her and spitting a watery drop of his saliva into her open mouth. He then slapped her small ass and let her fall back forward to look through the rear window.
Again, she pushed her hips back, grinding until a police car rode by.
"Aight aight, let's stop," she dropped suddenly paranoid. She didn't want him to swing back or pull over to assist. Wasn't nothing really wrong with the car. Erik looked back and crawled back to the passenger seat, pulling his pants up fast as the cop pulled over ahead. Courtney did the same, jumping back in the driver's seat under the cover of the rain.
"He's not looking," Erik spotted, helping her move. "Relax," he whispered when Courtney's eyes were still big. "We ain't doing nothing wrong. It's not a crime to pull over."
"I know," she whispered back. "I got indica in the glove compartment!"
"Shit..." He popped the compartment open covering the baggie with the manual that was in there. He took out the registration just in case, closing the compartment as the cop reached the driver's window.
Courtney cracked it.
"Everything okay here? You break down?"
"Oh, no! I was having trouble but my boyfriend was behind me. I just had to press some button to get the alert off my screen."
"She's getting used to learning the controls," Erik added.
The cop nodded at him, understanding. It wasn't a lie. Courtney genuinely didn't know a damn thing about cars or what half them symbols on the dash meant. It was believable because it had already happened before.
"You're good now?"
"Yes. It was my mistake, but I've got it now," Courtney smiled. "Thank you."
"Alright," the officer left, returning to his car and eventually pulling off. Courtney sighed and looked to Erik. At the same time, they chuckled, and he got the weed out. "Consider this payment," he smiled, leaving the car before she could snatch him up. He got back in his own car and she kissed her teeth, waiting for the current queue of passing cars to pass before she pulled off too. He was right behind her in the rear view mirror.
"What," she answered on Bluetooth when his call popped up on her screen.
"That was fun. I like how you treated me like some dusty ass nigga and left me out in the rain like you ain't know my ass-"
"YOU SAID TO ACT LIKE I AIN'T KNOW YOU!"
"Nah, it's cool. Next time I'm a get you back! Just kidding... But you know me now, so don't be acting like that."
"I acted too well?" Courtney smirked, meeting his eye in her mirror. She laughed, not thinking that he would be looking.
"Nah, don't change it, it makes things interesting. What we doing next?"
"Hm," she thought. "I'll think about it."
"Can it involve me being dry?"
Her head rolled with silent laughter. "I'll think about it."
The End.
@dashhoney25 @lettidarawest @soufcakmistress @ljstraightnochaser @princessstevens-blog @eye-raq @thiccdaddy-mbaku @destinio1 @iamrheaspeaks @hidden-treasures21 @bidibidibombaclaat @forbeautyandlife @blowmymbackout @misspooh @thotyana-in-this-hoe @purplehairgawdess @thegucciwaffle @goddessofthundathighs @theegoldenchild @thadelightfulone @sultanabby @mysticalblackhottie @baekhyunbabybunni @fd-writes @richonne4life @goldieccentric @thehomierobbstark @capswife @blackpinup22 @harleycativy @lishabaybeee-blog @playgurlxoxo @beaut1fulone-blog @blackerthings @syndrlla97 @ladymac82 @browngirldominion
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theegoldenchild · 6 months
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😭😭🏃🏾‍♀️🏃🏾‍♀️ What can I say? You’ve outdone yourself once again… I’m tryna be like Courtney 🤭🤭🏃🏾‍♀️🏃🏾‍♀️🏃🏾‍♀️🏃🏾‍♀️ heheheeeeee
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ALL MINE.
Pairing: Erik × Black OC (Courtney).
Summary: Erik finds himself at the mercy of an obsessive woman.
Tags: Non-Con, Roleplay, Bondage, Body Worship, Size Kink, Praise Kink.
Part 2
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The soft float of breathy giggles filled the air as Erik awoke to realize he'd been handcuffed to a pink bed and confined to an all pink room. His Tinder date from the bar, Courtney Rawlins, was lying next to him on the bed, tracing figures on his forehead with her fingertip.
"Oh baby, don't struggle," she warned in her gentle Cajun accent. The cuffs were tight to the pull.
"Did you drug me," he glared, feeling her finger slip into his nose. "Did you drug me," he demanded, yanking once more despite how those cuffs cut.
"Relax." She tapped the furrowed stress lines between his furrowed brows. "Just relax. You woke up a little confused and it's to be expected. But you're okay. It's just you and me here."
Erik's eyes circulated the room once more for something to help himself out of his predicament, but Courtney caught his hairy chin in her stern grasp.
"Don't startle, my little pumpkin. You are safe here with me."
"Fuck this," he pulled away. "Kidnapper Barbie is NOT what I signed up for."
"Don't be that way. We were having fun," Courtney purred, cuddling into his side.
"What do you want?"
"What any girl wants... To spend a little uninterrupted time with you at my fingertips for whatever beautiful thing we conceive. I'm all yours and... You're. All. Mine," she enunciated with finger taps on his cheek.
"You've got to be out of your damn mind. I would match with a crazy bitch." He turned his head, unafraid but regretful of his choices.
"Courtney," she corrected. "But if you wanna nickname, call me Sweet Pea or whatever your sweet lil heart can conjure." She drew a line down his nose bridge and booped him as he stared a her, a woman 'booping' a grown man 6 years older than her.
"You seemed so normal on our date, Courtney," he continued to stare, unsettled. "What happened?"
She smiled, squishing his chin in her hand. "You're so CUTE. Lil shady self. I love it. I'm gonna feed you and make you fall in love, you just watch. They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach and BOY do I have a HELLA good tribute on the stove, special, just for you."
She left the room.
Erik tested the cuffs once more, but they were of a sturdy grade. He'd made the mistake of telling her his favorite cuisine on Tinder when she asked and now she was using it against him in some sort of sick warfare. He wouldn't give in.
"I'm back," she sang, returning with her hands full. She set up a collapsible side table with a bowl of steaming gumbo and a glass of sweet tea with a bendy straw. His mouth watered.
"You drugged that."
"What purpose would that serve?"
"Iono but I ain't eatin' it."
Her eyes widened. "You're already handcuffed to my bed! There's no more reason. This here is straight home cooking, no tricks."
The cornbread was floating on top of the gumbo, soaking it in. Cajun cuisine from a Crazy Cajan Barbie. He didn't trust it. He watched her spoon it, blowing gently. The spoon traveled to his mouth as she cupped the bottom to catch the drip.
"Open up. I swear it's the best thing you'll ever do. Well... within the next twenty minutes or so."
Immediately his tastebuds were in heaven. It was the best damn gumbo of his life.
"I'd ask you how you like it, but I can see," she rubbed her well-moisturized knees happily. She smiled, feeding him a spoonful at a time until the gumbo and cornbread were gone, giving him sips of tea in between. His stomach was happy as ever and full, but he was still cuffed to a damn bed and at this weird girl's mercy. What did she plan to do to him and for how long?
"I can't believe I've got you here all to myself! It feels too right."
"Courtney."
"That's not all I have planned for us, but I swear you'll be in love by the end of tonight."
"Courtney, stop the bull. This is crazy. You know it's crazy. You're crazy... You need help and I can help you... If you unlock these cuffs-"
"The cuffs stay on! I don't trust you to stay put. You'll leave." She grabbed his wrists, stilling them. "Stop struggling or you'll bruise."
"Look. Really look at me? Do I look happy? I'm cuffed to your BED. Do you not see how fucked up this is?" He squinted, watching her avert her crazy eyes to avoid reality. The second he got loose, he'd run for the hills.
With a deep sigh, ahe folded her arms on his chest and rested her head on top, looking innocently up at him from under her lashes. "I just wanted us to spend some time together is all. I was gonna let you go... Eventually."
"You... could've... asked???"
A high giggle escaped her. "You know, you have the most lusious lips and the way they move makes me think of things I'd love to use them for. I love this mouth," she sighed tapping his full bottom lip, high on her delusional cloud. "But I'm patient. I can wait."
Erik exhaled the breath he held when she got up.
"Hope you can handle dessert. I don't think you're ready for this one, it's what I call The Clencher." This time, when she left the room, she returned with a covered plate. "Voila!" She presented a wide and hefty slice of chocolate mousse cheesecake.
Suddenly, he wasn't so full anymore. She was killing him.
"Mm, mm, mm!" She sprayed whipped cream on top. Not the damn whipped cream. He loved whipped cream. He ate it straight from the spray can.
Hm... Fuck that, he doubled back mentally. He was done. No more entertaining the circus.
"Whoa! Hol'up... What you doing..."
She began pulling her cropped pink shirt slowly over her head so not to mess up her hair.
"Courtney," he warned.
Under that shirt was a small and magenta bra. "You guessed it," she smirked. "Looks like you're getting lucky tonight."
"Nah, sweetheart. This aint it. I'd have been happy to see this under different circumstances," he admitted, watching her slowly push down the matching pale pink mini skirt to reveal a magenta thong. "But this? Too far." He couldn't deny being a little turnt on. Had he uncovered it in his own way on his own terms, he'd have been glued like a dog on a leg. "It's the principle."
"I don't think so?" Courtney walked forward, challenging him. She pinched her bra apart from the front, letting the straps fall from her shoulders to reveal two perky breasts. "The Big-Big Man didn't get your memo," she teased, looking to his partial-chub. "He doesn't seem to care how it happens as long as it happens. Gotta say, I agree.
"My dick gets hard if the wind blows. You not special. That's why you listen to ME. Consent is everything."
Her eyes grew momentarily.
"You have a way with words that gets me so tingly on the surface and creamy inside. It's not helping your case," her accented voice lilted, giving the sound of arousal. "I'm getting what I want tonight and you're... gonna like it."
Erik pulled against the pink furry handcuffs as she slipped down onto the bed with the cheesecake. "POLICE."
"Stahp," she chuckled, feeding him.
He might as well have been drugging him, she was giving him the itis. The cheesecake was like a cheesecloud. If only she wasn't so damn weird! She fed him another bite then sat the dish down, dabbing the whipped cream on her perky chocolate nipples.
"Bitch... If you touch me without my permission we're gonna have some real problems."
"Would you punish me?" She touched her nipples and massaged the cream lightly in a teasing circular motion, causing his dick to pitch a tent independent of him. "Seems two of us know exactly what we want."
Erik watched her swipe her delicate and clean looking finger along the top of the cheesecake, collecting a healthy dollop and bringing it to his mouth. Hesitantly, he sucked it. She was a gorgeous girl, his ideal physical type, and very sexy. The cheesecake was godly. Next was her chocolate mousse coated nipple. She hovered over his face and he caved, salivating for a different reason now. His thoughts were wayward.
"If I'd have asked you on our first date to come spend time glued to me like a good roux, would you'd have said yes?"
"No," he admitted easily. "Because that's weird. I don't think you really understand."
"You don't understand. I want what you won't freely give me.. Sugar, I want your heart. I want your time. I want you to look at me as more than a one night stand. I want you to understand my passion for all things you." She drug her hands up his washboard abs feeling every bump and indentation, getting very worked up in the process and breathing heavier. Her leg was now over his and she was sitting on top of his thighs, grinding, her hips rotating to show off her toned belly. "I want you so bad Erik. I want you to be all mine and no one else's. I want to be selfish and keep you to myself forever, tied to me. I can be your everything if you let me.
"Easy.. Calm down.." She was riding his laplike they were having sex but he was still fully dressed and she wore panties.. They were getting damp just from that..
It clicked to her in that moment to undress him. He couldn't physically resist, so he laid and watched his long legs come into visibility.
"You even smell amazing." She took a large intimate sniff of his bare stomach. Unhinged. "Why do you drive me so crazy?"
"Drive you? You were already there." He watched her press kisses into his stomach around his bellybutton. A ring of kisses, then more where she'd just been. She traveled up, sliding her hands with them. She was in the Sahara as thirsty as she was, licking his skin like she'd taste pheromones. Meanwhile, Erik couldn't deny the blood flowing to his dick. He'd lied when he said the wind could make him hard, but Fort Knox couldn't get that info out of him right now. He was so fucking turned on despite his frustration.
"Aight that's enough."
"For who? I just started."
She worked her little hungry ass tongue desperately back down to his waistband, kissing over his print in his Calvin Klein briefs. The head HAD to be crazy the way she was feenin.
"Stop... Bitch, what I say? Don't touch my dick." He kissed his teeth as she disregarded every request doing only what she wanted.
She freed his growing erection watching it twitch to life as she stroked it up in her hand. He happened to be a grower AND a shower, and she looked hungry like she needed to be fed.
"I knew it was big. I knew it was big." She rubbed her face against it in circles. With her nose flat on the underside."
"The fuck are you doing?"
"Stay up there!"
She continued to stroke it toward the ceiling, all fingers on deck to grip the girth. It was thickest at the base and that was where her face rested, her tongue tracing the vein. Soap and vanilla filled her nostrils.
He watched her natural nails painted pearlescent white. Then she stopped fucking around and put her lips on the tip, putting him an inch into her mouth, her lips as full as his and shapely. The sight of her lips making his tip disappear with her eyes on his made him keep his eyes on her. She was swirling her lil freaky tongue on the hole. "You freaky motherfucker... you better stop that shit..."
She claimed another inch, still focusing on the tip and watching him carefully to find his sensitive spots. It felt so good to him that he put his head back against the bed and watched the ceiling to shut her out. She was determined to find a way to his soul.
Her hand cranked the rest of his shaft and for a moment her tongue found its way to his balls. He bit his lip, holding back sound. Don't encourage her, he thought. But she was encouraging herself, moaning and licking on his sack, playing with it. Her tongue slipped to his taint, massaging.
"Shiiit.."
"There's no one as perfect for you as me," Courtney announced. "Give me sole access to this dick and I swear," she begged, between soulful sucks on his sensitive tip. "You'll never want for better.. I can satisfy you."
She took him in deeper and deeper still. He could feel the back of her mouth, her tongue, then the squeeze of her throat. She was getting sloppy, making a mess of spit and bubbles that collected around the base and slid to his balls as she massaged it in.
"Fawwck," Erik writhed with nowhere to go. She was seizing his body up, relentlessly sucking and beating the shit out of his dick. "Uh!" He came in ribbons, all in her mouth. Her eyes turned into two happy slits, but she didn't stop. She focused on his tip, still sucking. If his hands were free, he'd push her away needing just a moment, but his wrists were cuffed. "Aight, aight. You don't eat the stick when the popsicle gone," he sighed, watching the ceiling once more.
She was in her own world with his dick.
"I'll devote myself to worshipping this big pretty brown dick."
Her fingers dug into his thighs, passionate in her plea and sucking him into another buckling orgasm.
"One more," she sighed.
This time she gave him a moment as his dick was losing blood, his breathing trying to get back to normal. But it was only a moment. She gripped his base and started stroking to get the blood moving back up. Again, she put it in her mouth.
Erik groaned, pulling against the cuffs. His abs tensed. A low feral growl escaped him. "Fuck me," he blurted. "Sit on my dick. Now."
Brain was turning off, lust was turning up.
She wasted no time straddling him with her panties pulled to the side and her feet planted at his sides, her hands on his chest. She guided his rock hard dick into herself and sank down onto it bouncing off of the first few inches and working her way down with gravity.
Erik growled, flexing and wishing his hands were free. He wouldn't run, he'd take control and teach her ass a lesson.
Courtney moaned loudly with no regard for neighbors as she rode the fuck out of him. An expert jockey. "I love this dick, I love this dick," she chanted. All he could do has throw his hips to add more bounce and thrust deeper into her womb. "Fuck me!"
"I'm finna nut. Shit. Shit." She hadn't put a condom on him.
"I want it all. I want those fucking babies. Give me your babies," she bounced stubbornly.
"Get up. Get off me. Shit. It's coming."
He couldn't hold it. She wouldn't stop. He nutted inside her, panting at every spurt. She was idling on his dick now, keeping it warm as it went soft inside of her.
"Damn," he sighed.
Courtney slowly dismounted with his seed dripping down her inner thigh. She retrieved a key from her dresser and undid his cuffs, sinking onto the bed next to him.
"I might have you for longer than we thought," she smirked.
