po3ticb3auty

[po3ticb3auty]

Run It Back 19

Characters: Roman Reigns x Charlina Davis-Ali

Warning: Language, fluff & Smut

Word Count: 2.1K

A/N: SIR....UNHAND HER!

Previous Chapter

“Unnnhhh fuck.” Charli groaned as yet another powerful orgasm washed over her, her thighs shaking once again. Joe came up for air, his mustache and beard saturated in her essence. “I can do this shit all day.” he growled, his lips kissing her inner thighs. “But then I wouldn’t be able to walk. I’m already about to walk like I’ve been at the damn rodeo.” she sighed, her hands tangled in his hair as she pulled him in for a kiss. “You ain’t even really rode this horse yet. Can’t walk? It’s cool, we stay in bed all day.” Joe laughed. “I’m starving.” Charli sighed, his hands massaging her hips. “Me too, even though I’ve been eating all morning. I’ll go get changed and meet you down in the lobby.” Joe laughed as he stretched his neck and climbed off the bed. “You are the worst. Do you know that?” Charli sighed, the room still spinning for her. “What can I say? I’m good at being bad.” He teased as he wiped his face and chest with a damp washcloth.

Saturday morning 

Joe walked into an empty house, not believing the last 48 hours. He was letting Cody finish his story. He was main eventing both nights of Mania. He had reconnected with his first love and was getting some much needed time off with the kids. Joe got back earlier than planned so he shot Jamie a text. They had just finished breakfast and were about to watch a movie. “Daddy!” Mina squealed as she ran and jumped into Joe’s arms. “You were gone for 16 days! I missed you!” She pouted as she hugged his neck. “I missed you too, Princess.” Joe smiled as Naveen ran up to hug him. “Daddy, you got bit by a vampire!” Mina spoke as she poked at a bruise on his neck. “Uce, that looks like a hick-” “A vampire tried to bite me. But I fought it off.” Joe explained to Mina as he put her down. Jon laughed as he went to tell Jamie about Joe’s neck.

“What happens in Vegas…leaves hickeys?” Jon teased. “See…what had happened was…” Joe blushed. “She gave you some, didn’t she?” Jamie asked. “…Yeah….4 times.” Joe smiled. “Oh wow. Can she walk?” Jamie teased as Joe pulled her into a hug. “She’s got stamina that’s out of this world! Got my jaw tired and shit.” Joe sighed with a smile. “You look like a whole new man. Good for y’all. What’s next?” Jamie asked. “She wants to meet them.” Joe smiled. “I mean…if she’s serious, it makes sense. Y’all are a package deal.” Jamie said. Joe sat down and told them how even Charli suggested that he seek sole custody and he even told them how Charli would dog walk Kerri if she played with their emotions. “Marry her!” Jon blurted. “I mean…he’s not wrong, but it’s far too soon for that. I say go with it for now. Let things build on their own. It’s good that she isn’t looking for a replacement for her husband and that you aren’t looking for a replacement for Kerri…not that Charli would have to try that hard. She cares about them babies, already doing better than that woman.” Jamie laughed. The last time she saw him this happy was when Mina was born.

“Heyyy big seester! How was Vegas?” Desiree laughed as she sipped her pressed juice on her way home from work. “Vegas was…productive.” Charli laughed. “Oh? How so? I saw Joe looking like a fuckin snack!” Desi laughed. “Yeah, he looked very snackish the entire time. He met Dad and Mama T. We had dinner at this nice steak spot.” Charli smiled as she threw a load of laundry in the wash. “And? Please tell me that you busted it open for The Tribal Chief! Him and Dwayne were up there all angry and smacking people. They both looked good as fuck. I would’ve pulled Joe to a dark corner and went crazy on that dick! I would’ve choked!” Desi giggled. “See…what had happened was…” “Bitch! You didn’t?! You did! Tell me some of the deets. I have to live vicariously through you since that’s about to be my new brother in law. I’m not gonna ask if it was big. Did you enjoy yourself?” Desiree laughed. “He remembered that I love carrot cake and he ordered it for me for dessert.” Charli sighed. “Not you spreading it wide and dropping it low for carrot cake! SISTER! Do better!” she cackled. “No, it was a wagyu ribeye, expensive dark liquor, him flirting with me from the moment he got to the venue and then carrot cake! He wrapped his arms around me and kept them there in front of at least 25 people. Then Dad invited him to breakfast Friday morning and we struggled to act like we hadn’t been fuckin all morning!” Charli grumbled. “All morning?!” Desiree gasped. “And the night before. Let me call you back, Derek is at the gate with my baby. I gotta start taking her with me, she gets sad and doesn’t like to eat when I’m gone. He said she’s just been cuddling with Cynthia. Drive safe. Love you, bye.” Charli laughed before she hung up.

She opened the gate and Derek came riding up the driveway followed by one of Khadeem’s many toys. ”Aww hell. I forgot about that fuckin thing. Ooh it’s sparkly.” she groaned as the shimmery black Rezvani SUV rolled up on a flatbed truck. Valkyrie jumped out of the car and ran to Charli as soon as Derek opened the door. “My girl! I missed you.” Charli smiled as she scooped the giant puppy into her arms. The dog nuzzled right into Charli’s neck. “Put that giant down! You’re as bad as Cyn. “She’s just a baby!” Hey, so I got a call about this being ready for delivery so I figured they could just bring it. I’m guessing that you forgot about this.” Derek laughed. “I definitely forgot about that man’s Rezvani. It’s a custom build hence why it took a fuckin year! Let’s go check it out!” Charli smiled as she put the dog down and closed the door. Valkyrie ran right to her food bowl, Charli had left her blueberries and shredded chicken.

“Mrs. Ali, we’d like to extend our sincerest condolences for the loss of your husband. I was under the assumption that you had been contacted about the build but there was an administrative mixup, it was a whole big thing. If you don’t want this, we will give a full refund and try to sell it.” The man spoke. “Nah, this shit is kinda cool. He designed it, I want to keep it. He definitely picked the color for me. He preferred more colorful vehicles. His Ferrari was metallic lime green. Very easy to unload in Dubai.” She laughed as she showed the man a picture of the high horsepower monstrosity that her husband loved. “Oh wow, it’s glowing.” The man laughed as he pressed a button on the key fob to open all the doors in the truck.

“I have a meeting tomorrow with my lawyer. Gotta get the ball rolling on this custody stuff. I’d like to have it done by Wrestlemania. I just want to enjoy my summer off.” Joe grumbled. “I think that’s an attainable goal. If you need a character witness, you know I got you.” Jamie said. She would have to call Charli and thank her for lighting a fire under Joe’s procrastinating ass. When he put his mind to it, he could move mountains. “Thank you. I just want to protect them from the drama.” Joe sighed. “That’s what the family will do. We got you, Uce. Don’t worry about that.” Jon said. Joe knew that his family had his back.

“I say that we load up Big Baby in the back seat and go for a ride.” Derek smiled as the man handed Charli the extra keys and a folder full of the paperwork. “Yes! Let’s ride.” Charli smiled as she went to get her wallet and Valkyrie’s leash. “Habibi, what am I supposed to do with another truck? It’s like a giant dune buggy. I wish you were here for the first ride…it’s really cool, baby. Thanks…I guess?” Charli smiled as she remembered her first trip to Dubai where Khadeem took her out on the dunes.

“Deem! This is scary!” Charli squealed as the buggy flew over the sand dunes. She clung to his arm as he drove with ease. “Don’t worry, my love. I’ll protect you. One more big one and we’ll be back at camp. Baba is making his famous chicken skewers for his future daughter-in-law.” Khadeem laughed as he went in for a kiss, remembering that they were wearing helmets. They laughed as their helmets knocked against each other. By the end of spring break, Charli was driving them around dunes and Khadeem was even more in love with her adventurous spirit. 

In true Charli fashion, she found a spot where Jeepers liked to ride in the sand. With her X5 being a pavement princess, she would normally just observe. But now, she was bouncing around enjoying life. “Wait…why this kinda fun tho?” Derek laughed as sand twirled in the air. “Exactly! I really did have the best husband.” She sighed. “I want you to find love like that again. You are a lover girl. All frilly and soft. Not that you need a man, but a man needs you in that state.” Derek smiled. As if on cue, her phone rang. A photo of Charli and a familiar face popped up on the dash. The first man to put Charli in her ‘Soft Girl’ era: Joe Anoa’i.

“Don’t say nuthin crazy, I got you connected to the car.” She warned. “Hey gorgeous. Hey Derek.” Joe smiled. “Hey man… how’d you know it was me?” Derek laughed. “You and Charli are attached at the hip like me and my cousins are. Only makes sense. What y’all doing? I wanna go too. Come get me.” Joe pouted. “You are spending the day with your babies. Next time, I got you, boo.” Charli smiled, she could feel Derek staring at her. “They fell asleep watching Jurassic Park. Jon and his wife snuck upstairs and I’m in the family room with sleeping kids.” He sighed. “And still watching Jurassic Park? Nerd.” Derek teased. “Don’t act like these Velociraptors ain’t cool as hell! Well, have fun and call me later. Bye.” Joe laughed, hanging up before the three words that had been rattling around in his brain all day found their way down to his mouth. “I love you.” He grumbled as his phone went back to the home screen.

“You didn’t!” Derek asked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dear cousin.” Charli laughed as she drove off the sand dunes and back to the main road. “You was out in Vegas fuckin on that man…weren’t you?!” He laughed, Charli smiled shyly. “That wasn’t the initial plan. I mean…maybe eventually  but not so soon. Something about me and Joe in Vegas makes for a potent mix. It’s only been a year since Khadeem and I’m starting to feel like I cheated.” Charli sighed sadly. “Cut that shit out, C. It’s never going to feel like enough time has passed. You are going to miss him until the day you die. Khadeem would want you to be cared for and loved on. Trust me, we’ve had the conversation more than once. You deserve to be loved on and cared for. And you deserve to love on and care about someone. It’s not cheating, if he’s not coming back.” Derek said, the last sentence sounding colder than he intended. “Wow, D. You really know how to take the air out of the room, don’t you?” Charli half smiled. “Sorry, it came out wrong. I do think that it’s very poetic that it’s your first love. It’s kinda cute actually. Like the type of shit wifey reads about in her Kindle books before the freaky shit starts.” Derek laughed. “Not you using E’s psychology on me. The optics are tricky. He just got out of a long term relationship. Shit...I guess I did too. I don’t want people to see us together and assume that he left his babymama for a billionaire.” Charli sighed. “If he’s taking care of his kids…does it really matter what it looks like? People are going to talk no matter what, so give them something to talk about.” Derek laughed. 

“Thanks for the pep talk, fam. I love you for that.” Charli smiled as her phone pinged. It was a text from Joe. The computer read it aloud before Charli could stop it.

“I love you.”

@wrestlingprincess80 @fearlesschimera @brie-mode-activated @sayyestoheav3nn @expert-texpert @cyberdejos2 @po3ticb3auty @sweetpeainadysfunctionalpod @chocovibesonly @alichesmi @lov3rla03 @christinabae @trippinsorrows @sassginaswanmills @becauseimswagman1 @adoreesun @jstarr86 @trippiexlove @tribalchiefreigns @purplementalitybluebird @disc0fairy @vebner37 @annyanse @acknowledge-reigns @naomi-xxi @potatosackk @deepestbluestworld

[po3ticb3auty]

What Happens In Vegas 9

A/N: thank you to my sis @mzv11 for helping me out 🤍

Warnings ⚠️‼️ Smut

Tagging: @mzv11 @alyyaanna @shanthefemalerapper @trippinsorrows @trippiexlove @yana3sworld @uceyliyahh @empressdede @playgurlxoxo @po3ticb3auty @surdelcielo @theusotwinzcom @wooahmiri @bloodlinedreams @duhitzkay380 @wrestlezaynia @adoreesun @expert-texpert @shes2real @bebesobrielo @bossbitch-25 @fearlesschimera @jennifuz @skyesthebomb @romanreignshairdresser @ourteenagetragedy @transparentphantomface @htxgabbi1 @keenagurl @jazzyboo123-blog1 @venusesworld @mindairy @sheaabuttaababyy @thekittysmeow

Josh rubbed his eyes in confusion. What did Gen mean by that? Did she know about the kiss too? Trin walked into the room almost nervously, “Hey Genny, how are you?” Did Gen know about the kiss? How could Josh tell her even after she said that it shouldn’t have happened? Gen got comfy in the lounger, she wasn’t mad at Trin, but she was mad at Josh. “Hey Trin. Hell of a match you had the other night. You killed it.” Gen smiled, her eyes cutting over to Josh. “I just woke up, let me go wash my face.” Josh spoke as he excused himself in a hurry.

Jon, Gen, & Trin all sat in an uncomfortable silence. “Jon, baby, how you been?” Trin asked, her hand rubbing his thigh. “I been good. We went to dinner last night and took Jacob around to see the sights.” Jon spoke as he removed her hand from his thigh, his eyes shooting Gen an apologetic look. Gen shook her head, one issue at a time. Josh emerged from the bathroom and flopped down on the couch. The silence grew even more uncomfortable. “Y’all getting a divorce or what?” Josh blurted as he got up to make himself a cup of coffee. His hangover made his filter paper thin. Gen muffled a laugh. “I’m trying to avoid it.” Trin smiled hopefully at Jon. “You ever gone stop playing around and marry this girl?” Jon shot back. Trin’s mouth dropped in shock. As far as she knew, the brothers were good. She was wrong. Gen looked over in Josh’s direction, she wanted to know too. Josh grumbled, “This ain’t about me! This about y’all.” Gen was already tired of the bullshit. “Tell Jon about how Trin kissed you.” she blurted. This was a surprise to Jon, she was trying to save the relationship by kissing his twin?

Trin jumped up in a panic, she didn’t know who to apologize to first. “Gen, I’m so sorry.” she pleaded. “It’s whatever at this point. You ain’t the only person kissing on him in Vegas.” Trin’s shocked eyes turned to Josh. She couldn’t believe that he was cheating on Gen. “You did what? Nah, fuck that. We’re done Trin. My fuckin’ twin brother?!” Jon groaned. “Baby I’m sorry. It was nothing.” she cried. Part of Gen was enjoying this show, it was a mess. “Baby, I’m sorry. Our argument got into my head and I went looking for Jon and…it just happened.” Josh pleaded to Gen. His words fell on deaf ears. “So let me get this straight. Trin kissed Josh. Josh has been sticking his dick in half of NXT and we just went to dinner with Jacob. Jon, we missed out on all the fun.” Gen spoke. She was pissed but without her time with Jon, she would’ve crashed out. She did a lot more than go to dinner with Jon but that wasn’t a topic for discussion just yet. “That sounds about right. Hey Gen, maybe we should go do something to even the odds. Backshots on the balcony work for you?” Jon laughed. Gen almost spit her tea out. “That’s not the same Uce! Why you always gotta escalate shit?” Josh yelled.

“I thought since we were switching girls that I’d make sure that she at least had a good time.” Jon laughed. Gen’s phone rang, it was Vonna. She sent it to voicemail immediately. That was the unspoken code to Vonna to call back and say it was urgent. “I gotta take this. It’s important.” Gen spoke as she grabbed her cup of tea and went into the bedroom.She closed the bedroom door but stayed close enough to still listen in to the convo. “Am I missing drama?” Vonna laughed. “Girl…yes! It’s a mess.” Gen sighed. “I was just checking in since you ain’t call me yesterday. Are you having fun?” Vonna asked. “Sis, you have no idea. I’m going to have to go down by the pool and fill you in.” Gen laughed and she laid out her outfit for the day.

“Jon, baby please don’t do this. I love you.” Trin begged. “You kissed my brother but you love me? Yeah…ok.” he grumbled. “You’re about to ruin the best thing to happen to you. And for what?” Josh questioned. “I could say the same thing to you. Gen doesn’t deserve how you’re treating her. She’s been cooped up in this room by herself when she only wanted to be with you. She planned on hanging with Danny but he had something come up for work, so I picked her up and we hung out. Trin, it’s been the same with you. You been too busy for me but you want to work things out? You kissing him was the last straw. I ain’t got nothing left to say.” he sighed loudly before flopping down on the couch. “Uce, don’t do this.” Josh spoke on Trin’s behalf. “I’m stepping aside so you can add her to the roster or be together. Whatever, I don't really care anymore. I’m not blind, little brother. I’ve always seen the way that you look at her.” Jon groaned. This was news to Trin. Yes, Josh was attractive but when she kissed him, that was the only time she thought of actually doing anything like that.

“That kiss meant nothing to me.” Josh spoke. “That’s bullshit and you know it!” Trin yelled. “What?” Josh almost yelled back. “All you ever do is flirt. With me. With Jade. With Rhea. All the girls down at NXT that actually fall for the allure of Jey Uso. You say that you love Genevieve but all you do is cheat on her!” Trin spoke. If Trin saw it, did Gen see it too? “You better get out here.” Jon managed to text to Gen who was getting dressed. Gen rolled her eyes, “I gotta go sis. I’ll call you later.” Gen sat down in her chair. “Jon, can we please try to fix us?” Trin pleaded once again. “Trin, we can’t fix it. I’m done.” Jon sighed. “I had a chance to fix things with my man until you came to my room. I hate you Josh.” Trin grumbled, slapping Josh across the face and storming off. The picture on the wall shook as she slammed the door. “You want my girl, Uce?” Josh almost growled. “I’d treat her better than you would.” Jon yelled. Gen scrolled through her phone, avoiding eye contact with both of them.

“Is that what you want, Gen? Since y’all so fuckin’ friendly all of a sudden!” Josh yelled. “Aye, don’t raise your voice at her cuz you fuckin’ up!” Jon spoke. Gen did her best to hide a smile as she heard Jon defend her. “She’s gonna be my wife and here you come fuckin it up. You never let me have anything to myself!” Josh grumbled. That made Gen’s ears perk up, “How we gonna get married when you can’t even make time for me? I came out here for you and all we’ve done was go to dinner and you had an attitude about that!” “Whatchu mean? I got you reservations at your favorite chef’s restaurant.” Josh grumbled. “Yeah, and you complained about the menu the entire time. You could’ve just sent me by myself. I do everything you want to do. It’s like you don’t even like me.” Gen sighed sadly. “Uce, I came home to her rubbing one out in the shower to some damn app thing Vonna sent her. It was porn or something.” Josh blurted. “Ok? How she pleases herself when you ain’t around and got shit to do with shit. Stop telling her business.” Jon rolled his eyes. Gen got up from her chair and took her cup to the kitchen. “I ain’t gotta sit here and deal with your bullshit Josh, I’m out!” Gen spoke as she stormed off to pack up her stuff. Danny had offered her the sleeper in his suite if things got weird with Josh, it was time she took him up on his offer.

Josh followed her, “Where you think you going?” “I’m going to Danny’s.” Gen said as she packed up her side of the room. “I got time for you now.” Josh sighed, he was planning to propose but everything was unraveling so fast. “Ohh…you got time for me now? I leave tomorrow. And now you get time for me? Miss me with that shit. I’m out.” Gen spoke as she zipped her bag. “Fine then. Go! I don’t care.” Josh sighed as he sprawled out on the bed. He was too hungover to fully function. Gen hesitated at the door to see if he’d try to stop her, part of her heart broken when he didn’t. Jon was sitting on the couch with his head in his hands, he was a little overwhelmed. He smelled Gen’s perfume and handed her the keys to his rental. “Call me.” he mouthed as she nodded and left the suite.

Gen stood at the valet stand while they went to get the truck. A second valet put her bag into the back. As she walked around to the driver’s side, Jon was standing there. “He’s brooding in the shower.” he laughed. He helped Gen into the passenger’s side. She didn’t notice that his bag was being put into the back too. “Come on, let’s go.” he smiled. Gen laughed, “I did that shit with no game plan whatsoever. Danny’s at WWE World until 6.” “I always got a game plan. Stop sharing your location with him and we'll go to our next location.” he smiled as they drove along. Gen followed his directions and a smile formed on her lips as he pulled up to the valet at the Paris hotel, it was right across from the Bellagio fountain. “You’re all mine now.” he growled playfully, stealing a kiss before the valet opened the door. Gen had always seen this hotel from afar, it was even prettier up close. “How long you been planning this?” she laughed. “A few days. I couldn’t keep staying in the same hotel with her. And I need a few extra days to decide my next move. We’ll probably sell the house or she can buy me out or I can buy her out. What you gonna do about Josh?” he asked as they walked to the check-in desk. “I wish I knew. I’m barely holding it together.” Gen sighed.

Gen crawled into Jon’s arms and cried herself to sleep as soon as they got to the room. Jon wiggled from under her and went to run her a bath, he just wanted her to relax. Jon ordered a tray of fruit to be brought up to the room as well before he woke her. “Genny, wake up.” Jon spoke as he kissed her forehead. She sighed but didn’t wake up. Jon scattered kisses all over her face until her hazel eyes fluttered open. “Hey.” she smiled. “I got a little surprise for you.” he smiled as he led her to the bathroom. He had set up a table near the massive tub with the fruit tray and a bottle of lemonade with fresh berries in it. “Ooh, Jon this is nice. Thank you.” Gen smiled as she got undressed. She pulled her hair up into a bun, “You not joining me? It’s big enough for two.” Gen smiled. “This is just for you. I’ve got a quick interview downstairs. Then a phone call with creative about my storyline and then I’ll be back. So call and check in with your home girl, relax and enjoy this view. We can see the fountain show from the balcony.” He smiled as he kissed her lips and left her to her bath.

Gen put her Airpods in and called Vonna. She knew if she didn’t call her back Vonna would be on a flight. “Girl are you seated?” Gen laughed. Vonna said, “Yes,now tell me what’s going on.” Gen sighed, worried her best friend may judge her. “So when you called, I exposed Jon’s wife kissing Josh. Jon is done with her. Jon’s wife exposed how Josh is flirting and messing around with every woman in the company.” Vonna gasped, “what the fuck?” Gen laughed, “Yup, it was messy. But sis, Jon has been treating me so good.” Vonna laughed, “Details girl I need details.” Gen smiled, “girl he has treated me in the ways I always wished Josh would.” Vonna smiled, “I love that for you girl. Where are you now?” Gen said, “well after everything blew up, I was going to stay with Danny. But Jon had a game plan and he booked a beautiful suite at The Paris Hotel.” Vonna was happy for Gen but she had to ask her the question: “are you done with Josh?” Gen sighed, as much as she hated what Josh did to her but they did have a relationship for a while now. “I think so, Von, I think so,”

Josh came out of the shower, he put on his shorts and went to the living room to see if Jon was still there. Josh saw the living room was empty and he noticed the bedroom door was open as well. Josh walked in to see Jon’s closet was empty and his luggage was gone. Josh went to get his phone to see Jon’s location and he noticed that both Jon and Gen stopped sharing their location with him. He sat on Jon’s bed, he groaned in frustration. He needed to get his mind off of what was going on. He scrolled through all contacts trying to avoid the women on his roster but a notification popped up it was Aaliyah. It’s almost as if she could sense when him and Gen are having issues.

Aaliyah: Hey, can you come to my room? I need you.

Josh sat there looking at the message for a few minutes. He thought about what happened earlier. He needed to release his frustrations. So he replied back

Josh: I’m on my way….

Gen finished her call with Vonna. She put on her relaxation playlist on Apple Music and looked at the view from the tub, she loved how the Bellagio Fountain had shows every 15 minutes so she sat back as SWV’s “Rain” played on her Airpods and she watched the water show. She finally felt at ease after the stressful events of this morning.

Jon was doing his interview with the Between The Ropes podcast and all he was ready to do was just go back to the room and be with Gen. Thankfully they wrapped it up quickly. He looked at his phone and saw a message from creative that they rescheduled his meeting and it would be tomorrow morning. Jon was happy and ready to rush back upstairs to their suite. As he was about to go in the elevator,but his phone rang. It was Jacob. “What you up to?” Jon said, “I just got done with an interview. I’m about to grab some lunch and relax.” Jacob said, “Oh word. I’m about to come up to your room and see you and Josh.” Jon sighed, “yeah, uhm I’m not in the suite any more. I left. I found some shit out and I think it would be best if I’m not around him or Trin.” Jacob shook his head, “what the hell happened Uce?” Jon said, “well Trin and Josh had kissed. I can’t forgive her for that.” Jacob asked, “where’s Genny?” Jon said quickly, “she went to stay with her brother. She knows everything about Josh.”

Jacob sighed, his feelings were hurt. Him and Gen were close. He didn’t want to lose that brother/ sister bond he had with her. He hoped that this shit with Josh wouldn’t ruin the relationship she had with the rest of the family.”Damn, ight. Ima hit her up later on and check on her. Hit me up later Uce maybe we can get a drink or somethin” Jon said, “Ight”

Jon finally got in the elevator. He missed Gen the whole time he was gone. Jon opened the door to see that Gen was sitting on the couch listening to music and playing on her iPad. She smiled when she saw him, “How was the interview?” Seeing her all relaxed on the couch gave him an idea, something he wanted to do ever since she got to Vegas. “It was cool. Come here.” He grabbed her and pulled her into a passionate kiss. “It’s almost like you missed me or something.” She laughed. Jon wrapped his arms around her waist, “I did. Let me show you how much.” He growled playfully. “The fountain show is about to start. It’s so relaxing. We should watch it from the balcony.” Gen smiled. Jon turned off the lights in the room and turned the music up, “Yeah, on the balcony.”

Jon cozied up behind Gen, “Out here? What if someone sees us?” She giggled. “We don’t know these people. Besides, we’re just watching the fountains. I mean…unless you scared.” Jon laughed. “Me? Scared? Nah. You might be scared.” Gen laughed as she arched her ass into him. He grabbed her hips and pulled up her dress. A smile built on his face when he noticed that Gen wasn’t wearing any panties, “Genny, were you waiting for me to come and bend you over every piece of furniture in this suite?” “Something like that.” She giggled. Jon stepped back to pull his shorts down. “Damn, girl you wet wet.” Jon groaned as he pushed into her warmth. This was his new happy place. Gen swallowed a moan as he hit her spot almost instantly. The way he knew her body made her mind spin. Jon felt her clench around him. “Yeah, Daddy’s home.” he laughed. “Daddy?” Gen laughed as he pulled her closer. “Yep, Daddy. And I’m finna make you scream my name.” he laughed as he pushed into her deeper. Gen’s hands grabbed the railing as she tried to throw it back. Jon’s hand smacked her ass, “Aht aht. Let me do my thing. You watch the fountains baby.” His hips rocked into her slowly, hitting every inch along the way. Gen was about to say something slick but when she opened her mouth, only moans rained from her lips. “Talk to me baby. Feel good?” Jon asked. “Mmmm Jon.” she whimpered. This version of the fountain show was much better than being up close. Nothing else in this moment mattered. Not Josh and his bullshit. Not Trin and her bullshit. Just Gen, just Jon.

Gen’s moans probably traveled across the air but she didn’t really care if anyone heard her, he felt too good. “We gotta do this more often.” Jon moaned, his free hand reaching around to touch her. His hand grabbed her breast as his thrusts found an intense steady pace. The clapping of their bodies was drowned out by the music coming from the room. If Gen rolled her hips at a certain pace against his, he stayed nestled against her g-spot. The sensation made her spine tingle in the best way. “Oh? Throw it back on me then.” he laughed as he pressed kisses into her cheek. Gen could feel her wetness dripping down her thighs, she was so close that her vision was starting to blur. Jon could feel her walls clenching harder around him, “Gimme that shit!” he groaned, his own ending bubbling to the surface. His hand traveled down from her breast to between her thighs, His fingers traced lazy circles around her swollen clit until she screamed out in pleasure. Jon fucked her through her aftershocks, her legs trembling with each passing second. “You ready for me, mamas?” he cooed softly. “Yess Daddy.” Gen moaned, her hands reaching behind her to pull him closer. There was no space between them but he wasn’t close enough. He grunted as he emptied into her. Jon nestled his face into the side of her neck as they came down. They stood in a comfortable silence, still connected as they watched the rest of the fountain show.

“Jacob said he was going to call you.” Jon laughed as he finally pulled from her warmth. He smacked her ass before pulling her dress back down, she giggled. “Ugh, I’m sure Josh told him that I walked out. I think ima put the phone on DND. I just don’t feel like talking right now,” Jon nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I think Ima do the same thing. Let’s just spend the day chillin’.” Gen sent a quick text to Jacob letting him know she will give him a call tomorrow and she did her check in with Vonna letting her know the phone will be off the rest of the day. Jon pulled Gen in for a hug, “so what do you want to do today?” Gen smiled, “I brought my PS5. Wanna hop on Call of Duty?” Jon smiled the biggest smile, “hell yeah!” He got the game from her suitcase and hooked it up to the tv in the living room. “The menus are on the counter. Let’s order some food.” Gen grabbed the menus as Jon set up the TV. “Oh my God they have a Carmine’s here?” Gen exclaimed. Gen would go to the Times Square location every Friday.

Jon laughed, he loved seeing her happy like this. “Order whatever you want, baby. I want the porterhouse with peppers and onions.” Gen ordered the chicken parm and an Italian cheesecake. Gen went to freshen up and change into something more comfortable. When she came out of the room, Jon was sitting on the couch waiting for her. He had the controllers in his hands. He loved that she was a gamer. Trin never wanted to play games and when Jon would play on his days off she would make fun of him when he did. Jon would remind her that at least her husband was home and not out cheating on her. She never appreciated him.

Josh was still sitting on the bed, he had second thoughts about going to see Aaliyah. He wanted to change. He really did. But, after today he probably lost Gen forever. He replayed when he told her “go, I don’t care” in his head over and over again. Gen was the type to take words seriously and she now probably thinks he doesn't care about her and that wasn’t true. He loves her. He got up, heading to his room to get a shirt from his bag when the ring box popped out. He sighed as he picked it up. He planned on proposing to her tonight and wanted her to move to Atlanta with him. As he was putting the ring back in his bag, he got a text again.

Aaliyah: Josh please hurry we need to talk… if she is there tell her Paul needs you or something. We need to talk NOW!

Josh was wondering what was the rush. He threw his shirt on and headed out the room. As he did, Jacob was walking towards the room. “Yo Uce, we gotta talk.” Jacob said. Josh put his hand up, “give me a few minutes and I’ll come to your room. I gotta handle something real quick. Josh rushed to the elevator yelling, “hold it!” The man in the elevator held the door open for Josh before getting out. Jacob was curious as to where Josh was going. He watched the numbers display as the elevator stopped on the 56th floor that was the same floor Jacob was on and Aaliyah was on. Jacob shook his head as he waited for the elevator.

Josh got to Aaliyah’s door, she left it open for him. “What’s the emergency? Didn’t I tell you not to bother me?” Aaliyah had tears in her eyes. “Josh, I’m pregnant.” Josh, in shock, leaned back against the kitchen counter. “What the fuck you mean you pregnant?!” he yelled loud enough that the whole floor could hear him.

Jacob got off the elevator, he heard Josh yelling. So he slowly creeped towards the door to listen. “How the fuck did you get pregnant!? I thought you were on birth control!” Jacob mumbled to himself, “this mother fucker” and he grabbed his phone. He texted Jon:

Jacob: Yo Jon. That girl Josh messin with is pregnant. Call me ASAP!

Jon said to Gen, “Hey baby, take my phone off DND. The delivery man will call me when he is downstairs.” Gen grabbed his phone off the coffee table and turned the DND off. She held onto the phone as Jon played a round of Zombies online. When the text from Jacob came across the phone……..

[po3ticb3auty]

👀

What Happens In Vegas 8

Credit to GIF Owner

Warnings: small smut

Word count: 3,142

Tagging: @mzv11 @mindairy @playgurlxoxo @po3ticb3auty @shanthefemalerapper @trippinsorrows @trippiexlove @yana3sworld @surdelcielo @theusotwinzcom @uceyliyahh @wooahmiri @duhitzkay380 @bloodlinedreams @wrestlezaynia @adoreesun @expert-texpert @shes2real @bebesobrielo @skyesthebomb @bossbitch-25 @jennifuz @transparentphantomface @ourteenagetragedy @htxgabbi1 @keenagurl @jstarr86 @jazzyboo123-blog1 @romanreignshairdresser @purplementalitybluebird @moxley99 @ayeeitsali @mselenalovebug @empressdede @sheaabuttaababyy @reci1996 @venusesworld

“She lied to me? Why would she do that?” Josh sighed as he stared at his brother’s comment. He couldn’t wrap his mind around Genevieve not wanting to be around him. Zilla noticed the energy changing and decided to jump in before Josh was too far gone, “Shake it off, Uce. It’s ass shakin and these dranks is flowin!” Josh followed his younger cousin’s advice and enjoyed the here and now. He’d deal with this mess with Gen when he got back to the hotel.

“Man…this the best chicken sandwich. How’s y’all’s food?” Gen asked. She wished that Vonna had been able to come, she loved a good chicken sandwich. She’d have to bring Danny before they headed home. “It’s so good.” Jon commented as he stole some of Gen's fries. “You know there’s bottomless fries, right?” Jacob laughed. “Yeah. And I’m gone eat some of Gen’s until they bring me some more. And I might eat some of yours too.” Jon laughed. “And you’ll pull back a goddamn nub! You really will have to super kick muffuckas to death!” Jacob laughed. Gen laughed too. “I see how it is. Y’all wanna walk back to the hotel.” Jon teased. “It won’t be nunna that. I’ll beat yo ass from post to post.” Jacob laughed. “From coast to coast!” Gen added with a laugh.

Gen lost track of time as she sat in this loud restaurant with Jacob & Jon. “Y’all, we don’t all have bottomless stomachs. I can’t eat another fry!” Gen groaned as she patted her stomach. “I guess we better go.” Jon said as he noticed the sleep settling into Gen’s hazel eyes. “Genny, get comfy. I ain’t never been to Vegas. Mind if we go see the lights?” Jacob asked as they walked to the truck. “Sure. Let’s go.” She smiled as Jacob helped her into the backseat. She hadn’t missed Josh all night, and he probably didn’t miss her either.

“The Bellagio Fountains have a water show in 15 minutes. I heard it’s beautiful”. Gen showed Jon her phone. He smiled, “here, put it in my GPS. let’s go check it out.” Jon handed Gen her phone. Gen put the address in the GPS. Jon looked at Gen through the rearview mirror, “you in charge of the music too. No more hyphy music.” Jacob laughed, “Party pooper.” Gen went back to the 90’s R&B playlist. As Jon drove he would catch glances of Gen here and there and she would wink or blow him a kiss as Jacob was distracted by all the sights.

They got to the Bellagio a few minutes early. They found a spot that was empty, away from the crowd. Jacob took out his phone and took pictures. His happiness was just like a kid in a candy store and Gen loved that for him. Gen leaned against the railing as Jon moved closer to her. The show started and it kicked off with Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On”. Jon watched as Gen was mesmerized by the show. He looked over to see what Jacob was doing. He was into it also. He was taking videos on his phone. Jon seized the opportunity, he leaned in closer to Gen, kissing her softly on the cheek. Gen looked at Jon, “we are out in public” Jon whispered in her ear, “I don’t care.” he leaned in closer and kissed her softly on the lips. This was a moment that Gen always wanted. She thought Josh would have brought her here and now she’s glad he didn’t. He would have found a way to ruin it.

“This is so dope!” Jacob yelled out, causing Gen and Jon to quickly pull away from each other. “Hell yea Uce, it’s beautiful.” Jon yelled back. Jacob continued recording and Jon held on to Gen. Gen felt herself living in the moment. She didn’t want it to end. “

When the set was over, an announcement blared over the speaker, it was the last show of the night. Jacob pouted, making Gen and Jon laugh. “Don’t worry, we will come back before I go home on Wednesday.” Gen patted Jacob on the back. As they were about to walk back to the truck, Jacob yelled out, “wait! We gotta get another group pic.” they all huddled up close together as Jacob took a few pics. Gen and Jon did as well. “I know you exhausted Genny, I’m bout ready to get in my bed too and call my wifey.” Jacob stays on facetime with her all night. Gen remembered how in the beginning of their relationship, her and Josh would do that every night.

“I definitely had a great time tonight.” Gen said as she got in the backseat of the truck. Jon took a look at her in the rearview mirror, he couldn’t wait to get her alone. The music and the show had him in his feelings and he wanted her in the worst way.

Josh really wished that he had his phone, at least he’d know where Gen was. What was she doing out with his brother? Is that why Trin was upset about how things were going with Jon? Did Trin know something? Josh couldn’t even enjoy himself anymore, his mind was racing.

Jacob’s wife and kids called while they were on the elevator. He wanted to talk to Jon but he missed his family so he’d talk to Jon later. “Goodnight y’all.” Jacob smiled as he stepped off on his floor. Gen yawned, her head resting on Jon’s shoulder as the elevator moved to their floor. Jon kissed the top of her head. Gen smiled, “I had a great time with you today.” Jon wrapped his arm around her, “me too baby.”

The elevator got to their floor. Jon opened the door for Gen, letting her in first. Gen looked in the room to see if Josh showed up. She was glad he wasn’t there. “Who knows what time he’s coming back.” Gen shrugged as she walked over to Jon. “I’m gonna go shower.” Jon groaned, “I wanna join you. But you never know when he’s going to come back.” Gen nodded in agreement. Last thing they needed was for him to walk in while Jon took her right there in the shower. “I’ll go take one in my bathroom and I guess I’ll be watching the video.” Gen blushed, she still couldn’t believe they did that earlier. Gen kissed him, “I’ll be out in a few.”

Gen went to the room. She took out a pair of pajamas and as she was about to go to the bathroom, she noticed Josh’s phone on the dresser. It was now fully charged. She looked at it sitting there, wondering if she should go through it.

In Trin’s room. Trin was pacing back and forth. She thought about what happened earlier with her and Josh. She was worried that it would ruin their bond. She groaned as she sat down on the couch. She grabbed her phone, and she opened the Instagram app. The first post she saw was Gen’s post. Trin smiled as she scrolled through each picture. She never worried about Jon and Gen’s bond. She loved Gen like a sister and that was another reason why she felt bad about coming on to Josh earlier in her time of despair.

She looked at the comments and saw Jon and Jacobs comments. She decided to comment: “I love this and LOVE Y’ALL forever.” She sat back and decided to text Josh.

Trin: Hey J. I’m sorry about that kiss earlier.

Gen was still standing by the dresser when she saw Josh’s screen light up and the text from Trin appeared. Gen saw the message. “Wow,” was all Gen could mutter. Gen hated to admit that she had grown used to Josh’s infidelity, but she never thought she’d have to worry about him with Trin. Her thoughts drifted to Jon. She wasn’t sure how he’d react. It wasn’t important that he knew right this minute. Gen grabbed her phone and took a picture of the message then headed into the bathroom. She scrolled Apple Music while the water warmed. Just as she stripped down to get in, she got a text from Jon. “miss you.” A smile crept onto Gen’s face. The video they made wasn’t going to be enough. She propped the phone up in the shower and decided to FaceTime Jon.

“Man, I gotta go. I need to see what’s going on with Gen.” Josh grumbled as he grabbed his phone to call an Uber. “Fuck, my phone in the room.” Josh thought to himself. Zilla handed him his phone, already reading the look on his face. Josh ordered his ride and tossed the phone back to Zilla who had two girls dancing on his lap, “Thanks, Uce. Have fun.” Josh hit the restroom and went outside to wait. He just wanted to get to her in the hopes it would soothe his mind.

Jon was also in the shower when his phone rang. He smiled when he saw Gen’s face pop up. “I can work with this.” He laughed as he angled his camera to see better. “Turn around and lemme see that pretty ass.” Jon growled as he finished washing his hair. Gen turned around, playfully twerking before she burst into laughter. She missed these types of moments from her man. “Show me how much you miss me.” She spoke as she grabbed her shower gel and pouf. Jon arched his eyebrow in surprise. “Oh word?” He asked. “Yep.” She smiled as she angled her camera so he could see her full body. Jon’s hand wrapped around his semi-hard dick before his hand started to move up and down, “damn girl. See what you do to me?”

Gen’s eyes watched as his hand pumped up and down. She wished that it was her hand instead, but with her not knowing where Josh was, this was safest. Her body ached for his touch, the tingling between her thighs spreading across her skin. “Go on and touch it baby. Show me you miss me too.” Jon laughed. He needed to see her unravel. The pouf dropped to the floor as Jon watched Gen’s fingers travel down between her thighs. Her moans vibrated through the warm air as her fingers massaged her clit. “I’m cumming, Gen. I wish you were here with me.” Jon moaned as thick ropes erupted from him. His body leaned against the wall as he came down. Now Jon could focus on getting Gen to her big ending.

Josh climbed into the Uber, hating that he was so far away from the hotel. He hoped his roster wasn’t looking for him. His thoughts went back to the incident in Trin’s room. He knew that he couldn’t go there with her no matter how badly he wanted to. From the moment they met, she just got him in ways that no one else could. Josh would have to tell Zilla to leave the Uber driver 5 stars because that old man got Josh back to the hotel in record time. Seeing all the people in the lobby made him understand why Joe opted to rent a house. It was late but he couldn’t just slide up to his room unnoticed. Due to the late hour, most people waved and left him alone. Josh could see the elevators, almost home free. “We feeling Ucey!” A group of girls laughed as they stepped off the elevator. They were obviously dressed for LIV. “Y’all want a picture?” He smiled. Of course they did. He held up one of the phones to get a group photo when he felt hands grabbing his dick from the front and his ass in the back. “Ooh, it’s big y’all.” The girl in the orange dress laughed. “Wanna come party with us? We got drinks up in our suite.” They asked. “Nah, it’s been a long day. Goodnight.” He slurred as he walked into the elevator.

Jon wrapped a towel around his waist as he watched Gen. She looked so perfect, her moans were music to his ears. “I’m close.” She moaned. “Can you take two fingers for me?” Jon growled. Gen nodded solely, following his direction. Jon smiled, “That’s my girl. A little faster now.” He could hear a moan coming through the thin walls as her orgasm washed over her in slow waves. Gen was so lost in the pleasure that she didn’t hear the bedroom door open.

Josh grabbed his phone and looked at all the notifications. Only 2 we’re from Gen. A drunken smile formed on his face as he saw her pajamas on the bed. “Oooh shit.” He heard her moan from the bathroom. “Keep going for me.” He heard a voice say to her. He know he ain’t hear what he thought he heard. She was in a room that he paid for with another man. Josh opened the door in a hurry. Jon had turned his camera off but he was taking Gen through her orgasm.

Gen jumped when she spotted Josh’s glazed over eyes watching her. “Goddamn Josh! Stop being creepy!” Gen groaned. She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her body. “What the fuck was that?” He grumbled. “Vonna got me a gift card for the Quinn app. I was trying it out and got carried away. That’s all.” Gen groaned as she put lotion on her skin. “Go lay down.” Josh smiled. “You need to shower. You stink.” Gen grumbled. She grabbed her phone and closed the bathroom door behind her. “Goodnight, baby.” Jon whispered before he hung up. Gen pulled on her pajamas and crawled into bed. The last thing she heard was Josh turning the shower on before she fell asleep.

Jon got into his shorts and went into the kitchen, he grabbed a soda and a bag of chips. He went to the couch, grabbed the remote and put the TV on. He hoped Josh would go right to sleep. He really had nothing to say to him tonight.

Josh came out of the bathroom, “hey baby, I wanna talk to-” Josh looked at Gen and saw she was asleep. Disappointed that she was sleeping, Josh put on his sweats. He heard the TV playing in the living room. He decided to go talk to his twin about what he saw on Instagram earlier.

Jon, hearing the bedroom door open, grumbled “shit”. “Sup’ Uce.” Josh tapped Jon on his shoulder before sitting next to him on the sofa. “Sup’” Jon said before taking a sip of his soda. “So Gen was with you tonight? She told me she was with her brother. When I called him he told me she was with him.” Jon growled, “she was, then I ran into her and she was stressed out so we went for a ride. Then Jacob called me to come through,” Josh looked at Jon, “I don’t believe you.” Jon put his soda and chips down on the table, “I’m not the liar here. You sitting here messin around with women right under her nose and you think she doesn’t know? Newsflash Uce, she knows!” Josh’s facial expression went from annoyed to now worried. “She told you that?” Jon shook his head, getting up from the couch. He had no words for his brother as he went to his room and closed the door behind him.

Josh sat back on the couch, he buried his face in his hands. He didn’t think she would ever catch on to what he was doing. He also felt a way seeing those pictures of her and Jon. He felt like he was going to lose her. He didn’t know what to do.

He looked at his phone, he noticed the text from Trin that he didn’t notice before. Josh knew she was probably still awake. He needed to respond to her so she wouldn’t think that he was upset with her or anything.

Josh: Hey, Just seeing this. I left my phone behind. I just got back from hangin’ out with Zilla. Wyd?

Trin was in bed, watching TV. she was thinking about Jon and she planned on coming to see him in the morning so they can try and talk things out. Her phone lit up. She saw the message from Josh. She smiled as she realized he wasn’t upset with her about what happened earlier tonight.

Trin: I hope you had fun. I’m in bed, lonely.

That message made Josh feel a way. But he knew he couldn’t act on it. He responded back with a sad emoji and put the phone down. He sat there on the sofa, nervous about going back to bed with Gen. He watched TV until he fell asleep.

The next morning, Gen woke up, she looked over and saw Josh never got in the bed. She shrugged it off and went to wash her face and freshen up. She came out to the living room to see Josh sleeping. She rolled her eyes as she headed to the kitchen to make herself some tea. She was humming the song from the water show last night as she waited for her tea to brew. Her mind was on Jon and the time they had yesterday.

Jon woke up and headed out of the room, a smile came across his face as he saw Gen in the kitchen. He heard her humming the song. He looked over to see his brother snoring loudly on the couch. He went to the kitchen, his eyes never off of Gen. He snuck over to her, pulling her out of Josh's view. “Good mornin’ baby” Jon whispered before giving her a kiss. Gen smiled, “mornin’ baby, I hope you slept well.”

Jon shook his head, “it would have been better if you were laying next to me.”

As Gen was about to kiss him, there was a knock on the door. They both jumped and pulled away from each other. “Who could that be?” Gen looked at Jon. “I’ll get it.” Jon walked over to the door. Gen was pouring her water in her cup when she heard Trin say “Jon, I love you. Give me a chance.” Gen felt her whole mood change. All Gen could remember was the message Trin sent Josh last night. She laughed to herself as she grabbed her tea and walked over to the living room. She tapped Josh on the leg before yelling, “Hey wake up, Trin is here and I’m sure you would love to see her. Won't you Josh?” Josh jumped up, looking at Gen in a confused way. Gen walked over to the recliner, placing her cup down on the little table.

“Hey Trin, come on in”......

[po3ticb3auty]

Oh well?!! You can't have your cake and eat it too!!! 🤤

What Happens In Vegas 7

Jey Uso x OC Gen

Jimmy Uso x OC Gen

Warnings none

Word count 2,308

Shout out to my sis @mzv11 for being the cowriter on this ❤️

Tagging: @mzv11 @alyyaanna @shanthefemalerapper @trippinsorrows @trippiexlove @yana3sworld @rollinssection @uceyliyahh @crxssjae @empressdede @playgurlxoxo @po3ticb3auty @surdelcielo @theusotwinzcom @wooahmiri @bloodlinedreams @duhitzkay380 @wrestlezaynia @adoreesun @expert-texpert @shes2real @bebesobrielo @bossbitch-25 @jennifuz @skyesthebomb @transparentphantomface @romanreignshairdresser @ourteenagetragedy @htxgabbi1 @keenagurl @jstarr86 @jazzyboo123-blog1 @sheaabuttaababyy

“Jacob’s no fun no more. He ain’t even think about coming out with us.” Zilla grumbled as he started pregaming in the limo. “He’s in his chill phase. He don’t turn up unless it’s with his wife & kids.” Josh laughed. He knew that Jacob was right about needing to change for Gen but changing was hard. Jacob called Jon to check in since he hadn’t seen his cousin all day. “Hey Jacob, what’s good, Uce?” Jon spoke as he answered his phone over the bluetooth. Jon and Gen were almost back in the city. “I need to talk to you about Josh.” Jacob grumbled. “What about Josh?” Gen asked. “Genny? That you?” Jacob laughed, he hadn’t seen her either since she had been in town. “Yeah, Jon was nice enough to come get me so I bro didn’t have to pay that valet again.” she smiled. “It’s nothing too crazy. He just got on my nerves. Typical cousin shit. Speaking of cousins getting on my nerves…add Joe to that list.” he laughed. Him and Joe were fine, they had just had breakfast together that morning. “Mmm hmm.” Gen grumbled suspiciously. “What y’all about to do? Wanna grab dinner? I need to tap in with my girl Genny. It’s been too long.” Jacob said. “I’m down.There’s this chicken sandwich spot that I’ve heard people talking about.” Gen said. “Bad Muthaclucker?! Yes, I’ve heard about it. Give me 20 minutes, I just got to the room. Lemme hop in this shower and put some smell good on.” Jacob laughed before he hung up.

“It was definitely something he wanted to tell you about Josh. You gotta find out and tell me.” Gen laughed. “I got you baby.” Jon smiled as he stole another kiss. “He’s probably got another girl to add to his roster.” Gen groaned. “Why you say that?” Jon asked. Josh had him under the assumption that Gen didn’t know about the other women. And he wondered why Gen hadn’t dropped her life to move to Atlanta with him. “I’m not dumb, Jon. I know he’s got other women. The last time I was at his house, he asked me to grab something from his bag and there was also a woman’s thong in there…and it was about 4 sizes too small.” Gen sighed sadly. Seeing her sad pissed Jon off, if he was going to cheat….let her go be with someone who would appreciate her, like Jon. But Gen was not sidechick material. “That’s fucked up Genevieve. I’ll talk to him.” Jon grumbled. “Don’t bother. If he wanted to change, he would. At least that’s what Vonna always tells me. I used to think she was just bullshitting cuz she’s not the biggest fan of Josh. But she’s right.” Gen shrugged.

Gen saw Jacob standing outside the hotel so she changed from 90s R&B to ‘Blow The Whistle’. Her laughter bursting from the car as he started dancing and shakin’ his dreads. “Y’all a mess!” Jon laughed as Jacob climbed into the backseat. “Whatitdo family?” Jacob laughed as he dapped Jon up. “We just been riding around listening to music.” Gen smiled. “I ain’t know you was in the car Gen. I ain’t want you to hear nothing crazy I was about to say.” Jacob grumbled. “He’s cheating. He thinks I don’t know but I do.” she spoke dryly. The more those words flowed from her mouth, the more numb she became. “Damn, I’m sorry. I keep telling him to leave these streets alone. Find yourself a good lady, like the one he has and just be loyal. Hoe shit is for these youngins. Y’all older than me and I’m glad to be put up. It’s great, ain’t it Uce?” Jacob laughed. Gen muffled a giggle, Jon rolled his eyes. “It’s the greatest when it’s the right person. Enough about this sad shit, what’s good Jacob?” Jon laughed. “You having fun, Gen? I know they have Josh working his ass off. You staying out of trouble?” Jacob asked. “She’s nothing but trouble!” Jon interjected. Gen hit him in the arm before laughing. “I’m finding stuff to do. My bro is here working on stuff for his podcast so I’ve been helping him a lot. I came out here to hang with my man but like you said, the company’s got him busy. So I’m stuck with his lackluster replacement.” Gen teased. Jon pouted and she knew that she’d pay for that comment the next time he had her alone.

“I’m guessing it’s the same with Trin? This storyline with Jade & Bianca is crazy. They need to just let her and Nia start their own Bloodline.” Jacob laughed. “Yeah, her schedule is crazy. I’ve hardly seen her. I’m happy for her though. And proud. She deserves it.” Jon beamed. Their marital problems aside, he was very proud of the work she was doing. He only wanted the best for her career. But he was just tired of the bickering and feeling shut out in their marriage. He doesn't even sleep in the same bed with her and can’t even remember the last time they had sex. The constant arguing was a turn off.. He has felt alone for a while now and mostly unhappy, that was until Gen showed up in Vegas…

As they got to the spot. They found a booth to sit at and Jon made sure he sat next to Gen. Gen looked at Jon and smiled. The waitress came and took their order. She started them off with their drinks. As they waited they just talked about the weather, his match at Wrestlemania. Jacob took one look at the chemistry between Jon & Genevieve and knew something had to be up. He caught on to how they stole glimpses of each other, thinking he wouldn’t notice. The way Gen blushed when Jon would look at her. Jacob remembered how she used to do that when he and Josh first started before all the cheating Josh did. Jacob hadn’t seen Jon that way in a while either. Jacob stood up, grabbing his cup, he motioned to Jon, “Hey Uce, let’s get some refills on our sodas. You want a refill Genny?” Gen said, “sure, you already know a lot of ice” Jacob laughed, “gotchu’ we will be right back”. Jon stood up, grabbed his glass, looked over at Gen, winked at her, “be right back” Gen blushed, “hurry back”

As they got to the soda machine Jacob turned to Jon, “aight uce, spill it.” Jon laughed as he filled his cup with ice, not looking at his cousin the whole time. “What you talkin’ bout uce?” Jacob said, “y'all got somethin’ goin on?” Jon looked Jacob in the eye, “it’s not what you think it is. But to be honest, I have been enjoyin’ this time with her. Trin and I haven’t been in a good place lately. Gen has been makin me feel happy, I find myself laughing again.” Jacob put his cup down on the counter, “why didn't you say anything to me? We are family, we tell each other everything.” Jon shrugged his shoulders, “I just been in my own world. Josh didn’t know until this week.” Jacob nodded, he knew out of the twins, Jon kept personal issues to himself. “So you have a thing for Gen?” Jon grabbed Gen’s cup from Jacob, filling it up with ice just the way she liked it. He nodded, “Yeah, I do. I can’t lie.” Jacob rubbed his face, all he could do was look at his big cousin. He had no words. He also knew that Josh didn’t deserve her by the way he had been acting lately. They finished filling up the cups and headed back to the table.

“It took you long enough”. Gen joked as she grabbed her cup from Jon, “thank you” Gen smiled as she took a sip of her Pepsi. Everyone sat there in an awkward silence. The music playing seemed to be even louder. Gen looked at Jon and Jacob suspiciously. “Okay you 2 what’s going on? Y’all went to get soda now y'all quiet. Spill it.”

Jacob sighed, he didn’t want to say anything about what Jon said to him. “It’s nothin’ everything is cool” Gen refused to accept that answer. “Nah, spill it.” Gen looked at Jon, who stared in her eyes. He couldn’t lie to her. He didn’t want to do that to her. He didn’t want to be like his twin. “I was telling Jacob about Trin and I and how we aren’t together.” Gen said, “yeah, Jon just told me yesterday about it. I was shocked to hear the news.” Jacob nodded, “yeah, I was shocked as well.” Just as Jacob was about to say something, the waitress approached the table with their appetizers. Jacob forgot everything once the food hit the table.

Josh and Zilla pulled up to Sapphire Gentlemen's Club. Josh smiled, “now this is what I’m talkin’ about!” as they exited the limo. The bouncer let them in and as soon as they entered they were met by a barely dressed hostess. “Oh my God, it’s Jey Uso! Welcome to Sapphire’s. Would you like to be in our owner's sky suite with some of our girls.?” Zilla screamed “Hell yeah!” Josh laughed, “yes that would be fine.” The hostess escorted them to the upstairs private suite. “Thank you” Josh smiled at the woman as he entered the room and took a seat on the black leather sofa. “What would you like to drink?” the hostess asked as she grabbed her tablet to take Josh’s order. “Hennessy will be fine.” the hostess smiled as she entered Josh’s order. “The ladies will be joining you shortly.” she said before exiting the room.

Zilla grabbed his phone and started to record himself in the room. “Man I can’t believe Jacob and Jon are missing this!” Josh shrugged his shoulders, growled, “yeah, they lame for that!” Just then, 3 women entered the room. Josh smiled, “damn, now that’s what I’m talkin’ bout.” One woman walked over to Josh, she had on a blue bralette and panty set on, her hair long and black just like Gen’s. The thought of Gen did cross his mind for a second until Tank’s “When We” started blaring over the speakers in the room. Josh sat back comfortably as he watched the woman dance, she slowly danced her way towards him. Zilla decided to go live on Instagram.