He wrapped her in his embrace, kissing her hair.
"I can't believe I stuck my dick in crazy," he sighed the second he could breathe properly. She chuckled, reaching across his body to hug him tightly.
"You love it."
"I do. I knew you were crazy when I met you. Scorpios are all crazy. You lucky I looove scorpios." He stretched, letting blood flow through his arms and wrists. "We should roleplay more often. This was wild."
"What we doing next time? And can it also involve liquor?"
"Next time," he smirked, thinking of a good scenario. "Next time, your car can break down and I'll come offer you some assistance."
"Ooh."
"You like that?"
To be continued.
@dashhoney25 @lettidarawest @soufcakmistress @ljstraightnochaser @princessstevens-blog @eye-raq @thiccdaddy-mbaku @destinio1 @iamrheaspeaks @hidden-treasures21 @bidibidibombaclaat @forbeautyandlife @blowmymbackout @misspooh @thotyana-in-this-hoe @purplehairgawdess @thegucciwaffle @goddessofthundathighs @theegoldenchild @thadelightfulone @sultanabby @mysticalblackhottie @baekhyunbabybunni @fd-writes @richonne4life @goldieccentric @thehomierobbstark @capswife @blackpinup22 @harleycativy @lishabaybeee-blog @playgurlxoxo @beaut1fulone-blog @blackerthings @syndrlla97 @ladymac82 @browngirldominion
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theegoldenchild · 6 months
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This is the perfect example of what happens when you don’t mind your business 🤭😭 Mezca had no business planning that damn party hoping to see some action.
Erik with the uno reverse:
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It's officially Spooky SZN!!! It's been a minute since I've added another installment to The Hearteyes Zone, but it's finally time. I do believe this is the 8th story in the series. Check out the others if you haven't already.
The Hearteyes Zone Series | Spooky SZN Masterlist
Finnegan Road is haunted, but not by a spirit or a ghost. It's something more sinister. Sometimes, human beings are the most horrifying apparition of all.
Human Beings. They'll make you think you were much better off... in the Hearteyes Zone.
Heads or Tails
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30-year-old Mezca was all dolled up and on her way to the annual Halloween party hosted by her best friend, Gina. Having a successful podcast dedicated to True Crime cases, Mezca was given clearance to host a storytime at the party for entertainment, and she had the perfect true tale...
Dressed as Presidential Barbie, she took to the stage in the highly decorated city banquet hall with masked and unmasked faces filling the venue.
"This one's pretty fresh... Some of you may have heard about the string of recent murders in this city. If not, then listen up. A quick Google search will confirm all I'm about to tell you."
Mezca looked into the masked and painted faces before her. They were settled in, ears open.
"Show of hands. How many of you have heard of the Heads or Tails killer?"
A few hands were raised, but for the most part, people were clueless. It was a clean canvas for Mezca to begin her story with a description of the first known victim, a Jamaican American woman in her late 20s by the name of Andra Beach.
"Andra had a husband and three sons under the age of 5 who were all in Maine when the crime occurred, and boy was it messy. She was stabbed 32 times in the chest. Initially, police thought it was a crime of passion. They questioned everyone close to her and her family, but something was strange. They found a quarter in a puddle of her blood. 48 hrs later, another body was found. This was also a black woman, early 30s. The m.o. was the same. 48 hrs later, another victim. Hannah Ayad. Same m.o. She was getting tires from a shop only 29 miles from here when he was blindsided by a stranger and murdered in cold blood. Hanna was discovered with 16 stab wounds and a quarter laying in her blood. After 3 more identical deaths within the course of the next week, the quarter in the pool of blood became a calling card that signaled to detectives that this was a serial killer. But what was the significance of the quarter?"
The audience was captivated, but Mezca hadn't even begun to cook.
"A week ago, a woman, mid-20s, was spotted stumbling and bleeding down Finnegan Road."
The tension in the room rose.
"Yes, OUR Finnegan road. 8 miles away. She'd been stabbed 3 times. According to her report, she met a guy at her Waffle House shift. He came back on the backend and grabbed her on the way to her car. Can you guess what he did next?"
Crickets.
"He produced a quarter, put it in her hand and told her to call it. If she didn't, he'd kill her. 'Heads,' she called, not knowing what would happen. 'What happens if it's tails,' she asked him. You know what he said? 'You better pray it's heads.'"
Mezca took the moment to revel in the attention, keeping everyone on edge with anticipation.
"It was tails... Unfortunately for her. He stabbed her three times as she grappled with him until she fled on foot and hid in a dumpster until morning. She was found walking the street and taken to a hospital. So far, she is the only known surviving victim of a man who's now referred to as the Heads or Tails killer. And yes, he's still at large. Police have no clue who he is. So be careful out there... and Happy Halloween."
Mezca smirked as she left the stage, feeling the paranoia around her. Gina was the first to grab her, eyes serious and fearful.
"What the fuck? He's still around? Did they say what he looked like?"
"6'0-ish black male, brown eyes, and a muscular build. He could be anybody."
"What the hell? Why didn't you mention this before? I wouldn't have invited half the people here! Now I'm eyeballing everyone." Gina was paranoid as she looked around the room, staring extra hard at the people in masks, head coverings, prosthetics.. the tall ones, the built ones. Unfortunately for her, she'd invited a SLEW of handsome and tall black men based on her preference and social media. No one stood out.
"You're paranoid," Mezca's face angled down, making her eyes look nefarious. She was enjoying the effects of her story too much. "Besides, it's better to know what's going on around you now than not at all. Don't let it stop your fun! You're a black she-devil. You look great, and you should have a great night. Don't think too much."
Gina downed a cup of strong knee buckling jungle punch, nodding anxiously. "You're right. I need to chill. What are the odds right? I'm tripping. I'm big tripping. I'm a enjoy this party like I planned and I'm a stay where it's lit. I ain't got the energy for that dark shit."
"That's the spirit. Go dance. Shake it off."
"I'm a shake it off," Gina sighed, shaking her arms and heading toward one of the many 6'0 snacks. "I'm a dance on him, take the edge off, then I'm going to pee."
Mezca chuckled and followed suit, dancing with a few good partners and trading numbers. She disappeared into the crowd after dance three, hunting out food and waiting on the drunken costume contest. That was when she came across a convincing Spiderpunk, masked. He was instantly her pick to win.
"You gonna drink that with your mask on? Let me show you how it's done," she teased, chugging the strong punch. He peeled off his mask, revealing a handsome face that she would be honored to sit on.
"Now how you gonna question my abilities and life choices without telling me your name?"
"You can't tell? I'm Presidential Barbie, mothafucka."
"A Black republican, I bet," he sat his cup down, crossing his arms. "You heard me," he smirked.
"Funny. You know, you never know who has a death note these days. Gotta be extra careful."
"Heads of Tails killer probably got one. I can't believe you got in front of this party and scared the everloving shit out of everyone in here by reading the news. Nigga..."
"Mezca."
Athough Gina said it when Mezca was introduced... but she didn't expect him to remember.
His brows rose. "Erik."
Mezca nodded, taking in his features and running them against the killer profile in her head. He hit all the marks as a match, but he wasn't the only one.
"Usually," she picked up, "Killers pick a victim or victim type and stick to it. A lot of women here fit the type to a T. The odds are actually fair that the killer would be here tonight. What do you think?"
"You probably ain't wrong," his brow raises once more. Mezca had a strong feeling this was the guy, but there was no way to prove it. He hadn't done anything. 'Well, Mezca, or Barbie... this party has Spiderpunk's protection. Toss a hat in the air if you need assistance."
He left the table with a full cup. Mezca did the same and then joined some familiar faces. They, too, were nervous about the serial killer potentially roaming their grounds for his next victim.
"Damn. The true crime story actually did scare the shit out of the entire party," Mezca muttered. "Guys... Are we the only black people having a party on Halloween? Come on. Be real! Chances are slim that any of you need to worry."
Despite her words, she knew different. It was very possible that someone would die, and she'd be there to live the moment and witness the investigation that she was so fascinated with. It was screwed up how she looked forward to it. She only hoped it was no one she knew personally. She kept eyes on women she knew just in case.
"Shit! Where's Gina?"
She took the solo walk to the restrooms, a gun in her pink purse. Gina did mention that she had to take a leak. The bathroom was empty. Since she was the only one, Mezca decided to go. She made it quick, wasting no time in the stall. Then she went to wash her hands, and something small on the counter caught her attention. It was just a penny. Her heart nearly stopped. She left the bathroom quickly, but something didn't sit right.
Hesitantly, Mezca backed up and re-entered the bathroom. She pushed open every other stall door until she got the locked disability toilet. She was hesitant. Finding the courage, she kicked the door. Nothing.
She released a breath and went back to the party, searching for the host, not finding her. She did bump into Spiderpunk once more.
"Erik! Have you seen Gina?"
"Gina? Last I saw, she was with someone. A guy."
"Did you see where they went? Something isn't right. She'd never come back."
"And you want ME to help you? You trust me like that? I saw you eyeing me sideways."
"I know you better than I know these other guys. You're my best option. Besides, I got a little something-something in case you get outta line."
"Aight then... Let's find your friend."
Mezca kept a small distance as she followed Spiderpunk from the banquet hall into the long and empty hotel conference hall. It was an entire hotel floor. Sure enough, she heard the familiar sound of Gina's giggling at the end.
"Excuse you?! I was worried for nothing," she growled, meeting her friend. "You know you just went missing?!"
"Huh? Oh, Mezca! Mezca, Mezca. Meet David. David's a fitness trainer and look at this," she pulled up his shirt, rubbing her hand down his abs. "AHH! Okay, okay." She lowered it. "Ain't he fine? He's got 8% body fat. Say Hi Daviiiid."
"Hi David." Mezca turned quickly back to Gina. "Can I talk to you?" Behind the fake plant, eight feet away, Mezca whispered, giving Gina a piece of her mind. "Are you crazy? We just talked about the shit going on, and you disappear!?"
"Hm? Well, no. It's just- it's a party... I took your advice, not to worry about it. What are the odds?"
"HIGH, BITCH, I WAS LYING!" Mezca held her face, fully stressed. "I was scared shitless looking for you. You can't do that shit. Not now!"
"Wow. Well," Gina glared briefly, "We'll talk about that later... in detail... I guess the important thing is you found me alive and well... AND I see you're not doing too bad yourself," her head tilted toward the 6'2 Spiderpunk.
"Erik," Mezca remembered. "He's the one who helped me find you and now he's, I guess, chilling... waiting to escort me back so I don't get murdered. What the fuck is this reality we're living?"
"I don't know, but he doesn't seem like a bad guy."
Mezca sighed. "Not a bad guy at all." Hesitantly, she left Gina there in the empty hall with her fitness trainer and walked with Erik back toward the banquet. A little slower this time as they talked.
"You suspected me," Erik looked up.
Mezca had to admit. "I did... Only because you fit the profile. But so do nine other guys here."
"I noticed. Maybe a Halloween party wasn't such a good idea this year."
Both heads turned at the sound of Gina's shriek. They went running back to find her and David in a frozen state. There was a woman's body behind the escalator they hadn't noticed until now.
The scream that left Mezca's throat when she saw it was out of her control. She knew the dead girl. They'd gone to the same university. She'd wanted to witness shit when it went down, but not like this. Mezca stumbled backward from the sight and ran back to the party to snatch the mic from the DJ.
"TAMRON IS DEAD! THE KILLER IS HERE!"
No one moved, choosing to stare in confusion.
"SOMEONE CALL THE DAMN POLICE," she shouted, pushing them into action. The police arrived within 5 minutes, ending the party. Fear was at an all-time high.
Mezca, Gina, David, and Erik were made to give statements of what they witnessed while the body was taken for examination. Mezca couldn't look now that she knew the victim, and she was too frazzled to think about details. There wasn't much she could offer to help.
"At least we know now who it's not," David commented when it was all over and time to part ways. In a way, that was true. He looked at Gina. "Walk you to your car?"
"Sure," she followed beside him.
He left up the escalator with Gina. Meanwhile, Erik escorted Mezca to her car while she vented about the bad luck.
"You mind sitting with me? Just a second?" She unlocked her doors for Erik to sit instead of standing outside of the car to talk. "This was not how I saw the night going," she admitted. "I'll be honest, I was screwed enough to wanna see a case go down in real time, but not with Tamron. That's complete bullshit. Tamron?!"
"Did you see anything else weird tonight? Anyone acting suspicious?"
"Everyone was suspicious."
"Yeah," he sighed. "I guess it's a stupid question. I do have a better one... Hey," he leaned, suddenly more curious. "I've been meaning to ask you... Heads or Tails?"
"What?" Mezca glared. "That's not funny. Why would you do that?"
"You have a 50/50 chance of survival," he whispered, a knife materializing in his hand. "No. No," he took her purse with the gun. "Scream, and it becomes 0." He sat a quarter on her dashboard. "Pick it up."
Chills came over her.
"Pick it up, or you'll forfeit the game. I'm sure you know what happens then. You damn near came to it on stage."
"That wasn't-"
"So damn eager to see some carnage. What about becoming it? Yeah?... Yeah, I think so. Pick up the coin, and this is the last time I'm giving you this option."
Mezca cautiously picked up the quarter.
"Now I'll offer you two roads because we did have a little connection. If you're lucky, you'll get what you wanted at the start of the night to see some real shit go down that you can tell your followers about. It not... then you know the drill. You know how it is."
Mezca was hesitant, wondering how she would get out of the shituation.
"Flip it."
"I will, I swear, but could you give me some reasoning so I understand?"
"Flip.. the damn.. quarter, Mezca. Just flip it. Now."
With no choice and at knife point, she flipped the jcoin. He covered it immediately.
"Call it."
"Tails." She could feel the sweat beading on her face as he revealed the coin.
"Tails," he smirked. "You really are lucky. Come on, I'll show you exactly how I do it. You're getting a front row seat as my number one fan.
Mezca remained silent as they switched places, him taking the wheel. She observed anxiously as Erik stalked through the night, creeping searching.
"There," he pointed at an open diner. When Mezca was confused, he explained that he could tell by cars approximately how many women were inside. He also knew when they closed and when shifts ended.
"Stay right there and be a good lil president," he muttered, looking back as he got out of the car. "And keep your eyes on that alley," he pointed.
Mezca watched him, immersed in eerie vibes. She didn't like feeling responsible for this kind of thing going down. She called 911 to alert them to quietly ambush him, explaining that if they hurried, they could stop a murder. She was putting her own life in the line as well to call.
The police came quietly with their lights off, finding Mezca in her car and taking her into theirs for protection.
When Spiderpunk emerged from the diner with a woman, he was quickly apprehended.
"Wait," Mezca stared through the glass, "That's not him. It's his costume, but it's not him."
The police searched the diner, but didn't find Erik. Mezca was now terrified for her own safety and afraid to be alone. The went to the police station, but there wasn't much they could do but keep eyes on her neighborhood and building.
Once out of the station, she got a call from an unknown number. She thought of going back, but answered it outside instead.
"Hello?"
"I'm always watching you. Don't make me change my mind about you, Mezca. Go straight home. Follow the speed limit. Have a good night."
How many people had survived his game and then kept their mouth shut because they were terrified he'd come back? There had to be more than a few out there. Mezca did just what he said for the night. She went home, and after hours lying awake, fell asleep. She waited a full week before she went to the police again to tell them about Erik's threat. By then, he'd killed eight more.
Luckily, with her in-depth description, Erik was captured days later. She still double-checked her doors and lied awake at night.
Some things you don't get over.
Sometimes life is such that you can only lie down at night and HOPE that in the morning reality has changed... into the Hearteyes Zone.
@dashhoney25 @lettidarawest @soufcakmistress @ljstraightnochaser @princessstevens-blog @eye-raq @thiccdaddy-mbaku @destinio1 @iamrheaspeaks @hidden-treasures21 @bidibidibombaclaat @forbeautyandlife @blowmymbackout @misspooh @thotyana-in-this-hoe @purplehairgawdess @thegucciwaffle @goddessofthundathighs @theegoldenchild @thadelightfulone @sultanabby @mysticalblackhottie @baekhyunbabybunni @fd-writes @richonne4life @goldieccentric @thehomierobbstark @capswife @blackpinup22 @harleycativy @lishabaybeee-blog @playgurlxoxo @beaut1fulone-blog @blackerthings @syndrlla97 @ladymac82 @browngirldominion
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theegoldenchild · 8 months
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Ohhhhh boy this update was EVERYTHING!!!! 😩😩😩 now if technology could advance enough to make this man real that’d be fantastic 😮‍💨😮‍💨🥴🥴🥴
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Miguel O'Hara x Black Reader. A short and simple to the point Dominant Miguel series with fluff and smut included as it progresses. Go on a lil journey in love with Miguel.
Chapter 6: The Wright Games
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You crane your neck to read the words printed all over the ceilings with help from Miguel, who does the same. The two of you continue your examination, spending healthy minutes to discuss the exhibits if only to rip and rag.
At each point in the spiral to a lower floor, there're only a few people in the immediate vicinity: a small group, a couple, a solo visitor, or two. Seems the perfect time to introduce your little idea.
"Let's play a game," you whisper, hooking your arm through Miguel's. "Let's see who can do the most in plain sight without being acknowledged by others."
"Now, this is a fun challenge. What does the winner get?"
"If I win, you have to give me one hour of yes that starts when I say. You can't say no to anything for one hour."
"Then, if I win, you cook for me. I'll tell you what I want."
You grab the crotch of his pants and gently squeeze, watching him go from shock to a smirk. There're two people up ahead, one behind, but they're not paying attention to the two of you.
"Well played," he mutters as you let go, tickled. He walks you behind the two people ahead and wraps his arms around your waist, bringing you against him, his bulge at your back. Gently, his teeth close on your ear and then your neck. Even as they slightly turn to speak to one another, they don't turn the extra inch. It's turning you on. As your next move, you release a small moan, gaining their attention. Miguel's hand covers your mouth.
"Ignore her." He pulls you further from the installment around the curve to a different area. "Can't have you getting caught doing naughty things in public, can we? We just got started," he whispers near your ear. He stops beside another stranger and wraps a hand around your neck with a kiss that could wake the dead. "Hm. Are we in your way at all?" He turns to face the stranger who visibly does not give one damn.
"I'm working my way up," you whisper, turning away for subtlety. "Come here." You yolk him up and back him against the nearest wall. "Stay."
He curiously stares as you fish a red gloss from your small pocket and apply it liberally. You pull up his Henley, exposing abs to the air. Your tongue traces his happy trail. Your lips press, leaving shapely red prints all over his stomach. You feel it contracting as you go. Is he ticklish? You look up, and he's watching the guy beside you watch you.
You straighten and lick your lips, wiping the corner with your little finger. Casually, you take Miguel's arm and walk away.
"I won't lie. This shit kinda turns me on. One more shot, and DON'T get caught. Wait." He pulls you to an exhibit of suspended glass with a 360-degree reflected angle.
You can see everything.
He wraps his large arms around you again, cradling you in. His hand slips down into the front of your pants and into your panties, sliding his middle finger up and down your outer lips.
You look up to see his face directly.
"Look forward." He nudges you. His finger slides down and inside until your lips part. "O?" He stares at your face in the reflection. "Like O'Hara?" He takes his finger back and spins you to face him, using a dry finger from his opposite hand to tap your chin.
No one's watching. You pick up his hand and suck the wet finger with firm eye contact.
"I'm ready to GO," he nods.
You've been ready. You pull him by the hand down the spiral so that you can leave quicker. Your self-control is weakening by the minute.
He paid for parking in a near valet garage. When they bring the Audi, you both climb in. He adjusts his seat all the way down and back the way it was. He's driving a little fast, you notice, and weaving traffic more than what's usual. That only increases when you put your hand on his inner thigh, feeling for his print.
"Keep us safe," you remind him as you undo your seatbelt, unzip him, and pull it out, stroking it in your hand. You bump it against your pouted lips. It tenses. You feel the car make a sharp turn. Going for it still, you flick it with your tongue and put your mouth over the head.
His subtle groan spurs you on. You lick upwards on his shaft and suck until he pushes your head back and you chuckle, sitting up. You sigh, putting your seatbelt back on. He's focused on getting you home.
You recognize the curves leading to your humble house, and as soon as the car goes into park, you open your own door to speed things up, racing to unlock your door and grab him.
He lifts you, holding under your thighs as before, but this time, he carts you upstairs to your bed and lays you back, lifting your shirt to kiss on your stomach and hips. He yanks your pants and panties down to your knees, and you assist in kicking them off but he doesn't strip, though you want him to.
"Take your shirt off," you demand, watching it come off, revealing all of your prior marks.
"I wanna eat this pussy." He grabs your chin. "Don't say anything, just give it to me."
You wanted him naked as the day he was born, but he's leaning impatiently and pulling your hips skyward while he kneels on the bed, your ass directly beneath his chin. He nibbles on the cheek as you part the lips with your fingers, ready. He wastes no time burying his tongue and lips and rubbing your wetness around with his face.
You help him by grinding, feeling that he's trying to be as close as possible. Sucking air through your teeth, you hold his head, feeling his soft hair. It's like he's trying to crawl inside of you.
The only audible sounds you make are soft moans as you breathe through it, wanting every ounce of pleasure with a determination to not tap out from head. When you open your eyes, you watch without comment for as long as you can focus before clawing his hair and the sheets.
He watches you every so often, but he's lost in it with no regard for the most part. You almost want to ask if you can interrupt and get some loving too, not just your pussy, but it feels too amazing to stop him. You let him work until you truly cannot take the frustration of coming repeatedly with no dick.
"Miguel," you push once you've oozed enough. He pushes back, not finished. You withstand another tongue lashing, but then pause him. "MIGUEL... Make love to me."
He considers it, and you gesture to the drawer where you know you have a few condoms kept for this specific reason. He pats his pocket and pulls out his own to start with, opening it with his teeth and sliding it on.
You wrap your arms around his broad muscled back, grunting with every stroke as he digs into your soul. Your nails scratch at his skin. His arm is locked around your head, and you are buried beneath his heavy thrusts. Your hands sprawl down his lower back to his tight ass. You'd love that mirror view from the museum right about now, just to capture the moment completely. You settle for the beautiful view you have of his pretty face, his Adam's apple when he swallows, his firm chest, his diesel arms. You love squeezing his arms!
His arm moves from over your head for him to pin your neck as he hits the spot to cross your eyes.
"Found it," he teases in a sing-song. You grip his arm, digging your nails hard enough to draw blood, but your body feels locked in a processing orgasm.
You finally exhale, but now the tremors remain. He pulls out gently, standing to dispose of the used condom.
"SHIT! You know it's been over a year since I've done anything like today? I've just been so busy and stressed. I couldn't even think straight. Suddenly, I'm a bit more clear," he smirks, sitting on the bed. "Was it as good for you?"
You exhale, humored at his sudden burst of clarity. "That and more."
"Mm." He trails kisses from your hip to your thigh. "I wanna eat that one more time."
You clench your thighs together with an airy chuckle when he attempts to go back in.
"You already did. There's nothing left to eat."
"I'm a big guy, I have an appetite." He squishes your cheeks in his hand, making you feel like a slutted out chipmunk. "I feel like you're challenging me right now."
"It's not! I'm not. I promise." You wave to assure him and he lays beside you.
"So, you're cooking tonight, right?"
"That was the deal," you sigh, not quite ready to get up. There's still time before you have to prep. However. You roll your eyes. "I need to go to the grocery store."
"Nah. Cook tomorrow. I'll bring everything, you just make sure you let me know what you need."
"Bet," you rest assured.
"Shrimp tacos with Mexican rice and pico."
"Too easy," you assure, slowly finding a spurt of energy. Like you told him, you will throw down in the kitchen to produce some bomb shrimp tacos. That's not all you can make. Mexican, American, Italian, Thai, you'll do it all. You don't mind cooking for a man if he's YOUR man.
"Whew," you huff sitting up. You don't know if he's staying or if he's got things to do. You've got things to do, and now you're hoping the two of you can get on one page to do these things together.
This relationship is moving faster than you'd hoped. You're already thinking domestic and trying to complete errands with him. Hopefully, he's on the same time. He seems to be. You just hope you don't put your all into this to get disappointed. It would be a shame to start over, but you will.
"What are you thinking so hard about," he asks.
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theegoldenchild · 8 months
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I am on the edge of my seatttttttttttttt!
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Miguel O'Hara x Black Reader. A short and simple to the point Dominant Miguel series with fluff and smut included as it progresses. Go on a lil journey in love with Miguel.
Chapter 5: The Talk
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"Oh, you're a dominant dominant. Were you trained?"
"Now, what do YOU know about THAT?"
"Not much," you admit, sliding down on your back into the couch, your phone beside you. "So, do you have a submissive now?"
"You tell me. Do I have you?"
You can imagine Miguel telling you what to do, being stern.
"That depends on what we discuss... in person when I see you."
"Hm. I like that. There's an exhibit at the Guggenheim that's leaving soon. How about I'll pick you up Saturday at noon and we'll make a day of it while we talk."
You grin, biting your lip.
"First Mastro's, then you cook with me, now you want to take me to the Guggenheim. Who sent you?"
"El Diablo."
"Anyway. We can finish this conversation on Saturday. It's getting late, and you, Miguel, need to sleep." You can hear his subtle gust of air, like a cough. "Goodnight!"
"I'll see you Saturday," he warns as you smirk, hanging up.
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Wednesday to Saturday, the texts fly back and forth. He loves his work but hates who you refer to as his overseers. You'd like to see him with his own healthtech startup in a lab developing medication that can be mass produced and pitched to Big Pharma. That way, he'd be in a position to do things in a more ethical way. He wants that, too. He doesn't feel good about himself when he's injecting experimental poisons and diseases and studying the victims' symptoms as they die painfully.
On your end, you like your job. You're just at the point where you want to share your life with someone special. You don't want the games or the uncertainties. You need to be locked in and committed to something. He claims to want the same.
He picks you up at your home, and again, he's five minutes early.
"Great minds think alike," he comments upon seeing you. The two of you have slightly coordinated unintentionally. You re-adjust the collar of his blush Henley. You went with a bubblegum pink petal-sleeved blouse that he touches as well.
"Ok," you brush him away, "Let's go, you got me excited. I'm ready for the Guggenheim."
You lock your front door and follow him to his black Audi, where he closes you into the passenger seat. This is the first time you've ridden with him. He's a relaxed driver, and for you, it helps that his sleeves are rolled up to his elbow for you to enjoy his forearms. He likes to drum on the wheel with his fingertips and sometimes bites his already short nails. He has a pair of glasses he keeps in the car, you assume to read with.
You've been to the Guggenheim once as a teenager with your class. Coming as an adult on a date is different. It doesn't seem as expansive, but it's just as grand. The two of you do what's recommended and take the elevator to the top floor to work your way down the spiral interior. There's a lot of minimalism and empty white space with sprawling white marbled tile like you remember.
"A lot of the art, if I'm honest, is boring because I don't relate or feel it. I know it's modern art. It's cubism. It's this. It's that. What does it mean to me? Where's the culture?"
"Culture? You don't go to the Guggenheim for culture," he smirks.
"Then why do you go?"
"Well. It's scenic. A little pretentious. It's not too crowded. We can walk and talk like we're doing. Tell me something about you. Do you have siblings?"
"An older sister and a younger brother.
Your family is close, and you tell Miguel about them, going back to your childhood. You've got a lot of core stories that paint better pictures than the ones that surround you, good and bad. An hour into exploring, food begins to call. There's an eatery inside the museum that's like a smaller upscale cafeteria. There's only a few people.
The both of you order something light with no alcohol. Personally, you'd prefer to go into the conversation you've been waiting for with a sober mind. Until the food comes, you keep it to small talk, favorite colors, and causal interests. He likes red. He's good at bowling. The food comes to your table, and subtly, you bring the conversation back to the other night.
"So," you look across the table at Miguel, alerting him to a subject change with your eyes. His eyes adjust from questioning to smiling. "What type of rules do you have for your submissive?"
"Why did I know this subject would breach so soon? It depends."
"On?"
"Well, first, let's talk about how you see this developing between us. What do you expect from me as a dominant?"
He watches you closely as he eats.
"I'm expecting reliability, consistency, companionship, and monogamy for however long it lasts. What do you expect from me if I'm your submissive?"
It's your turn to inspect him with your fork stabbing your plate.
"I expect you to always be always with me and respect my boundaries. I expect you to follow my directions and do your best to please me. I expect you to be open-minded and willing to try new things. I want to maintain your trust so that you feel secure. These things take work from both ends, but I'll add patience, understanding, and mutual respect."
"That's simple enough," you nod.
"Okay, then Step 2. Kinks. Your turn."
"Hm," you smile, tickled as you think over all you're into. He takes out his phone to make a note. "I'll be specific. I'm interested in submission, bondage, spanking, oral sex both ways, wax play, forced orgasms, orgasm denial. Please don't do that a lot, though!"
"Which ones have you already tried?"
"All of the above, but not in the context of a bdsm relationship. It was with different partners. We experimented."
"Are you open to trying more?"
"I am," you say honestly. It's getting you wet thinking about it and listening to him.
"I'll name a few things I've done and I want you to say yes, maybe, or hell no."
"Ok," you wait, watching him. What has your little Miguel been up, you wonder.
"How do you feel about nipple clamps?"
"Yes."
"Nipple weights?"
"N- Maybe."
"Nipple suction devices."
"Yes?"
"Teeth/fingers/nails against nipples or other sensitive areas"
"In moderation, yes."
"Ok. What about clamps or clips on your clit?"
"Yes?"
His brows wiggle in surprise. "Pressure or suction?"
"Yes."
"Flogging or whipping."
"On my clit? Neither."
"What about in general?"
"Nothing too painful, and I'm not into blood. If it doesn't make me bleed or have permanent marks, it's fine."
"Ok. Enemas?"
"Miguel! You've given enemas?" You whisper in disbelief, leaning in.
"Are you kink shaming?"
You sip your ginger ale. "I'm learning new things about you."
"So no to the enemas. Would you roleplay?"
"Hell yes. Add mild public play," you smirk, already developing ideas of what you want to try within the next hour or so. A small hint of a smile lifts the corner of his mouth.
"Last ones. Elecrostimulation."
"No."
"Cum play?"
"Yes."
"Mm. Fisting."
"Nope."
"I think that's a pretty good scope. Now, hard limits."
"No blood. No lasting damage."
He laughs. "Ok. What about any allergies I should know about?"
"None too specific. I have weather and outdoor related allergies. Dust, pollen, the usual."
"Give me a second. I'm sending you a text. Read it and tell me if you agree."
Within the next minute, he texts a drafted contract naming all you've mentioned in categories: consensual acts, soft limits, and hard limits.
The fundamental purpose of this contract is to allow the submissive to explore their sensuality and their limits safely, with due respect and regard for their needs, their limits, and their wellbeing.
He's added more into the limits.
No permanent scarification, mutilation, and other such damage. Insertion of potentially tissue-damaging things into orifices. Drowning or suffocation. AB/DL. Drug Use. Body function paraphilias. Anal play (on Miguel).
"I don't even really want to ask what some of these refer to. If you say they're hard limits, I'll believe you."
"You'd be surprised what I've been asked to do. That's why having it written to refer back to is a helpful thing. Our boundaries are spelled out from the start."
You text back your agreement with your name attached. Enough of what the two of you won't do. You're ready to get more into what you will.
@dashhoney25 @lettidarawest @soufcakmistress @ljstraightnochaser @princessstevens-blog @eye-raq @thiccdaddy-mbaku @destinio1 @iamrheaspeaks @hidden-treasures21 @bidibidibombaclaat @forbeautyandlife @blowmymbackout @misspooh @thotyana-in-this-hoe @purplehairgawdess @thegucciwaffle @goddessofthundathighs @theegoldenchild @thadelightfulone @sultanabby @mysticalblackhottie @baekhyunbabybunni @fd-writes @richonne4life @tgigoldie @thehomierobbstark @capswife @blackpinup22 @harleycativy @lishabaybee @playgurlxoxo @sunshine-flower
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theegoldenchild · 8 months
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Imma need you to finish this story NEOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!