Gen was laughing with Jacob and Jon when she heard Jacob’s phone notification. Jacob grabbed his phone, groaned, “zilla is live on instagram, let’s see what he’s up to.” Gen shrugged her shoulders, as she grabbed a fry off her plate. She heard Zilla’s voice and the Tank song playing in the background. She figured they were maybe in the car or something. She grabbed her phone to scroll through TikTok. Jacob shook his head. Jon looked at Jacob, mouthed to him, “where’s he at?” Jacob shrugged his shoulders and motioned for Jon to look at his phone so Gen wouldn’t notice.

Jon grabbed his phone to look at the live stream. As he did, Zilla turned the camera to Josh who by now had the woman grinding on his lap as Josh’s hands moved up and down her body. Jon couldn’t believe his eyes. He and Jacob looked at each other and both shook their heads in disbelief. “They must be in the car cruisin around. Zilla is always trying to make a video out of anything for his so called fans” Jacob growled before exiting the app and placing his phone down. Jon turned the volume down on his phone and watched for a few more minutes. Jacob lightly kicked Jon under the table to get Jon’s attention. When Jon looked at Jacob he motioned for Jon to put the phone down. Jon hesitantly got off Instagram and put the phone down.

The waitress brought their food over to the table. Jacob smiled, “finally” as he admired his sandwich. Gen laughed at Jacob's reaction. She said, “wait, let’s take a pic. It’s been a while since we took one.” Jacob nodded, “give me the phone, I’ll take the selfie.” Gen handed Jacob the phone and Jon leaned in closer to Gen as Jacob took a few pictures of them. When he was done he looked at the photos and smiled with approval of how they looked. “Yo you gotta post those and the videos of us jammin’ on the way here.” Gen smiled, “bout to do that right now.” Jon nudged Gen, “wait let me airdrop the other pics to you” Jon grabbed his phone and airdropped the photos from the desert and their private video they made earlier.

Gen blushed as she remembered how they went at it in the car earlier. She quickly put the video in her hidden folder. She went to instagram, made a photo dump with the caption “MY FAVORITE FATU’S” and uploaded the photos and videos including the photos Jon took of her at the desert. She tagged Jon and Jacob in the post which Jon immediately hit the like button and put a smiley face emoji and heart emoji. Jacob commented how Gen is always a vibe and she is a Fatu.

At the strip club, Zilla was scrolling on instagram and came across Gen’s post. He looked through all the pics and videos and noticed the comments from Jacob then Jon. “Hey uce, didn’t you say your girl was with her brother today?” Josh looked at Zilla, “yeah, he told me he was with her” Zilla handed him his phone, “so what was she doin’ at the desert Uce”. Josh looked at the caption and noticed the little comment from his twin brother…”what the fuck”…..

[po3ticb3auty]

Mail Call!: Returned to Sender📨

Here's the sequel to Letter of Lust ya'll! I'm so happy yall loved it as much as I did. Also translations at the bottom! 😊

Part 1: Letter of Lust

----

Smoke returns home from war and makes good on his promises to fulfil his woman.

“Elijah…. Th-the door, baby. Folks gonna see us!”

“Fuck ‘em. Let ‘em know I’m home. Let ‘em know I’m finna eat.”

Smoke returns home and makes good to fulfil his woman’s needs.

Even though the newspapers say that the war is over, Annie is still missing her soldier. It had been a month and not a word, or a letter or a token had been sent her way. It makes her work her root harder in worry, extending that part of her soul out just a tad more to hopefully cover even more of her man. Annie pulls her time piece out of her pocket, holds it close to her ear and sighs to hear it still ticking steadily. 

It is the gift that Elijah sent to her after his first six months in deployment; he had written that it was to make up for how short or sloppy his letters may be. It is a classy and simple pocket watch, silver and white gold with ivy detailing around the border and a capital cursive A engraved on the back. As soon as it was in her hands she tied a red thread around the winding knob and called for eyes upon him. As long as it ticked, she knew Elijah's heart was beating. 

Annie sighs and settles the watch on her vanity then returns to stripping out of the rest of her jewelry and clothes of the day. She gets the fourth button of her dress loose when a sharp creak from her porch step catches her ear. Annie grabs her straight blade and starts to the front door, with a quick whisper to her ancestors for strength before she swings her door open with a hard glare in her eyes. 

Annie’s blade drops to the ground at the sight in front of her. 

There Smoke stood. 

His uniform shirt is neat but sweat soaks around the collar and the jacket rests in the crook of his elbow. His deployment bag is at his feet and a bundle of pink lilies and roses clutched in his thick fist that starts to tremble at the sight of her. Smoke’s other hand was poised to knock, it instead reaches forward and cups Annie’s cheek as he steps on to the threshold of her home.

“Damn, can’t a man at least knock?” He tries to joke, but his voice is thick with emotion and his eyes go watery. Annie grasps his hand so it presses against her skin and she can feel how warm blooded and alive her man is. 

“Ife mi! O ṣeun fun fifun ifẹ mi pada.” Annie breathes, as tears start to flow from her eyes and she kisses the palm of Smoke’s hand. She feels his trembling thumb rub the tears back into her skin for a moment as a look of awe fills his eyes. Annie swallows while bringing her hands up to the sides of his neck, a sigh of relief is shared between them when she presses in and feels Smoke’s pulse under her fingertips.

Strong, steady, lovely and alive. Her Elijah was alive and well and back with her at last. 

Smoke melts at such softness and care. Both of them close their eyes as their forehead gently meets and they share a deep breath together. Annie breathes in the smell of him, eucalyptus soap and cedar. Smoke takes a deep pull of her scent all floral, herbal and citrus. 

Instantly the man tosses the bouquet and jacket to the side so he can surge forward, both of his hands slip forward to hold her face. Smoke locks Annie into a deep and feverish kiss. 

The urgency and power of his strong steps forces Annie to step back as well, her hands slip down from his neck to grasp onto his firm biceps to anchor herself and kiss back just as passionately. Both hum, then moan between the smack of their lips and bump of their noses until finally Annie has to pull back for air. 

“Elijah!” she cries, cheer coloring her breathless pants and Smoke gives her his signature shy grin. Annie hums to see a peak of gold on the left side of his mouth. 

“Annie. Oh my Annie.” he says back, his hands raking down her sides until they rest in their rightful places on her hips. Smoke kisses into her neck like a teasing schoolboy and Annie giggles as his mustache tickles her hot skin. Smoke pauses to kiss her cheek with a wet smack, “Need err’ part of ya.” He groans in her ear with a tooth grazing her lobe.

Smoke starts at Annie’s temple with a tender shallow brush of lips, another faint kiss to the apple of her cheek, both of them chuckle as he pecks her nose. Finally Smoke comes back to her mouth, Annie moans as she takes the taste of tobacco and mint off his tongue once more. Annie grips a fistful of his shirt in each hand as Smoke takes his time to explore her mouth; tongue to tongue, teeth clashing, her bottom lip bit gently then soothed wetly.

Annie’s brows furrow for a moment, her hands go to his belt in a desperate and clumsy attempt to loosen it before Smoke has her eyes rolling back. Smoke lets off her lips to start trailing those kisses down her chin, then down the front of her throat. Annie gives a whiny choke when Smoke presses deep kisses onto the tender and sensitive flesh, lips sucking in time with her pulse until he is right over her heart pressing in a hickey. 

Annie hisses, clutching the leather of his belt then hums in pleasure when Smoke’s hands leave her hip to cup each of her breasts in his wide hands. He presses his callous thumbs in, then circles her nipples until he teases them hard through the linen of her daydress.

 Smoke goes back to licking the sweat off her throat as his hand yanks down through the rest of her buttons and the breeze of the room hits her bare front. Annie gasps at the coolness, her hands going limp at her sides and Smoke surges the two of them back until Annie is forced to sit in the plush armchair in the living room. Smoke stands solid and triumphant between her thick quaking thighs. 

Annie licks the sweat off her upper lip with lustful eyes at the heavy bulge tenting through his uniform trousers, her hand shoots forward and grasps it firmly. Smoke moans to the ceiling at her heavenly touch, slowly she rubs Smoke’s dick through fabric as if trying to sense each part of it by touch. Her nails trace faintly across his balls and Smoke’s bucking makes her mouth water for the girth of him to grace her throat. 

She can only get his belt unbuckled when Smoke abruptly grabs her hand and bends down to start kissing her fingers tips. Annie smiles and tries to pull her hand away but Smoke keeps trailing kisses up the back of it. He then turns her hand and presses his lush lips to the pulse point of her wrist. Going from a bend to a kneel Annie watches Smoke descend down until he kneels between her legs and leaves a hickey on her inner elbow.

 Annie’s other hand cups the back of his head, massaging through his rough curls. A giddy heat fills her belly to know that he had forsaken his brother’s plea for a haircut to get back to her quicker. 

That heat drops to her pelvis as his lips smoothly go from her arm to burying his face in her lap. Smoke uses his nose and a massage to the back of her knees to gently pry her thighs further apart so he can praise the plump flesh with wet kisses. With a teasing tongue he starts at the middle of her thighs. Giving each one a peppering of kisses and light bites, his hand firmly rubbing up and down her outer thighs until his hands grasp the soft flesh of her hips. 

It’s only for a minute before impatience to satisfy a craving, that only a musk covered scarp of her nightgown barely satiated, fills Smoke. Annie whimpers, throwing her head back as he kisses her lower lip with a suckling peck before his tongue drags through the crease made by the meeting of her pussy’s pouch and inner thigh. Annie bucks forward as Smoke’s nails dig crescent into the meat of her hips and her right leg is swiftly mounted onto his shoulder. 

The breeze outside loudly jingles her windchimes on the porch and Annie goes wide-eyed to see she was staring at glittering blue glass and the purple clouds of a sunset through her open front door. A spike of concern and a sense of indecency fills Annie in that moment. She tries to slow her man down by bringing her legs together just to grunt as Smoke forces them to stay open with a new strength that Annie knew promised to wreck her. 

She’s only able to cup the side of his head with a shaky hand, gently pulling at his ear for his attention; she is nearly sent off course again as he teases open her folds with a finger. 

“Elijah…. Th-the door, baby. Folks gonna see us!”

“Fuck ‘em. Let ‘em know I’m home. Let ‘em know I’m finna eat.” Smoke speaks into her pussy, words husky in arousal. 

“Th-the cha-air?” she tries to argue and she flinches with a whine as he brashily slap her tender pussy with his hand. As if to punish that wild thought of modesty.

“Imma getcha a throne. Just be good ‘n fuck dis face, baby.”

Smoke’s minty breath puffing over her core causes Annie to jitter. Her hands clutch the arms of the chair as his nose opens her and he can wrap his tongue around the pearl of her pussy with a sweet suck. 

“Orun ran mi lowo!” Annie whines aloud as Smoke’s tongue coax a heat to fill her belly and she fuck his face back in turn. Smoke peers up at her, nose to beard wet with her juices paired with a lustful glint in his eyes as he forces her to watch two fingers disappear into her body.

“Emi ni idahun re.” he whispers to her clit, flicking that pearl at the end of each word. Annie’s eyes go teary as he holds them in a stare and gives a wide lick over the front of her coozs before swallowing into her again. 

Smoke’s free hand squeezes his leaking dick tightly as Annie's breathless moans excite him. Her pussy rewards him with a juicy squirt that nearly chokes him, yet he swallows and dives his fingers faster into her to coax out more. Smoke finally shakes his belt completely open then pulls down the long zipper of his trousers letting his dick spring free. He’s rock hard and quickly he starts to stoke himself to the taste of his Annie.

“Right ‘ere Poppa, ri-ri, fuck! I can’t stop- ya gotta-her so wet! Elijah! Poppa!” Annie pleads. She bucks when Smoke groans vibrates within her as she tightly grips his curls in one hand. Annie faintly catches on to the obscene slick sound of Smoke jerking himself but it quickly fades away as he curls his finger in a special way to set a coil off in her belly.

“Fuck! I’m gon- I gonna-”

Annie can’t spit out her words past the crying moan as her orgasm crashes upon her and she floods Smoke’s face with the result. Her hand presses his head in deep, her thighs trap him still as she cums, yet her man powers though steadily pressing that button and slurping down every drop her coozs gave him.

Smoke brings his head up with his face dipping, beads of cum and salvia drip through his beard to sprinkle over Annie’s shivering thighs. Her man wipes his face roughly with his free hand then groans as her wets his dick with it leaning back so he she can watch. Annie bites her lips in at the sight of his throbbing and leaking dick bouncing in his hand as he braces himself to stand up. 

Annie strikes forward, her hand snatches into his shirt collar. Smoke gasps as her tight fist rips off the top two buttons when she drags him up and into her face. Smoke has to brace himself on the arms of the chair to not fall over her and Annie uses the angle to her advantage.  

Their lips crash into one another once more. Annie licks herself off his gums and Smoke chases into her mouth further to get it back. The smack of their lips nearly distracts her from her goal but the hot wet tip of his dick pokes her navel and Annie drags her hand down to it. 

“Wait. Baby.” Smoke pleads breathlessly and Annie shakes her head before kissing into his ear as her hand gripes the base of his shaft. Her middle finger curls between his balls before cupping them with a gentle squeeze that makes Smoke hiss and shake his head in disbelief. He pants as he tries to snatch back from her but grunts when Annie bites his ear lobe in reprimand before her soft hand firmly grips his velvety girth and starts to stoke him. 

“Dontcha snatch a’way from me! I been missing that dick, poppa. It ain’t fair you getta taste and I can’t even getta feel.” she grits into his ear before kissing under it and placing her share of hickies onto him. Annie runs her hands through the pool in her lap slicking her hand up before going back to jacking his dick. Her gut clenches every time the head of it pokes her belly and Smoke can’t help but whimper while his eyes roll at her touch.

“Please! I’m already leakin’, Ann. Let me put it in ya.” Smoke whines as he finally staggers to a stand. Before he can try to control the situation once more, Annie scoots forward in the chair! She grabs his hips to force hims still and steady letting his dick tap against her lips and chin as he stabilizes. Smoke looks down in awe at the scene; Annie’s wet and dark doe-like eyes stare him down lustfully, her lips glossed and puffy, her damp tiddies heaving with laborious breath. The pink of her tongue darts out and licks along the curve of him, teasing that vein on the side of his member just as her letters promised to do. 

“Shit.” he whispers as Annie gives his leaking tip a sloppy kiss before taking him down her throat with a heavy gulp. Smoke throws his head back with a groan, hands grasping the afros puffs on either side of her head. He hissing out random cuss words, the nigga couldn’t think of a coherent sentence at all in answer to her actions.

 Annie uses her nails to scratch into his hip then down the V of his pelvis until they brace against the front of his thighs while her head nods on him. Annie lets up until Smoke’s shaft is halfway out her mouth before swallowing back down to the base with a wet suck. It only takes a minute of this before his dick jumps with need and the movement choke Annie as he bucks. 

“Nah, dontcha choke now. You wanted dis.” Smoke tries to tease, he croaks out a chuckle when Annie swats the back of his thigh then quickens her soul snatching pace. Annie’s glare gives him a mild warning before they close once again, tears pearling out the corners, her man was rich tasting in her mouth. 

Smoke goes to speak but is shut up by her humming on him. Annie pulls him out her mouth slowly with the vibrato until his dick drags fully out of her mouth with a plop. Her lips enclose his tip, tongue swirling his head like a honey flavored sucker. 

Smoke cums with a guff shout that echoes out the open door. His only warning is a sharp jerk forward and twisting of Annie’s afro puffs. Annie opens her mouth wide as he nuts over her face and chest, licking it off both lips before swallowing his seed.

“Sorry poppa… I needed that real bad.” Annie says light with a flutter of her eyelashes when peers up at him and Smoke can’t help but cup her face in his steady hands. 

He kisses her forehead, “Dontcha ever apologize for your needs, baby. Never to me, just let me get em for ya. C’mon gotta get to bed.” Smoke says gruffly, Annie yelps then giggles as he bends down and sweeps her up in a princess carry. She tightly hugs around shoulders and tries to balance them so he will set her feet down. Smoke scoffs and dips her the opposite way with a playful kiss.

“Elijah! You ain’t gotta show off.” Annie laughs before humming in approval at the feel of his thick and firm chest. 

“Imma show ya something ‘ight. Mrs. Moore.” Smoke rambles as he finally kicks her front door close and takes her back to the bedroom.

“I ain’t tired!” Annie warns. Smoke gives her a quick kiss as he settles her on the mattress. She pulls the rest of her dress off, tossing it to the floor and leaving herself completely bare in front of him. Smoke eyes survey every part of her, taking in every inch of her rich and soft skin hungry makes his jaw flex to bite into her tender flesh. 

“Who da fuck said a word ‘bout sleepin’ ? Just lay there and breathe, let me get this dick ready for ya.” he tells her. 

Now it is Annie's turn to observe him, his brown had gotten darker from the harsh sun of war, nicks on his shoulders and chest from scrapes and grazes of close calls in combat. Where his muscles were once lean fitting, they had thickened, filled and firmed from his time half way across the world. Smoke’s dick starts to twitch and Annie hums as she goes to turn over on all fours (their usual position), Smoke stalks onto bed like a lion on the hunt and rolls her onto her back.

“Nah, I gotta see that face of yours. Pictures ain’t doing it no mo.” Smoke declares as he nudges her legs open. Annie grunts in surprise then moans as he folds one of her legs to her chest and wraps the other around his waist. 

Smoke settles on top of her, kissing her deep and slow while his limp dick lays against her pussy in preparation. The two lovers make out for a minute Annie rubs him down where she can, noting every ridge of muscle and scar under her finger tips. Finally, her hands rest on the sides of his neck again, feeling his strong pulse and the coarse black cord of the mojo bag on him. Annie sighs in relief as she feels Smoke’s dick harden and bob once again, the tip of it slides across her lower belly before pulling off then slowly entering into her.

Inch by inch, until all seven and a half inches stretches her open with tight fulfillment. God, can Annie still take him? It had been so long, had her pussy forgotten him? Once Smoke bottoms out, he’s moaning in her face and Annie devoured it. 

“Ya so tight Annie, ya grippin me. God I missed ya.” He mutters into her ear pulling out a few inches then trusting back in. They cry out together as the headboard thumps the wall. Smoke gives her three more slow, deep thrusts that keep him pressed into her chest before shaking his head and quickening the pace. Desperate to hear the sounds of her hips slapping his. 

Annie moans out, yes’es and Oh’s of pleasure puff out her lips for him. One hand stays laid against the side of his neck while the other hands grips the sheets in a tight fist. Smoke places his hands over hers, forcing Annie’s fingers to splay out so he can hold it in place for her. 

“Gonna have to measure ya fingers, get em fitted for a ring. You my wife now. Ya know that?” Smoke declares, words barely louder than the creak of the bed. 

“Ye-yessss, s-s-ir” Annie sputters before her mouth stretches out in a silent cry of pleasure. Smoke bites that wet bottom lips of Annie’s, digging her knee further into her chest so he can hit that spot in her again.

“Gonna build ya a shop, can’t have no dusty ass niggas up in my house smellin’ my woman. They don’t needa know how good this pussy is.” Smoke states again, looking into Annie's eyes and smirking as they roll back before she can register the hunger in his.

“Yes-s-s! ‘Lijah! Right… right there Poppa! This hooch all yours.” Annie gasps, tears streak from her eyes as her core tightens and she starts to flood over his dick. Smoke falters for a moment with a moan at the slickness, he locks in pressing both her knees up toward her chest. In and out. In and out. In and out, Annie is dragged over the sheets until one corner pops off the mattress barely stopped from folding in by the pillows. 

Smoke shakes his head as he watches her cream on him, the puddle left under them as he dick disappears inside her and reappears glistening from her juices.

“Imma blessed man looking at this shit baby. This tight puss, wettin’ ma dick. Ya so damn beautiful."

“Elijah!” Annie cries out, her back arching off the bed as she cums again, her thighs twist to lock him in, the blocked action makes her shake in pleasure. Her hands tighten dangerously around the sides of his neck and Smoke gulps for breath at the high of her choke hold on him. Her pussy grips just as firmly and it’s her man’s undoing.  

He drills once. Twice. Three times before bowing over her with a deep, bassy roar as he nuts deep within her. His hips trust with sloppy jerks as he spills inside her.

“Elijiah!” Annie cries out as he lays into her breast, Smoke muffles her whines with a deeply pressed kiss. They both sigh in love, Smoke resting his head on her collar bone and kissing over the mark he left over her heart. He presses his ear to it and prays to it, giving thanks to Annie for her loving soul. For giving him stability in a way that was unreal. 

Annie rubs the side of his head with a euphoric and exhausted smile on her face.

“I’m so glad ya home, my love. I worked every root I had for this moment.” Annie whispers after a while and Smoke chuckles with tears in his eyes at the declaration. He shuffles up so they are face to face.

“Thank you for being my home, Annie.”

TAGS: @brownskincheyenne @lizbehave @bigjh @uzumaki-rebellion @milkywayzard @biancalhurtt @partylikemajima @pastelprintessa @c0tt0ncandi @theethighpriestess @blowmymbackout @nahimjustfeelingit-writes

if you wanna be tagged lmk!💕

Translations:

1: Ife mi! O ṣeun fun fifun ifẹ mi pada. Eng: My love! Thank you for returning my love.

2:Orun ran mi lowo! Eng: Heaven, help me!

3:Emi ni idahun re Eng: I am your answer

[po3ticb3auty]

Drabble Roulette: Night Fall

Hey hey! This weekend I'm doing more drabble roulette. I'm still recovering and I'm feel a bit blah and foggy.

I randomised a list of characters, then I spin a wheel and white for the character beside the number. Then I spin the wheel to choose a prompt from a list.

Character: August Walker

Warnings: this drabble includes violence and allusions to abuse. Please mind these warnings and take care.

Prompt: Beating up your friends for trying to "take you away" from him. (source)

Explicit, 18+. Please reblog and leave some feedback.

The pads of your feet ache. Your hands are dry and raw as you wring them endlessly. You’re dizzy for more than the circles you walk in. 

You’re waiting. 

This calm will not last. The storm will break. You stop before the window and stare out at the sheen of moonlight that glazes the landscape. The garden Jolie tends in the early morning, her children’s bikes leaning against the shed, a plastic slide and kiddie pool. 

Your feet start again. It won’t last. It never does. There’s only one thing that’s constant. 

“Hon,” Jolie’s voice wafts from the staircase. 

You don’t answer. She’s not talking to you. It must by her daughter having another nightmare. 

A shadow comes down the stairs. Jolie steps into the slats of silver light beaming in from the screen door. You stop and stare at her. She sighs. 

“I thought I heard something. You should get some sleep.” She speaks to you like one of the children. 

“I can’t,” you go back to pacing, rubbing that raw spot on your cheek. 

“Honey,” she comes up to stop you. “You’re safe here.” 

You’re not. You keep telling her and she keeps ignoring you. She takes you gently by your shoulders and makes you face her. She draws your hand away from your cheek. 

“I have some cream. You should put it on that blemish. Looks like it hurts.” 

“I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.” You flinch and stop yourself from the mindless chant. How many times did you assure yourself of the same through gagging tears. 

“I know, honey. I know.” 

He slips her hand down to yours and takes you gently behind the kitchen island. She sits you on one of the tall seats along it. You wince at the weight on your pelvis. That’s another reason you fled the guest bed. 

She flicks on the overhead light. You shade your eyes. She squeezes your hand before she turns away. You stay as you are. You don’t want to upset her. You hate when people are angry. When he is. 

She returns with a pot of cream. She unscrews the cap. She looks at you hesitantly as she raises the cotton pad to your cheek. Her eyes wander down to the other patches around your neck, peeking out above the night shirt she lent you. 

“Do you remember,” her voice is solemn, “in college. We used those charcoal masks... and it took my eyebrow clean off?” 

She laughs softly, almost shyly, as if she’s scared too. Your throat clicks. You can’t remember the last time you laughed but it’s funny to think about that. It’s so far away it feels like it never happened. 

“Yeah, it still doesn’t look right,” you say. 

She makes a face as she gently applies the cool cream. 

“We’ll find something nicer for this,” she says. “Maybe some aloe.” 

You let her tend to you, flinching despite her softness. You feel her hesitation as you do. You can’t help but tense at her touch. You’re not used to one so delicate. 

“Jo,” Marc’s voice precedes him down the stairs. His deeper cadence makes you freeze. “Everything okay?” 

“All good,” she calls back. “Kids are sleeping. We’re just chatting.” 

He comes into view. He looks at you and crosses his arms. You know he’s not happy about this. You’re invading his house. You’re Jolie’s friend, not her responsibility. 

“Right, well... it’s late. Kids got school tomorrow.” 

“Oh, I know, hon,” Jolie crumples up the pad and throws it in the bin. “I’ll get them where they need to go.” 

He clucks. “Just want to make sure. I have a big meeting--” 

There’s a sudden hammering. Splintering like thunder. You jump from the chair and scurry into the corner of the counter. It’s him! You told them. 

Marc’s face lines and Jolie stands straight. They stare at each other. 

“Tell him to go away,” Jolie hisses. 

“Fucking Christ,” Marc turns and strides down the hall to the entry way. You hear the subtle click of the door cam. “Go before I call the cops.” 

“She’s in there!” August hollers through. “I’m not fucking stupid.” 

“I’m giving you a warning, man. No one wants to deal with police right now--” 

“Give her to me!” 

“Keep it down. The kids are sleep--” 

The crack of wood makes you scream. You nestle into the bend of the counter as Jolie rushes toward the front door. The home alarm starts to chime. Footsteps clamour on the floor beyond your sight. 

You cower and sink down, whimpering, shielding your head. You look up from beneath your arms as you hear the grunts and the pleas in the struggle. Something thumps and Jolie squeals. The children upstairs call for their mom as she runs back into the kitchen. She’s flung into the counter and sprawls onto the tile not far from you. 

You heave with sobs as his footfalls march around the island and step over Jolie’s unmoving body. He doesn’t say a word as he scoops you up. You don’t either. He carries you out amid the wails of the children clinging to the slats of the railing like a prison cell. 

“Time to go home,” he snarls. 

[po3ticb3auty]

no good deed : CRYBANGERS.ᐟ

feat. jujutsu kaisen x high school AU!

summary :

A school where therapy is graded, emotional intelligence is currency, and no one makes eye contact without three layers of irony. This is Kinjouku. Every hallway? Charged. Every smile? Weaponized. Every student? Gorgeous, broken, and pretending not to notice. Then the podcast drops. Private Playlist :

An anonymous audio diary. One episode per week. One person exposed. Not rumors—recordings. The sex. The crying. The late-night “I love you” never sent. Someone saved it all. Someone’s playing God. And now everyone’s panicking in perfect high-definition. Friendships curdle. Lovers combust. Everyone wants to know who’s behind the mic—but no one wants to admit they’ve listened to every single second. This is not about the truth. This is about what’s said when you think no one’s listening. And what happens when someone was.

so, who’s behind the mic?

TAGLIST : OPEN! | PLAYLIST | LORE, EVERYONE

WHO’S THE SCREAMER?

EPISODE 01, MIC CHECK .ᐟ

✶, the podcast drops during morning assembly, and also. . . mid fuck. just static. then : “no good deed goes unpunished.” cut to a recording of audio from three hookups back to back, mei mei fucking three different partners. one of them is married, your teacher. one is naoya. one is sukuna. the school erupts. yorozu scream about sex is dead before she scream at disability girl.

EPISODE 02, THIS D$CK BRING HARM IS A SAFE WORD .ᐟ

✶, everyone got call to the gymnastics, big pink glitter dildo get passed on the back and yorozu scream at yaga and mei mei, sluts everywhere and everything all at once. at the party, shiu kong standing with scissor in hand, crying because his dick cause harm.

EPISODE 03, SCHOOL TRIP BEFORE THE DO I EVER AND SOMEONE GET PEG!

✶, school trip, alcohol tape to your body like a bomb, and everything got drunk, secret slips and someone got bitten by snake.

EPISODE 04, DUOLINGO : ADVANCED MOANING EDITION.

✶, someone get spitroasted by ... and toji in the soundproof language lab. they thought it was soundproof. it wasn’t. the pink glittery dildo back and yaga got yelled once again.

EPISODE 05, ETERNAL RECURRENCE .ᐟ

✶, a hidden camera in the chapel catches $ex orgy and one boy standing like messiah! body fucking on holy ground. someone spray-paints SACRIFICE HIM on his locker the next day.