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Miguel O'Hara x Black Reader. A short and simple to the point Dominant Miguel series with fluff and smut included as it progresses. Go on a lil journey in love with Miguel.
(I didn't feel like doing the small print. There has to be an easier way than going paragraph by paragraph 😭😭 Also anyone I didn’t tag who wants to be tagged, let me know.)
Chapter 4: Dealbreaker
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Miguel was truthful when he said nap. He didn't do anything in your bed but sleep for the better part of an hour, making you the little spoon though you weren't tired. By the end of the hour, the two of you had cleaned the kitchen as it was before he came. He left the meat and the few ingredients purchased, but he cleaned and took his slow-cooker with him. You've now got enough pork to last you a week of taking your lunch to work and eating at home. Instead, you invite some friends to help you eat it and decide to tell them all about Miguel.
"Right here?" Aria panics when you mention the head on the couch, moving to the opposite couch with your mutual friend, Zenia.
"Exactly right there."
"You let me sit in it?"
"When I say he drained me dry, girl, he kept goinnng. Then we took a nap upstairs. It was pretty chill."
"You just fuckin met this man, what, a few days ago?" Aria laughs.
"I know, but if you saw what I saw, you'd do it too... That's why you can't meet him! Not yet."
"Bitch! One time! I didn't even know you knew David like that."
"I know, but NEITHER of y'all lil hoes are gonna meet Miguel or see Miguel until I've got him secured."
"Now, how did I get in it," Zenia asks, mouth stuffed with pork.
"Right now, things are up in the air, but I'll keep dangling and manifesting. He'll be wrapped around my pinky, and only then will y'all meet him."
"So when are YOU seeing him again," Zenia asks.
"I don't know, probably next weekend. We haven't made any other plans yet."
And you're both busy through the week. A week seems a long time to wait, though. You'd rather see him sooner.
"You think you should call him to schedule something," Zenia asks, reading your mind.
"Nah, I'll let him call me. It gives him time to miss me."
"Well, he's not disappearing just yet," Aria adds, "He ain't got that pumpum yet. Niggas ain't gone leave before getting it, believe that."
"Well, I'm a done deal," you smirk, "But if he does leave, I'll just get another one. Now I know where they congregate"
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Sunday passes with no contact. When Monday comes and goes, you start to wonder what happened. Did he hit a busy streak? Did something happen? Tuesday, he texts you.
Is it too soon to miss me?
You're at work, so you keep it short.
Of course not. Text me any time. I may not respond immediately, but I'll respond.
You sure?
Yes
Why would he need permission? Is that what was stopping him from reaching out? If so, you'd like to hear more about it. You wait until you get off work to check your messages again.
He's sent a paragraph about his day at work.
Alchemax acquired another property to place a testing site. One more step for gentrification. The director is on my ass and pushing me to run this unethical experiment on the volunteers. They think we're testing covid shots. If I told you half the shit, you'd run from me. Hell, you're probably on your way now. Anyway, that's my day. How's yours?
Oh, okay, you stare, processing what you've just read. So he's not just the hero. He's confessing that he's done some sordid things in the name of his job. You get it, but can you really accept that? Knowingly testing dangerous procedures on innocent people? It's a lot to consider. You'll have to sit with it.
Later that evening, you still wrestle, but you're coming to term with your thoughts.
I admit that's fucked up. I don't agree with experimenting on innocent and unexpecting people. I do think Miramax or Alchemax can go to hell. With that said, I understand that this is your job, so I can't fault you. Sucks for you, I'm not that easy to scare. You're stuck with me.
You had me worried.
His text is almost instant. In all honesty, you had to think about if you COULD stick around. That's a big thing to admit, but at the end of the day, it's not technically his fault. He's not calling the shots. That's what you tell yourself.
Since you're at home on the couch with a bottle of Fiji water, you decide to call.
"Preciosa?"
Damn. His accent's got you weak already.
"My day was good," you buckle. "I delivered some interesting news to a family who were happy to finally know what was different about their daughter. Turns out, she has Angelman syndrome, but it was my first time coming across it , so I was explaining something I'd literally just learned about."
"Sounds like you did them a great service. Like you said, knowing is everything. If you're not educating and planning, you're worrying, which then diminishes your mental health, making it harder for you to parent."
"Exactly... Do you know about Angelman's syndrome?"
"Seizures, a smaller head that's flat in the back, issues with balance and movement, and most notably, smiling for no apparent reason?"
"I should've asked you," you sigh. "How do you retain all of this?"
"Having a photographic memory helps."
"Ah. I'll check Amazon..."
The more the two of you converse, the more you glean. For example, he has a 9 year old daughter named Gabriella, who unfortunately passed nearly four years ago. It was a case of Sudden Unexplained Death in Childhood (SUDC), and he was devastated. Since then, he's been okay, but every so often, the grief hits. Working stops him from thinking about it? So he works long hours every day. He knows it's not healthy. It certainly helps you understand him more. A lot of things suddenly make sense about him.
"Can I tell you how much I hate Taco Bell," he says, changing the subject. You get it. It's painful to lose a child, and talking about it can be triggering.
"That dog food? They don't even have a line. That should tell you something right there."
"It's a god damn stroke in a wrapper and tastes like shit. Not to mention, it's literally horse meat."
"See, I stopped eating there years ago. It doesn't even taste like real beef."
You put the phone on speaker while you fix yourself a snack. Talking food makes you snackish. Of course, he hears the popcorn popping.
"Damn, Supersonic! Do you hear everything?"
"Pretty much."
Your eyes roll as you gently fold yourself back onto your couch with your bowl. It's getting late. You've been on the phone for over an hour, though it doesn't feel like it.
"So question."
"Answer," he responds.
"It's a different kind of question."
"Ask away."
"Ok. Would you consider yourself vanilla or experimental?"
"Definitely experimental. You?"
Ooh! "Explain," you smirk, curious.
"You first. Vanilla or experimental?"
"Definitely experimental."
"Oh I see."
Your jaw drops. "What do you see?"
"Just know I see," he says, a smile in his voice.
"Uh!... Now you have to elaborate!"
He chuckles.
"Miguel!"
"Preciosa?"
You kiss your teeth.
"Ask what you really want to ask."
"Kinks?"
"Yes..."
"Yes," you repeat, rolling your eyes. "Well, what are they."
"Mm... I enjoy quite a few things. I like being in control and directing the action. I like taking care of my submissive with guidance and rewarding her when she's a good girl. I like making her do humiliating things for my pleasure. And... I love it when she tries to escape me. Then I get to catch her and teach her a lesson. You?"
🤭 To be continued...
@dashhoney25 @lettidarawest @soufcakmistress @ljstraightnochaser @princessstevens-blog @eye-raq @thiccdaddy-mbaku @destinio1 @iamrheaspeaks @hidden-treasures21 @bidibidibombaclaat @forbeautyandlife @blowmymbackout @misspooh @thotyana-in-this-hoe @purplehairgawdess @thegucciwaffle @goddessofthundathighs @theegoldenchild @thadelightfulone @sultanabby @mysticalblackhottie @baekhyunbabybunni @fd-writes @richonne4life @tgigoldie @thehomierobbstark @capswife @blackpinup22 @harleycativy @lishabaybee @playgurlxoxo
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theegoldenchild · 8 months
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I… ma’am… please 😭😩🏃🏾‍♀️🏃🏾‍♀️🏃🏾‍♀️
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Miguel O'Hara x Black Reader. A short and simple to the point Dominant Miguel series with fluff and smut included as it progresses. Go on a lil journey in love with Miguel.
Chapter 3: Second Date
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You wake up a little before noon on Saturday to a text from Miguel.
Text me what you need.
He sent it twenty minutes ago. You text a short list and call on your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth, pausing when he answers.
"Miguel! Hey. I just saw your text."
"Hey Sleeping Beauty."
You look at your reflection with toothpaste on your lips. "We'll see. I might just go back to sleep if these carnitas hit."
"I might just go with you."
"Evening nap? Assuming yours are up to scratch?"
"I'm not worried. My carnitas will change your perception of what pork can taste like."
Playfully, you roll your eyes.
"Your carnitas really better be hitting on something if you're talking all this jazz."
"You'll let me know... What's that? Are you brushing your teeth right now?"
"Mmhm." You rinse, trying to keep it quiet but you can feel him listening. You can't gargle any quieter. "Stop listening! Bye."
You hang up, tickled, and get ready in something casual but cute enough to give him something to look at. It's a second date. You still have to dangle and show some skin. It's a simple thin and flowy bat wing dress with a split hem. You paid $15 for it. You also take out a bottle of wine and two glasses to share.
Miguel comes five minutes early, looking just as edible as you last saw him. His hair is falling down in a Superman curl that he can't get to because his hands are full. You get him to drop his head so you can smooth it back and take a bag. He's brought his own own slow cooker, two bags of groceries, and a couple of unmarked plastic Tupperware containers that all end up on your countertop. One is meat. The other, he refers to it as his secret ingredient.
"What is in that?" You pour the wine, sitting his on the counter in front of him.
"Manteca," he points proudly to the smaller container. "Rendered by yours truly. And this?" He points to the meat. "Pork butt brined overnight. More tender than say, pork shoulder?"
"Whatever," you smirk, sipping once before going through the bag to take out, clean, and season your shoulder. "I use pork shoulder because it has optimum fat content but is still lean in comparison to pork butt. Who likes fatty meat?"
"You. You just don't know it yet."
He drains his glass as his pork pan-fries. You fill it up again, leaning against him casually and smiling before moving away. He holds your gaze, taking another sip.
"You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to seduce me."
"Me? It's only our second date, why would I do such a thing?"
He nods through another sip setting down his glass. You turn away, smiling toward your own slow-cooker. Your eyes widen when grabs your waist abruptly from behind, his head over yours. You hold onto the counter ahead of you, one hand on his arm, ready to be bent over. Instead, he reaches ahead of you to take the cumin, raises it with a sly smile, and walks away. You pop him with a wooden spoon.
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," he whispers, coming back to encircle your waist. You're tall for a woman, and he still has to bend being the giant that he is to kiss you. You close your eyes just as your lips connect and your hands float up to touch his smooth face. His lips are plush and firm. He's using the perfect balance of tongue and sucking on your top lip. You take his bottom. He's a kisser. You use this chance to feel up his large arms and run your hands under his shirt to feel the indentations left by what must be years of intense workout. Somehow, your back ends up against the counter. You're ready NOW.
"Not yet," he reads your mind. "Carnitas."
He glances back once he takes his pork to his slow-cooker, where he adds the same things you added to yours, but also pours in evaporated milk and Coca-Cola.
"I thought you were drinking that."
"Nope." He looks back suddenly, noticing your confused expression and continuing on. You've both been looking over each others' shoulders trying to see what's going on since you started. "Trust the process."
You wait until your meat is done to ready the tortillas for tacos. In the meantime while his meat finishes, you ready your herbs and topping for presentation. You've got two tacos arranged for tasting.
He closes his eyes, lost in the flavor as he hums. "Okay, this is good. I'd come over for this any time. ANY time," he repeats, shoving the entirety of what's left into his mouth. You weren't worried. You stand by your carnitas being top tier. You both make another one to eat.
"Don't fill up before you've had mine." He takes yours from your hand, eating it and humming in satisfaction. You'd be annoyed if it didn't mean you were winning.
"Yess, eat up. Enjoy the taste of a winner."
He clumsily takes out his phone, still eating. He types and shows you the screen. He's typed what you said into notes. Seeing you confused, he doesn't elaborate. He checks his pork and arranges his own sample plate of tacos.
"Taste," he gestures, crossing his arms.
You take a taco and smell it. Your mouth is watering. He watches eagerly.
"Oh my god," you blurt after one encompassing bite. "That's fucking good."
"I told you. You're looking at the king."
"Miguel."
"Life changing, ain't it? There's a finesse," he pinches the air dramatically, but the pork is going to your coochie. If you wanted him before?
You grab his neck, pulling his face down to yours in another kiss. This time, you try to climb him like a tree. He lifts your thighs, assisting you in wrapping them around his tapered waist, your ankles locking. You refuse to let go this time. You have protection upstairs.
He walks you through your kitchen to your living room, carrying you easily and squatting your weight to sit on your couch with you in his lap. His fingers slide under the hem of your thin, flowy dress and up your thighs into the crease of your hips where his thumbs hitch and squeeze. He grips your ass and strokes up your back, making you arch and grind against his bulge.
You pull his head back by his hair, and he grins, his tongue out fully while you suck it fervently. When his palms travel back down to your ass, his fingers slide under your panties and through your crack to rub on your vulva.
Your breath hitches. "Miguel," you whisper against his lips, feeling him slip a finger in. He works that finger as you kiss him and grind, becoming a needy mess.
He stops to hook your panties. You lift and lean to the side on the cushion to help him slide them past your knee, which he kisses, stroking your calf.
"Come on." He helps you up. "I need you to sit on my face."
You oblige him, collecting a fist of fabric from your dress in your hand and straddling him. Gradually, you let more of your weight press against his face while he strokes your round cheeks. You feel the stiffness of his soft tongue and the pressure of his lips as they squeeze against your clit. Gripping the back of the couch, you ride both to orgasm. He rubs your thighs, gripping them when it seems you're losing balance.
To your surprise and despite your squirming, he locks your thighs in place when you cum.
"Miguel," you gasp.
He continues doing that thing, causing you to build again. You squeeze the back of the couch and toss your head back, riding out the feeling and coming again as you breathe. You hear him sucking up your wetness. He squeezes your cheeks, still buried beneath you enough to breathe through his nose.
You move from his face and drop onto the couch on your stomach, fully stimulated and focused on his lap. His chin is glossed. You look in his narrow brown eyes as you unzip his slim fit slacks and gently fish out his erection, spitting on it and stroking it in your hand. He guides your head to the tip, taking it from you and pressing it against your lips before relinquishing control again.
"Suck me slowly." He raises his shirt enough for you to see his subtle brown happy trail under his belly button. You find a good rhythm, rubbing his stomach up to his nipple. "Mm," he hums, watching you on his tip. "Just like that. He strokes your back. You keep your pace but switch up the way your tongue moves. Your goal is to make him nut this way. He gently squeezes your shoulder, getting close, and when he comes, you neatly guzzle it up.
"Show it to me," he whispers, humming when you open your mouth, letting it drool out with a smile of achievement. "Good girl."
You'll have to have a talk with him later sometime about your praise kink and why he should be cautious of his word choice. In the meantime, he takes out his phone, which throws you until he shows you that same message.
Yess, eat up. Enjoy the taste of a winner.
"Miguel!"
"Sucking a winner makes you a winner," he teases, holding your face while you search for a good comeback. "Eh, you're slow. Let's take a nap. You're tired."
"I'm not tired, y-"
"Yes, you are. Shh. Direct me."
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theegoldenchild · 8 months
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Not him already being the perfect man now hold onnnnn 😭😭😭
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Miguel O'Hara x Black Reader. A short and simple to the point Dominant Miguel series with fluff and smut included as it progresses. Go on a lil journey in love with Miguel.
Chapter 2: First Date
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You decided to call a safe ride to take you home, then your friend Aria to pick you up when she got off of work. In trade for her taking you back to your car, you tell her about your run-in with the handsome geneticist.
"You took off to go to a damn bar?"
"Absolutely. If I'm coming to the Kissinger, I need to know that the men here can afford to be here during the week. I'll be damned if I'm the main breadwinner."
You take off your seatbelt once you see your car parked. When Aria stops, you get out.
"There's a certain finesse to the game, girl. Get with the process."
"Oh, you buggin," she laughs. "Hell nah. I'll catch you on the weekend and we can really get fucked up, but I need my money sis. I've got a whole son and he's not cheap!"
"Girl." You turn back. "You're thinking small. Think big, bitch. Hear me. Give it a shot and go alone."
"Mm." She shakes her head, ready to pull off. She's not doing it. You already know. You get into your own car and head home to your apartment to relax and mentally prepare to return to work.
In the morning, you work with a few families through genetic counseling at Parker Institute by collecting personal information regarding their family tree for geno-sequencing and drawing blood for genetic testing that will assist in their treatment. You process what's already been obtained and relay to your patients the implications of the findings.
Sometime around lunch, you receive a call from an unfamiliar number but pick up. It could be Miguel.
"Hello?"
"I won't keep you."
"Miguel?"
"I know you're typically at lunch about this time, so I'll make it brief. Are you free anytime from Friday evening to Sunday? If so, I'd love to sit and talk with you again, maybe take you to dinner?"
"Friday night sounds good to me. I could use the wind-down."
"I could use it now. If I could, I'd leave this lab and meet you to talk. But Friday is fine. I'll send you the details."
"Okay, and Miguel?"
"Yes?"
You caught him just before he hung up.
"Don't work yourself ragged before I get to you."
He laughs, just a slight exhale.
"Take care," he says quickly.
You get a text within the next fifteen minutes.
Reservations for 2 at Mastro's. Friday @ 7
That overpriced restaurant?! You wouldn't do it, but you are worth it, and it's because you're worth it that you understand him trying to make a good impression. It shows that he respects your time enough to not waste it with foolishness.
You buy a new dress and style your hair just to match the effort. You know from his previous fit that he'll be dapperly dressed, and you'd like to turn heads on your own. Taking a cue from Beyonce, you go with short and backless, and when you enter Mastro's, you find Miguel waiting though you're on time. He looks just as classic as you'd envisioned in a simply styled emerald paisley suit with black lapels and black shirt, unbuttoned at the top to show chest. Immediately upon seeing you, he rises to pull out your chair.
"Look at you!" You beat him to it. "Don't you look like a heart throb. I definitely want to be seen green," you tease, sneaking a peak at his tight ass before he sits. "Have you seen The Wiz?"
"I haven't. That can be something you show me in the near future, but... I have to say it. You have a knack for taking my breath away in these dresses."
"Should we check your sputum and blood eosinophils?"
He sputters, nearly spitting his water.
"No one but a geneticist," you grin. "If you liked that, tell me why tertiary structures are so selfish."
He swallows in confusion. "What?"
"Because the amino acids are all wrapped up in themselves."
Another laugh. You feel like a got-damn comedian. You'd take your act on the road if you knew more people than him would laugh.
"I can't believe you think I'm funny," you mumble behind your water glass.
He's wiping real tears, not faking.
"You don't understand, I don't talk to many people. After the day I've had, this is fucking hilarious."
"Glad I could distract you. I'll be here all week."
Two glasses of Sauvignon Blanc arrive. Of course, Miguel says you should order whatever you'd like, including wine, if you prefer something other than Sauvignon Blanc. He orders a steak, and so do you.
"So, what's your favorite style of cuisine," you ask, sipping your wine.
"Ooh, Mexican is my comfort."
"So, I actually make some bomb carnitas and shrimp tacos."
"You're kidding."
"I'm so serious. It's - *chefs kiss*"
"I'd like to be the judge," he grins. "I'm the master of carnitas."
"Self proclaimed?"
He smirks. "Or otherwise. You think you could beat mine?"
"Only one way to find out."
"Okay. You name the time and I'll be there. We'll settle this."
"How's about tomorrow? You're free, right?"
"You're anxious to lose," his thick brows raise. "I will gladly make that happen just to have you cry, 'Oh Miguel' in my arms."
That kind of made you tingly. You could be mistaken, but there's something very sexual about Miguel. It's subtle.
"Take this down." You gesture for him to get out his phone. When he does, you clear your throat. "2 PM tomorrow, wear the brown pants because you will be sliding down the wall, shitting and crying when you're outdone."
His jaw drops as he laughs, that same breathy outburst. "Oh, you're gonna taste your words after you taste my meat."
"I assure you, Miguel, if these lips touch your meat-"
You stop when the steaks arrive, steaming with your sides. He licks his lips, smirking at your abrupt stop. Your head tilts as you hold your laughter until the waiter leaves.
"You were saying? About my meat..."
Your tongue presses against your cheek as you fight your laugh, cutting through your tender steak instead.
The rest of dinner goes by with banter and subtle innuendos tossed in from both ends. You lose track of how long you're sitting there. It's 9:30 when you sneak a glance. You've had dessert, two glasses of wine, and your stomach is full. About ten minutes later, he checks his watch.
"Ready to get out of here?"
"The check," you remind. He waves it off.
"Already took care of it."
"Where was I?!"
"At the table," he chuckles. "Why? Did you hope to pay?"
"Not really," you smile, honest.
With another date set for the following day, you follow Miguel from the table with your hand on the back of his arm. The material of his emerald suit is soft to the touch. He guides you through the door, hand on your lower back as you exit the restaurant.
"Where are you parked?"
"Right over there," you point, surprised when he walks you despite it not being far and sees you inside the car. You notice his eyes stall a bit longer on your bare legs and your thighs as you attempt to climb in modestly.
"Don't forget to send me your address when you're home."
"As soon as I get home," you nod.
He closes you in when you're settled and watches you pull off, turning only when you hit the main street. You see him in your review mirror. This is a standard of treatment you can get used to, even if things with Miguel don't work. He's set a pretty high bar.
You should tell Aria.
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theegoldenchild · 8 months
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If he would’ve bought another margarita then I would’ve opened my legs 🤭🤭🏃🏾‍♀️🏃🏾‍♀️
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Miguel O'Hara x Black Reader. A short and simple to the point Dominant Miguel series with fluff and smut included as it progresses. Go on a lil journey in love with Miguel.
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Chapter 1: Meet Miguel
You’ve done the online, the coffee meet-ups, the casual atmospheres, and found them lackluster. Men are there and plentiful, but they aren't the right men. Even if they do date black women, they expect to be the ones courted. That's not you. In your experience, these men take issue with paying and giving you due honor as a woman, yet they want what's between your thighs.
Manifesting a real masculine man with strong values, respect for himself and you, and extra income requires visiting the places they frequent. So, you leave your car to the valet and cross the lobby of the Kissinger Hotel in a slip dress you already own and matching heels. In the rooftop bar, you’re sure to smile, relax, and look available, remembering not to fidget as you take your seat at a small table where you can appreciate the scenic view. It’s a hot day. The sky is clear and bright with the summer sun.
“Strawberry Lemon Drop Martini.”
You get halfway through it when the cocktail waitress brings another. “Paid for by that gentleman,” she gestures to a man alone at the bar. He’s not white. That's a surprising plus. He’s a young, very handsome, dark-haired latin man in a tan suit. He raises his glass and, in response to your smile, comes over.
"Would you like company?"
He's a big boy, broad shouldered and well over six feet which works considering you're 5'10. Hell yeah.
"I'd love some company,” you lean in, already sold on a date if he should ask.
His closed-lipped smile appears briefly as he sits. Up close, he has some small lines that make him look more distinguished. Mid-30s, you’re guessing. He removes his glasses to reveal narrow brown eyes under dark, thick brows.
You sip from your glass. 
"You're stunning," he shrugs, like he can no longer hold it in. Finally, a man who isn't trying to humble you.
“You're no slouch,” you smile. His biceps are as big as your thighs. “Thanks for the drink by the way.”
“Any time."
"Careful, I might hold you to that."
"Please do. Name's Miguel, and you are?"
You sit down your glass and extend your hand to introduce yourself. You notice his eyes land ever so briefly on your bare ring finger. His hand is warm, gentle, and makes yours look small as he places a delicate kiss on top.
"A fitting name for a striking woman."
"Oof." You're liking him more and more. "Thank you. So, are you from New York or are you visiting?”
"I work in the area. I come here sometimes on my lunch break to, uh, get away."
The way he looks out at the sky tells you his job comes with a lot of stress. Relatable. Very relatable. You take another sip.
"Where do you work?”
"Oh, I'm a geneticist at Alchemax.”
“That’s funny. I’m a Genetics Nurse!”
“What are the odds?” His thick brows raise.
When you came out, you didn’t expect to have an engrossing conversation about heart disease or reversing plaque development caused by the SVEP1 gene. Not over cocktails with a handsome stranger. You passionately educate your patients on heart disease, but Miguel has been working on a permanent reversal, along with other things he does not go into specifics about at the table. It only adds to your curiosity.
“Don’t tell anyone,” he cautions. “My personal project hasn’t been authorized, so no one can know. Somehow, I feel that I can trust you?”
“My lips are sealed.” You raise your hand in an oath that seems to satisfy him. He checks his watch. 
“Damn. My lunch break is ending.” Reluctantly raising, he smooths his shiny hair back and brings out his phone. “I rarely get the chance to talk to anyone like this. Hope I'm not being too forward in asking for your number."
“Oh, Miguel. We’re not strangers,” you smirk, putting your number in quickly.
“I’ll call you,” he salutes with two fingers.
You watch him leave and nurse your drink, continuing your peaceful sit. That was a long conversation, likely the bulk of his lunch break. Even if no one else approaches you, coming to the Kissinger has paid off.
Just as the thought crosses your mind, another drink comes to you. You can't possibly drink another, you think cheekily, but you will! You look where the waitress does. There's a slightly older white guy a few feet away. He's moderately attractive and well dressed. You raise your glass in thanks, but he doesn't come over. He simply wanted to send you a drink.
You smile and take a sip in thanks. You may need a safety ride after this, but you can definitely foresee yourself returning to this bar.
@dashhoney25 @lettidarawest @soufcakmistress @ljstraightnochaser @princessstevens-blog @eye-raq @thiccdaddy-mbaku @destinio1 @iamrheaspeaks @hidden-treasures21 @bidibidibombaclaat @forbeautyandlife @blowmymbackout @misspooh @thotyana-in-this-hoe @purplehairgawdess @thegucciwaffle @goddessofthundathighs @theegoldenchild @thadelightfulone @sultanabby @mysticalblackhottie @baekhyunbabybunni @fd-writes @richonne4life @tgigoldie @thehomierobbstark @capswife @blackpinup22 @harleycativy @lishabaybee @playgurlxoxo
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theegoldenchild · 8 months
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Syd: "I just need your focus like you need mine. I don't wanna share it I'm sorry."
Carmy: "You deserve my full focus, and I'm sorry. My attention shouldn't be split. It shouldn't have to be shared. I understand."
Syd: "You could do this without me."
Carmy: "I couldn't do this without you. I wouldn't even want to do it without you. You make me better at this."
Syd: "You make me better at this."
Syd: "And what if I just like... completely melt. Like I just fuck up and fail.
Carmy: "I won't let you." "You're not alone, Syd."
Syd: "Neither are you."
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theegoldenchild · 8 months
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😭😭😭 Alright go ahead and put all writing tools on the counter and step away lmaoooooooooooooo 🤭🤭🏃🏾‍♀️🏃🏾‍♀️🏃🏾‍♀️
Hey👋🏽 could you possible write a story about psycho Erik with some smut plz!😁
You didn't specify how crazy
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When you first see black Hercules outside on the median between two-way traffic, he's sitting out in a lawn chair shirtless, sweaty, scarred, and shoe-less. His feet are covered in dust. His 4C locs are free-formed and of various sizes, some barely hanging on. Even still, those ABS! Those ARMS! That FACE! You can fix him. Even if you can't, you just need one hour alone.
"What's your name," you ask, approaching him with a bag of McDonald's and a large drink.
"I can't tell you that. I'm being watched and if I give you that information, I could lose my job. I work in the FBI."
His body is glistening. Your eyes widen.
"You're undercover?"
You almost feel a need to pour the drink over your head. His hair is crawling down his forehead, his beard uneven with naps and gaps. Even still!
"The reptilians have infiltrated our government. They're taking away our rights and bringing a war and they want us all dead! We have to rebel! BREAK FROM THE SYSTEM!"
"Oh," you smile, slightly afraid for your life. "Okay! Well.. Do they.. Can you go places with women? Maybe in the AC?"
He looks skeptical, but follows you when you link your arm in his and guide him to your car. He smells like 10 years of bounce that ass but you have a once worn shirt for him in the backseat and you were gonna have your car detailed anyway.
"So, tell me about yourself," you glance at him as you pull across the street to the rinky-dink Subway.
"Telling you is a liability! They can be anyone. They shapeshift into any form."
He sounds like an action hero.
"I won't tell. We could reproduce and start an army of our own," you smile. He looks at you like he's considering it. You're considering some unhinged behavior considering he's literally not sane.
"We have to eat to maintain our strength for this mission," you wave for him to follow you into the rinky-dink Subway. The floors are sticky. Last time you entered a Subway, you were still a kid.
He stands behind you, eyes darting suspiciously. You pull on his arm and hang onto him, ordering for the two of you. The smell isn't as bad when you're not hotboxed in your car.
"Now," he mutters.
You look up in question.
"They're all reptilians," he whispers. "We have to kill them. Now. We have to kill them." There's a knife in his pocket.
"Nonononono," you panic, holding onto him for new reasons. "You- What if- What if the reptilians knew you'd come and tried to trick you?"
"No. The eyes. Look at their eyes."
He charges the lady behind the register in a terrifying flash. Luckily, she's not hurt. They fight him off with a broom and a mop from across the counter.
"KILL THEM," he yells as if he's holding them back. The few customers in the Subway leave quickly while they have a chance.
He's ferocious and unhinged. He's knocked over the chip display. He punches the glass display, shattering it in one punch. You pull him arm as he has a shard to a man's neck. They don't get paid enough for this.
"It's two against three! They have powers and we're just human. We need to work on our army and we'll come back, I promise!"
"Army... THAT'S RIGHT. WE'RE BUILDING AN ARMY," he announces threateningly with a slap on your ass. "I'LL COME BACK AND WIPE YOU ALL OUT."
A 6'2 buff black man threatening a skinny gay black man and two black women. What have you gotten yourself into out of thirst? He turns to you suddenly.
"Let's ride."
Relieved, you turn to leave, but he looks confused.
"No! Ride this!"
His face is serious as his dirty basketball shorts fall to his ankles. It's huge but stale and cheesy. You're gonna get a yeast infection messing with him.
"Show them you mean business," he growls, eyes wild.
Fuck it. You've had a UTI once, you didn't die. You jump into his arms and let him curl you like a dumbbell. You can taste the tartar in his mouth, but all these things can be fixed. All he needs is a shower, some toothpaste, and medication.
Dick hits different when sanity ain't in the picture. He's got your clothes twisted and half pulled away. Your bra strap is somehow between your boobs. Your jeans are under your butt, panties up with a hand-ripped hole in the crotch.
He's got no regard for your cervix or the way your limbs bend naturally, he's pulling and bending you and pushing and you're running, Your back lands on the counter and slides as you back away from his length. He's slamming it. You slide back, your ass in the Lettuce, your hand in the tuna mush. The employees are appalled.
They keep asking: "Where are the damn police!!!"
You're saving their lives. He grips your hip as you're slipping into the olives. You yell, beating his hand feeling like he's truly trying to rearrange organs.
"DON'T SURRENDER," he yells. You call him He since you don't know his name.
"I'M NOT," you wince feeling his seed release.
"AUGGGGH!"
He cums loudly. It looks like mayonnaise but you're not in the mayonnaise. You need a Plan B. This shit went too far. He sticks his dick back in and keeps thrusting as you look helplessly in apology at the staff.
Seconds later the police enter and forcibly separate you. It takes four to subdue him and you feel like a traitor the way he yells for you to help him. Both of you are being escorted out.
"I'M GONNA EAT YOUR HEART YOU BITCH! YOU KILLED ME! YOU KILLED US ALL!"
You keep your head down as you're read your rights. You're booked and then you're alone without him. He's been checked into psychiatric care, but you have committed a class one misdemeanor that gets you a year in jail. Fortunately, you're reased in 90 days. Someone paid your bail.
When you process out, you're surprised to see a stranger waiting for you to enter their vehicle. Despite not knowing them, you do.
"Hey," you say casually from the passenger seat. "Sooo.."
"Shh. They're listening. We need to meet up with Erik and get out of the country. He's waiting for you in Mexico."
"I'm sorry, who?"
"The guardian of our world. You're carrying the next generation are you not?"
You blink, wondering why you got in the car. You're only a couple blocks away from the jail.
"Actually, can you let me out? I have to pee."