EPISODE 06, CROSS MY HEART, STAB YOUR BACK .ᐟ

✶, a costume party turns into a scandal when the projector glitches and plays someone’s sex tape instead of the horror film. half the room recognizes the voice— shoko and toji fucking zenin. the other half pretends not to.

EPISODE 07, 3G : THE GUN, THE GIRL, THE GOD COMPLEX.ᐟ

✶, wanna take turn? guess who’s now? yup, yours. congratulations! now everyone knows you are a slut! and what’s more? the reasons behind your name or your slut of a mother?

EPISODE 08, THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN SLUT AND SURVIVOR IS HOW LOUD YOU MOAN

✶, SOON. ..

EPISODE 09, MOANLISA AND ALIBIS.ᐟ

✶, SOON. ..

Trigger & Content Warnings :

High School x AU, non-sorcerer reader, sukuna is a menace, gojo is too pretty to be trusted, geto is manipulative with a god complex, reader is in way too deep, emotionally damaged hookups, forbidden relationship (student/older student dynamic), possessive sukuna, jealousy-fueled sex, hate sex, public sex (library stairwell), sex tape (unauthorized), leaked audio, cumshot audio, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (m+f receiving), oral fixation (biting, tongue kink), choking (light & consensual), degradation (mild to explicit), praise kink, size kink, overstimulation, manhandling, spitplay, face sitting, thigh riding, fingering (public), dirty talk (filthy, mean, affectionate), orgasm control / denial, power imbalance (emotionally & sexually), implied voyeurism, sex while crying (consensual, emotional breakdown), brief dubcon implications (consent blurred by trust), aftercare / post-sex softness, trauma-coded affection, heavy swearing, emotionally unhealthy relationships, unhealthy coping through sex, mental instability (character), casual drug use (pills / joints), school scandal themes (leaks, blackmail, sex tapes, shame), discussions of manipulation, toxic exes, emotionally manipulative behavior (sukuna, geto, gojo), implied stalking (yorozu), revenge sex, public exposure risk, possessive & obsessive behavior, references to breeding kink (implied, non-explicit).

𝒊. These warnings exist to help readers navigate themes that may be distressing, uncomfortable, or simply not what they’re in the mood for. Please read them carefully and prioritize your own boundaries. This story contains elements of dark erotica, psychological manipulation, emotional trauma, and power imbalance. In the future, trigger warnings may be updated or expanded per chapter depending on tone, character focus, or thematic content. If something here isn't for you — that's okay. You are never obligated to read past your comfort zone.

[po3ticb3auty]

Hand Prints and Good Grips…✱*.:｡✧

Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x Childhood Best friend!Reader

Trouble brews once Mary walks into the twins’ juke joint, and you just wanna be the girl Elias likes.

wc: 6,103

warnings: porn with lots of plot, jealous!dom!Elias, sub!reader, clit slapping, face-sitting, cunnilingus, unprotected p-in-v, dirty-talk, degradation (not tew much but it’s there), overstimulation (r receiving), rough sex, manhandling, slight tit sucking/licking, marking, creampie (gulp??), language, one klan mention, shitty southern writing

an: HEY GUYS!!! THIS IS MY LONGEST FIC EVER WOOHOO! (ignore how it took me a month to make it, i’ve been going thru it man) i’m literally obsessed w sinners so hopefully i did stack justice! do y’all even read these? anyways

feedback is always appreciated n welcomed <3

Your hair was starting to cling onto your forehead as if you were drenched in sticky molasses.

The air was humid and dry; of course, this was a Mississippi custom, but it doesn’t help that there’s dozens of bodies stomping and prancing around.

Though you can’t complain much, considering that you were right here with them—dancing as if you hadn’t in years.

In a way, you haven't. You haven’t felt a rush of autonomy and euphoria quite like this before.

With everyone being nothing but working busy-bodies, there’s been little to no time to plan big events such as tonight. The lack of excitement has been a major factor too.

Hence why as soon as the Moore twins came back into town with the intention to open up their very own juke joint, everyone was on board.

The pair hadn’t been seen here in seven years.

Seven long, cruel years without the twin you’ve grown to love.

Stack.

Well, he was Stack to everyone else. But to you? He was still Elias. Your ‘Lias.

Seven years without his lingering touches and pearly smiles.

You weren’t the only one that missed him, it seems.

Your sister told you that when she went down near the train station, she was right there waiting for your Elias.

Mary was waiting.

You don’t have a clue as to how she knew he was coming home before you did, considering that nobody from the Delta had heard from him except for you. And a letter from him was rather rare.

Mary had nearly thrown a fit once she saw him; it didn’t help that Elias had turned down her persistent advances.

The lack of contact obviously sent her over the edge.

Apparently she mentioned their former relations; their connection being a secret to none.

You were envious of this; never jealous, but overcome by a feeling of want.

Growing up with the twins meant that the three of you were as close as can be. That being said, though, they looked at you as if you were their little sister. It was fine when Elijah assumed the role of a family member, but Elias?

Just thinking about it makes your heart ache.

You longed for the flirtatious remarks that he’d give off to any and every woman, a night filled with intimacy plagued your mind constantly.

But you got over it.

You had to. Not only for the sake of your friendship with Elias, but also because of his prolonged absence from town.

That’s why tonight—right now, you had to pump the breaks and focus on celebrating the twins’ success.

Speaking of success?

You making your way over to the bar with your wobbly heeled-covered feet was a success. Surprisingly.

“Someone’s been dancin’ a lil too hard, huh?” Annie chortles, looking at you with nothing but sisterly-love, and a bit of amusement.

“Only dancin’ I was doing was during my cooking—nothin’ like this in a while,” you exclaim with bliss through a beaming smile. You huff as you sit down in front of the bar. “Y’got anythin’ good back here?” You motion to the bottles Annie has surrounding her.

“Better than good,” Annie replies before ducking down and searching below the counter.

You brace your hands on the counter and slightly peer over at the woman, but then she pops up quicker than you can plop back down onto your chair. She quirks a brow at you before placing a bottle down in front of you.

“What’s this?” You question; if Annie didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought that it was Christmas morning with the way you were looking at the bottle.

“Authentic Irish beer; straight from the north side of Chicago. Different from the rest they’re sellin’.” She replies. “Your man brought it specifically for you—made me promise I wouldn’t give it to nobody else, no matter how much they was payin’.”

You bite back a smile at her words; you knew exactly who she was talking about.

“He fixin’ to be Mary’s.” Your lips straighten, it’s bittersweet.

“That so? ‘Cause that ain’t what I heard,” Annie muses, making you pause. You savor Annie’s words as if they were your holy grail. Was there a chance that Elias looked at you the same as you did him?

You crane your neck and your gaze is set over your shoulder—over at him.

He catches your eye and he gives you a cheeky smile, to which you return rather eagerly.

You hadn’t had a single nonchalant bone in your body it seems.

Your shared staring was cut short as Mary forced Elias’ attention back onto her, but it wasn’t exactly a hard task for her.

Something about her was just so easy and simple, despite the ring shining on her hand that matched another man’s being anything but simple. The way that they connected even after all these years made you feel as if you swallowed a jar of mud.

After a few sips of beer, you can’t help but let a smile rest on your face. Elias knew you’d love it, and it makes your heart dance.

Speaking of dancing, your dearest friend Pearline struts up to you with a grin that soared for miles.

“What’s got you cheesin’ all hard?” You raise your eyebrows at her, making her giggle.

“Y’know the Preacher’s boy? The one that was just singin’?” Pearline’s nearly jumping out of her skin with excitement.

“Lil’ Sammie Moore? Course I do, why? What’d you do Pearl?” You gape at her and hold her hands tightly in yours.

“Well…” She trails off. “Let’s just say, he showed me he ain’t a boy, but a real man.”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of the sockets as you exclaim a Pearline! that could probably be heard for miles.

Pearline gushes, “He made me feel things I ain’t never felt before.”

“Not even with your mister?” You gasp.

“Not even close. And that’s not all,” she pauses before looking around, then leaning in towards you.

“I wasn’t even able to freshen up. He didn’t want me to,” Pearline whispers.

You shout, then look around in embarrassment at your outburst; you shake Pearline vigorously by her shoulders and giggle some more.

You decide to look around the joint, and you coincidentally catch Sammie looking right at the back of Pearline’s frame in utter awe.

You nudge Pearline, and she looks over at him with you. The look that she throws his way is nothing short of flirtatious.

“He looked at ya like he wanted t’take a bite,” you snicker.

Pearline looks at you mischievously, “Funny, considerin’ he already did.” You can’t help but laugh.

“So, y’thinkin’ bout singin’ like he said?” You ask.

Pearline hums, “Maybe. ‘M thinkin’ you should too.”

“No, not happenin’. Not a chance,” You scoff playfully.

Pearline whines and grabs your wrists. “C’mon, sista! When’s the last time you got the chance to do this?” She pouts, and tries hardest to make puppy-dog eyes at you.

“Besides, this could be y’chance to make a move on Stack. Ain't that whatcha been waitin’ for?” She drags.

You falter at the question she poses.

“Tonight’s the night, sista.” Pearline murmurs softly.

It’s crazy how you always get in your head when it comes to him.

The thing is, you weren’t one to throw yourself out there just to entertain a man. No, that just wasn’t your style.

But God—tonight? His suit was fitting snug in all the right places, his grills glimmered dangerously in the dim lighting, and his eyes always found yours, recklessly.

You couldn’t resist Elias Moore.

And right now, you’re starting to wonder if you ever could.

“Y’better wrap that scarf on tight, Pearl,” you say as you grab her arm and start walking with her to the front. Pearline shrills and claps her hands with glee.

You saunter towards the stage with a pep in your step and your arm linked with a perky Pearline. Your heels clack on the wooden floors as you come face-to-face with the band and none other than Delta Slim, who’s now grinning at you.

“Been tryin’ to getcha to sing for years girl, what’s with the change o’ heart?” He questions with a smirk, as if he already knew the answer. You’re sure that he did with the way that his eyes looked past you and towards Elias.

“It’s a nice night, figured I’d try sum different,” you shrug, trying to mask your sudden embarrassment. Pearline intertwines her hand with yours and uses her other one to gesture to the band. You inhale deeply while looking at her; she gives you a look of reassurance.

The patrons of the juke joint grow silent at the sight of you two taking your stances and the band readying their instruments.

Pearline starts humming and you lightly stomp your feet on the stage, starting to form a beat as the band follows.

Elias feels as if his heart was being weighed down by a ton inside of him. He held his breath—scared that the rise and fall of his chest would make him miss the steady view of you: parading around as if everything outside the joint had come to a halt.

You looked completely, and utterly divine up there; moving swiftly and effortlessly, as if you owned the very ground you were stepping on.

You were absolutely ethereal in Elias’ eyes.

And he’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t falling even harder for his sugar as of right now. He was the only man that could get away with calling you sugar; he knows it, so does everyone else in the Delta—and Elias can’t help but let his pride swell every time he thinks about it.

Your body sways carelessly as if you were one with the words that escaped your lips, but your eyes are grounded—powerful, even. Speaking of them: your glittering orbs meet his, your gaze nothing short of a vixen’s.

Though, the interlocking of your sights is interrupted when Mary makes her presence known yet again at Elias’ side. He can’t help but sigh at the intrusion.

Luckily, Elias’ ever-growing agitation fades when the patrons of the juke let out their elation around him. The band’s playing picks up, as well as you and Pearline’s voices.

Don’t let it shine, shine, shine once more

Pale, pale moon, pale, pale moon

Everyone chants and stomps rhythmically.

“I wanna sing, like I hear the crickets do,” Pearline sings seductively while peering at Sammy as she struts.

Pale, pale moon, pale, pale moon

“I wanna hoo,” you and Pearline sing simultaneously, harmonizing beautifully as your backs meet and you both slide to a crouching position.

Pale, pale moon, pale, pale moon

“I wanna howl,” the two of you sound as if you were straight out of a folktale—like one of those myths of the sirens that Annie had explained to Elias once before. You and Pearline then reside in a crawl as you look at the crowd with a sense of hunger in your eyes.

Mary gets ahold of Elias’ tie, but he quickly removes her grip from him—without even breaking eye contact with you. He knows she’s interested in spending the rest of the night with him; maybe in hopes of rekindling an old flame.

But how could Elias be interested in another woman when his woman—his sugar—was looking at him so deliciously.

You grin slyly at him, biting your bottom lip before licking your teeth.

Pale, pale moon, pale, pale moon

“I wanna scream,” Pearline sings, as you mouth the three words to Elias.

Three little words that have Elias fucking mesmerized, hypnotized even. You have him in a trance, right where you want him, and you both know it.

Elias wishfully thinks that the pick up in your breathing isn’t just from all the dancing you’ve been doing tonight. He bites his lip at the thoughts running through his mind.

Mary can’t even say that she recognizes the look that Elias gives you, for she has never been on the receiving end like you have been. Her frustration and jealousy boils over, and she eventually huffs before walking away from Elias, and out of the juke joint.

Elias doesn’t mind one bit, and he sure as hell doesn’t when the song finishes and you hug Pearline with excitement as the joint nearly turns upside down. You’re jumping up and down and Elias can’t help but smile til his cheeks hurt.

Elias feels a hand slap somewhat roughly on his shoulder. He knows good and well it’s his brother, with or without the wave of tobacco radiating.

“Came out here after the game finished, saw the way she was lookin’ at’cha, too.” Elijah grumbles.

“Breathtakin’, ain’t she?” Elias remarks breathily, not even turning to his brother—keeping his sights on you, as you hug Slim and the rest of the instrument players.

“Not ‘bout how I feel, ‘s ‘bout how you feel,” Elijah sighs. This makes Elias turn towards his brother.

“Don’t know what’chu waitin’ on, already been years,” Elijah then pauses before continuing, “Don’t be surprised when somebody see what’chu see.” Elijah trails off, almost ominously, and nods his head in your direction.

Elias follows his twin’s trail of sight and spots you: talking to a man he ain’t even seen before. You were beaming, your hair a little frizzed up by the humidity, your lipgloss smudged a little onto your shimmering skin.

Speaking of your lipgloss—whoever you’re talking to decided to rub his finger below your lip to wipe it away. Right now, Elias’ demeanor resembles the snake him and his brother killed earlier: cold and unmoving.

You glance around the sea of bodies, and Elias takes this as a sign. He starts to walk up to you, but not before having to mumble several ‘excuse me’s while side-stepping quite a few people—who seem to not be able to hold their liquor.

He finally reaches you, and he gets a glimpse of you over the guy’s shoulder, who has no idea he’s even there.

“We got a problem?” Elias murmurs, making the stranger nearly jump out of his skin.

“N-nah man,” the man chuckles awkwardly as he faces Elias.

“I reckon we do, since y’talkin’ to my lady,” Elias replies, sizing him up as he takes a step closer to him. The man takes a step back in return.

“I ain’t know, I-I’m sorry, Stack,” the man trembles meekly. Elias only hums. The man glances between the two of you before making himself scarce.

Elias stays in the same spot for a beat, before turning and giving you a look that says let’s go, before walking towards one of the back rooms of the joint. You hesitate, before inching behind him.

“So I’m y’lady now?” You don’t bother to tone down the sass in your voice.

“‘S what I said, ain’t it?” he mumbles, not even looking at you.

You scoff, “Yeah, well, y’got a funny way a’ showin’ it.”

Elias pulls you into a dimly lit room and finally faces you as you stand before him. “What’s that s’possed to mean?”

You narrow your eyes at him before speaking. “Means I saw you messin’ with ole Mary.”

“She don’t mean nun to me,” Elias guaffs. “Why d’ya think she left already?”

You roll your eyes and begin to head out the door you just came from. You’re not sure where this attitude just came from, in all honesty. The moment your eyes met him while you were on stage, it felt as if everything else had faded away, and it was just the two of you.

Maybe it was the irritation caused by Mary that left you in a sour mood now, you’re not sure. You know it won’t be beneficial to you nor Elias in this moment, but you can’t help it.

Elias grabs your wrist before you can get too far away from him.

“She ain’t nun, y’hear?” If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he almost sounded desperate. You stay quiet.

“Asked you a question, sugar. ‘N with that attitude of yours, I ain’t fixin’ to repeat myself.” His lips ghost the shell of your ear as he speaks, and heat twinges through your stomach. Elias seems to take notice of the subtle switch in your demeanor; he smirks and his chocolate brown irises darken even further.

“I…I don’t believe you,” You almost whisper, but still meet his gaze.

Almost immediately, he responds with, “What I got to do to convince you, baby?” Elias matches your tone, but there’s still a hint of assertiveness conveyed through his words.

You don’t speak—it’s almost like you couldn’t, but you release your wrist from his grasp gently.

Elias’ jaw clenched slightly, but you still spot it. He looks as if he’s pondering his next words.

“‘S not makin’ sense, darlin’. I mean, you were acting like a whore on stage, now you don’t want me to touch you?” He cocks his head at you and your lips part—like it was reflex, and maybe it was. Elias clicks his tongue.

Your breath picks up, and if your mind weren’t turning fuzzy, you would’ve chided yourself for making a fool out of yourself in front of a man—Elias at that.

The man you’ve yearned for longer than you can even remember.

“I ain’t no whore,” you speak, finally regaining your senses.

“That right, sugar?” You can feel Elias’ breath on your heated face, and all you can do is nod in return.

“Y’wanna know what I think?” Before you can answer the question Elias poses, he murmurs lowly, “I think that deep down….You are a whore—and you needa be fucked like one.”

Despite the vulgarity of his words, the way that Elias places his palm across your cheek is soft—loving, even.

You press your thighs together through your dress unconsciously, desperately seeking even an ounce of friction to cool the impending heat between your legs.

Elias takes the hand that rested upon your cheek and moved it to the stiff rim lock that resided on the door’s surface.

Thank god—You’d hate for the likes of someone such as Sammie barging in and being witness to sin hotter than the Mississippi sun.

Elias then starts to walk you back to the table that remained bare in the dingy-lit room, removing his suit jacket and vest, followed by his tie. The backs of your knees meet the edge of the firm table, making you stumble just a bit. Elias takes it upon himself to lay you down onto the table.

You rest on your elbows as you look up at the six-foot-something man in front of you, and you can’t help but swoon. His beating eyes look down at you lustfully—almost as if he were a predator, and you his prey.

It made you weak.

Weak at the hands of a man you’d been waiting on while he had the time of his life in Chicago, with all sorts of Italian customs. Your actions are beyond halfwitted, but you make no effort to straighten yourself out anymore.

Elias takes his warm hands and spreads your knees with ease after unbuttoning his shirt, making you yelp involuntarily at the near-abrasiveness. He licks his grillz and lets out a short, deep chuckle; you feel it vibrate your bones, while he aligns himself so that almost he’s eye-level with your warm core.

“Elias, wait—“ You whimper meekly,

He hums disapprovingly, letting out a firm ‘mm-mmn’. He rips his gaze from your thighs to your eyes, “Been waitin’ for years, sugar, not sure if I can any longer.” He repositions his hands, lifting your dress and hitching it up to your upper thighs, nearly to your pelvic bone.

Elias massages your thighs with an iron grip, it’s not yet rough, but not exactly gentle either. His switch between the two is making your mind reel.

He kisses up from your knee almost to where your dress bunches up as he removes his button-up, leaving him in his undershirt. He then says, “…So, m’sorry if I lose m’manners,” he breathes hotly against your skin, “But I don’t think I can live without destroying this pussy for a minute longer.” He damn near groans.

His mouth hovers above your clothed cunt—he purposely breathes in a way that makes you squirm at the feeling you’re unable to run from. As you shudder and tilt your head back, you suddenly hear a rip and you feel a gust of air.

You gasp and look down, where you’re met with Elias looking up at you cheekily, with one half of your panties in his mouth, and the other in his hand.

“‘Lias!” You exclaim.

Elias feigns innocence, “Told ya I ain’t mean no harm.” He then averts his focus to your legs, and he leaves a kiss to your mound.

“Y’not gon let me freshen up, will ya?” You ask quietly, already knowing the answer.

Instead of answering, Elias takes his tongue and trails it from your hole to your clitoris, and you puff out the air you didn’t know you were holding in.

Elias seems to enjoy your reaction, for he then gives you another long lick.

And another,

and another,

and you guessed it, another.

You press your lips together, muting your sounds, and Elias ‘tsk’s at the sight.

He nips a bit of the skin next to your lips, making you choke on your own spit. “Don’t like how quiet you’re bein’.” Elias reprimands you.

“Stop t-teasin’ then,” You manage to huff.

Elias chuckles in disbelief, “Wanted to be gentle, but y’makin’ it hard,” he then lifts you up from the table, and places his back where you once laid. He hooks your legs over the sides of his head, your pussy now inches away from his plump, shining lips.

Elias’ typical, million-dollar smirk is back on his face, but there’s something more sinister behind it—your legs would’ve buckled if he weren’t holding them.

“You’re a whore, jus’ like I said y’were.” His southern drawl makes your stomach twist in knots, despite the familiarity. Before you could get a word out, Elias placed you onto his face.

You mewl at the feeling of his tongue swirling around anywhere, and everywhere.

Your clit, your lips—it was almost as if he were starving.

There was no rhythm, no harmony and contentment, just the actions of a man on a mission.

A mission to make you scream louder than the birds on your farm.

Then, abruptly, Elias leaves a small, yet firm slap to your clit. “Admit it,” he says between licks. “Admit that you’re a whore.” He leaves another slap.

You don’t respond, too caught up in both the pain and pleasure. Your head hangs back and your eyes are clenched shut, and Elias grows impatient.

He removes his mouth from you with a ‘pop’ and almost snarls at you, “Thought I told ya Ion like repeatin’ myself.” He slaps your clit again, this time with more force.

“Okay—Okay! I was bein’ a whore tonight, ‘m sorry!” You cry out as your back arches.

Elias starts to lower you towards his grinning face, and you shiver at the feeling of his cold grillz.

Instead of teasing kitten-licks, Elias sucks at your slit and lets his tongue roam freely, without a care in the world. You writhe and whine on top of him, your body bending back and creating a dull aching sensation.

His advances are relentless, and you have no chances of escaping his grasp; he readjusts his grip as soon as he feels you start to slip away from him. You don’t know whether to clench around his tongue as he fucks you with it, or to cry–you end up doing both, and this continues on for who knows how long.

You’ve stopped counting the number of orgasms you’ve had after the second one–you think–but you think Elias has been keeping track. He’s muttered ‘jus’ one more, sugar’ maybe three times now, and you don’t know how many you have left in you at this point.

After what feels like hours, Elias finally lifts your hips up, allowing you to slide down and straddle his hips with your head resting upon his chest.

The beating sound of his steady heart fills your ear, and you try to match your breathing with Elias’. You feel a vibration as he shakes with laughter. You slightly drag your head up just enough to peek at his face, and he looks down at you with amusement.

“We ain’t done, not yet, peach,” he chuckles breathily at the wave of surprise that washes over your face.

You fumble with your words, “What d’ya mean? ‘L-Lias, I-I’m spent!” You continue to tremble in his arms.

“Y’still talkin’, ain’t ya, sugar?” He scoffs, it’s antagonizing. And before you can utter anything else, Elias flips you around onto the table, so you now lay with your back on the wood once again. Your dress rides down a tad at the sudden movement, and Elias holds your back, lifting you so that he can push your dress up past your breasts.

Elias lowers your back, before leaning peck your nipples. You bite your lip, but quickly let out a moan once he blows air onto your nipples, watching almost menacingly as they harden. One hand tweaks one of your nipples, as the other drags down your rib cage.

His hot, glistening tongue swishes around your tits, as he leaves sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to your skin.

He sucks harshly as you whimper beneath him. One of his hands leaves your body and goes down to his slacks, he unbuttons them with ease without even looking, as he continues to leave hickies on your chest.

He untucks himself from his underwear, and you can’t help but buck towards his cock in anticipation.

“Easy, girl. You’ll get it when ya prove y’deserve it,” Elias mocks, you whine in response.

“I deserve it, more than anybody else–y’know that, ‘Lias,” You plead in hopes of him giving you what you want.

“That right, baby? All this yours, nobody else's?” He challenges, starting to stroke his length.

You squeeze your eyelids together, almost as if you were personally pained by the question.

“Damn right,” You huff as you look at him with a sudden wave of fire blazing through your eyes. Elias scoffs with a mixture of incredulity and mirth.

“Yeah, baby–always been yours. Glad ya finally came to y’senses.” And with that, Elias pushes inside of you, and you let out a broken gasp.

Elias quickly finds his pace as he thrusts in and out of you rapidly. He nearly pulls entirely out of your dripping cunt–and you think he’s going to tease you again, but he then slams back into you roughly, making you cry out as your back arches into him.

You’re now chest-to-chest with Elias as he continues to pump into you with little regard to your overstimulation. The contact of skin makes your toes curl in your heels. Elias grunts at the feeling of you clamping down on his cock and bites forcibly at the flesh of your neck.

Elias groans–almost as if fucking you were the key to heaven’s gates. He takes his large palm and pushes it down onto your torso, making your sweating body meet the barely-covered, rumbling wood.

You weep helplessly and squirm as he keeps you pressed against the shaking table.

“Mmnf–”Lias! Please!” You cry yet again, but without knowing the reason behind it this time.

He doesn’t respond to your watery blabbering, instead putting your legs on either side of his shoulders. Elias slowly–and almost lovingly–kisses your ankle, before unclasping the latch of your heel and sliding it off of your foot, letting it hit the floor with a thump that neither of you seem to catch through the sounds of your bodies meeting.

You two damn-near become one.

He repeats his actions on your other leg, but this time he kisses from your calf to your ankle before removing your heel and letting it meet the ground with your matching one.

His hand grips at the ankle he just kissed, using it as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded; like an anchor. He then sucks and nips at your leg, quickly marking just above your ankle with a red bruise, which you know will be purple by the time the sun rises for morning.

You hiss when he bites a little too roughly, and he shows his sympathy by licking at the irritated skin, soothing the tender ache.

“That feel good, darlin’? Tell “Lias how much y’love it, peach, c’mon,” Elias coos, lifting his shirt up so he can get a proper view of your sex.

You babble through sobs intelligibly, mewling something along the lines of ‘so so good, ‘Lias!’—at least that’s what Elias makes of it.

“Can’t hear ya, baby. Ya gotta–fuck! Ya gotta speak a ‘lil louder f’me, hm?” Elias manages to speak through his panting and groaning. You bawl, hot tears dripping from your cheeks down to your chin.

“It feels so good–oh god—‘Lias!” You shriek, not caring about the volume of your crying. “Please don’t stop! Please, please, please–” You ramble with a slur.

If Elias ever felt guilty at the way he man-handling you, seeing your fucked-out expression made all his worries wash away at the sight of you: tongue hanging out, as your tears dribble into your open mouth.

Your panting grows more frantic, little ‘uh-uh-uh’s being let out more frequently as you feel another orgasm course through your veins. “‘Lias—cummin’! S-sh-it, I-I’m cummin’!”

Elias firmly plants his feet on the floor, repositioning the arm on your stomach onto your other leg so that he can fuck you even deeper–deep enough to create a slight bulge in your stomach with his throbbing tip. “Yeah, that’s it. Fall apart on this dick, y’know y’want to, sugar. Been dreamin’ ‘bout it f’years, huh?” He taunts.

You try to answer him, honestly! But he’s hitting your cervix just right and his abs rub against the backs of your thighs–it’s too much.

Elias thought you’ve learned by now that he doesn’t take silence for an answer, so to remind you, he gives your spent cunt a more forceful slap than before.

“Fuck—Yes! A-always been wantin’ you, ‘Lias,” you wail. “I-I never let nobody touch me! Nobody but you!” You exclaim without thinking.

This fuels Elias to quicken his pace; he almost fucking growls at your words, and he tightens your legs around himself–right now, as he feels himself getting closer and closer to climaxing, he has no plans on pulling out.

He continues to heave words of encouragement as fucks you ruthlessly through your orgasm.

You moan and blabber as your vision turns white, and your ears start to ring. Your toes curl and flex, and your nails scratch at the table, hands desperate for something to hold. Your voice then gives out, as your tongue lolls out of your mouth yet again.