He unlocks the door and you run back to the jail, finding a guard on entry. You gulp, anxious to be back and now paranoid. You're done with bad decisions. You don't care how fine the nigga.
"Can you explain to me the process of getting a restraining order?"
"You'd have to visit the police station."
"Um... Okay. Do you mind if I use a phone to call a ride?"
"HEY," the guy from the car yells suddenly from outside. You tuck your head and plead with your eyes to the guard. He lets you sit there.
A month later, you're driving to your new job. You haven't had another incident and you haven't seen Erik, thankfully. You're also not pregnant which is even better. That UTI in jail was nasty.
You see a cute black guy on the side of the road panhandling. He has a cardboard sign that mentions needing money for medical care and walks toward your vehicle since you're at the red-light. Instantly you run it. That's another fine, but you'll pay it.
The End
@dashhoney25 @lettidarawest @soufcakmistress @ljstraightnochaser @princessstevens-blog @eye-raq @thiccdaddy-mbaku @destinio1 @iamrheaspeaks @hidden-treasures21 @bidibidibombaclaat @forbeautyandlife @blowmymbackout @misspooh @thotyana-in-this-hoe @purplehairgawdess @thegucciwaffle @goddessofthundathighs @theegoldenchild @thadelightfulone @sultanabby @mysticalblackhottie @baekhyunbabybunni @fd-writes @richonne4life @tgigoldie @thehomierobbstark @capswife @blackpinup22 @harleycativy @lishabaybee @playgurlxoxo
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theegoldenchild · 9 months
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I… ma’am… I… 😭😭🏃🏾‍♀️🏃🏾‍♀️😩😩😩😩 no words… no words at all-
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Imagine Prt 5
Was this all a dream?
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“Wake up.”
Keep reading
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theegoldenchild · 9 months
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Just for that punishment I would’ve went out for 4 days and 5 nights with no communication
😭🏃🏾‍♀️
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Hey girl!!
I was wondering if you could write a fic where Bakari or Erik is mad at reader for coming home late and he punishes her?
A/N: I choose Bakari. He's not as crazy and he's logical with you. This is a quick little "what would he do"
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11:58 PM. A call comes through your phone. He answers it. "She's not back yet. I'll let you know."
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Home Late
It's been a hot and muggy night made hotter by the liquor and the dancing. You were already tipsy at the start of the weekend, but eight margaritas later, you're stumbling through the front door and fondling the wall for the light.
Dropping your keys, your purse, your shoes, and your wig all at once to beeline to the kitchen for the Honey Nut Cheerios. You shovel handfuls into your mouth and leave the box on the counter so you can unzip the side of your gold dress. The tag is still on it but tucked in. You leave it hanging as you dance your way to turn off the living room TV.
"HeGh," you jump, knees buckling until your brain recognizes the silhouette on the sofa. "Shit. WARN SOMEBODY. Why are you sitting in the dark?"
"At least now I know you haven't been kidnapped or murdered... Just irresponsible." Bakari sighs.
Listen up, grandpa. You almost roll your eyes. What's wrong with a little fun from time to time.
"Don't be mad, babe. I was just out having some fun."
"Where you been?"
"I told you. I was going out with some friends."
"Which friends?"
Aww, him mad. You turn on the lights so you can view him normally. He looks like a serial killer sitting in the darkness.
"You don't know them. I met them through Laura... You hate Laura, I know." You beat him to it.
"What's my rule for you?"
"Babe. I would've contacted you, but my phone died. I put it on the charger yyeeesterdayy?"
It's in his hand now. Your eyes widen.
"I thought I had it on me and wondered why it'd been quiet!"
You completely forgot it somehow, and you haven't been back home until now. You bite your nail.
"You've been MIA for 2 days."
"I- It didn't feel like 2 days," you shrug, confused and too drunk to really think.
"You didn't notice that night came twice?" His face doesn't change, but you can feel that he's a mad little puppy right now.
"I did!" You sigh, pacing. You scratch at your cornrows. "I just - I was drunk! I wasn't - "
"What were you doing for two days that made you forget?"
"I was out doing random shit, drinking, and I didn't think," you shrug. "We were bar hopping, then Nyasha said she knew this club we could slide through, but it got craaaazy, so I left with Kenya and Molly. We went to Burger King and then ended up at the beach. I lost track of time... You really mad at me?"
You pout. It works sometimes.
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As his monogamous partner and submissive of five years, you know the rules. If you go out for an extended period, do your due diligence and communicate. Why does he need to keep reminding you?
"This is the third time."
There shouldn't have been a second time, but being told twice is unacceptable. A punishment is in order, but first, you need to understand exactly why.
"Don't be insekerr babe," you smile.
You bend to his eye level, falling over. Drunk and sloppy. It's not attractive and you're better than this. This behavior in public is embarrassing, but at home, it's... That's a discussion to have when you're sober.
You pick yourself back up, planting your hands on his knees for leverage, still in your good mood from a good time.
"You know I don't be out here with nobody," you double down. "You can ask anyone-"
"It's not insecurity. It's concern. I like to know where you are for safety. If you don't like that, this isn't gonna work. Not responding to my calls for days at a time, that's a problem for me."
You smile in attempt to lighten his mood. Despite your sloppy looks and demeanor, you're still cute, but he’s not amused. Three times is too much. You're getting punished.
"I forgooot," you pout adorably, triggering Daddy mode. "It definitely won't happen again."
"Oh, I know. Now you need to make it up to me."
Your head tilts. "How I'm a do that?"
He gestures for you to come, sit on his lap so he can touch you and look at you up close. Absently, he strokes your back. Your makeup looks good, though you're sweaty and your breath smells like tropical fruit. How many drinks have you had? Your arms wrap his neck as you press your warm cheek against his, tryna get a snuggle in.
"Look at me." He tilts his head back slightly though you have his neck trapped in a hold. "I want you to tell me how much you missed me while you were out clubbing."
You sputter, not in your clear mind. "Well, to be honest, I was having too much fun. But I miss you now!"
Fair enough.
"I'm sorry I didn't respond," you mutter. "I was okay, but you know me! I'm forgetful! At least I didn't drive."
"I know you were having fun, but you still need to communicate with me. I don't do that MIA shit."
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You bite your fingernail with a small blossoming smile. You love it when he's firm. It's so attractive. You hold his face in your hands and play with his beard. Patchy or not, it's yours. He's yours. He hugs you tightly, tilting his head back to kiss you fully.
"Mmm. Well, I definitely missed that. I missed these dimples of yours, too." You squeeze his cheeks. "You're so cute!"
"Wait. You missed my dimples?"
Pulling you in, he kisses your neck and bites your shoulder. You grab his chin in your hand and kiss him once more, grinning against his lips.
"Annnnd I really miss the way you're so forgiving."
"Oh really."
He smirks as you nod, your lips still against his.
"I didn't know forgiving could be so sexy. I do forgive you because I love and care about you... That's also why I have to punish you."
You gasp. You forgot all about punishments. You just want to cuddle and love. You rub your face against his cheek once more.
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For your own good, he picks you up and carries you into your separate bathroom where he runs you a warm bath. Since you're drunk, he helps you with your dress, noticing the tag on your dress and ripping it off. $218. He's frugal, yes, but it's just a dress. You don't need to return it.
"Lean on me."
He accompanies you and helps you into the water slowly. Then he takes the soapy washcloth in his hands to wash you. It's a good excuse to rub and squeeze under the pretense of getting you clean. You're getting turned on, too, as he soaps your breasts, making them glisten. From your neck and chest to your stomach, he moves in a steady circular motion. He moves to your back. Your eyes are closed.
"It feel good?"
"Mhm," you hum, smiling up for another kiss. You're getting greedy, but that's what he's for, and he does love to kiss.
Next is your legs. He gestures for your foot to rest against his chest as he cleans your legs and feet one at a time. You shift in the tub, biting your lip.
"Let me help you up."
That way, it's easier to get to the intimate parts of you that need extra attention. He cleans you long enough to be thorough and once more because of how much you like it. Then he rinses you, helping you from the tub to dry you off.
As you head to your bed, he drains the tub and meets you with a large bottle of Jergens to massage into your skin from head to toe. You rub on his arms in the meantime. You even get impatient enough to reach up and pull him down flat over top of you. He chuckles, rubbing his nose into your clean neck and sucking gently.
"Let me finish," he whispers, sitting up quickly.
He works efficiently, massaging every inch, but glossing over your mound and its little landing strip. You sigh loudly, and he smirks once more, entertained.
"Patience."
You need kisses. He delivers wet kisses to your full nudity, peppering around your areolas and down your stomach to your mound. You rub on his head and part your thighs as he gives kisses to your outer lips and inner thighs. You smell good, and when he strokes your opening with a finger, it's coated. He puts it in, and you accept it eagerly. He adds a second finger and works up to a third as you squeeze his fingers.
"You so wet and squeezing my fingers. You tryna cum so soon?"
You moan, grinding down on his fingers and pulsating. You're on that edge, used to him letting to cross it multiple times. This time, however, he pulls out, rubbing your juices on your outer lips. You groan in protest.
"Look at me," he instructs, waiting for your eye contact. "For four days, I won't be touching you."
Again, you gasp, unhappy with your punishment. You want your head, but you won't get it.
"No sex, no head, no hugging, no kisses. Starting now, we're no touch. You can't touch me at all or that's one more hour I'm adding for every touch."
"That's not fair, you know my love language is touch."
"I know... Mine is communication."
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When you wake up in the morning to head to your job, Bakari isn't there. His schedule is a little more hectic, which is why you typically treasure your time together. You reach out to him at the end of your work day, and he responds despite being busy. You tell him that you miss him.
When you see him again, it's the next day, but he's responded to every message no matter the hour. You'd say it's to prove a point if it weren't his typical behavior. Responsible Daddy Bakari. That's why you go so well together.
You send him nudes through the week. He's responsive to them, but when you're together, he still won't touch you. You tested his resolve by touching him, thinking if you could give him a hand or blow job, he might cave. You should've known better before you tried. He can be truly stubborn.
"Two hours added," he'd said. He meant it too.
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The punishment has to fit the crime. You made him worry. He couldn't reach you, and that made him consider the worse, but he can't do the same thing to you to get back. As your partner and dominant, his responsibility to you is to remain available and ready to come to you should you need him. What he can do is take away or delay your pleasure, and it's an effective technique. You don't miss a day of checking in. Every time he calls, you're picking up the first ring.
At the end of 4 days and 2 hours, he finds you in your separate bedroom asleep since it's the middle of the night. He slips into your bed and under your sheets to part your thighs and lick you awake, though you feign sleep. His long tongue alternates between flattened swipes and firm, pointed massages. His palms run over your stomach and thighs. He moves your hands from grabbing the sheets to grabbing his head to show you that the touch ban is lifted.
You cum in his mouth twice before he comes up for air.
"Baby? Now I'm serious. This was the punishment for 3 strikes," he warns. "You know I don't give 4. Next time you "forget" to contact me for days at a time or stop responding without a heads up, that's it, relationship over. That's not a dominance thing. It's out of respect."
"Okaaay," you sigh, annoyed, but he has to warn you that he means business. He's got enough stress, and you know this is something that bothers him.
"Goodnight." He kisses your temple, telling you to sleep as he pulls the covers back around you comfortably. "Tomorrow's a new day."
The End.
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theegoldenchild · 9 months
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😭😭😭 why am I in love with this gah damn psycho?!
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Erik keeping track of all the times I tried to kill him because that’s really just foreplay between us 🌝🤭
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A/N: Erik killed your husband, T'Challa, and took the throne. Y'all got beef and sexual tension. This is part 3 and the end. Smut included.
Part 1 Part 2
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In the 20 minutes on the airship, you and Killmonger don't talk. He adjusts his neck. He plays with his nails. You cross your ankles in the opposite direction.
Since what he said, it's been a week of silence on your end. You admit. It got to you, the guilt. Was what he said wrong, yes, but there was truth within it, and that truth made you feel like the worst traitor of them all.
Still, all week, he's slid paperwork under your door, and you've quietly scratched out full paragraphs, sending it back with pen-inked edits. One pleasure of being an advisor? You get to piss him off and hear him sigh through the door. It's his own fault for attaching clauses as if you won't comb through all 15 pages of his loosely worded proposals. You have the time.
"I humored your request to replace the Dora as a trade-off for your active participation today. Make me look good," he reminds you as you step off the airship into Step Town, located in the Golden City. Last you were here was with T'Challa. This was his place to get away from the stress of the palace. Now you understand. Here, he could breathe and walk the streets. You take a breath of the fresh air though people are everywhere.
The two of you have come to do a walk-through and some small-scale mediation for morale. You take the reigns at D'Jouti's and Sampha's, speaking before Killmonger can manipulate or spread his unidentified agenda. It's a property dispute. You keep it at a property dispute. It takes a lot of skill, skill that you learned watching T'Challa manage strong personalities.
"Killmonger," you gesture, bringing him in finally. If the men want to meet the 'new king' so badly, that's their prerogative.
"Ndingu Yaba N'Jadaka." Sternly, he shakes their hands and looks them in the eye as if he truly cares for them. If you didn't know better, you'd believe it. Fortunately, you do know better. "Let me know how I can help you in the future."
They nod eagerly, easily enamored.
"Why wait, why not now," you challenge.
Killmonger's brow arches so quickly that they miss it. It's his own fault for being disingenuous. While they voice their thoughts, and every gripe that's been eating them since T'Chaka, you abandon him. Serves him right.
Step Town is the cultural and economic hub. The variety here is more than you'll get anywhere else nearby, perfect for shopping. You comb through colorful beaded jewelry, picking up a deep green stone necklace. You have fabric this color.
"About you behaving on this trip?"
You sigh, ignoring the evil immigrant as he comes up behind you. Instead of engaging, you pay for the necklace with a smile at the young saleswoman. She made it herself.
"Thank you," she smiles back.
"No, thank you. It's beautiful!"
He waits until you walk away from her stand to address you alone, gripping your wrist when you start to walk away from him. You shoot him a sharp look and feel his fingers slip away.
"If you won't behave out here, neither will I. You've been warned."
"You wanted them to get on their knees and worship you like a God for appearing to them. I simply skipped past the bullshit. If you're going to be King, be King, but the nonsense has to end."
A lustful wickedness flares in his eyes.
"Not interested. Move on."
"I've got your clearance to be King."
"That's not at all what I said."
"Same thing." His eyes shine as he looks out on the marketplace with new interest.
"It's not at all," you sigh. "I'm telling you. Don't disgrace my country or disturb the peace we've built."
"Maybe it needs to be disturbed." He grins at a passerby, putting on his caring act once more.
"Don't you get tired of beating a dead horse? I'm sick of you," you frown. Violence as a perpetual state? Exhausting. Who besides him would want that?
The next point in the visit for morale is Aishat's Contracting Services. Again, you dominate the interaction, purposefully cutting Killmonger off when you realize he's planting the seeds for future manipulation. He interrupts with nationalist rhetoric and fear-mongering not easily spotted in casual conversation.
"It's impressive," you interrupt his interruption. "You're able to resolve this amicably, but if I may? Hatred gives rise to violence and creates the conditions for war. Caution is a virtue of the wise."
"Yes, Queen. Wise take. Wish you'd take that mindset to heart, maybe we'd get along," he winks, cheeky in front of the contractors. You glare, a bullet already loaded in your mental chamber.
"We don't see eye to eye because, unlike you, I subscribe to civility, not senseless murder."
"See, that's contrary to what I know to be true." His head tilts as he engages his crowd. "I'm guessing your six attempts on my life don't equate. You know what it does equate to? Treason. But you know the penalty for that. I don't have to quote Wakandan law to you."
The thinly veiled threat of exile surprises the people. It's good. They need to see his nature.
"I'd hardly call it that. You did insult the past kings, including my late husband," you turn, completely throwing him under the bus.
"We fornicated in the bed you and he shared. His spot is still warm, in fact. Is that not also insulting the late King, or am I mistaken?"
Eyes are wide and judging.
"Do you really want to do this, my Queen?"
"How dare you spew such vile lies!"
You muster the calm to keep the overwhelming shame at bay well enough to conceal. Meanwhile, he continues the professional conversation. Too much denial makes you look guilty, so you don't continue, but you now see firsthand how people believe him.
Your head remains high as he follows you. Putting your feelings aside, you smile to others as you're offered free food. You insist on purchasing the roasted corn and pears as they are inexpensive and delicious.
"I agreed to replace the Dora under the impression that you'd keep your end of our bargain," Killmonger mutters when no one is in listening distance, and you're boarding the airship once more.
"Oh! Did I Iie to you? Imagine that." Your nose scrunches as you take your seat. He takes his.
"It's cool, I match energy."
Sighing, you close your eyes. You can't control what these people believe anymore than you can control anything else these days.
"Now, half the city, possibly the country, will know what we did."
"And that's all you have on me."
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You're actually asleep, which is unexpected. Erik slides to the front to enjoy the colors of the sky. His father was right. Wakandan sunsets have quickly become his favorite thing.
At the palace, he prepares for another silent dinner. You sit at the opposite end of the table without provocation. The Queen being seen and not heard ain't a bad deal. It's been peaceful, something rare.
You leave the table, still shameful after eating and living life as usual, and with enough on his mind to contemplate, he retires to his own quarters. He's added his own touches at this point: black and gold, Wakandan tapestries, and a Tupac printed duvet. He's also gotten hold of the highest of Wakandan tech, some for entertainment and communication, some for more nefarious purposes.
He's in for the night, plotting because his plans for the world depend on his ability to stay three steps ahead at all times. Step one has been realized. As King, he's able to complete his father's work but with a twist. Now, he has to move strategically. After all, he will be starting a world war very soon.
Imagining the fall of Europe makes his stomach leap. It bubbles with sharp shooting pains. On second thought, he makes it to the bathroom just in time to shit his stomach out through his ass. It's still churning as if trying to self-abort him from this plane.
"AIDA!"
His body's feeling fatigued, face and neck shining from a sheen of cold sweat.
"My king," she responds from the opposite side of the door. Suddenly, he feels faint.
"Check on the Queen and report back. And get the doctor!"
"At once."
It's a good thing the palace has its own physician. Waiting in immense pain, nausea, and misery, he lifts his head when Aida knocks.
"The Queen is perfectly healthy."
That confirms it. You've finally done it.
Dr. Ebi confirms the poison, treating Erik in the infirmary with an emergency transfusion and educating him that he would NOT have died thanks to the herb, but thanks to advanced Wakandan medicine, his sickness is healed completely and in much less time.
Erik laughs from the infirmary bed, going from stress to feeling invincible. The only thing keeping him from teaching you a lesson now is exhaustion. After he sleeps... It's on.
He collapses in the medical room that's been darkened for comfort. Even this is a five-star bed and breakfast compared to combat conditions where he slept in uninhabitable places, always on high alert.
Almost immediately, he drifts off into a dreamland where his father comes to him. Suddenly, he's a little boy who's been caught rummaging through his father's belongings, but his father isn't mad. He simply holds him.
"I did it, Baba. I'm the King."
"So you are," N'Jobu smiles.
"And guess what? I can unite us again. All of our tribes around the world, we'll finally be one big tribe, just like you said."
"You've worked hard to make your dream happen. I am proud."
"Even if-" Erik wonders, now his true age. "Even if I've done bad things to get here?"
The war, the murder, the pillaging, the deceit... It all flashes in his mind like a movie.
"Does the end justify the means?"
He's only had the hope that it would, but what if he fails and it's all been in vain? That would mean he sacrificed all those lives for nothing.
N'jobu, knowing all that's occured having seen it through his eyes, raises his chin.
"Head up. You are a King, yes, but more than that you are my son, and no matter what you do, I will remain on your side always."
It's what Erik's needed to hear. If his father's the only one to believe in him, it's enough.
Erik bolts upright in the darkened room, still half-in a dream. He's heard noise when he should be alone. He lies back down, wiping his eyes and waiting, in kill mode for the next hour until the threat lurking in shadow is revealed and edging silently toward him. The feminine physique gives nothing away, considering he's surrounded every day by deadly women, each of them harboring a motive.
"UH!" You grunt, giving away your identity when he knees you in the gut.
"The fuck?"
Flipping on the beside lamp, he can see you completely, crumbled over the bed with a bigass machete in your hand.
"You got something against me sleeping? Give me damn the machete before you hurt yourself."
You take your swings instead, chasing him across his infirmary bed where he sweeps your legs and pins you by the chest in a simple and painless hold.
"You ain't on that level, Queen. Play with someone safe."
He moves his head from the path of your slow fists. You cry out as he captures your wrist, squeezing until the machete falls to the bed. He puts it to your throat.
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"Neither are you," you smirk, meeting his eyes proudly. "I ALMOST TOOK YOU OFF THIS EARTH! I'll do it again, and again, and AGAIN..."
Despite the machete at your neck, there's no fear. You both know he won't do it.
"You'll never know peace," you continue. "I'll KEEP trying and one day? Very soon. It WILL work because you're weak."
That last word gets to him despite his best effort not to react. You're about to have a field day with this word now that you know it's a trigger.
"The confidence you must have to talk shit in a vulnerable position..."
He almost sounds bored, but you know better.
"You won't kill me. First of all, you're too weak. Second, you NEED me. Without me, you're a tyrant, and it's hard to gain the backing of a nation when you're an enemy of the people."
"It's not that hard actually," he mutters. "You wanna know why I REALLY keep you around? Who ELSE would put up with the woe is me shit? Every day, full of guilt and mad at the world. I didn't even LIKE that nigga, but you're right to be mad. That's why I'm the only one who gets you."
"Oh shuut uuup," you sigh, taking advantage of the monologue to pull a little knife you stole from the kitchen and plug it into his stomach.
"SHIT!" His face scrunches.
You push harder, tired of his manipulation. He's already showed his true colors. You won't believe in him again.
"You gone cut yourself," he winces, the machete still at your throat. "Trying to hurt me, you gone fuck around slit your own throat by mistake."
"I don't care, if it'll shut you up."
Even if it does cut, you won't die. You lean into the machete to his surprise and twist the small blade into his gut. He staggers back, but not before you get sliced pretty good in the process.
"I ain't ever warned one person this many times," his brows knit in frustration. You can see the pain in his eyes.
"It feels good to cause you pain," you stare, not wanting to miss a second.
His eyes narrow briefly as he holds his breath to pull the bloodied blade from his stomach. "Ugh, fuck," he winces. "You REALLY think you doing something, too. That's the painful part."
Dropping the knives on the floor, he kicks both away toward the door.
"I see. I'm a have to teach you a few things."
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You want him so bad that you can't sleep or think straight. It's clear to him. Is it clear to you?
Erik climbs to his feet and shoves you back for a moment to breathe. Your eyes are still trained on him like you're not done. It's not only rage at him. It's toward yourself.
Blood's dripping down your neck, but you don't feel it due to the adrenaline in your body. Seems he's underestimated your ability to handle rough play.
"You need stitches."
You come at him again, and reflexively, he flings you back, which fuels your homicidal vengeance-seeking. You'll never break if he keeps dodging or pushing you back. That much is now clear.
Fuck it, he decides, looking into your rage-filled eyes. He'll give you a win just this once and if your psycho ass wants blood?
Let there be blood.
Your responding smile is contemptuous. Your eyes only flash to the knives for a millisecond, but it's done with the intention of tricking him. You want him to think you'll go for them like you went for that glass in your bedroom. That means he has to actually dive for it to give you a shot.
"How about a visual demonstration," you grin widely. "Of your death!"
As you speak, you fake and use his dive response to knee him across the face, right in his golden tooth.
"I've been hit harder during basic training," he admits, watching you seethe. "Try again."
Flinging yourself in a blind rage, you rain down every hit, every elbow blow, and every kick to his ribs, groin, throat, and everything else you can reach. He grunts, bearing it and eating every hit while remaining on his feet, even when he feels like buckling. You don't seem to realize he isn't blocking.
"Now tell me how weak I am."
"YOU'RE WEAK," you growl, swinging fists, feral with rage.
"I feel it," he growls, tensing his abs and gritting his teeth while you punch the same place you just stabbed. "That hate brewing deep for me every time you swing. When you look at me," he pauses, wondering if you've figured it out. "More."
You keep hitting that same spot. It hurts, but it ain't enough, and it won't be enough until you find some strength to hit harder.
"These princess ass punches. Reminds me of my cousin, slumped in the river like some Sleeping Beauty."
"BASTARD."
You shove him back, smashing his face as you drive your knuckles into his jaw. You were aiming for his nose, but he made a mistake and turned on reflex.
"That's it? You hit like the pillow princess you are. Maybe yo nigga dived on purpose, bored of that stiff ass pussy."
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You put every ounce in your body into punching through dense muscle and bone, spurred on by his heavy grunts, and he finally bleeds from the inside of his mouth, giving you a feeling of catharsis. You need more.
"I'm all you got now," he groans, shaking his head. "You gone learn. You're Queen because I allow it! You're beholden to ME!"
He hasn't been blocking. GOOD. He needs his ass beat. You've been beating it nonstop.
"I'm Queen because I married a REAL King," you pant, your head back as you grab your hips to catch your breath. "I will REMAIN Queen when I send you to answer to Kings past!"
"Shit, I'm not worried. You can't even break a simple hold." He spits the blood. "Killing me? Impossible."
"You can ramble to your heart's content as they kick your ass across the ancestral plane."
He snorts.
"So kill me then! Whatever the fuck you think you bout to do. DO IT NOW."
The adrenaline coursing makes you feel that you can break through his body if you channel all your hate and pent-up rage, all your grief, all your stress.
"MORE," he barks, his eyes deranged and begging for your worst.
Blood drips from his mouth. He spits again like it's nothing, wiping his chin.
"THAT'S IT? THAT'S ALL YOU GOT?"
You give it and then some, putting him on his knees and audibly cracking him across the jaw. He licks his lips, puckering in a quick kiss.
You're winded. Your hands are bruised and bleeding. The adrenaline is wearing off, and your whole body is stressed.
"I KNOW you ain't tired! You gone KILL me right? I'M RIGHT HERE!" Arms out on his knees, he challenges. "KILL ME."
Your eyes go to the machete he's dropped on the floor, and he reads your mind, smirking. You scramble for the machete as he gets up.
"C'MON!"
Slashing through his bare chest twice in a narrow X, you back him up a bit. He's circling you like an animal trying to find a weak entry point. You keep your eyes trained on his.
Swinging another three times, he dodges like you're both in a boxing ring. You swing again, slashing across his stomach. Instead of backing up, he's walks into it, purposefully cutting his hand in the process of prying the machete from yours for the second time in a night.
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"I'll say it again, sweetheart," he squints. "I'm not going anywhere, no time soon. AND... I'm all you have at this point in time."
The machete spins in his cut hand as his tongue rests on his canine, tasting blood.
"Then I have nothing, but I'll gain much through your death."
You throw another jab, but he catches it and redirects you to the floor, having gone far enough to prove his point to you.
"My turn."
He knows your efforts are hopeless, but you gotta know it.
"What are YOU gonna do?" You glare up at him, cocky and stubborn. "I'll only keep coming," you rant. You continue until he bends and delivers a long and slow shallow cut across your thigh through your black pants.
"Hm." He licks at the blood on the machete, intrigued. "You look disgusted... I can be real disgusting. Shall I show you?"
"AIDA," you yell. That fear is what he wanted. More adrenaline coursing through your body.
"Something about having you trapped with a knife in my hand and you at my mercy," he smirks, "It does it for me... You look terrified."
"AI-," you stop mid-word as the blade starts to press into your skin, drawing more droplets to the surface..
"Aida ain't coming for you. Nobody coming for you... What? You thought it was your idea to replace the Dora? Nah, Queen."
He only told you that to make you comply. He'd always planned to replace and eventually get rid of them completely.
"You lost to me the second you decided to survive. Slowly, I'll CONTINUE to replace everyone who ever THOUGHT of being loyal to you. You gone learn. I'M all you got and if I gotta carve you up to teach you that, I will."
As he expected, you run to the door, trying the handle, pulling, banging, trying to escape.
"I told you. They don't answer to you."
Poor lil girl, trapped with the big bad man. What will you do?
You run, staying on the edge of the room, your frightened eyes on the machete slicing through air in his grasp.
"You've run as far as you can go. Now yield... Or don't," he shrugs. "It's fun for me either way."
Slashing the machete through the air, an evil giddiness erupts from him as you hole up in a corner like a rat caged.
"Call me weak."
You're silent.
"Say it."
Trailing his fingers over the sharp blade, he waits for the word that will be his green light.
"Say it," he dares once more. "I want nothing more in this moment than to fuck you raw in a puddle of blood with you covered in my cum and me by that sweet, sweet honey. Come to me," he stops, a mere six feet from you. "I won't kill you. I swear. Just rough you up a bit."
You stare from your fearful ball, bewildered and in shock.
"No? You want me to come get you?"
That thought terrifies you more.
He tosses the machete now that you see your position.
"I can do anything to you at this moment. Take anything I desire, and no one will help you. Just like no one helped me. Just like no one helped T'Challa. When will you see I'm all you got in this world? I'm not your enemy."
Confused, you don't move. He takes a step back and waits, extending his hand once you see he doesn't plan to move.
"Truce?"
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You hesitate at you're at wit's end with his manipulations and your conflicting impulses. Emotionally and psychologically, you're adrift from any stable point of being.
You take his hand.
He guides you forward, but you aren't processing. You've stopped minutes ago.
"I can't," you cry, hitting him as he stands there, taking it. "You killed T'Challa. I can't feel anything but hate for the man who murdered my husband!"
"Look, LOOK." He captures your flailing arms holding them tightly at your sides. "Listen. I sincerely mean it when I say FUCK your husband. Fuck your guilt! He's gone! You're here!"
"You INSUFFERABLE, VULGAR-"
"Stop, I'm not done. I can make the confusion stop. I can make you stop thinking. I can make you turn it all off, all of it if you say one word," he whispers, seeking a deal in trade for your soul.
"You've been disrespectful from the start, not saying my name even once. I wanna hear you say it."
"Killmonger. That's what you are, no more than a U.S. tool."
"Nope. Try again."
"Orphan. Go to hell."
He takes a deep sigh.
"That's not my name, sweetheart."
His voice is sultry, his grip strong on your arms as if it's holding the shattered peices together.
"Mm," you hum, looking away. You can't let your mind go there. You felt the same way on the airship just looking at him. It's shameful.
"Look at me," he releases your arms to hold your chin up, forcing eye contact. His touch immediately softens. "One word."
"No," you whisper. Before you can stop yourself, your fingers dig into his locks. Your lips are pressed against his. Your nails claw his scalp, sliding gently down his beard, his broad neck and shoulders, his large muscled arms, his scarred and textured chest. Your breathing is erratic as you moan with desperation.
Wordlessly, he lifts you and lays you back on the infirmary bed. Never breaking your kiss, he climbs on top and knees your legs apart, leaning between, his dick print pressed against your thigh. Your frantic hands roam and grasp at his perfectly built body, warm and weighted like a blanket, while his erection grows and grinds subtly on your hip.
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That familiar clean scent of shea butter radiates from your smooth and supple skin mixed with the metallic air of sweat and blood. His own blood is smearing onto your body, and yours is concentrated at your neck.
Like the machete, the tip of his tongue fondles your collarbone, tasting blood from your skin. It's followed by a gentle suck.
You quickly remove your black shirt, pulling him back in, and his lips trail the bare skin of your breast over your bra cup. His wandering fingers slide under your pants and over your thin panties, feeling the moist heat seal an outline of your lips.
"Show me how wet you can get."
He nibbles your jaw, your breathing and the heartbeat against his hand doing all the communicating.
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The breath on your neck combines with the brush of his beard and travels through the cells of your skin, lighting every erogenous zone. You push at his pants and underwear, pushing it down past his perfect ass as you try to pull him so close he slides inside.
You want the dick. You want the dick. You need the dick.
"Say my name."
Your back lifts off the bed as your hips grind independently of you. Your body craves every touch and trembles needily at pleasure.
"I really do hate you to my core... N'Jadaka."