Elias gives you a few more earth-stattering thrusts, before his seed fills your puffy, aching hole; the guttural groan that leaves his throat ups in pitch–nearly turning into a whimper.

He pumps his cum into you once more, before releasing your legs from his grip and laying down on top of you. As he half-lays-half-stands against the table, he feels as if a cold bucket of water was dumped onto him.

He can no longer focus on the tingling feeling that shoots from his skull to his toes, but now on the fact that he was the first man you’ve been with.

You spent your first time with him–in a rickety building he bought from a Klan member, on an even dingier table.

Elias then taps your face, just enough to get you to come back to your senses. You open your eyes with a lazy grin at the feeling of his seed mixed with yours, but when you’re met with his panicky expression, you quickly push yourself up–to the best of your ability.

“What? Wha’s wrong, ‘Lias?” You question worrisomely.

He allows himself to catch his breath before speaking, “Y’serious?” It’s all that he says.

You furrow your brows and tilt your head at him, “Bout what? Y’scarin’ me, Elias,” you chuckle awkwardly.

Had you said something you shouldn’t have?

A million thoughts run rampant throughout your mind.

“‘Bout all this,” he flails his hand, motioning to where your bodies had just met. “Was that really ya first time?” He speaks loudly, and you feel mortified.

Your breath catches in your throat. You confirm his worries, your voice softer than a freshly picked feather, “Yes.”

Elias takes a step back, and it takes everything in you not to reach out for him. Instead, you sit up fully and push your dress back down to your thighs. You twiddle your thumbs idly, seeking for even an ounce of comfort as Elias pushes his shirt back down and tucks himself back into his boxers after wiping himself off with a rag. Despite his glowering, he hands you a rag so that you can wipe away the slick from between your thighs.

Did he regret spending the night with you? Did he find the fact that you remained a virgin because of him embarrassing?

“Why you ain’t tell me, girl?” He exclaims, “I wouldn’t have said and done all that foolishness if I knew you ain't never been with a man before!”

You feel your soul come back into your body. “You would’ve been all sweet with me? That whatcha sayin’, ‘Lias?” You can’t help but giggle.

“Ain’t nothin’ funny, woman! I was all rough with you ‘n–” You cut him off with a kiss to his lips, wrapping your legs around his hips and pulling him closer to you. You fold your arms around his neck, and you feel his hands drift down to your waist and squeeze lightly. Your nose nudges his, his breath fans your face as yours does his.

You break the kiss when you feel yourself losing your breath, and you gaze at Elias lovingly.

“You were perfect, I couldn’t imagine it any other way,” you whisper.

“Well for starters, could've gotten you a bed in the house ‘stead of a table in this dark ass room,” Elias grumbles.

You grin, “I think the lightin’ was just fine. Added ambience ‘n all that.” Elias pouts, and you peck his lips.

“I don’t care ‘bout the details, “Lias. Long as it was with you.” Your tone is as sweet as the finest honey in Clarksdale, and it pulls on Elias’ heartstrings.

“Y’really waited all these years….For me?” He whispers.

“Course I did, couldn’t imagine bein’ with anybody else.” You speak just as softly. You recognize the guilt that crosses his face, despite his best efforts to mask it with his bravado. “Don’t feel guilty, please. I don’t blame you for nun.” You caress his hair. Silence fills the room as Elias deciphers what to say, you just hold him tenderly until he’s ready.

“I-I love ya, more than y’know, sugar…” He trails off before finishing his sentence, “I jus’ want ya to know that. I have since we was young.” He looks at you with adoration and love in his eyes.

“I love you too, Elias Moore. Have since you stood up to my daddy on his farm f’me when we was seven.”

He smiles, but it’s tight lipped, making you frown. “Jus’ wish I could’ve admitted it sooner. Then this would’ve went down differently—would’ve been better.” He sulks.

You take your thumb and index finger and pluck his lips, making him shout ‘hey!’ with a laugh.

“Stop beatin’ y’self up, Elias. I told you, I’m perfectly happy here, right now. Ain’t nun gon’ change that a bit.” You scold him.

“If ya stop all that moppin’, I’ll let ya try again tomorrow, however y’want,” you giggle mischievously. Elias’ eyes light up almost immediately, the way he perks up reminds you of a puppy that was just given a treat.

Elias roars with laughter and squeezes you, before lowering you back down onto the table, he presses nearly all of his weight onto you.

You squeal and cackle as he tickles your sides, “‘Lias!”

You lay wrapped up with Elias, you felt as if you could lay there forever, and honestly in this moment, you wanted to.

Clarity and revelations do the body good.

Everything was good.

Until you heard a commotion on the other side of the door.

[po3ticb3auty]

Save my little children in Gaza 😭💔🇵🇸

I am Kholoud from Gaza. I no longer have a home, nor do I have any security. The war destroyed my home, and I now live in a dilapidated tent, but that's not the real pain. The real pain is that I am a mother who sees my children suffering every day without being able to do anything to save them. My children suffer from a rare skin disease (ichthyosis psoriasis), a cruel disease that causes their skin to crack, bleed, and burn with pain. They can't sleep, they can't play, they can't live like other children.

Their tiny bodies can't bear it anymore, and all I can do is hug them and try to hide my tears. $500 every three days, that's the price I need to ease his pain... but it's a sum I don't have, and I don't even have enough to feed them. I hope you donate the amount, or half of it, or whatever you can.

As a mother, I appeal to your merciful heart: Please, don't leave me alone in this agony. Your small help could be the difference between them continuing to live or succumbing to the pain. My children deserve life, they deserve a childhood without suffering... and you could be their lifeline.

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #585 )✅️

Campaign donation link

Or via PayPal

[po3ticb3auty]

I miss you

Summary: You hadn’t seen Smoke in years—not since he left out of your bed without a word, years ago. A few empty letters followed, but nothing that could fix the silence he left behind. Now he’s back, strolling into town with Stack like nothing happened, asking for your help with some juke joint dream. As if he didn’t abandon you. As if you’re not still his wife.

Pairing: Lover! Somewhat nonchalant! Smoke x Black! fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, abandonment, SMUT, swearing, angst. MDNI

WC: 1.3k

Should I make a part two? or leave this as a one shot?🤔

Part two is up!

You hadn’t seen smoke in ages, last you heard he was in Chicago. He left your bed and didn’t say a fucking word, he sent a couple of letters— but those didn’t matter, not after that.

Him and stack strolled into town and immediately start looking for you.

You’re sitting at home relaxing after baking a few pies for a funeral, cigarette in your mouth and enjoying what’s left of the day.

You hear two car doors slam shut in your driveway, it startles you. You huff on your cigarette and walk to the door, opening it—to see who it is.

You see stack, all dressed up and coming onto the porch. He’s smiling at you through the screen door.

“Oh, hell no.” You laugh, shutting the door in his face.

“Come on, why you gotta be like that?”

“You really gonna shut the door in your brother in-laws face like that?”

You sit back down at the table, flicking the cigarette ashes in the tray. You have no time for either one of them or the foolishness they bring.

Smoke knocks at the door

“Woman, come open this door.” He demanded with a southern drawl.

It’s the way he talks to you that still makes you weak in the knees. You put out your cigarette and go open the door, both of them standing there looking at you.

“There she is.” Stack grins.

You roll your eyes and smoke opens the screen door, stopping stack from entering.

“Give us a minute.”

Stack rolls his eyes and sits in the chair by the door.

Smoke shuts the door behind him, staring you down.

“What do you want with me, smoke?” You sigh.

“I wanted to come check on you.”

You chuckle, walking back into the kitchen— starting to wash the rest of the dishes.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not. I wanted to come see my wife.”

“Oh, I’m still your wife?—“

“I figured I lost that title 7 years ago.”

Smoke sucks his teeth at your remark, not much he can say.

“We’re opening up a juke joint and I want you to help us serve the liquor.”

You stop washing the dishes and look at him, shocked at his audacity.

“Are you fucking serious?—“

“Seven years I don’t see you and you show up asking for my help?? I oughta cut your black ass, for even thinking this was okay.”

“Leaving wasn’t an easy decision and you know that.” Smoke argued.

You shake your head, because you can’t believe this is happening.

“I don’t know anything when it comes to you. One second you’re talking about wanting a baby and the next you’re gone— in the war and working for Capone.”

“I did this for us. I can’t make you understand, but this was for us.”

Now you’re annoyed, he’s still missing the point.

“Opening a juke joint is for me? Robbing whoever you did to get the money— was for me? Disappearing for seven years was for me?”

“Woman, stop.” Smoke sighs. What you’re saying is getting under his skin, he knows he was wrong.

“Smoke, get the fuck outta my face and shut my door on your way out.”

Smoke walks up behind you, grabbing your waist. Knowing it will make you weak and that you’ve always loved it.

He kisses your face and then onto your neck.

“I’m sorry..”

“I love you and I missed you.”

You shift trying to move him from around you, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss him— his touch, his scent, his voice.

Seven years later and he still has a hold on you.

You stop washing dishes and turn around— facing him.

He stares into your eyes, something he missed doing for so long. Just being around you brought him comfort.

He steps closer, your breath hitching in your chest.

“You really want me to leave? I will, if you want me to.”

You know the damn answer to that, you don’t want him to leave— you want your man.

“It’s so easy for you to leave, just like that. You’ll leave your wife without batting an eye.”

Tears well in your eyes, just from the hurt of him leaving.

“It wasn’t easy to leave you and you know that. I wrote to you and you never wrote back.”

“What is a fucking letter after you left? I wanted you back.”

He gets closer to you, completely closing the gap in between the both of you— pressing his body into yours. Making your heart skip a beat.

Smoke wipes your tears.

“I’m here now.”

He grabs your face and presses his lips to yours, almost hesitating to kiss you.

He kisses you slow and tender, savoring every bit of the kiss. His tongue wrestling with yours, causing you to moan in his mouth.

“Hmm.” He groans.

His body pressed against yours for the first time in so long.

He kisses your face and neck, sloppy and so sexy— knowing it’s driving you crazy.

His hand starts pulling up your dress and apron, resting his hand on your inner thigh.

He slowly moves his hand towards your panties, pulling them off and tossing them— without hesitation.

His kisses getting sloppier and messier. He glides his fingers into your folds, making you melt into his hands.

It feels just right, it had been so long. You were soaking wet, just from the kissing.

Smoke stares at you, not breaking his focus—as his fingers now swirl circles around your sensitive nub.

“All this for me?”

Your trying to hold back a moan, “fuck.. smoke.”

He grabs you bringing you to the kitchen table, having you sit on it. As he’s in between your legs, you can feel how hard he is—almost enough to make you orgasm.

You grab at his belt buckle biting your lip.

He steps back undoing his pants and pulling them down. His pants fall down and you feel nervous— despite it being your husband, what should you expect after this?

He kisses you again, his hand somewhat wrapped around your throat.

“I missed you” he groaned, licking the side of your neck.

His dick, hard and throbbing— pressed against your pussy. Getting covered in your slick.

He lines himself up, taking his time— but you stop him.

You’re staring at him, scared to ask.

“Elijah .. have you been with anyone else?”

He stops and grabs your face, “I would never do that to you. I only want you.”

You nod, almost feels like you were on the verge of tears.

He pushes himself inside you. Causing you to gasp and him to groan. It stings a bit, but you don’t care. You missed this feeling.

You grab onto him, moaning into his ear.

“This- feels so good, honey.”

He thrusts into you just right, making your eyes roll back into your head.

“That’s it.” He moans into your ear, making you clench around him.

He gets a bit more rough, just how you like it.

“Oh, Elijah.”

“Yes, just like that.”

Right when things are getting good and you could orgasm, you hear—

“Good lord, Jesus wept!” Stack walks into the house and sees you two.

It startles both of you.

“Shut the fucking door and go outside!” Smoke yells, very annoyed.

“We gotta go! We’re already behind schedule.”

“Hurry up.”

Stack walks outside, shutting the door— trying not to laugh at what he saw.

Elijah glances at his watch and huffs, laying his head on your chest.

“We will finish this later, I promise.”

He pulls out, adjusting your dress and fixing his pants. He helps you off the table, placing a kiss on your cheek.

“Will you help us today?”

You sigh, irritated that you couldn’t finish.

“I guess, I’ll help you out. Elijah, I can’t do this all the time though.”

He nods.

You ask the big question, the one you hesitated to think about.

“So, what does this mean for us? Are you wanting to be with me again?”

He stops what he’s doing, glancing at you.

“You’re my wife. I always want to be with you and I won’t leave your side again, that I can tell ya.”

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

[po3ticb3auty]

Confinement | Terry Richmond

^^prompt pairing: dark!terry richmond x black reader

warnings: extreme dark themes and smut (18+), psychological manipulation, power imbalance, emotional coercion, orgasm denial, use of restraints, obsessive dynamics, blurred professional boundaries, surveillance implications, d/s dynamics, captivity, moral ambiguity and references to murder

summary: she locked him up, or so she thought. terry wanted to be caught. and he liked the way she looked at him through the bars.

vibe: hannibal meets loki-in-the-glass-box meets joe goldberg. he’s behind glass, but he’s always in control. psychological cat-and-mouse, only she's the mouse who thinks she’s the cat.

word count: 3.3K

a/n: no taglist on this one because i'm not sure that this is everyone's cup of tea.. but i hope this is what you were looking for anon 🫶🏾

The room was sterile. No sharp edges. No handles. No metal exposed beyond what was absolutely necessary. Every fixture had been scrutinised, every panel engineered to strip a person of leverage, of power, of hope.

The lighting buzzed overhead - cold, clinical, inescapable. White fluorescence that flattened every angle, turned skin sallow, eyes glassy. It should’ve been the kind of space designed to crush someone like him.

But he looked comfortable.

Terry Richmond sat perfectly still in the centre of the observation room - legs spread lazily, hands cuffed to the bolted chair behind him, head tilted slightly like he’d been expecting company. Not a twitch. Not a slouch. His back remained impossibly straight, like he wasn’t just tolerating the restraints but performing for them.

He wasn’t bruised. Wasn’t panicked. Not a single scratch on him. The orderlies said he didn’t resist when they brought him in. Didn’t speak. Barely blinked.

And when she stepped into the room, clipboard tucked against her chest, trying to keep her pulse from betraying her —

He smiled.

A slow, wolfish curve of his mouth that didn’t belong to a man who had been captured. It belonged to someone who had allowed it.

“Took you long enough, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice like warm molasses. “Miss me?”

She didn’t answer. Not right away. She couldn’t.

Her shoes echoed across the smooth floor, the only sound between them besides the buzz of fluorescent lights and the low crackle of the mic feed. The glass wall between them stretched floor to ceiling - reinforced, shatterproof, unyielding - yet the weight of his gaze pressed through like heat.

She moved to the other side of the glass, stopped exactly seven feet away - the legal minimum. Any closer required full restraints, full observation, full clearance.

He watched her the entire way. Like a hawk. Like a predator who didn’t need his claws to be dangerous.

His wrists were bound. His ankles, too. All precautions she had signed off on herself. Triple-checked. Terry Richmond had been a ghost - a methodical killer who left bodies posed like artwork, the calling cards always just cryptic enough to suggest obsession, never enough to suggest target.

Until she read the patterns between the lines. Until the messages started to feel personal.

The composition of each scene. The significance of the locations. A flower from her hometown. A book she'd once written a thesis on. The way every victim resembled someone she used to know.

Until it became obvious: He wanted her to find him.

And now here he was.

Caged. Supposedly.

And yet every time she looked at him, it was her who felt stripped bare.

“You don’t get to speak unless I ask you something,” she finally said, clipboard held a little tighter than necessary. “Understood?”

He leaned forward. The restraints strained just slightly, enough to remind her he was, technically, under control. But the way he moved, the glint in his eye, told a different story.

He licked his bottom lip, slow. Deliberate. “You came all this way just to play dress-up, baby girl?”

“Terry.”

“You wore the lipstick I like.”

Her jaw clenched. She hadn’t. Not intentionally.

But he was right.

He always was.

Terry never raised his voice. Never struggled. Never made a show of resistance.

He simply spoke in calm, syrupy tones - each word a drop of heat sliding under her skin, burrowing deep, finding places she didn’t know were soft. Didn’t want to know.

She interrogated him daily. Always the same seat. The same distance. The same rehearsed control.

A clipboard in her lap. A stopwatch ticking beside her. Procedure as armour.

He gave nothing. Not unless she gave something first.

At first, it was harmless. Minor concessions. A pause when she should have pressed. Letting him talk longer than protocol allowed. Laughing once when he said something unexpectedly dry.

Leaving her jacket behind on purpose. Maybe just to see if he’d notice.

And he did.

He began to notice things. Little things.

How she wore her hair differently on anxious days, clipped back when she needed discipline, down when she felt tired and exposed. How her breath hitched - barely audible, but unmistakable, when she read certain words aloud from his case file. The ones tied to ritual. To obsession. To violence wrapped in longing.

He catalogued her the way he had his victims. But she wasn’t prey. Not yet.

She was an equation. A puzzle.

And Terry Richmond loved puzzles.

He began to tilt the interviews - pushing gently, methodically. A look held too long. A question phrased like curiosity but delivered like temptation. Until it wasn’t about his crimes anymore. Until it wasn’t about the victims.

It was about her.

And then came the questions. Questions he had no business asking. Questions that didn’t belong in an interview room. Questions that felt more like… confessions.

“You ever make yourself come while thinking about me in here?” he asked one afternoon, voice thick with amusement, eyes glinting just behind the glass.

She didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

The pen in her hand stilled mid-note. Her pulse thudded loud in her ears, drowning out the hum of the recording equipment.

He smiled. Slow. Patient. Like he already knew.

“What were you wearing when you read my file?” he drawled, watching her like a man watching a fire catch. “Did you touch yourself, or did you just imagine what I’d do to you if I wasn’t behind this glass?”

Her fingers curled just slightly tighter around her pen. But she didn’t leave. Didn’t report the breach.

And from his chair shackled, restrained, supposedly caged - Terry simply watched. And waited.

Because she hadn’t told him to stop.

And he knew she wouldn’t.

It started small. Harmless, even.

She lingered a little longer after each session. Asked one more question than necessary. Let her eyes trace the line of his jaw when she thought he wasn’t looking.

She told herself it was tactical. That she was watching him closely. That his micro-expressions mattered. But then she started wearing lipstick. A softer red, just enough to feel… intentional. Then darker. Deeper. The kind that left faint smudges on paper coffee cups. And maybe, just maybe, on the rim of a pen she passed between her fingers while questioning him.

She wore lower necklines. Not scandalous. Just slightly less severe. Just enough to feel it when his gaze dipped, slowly, deliberately.

And Terry noticed. Every. Single. Time.

His gaze didn’t linger. It devoured. Not with hunger. With knowing.

Like he’d seen this before. Like he’d planned this.

The glass between them stopped feeling like a barrier. It became a mirror.

And all she saw in it was her own want - staring back, reflected in the eyes of the man she was supposed to control.

He never begged. Never pressed.

He invited. Lured. Opened the door and waited to see if she’d step through it.

And somehow, it was her who started bending the rules. Little ones at first. Just to test. Just to push.

She let him speak off-record. Just once. Then again.

She came outside of protocol hours. Told herself it was for “observation.” For “data.” Told herself no one needed to know.

She sat closer. Then closer still. Crossed one leg over the other. Noticed the way his eyes flicked down, then back up - never hurried, always composed.

Until the glass no longer felt safe. Until the idea of his voice in her ear felt more intimate than touch.

His words changed, too. He started weaving double meanings into every sentence. His voice coiled around her like smoke - thick, warm, inescapable.

“I can’t touch you from here, baby,” he murmured one evening, low and velvet-slick, a knife hidden beneath every syllable. “But I can make you fall apart anyway.”

Her breath caught. She didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

Because he was right. She already had.

The spiral had begun. And she was no longer sure whose hands had started turning it. Worse - she wanted to keep falling. Especially if it was his voice waiting at the bottom.

It didn’t happen all at once. The unravelling was slow. Surgical.

Precise, like the man himself.

He only spoke when she gave him something first. Never demanded. Never pushed. Just waited. Patient, quiet, coiled like smoke behind glass.

“Tell me a secret,” he said once, voice low, lazy. “One you’ve never told anyone. Then I’ll tell you where I left her body.”

And she did. She didn’t even hesitate.

The words tumbled out in a hush, too fast, too unguarded. She wasn’t sure who she was trying to impress or confess to. She just wanted him to keep looking at her like that. Like he knew her.

She didn’t remember when the lines blurred. But they had. Somewhere between her long nights and longer stares, between the click of her heels and the soft, slow drawl of his voice calling her back again. And again.

She stopped calling him Mr. Richmond. Formalities cracked under the heat of his gaze.

He called her darlin’. Sweetheart. My good girl.

Every time he said it, something in her stomach fluttered. Tight. Wrong. Addictive. It wasn’t affection. Not really. It was control. Drenched in honey, cloaked in charm, but still control.

He never touched her. But he didn’t need to.

His words filled in the spaces where his hands couldn’t go.

One night, when the lights were dim and the reinforced glass gleamed with twin reflections - her lips parted, his head tilted in that always-ready calm; he leaned forward. Calm as anything. Calculated, as always.

“Put your hand under the table.”

Her breath caught. She didn’t ask why.

“Now sit on it.”

And she obeyed. Like she always did.

The chair creaked beneath her. Her thighs tensed. Heat bloomed in her chest and pooled low in her belly. She kept her eyes forward, but he saw everything.

“Tell me what it feels like,” he said, voice dipped in hunger, low and thick like honey warmed on the stove, “when you imagine it’s mine.”

She trembled. Bit her lip. Said nothing.

Didn’t need to.

The silence between them vibrated, thick with want, shame, power.

He made her fall apart like that. Knees clamped together. Breath shaky. Shame burning under her skin like a fever she didn’t want to break.

And through it all, he watched.

Cool. Composed. Unmoving.

A man shackled and caged. And yet somehow still the one in control.

He never touched her. Not once.

But it was already too late.

She’d let him in. Not with a key. But a confession.

And he knew it. He’d always known.

They called it a controlled interaction. A trial run. Monitored. Supervised. Contained.

Every word was meant to suggest safety - layers of oversight, forms signed in triplicate, a room designed to neutralise danger.

No glass this time. Just four walls. One table. Two chairs. And him.

Unshackled, save for the thick cuffs looped to the base of the bolted-down table. A gesture of caution. A gesture of control.

He looked… serene. Almost reverent. As though this moment had been prophesied, and he had simply waited for the world to catch up.

She told herself it was protocol. That he’d earned this after weeks of compliance. That proximity didn’t mean permission.

But when she crossed the threshold, when her shoes sank into the silence and her body moved on automatic, she felt it the shift.

She sat. He watched. And in that single, unwavering moment, when his eyes found hers, dark, steady, devouring - she forgot why she ever thought distance had mattered at all.

His gaze was a gravity well. And she, foolish and human, kept stepping closer.

The silence stretched between them, thick and pulsing, like breath held too long. It wasn’t awkward. It was intentional.

Then slowly and deliberately, he leaned forward.

Not enough to breach the unspoken line between them. Just enough to make sure she could feel it. The heat of him. The nearness. The way his breath stirred the tiny hairs at her neck, sent a full-body ache humming through her chest like a memory.

He didn’t touch her. Didn’t kiss. Just breathed her in like she was his first taste of freedom.

And she let him.

“You don’t want me free,” he murmured, voice a growl beneath velvet. “That’d be too easy.”

His tone was all sin and certainty - not smug but assured. A man who’d read the last page of a book long before she even opened the cover.

She stayed still. Barely.

A single twitch of her hand. A tightening in her throat. Her eyes dropped, then lifted and dragged back to him like tide to the moon.

“You like knowing I could take you…” he continued, voice low, hypnotic.

His gaze flicked downward - not to her lips, but to her throat. To the place where her pulse betrayed her. Where it jumped, visibly.

“…but you let me wait.”

The words sank between them like ink into paper - irreversible, permanent.

And God help her, he was right.

Not because she feared him. But because somewhere deep inside, shameful and throbbing, she wanted him to be the one to cross the line.

And worse still… she wanted to let him.

She unlocked one wrist.

It was supposed to be procedural. A test of trust. Supervised. Temporary.

Every measure in place had been agreed upon - clearance signed, surveillance confirmed, every heartbeat accounted for. It should’ve felt clinical. Bounded. Safe.

But the second the cuff clicked open - a sharp, final sound that seemed to echo too loud in the still room, his hand shot up to catch hers.

Not violently. But firm. Possessive.

It was the kind of grip that wasn’t born from panic or impulse, but planning. He held her as if he knew she would allow it.

And she had.

He kissed her knuckles like a gentleman - lips soft, reverent, almost mocking. But the way he gripped them… that was no courtesy. That was a warning dressed in silk.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he guided her down onto his lap.

No command. No plea. Just intention.

And she let him.

The cameras caught it. They must have. But in that moment, she didn’t care. Couldn’t.

One hand still chained to the table. One hand free to ruin her.

And yet somehow, it was her who moved like she had the power.

She straddled him slow, deliberate, thighs tightening around his hips as if anchoring herself to a storm she had no chance of surviving. Her fingers pressed into his shoulders, not for balance, but to remind herself that she was choosing this.

Choosing him.

She rocked against him with the illusion of control - rhythm steady, spine straight - like she was orchestrating the encounter. But every time he growled, low and feral, every time he bit into her skin like a claim, breath hot against her neck like fire at the fuse... she remembered:

She never had been in control.

Not really.

His mouth found her jaw first, then her collarbone, then the hollow beneath her ear. Each kiss a brand. Each bruise a declaration.

He didn’t speak at first. He devoured.

Then, lips brushing her pulse point, he rasped: “You want to cum?”

The voice was syrupy. Sacrilegious. A sin served in velvet.

“Use me for it.”

She shivered.

Her hands curled into his shirt, gripping tight, grounding herself as much as claiming him.

“You don’t even have to let me finish,” he murmured against her throat. His free hand gripped her hip, hard enough to ache. “Just leave me like this. Begging. Desperate. Caged.”

And she almost did.

Because the way he moaned for her, quiet but guttural, like it scraped up from somewhere primal. The way his teeth clenched, eyes wide and ravenous like he was both starving and thankful to be starved - it was punishment enough.

Torture wrapped in reverence.

Biting. Bruising. Bruised knees. Bruised egos. Bruised morality.

Her movements grew more ragged. His voice dropped into something darker.

Praise spilled from his lips between snarls and whimpers.

“That’s it, baby. That’s it.” A tremble in his jaw. A twitch in his bound wrist. “Use your favourite monster. Make me your fucking ruin.”

And she did. Again. And again.

Until there was no question of who had surrendered first. And no doubt that he would never stop waiting for her to do it again.

The sex had been her undoing. The final piece he needed.

He hadn’t just wanted her body; he wanted her addiction. Her loyalty. Her testimony. Her surrender.

And she gave it to him - day by day, breath by breath - each sigh slipping past her lips like a secret she thought he didn’t already know.

But Terry Richmond had known everything. Planned everything.

Every visit. Every glance. Every angle of his voice. Every subtle arch of his brow. The exact tilt of his head when she’d walk in with a file tucked against her chest like a shield. Even the camera blind spots, the ones she’d insisted were coincidence. They weren’t.

He knew the boundaries she would cross before she did. Knew exactly how much rope to give her before she’d tie it into her own noose and call it devotion.

Every protocol she broke, she’d justified. Just this once. Just this risk. Just this man.

She thought she’d kept him caged. That he was hers because he stayed.

But he’d made the cage comfortable on purpose. A place she could return to. A place where he waited – steady and knowing while she convinced herself she still had control.

She hadn’t just let him in. She’d brought him in. Offered him a place beneath her skin, behind her rules, inside the one part of her that had always been off-limits: her certainty.

Let herself feel safe. Special. Wanted.

And that— That was his favourite part.

Some said the glass had always been two-way. That he recorded her confessions. Her trembling. Her moans. Played them back while she slept, whispering memories back into her own body like lullabies dressed in shame.

Others said it was worse, That she’d let him out. Just once. Just for a moment.

A moment of real touch. Of breath. Of whispered ruin traced down the curve of her throat with lips she should’ve never let near her.

And now?

Now the cell was empty.

She sat alone in the chair where he’d once waited, still warm from the last time she’d crossed every line that mattered. The same position. The same table. The same silence. But now, it rang hollow.

The cuffs she’d undone herself had left a faint ache around her wrists. Not from force but from memory. From the weight of choosing him. Again and again.

The glass in front of her was smudged with fingerprints, her fingerprints like a ghost pressed into the room. A history written in oil and breath.

And there it was. A folded piece of paper left behind. Crisp. Precise. Neat handwriting. No signature.

Just one sentence:

“Don’t let me out… unless you’re ready to be mine.”

And she had.

God help her, she had been ready. Too ready.

Had opened the door not with ignorance but with something worse. Hope.

And now?

Now he was gone.

No alarms. No breach. No noise at all. Just absence, echoing like a verdict.

But he’d left a part of himself behind. Inside her. In her breath. Her memory. Her rules rewritten in his voice.

She thought she could close the door again. Thought she could sit still, go silent, play penance in his place.

But Terry Richmond didn’t need walls to haunt a woman. He didn’t need chains to keep her his.

She’d given him the key. She’d let him in. And now, even in his absence…

He was everywhere.

comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾

[po3ticb3auty]

"Say My Name"

Hi guys!!! Okay!!!!!! I have been sitting on this story for a good minute, tweaking it here and there until I drove myself crazy! Debating for so long if i wanted to get into writing and actually posting it. I've been sitting on so may stories and ideas that I am excited to share with you all soon. I was SCARED lol ! Go easy on me pleaseeee.. I also will gratefully welcome any criticism and comments. Cheers to my first fic of many!

Lastly, I am open to taking requests! Okay, enjoy! :)

Pairing: Terry Richmond(Rebel Ridge) x Black Female Reader

Summary: A playful bet sparks between Terry and Reader : whose name will the baby say first—"mama" or "dada"? The wager? One night of anything the winner wants.

Warnings: Fluff, Mild Sexual Content / Light Smut, Minors DNI, Teasing and Suggestive Language, Playful Flirtation

Word Count: 2,500+

************************************************************************

There was something so peaceful about Saturday mornings in the Richmond house.

The scent of cinnamon waffles wafted through the air, soft 90s R&B hummed from the Bluetooth speaker, and the sunlight spilled gently across the kitchen floor where Terry stood in gray sweatpants, barefoot, flipping waffles.

You were curled on the couch, your bonnet still on, wrapped in his old hoodie with a sleepy-eyed baby girl perched on your lap. The baby—your baby—had Terry’s bright, feline-like eyes and your wide smile. She giggled, a high-pitched sound that always made your heart skip.

“She’s definitely saying ‘mama’ first,” you declared lazily, bouncing her on your knee. Terry peeked over his shoulder, eyebrow arched. “You wish.”

“I know,” you grinned, brushing a curl off your daughter’s forehead. “I carried her for nine months. We bonded." Gently squeezing her chubby cheeks and kissing her nose. "She knows who gave up wine and sushi for her.”

He turned fully around now, pointing the spatula in your direction. “Okay, first of all, she spent nine months kicking you. That’s not bonding, that’s training.”

You laughed. “Training for what, your side of this argument?”

“She’s a daddy’s girl. Watch.” He strolled over, crouched down to your daughter’s level. “Princess. Say ‘dada.’ Come on, sweetheart. Daaaaa-da.”

She blinked and blew a spit bubble.

Laughter echoing through the room as she clapped her hands, proud of herself for being cute. “She’s trolling you already,” you said smugly, standing to carry her over to her high chair.

Terry took her from you, brushing a kiss on your neck in the process, his lips lingering a second longer than necessary. “Mmhmm,” you hummed, raising an eyebrow. “You trying to distract me?”

He smirked, placing the baby in her chair. “I don’t need to distract you. I just need to make a bet.”

You turned, arms crossed. “Oh?”

“If she says ‘dada’ first…” He stepped closer, his voice dropping a notch. “I get one night of whatever I want.” You tried to play it cool, but the warmth that bloomed at your cheeks and down your chest betrayed you. “Whatever you want?”

He nodded, voice playful but husky. “No rules. No time limit. Whatever I want."

You tried to stay composed, but a grin cracked your lips. “Fine. But when she says ‘mama’ first? You do that thing I like.”

“The thing with the—”

“Mmhmm.”

“Oh shit, bet.”

“Deal?” he asked.

“Deal,” you said, sealing it with a kiss that started off innocent but lingered with just enough heat to make you pull away before breakfast got too cold.

********************************************Day One of the Bet

You both tried everything.

During tummy time, you whispered “mama” like it was a secret spell. Terry? He sang “dada” like it was a nursery rhyme hook.

At bath time, you cooed “mama” while wrapping her in a towel like a burrito. Terry read her bedtime stories replacing every third word with “dada.” You caught him showing her flashcards.

FLASHCARDS.

Day Four of the Bet

Terry woke up to the sound of your voice.

“Mama. Can you say ‘mama’? Say ‘mama’ for mommy.”

He cracked one eye open and caught you sitting on the edge of the bed, the baby in your lap, both of you bathed in soft morning light. “Cheating,” he grumbled, voice gravelly with sleep. “This is cheating.”

“She wakes up when I wake up. Not my fault.” You turned to look at him. He rolled onto his side and pulled you both into his arms, smothering you with sleepy kisses. “Mmm. You’re lucky you’re fine.”

“I know,” you said, pressing one back onto his jawline.

She squealed. You paused.

“She’s gonna say it,” you whispered, holding your breath.

She burped. Terry cackled.

Day Seven of the Bet

You both stood at the sink, washing bottles side by side like some domestic sitcom couple. You were in a oversized t-shirt turned "nightgown" and Terry had been eyeing you all morning—especially after you bent down to grab the bottle scrubber and he caught a glimpse of your panties underneath.

“You wear that on purpose?” he asked lowly, rinsing a nipple of the bottle way too slowly. “Wear what?” you said innocently, leaning forward just enough to tease him.

“Oh, you dirty for that.” Terry sending a gentle slap to your ass. You smiled sweetly. “Motivation for winning. I like to keep the prize warm.” you winked.

“Mmm,” he murmured, stepping behind you and letting his hands slide around your waist. “Well now I have to win.”

Leaning back into his chest. “You always say that.”

Terry lowered his lips to your neck. “And I always do.”

You were about to retort when you heard a noise from the baby monitor.

A gurgle. A babble. And then...

“Da-da.”

You froze.

Terry blinked. “Wait—did she just—?”

You both sprinted to the nursery like it was an Olympic event. She sat in her crib, giggling. “Say it again, baby girl,” he begged, breathless. “Say ‘dada.’”

She clapped. You tried not to look completely crushed. He picked her up, spinning her gently in his arms, and she laughed like it was the best day of her life.

“Say ‘mama,’” you said hopefully.

“Daaa-da!” she squealed. Terry’s eyes met yours, triumphant.

Walking toward you, baby on one hip. “I believe you owe me one night. Of whatever I want.”

********************************************That Night

You had just put the baby to sleep when you walked into the bedroom and found Terry already there, lights dimmed and shirtless.

He smiled slow, the kind of smile that made your stomach flutter. “You ready to pay up?”

You slipped your robe off slowly, wearing nothing underneath. “I’m a woman of my word.”

He sat up, eyes running down your body with open appreciation. “Good. 'Cause I’ve been thinking about this shit all week.” You climbed onto the bed, straddling his lap. “One night of anything, huh?” He leaned in. “Anything.” gently moving your hair out of your face.

“I’m a little scared,” you teased, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You should be,” he whispered, before capturing your mouth in a kiss.

It was the kind of kiss only a man who knew exactly how to love his wife gave. He kissed you like it was date night, prom night and honeymoon night all rolled into one. Like it was the last kiss he would ever give you. Something to remember.

Your body against his bare chest. His hands found your hips like they were made to live there, thumbs brushing over soft skin as you leaned in close.

He kissed you deep, with heat and hunger that had been simmering since Tuesday. His mouth moved down your neck, slow and purposeful, like he had nowhere else to be, warm breath ghosting over your skin.

Leaning you both back a little. “You know what I want?” he said against your collarbone.

“What?” smiling, curious of what he was about to say.

“I want you exactly like this—on top. Slow. Eyes on me. Not saying a damn thing but my name.” "Show me how much of a winner I am."

You swallowed hard, your thighs already tightening around him. “Whatever you want... daddy,” you whispered, and then you kissed him like you meant it—deep and dirty and full of the promise to make good on everything he’d asked for.

Somewhere between his mouth on your chest and your hand trailing down between you both, you forgot who technically won the bet.

Because tonight, it felt like you both did.

Later, breathless and tangled up in sheets, he whispered, “Next baby’s saying ‘dada’ too.” You laughed against his chest. “Oh, is that part of your evil plan?”

“Mmhmm. Two for two.”

“Well,” you sighed, pretending to consider, “I could be convinced to give you a rematch…”

He grinned. And you knew the bet wasn’t really about winning. It was about laughing in the kitchen. Sneaking kisses over bottle warmers. Being a team, even when competing.

And loving each other, deeply, wildly, every single day. But still…

Next round?

You were definitely winning.

***********************************************************

I feel like I could make a bonus to this as like a "Morning After" kind of thing.. Let me know!

L-U-X <3

[po3ticb3auty]

PORNSTAR

Authors Note: Heeeyyyy Yallllll🫣🫢 Sorry I've been in and out of this app.... But Life got me in a chokehold baby! Wheew.... 😮‍💨 But...I've been working. Here's a lil something to get back into the swing of things... This request had me on one... I hope the baby that requested this really enjoys this... I thought outside the box with this one...and lastly, I hope all of you enjoy. 😊

Warning:. PLEASE DNI IF YOU'RE A MINOR. THIS IS FOR THE 18+ CREW...

6.8K Words (DAMN IT) 😮‍💨

READER|

If your nephew hadn't begged you to go with him, you wouldn't even be here. Let's start there.

WWE meet-and-greet? Cool. Jey Uso? Fine as hell. But packed convention center crowds, screaming fans, and long-ass lines? Not your usual vibe. But your nephew, Malik, had been losing his little mind about this for weeks—talkin' 'bout "Auntie, you gotta come with me. Ain't no way I'm meeting my favorite wrestler without you."

You loved that boy too much to say no.

What you didn't love, though? The damn DIY crop top he made you wear. His "special request."

A black and Gold YEET shirt, sliced up by your sister like it was a damn Fashion Nova drop. 

"Ain't no way in hell..."

That was all you could think as you tugged at the hem of the the cropped shirt. The fabric barely grazed your midriff, the edges uneven from your sister's scissors and imagination. She swore she was doing you a favor. "Trust me," she said. "Little crop action. Let that snatched waist do what it do."

And it didn't help that it left your tattoo exposed, that tattoo. The one no one was supposed to recognize unless they paid the subscription fee and clicked that lil tip link.

A scorpion with it's tail flipped over but the end was shaped into a heart, right on the side of your rib cage, almost under your right boob.

Your subscribers? They loved that tat. One in particular tipped three thousand the first time he saw it in a slow-motion clip of you unzipping that bodysuit, whispering "You wanna see more, baby?"

But you never showed your face.

Never said your name.

Never planned to be seen.

Until now.

"Yo, that's Jey, Auntie! That's him!"

Malik damn near broke into a sprint.

You followed behind, trying not to let your thighs stick together from the heat and nerves. The closer you got to the table, the more you realized Jey wasn't just "fine." He was ridiculously Fine.  Dangerously Fine.

A walking sin.

Thick Samoan frame draped in a black plain shirt and matching sweats, ink flowing down both arms like liquid legacy. His tribal tattoo stretched up the right side of his neck, under that thick ass gold Cuban chain. You could see it even clearer when he turned his head to the side to look away, revealing it more. Your knees nearly gave out. 

His hair was slicked down, faded on the sides. Curls more defiant, than it was through the camera. His lips? Full and Pink. Smile? Bottom row full of Gold.  Beard? Full as hell, sprinkle of gray hairs in it. 

And Lord, when his eyes found yours?

It was like he'd already seen you naked.

Because...he had.

Not that you knew that...yet.

"What up, Uce? Who you bring with ya? Yo sister?" he asked, looking down at Malik first, but his gaze snapped right back to you.

"My Auntie. She brought me," Malik beamed proudly, nudging you closer like you weren't about to melt into a puddle.

Jey leaned in.

"Appreciate you bringin' him, mama. You lookin' real familiar though..."

You smiled, nerves prickling your spine. "Do I?"

His gaze dipped to your chest—not too subtly—and locked onto that tattoo like it was branded into his memory.

And the way his lips curled?

Yeah. He knew.

The grin that slid across his lips was lazy and laced in mischief. That bottom lip tugged between his teeth as he gave you a once-over that sent heat crawling up your neck.

"Damn," he muttered, leaning closer. "You a real one for rockin' that Yeet crop."

His voice was rich. Deep. Like honey left out in the sun.

You chuckled awkwardly and glanced at your nephew, who was still giddy. "He made me wear it."

"Smart kid," Jey said—still looking at you. Not your nephew.

Up close, he was too fine.  It was damn near suffocating. 

You took a picture together. He didn't touch your waist... but his hand did brush the small of your lower back as you leaned in. That light drag of his fingertips felt intentional. Testing.

The line to meet him was still long, but before you walked away, he leaned in slightly, his breath was warm, his tone low. Just for you to ONLY hear,

"Nice ink, mama."

Your breath caught.

He smirked, slow and knowing. Then added: "Seen it before."

Your stomach dropped. You blinked.

He let go.

Fuck.

The drive back was quiet, but your brain was loud.

You couldn't stop replaying the moment in your head. The way Jey looked at you. The way his voice dipped when he said "Seen it before." Like he knew exactly where.

And the thing that had your heart thudding all the way down to your thighs?

That little smirk. That sinful, knowing, bottom-lip-biting-ass smirk.

You dropped Malik off, kissed his forehead, told your sister to text if he needed anything—and peeled out the driveway faster than you should've. 

The second your front door shut behind you, you leaned against it, chest rising.

You needed to breathe.

But you also needed to work.

Saturdays were your bread and butter. Your masked streams always went up between 11 and 2AM—prime time for your audience. You hadn't even posted a teaser yet. Still had to light the candles, cue the playlist, and pick out a bodysuit.

Your silk robe slipped off as you walked into your bedroom. The soft hum of the ring light flickered on, casting shadows across your vanity and bed. You moved to sit, propped open your laptop—and that's when you saw it.

OnlyFans: New Messages (3) — From JSF89

You squinted.

JSF89?

That name always gave you butterflies. He tipped real heavy. Commented little. But always requested the softest, but filthiest shit.

You clicked.

JSF89: That yeet shirt was damn near criminal, ma. I see why lil man made u wear it. 

Your stomach clenched.

JSF89: But, that tat? That's what did it. I knew, I KNEW that ink from somewhere, been staring at if fo' months.

Your pulse drummed in your ears. You felt your fingers tremble as you read the third one.

JSF89: You ever been with one of your subs ? 👀

You swallowed hard.

Your throat went dry.

Then came the fourth.

JSF89: You ever thought about it? 🫣

You stared at the screen, the realization hitting like a gut punch laced with arousal.

Jey.

JSF89 was Jey fuckin' Uso. The fine ass man your nephew dragged you to meet today.

You closed your eyes for a second, but all it did was replay every moan, every video, every damn clip you'd uploaded where you talked directly into the camera with him watching.

With him tipping.

With him...

Fantasizing.

You reopened them, cheeks warm. Fingers hovering over the keys.

You weren't reckless with this page. Not ever. You never mixed fantasy with reality.

But...

For him?

You took a breath. Typed slow.

Sin-in-aShiesty: No. Never have. If you been watchin me for months, you know that's one of my  rules. 

You paused. Heart racing.

Sin-in-aShiesty:But... For you...? Maybe, I'd make an exception 🦂🖤

Your message was barely a minute old before the response bubble popped up.

Your heart thudded.

JSF89 is typing...

You watched the dots blink. And blink. And blink.

Then—

JSF89: So I ain't the only one breakin' rules tonight, huh? 😏

You bit your lip so hard you almost moaned.

Your thighs clenched on instinct. This was too real. Too fast. And yet... it felt like it had always been leading to this.

Another message popped through before you could even react.

JSF89: Drop that stream tonight. Imm be watchin'. 

You blinked. Then blinked again.

Because just like that... it wasn't anonymous anymore. The fantasy had a name. A voice. A body.

And God help you—a sexy ass face.

That thick, caramel, Samoan face with the full lips and the tribal ink and that damn smile. The man who made your nephew grin like Christmas. The man who dragged his fingers across your back like he owned it. The man who'd been stroking himself to your content for months.

And now?

He wanted to see what it looked like when the mask was off, and in person.

You stood, shook out your limbs, and grabbed the black mesh bodysuit from your drawer. High-cut. Backless. Zipped up the front. You knew the zipper wouldn't last past the thirty-minute mark—hell, maybe not even ten. But that's what they liked.

What he liked.

You stepped into it slowly, tugging it over your hips. The mesh hugged your curves like a second skin, your nipples already visible beneath the thin fabric. You adjusted the straps, checked your angles in the mirror, and slid on your mask—black, sleek, and full-face. Only your eyes and lips showed. Glossed. Full. Teasing.

You always went live with candles burning. Tonight, you added more.

Candles along the headboard, tea lights lining the vanity, a slow-burning wax melt filling the room with something warm and vanilla-sinful. The playlist was already queued: slow bass, nasty lyrics, moans tucked in between every beat.

Your fingertips trembled slightly as you adjusted the camera, propped it up just how he liked it. Wide angle. Just enough to catch the curve of your hips when you turned around, enough to see that tattoo peeking out every time you shifted.

The scorpion. Tail curved into a heart. You had no doubt he was staring at it right now, mouth parted, hand probably already wrapped around himself.

You hit Start Stream.

And just like that, the red light blinked on.

The chat lit up instantly—comments rolling in like always.

But your eyes were searching for one name.

JSF89 has entered the room.

You sucked in a breath through your nose. Your lips curled into a smirk.

Then other comments rolled in like water out of a dam, 

DADDY4U88: Lawd she done pulled the mesh out. We eating tonight, fellas. BIGTYME911: She Baaaackkk🔥🦂 KINGLUST21: Aye turn the lights up a lil. I needa seee alll dat😮‍💨 DRIPEMOUT: Oooweeeee, Mesh?? Oh you not playin tonight mama.😮‍💨 DemonTimeDon: She back at it... BEEN waitin all week.

And then—there he was.

JSF89: That bodysuit made for you, huh? That lil waist still sittin'? 😈💸

$500 tip.

You didn't flinch... but your body did.

Your thighs twitched beneath you. He knew exactly how to get a reaction. You swore the screen got hotter just seeing his name.

"Yall was good last week. I was gonna keep it slow tonight. But, some of yall know how to beg real good." 

The chat exploded.

BOOBMAN25: Whoever he is, he got her blushin thru a mask. 🤣 DeepStrokez212: Not the private nickname treatment. He def in the top 4. DripUOut: She said "some of y'all"—JSF know he the chosen one 😂 NastyWorkNed: I'm tipping just to compete now. 😤 JSF89: Let 'em talk, mama. I'm here for the show.

Another $500 tip.

But then came another comment.

JSF89: That tattoo always been my favorite. Right where I wanna put my mouth. 😈

You froze for half a second.

Thighs twitching again.

The words weren't new—but coming from him? On this night? After two $500 tips?

You already knew what time it was.

And he wasn't done.

JSF89: Take it off, mama. JSF89: Let me see it up close. JSF89: Do your worst.

$1,500 tip.

Your lips parted slowly behind the mask.

Your body responded before your mind did—hips shifting, breath catching, nipples pebbling under the mesh as your fingers slid up the center of the suit.

The chat couldn't see his tip. They never could.

But they felt the shift.

DeepStrokez212: Yo... wtf just happened?? BIGTYME911: She look like somebody touched her thru the screen 😭 BOOBMAN25: Who is JSF?? Cuz she movin different after his comments. DemonTimeDon: This the kinda pace change that get bookmarked. KingLust21: She bout to show out... I can FEEL it.

You scooted back til you reached the middle of the bed, then you stood on your knees, slow and intentional.

Fingers hooking into the sides of the mesh and peeling it down your shoulders, then further... revealing soft, glistening skin inch by inch.

Full view.

That damn tattoo.

The scorpion's curved tail rested just beneath the swell of your breast, rising and falling with your breath.

You leaned closer into the camera, tilted your head, voice like syrup:

"You still watchin', daddy?"

And then, without breaking eye contact with the lens...

You reached behind you. Grabbing it.

The rose gold wand. Your favorite.  Polished. Sleek. Quiet at first.

The moment it buzzed to life in your hand, the chat lost control.

JUICYJERK88: OHHH SHIT. DemonTimeDon: It's OVER. KINGLUST21: That's the toy. DripEmOut: Y'all heard that hum?? We locked in now. DADDY4U88: Cleared my schedule. 😩

You pressed the wand to your clit again. This time? Direct contact.

"Mmmfuck..." you breathed, body arching, eyes fluttering shut.

Your moans poured out slow and dreamy, like honey.

"Y'all watchin'? Hope you're strokin' with me..." "Especially you, daddy..."

JSF89: I'm here. JSF89: Stroke for stroke. Don't you hold back now. JSF89: Show me that pretty finish.

Your hips started rolling. Thighs tightening. That perfect moan spilling from your lips—soft, sweet, desperate.

Your body trembled. Eyes crossed. Toes pointed.

And just as your orgasm hit—your thighs jerked, and you squirted.

Hard. All over the bed. The wand still buzzing against your clit as your mouth dropped open in a silent scream.

The chat went insane.

BOOBMAN25: OHHHHH SHIIIITTTTT! KINGLUST21: SHE SQUIRTED. WE GOT A FLOOD. DADDY4U88: JSF WHAT DID YOU DO? DeepStrokez212: I AIN'T NEVER SEEN HER DO IT LIKE THAT DripUOut: WHO IS DADDY?!??!?

You lay there panting, wand falling from your hand, chest rising and falling as you finally whispered into the mic:

"...Told you it was for you, daddy."

And somewhere, phone in hand, dick still in a death grip—

Jey's soul left his body.

Your body was still humming. The sheets beneath you were soaked, the wand buzzing quietly where it had fallen from your hand, and the soft afterglow made your limbs feel like warm jelly.

You reached over, finally tapping End Stream.

The red light faded. The chat died down. And just like that... it was quiet again.

You exhaled slowly, mask still on, heart still beating fast from the messiest orgasm you'd ever shared on camera.

Then—

Ping.

A DM. Private. From JSF89.

Your eyes narrowed. You sat up slowly, grabbing your phone with fingers still trembling slightly.

JSF89: That was the nastiest shit I've ever seen. And you know I done replayed that squirt three times already. But I gotta ask you one thing, mama... JSF89:That offer from earlier today... About being with one of your subs...That still on the table? Your lips parted.

Now? You knew who he was.

Jey Uso. The man who hugged your nephew like family, the man whose real-life presence made your thighs clench in broad daylight at that meet and greet.

And now he was asking you for you.

Your fingers tapped slow.

You: Yesss, it's still on the table. Here's my number. Don't make me regret this.

Not even thirty seconds later—your phone buzzed.

(301)-232-****- This Jey. Drop the addy, mama. I ain't playing wit you. 

You swallowed hard.

This was real now.

You sent the address, then dropped the phone into your lap, heart thudding.

Jey🤒: 25 mins out. Be ready for me. No mask this time. I wanna see all that pretty face when you cum🥴

You stared at the screen for a second, a breath caught in your throat, before you jumped off the bed like your whole body had rebooted.

Shower. You needed one now. Not just to freshen up—but to reset. To prep.

Because Jey Uso was on his way. The man you'd moaned for behind a screen for months was about to see all of you—in real time, in real light, no edits, no angles.

You tossed the mesh bodysuit in the hamper, turned on the shower, and stepped in. Steam rising. Heart pounding.

Pussy still pulsing.

You scrubbed, shaved, rinsed, moisturized. You made sure you smelled like vanilla and warm jasmine—your signature scent.

By the time you were dry, the clock read 17 minutes.

You threw on a silk robe—bare underneath. Lit the candles. Turned the lights low, music lower. Just a little SZA in the background. Something sultry. Something slow.

Then you grabbed your phone. Checked the camera. Rewatched the clip of you squirting one last time.

And whispered to yourself with a smirk,

"Let's see if he can handle it in person."

Your heart was thudding. You'd been pacing for the last ten minutes—fresh out the shower, hair still damp at the ends, skin glowing from a fast rubdown of shea butter and nerves. You'd changed three times before settling on an oversized tee that barely hit the tops of your thighs... and nothing underneath.

And then—

Three slow knocks.

You froze.

Then exhaled, wiped your palms on your thighs, and opened the door.

And there he was.

JSF89. Jey. In the flesh.

Black tank hugging every curve of his tattooed arms. Shoulders wide. Chest ridiculous. Gold chains resting against thick caramel skin. And those black Ray-Bans sitting low on his nose, giving him that quiet, cocky mystery that made your thighs clench on instinct.

But what hit you first?

His scent.

That warm, spicy cologne with something smooth and masculine underneath—clean skin, a hint of mint, and heat. He smelled expensive. Familiar. Dangerous.

His eyes dragged over your face first—like he was matching what he saw earlier at the meet and greet to what was right in front of him now.

And then... lower.

His lips parted slightly as he stared at your thighs, at the peek of brown skin and shea-glossed curves, at the faint imprint of your nipples under the thin tee.

He stepped inside without a word.

You backed up slowly as he shut the door behind him, locking it with one hand—still staring at you like he didn't quite believe you were real.

"Damn," he muttered, voice low, smooth, and deep. "You still look even better without the mask."

You smirked, half-turned to give him the view over your shoulder.

"You tryna make me blush or..."

He was already in your space. Big, warm, radiating heat. His hand brushed your hip as he stepped in closer, chest nearly grazing yours.

"Nah," he murmured, eyes drinking you in. "Just tryna see what my favorite streamer looks like... in person."

You held his gaze for a beat, heart damn near doing backflips in your chest, before clearing your throat and stepping back.

"You want a drink or something first? You good?"

He licked his lips slowly, finally pulling off his shades and letting you really see him. Those dark brown eyes? Hungry. Focused. That soft simmer that said he was two seconds from forgetting what water even was.

He blinked. Then laughed low under his breath. "You tryna be polite after damn near leaking on camera thinkin' about me?"

You grinned. "I'm tryna be a good host. You drove 25 minutes."

"Yeah. And you worth every mile, mama."

You motioned toward the kitchen, as he followed. "I got you. You want tequila, or somethin' softer?"

He chuckled, licking his lips as he leaned on your counter. "Lemme get that tequila. Straight. I'ma need it."

Then he paused, eyes trailing down your legs. "'Cause if you sit on my lap lookin' like that... we not makin' it past the drink."

You bit your lip, heat crawling up your thighs.

As you reached for the bottle and two glasses, his voice dropped again behind you.

"And mama..." You turned, glass in hand.

He was already watching you like a man about to be fed his favorite meal.

"I ain't tryna leave 'til the sun come up."

Jey licked his lips after his, eyes never leaving yours as he placed the empty glass down with a soft clink. He stayed leaned over the counter, those thick forearms flexed beneath the weight of his body, chains shifting just enough to glint under the kitchen light.

You watched his tongue swipe across the edge of his beard, catching the last trace of tequila—and your thighs clenched.

“So…” you murmured, dragging a finger down your own glass, voice dipped in syrup. “You ready to see where the magic happens?”

He didn’t move at first. Didn’t speak.

He just looked at you.

Like you were already unwrapped. Like he was starving and finally at the table.

Then he stood up—slow. Heavy. Every part of him saying yeah, I’m ready. His hand brushed your lower back, slipping lower until his fingers flirted with the curve of your ass.

“Lead the way, mama.”

You smirked. Turned without a word. And walked slow on purpose.

You could feel his eyes on you as your shirt shifted with every step. The bounce. The sway. The bare skin teasing just under the hemline.

You cracked the door to your room open with one hand and stepped inside.

Soft lighting bathed the room in a warm, inviting glow—candles flickering low, your familiar setup in the corner, tripod and ring light tucked near your vanity, bed made… but barely. Pillows tossed, sheets inviting.

You turned around to face him, watching as he stepped in and shut the door behind him.