He bites your shoulder. You bite your lip, lifting your hips for him to take your pants and your panties at once, your eyes on his.
"You sure?"
He slides in before you answer, licking his lips when you gasp and clutch his ass, pulling him deeper. You can take it and you need it. Taking your cue, he raises your calves and pushes your knees back, getting deeper. Short, slow strokes with the dick deep inside, pushing you back. You hold onto your knees as you look down, trying to see. You missed this dick. Every 4 or 5 strokes, he'll go long and push it back in, letting you feel every delicious inch.
"Say my name."
"N'Jadaka," your face scrunches, matching the pulsation that you're unintentionally doing on his shaft. You grip him on purpose this time, finding a squeeze and release method to match his speed. He's lost in it, moving like he's possessed, his eyes rolling. He keeps going.
"Fuck," you mutter, concentrating on your orgasm thats building.
"I feel you. I feel you, let go."
He doesn't have to tell you, you hold onto him as you cum, not wanting him to stop. He doesn't.
"Ooh, Erik," you moan, clawing his back. "Ooh.. ooh.. right there, don't stop."
Your legs shake as he pulls out slowly to just the tip and pushes all the way back in just as you cum. Your legs lock around his hips, your body is trembling.
He waits for your legs to release just a bit.
Eventually, he pulls back again, leaving an inch inside of you as he brings your ass closer and holds your legs up by the ankles. You moan and whimper, taking every bit of his sweet assault, your legs now against his shoulders.
Coming once more, you find yourself on top, riding fast with both hands fisting his locs. You grind forward in small circles, feeling his hands assist by lifting you when you move.
"Watch out," he warns, lifting you completely off as he cums, cream spurting on the infirmary bed. You grab his dick and stroke until it spits again.
"No," he shuts you down when you try to put it back inside of you, cum-coated and all. "Sit on my face instead."
You do without pause, grinding the same as you would on his dick with his slick tongue reaching and flicking strategically. He grips your ass, spreading your lips more in the process and sucks on your clit gently, alternating with licks until you come again and sigh, falling to the bed and rolling off of his face.
"Mm," you moan, feeling satiated. You lay on your side with your back against his side.
He rubs slow, wide, firm circles from your lower back to your shoulders and the base of your neck. As good as it feels, you still haven't processed half of what's happened. The whole moment seems surreal, like you weren't even thinking. You were moving solely on instinct.
You still hate him. That hasn't changed, but the sex...
"UH," you exhale. "I'll probably regret this in the morning. You'll use it against me somehow, and I won't be able to look at the Dora when I- Hm."
You wrap your fingers over his thicker ones briefly as he grasps your neck, pulling your head back close enough for him to whisper, "Shut up," in your ear. "You talk too much... I'm a use it, but damn. You'll survive. It's what we do."
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theegoldenchild · 9 months
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Sending you love right back 💜💜💜💜
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Love train 🚂💖💖💖! Send this to all the blogs you love! Don’t forget to spread the love! 😊
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theegoldenchild · 9 months
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I… ma’am…
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Do I have Stockholm syndrome because…
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A/N: Erik takes over the throne after killing T'Challa. T'Challa was your husband. It's a whole thing. Go to part one because this is the sequel.
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As Killmonger talks military advancement without the help of Princess Shuri, who is MIA, your mind drifts. It's been two weeks since that incident, and you're still beating yourself up mentally. One time is an accident, but three? You went three sweaty rounds with the man who killed your husband. You feel despicable.
The worst part? Part of you is ready to do it again. He warned you against crossing a line you'd regret. Now, every time he licks his lips...
"What do you think," one of the scientists asks. You don't recall the question.
"She's a little tired from coaching me all day," Killmonger covers, gesturing to Aneka. "Would you make sure she gets somewhere to rest."
You leave with Aneka and ignore her concerned questioning.
"Are you going to ignore us forever?"
"Yes," you nod, then continue brooding as if she isn't there. Every now and then, you fall into a grief that's hard to pull yourself out of, but now you've added guilt.
"Not today, not now," your leg rocks. You tell yourself to pull it together. You have more responsibility now. You're an advisor. You need to be sharp. Get it together.
After regrouping, you're able to return and hear explanations of the new weaponry and armored suits. T'Challa used to handle this with his little sister. You were never this involved, with anything, really. You barely recognize yourself these days.
At the palace, you walk the courtyard for some air and think about T'Challa. What would he say to this new Queen? 'You're much harder on yourself than I ever was' sounds like him. You smile with sadness. You've been lonely, and loneliness will make anyone do things they typically wouldn't, like having sex with your husband's killer. You imagined T'Challa all three times and the time before that when you received oral sex. It made sense in your head, but no one would understand. No one could know.
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Watching you from an above-floor window, Erik glows in his accomplishments. You've been losing focus but ultimately falling in line. The Queen at his side brings a legitimacy to his rule that ritual combat alone does not. With you there, people move easier, more willing to comply. They see you and feel safer, more trusting of him.
At his desk, he inks out more of his plan to turn wardogs into agents who will topple their respective countries from the inside using chaos tactics as he's been taught. Blood, trickery, and deception in trade for global freedom. Wakanda will be the new Mecca.
As soon as you come back in, he can bring you up to speed and ease you gently into his real plan. Bit by bit.
Signing off, he sets it aside.
"Has the queen returned yet," he asks Ayo who mans the door. She comes inside to check, looking out the window.
"No, she is outside."
"What's she doing?"
"Just... lying on her back in the grass."
"Go get her," he nods.
"Yes, my king."
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"You sent for me?" You enter the office and your eyes zero in on the walls. Your jaw drops.
"You're quick."
Your head tilts as you try to comprehend what you're seeing and why. You close your eyes, and they open on Killmonger.
"The past kings' pho-tos are miss-ing," you say very slowly, looking at that face of pure ignorance and disregard. "Namely, my hus-band's."
That was the first spot your eyes traveled. There's no reason for him to take that specific one down. He knows how important T'Challa's presence is to you.
"Where did you put it?"
"Oh, right here. Just some redecorating."
He produces the frame, pulling it from under his desk and presenting it to you.
Your lids droop. You grasp it, suddenly just as distrustful of him as the day he showed up. You put T'Challa's photo back on the wall, making sure it hangs straight.
"What is it you want, Killmonger?"
Eyeing T'Challa's picture to ensure there are no marks or tears, you clasp your hands behind your back to listen.
"Well... Now that you're back, I can tell you all about the new plan and shoot some things your way." His pen clicks.
You turn back and take the page from him as though you're looking it over.
"Overall," he continues, "What's your predicted outcome should we pit our warship against a Navy vessel?"
Rip. Tear. You shread the page into pieces that you drop all at once.
To his raised brow, you ask again. "What do you WANT?" You feel like he's been bullshitting you these past few weeks, taking advantage of your emotional state.
"I told you. I want to run these ideas through you before I do it."
Your lips thin with tension. You're not stupid. You can feel his dishonesty. Little by little, you've been dragged into his web. T'Challa's picture being taken down makes it absolutely clear.
"You want to replace T'Challa in more than position. You want to replace him in memory."
He looks confused.
You shake your head evenly. "I won't let that happen. I told you. As long as I live, so will his legacy!"
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"Wait," Erik chuckles. He has to stand for this, surprised at your nerve. "While you iced your wounds, I talked to the scientists alone. You don't want people to think we're together? Ok. Out of respect for your marriage, I defended that. Now you accuse me of trying to erase your husband's memory?"
Your eyes don't waiver.
With a scoff, he shakes his head. His fist hits the desk in frustration.
"This is why I know you're the only one who can serve as my Queen." Chef's kiss. "Now I can stop pretending."
"I knew you were a low-down, slimy bastard and I should have killed you when the opportunity presented itself."
"May I ask, what are you gonna do NOW that you know I don't give a fuck?"
"I won't make that mistake again," your nose scrunches.
Picking up the stack of frames, he tosses them onto the desk like old junk.
"Fuck these niggas! I'M the king now," he growls, no longer pretending to care about the disgust manifesting in your deep brown eyes.
"It's over with! He's dead. He ain't fuckin coming back."
That one hurt your feelings.
He snorts and spits on the stack of frames before him, looking you in the eyes as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Now take that shit and get it out my office," he waves toward T'Challa's hanging photo, dismissing you, his back turning as he faces the window.
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You wish you could push him through, but the glass is thick. Instead, you step outside and snatch Ayo's spear from her grasp, threatening her with it so she backs down.
You march back into the office and with both hands, drive the point directly through his armor and through the center of his back. It takes you multiple thrusts, all of your energy each time. His palms are planted against the window as you attempt to nail him through it.
The few Dora in attendance finally take advantage of the moment, yelling their battle cry as they attack.
Erik's black and gold suit materializes on his body as he backhands you out of the way, down to the floor. You roll from the force, but Aneka's spear would've knocked you out in her desperate attempt for a headshot.
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Block. Block. Dodge. Attack.
Erik's strength, combined with the strength of the black panther, has him slinging Aneka and Okoye across the room like rag dolls, ultimately sending them both through a wall.
"Shake it off," Erik teases.
Wobbly, they stand and let the plaster fall.
The spear in his back is the motivation he needs. With a heavy sniff, he pulls it and calculates the Dora's incoming attacks.
Okoye's coming at his right side. Ayo, though weaponless, is coming at his left. He uses force to blow them both back, leaving Aneka to come for him head-on again. Getting behind her, he twists and drives Ayo's spear directly through her body, watching Ayo and Okoye as he does it.
"No," Ayo gasps.
"Oh yes," Erik smiles, waving her forward to be next as Aneka thuds to the ground, lifeless.
Okoye charges with tears in her eyes, a noble suicide, but you jump in with Aneka's spear.
Again, Erik knocks you out the way. Now, he has to dodge and fight.
High on adrenaline, Erik battles her spear to spear, distracting her to slice her face with his claw. In that moment, he gets the gut shot.
As an insult to injury, he rips the spear out of her body and stabs through her back when she falls.
"You standing there powerless. COME DO SOME," he looks to you. Scowling, he tosses Okoye's spear at Ayo and gets into position.
"For Wakanda," she announces, running into a quick death. He slashes her throat easily.
"YOU HAPPY?" Erik turns to you. "LOOK WHAT YOU CAUSED."
He sighs, seeing you fearful on the floor, and quickly checks his anger. Losing a few Dora is nothing in the grand scheme. Losing you would be an issue. The blood all over the room can and will be cleaned, but as for you...
"Go to your room."
"Don't talk to me like I'm some child," you stand, suddenly rediscovering your boldness.
He holds the bloody spear in his hands casually to your throat.
"I won't kill you. I will, however, knock yo ass out if you EVER... do that shit again."
You glare at him with easy eye contact, and you are definitely planning your next attempt for some time soon. The instant look of defiance is his weakness.
"You know, the more you rebel, the sweeter the reward in breaking you."
He lowers the spear from your neck and lets it clang to the ground.
"Fuck T'Challa. All this shit is mine now, including you," he points.
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Stepping over Aneka's dead body, you stand inches from him, looking up into his eyes. Your finger digs each time it taps his chest to drive your point across.
"You may have the title, Killmonger. You may have the power. You will never have the honor. You aren't half the man T'Challa was, and you'll never replace him in the hearts that matter. I swear to you... You will die by my hand, and I will dance on your unmarked grave."
"I look forward to it." He closes the distance. You can feel his erection pressing against you. Appalled, you nearly trip over Aneka to get around him, leaving the room and feeling his eyes on you.
For the next few days, you avoid Killmonger. The Dora are lesser in number. You wonder if sense will ever catch on, but don't hold your breath.
Killmonger leaves you alone until it's time to make an appearance to the Jabari. He sends for you, and when you refuse, he comes to get you.
There's no knock. He lets himself into your quarters as you're journaling in front of the vanity mirror.
"Tantrum over. It's time to go."
You ignore him and continue writing, the sunlight bright and pouring in through the large window.
"So you ain't leaving?"
You tune him out completely. Your mental and emotional state has been everywhere lately. You need some calm and stability.
He closes and locks your door, still in the bedroom.
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When you finally do look at him, Erik has passed annoyed and gone into petty. He reads over your shoulder, kissing his teeth and moving on.
"Still crying over T'Challa," he scoffs. "But fucking me. What would he think seeing his wife in that position so soon after his death?"
You're still silent, but your pen stalls. He smirks, knowing what buttons to press as he paces the vast bedroom.
"I bet he turned in his grave that night you reached for me, wanting me, pulling me closer. The man who defeated him in ritual combat and took his life. I took everything from him just like this place did to me. And you thanked me."
"Enough!"
"That pussy was wet and waiting. Wasn't it?"
"Shut up," you growl, slamming your pen against the table. "You're vulgar, and you're wrong. I wasn't thinking about you. I was missing my husband! You wouldn't understand."
"You were using me to get off," Erik nods, stopping at the window. "To ease your loneliness, thinking we're the same. We're not the same. You grew up in a cozy little castle. I grew up scraping for everything I got in Oakland. You had a silver spoon while I got mine out the mud."
"Silver spoon?" You laugh bitterly, turning to follow him with your eyes. "Don't assume you know anything about my life."
"But I do," Erik smiles wryly. "You're from the Water tribe where food is plentiful. Mommy and Daddy only had to worry about you and your sister."
"Say one thing about my family and I swear," you threaten as he plays with the pattern of the thin veil of a curtain. Hand-stitched.
"The biggest threat you've had your entire life was a lion or something local that was taken care of within a matter of days, weeks, months... You don't know the definition of grief, pain, loss, or oppression you spoiled brat," he turns back, pulling the thread.
It's sturdily made and doesn't unravel.
"That's where you're wrong," your eyes narrow, full of anger. "Thanks yo you, I now have personal experience with ALL of the above."
"I can't feel sorry for no rich kept lil girl when niggas like me who put their life on the line die every day."
You toss a glass vase of wild picked flowers that he easily dodges. It smashes on the wall, leaving flowers, glass, and water scattered. Another tantrum.
"How dare you come into my country and presume to know about me and my family when you couldn't even save your own. I heard about your mother," you smirk evilly when you see you've got your in. "People talk. Your mother died in jail. Like mother, like father, like son!"
Erik's jaw clenches, his eyes darkening as he struggles to find his restraint quickly.
"I'll do you a favor and end your miserable bloodline myself," you sneer. "Then you can reunite with your criminal mother and your treacherous father."
"You seemed to like it when I buried this criminal, treacherous dick inside of your pretty little kept warmth. 'You're a monster! You're a villain!' But my dick was inside you. I killed T'Challa with these two hands," he grins, holding them up to you.
These hands that touched you. These hands that rubbed every inch of you and held you at night when you asked.
"Oh, T'Challa, T'Challa," his head rolls, mocking you. "All that and you still coated my dick in cum. I made you taste it, just to show you. What does that say about YOU, Ms. Perfect?"
He awaits your reply with a raise of his brow.
"You stuck?"
You look away, turning back to your journal quietly.
"Uh, uh. You don't get to talk shit and back out. I want all that smoke you had."
You jump up and come at him with your pen as he laughs.
"What's that supposed to do."
You stop on his foot and jab it in the side of his neck. He chuckles, grabbing your fists and throwing you. Immediately you get up looking for something. He watches you find the big piece of broken glass on the floor.
"Don't cut yourself," he cautions, interested in your next attack. He smirks as you come up him high, but drop low.
"Aye," he jumps back. "That's my dick. I use that."
It's what you were aiming for.
"You a lil dangerous," he concedes, grabbing your hand to shake glass out. He kicks it away.
"But, baby, I'm hard to kill. Your nigga couldn't even do it. What makes you think you can?" His hand cradles the soft skin of your face though you turn away.
"You're getting used to me."
"No, Killmonger, I never will," you combat, but in the scheme of things, things are still going pretty well.
He shrugs, a smug dimpled smirk still on his face.
"Ok. Then you won't."
Erik heads to the door unbothered, unlocking it on his exit. As he walks through the corridor, he can't help but reflect on the fun he's had.
The more you fight, the more he wants to conquer you and claim you for his own.
He snickers, what you did with the glass sticking with him.
Sooner or later, just like that vase... you WILL break.
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