He took in everything—the low lights, the faint scent of vanilla, the vibe.

Then his eyes settled back on you.

“This where you had me losin’ sleep, huh?” he said low, gaze sweeping your body again. “Right here on this bed? Moanin’  under that mask?”

You stepped closer. “Right here,” you whispered.

You reached up and pulled your oversized shirt over your head, slow and deliberate.

His breath hitched.

There was nothing underneath.

The scorpion tattoo on your ribs caught the candlelight, curling under your breast like it had been waiting for him.

He didn’t say a word. Just stared. Hands clenched into fists at his sides like he was holding on to his sanity by threads.

You tilted your head, voice soft.

“C’mon, daddy.” “You said you weren’t leaving till the sun came up…”

You backed up slowly, letting the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed.

“…and I’m not planning on sleeping either.”

He hadn’t moved yet.

Still standing there, chest rising slow, watching you like a man on the brink—like one wrong blink and he’d lose all restraint.

But you wanted to be the one to push him over.

You stepped to him, bare and warm, your nipples brushing against his tank as you slid your hands up his chest. Your fingers found his Cuban link chains, thick and heavy, resting right at the top of his pecs. You curled your fingers around it and gave it a gentle pull.

"C’mere."

It wasn’t even loud. It didn’t have to be.

He followed, just like you knew he would.

You tilted your chin up, eyes locked on his face as you reached with your other hand and slid his Ray-Bans off slow—real slow—watching the way his lashes fluttered, how his jaw flexed once the light hit those dark brown eyes.

"There you are," you whispered.

His eyes were everything. Hungry. Focused. A little wild around the edges. Like he'd been holding back from the second you opened the door.

“You really had me watchin’ you with my hand around my dick,” he muttered, voice thick and deep, “now I get to touch you for real?”

You smirked, still holding onto his chain, letting your nails graze the back of his neck.

“Not just touch me,” you breathed, leaning up, lips just grazing his—“you get to fuck me.”

That did it.

He growled low under his breath, grabbed the back of your neck and crashed his lips into yours—hard, messy, claiming.

Your fingers tangled in the thick Cuban around his neck, holding him close as he kissed you like he owned you—like he’d tipped for months just to get a taste, and now? Now he was going to make sure it was burned into his memory.

"Mmm—" you gasped into his mouth as he nipped your bottom lip, then licked over it like he couldn't help himself. He pulled back just enough to press his forehead to yours, both of you breathing heavy, lips still brushing.

"Been thinkin' about this mouth for months," he whispered, thumb stroking your jaw. "That voice. Those moans. That fuckin’ tattoo…”

He trailed his fingers down your side slowly, warm and rough, until they hovered just below your breast—right where the scorpion coiled on your skin.

"I used to pause the stream right here…" he murmured, eyes fixed on it, his thumb barely grazing the ink. "Every time you arched. Every time that little heart peeked out."

You shivered. His voice was thick, reverent. Like your body was sacred text and he’d memorized it line by line.

He sank to his knees before you even realized it. His hands slid down your thighs, gripping them firmly, spreading you just a little as he leaned in.

His lips brushed the underside of your breast, right over the tattoo. Soft. Slow. Worshipful.

"This what you meant to show me, mama?" "All those streams... all those nights I had your name in my mouth and my fist tight?"

He kissed it again. Then licked it.

And you swore your knees buckled.

He stood again, towering over you now, letting his hands trail up your sides until they reached your throat—fingertips gentle, but firm enough to remind you who was in control now.

"Lay back on the bed."

His voice didn’t rise. He didn’t have to ask.

You obeyed without a word, climbing onto the sheets and laying down with your legs still hanging off the edge.

You watched as he peeled off his tank—slowly. Letting you see every curve of that carved chest, every inch of ink, every scar that made him even more real.

Then he slid his pants down just enough to tease the V-cut of his hips and the deep thickness behind his boxers.

But he didn’t rush.

He climbed on top of you slowly, body warm and heavy, hands caging you in on either side of your head as he leaned down and whispered:

“Tonight? I’m not watchin’. I’m living it.”

His lips captured yours again, slower this time. And his hand?

Already trailing between your thighs.

His mouth dragged down your neck, leaving heat in its path, his beard tickling soft over your skin as he made his way lower—taking his time, savoring every breathy whimper, every arch of your hips.

When he reached the underside of your breast again—right over the scorpion tattoo—he paused.

Tongue flat. A slow lick. Then a warm kiss that made your stomach flutter.

“I used to rewind right here,” he muttered, voice dark, lips brushing your skin as his fingers slid between your thighs. “Every time you moaned with your eyes crossed and that wand on your clit?”

He kissed lower. Slower.

“You’d tell us you were close... but you’d always hold out just long enough to make us tip harder.”

You gasped as he kissed just above your mound, your thighs twitching open.

And then— He looked up at you from between your legs, eyes blown wide, a smirk tugging at his lips as he said:

“Tonight? I get to see it happen. Close. Real close.”

He reached over to your nightstand, never taking his eyes off you, and grabbed it.

Your wand. Rose gold. Sleek. Familiar. Dangerous.

Your breath caught in your throat the moment he turned it on. That low hum filled the room like a live wire snapping through your spine.

He raised an eyebrow. “This the one that made you squirt on stream?”

You bit your bottom lip and nodded, thighs already shifting restlessly beneath him.

“Mmhmm... That’s the one.”

He chuckled—deep and wicked—and slid his palm up your thigh, spreading your legs wider, laying on his stomach between them like he was getting ready to worship something holy.

And then he pressed it to your clit.

Not hard. Just enough.

Your head flew back instantly.

“Fuuuck—Jey…”

His free hand slipped under your thigh, anchoring you down as your hips bucked at the vibration.

He watched you closely.

Watched your brows furrow.

Watched your lips part.

Watched your body start to tremble under that first wave.

“There she go…” he muttered, eyes locked on your pussy. “Already twitchin’, huh? You really that close?”

“Y-yes… fuck yes…” You could barely get the words out.

Your back arched. Your legs trembled. That pressure in your belly building fast—too fast.

And just as you were about to tip over—

He pulled it away.

“No— Jey!” you cried, hips chasing the wand, eyes wild.

He chuckled. Slow. Lazy. Cruel.

“Mmm... Nah. Not yet.”

He leaned up slightly, his beard grazing your thigh as he whispered:

“I been waitin’ months for this, mama. You gon’ give me every piece of it. Not just the end.”

He kissed your inner thigh, then brought the wand back. Pressed it lighter. Slower. Building the rhythm again.

Your legs trembled all over again. Hands clutching the sheets. Mouth falling open as you gasped for air.

“Please…” you whimpered.

“Please what, mama?” His voice was silk over fire. He kissed your hip, still teasing your clit with those maddening little pulses.

You whimpered again, biting your lip hard.

“Say it,” he growled. “Tell me what you need.”

“Please... let me come,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I need to.”

He leaned up, one hand gripping your thigh tighter, the wand pressing back to your clit with purpose now.

“Good,” he muttered, licking his lips. “’Cause I need to see what it look like when you lose it for real.”

He didn’t stop.

No teasing. No retreat. Jey’s eyes were glued to your pussy like it was everything he’d been waiting for—and now that he had it, he wasn’t about to miss a single detail.

“Yeah, mama… give me that nut. Let me see it.”

Your back arched so hard your shoulders came off the bed. The wand stayed locked in place. His grip? Unforgiving. And his mouth…?

His lips were parted, eyes flicking between your face and the way your body writhed, completely at his mercy.

“Jey—fuck—Jeyyy—”

Your cry broke mid-scream as your climax ripped through you like lightning. Your toes pointed. Your thighs trembled violently. Your eyes crossed as your body jerked and pulsed, pleasure rushing in waves, wave after wave, until—

You squirted. Hard. Hot. Messy. All over the sheets, his forearm, and the rose gold wand still buzzing against your swollen clit.

“Fuuuuuck, there it is,” he growled, watching you unravel, still holding you in place like he needed to feel every single tremor you gave him.

But before your legs could even settle… Before your mind could climb back down from the stars…

He did it again.

The wand didn’t move.

“J-Jey—please, wait—” You were already writhing, body twitching from the overstimulation.

He climbed up the bed, hovering over you now, his voice dark and rough right against your ear.

“Uh uh. Not done yet. You got more in you.”

His lips brushed your jaw as he worked the wand in slower, tighter circles.

“I want that third nut. That mean one.” “The one you give right before you can’t take anymore.”

Your body was wrecked—flooded with heat, your breath coming in shallow gasps, fingers digging into his arms as your body spiraled again.

“You close already, huh?” His mouth dragged along your neck. “That quick? Thought you needed a break, baby.”

And just like that—

He pulled the wand away.

You let out a broken cry, thighs snapping closed out of instinct.

He laughed softly, dropping the wand beside you, then reached for the hem of his tank and peeled it off, tossing it across the room like it offended him.

Then came the sweats. Low, slow. The band of his briefs clinging to those hips, that carved V-line like something out of a dream.

And when they dropped?

You swallowed.

Thick. Heavy. His dick curved upward, veined, already hard as hell, but he didn’t even move until he reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a foil square from his wallet.

“Real ones wrap it up,” he said with a wink, sliding it on with practiced ease.

Then he climbed between your thighs.

His voice dropped—lower than you’d heard all night—as he leaned in, his forehead against yours.

“This what you really wanted, right?” “Not the tips. Not the comments. Not the stream.”

He ran the tip along your slick folds, teasing your entrance.

“You wanted me.”

You couldn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

Your legs fell open in surrender, and your breath hitched as you nodded, eyes heavy, lips parted.

And then—he slid in.

Slow. Thick. Stretching you in a way that felt too much and just right at the same time.

The moment he bottomed out—deep, to the hilt—he went still.

Buried in your pussy. Breath ragged. Palms braced on either side of your head like he needed the mattress to ground him.

His chest hovered over yours, chains dangling, brushing your collarbone with each shaky inhale.

“Shit…” His voice was ruined. Thick. Heavy. Full of disbelief. “I knew it was gonna feel good, but this?”

He looked down between your bodies like he still couldn’t believe he was really inside you. The woman who used to ride her wand in slow circles, whispering dirty little nothings behind that shiesty mask. Now? Your legs were wrapped around him. Tattoo bared. Eyes fluttering. Pussy wrapped so tight around his dick he had to breathe through it.

"This pussy..." he whispered, shaking his head slowly. "Goddamn, mama. You made me obsessed with you."

Then—he moved.

That first stroke? Deep. Slow. Intentional. Dragging against your walls with delicious, dizzying pressure.

And once he felt how your body clung to him?

He locked in.

He gripped your thigh, hoisted it higher, and fucked you deep—tight, heavy thrusts that rolled through your core like thunder.

But he wasn’t just stroking. He was studying.

One hand slid up to your ribs, thumb tracing that scorpion tattoo like he was finally touching the fantasy that lived in his head for months.

He bent his head down and kissed it. Slow. Then again—harder—his teeth grazing the heart at the tail.

“This where it all started,” he growled against your skin. “Every time you showed this… I knew I was done for.”

You gasped as his lips moved higher, trailing over your breast, then your collarbone, then your mouth—kissing you deep, tongue tasting you like he wanted to live inside your mouth.

His hand wrapped around your throat—gentle, but firm. Thumb resting under your jaw, fingers splayed wide, the pressure making your breath catch in your throat and your pussy clench around him hard.

“Look at me,” he said, fucking into you rougher now. “Don’t close your eyes. You begged for this. Now you take it.”

And you did.

You moaned into his mouth, hands sliding up his back, nails dragging down the ridges of his shoulders.

Then he reached up—fingers tangling in your thick ass hair, gripping it at the base. Pulled your head back, exposing your neck, your chest, your whole fucking soul.

“And I'm just gettin' started.” he whispered against your throat.

His pace didn’t slow—if anything, it got meaner. Heavy strokes. Thick. Intentional. Deep enough to make your mouth fall open and your hands claw at the sheets.

But he wasn’t close to finished. And neither were you.

Without a word, he gripped your waist and flipped you.

Not rough, but solid. Like a man who knew exactly where he wanted you. You landed on your stomach with a soft gasp, and before you could lift yourself up, his palm was flat on your lower back, holding you in place.

“Nah, keep that arch right there,” he muttered behind you, voice gravel and sex.

And then—he slid back in.

You choked on a gasp.

He filled you deeper at this angle, the curve of him kissing your walls in places you didn’t even know you had. Your legs trembled, your breath got ragged, and your toes curled in the sheets.

“You hear that?” he gritted, snapping his hips slow and deep, his heavy balls slapping your clit with each drag. “Listen to her. You makin’ her talk to me like she mine already.”

You whimpered into the sheets.

“And that moan?” he growled, gripping your hair now, wrapping it around his fist and pulling your head up just enough for you to breathe again. “Sound even better without that fuckin’ mask.”

“You so fuckin’ pretty…” he panted, his free hand gripping your ass, spreading it. “Look at this body. Thick. Drippin’. Made for me.”

You cried out, body shaking, heat swirling up your spine.

“That’s it,” he whispered, letting go of your hair just to drag his hand down your back, then over your ribs to your waist, holding you still as your thighs started to tremble. “Come on, mama… gimme that nut.”

“Let me feel it.”

And then you snapped.

You came again—loud, uncontrollable, your body jerking under him as your pussy clenched tight, throbbing around him.

You moaned so hard you swore your ears rang. Legs shaking, eyes rolling. Gone.

But Jey?

He wasn’t done.

He pulled out suddenly, and you collapsed onto the bed, chest heaving, slick dripping down your thighs.

“Get up,” he said, voice hoarse.

You looked over your shoulder, dazed.

“Huh?”

“Turn around. Sit back. Face me. Get on your knees, baby.”

You obeyed.

Hair messy. Chest rising and falling. Skin flushed and still trembling. And he stood there, dick soaked and throbbing, eyes low.

“Open that pretty mouth for me.”

You did.

He stepped forward, stroking himself slow—gripping the base and pumping up, eyes never leaving your face.

“You gon’ take this for me, right?” “You gon’ let me paint that pretty face? Let me remember this?”

You nodded, tongue out, lips parted.

He pulled his phone from the nightstand and angled it down.

“Just for me, baby.” “Private. So when I miss you, I can watch how you took it like the good girl you are.”

Your heart was pounding. Your pussy still twitching from the last orgasm. And your face? Seconds away from being painted.

His breaths got shorter. His abs flexed.

“Fuck—yes—yes, mama…”

And then—he came. Hard.

Thick, hot ropes painted your lips, your cheek, your tongue, some hitting your collarbone.

Messy. Warm. Endless.

He groaned loud, voice shaking as he whispered your name behind the phone, his hand tightening around himself as he emptied the last drop on your chin.

You held your tongue out until the very end, then slowly licked your lips, eyes heavy and locked on his.

You reached up and grasped his dick, replacing his hand with both of yours before kissing the tip. Sucking off the remaining drops.   He slightly shuddered, before biting his lip.  You swallowed once, and removed your lips from him then looked up at him—face still covered—smirking through it.

“This what you been fantasizin’ about, daddy?” He still held his phone over your face,  “Goddamn... this one just for me. Look at my baby—covered in me. Just like she promised.”

And you smiled into the camera. Tattoo peeking. Lips still parted.

He threw his phone behind your head landing on the bed, the screen dimming as he knelt in front of you, still panting, eyes heavy as they traced every drip of him sliding down your chin and chest.

“Shit...” he whispered, running his thumb along your jawline, wiping a streak of his own release with careful precision. You caught his thumb with your lips and sucked it off his thumb. 

You released him and wiped the rest of his cum off your face before slowly licking and sucking it off your fingers. He leaned in and placed a kiss to your forehead.  "You still good?" he asked, voice deep and velvet-rough

"Good," he said, voice gruff now, like he was holding back everything. Your throat was raw.

Your face sticky and flushed.

Every nerve ending still sparking under your skin as he kissed your forehead like he hadn’t just ruined you with every stroke, every command, every drop he painted across your face.

You nodded, breath shallow.

“Yeah… I’m good,” you whispered. Your voice was a little shaky, but your smile was steady.

Jey let out a low breath, one hand cradling the back of your head as he kissed your temple again, then your cheek—his lips brushing where his cum had just been.

"Good," he said, voice gruff now, throat coated in grit like he was holding back every dark thing he still wanted to do to you.

“‘Cause I don’t plan on givin’ this pussy back to the internet.”

You blinked. That heat—that heat—returned like wildfire beneath your skin.

He reached for his phone again, but this time he didn’t pull up a stream. He flipped the camera. Tapped record. Then held it in one hand, the other sliding between your legs with familiarity now. Confidence. Ownership.

“Lay back,” he murmured, already climbing back over you. “You still got more in you. I want one more on camera. But this one?” He looked down at you, eyes hooded.

“It ain’t for your fans.” He kissed you, slow and deep. “It’s for me. So every time I’m gone… I remember who this pussy belongs to.”

You licked your lips. Arched into his hand as his fingers slid into you again.

And then he asked it.

The question.

Low. Rough. Serious.

“You ready to be mine for real, baby?”

And the red light blinked. Recording. Just for him. For the man who didn’t just watch you live.

He lived in you now.

Forever his favorite fantasy.

Bonus✨

The sun had just started kissing the skyline, painting your bedroom in soft, peachy golds and sleepy shadows.

But neither of you were asleep.

You were on top.

Straddling him. Hair messy. Skin glowing. Legs trembling, but determined. His hands gripped your ass, spreading you wider with every bounce, every slow roll of your hips. You were riding him like you meant it. Like he belonged to you now.

And Jey?

Jey looked like he was dreaming with his eyes open.

His head was pressed back into the pillows, chain gleaming against his chest, that thick vein pulsing down his neck. His mouth was open. Breathing heavy. Speechless.

“Goddamn,” he whispered, eyes glued to where your bodies met. “Look at you…”

He dragged his hands up your thighs, back to your ass, squeezing it like it anchored him.

“You so fuckin' pretty when you ride it, mama…” “Like this shit was made for you.”

You moaned softly, hips grinding down in tight circles, your hands pressed flat against his chest, feeling every hard breath he took.

The sunlight hit your scorpion tattoo as you rocked your hips just right, and his eyes went hazy.

“Mmm—fuck—that lil tat still do somethin’ to me,” he breathed. “You real. You here. And you mine.”

You leaned down, lips brushing his.

“Say it again,” you whispered, voice shaky but sweet.

He gripped your ass tighter, thrusting up into you slowly as the head of his dick dragged right against your spot.

“You. Mine.” He kissed you once, then again. “Ain’t never givin’ this up.”

The sunrise spilled across the room, warm and golden, catching the gleam of sweat on both your skin. And with your forehead pressed to his, your bodies locked in rhythm, breath tangled between moans and messy kisses—

You both felt it building. Together.

Right there.

Right on the edge.

And just before you both tumbled into that final climax—

We leave it there. Right where dreams meet daylight. Where fantasy turned real.

And he’s still amazed.

----------------------------------------------------------

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[po3ticb3auty]

I wish I could give this a million likes

Dimly Lit Desire (NSFW 18+)

contains: detailed depictions of sexual interactions, oral sex-giving and female receiving, violence, gore

The soft embrace of the encroaching dusk enveloped your body, the whisper of crickets and rustling heather filling the sweet, hot air. An abandoned farm housed a place of comfort and relaxation, reminding you of home. It was a place you often found yourself escaping to, fleeing the chatter of the town and swirling rumors of mysterious disappearances of some of your closest connections. But tonight was different. That usual feeling of the darkness holding you in its arms had switched to a tighter grip around your throat. That din of the crickets had turned to sinister hisses circling around your head and dipping in and out of your ears. The soft kiss of the still warmth was now stinging snaps on your skin, droplets of sweat gathering like poison hanging on the fangs of a rattlesnake. Familiar peace had shifted to creeping uneasiness. You weren't alone. A snapping twig in the line of trees flicked your gaze in its direction, the buildup of anxiety climbing up your spine and brushing ice cold fingers across your arms. Now fully facing the woods, you stepped back towards the old, dilapidated barn, deciding to stay within its walls for the time being. You hoped this feeling would pass. Not taking your widened eyes off of the pitch black beyond, you backed against the outside of the barn, the rough wood hitching on your shoulders and the fabric of your sundress. You inched towards the gaping doors of the structure, your soft fingers grazing the aged siding, almost as if you wanted to hold onto its sturdiness. Just as you reached the opening, a deep voice rumbled through the field.

"Goin' so soon, lass?" You froze as the silhouette of a stocky figure emerged out of the blackness, glowing red orbs at the center of his head.

You jumped inside of the building, watching in horror as the shape effortlessly gave way to a man in his mid-thirties, the front of his white button-up soaked in dark, rich liquid. Blood. His suspenders held onto broad shoulders and a wide chest that rose and fell with ragged breaths. His trousers fit tightly around his midsection, held up with a weathered leather belt. The man was all of the sudden just mere feet away from the threshold of the barn, the moonlight illuminating his face. A strong brow matched a square set jaw, and a sneer gave way to glinting fangs, a thick trail of drool oozing out of the corner of his lips. Fresh blood trickled down his chin and neck, coating the stubble on his jaw.

"Ya don't wanna be in there all alone, now do ya, lass?" his crimson gaze shifted to take in the sight of your body, "It gets real lonely out here."

You lifted your chin and regarded him through half lidded eyes. "What are you suggesting?" You positioned yourself so one arm was propping against the edge of the doorway, your hand just barely passing the threshold into the night beyond.

With a swift glance at your exposed hand, the man then turned his eyes back to you. "I suggest ya let me in an' let me keep ya company." His sneer curled into a grin, his fangs flashing stark white in contrast to the darkness surrounding him. Now that you knew why you felt a presence outside, your fear started to shed off your shoulders, replaced by a piquing curiosity.

"Convince me." You demanded, your eyes drinking him in as he stood before you. He swept his tongue across his bloodstained lips and took your hand in his, softly stroking your skin with his long bony claws. His eyes burning into yours still, he guided your fingers to his mouth, taking in your middle finger and beginning to swirl his tongue around its length. You sharply inhaled, your eyelids fluttering as the sudden advancement took you off-guard. As he sucked on your fingers, you felt yourself yearning for that tongue to explore elsewhere. Your eyes wandered to the growing hardness in his trousers, and all judgment left your thoughts. He pulled your fingers out from between his lips with a subtle pop, sneering as he followed your gaze.

"Whatcha' want me to do, darlin?" The sudden petname sent butterflies through your stomach and you brought your eyes back up to his face.

"I want you to come in."

He was on you immediately, passion enveloping your bodies as you collided, his lips crashing against yours with such a hunger you had never experienced. Your hands traveled up to his dark curly hair, fingers tugging at sweaty locs.

"Names Remmick, by tha way." he breathed between starved kisses, nipping at your lower lip as you pulled him back farther into the barn. You responded by letting a muffled moan escape into his mouth as he pressed you against the wall, his hands clutching your sides. He ripped himself away from tongue-fucking you and pulled the hem of your sundress up past your waist, lowering himself to his knees in front of you. His eyes had shifted to a lustful gaze as he took you in standing before him. The moonlight shone onto his skin, drool practically streaming out of both corners of his mouth. You pressed your thighs together as if to contain the growing heat in your core, ashamed by how badly you wanted him. He pulled your legs apart and shoved his head between, his tongue grazing your wetness and causing your breath to hitch. Instinctively your hands traveled to his hair once again, holding tightly as he began to suck and lap at your folds. His claws gripped your thighs so tight that small beads of dark blood began to appear at the tips, and you gasped at the sharp pain mixed with the sweet pleasure. As you felt the knot in your stomach growing and the heat spreading through your body, Remmick pulled back and grabbed you away from the wall. He practically shoved you to your knees and unbuckled his belt hastily as he licked your juices off of his lips. The blood mixed with your taste had him on a whole 'nother level, and he needed you to fulfill his sick desires. He took his throbbing length into his hands, the tip already slick from precum. You watched him through long eyelashes as his face twisted into pure primal desire. He thrust his cock into your parted lips, a long gravelly moan escaping his throat as he gripped the back of your hair. You swirled your tongue around the length as he slammed into the back of your throat, feeling the twitch of his nearing climax. You then pulled back, a long string of saliva connecting your lips to his manhood. You laid back on the dusty floorboards, your core throbbing for him to fill you up. He unspokenly obliged, and with a growl his weight was pressed against your body, pinning you to the floor. With a deep thrust, he shoved his entire length inside you, and you gasped without time to adjust to his size. In the midst of your sudden sensation, his jaws clamped onto your shoulder, his long fangs sinking into your soft flesh and colliding with your collarbone. A shaky moan from both intense pain and pleasure slipped out between your lips as he rocked his hips against yours, each time pulling almost the entire way out and slamming back into you. Thick blood cascaded from your wound and ran down the length of your body, soaking the front of his shirt even more as he then shifted focus to lapping and sucking at your swollen breasts. He growled into your skin, the sound rumbling through your chest as you clawed at his back, his cock hitting your cervix with every thrust. The growing pressure and heat knotting in your core threatened to break free, and you could tell Remmick was close as well. His pace quickened and short groans filled the room with sounds of desire and wet skin hitting against each other.

"Oh- oh my God sweetheart." He bit down on crook of your neck as his climax hit him like a tidal wave, overtaking his senses as he filled your insides with his hot seed. You followed short after, intense convulsions making way for the sweet release and tightening of your walls around his length, milking him of every drop. Your vision blurred with the mind-numbing orgasm as well as blood loss. Remmick, still rooted deep inside you, swept a ragged tongue across your wounds, raising himself to hover over your face as streams of your own blood fell onto your lips. As consciousness balanced on the edge, you were aware of his voice echoing into the darkness.

“Now we can do this forever darlin’.”

[po3ticb3auty]

Southern Custard.

Author's Notes: Now see, something about this man... Anyway, I got an entire journal for a longer story. This was supposed to be a summary (?) or whatever the girlies are calling it nowadays. I want to go into full detail on what the actual 'tragedy' is about but:

I don't want to spoil it.

I haven't quite fleshed out all the details yet.

Warnings: all-inclusive smut. We're slutting it up. Been doing yoga lately.

The damned chess pie. No meringue—too sweet. A confession for later under a bashful small expression of a smile. You, spiced cider punch. It was of his notice that the drink was greatly favored. 

“Lost again?” An annoyed disposition sat behind your throat. 

Martha scurried, pulling at your collar under hushed tone, “Now what you done up and did for this white man to be hanging round like this?”

“Mercy me. What on earth can a fella do to get some service?” 

The apron tightened, hands shaking, “ For weeks. Not one night missed. Ruining the place with your presence.” Slicing his usual anyway. “What you want, Remmick?”

(Money is money. And his came up good.)

“Me? Ma’am, I don’t even got it in me to harm a fly. God as my witness.” And all that faux niceties. 

You, Martha, Remmick, orbiting the pull of tense silence. 

The doorbell jingled, 10-second experience of electrified energy and they promptly walked out. 

“I’ll pay for his too.” The shepherd’s gaze never strayed from the sheep. “So, may I please?” 

Oh. Right. The dessert in question—sweetened hostage. “Sure.” Stance guarded and wide, shoulders squared, a game requires two players. You didn’t blink, slowly eating the meringue and some of the pie. Shit. Half of the pie. Slapping the plate on the counter. 

“It’s still full price.” 

“Got yo nose so high up, you drowning in rainwater.” 

Gasping, struggling with hiccups. 

“My pretty girl Ain’t got much attitude left huh?” 

Choking softly on half-formed apologies—hoping, pleading on a case for common sense to return. Was there any to begin with? Letting a wild night animal coax and crawling his way under your skirt. 

He spread your thighs, just a bit wider, knees gracing collar bone. Drool trickled off his tongue onto your clit. 

“Now this,” kissing your labia. “Is all the sunshine I need. Just juicier than a Georgia peach.” He kissed the other.  

“Remmick.”

“Damn near close to tears. Now you got manners, pretty girl?” Red pupils traveled upwards, towards that pitiful expression. “Oh, darlin’. It’ll be ok. We both sufferin’.” 

You ground your teeth, head straining backward onto the bedding. “Oh, fuck you. Self-righteous piece of shit.” 

The soft prick of fangs on your cunt was completely unexpected. “Hold ‘em open for me.” His dick slid against the clit to opening. A breathless chuckle, “All that sass and belly achin’ and look at ya. Pussy purring, waiting for my dick.” 

You looked down, astonished. His control was slipping. Dick bobbing on its own free will, precum sloppy and ready. “You talkin’ all that shit and you ain’t trying to get your dick wet?” Hell, if it ain’t worth trying to sell this man, this beast a beach house in Idaho. 

The head slowly eased its way in. “Clever girl. Don’t got to give me no snake oil get up.” His hips stilled, normal bicuspids lengthening to their true nature. “Just ask me real pretty. Pretty just like you.” 

You clenched on purpose. 

He pulled away. 

Push and pull. Earth and the moon. As legitimate as nature itself. 

The ache. That fucking ache. “Remmick. I can’t take this anymore.” You were crying this time, real honest to God—“let him save your life” type of pain. “Please. Just fuck me.” 

No more preamble. No more prelude. This was what he needed. Straight from the horse’s mouth an admission of sorrow. That sweet invitation. 

“Pretty, pretty, sweet girl.” The hiss of relief, harsher than a pressure cooker. “Twenty-two weeks to be exact. You are a difficult one.” 

“Remmick. No more. Please.” A Mississippi flood spilling on your cheeks. 

The stretch burned so good. 

A wolfish whistle, “Oh, shit!” Sinking into full seat. His seat. He moved. Slowly, steady as a one-stick drum. The pace smoothed into an upbeat tempo. A soft, gentle laugh, feeling your heartbeat vibrating. Fangs and teeth just as sharp, pierced his bottom lip. “All them weeks of being such a bitch. And now look.” 

He was right. He was so right. (As long as he didn’t stop.) 

“Gotchu bent up and kneaded like fresh dough.” 

The bed groaned. Pussy easing and gripping, gripping and easing. All that jazz. Such a beautiful manner of vulgarity. You seized, clawing at whatever on him held less important purchase. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck…” nonsense all of it.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Let it all out.”  

It was then that you squirted, possessed by a holy rapture. Something warm, sorghum’s sentimental, flowed down your throat. 

“All you need.” 

Your cunt felt warm and pleasant. He watched as his cum leaked out. Fingers playing with sensitive lips. A sticky happy little mess. Lovely wreck of a thing.

“As long as that attitude is for me. Be a bitch to me. All for me. I’ll do anything you want. I’ll be all you need, pretty girl.” 

[po3ticb3auty]

The Dress and the Dirt

Remmick x Black Fem OC

Chapter 1 | Masterlist| Next →

Summary: In Saint-Domingue—what the world will one day call Haiti—on a plantation named Bellerose, silence is survival and obedience is currency. Solène has learned to keep her voice low and her head bowed under the weight of slavery. But one night changes everything.

Haunted by the scent of something sweet and rotting, wrapped in a dress that doesn’t belong to her, she steps into the darkness—away from his house and toward something older, deeper, and burning quietly inside her.

As ancestral warnings echo in her ears and rage simmers beneath her skin, Solène begins to understand that the fire they spoke of isn’t just a metaphor—it’s legacy. And it’s waking up.

W/c: 4.5k

A/N: I’ve been itching to write a fanfic for a while now, but honestly, nothing really sparked that deep creative pull—until Sinners came out. I fell in love instantly. I watched it twice in one week (no regrets). The plot, the characters, the setting—everything just clicked.

What really pulled me in, though, was how much room there is to explore without feeling boxed in. It feels like a universe begging for more stories, and for once, I didn’t feel like I'd have a horde of die-hard fans breathing down my neck for taking creative risks. So here it is—my spin on the world of Sinners.

This is just chapter one of... well, I have no idea how many. I’m going with the flow and seeing where it takes me—and I hope you’ll come along for the ride.

Heads up: This story explores some heavy and intense topics like slavery, violence, and death. There are also scenes involving sexual assault, manipulation, and explicit smut later on. If any of that feels overwhelming or triggering, please take care of yourself while reading. Thanks for being here and sharing this journey.

I crushed the last of the guinea hen weed between the mortar and pestle, slow, careful not to wake the children sleeping nearby. The scent rose like a warning — sharp and green, like fire before it burns. Mambo Céline always said the bitterer the smell, the stronger the spirit inside.

I didn’t hum. Didn’t speak. Only listened — to the sigh of the pot, the weight of the dark, and the breath of old Manmi Rénette slumped on the floor, clutching her knees in pain. The field had taken her back again, and it never gave gentle.

I tossed the leaves into the boiling water. Then reached under the hearthstone for the small clay jar I’d hidden there. My castor oil — pressed with my own hands three moons ago. He let me keep it, said it was “good for show.”

He meant good for pretending I was human.

I poured a little into my palm, rubbed it warm between my hands, and knelt beside her.

“Lift y’wou,” I whispered.

She didn’t move at first. I saw it in her eyes — not just pain, but shame. Not because I was touching her legs, but because I still had strength to kneel.

I rubbed the oil gently into her knees, then her calves, tracing small circles like Maman taught me. Her breath slowed. The shaking stopped.

“You got hands like your mother,” she muttered.

My throat tightened. I said nothing.

Outside, the cane rats shrieked. Farther off, a dog barked — maybe chasing shadows, maybe something more. Whispers had been growing in the fields. Whispers of fire. Of blood. Of names written in salt and ash. Names like Boukman.

But in this moment, all I had was oil and leaf. Pain and bone. And the promise of something older than this plantation.

“Drink this,” I said, handing her the tin cup. The tea was bitter. It always was.

She drank, her eyes on me. “When it starts,” she said, voice low, “you gon’ be ready?”

I didn’t answer.

But in the silence between her question and my heartbeat, I knew: the roots were already moving beneath the soil.

And then — “Solène,” came a voice from the shadows outside.

I turned, hand tightening around the basin’s rim.

It was Ti-Jean her cousin by way of her mother’s sister. Eyes darting, breath shallow. He looked like he’d seen death and outrun it — just barely.

“I found something,” he whispered, glancing toward the quarters. “In the ashes near the old sugar house. Hidden under a stone.”

He passed me a bundle wrapped in burlap. Not food. Not a blade.

Paper.

Fine, creased, torn at the edges. The kind only they used. The kind that smelled like sweat and power.

I unfolded it. Soot clung to the ink. French. Formal. Tight, hurried script.

“To Monsieur Lafontaine of Cap-Français— The unrest among the slaves spreads faster than our efforts to contain it. Already, the field hands whisper of revolt. Last week, one of mine spoke of a nightwalker from the hills — a ‘blan’ with fire in his eyes and no shadow. They say he drinks the blood of the cruel. I do not believe in superstition, but even my overseers are shaken.” “We must discuss alternatives.” Signed, C.D.

The ink shimmered faintly where it hadn’t burned.

 ‘Night walker’?  I asked, though my mouth already tasted metal.

Ti-Jean shrugged. “I don’t know. But he don’t sound like a soldier.”

No.

Not a soldier.

Something older.

Something worse.

“Burn it after you read it,” he said. “I only showed you because you read better than any of us.”

“I won’t keep it,” I whispered.

But I wouldn’t forget it either.

He nodded once and slipped back into the dark.

I watched the flames lick the paper’s edges as I dropped it into the hearth. It curled like something alive. For a breath, the fire flared blue. Then died too fast.

Outside, the dogs had started howling again.

The night had taken what it wanted, but the morning would belong to her.

At the break of dawn — just before the bell tolled and the overseer’s boots scraped the dirt — Solène rose like the sun herself.

Like most mornings.

Before the bells.

Before the sun.

Before the horror.

The hut was a box. A stifling, rotted box that coughed heat even before the sun had the chance. Maybe twenty-five bodies stuffed wall to wall, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip — too close to think, too tight to forget.

The air inside was thick. Salt-sour. It clung to the back of her tongue. The perfume of unwashed bodies, damp earth, dried blood, and shame.

Two of the women were bleeding this week — not from wounds, but the other kind. Monthly. Heavy. And the rags weren’t clean. One sat hunched in the corner on her haunches, arms wrapped tight around her belly, rocking, silent. Another already had the dark stain spreading down her thigh.

No one spoke on it. Pain had no novelty here.

Solène peeled back the ragged cloth that passed for a curtain and let in the morning haze. Pale light slanted across the fields — still empty, still sleeping. For now.

She turned and moved through the crowded room with careful steps, her feet avoiding elbows and feet, until she reached the far wall, where Manmi Rénette lay curled like a comma.

“Manmi,” she whispered, kneeling beside her. “Time to rise. The bell gon’ ring soon.”

The old woman groaned low, her back rising slow like a tide. Solène took the scarf folded near her head — old cotton, fraying at the edges — and helped lift it over the woman’s silver hair, tucking the corners under her chin with practiced care.

“You always had soft hands,” Manmi muttered, breath thin. “Don’t mean they clean.”

Solène didn’t flinch, didn’t answer. Just helped her up until she was sitting upright against the wall.

Behind them, a cough rang out. Another woman stirred, dragging herself up with a hiss. The room shifted — a collective ripple of bodies readying for the whip of the day.

Solène stood, brushed the dirt off her skirt, smoothed the folds flat with both hands. She didn’t wear the fine dresses her father’s house brought in for his daughters. But her cotton was better. Not new, just not shredded. Enough to draw eyes.

A mutter to her left. A woman, no older than Solène, squinting at her through narrowed lids.

“Fille du diable,” the girl spat beneath her breath.

Devil’s daughter.

Solène pretended not to hear. She was used to the looks. Not white enough to be free, not Black enough to belong. Her father’s blood had given her nothing but grief — and the gift of French and ink and paper. He gave her his name. His language. His rage. No one thanked her for that. Not even her own skin.

A moment passed. Then—

CLANG.

The bell.

A shudder ran through the room. That sound meant one thing: roll call. Pain followed quick.

Solène pressed her scarf flat against her scalp, smoothed it once, then turned to help Manmi to her feet.

“You ready?” she asked.

Manmi’s breath wheezed through her teeth. “Don’t matter. They gon’ beat us whether we ready or not.”

They stepped toward the door. Outside, the air was colder — but only just. The fields loomed in the distance, a promise of what the sun would burn. And beyond that, something darker, waiting to wake.

The cane rose high this week — tall, thick stalks that gleamed green and gold in the morning sun. Heavy with sweetness. Heavy with blood.

Harvest time.

The machetes had been passed out just after roll call — metal too dull for ease, too sharp to be handled carelessly. Solène’s palms already ached, blistered over old wounds. The scars never had time to finish their stories.

The sun had barely cleared the hills, but heat already pressed down like a second skin. No clouds, no breeze. Only the rustle of cane, the hiss of insects, and the sharp ring of steel hacking flesh from stalk.

She moved in rhythm — chop, twist, drag, pile. Again. Again. The muscles in her back moved like rope, smooth and hardened from years of this same motion. She was slim, yes — but strong. Strong like the women who raised her. Strong like the soil.

Her skin was dark like roasted coffee, kissed deeper each year by the sun, but the undertones marked her — hints of someone else’s legacy. Her father’s blood. Her face was sharper than most, nose narrow, cheekbones high. Her hair curled tight at the root, looser at the ends, usually kept hidden under a scarf. Today, it was twisted in two braids wrapped close against her scalp to keep the sweat off her neck.

She knew her birthday was coming — not by date, but by cane.

The cane always came ripe when the winter flowers began to bloom — those soft lavender things that sprouted along the edge of the southern fence. She’d spotted the first one yesterday, nodding toward the field like a secret. The flowers always arrived just before her birthday. Or the week of it. It wasn’t a real celebration, not here. But in her chest, she held onto the mark of it like a charm. Some small piece of her that hadn’t been crushed by work or shame.

“Keep workin,” barked a voice down the row.

She snapped back to attention. The overseer’s eyes swept over her — not lingering, not yet. Just checking. Just waiting for someone to fall behind.

She turned her head, subtle, just enough to spot Manmi Rénette two rows over, stooped low, her arm dragging with the blade. Slower than yesterday. Slower than they liked.

Solène watched her through a haze of worry and dust. The older woman was more bone than flesh now. The years had taken her softly, then cruelly. But she was still here. Still cutting. Still breathing. Solène prayed she could hold on until noon, at least. If she collapsed now…

She didn’t let the thought finish.

The cane snapped clean beneath her blade.

A cry rose behind them — short, sharp. Then silence.

One of the younger ones — no older than twelve — had tripped, likely, or moved too slow. The punishment from roll call still fresh in everyone’s mind. That boy this morning — forced to kneel in the dirt while they tied his hands above the fencepost, left in the sun like a dog. His back was already a ruin before the whip even kissed it.

Solène hadn’t looked then. Not directly. She’d watched the dirt instead. But the sounds had followed her. They always did.

“Pick up the pace,” snarled the overseer.

She did. Not because she feared him — she feared nothing now, not even death. But she couldn’t afford to draw more eyes. Not today. Not when the flowers were blooming. Not when the soil felt ready.

She pressed her lips together, moved her feet deeper into the mud, and swung again.

Chop. Twist. Drag. Pile.

Sugar in the air. Blood on her hands. Fire in her bones.

And somewhere beyond the rows, something old was waking.

Noon came with no mercy.

The sun hung high above the sugar fields, blinding and bloated, as if feeding on their sweat. The air shimmered with heat, the kind that pressed into your lungs and stayed there. The bell rang twice — sharp and shrill — calling the workers to rest, if one could call it that.

The “meal” was more of a ritual: boiled plantain, sometimes cornmeal if the stocks hadn’t rotted, always lukewarm, always gritty. Most ate in silence, too tired or too watchful to waste words. Solène sat near the edge of the shade, her bowl untouched.

Manmi Rénette trembled as she lowered herself down beside her.

“Give me your bowl,” Solène said softly.

“I still got two hands,” Manmi muttered, but she passed it over anyway. Her joints cracked as she shifted. “They just scream a little louder these days.”

Solène knelt, scooping the food gently and lifting it to the older woman’s mouth. Manmi chewed slow, the corner of her lips twitching with annoyance and gratitude in equal measure.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Manmi said, squinting up at her. “You think you the only one that know how to fuss?”

Solène smirked and kept feeding her.

Near the cane stack, two men whispered too loud — their voices edged with panic and salt. Solène didn’t turn her head, only shifted her ear, feeding Manmi another scoop while pretending not to listen.

“I’m tellin’ you—bone dry,” the first said, low and quick. “Not a drop of blood. Like something sucked it clean.”

“What kind of thing you talkin’ ‘bout?” said the second.

“A horse. And two goats. Over at de Rochambeau place. Just the other night.”

Solène froze mid-motion.

“You think it was dogs?” the second man asked.

“Nah,” the first hissed. “They say it ain’t dogs. It ain’t no animal. Heard one of they houseboys saw it. Pale man, white like chalk, walkin’ out the stable with red on his mouth. No shadow.”

“No shadow?”

“I swear on my mama’s grave. And now the blan master over there say we did it. Blamed the stable hands. Cut one boy’s hand off this morning.”

Manmi sucked her teeth.

“They always look for a reason to bleed us,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. “Even if they gotta make up monsters to do it.”

Solène’s eyes were locked on the dirt. A pale man with red on his mouth. No shadow. Something twisted in her belly — not fear exactly, but something colder.

“They callin’ it a nightwalker,” said the first man. “Say it drinks the cruel. One of ‘em even claimed it talk like French nobility. Said it asked ‘permission’ to come inside. What kind of ghost got manners?”

They laughed — too loud, too nervous. Then fell quiet again.

Solène finally handed the last of the food to Manmi and sat down beside her, close enough to feel the heat rolling off the older woman’s skin.

“Sounds like a tale to me,” Manmi muttered, wiping her mouth with her scarf.

“Maybe,” Solène said. Her voice was quiet. Almost unsure.

“You lookin’ too hard at shadows again, girl.”

Solène didn’t answer.

She watched a fly land on her boot, then dart away. The laughter had stopped. Even the birds had gone silent for a beat. Like the land itself was listening.

“Still,” Manmi said, settling back with a grunt, “if such a thing walkin’ round drinkin’ masters dry, I say let it drink its fill.”

Solène smiled — only a little. And just for a moment.

Then the bell rang again.

Rest was over.

And the soil was still thirsty.

The day had ended like all the others — beneath a red sky and the weight of another body buried by the sun. But instead of the rows of the cane and the cracked-voiced call of the bell, I walked with an overseer’s shadow pressed against mine.

To the house.

Always through the back.

The big white house sat smug as a saint on a hill, fat columns catching the last gold of daylight. It smelled too sweet inside. Always did. Like boiled peaches and liquor and death. The kind of sweet that turned in your stomach if you thought about it too long.

I didn’t look up. Didn’t speak. Just counted the steps. Twenty-one, exactly, from the back kitchen door to the stairwell. Then up.

By the time we reached the bathroom, the girl was already waiting — another tired thing in a dress too clean for the life she lived. I didn’t know her name. She never said it. She just nodded once and moved like she had a clock in her bones.

The bath steamed gently. Warm. Always warm. Always ready.

She helped me undress. Her hands worked fast, like she wasn’t really touching me at all. But I felt it — every tug, every unfastened string — like a thread unwinding inside my chest. There was no modesty in it, no kindness. Just routine.

I sat in the water. Let it scald the dirt and ache from my skin. She poured water over my head. Washed my back with a soft cloth. I hated it. Hated the way my arms stayed at my sides like I didn’t own them. Hated the way her hands trembled just slightly — the same way mine used to.

When it was done, I stood and dried. She handed me the white dress. Always white. No shoes. Hair loose.

The white made my skin look darker. Made me feel like a stain on linen.

Then came the dining room.

Long table. Two plates. One at each end.

The room never changed. Oil paintings of dead men. A gold chandelier hanging too low. Candlesticks burning even though the light outside hadn’t faded yet. Two servants stood at the corners — a man and a woman. Still as statues. Trained, they’d say.

But if you looked long enough, if you blinked just right, you could see the tired hiding in their eyes.

I sat. Back straight. Hands folded.

And I waited.

I let my mind drift — not to the fields, not to the cane, not to Manmi’s hand as I fed her, not even to the whispers of the nightwalker draining men dry. I let it drift to a blank place, a cold one.

Until the doors opened.

And he stepped through.

My father.

He was tall, always taller than I remembered. Broad in the chest, his dark hair slicked and parted just so. A waistcoat of deep burgundy over a crisp, ruffled shirt — French-styled, gold buttons, ivory cravat tied tight. Black breeches, polished boots. Smelled like tobacco, pomade, and something sticky-sweet beneath it. Like overripe fruit.

His mustache twitched when he smiled.

“Bonsoir, ma fille,” he said like a prayer.

My hands curled beneath the table, nails digging into my palms.

He gave me his name.

His language. 

His rage.

And none of it ever made me less a slave.

He sat down slowly, like the room belonged to him — like the air itself had to bow before it reached his lips. A servant poured the wine. Another laid down a fresh plate of roasted quail, sweet potatoes, and sugared citrus. She didn’t look at me. None of them ever did.

He cleared his throat.

“Seulement le français,” he reminded me softly. “Tu es une demoiselle, pas une paysanne.” Only French. You are a lady, not a peasant.

That was one of his rules. Maybe his favorite one. No Creole. No broken tongue. No trace of my mother in my mouth.

I nodded. “Oui, Père.”

He began talking, slicing his quail into even pieces, hands moving like the gears of a clock. The harvest numbers, the barrels being loaded, the delay from Cap-Français — all of it swirled in and out of meaning. I understood the words but not the weight. I didn’t think I was supposed to.

So I let myself drift again.

Watched the way his fingers curved around the silver fork, the way the candlelight caught the edge of his wedding band. His movements were graceful, like a man playing piano with meat and bone.

A plate was set before me. Still steaming. My stomach ached.

I reached for the fork.

“Non.” His voice was gentle. Smiling. “Les dames ne parlent pas la bouche pleine.” Ladies do not speak with their mouths full.

I pulled my hand back. Let it rest on the linen. White on brown. His rules were always dressed in silk.

The food sat in front of me. Untouched. Mocking.

He finished half his plate, wiped his mouth with a cloth, and sat back, wine glass turning between his fingers.

Then, he looked at me.

Not like a father.

Not like anything decent.

His eyes dragged over my face, down the slope of my collarbone, then back again. A look too long to be casual. Too slow to be innocent.

“You know,” he said, swirling the glass between his fingers, “your birthday is soon.”

My stomach tightened. I said nothing.

He nodded to himself, eyes still on me like I might turn into something else if he stared hard enough. “Yes… 23. Born in the year of the storm, just after Toussaint escaped from Bréda.”

His voice curled at the edges, proud, like he was reciting a fine fact. Like he hadn’t hidden me for half my life behind locked doors and linen skirts.

“Twenty-three,” he repeated. “A woman now. I can see it in your face. In the way you walk.”

I kept my eyes down.

He reached for another bite of food, chewed, swallowed, then wiped the corner of his mouth again. That same white cloth. It never touched me, but I still felt dirty from looking at it.

“Sing for me.”

My mouth dried. I didn’t answer.

He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the polished wood of the table. “Come now,” he said. “Your mother gave you that voice. It would be a shame to waste it.”

The silence stretched. He was waiting.

I could feel the other two — the servants in the corners — stiffen like statues. But no one would stop him. Not here. Not in this house that smiled with its teeth.

So I opened my mouth.

And I sang.

Softly. A lullaby in French. About moonlight. About roses. The kind of song meant for babies, or graves.

But every note felt like a betrayal.

He watched me the whole time. Like he could see the music drip off my lips and wanted to catch it with his tongue. His leg shifted beneath the table. His breathing slowed.

The candles flickered. The food went cold.

And I kept singing — not because I wanted to.

But because I had learned how to survive.

Because silence, sometimes, was louder than anything.

The door shut behind her with a soft click, but it felt like thunder in her ears.

Solène stood in the hallway a moment too long, still wearing the white dress, still smelling of that sweet rot that clung to every corner of the house. That house… his house.

She walked, slow, careful not to make the floorboards groan. Not that anyone would care. But she needed to be quiet—needed something small to control.

Down the narrow servant stairs. Past the kitchens, now empty but still warm. Through the back door and out into the night, where the air at least didn’t watch her with hunger.

The moon was high. Winter flowers swayed near the fence posts, just barely open. They never bloomed all the way. Not here.

She reached the tree by the old cane press and finally let her hands tremble.

She knelt, fingers clawing into the dirt. Not weeping. Not even breathing hard. Just still. Like the earth might hold her together if she dug deep enough.

She hated that dress. Hated how it clung to her skin. She hated the way her voice still rang in her ears. Hated how he listened—like she was a thing made just for him.

She yanked the scarf from her hair and let the curls fall wild over her face. It made her feel like herself again. Like her mother. Like someone no one could own.

She pressed her forehead to her knees and sat there, holding the rage inside her like a hot coal. Quiet. Alive.

Manmi always said the fire would come.

By the time her legs could move again, the fire in her chest had cooled to embers, just enough to carry her back home. 

The hut was thick with heat and silence when Solène stepped inside. A few women sat hunched near the coals, others already flat on the dirt floor, arms across their stomachs, eyes closed like corpses too tired to die.

She looked around once.

“Where’s Manmi?” she asked.

No answer.

Her voice cut through the stale air again. “Where’s Manmi Rénette?”

A smirk curled on Célia’s face—sharp-boned, sharp-tongued. “Why you askin’ like you don’t already know?”

Solène blinked. “What?”

“They took her,” another woman muttered from the back. “Sick house.”

“No…” Solène stepped forward, heart kicking. “She was just—just movin’ slow, that’s all—”

“Exactly,” Célia snapped. “Too slow. No good for the cane. Overseer said she ain’t no use now. So they dragged her off like old meat.”

Solène froze. “But she—she’s not—”

“She’s not dead, not yet,” a third voice cut in. “But don’t pretend like you care all of a sudden. You wasn’t here when they came.”

“She didn’t even scream,” someone else muttered. “Just looked up and said, ‘Tell my baby keep her back straight.’ Then gone.”

That landed like a punch.

Solène opened her mouth—but Célia beat her to it. “How was your fancy dinner, mèt kay?” Her voice dripped with poison. “The dress suit you nice. Real white.”

Another woman chuckled low, but it wasn’t warm. “Don’t stain it now. Hate for sugar to turn red.”

Solène’s hands curled into fists. “You think I asked for this? You think I get a choice?”

Célia’s eyes narrowed. “You got more choice than we do. That’s enough.”

Solène swallowed the heat in her throat, let her arms drop, and turned. She walked out. Not another word.

Outside, the night wrapped around her like a wet sheet. The stars didn’t bother shining, and the wind was dead. The dirt under her feet remembered every step she took.

She followed the dark path to the sick house—low and sunken like a dying animal. The air near it was still, wrong. Two overseers sat outside, chewing tobacco, boots up, rifles close. One spit in the grass. The other laughed at something that never sounded funny.

Solène stayed low in the brush, heart caught between beats.

She couldn’t get in.

And even if she did, what could she do?

Manmi wasn’t dead. Not yet. But everyone knew the sick house was just the waiting room before you were.

Tears blurred her vision. She blinked hard. No good crying here. No good feeling anything here.

She turned back down the path. Her legs moved without thinking, dragging her away from the house. Away from the guards. From what she couldn’t fix.

That’s when she heard it.

Not crickets. Not night birds. Not wind.

A shuffling. A drag. Like skin over bark. Like wet cloth being pulled across gravel.

She stopped.

Looked behind her.

Nothing.

Then the woods moved.

Not the trees.

Something inside them.

The forest near the cane fields had gone silent.

Too silent.

Then a flicker of movement. Low to the ground. Then upright. Then—gone.

Solène’s breath caught in her throat.

She turned her head slowly, carefully.

Nothing.

But the feeling pressed against her spine.

Like being watched from behind a wall of breath.

And then—

A sound. No louder than a sigh. But close.

Right at her ear.

Not a word.

Just the weight of something that should not be there.

She stumbled back, heart kicking like a trapped bird. Eyes wide. Still nothing in front of her.

Then the trees moved again—only this time, they didn’t move at all.

Something inside them shifted.

Gone in a blink. Like it had never been there at all.

But the feeling stayed.

Something had passed by.

And it saw her.

[po3ticb3auty]

﹒♡ CURRENT BOYFRIEND CHALLENGE

ft. katsuki bakugo

“Hey, can I record something real quick?”

Bakugo’s sprawled on the couch, hair still damp from his shower, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, and a spoon halfway to his mouth. He eyes you suspiciously over his bowl of spicy noodles.

“Tch. The hell are you planning?”

“Nothing bad,” you say, sliding into the seat beside him with your phone already recording. “Just a little TikTok thing. You don’t have to do anything. Just… exist.”

He grunts. That’s as close to “fine” as you’ll get from him.

You point the camera at yourself, making sure he’s in frame behind you. “Okay,” you begin sweetly, “so I’m here with my current boyfriend…”

Bakugo pauses mid-bite.

His head slowly turns. “…Your what?”

You bite your lip, fighting a smile, still filming. “My current boyfriend.”

The look on his face and the meanest side eye says you have three seconds to explain before I level this apartment.

He sets the bowl down without breaking eye contact. “Current?”

“Mhm,” you say, leaning into the act. “You know, just until I find someone better.”

You don’t even get a full breath in before he’s on you — not aggressively, but fast, almost knocking the wind out of you. He grabs your phone and points the camera straight at himself.

“The fuck does that mean, current?” he growls, eyes sharp but his voice low. “There ain’t gonna be a next boyfriend. You think this is some temp job or somethin’? You think someone else can handle you like I can?”

You snort-laugh, but your face is heating up.

“Aww katsu’ You’re cute when you’re possessive.”

“I’m always possessive,” he snaps, tossing your phone gently onto the couch and crowding you until your back hits the cushions. “Say that ‘current’ shit again. Go on.”

You lift your chin, pretending to stay cocky. “My current boyfriend—”

He kisses you. Hard. One hand gripping your waist, the other braced by your head. When he pulls back, your brain is static and your lips are tingling.

“Say it again,” he says against your mouth, voice husky. “I dare you.”

You blink up at him, dazed. “I… might need to start calling you my forever boyfriend.”

A smug, dangerous smirk stretches across his face. “Damn right you do.”

He kisses you again, slower this time. Hungrier.

Somewhere, your phone keeps recording.

2025 © SAKURASZN !